Part 4

“We found him soon bending down at the edge of one of the last of our brooks. He was drinking, drinking, drinking. He was sucking the pearly water up, up into his puffed cheeks. He struggled to his feet as we surrounded him; he brushed the drops from his sagging mouth and started to run away. But he was bloated and heavy with all the water he had gulped and he could not move. We seized him and flung him into the water. He splashed and puffed and staggered clumsily, dripping, back into our midst. Hate was in his wet face, and his red gums were like round, snapping tongs.

“‘You men of the Rippling Brooks,’ he hissed, ‘your ears are far too sharp! Your happiness is all in the ripple of water—and I am here to take away that happiness. So if I cannot steal your brooks—why, then, I shall steal your ears! From now on, I decree that you, your wives and your children and all your neighbors shall be deaf. You shall live henceforth in a valley of silence, where not even the whir of a wren on wing shall come to your ears. Henceforth, all who dwell in this valley shall be deaf—and all who enter it shall be deaf, too—until I come again to set you free from the spell of utter silence.’

“Then the moon plunged behind a black cloud. This toothless demon disappeared with a terrific burst of thunder.

“And that was the last sound that has been heard in this valley since he cursed us with silence and sorrow.”

XX

THE VALLEY OF DANCING LEGS

PETERKIN’S next move, when he had sipped his Water of Bounceability and came flying across into the next valley, was to clap his hands over his ears. He had been deaf awhile ... and now that he could hear again, all the thousand noises of the earth and air frightened and bewildered him.

He was wondering what was wrong with _this_ valley. There must be _something_ wrong with it, of course. And he did not have to wait very long before he discovered.

A group of fat and puffing people jigged into view. Hop, hop—what could be the trouble with them? Why, they were dancing! Hop, hop—skippetty hop, with never a stop—puffing, panting, groaning with weariness, they danced a crazy path toward Peterkin.

“Hey, hey, stop!” cried he.

“We can’t stop,” grunted the chief of them. “If you want to talk to us, you’ll have to dance along.”

Then, before he could help himself, Peterkin had a dancing man, locked arms, on either side of him—and he was stamping, running, tripping, jigging along with them.

“Oh, heigh, stop! Let go of me—stop, stop!” he commanded, out of breath and red in the face.

“No, that’s just what we can’t do!” sighed the fat old chief. “We must dance on and on and on. Our legs are shot with pain, our lungs are like hot blasts, our feet are blistered and sore—but we cannot stop!”

Peterkin stumbled and fell flat. His two guides yanked him to his feet—then on and on in a breathless dance.

“Once,” went on the hoarse and puffing chief, “we were the happiest of all the Four Kingdoms. We were just plain, sensible, walk-along folk. We loved to rest and doze in the heat of the noon. We loved to lie about and let our fields grow of themselves with rich wheat and tasselled corn. We were content to take our ease.

“Then, one lazy noon, there came into our midst—I don’t know whence—a toothless man.”

“What a villain this toothless enemy must be!” thought Peterkin, remembering all that had gone before.

“He was a genial farmer, it seemed to us,” continued the breathless chief, as they whirled along the road, uphill, downhill, in their ceaseless jig. “He lay down with us in the shade of the trees and looked out across our fields and sucked his pipe through his toothless gums.

“‘Ah, this is rare comfort!’ he said in a cheery voice. ‘You seem to be a happy valleyful here.’

“‘Oh, aye,’ I answered him, ‘we love to take our ease.’

“‘Do you love that better than all else?’ he asked me slowly.

“I stretched my arms in sleepy comfort and nodded back with a smile. He looked at me slyly—ah, if I had only known what villainy was behind that twinkle in his eye! He rose slowly to his feet.

“‘I shall show you all a pretty dance,’ he said, baring his gums. ‘Just lie there in comfort—it will amuse you—yes, and give _me_ great pleasure, too!’

“Then slowly, gently, he began to shuffle his feet. You would never have thought that he could be so nimble. In and out and round-about he pranced with fancy steps. It was so pleasant to be lying there in the cool shade and watching.... Then it seemed as if he were inviting us to join him. His brawny hands were beckoning; his smile said plainly: ‘Up, up—come along up and dance at my side.’

