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Molly tried hard to think of something. “Of course, as it was a pincushion—I stuck a pin in it,” she said presently.

Old Nancy gazed at her strangely. “In the moonlight?” she asked. “Was the moonlight shining on it when you stuck the pin in?”

“Yes,” said Molly, nervously. “Oh, did that do it? Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry—then it is all my fault that the Pumpkin has returned?”

“No, no,” said Old Nancy, “you are not to blame. How were you to know? It was my fault for not being more careful, then they could not have drugged me.” She crossed quickly to the window. “Yes—see—here—here on the sill. There’s a trace of grey powder. I know what has happened. When I went out of this room earlier in the evening—I did for a few minutes, I remember—yes, just before sunset time—someone must have opened the window and scattered the powder on the sill, hoping that I should go to the window at sunset and that I should put my hand on the sill and touch the powder. And I did. And the powder must have been magic and made me go to sleep. I wonder I never noticed it.... But never mind now, never mind now.... It is too late. We must get to work at once to remedy the evil.”

But Molly still had a feeling that it was partly her fault and she was glad that she and Jack had decided to stay. She felt it was the least they could do—to try to find the Black Leaf.

As Glan had not returned they decided to start out, for the hour was getting late, and Old Nancy thought it would be wiser for them to be inside the City as soon as possible. She told them that they were almost sure to meet Glan on the hill—he had evidently been delayed—they couldn’t miss him.

“Good-bye, dears, good-bye,” said Old Nancy. “My thoughts will be constantly with you till we meet again. Good luck go with you both.”

Leaving Old Nancy standing in the doorway, with the firelight glowing warmly in the room behind her, the two children started out in the dusk and began to ascend the hill.

CHAPTER VII
Glan Opens the Gate in the Nick of Time

THE children walked briskly, glancing from the City lights to the dark woods on either side of the road. Everything lay quiet and peaceful, and overhead the moon was now visible. It seemed impossible to believe that a cloud of fear hung over the City ahead. As they drew nearer the top of the hill the sound of a bell tolling came floating down to their ears.

“What’s that for, I wonder,” said Molly.

“P’raps it’s a sort of warning,” suggested Jack, “to tell people the Pumpkin’s back again.”

Molly shivered. “Let’s hurry a bit more, shall we?” she said. “I’ll be glad when we’re inside the City, won’t you, Jack?”

So they quickened their footsteps.

“I do hope we meet Glan,” Molly went on. “We couldn’t very well miss him, though, could we?… You’re sure you’ve got your Pass safely!”

“Rather,” said Jack. “At least I think I put it back in my satchel.” And diving his hand in to make sure, he jerked the envelope which contained the Pass out on to the road. A passing breeze caught it and turned it over and over on the ground, and there was a hurried scramble on Jack’s part to get it back again. He had just put it safely back in his satchel, when a sudden cry from Molly made him wheel round to see what was the matter.

Molly was standing gazing down the hill. “Oh, Jack! Jack! Look!” she cried, pointing to the dark wood on their left. About thirty yards away down the hill, something was slowly emerging from the black shadows of the trees.

It was the Grey Pumpkin.

It rolled leisurely out into the moonlit road, paused for a moment, then turned and moved up the hill toward them.

“Don’t be ashamed to run,” Old Nancy had said. And they were not ashamed. Jack and Molly took to their heels and ran. They did not want to be stopped by the Pumpkin at the very beginning of their quest, knowing how powerless they were until the Black Leaf was found. So they ran with all their might, on, on, until the City Gate was but a little farther ahead of them, and the tolling bell clanged loudly from within.

“Jack, oh, Jack—I—can’t—run—any—more,” gasped poor Molly. “Oh—what—what shall—we—do?”

“Were just there—keep—up—old girl—only a—little—bit more—we’re—just—there,” panted Jack.

With a final effort they rushed forward and reached the gate at last. Jack flung himself against it and started beating on it with his fists, and then snatching up a large stone from the road he hammered it with that; while Molly seized the thick bell chain at the side and began pulling it vigorously.

It was a curious gate—more like a door than a gate—made of solid iron; and at the top, high above the children’s heads, was a tiny grating through which the citizens could see who stood without.

Jack glanced despairingly up at the high white walls and the black iron gate, while he continued to beat wildly with the stone and shout as loudly as he could for help. There seemed no way of escape if they did not open the gate, and looking back he saw the Pumpkin coming silently onward.

