'Yep.'
'At the school are worktables, books with lots of pictures, playgrounds, games, and many things to do that are fun. Children who are the same age as you will be there too. A grown-up will be in the room with you and the other children to teach and help you to understand all the new things you will do and see.'
Leah was having a problem being a listener.
'I think Leah either wants to say something or ask a question.' Daddy grinned. 'Shall we give her the floor for a moment?'
'Very well,' Mother said.
The questions tumbled out of Leah. 'When will I start? What will I learn about? What's the teacher's name? Will I get new clothes for school? What about….?'
'Wait a minute. Wait a minute.' Daddy laughed. 'Let's take them one at a time. We can answer a few of your questions, and the teacher of your class will answer others.'
Mother turned Leah to face her.
'You start school in three days,' she said. 'They know you are coming, just as they know of the others who will be with you. What you learn will depend on your teachers and on you.'
Suddenly Leah's face drooped.
'What about Sarah?' Her face clouded, and her voice changed to a whisper.
Mother and Daddy glanced at each other. Daddy picked Leah up, placed her on his lap so that they faced each other. Their eyes met.
'Tell me, Leah,' Daddy said as he drew her close and gave her a full all- round hug, 'When we have a change in our lives in which you will be at school every day, where do you think Sarah will be while you are gone?'
'Sarah will always be my friend,' Leah's voice was a whisper as she leaned her head on her Daddy's chest. 'She'll be with me always, wherever I go. Maybe we won't go flying as often as we did before, but I'll always feel her close to me.' Leah raised her head, grinned, and added with a laugh, 'and that will always make me feel good.'
Leah and her Mother and Daddy sat on the couch, talking about the changes that would come with school. There would be a new time to get up in the morning, dressing to go out, packing a school lunch and having a comb and brush kit, and things like that.
Leah listened, and voiced opinions which Mommy and Daddy considered very carefully. The meeting was a sharing.
After a while, Daddy and Leah went to the dining room table and Mother brought cookies and milk. They sat around the table, munched the cookies, sipped the milk, and talked some more.
Leah yawned.
Daddy rose, came around the table where Leah sat, and picked her up.Mother kissed Leah's cheek as her head rested on Daddy's arm.
Daddy carried Leah down the long hallway, passed David's room, and opened the door into her softly lit bedroom. Daddy lowered drowsy Leah to her bed, tucked her in, and kissed her good night.
Realizing that Grandpa does well with stories, Grandchild wants to share in the process. One way for Grandpa to get the youngster involved is to have him or her suggest settings and names for characters.
Often, negotiations for story and character development, in themselves, become family stories and anecdotes; e.g., how a story came to be, and why and how it developed in this or that fashion. Injecting such background as introduction to a series gives a sense of involvement to the immediate and extended family, and to future generations that might come across a copy in an old trunk or tucked away in an obscure corner.
As the grandpa-grandchild discussions move along, and characters, settings and scenes take on substance, Grandpa or Grandma, whichever is the storyteller, may be transformed into a character in the story. I found a way to handle this, and remain inconspicuous, is to assume the role in the story as listener or recorder of adventures narrated by the leading characters.
In this series, Grandpa and Grandchild set the stage for the storytelling. That being done, Grandpa steps back and takes on the role of listener, rarely injecting himself into the narration. Throughout, Grandchild is aware that Grandpa in close by.
Put Palm Trees in Your Stories
'Grandpa, where are you, Grandpa.'
The call reached me from down the long hallway. The sounds of scuffling slippers grew louder and, a moment later, Granddaughter's curly head peeked around the edge of the kitchen doorway.
'What are you doing, Grandpa?' she asked.
'Coffee,' I replied, peering in her direction over the rim of my glasses.'Mornin' coffee.'
'Oh,' she said, standing in the doorway.
Her eyes focused on the scene beyond the kitchen window. The broad fronds of palm trees close by outside waved about furiously in the brisk November wind. There are no palm trees in the city where Granddaughter lives, and having arrived late the previous evening she had not seen the ones near our home.
Granddaughter stared. Dashing past me to the window, she placed her hands on the sill, and jumped to see out.
'When you visit us next year,' I said, 'you will be taller, and see over the sill without jumping.'
'I want to see now,' she demanded, reaching up. 'Pick me up, Grandpa.'
With Granddaughter seated on my forearm and her arms wrapped around my neck, we stared through the window. The palm nearest the window bent before a gust and straightened. The fronds of two palms across the driveway thrashed atop long, graceful trunks that leaned, straightened, and yielded again to the boisterous wind.
'Grandpa,' Granddaughter said, turning to look at me, 'tell me a story that has palm trees in it.'
Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she reached up to stroke my liberal expanse of bare dome. She knew I couldn't resist that gesture.
'We've got a busy morning ahead of us, young lady,' I said. 'Here's whatI'll do. I'll write a letter to you with a story in it about palm trees. ThenMother or Dad will read it to you and Grandson. OK?'
Granddaughter stared at the three palm trees and their gyrating tops.
'I want more than one story,' she smiled as her hand patted and stroked.
'Hm,' I grandpa-growled, 'you're a hard bargainer, my dear.'
'Gampa, Gampa,' an impatient shout burst down the hallway.
Pajama-clad Grandson tore into the dining room like a tornado and climbed chairs. Too small to notice what was happening outside, he pounded a seat with tiny fists. His mind was on something far more important.
'French Toast, French Toast,' he demanded. 'I want French Toast.Now!'
Granddaughter twisted from my arms, further talk about stories replaced by this much higher priority.
'Me, too!' she shouted, joining the pounding.
Pots and pans rattled, dishes and bowls clattered, refrigerator doors slammed, and utensils baton-waved in all directions. Grandpa had launched into his traditional and celebrated French Toast Extravaganza that began early each Thanksgiving Day morning. *** Thanksgiving is past. The grandchildren are back home in a distant city. Grandpa has a promise to keep.
Creating a Setting
"Where will the story take place?
'Where there are palm trees, of course.'
'What kind of palm trees? For example, there are coconut palms, and there are date palms, and there are also banana palms.'
'Grandpa,' impatiently, 'I want them all!'
That's one decision.
'Should I put the palm trees on a steeple on top of a tall skyscraper?'
'Just a minute now, Grandpa, who ever heard of palm trees growing on a steeple on top of a skyscraper? That would be silly. Forget it.'
'How about in the middle of a freeway?'
