Kisington Town

"Please, Your Majesty!" echoed Rafe.

"Please, Your Majesty!" begged the Queen.

So the King hemmed and hawed and yielded. "But see, Baron Applepy," he said, "that you make me three fine pies every day, for which my swiftest messenger shall call. Now, farewell to you-and to all! We must be off. It is past dinner-time."

"Heaven bless Your Majesties," said Rafe and Meg, bowing and curtsying low.

Then Rafe lifted the little maid into the white cart beside the hundred sacks of flour and the bag of silver, and amid shouts and cheers away they drove the white oxen toward the little house on the acre of land under the red-apple tree, where the little red cow was waiting for them.

And there they lived happily ever after, making three pies a day for the King at an enormous price, and feeding the beloved poor people, their neighbors, for no price at all.

XVII: THE MYSTERY OF THE PIE

Red Rex greeted the close of this story with an enormous sigh. "Three of those delicious pies every day!" said he. "Would I had a messenger to bring such to me!"

"It might be arranged, Your Majesty," suggested Harold, "if our two countries were at peace. I know that my mother would be glad to make such pies for you, even as Rafe and his Margot did for the King of old. The distance from Kisington to your Capitol is not so very great, I think; and doubtless Your Majesty has messengers fleeter than the one of long ago."

"And your mother's pies are quite as good!" exclaimed Red Rex. "I have never tasted better. So fat, so juicy, so generous! The tops fine, rounded hills; the crust so crisp, which your knife crunches daintily; the sight and smell of them is tempting!" The Red King's eyes rolled in his head and he swayed ecstatically, like a poet composing a rhyme.

"And yet you have seen but a wee wedge of one pie!" exclaimed Harold. "It must have pleased Your Majesty, indeed, to make your impression so true."

Red Rex eyed him strangely. "H'm, yes," he said. "I have a vivid imagination in such matters. I can almost fancy I have eaten a whole pie-two-three-four whole pies! What a feast!"

Harold's eyes had been straying toward something white concealed in the grass not far from the Red King's seat. He took a step forward now, bending low. Then he uttered an exclamation.

"Five pies, Your Majesty!" he cried, looking straight at the King. "There were six, which the old woman stole. Here are five empty pie-plates!"

"What a strange coincidence!" cried the Red King, flushing and twiddling at his sword-hilt uneasily. "These coincidences do happen quite startlingly sometimes. Ha-hum!" He coughed and frowned forbiddingly.

"Surely, none of your men could have stolen my mother's pies (and, indeed, one of them was yours), Your Majesty. They would not have been so mean!"

"They would not have been so reckless," corrected Red Rex. "No, no! it took courage to make such an attempt; great courage, my boy!"

"Courage!" cried Harold. "I call it something else, – to steal the pies of a poor widow and deprive her son of his desserts. I call it mean and disgraceful!"

"Tut, tut, boy! You do not know what you are saying!" blustered the War-Lord, growing very red.

"Often it takes courage to do what others call an ill deed. And an ill deed is ill, only as you look at it; so I say! Everything depends upon the point of view; remember that. Suppose the man who stole those pies was starving and needed them for his comfort?"

"Suppose, indeed!" retorted Harold. "Suppose he came to our front door and asked my mother for them, like a gentleman? She would not have refused to sell, if he had money. She would have given, if he had none. She is like that, is my good mother!"

The Red King shook his head. "Suppose the man was an enemy, and too proud to ask a favor? All's fair in war, my boy. Everybody knows that."

"Then war is all wrong, as we always said," Harold replied. "Right is right, and wrong is wrong. Stealing is stealing, and meanness is meanness, – war or no war. If war makes men think differently from the rule of every day, there is nothing to be said for it. Hello!" Harold interrupted himself, for something else had suddenly caught his eye.

He had been making his way toward the pile of pie-plates, and now he stooped and picked up something lying on the grass beside them. It was a queer, old-fashioned bonnet. As he touched it out fell a rolled-up calico apron. One of the strings was gone. Harold's eyes leaped from it to the Red King's bundled-up wrist. The other apron-string was doing duty as a bandage there.

