Читать книгу Knock Three Times! - Marion St. John Webb - Страница 5

“LONG ago,” began Old Nancy, gazing dreamily into the fire, “a great King ruled over this country who had an only daughter to whom he was passionately attached. She was a sweet, frail little creature—very delicate. In spite of all the care and attention bestowed upon her, she grew no stronger; indeed, as time passed, she seemed to grow weaker and weaker, until at length it became obvious to all that the Princess was dying. The King was in despair. All that love, money, doctors, and nurses could do for her was done—but all in vain.

“Then, one evening, someone found a shabby old book at the back of a shelf in the Royal Library. To whom it belonged and how it got there no one seemed to know, but anyway, the book proved of priceless value as it contained a remarkable recipe for curing just such an illness as the Princess was suffering from. I need not tell you all about this recipe now: it is sufficient that one of the most important items was—pumpkin juice. Needless to say, the King seized eagerly at any chance to save his daughter’s life, and so all the pumpkins available were quickly purchased and the recipe made up, and a dose of this new cure was given to the Princess. From the very first dose there was a marked change for the better, and with perseverance this new remedy gradually worked wonders in the Princess; she grew stronger and stronger and was soon on the road to a complete recovery.

“And then–

“But first you must know that in order to have plenty of pumpkins on hand to complete the cure, the delighted King had a special garden made in which to grow nothing but pumpkins; and he employed a special staff of gardeners to look after this garden. And every day he would go to the garden himself to see how the pumpkins were getting on. One night, a fearful storm swept over the country; and while the thunder growled and the lightning flashed and the wind and rain struggled for mastery—some strange things were taking place down in the pumpkin garden. For when morning broke—there was not a single pumpkin left in the garden: nor in the whole of the country, apparently. But it was not the storm that had destroyed them all. Under cover of the black night and the storm somebody had come and had deliberately cut off the pumpkins, and destroyed them.

“Now this somebody—although he was not discovered for days afterward—was an evil little dwarf man, who imagined that he owed the King a grudge—and sought to punish him this way.

“Nor was this all. When the Princess’s nurse went to fetch her medicine—there was none left. All the bottles were smashed to pieces and the precious liquid was spilled all over the floor.

“The King was terribly upset, and sent messengers far and wide, post haste, to try to get some more pumpkins. But they could not get any. And from that time, as each hour passed, the Princess began to decline again. She got steadily worse, and weaker and weaker as days went by. You can imagine what grief it must have been to her father to see her losing her newly-gained health, to see her cheeks growing pale and thin again—to see her gradually fading away. He made every attempt possible to get hold of a pumpkin—but it seemed as if all the pumpkins in the land had suddenly vanished.

“At length the Princess lay at death’s door; the doctors gravely shook their heads at each other; while the King paced ceaselessly up and down the corridor outside her room. He was waiting thus, torn with anxiety and suspense, when a messenger arrived at the palace with a note for the King, which contained the news that a pumpkin had been found! The owner of the pumpkin would give it up to no one but the King himself (the note continued). Would his Majesty kindly walk down into a certain part of the City, and go to a certain house (the address was given), where he would be met by someone who would place the pumpkin in the Kings hands. The King, wondering why the person who had the pumpkin did not hasten with it to the palace, nevertheless did not wait to question, but went at once to the house down in the City.

“It was a quaint, stubby little house; and inside he found a little dwarf man. (The King did not know at the time that this was the person who had destroyed the pumpkin garden on the night of the storm.) Anyway, the dwarf began immediately to pour out some of the grievances that he imagined he had against the King. And then he discovered that the King was not to blame at all. There was some sort of muddle and misunderstanding, and one of the grievances the King had never even heard about. When the dwarf realized that he had endangered the Princess’s life for no reason, that it had all been a mistake, and that he had no cause at all for the spiteful and wicked thing he had done, he got unreasonably angry (as people often do when they have wronged someone who hasn’t deserved it). And so the dwarf fell to blaming and cursing the King, and finally tried to make a bargain with him concerning the pumpkin, which he had hidden, he said, refusing to disclose its hiding-place until his demands were granted. The King, whose sole idea was to get the pumpkin as quickly as possible, first pleaded, then commanded the dwarf to fetch the pumpkin immediately: he was willing to give any price for his daughter’s sake. But still the dwarf haggled and delayed, until the King lost all patience and a fierce quarrel ensued. In the midst of their quarrel there came the clattering of horses’ hoofs on the cobbled road without, and then someone rapped at the door of the dwarfs house. The angry voices within ceased, and in the silence that followed a bell could be heard tolling. And the King learnt that his daughter was dead.

