I'll have the charmThat saves from harm;The charm I'll haveAnd make her slave;It's on her neck,And I expectShe'll die of fearWhen I come near.On her I'll grateAs sure as fate.
I'll have the charmThat saves from harm;The charm I'll haveAnd make her slave;It's on her neck,And I expectShe'll die of fearWhen I come near.On her I'll grateAs sure as fate.
I'll have the charm
That saves from harm;
The charm I'll have
And make her slave;
It's on her neck,
And I expect
She'll die of fear
When I come near.
On her I'll grate
As sure as fate.
This was certainly a disagreeable prospect, for Grater must prove very scratchy indeed.
"I surely must keep away from him," Hortense reflected.
She forgot her fear of Grater in a moment, however, for there was a noise as of claws on the attic floor, and the movement of a heavy body.
"It's Alligator!" she said aloud.
"Yes, it's me," Alligator answered. "Don't anybody try to stop me. I know that Cat's upon the roof, and I mean to have him. I'll swallow him whole."
"The Cat is dancing with Grater," said Hortense, "and Grater is a terrible person. You daren't swallow him, for he's all hard and covered with sharp points."
"I am myself," Alligator said. "I'll look him over, but it's the Cat I want. Warm and soft, he'll be."
Alligator started up the ladder, and Hortense and the others pressed aside to let him pass. Softly he slid out of the window upon the roof and was half way down it before the Cat saw him.
Jeremiah, with a howl, leaped to the top of the chimney, his back arched, his tail as large as a fox's brush.
Grater, who was a nimble fellow for all that he looked so clumsy, after one glance at Alligator ran quickly around to the other side of the roof, and Alligator, with the slow, relentless movement of a traction engine, continued after Jeremiah. Jeremiah remembered his former unhappy experience, apparently, for with one despairing meow he disappeared down the chimney. They could hear him falling slowly, his claws scratching the bricks. As he fell, his cries grew fainter and fainter. As for Alligator, he stood with his short forelegs resting on the chimney top, the picture of disappointment.
Hortense and the others were so absorbed in this interesting scene that they had quite forgotten Grater. His sudden appearance at the window so surprised them that all four slid down the ladder in a panic.
"Quick, the trapdoor!" Hortense cried.
"Let me fight him!" Malay Kris begged.
"No, no, not here!" Hortense said and pushed him before her.
Down the ladder they went as fast as they could, which wasn't very fast, for the iron rungs were slippery and Hortense had to feel for each one with her feet. Highboy was before her and once she stepped on his fingers.
"Ouch!" Highboy cried, and stopped to put his fingers in his mouth.
"Do hurry," Hortense begged, for she could hear Grater above her, already beginning to descend.
But Highboy was distressingly slow. Grater came nearer and nearer.
"Oh, dear!" Hortense said to herself, "he'll catch me in a moment and take my charm."
Then she had an inspiration. Quickly unclasping the charm, she reached down to Highboy and said, "Swallow this, quick!"
"Is it can——," Highboy began but could say no more, for she crammed it into his mouth.
"I'm sure it's indigestible," Highboy complained, "and it wasn't sweet. I don't like it."
"Hurry!" Hortense cried, for at last they were at the bottom where they could crawl through the door into the cellar.
Grater was so close that his hand was upon Hortense's foot. She jerked herself free and in a flash was up the cellar stairs and in the kitchen.
Malay Kris turned indignantly to Hortense.
"Why didn't you let me at him?" he demanded.
There was time for no further words. Grater was upon them, and Malay Kris, with a glad cry, hurled himself at his foe. It was a grand fight, but short. Malay Kris bore Grater to the floor, locked fast in a deadly embrace.
"Let me up!" said Grater in a weak, hoarse voice. "You're hurting me."
But Malay Kris, try as he might, could not do so. He had pinned his foe to the floor so securely that he, himself, was stuck fast. Andy, Highboy, and Hortense, all lent a hand but could not free him.
"Never mind," said Malay Kris, "I like the feel of this fellow and don't mind staying all night."
Whatever would Grandfather say, Hortense wondered.
There was nothing to do but leave Malay Kris to enjoy his victim. Hortense, after leading Andy out the door, ran up to her room with Highboy, who said he was too excited to sleep and that he would compose poetry all night. Hortense slept very well, however, and in the morning when she began to dress remembered her charm.
"Give me my charm, Highboy," said she.
"In the top drawer," said Highboy.
Sure enough, there it was, and Hortense fastened it hastily about her neck and ran down to breakfast, which wasn't ready.
"Aunt Esmerelda wouldn't cook breakfast this morning, and Mary is preparing it," Grandmother explained.
"Aunt Esmerelda is afraid of spooks," said Grandfather, laughing. "Indeed, I don't know how to explain it myself. What do you suppose we found this morning? That Malay kris of which I told you, that hangs in the parlor, was thrust through the grater and buried so deep in the kitchen floor that Fergus and I could hardly get it out."
Mary, bringing breakfast, announced,
"Jeremiah's shut up somewhere again. We can hear his cries but can't tell where he is."
"Not in the sofa again, I hope," said Grandfather.
"Not there," said Mary. "He sounds as if he were in the chimney."
"Impossible," said Grandfather. "But then, impossible things happen every day in this house. We'll have breakfast first, at any rate."
After breakfast Grandfather, Fergus, and Uncle Jonah found the place in the chimney where Jeremiah was caught and, knocking in a hole, let him out.
Very dirty he was, all covered with soot, and very much ashamed. He hurried away with lowered head and tail and didn't reappear until he had cleaned his coat.
Even then he would not look at Hortense, try as she would to catch his eye.
Monkey pendant
Chapter VII
"... there should be Little People up the mountain yonder...."
"If you will come to tea at four o'clock, Fergus will tell you a story of the Little People," said Mary to Hortense, adding as Hortense hesitated a moment, "Bring Andy with you."
Hortense accepted gladly and ran to inform Andy of the invitation and that nut cake with chocolate icing had been especially made for the occasion.
At four o'clock Andy and Hortense, in their best bib and tucker and with clean smiling faces, knocked at the door of the little cottage beyond the orchard where lived Fergus and Mary.
The tea was all that could be asked for in variety and quantity, and it was quite evident when Hortense and Andy had finished with it that if they ate even a mouthful of supper later, they would be taking a grave risk of bad dreams and castor oil.