"Ho! Ho!" cried Harold, staring at the Red King's purpling face. "This is the old woman's bonnet, and her apron. A disguise! I begin to see! You, Your Majesty, – you were the old woman yourself!"

"You are very sharp, youngster!" said Red Rex sulkily. "Begone to your home and leave me to finish my work."

"If I go," said Harold slowly, "I shall tell the whole town what I have discovered. The news will travel through the Five Kingdoms-how a King disguised as an old woman stole six pies-"

"Hold!" cried Red Rex sternly. "Enough of this impertinence! Remember to whom you speak, boy! I am a King."

"Yes, you are that King. But I thought always it was the 'Knave of Hearts who stole the tarts,' not the King. How did Your Majesty manage to do it?" asked Harold curiously.

"Aha!" The Red King tried to appear easy and unconscious. "It is my turn now to tell a story, is it? Oho! You want to hear how the old woman got into your careless town, do you? And how she went along your unguarded streets, do you? And how she crept into your unbolted cottage, do you? And how she found the goodly row of pies sitting on the pantry shelf? Ah! I shall never look upon their like again!"

"Nor I," said Harold promptly. "And one was yours, Your Majesty."

Red Rex cast down his eyes. "That is the thing that chiefly troubles me," he said. "I am sorry I did not know the fact. Your mother was very thoughtful, Harold."

"Please tell me all about it, Your Majesty?" begged Harold, settling himself comfortably on the grass before the War-Lord. "I want to hear the story. It is your turn now. You owe me that, at least."

"Well," said Red Rex choosing his words slowly. "You see, I had to have those pies. Kings may take what they choose, because, – well, because they are Kings. That is reason enough, – say I! After that first bite you gave me, I felt that I needed more to make me happy. A King has a right to be happy, whatever happens to another, – say I. I had brought disguises with me; for we have ever found them useful in making war. Last night I dressed up as an old woman, in petticoat and apron, bonnet and shawl. None of my men knew. As soon as it was dark I went to the gate of your town, pretending to be a countrywoman returning to Kisington from a visit beyond the frontier, who had not heard of the siege, and begged the guard to let me in quickly out of danger's way. Oh! You are such stupid, trusting folk in your Kingdom! The men believed me, and let me in because I seemed old and it was late, and they pitied me. The fools! Pity is out of place in war-time. A city so ill-defended deserves to be taken and harassed, – say I!"

"We are trustful in our town because our own hearts are truthful and kind," said Harold.

"When the warders had let me in," went on Red Rex, "I passed along the main street toward the market-place, with my basket on my arm; and no one noticed me, for it was dark. I knew my way; you told me yesterday how the streets lay. Presently I came to a great, handsome building with a ruined porch, – upon my word, huge as my summer palace by the sea! – out of which people passed in a constant stream, with books under their arms."

"It was our library," said Harold proudly.

"So I judged," went on the Red King. "I concealed myself in an angle of the building until it should be darker, and watched. Little children came out of that library, who in my country would be playing at war with guns and toy cannon. Old men and women, whom I should expect to see caring only to smoke and mumble and gossip about past wars, brought out books which they hugged lovingly. Young maids, such as in my land care only to look at the soldiers and dance and prink; and young men who should be drilling or dueling or talking war, – all these came out looking happy and content with the books which they had in hand. I never saw such a sight!"

"Yes," said Harold; "It is always so in Kisington. We have no time to think about war or soldiers or killing."

"Strange!" muttered Red Rex. "I was tempted to go myself into that great building and see if any book might be found with a message in it for me. But I did not take the risk."

"I know such a Book!" interrupted Harold; "a Book of Peace."

"I guess what you mean," said the Red King hastily. "We have that Book in my kingdom, too, of course. We honor it highly, – do not think otherwise! We have it in the churches, and bind it in gold, and keep it as something curious and old. But we do not often read it-why should we? A peace book has no message for our brave and warlike people. To think so is absurd!"

"Oh!" said Harold.

"Well," continued Red Rex; "after a long, long time the streets were quite empty. Presently I heard the chimes of midnight. Then I crept out of my hiding-place and stole along the High Street, of which you had told me, till I came to the butcher's shop. Beside it, sure enough, was a little cottage with a thatched roof which I knew must be yours. The window was open, and I looked in; no one about. The door was unlocked, and in I went. What carelessness!"

