Part 9

They were eager to get to it, hoping to hear news of the gipsy, or to find his tents pitched in the neighbourhood. The cock had cut his foot on a piece of broken glass by the roadside, and was so lame that he could scarcely walk. He sat on Maggie’s shoulder, but he was so heavy that he prevented her from getting on fast. Sometimes she put him down, and he limped a little way, but she always had to take him up again. When they reached the first houses, the people ran out to look at the amusing sight, and when they heard how the strange pair of comrades were talking together, they held up their hands. “Was ever anything like that seen before?” they cried.

Soon there was quite a crowd. The whole street turned out to listen, though, of course, no one could understand a word. Maggie took the opportunity of explaining that they were very poor, and asked for some food. A woman offered them a hunk of bread and a plate of broken meat, which they took gratefully.

“It’s worth while paying for such a show!” she exclaimed. And everybody agreed with her, though only a few were willing to put their hands in their pockets.

All at once a great clatter was heard, and a running footman came racing along the road, shouting as he went and pushing people out of the way with his staff.

“Room! room!” he cried. “Make way for the Lord Bishop’s carriage!”

A splendid open coach came in sight, drawn by four white horses with purple plumes on their heads and driven by a gold-laced coachman. A fine fat Bishop sat in it, dressed in purple. Gold tassels hung from his hat, and opposite to him sat a servant armed with a silk pocket-handkerchief with which to flick the dust of the road from the episcopal person. Everybody bowed to the earth.

“What is all this crowd for?” demanded the Bishop, stopping his coach.

When he heard that a girl was to be heard talking to a Cochin-China cock in his native tongue, he was immensely surprised, and ordered Maggie and her companion to come before him. The woman who had given them meat and bread pushed her forward.

“Your Reverend Holiness will die o’ laughing to hear them,” she exclaimed.

“Speak, girl,” said the Bishop. “Address the bird, and tell him to reply.”

When he had heard the conversation that followed, he could hardly believe his senses. The servant with the silk handkerchief grinned from ear to ear, the coachman on his box turned round to listen, and the footmen who stood on a board behind the carriage gaped.

“You are evidently a highly intelligent little girl,” said the Bishop, “and it is a scandal that you should be tramping the roads. I have a large aviary at my palace and you shall come to look after it. I really never thought to find a person who could speak to birds. Some of mine are very tiresome, and you will be able to make them hear reason. I will see that you are properly clothed and educated.”

But Maggie refused, and explained that she was going to seek Alfonso.

“Tut, tut, tut!” said the Bishop. “If the cock is as valuable as you say, he will be well cared for. You will have a good education at my palace, and be clean and tidy.”

“But I don’t want to be clean and tidy, and I shouldn’t like to live in a palace,” cried Maggie.

All the servants tittered.

“_Nonsense!_” said the Bishop. “Everyone wants to be clean and tidy, and everyone would like to live in a palace.”

“But I can’t!” exclaimed Maggie—“indeed I can’t!”

“There is no such word as ‘can’t’ in the English language,” said the Bishop.

“Come! come!” said Maggie to the Cochin-Chinaman, “we must get away as quick as we can!”

The Bishop could not understand what she said, but he saw she was preparing to run.

“I fear you are one of the many people who do not know what is good for them,” said he. “Get into the carriage immediately. The footmen will help you in, and you may sit opposite to me.”

And before you could count ten they had sprung from their places, opened the door, and lifted her in. With a hoarse agonized screech the Cochin-Chinaman leaped up and flew heavily into the coach. He came through the air like a cannon-ball.

“Really, this is too much!” exclaimed the Bishop. “I cannot be made ridiculous by having this creature sitting in front of me as we go through the streets.”

“He is the only friend I have got left,” sobbed poor Maggie, bursting into tears as the footmen tried to seize the cock’s legs.

The Bishop was far from being an unkind man; indeed, he had a great reputation for charity, both public and private.

“Tut, tut!” he said; “let him come. But he can’t sit there opposite to me. Put him under the seat.”

And so Maggie, thankful to keep him at any price, stuffed him underneath, and pressed her feet against him, to comfort him. The footmen were inexpressibly shocked. Then they all drove off to the palace.

