'Whenever green food fades away,Some dire misfortune comes the self-same day.'
In plain words, troubles never come singly. I discovered while having a friendly game of dominoes with the Head Chamois, that they intend to seize upon your house next Tuesday, in the absence of the Heif-father."
"And to-day is Friday!" shrieked the Goat-mother. "Oh! this is hard indeed!"
The Goats
"Compose yourself, ma'am, and listen to my advice," said the Pedlar. "You lock up your house, or leave me in charge with Lizbet and Lénora, and you and the two other children start off at once to ask the help of the Goat-king. He is a mild, humane creature, and will very likely order out a detachment of the 'Free-will' goats to help to defend your household."
"That is the only thing to do," said the Goat-mother mournfully. "I certainly know the way, for of course I have always been to the yearly Goat Assembly, but I always started three days before the meeting, and went down the back of the mountain, over the slopes. I don't know how I'm to manage the short cut."
"Oh, easy enough, ma'am," replied the Stein-bok; "you'll get on very well. Don't go in goloshes, though, for they will be sure to catch on the nails. I wouldn't wear my waterproof mantle either—too large for a walking tour. Put on a shawl, and tie it round you."
By this time Heinrich and Pyto had hastily dressed themselves in out-door costume, and the Goat-mother was rushing about her house, collecting an extraordinary number of things, which the Stein-bok had some difficulty in persuading her not to take with her.
"Notsugar nippers, ma'am, Ibeg; or your large work-box, or the mincing machine! Quite useless on a long journey; and your best cap you won't want, I assure you."
"I thought I might perhaps wait a moment in the ante-room and put it on before entering the presence of Royalty," bleated the Goat-mother. "But no doubt you know best."
The luggage was at last reduced to a small leather handbag; and the Goat-mother, after solemnly bestowing her blessing on Lizbet and Lénora, and the door-key on the Stein-bok, set off down the garden path with her children, upon their adventures.
Meanwhile, the Goat-father was languishing in a dark shed attached to the Inn on the other side of the Glacier. His bleats had failed to attract any attention. In fact the only person who had heard him at all, had been an old Goat-slave, who while browsing on the hillside with a bell round his neck, had been attracted by the cries, and creeping up to the shed, peeped through a crack to see what could be the matter.
"Is there anyone near?" enquired the Goat-father in a whisper.
"No. There's a party in the Inn, but they are too busy eating to take any notice of us. I am just loitering here, in case there should be any pieces of sandwich paper flying about."
"Is there any chance of my making my escape?" enquired the Heif-father. "Are they very watchful people?"
"Excessively so," replied the old Slave. "I've never been able to get away for the last ten years."
The Goat-father groaned. "Then it wouldn't be possible for you to take a message to my family?"
"Quite impossible, my dear friend, I assure you. Can't you find any crack in the shed where you could break through?"
"There'snothing," cried the Goat-father. "I've searched round and round, and the door is as strong and tight as a prison."
"Well, I'll go off and see if I can find a messenger," said the old Slave good-naturedly. "Perhaps the old fox would manage it."
"A fox! Oh, I don't thinkthatwould do," said the Heif-father. "It mightn't be safe for my family."
"Oh,he'sall right," said the Slave. "He's been in captivity so long, it's taken all the spirit out of him. He might live in a farmyard. He's a good-natured creature, too, and I daresay he'll go to oblige me."
The Goat-father pulled a band and buckle off his necktie, and poked it under the door.
"Not to eat!" he whispered warningly, "but for the fox to take with him, that my wife may know the message comes from me; and be quick about it, my good friend, for I really am positively starving!"
"All right," said the old Goat, "I'll send the fox off, and come back in a few minutes to bring you some stale cabbage leaves."
"A friend in need, is a friend indeed!" murmured the Goat-father; and went to sleep that night with more hope than he had felt since the moment of his capture.
"Come along, mother," cried Heinrich, grasping the Heif-mother's hand as they left the garden before their Châlet, and commenced the dangerous descent of the mountain.
Far below them they could see the great stretch of the dazzlingly white Glacier, with its rents and fissures shining greenly in the sunshine. On either side rose bare crags topped with grass, and above all, the snowy summits of the mountains.
The first part of the journey led along a narrow pathway, which the Goat-mother managed very successfully, but when they came to the precipice on which rough iron spikes had been driven at long intervals to assist the climber, her heart failed her, and in spite of her desire to hurry, she entangled her shawl and dress so constantly on the nails, that her children began to fear she would never reach the level of the Glacier.
At last, however, the little party succeeded in making their way across the Eismeer, and arrived without further mishap at the river leading to the Goat-King's Palace.
This river flowed on the centre of the Glacier, betweensteep banks of transparent ice, every now and again disappearing into some vast cavern, where it swept with a hollow echoing under the ice-field.
"Follow me, mother," said Heinrich. "I see the entrance to the Palace just in front of us."
The Goat-mother gathered up her skirts, and assisted by Pyto, began to scramble down the bank to the side of the streamlet.
"Where is the boat kept?" she enquired.
"In a snowdrift close to the entrance," replied Heinrich. "Don't jump about near the crevasses, Pyto, and I'll go and fetch it."
The boat was soon dragged from its hiding place, and Heinrich paddled it to the spot where the Goat-mother was resting on a snow-bank.
She embarked with some nervousness, clutching desperately at her handbag. They pushed off, and were immediately carried by the current through the little round opening of the cave into the pale green glistening depths of the mysterious world beyond.
There was no need for the Heif family to row. They were swept along past the ice walls, and in a few minutes reached the Goat-King's landing-place. A small inlet with a flatshore, on which were arranged two camp stools and a piece of red carpet.
"Here we are at last, dear children," said the Goat-mother. "What a relief it is, to be sure! Is my bonnet straight, Pyto? and do pull your blouse down. Your hair is all standing on end, Heinrich! How I wish the Stein-bok had allowed me to bring a pocket-comb!"
