Part 5

“And every eve, after a day of pondering over her caldron, she would answer: ‘When you have learned to kill man with the joy of your life’

“Then at last I understood. What could possibly be the joy of my life excepting these, my beautiful teeth? I must return and _bite_ my royal cousin to death!

“I hurried back to the Four Kingdoms. I met the King in his gilded dining hall. Before his host of cowardly courtiers, I threw myself upon him and sought to bury my teeth into his breast.

“But ah, under his velvet robes, he was wearing a coat of strong steel links. My teeth crunched against them—and could go no further. I fell back dismayed. A hundred men—courtiers and guards—were upon me, pinning me to the marble floor.

“‘Take him away!’ cried the King, my enemy. ‘Take him away, and pull out all his teeth!’

“And one by one, in the dark dungeon, they pulled out of my gums the joy of my life—my white, my sharp, my glistening teeth. Think of it! Think of the pain, of the deep shame!

“But I swore a deep revenge, and when I was banished, I went to live as a simple farmer in that neighboring valley where first you beheld me. I have spent all the rest of my toothless, joyless days in taking terrible revenge upon this cousin King—this royal wretch who stole my proud possessions. I have brought sorrow into each of his Four Kingdoms, and I shall kill him—him and his pretty daughter, Princess Clem! Hee, hee!” He gave an evil chuckle and gnashed his gums in hate.

Peterkin shuddered. “And is there nothing will satisfy you?” he pleaded.

“Yes!” snapped the old man. “A new set of teeth! Teeth as white and sharp and glistening as the set they robbed me of. A new set of teeth—or else revenge!”

XXVII

IN THE CITY

WHILE the toothless villain was finishing his cruel story, the dawn began to flicker in the eastern sky. And, beyond the gray piers, in the houses of the city, the early risers were already up and stirring. Thin wisps of smoke commenced to float up out of the houses’ chimneys to prove that cooks and housewives were already at their ovens.

The dome of the palace was beginning to flash with the first rays of the sun. Just beneath it, the curtains of the little princess’s window were flapping strangely. It almost seemed as if she were standing behind them and peeking out upon the city’s roofs, as far as the harbor beyond.

Aye—and so she was! With her fair curls tumbling to the clean, sweet morning breeze and her little white nightie fluttering softly, she strained her eyes to watch the distant harbor. Perhaps she saw something strange there—something she had never seen before in all the Four Kingdoms. Perhaps she had guessed it was the Pumperkin—and that in its big yellow cup her wandering lover had drifted home again, in triumph and in glee.

* * * * *

Of course, her nurse was very shocked to find a royal princess with her head far out of the window; but Princess Clem never bothered to explain. She laughed and she laughed all the while her many maids were dressing her—and indeed they had not seen her in so happy a mood for many a weary week.

“Put on my prettiest gown,” she bade them. “Dress me in my gown of pale blue silk—the one on which white lilies are embroidered, tall and shimmering. And run blue ribbons through my golden braids—ribbons as blue as my eyes, and deck them with pearls as white as my teeth.”

At that the nurse looked shocked and horrified. “Oh, hush, Royal Highness,” whispered she. “Have you forgotten no one must mention that last word in this domain? Teeth are never spoken of here—_teeth_ is a banished word! And all because of that wicked villain——”

“Ha, ha,” broke in the princess gayly, “lots of good things are banished from this land—and lots of good heroes, too! But they always come sailing home again at the end of a hero’s task.... And as for that villain, he’ll soon be one no longer, mark my words.”

And mark her words they did, although they did not understand one of them. Yet, inasmuch as she was a Princess Royal, they dared not argue with her.

After this came breakfast in the great gilded dining hall, in her chair at the side of the throne, where Princess Clem must peel her father’s orange and break his egg and—oh, do everything a daughter ought to do, no matter whether she be a king’s or a beggar’s child. But this morning she did it all with such a strangely happy smile—and all in such a furious, giggling hurry....