'C'mon, Grandpa, be serious. A palm tree wouldn't last long in the middle of a freeway. Cars would bump into it all day long. Nope, freeways are out, too.'
'By the sea? By the sea? By the beautiful sea?
'Hm, that's a possibility.' Long pause. 'OK, let's go with it.'
'Check. Keep in touch. Over and out.'
'Grandpa?'
'Yes?'
'You and Grandma. Love ya.'
A picture began to form. Three palm trees close to each other on a beach. They have thick trunks and huge fronds. One palm tree is a coconut palm, another is a date palm, and the third is a banana palm.
Little waves tumble over each other to the shore, and some distance behind them are rolling waves and a white, churning surf. Beyond the surf is the endless sea. A summer breeze is blowing, raising whitecaps. Two small islands are far out where the sea meets the sky. Add soft, fleecy clouds. The sky, even with the clouds, is empty. Skies and birds go well together. There! Three gulls, flying in from the left, low, skimming the waves.
What's missing? Aha, children! A boy and a girl, about your age. What are their names? That's your job, Granddaughter. Ask Mother which letters to draw on a sheet of paper to spell them out. Put the paper into an envelope, and ask Mother to address the envelope to Grandpa. Don't forget the postage stamp.
The names arrived in this morning's mail. 'Suzanne' and 'Roger' fit our characters well. I see you've named their adventures 'The Palm Tree Stories.' Fine, that's when we'll call them.
Along the Ridge of the Dunes
One adventure is to explore the beach to search for seashells; another is to build sandcastles. Still another is to watch the sea gulls and pelicans dive and fish for food.
Suzanne and Roger enjoy watching the pelicans. They often watch the large, clumsy-looking birds fly low above the water until they see a fish beneath the surface. The pelican slips into a dive, folds its wings to cut the water cleanly to reduce the shock of hitting, disappears in the spray and rises with the fish in its beak pouch. The bird flies off with the fish to eat it, or to feed it to the baby pelicans. That's a little adventure for Suzanne and Roger.
There are also big adventures. Those happen when Suzanne and Roger and their mom and dad go sailing. Sailing often takes them far out to where the islands meet the sea. There they hike and explore the hills, and at night, sleep in a tent ashore or in bunks on the sailboat. Those are real adventures and we'll be talking about them soon. *** I was thinking of Suzanne and Roger this morning and wondered what they were doing. I pictured them on the beach in the bright sunlight, walking toward where sand dunes had been built up by the wind and waves.
The dunes slope down to the beach, and tall reeds grow on the sides and along its ridges. When the wind blows, the reeds lean far over and rustle.
Birds build nests among the reeds. Sometimes, small animals rush up or down the dunes and through the reeds on their way from here to there, or from there to here. The dunes are among Suzanne's and Roger's favorite places for exploring.
I walked to the beach. Suzanne and Roger were waiting at Three Palms. They had a story for me. Suzanne told the story just as if it was happening right then.
Suzanne's story:
When we get to the beach, we climb to the ridge of a dune. The wind is a gentle breeze and the reeds make a soft, sushing sound.
I see a movement in the reeds.
'Roger, Roger,' I shout. 'Come quick. We have company.'
Roger dashes over. I'm on my knees, separating the reeds with my hands to see better. Roger helps and we see a baby jackrabbit.
We stare at the jackrabbit and don't move. We don't want to frighten the baby jackrabbit and, of course, the baby jackrabbit doesn't want to frighten us.
A rustling sound comes from behind a clump of reeds off to the side, and out jumps a fully grown jackrabbit. It's as big as a cat, but has long, flapping ears and a cotton-ball tail, which cats don't have.
The grown jackrabbit rushes to the baby and, with its mouth, grips the back of the baby's neck and lifts it up. This must be the baby's mother, because that is the way most parent animals carry their young. It doesn't hurt the baby, and the mother does feel better knowing exactly where her baby is.
The adult jackrabbit looks up at us. All this time we are very still. I don't think the jackrabbit is frightened of us, but I suppose she has other things to do and can't just stand around visiting.
After looking us over for a moment or two, the jackrabbit wriggles her ears, turns away, twitches her cotton-ball tail and jackrabbit-jumps into the reeds. She and her baby are on their way from one place to the another. I guess only the jackrabbit really knows where and why.
'I hope they find their way to where they want to go,' Roger says, 'and I hope the baby stays close to it's mother. A baby can get lost among these reeds.'
'The mother jackrabbit knew where to find the baby,' I said. 'She must be pretty smart. Don't you think so?'
'Yes,' Roger agreed, 'she's smart, all right.'
We walked back to the palms and, from there, home.
Gone Sailing
I strolled down to Three Palms and looked about. Suzanne and Roger weren't there.
Maybe they're at the sand dunes looking for the floppy-eared baby jackrabbit and its mother. I walked to the dunes to look for them. They weren't there, either.
Climbing to the top of a sand dune, I looked around. Two big, white clouds drifted across the deep blue sky, pushed by the wind. The wind rustled the high reeds along the ridge, and they sounded like whispers. A black and white gull flew low above the water, swooped, rose with a fish in its beak, and flapped up and away.
I looked out toward the horizon and saw a sailboat dipping across the waves. It was outward bound toward the islands. It looked like the sailboat that belonged to Suzanne's and Roger's parents. Suzanne and Roger must have decided to go sailing that day, and took their Mom and Dad along for company.
I looked for them each morning for the rest of the week, but they hadn't returned. I supposed they were having a long vacation.
Finally, this morning, when I arrived at Three Palms, Suzanne and Roger were there, waiting for me.
'Hello, Suzanne. Hello, Roger,' I said. 'It's good to see you back. I missed you.'
'Oh, we' re glad to be back at Three Palms,' said Suzanne.
'We sure are,' Roger added. 'We had a real fine time sailing and visiting on the island. We hiked in the hills and did other things.'
'Did you have any adventures?' I asked.
'Yes, we did,' said Suzanne. 'Would you like to hear about them?'
'I sure would.'
'We had many adventures,' Suzanne said, 'We couldn't possibly tell them all today. How about my telling one today, and then Roger telling one tomorrow, and then me again the next day, and so on?'
'Sounds reasonable,' I replied.
We sat on the sand under the date palm. I leaned back against the tree.A date fell and bounced off the top of my head.
'I'm glad we didn't sit under the coconut palm,' I said, rubbing my head where the date had struck. We all laughed.
'OK, Suzanne.' I shifted about to get myself comfortable. 'Let's hear about the first adventure.'