The Court Porter, seated in a bee-hive chair, came forward as soon as he saw them, to ask their business.
"The Goat-King is at home to-day till five o'clock," he said. "If you will step this way, I will introduce you immediately."
The Goat-mother trembling in every limb—for she had never had a private interview with Royalty before—clutched a child in each hand and followed the Porter.
They passed down two passages, and finally reached a large ice-grotto, with a row of windows opening on to a wide crevasse.
The room was filled with a flickering green light that yet rendered everything distinctly visible.
On a carved maple chair on the top of a dais sat the Goat-King—a snow-white Goat with mauve eyes and beard; completely surrounded with cuckoo clocks, and festoons of yellow wood table-napkin rings, and paper-cutters. The walls seemed to be covered with them, and the pendulums of the clocks were swinging in every direction.
"The King thinks it right to patronize native art," saidthe Goat-Queen, who with three of the Princesses had come forward graciously to welcome the visitors.
"I find the striking rather trying at times, especially as they don't all do it at once, and sometimes one cuckoo hasn't finishedtenbefore the others are attwelveagain."
"I wish all the works would go wrong!" muttered one of the Princesses crossly. "An ice-cavern full of cuckoo clocks is a poor fate for one of the Royal Family!"
"Wemustencourage industries," said the Queen. "It is a duty of our position. I should rather the industries were noiseless, but we can't choose."
"Bead necklaces and Venetian glass would have been more suitable," said the Princess, who had been very well educated, "or even brass-work and embroidered table-cloths. We might have draped the cavern withthem."
At this moment there was a violent whirring amongst the clocks; doors flew open in all directions, and cuckoos of every size and description darted out, shook themselves violently, and the air was filled with such a deafening noise that the Goat-mother threw her apron over her head, and the Goat-children buried their ears in her skirts, and clung round her in terror.
"Merely four o'clock; nothing to make such a fuss about," said the Goat-King. "And now, when we can hear ourselves speak, you shall tell me what you have come for."
As the voice of the last cuckoo died away in a series ofjerks, the Goat-mother advanced, and threw herself on her knees before the Royal Family, first spreading out her homespun apron to keep the cold off.
The King listened to her tale with interest, and his mauve eyes sparkled.
"If this is true," he cried fiercely, "the Chamois shall be crushed! My official pen, Princess; and a large sheet of note paper!"
"Rest yourself, petitioner, you must be tired," said the Queen, and pointed to a row of carved and inlaid Tyrolese chairs that stood against the wall.
The Goat-mother and her children seated themselves gratefully, and as they did so, a burst of music floated upon the air, several tunes struggling together for the mastery.
"Yes; it's very unpleasant, isn't it?" said the Goat-Queen, seeing the expression of surprise and uneasiness that showed itself on the visitors' faces. "We're obliged to have all the chairs made like that, to encourage the trade in musical boxes. I get very tired of it, I assure you, and I often stand up all day, just for the sake of peace and quietness. I reallydreadsitting down!"
Meanwhile, the Goat-King was busily writing, covering his white paws with ink in the process; and the Queen, in a very loud voice to make herself heard, was conversing with the Goat-mother about her household affairs.
"Supplies are most difficult to procure in this secluded spot," she said mournfully. "Would you believe me, thatlast week we dinedeveryday off boiled Geneva newspapers and cabbage? So monotonous, and the King gets quite angry!"
"I wish we could live on boiled cuckoos!" cried the eldest Princess, who with her sisters was seated on a bench by the window, spinning; the pale green light of the Glacier shining upon their white dresses, and the little brown spinning-wheels that whirred so rapidly before them.
"Petitioner, the order is ready," said the King at this moment, waving a large envelope. "Go straight home, and send this paper round to all the Goats of the neighbourhood. It is an order to the 'Free-will' Goats, to arm, and assemble at your house for the defence of your family, and the rescue of the Heif-father."
The Goat-mother curtsied to the ground, kissed the Queen's hand, and retired with Heinrich and Pyto through the passages to the landing place.
At the last moment one of the Princesses came running after the Goat-mother, to press a cuckoo clock upon her, as a parting present from the Queen.
The clock was large, and they had some difficulty in getting it into the boat, but the Goat-mother did not dare to refuse it.
With the Porter's help they got off at last, and started upon the return voyage, Heinrich and Pyto rowing their hardest; for the current swept through the ice-caves with such force that the Goat-mother had some difficulty in steering.
As they came out into the daylight, they saw that the sun was almost setting, and a faint pink light tinged the snow-fields, and the tops of the distant mountains.
"We must hurry, or we shan't be back by nightfall!" said the Goat-mother nervously; and they landed on an ice-block, covered up the boat again in its hiding place, and set off towards home, across the Glacier.
The weary travellers almost sank with fatigue as they stumbled over the rough ice.
In addition to the handbag, they now had the cuckoo clock, and though Heinrich had insisted on carrying it strapped on his back like a knapsack, his mother could see that he became more and more exhausted, and at last she determined on taking it from him and carrying it herself.
The difficulty was heightened by the fact that the clock continued to tick, and the cuckoo to bound out of the door at unexpected moments, startling the Goat-mother so, that she almost dropped it.
"It's the shaking that puts its works out," said Heinrich. "Hold on tight, mother, and we shall get it home safely at last!"
"I wish it was at the bottom of the Glacier!" groaned theGoat-mother, staggering along; her bonnet nearly falling off, her shawl trailing on the snow behind her.
"Be careful, Pyto! Careless Goat!" she cried. "Test the snow-bridges carefully with your alpenstock before you venture on them!"
But Pyto, who was young and giddy, went gamboling on; until suddenly, without even time for a bleat of terror, he fell crashing through the rotten ice, and disappeared from view into one of the largest crevasses.
