Chapter VI: Part III: 50. The Doings at Home 139 (4)

“Well, it was merely a little idea of mine to brighten up Court life, which has a tendency to become dull and stuffy sometimes. You see it is the King’s custom to walk alone through the streets on the day before his birthday so as to show himself to his subjects, and to show that he is willing to unbend from State ceremonial, and so forth. It also serves to brisken their memories with regard to presents.”

“What does he do?” asked Sylvia.

“He just walks along, wearing a crown and in his best robes. And he speaks to people here and there--in a dignified way, of course--and he pats children on the head and asks their mothers how old they are, and if they had mumps--and all that sort of thing.”

“He seems quite a nice king,” Sylvia observed.

“You wait,” said Baldry, with dark meaning. “It’s only once a year that he bothers about mumps. Well, to go on with my unhappy story, I thought out a scheme for making the whole affair brighter. Though I am young and thin and have no hair to my chin, and though the King is middle-aged and fat and has a flowing beard, I so padded myself up with straw and so painted and behorsehaired myself that when I appeared in the public ways, clad in furred and tinselled robes and wearing a brass crown, there were none that did not take the jester for the king.”

“I say, this sounds rather good!” Gorbo exclaimed.

“Oh, it was very good. But listen. In lieu of the customary stately strut of His Majesty, I proceeded in a lively dance, which I have invented myself and which I have named ‘The fawn at play.’ There is in it a great deal of fanciful gesture and nimble leg work. In my right hand I bore a six-hooped pot; my left hand held my robe on high to give free play for my gambols. And thus, with shrill whoops of joy, I pranced among the amazed citizens.”

“Did they laugh?” asked Joe.

“Some few of the keener spirits did; but the general expression was of stolid wonder. I redoubled my efforts. Suddenly, on the completion of a series of backward somersaults, I found myself face to face with the King himself. There was that in his countenance that caused me to turn and flee, but I tripped over my robe and fell. In another instant I was seized by the guards and hurried to a dungeon.”

“What beasts!” exclaimed Sylvia.

“Yes, Sylvia, that’s what they were. And when my gossip, the jailer, told me that the King was frothing at the mouth and had sent for his High Executioner, it seemed to me a choice moment to leave his service if it could be done. My prison was in a tower which had, by great good luck, a drain-pipe outside the window, so I washed off all traces of my kingly colour and slipped down. I reached the ground without other mishap than a rasping of my knees and knuckles and fled afar. Better to roam the cold world than to await the vengeance of a tyrant. So here I am, alone with you dear things in the greenwood. And very nice too.”

“Is the King _very_ ruthless?” asked Sylvia anxiously.

“Ruthless! Oh, my! However, I’m not going to go into details because that would only frighten you and serve no useful purpose.”

“We’ve heard that things are pretty bad on this side,” said Gorbo. “And Golithos said the same.”

“Oh, yes, dear old Golithos. You told me you’d stayed a night with him. I’ve never seen him myself, but I thought of paying him a visit.”

“Don’t you do it,” said Gorbo. “He’ll bore you stiff--and there’s nothing to eat at his place but the stuff rabbits eat.”

“Then that settles _that_,” said Baldry. “Well, where shall we go?”

“We’d better try to find Mother Meldrum somehow. She’ll be able to tell us how to get back home.”

“Dear old Mother Meldrum!” exclaimed Baldry. “Yes, let’s go and find her; she lives somewhere in the dark woods, which are somewhere about here. I’ve always wanted to meet that dear old lady, and now I shall!”

“Is she nice then?” asked Sylvia, rather relieved at his enthusiasm.

“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that. She’s a witch, and she’s rather noted for blighting crops and injuring folks generally and she makes a fairly good living by selling curses and nobody of any sense will go near her. But she may have her good points. Let’s go at once!”

“Look here, my dear friend,” said Gorbo, “this is all very well for you and me, but what about Sylvia and Joe? You stay here and look after them and I’ll go and see her. There’s no need for all of us to come.”

“No, Gorbo,” cried Sylvia, “we’re going where you go.”

“Of course we are,” said Joe. “Besides, it’d be rather fun to meet a real witch.”

“That’s my way of looking at it,” said Baldry. “Fun is the correct word. Come along, Joe, let’s look for the dark woods. I’ll race you to the top of that tree.”

He ran to an enormous tree a little distance away and Joe ran after him. In another minute the two disappeared among the leaves. Then cries of joy were heard from aloft.

“It’s lovely up here,” called Joe. “Swinging about like Billy O!”

“And the dark woods!” called Baldry. “Miles and miles and miles and miles of dark woods. Oh, this makes life really worth living!” (Certainly he seemed the kind that is easily pleased.) “Come down, Joe, we’ll show them the way.”

The two came scrambling down, and they all went on and on until the trees came to an end at a wide stretch of turf that sloped gently away before them. And about half a mile or so away there were other woods, stretching as far as they could see on either hand. Undoubtedly the dark woods, for nothing in the shape of woods could be darker or more dismal looking.