"We never lock our doors in Kisington," said Harold. "We think it would be rude not to trust our good neighbors, who trust us."

"Huh!" grunted the Red King. "In my Kingdom every door is double-barred, locked and bolted beside. He who trusts nobody is never disappointed, – so I say."

"I should hate to live in that kind of Kingdom," murmured Harold. "But I know what happened next," he went on, continuing the Red King's story. "You fumbled along the wall with a noise like a mouse. You stepped on a creaky board."

"I crossed the kitchen on tiptoe," said Red Rex. "I challenge any man of my size to go more softly. Not a sound in the little house; no trace of you. My dark lantern showed me two doors. I knew one must lead to the pantry, – but which? Do you know what I did? Ah, I am clever! I put my ear to each door in turn. At one I heard no sound. At the other, presently, I caught the noise of gentle snoring. Just then, – some one sneezed."

"Yes," said Harold; "I tried to smother it, but I could not do so."

"By that sneeze I knew certainly that this was your bedroom, and that the other must be the pantry. I kept very quiet, and there was no more sound from you. I hoped you were asleep. I opened the pantry door very gently, and crept in. I flashed my lantern upon the shelves. Ah! There they were, – six beautiful, brown, luscious apple pies, as you had said. Um! Um! I could hardly wait to begin. I pulled out my dagger and attacked one of them. It melted in the mouth like magic! Just then I heard a hullabaloo from your bedroom. What lungs you have, you rascal!"

"I yelled as loudly as I could," said Harold modestly. "But Robert can make more noise."

"I hope I may never hear him, then!" cried Red Rex. "Well; I heard the key turn in the lock, and knew you had trapped me, you dog! I heard steps on the stair, and knew I had no time to waste. Hastily I put the five remaining pies in my basket and made for the window. I knew it would never do for me to be caught in Kisington! To be sure, there was a truce. But I did not know how your Magistrates might regard the right of a King to take his own way with a truce. What triumph for your city to capture me, the besieging War-Lord! It might not be. But your pantry window is of a smallness! I nearly perished in my attempt to squeeze through. The glass cut my hand and my forehead. I thought once I was stuck for good. Some one clutched at my shawl. I let it go. It is priceless, woven tissue of the East; but I let it go."

"We have it safe," said Harold.

"I shall never claim it," asserted Red Rex. "Well, soon I was safe outside. I found myself in your back garden, on the city wall. You folk are so careless, – to build houses on a city wall! From there one can drop into safety without any trouble. I did so. It is your own fault if fugitives escape from your city, – say I. Whatever happens to you, it is your own fault, – say I!"

"Then it will be your own fault if I tell this tale of you to our City Fathers to-morrow, – say I." Harold looked at Red Rex mischievously.

"Nay," said the Red King hastily. "You must not betray me. This tale must not become common history. No one will understand my point of view. I begin to think that no one will see my bravery in making this attempt. So few persons are open-minded and generous! You will not tell your City Fathers, Harold? Noblesse oblige, remember. You are my guest, and I have told you a tale in return for yours. I could detain you by force, breaking the truce yet once more. But I will not do so. I suppose I am a fool!"

Harold had been thinking hard. "No; I will not tell the story, – but on two conditions."

"What are they?" asked Red Rex.

"The first is this," said Harold. "For the sake of the pies you stole (one of which was your own), during the siege of Kisington you shall spare from force or damage that part of the city in which stands my mother's little house."

"Gladly will I promise that," agreed the Red King.

"Spare the north, then," said Harold, pointing. "You must not aim any weapons against the north."

"The north is safe," repeated Red Rex. "I agree not to point weapon or aim force against the north section of your city."

"Then all Kisington is saved!" cried Harold. "Already, before now, Your Majesty has promised to spare the east, – for the sake of Gerda's garden; the west, – for the children's school, in the name of your Hope. Now you promise to spare the north. The south only remains, – and that is here, Your Majesty, outside the walls!"