Fergus lighted his pipe, drew his chair a little closer to the hearth, and related the story ofShamus the Harper.
You must know that a very long time ago, when many kings ruled Ireland, there lived a boy named Shamus. He was not, however, the son or grandson of a king, which was in itself a distinction. In fact, his father had a bit of a farm and a few sheep, and it was his intention that Shamus, likewise, should be a farmer and a raiser of sheep.Shamus, however, had other ideas. Being a shrewd lad, he saw early that men seldom made a fortune and won the good things of the world through toil and the sweat of their brows. Not at all! And Shamus loved an easy life only less than he loved to play upon the harp and sing songs of the old days, the wars of kings, and the love of beautiful women. He was always playing upon the harp when he should have been working in the fields and watching the sheep, and his father soon realized that the lad was fit for no honest work but was designed by nature only to be a harper and a maker of ballads.One day he said to his son, "Take your harp and go to the house of the King. Perhaps he may find a use for you, for sure it is you are of no use to me. When you have won gold and wear fine clothes, perhaps after long years you will return to see me in my old age, and I will think better of you."Shamus was glad at these words and, packing a few things in a bag and slinging his harp upon his back, off he went to the house of the King.It was a fine house with many servants and poor relations of the King, eating the bread of idleness. There were harpers, also, but as there can never be too many of them in the world, the King said to Shamus, "Play me a ballad of kings and wars, and the love of women, and, if the song be good, you shall stay with me and have little to do but make songs and sing them."Shamus did as he was told and sang a song which the King liked well, and accordingly the lad was given a fine coat and all he could eat and nothing to do, and he was content.Now, the King had a daughter who was as beautiful as the dawn. No sooner had Shamus set eyes upon her than he fell in love with her and resolved to win her as his wife, if she would have him and the King would consent. He made songs which he sang to her, and the Princess liked them. She grew fond of Shamus, who was a handsome lad.The King, however, after the way of kings and fathers, had other ideas and announced throughout the kingdom that the Princess should be the wife of him who was victorious in a quest, which was no other than to win from the King of the Little People the gold cup forever filled with good wine. No matter how much was drunk therefrom, the cup was never empty. The King chose this quest for the reason that he was very fond of good wine and could never get enough.Shamus, therefore, like many others, set out to win the gold cup from the King of the Little People. He slung his harp on his shoulder and put a bit of bread and meat in a bag to stay him on his journey, which promised to be long.Now, Shamus, having been reared in the country, knew that the Little People liked best to live in the hills and mountains. So to the mountains he went, making songs to lighten the long way. He made a song of running water, and of the wind in the trees, and of moonlight upon a grassy slope, and these he liked better than any songs he had yet composed.At last he came to the hills and mountains and set himself to watch for the Little People. Every moonlight night he sat by a green hill, hoping that the Little People would come forth to dance, as is their way, but never did he chance to see them, and he began to despair of finding them. Nevertheless he was not sad, for he had his harp, and the songs which came to him were beautiful, and he cared even more for these than for the love of the Princess. One day, as he sat in the woods playing upon his harp, he chanced to look up, and there drew near a beautiful creature upon a beautiful horse from whose mane hung many silver bells that chimed sweetly in the wind."Play me a song if you are a harper," said she.He played her his song of running water, and she liked it well; he played his song of wind in the trees, which she liked yet better; and then he played his song of moonlight on a grassy slope.The beautiful creature clapped her hands."Come with me to Elfland," said she, "for I am Queen of that place, and I will give you a coat of even cloth and make you a minstrel at my court. Have you the courage to do so?""It is the one wish of my heart," said Shamus.Accordingly, up he mounted behind the Queen of Elfland and away flew her horse, the silver bells chiming in the wind.For three days and nights they flew, and Shamus saw the moon turn red and heard the roaring of the sea. At last they came to the Court of Elfland, where, on a golden throne, sat the King of the Little People, most brave and fierce, tugging at his beard."What have we here?" he roared in a big voice. "Then let him play," commanded he when the Queen of Elfland had spoken her word.Shamus played his three songs, and the King of the Little People no longer pulled at his beard but sat as one in a dream."Those are good songs," said he at last. "Give him a coat of the even cloth, and he shall play to me when I desire."Accordingly, Shamus was given a fine green coat and became a minstrel at the court of the King of the Little People. So carefree was the life, and the food and wine so good, that the memory of his former life and of the beautiful Princess became as the memory of a dim and half-forgotten sorrow, and Shamus thought no more of returning to the world.One day, however, when he was recalling all his old songs to please the King, who, after the way of kings, was always hankering for something new, his fingers found a song of his childhood, one that carried him back to the days in his father's house. Then he also remembered other things, including the Princess and his love for her and the quest upon which he had started. His fingers fumbled with the strings, he could find no voice to sing further, and great tears rolled down his face and splashed on the ground."Stop it!" commanded the King of the Little People, drawing his feet up under him for fear of the damp. "Why is it you weep such wet tears?"So Shamus told him the cause of his sorrow while the King plucked at his beard and looked wise. When Shamus had finished, the King said to him:"If I should give you the goblet that you seek and back you should go to the world, sorrowful would be your days and nightly would you lament the lost and beautiful years you have spent with me.""Nevertheless," said Shamus, "so it is, and I must live my life as it is ordered.""So be it," said the King. "I do not value the goblet a whit but I must, of course, lay upon you three tasks which you must perform before it is yours.""What are they?" Shamus asked."First," said the King, "get me the magic dog that belongs to the King of the Gnomes and the sound of whose silver bell drives away all thought of sorrow.""Good," said Shamus, and away he went to seek the King of the Gnomes.After many days and adventures too numerous to relate, he came to the house of the King of the Gnomes, which was inside a mountain and as thickset with jewels as the grass with dew on a fine morning.Shamus told his desire and the King of the Gnomes ordered the dog to be brought. It was a tiny creature, and looking at its coat one way its color was gold, and looking at it another way its color was green, and underneath it was a fire red. Around its neck was a silver bell that chimed sweetly as it walked and at the sound of which all sorrow was forgotten."'Tis a fine dog," said Shamus."'Tis that." said the King, "and the sound of the bell is sweet, but one thing it will not do. Have you a wife?" said he."I have not," said Shamus.The King looked at him long with envy in his eyes."Some are born lucky in this world," said he. "Know