The palace was a truly imposing place, with cupolas and courts, porches and statues; and, being outside the town, it was approached by an avenue a mile long. A wide stream flowed round one side of it, and the great entrance gates were covered with crests and glorious devices. Behind it was an aviary full of bright-coloured birds, who screamed and fought and made such a terrible din that, when the carriage drew up, the Cochin-Chinaman was taken from under the seat trembling. Maggie was shown a hut which she was to inhabit, built in a little remote yard, and an old chicken-coop was brought and filled with straw to make a bed for the cock. The Bishop ordered that food should be given them, and told Maggie she was to begin her duties on the morrow.

She did not like her place at all. The birds in the aviary were nearly all foreign, so she did not know their language; and those she could understand were rude and turbulent, and made the most heartless jokes about the poor Cochin-Chinaman’s yellow trousers. But there was no use in grumbling. The Bishop was determined that she should stay and look after the aviary; he disapproved of vagrants and gipsies, and had settled that she was to be brought up respectably. She could not get away, because she was never allowed to leave the place alone; so she consoled herself by thinking that, as winter was at hand, she would be likely to starve were she still tramping the road; and then she would certainly never see Alfonso again.

And so time went by and she lived at the palace, feeding and tending the foreign birds, and cheered by the company of her faithful comrade, who grew fat on the crumbs from the Bishop’s kitchen and took care not to display his yellow trousers within sight of the aviary.

Soon it grew bitterly cold. The snow fell, and Christmas came and went; and then, at last, the young New Year grew strong, and birds began to sing and trees to bud. The little yard in which the hut stood was surrounded by an ivy-covered wall with a small iron gate in it, and through the latter she could see the ground slope down to the still, wide stream that passed the palace like a crawling silver snake.

The bars of the gate were firm in their places, for she had tried them all and they would not move; they were so closely set that she could not squeeze herself out between them. She would press her face against them, looking out enviously at every passing insect that was free. In the wood over the water squirrels jumped about, or sat up like little begging dogs, with their tails over their heads. The Cochin-Chinaman could fly out of the yard, but what was the use of that when he could not take her with him? She would sit by the gate while he stood on the top of the wall describing to her all the things he could see.

One spring afternoon, as they passed their time thus, a sound of music came floating from some distance. It was very faint, but as it drew nearer Maggie sprang up, crying to the cock to fly out and see what it could mean.

For the tune was the tune of “The Wind in the Broom.”

Nearer and nearer it came. She could faintly hear the words. “Gold broom, with your flowers in bloom,” sang the voice.

The cock leaped down, and, running and flying, he rushed along the green banks of the stream as hard as he could. The town was behind him at the far side of the palace, so he was molested by no one; and there, sure enough, coming to meet him at the water-side, was Rhoda with her guitar slung on her shoulder. Oh, how he longed to speak! but, as she could not understand his talk, there was no use in saying anything. But he took her by the skirts and began dragging her along.

“You are Maggie’s Cochin-Chinaman!” she cried.

He hurried on before her, and she followed as fast as she could run.

How delighted the two friends were at meeting again! Rhoda stood outside the gate, and Maggie held her hand through the bars, and they told each other all that had happened since they parted.

“I will get you away from here, see if I don’t!” said Rhoda. “Then we will start off together to find Alfonso, for I can make enough to keep us all by singing. I am quite rich already.” She pulled a little bag out of her bosom.

“Feel how heavy it is,” she said.

At last Rhoda went away. She said that she would not return till she had thought of a good plan for Maggie’s escape, and she commanded the cock to roost every night on the yard wall; for she would come back under cover of night, and wake him by throwing up a stone at him when her plan was ready.

Rhoda was very clever—the making of songs and music was not the only thing she understood. When she found that the iron gate was fastened by a bolt, and that the bolt was held in its place by a padlock, she went off to the town and bought a file, and next night she returned and began to saw away. She did it from the outside, so that no one who might chance to come into the yard could see any mark on the bolt. When morning came it was cut through all but a little piece. Up the stream, a short way above the palace, was a house whose walls stood almost in the water, and near it a little boat was moored to a stake in the bank. This boat she determined should carry them all out of the Bishop’s reach.

