Kitabı oku: «Kisington Town», sayfa 7

Then came the pies. And such pies! Carried on the shoulders of sturdy boys, drawn on floats by teams of ponies, wreathed in flowers and stuck over with banners and mottoes, the pies passed along before the hungry King. And not one of the pies was real! Gradually the King's smile faded.

There was a wonderful big pie fashioned like a ship, – rigged with masts and sails and manned by sailor-dolls. There was a fine brown pasty like a bird's nest, and when it passed the King, off came the cover, and out flew four-and-twenty blackbirds croaking lustily.

"Good-bye, dinner!" sighed the King, looking after them wistfully.

The Queen nudged him and said: "'Sh! Behave, Your Majesty!" But she also began to look hungrier and hungrier.

There passed a pie in a carriage drawn by six mules. It seemed piping hot, for steam came out of it. But when it reached the King it blew up with a bang! scattering showers of blossoms over the royal party.

"My faith!" cried the King; "methought this was the end of all things. But it seems not. Here come more and more empty pies!"

The Queen smelled of her salts and grew paler every moment.

One pie had a musical box inside and played a sweet tune as it passed the King. In one was hidden a tiny dwarf, who popped out like a jack-in-the-box when the Queen pulled a golden cord.

Still the procession moved on, and so did the hands of the clock; and the King's hands moved to his ample girdle, which he tightened sharply. But both he and the pale young Queen were too polite to ask the Lord Mayor for buns or something to sustain them.

The pie which caused the greatest excitement as it passed along, drawn by four white horses, was that of Roger, the master cook, who walked proudly beside it. When it came opposite the King the carriage stopped, the cover was lifted, and ten beautiful babies on a bed of roses waved their little hands and began to sing.

The Queen leaned forward eagerly, forgetting to be hungry. "How sweet! The darlings!" she murmured. "Oh, this is the best of all!"

Roger the cook heard her and flushed with triumph.

But the King grumbled: "Humph! They look good enough to eat, but-my faith! I hope that this is the end, for soon I must eat something, or I shall become a cannibal!"

"Your Majesty!" protested the Queen, faintly.

But the King interrupted her.

"What comes here?" he cried. "This looks sensible!" It was Rafe and the pretty maid bringing up the rear of the procession. Side by side they walked in cap and apron, he bearing the small, delicately browned pie, she with a jug of yellow cream. No one paid any attention to them, but closed in around them, following Roger's chariot.

When Rafe and Meg came opposite the King and Queen, they turned and Rafe bowed low, holding up the pie as high as he could. The pretty maid curtsied gracefully, and offered the cream-jug with a winsome smile. The crowd was fain to hustle them on; but the King struck the floor with his staff and pointed eagerly at the pie.

"Hold!" he cried. "What have you there?" Every one stopped and began to stare. Rafe bowed again.

"'T is a pie, Your Majesty," said Rafe simply, – "an apple pie."

"With cream for the top," lisped the little maid, curtsying again.

"Apple pie!" cried the King. "Who ever heard of an apple pie! A pie should be of savory meat. But of apples!" Words failed to express his astonishment.

"Butter and sugar, Sire, go to the making of it, and the dust of a wondrous nut. Will you taste it, Sire?" Rafe held out the pie temptingly.

"With thick cream to pour on the top-yellow, sweet, rich, thick cream!" said Meg, lingering over each word as if it melted on her lips.

"Give hither that pie!" almost shouted the hungry King. "I will look into this matter." And, drawing a dagger from his girdle, he seized and stabbed the pie to the heart. Sniffing at it eagerly, his eyes grew round, and he smacked his lips. "It is good, I wager my scepter!" he cried. "Hand me the cream, fair maid."

The little maid stepped up and daintily poured cream upon the shattered pie, and without more ado the King began to eat with his dagger. (This was not considered bad manners in those days.) After the first mouthful he stopped only to say: "Food of the Fairies! Pie of the Pixies! Cook, you are a magician!" He went on at a rate which threatened not to leave a mouthful.

But the Queen pulled at his sleeve. "A bite for me, Your Majesty," she begged.

And, with an apology, the King handed her what was left, watching her wistfully till she ate the last crumb.

"Delicious! I never tasted anything finer!" she cried. "I must have the recipe."