that I have a wife whose tongue is like the roar of a waterfall day and night, save now and then when she takes a nap as she is now doing. Her talk drowns out the sound of the silver bell and drives me nearly mad. Make her cease her clatter, and the dog is yours."Just then there was a great noise and out came the Queen, talking thirteen to the dozen. The King clapped his fingers to his ears, and the magic dog put his tail between his legs and crawled under the throne. The King said never a word, but his glance said plain as day, "Isn't it as I said?"So Shamus took his harp and began to play his song of running water. At first he could not make himself heard, but after a while, as he played, the Queen's talk came slower and slower, and softer and softer, and by and by she was speechless.Then Shamus began to walk slowly away, and the Queen followed. On and on he walked until he came to a stream. In the middle was a stone. Around it foamed the white water. Onto the stone leapt Shamus, still playing. The Queen stood on the bank and wrung her hands, and then with a shriek she threw herself in and was swept away in the white water.Shamus leapt back to the bank where stood the King much pleased."The dog is yours," said he, "and a good bargain I've made. The silence," he said, "will be like honey on the tongue. Now and then," he said, "I'll likely come to the stream and drop in a bit of a stone. It roars louder than it did, don't you think?"And indeed it did so, for the Queen's voice was going still and has never since stopped.Shamus took the little dog under his arm and carried him back to the King of the Little People."So far so good," said the King. "Next, bring me the magic blackbird who sings so sweetly for the King of the Forest."Off went Shamus again, this time to the forest, where he found the King sitting under an oak tree."What do you here?" said the King, and Shamus told him."I'll not part with the bird," said the King, "although I'm a bit tired of his song. It's too sweet," said he, "and I prefer the cawing of crows and the croaking of ravens. However, it is much admired by others, and therefore I shall keep him."He ordered the bird to be brought and bade it sing, which it did most beautifully."His high notes are a bit hoarse to-day," said the King. "I've heard him do better."The bird cast him a murderous glance, and Shamus, who was a singer himself, felt sore at heart that a good song should receive so little praise. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, which he had found a good practice when dealing with kings.Also, he stayed to supper with the King and afterwards sang and played, the King every now and then breaking in with a word to say how it should be done."You do not badly for a beginner," said he when Shamus had finished.Shamus could have slain him where he stood for those ungracious words, but he bided his time, pretending to be well-pleased.When all were asleep that night, Shamus slipped from his bed and went into the woods where he began to play softly his song of the wind in the trees. Louder and louder he played, and sure enough, the blackbird soon came and perched on a tree near by. When he had done, the bird said, "It is a pleasure to hear a song well-played.""Sorry was I to hear the words of the King when you sang so sweetly before him," replied Shamus."Little he knows of songs," retorted the bird, "and I'm thinking I'll go where I'll be appreciated.""Then come with me," said Shamus. "There are kings and kings, and some are better than others."So he told him of the King of the Little People and of the good things that came to those who sang for him."I'll go with you," answered the bird.Quietly they slipped away lest the King of the Forest surprise them, and back they went to the King of the Little People."Good again," acknowledged the King, and he commanded the bird to sing."I'm almost minded to let you off the third task," the King exclaimed, "but a vow is a vow and must not be broken. Bring me last the hare that dances by moonlight."Shamus went off a third time and traveled until he came to a fine grassy slope, and there he awaited the full moon. Sure enough, as he lay hidden, out came the hare and began to dance, leaping and bounding and playing with his shadow.Then Shamus began to play, softly at first and then louder and louder. Higher and faster danced the hare to the music and when it was done he sat down, panting, on the grass."It is a good song, and never have I danced so well," exclaimed he."And never," said Shamus, "have I seen such wonderful dancing.""Thank you for that," rejoined the hare. "It is not often that I get an audience which can appreciate me, and you know yourself that a bit of praise helps wonderfully to make one do his best.""'Tis so," said Shamus. "A word of praise is meat and drink to one who sings—or dances," he added remembering the hare.Shamus told the hare of the King of the Little People and the good things at his court."Belike he'd have a bit of a carrot or a patch of good clover," said the hare wistfully."That he would," Shamus returned heartily. "Come with me and I'll show you.""I'll do it," said the hare, and off they went to the King of the Little People."You have done all that I asked," said the King, "and do you still wish to return to the world?""It is my fate to do so," said Shamus."So be it," said the King, "but long will you lament the day. It is easier to go than to return. However, I'm not saying that some day you may not come back to me, for I like you well."The King gave Shamus the magic goblet and ordered that he be borne from Elfland, and Shamus returned to the world.With the goblet in his pocket and his harp slung over his shoulder, he made his way to the court of the King and the Princess. On the throne sat an old woman, and the faces of those around were strange to him."Who are you?" she asked.Shamus told her the story of his wanderings and produced the goblet."Where is the Princess?" he inquired.At these words the old Queen upon the throne burst into loud weeping."Long have you been gone, Shamus," said she. "It is seven times seven years since you left me. And now I am old, and you are as you were. It is too late!"To Shamus, the time passed in Elfland had been no more than a year, and his heart was sorrowful as he turned away without a word."Belike my father is dead," said he as he bent his steps toward home.There he also found new faces and was given the word that his father had been dead this many a year. In sorrow Shamus turned away, making sad songs to comfort his heart.Thus he wandered through the world, finding no place where he could rest. His songs were sad and all who heard them wept, but he was not unhappy, for there is a certain pleasure in even a sad song.Yet always he longed for Elfland and the ways of the Little People, and the sound of the bell on the magic dog, whose chime brings forgetfulness of all sorrow. Try as he would, he could never find the way, and he knew that it was because his songs were sad and he was no longer young at heart.Older he grew with white hair and feeble step, and one day he was weary and sat himself down in a wood to rest. He sat there, thinking of his lost youth and the sad ways of the world, longing to die.As he lamented, his fingers plucked his harp and he played again his best songs, those of running water, and the sound of wind in the trees, and of moonlight on a grassy slope.His heart grew young within him as he played, and when he rose to his feet, the dimness of age fell away from his eyes. Before him stood the Queen of the Little People, as she had stood long before."Will you come with me, Shamus?" said she."Alas," said he, "I am now too old.""Your songs are young," said she, "and you are young again in heart. Come with me, where you may be young forever and play glad songs."Shamus mounted up behind on the beautiful horse, away they flew, and that was the last ever seen of him upon earth.
