"The next morning the Princess and her three children were gone. Search was made everywhere, but they were not to be found. The King and the Prince, mounting the winding stair of the tower, stopped at last when they were all but exhausted, and at that moment heard a sound of weeping from above. They climbed higher, and on the stair they found the children sitting, huddled together and weeping bitterly. Their mother was gone, they knew not where; and they did not know how they came to be in the tower. The strongest climbers in the city mounted as far as they could ascend, but the top of the tower was far beyond their reach; they found no Princess. She has never been seen from that day.

"Soon after, the old King died, and his son came to the throne. As for him, our present King, and his three children, time stopped for them from the day on which the Princess disappeared. They are no older now than when she left them. It is supposed that they are awaiting her return unchanged, in order that she may not find them old on her return, if she should still be young. There are those who say that she has lived all these years, and still lives, somewhere, in some strange form, perhaps far from here, bewitched by the old man, and waiting for release from her enchantment. I do not know."

"And what was her name?" said Aunt Amanda.

"She was named," said the Third Vice-President, "the Princess Miranda."

"And what are all those other towers in the city?" said Aunt Amanda.

"It was the fashion, after the King's Tower was built, to build towers. The King, as you may suppose, sets the fashion in all things. But no more pleasure-towers are built nowadays; the thing had its day, and died out. There is a fashion now in pleasure-domes. They are modeled after the pleasure-dome built by Kubla Khan in Xanadu."

"Well," said Toby, "I don't see what we've got to do with all this. The party I want to see is Shiraz the Rug-Merchant."



CHAPTER XXI

SHIRAZ THE RUG-MERCHANT

The wayfarers came to a halt before the Wanderers' Gate. The wall of the city stood before them, and stretched away to a great distance on either hand. People were going in and out at the gate; some on foot, driving donkeys before them, some on horseback, some in wagons, and all brisk and talkative. The Third Vice-President received a respectful greeting from several of those on horseback. He turned to his companions with a wave of the hand, and said:

"The Wanderers' Bazaar!"

On each side of the open gate, at the foot of the high thick wall, was what appeared to be a fair. As far as the eye could see, the base of the wall was lined with booths, each with an awning over it from the wall behind, gaily striped in orange and blue and yellow and brown. In these booths was spread out in disorderly profusion a mass of merchandise of all kinds; gold and silver ornaments, brass and copper vessels, rugs and carpets, spectacles and clocks, toys and games, herbs and ointments, fish-nets and sailors' instruments, canes and crutches, ribbons and laces, perfumery, precious stones—things innumerable; even parrots and monkeys, in cages; in one booth was a potter, twirling his potter's wheel; in another a fortune-teller, laying little sticks down in curious patterns on his table; in another a man pasting on cards bits of coloured feathers, in the form of tiny birds and fowls, most life-like; in another a glass-blower, delicately twining a thread of spun glass for the rigging of a ship; in another a man sitting on a rug with a snake before him, whose flat head stood stiffly up from his coil, and waved a little to the motion of his master's finger; in another, a man was bending over a flower-pot with a wand in his hand, and as he moved the wand a stalk grew from the pot and at its end a bud appeared and unfolded into a flower before the very eyes of his audience; in another a great ape was marking down figures with chalk as his master called them; in another a shuttle was weaving back and forth in a loom; there seemed to be no end to the curious and diverting things to be seen in those booths. The people in them were apparently of all the nations of the earth; there were brown men and yellow men and black men, as well as white; men with slant eyes, with round eyes, with flat noses, with beak-noses, with wooly hair, with straight hair; there were turbans, and fezzes, and hoods, and white gowns, and coloured robes, and velvet jackets, and cotton blouses; and from all the venders rose such a hubbub as Freddie had never in his life heard before, except once in the Gaunt Street Theatre at home. A lively crowd chaffered with the venders and walked in the paved street before their booths. It was a scene full of life and colour, and Freddie was transported with delight.

"Oh!" he said, "can't we get down here and see all those sights? I should like to spend the whole day here!"

"We've got other fish to fry just now, Freddie," said Toby. "We'll have to see this some other time."

"It is a precious thought," said the Sly Old Fox, "that we have here with us on our mules enough treasure to buy this whole bazaar, if we wished to do it. It is a beautiful thought."

"Six 'undred paces to the right!" said Mr. Punch.

"Shiraz the Rug-Merchant!" said Toby. "By the looks of it, there must be about five hundred rug-merchants along there."

"What was the number we were to find him by?" said Aunt Amanda.

"It's 3103101," said Toby.

"You are quite mistaken," said Mr. Punch. "Hit's 3013101."

"That's exactly what I said," said Toby.

"Excuse me," said the Old Codger with the Wooden Leg, "it seems to me that it is—er—3101301."

"My recollection is," said the Churchwarden, "that it is 3031010."

"I am sorry to differ," said the Sly Old Codger, "but I am perfectly sure it is 3013010."

"Why don't you look at the paper?" said Aunt Amanda, in an exasperated tone.

Everyone looked at everyone else to produce the paper, but no one produced it.

"I regret to confess it," said the Third Vice-President, placidly, "but I have a distinct recollection of having left it on the table at Low Dudgeon. Never mind, it is perfectly safe."

"Well!" said Aunt Amanda. "Isn't that a perfect shame! Whatever are we going to do? And where's the map? Freddie, have you got the map?"

Freddie looked in all his pockets. "No'm," said he. "It isn't here."

"I recall distinctly," said the Third Vice-President, without any sign of worry, "that the map was left on the table at Low Dudgeon with the other paper."

"Merciful fathers!" exclaimed Aunt Amanda. "And you've left the map behind too! I never yet see a man that had a head on him worth a—Now listen to me; is there anyone that remembers the words the paper said we had to say to the——"

"Ah! madam," said the Third Vice-President. "There I can be of assistance, I fancy. The words are derived from the Persian, and I am accordingly familiar with them. 'Shagli Jamshid Shahriman.' Am I right, gentlemen?"

The Daft Committee nodded their heads in assent.

"Then I see no reason," said the Third Vice-President, "why we should not proceed."

"Come on then," said Toby. "I'll get down and pace off the six hundred steps, and see where we come to."

The party moved slowly through the crowd, along the booths, while Toby walked beside them, carefully counting his steps.

"Five hundred and eighty," said he. "Five hundred and ninety. Ninety-five. Six hundred"; and stopped. The procession stopped also, and all of the riders got down from their mules. Many of the passers-by gazed curiously at them, and some paused for a moment before going on; but no one seemed to take more than a passing interest. One of the Committee led the mules to the open side of the street, where they would be out of the way, and stood guard over them. The others joined Toby in front of the booth at which he was now standing.

It was not the kind of booth they were seeking at all. There were no rugs nor carpets of any kind; only clocks and watches, a great number of them, and a few sundials and hour-glasses. Behind the counter stood a lad of about twenty, very dark of skin, with snapping black eyes and shining white teeth which showed as he now bowed and smiled; a white turban on his head, and a loose white robe hanging from his shoulders. He was slim and sleek, and his fingers were very long and delicate. He rubbed his hands together as the riders dismounted, and commenced to chatter to them in an unknown tongue, bowing and smiling the while. His wares were displayed about him on shelves and boxes and tables, as well as on the counter, and the clocks and watches, as usual in such places, showed all hours of the twelve. A striped awning of orange and blue, fastened at the rear to the side of the city wall, shielded him and his booth from the sun. Behind him in the wall was a closed iron door.

"We're in the wrong shop," said Toby to his companions. "Some mistake. Anyway, here goes." And addressing the young man behind the counter, he said: "Good-afternoon. We are looking for Mr. Shiraz the Rug-Merchant. This don't look much like a rug shop, but maybe you can tell us. Shiraz; that's his name."

"No understand," said the young man, rubbing his hands and bowing pleasantly.

"Shiraz," said Toby. "Think. Shiraz. Easy word, Shiraz. You understand?"

"Clocks and watches," said the young man. "Sundials. You buy?"

"No, no," said Toby. "We no buy. Want Shiraz. Confound it, that's an easy word, ain't it? Shiraz! Can't you understand that?"

"No sell Shiraz," said the young man. "Clocks and watches."

"Look here," said Toby, "what's the number of this place?"

"No number," said the young man, looking puzzled and shaking his head. "Clocks and watches."

"By crackey," said Toby, "we're in the wrong place sure enough."

Now while this talk was going on, Freddie had made a discovery. He had noticed, on a box at the rear, against the wall, a row of seven old clocks. They were battered and broken, and were evidently long since out of repair; two of them had no hands. Like most of the clocks in the place, they were stopped, and had probably, from the looks of them, ceased many years before to keep time. He noted idly the time shown by each of these clocks, and started in surprise. The hour shown by the first clock at the left was three o'clock. That shown by the next was one o'clock. The next had no hands, and showed no time at all. The next showed one o'clock, the next three o'clock, the next one o'clock, and the seventh had no hands. He ran his eye over them again, and the numbers which resulted were 3101310.

"Come along," said Toby. "We might as well ask at some of these other shops. There ain't no use wasting time here."

He moved away, and the others followed him towards the adjoining booth. The teeth of the dark young man shone white, and he bowed politely to the departing strangers.

Freddie pulled at Toby's coat, and whispered in his ear. Toby listened, and without a word led the party back to the booth.