"I must have the cook!" cried the King, turning to Rafe, with a broad grin on his merry, fat face. "You must come with me and cook such pies for every meal. Yes, I will have them for breakfast, too," he insisted, in response to a protest from the Queen.

Just then up stepped Hugh, the Lord Mayor.

"Sire," said he, bowing low, "will Your Majesty deign to point out to me the pie which has best pleased you, that I may have it set in the place of honor, and give the prize to the maker?"

"That I cannot do," said the King, "for the pie no longer exists. I have eaten it!" And he slapped his generous waistband. "But give whatever prize there may be to this worthy fellow, whom I now dub Baron Applepy. Baron, wear this ring in token of my pleasure in your pie." He drew a fine ruby from his finger and gave it to Rafe.

"And this is for the little maid," said the Queen, taking a beautiful pearl necklace and tossing it over Meg's curls.

But Roger, the master cook, stood by and tore his hair when he saw what was happening.

Then up came the yoke of white oxen drawing the cart bearing the prize. And the Lord Mayor gave a goad into Rafe's hands, with words of congratulation.

"Now, mount and come with me," said the King.

But Rafe hesitated.

"Your Majesty," he replied, "I see no way to make another pie like this which has pleased you. For I have no more of the magic nuts wherewith to flavor a second."

The King frowned. "What! No more pie! Is this to be the first and the last? Sirrah, I am not pleased!"

Then little Meg stepped forth. "The magic nut is the nutmeg," said she. "My name is Meg, and Granny called the magic nuts after me. I know where is hidden a store of them. These are my dower."

She emptied her pockets of the nuts which they held, and they were a precious handful.

"Ha!" cried the King eagerly, "you must marry Baron Applepy, that he may use your dower in our behalf."

Rafe and the maid looked sidewise at one another.

"You are willing, my dear?" said the Queen, smiling upon Meg.

"Yes," whispered she, with red-apple cheeks.

"Yes, indeed!" cried Rafe when the Queen looked at him.

But again he seemed troubled.

"Your Majesty," he said, "I cannot leave my poor neighbors. There will be no one to cook for them at my prices."

"You shall have your own price from me," said the King.

Rafe bowed low. "You do me great honor," he said humbly. "But I cannot leave my poor people, my house and my cow and my apple tree; indeed, I cannot."

The King looked very angry and raised his staff with a gesture of wrath. But the Queen laid her hand upon his arm.

"Why may he not live where he will and yet cook the pies for us?" she said. "A messenger on a fleet horse can bring them to us every day. We shall then have pies like that first delicious one, made of fresh apples from that very same red-apple tree of his. They would be best of all."

"True," said the King, reflecting for a moment.

"Please, Your Majesty!" said Meg, in her most winsome tones. "I do so long to help Rafe pick the red apples for your pies and skim the yellow cream of the little red cow. And please, I do so long to help him cook for his poor neighbors, who will miss him sadly if he goes. Now that we have the prize, we can do much for them. Please, Your Majesty!"

"Please, Your Majesty!" echoed Rafe.

"Please, Your Majesty!" begged the Queen.

So the King hemmed and hawed and yielded. "But see, Baron Applepy," he said, "that you make me three fine pies every day, for which my swiftest messenger shall call. Now, farewell to you-and to all! We must be off. It is past dinner-time."

"Heaven bless Your Majesties," said Rafe and Meg, bowing and curtsying low.

Then Rafe lifted the little maid into the white cart beside the hundred sacks of flour and the bag of silver, and amid shouts and cheers away they drove the white oxen toward the little house on the acre of land under the red-apple tree, where the little red cow was waiting for them.

And there they lived happily ever after, making three pies a day for the King at an enormous price, and feeding the beloved poor people, their neighbors, for no price at all.

XVII: THE MYSTERY OF THE PIE

Red Rex greeted the close of this story with an enormous sigh. "Three of those delicious pies every day!" said he. "Would I had a messenger to bring such to me!"

"It might be arranged, Your Majesty," suggested Harold, "if our two countries were at peace. I know that my mother would be glad to make such pies for you, even as Rafe and his Margot did for the King of old. The distance from Kisington to your Capitol is not so very great, I think; and doubtless Your Majesty has messengers fleeter than the one of long ago."