You must know that a very long time ago, when many kings ruled Ireland, there lived a boy named Shamus. He was not, however, the son or grandson of a king, which was in itself a distinction. In fact, his father had a bit of a farm and a few sheep, and it was his intention that Shamus, likewise, should be a farmer and a raiser of sheep.
Shamus, however, had other ideas. Being a shrewd lad, he saw early that men seldom made a fortune and won the good things of the world through toil and the sweat of their brows. Not at all! And Shamus loved an easy life only less than he loved to play upon the harp and sing songs of the old days, the wars of kings, and the love of beautiful women. He was always playing upon the harp when he should have been working in the fields and watching the sheep, and his father soon realized that the lad was fit for no honest work but was designed by nature only to be a harper and a maker of ballads.
One day he said to his son, "Take your harp and go to the house of the King. Perhaps he may find a use for you, for sure it is you are of no use to me. When you have won gold and wear fine clothes, perhaps after long years you will return to see me in my old age, and I will think better of you."
Shamus was glad at these words and, packing a few things in a bag and slinging his harp upon his back, off he went to the house of the King.
It was a fine house with many servants and poor relations of the King, eating the bread of idleness. There were harpers, also, but as there can never be too many of them in the world, the King said to Shamus, "Play me a ballad of kings and wars, and the love of women, and, if the song be good, you shall stay with me and have little to do but make songs and sing them."
Shamus did as he was told and sang a song which the King liked well, and accordingly the lad was given a fine coat and all he could eat and nothing to do, and he was content.
Now, the King had a daughter who was as beautiful as the dawn. No sooner had Shamus set eyes upon her than he fell in love with her and resolved to win her as his wife, if she would have him and the King would consent. He made songs which he sang to her, and the Princess liked them. She grew fond of Shamus, who was a handsome lad.
The King, however, after the way of kings and fathers, had other ideas and announced throughout the kingdom that the Princess should be the wife of him who was victorious in a quest, which was no other than to win from the King of the Little People the gold cup forever filled with good wine. No matter how much was drunk therefrom, the cup was never empty. The King chose this quest for the reason that he was very fond of good wine and could never get enough.
Shamus, therefore, like many others, set out to win the gold cup from the King of the Little People. He slung his harp on his shoulder and put a bit of bread and meat in a bag to stay him on his journey, which promised to be long.
Now, Shamus, having been reared in the country, knew that the Little People liked best to live in the hills and mountains. So to the mountains he went, making songs to lighten the long way. He made a song of running water, and of the wind in the trees, and of moonlight upon a grassy slope, and these he liked better than any songs he had yet composed.
At last he came to the hills and mountains and set himself to watch for the Little People. Every moonlight night he sat by a green hill, hoping that the Little People would come forth to dance, as is their way, but never did he chance to see them, and he began to despair of finding them. Nevertheless he was not sad, for he had his harp, and the songs which came to him were beautiful, and he cared even more for these than for the love of the Princess. One day, as he sat in the woods playing upon his harp, he chanced to look up, and there drew near a beautiful creature upon a beautiful horse from whose mane hung many silver bells that chimed sweetly in the wind.
"Play me a song if you are a harper," said she.
He played her his song of running water, and she liked it well; he played his song of wind in the trees, which she liked yet better; and then he played his song of moonlight on a grassy slope.
The beautiful creature clapped her hands.
"Come with me to Elfland," said she, "for I am Queen of that place, and I will give you a coat of even cloth and make you a minstrel at my court. Have you the courage to do so?"
"It is the one wish of my heart," said Shamus.
Accordingly, up he mounted behind the Queen of Elfland and away flew her horse, the silver bells chiming in the wind.
For three days and nights they flew, and Shamus saw the moon turn red and heard the roaring of the sea. At last they came to the Court of Elfland, where, on a golden throne, sat the King of the Little People, most brave and fierce, tugging at his beard.
"What have we here?" he roared in a big voice. "Then let him play," commanded he when the Queen of Elfland had spoken her word.
Shamus played his three songs, and the King of the Little People no longer pulled at his beard but sat as one in a dream.
"Those are good songs," said he at last. "Give him a coat of the even cloth, and he shall play to me when I desire."
Accordingly, Shamus was given a fine green coat and became a minstrel at the court of the King of the Little People. So carefree was the life, and the food and wine so good, that the memory of his former life and of the beautiful Princess became as the memory of a dim and half-forgotten sorrow, and Shamus thought no more of returning to the world.
One day, however, when he was recalling all his old songs to please the King, who, after the way of kings, was always hankering for something new, his fingers found a song of his childhood, one that carried him back to the days in his father's house. Then he also remembered other things, including the Princess and his love for her and the quest upon which he had started. His fingers fumbled with the strings, he could find no voice to sing further, and great tears rolled down his face and splashed on the ground.
"Stop it!" commanded the King of the Little People, drawing his feet up under him for fear of the damp. "Why is it you weep such wet tears?"
So Shamus told him the cause of his sorrow while the King plucked at his beard and looked wise. When Shamus had finished, the King said to him:
"If I should give you the goblet that you seek and back you should go to the world, sorrowful would be your days and nightly would you lament the lost and beautiful years you have spent with me."
"Nevertheless," said Shamus, "so it is, and I must live my life as it is ordered."
"So be it," said the King. "I do not value the goblet a whit but I must, of course, lay upon you three tasks which you must perform before it is yours."
"What are they?" Shamus asked.
"First," said the King, "get me the magic dog that belongs to the King of the Gnomes and the sound of whose silver bell drives away all thought of sorrow."
"Good," said Shamus, and away he went to seek the King of the Gnomes.
After many days and adventures too numerous to relate, he came to the house of the King of the Gnomes, which was inside a mountain and as thickset with jewels as the grass with dew on a fine morning.
Shamus told his desire and the King of the Gnomes ordered the dog to be brought. It was a tiny creature, and looking at its coat one way its color was gold, and looking at it another way its color was green, and underneath it was a fire red. Around its neck was a silver bell that chimed sweetly as it walked and at the sound of which all sorrow was forgotten.
"'Tis a fine dog," said Shamus.
"'Tis that." said the King, "and the sound of the bell is sweet, but one thing it will not do. Have you a wife?" said he.
