Part 3
A great pine-tree shivered all its snow down on them like a veil.
We heard them laugh.
We ran back to the house. We ran just as fast as we could. It almost burst our lungs. We ran into the parlor. I didn't tell. Carol couldn't tell.
My father and young Derry Willard's father were talking and talking behind great clouds of smoke. The Yule log was blazing and sputtering all sorts of fireworks and colors. Only mother was watching it. She was paring apples as she watched. A little smile was in her eyes.
"What a wonderful--wonderful day to have it happen!" she said.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I ran upstairs and got my best story-book. I brought it down and opened it at the picture of the Fairy Prince. I laid it open like that in Mr. Willard's lap. I pointed at the picture.
"_There!_" I said.
Derry Willard's father put on his glasses and looked at the picture.
"Well, upon my soul," he said, "where did you get that?"
"It's my book," I said. "It's always been my book."
My father looked at the picture.
"Why, of all things," he said.
"Why, it looks exactly like Derry!" said my mother.
"It _is_ Derry!" said Derry's father. "But don't ever let Derry know that you know that it is! It seems to tease him a little. It seems to tease him a very great deal in fact. Being all rigged out like that. The illustrator is a friend of mine. He spent the Winter in Cuba three or four years ago. And he painted the picture there."
I looked at Carol. Carol looked at me. It was an absolutely perfect Christmas! If _this_ were true, then everything beautiful that there was in the world was true, too! Carol nudged me to speak.
"Then Derry really _is_ a Fairy Prince?" I said.
Father started to speak.
Mother stopped him.
"Yes! Rosalee's Fairy Prince!" she said.
THE GAME OF THE BE-WITCHMENTS
We like our Aunt Esta very much because she doesn't like us.
That is--she doesn't like us specially. _Toys_ are what our Aunt Esta likes specially. Our Aunt Esta invents toys. She invents them for a store in New York. Our Aunt Esta is thirty years old with very serious hair. I don't know how old our other relatives are--except Rosalee! And Carol! And myself!
My sister Rosalee is seventeen years old. And a Betrothess. Her Betrother lives in Cuba. He eats bananas. My brother Carol is eleven. He has no voice in his throat. But he eats anything. I myself am only nine. But with very long legs. Our Father and Mother have no age. They are just tall.
There was a man. He was very rich. He had a little girl with sick bones. She had to sit in a wheel chair all day long and be pushed around by a Black Woman. He asked our Aunt Esta to invent a Game for her. The little girl's name was Posie.
Our Aunt Esta invented a Game. She called it the Game of the Be-Witchments. It cost two hundred dollars and forty-three cents. The Rich Man didn't seem to mind the two hundred dollars. But he couldn't bear the forty-three cents. He'd bear even that, though, he said, if it would only be sure to work!
"_Work?_" said our Aunt Esta. "Why _of course_ it will work!" So just the first minute she got it invented she jammed it into her trunk and dashed up to our house to see if it would!
It worked very well. Our Aunt Esta never wastes any time. Not even kissing. Either coming or going. We went right up to her room with her. It was a big trunk. The Expressman swore a little. My Father tore his trouser-knee. My Mother began right away to re-varnish the scratches on the bureau.
It took us most all the morning to carry the Game down-stairs. We carried it to the Dining Room. It covered the table. It covered the chairs. It strewed the sideboard. It spilled over on the floor. There was a pair of white muslin angel wings all spangled over with silver and gold! There was a fairy wand! There was a shining crown! There was a blue satin clock! There was a yellow plush suit and swishy-tail all painted sideways in stripes like a tiger! There was a most furious tiger head with whisk-broom whiskers! There was a green frog's head! And a green frog's suit! There was a witch's hat and cape! And a hump on the back! There were bows and arrows! There were boxes and boxes of milliner's flowers! There were strings of beads! And yards and yards of dungeon chains made out of silver paper! And a real bugle! And red Chinese lanterns! And--and everything!
The Rich Man came in a gold-colored car to see it work. When he saw the Dining Room he sickened. He bit his cigar.
"My daughter Posie is ten years old," he said. "What I ordered for her was a Game!--not a Trousseau!"
Our Aunt Esta shivered her hands. She shrugged her shoulders.