THE DARK WOODS

They went on and soon reached the edge of the sombre trees on the opposite side, and then the question was, of course, which way were they to go. Gorbo was of opinion that they had better go as straight as they could and keep their eyes open for anything like a witch’s house, but Baldry suggested that they should sit down comfortably and shout for Mother Meldrum at intervals and see if she would turn up. And considering the vast extent of the dark woods both proposals seem to me ridiculous.

The question was settled for them by the sudden appearance of a man who came walking out from the wood. He was dressed in a woollen jerkin and hose and instead of a hat he had a hood with a cape to it, as in the pictures of the cheaper sorts of mediæval people, and he carried in his hand a little packet done up in leaves. From the expression of his face they judged he was not a nice man. He stared at them for an instant and then spoke angrily:

“Oh, yes, a man can’t buy a little curse without a lot of busybodies following him about! I’m not going to use it on _you_, am I?”

“We hope better things of you, sweet chuck,” replied Baldry. “All we want is the way to Mother Meldrum’s place.”

“Oh, then all you have to do is to follow this little path.” The man appeared to be greatly relieved. “But she’s out of curses; I got the last one. You see there’s been rather a run on them lately.”

“We’ve only come for a couple of blessings,” said Baldry, as he took Sylvia’s hand and ran along the little path, followed by the others. They heard the man shouting that in that case they were going to the wrong shop, but they did not stop to argue the matter, and in a few minutes they found themselves deep in the shadow of tall mournful trees that shut out all but little chance glimpses of the sky. On either hand they could see patches of black swampy water, but the track was fairly plain (giving a hint that Mother Meldrum did a brisk business) and they went along at a good rate. There were no birds or cheerful little animals in this horrid place, but there were--as they soon became aware--bats.

Compared to these the bats of the twisted trees were little pets. These measured six feet or more across the wings and they had beaks of enormous size, from which issued hoarse bubbling sounds. Sylvia, who liked bats as much as she liked black-beetles, pulled her napkin cap over her eyes (she still wore this little stolen head-dress) and shuddered; but it was too late to think of turning back now however much she would have liked to. She kept close under Gorbo’s arm, and in time she began to be more used to them; after all they only flopped about and bubbled, and did not bite, which is the main thing.

At length, late in the afternoon, after a journey that was very tiring to the young ones, they came to a part where the forest seemed a little clearer and lighter and not so swampy. The track went on for another half-hour’s travel and then they saw before them a house which they knew must be Mother Meldrum’s, if only because nobody but a witch would select it for a home.

MOTHER MELDRUM’S HOUSE

There was a little shabby patch of grass in front of the house, but behind and at the sides it was closely surrounded by trees and thick bushes. It seemed to be mostly roof--an untidy roof of thatch that reached nearly to the ground in some places and twisted up into gables here and there over ugly little windows like eyes. Although it was by no means a big house it looked somehow as if it had rather a lot of little lopsided secret rooms, and it had what I may call a generally wicked appearance. One could not imagine kind silver-haired people living in it and doing good deeds to the poor. It had its effect on Sylvia, who hung back a little as they came near; and even Joe showed no anxiety to get inside.

“I think we’d better tie Tiger up in one of these napkins,” said Sylvia. “You see Sir Percival said she had black cats, and if Tiger takes to chasing them about she may get angry.”

“Yes, Sylvia,” said Gorbo. “That’s a good idea. We must keep her in a good temper.”

So the puppy was tied up carefully in a napkin, with only his nose out, and carried in Sylvia’s arms. Then Baldry--who suggested that he should be the spokesman because of his ready wit--rapped smartly at the door.

“Who knocks?” called a disagreeable voice.

“I, good mother, Baldry the King’s High Jester. And I have with me my dear old friend Gorbo and my dear little friends, Sylvia and Joe, to say nothing of their small hound. And we have come a long, long way to pay our respects to you.”

“Pull the string of the latch and come in,” said the voice.

Baldry did as he was told and they all went into a fairly large low-ceilinged room which looked like a kitchen. At the chimney-place a tall old woman was standing, stirring up a pot. She turned and looked at them, and Sylvia gave a little squawk at the sight of her face, which was indeed horrible.

“Here we are again!” cried Baldry, cutting a swift caper and then striking an attitude calculated to put anybody into a good humour.

“What do you mean by ‘again’?” asked the old woman with a scowl. “You’ve never been here before.”

“Well, good dame, it means--well, it means ‘Here we are and let’s be jolly’ or words to that effect. It’s an expression in common use among jesters,” he added lamely, for the old woman merely turned round and went on stirring the pot.

“So that’s what it means.” She tasted a spoonful of soup from the pot in a leisurely way. “I see. And does the King laugh when you say that?”

“Yes--sometimes.”

“Ah!” she said, “I’ve heard he’s not quite in his right mind.”

Now this was an unsatisfactory reception, and they all four felt very uncomfortable standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the old woman’s back turned to them as she went on stirring. The room was very dark, for there was only one small window at one end, shaded with thatch, and there was not too much light outside owing to the trees. But every now and then the fire would flicker up and give them glimpses of articles such as a witch would be likely to have about her--bundles of herbs that looked poisonous and a stuffed alligator hanging from the rafters, and so forth. Poor Sylvia need not have worried about Tiger chasing the witch’s cats, for things were the other way about. Six or seven of the biggest and blackest cats that ever lashed a tail came crawling out of corners and rubbing themselves against her so that she could hardly keep her feet, all the while purring like horrible snores, their green eyes fixed on the napkin that held the shivering Tiger.

