Thus it was and thus it befell.
Careful and Bluster went on living in the glade. They lived long as
valiant men and true, and brought up goodly families, sons and
grandsons. All good parts went down from father to son, and, of course,
also the sacred fire, which was fed with a fresh log every day so that
it might never go out.
So, you see, Rampogusto was right in being afraid of Quest, because if
Quest had not died in his search for truth those goblins would never
have left Careful and Bluster, and in the glade there would have been
neither righteous men nor sacred fire.
But so everything fell out. To the great shame and discomfiture of
Rampogusto and all his crew.
When those two goblins dragged Quest’s sheep-skin before Rampogusto, and
inside it the third goblin, who was still yammering and carrying on like
one demented, Rampogusto flew into a furious rage, for he knew that all
three youths had escaped him. In his great wrath he gave orders that all
three goblins should have their horns cropped close, and so run about
for everyone to make fun of!
But the worst of Rampogusto’s discomfiture was this: Every day the
sacred smoke gets into his throat and makes him cough most horribly.
Moreover, he never dare venture out into the woods for fear of meeting
some one of the valiant people.
So Rampogusto got nothing out of it but Quest’s cast-off sheep-skin; and
I’m sure he is welcome to that, for Quest doesn’t want a sheep-skin coat
anyhow in All-Rosy’s Golden Halls.
[Illustration]
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