“It’s no good making a dash for the woods, Molly,” he exclaimed, “he’d cut us off. Pull harder, and shout too.”

So Molly pulled harder at the bell chain and cried out for someone to come and open the gate and let them in.

Suddenly, above the noise they were making and the sound of the tolling bell within, the children heard voices, and a clattering on the other side of the gate. Then a face appeared at the grating.

“Open the gate!” cried Jack. “Quick! Quick! We’ve got a pass. Open the gate and save us!”

A loud murmuring arose within, and they heard the jangling of keys. When all at once a voice shrieked, “Look! Look! On the hill. It’s the Pumpkin! Don’t open the gate! Don’t open the gate, it’s a decoy!”

“It’s not, it’s not,” cried Jack. “Oh, save us, save us. We have got a pass. Let us in and save us from the Pumpkin. For pity’s sake open the gate!”

The voices inside were now loud and angry; the people were evidently not inclined to believe him.

“Oh, Jack, Jack!” screamed Molly. “He’s just behind us, Jack!”

Jack wheeled round and saw to his horror that the Pumpkin was near the top of the hill and close upon them. He was desperate. Raising the stone above his head, he flung it with all his strength at the big, grey, moving thing. There was a dull thud as the stone struck the Pumpkin and sent it back a few paces; but it quickly came to a standstill, and began at once to cover the ground it had lost.

Meanwhile a fresh arrival had come upon the scene behind the gate. In the midst of all the hubbub, the angry voices, the clanging bell, the pattering feet, there was a moment’s lull, and Jack and Molly could distantly hear the sound of running feet. Then a familiar voice exclaimed: “Hi, there! What’s all the fuss about?”

A score of voices started to explain.

Molly gave a sob of relief, “Oh, it’s Glan!” she cried.

“Glan! Glan!” the children called imploringly. “Open the gate quick and save us. Oh, do be quick!”

Glan’s face appeared at the grating.

“Bless my soul!” he cried in his big voice. “Here, give me the keys! Yes, I know it’s the Pumpkin too, but if we don’t open the gate this instant the little lady outside and her brother will be.... Give me the keys … give me the keys! Decoys?… Bah!”

There was a jangling of keys again, the sound of a lock being turned, and the huge gate swung back.

Jack and Molly dashed in, and Glan slammed the gate behind them—just in time. Another minute and the Pumpkin would have got through.

“But can’t he open the gate if he just touches it?” cried Jack, tugging Glan’s sleeve excitedly.

“No, no, he can’t do that!” Glan said, shaking his head as he stood on tiptoe to bolt and padlock the gate securely. “Thank goodness there are some limits to his magic!”

Jack and Molly found themselves in the centre of an excited crowd of people who regarded them curiously, but without anger or fear, since Glan had befriended them. Most of them were chattering and waving their hands toward the gate, but some watched the children with narrowed eyes and then whispered behind their hands to their neighbours, while others stood and gazed gloomily at them in silence. They were a picturesque race of people, these citizens of the Possible World, clothed in a bewildering variety of dresses, of no particular style; apparently each person dressed in whichever style took his or her fancy, or which was best suited to the occupation carried on by that person. And this, after all, is the only sensible way to dress. The result of these numerous styles and colours was very pleasing to the eye: at least, so thought Jack and Molly as they gazed round at the animated scene before them.

“Don’t you fret,” said a kindly-looking woman dressed in dark blue with a blue cap on her head and a chain of dull yellow beads round her neck. “We took care to have the gate washed with a magic lotion, and the Pumpkin cannot touch it—nor the gate at the other end of the City—though we have to keep both safely locked in case a friend of the Pumpkin’s were to get in and open the gate for him.” She looked straight into the eyes of first Jack and then Molly—and then she smiled.

By this time Glan had finished locking up the gate, and was handing the keys back to the gate-keeper—a large, pompous-looking gentleman with a brown beard, dressed in a green Robin Hood style of suit—who seemed inclined to be sulky.

“I’m sorry I could not wait for your permission to open the gate,” they heard Glan say. “The matter was urgent, you see. It was the little lady and her brother who are going to try and help us.”

“You’d no right to snatch the keys out of my hand like you did,” replied the gate-keeper sullenly. “You might have got me into no end of trouble, if they had been decoys. Where’s their pass, anyway?”

Glan beckoned to Jack and Molly.