After a couple of minutes or so the old woman turned round and seated herself on a stool and looked at them. “Are you the one who squealed just now?” she asked Sylvia.

“Ye--yes, Mrs Meldrum,” replied Sylvia faintly.

“You’d better not do it again. Now then, one of you! What do you want?”

“We only want to know how to get back across the river, please, Mum,” said Gorbo politely.

“Ah, you’re a Snerg, I see. How did you get here?”

Gorbo gave her a brief account of the result of his fatheadedness, and Mother Meldrum chuckled.

“What will you give me if I tell you?” she asked after a while.

Gorbo brought out his silver-tipped horn and laid it on the table. “If this little christening present will do, Mum----”

“What else?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t anything else really valuable, Mum. But Sylvia here has a little coral necklace----”

“Let’s see your necklace, Sylvia,” said Mother Meldrum.

Sylvia took it off and gave it to Gorbo, who handed it to the old woman. She glanced contemptuously at it and threw it on the table.

“What else?”

“That’s all we’ve got, Mum--except clothes.”

She looked at the clothes of all of them in a general way. Then she reached out her arm and fingered the material of Sylvia’s frock. Then she sniffed.

“This little lot,” she said, nodding at the horn and necklace, “will just about pay a tenth part of what I want to show you the way.”

There was an unpleasant silence for a time. Even Baldry appeared to have mislaid his blithe disposition. Though he had expressed a desire to meet the witch, now that he had the opportunity he did not seem to enjoy it. The truth is he was overwhelmed by what is known as the personality of the old lady.

“Make me laugh,” she said, suddenly turning to him.

MORE SORROW FOR BALDRY

“Er--laugh, good mother?” he replied. “Oh, yes, of course. Would you like----”

“I want to be amused,” she interrupted angrily rapping on the table. “It’s your job, isn’t it? Don’t stand there like a pump but say amusing things!”

“I’ll do my best, dame,” said Baldry, rousing himself. “Perhaps a few rib-tickling conundrums will please you. If so, tell me the difference between an unripe gooseberry----”

“Shan’t!” shouted Mother Meldrum.

“Oh--then would you like a merry song?”

“Not a bit.”

“Oh--then perhaps--perhaps a jolly tale would please you.”

“Let’s hear your jolly tale,” she said, after a moment’s consideration.

“Well, then, good dame,” said Baldry, making a special effort, “there was once an honest collector of the King’s taxes who----”

“Don’t believe it.”

“But this one _was_ honest,” pleaded Baldry.

“Then why didn’t you say he was a freak? Go on.”

“And this collector of taxes was on his way home after the day’s toil, riding on his ass, when he met three beggars, who begged of him----”

“Well, that’s what they usually do, isn’t it? What’s there funny about that?”

“Nothing very much,” replied Baldry. “But it will get better as I go on.”

“Go on, then, what are you waiting for?”

“And so, good dame, being charitable as well as honest, he gave to the first beggar a penny, to the second a piece of sausage, and to the third a small loaf of bread. But the first beggar, having had a full meal some half-hour before----”

“Excuse me for stopping you,” interrupted Mother Meldrum, “but I don’t think I care to hear any more. You say it _is_ meant to be a funny tale, don’t you?”

“It is generally so considered,” replied Baldry sulkily.

“To _me_,” said the old woman, “it’s about as funny as a bilious attack.”

To those who know from experience--as I confess I do--how painful it is to have one’s verbal efforts to be sparkling received with cold, unappreciative looks or smiles in which pity lurks behind a mere pretence at mirth, will appreciate how Baldry suffered from this really pointed rudeness. He stood looking miserably at the venomous old person, too distressed to notice that Sylvia was endeavouring to console him by patting his hand. His profession was to make laughter, to spread good humour, to (at meal times) set the table in a roar; yet he was roaming the earth, an outcast, because of the ill-success of his late jest with the King, and now he had failed again. Was he losing his power to captivate? That is what troubled him.

A CHANGE OF TONE

Mother Meldrum got up and went back to her cooking, leaving them standing, with Sylvia still knee deep in black cats.

“Look here, Mum,” said Gorbo, after an uncomfortable interval of silence, “Golithos told me you’d be kind enough to tell me----”

“Golithos?” The old woman turned round smartly. “So you saw Golithos, did you?”

“Yes, Mum, we stayed one night at his place. He said you came to see him sometimes, and he told us to wait there for you.”

“Then what made you leave him?”

“Because--well, because----” Gorbo felt that perhaps, if she was friendly to Golithos, she might not think highly of his offer to send three arrows through his head.

Mother Meldrum went to her stool and sat thinking and thinking, with her eyes wandering from Gorbo to the children. Suddenly she gave a tremendous chuckle that made them all jump. Then she jumped up briskly and patted Sylvia on the shoulder and told her to sit down.

“And sit down, all of you,” she went on. “What are you all standing for? There are stools enough. You must be hungry too, but I’ll soon have some dinner ready. I wouldn’t like you to go away saying that old Mother Meldrum didn’t feed you properly.”