"Now see here, young feller," said he, "I've got your number, and I don't want no nonsense. I reckon you can understand numbers, if you can't understand anything else." He fixed his eyes on the row of old clocks at the rear. "Listen to this, my young friend: 3-1-0-1-3-1-0."

The smile left the young man's face. He seemed a trifle uneasy. His long fingers rested on the counter, and he leaned forward intently.

"No understand," said he.

"By crackey," said Toby, "this beats all. Where's Shiraz? We're in the right place, and we want Shiraz. Out with him!"

"Clocks and watches," said the young man, but this time somewhat nervously. "You buy?"

"Buy nothing!" cried Toby. "We want to see Shiraz the Rug-Merchant. Professor," said he, turning round, "what's the words to bring out Shiraz the Rug-Merchant?"

"Shagli Jamshid Shahriman!" said the Third Vice-President, in a loud voice.

Instantly the manner of the young man changed. Crossing his arms upon his breast, he made a low salaam, and spoke with the utmost deference.

"I trust you will pardon," said he, "my seeming lack of courtesy. It is necessary to exercise a certain caution. There are wicked spirits, assuming from time to time the most unlikely forms, who seek to gain access to my great-great-grandfather. His life is continually in danger, for he possesses secrets which enable him constantly to interfere with their designs. By reason of this danger, he was obliged many years ago to retire from the rug business, and he has lived ever since in deep seclusion. It is your wish to see Shiraz the Persian?"

"You seem to speak English pretty good," said Toby.

"Perfectly, my lord. And twelve other tongues as well. You desire to see my great-great-grandfather?"

"That's the exact idea," said Toby.

"Then I will beg your indulgence for a few moments."

The young man bowed again, and disappeared through the doorway in the wall, closing the door behind him. After a considerable absence he returned.

"If you will follow me," said he, "I will conduct you to my great-great-grandfather."

"We will await your return here," said the Third Vice-President to Toby and his companions. "It is unnecessary for us to pursue this adventure further."

The Third Vice-President and his friends returned to the mules, and the others followed the young man to the door behind him in the wall. The door was closed and locked behind them, and they found themselves in darkness. "If you will come to me here," said the voice of the young man, a little in advance, "I will show you the way down." When they felt themselves near him, they heard his voice again. "Be good enough to step carefully forward, until you feel the first step of a descending stair. Then descend cautiously, if you please." Each one put out a foot, and in a moment they were all going down a stairway, of which the treads were evidently of stone, much worn.

When they had gone down some thirty steps, they were aware that the stair had ended, and that they were on a landing. "You will now cross the bridge, one by one, holding on to the railing," said the voice of the young man. One by one the party stepped forward, feeling the way cautiously, and as each in turn found with his hand a slight wooden railing, a breath of fresh air blew upon his face and the sound of rushing water came from below. Instead of the firm stone they had just been treading, they were conscious of wooden planking under their feet, and it gave beneath their pressure most uneasily. The bridge was a long one, and the sound of rushing water followed them its entire length. They walked again, however, on firm ground, and heard the young man's voice before them. "Be good enough to follow the right hand wall," it said, "and turn with the wall."

Each right hand touched the surface of a wall, and in a moment the wall made a turning to the right. In another moment their progress was barred by a wall in advance, and the voice of the young man spoke from their midst. "You will kindly stoop as you go in," said he, and at the same moment a round opening appeared before them, dimly lit from within. It was only large enough to admit a single person, stooping. The young man entered first, and the others followed, one by one. When they were all on the other side of the door, the young man swung it noiselessly to, on its hinges, and it was seen that it fitted accurately, so that it was impossible to distinguish it from the wall.

They were in a small room, unfurnished except for a table in the center, on which burned an oil lamp of silver, in shape like a boat; the walls were bare, except for certain shelves containing bottles of coloured liquids, other bottles of coloured powders, mortars, retorts, gas-burners, and huge dusty books. There appeared to be no outlet from the room, but the young man pressed his finger on a spot behind one of the bottles on a shelf, and a circular door, like the one by which they had entered, swung slowly open in the opposite wall.

"We have arrived," said the young man. "Please to follow."

He stooped and entered the circular doorway, and the others, one by one, followed. They found themselves in a rich and luxurious apartment, softly lighted by a hanging lamp; in the center was a table, littered with open books and scrolls of paper, and bearing notably a great round globe of solid crystal.

Beside the table, on a divan, reclined what appeared to be a dry and shriveled mummy.



CHAPTER XXII

SIX ENCHANTED SOULS

"This is my great-great-grandfather," said the young man.

The room in which they stood was hung about on all the walls with rare and beautiful rugs, and similar rugs covered the floor. Richly embroidered cushions and delicate silk and cashmere shawls lay on the few easy chairs that were disposed about the room. The bowl of the hanging lamp, above the table, was of bits of amber and orange and ruby glass, through which shone a subdued and mellow light. Near the ceiling were three or four small openings, covered with iron gratings, and the air in the apartment was pure, except for the odour of tobacco. The figure on the divan was smoking a pipe; a water-pipe, whose long flexible stem reached to the floor, where its bowl rested.

Shiraz the Rug-Merchant looked at his visitors with little beady black eyes. His skin was very dark, and shriveled and wrinkled like the skin of a dried apple. His cheek-bones seemed as if about to break through his cheeks, and his lips were stretched back from his teeth, which were black and broken. His hands were like the claws of a bird. Thin white hair straggled over his tight dark scalp. He wore a robe of some soft material, harmoniously mottled upon a ground of maroon, and on his feet were slippers of red morocco, pointed upwards at the toes. His turban lay upon the table beside him.



He was the smallest man the strangers had ever seen. After a searching look at them with his beady eyes, he rose from the divan, laid down the stem of his pipe, and stood up. He was not taller than Freddie. As he stood by the divan, looking up at his visitors, he seemed indeed a mere mummy of a man, likely to fall to pieces at a breath of air.

"You are welcome," he said, in a voice surprisingly strong. "I perceive that you have come from a great distance. Permit me to inquire what errand has brought you to your servant's poor habitation."

"I reckon we want to buy something," said Toby. "I don't know what, exactly, but a chap by the name of Higginson, Captain Reuben Higginson, he give us the direction, as you might say."

"Ah, yes," said Shiraz the Persian. "I remember him very well. I was sorry to learn of his misfortune. An excellent man; a member of some strange sect——"

"A Quaker," said Toby. "The paper he left said we might buy something here, and here we are, ready to buy."

"I have long since retired from the rug business," said Shiraz, "but I have brought with me here, as you may see, some of my choicest treasures, as a slight solace in my seclusion." He glanced towards the rugs on the walls. "I am reluctant to part with any of them, but I am willing to make an exception, in view of your having made so long a journey to see me. My son," said he to the young man, "bring hither the Omar prayer-rug."

The young man took from one of the walls a small rug, and laid it at the feet of Shiraz.

"You will immediately perceive," said the Persian, "the extreme beauty of this rug. It is one of my rarest treasures. It is a prayer-rug from the mosque of Omar at Isfahan; a Kalicheh of cut-pile fabric, with the Sehna knot, as I need not tell you; made in Kurdistan three hundred years ago; observe, if you please, the delicacy of the design and the harmony of the colouring. Its possession is as a spring of water to the desert Bedouin; as a palm with dates on the road to Mecca; as a word to the believer from the mouth of the Prophet. Its price, to those who have journeyed across the sea to buy it, is twelve copper pennies."

The Sly Old Fox stooped down and examined it. His eyes lit up with pleasure. "Beautiful!" said he. "I have never seen a rug more beautiful; it is a real work of—of—I will take it. At twelve pennies. It is mine."

"No, no!" said Aunt Amanda. "You'll do nothing of the kind. It is certainly the finest piece of carpet I have ever seen, and the price is low enough, in all conscience. But we are not going to buy it. I am sorry, sir, but we can't buy your rug. Show us something else."

Shiraz displayed his teeth more plainly than ever in a sly smile.

"Your servant is desolated," he replied. "I crave your pardon for showing a trifle so far beneath your notice. My son, take it away. If your excellencies will deign to overlook my error, I will produce an article more worthy of your attention. This time I promise myself the ecstasy of your approval."

"Pretty good line of talk," whispered Toby in Mr. Punch's ear.

"My son," continued Shiraz, "bring hither the Wishing Rug."

The young man took away the prayer-rug, and brought another from the wall; a much larger one, large enough, indeed, for twenty people to stand on. It was dingy and frayed, and in no way beautiful like the other.

"A rug of the Tomb of Rustam," said Shiraz, "gained by the hero in battle from the genie Akhnavid. It is the last of the Wishing Rugs. Its property is, that it will transport to the farthest regions of the earth, in the twinkling of an eye, those who sit upon it and but name aloud the place of their desire. Excellencies," he said, addressing his visitors very earnestly, "if it is your wish to return home, the moment has arrived; you have only to sit upon this rug and wish yourselves at home, and you will find yourselves there, safe and sound, before the words shall have well left your lips. And the price is only twenty pennies."

Every one of the party hesitated. A vision of the Old Tobacco Shop entered each mind. It had never seemed so cozy, so quiet, so secure as at that moment. How or when they would ever get there, in the natural course of events, no one knew. If they did not seize this opportunity, they might be lost forever. It was a chance such as they could scarcely have hoped for.

"Could we take our belongings with us?" said the Sly Old Fox.

"All that can be piled on the rug," said Shiraz.

