Queen, “and very pretty little rhymes they were, too, or at least
your grandmother, Dorobel, used to say so. But dear me; I never could
remember verses, no matter how hard I tried; never.”_
_“Yes, yes, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Go on, Solario.”_
_“Now the King was different; he could remember them, but he couldn’t
make them up; and I could make them up, but I couldn’t remember them!
Tee-hee-hee! Dear, dear! When I think of it!”_
_“Grandmother,” said Bojohn, “Solario is waiting to go on.”_
_“So he is,” said the Queen. “I never liked sad stories when I was a
girl, for they_ always _made me cry. But this one may turn out
better than I expect. I really think you’re doing very nicely, Solario.
I always say, that no matter how poorly one makes out, he ought to be
praised if he is doing his best.”_
_“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario proceeded._
When the singing ceased (said Alb) I climbed noiselessly around the
rock to the other side, and looked down.
_An Interview with a Talking Seal_
A fat seal was lying below me on a ledge of the rock, just out of the
water. The creature raised his head, and gazed up at me with his big
soft eyes.
“I could have sworn the voice was here,” said I, half aloud.
“Are you speaking to me?” said the seal.
I assure you I jumped in amazement. “What!” said I. “Was it you?”
“Well,” said the seal, “there’s nobody else here, is there?”
“Of all things!” said I. “A talking seal! I never heard of such a--”
“I suppose I haven’t any right to talk. Just because I haven’t any
legs, and have to live in a horrible sealskin, I suppose I’m not even
to utter a word. Is that it? Oh, yes, I dare say; I suppose so.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend--”
“I suppose not. Anyway, you’d better not stand there quarreling with me
all day if you ever expect to find the Princess.”
“Oh! Do you know anything about her? Tell me, quick!”
“Yes, I do. I know a little about her. I know where she is. The
Ragpicker’s shadow came last night and fetched away the Princess’s
shadow, because the Ragpicker needed the Princess’s shadow to protect
her against the people. Everybody is afraid of shadows,--I suppose you
know that. And then the One-Armed Sorcerer took away the Princess, and
what he’s going to do with her I don’t know. But you’d better find out.
Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, yes! I’m ready! I’ll go anywhere! Tell me where!”
“You talk brave enough. The question is, do you act as brave as you
talk? Do you mind getting half-drowned?”
“No, no! I mind nothing! Tell me what I must do!”
“Sounds very brave, indeed. Are you afraid of shadows?”
“Of course not!”
“Then you’re the only person in these parts who isn’t. Where you’re
going, they’re all afraid of shadows, and that’s how the Ragpicker
protects herself against the people; with shadows. And so you’re not
afraid of them. Well, well!”
“I’m not afraid of anything! Tell me what to do!”
“So! Pretty brave! All right, I’ll take you there myself. Take off your
coat and shoes.”
I took off my shoes, stockings, and coat.
The seal hunched himself down into the water, and lay there with his
head resting on the rock.
“Now,” said he, “come down here and lie on my back, and hold on tight;
and don’t get in the way of my flippers.”
I hesitated for a moment at the idea of lying down in the water on the
back of a seal, but I came down the rock and stretched myself out on
his back and clung to him with my arms and legs as well as I could.
_A Sea Journey on the Back of a Seal_
“Hold on tight,” said the seal, and darted off across the sea so
suddenly that I lost my grip and fell off into the water; but he swam
under me, and I was soon on his back once more, none the worse.
“What’s the matter?” said the seal. “Haven’t you any strength? I
suppose I’ll have to go slower.”
He glided slowly and smoothly over the long swells, and as soon as I
got used to it I found that it was really wonderful sport. We followed
the shore line quite around the island to its opposite side, and then
the seal made straight for the open sea. The shore faded away behind
us, and at last it was gone.
Hours passed, and I grew stiff and cold. I slipped off the seal’s
back now and then, for the exercise of swimming. It was excessively
difficult to hold on to his slippery skin, and I ached so painfully
with the strain that I feared at last that I should have to let go for
good; and I was about to give up, when I saw afar off on the horizon
what looked like land. The seal swam faster. I took new courage, and
clung to him tighter.
It was indeed land,--evidently an island; and as we came close to it I
could make out in its side a deep cove, backed with dark, woody hills
and flanked on either side by rocky cliffs. Fishing boats of all sizes
were moored in the cove, and a large village straggled up the hillside
behind.