Though they did not understand this very decided change of manner (who would?) it was very welcome. Gorbo put his bundle and his bow and arrows in a corner, and got a basin of water for the children to wash in. Then he washed his own piece of comb and gave it to Sylvia to put her hair in order, and when she had done this Joe had a turn at the comb. Tiger was put by Mother Meldrum’s advice in a little coarse basket and hung up on a hook in the ceiling, and there he sat moaning a little while the fierce black cats roamed to and fro and looked up at him with shining green eyes and sniffed as if he smelt good to them.

DINNER WITH A WITCH

In a little while Mother Meldrum began to slap platters on the table, and into each platter she put two large ladle-fulls of stewed hare, with potatoes, carrots, peas and onions, which had a most delicious smell, and told them to pitch in. A flask of wine--of a rather harsh flavour but not bad--was placed on the table for the grown-ups, and the children were given a little taste in water. Mother Meldrum was now quite kind and considerate: when Joe spilled a lot of his stew on the table she said it didn’t matter, that these things would happen. Baldry plucked up his spirits with the good food and drink and the agreeable change of manner, and told a couple of short tales which were well received by all present, Mother Meldrum being especially tickled.

When dinner was over the bits were given to the cats, who gnawed and growled like lions, and to Tiger, who had his ration aloft in the basket. The children offered to help by washing up, and they and Baldry were soon busy outside with a small tub of water and some kitchen cloths, putting a polish on the plates and things.

“And now let’s talk,” said Mother Meldrum to Gorbo. “You want to get back across the river. Very well, I’ll settle it for you. What’s more I’ll only charge you that horn and that measly little necklace for doing it.”

“Oh, thank you, Mum!” cried Gorbo gratefully.

“I always like to help when I can. But before I can do it you’ll have to give me a hand. I’m clean out of mandrakes, and I’ll need six or eight to work the spell, so you’ll have to go and get me some to-night, because you can only get them when the moon’s shining. The place is about a couple of miles from here.”

“I’ll bring you back a barrow load of them,” said Gorbo, who did not know what they were. “Just show me the place and----”

“Not so fast,” said the old woman snappishly. “Mandrakes don’t grow like bluebells. You’ll likely have to spend all the night looking for them. You see they’re little roots shaped like persons, but there’s the true mandrake and the spurious mandrake. There’s about ten thousand of the real ones to one of the others.”

“Oh! Then how do I tell the difference, Mum?” asked Gorbo.

“When you pull them up. The real ones squeak.”

“Oh!” Gorbo did not relish the idea of a night alone in the moonlight in these distressful woods, pulling up things that squeaked. But there was no way out of it. “Very well, Mum,” he said. “And what shall I do with Sylvia and Joe?”

“They can stay here with me. The funny man can stay too and look after them. Your job is to come back in the morning with at least six nice lively mandrakes. It’s rather a swampy place where they grow, but you won’t mind that. If any things come and look at you don’t be worried, but don’t speak if you can help it because it’s best not to.”

“What sort of things?” asked Gorbo.

“Well, mostly things rather like people, only with big ears and slobbering mouths. Oh, and take a stick with you on account of the bats. As a rule they’re harmless, but they’ve been known to bite when you’re not looking--stooping and so forth. As it’s getting on to night you’d better get ready to go now, so here’s a basket. I’ll go with you and show you the place.”

Gorbo shivered and took the basket, but he did not look enthusiastic.

“None of your sulky looks!” cried the old woman with sudden fury. “Just put on those airs and I won’t do a thing for you!”

“I didn’t mean to be sulky, Mum,” said Gorbo. “I’ll go at once. You’ll--you’ll look after the little ones, won’t you?” The poor chap felt very doubtful about leaving them for the night; Baldry and he had sworn a friendship, but he did not have much belief in his power to protect them. But there really seemed no way out of it.

“That’s better,” said Mother Meldrum. “Yes, I’ll look after them very nicely. You come with me and I’ll show you where they are to sleep; then you’ll feel easy in your mind.”

THE SPARE BEDROOM

She called the others and then took a candle and went to a door in the darkest corner of the kitchen, which led to a flight of narrow stairs, and then to a dark passage above. There were two or three little closed doors on either side of the passage, but there were no windows anywhere and they had to be careful how they walked, for the floor was very uneven and at one place there were two steps up and at another three steps down. At the end it turned round a corner, and there was another door which led to another narrow flight of stairs and up to a big room, full of what seemed to be bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters, and with only one tiny window high up near the roof. She went quickly over to a door at one end of the room and slammed and locked it, as if there was something inside that she didn’t want to come out, then she took them to another door at the other end and told them to come in.

They found themselves in a little room, dark like every other part of this horrible house, as it had only a small window half hidden by creepers and thatch. There was absolutely no furniture in it but a four-post bedstead, and a little pair of steps to use when going to bed, so high was it from the floor. From the window they could see only the gloomy tree-tops fading away in the dusk that was coming on, and a glimpse of the moon peeping out from a stormy cloud.

Sylvia stood with Tiger in one arm and held tightly to Gorbo. Baldry was doubtfully swinging his bladder stick which with the exception of his clothes was his only possession. Nobody looked cheerful except old Mother Meldrum, who was quite brisk.