"Then I will buy it," said the Sly Old Codger. "I do not consider twenty pennies too much for such a rug. The rug is mine."

"It's nothing of the sort," said Aunt Amanda, waking from deep thought. "Nobody's going to buy the rug. I'm captain of this expedition, and my orders is, to wait and see what's going to happen next. I'm sorry, sir, but the rug ain't exactly what we want. You must show us something else."

The Rug-Merchant appeared greatly mortified. "I do not know how I could have made such a mistake," he said. "I should have known that these little trifles could not interest you. I trust you will believe that I meant no offense. I fear there is nothing in my poor collection which merits your notice. Permit me to wish you a safe journey. Do you intend to remain long in the City of Towers?"

"That won't do," said Toby. "You must show us something else."

The Rug-Merchant looked intently at Aunt Amanda. "You command it?" said he.

"I do," said she.

"To hear is to obey," said Shiraz. "I tremble to think how contemptible are the baubles I shall now offer you, but I trust you will not be angry with your servant." He turned to the young man, and spoke to him in an unknown tongue. "Be not offended, excellencies," he went on, "by your poor servant's ignorance in the art of pleasing."

The young man disappeared behind one of the hanging rugs, and in a moment returned with certain small objects, which he stood upon the table in a row. They were eight hour-glasses, of a very ordinary kind, much like those already seen in the booth outside. The sand in each one was wholly in the upper glass, and was just beginning to trickle down into the lower. The strangers were obviously disappointed.

"I fear your displeasure," said Shiraz, "but apart from my trifling rugs, these are all I have to offer."

"And what," said the Sly Old Fox, "what may be the price of these interesting objects?"

"The price," said Shiraz, fixing his beady eyes on Aunt Amanda, "the price is this and nothing less: your treasure on the mules outside; your share of the treasure on the mules."

Everyone gasped. The treasure which they had gone through so many perils to secure, for these indifferent trinkets! A life of ease and plenty for an hour-glass!

"Ahem!" said the Old Codger with the Wooden Leg. "Excuse me for saying it, but the—er—price appears to be a little bit high."

"It is too high for me," said the Sly Old Fox, positively. "I regret to say it, but I am compelled to withdraw; I cannot go on at such a figure. Please consider me out of it."

"And—er—me too," said the Old Codger with the Wooden Leg.

"Well," said Toby, doubtfully, "it's a blamed hard thing to give up all that treasure for one of these here little toys. I don't see my way clear to doing it. What do you say, Aunt Amanda?"

"I'll do it," said Aunt Amanda, looking at Shiraz, whose eyes were still on her. "I've come all this way to do it, and I'll do it. I ain't going to back out now at the last minute. My mind's made up. Mr. Shiraz, I'll buy an hour-glass."

"By crackey," said Toby, "then I will too. What about you, Freddie?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Freddie.

"Hi'll 'ave one myself," said Mr. Punch.

"After due consideration," said the Churchwarden, "I think I will buy one also."

Mr. Hanlon nodded a vigorous assent.

The two Old Codgers, however, were firm in their refusal. They could not be persuaded. They retired from the enterprise then and there.

Under the conduct of the young man, the two Old Codgers left the room, and returned to the Committee who were waiting with the mules outside; and with them went Toby and Mr. Punch and Mr. Hanlon, to bring back that portion of the treasure which was to pay for the six hour-glasses.

This was a work of much difficulty, and occupied a great deal of time. While it was going on, the Rug-Merchant, having first asked permission, reclined again on the divan and resumed his pipe, while Aunt Amanda, Freddie, and the Churchwarden seated themselves, at his invitation, and watched him in silence.

The treasure was at length piled, complete, in a corner of the room. Toby, Mr. Punch, and Mr. Hanlon returned for the last time, and without the great-great-grandson of the Rug-Merchant.

"The others will wait outside for an hour," said Toby. "If we don't come back by that time, they'll go on into the city without us."

Shiraz the Rug-Merchant laid down the stem of his pipe, and rising bowed to Aunt Amanda with great deference.

"Permit me, most gracious lady," said he, "to see the fingers of your left hand."

He took in his own right hand the third finger of Aunt Amanda's left, and bent his eyes close over it. He straightened himself up with a long breath, and crossing his arms upon his breast, made a low salaam.

"It is as I thought," said he. "The mark is here, on the third finger of the left hand. Highness," said he, bowing lower, "I pray you accept your servant's salutation on your return." And raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it in a very courtly manner.

"Goodness alive!" said Aunt Amanda, turning as red as a rose, "you make me feel too foolish for anything."

"You have been away a long time," said Shiraz, "but you have returned. Happy am I to be the first to greet you on your return. You and the others have all been enchanted. You are six enchanted souls, and in your present shapes not one of you is himself. I suppose you do not know that you are enchanted; you think that you are yourselves; is it not so? I assure you it is a mistake; but I can put you in the way of correcting your errors, and restoring yourselves to your true shapes, if you desire it. Madam," said he, bowing again to Aunt Amanda, "I await your commands."

"I reckon we all want to be corrected," said Aunt Amanda. "It's what we've come here for. We've come a long way to this island, and for nothing on earth but to be corrected, if there's any way to do it. If you can do it, go ahead."

"Hearing is obedience," said Shiraz. "Please to take the hour-glasses."

Each one took up an hour-glass from the table and held it in his hand.

"It is necessary," said Shiraz, "to destroy the sands in the glasses. If they can be destroyed, the enchantment will be over. There is no power on earth which can destroy the sands but one, and that is the White Fire of the Preserver. Will you risk the fire?"

"I will," said Aunt Amanda, now somewhat pale; and the others nodded assent.

"Then I will give you the White Robes," said Shiraz. "Without them you can not withstand the Fire."

He went to a wall and drew from behind the hangings a box, which he opened on the table. From this box he took six white linen gowns, and at his direction each put on one of the gowns. Freddie's was much too long, and he was obliged to hold it up.

"Well," said Toby, "I always did look ridiculous in a night-gown, but this beats—"

"Peace," said Shiraz. "The Fire will not harm you now. Two things only are necessary: to fear nothing, and to hold tight to the hour-glasses."

With these words he clapped his hands, and from behind the hangings on the rear wall stepped a black man, clad in a robe similar to the others. To this man the Persian spoke in some strange tongue, and the man bowed.

"Now," said Shiraz, "you will follow my servant. Farewell, and peace be with you."



CHAPTER XXIII

FROM THE FIRE BACK TO THE FRYING PAN

The white-robed figures, having left the room by a small circular door behind the hangings, followed the black servant along a pitch-dark passage, and in a few moments came to a bridge, similar to the one they had crossed before. As they felt their way over it cautiously one by one, the sound of rushing water came to them from below, and a cold breeze fanned their cheeks. A little further on they touched the first step of a stair, and began to ascend its worn stone treads. They mounted some thirty steps, and touching the wall with their hands, moved onward along a passage. This passage made an abrupt turn to the left, and when they had cleared the corner they saw in its sides before them a gleam of light here and there.

"The Master's work-rooms," said the black servant. "Please to follow."

They passed now and then beneath a lighted window, too high to be seen through, and at the end of the passage the servant paused before a closed iron door. He opened this door with a key, and led them forth.

Before them was a garden, the most beautiful that any of them had ever seen. High over it was a dome of pale green and amber glass, through which the sunlight streamed in mild and parti-coloured rays. The walls which supported the dome were so high that it was impossible to see beyond. In the center was a fountain, dropping in a sparkling shower into a marble basin; around it spread a well-ordered carpet of flowers, of all the colours, as it seemed, of the rainbow; along the walls were cocoa palms, banana trees, and the feathery bamboo; white cockatoos sailed across from palm to palm; the air was heavy with a warm odour of moist earth and blossoms. The whole party drew a deep breath of pleasure. The dark place from which they had come seemed to fade away like a dream before the soft beauty of the garden.

The servant led them to the opposite side, and unlocked a door in the wall, making way for them to pass in before him. They entered, and heard the door locked behind them; the servant was no longer with them; they were alone in a small square room, of stone walls and an earthen floor; there was no opening, but in the opposite wall was a closed door. A pale light pervaded the place, from what source they could not discover. In the earthen floor from wall to wall grew a thicket of stiff stalks, higher than Freddie's head, and clustered closely around each stalk from bottom to top were flowers of a waxen whiteness.

"It seems a real pity," said Aunt Amanda, "to break those pretty plants, but I reckon we've got to wade into them. I'm mighty curious to see what's on the other side of that door. Probably the fire the old man was talking about. Oh, dear, I don't like fire. But we've got to get to that door, so come along."

The whole party moved in a body into the thicket of waxen stalks.

As they stepped in, the stalks broke around them with sharp reports. They moved on again, and the reports, as the stalks broke, became louder and louder; and now each one felt the hour-glass in his hand being tugged at, and found that wherever his hand touched a flower, the petals flattened themselves on the hand and the glass, and clung so tight that it took a hard jerk to get them loose. There was danger of losing the glasses, and with one accord they held the glasses high above their heads. The moment they did so, the conduct of the stalks became terrifying indeed.

As if in anger, the broken stalks spouted forth, with a hiss and a rush, blinding jets of liquid white fire, which tore at the ceiling angrily and roared and crackled. From the broken stalks it spread to the others, and in a moment jets of liquid white fire were blazing and crackling upward from all the stalks in the room, and the terrified captives were in the very midst of it.