The seal glided into the smooth water between the cliffs, and slid up
against the sand of the beach at the foot of the village. It was just
twilight.
I jumped to my feet and stretched my numb and aching limbs, gazing with
curiosity at the near-by houses. I turned round at the sound of the
seal’s voice.
“Can you get me a custard pie?” said the seal.
“What?” said I, in astonishment.
“There’s a pastry cook in the village. I’ll wait for you here. Mince
pie’ll do, if they’re out of custard.”
I hastened away into the village, without saying anything more.
_The Village of Storks_
It was a large village, and there were a good many streets; and
before I found the pastry cook’s shop I paused to look at the strange
collection of birds which adorned the housetops. On nearly every
chimney or ridgepole stood a stork, and on some were two or three, and
even more; young storks all of them, judging by their size.
I noticed, as I passed the villagers in the street, that their faces
were very sad; and I thought it singular that although I saw many grown
people, I met no children, and heard no children’s voices.
The pastry cook, when I found him, proved to have the saddest face of
all, and his wife looked as if she had been weeping; and there were
on the pastry cook’s housetop no less than five small storks. When
I mentioned that I wanted a custard pie for a seal, the pastry cook
handed over the pie to me without any appearance of surprise, and
without accepting any payment.
I hurried back to the beach, and sat down before the seal and held the
custard pie while the hungry creature ate it.
“Did you ever eat raw fish?” said he.
“I should say not,” said I.
“It’s awful,” said the seal. “It’s positively petrifying. You know I
wasn’t always a seal. Custard pie always used to do me more good than
anything else.”
“Tell me who you are,” said I, “and who the Ragpicker is.”
“There’s no time now,” said the seal. “You’d better be going. The
people here would like to kill the Ragpicker if they could, but they’re
afraid of the shadows; she’s afraid of the people, and the people are
afraid of the shadows; and she’s more afraid of the One-Armed Sorcerer
than anybody else, though between you and me I think she’s wrong about
it, because he seems to be a pretty decent sort of old chap, and I
rather believe he’d like to help her if she wasn’t afraid of him; but
of course you can’t help a person who’s afraid of you. All mixed up,
isn’t it?”
“I don’t understand a word of it,” said I.
“Brave people are always stupid,” said the seal, and with this he
wriggled himself off into the water, and I saw his head going back and
forth slowly from side to side across the cove.
I turned and went into the village. It was now nearly dark.
As I came toward the pastry cook’s shop again, the village cryer came
walking down the street, ringing a bell, and calling out, over and over
again, “Seven o’clock, and time for supper! Seven o’clock, and time for
supper!”
As the cryer passed by, the storks flapped their wings and flew down
from the housetops, and took their stand in a row before their houses,
along the curbs; and wherever a stork stood before a house a woman came
out with a bowl in her hand. When I reached the pastry cook’s shop, the
pastry cook’s wife was kneeling on the sidewalk before the five little
storks, feeding them gruel out of a bowl with a long spoon. I observed
that all along the street women were feeding the storks in the same
way; but again I noticed that there were no children.
I walked on, watching in every street the feeding of the storks, and
looking out for some sign of the Princess. I observed at last a gilded
wooden arm and hand holding a lantern, projecting from the front wall
of a house a little in advance; and before this house, at the curb, a
single stork was standing, and an old man, one-armed, wearing white
hair and beard and dressed in a blue gown with silver stars, was
sitting before the stork, feeding it with a long spoon from a bowl in
his lap. Around the stork’s neck hung a pearl necklace.
Wondering whether I had ever seen that necklace before, I passed behind
the old man, and as I did so the stork fixed its eye on me and ruffled
its feathers in agitation. I had no sooner gone by than there was a
great fluttering among all the storks, and I observed, coming toward
me down the street, a bent old woman, stooping under a bulging bag and
holding out what appeared to be a poker with a hook at the end. She was
ragged and decrepit, and there was a gleam in her eye which seemed to
me to be more of terror than anything.
She gazed intently at the stork with the necklace, and then passed on
down the street. All the storks, at sight of her, suddenly flew up on
to the housetops, and all the people, or nearly all, went hurriedly
indoors. As I turned to follow her with my eyes, I saw that the stork
with the necklace was perched up on the ridgepole, and that the old
one-armed man was gone.