"You don't understand," she said. "This is no paltry Toy to be exhausted and sickened of in a single hour! This is a real Game! Eth-ical! Psycho-psycho--logical! Unendingly diverting! Hour after hour! Day after day!--Once begun, you understand, it's never over!"
The Rich Man looked at his watch.
"I have to be in Chicago a week from tomorrow!" he said.
Somebody giggled. It couldn't have been Rosalee, of course. Because Rosalee is seventeen. And, of course, it wasn't Carol. So it must have been me.
The Rich Man gave an awful glare.
"Who are these children?" he demanded.
Our Aunt Esta swallowed.
"They are my--my Demonstrators," she said.
"'Demonstrators?'" sniffed the Rich Man. He glared at Carol. "Why don't you speak?" he demanded.
My mother made a rustle to the door-way.
"He can't," she said. "Our son Carol is dumb."
The Rich Man looked very queer.
"Oh, I say," he fumbled and stuttered. "Oh, I say--! After all there's no such great harm in a giggle. My little girl Posie cries all the time. _All_ the time, I mean! _Cries_ and _cries_ and _cries_!--It's a fright!"
"She wouldn't," said our Aunt Esta, "if she had a game like this to play with."
"Eh?" said the Rich Man.
"She could wear the Witch's hideous cape!" said our Aunt Esta. "And the queer pointed black hat! And the scraggly gray wig! And the great horn-rimmed spectacles! And the hump on her back! And----"
"My daughter Posie has Ti--Titian red curls," said the Rich Man coldly. "And the most beautiful brown eyes that mortal man has ever seen! And a skin so fair that----"
"That's why I think it would rest her so," said our Aunt Esta, "to be ugly outside--instead of inside for a while."
"_Eh?_" said the Rich Man.
He glared at our Aunt Esta.
Our Aunt Esta glared at him.
Out in the kitchen suddenly the most beautiful smell happened. The smell was soup! Spiced Tomato Soup! It was as though the whole stove had bloomed! My Father came to the door. "What's it all about?" he said. He saw the Rich Man. The Rich Man saw him. "Why, how do you do?" said my Father. "Why, how do you do?" said the Rich Man. They bowed. There was no room on the Dining Room table to put the dishes. There was no room anywhere for anything. We had to eat in the kitchen. My Mother made griddle cakes. The Rich Man stirred the batter. He seemed to think it was funny. Carol had to sit on a soap-box. Our Aunt Esta sat on the edge of a barrel with her stockings swinging. It made her look not so strict. "All the same," worried the Rich Man, "I don't see just why you fixed the price at two hundred dollars and forty-three cents?--Why not two hundred dollars and forty-five cents? Or even the round sum two hundred and one dollars?"
Our Aunt Esta looked pretty mad. "I will be very glad--I'm sure," she said, "to submit an itemized bill."
"Oh, nonsense!" said the Rich Man. "It was just your mental processes I was wondering about.--The thing, of course, is worth any money--if it works!"
"If it works?" cried our Aunt Esta.
The Rich Man jumped up and strode fiercely to the Dining Room door.
Our Aunt Esta strode fiercely after him, only littler. Our Aunt Esta is _very_ little.
The Rich Man waved his arms at everything,--the boxes,--the bundles,--the angel-wings,--the cloaks,--the suits,--the Chinese Lanterns.
"All the same, the thing is perfectly outrageous!--The size of it!--The extent! No house would hold it!"
"It isn't meant," said our Aunt Esta, "to be played just in the house.--It's meant to be played on a sunny porch opening out on a green lawn--so that there's plenty of room for all Posie's little playmates to go swarming in and out."
The Rich Man looked queer. He gave a little shiver.
"My little daughter Posie hasn't got any playmates," he said. "She's too cross."
Our Aunt Esta stood up very straight. Two red spots flamed in her cheeks.
"You won't be able to keep the children away from her," she said, "after they once begin to play this game!"
"You really think so?" cried the Rich Man.
Out in the kitchen my Father looked at my Mother. My Mother looked at my Father. They both looked at us. My Father made a little chuckle.
"It would seem," said my Father, "as though it was the honor of the whole family that was involved!" He made a whisper in Carol's ear. "Go to it, Son!" he whispered.
Rosalee jumped to her feet. Carol jumped to his feet. I jumped to my feet. We snatched hands. We ran right into the Dining Room. Carol's face was shining.