It ran up their robes and showered on them from the ceiling; it became denser and angrier; it was all but unbearable, though they felt it in only a tiny fraction of its real strength; in another instant the frail white gowns must surely be consumed. But in some strange way the gowns shed off the liquid fire, and remained unscorched.

For a moment the sufferers were stupefied. They were unable to move. Freddie tried to scream, but he could make no sound; he almost fainted away; but he felt, through it all, the sturdy arm of Mr. Toby tight about him.

They pushed on in a close body and passed the center of the room; the white glare became more blinding, the roar and crackle more deafening; they were surrounded, cut off, in the midst of destruction; they were bewildered; they stopped again; there was no use in going back; they must get forward through the furnace at any cost; they made a new start; and in a frenzy of terror, their hands before their eyes, with a rush they gained the door. They crowded against it; they pushed and beat upon it; it gave way before them; they rushed through, and it closed behind them of its own accord.

They were standing in broad daylight on the sidewalk of a city street, under a high blank wall, with shops on the opposite side; each with an hour-glass, empty of sand, in his right hand, and each clad only in a long white night-gown.



CHAPTER XXIV

DISENCHANTMENT COMPLETE

They looked behind them. A high stone wall rose at their backs, and in it was no sign of a door.

They looked across the street. It was a narrow street, paved with cobble-stones; on the opposite side, where a row of little low shops stretched away on either hand, a few people were going in and out at the doors, and a few others were walking at some distance, before the shop-windows. An ox-cart was coming slowly down the street.

Freddie had sometimes dreamed of being out among people in broad daylight in his night-gown, and he now felt the same terror he had felt in those dreams; he looked anxiously at the shops for a place in which to hide. No one appeared to observe them yet, but they would soon be seen, and it would be dreadful, unless they could find shelter without a moment's delay.

"We had better run into one of those shops," said he, breathlessly, "and ask them to hide us until we can get some clothes."

"Ah, no," said a soft voice beside him, at his right. "It is not a shop that I must go to now. I must hurry home."

Freddie looked around at his right for Aunt Amanda. There was no Aunt Amanda. In her place, holding an empty hour-glass in her right hand, was a lady, the fairest whom Freddie had ever seen. She was young; her eyes were of the blue of summer skies; her hair was golden yellow; on her soft white cheek was a tinge of pink; two heavy braids of hair hung almost to her knees; her eyes were sparkling with happiness, and a tender and wistful smile curved her lips. As Freddie gazed at her, he thought that there could not be in the world another so radiantly beautiful. She looked about her as one who sees familiar things after a long absence.

Freddie's eyes fell to the hand which was nearest him, her left. On the third finger of her left hand was a ruby ring.

"Are you," he faltered, "are you—Aunt Amanda?"

"I think," she said, smiling on him, "I think I was, once. I think I can remember that name. And you are—let me see; what was your name? Ah, yes, your name was Freddie. But we must hurry; we must not keep them waiting."

Freddie turned, and saw beside him four strange men, all gazing at the beautiful lady in amazement. In the right hand of each was an empty hour-glass.

Freddie looked down on the two men who stood nearest him; he looked down on them; he was suddenly aware that he was not looking up. They were short, for full-grown men, and of precisely the same height; their faces were square, their cheek-bones prominent, and their noses hooked; the head of one was bald, and the hair of the other's head lay flat down on his forehead where it curved back like a hairpin; except for their heads, they were in all respects twins. There was no hump on the back of either of them.

"Mr. Punch and Mr. Toby!" said Freddie.

"The wery same," said the bald-headed one.

"That's me," said the other.

Behind Mr. Toby stood a lean man in spectacles. His night-gown hung upon him very loosely, and he was very spare indeed. His smooth-shaven cheeks were somewhat hollow; his eyes behind his glasses were deep and solemn; his frame was the frame of one who subdues the flesh by fasting; snow-white hair, curling inward at the back of his neck, made a kind of aureole around his thin face; he looked for all the world as he stood barefoot in his long white gown, like one of those saints you see in painted glass windows in a church.

"Is it," said Freddie, hesitating, "is it—the Churchwarden?"

"I have reason to believe," said the saintly looking man, "that I have been known by that name. But I am in reality, and always have been, in reality, something far more lowly than a churchwarden; I am, and always have been, at heart, a meek and humble follower of the holy Thomas a Kempis, whose life of serene and cloistered sanctity I have always wished to imitate. Now that I am myself, it is my ambition to be known, if it is not too presumptuous to say so, as Thomas the Inferior. Pax vobiscum."

"I ain't got the least idea what that means," said Toby, "but anyway it's the Churchwarden's voice, whether he calls himself Thomas the Inferior or Daniel the Deleterious. You're heartily welcome, Warden, and I hope you won't mind my saying that a good meal wouldn't do you any harm, from the looks of you. I'm pretty near starved to death myself. Mr. Punch, we've got rid of our humps, as sure as you're born. We're as straight in our bodies as we've always been in our minds, and that's as straight as a string. By crackey, I never felt so fine in my life; blamed if I couldn't lick my weight in wildcats."

"Hi 'ave no wish to do so," said Mr. Punch. "Hi do not desire to engage in any conflict whatever; Hi should regard such conduct as wery reprehensible; wery. But one cannot but admit, harfter one's back 'as been so long out of correct proportion, as one may s'y, that one enjoys a wery pronounced satisfaction when one feels one's self restored to one's rightful position as a hupright person, in common with one's fellow—"

"What about Mr. Hanlon?" said Toby, turning around.

"Michael Hanlon, prisent!" said a cheerful voice.

Behind the Inferior Thomas stood a tall and handsome man, the picture of an athlete in the prime of condition. Short curling black hair clustered on his head; his eyes were of a humorous dark blue; his cheeks were like red apples; his shoulders were muscular, his back was straight, his figure slim; and he wore his night-gown as a Greek runner in ancient times might have worn his robe after the games.

"What!" said Freddie. "Can you talk?"

"Faith," said Mr. Hanlon, "I've a tongue in me head that can wag with anny that iver come off the blarney stone, and it's no lies I'm tellin' ye. For an Irish gintleman to have to listen and listen, and kape his tongue still in his head and say niver a worrd at all, at all, 'tis a hard life, me frinds, a hard life, and it's plaised I am to be mesilf at last, and the nate bit of tongue doin' his duty like a thrue son of Erin—I could tell ye a swate little shtory that comes to me mind, of a dumb Irishman that could not spake at all, at all, and the deaf wife of him that could not hear, and their twelve pigs all lyin' down in the mud with wan of thim standing up and crying out that the wolf was comin' in through the gate, and the good wife unable to hear and the good man unable to spake—"

"I reckon you've got your tongue, all right," said Toby. "I wish we had time to hear that story, but we haven't. Now, Freddie, what do you think we'd better—Why, Freddie! What's that you've got on your lip?"

Freddie put his hand to his upper lip. What he felt there was a tiny silken mustache. He blushed.

"And 'e's taller than any of us except Mr. 'Anlon!" exclaimed Mr. Punch. "My word!"

Freddie looked down at Mr. Punch, and realized his own height. He looked at his hands, and they were almost as large as Mr. Hanlon's. His night-gown came to his ankles, and he realized that he was no longer holding it up.

"Why," he said, "I must be grown up!"

"Grown up is the word," said Toby, "but I'd 'a' known you anywhere. Twenty-one years old, I should say."

"Twenty-two," said Mr. Punch.

Everyone now fell silent. The young and lovely lady, who had said nothing during their talk, was smiling from one to another. She seemed to feel no embarrassment nor concern, nor anything indeed but happiness. She looked at Toby with a smile, and all the men looked at her.

"Do you know me?" she said to Toby.

"You are changed," said he, "that's a fact. But I always knew that Aunt Amanda was like that, down deep inside of her. If she could only have looked like what she was, that's the way she would have looked, and I always knew it. I'm glad you've come to look like yourself at last."

"Ah!" said the beautiful lady. "I am glad you don't feel that I am strange to you. I know you all now, better than I have ever known you. You have been with me a long while, under disguise. I don't seem to remember very well what your disguises were, for I seem to have known you always as you are: my loyal knight," (turning to Freddie), "my body-guard," (turning to Mr. Toby and Mr. Punch), "my confessor," (turning to Thomas the Inferior), "and my courier," (turning to Mr. Hanlon). "In my exile you have been with me, and in my homecoming you shall be with me still."

"We hope to be with you always," said the tall young knight who used to be Freddie. "But we are beginning to be noticed. I have seen one or two people stare from the shop windows. We had better hurry to one of those shops and seek refuge until we can find proper clothes."

"Ah, no!" said the lady, with a radiant smile. "I must hasten home. They have been waiting a long time, and I must not lose a moment. I know the way! This street is changed since I was here, but I know it! I know the way! Come with me! I am going home!"

She placed her empty hour-glass in Freddie's hand, and led the way up the street. Her bare feet trod the pavement swiftly; she walked as if she had never known what it was to be lame; she went swimmingly, with a motion of infinite grace. The others looked about them, uneasily, as they followed, but she seemed to care nothing for the eyes of the people. The ox-cart stopped as it came to them, and the driver who was walking beside it stopped also, and gazed at them with his mouth open. Faces appeared at shop-windows as they went by, and figures appeared at shop-doors. Two or three foot-passengers passed them, and after they had gone, went to the nearest shop-door and stood there for a moment in talk with the shop-keeper. They then began to follow the strange white-clad group up the street. In a few moments others joined them. Freddie looked behind, and wished to run; but the lady who was leading paid no attention.