"Goats-i-tivy!" cried the Goat-mother. "He's gone! Oh, my darling child, where are you?"
The cuckoo clock was thrown aside, and she ran to the edge of the crack and peered down frantically.
"All right, mother," said a voice, sounding very faint and hollow, "I've stuck in a hole. Let me down something, and perhaps I can scramble out again."
"What have we got to let down?" said the Goat-mother. "Not a ball of string amongst us! Oh, if ever we go on a journey again, I'll never,neverlisten to the Stein-bok."
"Well, mother, we must make the best of what we have," cried Heinrich. "Take your shawl off and tear it into strips. Wemaybe able to make a rope long enough to reach him—anyhow we'll try!"
The Goat-mother consented eagerly, though her shawl was one she was particularly fond of. She snatched it off, and taking out her scissors, she soon cut it into pieces, which Heinrich knotted one to the other, and lowered into the crevasse.
"Can you reach it?" he cried, putting his head as far over the edge as possible, and peering into the green depths.
The Goat-mother leant over, too; but in stooping her head her bonnet became loosened, and slid with a loudswishdown the ice, darting from side to side until it disappeared from sight in the darkness.
"Oh, what misfortunes! My child, my shawl, and my bonnet,allgone together!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Take hold of the rope, my Pyto, and let us at all events rescueyou!"
"All right, mother," cried the distant voice. "Don't drag me up till I call out 'Pull.'"
In a few minutes the Goat-mother and Heinrich, listening intently, heard the welcome shout, and pulling both together they landed Pyto—very much bruised and shaken, but not otherwise hurt—upon the Glacier beside them.
"Oh, what a warning!" cried the Goat-mother, and after embracing Pyto warmly, she turned to look for the cuckoo clock. But it had tobogganed down a steep bank into an ice stream close by, and was floating away in the distance,cuckooingat intervals as it danced up and down upon the water.
Two travellers who had just reached the opposite bank, paused in astonishment to listen.
"You see," said one, "this proves what I have always told you. Nothing is impossible to Nature. You may even hear cuckoos on a Glacier!"
The Goat-mother arrived at home in a pitiable state of cold and exhaustion, but she was much cheered by finding the house in good order, and a warm supper awaiting her, prepared by the hands of the careful Stein-bok.
Lizbet and Lénora immediately started off with the Royal Order; which was sealed with a large crown of red sealing wax fastening down a wisp of mauve hair.
The next morning all the Goats of the neighbourhood collected in a secret cavern, where they held a patriotic meeting, and discussed their plans for the rescue and protection of the Heif-father.
Six of the strongest and most daring spirits were to start that afternoon for the Inn on the other side of the Glacier, while the rest of the Free-will corps would take it in turns to remain in ambush in the Heif-goat's garden, in case the Chamois should attempt their raid before the day they had appointed.
They all agreed that the corps should be armed to the teeth, and there was such a demand for sandpaper that the store in the Stein-bok's pack was soon exhausted.
"A rusty sword is all the deadlier, when it once gets in," said the Goat-Lieutenant. "I shan't trouble myself about petty details."
The Heif-father rescue party started to cross the Glacieras soon as it became twilight—for they did not wish to attract attention.
The Lieutenant carried a blunderbuss, but the five privates were more lightly armed with a collection of rapiers, carving knives, daggers, spears, and sword-sticks.
Their uniforms were varied, but each wore a mauve badge on his hat, with the motto—"Goats and justice."
After half-an-hour's steady walking they reached the opposite mountain, and climbing the ladders that led to the Inn, they skirted the Châlet carefully, hiding behind the loose rocks and bushes until they were well in the shadow of the outbuildings.
"Where are you, Herr Heif?" bleated the Lieutenant in a low tone. "We are friends. You needn't be alarmed."
"In here," answered a cautious voice from one of the larger sheds. "You can't get in, though—there's no hope of breaking the door open. Iron staples and bars, and the strongest hinges. How many of you are there?"
"Six," replied the Lieutenant. "Free-will Goats, armed to the teeth!"
"You might look at the place and see if you can find a crack anywhere," whispered the Goat-father.
The Lieutenant and his followers walked slowly round the house, examining it at every point; but it was all built of strong tree trunks tanned brown by the sunshine. Suddenly his eye lighted upon a small window. It was very high up and quite out of reach of anyone within, butthe Lieutenant thought that by standing on something he might be able to raise himself sufficiently to reach it, and cut away the glass.
"Is there anything inside thatyoucould stand upon?" he enquired.
There was silence, and a sound of scuffling; then the voice of the Heif-goat: "I've been examining things, and there are two barrels. I think I could put one on the top of the other. Theymightreach to the window, but it has two great wooden bars, I couldn't break through."
"Leave that to us," said the Lieutenant, and he turned to his followers.
"Two of you get on each other's shoulders, and thenIwill be assisted up. The other three mount in the same way by my side," he said quickly. "We who are at the top will cut through the window frame with our knives, collect the glass, and drag out the Goat-father in no time."
This plan was carried out, and in spite of the unsteady position of the topmost Goats, and the uncomfortable shaking of the lower ones, the wooden bars were at length sawn through, and the glass carefully gathered together by the Lieutenant in his felt hat.
"Steady!" cried the Lieutenant, "I'm coming down in a minute, and you're beginning to shake about so, I can hardly keep my balance. Hi! Do you hear me? Steady, there!"
"I can't stand this a moment longer—my legs are givingway beneath me!" bleated the lower Goat. "I know I shall double up!"
As he spoke his feet slipped from under him, and he fell full length upon the hillside, carrying the others with him; and there they all lay in a confused heap, scarcely able to realize what had happened to them.
Fortunately, however, no one was seriously hurt. They picked themselves up and went to work again with renewed vigour.
"Climb up now, Herr Heif!" cried the Lieutenant. "Put your head out, and gradually lower yourself. We'll stand below and catch you."