"Who's going to be Posie-with-the-Sick-Bones?" I cried.
"S--s--h!" said everybody except our Aunt Esta.
Our Aunt Esta suddenly seemed very much encouraged. She didn't wait a minute. She snatched a little book from her pocket. It was a little book that she had made herself all full of typewriter directions about the Game.
"_Someone_, of course," she said, "will have to be the Witch,--someone who knows the Game, I mean, so perhaps I--?"
We rushed to help her drag the old battered tricycle to the Porch! We helped her open up every porch door till all the green lawn and gay petunia blossoms came right up and fringed with the old porch rug! We helped her tie on the Witch's funny hat! And the scraggly gray wig! And the great horn-rimmed spectacles! We helped her climb into the tricycle seat! We were too excited to stay on the porch! We wheeled her right out on the green lawn itself! The green lilac hedge reared all up around her like a magic wall!
We screamed with joy! The Rich Man jumped when we screamed. The Rich Man's name was Mr. Trent.
"And Mr. Trent shall be the Black Woman who pushes you all about!" we screamed.
"I will not!" said Mr. Trent.
But Carol had already tied a black velvet ribbon on the Rich Man's leg to _show_ that he was!
Our Aunt Esta seemed more encouraged every minute. She stood us all up in front of her. Even Father. She read from her book. It was a poem. The poem said:
Now come ye all to the Witch's Ball, Ye Great, ye Small, Ye Short, ye Tall, Come one, Come all!
"I will not!" said the Rich Man.
He sweated.
"Oh Shucks! Be a Sport!" said my Father.
"I will _not_!" said the Rich Man.
He glared.
Our Aunt Esta tried to read from her book and wave her wand at the same time. It waved the Rich Man in the nose.
"Foul Menial!" waved our Aunt Esta. "Bring in the Captives!"
"Who?" demanded the Rich Man.
_"You_!" said our Aunt Esta.
The Rich Man brought us in! Especially Father! He bound us all up in silver paper chains! He put a silver paper ring through my Father's beautiful nose!
"Oh, I say," protested my Father. "It was 'guests' that I understood we were to be! Not captives!"
"Ha!" sniffed the Rich Man. "Be a Sport!"
They both glared.
Our Aunt Esta had cakes in a box. They seemed to be very good cakes. "Now in about ten minutes," read our Aunt Esta from her book, "you will all begin to feel very queer."
"Oh--Lordy!" said my Father.
"I knew it!" said the Rich Man. "I knew it all the time! From the very first mouthful--my stomach----"
"Is there no antidote?" cried my Mother.
Our Aunt Esta took off her horn-rimmed spectacles. She sniffed.
"Sillies!" she said. "This is just a Game, you know!"
"Nevertheless," said the Rich Man, "I certainly feel very queer."
"When you all feel equally queer," said our Aunt Esta coldly, "we will proceed with the Game."
We all felt equally queer just as soon as we could.
Our Aunt Esta made a speech. She made it from her little book.
"Poor helpless Captives (said the Speech). You are now entirely in my power! Yet fear not! If everybody does just exactly as I say, all may yet be well!"
"Hear! Hear!" said my Father.
The Rich Man suddenly seemed to like my Father very much. He reached over and nudged him in the ribs.
"Shut up!" he whispered. "The less you say the sooner it will be over!"
My Father said less at once. He seemed very glad to know about it.
Our Aunt Esta pointed to a boxful of little envelopes.
"Foul Menial," she said. "Bring the little envelopes!"
The Rich Man brought them. But not very cheerfully.
"Oh, of course, it's all right to call _me_ that," he said. "But I tell you quite frankly that my daughter Posie's maid will never stand for it! _Her_ name is Elizabeth Lou!--Mrs. Jane--Frank--Elizabeth Lou--even!"
Our Aunt Esta looked at the Rich Man. Her look was scornfuller and scornfuller.
"_All_ Witch's servants," she said, "are called 'Foul Menial!'--From the earliest classical records of fairy tale and legend down to----"
"Not in our times," insisted the Rich Man. "I defy you in any Intelligence Office in New York to find a--a----"
Our Aunt Esta brushed the contradiction aside. She frowned. Not just at the Rich Man. But at everybody. "We will proceed with the Rehearsal--as written!" she said. She gruffed her voice. She thumped her wand on the floor. "Each captive," she said, "will now step forward and draw a little envelope from the box."