A little further on she turned a corner, and the party found themselves in a much busier street. The sidewalks were alive with people. In a moment there was a great silence. When the six figures first appeared, some of the people began to laugh. Then they looked at the face of the lady who swept along in advance of her attendants, and they laughed no more. They began to whisper one to another. They fell apart, and made way for her and her attendants. They stopped; they forgot their own affairs; some ran into the shops and called out the persons who were within; they gaped, and whispered, and nodded, and held up their hands, and with one accord began to follow.

Further on, heads appeared from the windows of pleasure-towers and pleasure-domes; doors opened; all who could walk joined themselves to the crowd which was following the wondrous lady and her five strange companions.

Deeper and deeper into the city; on past the region of shops into the region of gardens and mansions; up by a gradual ascent to the place of the largest and tallest towers and domes; on they went, the six white-gowned and bare-footed figures before, and the crowd behind; and the further they went, the greater became the crowd; and still there was no sound from the people, except the sound of an awestruck whispering.

The dark cloud on the mountain-top was now plainly in view before them between the towers and domes, and they could see the great mass of the King's Tower where it rose to the cloud and lost itself within it. At the end of the street which they were now following a majestic gateway could be seen, and beyond it a park.

Behind them the street was choked from wall to wall with a vast multitude. From every house, as the multitude passed, its people poured forth and joined the throng; business was forgotten; shops and houses were deserted; it seemed as if the whole city was in the street, following the lady and her five attendants. She looked not behind her once. She seemed to be unaware of anything in the world about her; her eyes shone like stars; she had forgotten even her companions; she spoke not a word, but looked forward to the stately gateway and the park beyond. Still no sound came from the multitude, except a sound of whispering.

They reached the gateway. On each side was a great stone pillar, supporting a gate of massive bronze. The gates were open. Without an instant's hesitation she led the way within, and as she did so placed her left hand on her heart. The throng seemed to waver a moment, and then as the six barefoot and white-gowned figures moved swiftly up the driveway into the park, it flowed in silently between the gates, and followed at a respectful distance.

Before them, at a distance, on a knoll from which terraces of velvet grass descended, stood the palace of the King; white and broad and flat-roofed.

Passing a grove of trees, the lady left the roadway and stepped into the smooth grass of a lawn, and sped across it directly towards the terraces before the palace of the King. She mounted the gentle slope, her five friends following her; and the vast throng, filling the park to the gates, came on behind. She reached the first terrace; her hand was still on her heart. A dog barked.

Windows in the palace front began to go up, and faces to appear. From an archway sprang a pack of beautiful tall white curly-haired dogs, and rushed on the lady, barking. Freddie made as if to protect her, but she waved him back with a smile. The dogs sprang up as if to devour her, but they did no harm; they barked as if their throats would burst; they leaped and gambolled about her; they thrust their noses into her hand; they almost spoke; and in the midst of it there appeared upon the wide steps before the palace door a noble-looking man, and beside him three children.

At sight of this man and the children, the lady covered her eyes for an instant with her hands, and gave a sob; but she quickly looked up, and sped on more swiftly than before, her hands hanging beside her, and a bright misty look in her eyes.

The man upon the palace steps shaded his eyes with his hands, and gazed upon her and the multitude spread out across the park behind her. One of the children, a tiny boy, he took by the hand, and another, a girl a little older, he grasped with his other hand; and with the third, a boy of something over nine, beside them, they all four came down the steps and crossed the terrace to meet the radiant lady.

On the next terrace they met. He dropped his children's hands, and stopped. He was a man of some thirty years, richly clad, and handsome beyond measure. As he stopped, the multitude found its voice. A mighty shout went up.

"Long live the King! Long live the King!"

He paid no attention. His eyes were on the fair lady before him. A cry from the oldest boy rang out clear and sharp in the silence.

"Mother!"

The King held out his arms.

"My darling!" he cried. "At last! At last!"

"Beloved!" she cried, and rushed into his arms, and buried her face in his shoulder.

The children clung to her, weeping, and with one arm she pressed them close against her side.

The multitude found its voice again.

"Long live Queen Miranda! Long live Queen Miranda!"



CHAPTER XXV

THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN

"There's an Old Man," said Robert to Freddie. "He lives on the mountain. I saw him once."

They were sitting on the palace lawn, looking up at the mountain which rose behind the King's tower. The sun was directly overhead, and was accordingly hidden by the cloud. The lower slopes of the mountain were easy and gradual, but they grew steeper as they ascended, and at the point where the mountain entered the cloud it was a straight and smooth wall of granite, plainly impossible to climb. The King's eldest child fixed his big eyes on the tall young man beside him.

"I like you," said he. "I wish you would take me up the mountain some time for blackberries. Will you?"

"If the Queen permits," said Freddie, "we will go tomorrow."

A long time had passed since the Queen's return; a happy time, during which the five who had come with the Queen were made to feel as if they had lived all their lives in a palace. The two Old Codgers were found by Toby, comfortably established in a double shop of their own, on one side of which the Old Codger with the Wooden Leg sold tobacco, and on the other side of which the Sly Old Fox sold jewelry; each of them entirely contented with his fortune, and settled down for life. The Third Vice-President had paid his respects at the palace, and was unable to talk of anything but his Museum, for which he was devising many plans, including a method whereby the late Mr. Matthew Speak might be assured against ever being blown out of the window.

The saintly person who had once been the Churchwarden was occupied nowadays, in a little room in the basement of the palace, in copying in beautiful letters an ancient book belonging to the King.

Mr. Punch and Mr. Toby spent their time in exploring the city, arm in arm, very inquisitive, very talkative, and making friends with everybody.

Mr. Hanlon's work in life was, it appeared, the climbing of the King's Tower. Every day he disappeared within, and every day he declared that he would mount to the top before he finished; but he had not yet got to the top, and there did not seem much prospect of his ever doing so.

As for Freddie,—not that he was called Freddie now; the King had given him a high-sounding name,—the Chevalier Frederick; and by that name he was spoken of by everybody, except that Toby sometimes forgot and called him the Chandelier. As for the Chevalier Frederick, his interest was mainly in the Queen's three children, Robert, Genevieve, and James; and at the present moment the oldest, Robert, was sitting with the Chevalier on the palace lawn, gossiping.

"We will go tomorrow," the Chevalier was saying, and then the little boy Robert went on about the old man he had seen on the mountain.

"I saw him once," said Robert. "Just before Mother went away. I ran away from home, I did, and I was gone all day. Mother was terribly worried. I ran away to the mountain, and I was muddy all over when I got back, and it was dark, too! Mother was terribly worried. I was gone all day, I was; and I didn't get back until after dark, I didn't; and I was muddy all over. Oh, but it was dark. Mother, she was terribly worried." He stopped to think it over, and then went on again. "There wasn't any Tower then. It was just before the old chap came and built the Tower in a night; you know about that, don't you? I ran away and didn't come home until after dark, I didn't; Mother was worried; and Jenny—I never call her Genevieve, because Jenny's shorter—and Jenny wouldn't go because she was afraid, and James was too little, so I went all by myself; and it was getting pretty dark, and I was starting home down the mountain, because I knew Mother would be worried, and I saw the Old Man coming down the mountain, and he didn't see me, and he had a pack on his back and a long stick in his hand, and a gown belted in about the middle, and he was kind of fat and bald-headed; and he didn't see me but I saw him, and pretty soon he went down into a gully and I didn't see him any more, and I came on home, because it was getting dark, and I knew Mother would be worried."

"Then perhaps we had better not go up there," said Freddie.

"Oh no," said Robert. "It's a grand place to climb and gather berries and flowers. And I'd like to see the Old Man again. Will you take me there today?"

"Tomorrow," said Freddie, "if the Queen will permit."

At this moment Mr. Hanlon appeared, somewhat out of breath, and he and Freddie went into the palace together. He was quite jubilant.

"Faith," said he, "'tis a tower indade, that tower, and a swate little bit of a journey to the top of it, if there's iver a top at all. But it's Michael Hanlon will do it, by the bones of St. Patrick, and don't ye forget what I'm tellin' ye, me b'y. I've been up there this day, so high, so high—! I'll niver tell ye how high. It's comin' better; me wind and me legs are better; in a wake, or two wakes, 'tis meself will be fit for the grand ascent, and then there'll be news from the top, and a proud look in the eye of Michael Hanlon, Esquire! Wait and see, me b'y!"

The next morning, Queen Miranda having given her consent, Freddie and Robert left the palace for their day on the mountain. All day they wandered up the trails, and in the afternoon, when their luncheon was all gone and they were tired, they began to descend. It was growing dark; they had had a glorious day, and they were sorry it would soon be over. They stretched themselves on the ground beneath a mountain oak, and looked below them, past the Tower, across the roof of the palace to the city. There was no living thing in sight, except a bird which sailed across their view and disappeared. "Well, Robert," said Freddie, "I suppose the Old Man who used to be here is gone. Come; we must go; your mother will be worried."

