Part 2

Peterkin looked down at the shore, his heart jumping into his throat. Yes, alas! His Pumperkin was gone! His pumpkin house had been swept away by the storm—swept out to sea!

Yes, his house, his boat, his darling Pumperkin was sailing away from him—was lost and gone! Ah, what would his fate be now?

VII

PETERKIN ESCAPES

PETERKIN was hungrier than ever. He had lost his faithful pumpkin, too! Oh, what could he do? He pondered a long while. He could try to cook some more flowers and vines on his stove. But, no ... he remembered what had happened the last time he tried. And, it seemed, there wasn’t anything else to eat on all the shore.

He must escape, then. He must flee this lonely beach. He must wander away to somewhere ... he didn’t know where—just somewhere else.

But how? For he had no Pumperkin now. His yellow house of a boat had been swept off on the waves, out beyond the horizon. At last, as he stood in deep thought, a merry idea came popping into his head. Indeed, it was an idea so full of mad adventure that, when it came to him, he had to burst out laughing and clapped his hands in glee. For he remembered what a comical thing had happened at the stove an hour before.

So he hastened to kindle a roaring fire in the black iron throat of its oven. Then he ran this way and that on the beach until, half sunk in the sands, he found a huge, pearly sea-shell. He tore it out and carried it back and set it on the stove. To make sure, he added a sprinkling of vines and flowers and silver sea froth. Then he climbed up on the top of his stove and sat himself down in the cup of the shell. Ouch! it was hot!

Just as before, there was a little curl of lavender smoke, a little shivering and rocking—then POUF! Up went shell and Peterkin and all!

Up, up, sailing up! Peterkin, clutching madly at the sharp sides of the shell, could feel the rush of wind against his face. He dared not look down, but he knew that the shore and all the wide-spread trees upon it were growing smaller and more distant. Something gray and filmy spun over his eyes, like a silken veil. He was in the clouds. Up, up, into the sunny blue again, where he could see the clouds below him now in great lazy billows. Up, up, always up!

Once the fragile shell groaned, as if it would give way into shatters and send its rider hurtling toward the hidden earth. Once it bumped against the great black, cindery side of a dead star and nearly turned topsy-turvy. Once its pearly lining cracked dangerously under the heated blaze of the nearby sun.

Now the flying shell and its rider were floating forward. And down, too. Down in a slow, curving line of grace—slowly, slowly down and forward, through the clouds and below them. Peterkin could see the high hills of a strange country now—a country where all the fields were yellow with grain, set in quaint squares like a checker board, and all the hills were soft with the green of pines. A silver thread of a river ran through the middle of the valley, and Peterkin could make out now the twinkling red roofs of cottages. It was the most peaceful scene he had ever come upon.

“Oh, how I wish I were there!” he sighed.

Which no sooner uttered than down dived his sea-shell straight upon the soft breast of a yellow haystack. Deep into the hay it landed, with never a bump or a scrape. Peterkin was safe in the valley.

VIII

PETERKIN IN THE VALLEY

AN old farmer came hobbling out of his house, along the little path that ran to the edge of the haystack. His mouth was wide open, and his eyes well-nigh popped from his head at the sight of so strange a fellow in his haystack.

“Heigh!” cried the farmer, “what are you doing in my stack, eh? And what’s that silly, pearly thing you have at your side? What are you doing in this peaceful valley, eh?”

“I’m flying,” replied Peterkin, climbing down to the ground. “I’ve flown from there to here, from the earth to the stars, from the moon to the sun ... and here I am, hungry as hungry can be. So come along, old farmerman, and feed me full of all the best things of your cupboard.”

“Not I!” cried the toothless old farmer. “Not until you tell me your whole story.”

So they sat themselves down in the shade of a blossoming tree, and Peterkin told the tale of his adventures; of how he had lived in the pumpkin patch, and the wind had swept him away, in his pumpkin house, far upon the sea; and of the storms and the frisky whale, and the desert shore, and the loss of Pumperkin, and of how he made his final escape in the cup of the flying shell ... and here he was!