"I have not," said Shamus.
The King looked at him long with envy in his eyes.
"Some are born lucky in this world," said he. "Know that I have a wife whose tongue is like the roar of a waterfall day and night, save now and then when she takes a nap as she is now doing. Her talk drowns out the sound of the silver bell and drives me nearly mad. Make her cease her clatter, and the dog is yours."
Just then there was a great noise and out came the Queen, talking thirteen to the dozen. The King clapped his fingers to his ears, and the magic dog put his tail between his legs and crawled under the throne. The King said never a word, but his glance said plain as day, "Isn't it as I said?"
So Shamus took his harp and began to play his song of running water. At first he could not make himself heard, but after a while, as he played, the Queen's talk came slower and slower, and softer and softer, and by and by she was speechless.
Then Shamus began to walk slowly away, and the Queen followed. On and on he walked until he came to a stream. In the middle was a stone. Around it foamed the white water. Onto the stone leapt Shamus, still playing. The Queen stood on the bank and wrung her hands, and then with a shriek she threw herself in and was swept away in the white water.
Shamus leapt back to the bank where stood the King much pleased.
"The dog is yours," said he, "and a good bargain I've made. The silence," he said, "will be like honey on the tongue. Now and then," he said, "I'll likely come to the stream and drop in a bit of a stone. It roars louder than it did, don't you think?"
And indeed it did so, for the Queen's voice was going still and has never since stopped.
Shamus took the little dog under his arm and carried him back to the King of the Little People.
"So far so good," said the King. "Next, bring me the magic blackbird who sings so sweetly for the King of the Forest."
Off went Shamus again, this time to the forest, where he found the King sitting under an oak tree.
"What do you here?" said the King, and Shamus told him.
"I'll not part with the bird," said the King, "although I'm a bit tired of his song. It's too sweet," said he, "and I prefer the cawing of crows and the croaking of ravens. However, it is much admired by others, and therefore I shall keep him."
He ordered the bird to be brought and bade it sing, which it did most beautifully.
"His high notes are a bit hoarse to-day," said the King. "I've heard him do better."
The bird cast him a murderous glance, and Shamus, who was a singer himself, felt sore at heart that a good song should receive so little praise. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, which he had found a good practice when dealing with kings.
Also, he stayed to supper with the King and afterwards sang and played, the King every now and then breaking in with a word to say how it should be done.
"You do not badly for a beginner," said he when Shamus had finished.
Shamus could have slain him where he stood for those ungracious words, but he bided his time, pretending to be well-pleased.
When all were asleep that night, Shamus slipped from his bed and went into the woods where he began to play softly his song of the wind in the trees. Louder and louder he played, and sure enough, the blackbird soon came and perched on a tree near by. When he had done, the bird said, "It is a pleasure to hear a song well-played."
"Sorry was I to hear the words of the King when you sang so sweetly before him," replied Shamus.
"Little he knows of songs," retorted the bird, "and I'm thinking I'll go where I'll be appreciated."
"Then come with me," said Shamus. "There are kings and kings, and some are better than others."
So he told him of the King of the Little People and of the good things that came to those who sang for him.
"I'll go with you," answered the bird.
Quietly they slipped away lest the King of the Forest surprise them, and back they went to the King of the Little People.
"Good again," acknowledged the King, and he commanded the bird to sing.
"I'm almost minded to let you off the third task," the King exclaimed, "but a vow is a vow and must not be broken. Bring me last the hare that dances by moonlight."
Shamus went off a third time and traveled until he came to a fine grassy slope, and there he awaited the full moon. Sure enough, as he lay hidden, out came the hare and began to dance, leaping and bounding and playing with his shadow.
Then Shamus began to play, softly at first and then louder and louder. Higher and faster danced the hare to the music and when it was done he sat down, panting, on the grass.
"It is a good song, and never have I danced so well," exclaimed he.
"And never," said Shamus, "have I seen such wonderful dancing."
"Thank you for that," rejoined the hare. "It is not often that I get an audience which can appreciate me, and you know yourself that a bit of praise helps wonderfully to make one do his best."
"'Tis so," said Shamus. "A word of praise is meat and drink to one who sings—or dances," he added remembering the hare.
Shamus told the hare of the King of the Little People and the good things at his court.
"Belike he'd have a bit of a carrot or a patch of good clover," said the hare wistfully.
"That he would," Shamus returned heartily. "Come with me and I'll show you."
"I'll do it," said the hare, and off they went to the King of the Little People.
"You have done all that I asked," said the King, "and do you still wish to return to the world?"
"It is my fate to do so," said Shamus.
"So be it," said the King, "but long will you lament the day. It is easier to go than to return. However, I'm not saying that some day you may not come back to me, for I like you well."
The King gave Shamus the magic goblet and ordered that he be borne from Elfland, and Shamus returned to the world.
With the goblet in his pocket and his harp slung over his shoulder, he made his way to the court of the King and the Princess. On the throne sat an old woman, and the faces of those around were strange to him.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Shamus told her the story of his wanderings and produced the goblet.
"Where is the Princess?" he inquired.
At these words the old Queen upon the throne burst into loud weeping.
"Long have you been gone, Shamus," said she. "It is seven times seven years since you left me. And now I am old, and you are as you were. It is too late!"
To Shamus, the time passed in Elfland had been no more than a year, and his heart was sorrowful as he turned away without a word.
"Belike my father is dead," said he as he bent his steps toward home.
There he also found new faces and was given the word that his father had been dead this many a year. In sorrow Shamus turned away, making sad songs to comfort his heart.
Thus he wandered through the world, finding no place where he could rest. His songs were sad and all who heard them wept, but he was not unhappy, for there is a certain pleasure in even a sad song.
Yet always he longed for Elfland and the ways of the Little People, and the sound of the bell on the magic dog, whose chime brings forgetfulness of all sorrow. Try as he would, he could never find the way, and he knew that it was because his songs were sad and he was no longer young at heart.
Older he grew with white hair and feeble step, and one day he was weary and sat himself down in a wood to rest. He sat there, thinking of his lost youth and the sad ways of the world, longing to die.
As he lamented, his fingers plucked his harp and he played again his best songs, those of running water, and the sound of wind in the trees, and of moonlight on a grassy slope.