They got to their feet. As they did so, a kind of groan startled them. They listened. It came again, from some point near by. Freddie thought he could make out a weak human voice, trying to call for help. Drawing Robert after him, he climbed over a number of boulders and mounted to the top of a rise in the ground, and looked down into a deep gully, covered on its sides with rocks and bushes. What he saw there gave him a start of alarm.

At the bottom was an old man, lying on his back, with one leg doubled under him, his face up to the sky. From his lips came a groan, followed by a faint cry for help. His head was bald, he was rather stout, he wore a long white beard, and he was clad in a short dark gown, belted about the middle. His legs were bare, and on the foot which was visible he wore a sandal.

Robert looked over Freddie's shoulder, and whispered in his ear. "That's him! He's fallen down and hurt himself."

It was true. The old man had evidently fallen, and he was plainly suffering. Freddie clambered down to him, and knelt beside him. The old man looked into the young man's eyes, and said, in a feeble whisper:

"My leg. Broken. Help me home."

Freddie assisted him into a sitting position, and then lifted him up and held him.

"I cannot walk," said the old man. "Unless you can carry me, I must die here."

Freddie was properly proud of his new strength, and he believed that he could carry the old man.

"Where do you live?" said he.

"Up the mountain. I will show you. I beg you to carry me home."

"I will do my best," said Freddie.

He turned his back to the old man, and supporting him at the same time put the old man's arms about his neck, and by a great effort got the poor creature on his back. Carrying him thus, he began to go haltingly up the side of the gully. The little boy watched them wonderingly.

It was a terrible journey. The old man directed Freddie from moment to moment, and the way led steadily up the mountain, by a course which Freddie had not seen that day. The burden on Freddie's back became heavier and heavier; he panted harder and harder under it; he stumbled from time to time, and every instant told himself that he could go no further. The old man seemed to think of nothing but of getting home. The little boy followed, staring with big eyes.

Freddie had gone but a short way up the mountain-side when he felt through all his back, where it touched the old man, a chill; his shoulders and throat, where the arms of the old man touched them, became cold; as he struggled on, the chill increased; he felt as if he were hugging to his back a burden of ice.

"Are we nearly there?" he asked, trying to wipe a cold perspiration from his forehead.

"No, no," said the old man. "Go on. A long way yet. You can't be tired so soon."

The cold upon Freddie's back and shoulders and throat became a dead numbness; he was too cold to shiver; his arms too were now becoming numb, and he felt that he could hold his burden no longer. He stopped.

"I must put you down," he said. "I must rest a moment. I don't know what makes me so cold."

"No, no," said the old man. "Too soon! too soon! Keep on!"

"I cannot," said Freddie. "I am freezing. My strength is gone. I must rest."

With these words he let the old man carefully down, and laid him on the ground. He stood there panting and rubbing his frozen hands together.

"Stupid weakling," said the old man, staring up at him, "go and search upon the mountain-side and bring me hither seeds of the fennel which you will there find, and be quick; for I perish."

Freddie and the little boy hastened away together, and at a distance on the mountain-side found, after a long search, a few plants of the fennel, with which they hurried back to the old man.

He was gone.

They looked far and near; they examined every nook and cranny; the mountain was steep at this point, and difficult for any sound man; for an old man, crippled, it seemed impossible, but he was nowhere to be found; he was gone.

Freddie and Robert turned homeward, and made hard work of it. The little boy became extremely heated with his labor; but Freddie remained as cold as ever. It is true that he perspired, but the beads upon his forehead were like the beads upon ice-cold glass. His hands were so numb that when he cut them slightly on a rock he felt no pain. His back, where the old man had clung to it with his body, was coldest of all; he was so stiff that he could scarcely bend his arms or body; many times the little boy had to help him down; the chill spread; at the foot of the mountain his legs were nearly as cold as his arms; when they passed the Tower, his knees were as if frozen, and would not bend; the little boy put his arm about him and tried to help him walk; he began to lose knowledge of his whereabouts; he held out a stiff arm before him, like a blind man, and dragged one foot after the other like a man whose legs are made of stone. The little boy, weeping to himself, took his icy outstretched hand, and led him home.

The palace door was thrown open. The little boy rushed in with a cry, and turned around to his companion. The white-faced rigid creature which was Freddie stood in the doorway, staring vacantly, and fell slowly forward on its face upon the floor.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE KING'S TOWER

Freddie was very ill. He was so ill that after a week the King gave up all hope, and believed he would die. The Queen wept bitterly; she scarcely left his side; at night she did not sleep for weeping, and by day she sat by his bed and watched his cold white face. His friends were not allowed to see him, and of these it appeared that Mr. Hanlon had been gone for some days up the Tower.

All that the best doctors in the city could do had been done, but the Chevalier was no better. He lay under the blankets, cold as ice and motionless as stone; and his eyes, big round eyes like the eyes of a child, stared up strangely out of deep sockets. They looked up at the King, who was bending down over the bed and smiling encouragingly. The Queen and her three children, Robert, Genevieve, and James, were standing close by, but they could not smile.

"Come, Chevalier," said the King, "you will be well soon, I am sure."

A faint voice came from the pale lips; not the voice of a grown man, but the voice of a child.

"That isn't my name," it said, "my name is—Fweddie."

The King went away, and took his children with him; and after they had gone the Queen heard the childish voice again from the bed.

"I want to see Aunt Amanda."

The Queen went to him, and stood beside the bed. He looked up at her.

"You aren't Aunt Amanda," he said. "I want to see Aunt Amanda."

"I think that was my name once," said the Queen. "Will you talk to me?"

He looked at her again, and she saw that he did not know her.

"My farver sent me," he said. "Mr. Toby has gone to the barber-shop, and my farver he wants a pound of Cage-Roach Mitchner."

"Mr. Toby is here in the palace now, and I'm sure he—"

"I don't know about any palace. I can't wait long. My farver told me to hurry."

The Queen said no more, and Freddie appeared to go to sleep. The night came on, and the Queen still sat by his side. It grew very late; her children had long since gone to bed, and even the King was asleep in his own apartments. The palace was silent, and there was scarcely a light anywhere in the great place except the light of a taper on a table in Freddie's room. The Queen was bending forward, watching the face on the pillow. The eyes were closed, the lips were together, and there was no sign of breathing. She knew that it could not be much longer; she buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly.

A gentle tap upon the door aroused her. She rose and admitted Mr. Toby and Mr. Punch, Thomas the Inferior, and Mr. Hanlon.

"Quick, ma'am," said Mr. Hanlon. "There's not a minute to be lost. If you plase, I'll ask ye to put on yer bonnet in a hurry, ma'am. We're off on a journey, and the poor sick young lad's coming along with us. If you'll just be in a hurry with the bonnet, ma'am!"

The Queen, scarcely realizing what she was doing, left the room, and went first to the nursery, where she bent over her three sleeping children and kissed them each, and murmured a loving good-bye above them, as if she were going to leave them; and for a long, long time she gazed at each rosy face, as if to fix it in her memory forever.

When she returned to the room, wearing a shawl over her head and shoulders, she was startled to see that the sick youth was sitting upright in a chair, thickly wrapped in blankets. His round childlike eyes were wide open, and to her surprise a faint smile seemed to hover about his lips.

She looked at the others. Each held, in his hand an empty hour-glass.

"Plase to get your hour-glass, ma'am," said Mr. Hanlon, "and Freddie's too."

Freddie's hour-glass was soon found in a drawer in the same room; the Queen's she brought in a moment from another room.

Mr. Hanlon picked up from the floor, where he had previously laid it, a small canvas bag, and placed it on the table under the candle. All of the empty hour-glasses he placed upon the table, and unscrewed the part of each by which it was designed to receive its load of sand. He lifted his bag, and out of it poured into each glass a quantity of fine white sand. "A little more or less won't matter a mite," said he, when he had filled them all. "A foine time I've had getting the sand, 'tis sure, but it's the true article, straight from the hand of the old crayture himself, and 'tis him we're going to this very minute, and the young lad with us. By the sand in the hour-glasses we'll get back to the old crayture in one-tinth the time it took me to find him without it, and by the same we'll get him to save for us the poor lad's life, or me name's not Michael."

Each now took his hour-glass in his hand. They were the same hour-glasses they had bought of Shiraz the Persian, and the sand which was now in them was the same sort of fine white sand which had been in them before their ordeal in the fire.

Mr. Punch and Mr. Toby lifted the sick youth from his chair, and carried him between them, in a sitting position, towards the door. Mr. Hanlon looked at him anxiously, and commanded haste.

In a moment the whole party were in the hall, and in a few moments more they were crossing the lawn towards King's Tower. It was a clear night, and the sky was spangled with stars.

Mr. Hanlon opened the door of the Tower, and when they were all within closed it again.

"Madam and gintlemen," said he, "we are going to the top of the Tower. I have been there meself; and there's wan at the top who can bring back our young frind to life, if he's a mind to do it."

"Oh!" gasped the Queen in terror. "I must not go to the top of this tower. Ah!" she stopped suddenly and went on in a determined voice. "I will, though. If it is to be, then it must be. Our young Chevalier came here for me, and I will go with him! If my strength holds out, I will go even to the top of the Tower, whatever evil may befall me there!"

"'Tis not strength that's needed, madam," said Mr. Hanlon, "for the old crayture that give me the sand was willing to help us up to him, and the sand will make the travellin' easy, or else the old haythen has much desayved me. 'Twas all I could do to get to the top, belave me, and ye'd niver do it without the sand in the glasses, let alone carry up the young lad in your arms besides. Now we'll be going up the stairs, and if the old crayture didn't desayve me, you're to hold your hour-glasses in your hands, and see what happens."