Red Rex grinned sheepishly. "Harold," he said. "You have outwitted me, and outplayed me. Kisington is indeed safe from me. I have no choice now but to raise the siege and go my way home. And to tell you the truth, I shall not be sorry to spare the town. Since visiting, even so briefly, within your walls, seeing the kind-faced people, the goodly buildings, and especially the noble library, I have conceived an affection for the place. I am glad of an excuse not to destroy it. If it were possible, indeed, I would that I might see the interior of that house of books. I would fain know more of the Chronicles of Kisington."

"Why may it not be, Your Majesty?" said Harold. "We will say nothing of this night's adventure. Come to-morrow with a flag of truce and be our guest, even as I have been yours. I will show you our library. Maybe you will hear another tale, even in that noble home of books. – But first you must hear to my second condition."

"True; I forgot that," said Red Rex gravely. "What is your second demand, Harold?"

"It is this," said Harold with a twinkle in his eye. "Your Majesty tells a tale so well, I fain would hear another. To-morrow you shall tell me a tale. I make that my second condition."

Red Rex hesitated, hummed and hawed. "Needs must," he said at last. "Though I am no story-teller, I will think up some yarn from the tales I have heard in my travels, and that you shall hear, my boy. But surely, I need tell it to no others than yourself?"

The Red King looked so miserable at the idea of talking to an audience that Harold laughed and said, – "Nay, Your Majesty. Let me have the treat to myself. I will come here as before, after school, hear the story, and then bring you back with me. The town will receive you as an honored guest, and we will make high carnival."

"Agreed," said Red Rex.

"Agreed," said Harold, and they shook hands formally.

The Red King had one last word. "Harold," he said shamefacedly, "I am sorry about the pies. I am ashamed. I would give them back, if I could. I will pay for them roundly."

"Your Majesty," said Harold graciously, "do not mention it!"

Here follows the tale which the Red King told to Harold on the next day; a tale which he had heard in his wanderings in a New World far across the ocean to the west; a tale of the Red People-Little Bear.

XVIII: LITTLE BEAR: AN OJIBWAY LEGEND

Once upon a time there was an old Indian couple who had three daughters, but no son. The two older girls were very beautiful; but the youngest was plain and unlovely. Yet she was the wisest of the three. Her name was Little Bear.

Now, there came a time when the father and mother grew too old to work as they had done all their lives. It became necessary that the two older daughters, who were strapping big girls, should go away to find work in order to take care of the family.

"Take me with you," begged Little Bear.

But the older sisters shook their heads.

"No," they answered; "you would be of no use to us. You are too little. You must stay at home."

The two sisters started upon their journey alone. But they had not gone far when they heard the patter of feet behind them. They looked around, and there was Little Bear running after them as fast as she could go. The sisters were very angry. They took Little Bear and tied her to the posts of the wigwam, so that she should not follow them again. Then once more they started upon their journey.

They had traveled but a short distance when again they heard a noise behind them. And there was Little Bear running toward them with the poles of the wigwam upon her back.

The sisters were astonished and very angry indeed. They undid Little Bear from the posts and tied her instead to a huge pine tree which grew close by. And they said: "Now will you stay where we leave you, bad Little Bear?"

Once more they went upon their way. But a third time they had not gone far when they heard a great noise behind them. Bumpety-bump! Bumpety-bump! Along came Little Bear with the pine tree upon her shoulders!

The sisters were now very, very angry. They untied Little Bear crossly, with many jerks, and fastened her to a great rock on the side of the hill. And they said: "Now we shall see whether you are anchored or not, you obstinate Little Bear!" So they went upon their way.

Presently they came to a wide river, and they had no boat in which to cross. They sat down upon the shore and moped, seeing no way to continue their journey.

But suddenly they heard a terrible noise behind them, and there once more was Little Bear, running toward them with the great rock on her back.

This time the sisters were glad enough to see her. They unfastened the rock and threw it into the middle of the river. Then they laid the pine tree upon the rock, and so they had a bridge upon which to cross. Merrily they passed over, all three. For this time Little Bear went with the other two. And they did not send her away, because she was so strong and useful. Presently, on the other side of the river, they came to a wigwam, where lived an old witch-woman with her two daughters.

"Where are you going?" asked the old woman.

"Our parents are very old," said the three girls, "and we are going to seek our fortune."