“Now you dear little things can go to bed at once,” she said. “There’s enough moonlight for you to see by. This funny man can have a bed in the kitchen and the Snerg will come with me for a little walk.”

“Are you going to leave us alone, Gorbo?” asked Sylvia in a whisper.

“Yes, Sylvia,” he replied, putting his arms round her, “but I’ll be back early in the morning. You see I’ve got to go and help Mother Meldrum get some things she wants to help us get across the river and back home, so you do as she says and go to sleep.”

“Oh, come along with you!” cried Mother Meldrum impatiently. “I can’t stay here all night. Tumble into bed, both of you!”

It really seemed that there was nothing else to do. Sylvia took off her slinkers and then looked round to see if there was anything in the shape of a nightie; but there wasn’t, and the old woman let out such a snarl at the delay that both children bolted into bed, all standing, as sailors say. Gorbo tucked them up with a patchwork quilt and kissed them both very sorrowfully and put the puppy at the foot of the bed; then he went out after the others.

“There’s _your_ bed,” said Mother Meldrum to Baldry, pointing to a large box with straw in it in the corner of the kitchen. “Curl up and go to sleep. Dream of some funny things for to-morrow.”

“It’s full of cats,” said Baldry discontentedly, as he looked into the box.

“Heave them out then, you helpless loon!” shouted Mother Meldrum.

Baldry sighed deeply and began removing cats. They all growled and spat at him, and one bit him finely in the fleshy part of the thumb. Gorbo whispered to him to keep a good look out for the children, and then picked up his bow and basket and so forth and went out after the old woman.

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT

Strange to say, the children dropped off to sleep almost at once. They were tired with the long walk and the bed was fairly comfortable, and Joe, who, as I have said, was always the true optimist, had comforted Sylvia by cheering remarks about everything coming out all right even if it was a beast of a house.

Joe woke out of a sound sleep with a start. It seemed to him that he had heard a loud crack somewhere. He sat up and looked about him, wondering where he was. Then he remembered the shape of the little window, through which the moonlight was now streaming brightly, just touching Sylvia’s curls as she slept peacefully beside him with the puppy curled up in a ball behind her neck. He lay down again, and was just dropping off again into a delicious sleep when he heard another crack, and this time he was out of bed with a jump, for there was a dark shadow at the window and the lattice was wide open.

“Joe!” called a whisper, “it’s me, poor old Baldry. Don’t make a sound.”

“What’s wrong,” whispered Joe, creeping to the window.

“Everything. Wake up Sylvia and tell her to come quietly.” Baldry was climbing carefully through the window. “We’ve got to get away quickly.”

Joe was a sensible boy (in some ways) and he wasted no time in questions but shook Sylvia carefully and then put his hand over her mouth and whispered to her not to speak. She rubbed her eyes and stared at Baldry. Then she became fully awake.

“Yes, Joe,” she said, not trembling very much, “I’ll be a sport.” She jumped out of bed and put on her slinkers (there were the elements of greatness as well of flirtatiousness in that child). Baldry put his arms about them so that he could whisper what he had to say.

“There’s a man that’s come in with Mother Meldrum--a giant--and they’re down below talking. And I’m pretty sure it’s Golithos.”

“Oo--er!” said Joe with a jump.

“Yes, it’s a great big man with lots of hair and whiskers and a great silly face, just as you told me. They came in through a back door somewhere, so that they wouldn’t wake me I suppose, and they sat talking and talking in a back room. So I crept up and looked through a little chink and I saw him quite plain, Joe. Horrid sight. And she got furious with him and called him a cowardly lubber and said if he didn’t do it he shouldn’t have a single bite at them.”

“What did she mean?” asked Joe.

“Well, I don’t know what she wanted _him_ to do. But about the biting, Joe, I think she meant you and Sylvia.”

“Let’s scoot!” said Joe.

In a minute or two they had the sheets torn into long strips and knotted together, and Sylvia was tied with this handy rope under the arms and lowered gently out of the window, holding Tiger tightly to her. Joe in the meantime was going down by way of a big creeper that grew against the wall, and by which Baldry had climbed up to them. As soon as he was on the ground Baldry’s red and yellow legs shot out of the window, and in another minute he was down beside them.

“Come along,” he said, grabbing a hand of each one, and running with them into the trees, “there’s enough moonlight to find the path, I think. But in any case we’ve got to get somewhere else quick.”

“But what about Gorbo?” asked Joe, stopping suddenly. “What’ll he say when he finds we’re gone?”

“Yes, we can’t leave Gorbo behind,” cried Sylvia. “Oh, what are we to do?”

“We’ve _got_ to go,” said Baldry. “Golithos has come after you, that’s plain. And I’m afraid I’m not much use in a fight; I’ve only got my little bladder stick. But Gorbo’s a hard little man with lots of fight in him, and he’s got his bow and arrows. He’ll be able to look after himself all right, and when he finds we’re gone he’ll chase after us, you can be sure of that. We’ll go on and hide just outside these beastly woods and wait for him to come.”