“First one and then the other of us struggled to his feet, and fell into a merry, jigging step. We laughed at the fun of it—not a laggard in the valley but was dancing with him.

“We grew breathless and tired. We wanted to stop. _But we couldn’t!_ When the toothless man saw this, he burst into a cruel roar of laughter:

“‘You would take your ease, eh?’ he mocked. ‘You loved more than all else to loll in the shade, eh? Well, henceforth you shall jig and dance from noon till night and night till noon in a never-ending wandering. Your ease is gone—and so’s your happiness! From now on, until I come again to free you, you shall be known as the Valley of Dancing Legs. Hee hee!’ and he was gone.”

XXI

THE VALLEY OF UP-IN-THE-AIR

THE chief of the dancing crew had scarcely finished his bitter story when Peterkin swore to have revenge on the toothless enemy—and to rescue these poor, tired folk in the bargain. Then he broke from their midst, took a long draught from his magic bottle, and bounced clear over into the next valley.

And the odd part of it was that he never touched ground there at all. Instead, he was caught in a swirl of strong and steady breezes which kept him aloft, floating, swimming through the air, high above the ground.

“Well,” thought Peterkin, amazed, “I wonder if this is the fate of everyone in this valley?”

Yes, sure enough, a few moments later, there came floating toward him in midair a family of children and parents and grandparents. Behind them, in a string, floated feather beds and kitchen tables, dishes, parlor chairs and stoves—and a hundred and one other things of a household. It was a home complete—but all up in the air!

Then other families floated past, with little tots in flying cradles and gray-haired patriarchs in cushioned easy chairs with blankets tucked about them. Wheelbarrows, topsy-turvy sheets and pillows, clothes and jugs and mugs and a thousand other things in helter-skelter spun along behind them in a far-away trail. Everyone, everything was up in the air. Aye, even Peterkin!

“Who are you? And what are you doing up here?” he cried to the father of one of the families which floated past.

“I’m Pater Familias,” came the answer, borne upon the wind. “And I and my dear ones are up here because we can’t be down below, on the ground.”

“Well, why can’t you?”

The Pater Familias steered his whole crew, table, bed and pots and pans and all, toward Peterkin. “We owe all our misery to——”

“What? To the toothless villain?” interrupted Peterkin.

The whole family groaned and the pots and pans leaped at the mention of this evil person. “Yes, yes, the toothless villain—the enemy of the Four Kingdoms!” wept the Pater Familias. “If it were not for him, we should now be down on the ground where we belong, living most sensible lives in our homes ... and not flying from horizon to horizon above the tree-tops. We were happiest of the Kingdoms.

“But one day, when we were folk of the earth, there came flying over our heads this wicked, toothless farmer—anyhow, he told us he was a farmer. He came down into our midst upon a grassy hill.

“‘Well, what do you love more than all else in this valley?’ he asked us.

“‘Ho, that’s an easy question!’ we told him. ‘We love to keep our feet upon the ground, as all good, sensible people should.’

“He thought for a sly moment. ‘But wouldn’t you love to fly?’ he asked us. ‘Come, hop up into the air with me—up, up, as lightly as the birds on wing. Come, just try it—it’s such a delightful sport, this flying!’

“Then, as if in obedience to his summons, a great breeze sprang up from out of nowhere and swept us all off our feet and up, up—up to where he was floating. And truly, for a few moments, it _was_ delightful sport. But when we wanted to return to earth again—why, the farmer was gone—and there was no returning! We had been tricked into the air and there we must remain, floating, drifting, useless, helpless—we and our families and all our neighbors, together with our household, tables, beds and rags and tags, until this toothless fellow comes again to free us from his cruel magic.”

XXII

PETERKIN IN A MUDDLE

“AND so it is the toothless farmer who has caused all this misery in each of the four valleys,” mused Peterkin, as he floated along at the side of Pater Familias. “Well, here’s my solemn oath on it: I shall have revenge on him, and force him to substitute joy for sorrow in each of these stricken kingdoms.”

