THE
                             ADVENTURES OF
                               PETERKIN.

[Illustration]




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[Illustration:

  “Inside his Pumperkin house”
]

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    THE
    ADVENTURES _of_

    PETERKIN

                                   BY

                               Gilly Bear

             AUTHOR OF “TOM TIT TALES,” “THE GREEN TULIP,”
                       “FUN IN THE FOREST,” ETC.

                              ILLUSTRATED
                                   BY

[Illustration]

                                HELEN E.
                              OHRENSCHALL

[Illustration]

                      SAM’L GABRIEL SONS & COMPANY

                                NEW YORK


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                          Copyright, 1916, by
                      SAM’L GABRIEL SONS & COMPANY
                                NEW YORK






           By kind Permission of _The Evening Sun_, New York


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[Illustration]




                                CONTENTS


                CHAPTER                             PAGE

                     I. PETERKIN PUMPERKIN            13

                    II. PETERKIN AFLOAT               17

                   III. PETERKIN AND THE WHALE        21

                    IV. PETERKIN’S APPETITE           25

                     V. PETERKIN’S COOKING            29

                    VI. AN HOUR OF STORM              32

                   VII. PETERKIN ESCAPES              35

                  VIII. PETERKIN IN THE VALLEY        39

                    IX. PETERKIN TAKES A FALL         43

                     X. PETERKIN IN THE PALACE        47

                    XI. PETERKIN TELLS HIS TALE       51

                   XII. PETERKIN’S FATE               55

                  XIII. THE TOOTHLESS ENEMY           59

                   XIV. PETERKIN’S RESCUE             64

                    XV. THE WATER OF                  69
                        BOUNCEABILITY

                   XVI. THE VALE OF THE BLIND         74

                  XVII. PETERKIN PROMISES             79

                 XVIII. THE VALLEY OF SILENCE         83

                   XIX. EARS TOO SHARP                87

                    XX. THE VALLEY OF DANCING         92
                        LEGS

                   XXI. THE VALLEY OF                 97
                        UP-IN-THE-AIR

                  XXII. PETERKIN IN A MUDDLE         101

                 XXIII. THE LOST PUMPERKIN           104

                  XXIV. OUT OF HIDING                108

                   XXV. A PRECIOUS PRISONER          112

                  XXVI. THE VILLAIN’S STORY          116

                 XXVII. IN THE CITY                  121

                XXVIII. HOW PETERKIN TRICKED THEM    125
                        ALL

                  XXIX. PETERKIN BRINGS JOY          130

                   XXX. VALLEY TO VALLEY             135

                  XXXI. THE PATIENT PRINCESS         139

                 XXXII. THE VILLAIN SATISFIED        143

                XXXIII. THE GLORIOUS ENDING          148


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[Illustration]

                         LIST OF COLORED PLATES


            “Inside his Pumperkin house”             _Frontispiece_

                                                       PAGE

            “An early morning peek”                      21

            “Then it grew darker than midnight”          32

            “So they sat themselves on the flying        43
            sea-shell”

            “‘Take him away!’ ordered the King”          55

            “The whole leap took but a moment”           69

            “A young peasant girl came toward him”       83

            “There came floating toward him in           97
            midair”

            “The windows in the palace were             108
            gleaming”

            “She strained her eyes to watch the         121
            distant harbor”

            “He jumped upon his shoulders”              135

            “Where was it bound? Haven’t you            148
            guessed?”


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        To
    Robert Stuart
      Marquis


                  ONE day old—
                      And all your life ahead of you!
                    How I wish that plodding I
                      Could be there instead of you!

                  _Tops and toys and picture books;
                  Sliding ponds and summer brooks;
                  Birds among the tree-tops green;
                  Flowers thrusting to be seen—
                  And about you, like a charm
                  To protect you, Mother’s arm...._

                  Just one day——
                    And thousands more to come to you!
                  How the chirrupy old crickets
                    Of the hearth will hum to you!

                  _All the things that brightest gleam
                  In a mother’s brightest dream:
                  Sunshine that is free from rain,
                  Laughter that is free from pain;
                  Faith and glory, love and hope
                  Lie along your life’s long slope...._

                  One day old—
                    While within your cradle, you
                  Smile to think of all the things
                    Life will freely ladle you!


[Illustration]


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[Illustration]






         _HERE is the story of Peterkin Pumperkin,
              Lived in a patch, and afraid of a bumperkin.
           The wind came along with a jig and a jumperkin—
              When Peterkin stopped, he was all in a lumperkin._










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                                   I

                           PETERKIN PUMPERKIN


I KNOW you have all heard of the little man who lived inside a pumpkin.
Just why he lived there I don’t exactly remember, but I can’t imagine
that he used to sleep so comfortably inside his tiny bowl of a bed-room.

[Illustration]

For, when the growly wind took to blowing over the pumpkin patch and set
the fat yellow balls of pumpkins swaying from this side to that on their
slender vines, poor Peterkin would be jounced clear out of bed and sent
spinning round and round the circled pumpkin wall.

“Ugh, ouch!” he would groan. “My poor head’s all bumps and bruises. Ugh,
ugh! Why in the name of everything foolish did I ever come to live in a
pumpkin? Why didn’t I stay in a sensible house, and live like other
folks live? Oh, ouch!” And then, as the wind gave one last roar and his
jouncing little home gave one last, extra large somersault on its vine,
Peterkin would usually find himself thwacked back into bed again, with
his feet on the pillow and his head buried deep in the mattress.

The wind, of course, thought it the greatest fun in the world. The wind
was only a jolly playmate, after all—even if he was a bit too rough
about it. And the wind could never understand what made Peterkin so
angry in the matter.

“Whee! I love to play free and frolic! I love to send the little leaves
whirling and the dust mounds swirling, and the heavy laden pine-boughs
tossing with sighs. I love to chase the thin gray wisps of mist and the
spattering rain-drops as they fall, and to rattle the frosted window
panes. Whee! I’m sure I’m more than gentle with Peterkin Pumperkin. I
always take care not to snap his anchor stem! I always leave him fast
upon his vine. Whee, whiz!”

But then there came a night when myriad snowflakes were falling over the
patch. It was more than the mischievous wind could stand. He _must_ get
in among those flakes! He must make them jig and dart and dive in
crooked merriment!

He rushed down upon them, charging with a trumpet’s roar. And in his
wild path he rolled the clumsy pumpkins to this side and that, until
their rumble fairly shook the earth.

Poor Peterkin was dozing at his tiny stove, just then—for it was very
chilly and shivery inside his Pumperkin house. Whee! whistled the wind.
Whee! it shrieked, right over his head.

Then, suddenly, the terrible thing happened! The thing that Peterkin had
feared so many years! SNAP! went the stem of Peterkin’s Pumperkin—off
the vine, out of the patch—free, anchorless, guideless! And away and
away rolled the pumpkin house—down the bumpy field, across the ditch,
through the brook, to the top of a steep hill. Then away and away, down,
down, down, went Peterkin and his Pumperkin—over and over in swift,
dizzy tumbles. Head up, feet down, head down, feet up—down, down, down!
Then up another hill. Up, up, to its top, with poor Peterkin turning an
unwilling somersault at every yard!