'I'm going to tell our adventures just like they're happening right now,'Suzanne said.
'That's fine with me,' I said.
These are the stories told to me by Suzanne and Roger. I'm writing them down using the same words as Suzanne and Roger as we sat on the beach at Three Palms.
Dolphins Alongside
It's a beautiful morning to go sailing, Suzanne began the telling. It' sDad's vacation and we're going to Snug Harbor.
We load Snow White-that's the name of our sailboat, you know-with suitcases and boxes of food. We take our special toys and lots of other things for a long stay. When we are all ready, we cast off.
When we're far enough away from the slip, Dad hoists the sail. The breeze fills the sail and we head out to sea.
Roger and I sit with Dad at the helm to steer and Mother goes below to make sandwiches. We all wear life jackets. That just makes good sense, like wearing seat belts when you're riding in a car.
The sea is gentle and we're moving right along. Roger is looking out to sea as Dad and I talk.
Suddenly Roger shouts and points.
'Look. Dad. Suzanne. Look.'
'Where?' I ask. 'What do you see?'
'There, there,' Roger shouts, and points again. 'Do you see them?'
'See what?' I'm excited, but I don't know what to look for. 'Tell me what you're pointing at, Roger.'
'Dolphins. They're jumping out of the water and diving back in again.There. He points off the bow.
I look again, real hard, and I see what Roger is pointing at. A school of dolphins, leaping.
'Dolphins are mammals', Dad says, 'and different from fish. They're also very intelligent and friendly. Wave at them. Maybe they'll come closer and leap near the Snow White.'
So Roger and I wave at the dolphins and call out to them.'Come on over,' we shout.
They must hear us because they change direction and jump and dive in our direction. When they're close they turn and swim alongside. Mother comes up and holds on to us as we lean against the rail and wave and call out to them.
The dolphins stay with us most of the way to the island. About a mile offshore they turn away. We're sorry to see them leave. I guess it's time for them to head for home.
'That was our first adventure of the trip. Would you like to hear about another one?'
'Sure would,' I said.
'OK,' said Roger. 'Let's meet here tomorrow, and I'll tell about our sailing into the harbor.'
Snug Harbor
Today was Roger's turn, sailing into Snug Harbor.
Roger spread a map of the island to help follow the stories.
After the dolphins leave, we go forward to Snow White's bow. We watch the shoreline slip by as we near the harbor entrance.
We're sailing east around Singalong Point. The sea is choppy as the breeze picks up.
We go aft to the stern. We're helping Dad and Mother do all the things that are important when a sailboat enters a harbor.
Dad gives Suzanne and me important jobs: the port and starboard watch. Suzanne has the port side and I have starboard. In sailing talk the 'port' side is on the left when you're facing the bow or forward, and 'starboard,' is on the right, also when you're facing forward.
We're in the channel that leads into the harbor, and we'll soon need a place to drop the boat's anchor. 'Dropping anchor' are more sailing words. They mean about the same as setting a car's brakes when the car stops in the driveway and the motor turned off.
Suzanne is watching to port, looking for drifting debris and logs, and to make sure the boat doesn't cut too close to the island. I'm taking care of starboard, watching for the same things, and for traffic heading our way from the open sea.
Mother is standing by to lower the sail when Dad gets Snow White to the mooring. Mooring, used this way is like a parking space. Dad is steering the boat and trying to watch everything.
I see a speck on the horizon. It gets larger fast, coming in our direction.
'Dad,' I shout, 'motor boat. Big.'
'Where away?' Dad shouts back.
'Off the starboard bow,' I yell back and point. Dad and Mother look. Suzanne looks, too, but for only half a second, then she goes right back to her job, which is very important.
'Looks like she's really coming fast,' Mother warns.
'You're right,' Dad says, raising his binoculars to examine the motor boat.
'It' s a tour boat from the other islands,' Dad says, 'She'll tie up at Snug Harbor pier. With all those extra people on board this place may get crowded. We'd better get in as quickly as we can and find a good place to pitch our tents.'
Dad tells Mother to keep the sail spread and the lines taut to take as much wind as possible. Soon we're passing the Snug Harbor pier and wave to a man who is fishing. He waves back.
After our boat passes the pier we're in the sheltered part of the harbor. Mother lowers the sail, and we drop anchor near the shore next to the flagpole. The tourist boat pulls in close behind us and ties up to the pier.
We load our camping supplies into our dinghy and row to the beach. As soon as Suzanne and I step ashore we dash along the trail to the campsites and pick a good site for our tents.
Mother and Dad follow us with the gear. Working together, we pitch the tents, and get our food stored so it will be out of the way of animals. Soon, we're settled for the first night of our vacation.
'Well,' I said when Roger finished. 'That sounds like an exciting start.What happened afterward?'
'Let's meet here tomorrow,' Suzanne said, 'and we'll talk about it.'
Hike
Think back to the last story. Roger finished telling about Snow White's arrival at Snug Harbor and the race to the campsite. They did locate a real cozy campsite and settled in for the night. Now it's Suzanne's turn to tell what happened afterward. Today's story will be in Suzanne's words.
We pitch our tent in an open space just across the trail from where a girl is flying a kite. It's late afternoon by the time we're settled, so Dad makes a campfire and Mother cooks our dinner over the flames. We sit around the campfire and balance our plates on our laps.
After we finish we help Mother and Dad clean our campsite, and get rid of leftovers. The sky is still light, so we take a hike.
Dad leads the way single file along the trail, then Roger, me, and Mother at the end. In that way Roger can watch Dad, just in case he needs help, and I take care of Mother. Well, Dad and Mother do sort of look after us, too. Anyhow, off we go.
Dad heads toward Mount Nokomis, a low hill a short distance from the campsite. We push through tall grass and around bushes and rocks. Soon we're climbing the slope of Mount Nokomis.
I hear a rustling sound behind a bush.
'What' s that noise?' I turn to Mother and whisper.
'I really don't know,' Mother says. We look to where the rustling is coming from but can't see anything unusual. Meanwhile, Dad and Roger stop and Mother and I catch up to them. We stand close, the four of us, and look into the bushes.
There it is again. The rustling sound is like leaves and branches gently shaking. We can tell from which clump of bushes the sounds are coming. Dad steps between us and the bushes. Roger and I stand right behind Dad to protect him. Mother is very close.
The rustling is louder. From out behind a bush steps a doe.We relax. Whew!