Then he bade farewell to the People-Up-in-the-Air and floated away on the breath of the air—away to the boundaries of their land.

But it was not high mountains and snowy cliffs which hemmed this valley from its neighbors. Instead, the land below grew flatter and more yellow. Peterkin passed over wide, misty stretches of marsh and bogs; in the distance he could hear the faint roar of waves. Yes, he was coming to the sea. He was drifting fast toward that golden line of sands where the ocean met the land in a jagged, wavering line of frothy white.

He must swoop down to earth now—else he might be carried out into midwater. He must set foot upon the ground! But alas! try as he would, he was still in the Land of Up-in-the-Air—and up in the air he must stay!

Then he thought of his precious bottle of the Water of Bounceability. Perhaps, if he took a sip, he might be able to break the spell and to leap to the marshes below. He would try it.

He took out the bottle and uncorked it. He lifted it to his lips and let half of what remained in it gurgle down his throat. Then down he dived, head first. Down, down—yes, the spell was broken! Down to earth, just where the narrow strip of sands met the straggly marshes. He landed with a mighty somersault, roly-poly, into the muddy bog. He rolled over and over, crashing through the slimy rushes and the sand, to where the waves were churning. He was sprawling face downward, dizzy and dazed. He staggered to his feet, looking about him mournfully.

“All sea and sand and dreary marsh,” he sighed. “Over there, lost in the blue of the sea, must be the city whence I set out—the city of Princess Clem. Well, I shall have to finish my bottle of Water of Bounceability now—and fly in that direction.”

So he groped in his pockets for the bottle. But oh, the saddest of all things had happened now! He found the bottle broken—and the water all spilled and wasted!

Aye, his fall had smashed the precious vial—and there was no more of the magic liquid left to carry him home!

What now? Peterkin looked mournfully out across the blue sea, towards where the city of the palace and the Princess Clem must lie; then he looked back across the marsh, where poisonous mists were gathering in low, curling clouds; he searched the shore in vain for the trace of anything or anybody.... No, he was alone and helpless!

Ah, well, he did not know the great surprise which was in store for him!

XXIII

THE LOST PUMPERKIN

AND what do you think that surprise was?

The Pumperkin! Yes, his old, long-lost Pumperkin!

Peterkin caught his first, golden glimpse of it as it came up over the distant horizon. It was floating in on the tide from the far mid-ocean. It was dipping slowly, peacefully from one rippling wave to the next; it came up to the shore at last, bobbing in the surf, then pitching down with a last lurch into the soggy marsh.

Peterkin ran to it. Yes, there could be no doubt—it was his beloved Pumperkin, his old home—his boat-house of a pumpkin which had been torn away from him by the tempest wind.... He scaled up the side and peeked in through the ceiling window. Yes, all was as he had left it. There was his tumbled bed in the corner, there were the chairs, legs up. And there, sure enough, was his ladder, with its top peeping up above the edge of the roof. All that was missing was the cook-stove.

Peterkin climbed over the edge and down the ladder. He was safe now. He was hopeful and happy. He had only to push and shove a little bit and—away, away he went, bound for the home of his Princess Clem!

How good it seemed to be in his pumpkin house again! He wondered how many seas it had passed over, whither it had wandered, where it would lead him now. For, of course, there was no such a thing as steering these roly-poly pumpkins: wherever it floated, Peterkin must float along!

Away it sailed, over the waves, in the clutch of the lazy tide. Away, until the marshes and the golden strand were lost in a hazy mist. Up one wave and down the next, with the spray dashing in through the ceiling window. How like the first few days it all was—those first few days of the marvellous adventures. Peterkin smiled to think of them, and of how many wonderful things had happened to him since first his house was torn from his stem in the pumpkin patch.