_The Ragpicker Frightens the Men Away with Her Bag_
The Ragpicker had reached the next corner, and was about to turn into
the street at her right, when a dozen men came hurrying toward her in
a group, and she stopped and faced them. They were burly men, and they
were plainly angry; they carried cudgels, and one of them carried a
rope; they meant to do her harm, without a doubt. They advanced on her,
muttering dangerously together, and she stood stock still, waiting.
One of the men gave a shout, and they rushed upon her in a body; but
quick as a wink the old woman whisked her bag from her shoulder to the
ground, and began to open it; and at this the men fell back against
each other as if afraid; and as the old woman made again as if to open
the bag, the men hesitated, turned about, and actually took to their
heels and fled.
The Ragpicker slung her bag upon her back again, turned the corner, and
disappeared.
What could be in that bag, I wondered, to make those burly men afraid?
I hurried to the corner, and saw the old woman plodding away toward
the end of the street. She did not look around, and I followed her
cautiously. She passed beyond the village houses and began to climb a
path which wound up the hillside among the rocks.
Keeping carefully out of sight behind her, I saw her stop at last
beside a hut which leaned against the side of the hill, and go in at
its door. I stole up quietly. There were no windows in the hut, but I
thought I might be able to see inside through the roof, which was only
a thatch of straw. I could easily reach it from the side of the hill.
In a moment I was lying on the roof, and digging away the straw with my
fingers.
I worked slowly and noiselessly, and after a time made a hole through
which I could look down into the hut. It was dark below, but I could
see the old woman stooping down over an opening in the floor, from
which she was just raising a trapdoor. She stepped down into the
opening and closed the door over her head.
I lost no time in making a hole in the thatch big enough to admit
my body; and when I had done so I dropped to the floor, and stood
beside the trapdoor. I raised it cautiously and peered down. All was
dark below, but I could make out a flight of stone steps. I went down
without a sound.
_He Follows the Ragpicker Down Into the Dark_
At the bottom I got down on my hands and knees and crawled along,
touching the side of a wall at my right. The wall ended abruptly, and
feeling the ground before me I found that I was on the edge of open
space, and I could hear the rushing of water far below. My hand touched
the top of a ladder, and I went down it carefully; but after a moment
my foot dangled in space, and I nearly fell off; the ladder stopped
short, and I clung on desperately. I then climbed to the top again
and crawled along toward my left, feeling the edge with my hand until
I shortly touched the top of another ladder; and down this ladder,
fastened securely against the wall, I went more cautiously than before.
The ladder was long, but I finally found myself on solid ground.
Following the wall to the left, I passed around a corner, and as I did
so I saw a light.
It was a square patch of light, like the light of a small window,
afar off in the darkness. I went down on my hands and knees again
and crawled toward it. The ground was unbroken here, and I could now
scarcely hear the sound of water. I stopped at last directly beneath
the light, and touched a wall. I felt with my left hand what seemed to
be a closed door, and I got up slowly on my feet. I was looking into a
lighted room through a small square window, without glass, and crossed
with iron bars.
A lamp was burning brightly in a bracket on a wall of the room. On the
earthen floor, near the center, the old Ragpicker was kneeling before a
brazier containing a brisk fire, over which hung an iron pot. Her bag
lay on the floor beside her, flat and limp; it was evidently empty.
_She Stirs a Steaming Mixture with Her Long Hooked Forefinger_
As I watched her, she arose from her knees and went to a door at the
rear, and made sure that it was closed tight. She then went to a great
heap of rubbish which was piled in one corner, and scratching with her
poker amongst the rags, bones, and old iron there, picked out carefully
a handful of bones, examining each one minutely. She then took from a
shelf a large bottle of some dark liquid, and with this and the bones
she returned to the fire. She poured the liquid into the iron pot and
dropped in the bones, one by one; and as she did so I observed a thing
which I had not discerned before, that what I had thought was a poker
held in her hand was in fact a long, black, stiff forefinger, hooked at
the end. There was no doubt about it; it was the first finger of her
right hand, as stiff as an iron rod, and about a foot and a half long.
She stuck it into the steaming pot and stirred the mixture with it,
muttering to herself words which I could not understand.