The doe isn't very big and it's friendly but shy. It looks us over and wiggles it's ears in our direction to hear any noises we might make. She also lifts her head to smell the air. Deer have very sensitive noses for smelling danger, and that's what the doe is doing. She's trying to decide if we're also friendly. We stand quietly so as not to alarm her. After a while the doe moves a little way toward us and smells the air again. I guess it's satisfied because it comes close.
Slowly I reach out and touch the doe's fur. She doesn't seem to mind.The fur feels firm and smooth.
After a short while the doe moves away. It really is getting late, you know, and the setting sun changes the day into evening. The doe needs to find a place to spend the night. Wiggling her ears and flipping her tail, she moves off and disappears into the bushes.
We start back to the campsite and make our way along the trail down the side of Mount Nokomis. Soon we're back at camp.
Dad lights a lantern and gets the campfire going. We put sweaters on, sit on logs next to the fire and sing camping songs. The girl with the guitar joins us, and so do other campers and everyone joins in the singing. The moon and stars shine in the sky and it's very peaceful.
Suzanne and Roger rose, waved to me, and headed for home.
'Don't forget to be here tomorrow,' Roger shouted. 'We had another interesting experience the next day.'
'I'll be here.' I waved back.
Visit with Two Seals
True to their word, Suzanne and Roger arrived at Three Palms the following day. We sat under the banana palm, and Roger told the next story.
This is the day for the hike to Point Nemo, on the other side of the island. It will be an all day trip, so we start early.
Mother packs our knapsacks with sandwiches, cookies, and cans of juice while Dad inspects our hiking gear, like for extra socks, sweaters, towels and things like that. We're ready and off we go. Dad takes the point, then, in line, Suzanne, me, and Mother.
Instead of the trail that winds up and around the top of the island, we head straight across, passing other campsites. We say hello to people camping along the trail.
We stop to listen to a woman strumming a guitar. She is singing 'On top of Ol' Smokey….' We gather round and join in the singing. We wave good-bye and move along.
We see a man with a camera; he is taking photographs of flowers. We stop to watch. We leave him and return to the trail where it opens into a field. We follow the trail across a hill to Point Nemo, and from there to the Point Nemo Lighthouse.
At the lighthouse it's time for lunch. Dad spreads a big checkered cloth on the ground and Mother takes the sandwiches and drinks from our knapsacks. We have lunch, rest, and sing songs. It's time to explore.
Climbing down to the beach near the lighthouse we run to the water's edge. Suzanne and I take our shoes off and race each other through waves that tumble over themselves on their way in. After a while we stop running so that our breath can catch up with us. Standing at the water's edge we shield our eyes with our hands, and look toward Seal Rock.
Brown shapes swim in the sea. They wriggle out of the water on to the narrow strip of sand below the rocks. They're seals. More seals wriggle out of the water. They're brown and of all sizes.
They bark. Have you heard a seal bark? It sounds like they have something stuck in their throats. They really don't, you know. That's just their way of talking to each other.
'Look, Roger, look,' Suzanne calls and points.
A seal is heading toward the beach nearby. Reaching shallow water, the seal raises its head, looks around and sees us. I think it knows we're friendly because it comes up on to the beach. The seal is followed closely by a much smaller seal. It's a mother seal and her cub.
Suzanne and I want to get closer to the two seals, but we know that if we move we might frighten them away. We watch and don't move.
The cub goes to its mother and they play in the sand. Then the mother seal cuddles and nurses the cub. In a little while they head back to the water's edge. The two seals look back at us. I must have imagined it, but for a moment I think I see the cub wave its flipper toward us. Anyhow, I think they know we're their friends.
The seals slip into the water and swim off in the direction of Seal Rock.Soon they disappear among the whitecaps. They've gone home.
Suzanne and I walk back to Mother and Dad sitting on the beach. They were watching, too. Dad talks to us about seals and other animals of the land, the sky, and the sea, and how they and we all fit together on Planet Earth.
We start back to camp. By this time the sun is starting down. It's lateafternoon. There is still light when we arrive at our campsite. Dad lightsthe campfire and Mother makes supper.After we've eaten, and clear away the leftovers, we sit around the fire.Dad tells more stories about sailing and long hikes. Then we singsongs.***We stood, stretched, and walked toward the dunes.
'Any more stories?' I asked.
'Oh, yes,' Suzanne replied. 'The best is yet to come. Telling our adventures is such fun we're going to make it last for a few more days.'
'Tomorrow?'
'Tomorrow.'
Noises in the Night
The next morning we're back under the palms. Suzanne takes up the story.
This is about what happened late the same night we hiked to Point Nemo. As with the other nights, we get into our pjs, brush our teeth and wash our faces. We hug and kiss Mother and Dad and I pick up our flashlight. The tent doesn't have electric lights, so we have an electric lantern that we hang from a hook in one of the wooden rods that hold up the tent.
We take our flashlight along to see by as we get ready for bed. As we move the light around it makes shadows on the tent walls. The shadows jump in all directions, stretch tall and shrink short, first on one wall, then on the other.
Roger waves his arms, jiggles his fingers and twists his body, which makes his shadow twist and shake, too. It's weird and very funny. We laugh at the shadows.
After a while, we stop, crawl into our sleeping bags and zip them up. I reach out and turn off the lantern. A faint glow comes in from under the flaps. Everything is normal, just as it's been since we arrived at Snug Harbor. I guess we fell asleep.
Suddenly, I'm wide-awake. I hear Roger sleep-breathing. That can't be what wakened me. I listen hard. There it is again. The sound is like someone shaking and rustling paper bags. Then another sound, like tin cans rattling. I'm curious.
'This needs to be looked into,' I think.
I unzip my sleeping bag, reach over and tap Roger's sleeping bag.
'Uh,' Roger says sleepily. 'Is it morning already?'
'No, silly,' I whisper. 'Keep your voice down and listen.'
We lie quietly in our sleeping bags. There it is again, soft rustling and scratching sounds and, now and then, rattling.
'What do think it is?' Roger asks, now fully awake.
'I don't know,' I reply. 'Shall we check it out?'
'Let's do it,' he answers.
Very quietly, we slip out of the sleeping bags and crawl to the tent opening. Roger opens the flaps a crack and peeks out. I get above him and look out over his head.
There's just enough moonlight to make out the trees and the nearby tents. We can see Mother and Daddy's tent in front of ours. The sounds are coming from off to one side.