This seemed reasonable enough, and they started off again at a run. But though the moonlight was bright enough when it shone on the path there were long stretches where it was quite dark, and Baldry had often to walk ahead of the children and feel the way. They moved on slowly, sometimes running a bit but more often crawling along, always with the thought that they might at any moment hear that dreadful couple coming after them and shouting to them to stop; and it shows what a plucky girl Sylvia was that she could keep up without a murmur, even though her little heart was heavy with fear.

At last they found the moonlight giving place to the grey light of dawn, and they were filled with joy and thankfulness, for things that are terrible in the night seem almost harmless when the day comes. And, feeble though the light was yet, it enabled them to pick the path much more easily: however bright the moon shines it casts black shadows, but the light of day gets behind things.

“Do you think they will come after us?” asked Joe. With the little bit of light and the extra speed they were making he felt that the subject was at least bearable.

“No,” replied Baldry, “not yet awhile I think. Old Mother Meldrum’s too busy jawing and Golithos is too busy eating.”

“What is he eating?” asked Joe, struck with a sudden idea. “Salad?”

“No, Joe, he’d got a lot of big beef bones in his bag and he was biting hard at them while he listened to that old beast.”

“Oh, he’s killed that nice cow!” cried Sylvia. And though she had borne all the terrors so bravely she burst out crying at the fate of the patient animal that had been so friendly to them and given them milk in their sore need.

THE GREEN RIDE

When at last they came to the end of the dark woods the sun was over the tree-tops and everything looked delightfully bright and cheering. They raced across the wide stretch of turf that separated them from the nice friendly-looking forest on the other side, and they were soon resting in a warm spot just at the outskirts of some spreading oaks, far from the horrible house and the haunted woods.

Baldry said it was best to stay exactly where they were and keep a good look out for Gorbo, who would certainly chase after them as soon as he came back and found they were gone. Of course if Golithos or the old hag came out first it would be necessary to hide closer, and he looked round and found a nice place, deep in a thicket of bracken, where fifty people could be safely hidden, and to which they could do a bolt at a moment’s notice.

But now that they had their minds at rest to some degree, the conversation turned on things to eat and drink; there is nothing like exercise and fright to give one an appetite. Sylvia said how nice it would be to have a hot cup of tea with plenty of milk, and Baldry, who belonged to mediæval times and therefore did not know of tea, asked if it was anything like hot spiced ale. This led the talk to hot ham, to eggs cooked in various ways, and buttered toast. And the result was they got ravenous.

Baldry was knitting his brow over the question of how to get breakfast when suddenly they heard clanging sounds and the clump of horses’ feet. And looking about them they saw a cavalcade of some ten or twelve men-at-arms, coming along the green ride with much pomp and glittering of steel and high stepping of fine horses. Baldry stared earnestly at them and then he gave a satisfied chortle.

“These blokes,” he said (blokes is not the word he used of course, but it is the nearest I can get to it in translation), “are the same ones who rode up to the castle yesterday and frightened dear Percy away. But they didn’t see us, because we got away so quickly, so I think we had better see if they can spare us a trifle. Men-at-arms generally have some bits of food about their persons--cold fried fish and sausage and the like--and they’re generally good-natured on a fine morning. And if they give us some little pieces of money instead we can buy some breakfast somewhere--if there’s a house anywhere in these wild parts.”

“All right,” said Joe, starting up. “Come along, Sylvia.”

“No, wait a bit,” said Baldry, “this wants thinking out. To make this thing a success we have to appeal to them in some quaint way. I’ve got it! You go first, Joe, turning somersaults; that will make them stop and wonder. Then you go next, Sylvia, and drop a nice little curtsey and smile at them; that will put them in a good humour. Then I’ll come along walking on my hands, and that will make it a sure thing and they should unbelt at once. First of all let’s make ourselves look nice.”

The children were highly interested and Sylvia asked him if he had a comb. But he had not, so she fluffed out her curls with her fingers and then knelt over a little forest pool close by to make sure that she looked rather fetching. (She was her mother’s daughter all right enough.) Joe tucked his shirt in neatly and tightened his belt, and Baldry practised an expression of attractive mirth.

The horsemen approached at an easy walk and they could see the face of the leader, an able-looking person whose well-fitting and polished mail and golden spurs proclaimed him a knight in a prosperous line of business. He rode with his visor raised, talking to one whose plain steel spurs and armour devoid of fancy trimmings showed that he was as yet but a squire. In the still morning air their voices came clearly to the little waiting group.

“In sooth, good Baldwin,” he was saying, “there is now little chance of honourable adventure in the land. But yester morn I had hope of running a course with the scurril Sir Percival, who has dared to raise his lobster eyes to my mistress and to brag forsooth that she has sent him forth seeking advancement to grace her name. But the pestilent knave fled and my hope was dashed to the ground--which is a pity, because that’s what I meant to do to him.”

“Good, my lord,” said the squire, “’tis likely that the Lady Gwendoline did but tell him to chase himself. So at least went the gossip at the buttery hatch.”

“My lady has a pretty wit, and perchance she put her answer in such wise that the moth-eaten rascal has construed it to his own undoing--or at least to his grievous waste of time. But what mummery have we here, good Baldwin?”

It was Joe, turning brisk somersaults, and the leader halted his horse and stared down at him. Joe sprang at him and clasped his mailed leg with his arms, as Baldry had told him to, and loudly asked for charity.