“If you wouldn’t mind giving up your passes to this gentleman,” he said. “Ah, that’s right,” as Jack and Molly handed their envelopes to the gate-keeper, who proceeded to open them and examine the contents carefully.

Then he slowly nodded his head. “All right this time,” he said. “But you be careful in future, young man”; he looked at Glan. “It might have been a very serious matter.”

Glan’s eyes began to twinkle.

“I will certainly profit by your advice,” he said. “I’m extremely sorry I had to snatch the keys, I apologize most humbly, but, of course, you didn’t understand who it was outside, and what danger they were in … and anyway, all’s well now, isn’t it, sir?”

“Oh, it’s all right this time, as I said before.”

“Thanks,” said Glan. “Well, good-night.... And now,” he turned to the two children, “you must be very, very tired after all that. Will you come along with me to my little place? Father and Aunt Janet will be very pleased to welcome you.”

Jack and Molly assented willingly, and followed Glan closely as he made his way through the crowd. When they reached the outskirts of the knot of people Molly began to thank Glan for coming to their aid at the gate; but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“What else could I do, on my life, little lady?” he said. “I have faith in you both, and the help you are going to give us. I want you to come and have a good rest now, and then in the morning you will be told what part of the country to search, and you can start out at once on your adventures.”

“It seems as if we have already started,” observed Jack. “It seems as if its been all adventures to-day.”

“I think you’re right,” said Glan. “But there’s more to come—though we’ll talk about those to-morrow. You must be too tired to-night. I am very glad you got here all right, I was delayed in coming to meet you—I felt sure, somehow, that you’d decide to stay, after you had heard Old Nancy’s story. And anyway, I should have been half-way down the hill to meet you, only so many people stopped me to know if the bad news was true—that the Pumpkin had returned—and there were such a lot of things to see to, and I had to run home to tell Aunt Janet to get things ready for you—in case you came back with me, so that I reached the gate just in time to let you in.” He stopped a little out of breath.

They had been walking fairly quickly all this time, and the children could now see more clearly what a beautiful City they had entered. Everything glistened, a pure white, in the moonlight. Houses, walls, roofs, chimneys, front doors, gates, pavements, roads—all were white and spotlessly clean. Yet the curious part of it all was, that it was not monotonous to the eye; instead, it seemed to make a fine background for the coloured flowers and trees and dresses of the people. And to-night, the City was full of soft shadows, cast by the objects that stood in the light of the moon, Glan and the two children turned into a narrow, hilly street, down the centre of which ran a sparkling brooklet, that babbled and gurgled as it splashed over its pebbly bed. Most of the houses in this street were quaintly built, with the top part bulging out over the street. And Molly noticed as they passed that all the windows had coloured curtains—in one house all the curtains were blue, in another a deep amber shade, in another a glowing crimson, and so on—which had a very pretty effect, especially if the windows were lit from within. The white houses, the coloured curtains, and the window-boxes full of flowers that adorned each window in the street made a great impression on the children. They thought it all charming, and said so to Glan.

“The Possible World,” he said, then shook his head and held up his finger. The tolling of the bell floated across to them.

“I suppose that’s to warn people, isn’t it?” said Jack.

Glan nodded. “But we’ll soon change its tune, won’t we?” he said. “It’s joy-bells that’ll be ringing next, because the Black Leaf is found. And who will have found it.... Ah, ha!” he winked knowingly, and wagged a fat forefinger at the two children. “What a great day it will be,” he chuckled. “You’ll have to be careful I don’t win, because I’m going to search too, you know … but we’ll talk all about that in the morning.”

At the top of the hilly street they crossed an open square with a market cross in the centre, and entered another narrow street with bulging houses and shops in it. They met few people now as they continued on their way: many were still down by the West Gate, and others had wended their ways homeward after assuring themselves that the Pumpkin was safely outside the City walls. About half-way up the street Glan came to a halt outside a small shuttered shop, that lay back underneath the frowning brow of the bulging upper story of the building, like a dark deep-set eye. Producing a key from the pocket of his white jacket, Glan placed it in the lock of the side door and opened it quietly.

“I’ll go in first, shall I?” he said. “There’s no light in the passage, and you might fall over something.”

Jack and Molly followed him into the house, and stood hesitating on the mat while he strode down the passage and opened a door at the farther end. A dim light crept out and thinned the darkness. From the room came a low murmur in familiar tones.