I look down at Roger. His eyes are wide. So are mine, I guess.'Are you game?' I ask him.
'OK,' Roger says.
I lift the lantern from its hook. I don't switch it on; there's enough moonlight so that we can see well enough.
Opening the tent flap just enough, we slip out, stoop far over, and tiptoe in the direction of the sounds. We're very quiet and don't even whisper.
Up ahead, among the trees, is where campers bring things they don't want, like empty tin cans and dinner leftovers that can't be saved until the next mealtime. The sounds are coming from that direction.
Soon we're among the trees and near the large plastic containers where the trash is stored. We're close enough to a container to touch it, but of course, we don't.
Roger and I hear loud rattling. We whirl in the direction from where it's coming and I switch on the lantern. Ahead of us are three trash containers, and they're overturned. Paper bags, tin cans, and bits of food cover the ground in all directions. Nosing about among the trash are dozens of small animals, picking at scraps. We make out squirrels, chipmunks, porcupines, woodchucks, and even a rooster and a chicken. They're bleating, yapping, squealing, chirping and clucking as they nibble and peck away at the leftover food.
'It's like a zoo,' Roger laughs.
'It's good that our table scraps aren't wasted,' I say.
'Yes,' Roger adds, 'but it'll sure be a mess for someone to clean up in the morning.'
The animals don't seem to mind our watching. They go right on scrounging and eating.
'Let's go back to the tent,' Roger yawns.
'I suppose we'd better,' I say, 'or we'll be too tired for tomorrow's adventure.'
'Right,' Roger yawns again, 'That's one I don't want to miss.'
Nor do I. I' m really looking forward to it.
Back in our tent, I hang the lantern back on its hook and switch it off. We crawl back into our sleeping bags. Roger yawns again as he snuggles into the softness.
I think of the little animals having a feast among the trees, and feel glad they can get at the food. I slip down so that my head isn't cold, pull up my knees and wrap my arms around myself. I feel cozy. *** 'What happened the next day?' I asked.
'Wait and see,' Roger grinned.
The Little Old Man's Strange Story
When Suzanne and Roger left after the last story they were mysterious about the next one, except that they did tell me to bring along a sandwich. The next morning, when we gathered at Three Palms, we each had a bag with sandwiches, cookies, and a container of milk.
'I took you seriously yesterday,' I said, waving my bag.
'Good that you did,' Suzanne answered as she settled down on to the sand. 'Are you ready?'
'Yes,' I said, 'I'm ready. Which of you will tell this one?'
'We're going to have to share this one.' Roger leaned back as he spoke. 'I'll start.' *** The next morning, bright and early, Suzanne and I have our breakfast and hurry to brush our teeth. We're dressed and anxious to be on our way. When Mother and Dad are ready we head for the trail. We're are on our way to visit the Little Old Man on the other side of the island.
This Little Old Man is not just an ordinary old man. He's special. He lives in an old stone hut near the sea cliffs. The house is tiny; only the Little Old Man can get into it, and he does that only to sleep or for shelter on rainy days. The rest of the time he sits outside and children come from all over to sit near him and listen to his stories. That's why we're excited this morning. We want to hear one of the Little Old Man's world-famous stories.
The trail across the island is wide and not too long. We get there in time to join a crowd of children and parents who are walking around or sitting on the ground in a half-circle, waiting.
In the clearing, leaning on a cane, is the Little Old Man. He waves us in to join the others and points to an empty space nearby. We make our way to where he points and take our places. Mother and Dad sit behind us. I look at the Little Old Man and understand why he is called that.
He is a small man, and, stooping over his cane, he looks small indeed. On his feet he wears leather sandals. His faded blue coveralls have patches on the knees and seat. A wide-brimmed straw hat is tipped back on his head.
He removes his hat to wipe his head with a red handkerchief. His long white hair is tied in a ponytail, and his wrinkled face is tanned to nut brown. Eyes twinkling, he smiles at the audience. I feel good just watching him.
The people who came to hear his story shift about to get comfortable andI do, too. The Little Old Man's voice is deep as he begins.
'When I was young,' he says, 'I was a sailor and traveled to lands in all the far corners of the world. I have been to strange places, and I have seen and talked to strange people. Listen to me about a strange place, and a stranger adventure.'
He stops, stares out to sea, and rubs his chin, deep in thought. His eyes open wide as he looks back at us as his head turns from one side of the seated audience to the other.
'After you've heard my story you'll decide for yourselves what to believe.'
Putting his wide-brimmed hat back on his head, he lowers himself slowly to a large flat rock. He places his cane on the ground beside him and crosses his legs just as I often do when I watch television. Everyone's eyes are on him; it's very quiet.
'Come with me to lon n n g ago and far away,' he begins in his deep voice. 'We're on a gallant, full-rigged sailing ship crossing a wild and stormy sea. After many weeks, we drop anchor in the cove of a mist-shrouded shore where high waves break against gray rocks. The rocks are huge, black, and jagged, and they line the shoreline as far as I can see in either direction. Beyond the beach is a dark forest.
'We leave the ship in the care of my First Mate and swim ashore. Climbing over the rocks, we dash across the beach into the forest. It is not only a dark forest; it is a dense and drippy-wet forest.
'We cut our way through heavy underbrush for many hours and finally come to a high mountain. Fierce winds roar down the mountain slopes, and swirling mists twist and churn in streamers across the mountain's slopes.
'We climb and we climb, until we reach a pass close to the peak. Now we must lower ourselves by ropes along a steep cliff. The base of the cliff is hidden by a blinding snowstorm. Reaching the bottom, we are in a deep gorge. The snow and the winds disappear, but there are other dangers ahead.
'We string a rope bridge across a wide, swift river. On the other side rise dense and wet forests of twisted trees and dripping, slime-covered vines.
'Tree branches and sharp thorns brush against us from both sides as we push our way through. They scratch our faces and arms. Above us the leaves are packed so close together that we cannot see the sky. The mud is soft and squishy under our feet.
'We're tired, but we can't stop to rest. We must reach our destination as fast as we can. There is no time to lose. 'We must rescue our Princess from the Trolls!
'Now you know who we are. You and I are rescuers. We have sailed across stormy seas, climbed steep mountains, crossed deep and swift rivers, and now we are making our way through this strange forest for one reason only: to free our Princess from Trolls.
'Our mission is to return our Princess to our King and Queen who are our Princess's mother and father. They love her and miss her. The Trolls were wrong to take the Princess away from the castle that is her home, and they have no right to keep her.