And now he was on his way to the most thrilling adventure of them all. He was bound for the city from which he had been banished; he was returning either to his happiness or to his death. As he looked out across the waves, he wondered how it would all end; was he going to find that toothless old villain? Was he going to bring back joy into the Four Kingdoms, and a smile to the lips of their monarch? Was he going to win the hand of the gracious Princess Clem? Or, after all, would the whole search and struggle end with his being captured and put to death? Or with the toothless villain murdering him? Well, he swore he should put up a hard fight.... For he knew a way to bring this cruel enemy to his knees. At least, he thought he did!

So he sat and thought it all out, while his pumpkin boat sailed closer and closer to the other shore. Do you know what was on that shore?

Why, a city, of course! The very city for which our Peterkin so dearly yearned. The city of the golden palace—and of the Princess Clem!

And the city where he would find the toothless farmer! Perhaps Peterkin guessed that much ... for his cheeks grew a little white as he watched the distant spires and golden dome, all agleam in the sunset.

XXIV

OUT OF HIDING

NOW we must return to the toothless old villain. Do you remember, we left him dozing snugly in his hiding place atop the roof of a deserted house? He was waiting for the gray dusk, when he might steal out upon his wicked business. Perhaps it was the King himself he wished to harm, this visit—but I can’t be positive of that.

Anyhow, when night had come and the streets were bare again of people and little dim lanterns were swinging in the shadows of the balconies, the old wizard crept down the stairs again, into the black vestibule. Then out he darted—out into the street.

The windows in the palace, across the narrow street, were gleaming with bright cheer and threw big yellow squares of light across the cobbled gutters. The old villain, when he stood a-tiptoe, could see the gilded walls and the jeweled ceilings. He caught just a glimpse of a corner of the throne itself, all in a glory of precious stones and carvings. And once he thought he could make out the shadow of a man all decked in royal robes—and a crown on his head.

The wizard trembled and growled at this sight of his ancient enemy. He raised his crooked finger threateningly in the dark and snarled a terrible oath. Then he sped on, up one gloomy, lonely alley and down the other, across wide boulevards and empty squares, dodging into the shadows at every sudden creak of a shutter or rustle of a tree. Once a company of soldiers marched past him—left, right, left, right, with weary, lagging steps. He had just time to slink out of their way and flee into a little court-yard, darker than the cloudy sky—blacker than black itself. He could see nothing here. He groped, he stumbled, he felt his way warily. Just ahead of him he heard a strange gurgling of water, low and soft, as if from a distance. He stopped short, bewildered.

Then it seemed as if the tramp of those soldiers from whom he was fleeing was growing louder—that they were coming nearer and nearer. Had they discovered his whereabouts? Were they chasing him now?

He could not keep his toothless gums from chattering. In fear he rushed forward in the darkness. A couple of wild steps and—down he went! Down through a great sewer hole! Down, down, below the street, into the rushing, roaring water which was sweeping through the great brick tube of the underground sewer!

Whiz! What a roar! Whiz! What a rush and dash and smother of gurgling, thundering water! The old magician was swept swiftly along with the stream. He sank, rose again, coughed, sputtered, sank again. Then, as he rose a second time, he took a long breath and lay quite still. Yes, he was floating! He would not drown here, anyhow!

As he sped along, lying on his back atop the rushing water, with his gums tight shut and his eyes wide open to the dark, he wondered where he was floating. Where was this water rushing? Where did the great sewer end?

Then, of a sudden, the roar of the water grew louder than ever. He shot out, out into space—and then down, down, into the gushing spray of a waterfall. Then down, deep down, under the surface—and up again. He beat his hands frantically about in the churning froth. He shook the water from his eyes. Where had the great tube emptied him? Where was he?

Why, in the sea, to be sure—in the sea!

XXV

A PRECIOUS PRISONER

IT was late in the night when Peterkin’s pumpkin boat came riding into the city’s calm harbor. The reflections of the stars which had winked up into the sky were dotting the black water with melted gold. Red and green lights from the prows of sleeping boats and piers lay glowing in the easy tide. Not a sound—excepting the soft slap of little waves along the bottom of the drifting Pumperkin.

Peterkin, as he stood on his ladder’s top rung, looked out across the harbor toward the huddled houses, gray and looming, with dim lit window panes blinking through the dark. Over the roofs he could make out the form of the huge dome of the palace—and he knew that there was the room of his princess. Aye, there was Princess Clem!