"I'm a little afraid, for I know I should fall heavy!" said the Goat-father, in a quavering voice; but he did as he was told, and shutting his eyes firmly, he slipped from the window-sill and fell with a heavyflopinto the arms waiting to receive him.
The Goat-mother had lit a comfortable fire in the Heif Châlet, and the Goat-father's slippers were warming against the stove; when a sound of approaching voices and footsteps made her start up in excited expectation.
The voices came nearer and nearer. Now she could distinguish the National Goat Song, and in another momentthe door flew open, and Herr Heif rushed in accompanied by his rescuers.
The children screamed, the Goat-mother wept tears of joy; and after a general rejoicing, the whole party sat down to a comfortable meal, during which the Lieutenant's health was drunk by the Goat-family amidst loud cheering.
"I am sorry we can't invite the wholecorps," said the Goat-mother. "It's very cold for them outside, but the fact is I haven't sufficient crockery. As it is, I am forced to make use of oyster shells and the flower pot, though it's very much against my principles."
"Hush!" said the Goat-father, "there's someone knocking!"
There was indeed a hurried rapping at the door, and one of the Watch-Goats put in his head to say that the band of Chamois were seen advancing towards the Châlet.
The tallow candle was immediately put out, the Lieutenant and his detachment seized their weapons, and concealed themselves behind the door, and the Goat-mother and her children were shut up in an inner room, where they waited in fear and trembling.
On came the Chamois with noiseless leaps, bounding into the garden, and approaching the front door with the utmost caution. Everything appeared to be turning out according to their expectations, and they already saw themselves in imagination seated in the Heif-house, revelling in the contents of the Goat-mother's store cupboard.
Their long green coats fluttered in the air, the largebunches of edelweiss in their hats, glistened in the moonlight.
But a low, clear whistle suddenly sounded.
Each Goat sprang from his hiding place, and with a rush that took the Chamois completely by surprise, they fell upon the invaders, and drove them over the precipice.
It was a real triumph; for the Chamois flew down the mountain in the wildest confusion, falling down, and darting over each other in their hurry, and never stopping until they had reached their own haunts in the region of the distant Eismeer.
"A glorious victory!" cried the Lieutenant, "and not a drop of blood shed."
As to the Goat-mother, she had passed through such a moment of terror that she had to be assisted out of the back room by three of the guard, and revived with a cabbage leaf before she could recover herself. She then embraced everyone all round, and the Goat-father broached a barrel of lager-beer; while the tame Fox from the Inn (who had appeared at the Châlet soon after the departure of the rescue party) ran about supplying the visitors with tumblers.
The next day the Free-will Goats were disbanded, and returned to their homes; after receiving in public the thanks of the Goat-King for their distinguished behaviour, and a carved matchbox each "For valour in face of the horns of the enemy."
The Stein-bok Pedlar was begged to make his home at theHeif Châlet, but he loved his wandering life too much to settle down.
"Keep the tame Fox instead of me, ma'am," he said, as he shook hands warmly with his friends at parting. "The poor creature is miserable in captivity."
He then made the Goat-mother a handsome present of all his remaining groceries, and departed once more upon his travels.
That same afternoon a special messenger from the Goat-King arrived with an inlaid musical chair, "as a slight token of regard," for the Heif-father.
"Well, at all events, it's better than a cuckoo clock," said the Goat-mother resignedly, "but let me warn you seriouslynever to sit down upon it! I know its ways, and though kindly meant, I should have preferred paper-knives!"
It was a large white house that stood on a hill. In front stretched a beautiful garden full of all kinds of rare flowers, on to which opened the windows of the sitting-rooms.
Everything was handsome and stately, and the lady who owned it was handsomer and statelier than her house.
In her velvet dress she sat under the shade of a sweeping cedar tree; with a crowd of obsequious relations round her, trying to anticipate her lightest wishes.
"How nice it must be to be rich," thought the little kitchen-maid as she looked out through the trellis work that hid the kitchens at the side of the great house. "How happy my mistress must be. How much I should like to try just for one day what it feels like!"—and she went back with a sigh to her work in the gloomy kitchen.
Through the latticed window she could see nothing but the paved yard, and an old tin biscuit box that stood on the window-sill, and contained two little green shoots sprouting up from the dark mould.
This little ugly box was the kitchen-maid's greatest treasure. Every day she watered it and watched over it, for she had brought the seeds from the tiny garden of her own home, and many sunny memories clustered about them. She was always looking forward to the day when the first blossoms would unfold, and now it really seemed that two buds were forming on the slender stems. The little kitchen-maid smiled with joy as she noticed them.
"I shall have flowers, too!" she said to herself hopefully.
One day, as the mistress of the house walked on the terrace by the vegetable garden, the little kitchen-maid came past suddenly with a basket of cabbages. She smiled and curtsied so prettily that the great lady nodded to her kindly, and threw her a beautiful red rose she carried in her hand.
The kitchen-maid could hardly believe her good fortune. She picked up the flower and ran with it to her bedroom, where she put it in a cracked jam-pot in water; and the whole room seemed full of its fragrance—just as the little kitchen-maid's heart was all aglow with gratitude at the kind act of the great lady.
Time passed, and the little kitchen-maid's rose withered; but the slender plants in the tin box expanded into flower, and all the yard seemed brighter for their white petals.
One day the mistress of the house fell ill. Doctors went and came, crowds of relations besieged the house, an air of gloom hung over the bright garden.
The little kitchen-maid waited anxiously for news; andtears rolled down her face as she heard the Church bell tolling for the death of the great lady.
A grand funeral started from the white house on the hill. Carriages containing relations, who tried vainly to twist their faces into an expression of the grief they were supposed to be feeling.
Wreaths of the purest hot-house flowers covered the coffin—wreaths for which the relations had given large sums of money; but not one woven with sorrowful care by the hand of a real lover.