But, oh, at the top of this hill is a precipice—and beyond it, miles
below, is the sea. Ah, what will happen now to Peterkin? His pumpkin
house reaches the edge of the precipice, seems to linger for a short
moment, then shoots far out and down, down into the sea! It sinks
beneath the waves, then slowly bobs up again, sinks again, comes up
again and floats peacefully away with the tide.

And now, with this strange happening, begin the marvellous adventures of
Peterkin in his Pumperkin! Let’s hope that in the next of them the wind,
that merry playfellow, will try to be more gentle.


[Illustration]


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                                   II

                            PETERKIN AFLOAT


[Illustration]

WHEN last we heard of Peterkin—do you remember?—he was afloat on the
waves in his pumpkin house. And sailing swiftly out to sea!

Peterkin, as soon as he had gained his breath, climbed out of the tangle
of bed-clothes and furniture which his sudden fall had thrown over and
all about him. Then he pinched himself in every limb, and was glad to
find everything whole and sound.

“Whew!” he gasped. “That _was_ an escape! To think of landing in the
sea!”

He pulled his little ladder out from under a tumble of pots and pans and
bric-a-brac and blankets, and set it up against the wall. Then up he
clambered, step by step, until he had poked his head through the hole,
in the Pumperkin’s top, which served for a door and a window and
ceiling, all at the same time. It gave him just a glimpse of the open
air and the wide stretch of sea on every hand. Waves—blue, choppy,
hopping waves, as far as Peterkin could see ... nothing but waves!

Well, there was nothing for it but to go back into his house and sit by
the stove and begin to cry. Not that crying could help matters any—but
Peterkin was sad at all these sudden happenings, and somehow his tears
did make him feel a little better.

“Boohoo!” wept he. “It’s all the fault of the wicked wind! One moment I
was safe and dozing at home in my old pumpkin patch; the next, here I am
bobbing and lost on the face of the ocean. The only thing I have to be
thankful for is that there’s still a warm fire in my stove. Boohoo!”

And oh, the saddest part of it all is that he wept so hard, and so many
of his tears spilled down into the stove that—what did he do but put the
fire out! And soon enough his pumpkin house grew cold and cheerless and
wet with the briny waves which came dashing in through the
door-window-ceiling.

[Illustration]

It was a dreary party now. Peterkin felt his yellow ball of a boat leap
and fall with every wave. Everything rattled and jingled to the see-saw
motion. He grew dizzy. He could scarcely steady himself to climb up the
ladder a second time. He could hardly see the white froth at the crests
of the waves and the deep green of their troughs. He made out a ship
passing by, miles and miles away. He screamed and waved his coat and
whistled between two fingers—did everything he could think of to make
the sailors see and save him. But the ship sailed on and away, until the
white specks of its sails had faded from view.

Night came on, gray and then blue, and the waves never tired of their
ceaseless jigging. Peterkin crouched on the floor of his Pumperkin and
thought of the fate which awaited him, and worried himself into a
troubled sleep. Many times during the long, dark hours he woke up with a
start, and, through the hole in the house-top, caught a glimpse of the
stars and a smack of the salt spray. The last time he awoke, the stars
had been swallowed up in the graying sky by a streak of glowing red, and
Peterkin knew it was the dawn.

Later, when the sunshine came straggling into his shell on the drops of
glistening spray, he climbed his ladder for an early morning peek. White
mists were rolling back across the waves, and ... oh! what was that?

Not a hundred yards away, a thin fountain, shimmering like silver, rose
up out of the green of the sea and curved down again upon it. Again it
came—and again! Up, up—fifty feet into the air, a gleaming fountain! And
then, as it came nearer and nearer, Peterkin caught the glimpse of a
black fin ... and a huge jaw!

Ugh! What could it be?

[Illustration:

  “An early morning peek”
]


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                                  III

                         PETERKIN AND THE WHALE


[Illustration]

A WHALE! Yes, it was a big, black, hungry whale! And it was drawing
closer and closer to Peterkin’s pumpkin boat every time he blinked.

Peterkin could see its forked tail now and its great, darkly gleaming
sides. Once it disappeared completely under the foam, and when it rose
again, it was so near that Peterkin saw its ugly little eyes and a white
row of jagged teeth. Whenever it flashed its tail and fins, there was a
great churning of water, and the Pumperkin would roll and rock so
fiercely that it almost dumped its poor owner into the ocean.

The whale, I’m sure, did not know what to make of it. The whale was used
to boats, of course—but boats with sails and pointed prows and sailors
in the rigging. While here was something round and fat, and such a
golden yellow! No bow it had, nor stern, nor sails, nor flags, nor
rudder. “Is it really and truly a boat?” thought the whale. Well, this
would have to be looked into very closely!

So the big whale came puffing and fountaining up to the little
Pumperkin.

“Oh, oh,” it sighed, “what a pretty thing to frisk with! Just like a
play-toy! Here’s where I have my day’s fun!” And with that it dived deep
under the pumpkin boat and came up on the other side. “Haw, haw,” it
chuckled—as only a whale can chuckle—“what bully good sport! Just to
look at that little man who is peeking out over the side of this yellow
ball! Just to see how surprised he looks to find me over here, where he
didn’t expect me to be! Haw, haw!” And the whale gave another frolicsome
wiggle to his tail—nearly upsetting the Pumperkin again.

As for Peterkin, he was chattering with fear. He did not know what was
coming next! Perhaps the whale was about to swallow him for breakfast.
Yes, yes, it was surely up to some mischief, was this black whale. For
it had disappeared again. Oh, what now?

True, the playful whale had taken another dive under the bottom of the
pumpkin. But it didn’t bother to come up on the other side. It just
stayed there under water, directly beneath the Pumperkin.

[Illustration]

“Haw, I wonder what would happen if I should squirt my fountain into the
air?” thought the whale—and being a whale, it had to take a long while
to think it over. In the dreadful pause, Peterkin trembled so hard that
his stove and his bed and all the furniture took to rattling, too.

Then, suddenly, the Pumperkin, Peterkin and all, shot fifty feet high
into the air! Up, up, like a bubble at the top of a mighty geyser, it
rose with the stream of the whale’s fountain. For the wink of an eye, it
seemed to hang there—then down it came again—down with a spatter and
splash into the trough of the sea!

Peterkin could stand it no longer. He screamed aloud—with such a scream
as the whale had never heard. It was a scream to make every fish in the
sea shudder along its fins.

“Oh, dear me!” sighed the whale, “I have made an enemy. I’ve been
hurting somebody’s feelings, I fear. I should have been very glad to
make a breakfast of that little man and his yellow bubble, if only he
hadn’t minded and had acted cheerfully about it. But now, since he’s so
cross and cranky, I shall punish him by going away and never looking at
him again. So there!”