The old farmer listened, with growing wonder. He could only shake his head and lick his toothless gums with his long tongue and say, “Tut, tut, what a queer affair! Tut, tut, tut!”

Then he scratched himself very long and hard, and broke into a red-faced chuckling. It was plain to see he had just had a new, sly thought!

“I’ve never seen a shell,” said he, “because I’ve never seen the sea. The sea is so far away from here ... it doesn’t touch our little valley at all. The thunder of its waves never comes to our ears, and the sting of its spray never flicks us. Perhaps that’s why we’re called the _peaceful_ valley. We never mind anything excepting our own business, nor care for anyone who dwells outside the boundary of our hills. Tut, tut!” And he sighed.

“And yet, for all your happy valley,” declared Peterkin, “you seem to be sighing unhappily for something. Tell me, what is it?”

“A new set of teeth,” wept the old fellow. “That’s what I need. I lost my old set—oh, so many years ago. And there’s no place to find a new one in all the valley.”

“Ho, ho, that’s easily fixed,” laughed Peterkin. “You shall come with me on my sea-shell, up into the sky, over the hills, until we reach some huge and busy city. I have no doubt of it—you may find a new set of teeth there.”

Now, that was just what the old farmer was wanting. When he heard this generous offer, he wasted no time, but ran to sit himself on the shell.

“But, ho, what about my reward?” said Peterkin. “Not so fast, please. First you must feed me a fine meal—a meal to take away all my two days’ hunger and to make me fat and glad.”

“Agreed!” cried the farmer.

So he took the starving Peterkin into his house and set before him a whole tableful of dishes: thick soups and red, juicy meats and white slabs of fish from the brookside, and frothy-leaved salads, ripening fruits ... and a whole mountain of desserts. Peterkin did not know where to begin, and having once begun, did not know where to end. The result was that he ate the whole tableful, from the first soup to the last dessert.

But little did he guess what a wicked trick his appetite had played him.

IX

PETERKIN TAKES A FALL

NO sooner had Peterkin satisfied his hunger and wiped his mouth than the old farmer fussed and fidgeted to start on their journey. Peterkin couldn’t understand why he was in such a hurry—but then Peterkin had a full set of teeth, while the farmer had none. And it was in search of a new set that they were going.

So they sat themselves on the flying sea-shell and were off and away.

But it was strange what a creaking and groaning came from the faithful shell. True, it went up, up, as high as ever before; but it went so slowly and by such rickety jumps and bounds, as if its wings were lamed. The old farmer was almost jounced completely off his seat ten times. His long gray beard was tousling over his eyes in the helter-skelter rush of the wind. He well-nigh died of fright.

Peterkin, too, was afraid. Not that he wasn’t accustomed, by now, to this skimming through the clouds. But something was wrong ... yes, something was certainly wrong. His sea-shell had never acted this way before. Oh, listen! It was groaning and grunting now, louder than ever. Peterkin thought he could even hear a sharp cracking of its pearly cup. Suppose that it should break!

He looked down, sick at heart! Through the cloud rifts he could see that they were passing over a great, white line of mountain tops. Like glistening needles they seemed, as he gazed down upon them. The sunlight glanced dazzlingly along their snowy sides. Peterkin shuddered and turned his eyes away.

“Oh, oh, look again!” chattered the toothless old farmer. “We are past the mountains now. We are well above a brand-new valley, where a rushing river tumbles and froths, and oh, look ... over there are the spires and roofs of a city. Gray and silver they are, all gleaming and tall. And we are flying straight toward them. Hurrah, now I shall get me a new set of teeth!”

But long ere they reached the city, the sea-shell began to crack and split, and to wabble from side to side. Once it dipped so far that both of its passengers were almost tossed off into the air. The farmer clung fast to Peterkin and Peterkin to the shell—and both of them gasped in horror.

“Oh, we are too heavy a load,” sobbed Peterkin. “I should never have taken you along with me.”