"And your mother's pies are quite as good!" exclaimed Red Rex. "I have never tasted better. So fat, so juicy, so generous! The tops fine, rounded hills; the crust so crisp, which your knife crunches daintily; the sight and smell of them is tempting!" The Red King's eyes rolled in his head and he swayed ecstatically, like a poet composing a rhyme.

"And yet you have seen but a wee wedge of one pie!" exclaimed Harold. "It must have pleased Your Majesty, indeed, to make your impression so true."

Red Rex eyed him strangely. "H'm, yes," he said. "I have a vivid imagination in such matters. I can almost fancy I have eaten a whole pie-two-three-four whole pies! What a feast!"

Harold's eyes had been straying toward something white concealed in the grass not far from the Red King's seat. He took a step forward now, bending low. Then he uttered an exclamation.

"Five pies, Your Majesty!" he cried, looking straight at the King. "There were six, which the old woman stole. Here are five empty pie-plates!"

"What a strange coincidence!" cried the Red King, flushing and twiddling at his sword-hilt uneasily. "These coincidences do happen quite startlingly sometimes. Ha-hum!" He coughed and frowned forbiddingly.

"Surely, none of your men could have stolen my mother's pies (and, indeed, one of them was yours), Your Majesty. They would not have been so mean!"

"They would not have been so reckless," corrected Red Rex. "No, no! it took courage to make such an attempt; great courage, my boy!"

"Courage!" cried Harold. "I call it something else, – to steal the pies of a poor widow and deprive her son of his desserts. I call it mean and disgraceful!"

"Tut, tut, boy! You do not know what you are saying!" blustered the War-Lord, growing very red.

"Often it takes courage to do what others call an ill deed. And an ill deed is ill, only as you look at it; so I say! Everything depends upon the point of view; remember that. Suppose the man who stole those pies was starving and needed them for his comfort?"

"Suppose, indeed!" retorted Harold. "Suppose he came to our front door and asked my mother for them, like a gentleman? She would not have refused to sell, if he had money. She would have given, if he had none. She is like that, is my good mother!"

The Red King shook his head. "Suppose the man was an enemy, and too proud to ask a favor? All's fair in war, my boy. Everybody knows that."

"Then war is all wrong, as we always said," Harold replied. "Right is right, and wrong is wrong. Stealing is stealing, and meanness is meanness, – war or no war. If war makes men think differently from the rule of every day, there is nothing to be said for it. Hello!" Harold interrupted himself, for something else had suddenly caught his eye.

He had been making his way toward the pile of pie-plates, and now he stooped and picked up something lying on the grass beside them. It was a queer, old-fashioned bonnet. As he touched it out fell a rolled-up calico apron. One of the strings was gone. Harold's eyes leaped from it to the Red King's bundled-up wrist. The other apron-string was doing duty as a bandage there.

"Ho! Ho!" cried Harold, staring at the Red King's purpling face. "This is the old woman's bonnet, and her apron. A disguise! I begin to see! You, Your Majesty, – you were the old woman yourself!"

"You are very sharp, youngster!" said Red Rex sulkily. "Begone to your home and leave me to finish my work."

"If I go," said Harold slowly, "I shall tell the whole town what I have discovered. The news will travel through the Five Kingdoms-how a King disguised as an old woman stole six pies-"

"Hold!" cried Red Rex sternly. "Enough of this impertinence! Remember to whom you speak, boy! I am a King."

"Yes, you are that King. But I thought always it was the 'Knave of Hearts who stole the tarts,' not the King. How did Your Majesty manage to do it?" asked Harold curiously.

"Aha!" The Red King tried to appear easy and unconscious. "It is my turn now to tell a story, is it? Oho! You want to hear how the old woman got into your careless town, do you? And how she went along your unguarded streets, do you? And how she crept into your unbolted cottage, do you? And how she found the goodly row of pies sitting on the pantry shelf? Ah! I shall never look upon their like again!"

"Nor I," said Harold promptly. "And one was yours, Your Majesty."

Red Rex cast down his eyes. "That is the thing that chiefly troubles me," he said. "I am sorry I did not know the fact. Your mother was very thoughtful, Harold."

"Please tell me all about it, Your Majesty?" begged Harold, settling himself comfortably on the grass before the War-Lord. "I want to hear the story. It is your turn now. You owe me that, at least."