Which was just what the big whale did. And it never could understand why
the little man clapped his hands and laughed with delight when he saw it
dwindle away into the waves of the distance.


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                                   IV

                          PETERKIN’S APPETITE


[Illustration]

NOW all this while poor Peterkin had not had a single bit to eat. Not a
dry biscuit even. And as for a whole meal, why—that was out of the
question. For wasn’t his stove drearily cold? And the eggs in his basket
all crushed by the many falls his Pumperkin had taken? And he was
hungry. So would you be, if you had gone so long without a meal—and
Peterkin, for all he lived in a pumpkin, was not so far different from
you. He sat and listened to the slap of the waves upon the bottom of his
round yellow boat and rubbed his empty stomach mournfully.

Suddenly, the Pumperkin gave a lurch and a fling up-ward. Then again and
again! Oh, what was it now? Another whale? Peterkin rushed up his
ladder, and ... oh, it was _land_!

Yes, directly ahead of him, the waves were combing into a high, frothy
surf thundering down upon a stretch of yellow sands. Behind that, he
could see tall trees spreading their broad palm leaves in tufts of
brightest green; and a low hill of glistening rock, where purple flowers
clung and orange-leaved vines were twining.

“Land!” cried Peterkin in rapture. “Land at last!”

Sure enough, the pumpkin boat gave a last leap in the swirl of the surf
and came down on something firm and grating. It was safe on the sands of
the shore.

In a jiffy Peterkin had hauled up his ladder and let it down on the
other side. Then down he climbed, waded swiftly through the foamy edge
of spume and dashed up on the beach. Before he did another thing, he
danced a jig—which was Peterkin’s way of showing how happy and thankful
he was. So you may be sure it was a very merry jig he danced!

Then he went wisely back and pushed and pulled at his Pumperkin until it
was high and dry upon the shore. Next he lifted his cold stove out and
set it in a dark little cave of the rocks, where the rain might never
find it in stormy weather.

“But a lot of good my stove will be to me if I cannot find something to
cook on it!” thought hungry Peterkin.

[Illustration]

So he searched the length of yellow sand. But he found nothing there
excepting a few empty shells, pink and gray, like the glow of a pearl.
He searched the mosses under the palm trees—but only a few nuts had
fallen from the tufts overhead, and these were so hard and so bitter
that the taste of them puckered up his face with sour twists. He climbed
the hill of glistening stone until he could see from its summit the tops
of thousands and thousands more of just such trees—like so many green
and waving feather dusters—a whole forestful, swaying to the horizon’s
boundary.

And there at last, on the tip top of the rocks, he seized upon a handful
of the purple flowers and another of the orange-leaved vine.

“If nothing else,” he planned, “I shall make a dainty salad of flower
and leaf and eat it from a plate of pearly sea-shell.”

But alas! he was still to learn the evil of plucking strange things for
salads!

[Illustration]


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                                   V

                           PETERKIN’S COOKING


[Illustration]

HIS arms full of leaves and flowers, Peterkin hurried back to the little
black cave, where his stove was in hiding.

“This cave shall be my kitchen,” he told himself. “Under its shadow I
shall cook my meals and brew my broths, and boil and broil and bake....
Only, I quite forgot, I have nothing to cook. Nothing but flowers and
leaves.”

He thought for a long while, and finally he decided that, instead of
having just a cold and fragrant salad, he should heat them all up into a
smoking stew. He should have a meal to warm the cockles of his heart.

But, when he had gathered the stalks of withered palm leaves and had
crammed them into the cindery throat of his stove, he had to wait
another little while before he could figure out just how to make a
flame. At length he remembered having read the way to strike a spark
with two pieces of sharp rock. So he snatched up a pair of stones and
smashed them and crashed them against each other until the fiery sparks
were darting down into the mouth of the stove—into the midst of the
fuel. There was a sudden bursting into red flame, and the fire was
started!

[Illustration]

Then Peterkin—clever cook that he was—laid his purple flowers and his
orange vines prettily within the cup of a sea-shell, and sprinkled them
over with salt water of the surf. Then he laid shell and all upon the
stove and waited for results.

Nor had he to wait so long. For, all in a twinkle, there was a monstrous
pouf! Great billows of smoke, brown and lavender, gushed up from the
heart of the sea-shell and spread themselves across the sky. There came
a resounding crackle of flames ... the whole shell, trailing its glowing
mists behind it, rose up, up, above the tree-tops, into the clouds, and
out of sight! It was gone, forever and aye.

For a long while poor Peterkin could scarcely realize all that had
happened so much of a sudden. He stood staring up at the dwindling speck
of the sea-shell and wondering ... where could his meal have
disappeared? And what must he do now for another?

“And I am so hungry, too,” he sighed. “Not a bite to eat since I and my
Pumperkin left the patch. Well, there’s nothing for it but that I begin
to search through the whole forest of green palms. Perhaps I shall find
a scarlet cockatoo, or a yellow-tailed dove, to carry back with me for
dinner.”

But, indeed, he felt so weak from want of food that he could scarcely
stand. He lay down on the sunny stretch of the sands and half closed his
eyes. He could see, in a blur, that the low line where the sea and the
sky met, far away, was smothered in black clouds—and that little streaks
of angry red seemed to be flashing in the black. He asked himself,
drowsily, was this a storm approaching? Was it a hurricane, or what....
And then, before he had time to answer himself, he fell asleep.


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                   VI

                            AN HOUR OF STORM


[Illustration]

PETERKIN woke up with a start. Something was roaring in his ears. A
rushing shower of sand stung his cheeks. The wind was shrieking behind
him, across the low hill and in among the palm trees. At his feet, the
waves of the surf were hammering down upon the beach in great, black,
frothing mountains, until the earth itself seemed trembling. The air was
cold and swept across his face in fresh, tossing gusts.

[Illustration:

  “Then it grew darker than midnight”
]

He jumped to his feet and ran. He was afraid of something—he did not
know what. He ran, stumbling, to the crest of the hill. He could look
out, now, across the sea of gray waves on one side and the sea of green
tree-tops on the other. Above him the sky was a mass of heavy, darkening
clouds, a field of clashing, rumbling shadows. Every little while it
would cleave apart, and down to the sea would spin the forks of blinding
lightning in jagged craziness. Then all heaven and earth would mutter
and roar and take to trembling.

[Illustration]

Palm leaves, torn from the trees, went flying off, high overhead, in
somersaulting circles. Eddies of golden sand swirled the length of the
shore. The wind, heavy with salt spray, wailed louder and louder.

Then it grew darker than midnight. Peterkin could see nothing now. He
knelt among the snapping, creaking vines and buried his face against the
beaten-down flowers.

The rain began. A few warm, pattering drops at first—then a sudden heavy
downpour, streaming and cold. The vines were floating with drooping
leaves upon a lake of rain, and the little flowers disappeared
completely. The beach below was guttered with brown water.