“Bless my soul,” declared His Majesty, tilting one eyebrow up to meet his crown, “it would almost seem as if my little daughter had found a sweetheart, eh? Her smile is so bright—why, I’ll wager my crown she’s in love! Ho! I shall have to look into this.”

But he did not have to! For, before he had swallowed another mouthful, he knew the whole story!

XXVIII

HOW PETERKIN TRICKED THEM ALL

AYE, he knew the whole story, did His Majesty. For enter at that very moment a dusty, breathless messenger—a sailor from the wharves which fronted on the harbor.

“A ship—a strange ship is in the port, Your Majesty!” he cried, as he knelt at the side of the table. “A ship more strange than any we have ever seen. A ship entirely round, with neither prow nor stern nor sails nor flag—a ship of golden brown, and the very shape and color of a huge garden pumpkin!”

Then the King remembered the famous story which Peterkin had told him weeks ago and he knew who had dared to come back to his city in spite of the order of exile.

“What?” bellowed His Majesty, his face growing purple with rage. “This bold adventurer, this scalawag Peterkin, back in our midst? Come sailing back in that pumpkin boat of his, eh? Well, he shall suffer for it, I promise you. He shall be caught and clapped back into the dungeon cell from which he so mysteriously escaped.”

At that, the little princess, at his side, blushed a very rosy blush and hung her head, so that they could not see her tears.

“I swore death to this fellow, if ever he came again into my power,” hissed the King. “And death it shall be! Ho, my trusty guards! Arm yourselves with ropes and heavy chains and run to the harbor, in search of the lost prisoner. We shall have to give him a taste of death, death, death!”

Whereupon all the soldiers, all the courtiers, all the nobles of the land, armed themselves, clattering, growling, thundering. And down to the wharves of the harbor they swept, leaving the gilded dining room deserted. Even the King himself left his half eaten eggs, and forgot to clap the cover on his dish of honey—and ran off, with his crown toppling over one ear and his royal robes dragging in the mud, all the way from the palace door to the planks of the piers. Only the little Princess Clem was left, in terror and in tears. She wept, poor thing—and made a sorry mixture of her tears in a pitcher of cream.

Out from the shore, in a hundred boats, dashed the King and his cohorts. Out and around they spun, circling the peaceful pumpkin. Then closer and closer—and always pushing closer.

“Heigh, wretch!” cried the King, who stood, straight and tall, in the bow of the royal barge. “You are captured and you cannot escape. You are surrounded by a thousand warriors, all armed with ropes and heavy chains. You are a prisoner again, and death shall be your punishment! Rush in, brave boatmen, and seize this dog of a Peterkin!”

So in sped the boats, crashing against the sides of the poor Pumperkin. Then up with ladders—up with the men, climbing the steep, bulging sides of Peterkin’s house. Then, one peek through the ceiling window and—what a cry went up!

_For Peterkin was gone!_

Nothing could be found of him, no matter how hard they searched—in every nook, behind the chairs, under the bed and everywhere. He was gone!

* * * * *

And only you and I shall know the secret of where he disappeared. For when the dawn was breaking, Peterkin had seized his old companion by the shoulders and had whispered into his hairy ear:

“Come, you shall have that set of teeth you crave. You shall have the whitest teeth in all the world, if only you do as I order. But if you do not, I shall have to punish you as all wicked villains must be punished. So take your choice, my toothless enemy. Will you do as I desire?”

To be sure, the ugly old man could only mumble a consent through his red gums. Whereupon Peterkin leaped upon his shoulders and cried:

“Fly first with me to the Valley of the Blind!”

And away they flew, leaving the Pumperkin just as the King and his cohorts found it: empty and alone.

XXIX

PETERKIN BRINGS JOY

I’M not sure what the old villain thought of the scheme of flying to the Valley of the Blind—but he dared not disobey. For Peterkin’s grip was firm upon his shoulders—and Peterkin’s breath was hot against his cheek.

So over the mountains they flew, into the tumble-down, joyless valley of darkness—the valley where the toothless villain had stricken each innocent one with blindness.