Presently she stopped stirring, and sniffing the contents of the pot
nodded her head as if satisfied. She picked up from the ground an iron
ladle and a pewter bowl, and ladling the steaming liquid from the pot
into the bowl, drank it down, every drop.
She put down the ladle and the bowl, and stood motionless, as if
waiting. A change began to come over her. Her back straightened; she
grew taller; the wrinkles left her face; her skin became fairer, her
eyes larger, her hair longer; and there before my eyes stood a young
and beautiful damsel, tall and erect, with dark eyes in a pale face,
and two thick braids of brown hair hanging to her waist.
She held up her right hand and looked at it. The long black stiff
finger with the hook was still there. She screamed, and burying her
face on her left arm shook with sobs. In a moment she raised her head
and put away her hideous right hand behind her where she could not see
it. Her left hand she placed over her eyes, with a gesture of despair,
and as she remained standing in that attitude the hand over her eyes
grew old and withered; she began to shrink and stoop, and she moaned
to herself. It was plain that the effect of what she had drunk was
beginning to wear off. She shuddered, and gave a mournful cry; and in
another instant she was the old, bent Ragpicker again.
I drew a long breath. I stood back, for fear that I might be seen, and
when I looked again the old woman was standing with her back toward
me, facing the closed door at the rear. I noticed now, what I had not
noticed before, that she cast no shadow in the lamplight on the floor.
“Skag!” she cried. “Come hither!”
A shadow oozed into the room through the crack of the door, and moved
upright across the floor toward the Ragpicker. It was the shadow of
a bent old woman, stooping under a bulky bag, and holding out what
appeared to be a poker, hooked at the end; the shadow of the old
Ragpicker herself. It stood still, not far from the door.
“It’s no use, Skag,” said the old woman to her shadow. “I haven’t found
the right bone; but I _will_ find it, yet! I’ll find it yet! Bring in
the Princess’s shadow.”
Her own shadow disappeared through the crack in the door, and returned
immediately, followed by another. I started, and almost cried out. It
was the shadow of a young girl, undoubtedly the Princess, and it stood
upright on the floor beside the other.
“Ah!” said the old woman. “Now my shadows are complete. This one is
the best and most fearsome of all. Ah, how they fear the shadows! Lucky
for me, lucky for me! They’re not afraid of me, but they’re afraid of
shadows! This day they would have killed me, but for my bag of shadows.
We mustn’t lose them, Skag, we mustn’t lose them.”
She paced about, growing more and more excited, and went on talking as
she walked.
“We’re in danger, Skag, we’re in danger. The One-Armed Sorcerer is
working against us. He has brought the Princess herself here, to help
him against me. What can he mean to do? He means to take away my
shadows from me, Skag, it must be that. And he has brought the Princess
to help him. And what then? Death, Skag, death; a quick death, for
what will the people be afraid of then? We must stop it, Skag, we must
stop the sorcerer, and there is only one way. The Princess must be
destroyed! To-morrow morning, when the sun shines and the shadows can
be seen, I will seek her out and destroy her; and the shadows shall go
with me and protect me. Bring in the shadows, Skag.”
_The Shadows of the Children_
The old woman’s shadow disappeared through the crack again, and
immediately returned; and behind it came a shadow, and another, and
another; many shadows, all of children, and they moved upright across
the floor and stood before the Ragpicker. They were flat as paper and
black as ink; and the lamplight did not shine through them. They kept
on coming, and the room was soon full of them; hundreds, as it seemed,
hundreds of shadows of little children, some so small that they were
just beginning to walk. And the shadow of the Princess was the tallest
of all.
The Ragpicker pointed at the Princess’s shadow with her long, black rod
of a finger, and said, “Into the bag!”
She stooped to her bag and held it open at the floor, and the shadow of
the Princess moved to it, crouched, and went in.
“In, all of you!” cried the old woman.
All the shadows crowded around the mouth of the bag, and one after
another stooped and went in. There was none left but the shadow of the
old woman herself. She closed the bag, now bulging, and flinging it
over her shoulder she said to her own shadow, “Hither, Skag, and lie
down!”
Her shadow moved close to her, and spread itself out on the ground with
its feet to hers, growing longer as it did so, so that it became no
more than an ordinary shadow cast by the lamplight on the floor.
The old woman went to the lamp and blew out the light, and the room was
in darkness, except for the glimmer of the dying fire.