Gradually then the rain began to lessen. The clouds turned a lighter
gray, until they broke apart in a long, uneven rift and showed a gap of
blue. The sunshine came through this gap in a softly beaming shaft. High
against the dark hung a curving rainbow, like an arch of jewels.

The rainbow faded, the sunshine grew stronger and more golden, the last
wisps of cloud sank away in the blue of the sky. The sea was calm now
and blue. Nothing seemed to be moving upon it excepting the tiny darts
of gleaming sunbeams. All was peace again....

Only—something—far out at sea—Oh! what was it? Something round and
yellow! A tiny yellow spot, sailing out, out toward the horizon!

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


[Illustration]

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!

[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]


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                                  VIII

                         PETERKIN IN THE VALLEY


[Illustration]

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.”

[Illustration]

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.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration:

  “So they sat themselves on the flying sea-shell”
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                   IX

                         PETERKIN TAKES A FALL


[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

“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


[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

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


[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

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.”


------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration:

  “‘Take him away!’ ordered the King”
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XII

                            PETERKIN’S FATE


[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

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

[Illustration]


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....

[Illustration]

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.

It was pitch black there. He groped and stumbled. His knee grazed
against a step. He climbed ... then another, and another and another,
until he was at the head of a steep flight of stairs. Then another
hallway, and another flight of stairs. His hands hit upon something
straight and sharp. It was a ladder. Up this he went, too, a rung at a
time, through a narrow hole in the ceiling.

A gust of wind caught him full in the face. Above him were the stars—and
he knew that he had reached the roof. He crossed it on tiptoe, for fear
of the crackle of the tiles under foot. A broken down, tumbled chimney
stopped him at the edge. Clinging to its loosened bricks, he could peer
down into the street and over the roofs of the houses of the
neighborhood. On the other side, the lights had died away in the palace
windows—and all was dark and still. Even the startled soldier had
disappeared.

He lay down at the bottom of the chimney. Slowly he drifted off to
sleep, shivering in his dampened clothes, and mumbling strange words
between his gums.

All the next day he lay there, dozing in the heat of the sun upon the
open roof. Every little while he raised himself on his elbow to look
down into the street. He saw the soldiers marching back and forth there,
so tiny in size, and heard their faint shouts as they halted and
searched each passerby.

So they were hunting for him, eh? Well, let them hunt! He would rest
here against the chimney pots until the sun had set and the wisp of a
new moon had risen ... and then! Ah, then for mischief!


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XIV

                           PETERKIN’S RESCUE


[Illustration]

AND meanwhile Peterkin, in the dungeon deep, was lying face down upon
the cold stone floor, trying his brave best to shut out from his head a
thousand wild fears and torments which did not belong there. What if he
should stay here in this dark cell for all his days? What if he should
never again see the sunlight or hear the rustle of the trees? What
should he do for food? And for drink?

He rose and walked up and down, up and down, across the little floor. He
scanned each wall closely. No, there was no escape possible. The door
was fast shut, and its iron bars firm. And the little window, through
which the day was fading quickly, was higher, by far, than he could
reach a-tiptoe. No, no escape!

The sky, through the window, was a little square of red now. Slowly it
faded and grew dark. In the center of it a single star winked into view.
Evening had come. And Peterkin must spend the night here, where the dew
was gathering in gray, cobwebby streaks upon the chilly walls.

Then softly—as softly as the coming of the dew—there was a pitter-patter
of light footsteps at the end of the hall. Someone was stealing down the
mossy steps. Someone was approaching. He seized the bars with tightening
fingers. His breath came fast. Yes, yes, it was——

The princess!

He could hardly see her in the darkness of the hall. He could scarcely
recognize the blue of her gown and the glint of her golden hair. But he
heard the jingle of many keys in her hand and the creak of the lock, as
she tried each key ... and failed!

“Oh, this one will open it,” she whispered, each time. “Oh, this one
must!”

Then, at last, she came to the last key in her hand. She thrust it into
the hole: it fitted perfectly. She turned it—snap! The lock flew open.
Peterkin hunched his back and pushed against the bars. He was in the
hall now—and free!

Neither he nor the little princess said a word for a long moment. Then
she took his hand and placed into it a little vial of purple liquid.

[Illustration]

“Guard this well,” she warned him. “It is the Water of Bounceability.
Whenever you wish to leap over great heights, you have only to sip a
little of it and then to bounce high up and away. And, alas, you have
many heights to leap ere you are back in my royal father’s favor. He is
so angry at you for having brought his arch-enemy into the city that he
has ordered your death at midnight. The hangman is already plaiting his
rope and the carpenters hammering at a high scaffold. So follow me
quickly to the city’s edge, where none will find you.”

Peterkin was close at her heels, all the dark way. Through pitchy
tunnels she led him, far under the cellars of the city; through narrow
cave-like passages, heavy with reeking gases, until at last they came up
into an open space, where the woods came down from the slopes of black
hills to meet the streets and houses. It was the furthermost edge of the
city.

“I must leave you here,” sighed the princess. “I must return and take
the spanking which awaits me. But as for you, brave Peterkin, you have
your choice: either you may escape safely into exile and never return to
see me again—or else you may perform four mighty deeds. Aye, deeds so
great that even the King, my father, cannot do them. But if you succeed
in them, you may return here, so high in the King’s favor that he will
grant your dearest wish. Tell me, stranger, which will you choose?” Ah,
little princess—I wonder if she blushed when she said it!

But Peterkin never wavered. “Need you ask, my Princess Clem?” he
whispered.

“Then you must know,” she continued, “that there is a misery in each of
the Four Kingdoms o’er which my father rules. Misery, sorrow and tears.
Go, now, to each of these Four Kingdoms and make its people happy. Give
joy instead of sorrow and smiles instead of tears. More than this I
cannot tell you, but go! You shall see strange things and do brave
deeds, and I shall be sitting at my palace window, under the gilded
dome, awaiting your return”——

Then, all in a twinkling, the little princess had fled back into the
tunnel and was gone. Peterkin was alone.


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration:

  “The whole leap took but a moment”
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                   XV

                       THE WATER OF BOUNCEABILITY


[Illustration]

PETERKIN turned his face at once towards the hazy line of hills which
loomed through the darkness. He must escape over their crests while
night was still here. He must take a sip—as the Princess Clem had taught
him—of that purple liquid from the little vial in his hand.

Carefully he uncorked the bottle—and sniffed. What a sweet, fragrant
odor! He touched his tongue to the rim. It was like melted candy—yet the
taste of it stung like fire. His limbs seemed to twitch and throb at the
touch.

He drew a long breath—and gulped down a gurgling mouthful of the Water
of Bounceability.

Immediately he knew that he might jump—_must_ jump—jump anywhere, up
into the sky, where the stars were, and over the distant hills. He made
a little run, a hop, and then—up he went sailing far across the
hilltops, down into the valley on the other side. The whole leap took
but a moment: no more time than it takes the fluff of a withered
dandelion to fly across a lawn.