“Come along,” called Glan. “Would you mind just shutting the front door. Thanks very much.”

It was a small room at the end of the passage with a round table in the centre of it on which stood a shaded lamp. At the table sat Glan’s father with his elbows resting on a large open book in front of him, while his hands, held to the sides of his head, covered his ears; an expression of profound melancholy was on his face as he gazed at the children on their entrance. Bending over the fireplace was a genial, comfortable-looking, elderly woman, who was stirring something in a saucepan.

“Bless their hearts, how tired they look,” she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the children’s faces.

“It’s the little lady and her brother that I told you about, Aunt Janet,” said Glan. “Is everything ready for them?”

“Yes, my dear,” replied Aunt Janet. “The beds is sweet and aired, and there’s a bowl of hot broth for both of them, bless their innocent souls, which’ll be cooked in a minute or two. Sit you down, dearies, and rest yourselves, and Aunt Janet’ll have things ready in no time for you.”

“They’re sure to be tired,” said Glan. “They were chased up the hill by the Pumpkin,” he added in a lower voice.

But his father had heard. “What was that?” he asked mournfully, taking his hands down from his ears.

So Glan had to explain to him the incident at the gate, and how the Pumpkin nearly got in. The old man listened intently, groaning every time Glan paused for breath, and rolling his eyes whenever the Pumpkin was mentioned by name. At the end of the story he hastily stopped his ears again, and bent over his book muttering faintly that he “couldn’t abide that bell ringing.”

“Poor old father,” said Glan, compassionately, “it does upset him so.”

Jack and Molly were glad of the hot broth, and Aunt Janet, as she fussed about them anxiously, was pleased to see that the steaming bowls were soon emptied.

“Sleep well, for there is hard work before you; but courage—and everything will be well,” said Glan, beaming down at them as he wished them good-night. While his father shook his head mournfully, and sighed as he gave them each a limp hand.

Aunt Janet lit two long candles, and conducted them up a flight of high narrow stairs to the top of the house where there were two small rooms with little white beds, and freshly laundered window curtains.

“Good-night, dearies,” she said. “Blow the candles out safely. I hope you’ll find everything you want here.” Her eyes grew very kind. “I had a little girl and boy once,” she said, “and I know they’d like you to use their things—if they knew—so I’ve put them all out for you. They were just about your age, and I—and they—good-night, dearies,” she stooped suddenly and kissed them each on the forehead.

CHAPTER VIII
Aunt Janet Puts on her Best Bonnet

A SUNBEAM creeping through the window and along the floor to Molly’s pillow awoke her in the morning; she sat up with a start, puzzled for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings; then she remembered—and giving a long sigh, snuggled down again for a few more minutes while she thought things over.

How strange it all seemed, just like some wonderful dream, she thought—and yet it was not a dream. Here were she and Jack in the middle of a real, exciting adventure. An adventure in which they were taking an important, and (she hoped) useful part. What would be the result of their search for the Black Leaf? Would either of them find it? And what had Old Nancy meant by saying that she thought only one of them would be successful? Wouldn’t she and Jack be allowed to search together, Molly wondered. She hoped Jack wouldn’t be sent to one part of the country, and she to another. She tried to recall all the information and warnings that had been given to them about the Pumpkin, and the more she recalled, the more difficult the task in front of them appeared to be.

Molly stretched out her arm and fumbled about in the clothes that lay on a chair by the bedside; she presently drew forth the box of matches, Old Nancy’s gift, and proceeded to examine this attentively, it being her first opportunity of doing so. Just an ordinary box of matches—at least, so it appeared—only there was no maker’s name on the outside, simply a dark blue wrapper. There were a dozen matches inside—Molly counted. “I wonder if Jack has got the same number,” she thought. Then hearing a distant clock strike seven, she put the match box back in her satchel and sprang out of bed.

While she was dressing she noticed that the bell which had been tolling solemnly when she fell asleep was now silent.

When Molly was ready to go downstairs she climbed on a chair and looked out of the window into the street below, which was already alive with people moving to and fro on their early morning business. Everything looked so clean and fresh, and the sun was shining, and a breeze greeted Molly, so warm and sweetly scented that all the little doubts and fears that had crowded in on her, trying to cloud her naturally sunny outlook, were suddenly swept clean away, and Molly felt that everything was possible and good on such a perfect morning. She jumped lightly to the ground and ran across the room humming.