There, across the neglected road, at the edge of the wild grown heath, they found the sorrowful family of those who first had told the tale of woe to Peterkin. Their clothes were more wretched than ever; their house was crumbling to the point of falling apart. And they wept bitterly when they heard Peterkin’s voice again.

“But cheerily ho!” laughed Peterkin. “For I have brought you another stranger—well, not exactly a stranger, either. For, like me, he came to visit you once before. He brought you sorrow then—but this time he is sworn to bring you joy. When once you have eyes to see him——”

They rushed about in a close circle, surrounding the spot whence came to them the sound of Peterkin’s voice. “Who is he? What is his name?” they demanded in a stormy chorus.

“He is known as the toothless farmer——”

At that, the hubbub swelled to a tempest of curses and wailing. The old villain had scarcely time to fall to his knees when the avenging blind men, groping in the dark, clutched him, plucked at his clothes, at his hair, at his eyes. Peterkin alone could save him from their vengeance. He screamed aloud, as he tore them from their prey.

“He has come to give you back your eyes! From now on you will see! Aye, see everything—the sunlight and the summer night sky, the fields, the smiles upon your little children’s faces. Oh, do not touch him lest he keep not to his promise!”

Therewith the blind folk fell back, waiting in a hushed and nervous circle. “Aye, we shall not touch him,” they promised.

Then the old villain, trembling and repentant, made a hurried sign in the air—a mystic, magic sign—and the sunlight streamed into the eyes of all the valley folk. Everyone could see! Yes, could see each other—could see the rags in which they were dressed, the ruins of the houses, the wild heaths, the broken, rutted roads—and planned at once to build anew a happy valley. Their eyes were returned—and so should their laughter. Henceforth, the years of misery and darkness should be forgotten—and theirs should be what, long years before, it had been: The Valley of Bright Eyes!

Thus was the first errand done—and Peterkin smiled to think of what an easy, happy one it had been. And now they must go on, over the mountain boundaries, from one valley to the other, bringing the same gift of happiness and hope.

“Come,” he whispered to the toothless villain, “you and I are not through yet. Now, don’t look cross and think of rebelling—for you are in my power, and there is no escape for you, unless you will obey my every order as nobly as you have this first one. Besides, think of those brand-new teeth which you shall have as a reward!”

Even this was not enough to persuade the old man to go along peacefully; he sulked and gnashed his red gums and tried all sorts of magic tricks, but all in vain. For Peterkin’s life was a charmed one, now that he had the love of a Princess Royal to guard him!

And, at last, when the old fellow saw that the people of the Valley of Bright Eyes were glancing at him angrily, as if they meant to lose their tempers after all, he took Peterkin upon his shoulders and flew dutifully away with him, over the boundary mountains.

XXX

VALLEY TO VALLEY

IT was the Valley of the Deaf they came to next. And presto! by a twitch of his lean fingers and a mumbling of strange words, the old man had given back the hearing to each of its people.

What joy was theirs, now! For they could hear the song of the birds and the chatter of their own glad voices and—oh, yes! the laughter of the thousand brooks, which once had played so great a part in their sad history. But all that was over now, and they had only smiles and thanks for Peterkin and forgiveness for the toothless villain who had done them so much wrong.

They were all listening to the chirp of a little sparrow’s young, high in the nest, when Peterkin and his captive flew away. Peterkin looked back a moment, to watch the joyous smiles upon their faces—and he, too, was happy in their new-found happiness.

And so he and his companion came to the Valley of Dancing Legs, where all the folk were racing hither, thither, everywhere, and all about, in weary, dreary, jigging, jogging flocks. Uphill, downhill, over fields and woods they went, never halting, never resting—on, on, lungs almost bursting and legs ready to drop off with weariness.

“Halt!” cried the toothless one. And then, with a moment or two of whispering and winking, he brought them all to a happy halt. Poor folk! It was the first rest they had had for so many years! They fell down, each of them, panting, groaning, utterly motionless. Ah, they would be happy now! Already, as their legs grew rested, they seemed to be smiling more peacefully.... Peterkin and his companion might go forward now into the next and last valley. For all would be joy in this one from this time forth.