Yet here he was thirty leagues or more from his starting place, in a
strange, new valley! He wondered what the name of it could be.... It was
such a wild and woody-looking place. He could not see very much, of
course, for the stars gave little light, and the moon was but a thin,
pale crescent. But he saw that all was tangled forests here and that
wild, thorny heather and tall weeds had spread across what should have
been clean meadows. An old road went across the heath, but it was
overgrown with ferns and brambles and ditched with great muddy pools as
if no one mended or repaired it—and no one traveled it. It was all a
vast desert of waste and decay, hid by the dark of the night.

Peterkin knew how useless it would be to try to make his way forward
before morning. So he lay down under the branches of the trees and
slept.

[Illustration]

But early the next day, before the sun was up, Peterkin had started on
his way. A difficult journey it was, too, along the deserted road. There
were puddles to wade and vines to skip and rocky barriers to climb.
There were ruts where the leaves of the past autumn had buried
themselves in a soggy mass or where the summer dust had sifted into
foolish heaps. There were trunks of fallen trees across the road, and
lizards, frogs and hedge-hogs crawled or hopped or ran beside them. All
was desolate and wild. It was a valley of mysterious decay.

Then, at last, where the road slanted down to meet another long stretch
of brown heathered fields, Peterkin spied a house. A huge, tall house,
too, which must have been a splendid mansion once upon a time. But now
it was shabby and needed paint. The bricks of its walls were losing
their mortar; the slates of the roof were falling to the ground; none of
the windows had curtains and few of them glass. There was moss upon the
steps and in the eaves. The chimney pots were crumbled, and the lawn was
high with choking weeds.

Peterkin wondered, Could anyone live here?

As if in answer to his question, a little boy came around the corner of
the house. He came slowly, though he never stopped or hesitated a moment
when he was within sight of Peterkin. He stumbled unsteadily through the
weeds, with his hands held out before him. His face was handsome,
truly—but his hair was in a fearful tousle over his eyes and his clothes
were all in rags.

“No wonder you can’t see a thing,” laughed Peterkin. “Take your hair out
of your eyes!”

The little boy stopped short at the sound of a voice. He nodded his head
sadly.

“What are eyes?” he asked. “I know I have two of them—but what use are
they? Won’t you tell me, stranger?”

“Why, silly!” roared Peterkin. “Eyes are to see with!”

The little boy smiled more sadly than before. “No,” he sighed. “If you
can see with your eyes, you are not of this valley. For I am blind. And
so are my father and my mother, and all our neighbors, too. And so is
everybody in this valley. All of us are blind!”


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XVI

                         THE VALE OF THE BLIND


[Illustration]

THE little boy led Peterkin into the house to meet his father and
mother. But they, like the boy, were in rags and tatters—and blind!

“You can _see_?” asked the father in wonder, when Peterkin had explained
whence he came. “What does it mean to _see_? Isn’t all the world a thing
of blackness? Is there anything more to it than the dark nothing of the
blind?”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” cried Peterkin, his own eyes filling with tears of
pity. “There’s the sunshine and the trees, and all the bright flowers of
the garden. There are birds of bright plumage, and moonbeams on the
surface of the water, and the smiles on people’s faces. Oh, the world is
so full of things to see.... I could not tell you all of them.”

The mother nodded. “Yes, that is just the way my father’s father used to
speak,” she said slowly. “It was in his youth that this became the Vale
of the Blind. Before that, it was known in all the Four Kingdoms as the
Vale of Bright Eyes. But now——” Her voice sank away and she sighed.

“Tell me the story,” begged Peterkin. “Tell me how this great misfortune
came upon your grandfathers.”

It was the father who answered him. “Our valley,” he began, “was the
happiest-hearted of all hereabouts fifty years ago. These things you
speak of—these colors and sunshine which we do not know—were here in
smiling plenty. The fields were neat and trim with golden grain. The
pastures were like new-swept velvet, clean and green. The roads were
smooth and bright. The houses were all handsome, with pretty lawns and
gardens. Men wore fine clothes and took pride in themselves and in one
another.

“But one day, there came into our Valley of Bright Eyes a haggard
stranger. He was the saddest being that e’er trudged down over the
boundary hills, my grandfather used to tell me. He wept, the whole day
long, because he had no teeth. Think of it! he could not be happy for
want of a set of teeth!

“Now, all their happiness had made my grandparents and their neighbors a
kind, soft-hearted lot. No sooner did they see this man—who said he was
a farmer—than they took pity on him. They fed him with porridge and
honey—for they knew he could not eat what must be chewed—and they gave
him a bed of fragrant blossoms to lie on when the night came.

“But he would not sleep, at once. He got up every little while to ask
them: ‘And are you sure this Valley of Bright Eyes is one of the Four
Kingdoms, hey? Are you sure that the King of the Four Kingdoms is its
ruler, hey?’

“Every time they told him ‘Yes’ he would chuckle and mumble strange
words through his toothless gums. In the middle of the night, he arose
and looked out across the moonlit fields, where the grain was rich, and
down the gleaming road, where the handsome houses stood in sleeping
order. He laughed aloud, this time, the story goes. Then he strode out
into the road and ran and ran—faster than ever a man had run before.

[Illustration]

“‘I seek a set of teeth!’ he screamed as he ran. Up flew the windows,
all the good folk roused from bed, rushing to see who could possibly be
making such a racket. All along his way the people stared at him. They
saw him take a torch from out of his pocket. They watched him set it
aflame. They saw him touch it, hot and sputtering, to the tops of the
fields of grain, to the hedges and trees.... _He_ _was setting fire to
their valley!_ They rushed down, seized him, and stamped out the fearful
blaze in just the nick of time.

“As for the toothless villain, he screamed with merry laughter when they
caught him.

“‘Hee, hee, my Bright Eyes!’ he cried. ‘You have been spying on me all
this while, eh? Your eyes are too bright. You have been watching my
revenge upon my enemy, the King! Too bright, too bright! From now you
shall be blind—fast blind—you and your wives and your sons and daughters
and your neighbors. From the Vale of Bright Eyes you shall now become
the Vale of the Blind. And yours shall henceforth be a valley of ruin
and decay. Blind, blind—and never again shall you see the gold of the
day or the silver of the moon until I come to give you back your
eyes—your bright eyes—hee, hee, hee!’

“And thus he fled from us. For the dark of the blind had come over the
valley many years ago ... and there is nothing left for us but tears.”


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XVII

                           PETERKIN PROMISES


[Illustration]

“AND so our valley has gone to rack and ruin,” concluded the blind man.

Peterkin was silent for some minutes after he had finished. Then he
shook his head wisely, sadly.

“Can you wait four days until I rescue you?” he asked.

“Four days?” The man, his wife and little son all burst into a bitter
laughter. “We have waited for half a century already. We can wait a
century, if only in the end we gain our eyes again, and win revenge upon
our toothless enemy. Four days, ho, ho!”