The sod was patted down, the dry-eyed mourners departed; and some square yards of bare earth were all that now belonged to the great lady.
When everyone had left, the little kitchen-maid crept from behind some bushes, where she had been hiding.
Her face was tear-stained, and she carried in her hand two slender white flowers.
They were the plants grown with such loving care in the old tin box on the window-sill; and she laid them with a sigh amongst the rich wreaths and crosses.
"Good-bye, dear mistress! I have nothing else to bring you," she whispered; and never dreamed that her gift had been the most beautiful of any—her simple love and tears.
Granny Pyetangle lived in a little thatched cottage, with a garden full of sweet-smelling, old-fashioned flowers. It was one of a long row of other thatched cottages that bordered the village street. At one end of this was the Inn, with a beautiful sign-board that creaked and swayed in the wind; at the other, Dame Fossie's shop, in which brandy-balls, ginger-snaps, balls of string, tops, cheese, tallow candles, and many other useful and entertaining things were neatly disposed in a small latticed window.
All Granny Pyetangle's relations were dead; and she lived quite alone with her little grandson 'Zekiel, who had been a mingled source of pride and worry to her, ever since he left off long-clothes and took to a short-waisted frock with a wide frill round the neck, that required constant attention in the way of washing and ironing.
'Zekiel's favourite place to play in was Granny Pyetangle's cottage doorway.
A board had been put up to prevent him rolling out on to the cobblestone pavement; and this board though veryirritating to 'Zekiel in many ways—as preventing him from straying down the road and otherwise enjoying himself—was yet not to be despised, as he soon discovered, when he was learning to walk.
It was one of the few things he could grasp firmly, without its immediately sliding away, doubling up, turning head over heels, or otherwise throwing him violently down on the brick floor of the kitchen—before he knew what had happened to him!
Granny Pyetangle frequently went to have a chat with Dame Fossie, her large sun-bonnet shading her wrinkled old face, a handkerchief crossed neatly over her print bodice. On these occasions 'Zekiel accompanied his grandmother, hanging on to her skirts affectionately with one hand, whilst he waved a crust of brown bread in the other—a crust which he generally carried concealed about his person, for the two-fold purpose of assisting through his teeth and amusing himself at every convenient opportunity.
Whilst Granny Pyetangle discussed the affairs of the neighbours, 'Zekiel would sit on the floor by her side contentedly sucking his crust, and looking with awe upon the contents of the shop. Such a collection of good things seemed a perfect fairy-tale to him, and he would often settle in his own mind what he would have when he grew up and had pence to rattle about in his trousers' pocket, like Eli and Hercules Colfox.
Like most children in short petticoats, who—contrary tothe generally-received idea—are constantly meditating on every subject that comes under their notice; 'Zekiel had his own ideas about Granny Pyetangle and her friend Dame Fossie.
His grandmother ought to have spent more of her money on peppermint-cushions, tin trumpets, and whip-tops, and less on those uninteresting household stores; and Dame Fossie should have remembered that crusts are poor work when brandy-snaps and gingerbread are spread before you, and ought more frequently to have bestowed a biscuit on the round-eyed 'Zekiel, as he played with the cat, or poked pieces of stick between the cracks of the floor when Granny Pyetangle wasn't looking.
Though 'Zekiel had no brothers and sisters, he had a great many friends, the chief of which were Eli and Hercules Colfox, his next door neighbours, who were very kind and condescending to him in spite of the dignity of their corduroy trousers.
'Zekiel had a way of ingratiating himself with everyone, and of getting what he wanted, that inspired the slower-witted Eli and Hercules with awe and admiration; until one day he took it into his head to long for Dame Fossie's celebrated black and white spotted china dog!
All the village knew this dog, for it had stood for years on a shelf above the collection of treasures in the shop window. It was not an ordinary china dog such as you can see in any china shop now-a-days, but one of the old-fashioned kind, on which the designer had (like the early masters) expended all his art upon the dignity of expression without harassing himself with petty details.
Proudly Dame Fossie's dog looked down upon the world, sitting erect, with his golden padlock and chain glittering in any stray gleams of sunshine; his white coat evenly spotted with black, his long drooping ears, neat row of carefully-painted black curls across the forehead, and that proud smile which, though the whole village had been smitten down before him, would still have remained unchangeable.
It was this wonderful superiority of expression that had first attracted 'Zekiel as he played about on the floor of Dame Fossie's parlour.
The china dog never looked at him with friendly good-fellowship, like the other dogs of the village. It never wanted to share his crusts, or upset him by running up against his legs just as he thought he had mastered the difficulties of "walking like Granny!"
It was altogether a strangely attractive animal, and 'Zekiel, from the time he could first indistinctly put a name to anything, had christened it the "Fozzy-gog" out of compliment to its owner, Dame Fossie—and the "Fozzy-gog" it remained to him, and to the other children of the village, for ever after.
When 'Zekiel was nearly six years of age Granny Pyetangle called him up to her, and asked what he would like for his birthday present.
'Zekiel sat down on a wooden stool in the chimney corner, where the iron pot hung, and meditated deeply.
"Eli and Hercules to tea, and a Fozzy-gog to play with," he said at last—and Granny Pyetangle smiled and said she would see what she could do—"'Zekiel was a good lad, and deserved a treat."
'Zekiel's birthday arrived, and the moment he opened his eyes he saw that his grandmother had redeemed her promise.
On a rush chair beside his pillow stood the very double of the Fozzy-gog!—yellow eyes, gold collar and padlock, black spots, and all complete!
'Zekiel sprang up, and scrambled into his clothes as quickly as possible. He danced round Granny Pyetangle in an ecstasy of delight, and scarcely eat any breakfast, he was in such a hurry to show his treasure to his two friends.