“Unhand my left leg, thou wanton!” cried the leader. “Who told you to behave like this?--But whom else have we here?”

This was Sylvia, who came tripping up and dropped a dainty curtsey, smiling very prettily at him.

“By my hilt, a right winsome little lass! Is she not, Baldwin?”

“Ay, my lord, she has hair like ripe corn and merry blue eyes, and her cheeks are like rose leaves in the morn. A pretty maid--and a saucy, I warrant me.”

“You silly thing!” said Sylvia, pretending to be coy; “I don’t believe you.” (This sort of behaviour came quite naturally to her.)

“Nay, little lass,” said the leader, smiling good-humouredly, “for the sake of your pretty looks I have here a silver groat”--he pulled off his mailed glove and fished about in a little steel pocket in his _cuisses_, or thigh armour--a quaint little pocket that shut with a spring. “I _know_ I had a groat somewhere--Ah, here we have it!” He bent down and placed the coin in Sylvia’s little palm and patted her cheek. “And if you are hungered my good squire has half a fat capon which he borrowed--But whom _else_ have we here?”

Whom else they had was of course Baldry, who came along, walking upside-down and singing “When woods are green and foules sing,” a truly difficult feat before breakfast you will say. When opposite the knight he sprang right side up and cut a dexterous caper--and then stared in horror.

“Scurril rogue!” roared the knight, catching him by the collar with a grip of iron. “At last we have thee who dared to put so scandalous a jest upon His Majesty! Ho, there, seize me this knave and loose him not till he be safe in the royal dungeon.”

CAPTIVES

Words cannot describe the dismay and mental confusion of Joe and Sylvia at this unhappy change of fortune, or I should certainly try for it. Their pleadings that Baldry be allowed to remain with them met with no satisfactory response from the leader, and when they exclaimed against his conduct in taking away their companion and protector and leaving them alone in the forest, he merely stated that all this talk was unnecessary for they were coming along too. I will pass briefly over their indignation at this new tyranny; of how Joe in the first flush of his wrath called the knight “Blighter!” or how Sylvia stroked his mail-clad hand and implored him not to be a beast. Suffice it to say that all was of no avail and that they were lifted up and placed each in front of a stalwart man-at-arms, while Baldry was ordered to mount a spare horse they had with them.

Strange to say, now that Baldry was captured and there was no way out of it, he took the matter with more philosophy than might be expected. He climbed up on the horse as he was told, loudly calling all to witness that he was doing so under protest, and seated himself facing the tail; and when the squire, Baldwin, sternly reproved him for his folly he apologized in such ironical terms that the men-at-arms were forced to turn away their heads to hide a smile. Encouraged by this he broke loudly into song, but here the knight took a hand in the matter and ordered them to tie his mouth up with a kerchief. Then he placed himself at the head of his men, gave an order, and the troop turned round and went back over the green ride.

Truly a bitter result of the children’s folly and disobedience to find themselves borne far from their faithful friend Gorbo, to become the captives of a king of ruthless fame.

And as the troop rode on, two and two, old Mother Meldrum was standing, out of breath, at the edge of the dark wood, glaring at them from under her hand and muttering deep curses.

_Part III_

THE DOINGS AT HOME

It will be well at this point of the narrative to return to the land of the Snergs and consider the doings of King Merse II and his friend Vanderdecken.

During their conference they had come to the decision that the children and Gorbo must have got by some strange chance to the other side of the river and were wandering about in the unknown country beyond, where not even a Snerg had penetrated, or, for the matter of that, ever wished to penetrate. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to devise some means of following them there in force and rescuing them; though from what dangers they were to be rescued no man could say.

Vanderdecken had considered carefully and asked whether, as the river must reach the sea at some point, they could go along the coast and cross it at its mouth. But King Merse told him that not only was it very far to where the river came to the sea, but the country between was all chasms and inaccessible cliffs, or else wild, matted jungle coming down to the shore (which was full of quicksands) and that it would take a week’s hard travel to get half-way there--that is to say, to the part where it began to be really difficult--which put the lid on that suggestion.

Then Vanderdecken asked if there was any narrow part of the river, and he was told there was one point, some league or so from the town, where the cliffs were not so very wide apart. But to make up for that they were very high, and more than steep because they leaned over the river, which rushed fiercely below almost in darkness, so far down was it. Short of flying over, said the King, there was no way to pass there.

But Vanderdecken asked him to step out on the ground what he thought would be about the distance across, and when this was done he nodded in a satisfied way. Then he asked if there were trees on the farther side, and being told there were many trees on both sides, growing close to the edge of the cliffs he said, “This will be like drinking Schnapps,” and (his own words reminding him) took the King in to have some. After a little more conference, he arranged to meet him at the town on the following morning as I have already related.

THE INGENUITY OF VANDERDECKEN

In addition to their weapons and personal belongings the Dutchmen had taken some ship’s gear with them. It consisted of the following:

1 long stout rope (spare topsail halyard).
1 coil of thin rope.
1 small anchor (belonging to the longboat).
1 stout iron bar (spare handle of deck pump).
1 strong net of rope (used for hoisting out of the hold).
2 saws.
3 axes.
4 adzes.
1 two-inch auger.
1 big hammer.
1 bag of nails and other small matters.