'So here we are, slithering and stumbling through squishy mud in the deep, thorny, drippy forest searching for the caves of the Trolls.
'From far off in the distance we hear heavy rumbling. We're close.
'Up ahead is an open space filled with huge boulders. We know that the Trolls for whom we're searching make their homes in caves hidden among such boulders.
'We move slowly and silently. We must not be caught. Luckily for us, we arrive while it's still daylight. Had we arrived during darkness, the Trolls would have been up and about. You see, these Trolls are awake at night and sleep all day.
'We tiptoe around a huge boulder. Facing us is the darkened opening of a cave. From inside we hear the sound of a Troll-snoring; that was the rumbling. Did you ever hear a troll snore?
'The snoring of one troll-I mean just one troll-sounds like ten locomotives, all working together, pulling long trains up a steep hill. Ga- a-roar and chlupp, over and over, and then a real heavy phytt-phytt, followed by a high whistling cha-leep.
'We're there, all right. We have reached the caves of the Trolls. Now we must find the Princess.
'Crawling on our hands and knees, looking in all directions, we make our way to the cave from which the snoring comes. Peering in, we see the troll in the half-darkness of the far side, sound asleep. His lips flap as he snores.
'The troll looks almost human, except for two horns that rise from his shaggy head, bristly-wire whiskers, bumpy nose, long pointed ears and no teeth. He looks interesting, but we didn't come all this way to stare at Trolls. We have a job to do.
'We do not see the Princess. We move on. Quietly, not to waken theTrolls, we slip among the boulders, peering into one cave after another.The Trolls are all asleep-that's what we think.
'A pattering noise from behind us. It's different from a troll's snore. Slowly we turn. We see no one. There it is again. Step by step, we move toward the noise. It's coming from the other side of a pile of rocks and boulders.
'Climbing close to the top of the rock pile, we peek through a space into a clearing. There, right there, in the center of the clearing, is the Princess. When we see her, and what she's doing, we know why the Trolls took her away from the castle.
'The Princess is baking bread! That's right, BREAD! Surprised, aren't you? Well, that's what she's doing, and there's no doubt about it. What does that have to do with her being taken by the Trolls? Listen, and I will tell you.
'Our Princess is famous, far and wide, for the delicious bread she bakes. When she's at home and getting ready to bake, people come from throughout the land to sit nearby and enjoy the sight of her at work and the aroma of rising dough. They especially enjoy the smell that spreads throughout the palace and across the fields when her bread and rolls are in the oven. That's not all, there's another reason why people travel to the palace at the Princess's baking time.
'Always, when the bread and rolls are baked, the Princess gives most of them away to the people. The people love the Princess because she loves them, and because she gives them bread and rolls.
'The Trolls must have heard about how well the Princess bakes. They, too, love bread and rolls, but they do not know how to bake. What's more, they're too lazy to even try to learn. The only way they can get bread is to have someone else do the baking for them.
'They also have no teeth and can only eat soft, fresh bread. That's why they took the Princess. They want her to bake soft bread and rolls for them each and every day. That's why they have her and want to keep her.
'And that's why we're here. We've come to this strange and distant land to rescue our Princess from a tribe of bread-and-rolls-loving Trolls who are so lazy they would not even bake the bread they need to feed themselves.
'The Princess doesn't see us. She's working hard, mixing and kneading dough, shaping loaves and braiding rolls, placing loaves and rolls on huge trays, and then sliding the trays into an enormous baking oven. She stops every few minutes to shovel coal into the furnace under the oven to keep it hot, and doing all sorts of other baking jobs. She hasn't time to look around.
'To add to our problem, a troll is watching the princess to make certain that she works every minute and does not try to escape.
'We see the troll guard watching the Princess. He leans against a rock and his back is toward us. The hair on his shaggy head sticks straight up. A big club is beside him. He's our problem.
'Carefully and silently, we climb over one boulder after another until we're above and behind the guard. All-round are sounds of Trolls snoring, and the ga-a-roaring, phytting, chlupping and cha-leeping are so loud that the noise we make climbing down to the ground is not noticed, we hope.
'We're on the ground, sneaking up behind the troll. The Princess sees us. She looks surprised, but knowing who we are and why we're there, she acts as if she doesn't know and keeps working. The troll didn't notice the sudden look of surprise on her face.
'We're only a short distance from the troll. I step on a twig. The twig breaks with a loud 'snap'. The troll whirls around, sees us, and snatches up his club. He screeches, spreading the alarm.
'He sounds like a donkey braying. 'Help! Help!' he screams, and it comes out sounding to us like 'Hee haw! Hee haw!' It really doesn't make any difference how it sounds, we're in trouble.
'There's not a second to lose. We attack; you from one side, I from the other. The troll doesn't know which of us will strike at him first. He turns first one way, then the other. He is confused.
'You dodge in. The troll faces you and lifts his club. I rush up behind him, and as the club swings back over his shoulder I grab it and pull it from his hands.
'Not having anything to hit us with, the troll backs away. We don't want to hurt him, so we let him go.
'You dash to the Princess. She hugs you, then points to a space between two boulders. 'I know a way,' she whispers. 'Follow me.'
'We squeeze between the boulders and see a narrow, twisty trail. 'This is the way,' cries the Princess. 'We must follow the narrow, twisty trail. It will take us past the boulders to the edge of the enchanted, tangled forest. The Trolls are afraid of the enchanted, tangled forest, and we'll be safe from them there.'
'We race along the narrow, twisty trail, around a boulder one way, then around another boulder the other way. We wiggle, wriggle, wind, and even zigzag. The trail is as twisty as a corkscrew. The Trolls know where we're heading, and they try to head us off.
'We're almost out of breath. 'Only a little way to go now,' the Princess gasps. Two more zigs, three zags, a twist and a wriggle and we're at the edge of the enchanted, tangled forest. We look back. The Trolls have stopped. They know they must not approach closer to the enchanted forest.
'The Princess waves good-bye. 'It was wrong for you to take me away from my mother and father,' she calls across to them. 'I want to go back to them and to all my friends and neighbors. Now you must learn to bake bread and rolls for yourselves.'
'The Trolls look very sad as they wave back. We turn and walk into theenchanted, tangled forest.'***The Little Old Man picks up his cane, slowly stands, and smiles at us.