So on they flew, these rescuing two, to the Valley of Up-in-the-Air. And only a few mystic symbols and commands, when down came all those floating, flying people, down to the ground they loved! And down came their beds, their chairs and tables after them—and all was set to rights!

Thus, in all the Four Kingdoms did happiness succeed grim sorrow and smiles broke through the tears. Thus was the whole domain made joyful through the brave work of the little stranger, Peterkin!

“Where now?” cried the old villain, rubbing his sore shoulders. “I am tired of carrying you wherever you ordered. My back is well-nigh broken with the load of you.”

“We shall make one more flight,” said Peterkin, “and that shall be to the window of the palace, just beneath the gilded dome. Come, away with us—to the Royal Princess’s window.”

“But—but, oh, no!” screamed the old fellow, quaking with fear. “That palace is in the city—don’t you understand, in the city of my bitter enemies! And they’ll kill me if ever they catch me there.”

Peterkin laughed. “And they’ve sworn to kill me, too,” he chuckled bravely. “But never you mind—we’re going back anyhow.”

And in spite of the old villain’s terror, Peterkin jumped upon his shoulders and whipped him up, over the marshes and the sea, toward the faint gray glimpse of towers and steeples in the far distance.

XXXI

THE PATIENT PRINCESS

OH, little Princess Clem! Think what a sad thing it was for her to be left alone in the deserted dining hall, while her royal father and all his guards rushed out to kill her brave returning hero!

She had tried so hard not to cry—but the tears _would_ come. They flooded the table-cloth and plates and set the omelets and the jam pots floating. It was only when her prying nurse came in to fetch her that Her Little Royal Highness could dry her eyes.

But, all day long, she walked up and down, up and down, in the wide Throne Room. With nervous step she marched from one gilded corner to the other, her heart in a flutter of fear.

“But haven’t you heard?” cried the nurse. “They found his Pumperkin—but it was empty. The poor Peterkin must have been drowned!”

That only made the princess weep the harder. Yet she never lost hope—oh, no; she was not that sort of little lady to lose hope! And gradually she came to realize that Peterkin must have escaped, somehow, from his boat, and was safe upon some new adventure. But when would he return?

All day she paced the marble floors, her blue eyes lighted with a gleam of tears. Once she stopped to look out of the window, and she saw a great commotion at the outer gate of the court-yard. A messenger was there, seeking admission: a ragged, dusty man, who asked with eager face to see the King. The little princess recognized him at once: he was a subject of the Valley of the Blind.... Only, had he recovered the sight of his eyes? She wondered how.

And while he spoke, there came up behind him on the road another messenger—and this one was from the Valley of the Deaf. And then another from the Valley of the Dancing Legs. And, lastly, one from the Valley of Up-in-the-Air. Why, here were messengers from each of the stricken Four Kingdoms—and each of them was smiling happily!

Aye, true! For a little while later, the four of them had audience with His Majesty in this very same throne room, where the princess could hide behind a curtain of cloth of gold, and could hear each word they said.

“We are saved!” cried he of the Valley of the Blind.

“And so are we!” cried he of the Valley of the Deaf.

“And so are we!” cried each of the others.

“Our sorrow is gone. The curse of the toothless villain has been lifted away from our valley. We are the happiest folk in all the Four Kingdoms!” declared he of the Valley of the Blind.

“And so are we!” declared the other three in chorus.

“But—but I don’t understand,” stammered the King, mopping his royal brow in wonder. “All in a day, here is my whole domain changed from one of sorrow to one of joy. Tell me, who has wrought this splendid change?”

And with one accord they answered, “Peterkin!”

His Majesty’s scepter crashed to the floor, but he took no notice of it. He stared at them as if he thought them mad.

“What? That same little scalawag of a Peterkin who fled from our dungeon and who escaped us so neatly but yesterday?”

’Twas then that little Princess Clem came darting out from behind her curtain, dancing and laughing roguishly.

“The very same, my royal father! The very same Peterkin! And look!” she cried, stopping short at the window, “here he comes now!”