On arriving at the narrow part of the river, Vanderdecken walked to and fro with his mate, looking at all points. At length he stopped and said, “This is where we get busy.”

The opposite cliff was not very far away (possibly about two hundred feet) and there were many trees about, growing close to the edge, as the King had said. Far below could be seen flashes of white where the torrent broke into foam as it roared on in the gloom.

A tall young tree, of a springy character, was cut down and the branches were lopped off. Two sides were then cut away until it looked something like a very long thick plank; the Snergs working at it with great fury, so that the air was full of chips. Then they....

No, on second thoughts I consider it inadvisable to give a detailed description of the device which Vanderdecken made. It would be to turn from a narrative of adventure (with a moral) to a cheap treatise on mechanics. Let it suffice to say that with great labour of all hands he made a fairly good imitation of a Roman _balista_, which was so useful in inducing besieged peoples to be reasonable by heaving tons of rock at them. This shows the advantage of a classical education.

Instead of rock he was going to heave the anchor, with the rope attached to it and neatly coiled up, to the other side of the river. The other end of the rope was tied to a tree, and all that had to be done was to cut another rope that acted as the trigger of this deadly arrangement.

HOW THEY PASSED OVER THE RIVER

Vanderdecken carefully inspected the completed arrangements and, after warning some enthusiastic Snergs to stand a little further off, drew his cutlass. One dexterous slash and the rope parted, there was a terrific jarr that shook some of the lighter Snergs off their feet, and the anchor flew across the river like an ungainly bird, the rope uncoiling in the air behind it, and crashed into the trees on the opposite side. The Snergs raised a joyful cheer, but the Dutchmen, being phlegmatic, did not. Instead, they grabbed the rope and hauled it in. A dozen pairs of extra hands had it in a moment, and hauled with a will to the tune of “Fifteen men.” The rope grew taut--then slipped. They hauled away, and it caught again--slipped once more, and caught again. And this time it had caught firmly, for all hands were pulling and the rope was as taut as a rod. It was belayed smartly round a tree and lashed securely, and a moment later a Snerg was hanging on to it and going across with swift jerks.

He disappeared in the foliage (the first Snerg to arrive on the other side; he got a decoration for it). A minute later he came running to the edge of the cliff and shouted that all was well; the anchor had caught firmly, with each fluke round a small but sufficient tree trunk. The job was done. Here was a road to the unknown land quite good enough for seamen, and more than good enough for Snergs, who can climb like startled cats.

Vanderdecken expressed his satisfaction at the successful result, for if the anchor trick had proved a failure it would have been necessary to pad a Snerg up with lots of straw and shoot him across with a line attached so that he could haul the rope over after arrival. There was a great deal of resource and determination about this sea captain.

It was waxing late, for the construction of the device had taken the greater part of the day, and there was no time to be lost if they were all to get over before night. The rope was only as thick as a fair-sized broom handle so it was decided that they would have to pass over at long distances apart in order not to put too great a strain on it, but they were told to move in lively fashion. Vanderdecken and the King went first, and then the others--thirty-three Dutch seamen and two hundred and one Snergs (the odd one was the trumpeter)--each carrying his weapons and kit securely lashed to him because the position of travel was of course upside-down, and it was quite dark before the last one got over. Camp fires were soon burning brightly and each man prepared his bed, of chopped-up ferns. Sentries were posted in an orderly way, steel casques and breastplates being compulsory. Then, after a hasty supper, they turned in for the night.

BOOT AND SADDLE

This heading is not quite correct because, though they had boots they had no saddles, but it means that they were off. The trumpet blew a full hour before daybreak, and by the time the dawn came they had had some breakfast and were all ready. King Merse, who had something of Napoleon’s ability, left full directions with a crowd of fifty Snergs who had remained for the night on the Snerg side of the river. They were to divide into two lots, one for each side, and the lot on the enemy side was to dig a deep semicircular trench and make a high semicircular wall to defend the point where the rope was anchored. The lots were to change places every third day. And until they saw the Expeditionary Force returning they were to send a daily messenger to the town to say that all was well--meaning that nothing had happened so far--and this message was to be forwarded on to Miss Watkyns by a special runner. It is indeed terrible to think that all this fuss should be caused by the folly and disobedience of two shrimps like Sylvia and Joe.

The force started off in the direction of some rising ground, from which they would be able to reconnoitre the country. Four agile Snergs went some quarter of a mile ahead, and behind came the main body, in fours, led by Vanderdecken and the King. The former wore wide boots with tops like buckets and a sea-cap of fur, and carried a long deadly-looking musket. The latter wore an inlaid cuirass and steel casque and a sword of proof. In his hand he swung a double-edged battle-axe and altogether he looked very serviceable for his size. The Snergs that remained behind watched them marching away into the unknown land, until the trees hid them from view and they could be seen no more, and even the clumping of the Dutchmen’s sea-boots died away.

THE FIRST DAY’S MARCH

It was late in the afternoon when the Expeditionary Force halted on a hill and surveyed with interest a little distant cluster of towers. It was the first sign of habitation they had met with in a long, hard march.