'Our perilous crossing of the enchanted, tangled forest is the next part of the story,' he says. 'Everyone rise and stretch. Stamp your feet and swing your arms.' He points to a drinking fountain. 'Have a drink of water if you wish. Then, let's gather again in a little while and I'll tell what happened to us along the narrow, twisty trail that cut through the enchanted, tangled forest.'
The Same Tale: And then…
The first part ended with the Little Old Man telling us all to stand and stretch. That's what we, at Three Palms, did too. As we ate half our sandwich, Suzanne went on with the story. *** The Little Old Man continues.
'Here we are now,' he says as his eyes move from one side of the half- circle to the other. 'The Princess, you and I have just stepped across the magic line into the enchanted, tangled forest. We have escaped from the Trolls. We must find our way back to the cove where our ship is anchored. From there we will sail across the stormy seas, heading for home. Our Princess will be back with her mother and father who love her and miss her very much.
'But first, we must make our way to the other side of this enchanted, tangled forest.
''The Trolls tell strange tales about this forest,' the Princess whispers.
'She stares about at the thorny, dripping vines.
'The Trolls say there are THINGS in this forest. I hope we can get through to the other side without seeing them.'
'We cannot delay; we must move on. Up ahead the trail twists among the trees and disappears under thick vines. We start along the trail. I lead the way, then the Princess, and you in the rear to guard us from behind. We force our way through the heavy vines and underbrush.
'After walking for a long time we stop and listen. There are no noises in the forest. No sounds of birds singing, or insects buzzing, or leaves rustling, or breezes blowing; nothing but silence. It is the enchantment. We try to walk fast, but we must be careful.
'The narrow, twisty trail leads us up one slope and down another. The leaves on the trees are so wide and densely packed that we are in deep shadow. The sharp thorns on the slimy vines that hang from tree branches claw at us, but we push them aside.
'Up ahead is an enormous tree with heavy branches stretched across the trail. It blocks our way. The trunk of the tree, off to the side, is very thick, and its branches and roots spread in all directions.
'We must get through the tangle of the tree's branches or roots, and find our way again on the other side. We search for a trail around the tree. The closely packed branches, roots, and steep rocks on both sides of the trail are too dense to push through.
'Standing next to a branch across the trail I reach out to climb across the tangle. The Princess and you are close behind.
'As I touch the branch, it draws back and away from my hand.
'What is this? A tree branch that pulls back and away when it is touched? Impossible! I reach for it again. It pulls away. The Princess, you and I stare at it, astonished.
'An enchanted tree,' the Princess says. 'We must talk to it, and trust it to understand.'
'OK.' I shrug and step back.
'The Princess turns to the tree. 'Tree,' she says softly, 'I am the Princess.'
'A rustling sound comes from the tree, and the sounds form into words.
'I am Omar the Oak,' the rustling words come slowly. 'What are you doing in the enchanted, tangled forest? It is forbidden to ordinary humans.'
'We are strangers in this enchanted, tangled forest,' says the Princess. 'My friends, here beside me, have just rescued me from the Trolls who live in the caves, and now we are trying to get through to our ship in the cove. My mother and father are waiting for me at home. They love me and I love them, and we miss each other very much. Please let us pass?'
'The fallen tree is very still; not a branch stirs, not a twig twitches, not a leaf flutters. Is the tree thinking?
'After a long while, slowly, very slowly, a leaf moves, a twig bends, and a branch curves toward us. The branch stops near the Princess's hand. She reaches out and gently touches it.
'More leaves move and soon thousands are fluttering. The branches untangle and a way opens for us. Branches curve around to form a ladder and we climb up and over the branches that are too thick to bend. The branches on the other side bend and open to let us to pass. We reach the ground near the trail.
'We turn back to Omar the Oak. The tree's leaves flutter, its twigs twitch, and its branches wave slowly. We wave.
'Thank you, Omar,' says the Princess. 'Thank you for helping us across.We will never forget your kindness.'
'The rustling of the leaves becomes louder, and form words. 'Good-bye, good-bye,' says Omar the Oak. 'I wish you well. Be warned. You must prove that you deserve to leave this enchanted, tangled forest. Be warned! You must deserve!'
'How must I show that I deserve to leave this enchanted forest?' The Princess asks Omar the Oak. 'To whom must I prove it? What must I do to 'deserve'?'
'The rustling gets louder, and we hear again, 'You must deserve to make your way out of this enchanted, tangled forest. Be ready.' The rustling is very loud. 'Be ready,' the words repeat and fade away.
''What do you mean, Omar?' the Princess repeats her question, 'what has 'deserve' to do with our leaving the forest?'
'But the tree is silent. The leaves stop rustling, the twigs stop twitching, and the branches no longer wave. Omar, the enchanted oak, will say no more.
'We turn away from the friendly, but mysterious tree and move on along the narrow, twisty trail.
'The trail gets narrower still, and the leaves in the trees pack so close we hardly see our way. We trip over roots curling out from the squishy ground, and our clothes are snagged by the sharp thorns of slimy vines hanging from trees. The deep silence of the enchanted, tangled forest is all about us.
'Ahead, the trail takes a steep drop into a hollow with huge gray rocks on each side. The rocks are shiny with wet, green moss. We slip and slide about as we try to make our way down and across to where the trail curves up again to drier ground.
'But wait. We cannot make our way through this rocky hollow. The trail is blocked. Yes, blocked, and I mean really blocked. There, in front of us, completely across the narrow, twisty trail with its huge wet, slimy rocks on each side, stretches a huge, glittering, lacy-braided, closely woven spider's web.
'That isn't all. In the center of the huge web, waiting for us, is the Spider.Oh, the size of that spider! Enormous! Its legs are long and bent, andcovered with jagged spikes at the ends of which are curved, red pincers.The spider's eyes, big as dinner plates, glare at us.
''We must fight that spider,' I say, 'or we won't get through.'
''No,' the Princess says. 'This is an enchanted forest, and the creatures that live in it are also enchanted. Let me try.'
'The Princess walks close to the web. She's so close that the spider can reach out and grab her with its curved, sharply pointed pincers. If the spider grabs her, it will not be a pleasant hug at all for our Princess.
'The spider doesn't move. The huge eyes glare at her.
'I am the Princess….' she starts to say.
'I am Cyril the Spider,' the spider interrupts and its voice is like a saw cutting through wood. 'What are you doing in the enchanted, tangled forest. Ordinary humans are not allowed here.'
'The Princess speaks; her tone is polite.