Each captive stepped forward and drew a little envelope from the box.
Inside each envelope was a little card. Very black ink words were written on each card.
"Captives, stand up very straight!" ordered our Aunt Esta.
Every captive stood very straight.
"Knock your knees together with fear!" ordered our Aunt Esta.
Every captive knocked his knees together with fear.
"Strain at your chains!" ordered our Aunt Esta. "But not too hard! Remembering they are paper!"
Every captive strained at his chains but not too hard! Remembering they were paper!
Our Aunt Esta seemed very much pleased. She read another poem from her book. The poem said:
Imprisoned thus in my Witchy Wiles, Robbed of all hope, all food, all smiles, A Fearful Doom o'er-hangs thy Rest, Unless thou meet my Dread Behest!
"Oh, dear--oh, dear--oh, dear--oh, dear!" cried our Mother. "Can nothing save us?"
My Father burst his nose-ring!
Rosalee giggled!
Carol and I jumped up and down! We clapped our hands!
The Rich Man cocked his head on one side. He looked at our Aunt Esta. At her funny black pointed hat. At her scraggly gray wig. At her great horn-rimmed spectacles. At the hump on her back. "U-m-m," he said. "What do you mean,--'witch-y wiles?'"
"_Silence!_" said our Aunt Esta. "Read your cards!"
We read our cards.
Carol's card said "PINK BREEZE" on it. And "SLIMY FROG."
Our Aunt Esta poked Carol twice with her wand. "Pitiful Wretch!" said our Aunt Esta. "It is now two o'clock.--Unless you are back here exactly at three o'clock--bearing a _Pink Breeze_ in your hands--you shall be turned for all time and eternity into a _Slimy Green Frog_!--Go hence!"
Carol went hence. He henced as far as the Mulberry Tree on the front lawn. He sat down on the grass with the card in his hand. He read the card. And read it. And read it. It puzzled him very much.
"Pitiful Wretch, go _hence_!" cried our Aunt Esta.
He henced as far as the Larch Tree this time. And sat down all over again. And puzzled. And puzzled.
"Go _hence_, I say, Pitiful Wretch!" insisted our Aunt Esta.
My Mother didn't like Carol to be called a "Pitiful Wretch."--It was because he was dumb, I suppose. When my Mother doesn't like anything it spots her cheek-bones quite red. Her cheek-bones were spotted very red.
"Stop your fussing!" said our Aunt Esta. "And attend to your own business!"
My Mother attended to her own business. The business of her card said "SILVER BIRD" and "HORSE'S HOOF."
Even our Aunt Esta looked a bit flabbergasted.
"Oh, dear--oh, dear," said our Aunt Esta. "I certainly am sorry that it was you who happened to draw that one!--And all dressed up in white too as you are! But after all--" she jerked with a great toss of her scraggly wig, "a Game is a Game! And there can be no concessions!"
"No, of course not!" said my Mother. "Lead me to the Slaughter!"
"There is not necessarily any slaughter connected with it," said our Aunt Esta very haughtily. But she hit my Mother only once with her wand.
"Frail Creature," she said. "On the topmost branch of the tallest tree in the world there is a silver bird with a song in his throat that has never been sung! Unless you bring me this bird _singing_ you are hereby doomed to walk with the clatter of a Horse's Hoof!"
"Horse's Hoof?" gasped my Mother. "With the clatter of a Horse's Hoof?"
My Father was pretty mad. "Why, it's impossible!" he said. "She's as light as Thistle-Down! Even in her boots it's like a Fairy passing!"
"Nevertheless," insisted our Aunt Esta. "She shall walk with the clatter of a Horse's Hoof--unless she brings me the Silver Bird."
My Mother started at once for the Little Woods. "I can at least search the Tallest Tree in _my_ world!" she said.
It made my Father nervouser and nervouser. "Now don't you _dare_," he called after her, "climb _anything_ until I come!"
"Base Interloper!" said our Aunt Esta. "Keep Still!"
"Who?" said my Father.
"_You!_" said our Aunt Esta.