“It’s not my fault!” stormed the old fellow. “It’s you who are so heavy. You ate and ate until you weigh more than four fat men should weigh. ’Twas your appetite that will kill us both”—and he sucked his toothless gums in rage.

“Ungrateful man!” cried Peterkin. “I am risking my life to make you happy.”

“Yes,” retorted the other, “and I am losing mine because you were so greedy!”

Therewith they fell to in wrath and cuffed each other and tore and tussled, swaying to this side and that and jouncing up and down in mighty thwacks.

“Out with you—out of the shell!” screamed the old farmer. And with that he seized poor Peterkin under the arms, and—for all he was so heavy—hurled him out into the air and down, down, down....

The sea-shell, lightened of the heavier part of its load, shot up higher into the air. Then suddenly, with a noise like the crack o’ doom, it burst into many pearly pieces. The farmer shot down, too, as if from a gun. And down he came close behind Peterkin ... and landed, with a fearful splash, into a fountain in the center of the market place.

As for Peterkin himself, you never could guess where he landed.

X

PETERKIN IN THE PALACE

THROUGH an open skylight of the gilded dome of the palace. That’s where Peterkin landed. Through the open skylight, upon a springy, cushiony sofa. Up he bounced again, almost to the ceiling—then down to the marble floor in a huddle. He lay there stunned and silent for a little while, aching in every limb.

A little lady stood over him when he opened his eyes. She was peering down at him with a white and frightened face—and Peterkin, for all his dizziness, thought he had never seen so beautiful a maiden in the world. For her startled eyes were blue—as blue as the sky had been, above the clouds—and her curls were a golden shawl upon her shoulders. Under the white of her lace and cambric gown, her little bare feet came peeping.

Peterkin leaped to his feet, as best he could—for he was sore and stiff. He made a handsome bow and smiled his prettiest smile, with his hand over his heart, as if he were the gallant master of a dancing school. But this only made the little lady’s eyes open the wider with surprise.

“And who are you? And where do you come from? And what do you want in the bed-chamber of her Royal Highness, the Princess Clematis of the Four Kingdoms?”

Peterkin was horrified. “Gracious me!” he stammered. “Where is her Royal Highness Whatever-you-called-her? I must apologize to her for bursting into her father’s palace so suddenly. Indeed, had I been able to, I should have walked in very humbly by way of the kitchen door or through the garden gate. But, don’t you see, I came so fast that I didn’t have time to choose. So lead me to the princess and let me beg her pardon.”

The little lady rubbed one set of pink toes over the other in a bashful fashion. Her laugh was as light as the rustle of green vines in the spring.

“You are pardoned, merry stranger,” she said. “It is I, the Princess Clematis, who bid you welcome to the palace of the Four Kingdoms.” Then she held out her hand.

Poor Peterkin! His face grew red with flushes. He sank to his knee—in spite of the big bruise on it—and planted a most courteous kiss upon her rosy finger tips. And, if the truth be told, the princess smiled a charming “how-do-you-do,” and found it very easy to forgive him.

But just at that moment, there came a loud rapping at the door and a hubbub of angry voices and a clanking of swords and spears against the walls.

“Ho, hola!” thundered someone without. “Open the door and let me in! I shall find whoever dares to pop into my royal daughter’s chamber, by way of the gilded dome. Ho, hola!”

At this, the little princess ran to fling open the door. And there, with a torch in his hand and a host of armed sentries behind him, stood His Majesty the King. Aye, no less a person than the monarch of the Four Kingdoms himself. Peterkin knew him at once by the jeweled crown which he wore atop his night-cap.

But before he could say a word, the little princess tripped to her father’s side and commenced a sly tickling at his nightie, just where his royal ribs ought to be. And under his crown, the King was just a jolly old man after all. He tried very hard to purse his lips and frown—but under such gentle tickling, there was nothing for it but to burst into a great roaring of laughter. He laughed, laughed—until his eyes were wet and his sides were aching. All of which put him in a better mood and made him look more kindly upon his strange visitor. He clapped the frightened Peterkin upon the back and called him a merry dog, and ended by marching off with him, arm in arm, to the palace’s spare bed-room to give him royal shelter for the night.

