The Old Tobacco Shop

CHAPTER XXV

THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My leg. Broken. Help me home."

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

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

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

"Where do you live?" said he.

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

"I will do my best," said Freddie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was gone.

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXVI

THE KING'S TOWER

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to see Aunt Amanda."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knocked upon the door with his knuckles.

There was no response.

He knocked again.

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

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

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SORCERER'S DEN

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

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

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

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

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

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