"Well," said Red Rex choosing his words slowly. "You see, I had to have those pies. Kings may take what they choose, because, – well, because they are Kings. That is reason enough, – say I! After that first bite you gave me, I felt that I needed more to make me happy. A King has a right to be happy, whatever happens to another, – say I. I had brought disguises with me; for we have ever found them useful in making war. Last night I dressed up as an old woman, in petticoat and apron, bonnet and shawl. None of my men knew. As soon as it was dark I went to the gate of your town, pretending to be a countrywoman returning to Kisington from a visit beyond the frontier, who had not heard of the siege, and begged the guard to let me in quickly out of danger's way. Oh! You are such stupid, trusting folk in your Kingdom! The men believed me, and let me in because I seemed old and it was late, and they pitied me. The fools! Pity is out of place in war-time. A city so ill-defended deserves to be taken and harassed, – say I!"

"We are trustful in our town because our own hearts are truthful and kind," said Harold.

"When the warders had let me in," went on Red Rex, "I passed along the main street toward the market-place, with my basket on my arm; and no one noticed me, for it was dark. I knew my way; you told me yesterday how the streets lay. Presently I came to a great, handsome building with a ruined porch, – upon my word, huge as my summer palace by the sea! – out of which people passed in a constant stream, with books under their arms."

"It was our library," said Harold proudly.

"So I judged," went on the Red King. "I concealed myself in an angle of the building until it should be darker, and watched. Little children came out of that library, who in my country would be playing at war with guns and toy cannon. Old men and women, whom I should expect to see caring only to smoke and mumble and gossip about past wars, brought out books which they hugged lovingly. Young maids, such as in my land care only to look at the soldiers and dance and prink; and young men who should be drilling or dueling or talking war, – all these came out looking happy and content with the books which they had in hand. I never saw such a sight!"

"Yes," said Harold; "It is always so in Kisington. We have no time to think about war or soldiers or killing."

"Strange!" muttered Red Rex. "I was tempted to go myself into that great building and see if any book might be found with a message in it for me. But I did not take the risk."

"I know such a Book!" interrupted Harold; "a Book of Peace."

"I guess what you mean," said the Red King hastily. "We have that Book in my kingdom, too, of course. We honor it highly, – do not think otherwise! We have it in the churches, and bind it in gold, and keep it as something curious and old. But we do not often read it-why should we? A peace book has no message for our brave and warlike people. To think so is absurd!"

"Oh!" said Harold.

"Well," continued Red Rex; "after a long, long time the streets were quite empty. Presently I heard the chimes of midnight. Then I crept out of my hiding-place and stole along the High Street, of which you had told me, till I came to the butcher's shop. Beside it, sure enough, was a little cottage with a thatched roof which I knew must be yours. The window was open, and I looked in; no one about. The door was unlocked, and in I went. What carelessness!"

"We never lock our doors in Kisington," said Harold. "We think it would be rude not to trust our good neighbors, who trust us."

"Huh!" grunted the Red King. "In my Kingdom every door is double-barred, locked and bolted beside. He who trusts nobody is never disappointed, – so I say."

"I should hate to live in that kind of Kingdom," murmured Harold. "But I know what happened next," he went on, continuing the Red King's story. "You fumbled along the wall with a noise like a mouse. You stepped on a creaky board."

"I crossed the kitchen on tiptoe," said Red Rex. "I challenge any man of my size to go more softly. Not a sound in the little house; no trace of you. My dark lantern showed me two doors. I knew one must lead to the pantry, – but which? Do you know what I did? Ah, I am clever! I put my ear to each door in turn. At one I heard no sound. At the other, presently, I caught the noise of gentle snoring. Just then, – some one sneezed."

"Yes," said Harold; "I tried to smother it, but I could not do so."

"By that sneeze I knew certainly that this was your bedroom, and that the other must be the pantry. I kept very quiet, and there was no more sound from you. I hoped you were asleep. I opened the pantry door very gently, and crept in. I flashed my lantern upon the shelves. Ah! There they were, – six beautiful, brown, luscious apple pies, as you had said. Um! Um! I could hardly wait to begin. I pulled out my dagger and attacked one of them. It melted in the mouth like magic! Just then I heard a hullabaloo from your bedroom. What lungs you have, you rascal!"

"I yelled as loudly as I could," said Harold modestly. "But Robert can make more noise."