His heart grew young within him as he played, and when he rose to his feet, the dimness of age fell away from his eyes. Before him stood the Queen of the Little People, as she had stood long before.
"Will you come with me, Shamus?" said she.
"Alas," said he, "I am now too old."
"Your songs are young," said she, "and you are young again in heart. Come with me, where you may be young forever and play glad songs."
Shamus mounted up behind on the beautiful horse, away they flew, and that was the last ever seen of him upon earth.
Hortense and Andy sat silent a moment as Fergus looked at them with his merry blue eyes.
"I wish there were still Little People," said Hortense with a sigh.
"Perhaps there are," said Fergus. "Who knows?"
"Have you ever seen them?" Andy demanded.
"Not of late," Fergus admitted, "but when I was a young lad in Ireland I saw them many a time."
"But not here?" said Hortense.
"It's because I'm old, not because they're not about," said Fergus. "To young eyes there should be Little People up the mountain yonder on a fine moonlight night."
Andy and Hortense looked at each other as though to say, "We'll find out, won't we?" which was indeed what both of them were thinking.
Monkey pendant
Chapter VIII
"The sky was lemon colored, and the trees were dark red."
Uncle Jonah had declared he would trounce Andy if ever he found him in the orchard or the barn, but as Uncle Jonah was very rheumatic and had to hobble about his work, it seemed unlikely that he would ever catch Andy, who was as fleet as a squirrel. It was a fine game, however, to pretend that Uncle Jonah was "after them," and so Andy and Hortense ran and hid whenever Uncle Jonah came in sight.
One afternoon they were seated in the grape arbor enjoying the early grapes, which were forbidden, when Uncle Jonah suddenly appeared. The only way to escape was through the vines and lattice, a tight squeeze, and Uncle Jonah nearly had them.
"I seed yo'," Uncle Jonah called, "an' I's gwine tell yo' Gran'pap."
Andy and Hortense ran as if possessed. Into the barn they went and up into the haymow where they were usually safe, but as they lay panting on the hay, Uncle Jonah entered the barn, grumbling to himself.
Andy and Hortense lay as still as mice. Uncle Jonah was with the horses. They could hear the slap of his hand upon their fat backs and his, "Steady now, quit yo' foolin'."
"Done et all yo' hay, have yo'? Spec's dis po' niggah to climb dose staihs and tho' down some mo'? I ain't gwine do it, no suh."
Nevertheless, soon Andy and Hortense heard Uncle Jonah's step on the stairs and they gazed at each other in fright.
"Where shall we hide?" Hortense gasped.
"Slide down the hay chute and into the manger," said Andy quickly. "The horses won't bite, and we can get away before Uncle Jonah comes down."
In a moment they were at the chute and, holding to the edge, dropped down, Andy first and Hortense on top. Andy scrambled through the hole into the manger and Hortense after him, but the hole was small, and Hortense plump, and it was only by hard squeezing that she got through at all.
Once in the manger, it was only a moment before they were out from under the velvety noses of the horses and had slipped past them through the stall. They ran out of the barn and to the kitchen where they secured an unusually large supply of cookies; then hurried to the nook in the shrubbery beside the basement window that led to the furnace, a good place to hide.
They ate cooky for cooky until they had eaten ten apiece, when they stopped to rest a bit. Hortense was still warm and unbuttoned her collar. As she did so, she was conscious of missing something and felt again carefully.
"I've lost my charm," she said hurriedly.
"Perhaps it slipped down inside," Andy suggested.
Hortense felt of herself but could not find it.
"I must have lost it going down the hay chute," she said. "I know I had it in the haymow. It must have come off when I squeezed through. Dear me, if I should lose it!"
"We'll find it when Uncle Jonah goes away from the barn," Andy consoled her.
They attacked the remaining cookies.
"I wonder how many cookies I could eat," said Andy dreamily as they began their thirteenth.
"I've had most enough," said Hortense taking another bite.
Then she began to feel very strange. Everything about her seemed to grow larger and larger, except Andy. The entrance to the basement seemed as wide as the barn door; the lilac bush over her head looked as big as an oak tree, and the piece of cooky in her hand as big as a dinner plate.
"What's happened to us?" Andy asked.
"I believe," said Hortense, "that we've grown small, or everything else big. I don't know which."
"How'll we ever grow big again?" Andy asked.
"We won't worry about that now," said Hortense practically. "It'll be lots of fun to be small. We can hide so nobody can find us and surprise people. I believe I could climb right into one of Highboy's drawers, or even into the jar where Grandpa keeps his tobacco."
"Mother'll never be able to find me when she wants me to weed the garden," said Andy hopefully.
Hortense's eyes grew wide, and she looked at Andy with a great idea in her eyes.
"What is it?" Andy asked.
"Now we can go through the little door and down the shining tunnel!" said Hortense.
It was so bright an idea that they wondered they hadn't thought of it sooner.
"But we're so small, how'll we ever get to the bottom of the chute? It'll be twice as high as we are."
Hortense hadn't thought of this difficulty.
"We can't go through the kitchen either, for we might be seen," said she. "Besides, the kitchen steps would be too high for us."
Andy was thinking.
"If we could find a long enough stick, we could carry it with us; then we could slide down it. After that it would be easy."
So they hunted for a stick and finally found one that looked as if it would do, but it was all they could do to get it into the basement opening. Once in, however, it was easily pulled down the chute to the edge of the drop below. Andy and Hortense lowered it carefully until the end rested on the bottom.
"Hooray," said Andy. "It's long enough."
And climbing onto it, he slid down and was soon out of sight.
"All right," he shouted a moment later, "I'm down."
Hortense then took hold, and with Andy steadying the stick at the bottom, she soon slid down and stood behind him.
Hand in hand they ran down the dark passage that led to the little door. It seemed a long way, and when they arrived, the little door seemed as big as any ordinary door. Andy pulled at the latch and swung it open, and there before them was the shining tunnel that curved out of sight. They stood a moment looking at it.
"Where do you suppose it goes?" Andy asked.
"It must go to the Little People," said Hortense. "Nobody else could use it."
"We'll find out, at any rate," said Andy, and together they ran down it.
It curved and curved and grew brighter and brighter as they ran, always a little downhill.
"I believe there's no end to it," said Hortense after they had gone what seemed a long way.
"There must be," said Andy. "Why I believe this is the end, and it's raining."