As he handed it over the low hedge that separated the two gardens he felt a proud boy, but Eli did not appear so enthusiastic as 'Zekiel expected. He said that "chaney dogs was more for Grannies nor for lads," and that if he had been in 'Zekiel's place he would have chosen a fine peg-top.
Poor 'Zekiel was disappointed. The tears gathered in his eyes. He hugged the despised china dog fondly to him, and carried it indoors to put in a place of honour in Granny Pyetangle's oak corner-cupboard—where it looked out proudly from behind the glass doors, in company with the best tea-cups, a shepherdess tending a woolly lamb, two greyhoundson stony-white cushions, and Grandfather Pyetangle's horn snuff-box.
Time passed on, and 'Zekiel's petticoats gave place to corduroy breeches, but his devotion to the china dog never waned. He would talk to it, and tell it all his plans and fancies, and several times he almost persuaded himself that it wagged its tail and nodded to him. In fact, he was quite sure that when Granny Pyetangle was ill that winter, the china dog was conscious of the fact, and looked at him with its yellow eyes full of compassion and sympathy.
Poor Granny Pyetangle was certainly very ill. She had suffered from rheumatism for many years, and was sometimes almost bent double with it; but that autumn it came on with increased violence, and 'Zekiel, who nursed his old grandmother devotedly, had to sit by the bed-side for hours giving her medicine, or the food a neighbour prepared for her, just as she required it.
Granny Pyetangle was sometimes rather cross in those days, and would scold poor 'Zekiel for "clumping in his boots" and "worritting"—but 'Zekiel was very patient.
"Sick peopleiswearing at times," said Dame Fossie. "Come you down to me sometimes, 'Zekiel, and I'll let you play with my chaney dog. It isn't fit as young lads should be cooped up always!"—and when Granny Pyetangle had a neighbour with her, 'Zekiel gladly obeyed.
One evening he ran down the village street with a smile on his face, and a new penny in his pocket. Squire Hancockhad given it to him for holding his horse, and he was going to spend it at Dame Fossie's on a cake for his grandmother.
Twilight was falling, yet Dame Fossie's shop was not lighted up; which was strange, as a little oil lamp generally burned in the window as soon as it grew dusk.
The shop door was shut and locked, and 'Zekiel ran round to the back, and climbing on the edge of the rain-water butt, he peered over the white dimity blind, into the silent kitchen.
No one was there, and yet Dame Fossie must be somewhere in the house, for he distinctly heard sounds of thumping and scraping going on upstairs.
"I'll get in through the window, and surprise her!" said 'Zekiel; and as one of the latticed panes was unfastened he proceeded to push it gently open, and creep in on to the table that stood just beneath it.
He unlatched the kitchen door, and stole up the ricketty staircase.
The sounds continued, but more loudly. Evidently there was a house-cleaning going on, and 'Zekiel supposed this was why Dame Fossie had been deaf to his repeated knockings. He lifted the latch of the room from which the noise proceeded, and peeping cautiously in, beheld such a strange sight that he remained rooted to the ground with astonishment.
Dame Fossie's furniture was piled up in one corner—the oak bureau, and the rush-bottomed chairs, inside the four-post bedstead. A pail of water stood in the middle of the floor; and close by was the Fozzy-gog himself, with a mop between his paws, working away with the greatest energy.
He was about four times his ordinary size, as upright as 'Zekiel himself, and was directing the work of several other china dogs; amongst whom 'Zekiel immediately recognized his own property, Granny Pyetangle's birthday present!
Everyone seemed to be too busy to notice 'Zekiel as he stood half in the doorway. Two of the dogs were scouring the floor with a pair of Dame Fossie's best scrubbing brushes, another was dusting the ceiling with a feather broom; whilst several, seated round the four-post bedstead, were polishing it with bees' wax and "elbow-grease." They all listened to the Fozzy-gog with respectful attention, as he issued his directions; for he was evidently a person in authority.
It did not occur to 'Zekiel to be surprised that all the dogs were chatting together in very comprehensible Dorsetshire English. To see them actually living, and moving about, was such an extraordinary thing that it swallowed up every other feeling, even that of fear.
"Make haste, my good dogs! Put the furniture straight, and have all ready. Dame Fossie will be returning soon, and we must be back on our shelves before her key turns," said the Fozzy-gog cheerfully.
The dogs all worked with renewed energy, and before 'Zekiel could collect his scattered wits enough to retreat orhide himself, the room was in perfect order, and out trooped the china dogs carrying the buckets, brooms, and brushes, they had been using.
As they caught sight of 'Zekiel, the Fozzie-gog jumped several feet into the air.
"What! 'Zekiel spying upon us!" he screamed angrily. "Bring the lad into the kitchen. We must examine into this," and he clattered down the steep stairs with his mop into the wash-house.
Poor 'Zekiel followed trembling. His own dog had crept up to him, and slipped one paw into his hand, whispering hurriedly, "Don't be downhearted, 'Zekiel. Never contradict him, and he will forgive you in a year or two!"
"A year or two!" thought 'Zekiel wretchedly. "And never contradict him, indeed! when he says I was spying on him. A likely thing!" and he clung to his friend, and dragged him in with him into the kitchen.
The Fozzy-gog sat in Dame Fossie's high-backed chair in the chimney corner, the other china dogs grouped around him. It reminded 'Zekiel of the stories of Kings and their Courts, and no doubt the Fozzy-gogwasa king—in his own opinion at least.
He questioned 'Zekiel minutely as to how he happened to come there so late in the evening; and to all the questions 'Zekiel answered most truthfully.
The frown on the Fozzy-gog's face relaxed more and more—an amiable smile began to curl the corners of hismouth, and he extended his paw in a dignified manner towards 'Zekiel, who felt like a prisoner reprieved.