A patch of sunshine lay on the floor by the door, and as Molly stopped for a second to do up her shoelace she saw a curious shadow form on the patch. And the shadow was shaped like a pumpkin! Startled, she looked hastily over her shoulder: but there was nothing there. And even as she looked again at the sunlit patch, the shadow passed away.

“Why, it must have been only a cloud, passing before the sun,” she told herself, relieved. “How silly of me.”

But, nevertheless, she felt suddenly depressed; she did not hum any more and she walked slowly downstairs, instead of running with her usual quick step. In passing Jack’s room, the door of which stood wide open, she saw that the room was empty. So Jack had raced her, and was already downstairs.

“Yes, he’s been up this last half-hour, and he’s out in the back garden now,” Aunt Janet informed her. “Did you sleep well, dearie? Run out and tell your brother breakfast’ll be ready in three minutes, will you, dearie?”

And Aunt Janet bustled about between the pantry and the fireplace and the breakfast table, in the little back room. A very tempting breakfast table it looked, too; set for five, and everything so spick and span, from the crisp brown rolls to the long glass vase filled with yellow flowers standing in the centre of the white cloth.

So Molly went in search of Jack, through the open back door into the garden. The garden which was long and narrow, was full of bushes and flowers and little winding paths. At the farthest end stood six tall elm trees in a row, and it was here that Molly spied Jack and Glan’s father, standing, talking earnestly together.

“Hullo, Molly,” called Jack, when he saw her. “Come and look here.”

Molly made her way down the garden, and saw that Jack and the old man were both gazing down at something at the foot of one of the trees. It was a dark red plant-pot filled with dry soil.

“Mr—er—he was just telling me—what do you think, Molly?” said Jack excitedly. “The Black Leaf came up in this plant-pot one year!”

“Oh,” Molly gasped, and gazed at the pot with awe. Such an ordinary plant-pot it looked, with nothing at all about it to suggest that it had ever been connected with any magic.

“Of course, missie,” Glan’s father explained mournfully, “it was no use me a-picking it that year, you see, because there was no Pumpkin to pick it for. Besides,” he added bitterly, “it on’y came up for spite. That’s all—pure spite, I call it—just to taunt me as it were. I couldn’t bide the sight of it—especially as the Pumpkin was out of reach—in—in your World.”

“What would have happened if you had picked it?” asked Jack.

“Nothing would have happened. At the end of the thirteen days it would have withered away, and the plant might not have come up again, perhaps—but I don’t know about that. Still, if it hadn’t, what should we have done this year when we do want it? Eh?”

“Yes,” said Molly. “It is a good job you didn’t pick it, because, supposing it didn’t come up again—I suppose there would have been no hope of getting rid of the Pumpkin this time?”

“Unless Old Nancy had discovered another spell,” suggested Jack.

The old man shook his head dismally, and ran his fingers through his beard.

“No,” he said. “I had a feeling—in my bones—that we should need the Black Leaf some day. I always said the Pumpkin would return from—from your World. And then—and then those dreams I had–”

“Oh, why didn’t the Leaf come up in your plant-pot this year!” sighed Molly.

“Things never happen like that,” mumbled Glan’s father.

“They do sometimes,” said Molly.

But the old man only shook his head.

“There’s Aunt Janet calling us to breakfast,” said Molly. “I was sent out to fetch you. Come along!” And she led the way back indoors again, followed by the other two.

“Now, what have you been doing in the garden?” cried Aunt Janet, catching sight of the three serious faces. “Looking at that old plant-pot again, I’ll be bound. You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said, shaking her head at Glan’s father. “Brooding over that miserable old pot—before breakfast, and on such a lovely morning too. If I had my way I’d smash the ugly old thing up and have done with it—though really I believe you enjoy it”—she disregarded the old man’s reproachful glance, and clapped some plates on the table a little impatiently. “What good does it do, brooding over things that are past and gone and can’t be helped! It’s the future we can help, and it’s the future we should give our thought to, and make it better than the past. Glan! Glan! Where’s Glan! Call Glan, somebody. He’s in the shop!”

But Glan had heard, and appeared at that moment through the glass-windowed door that led from the parlour to the shop.

“Good-morning all, good-morning,” he cried, beaming and rubbing his hands together. “What a perfect morning, to be sure. And did the little lady and her brother rest well after the strenuous time they had yesterday?”