They came into what seemed to be a large cave whose roof was high above them, and from the roof water was dripping as fast and as thick as rain. The cave was as bright as moonshine and the drops sparkled as they fell. Through the falling drops, far on the other side of the cave, they saw a bright opening like the one through which they had come.
"We must run across," said Hortense, and hand in hand they dashed through the rain and into the little tunnel which was just like the one they had left, except that it began to slope up instead of down and soon was quite steep. As they paused for breath after climbing a long distance, Hortense, who had been thinking hard, said to Andy, "Do you know, I believe the cave with the falling water was under the brook, and now on this side we are going up the inside of the mountain."
"Perhaps we will come out in the cave where the Little People live," said Andy. "At least Fergus thinks they live there."
They hurried on, hoping that Andy's guess might be right, but when at last they reached the end of the passage and unlatched a little door exactly like that through which they had entered, they came out neither upon the mountain side nor in a cave, but in a strange country such as they had never seen before. The sky was lemon colored and the trees were dark red.
Before them, in the distance, was a little house with a steep roof and a pointed chimney. As they drew closer, they saw two windows in the end, set close together like a pair of eyes. Andy and Hortense walked slowly towards it, hand in hand. It was in a little garden surrounded by a hedge of cat-tails and hollyhocks.
"I never saw a hedge of cat-tails before," said Andy, and indeed it looked very odd.
There was a little gate, and through it Andy and Hortense entered the garden. Nobody was to be seen nor was there any sound. Andy and Hortense, coming closer, peeked through a window. They could see a fire on the hearth and a tall clock in the corner, but no person was visible.
"Let's go in." said Andy, and Hortense, agreeing, followed him around the corner to a little door which was unlatched.
Nobody was in the room, which had three chairs, a table, the clock which they had seen through the window, and in the corner a great jar, taller than they were, withCookiesprinted in large letters on the outside.
"Dear me, what a large cooky jar," said Hortense. "I'd like to look in."
But Andy could not reach the top to remove the cover, try as he would. He stood on a chair to do so and though he could now reach the cover, it was too heavy for him to budge.
Hortense, meanwhile, was looking about her to see what she could see, and as she did so her eyes fell on something familiar. In a glass case on the mantel was the monkey charm which she had lost in the barn. Hortense examined it closely to be sure that it was the same. Yes, there was the very link in the chain which she had noticed before because it was more tarnished than the others—and there was a broken link. She must have caught it as she slipped through the hay chute into the manger.
Hortense tried to reach the glass case but could not. She stood on a chair, but there was no apparent way of removing the glass. Tug as she and Andy might, the glass would not move.
"We might break the glass," Andy suggested.
"You cannot break it," said the old Clock suddenly.
"Why, it's exactly like our clock at home!" said Hortense. "I believe it's the same one. However could it have gotten here?"
"Time is the same here and everywhere, now and forever," said the Clock. "You cannot get away from time."
"Time isn't the same," said Hortense. "There are slow times and times when everything goes fast."
"It's only because you think so," said the Clock. "I go precisely the same at all times."
"When I'm asleep, where does time go?" Hortense asked. "The night goes in no time."
"Of course, in no time things are different," said the Clock. "I was speaking of time, not of no time."
Hortense puzzled over this, for it didn't seem right somehow.
"Well, no matter about that," said Hortense. "Tell us whose house this is—that's the important thing just now."
"Couldn't you tell whose house it is by looking at it?" asked the Clock. "I should think anybody could."
"It looks like something I've seen before," said Hortense, "but I can't remember what."
Then suddenly she did remember.
"It's the Cat's house!" said she. "And it has my charm!"
"Just so," said the Clock. "If I were you, I'd go away at once."
It seemed excellent advice, and Andy and Hortense turned to obey, but as they did so, in walked Jeremiah, a Jeremiah that seemed as big as a lion.
"Well, well," said Jeremiah in a purring voice, "if this isn't Andy and Hortense. I didn't think I'd find you here. How small you've grown!"
"I didn't look to find you here," said Hortense severely, "You should be at home where you belong."
But Jeremiah only smiled at this and yawned, showing his great sharp teeth. Then he stretched and sharpened his claws on the floor. His claws tore up great splinters with a noise like that of a sawmill, and Andy and Hortense were very much frightened.
"Let us past," Hortense said in a brave voice which trembled a little.
Jeremiah only blinked his great green eyes and smiled a little, very unpleasantly.
Hortense and Andy looked at the windows, but these were fastened tight, and Jeremiah, besides, was looking at them from his lazy green eyes.
"Don't go just yet," Jeremiah purred in a voice that shook the house. "It wouldn't be polite to hurry away. Besides, my friend Grater would be disappointed."
Andy and Hortense, being now but ten or twelve inches tall, had even less wish to see Grater than formerly. Hortense was aware of a sinking feeling in her stomach.
The door flew open and in walked Grater, and very large and rough he looked. Where Malay Kris had run him through, he wore a large patch of pink court-plaster. His eyes fell upon Andy and Hortense and a wide and wicked smile appeared upon his unhandsome countenance.
"Well, well," said Grater in his rough voice, "if here aren't our little friends. We must urge them to stay with us. Jeremiah, put these nice plump children in the cooky jar for future use."
"Jeremiah, put these nice plump children in the cooky jar," said Grater in his rough voice.
"Jeremiah, put these nice plump children in the cooky jar," said Grater in his rough voice.
With two steps Grater was across the room, and he removed the cover of the jar.
"In with them, Jeremiah," said Grater, and Jeremiah, rising lazily, took first Andy and then Hortense by the collar and dropped them into the jar. The top came down with a clatter, and Hortense and Andy were in the dark.
The jar was empty and the sides were smooth as glass.
"Stand on my back," said Andy, "and see if you can reach the cover."
Though Hortense could just reach it, it was far too heavy for her to move.
"It wouldn't be of any use," said Hortense. "They'd catch us again even if we did get out."
So they sat quiet for a long time. Hortense felt like crying, but managed not to. After a time she became hungry and put her hand in her pocket. There was a large piece of cooky which she had put there when she began to grow small and had completely forgotten.
"I have a piece of cooky," said she, breaking it in two and giving Andy half.
"If we eat any more, we may grow still smaller," said Andy.