Thus it was that the princess, with a little wise tickling, saved a stranger’s life and brought much joy to the Four Kingdoms. But you shall have all that explained another time.

XI

PETERKIN TELLS HIS TALE

SO Peterkin went to bed in fine fashion. His couch was of cushioned velvet and his pillows of down and silk. Over his head were hangings of lustrous satin, with ostrich plumes and gilded crowns by way of ornament. And when he woke in the morning, several slaves were kneeling at the bedside, ready to bathe him and dress him and to do his slightest bidding.

“Ahem!” thought Peterkin. “I must admit that, after all, this is a better sort of thing than living in a pumpkin.”

Just as soon as he was dressed in a princely robe of purple linen with gold clasps and jeweled collar, his slaves led Peterkin along a silvered hallway, where marble pillars gleamed with wreaths of precious stones, to a hall of gold. Here were a golden table and a host of golden chairs—and behind each chair stood, waiting in respect, some member of the royal court in brilliant costume. No sooner had Peterkin stepped over the marble threshold than they set up a loud, wild cheering and waved their silken napkins to bid him welcome.

He took his seat at their head, in a chair which stood upon a golden dais. Before him, in a glowing line, were platters of fruit, red-cheeked and orange and purple. The smell of fragrant dishes steaming came to his nostrils and sharpened his appetite. He seized a golden fork and reached toward a pyramid of hot, brown muffins ... but oh, no! He was not to eat for a little while.

For, just at this moment, who should enter the dining hall but the little princess and the King himself! The King was in his robes of state: ermine and velvet and cloth of gold. As for the princess, she had given up her nightie for a gown of dainty blue on which a field of slender lilies was embroidered in pale silk. Her golden hair was in a braid now, with fluttering ribbons woven, like veins, amidst it. Peterkin’s fork clattered down to the table at his first sight of her: he had no thought of food from then on.

There was a great bending of knees and bowing of heads of the courtiers and another round of cheers and fluttered napkins as His Majesty and his fair daughter entered. But where do you think they sat? Why, one of them at the right hand of Peterkin and the other at his left.

There was silence for many moments, during which the little princess lowered her blue eyes and pretended not to see that Peterkin, in the manner of all lovers, was staring eagerly at the rose of her cheeks and the bow of her little red lips. Oh, no! the princess saw nothing—but she was blushing, just the same.

“Hold!” said the King at length as he juggled a biscuit thoughtfully upon the end of his diamond-studded scepter. “We shall eat no morsel or a mouthful until we have heard your story, good stranger. So tell us it now. If it pleases us, you shall dwell in our midst, in all the pomp and comfort you have had this morning—and whatever you ask, for your happiness shall be ours.” His Majesty shot a knowing smile at his lovely daughter. “But if your tale fails to please us, if it tells of cowardice instead of bravery, of weakness instead of strength—why, then, good stranger, you shall be driven out of our palace, out of the Four Kingdoms, with a tattered coat and an empty stomach—an exile in disgrace. So, hem your throat and purse your lips and make a good beginning of your tale.”

XII

PETERKIN’S FATE

IT was an hour—a full and hungry hour—before Peterkin had told his tale. For he told to the King and his courtiers all of the strange happenings which had brought him floating from the pumpkin patch and flying in through the bed-room window. And, all the while he spoke, he could see the shadows of wrath grow darker on the brow of His Majesty and that the little princess’s red mouth drooped sorrowfully. Peterkin faltered. He wondered what was wrong with his tale. How could it offend His Majesty? He went on slowly, until he came to the fearful experience he had had, in his flying shell, with the toothless old farmer.