"Come in," said the old woman kindly. "Come in and have supper with us, and sleep to-night in the wigwam with my daughters."

The travelers were glad to go in, for it was growing late. They had a nice supper in the tent, and when it was night the daughters of the old woman and Little Bear's two sisters went to sleep in a huge bed. The sisters of Little Bear were on the outside, with the two others between them.

Little Bear did not go to bed. She sat up with the old woman beside the camp-fire, telling stories, until it was very late and the old woman fell sound asleep. She snored loudly; but to make sure, Little Bear reached out and pinched her gently.

When she found that it was not shamming, she crept softly to the bed where the four girls slept and changed their places. After this Little Bear's sisters were in the middle, and the old woman's daughters on the outside. When Little Bear had done this, she crept back to the fire and lay down, pretending to be asleep.

In a little while the old woman awoke and pinched Little Bear to see whether or not she was really asleep; and although it hurt dreadfully, Little Bear did not stir, or make a sound, but seemed to be dreaming fast. Then the wicked old woman sharpened her long, bright knife and stole to the bed where the girls were sleeping, and before they knew what was happening she had cut off the heads of the two girls on the outer sides of the bed. But it was her own two daughters whom the cruel creature had killed, though she did not know it, in the dark! The wicked old woman lay down to sleep, chuckling to herself. But when all was quiet, Little Bear awoke her two sisters and they all three crept away from that cruel wigwam, hurrying on their journey.

Now, in the morning when the old woman awoke and found what a dreadful thing she had done, she was annoyed. She screamed and cried and tore her hair, and then she jumped up into the sky and pulled down the sun from its place, hiding it away in her wigwam, so that Little Bear and her sisters might be lost in the dark.

In the pitchy blackness, worse than night, because there were no stars, the three stumbled on and on, groping their way; and it was very uncomfortable indeed. At any moment they might run into some terrible danger.

At last they saw the flicker of a little light, and made their way toward it. They found that it was a man carrying a torch and looking about for something.

"What are you looking for?" they asked.

"I am looking for the sun," answered the man. "The sun is lost, and we are in great trouble because of it. Tell me, have you seen the sun?"

They said "No," and asked him to lead them to his village, which he did. And when they came near they saw the twinkle of many lights. All the men of the town were looking for the sun, and there was great distress among them because their Chief was ill, and he could not get well until the sun should be put back into his place in the sky, and the days be bright again.

Little Bear asked to see the Chief, and they took her to where he lay dying.

"Great Chief," said she, "I think that I can help you."

"Can you bring back the sun, Maiden?" asked the Chief feebly. "That is the only thing that will help me."

"Yes, I can do so if you will give me two handsful of maple sugar and your oldest son," said Little Bear.

The Chief agreed. Little Bear took the maple sugar and went back to the wigwam of the wicked old woman. She climbed up on the outside and threw the sugar down through the chimney-hole into the kettle of rice which the old crone was cooking. Presently the hag tasted it and made a wry face.

"Bah!" she cried; "it is too sweet. I must go and get some more water to put in the kettle."

As soon as the old woman left the wigwam to get the water, Little Bear jumped down from the tent-roof, ran inside, and found the sun where the witch had hidden it away. Up she tossed it into the sky; and lo! the world was bright and beautiful once more.

Then she returned to the village, where the old Chief received her gratefully. As he had promised, he bestowed upon her his oldest son. But Little Bear did not want him. So she gave the young Chief to her eldest sister for a husband; and they were very happy.

Now, when the old woman saw the sun shining once more in his usual place, she was very angry. She screamed and she cried and she tore her hair. Once more she jumped up into the sky, and this time she tore down the moon, hiding it away in her wigwam, just as she had hidden the sun.

Then again the good old Chief fell sick, because now the nights were pitch dark; and he asked Little Bear if she could help him.

Little Bear said: "Yes, I will bring back the moon, if you will give me two handsful of salt and your next oldest son."

The Chief agreed. Little Bear took the salt and went again to the old woman's wigwam, doing as she had done before. She tossed the salt into the kettle of soup, and when the old woman tasted it she made a face and said: "Ugh! This soup is too salt. I must get some more water to put in the kettle."