'Pointing to you and me, she says, 'these are my friends who came from far away to rescue me from the Trolls who live in the boulder caves. We must make our way through this enchanted, tangled forest to our ship in the cove. From there we will sail across the stormy seas to my home where my mother and father are waiting for me. They love me and I love them, and we miss each other. I want very much to go home. Please let us pass?'
'Cyril the Spider stares at the Princess, then at you and me. Cyril is thinking.
'Very well,' Cyril says, his buzz softening. 'I will let you pass.'
'The huge spider stretches one of its long legs to the bottom of the web and draws it up. The web's strands pull apart until there is just enough room for us to pass in single file. The Princess goes first, you and I follow. As I pass through the web, it closes behind me.
'The Princess turns back to the spider.
'Thank you, Cyril,' she says. 'You're very kind to let us through your web. I will never forget your kindness.'
'Good-bye, good-bye.' Cyril's buzz has softened to a hum. 'I wish you well.'
'Cyril's voice changes to a rasp. 'Be warned,' the Spider says, 'soon you must prove that you deserve to leave this enchanted, tangled forest. You must deserve!'
''There it is again,' the Princess says, her voice now exasperated. 'I'm warned again about deserving to leave this enchanted, tangled forest, and that I must be ready. What does that mean, Cyril?'
'But Cyril doesn't answer. He is watching the trail again. We're now behind his web and Cyril will say no more.
'We turn away from Cyril and move on along the twisty trail. It leaves the narrow space between the high rocks. Once again we are in the deep shade of closely packed leaves, fighting our way through drippy, thorny vines and thick underbrush.
'We walk for hours. Ahead, we see a steep hill. The trail zig zags up the hill, and disappears into a dark tunnel.
'We stop. We must follow the trail through the dark tunnel if we want to reach the cove where our gallant ship waits.'
The Little Old Man stops. He looks round at the waiting faces. 'Would you like to hear what happens when the Princess and her friends enter the tunnel?'
'Yes, yes,' we all shout.
'Very well. It's time for another stretch so let's all rise and move about a bit. When you're ready, take your place and I'll finish the story.'
Still the Same Story: What a Finish!
Suzanne and Roger raced toward where I waited under the date palm.
'How far did you run?' I asked.
'Dunes,' gasped Roger, leaning against the trunk of the banana palm.
'…and back,' added Suzanne, running in place as she spoke.
'Ready for the last part of the story?' Roger's gasping slowed to regular breathing.
'Whenever you are,' I answered.
Suzanne stopped running in place and flopped down onto the sand next to her brother.
'Your turn,' Suzanne pointed at Roger as she leaned against the tree. 'I'll rest and listen.' *** 'OK, everyone,' the Little Old Man calls out. 'Jump up and down a few more times and then gather round and take your places. The sun is starting its downward journey into evening. We'll finish in time so you can hike back to your campsites and have your dinners.
He sits slowly, and places his cane beside him. He looks around.
We're all in our places and quiet, waiting for him to go on with the story. *** 'We left the Princess, you and me in the enchanted, tangled forest. We've passed through the web of Cyril the Spider and are now back on the narrow, twisty trail. Up ahead is the steep hill. Near the top of the hill the narrow, twisty trail disappears into a tunnel.
'We climb the slope to the tunnel's entrance. We look in, but can't see beyond a few feet. It's really dark in there.
''We have no choice,' the Princess says. 'We must pass through the tunnel to the other side so that we can get to our ship.'
'We search the ground under the trees for fallen branches. There are many to choose from. We make clubs and torches. I light the tips of the torches with my trusty fire-matches.
'Into the tunnel we go. It's wet and cold and damp. Under our feet the mud is squishy. As we round a bend the light from the tunnel's opening behind us disappears. It's dark ahead of us and dark behind us. We step carefully, our torches lighting the way.
'We walk for more than an hour. The end of the tunnel is still not in sight. Our torches are getting short. We didn't expect the tunnel would be this long, and we're wondering if we'll ever make it to the other end.
'Up ahead is a dim glow. We walk faster. Maybe it's the end of the tunnel.
'The light gets brighter. It's coming from around the next bend. We're especially careful now, and as we come to the bend we lean over to peer around and beyond.
'A piercing shriek cuts the air behind us.
''We gotcha!' a voice roars.
'We whirl around, staring into the darkness, ready to fight. We see nothing at first. After a moment, we make out tiny gleams, in pairs and close together. Eyes-many eyes-staring at us.
''Oh no, you haven't got us,' I shout. The Princess, you and I stand close.'Come on,' I whisper, 'let's make a run for it.'
'We turn and dash around the bend. We stop in surprise.
'The tunnel ahead of us opens into an enormous cavern. Lighted torches along the walls cast shadows in all directions. The center of the cavern is taken up by a huge black box, and next to it, staring at us are-now, be ready for this. Are you ready? Elves! Elves, I say! Yes, Elves!
''Oh, no,' cries the Princess, 'we escaped from Trolls, and now we're among the Elves. Not again!'
'We whirl back to the narrow tunnel. We must escape. From the tunnel rush more Elves. They're the ones who sneaked up on us and shrieked 'We gotcha.' My goodness, they sure gotcha'd us. We're surrounded!
'Standing back to back, we raise our clubs, ready to protect ourselves against attack. I must say, though, Elves are not at all like Trolls. These Elves don't look fierce, as Trolls do, nor do they look like they would really want to fight with us, or with anyone.
'Out of the crowd near the black box steps an old, old Elf. Stooped over, he leans on a cane. Slowly, he comes closer, peering at the Princess through tiny eyeglasses perched on the tip of his nose. He points his cane at her.
'Who are you?' he wheezes.
'I am the Princess,' replies the Princess and points to you and me. 'These are my friends,' she says, 'who have come to take me back to the King and the Queen who are my father and mother who love me very much and whom I love very much. We miss each other and I want to return home so I can be with them. The narrow, twisty trail to the cove where our gallant ship is waiting led us into this tunnel. We have no choice but to follow it. Please let us pass.'
'The ancient Elf has not taken his eyes from the Princess.
'Do you bake?' he wheezes.
'Do I bake?' cries the Princess. 'What do you mean by that? Are you going to bake me?'
'The Princess, you and I raise our clubs. No one is going to bake ourPrincess. No siree, not if we can stop it.
'There is a long silence. The ancient, stooped Elf stares at each of us.We stare back at him. The crowd of Elves closes around us.