“You shall have both your eyes and your revenge,” promised the stranger.
“It was only three days ago that I sped through the air in the cup of a
sea-shell, in company with this toothless farmer. Oh, if I had only
known, then!”

“What? In his company? Are you a friend of his?” The blind family rushed
in about him, as if to capture him and flay him.

“No, no,” smiled Peterkin. “Not a friend at all. He tried to throw me
hundreds of feet down to the ground. But he disappeared—and I do not
know where he is. But I shall search the whole world over till I find
him. And then—woe to him!”

So saying, he put his hand on the blind man’s shoulder and bade them all
good-by. They gave him a few wild herbs to put into his blouse for
luncheon—it was all they had for food. And then he went on his way,
singing all sorts of promises to them as he went on down the hill.

As he walked along the shabby road, he came to other houses, broken down
and unpainted, all tangled in high weeds and matted vines. Each house
was poorer than the last; each one more deserted than the other. And
from each of them trooped little groups of blind folk, groping in
darkness, to question him and to complain to him of their hard fate. All
along his way he met the sight of their tears and heard the sound of
their weeping. But wherever he went, Peterkin gave the same promise of
happiness within four days and left a smile of hope behind him.

[Illustration]

At length he came to the last house of the valley. It was high on the
slope of one of the boundary mountains, almost at the edge of the
gleaming white glacier of the summit. It was fast in the shadow of a
huge, bluish ice cave, and long icicles dripped from its eaves and
glittered like jewels in the sunshine.

“And are you, too, blind?” he asked of the man who lived in this high
house.

“Yes,” replied the old man, sorrowfully. “I am no better than all the
others in this valley, no matter how high I live above them. I, like
them, am awaiting the rescuer who shall return my sight and bring
revenge upon our toothless enemy.”

“That is just what you shall have,” promised Peterkin, “if only you tell
me what is in the next valley, on the other side of the white mountains;
and how I may reach there the best.”

“Alas,” sighed the old fellow, “those are two riddles which I cannot
answer. I only know that in that valley beyond the ridge of the
boundary, there is just as much sorrow as there is here. There is
something wrong there—though I have never known what it is—and the great
barrier of glacier ice has hedged us from each other. So come and rest
here for to-day, and to-morrow, bright and early, you may come upon some
scheme to cross into that unknown valley over the mountains.”

So Peterkin took shelter there, in the green shadows of the ice cave,
and slept a troubled sleep until the morning.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration:

  “A young peasant girl came toward him”
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                 XVIII

                         THE VALLEY OF SILENCE


[Illustration]

AS soon as dawn was over the glacier the next day, Peterkin was on his
feet and sipping a good gulp from his flask of the Water of
Bounceability. You see, he dreamed about this magic gift of the
princess’s as he lay a-sleeping ... and really, what an easy thing it
was to cross the boundary mountains, now!

Just one little swallow—and then a hop, skip and jump! Up, up and over!
Over the tree-tops, over the glacier itself ... then down into the
valley on the other side.

As he floated to the earth there, a strange hush seemed to fall on him.
It was the quiet sense of absolute stillness. He walked forward a little
way, then stopped in bewilderment. Not a sound—not a whisper of
anything. He could not hear even the crunch of his feet upon the
greensward. He called out, but somehow his voice sank away into nothing.
The trees rustled silently; a great, frothing brook went tumbling down
through a bit of woods without a murmur. All was quiet.

A young peasant girl came toward him, leading a horse across the
fields—but Peterkin could hear neither the patter of her feet nor the
hoof-beats of the horse.

“What ho!” cried he, “I must have gone suddenly deaf! I can’t even hear
myself speaking. Here, girl, tell me what’s wrong with my ears?”

The peasant maid halted her horse; she looked at Peterkin with startled
wonder. Her gaze settled on his moving mouth—and her eyes grew larger
and larger with surprise. Suddenly she snatched a little twig from the
branch of a nearby tree, stripped it and commenced to trace queer
letters with it in the dust of the road.

“Phew!” thought Peterkin. “She must be deaf herself. It’s a good thing I
went to school and learned to read and write!” Then he looked down at
what the little girl had traced upon the road—and this is what he read:

[Illustration]

“What are you eating?”

Peterkin laughed a noiseless laugh. Then he snatched the twig from her
and wrote in reply:

“Nothing.”

“Then what makes you move your mouth so queer?” she asked in writing.

“I’m talking,” he scribbled back.

“What does talking mean? That’s a word we know nothing about in this
valley.”

“Then how do you understand one another? And why don’t you make words
with your mouth?” he traced.

“We write to each other—like this. There would be no use in talking like
you do. We are all deaf.”

“All of you?”

“Yes, everybody in the valley.”

“Oh, then this is a valley of silence,” wrote Peterkin.

“Silence? What is silence?”

“Why, silence is when there is no noise.”

“What is noise?” she scrawled.

Poor Peterkin had to give it up after that. He tried to describe to her
what the wind was like when it roared in wintry weather—or how the birds
sing at evening in the woods—or how men can understand each other’s
smiles and scowls by simple noises which they make with their mouths.
But she only shrugged her shoulders and sighed. At any rate, Peterkin
thought it was a sigh—but he could not hear it.

So he marched along at her side in strange silence, making no noise and
hearing none, until they came into the center of a little village.


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XIX

                             EARS TOO SHARP


[Illustration]

THERE, in the silent village, they found a group of old men nodding on a
bench in the warm sunlight. Across the brook a big mill wheel was
turning; but it made no roar or clatter. A cart went by, but there was
no rumble to its wheels. Down the street a blacksmith was hammering at
his ruddy forge; but there was no clang or clatter to keep noisy company
to the flying sparks. All was silence—dreary, unbroken silence.

The old men stirred when Peterkin approached. They knew him for a
stranger. They rose and made a place for him beside them on the bench.
Then one of them took a piece of white chalk from his vest pocket,
turned to the brick wall behind him and began to write. The words he
wrote were so many that, before he was through, he had covered the wall
from top to bottom with this sad and mysterious tale:

“Once,” he wrote, “this was the Valley of the Rippling Brooks. All were
happy here, then. It was in my youth, I remember, when in our ears there
ran the murmur of a hundred gleaming, merry brooks that cross the woods
and fields and tumble from the hills in frothy white. The music of our
laughter was like the music of these brooks—never slowing, never
saddening. We were the happiest of all the Four Kingdoms.

“Then, one spring day, when the brooks were swollen and roaring with
gladness, there came into our midst, from I don’t know where, a strange
and toothless man. He was a farmer, like ourselves, he told us—and he
was forever muttering low words between his empty gums.”

“The toothless villain again!” thought Peterkin.

“We gave him shelter for the night,” continued the old man with his
writing. “But long before the moon was up, he had stolen off to the
fields where the brooks were white in the darkness—up the steeps to
where the waterfalls were splashing into quiet pools with a cheery
murmur. He reached over the low banks, listening greedily to the music
of the water. He knelt, bent his face close to the gurgling eddies—and
began to drink!