“He returned to the palace, telling the messengers to arrest the dwarf, and place him in the palace dungeon. ‘For I shall hold you responsible for my daughter’s death,’ said the King.

“Afterward, when the whole story of the dwarf’s treachery became public, it was discovered that he had not been alone on the night of the storm: others had helped him to destroy the pumpkins: it would have been impossible for him to make such a clean sweep of all the pumpkins in the countryside by himself. It had been a carefully organized plan, of which the dwarf was the ringleader and originator. But none of the others were half so blameworthy as the dwarf; they obeyed his orders without knowing his motives, and did not realize the mischief they were doing was so serious. One or two of them were arrested and received light punishments; some the authorities could not find. But the gravest offender was the dwarf, of course, and for him was reserved the heaviest punishment.

“And this was his punishment. The pumpkin that was found hidden in his garden, the last remaining pumpkin in the country, was brought to the palace, and with the help of a little magic the dwarf was shut up inside the pumpkin—where he remains to this day.

“They say that when the dwarf found what his fate was to be, he got very enraged and vowed that if this punishment was carried out, he would make the King and his people rue it, and suffer for it for ever and ever.

“His threat was laughed at, and the punishment duly carried out. About that time a weird old magician happened to pass through the country, and his aid was secured to help with the punishment. He made a spell, and the big yellow pumpkin slowly opened—like a yawn—of its own accord. The little dwarf was lifted, struggling and screaming, and placed in the centre; the magician waved his hands and the pumpkin closed to again. The magician waved his hands again, and a curious grey shade crept over the pumpkin; and it is this grey shade that keeps the dwarf imprisoned. He might force his way out—perhaps even eat his way out, who knows—if the pumpkin were still yellow. The grey is part of the magic.

“Well, the King then called a council of Wise Men together, to consider what should be done with the Grey Pumpkin. Some were for keeping it in a museum (and charging a fee of 6d. for visitors to go and look at it); while others advised burying it away in the deepest dungeon of the City, just in case the dwarf ever got out of the Pumpkin; while a third section of the Council, deriding the two former suggestions, urged that the Grey Pumpkin be flung into a ditch beside the High Road, outside the City Gates. The spokesman for this last section was a brilliant, reckless young man, an eloquent speaker; he laughed at the caution which prompted the first two parties to suggest a museum or a dungeon, and looked upon the latter as a grave reflection on the Magician who had so kindly come to their aid. Did they not trust in the spell which kept the Pumpkin tightly closed? he asked the Council. And besides, what person, dwarf, man, woman, or child, would be alive after being shut up in a Pumpkin for twenty-four hours? No, let them show their scorn for the thing by flinging it away, outside the walls of their City.

“Much more than this did the young man say, and in the end he gained his way. The Grey Pumpkin was carried to the gates of the City, escorted by a solemn procession, and thrown into a ditch outside the walls, amid much hissing and booing from the populace. The young Councillor who had suggested all this got carried away by the excitement of the moment, and he dashed forward and gave the Grey Pumpkin that was lying quietly at the bottom of the ditch a good hearty kick: this act was greeted with cheers and shouts of approval from the crowd, until they saw that the Pumpkin, which had been sent spinning, had landed on the High Road, a dozen yards away, and was slowly rolling down the hill. The crowd fell silent, and watched. On, on the Grey Pumpkin rolled, down the hill from the City, past my cottage door—I remember—on, on, until it disappeared at length into a dark forest right down at the bottom of the High Road.

“And after that, all our troubles began. The dwarf kept his vow, and made us suffer. Somewhere, down in that dark forest, he got hold of some black magic—no one knows how, or who helped him. All we know is that since that time he has become possessed of certain magic powers, and that one misfortune after another has overtaken our country—all caused by the Pumpkin. Wherever he goes he makes misery and mischief: I cannot tell you all the horrible things he has done, he and his little band of followers—those faithful few who helped him in the beginning to destroy the pumpkins, you remember. They went right over to his side after they were punished, and he seemed to gain some evil influence over them. There are not many of them, but they are in all parts of the country, ready to help him when he needs them. And with his knowledge of magic he could so disguise them that we could not recognize them. But they are powerless without him, and when after suffering him for a long time (because we could not find a way to escape him) we finally discovered a way of banishing the Grey Pumpkin out of our World into your World where he could do no harm, his followers became practically harmless, until to-day.

“That is the story of how the Grey Pumpkin came to be what he is. The King, whom he hated, has been dead many years and another King reigns in his stead. And the young Councillor, the eloquent young Councillor who advised the people so unwisely, was banished from Court; he has grown old and timid and querulous, and is a disappointed man whose career was blighted at the outset through the Pumpkin. You have seen this once reckless, dashing young man; you met him just now in the wood. He is Glan’s father.”