XXXII

THE VILLAIN SATISFIED

NO mistake, either! For Peterkin it truly was, coming toward the palace! Peterkin, astride the shoulders of his old companion, flying through the clouds. At first they were only two specks, dark and tiny; then, coming nearer, they grew larger and larger, until the courtiers, crowding at the windows, could see the eager look in Peterkin’s bright eyes and could catch a glimpse of the red gums of the old villain under him.

Nearer, nearer—then swooping down from the clouds and in at the window came the two travelers, into the midst of those who thronged the golden throne room.

The toothless villain ran and cowered in a corner, trembling with fear. But Peterkin stood forth boldly, his head thrown back with pride.

“Here am I, Your Majesty!” he cried. “Here am I, returned whence I once fled. You may thrust me back into that pitchy dungeon—you may kill me, but——”

Great cheers drowned the rest of his words. One and all, the courtiers, the nobles, the King himself, were waving jeweled hands and making a joyous thunder of his name.

“Peterkin! Peterkin, our hero! Peterkin, our saviour! Brave, mighty, magic Peterkin!”

He fell back and rubbed his eyes. What did it all mean? Could he be dreaming?

No, for the King had risen from his throne now and was coming down its golden steps straight toward him, with arms outstretched.

“You have swept the shadows from my domain!” he cried. “You have brought laughter into faces which once were bathed in tears. You have given joy for sorrow—and joy—aye, untold joy!—shall be your reward! Ask of me now whatever you most wish, and I promise it shall be yours! But first of all, we must take our proper revenge upon the villain you have so neatly brought into our power.”

“Ah, that’s just it, Your Majesty!” interrupted Peterkin. “Here’s my dearest wish—and surely you’ll not have the heart to refuse it. I ask for mercy for your noble cousin, the toothless farmer. Indeed, if only you provide him with a new set of teeth, I’m sure he will make a very loyal and faithful subject evermore.”

The King grew red in the face, at this reminder. But he had given his word—and not even a king can go back on that!

“How now, my villainous cousin?” he roared, turning to the old fellow. “Will you cease your wicked magic all the days of your life, if I forgive you for the sake of generous Peterkin? And, if I do provide you a new set of teeth, will you try very hard not to bite me?”

“Oh, yes—indeed, yes! I am so sick of soups and jellies: I am longing for the crunch of a good beefsteak. And oh! my royal cousin, what a feast I shall be able to eat if only you give me a brand-new set of teeth! And I shall be so proud of them I’ll do nothing more than sit in a corner and grin the whole day long!”

So, when the little princess had joined her prayer for forgiveness to those of Peterkin and the rest of the courtiers, the King could do naught but order his royal dentist to appear upon the scene. And the dentist took very good pains to make an exact measure of the mouth of the old fellow, who went on mumbling in a most delighted way:

“Hee, hee! New teeth! A brand-new set of teeth! Well, now I am satisfied! No more villainy for me! the crunch of a good beefsteak. And I shall be the happiest, most satisfied nobleman in the land!”

Which set the whole court to cheering and clapping their hands louder than ever!

XXXIII

THE GLORIOUS ENDING

“SO, now,” said the King, “you shall have your true reward.” And to make it the more impressive, he nudged our Peterkin in the ribs with the end of his golden scepter and winked his royal eye at the Princess Clem, who stood nearby in blushing joy.

Straightway the courtiers gathered about their new hero, lifted him high upon their shoulders and bore him away, out of the throne room, out of the pillared halls, into the center of that very same market square which flanked the sunny palace. And there they cheered him, long and loud:

“All hail to Peterkin, Prince of the Realm! All hail to Peterkin, beloved of a Princess Royal! All hail to Peterkin, hero of heroes and King-to-be!”

It was only then that modest Peterkin could guess how great were the honors and rewards which had befallen him. For a golden coronet they placed upon his head—and a purple robe upon his shoulders. And a golden sword upon a jeweled belt went ’round his waist to mark, from this time forth, that he was chief commander of all the King’s guards.