“We were all in bed by now and most of us asleep. It was so easy to fall
asleep in those good days, with the murmur of the softly playing
brooklets in our ears—not at all like to-day, when night is a black
stretch of silent terror.

[Illustration]

“Suddenly, in every household, someone sat up straight in bed. In every
household, someone had noticed that the sound of the water was growing
fainter and fainter. First one brook and then another seemed to die
down—as if it were suddenly drying up!

“We rushed out into the village square, across the fields, up the hills.
The moon came out and showed us, gleaming bare, the dry and empty beds
of many of our beloved brooks. Yes, nothing but dry, pebbled ruts, where
no stream trickled and no water sang. Where was the villain who had
worked this trick of tricks?

“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.”

[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                   XX

                       THE VALLEY OF DANCING LEGS


[Illustration]


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.”

[Illustration]

“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.”


[Illustration]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration:

  “There came floating toward him in midair”
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XXI

                      THE VALLEY OF UP-IN-THE-AIR


[Illustration]


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.

[Illustration]

“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


[Illustration]

“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!

[Illustration]

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


[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

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.


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XXIV

                             OUT OF HIDING


[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration:

  “The windows in the palace were gleaming”
]

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?

[Illustration]

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


[Illustration]

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!

[Illustration]

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


[Illustration]

“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.

“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’

[Illustration]

“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!”


[Illustration]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration:

  “She strained her eyes to watch the distant harbor”
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                 XXVII

                              IN THE CITY


[Illustration]

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——”

[Illustration]

“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


[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

“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.


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XXIX

                          PETERKIN BRINGS JOY


[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

“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!

[Illustration]

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.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration:

  “He jumped upon his shoulders”
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                  XXX

                            VALLEY TO VALLEY


[Illustration]

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!

[Illustration]

“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


[Illustration]

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!

[Illustration]

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


[Illustration]

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.”

[Illustration]

“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!


[Illustration]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                 XXXIII

                          THE GLORIOUS ENDING


[Illustration]

“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!”

[Illustration:

  “Where was it bound? Haven’t you guessed?”
]

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.

And, the very next day, at the hour of ruddy sunset, when all the
windows of the palace burned with a bright reflection, and the moon was
sailing high up, white and wan, into the clouds, there began the
celebration of the most magnificent marriage that e’er was held or will
be held in all the Four Kingdoms. And you know well enough who were the
bride and bridegroom!

The banquet which followed was so splendid an affair that for three days
thereafter the court doctor and all his chemists were kept busy at
compounding cures for indigestion. For there were twenty different soups
to taste—and each one thicker than the other. There were fish from the
sea, the river and the brook; roast peacocks, with their tails still
spread in blue and shimmering beauty; stuffed pigs with brown and
crackling skin; all sorts of jellies, jams and ices; bonbons heaped in
silver dishes, and—ah, yes, a wedding cake which towered so high that it
touched the gilded ceiling. Think what a time the princess must have had
cutting it to pieces—as all thoughtful brides do—with Peterkin’s sharp
sword!

[Illustration]

Of course, you are curious to learn how beautiful the bride appeared.
But that’s beyond my power to describe. I can only tell you that she was
more lovely than ever she had been before; and that her golden hair was
twined with precious rubies, with a rivulet of diamonds on her forehead.
Her gown was of silver white brocade; but on it were embroidered, in
fine gold, a complete set of pictures of the marvelous history of her
heroic husband. The Pumperkin, the adventure with the whale, the meeting
with the old villain, the flight from the dungeon, the rescue of each of
the four joyless valleys, ... all were depicted there. Everyone
wondered, to be sure, how such a handsome work of art could have been
made so hastily—but ah, they did not know that, in her long hours of
lonely waiting, the little Princess Clem had nearly ruined her dainty
fingers with the needle and threads of the loom. For happiness is always
born of toiling; and love grows greater for a little patient hardship.

The villainous cousin, now very peaceful, was very proud of a set of
false teeth; and munched and munched in hungry bliss upon a plate of his
favorite beefsteak. The King, at his end of the table, smiled down upon
his feasting friends in joy and perfect bliss. Here was his whole domain
reborn into happiness and hard at work and play again. Here was his only
daughter wed to the nation’s hero. And—this is what made him smile the
broadest—here was a chance to climb down from his royal throne, within a
year or two, and place his heavy crown on Peterkin’s own forehead. For,
if the truth must be told, the King was growing a little tired of
playing King and wearing velvet robes the whole day long; he longed, as
old men always do, for the comfort of his big clay pipe, his shirt
sleeves and his slippers. And here were a new King and a Queen, all
ready made, to rule his land with virtue and with wisdom.

Then, while the banquet was at its jolliest, the bride and bridegroom
stole away in a coach that was drawn by six white steeds, and clattered
down the festooned streets to the steps of the royal wharf. And there,
in the moonlit harbor, the Pumperkin lay waiting. But oh! what a
different Pumperkin! For plates of gold were on it now, and a hundred
gay flags, and a sail of blue satin. There were sailors to tend it, too,
and a great fleet of skiffs to bear it company across the sea.

There was music on the waters and the soft and tender strains played by
the royal harpists were caught up by the breezes and carried straight to
the Pumperkin. It seemed to sway gently up and down, up and down, as if
the waves kept time with the music.

Inside his snug and comfortable boat-house, Peterkin was telling his
dear little bride the many wonderful adventures that befell him from the
time they had parted in the dungeon to the happy hour of his return. And
while they were thus in sweet converse, the Pumperkin was gliding on....

Where was it bound? Haven’t you guessed? Why, for brave Peterkin’s old
home, the Pumpkin Patch! That’s where the honeymoon would be—and
then.... Then back to the Four Kingdoms, to reign for years in peace and
power and glory.

And some day, when you, too, have grown up and have wed a Princess Clem,
and have come into a kingdom of your own, you will live—as they
lived—happily ever after.


[Illustration]


                                THE END.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


Tom Tit Tales By GILLY BEAR

_Bed-time Stories for Children_

[Illustration]

Contains 156 Pages, 12 Color Plates and numerous Black and White
Illustrations

Bound in Cloth Gold and Color Stamping

Price $1.25

“If you are favored and can still stand under the barred Gate of the
Years to the twelfth notch or so, you will not yet have mislaid the key
to your Imagination, and you will see—as probably your elders will not
be able to do clearly—that this book has the familiar look in its pages
of the places you know so well when you are asleep or just dozing before
the fire. Some people write stories for children which remind one of the
man on the city roof-top looking through the skylight at what the people
are doing in the room below. But Gilly Bear, when he wrote these
stories, sat at the desk within the room and possessed himself of an
intimate knowledge of all that happened there. The entire book deals
with Bobby and a funny old elf, evidently numberless hundreds of years
old, who lures the former to Slumberland every night. The old elf is
vividly portrayed by Helen E. Ohrenschall, to whom the author is
indebted for the delightful pictorial features of the book.”—_The New
York Evening Sun._