"I hope I may never hear him, then!" cried Red Rex. "Well; I heard the key turn in the lock, and knew you had trapped me, you dog! I heard steps on the stair, and knew I had no time to waste. Hastily I put the five remaining pies in my basket and made for the window. I knew it would never do for me to be caught in Kisington! To be sure, there was a truce. But I did not know how your Magistrates might regard the right of a King to take his own way with a truce. What triumph for your city to capture me, the besieging War-Lord! It might not be. But your pantry window is of a smallness! I nearly perished in my attempt to squeeze through. The glass cut my hand and my forehead. I thought once I was stuck for good. Some one clutched at my shawl. I let it go. It is priceless, woven tissue of the East; but I let it go."

"We have it safe," said Harold.

"I shall never claim it," asserted Red Rex. "Well, soon I was safe outside. I found myself in your back garden, on the city wall. You folk are so careless, – to build houses on a city wall! From there one can drop into safety without any trouble. I did so. It is your own fault if fugitives escape from your city, – say I. Whatever happens to you, it is your own fault, – say I!"

"Then it will be your own fault if I tell this tale of you to our City Fathers to-morrow, – say I." Harold looked at Red Rex mischievously.

"Nay," said the Red King hastily. "You must not betray me. This tale must not become common history. No one will understand my point of view. I begin to think that no one will see my bravery in making this attempt. So few persons are open-minded and generous! You will not tell your City Fathers, Harold? Noblesse oblige, remember. You are my guest, and I have told you a tale in return for yours. I could detain you by force, breaking the truce yet once more. But I will not do so. I suppose I am a fool!"

Harold had been thinking hard. "No; I will not tell the story, – but on two conditions."

"What are they?" asked Red Rex.

"The first is this," said Harold. "For the sake of the pies you stole (one of which was your own), during the siege of Kisington you shall spare from force or damage that part of the city in which stands my mother's little house."

"Gladly will I promise that," agreed the Red King.

"Spare the north, then," said Harold, pointing. "You must not aim any weapons against the north."

"The north is safe," repeated Red Rex. "I agree not to point weapon or aim force against the north section of your city."

"Then all Kisington is saved!" cried Harold. "Already, before now, Your Majesty has promised to spare the east, – for the sake of Gerda's garden; the west, – for the children's school, in the name of your Hope. Now you promise to spare the north. The south only remains, – and that is here, Your Majesty, outside the walls!"

Red Rex grinned sheepishly. "Harold," he said. "You have outwitted me, and outplayed me. Kisington is indeed safe from me. I have no choice now but to raise the siege and go my way home. And to tell you the truth, I shall not be sorry to spare the town. Since visiting, even so briefly, within your walls, seeing the kind-faced people, the goodly buildings, and especially the noble library, I have conceived an affection for the place. I am glad of an excuse not to destroy it. If it were possible, indeed, I would that I might see the interior of that house of books. I would fain know more of the Chronicles of Kisington."

"Why may it not be, Your Majesty?" said Harold. "We will say nothing of this night's adventure. Come to-morrow with a flag of truce and be our guest, even as I have been yours. I will show you our library. Maybe you will hear another tale, even in that noble home of books. – But first you must hear to my second condition."

"True; I forgot that," said Red Rex gravely. "What is your second demand, Harold?"

"It is this," said Harold with a twinkle in his eye. "Your Majesty tells a tale so well, I fain would hear another. To-morrow you shall tell me a tale. I make that my second condition."

Red Rex hesitated, hummed and hawed. "Needs must," he said at last. "Though I am no story-teller, I will think up some yarn from the tales I have heard in my travels, and that you shall hear, my boy. But surely, I need tell it to no others than yourself?"

The Red King looked so miserable at the idea of talking to an audience that Harold laughed and said, – "Nay, Your Majesty. Let me have the treat to myself. I will come here as before, after school, hear the story, and then bring you back with me. The town will receive you as an honored guest, and we will make high carnival."

"Agreed," said Red Rex.

"Agreed," said Harold, and they shook hands formally.

The Red King had one last word. "Harold," he said shamefacedly, "I am sorry about the pies. I am ashamed. I would give them back, if I could. I will pay for them roundly."

"Your Majesty," said Harold graciously, "do not mention it!"

Here follows the tale which the Red King told to Harold on the next day; a tale which he had heard in his wanderings in a New World far across the ocean to the west; a tale of the Red People-Little Bear.