Mr. Hanlon went up first; then came the Queen, and after her Mr. Punch and Mr. Toby, bearing between them in an upright position the stiff cold form of the young Chevalier; and last of all came Thomas the Inferior, in his long brown gown and sandals.

Each climbed slowly, but the steps appeared to flow downward under their feet with great rapidity. They were not conscious of selecting any particular tread to step on; but while a foot was rising from one step to the next, it seemed as if a thousand steps were passing downward, until the foot came down and found itself on a perfectly motionless tread. Undoubtedly they were mounting, without unusual exertion, a thousand steps at a time.

Even at that rate of progress, the journey upward seemed an endless one. They paused sometimes to go into one of the rooms on a landing for a moment's rest, and at those times they looked out of a window. It was not long before they were so high that on looking out, the City's lights were no more than a glowing blur. At the last window on their upward progress they looked up at the cloud; it was immediately above their heads. After that there were no more windows. They went on upward in silence, aware in the darkness of the swift flow of steps downward under them as they raised their feet. Each observed that as he raised his foot the sand in his hour-glass flowed downward a thousand times more rapidly, as if time were suddenly running faster than it was used to running.

The walls of the tower were by this time coming closer together, and the stair was even steeper than before. They were panting for breath, and Mr. Punch and Mr. Toby seemed to be all but exhausted. "We are almost at the top," said Mr. Hanlon. "Keep on. Don't give up."

It was now, because there were no more rooms nor windows, completely dark. The face of the sick youth could not be seen, and no one knew whether he was still living. Even the sand in their hour-glasses they were now unable to see.

"We are almost there," said Mr. Hanlon. "Only another minute or two. 'Tis easy work to what I had in coming up alone."

Mr. Punch gave a groan. "Hi carn't go another step," said he. "Hi'm completely—"

At this moment Mr. Hanlon stopped upon a landing. It had been a long while since there had been a landing, and they were all glad to rest upon it. They crowded about Mr. Hanlon in the dark.

"The door is over there," said he. "Keep close to me."

He walked a few feet forward across the level floor, and came to a stop again.

"'Tis the top of the tower," said he. "I hope we're not too late to save the young lad's life. Stand close behind me."

He moved forward again, and stopped; he was evidently feeling a wall with his hands.

"Ah!" said he. "'Tis the door itself. Now, thin, we'll see!"

He knocked upon the door with his knuckles.

There was no response.

He knocked again.

There was a sound upon the other side of the door, as of the rattling of a chain and the sliding of a bolt.

A slit of light appeared up and down in the dark wall; it became wider; it was apparent that the door was opening; and in another moment the door was flung wide, and in the doorway stood an Old Man, holding up in his right hand a lantern in which glimmered a candle.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE SORCERER'S DEN

He was an old man, rather stout, dressed in a short gown tied in with a cord about the middle, and wearing sandals on his feet. He stooped somewhat; a white beard hung to his waist; his head was bald, except for a forelock of white hair which drooped over his forehead towards his eyes. There was a humorous twinkle in his eye, and a smile overspread his broad round face.

"'Tis the old parrty who will cure the Chivalier," said Mr. Hanlon, behind his hand.

"It's the Old Man of the Mountain," whispered Toby.

"It's the Magician who built the Tower," whispered Queen Miranda, in alarm.

"Hit's me own father, as ever was!" cried Mr. Punch, aloud. "Greetings, old dear! 'Ere's a surprise, what? 'Owever did you come 'ere? Hi'm no end glad to see you, and the larst person Hi should 'ave thought to see in this—My word, what a lark!"

"Come in, Punch," said the old gentleman, affably, "and your friends too. I'm very glad to see you, my boy. I've had some trouble in getting you here, but here you are at last, thanks to my good friend Hanlon, and you are now well out of the hands of Shiraz. Put the Little Boy down in that chair, and we'll see what we can do for him!"

To speak of a grown-up youth with a mustache as a Little Boy seemed hardly respectful, but Freddie did not seem to mind it; indeed, his big round childlike eyes dwelt fondly on the old man, and there was something like a smile about his lips. He was seated gently in a chair within the room, and while Mr. Punch's father set down his lantern on a table, the others looked about them.

They were in a small square room with a low ceiling. By the dim light of the candle they could see that it was bare and dusty; cobwebs hung in all the corners; there seemed to be no windows, but set upright in one wall was what looked like the back of a clock, as tall as a man. Opposite the door by which they had entered was another door. Around the walls were shelves, from floor to ceiling, crowded with hour-glasses of all sizes.

The old gentleman observed the look which Toby cast at the shelves.

"One of my store-rooms," said he. "I've got a good many of 'em, all told, and in fact you'll find a store-room of mine in the top of nearly every clock-tower in the world. It takes a deal of space to keep all the hour-glasses in, I can tell you. If you'll give me yours, I'll put 'em away for you. Shiraz got 'em away from me once, but he won't do it again. He manages to steal one now and then, when I'm away, but I usually get 'em back, sooner or later."

He collected the hour-glasses from his visitors, and put them away on a shelf.

"Look 'ere, parent," said Mr. Punch, "hif I didn't know better, I'd s'y as I'd seen this room before. There's the back of the clock, and the door over there looks like—"

"You've a sharp eye, Punch, my boy," said the old gentleman. "Quite a detective you are, my son. Now, then, we'd better get busy. Aunt Amanda, do you want me to cast off your enchantment?"

"Why do you call me that?" asked Queen Miranda.

"Because that's your name. Don't you know who you are?"

"I know I was enchanted once, under the name of Aunt Amanda."

"No, no. You're enchanted now, under the name of Queen Miranda."

"But Shiraz the Persian told us he would disenchant us, and he did."

"No, no. You were yourselves before, and now you are enchanted."

"My brain is in a whirl," said Queen Miranda. "Are we ourselves now, or were we ourselves before?"

"By crackey," said Toby, "it's too much for me, and I give it up. Anyway, what we want to know is, can you cure the Chevalier?"

"I can, and I will," said the old man. "There's nothing the matter with him, except that he isn't himself. As soon as he's himself again, he'll be well. He was given the chance once before, but he didn't know how to use it; he made a great mistake."

"What mistake?" said Toby.

"He made the mistake of carrying the Old Man of the Mountain on his back. If he had only lifted him up in his arms before him, the Old Man would have been as light as a feather, and Freddie would have been himself again in a flash. But of course he didn't know. We've got to correct his mistake."

"Well, by crickets," said Toby, "this is Correction Island, right enough. Blamed if I know which is the mistake and which is the correction. It looks to me as if it was a mistake to be corrected, and we've got to correct the correction back again."

"Something like that," said the old man, smiling. "I'm going to undo the correction of each one of you, and then you'll all be yourselves once more, instead of these false things you now are."

Queen Miranda looked at the ruby ring on her finger, and wept quietly to herself. As for Freddie, his eyes never left the face of the old man.

The old man stooped over Freddie, and laid his cheek against the young Chevalier's pale forehead, and then against the young man's cheeks; he then threw aside the blankets and sat himself down on Freddie's knees. His body pressed the young man's breast, and his cheek touched the young man's cheeks one after the other. It was some moments before there was any change. The others watched anxiously. A red glow began to appear in Freddie's cheeks, and his eyes became brighter. He raised his hands; he moved his head; he looked about him; he smiled into the face of the old man.

"You are better?" said the old man.

"I'm very well," said Freddie, in a clear voice. "But I think I must have been sick. Have I been sick?"

"Rather," said the old man. "But you are going to be yourself again in another minute. Now, then; put your arms around me and lift me off. Can you do that?"

"Easily," said Freddie, and he lifted the old man in his arms, and rising to his feet at the same time, tossed the old man off with an easy gesture.

As the old man touched the floor, there was no longer any Chevalier. Freddie was standing before the chair in his own person; the Little Boy once more, with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks. He looked around in surprise.

"Where are Aunt Amanda and the others?" said the Little Boy.

"Wait just a minute, Freddie," said the old man. "Now, madam," he said to Queen Miranda, "if you will be kind enough to lift me up and toss me away—"

Queen Miranda looked at him doubtfully. He was a solid-looking person, and it seemed absurd to think of lifting him. But she did as he directed, and placing her hands under his arms she found that he weighed no more than a baby. She held him up off the floor.

"Now cast me off," said he.

She tossed him away with an easy gesture, and he alighted on his feet with a bound.

"Aunt Amanda!" cried Freddie, and rushed into her arms.

"Land sakes!" said she. "I thought you were never coming. Where are all the others? I'm glad there's nobody but this old man to see me in this bedraggled bonnet. Why don't that Toby Littleback come? Now ain't it like him to keep me waiting here all night? I never see such an exasperatin'—"

"Wait just one moment, Aunt Amanda," said the old man. "I'll have him here immediately."

He stood before Toby, and directed him what to do. Toby seized him in his strong hands and lifted him up over his head like a feather pillow; and such a toss did Toby give him as sent him flying across the room almost to the wall. The old man came down on his feet with a bound.

"You Toby Littleback!" said Aunt Amanda. "Ain't it just like you to keep me and Freddie waiting here all night, while—And where's Mr. Punch and all the rest of 'em?"