“Very well, thank you,” said Molly.

“Slept like a top,” said Jack.

“Ah, that’s right,” said Glan, taking his place at the table, round which the others were already seated. “And what is this our good Aunt has provided? Scrambled eggs! Excellent, excellent indeed. What a perfect morning. Who could feel sad at heart on a day like this!”

He seemed in great spirits, and started to hum as he helped himself to salt, while his father rolled his eyes up leaving only the whites visible, to signify his despair at the incurable cheerfulness of his son.

“Come, come now, and how is father this morning?” Glan continued, pushing his father’s chair closer to the table and tucking a serviette under his fathers chin, for all the world as if he were a baby in a high chair.

“He’s been at that old plant-pot again,” said Aunt Janet.

“Bad wicked man,” smiled Glan, wagging his spoon at his Father, who received all Glan’s bantering remarks with the same stolid expression, and without the flicker of a smile. Jack marvelled at Glan’s perseverance with his Father, when his attempts to cheer him up were always without success. He began to doubt whether the old man could smile, and tried to imagine him doing so—but failed.

“After breakfast,” said Glan, “if he is very good and promises not to pick the currants out of the buns, Father shall mind the shop while the little lady and her brother, and Aunt Janet, and yours faithfully, put on their best bonnets with the bead trimmings, and their elastic-sided boots, and brown cotton gloves”—he gave an elaborate wink at Aunt Janet—“and sally forth to learn what plans are afoot, and to find out what portion of the country we are each to search.”

“Will Jack and I be allowed to go together?” asked Molly, anxiously.

“Certainly, if you wish,” said Glan.

“Of course we’d rather, wouldn’t we, Moll?” said Jack.

And she assented quickly, hoping at the same time that now they would probably both win—or fail together.

When breakfast was finished, and while Aunt Janet went to put on her bead-trimmed bonnet, and elastic-sided boots, and brown cotton gloves, Glan showed the two children over the shop. It contained a most tempting array of sugared cakes and buns and pastries and bread—all of which Glan told them he made himself, in the bakehouse at the side of the shop. The shop was sweet and clean, like the rest of the house, and the sight of Glan, in his white cap and overall, standing behind the counter and beaming cheerfully around him was a sight to lighten the heart of anyone—except Glan’s father.

“It’s fortunate that your Father can look after the place while you are out,” remarked Molly. “But I thought you said he was taken back and given a place at Court, didn’t you? I thought that was why he wore a velvet robe and keys.”

“Quite right,” said Glan, “but it is only a very unimportant position. You see, he’s getting old—he only has to turn up at Court every Tuesday and Friday. It keeps him amused. On his free days he does all sorts of things to fill up his time.... Ah, here he comes,” he continued, as his Father shuffled into the shop. “Now, be very careful, Father, and look after everything nicely while we’re away, won’t you? And here—you’d better wear this or you’ll spoil that lovely velvet robe.”

And Glan whipped off his white apron and made his Father put it on. This, over his gorgeous velvet robe, gave him a comical appearance which was by no means lessened by the melancholy expression on his face. Glan gave a chuckle. With arms akimbo he surveyed his Father with his head on one side, then he chuckled again. Such an irresistible, infectious chuckle it was that Jack and Molly, despite their efforts not to, started to laugh. Glan went on chuckling and laughing, and once having started the three of them continued laughing and could not stop, until the tears came into their eyes, and Jack had a stitch in his side, and Aunt Janet appeared, all ready to start, to see what all the noise was about.

“Poor old Father … it’s too bad to laugh … but really … really …” and Glan dried his eyes on the sleeve of his white overall, and started to laugh again.

But Glan’s Father could see nothing to laugh at, and had continued dusting the scales slowly and methodically all the time.

“These jam puffs are two a penny, aren’t they?” he asked, quite unconscious of the figure he presented.

“Does your Father ever laugh?” Jack asked, as soon as they were outside the shop.

“Never to my knowledge,” said Aunt Janet, “and I’ve kept house for him these twenty years.”

“I’ve seen him smile—twice—as far as I can remember,” replied Glan. “But that was a long time ago.... Perhaps he’ll laugh one of these days—when we find the Black Leaf?”

They made their way down the street and into the market square, which presented a very different appearance in the daylight from the sleepy, peaceful look it had worn last night in the moonlight. Now it was awake and all was bustle and hurry, with shops open, and people passing to and fro.