The King could stand it no longer. He banged his scepter down so hard as to crack every butter-plate on the table. Up to his feet he sprang, his eyes flashing lightning.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “yes, yes, yes! I might have guessed it! It was the arch enemy of our Four Kingdoms that you brought into our midst. Yes, yes, the Farmer Without Teeth! It is told in all our histories that he will work us harm. Every witch in the land has warned me to beware of him! And of you, too, you bothersome wayfarer! All the ancient history books have prophesied your coming. All of them described exactly how you would fly into my palace by way of the roof. This is just what they say:

“‘Beware the daring little fellow Who lives within a house of yellow; He sails the sky in a skiff of pearl— Through your window he will whirl. He will bring what harm can do: He will make you endless rue.’”

When they heard this fateful rhyme, all of the courtiers shuddered with terror. A little moan escaped from the lips of the princess. As for Peterkin, his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth.

“Take him away!” ordered the King. “Away to the dungeon with him! And send out my royal army in search of the toothless farmer, that arch enemy of the Four Kingdoms. Away, to the deep, black dungeon!”

At once Peterkin was smothered in a great crowd of stalwart guards who bound him in heavy chains, who lifted him away and out of the banquet hall. The last thing he heard was the scream of the little princess.

Down, down, into the darkness of narrow cellars; down steep stairs of crumbling stone, where the air was damp and smelling of old mosses; down, still further down, they carried him. At last they came to a little iron door in a wall of black rock. There was a creaking of a rusty iron key in its lock, and a swinging of the little door on its stiff hinges.

“In with him!” cried the guards—and they tossed poor Peterkin, chains and all, into the furthermost corner of the cell. Then back went the door on its hinges, and creak, went the key in its lock. There was a faint sound of voices and footsteps dying in the distance ... and Peterkin was alone!

A prisoner! Deep in the dark of the dungeon, he lay with his head in his hands and sobbed to think of what a fate had come to him. What a fine ending for his story!

But then he remembered how the Princess Clem had screamed when he was snatched away—and he looked up and smiled. There was a tiny, barred window to his cell; and the sunlight came slanting through it in a narrow shaft, to make a little pool of brightness on the floor.

For the longest while did Peterkin lie looking at it; and dreamed, as all true lovers do, of what a pretty sight the princess was in her blue, lilied gown, and ribbons in her braid!

XIII

THE TOOTHLESS ENEMY

WHILE Peterkin lay dreaming in the dungeon, the King and his guards were roaming the town in search of the toothless old farmer—that arch-enemy of the Four Kingdoms. But though they searched until the sun was low in the red west, they caught never a glimpse of him. He had found a secret hiding place which none could guess.

He had fallen, you remember, into the fountain of the market place. And what a splash it was! What a wetting!

Spluttering, dripping, he climbed out over the fountain’s rim. With a trail of water streaming on the cobbled street behind him, he shambled along into the shadow of a doorway and stood there shivering and wringing his hands for many minutes. Then he wiped the water from his eyes and looked about him.

What had become of Peterkin he did not know—nor did he care. For Peterkin would be of no more use to him, now that he was in the King’s city. He smiled a toothless smile to think of how completely he had fooled that little wayfarer. Never a hint had he given Peterkin of the wicked harm he meant to do to the Four Kingdoms—and of the sweet revenge that he would take! Hee, hee! and he gnashed his gums in hate.

He glanced over at the gilded dome of the palace. Strange lights were passing back and forth behind the darkened windows. Something had happened ... the palace was astir! Ha, perhaps they had learned that he was come into their city. Perhaps they were setting out at once to find him and to pounce upon him. He had better flee somewhere and hide!

He started to step out into the street. Pit-a-pat, came someone’s footsteps. A tall soldier, hurrying home to bed, clanked noisily ’round the corner. The old man fled back into the hallway, until his back hit against a door. The soldier went by, darting a suspicious glance into the shadow. The farmer crouched back, back, until....

The door flew wide! He had broken it open!

The soldier, at the noise, stopped and looked about him sharply, then retraced his steps. There was nothing for it! The old farmer plunged through the open door and slammed it shut behind him.