Toby stood before her, with his hands in his pockets. His hump was on his back in its rightful place, and he looked exactly as he had looked the first time Freddie had seen him, standing in the doorway of the Old Tobacco Shop.

"I ain't been nowhere, Aunt Amanda," said Toby. "And I don't know where Mr. Punch is, neither. I ain't his guardian, anyway. The last I seen of him, as far as I remember, was in Shiraz's garden, lookin' round at the flowers. By crackey, if he can't take care of himself, I ain't a-going to do it for him. Maybe the old gentleman here can tell you, if you want to know."

"Wait just a moment," said the old man. "I'll have him here immediately."

Mr. Punch laughed immoderately as he picked up his own father and tossed him in the air and hurled him across the room. The old man did not seem to mind it a bit, but joined in the laugh as he came down on his feet with a bounce. Mr. Punch was immediately himself again; his hump was on his back, his breast stuck out, his long-tailed coat and knee breeches were as before, and he looked as if he might just have stepped down from his wooden box beside the Tobacco Shop's door.

"Wery glad," said he, "to myke you acquainted with me old parent; and a wery good parent too, hif——"

"That's enough, Punch," said his father. "Now we'll bring on the Churchwarden."

In another moment the thin and saintly-looking Thomas the Inferior was gone, and in his place was the fat and comfortable Churchwarden, blinking at his friends through his round spectacles.

"I have been considering," said he, "that it would be highly desirable, after all I have passed through lately, to sit in my chair on the pavement against the wall of my church with a pipe and a newspaper; and I have concluded that——"

"We will now call Mr. Hanlon," said the old man.

From the time Mr. Hanlon placed his hands under the old man's arms his tongue was rattling on at a prodigious speed; and as he tossed the old man lightly away like a doll he was saying, "And niver once did the spacheless man and the deaf wife have anny worrds except once; and 'twas then that——." But he spoke no more. He was himself again. He was dumb. Toby greeted him warmly, but he only nodded his head vigorously, and smiled his old-time cheerful smile.

"That's all," said the old man.

"But the two Old Codgers——" began Toby.

"They will not be here," said the old man. "No use waiting. They made their choice some time ago. They are as much themselves now as they ever were, and they will remain where they are in perfect contentment. No need to bother about them. All that remains now is to bid you farewell, and wish you a pleasant journey."

"Have we far to go?" said Toby.

"You'll see," said the old gentleman, going to the door, that was opposite the one by which they had entered, and throwing it open.

He stood aside as they passed, and smiled upon each with a kind and fatherly smile. He placed his hand on Freddie's head, and turned the Little Boy's face up so that he could look down into his eyes.

"Remember!" he said. "Never carry the Old Man of the Mountain on your back. Carry him before you in your hands, and he will be as light as a feather. Now farewell."

He gently pushed them out and closed the door behind them, and they went slowly down a dark stair. Toby held Freddie's hand, and Mr. Punch helped Aunt Amanda. They could see very little, and they knew very little where they were, until they found themselves after a time on a level floor, and feeling the wall with their hands came to a pair of swinging doors. Through these doors they passed, and Toby knocked his knee against something in the dark.

"It's a long bench!" said Toby. "And here's a sight of other long benches! Blamed if they don't seem like pews in a church!"

A dim light as of tall windows was visible at some distance on their left.

The Churchwarden pushed forward and walked swiftly here and there with the step of one who knows the way. In a moment he returned.

"It's a church," he said, calmly. "It's my church. This way, madam and gentlemen."

He led the way to the left. Under a great round window which could be dimly seen in the wall was a wide door, before which they all paused.

"As captain of this party," said Aunt Amanda, "my orders is that we open the door and see what will happen next."

"Ay, ay, ma'am," said the Churchwarden, and opened the door.

In a moment they were standing under the stars on a brick pavement before a church, and on the pavement against the church wall was an empty chair.

"Ah!" said the Churchwarden, and sat down in the chair.

"Mercy on us!" cried Aunt Amanda. "We're home!"

"Blamed if we ain't!" said Toby. "It's our own street, and I can almost see the Tobacco Shop from here!"

"Harfter a life of adventure," said Mr. Punch, "one will find it wery pleasant to stand quietly on one's little perch and rest one's legs and see one's old friends go in and hout at the Old Tobacco Shop once more, watching for the 'ands of the clock to come together for a bit of relaxation with one's——"

"All right, young feller!" cried Toby to Freddie. "Come with me. Mr. Punch, take Aunt Amanda home. I'll be with you as soon as I've got Freddie safe."

Aunt Amanda and Mr. Punch went off together towards the Old Tobacco Shop. Mr. Hanlon, after shaking hands all round, departed for the Gaunt Street Theatre, where he would be no longer troubled by the imps, who had long since been destroyed by the Odour of Sanctity. The Churchwarden preferred to enjoy for awhile the comfort of his old chair by the Church wall, and Toby and Freddie left him there, his hands folded placidly across his stomach.

Freddie and Toby crossed the street-car track, hand in hand together. The horse had gone to bed for the night, and there was no danger. All the houses were dark. It was very late. No light was to be seen anywhere, except a gas-lamp at the next corner. The streets were silent and deserted. Freddie yawned.

Freddie's house was dark, like all the rest. A narrow brick passage-way followed a fence to the rear, between this house and the next, and a gate opened from the sidewalk into this passage. Freddie and Toby went through this gate and crept quietly to the backyard of Freddie's house. The kitchen-door was locked, but Toby found a window which was unfastened. He raised it noiselessly, and helped Freddie to climb in. With a whispered good-night the Little Boy left his friend and tiptoed into the house and up the back stairs in the dark to his own room.

His bed was there in its old place, and the covers were turned down. He did not stop to say his prayers. He yawned and stretched his arms. He wanted nothing now but to lie snug and safe under the cool sheets. He threw off his clothes and left them on the floor. He knew where his night-gown was. He crept into bed; he pulled the covers up to his ears; he nestled his head into the pillow, and breathed a deep sigh.



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE OLD TOBACCO SHOP

The next morning, when Freddie awoke, his mother and father were standing over his bed.

"I think he had better not go there anymore," his father was saying.

"Oh, I don't think it will do him any harm now," said his mother.

"It all comes of his staying away so long," said his father. "I always told him to hurry back, and just see how long he stayed this time. If he can't come back in less than six months or six years or heaven knows how long, he'd better not go at all."

"Oh," said his mother, "I'm sure he'll come back promptly after this."

"I couldn't," said Freddie. "It took such a long time to get to the Island, and there was all the trouble with the pirates, and it was a terrible long journey before we got to the palace, and of course we couldn't run away from the queen after we'd gone all that long way with her, and the queen's children didn't want me to go anyway, and there wasn't any way to get back, except for finding out how to get to the top of the tower, and maybe I wouldn't have got back at all if I hadn't met the Old Man of the Mountain, and got sick and cured again by Mr. Punch's father, and I might have got drowned when the ship disappeared, or I might have had my head cut off by the pirates, and then you wouldn't have seen me any more, and you'd have been sorry."

His father looked at his mother, and nodded his head.

"He'd better stay in bed today," said he. "We won't talk to him about it until tomorrow."

"Yes," said his mother, "that will be much better. Poor little Freddie!"

Freddie did not know why he should be called poor, but he was still tired from the adventurous life he had recently lived, and he was very glad to remain in bed all day.

The next morning, after his father had said good-bye for the day, his mother allowed him to get up, and a little later to go out into the sunshine. He strolled down the street, enjoying the familiar sights after his long absence. He found his legs a little weak; he must have been very ill indeed at the King's palace, and he could not expect to get over it in one day. He crossed the street-car track, and on the pavement before the church he saw a well-known figure.

The Churchwarden was sitting in his chair tilted back against the wall, smoking a long pipe and reading a newspaper. As Freddie approached he put down his paper and looked at him over his spectacles.

"Good morning," said he. "I'm glad to see you back again. I hear you've been away." And he winked his eye at Freddie in a very knowing manner.

"Yes, sir," said Freddie. "I guess I must have been pretty sick."

"No doubt about it, my son. But of course I knew all the time you'd pull through."

Freddie did not believe it for a moment; obviously the Churchwarden was bragging.

"The street looks pretty good," said Freddie, "after being away so long. Would you rather sit here on the pavement than do anything else?"

"I believe you, son. I'd rather sit here on a sunny day with a pipe and a newspaper than have all the treasure of the Incas."

Freddie was glad to hear that the Churchwarden did not regret the loss of his share of the treasure, though whether Captain Lingo belonged to the Incas he did not know.

"I don't care anything about the treasure myself," said he. "I'm too glad to be well again and back in our own street."

"I'm glad I'm here myself, son. And if you happen to see Toby Littleback this morning, tell him I'm alive and resting well, considering."

"Yes, sir," said Freddie, and continued his stroll.

The Old Tobacco Shop, when he arrived, looked as it had looked on the fateful day when he had last seen it. He paused before the door, and gazed at Mr. Punch. He half expected the little man to step down and shake hands with him; but Mr. Punch did not move a muscle; he did not even look at Freddie; he held out in one hand a packet of black cigars, and his wooden face, if it expressed anything at all, showed the great calm which he must have felt when he got back to his little perch. Freddie looked up at the clock in the tower, with some thought that the hands might be together; but it was a quarter past ten, and anyway Mr. Punch's father was probably by this time far away in some other of his store-rooms about the world.

THE END