“Saml. Gabriel Sons & Company have recently published three attractively
bound children’s books for the holiday season, written by Gilly Bear.
‘TOM TIT TALES’ tells of a most convenient fairy, who comes to comfort
children at Tired-time—Bobby is delightfully entertained by Tom Tit and
is taken on most fascinating excursions into Candy Land, to the Clock in
the Sky, to the Rainbow and other equally interesting places, if he has
been good all day. The illustrations in color are by Helen E.
Ohrenschall.”—_News Press, St. Joseph._

“The Gilly Bear books, which have been published on the eve of the
holiday season, have come out at an opportune moment, inasmuch as the
book-buying habit becomes intense at this particular time. ‘TOM TIT
TALES,’ ‘THE GREEN TULIP’ and ‘FUN IN THE FOREST’ are ideal stories for
children. They contain an immense amount of wholesome sentiment and
clean humor, and there are no keener humorists than the little
people.”—_The Times Star, Cincinnati._

“‘TOM TIT TALES,’ ‘FUN IN THE FOREST’ and ‘THE GREEN TULIP’ by Gilly
Bear are all attractive children’s books. Gilly Bear has made himself
known to a large section of the child world by the creation of Tom Tit,
whom Bobby met and who introduced the little boy to a host of marvelous
people, with some surprising adventures.

“‘FUN IN THE FOREST’ describes, in a way to please any normal child, the
adventures of a score of animals and fowl.

“Two little Dutch children, Katrina and Jan, in search of a fairy tulip,
are the figures in ‘THE GREEN TULIP,’ and the experiences they go
through are attractively described and pictured.”—_The Standard Union,
Brooklyn._


------------------------------------------------------------------------


                           Fun in the Forest

                             By Gilly Bear

 Contains 64 Pages, Profusely Illustrated in Color and Black and White.

                          Bound in Cloth, with
                        Colored Insert on Cover

                             Price 75 Cents

[Illustration]

“‘FUN IN THE FOREST’ is a story that cannot fail to hold the attention
of children, instruct them, too, and develop sympathy and affection for
the small animals.”—_The Evening Star, Newark._

“‘FUN IN THE FOREST’ by Gilly Bear contains little stories of animals
and their family and social life in a ‘wood at the top of the big green
hill.’ It is seen that the Squirrel Family are generous entertainers and
that all the wood folk are glad to come to their party. There is no hint
of either fable or moral in the tales, but just the play of a pleasant
imagination in the telling of animal stories.”—_The Post, Hartford,
Conn._

“‘FUN IN THE FOREST’ by Gilly Bear is an instructive and amusing tale of
animals, which should delight children from six to ten years. It is
profusely illustrated.”—_The Bulletin, San Francisco._

“Parents or aunts or uncles, looking for picture books for the little
ones, with some element of cleverness in them, will be glad to pick up
any of a group of handsomely got up books published by Saml. Gabriel
Sons & Company. They are the Gilly Bear books and the contents were
originally published in the New York _Evening Sun_ ‘Bedtime Stories’ and
were immensely popular. They stimulate the child’s imagination and
delight him by their whimsical humor.

“‘TOM TIT TALES’—Entrancing stories of adventure, inspiring,
entertaining and amusing and full of life, action and interest ‘just
before the Sandman comes.’

“‘THE GREEN TULIP’—A splendid fairy tale, describing the exciting
adventures of two little Dutch children in search of a fairy tulip.

“‘FUN IN THE FOREST’—A charming story of absorbing interest, which tells
an amusing tale of animals and their doings in field and forest.

“The illustrations and general make-up of the books are very
attractive.”—_Herald-Telegraph, Montreal._

“‘THE GREEN TULIP’ and ‘FUN IN THE FOREST,’ from the press of Saml.
Gabriel Sons & Company, New York, are two delightful children’s books
illustrated by Frances Brundage. The illustrations are in black and
white and in color, the color pages being beautifully done. The stories
are printed in large type and are nicely bound.”—_The Journal,
Milwaukee._


------------------------------------------------------------------------


                            The Green Tulip

                             By Gilly Bear

 Contains 64 Pages, Profusely Illustrated in Color and Black and White.
              Bound in Cloth, with Colored Insert on Cover

                             Price 75 Cents

[Illustration]

“Katrina and Jan are two quaint Dutch children living in Holland,
described in ‘THE GREEN TULIP’ as ‘the loveliest, strangest, pleasantest
land on earth.’ They first meet a green fairy who is crying for a green
tulip. So Katrina and Jan start out to find the green tulip for the
grieving fairy. In their search, the pair have some funny adventures.
The illustrations are as delightfully Dutch as a windmill or one of
Franz Hals’s pictures.”—_Post Express, Rochester, N.Y._

“‘THE GREEN TULIP’—A fairy tale of Holland by Gilly Bear and published
by Saml. Gabriel Sons & Company. Another clever and attractive bit of
reading for the quite young juvenile. The illustrations done by Frances
Brundage are in themselves ample commendation for this charming book for
the Christmas list. The world of fairyland is put under tribute to
furnish the theme. Holland is made the setting and the talented
co-workers in author and artist offer one of the most pleasing numbers
in the Gilly Bear series, as a result of their deft workmanship. There
is a world of diversion in following the fortunes of Katrina and Jan in
sailing down ‘the Laziest Canal’ and in stopping, ‘but not too long,’ in
the village of None-May-Care, in which ‘nobody thinks very hard.’”—_The
Dispatch, Columbus, Ohio._

“The vogue of bed-time stories is continually broadening and the demand
for new books of this character naturally increases as the holiday
season approaches. To meet it, Saml. Gabriel Sons & Company have just
issued three attractive new works calculated to fire the imagination of
‘Youngest America.’ The first of this series, ‘TOM TIT TALES,’ contains
a series of entertaining stories to be told ‘just before the Sandman
comes.’ The second, ‘THE GREEN TULIP,’ is a fairy tale built around the
adventures of two little Dutch children in search of a fairy tulip. The
third, entitled ‘FUN IN THE FOREST,’ tells in a charming way the life
and adventure of animals in the field and forest. All three books are
embellished with attractive colored plates.”—_The Examiner, Chicago._

“Three attractive books for the little children, which will interest the
early Christmas shopper, are ‘TOM TIT TALES,’ ‘THE GREEN TULIP’ and ‘FUN
IN THE FOREST.’ The stories are by Gilly Bear and originally appeared in
a New York newspaper. The books are freely illustrated and the tales are
just what children enjoy.”—_The Call, San Francisco._

“‘THE GREEN TULIP’ and ‘FUN IN THE FOREST’ are two very good stories and
very long, as stories for the little people go, with excellent pictures
running through the text. They are both by Gilly Bear, illustrated by
Frances Brundage and published by Saml. Gabriel Sons & Company, New
York.”—_The Times, New York._


------------------------------------------------------------------------




 ● Transcriber’s Notes:
    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
      when a predominant form was found in this book.
    ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).