"We forgive you, 'Zekiel! You have always been a good friend to us, and your own dog speaks well of you," said the Fozzy-gog benignly. "You must give us your word you will never mention what you have seen. In the future we must be china dogs to you, andnothing more; but in return for this you may ask one thing of us, and, if possible, we will grant it."
'Zekiel hesitated. Wild possibilities of delight in the shape of ponies and carts flitted rapidly through his mind, and then the remembrance of Granny Pyetangle, lying ill and suffering on her bed in the little sloping attic, drove everything else from his mind.
"I want my poor old Granny to be well again," he said, looking the Fozzy-gog bravely in the face—"and I don't want naught else. If you'll do that, I'll promise anything—that's to say, anything in reason," added 'Zekiel, who prided himself on this diplomatic finish to his sentence—which was one he had frequently heard his grandmother make use of in moments of state and ceremony.
The Fozzy-gog appeared to be favourably impressed by 'Zekiel's request. He rose from his chair, and waved his paw graciously.
"We dismiss this gathering!" he cried. "And you, Pyetangle"—pointing to 'Zekiel's china dog—"take your master home, and bring him to our meeting at the cross-roads to-morrow at midnight. Do not fail. Farewell!"
As he spoke the Fozzy-gog shrank and stiffened. His black curls acquired their usual glaze, and he had just time to jump upon the shelf above the shop window, before he froze into his immovable china self again.
The other dogs disappeared through the open kitchen casement; and 'Zekiel found himself in the village street without in the least knowing how he got there!
It was almost dark as he ran home, but as he swung open the garden gate, he fancied he saw something white standing exactly in the centre of the pathway. He was sure he heard a faint barking, and a voice whispered—"Wait a minute, 'Zekiel, I want to talk to you." 'Zekiel retreated a step, and sat down gasping on a flower bed.
"I want to talk to you," repeated the little voice.
'Zekiel craned forward, though he was trembling with fright, and saw in the fast gathering shadows his own china dog, standing beside Granny Pyetangle's favourite lavender bush—though how it managed to get there so quickly he could not imagine! He stretched out his hand to stroke it, and started up, as instead of the cold china, he felt the soft curls of a fluffy fur coat.
"Tell me what it all means! Oh, do'ee, now!" said 'Zekiel, almost crying.
The china dog sat down by 'Zekiel's side, and putting one paw affectionately on his knee, looked up in his face, with his honest yellow eyes.
"The Fozzy-gog has commissioned me to explain all about it," he said confidentially. "So don't be frightened, and no harm will come of it! Twice every month (if we can escape unobserved) we take the form of ordinary dogs, and meet together to amuse ourselves, or to work for our owners. There are many of us in the village, and as the Fozzy-gog is our ruler, we are bound to obey him, and to work more for old Dame Fossie than for anybody else. Yesterday we knew she was going to visit her married daughter. We determined to have a thorough house-cleaning, and were just in the midst of it when you came in! It was a good thing the Fozzy-gog happened to be in a good temper, and knew you well! We have never before been discovered. He is a hasty temper, and it certainlywasirritating!"
'Zekiel began to recover from his terror, and grasped the china dog by the paw. He felt proud to think that his ideas about china dogs had proved true. They were not merely "chaney"—as Eli and Hercules contemptuously expressed it; but were really as much alive as he was himself, after all!
"However did you manage to get out of Granny Pyetangle's cupboard?" enquired 'Zekiel, curiously.
"Oh, I put those lazy greyhounds and the shepherdess at it," replied the china dog. "They worked all night, and managed to undo the latch early this afternoon. They're bound to work for me like all the inferior china things," and he shook his head superciliously.
"And now," said 'Zekiel, "please tell me how the Fozzy-gog is going to get my Granny well."
"Ah, that I mayn't tell you," said the china dog. "You must come with me to-morrow night to the Dog-wood, and you will hear all about it."
As he spoke, he began to shrink and stiffen in the same remarkable way as the Fozzy-gog, and a moment after he was standing in his ordinary shape in the centre of the cobblestone pathway.
The moonlight shone upon his quaint little figure and the golden padlock at his neck. 'Zekiel sprang up just as the cottage door opened, and a neighbour came out calling, "'Zekiel! 'Zekiel! Drat the lad! Where be you gone to?"
'Zekiel tucked the china dog under his arm and hurried in, receiving a good scolding from Granny Pyetangle and her friend for "loitering," but he felt so light-hearted and cheerful, the hard words fell round him quite harmlessly.
"Granny 'll be well to-morrow! Granny 'll be well to-morrow!" he kept repeating to himself over and over again, and he ran into the kitchen just before going to bed to make sure the things in the corner cupboard were safely shut away for the night.
'Zekiel hardly knew how he got through the next day, so impatient was he for the evening. Granny Pyetangle was certainly worse. The neighbours came in and shook their heads sadly over her, and Dame Fossie hobbled up from her shop and offered to spend the night there, as it was"no' fit for young lads to have such responsibilities"—and this offer 'Zekiel eagerly accepted.
As soon as it grew dusk, he unlatched the door of the oak cupboard; and then being very tired—for he had worked hard since daylight—he sat down in Granny Pyetangle's large chair, and in a minute was fast asleep.
He was awakened by a series of pulls at his smock-frock; and starting up he saw that it was quite dark, except for the glow of a few ashes on the hearth-stone, and that the china dog, grown to the same size as he had been the evening before, was trying to arouse him.
"Wake up, 'Zekiel!" he said in a low voice. "Dame Fossie is upstairs with your Granny, and we must be off."
'Zekiel rubbed his eyes, and taking his cap down from a peg, and tying a check comforter round his neck, he followed the china dog from the kitchen, and closed and latched the door behind him.
Out in the moonlit street, the china dog kept as much as possible in the shadow of the houses; 'Zekiel following, his hob-nailed bootsclick,clickingagainst the rough stones as he stumbled sleepily along.