Could she be asleep? The hour was so late ... perhaps her nurse had tucked her, long ago, into her warm and comfy bed. But, no—oh, no! For, suddenly, he caught the gleam of a little light from the window just below the dome. Yes, he was sure it was from the princess’s window. She must be yet awake. She must still be watching—be waiting—for his return, as she promised she would do, and his heart gave a great throb for joy.

His Pumperkin drifted slowly in toward the shore. He heard a strange roaring, angry and deep. It was the rush of water he knew; perhaps some sewer, speeding its underground course and emptying itself, at the last, into the sea.

In the midst of the rumble of water, he thought he heard a short splash; something dark went down in the white froth of the water, then rose to the surface near his boat—then sank and rose again not an arm’s length away. Peterkin peered over the edge to see what it was. He gasped and almost shrieked; it was a man! He reached down, made a wild grab at the floating jacket—pulled, tugged, hoisted—ouf! and he had the drowning one inside his Pumperkin. He gazed down into the face of the rescued. A loud cry escaped him. It was the Toothless Farmer!

Yes, the toothless old villain—the arch-enemy whom he had set out to find! And you and I know how it happened that this old farmer came to be plunging into the sea so suddenly and without warning.... But Peterkin didn’t!

The toothless one had an unlucky time of it, didn’t he? For here he was in the very clutches of the hero—at the mercy of Peterkin, whom he had played so false—Peterkin, who had resolved revenge upon him for all the wrongs he had done in the Four Kingdoms!

No sooner did he open his eyes than he saw heroic Peterkin above him, fists clenched and anger in his eyes.

“Ow, ow,” chattered he, his red gums bobbing with fear and chill, “don’t threaten me! Why do you clinch your fists at me, eh? I’ve never met you before, have I?”

Peterkin laughed scornfully. “What a lie! Don’t you remember who it was who brought you into these Four Kingdoms, not so long ago, astride of a flying shell? Don’t you remember whom you tried to fling off, down to a crashing death? What! don’t remember me?”

The old man grew green with fright. He wrung his thin, crooked fingers. “I—I thought—I thought you were dead,” he moaned. “I didn’t dream of your escaping death ... dear, oh dear, I suppose you’ll kill me now, eh? Well, just let me tell you my story, first—oh, please, let me tell it—please, please, please!”

And, of course, who could resist such pleading? Certainly not Peterkin, who folded his arms sternly and waited for the end of the tale.

XXVI

THE VILLAIN’S STORY

“ONCE,” began the old villain, “I was as young and as happy-hearted as you are, stranger. For I was handsome, rich and powerful. I was noble—aye, more than noble—for I was a prince of the court of the Four Kingdoms. I was the son of the King’s older brother—and some said that I, not he, should be the king upon the jeweled throne.

“This thought was like a flame to me. It burned and flared within my mind in jealous heat; I came to wish for my royal cousin’s death, so that I might succeed him to the honor of all honors of the kingdoms. I took a secret oath that ere I grew much older, I should murder him. Hee, hee, that’s the extraordinary sort of a villain I was!

“But I had one thing of which I was more proud than all the world: my set of teeth! A set of white, sharp, glistening teeth! They were more splendid than the teeth of any other nobleman at court. They were finer even than the King’s own teeth. They were my constant pride, my dearest joy! With them I could eat all the rarest things of the kitchen. I could chew tin pans and pots; I could crumple pewter kettles; I could crunch thick venison steaks and the horns of a full grown cow. My teeth were my greatest power—and my joy!

“But all the while my heart was black against my royal cousin. I coveted his crown, I longed for his scepter. My jealousy grew until I could hide it no longer. I made a journey into a far distant forest, where a famous witch lived in her cave. And there I dwelt for many months, learning all her wicked magic. She taught me how to curse whole valleys of people—how to bring sorrow to hundreds. But alas! she could not teach me how to kill my royal cousin.

“‘When shall I be King?’ I asked her each morning.