"I don't care, I'm hungry," said Hortense. "Besides, if we grow very small perhaps the Cat won't see us when he looks into the jar—or we'll be too small to eat, at any rate."
It seemed a slim chance, but Hortense took a bite of cooky and waited to see what would happen.
"I'm not growing smaller," said she. "I do believe I'm growing bigger!"
She stood up quickly.
"I can reach the top," said she.
Andy stood up, too.
"I'm still growing," said Hortense. "Quick. We must get out before the jar is too small for us, or we'll be squeezed in and can't get out."
Together they pushed as hard as they could. The top of the jar fell off with a loud crash and Andy and Hortense scrambled over the edge, just in time, for they were growing bigger very fast.
The room was empty and dark except for the fire on the hearth.
"Hello," said the Clock, "is it you again? Better run while you have a chance!"
Andy and Hortense obeyed without a word, and hand in hand they ran through the door, into the garden, and out of the gate.
"We can't go back the way we came," said Hortense, panting, after they had run a long distance. "We're too big now."
"There must be another way out," said Andy.
So they ran on and on, through the trees.
"What a funny light it is," said Hortense, stopping at last and looking up. "I do believe the moon is blue here."
So it was—a blue moon in a lemon colored sky.
"I've heard of blue moons," said Hortense. "They must be very rare."
"They're rather nice," said Andy, "but I suppose we'd better not linger."
"Here's a path," said Hortense.
They ran along the path, which grew darker and darker, until they came to a gate on which was a sign printed in large letters. By peering close, Andy and Hortense could just make out the words:
PRIVATE PROPERTYNO TRESPASSING
"We have to go through, whosesoever it is," said Hortense, determinedly, and unlatching the gate through they went.
The path grew darker and smaller, walled on each side by rock. Soon they had to crawl on their hands and knees.
"I don't believe we can get out this way," Hortense said at last.
"Yes, we can," said Andy, who was in front. "I see light ahead."
Sure enough, out they soon came into yellow moonlight, such as they had always known. They were upon a large flat rock. Below them was a steep tree-covered slope, and at the bottom lights twinkled.
"It's the side of the mountain," said Hortense, "and that's the house way down there. How'll we ever get there?"
"We'll have to go down the mountain side," said Andy. "Do you know," he added, "I believe this is the very spot which Fergus pointed out to us? Maybe the Little People come here. Shall we hide and see?"
"Let's," agreed Hortense.
They hid in the shadow of a tree by the edge of the rock and waited, not making a sound.
The moon rose higher over the mountain until the rock was almost as light as day, but still no one appeared.
"Let's go home," said Hortense at last in a sleepy voice.
But Andy, who was listening with alert ears, whispered.
"Hush, I hear something."
Hortense, too, listened and at last heard a faint sweet sound from within the mountain. Nearer and nearer it came, to the very mouth of the cave. Then appeared a band of Little People in green coats and red caps, each with a white feather at the side.
They marched slowly, a band of musicians at the head playing upon tiny instruments which made high, sweet music no louder than the shrilling of gnats. Following the musicians came the King and Queen with little gold crowns on their heads and wearing robes with trains borne by pages. Then came eight stout fellows carrying two golden thrones which they placed on a little eminence.
The King and Queen seated themselves, and the fairy band, after marching once around the rock, formed in a hollow circle. The King clapped his hands and rose, whereupon the musicians ceased playing, and there was complete silence. The King was taller than the others by half a head; his beard was long and tawny, and his presence royal. Said the King:
"The moon is high and the night still. It is a fitting time and place for our revels. Let the musicians play."
The musicians struck up a slow stately dance, and the King, taking the Queen by the hand, advanced to the middle of the circle and with her stepped a minuet. When the music ceased, all the Little People clapped their hands in applause, and the King and Queen reseated themselves, smiling graciously.
"The rabbit-step," commanded the King, and immediately the musicians began so lively a tune that Andy and Hortense found it difficult not to join in, which would have spoiled everything. At once, all the Little People began to skip like rabbits, in the moonlight. Around and around they went, dancing like mad, and Hortense and Andy grew dizzy watching them.
Again the music changed, and the Little People danced a square dance, after which they formed in rings within rings and whirled around faster and faster until they seemed only rollicking circles of green in which not one face could be distinguished from another.
A shadow as of a cloud fell upon the dancing Little People, and Hortense, looking up, saw what seemed to be a dark spot on the moon. Larger and larger it grew until she could distinguish it to be a pair of horses ridden by figures only too familiar.
"It's Jeremiah and Grater!" she whispered to Andy.
The fairy King had also seen. Suddenly he clapped his hands and the music and dancing ceased.
"Away!" the King shouted, and in a twinkling not a fairy was to be seen. The shadow grew larger and larger until it wholly obscured the moon. Then in a twinkling the horses came to earth and stood panting, with drooping heads.
"Why, it's Tom and Jerry!" said Hortense to herself, being careful not to make a sound.
Jeremiah and Grater dismounted.
"Well," said Jeremiah lazily, "I was sure we'd never catch them this way. You'll have to lie in wait and pounce on them."
"You and your mousing tricks!" said Grater contemptuously.
But Jeremiah only yawned.
"There's a cooky jar at home with something in it," he reminded Grater. "Let's go."
With a bound Jeremiah and Grater mounted their weary steeds, and in a moment they were out of sight over the tree tops.
"Did you ever!" exclaimed Hortense.
"I think we'd better go home," Andy suggested.
Accordingly, they struck down the steep mountain side and soon were at the foot, where ran the brook.
"We'll have to wade," said Andy.
They plunged in and across, and with wet shoes and stockings, ran across the pasture, through the orchard to the house.
"It's late. Whatever will they think!" said Hortense.
"I'm going straight to bed without being seen," said Andy.
It seemed the only thing to do, so Hortense stole quietly in and up the dark stairs to her room.
"Where have you been?" Highboy demanded when she had shut the door. "You've been looked for everywhere."
Hortense was too sleepy to reply, and in the morning no one questioned her, for Uncle Jonah had a sorry tale to tell of the horses, who lay in their stalls too tired to move, their manes and tails in elflocks, and their flanks mud stained.
"Dey's hoodooed," said Uncle Jonah, shaking his head.
To this, Grandfather made no answer but looked puzzled, and Hortense, who could have told him how it all happened, didn't know how to begin; so said nothing.