I flattened myself on the ground as the door opened and the old woman
came forth with her bag on her back. I could scarcely see her, and in
an instant she had disappeared in the darkness.
_He Loses His Way in the Dark_
I waited a moment or two, and then crawled cautiously in the direction
I thought she had taken; but there was nothing but the blackness of
deep night all round me, and I could not be sure of my direction. I
looked behind me, and I could not see any longer the window I had just
left. I had come from the ladder easily enough, but it was plainly a
different matter to get back. I crawled on uncertainly, and stopped now
and then; I had gone by this time farther than I had come at first, but
I found no wall. I must have lost my way. I went on, and found myself
going down a slope. I knew that this could not be right, and I changed
my course a little; but I was still going down the slope, and I was
afraid that I would be utterly lost if I turned back.
The sound of rushing water came to my ears now. The slope grew steeper,
and I crawled more cautiously. The sound of water became more distinct.
The ground was suddenly slimy, and before I knew it I was slipping down
a steep descent, unable to stop myself. I slid and slid, faster and
faster, clutching the slimy ground and rolling over and over; and as I
was fainting with dizziness I shot off into space, and came down with a
splash into a torrent of deep water.
The stream hurled me away. I struggled against it, but it was too
swift. It was impossible to swim. I could do no more than keep my head
above water, and let the current fling me along into the darkness.
Tossed like a leaf, hurled against the walls of the stream, scratched
by the edges of rocks, bruised, bleeding, and half-drowned, I almost
lost consciousness, and scarcely knew anything more until I felt myself
lying on soft sand in shallow water. I looked up, and saw above me a
clear sky; the open sea was rolling toward me on a beach, and the moon
was glittering on the waves.
I tottered to my feet. I was so weak and sore that I could hardly
stand. When I was able to move, I walked forward toward the ocean. The
stream which had brought me spread out and lost itself in the sand.
At my feet the breakers came rushing up, and a strip of beach lay at
my right hand and my left, enclosed at the back and sides by a high
cliff. There was no way out except by climbing the cliff. I shouted,
hoping that the seal might be out there in the water, but there was no
response. I made up my mind that I would have to climb the cliff.
It was a cruel task, for the cliff was steep, and there was scarcely
any foothold but an occasional rock and bush; but I never once thought
of discouragement, and I stuck to it with all my might. My bare feet
and my hands were torn by the rocks, but I kept on, up and up, and in
time I stood on the top. I hastened away along the edge of the cliff,
and came after a long walk to a place where the cliff turned back
shoreward; and there I looked down, and saw the roofs of the village
straggling up its hillside behind the cove.
_He Hears the Voice of the Seal Again_
I lay down and put my head out over the edge of the cliff, and at that
moment there came to me from the still water of the cove a faint, sad
voice, singing:
“O wonderful pancake batter!
O table and fork and plate!
I wonder whatever’s the matter,
That he keeps me waiting so late?
He said he was willing to serve us
Regardless of danger or pelf,
But I’m getting so dreadfully nervous
I really am scarcely myself.
O why does he loiter and linger
While I wait so sorry and sick?
Let him sever the Ragpicker’s finger
And do it almightily quick.
For then I shall sit at a table,
My napkin over my knees,
And tipple as long as I’m able,
And gobble as long as I please,
With plenty of good hot curry,
And plenty of custard pie,--
If he only would hurry, hurry!
O why does he linger, why?”
The voice stopped, and I rose to my feet and made off across the
moonlit fields.
_“There used to be a baker at the castle,” said the Queen, “shortly
after I was married, who made up a great many very pretty songs. The
King used to say that he sang better than he baked. For my part, I was
very sorry to lose him. His niece was going to be married in one of our
villages, I forget which,--no, I believe it was a cousin; I am almost
sure it was his cousin, and I think it was the niece who was looking
after his mother while he was here, and she had to go and keep house
for the cousin after she was married, and that left his mother all
alone; so that he had to go back to his mother, and I always thought he
was such a good son to give up his place here at the castle in order
to take care of his poor old mother, and I’m sure very few would have
done it in his place; but I must say that the next baker was very much
better at gingerbread, though he never made up any songs, and I think
the King himself missed the first one a good deal afterward, though he
never would say so.”_
_“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario proceeded._