I giggled. Our Aunt Esta was very mad. She turned me into a White Rabbit. I was made of white canton flannel. I was very soft. I had long ears. They were lop-ears. They were lined with pink velvet. They hung way down over my shoulders so I could stroke them. I liked them very much. But my legs looked like white night-drawers. "Ruthy-the-Rabbit" was my name. Our Aunt Esta scolded it at me.
"Because of your impudence, Ruthy-the-Rabbit," she said, "you shall not be allowed to roam the woods and fields at will. But shall stay here in captivity close by my side and help the Foul Menial do the chores!"
The Rich Man seemed very much pleased. He winked an eye. He pulled one of my lop-ears. It was nice to have somebody pleased with me.
Everybody was pleased with Rosalee's bewitchment. It sounded so restful. All Rosalee had to do was to be very pretty,--just exactly as she was! And seventeen years old,--just exactly as she was! And sit on the big gray rock by the side of the brook just exactly as it was! And see whether it was a Bright Green Celluloid Fish or a Bright Red Celluloid Fish that came down the brook first! And if it was a Bright Green Celluloid Fish she was to catch it! And slit open its stomach! And take out all its Directions! And follow 'em! And if it was a Bright Red Celluloid Fish she was to catch _it_! And take out all its Directions and follow _them_!--In either case her card said she would need rubbers and a trowel.--It sounded like Buried Treasure to me! Or else Iris Roots! Our Aunt Esta is very much interested in Iris Roots.
It was my Father's Bewitchment that made the only real trouble. Nothing at all was postponed about my Father's Bewitchment. It happened all at once. It was because my Father knew too much. It was about the Alphabet that he knew too much. The words on my Father's card said "ALPHABET." And "BACKWARDS." And "PINK SILK FAIRY." And "TIN LOCOMOTIVE HEAD." And "THREE MINUTES." Our Aunt Esta turned my Father into a Pink Silk Fairy with White Tarlatan Wings because he was able to say the Alphabet backwards in three minutes! My Father refused to turn! He wouldn't! He wouldn't! He swore he wouldn't! He said it was a "cruel and unnecessary punishment!" Our Aunt Esta said it wasn't a Punishment! It was a Reward! It was the Tin Locomotive Head that was the punishment! My Father said he wouldn't have cared a rap if it had been the Tin Locomotive Head!--He could have smoked through that! But he _wouldn't_ be a Pink Silk Fairy with White Tarlatan Wings!
The Rich Man began right away to untie the black velvet ribbon on his leg, and go home! He looked very cheated! He scorned my Father with ribald glances! "Work?" he gloated. "_Of course_ it won't work! I knew all the time it wouldn't work!--Two hundred dollars! And forty-three cents?" he gloated. "_H-a!_"
Our Aunt Esta cried! She put her hand on my Father's arm. It was a very small hand. It didn't look a bit like a Witch's hand. Except for having no lovingness in it, it looked a good deal like my Mother's hand.
My Father consented to be turned a little! But not much! He consented to wear the white tarlatan wings! And the gold paper crown! But not the garland of roses! He would carry the pink silk dress on his arm, he said. But he would _not_ wear it!
The Rich Man seemed very much encouraged. He stopped untying the black velvet ribbon from his leg. He grinned a little.
My Father told him what he thought of him. The Rich Man acknowledged that very likely it was so. But he didn't seem to mind. He kept right on grinning.
My Father stalked away in his gold paper crown with the pink dress over his arm. He looked very proud and noble. He looked as though even if dogs were sniffing at his heels he wouldn't turn. His white wings flapped as he walked. The spangles shone. It looked very holy.
The Rich Man made a funny noise. It sounded like snorting.
My Father turned round quicker than _scat_. He glared right through the Rich Man at our Aunt Esta. He told our Aunt Esta just what he thought of _her_!
The Rich Man said it wasn't so at all! That the Game undoubtedly was perfectly practical if----
"If _nothing_!" said my Father. "It's you yourself that are spoiling the whole effect by running around playing you're a Black Slave with nothing on but a velvet ribbon round one knee! The very _least_ you could do," said my Father, "is to have your face blacked! And wear a plaid skirt!"
"_Eh?_" said the Rich Man.
Our Aunt Esta was perfectly delighted with the suggestion.
The Rich Man took her delight coldly.