They soon left the village behind them, and plunged into a wood, which, stretching for miles across hill and dale, was known to be a favourite haunt of smugglers.
'Zekiel instantly became very wide awake indeed, and unpleasant cold shivers ran down his back, as he thought he saw black and white forms gliding amongst the trees,and yellow eyes glancing at him between the bare branches.
"It isn't smugglers. It's the dogs galloping to the meeting place," said the china dog, who seemed able to read 'Zekiel's thoughts in a very unnatural manner.
They soon left the rough pathway they had been following, and 'Zekiel, clinging to the china dog's paw, found himself in the densest part of the wood, which was only dimly lighted by a few scattered moonbeams.
"We are getting near the Dog-wood now," said the china dog as they hurried on, and in another moment they came out on to the middle of a clearing, round which a dense thicket of red-stemmed dog-wood bushes grew in the greatest luxuriance.
In the centre was a large square stone, like a stand; on which sat the Fozzy-gog, surrounded by about fifty china dogs of all shapes and sizes, but each one with a gold padlock and chain round his neck, without which none were admitted to the secret society of the "Fozzy-gogs."
'Zekiel was drawn reluctantly into the magic circle, while every dog wagged his tail as a sign of friendly greeting.
The Fozzy-gog nodded graciously, and immediately the dogs commenced a wild dance, with many leaps and bounds; round the stone on which their ruler was seated.
The moonlight shone brightly on their glancing white coats; and behind rustled the great oak trees, their boughs twisted into fantastic forms, amidst which the wind whistled eerily.
'Zekiel shuddered as he looked at the strange scene, and longed sincerely to be back again in his little bed at Granny Pyetangle's.
"However, it won't do to show I'm afraid, or don't like it," he said to himself, so he capered and hopped with the others until he was quite giddy and exhausted, and forced to sit down on a grassy bank to recover himself.
"The trees are playing very well to-night," said a dog as he skipped by. "Come and have another dance?" and he flew round and round like a humming top.
'Zekiel shook his head several times. He was so out of breath he could only gasp hurriedly—"No, no! No more, thank you!" but his friend had already disappeared.
The Fozzy-gog now approached him. He carried something in his paw, which he placed in 'Zekiel's hand.
"Put this on Grandmother Pyetangle's forehead when you return to-night—promise that you will keep silence for ever about what you have seen—and to-morrow she will be well!"
"I promise," said 'Zekiel. "Oh, Fozzy-gog! I'll never forget it!"
"No thanks," said the Fozzy-gog. "I like deeds more than words. Pyetangle shall take you home."
He beckoned to 'Zekiel's dog, who came up rather sulkily—and 'Zekiel found himself outside the magic circle, and well on his way home, almost before he could realize that they had started!
As he entered Granny Pyetangle's little garden, he saw that a light was still burning in her attic.
He went softly into the kitchen. It was quite dark, but a ray of moonlight enabled him to see the china dog open the cupboard; and, rapidly shrinking, place himself on his proper shelf again.
'Zekiel then took off his boots, ran up the creaking stairs, and tapped softly at Granny Pyetangle's bedroom. No one answered, so he pushed open the door.
Dame Fossie sat sleeping peacefully in a large rush-bottomed chair by the fireplace—and Granny Pyetangle, on her bed under the chintz curtains, was sleeping too.
'Zekiel laid the Fozzy-gog's leaf carefully on her forehead, and creeping from the room, threw himself on his own little bed, and was soon as fast asleep as the two old women.
The next morning, when Granny Pyetangle awoke, she said she felt considerably better, and so energetic was she that Dame Fossie had great difficulty in persuading her not to get up.
Dame Fossie tidied up the place, and was much annoyed to find a dead leaf sticking to Granny Pyetangle's scanty grey hair. "How a rubbishy leaf o' dog-wood came to get there, is more norIcan account for," she said crossly, as she swept it away into the fire, before 'Zekiel could interfere to rescue it.
Granny Pyetangle's recovery was wonderfully rapid. Every day she was able to do a little more, and 'Zekiel'striumph was complete when he was allowed to help her down the stairs into the kitchen, and seat her quavering, but happy, on the great chair in the chimney corner.
"Well, it do seem pleasant to be about agin," said Granny Pyetangle, smoothing her white linen apron. "No'but you have kept the place clean, 'Zekiel, like a good lad. There's those things in corner cupboard as bright as chaney can be! and that chaney dog o' yours sitting as life-like as you please! It wouldn't want much fancy to say he was wagging his tail and looking at me quite welcoming!"
The wood fire blazed and crackled, the kettle sang on its chain in the wide chimney. Granny Pyetangle was almost well, and quite happy; and 'Zekiel felt his heart overflowing with gratitude towards the Fozzy-gog.
"I'll never forget him. Never!" said 'Zekiel to himself, "and I wouldn't tell upon him not if anyone was to worrit me ever so!"—and indeed he never did.
Years passed, and Dame Fossie's shop was shut, and Dame Fossie herself was laid to rest. Her daughter inherited most of her possessions; but—"to my young friend 'Zekiel Pyetangle, I will and bequeath my china dog, hoping as he'll be a kind friend to it," stood at the end of the sheet of paper which did duty as her will. And so 'Zekiel became the owner of the Fozzy-gog after all!
Granny Pyetangle has long since passed away, but the little thatched cottage is still there, with the garden full of lavender bushes and sweet-smelling flowers. From the glassdoor of the corner cupboard the Fozzy-gog and his companion look out upon the world with the same inscrutable expression; and 'Zekiel himself, old and decrepit, but still cheerful, may at this moment be sitting in the cottage porch, watching his little grandchildren play about the cobblestone pathway, or talking over old times with Eli and Hercules Colfox, who, hobbling in for a chat, take a pull at their long pipes, and bemoan the inferiority of everything that does not belong to the time when "us were all lads together."