On the second night, therefore, when it was dark, and she guessed the palace people were in bed, she came stealing along to the gate. There was the cock at his post, fast asleep. When she had filed through the last bit of the bolt, she woke him with a stone, and signed to him to go and fetch Maggie. Then she ran to the boat, cut its rope with her knife, and, jumping into it, rowed quickly down to where her friends were waiting.

How smoothly and how fast the water carried them along, as they ran into the current and the tall mass of the palace dropped behind them! Rhoda had the oars, and the cock sat in the bottom of the boat beside the guitar. Maggie was so much delighted to be free that she did not speak a word. The fields and the alder-trees slipped by, and when the spring day broke, she saw the tufts on the willows and the yellow stars of the celandines shining among the roots. She felt quite sure now that everything would go right.

The whole day they rowed on, and when they thought themselves far enough from the Bishop to be safe, they jumped on shore and let the boat drift out of sight. Then they started off to seek their fortunes once more.

It was a hard life they led as they roamed the country, but they were contented with it. They got enough money to keep themselves from want by Rhoda’s singing, and the cock contrived to pick up many scraps by the way. They went to every village they saw, and every town; at every fair or market they were to be seen, Rhoda with her guitar and Maggie searching up and down for news of the rich gipsy and his tents. As the months went by she began to despair, but she never faltered or forgot Alfonso.

One day they were approaching a little hamlet, and, as they were within sight of its roofs, groups of people passed them. Men wore their best coats and women their best gowns; little children ran along with holiday faces, and horses and cattle went by in droves. The horses had their tails plaited up with coloured ribbons, and some had roses stuck in their brow-bands, for it was the day of a great fair and all sorts of shows and amusements were going on.

The road was full of people. Just in front of Rhoda and Maggie some men were plodding along, laughing and joking, and one of them turned round, calling to another, who lagged behind the party.

“Come on! come on!” he shouted. “You’ll have to step out if you want to see the cock-fight.”

Maggie followed at their heels like a dog. They thought she meant to beg and told her roughly to go away. But she took no notice, and ran after them, listening breathlessly to their talk, for they were speaking of the wonderful game-bird belonging to a gipsy who had beaten every cock in the countryside. To-day he was to fight the greatest champion of all, a bird which had been brought fifty miles to meet him. One of the men pulled out a large silver watch the size of an apple. It came up from his pocket like a bucket out of a well.

“We’re too late!” he exclaimed.

And they all began to run.

Maggie and Rhoda ran too. And the Cochin-Chinaman straddled and flapped after them, raising a trail of dust and volleys of abuse from everyone he passed.

By the time they reached the village a great crowd were dispersing in all directions. It was chiefly made up of men, and, as our friends pushed through the throng, scraps of conversation came to their ears.

“_He’ll_ never fight again,” said one.

“That’ll take down the pride of that gipsy fellow, with his money-bags and his rings,” said another.

Maggie ran faster and faster till she came to an open space that had been cleared in the middle of the village green. A man was walking off with a cock in his arms, while a string of people followed, clapping him on the back and shouting. They were all leaving the spot where the long-nosed gipsy stood staring at something that lay at his foot. It looked like a bundle of rags as he rolled it over with his boot. “He’s no more use to me,” said he, turning away with a shrug of his shoulders, “so he can die if he likes.”

Maggie threw herself down and took poor Alfonso in her arms. Blood was oozing from between his beautiful feathers, and his eyes were closed. Nobody noticed her as she carried him away, followed by Rhoda and the Cochin-Chinaman. Her tears were falling thick on him, blinding her, so that she could hardly see where she was going, and she almost ran into a dark young man who was coming towards them. It was Dan—Dan, with his gold earrings and rabbit-skin cap. Rhoda poured out the story of their search to him, and he took them to a pond, where he poured water down Alfonso’s throat and felt his breast to see if his heart was still beating.

“Run and meet my brother,” he said to Rhoda; “our vans are just coming into the village. Tell him from me to go and settle with that long-nosed thief. I’ll come and help him when I see whether Alfonso’s dead or not.”

So Rhoda ran.

And now we are coming to the end of the story. Alfonso was not dead, and he did not die; he was nursed back to life by Dan and Maggie; but he never fought again, for his back was dreadfully injured, and he was lame for the rest of his days. The three friends returned to their old life in the vans, for Maggie had been much missed, and was received back with joy. Neither was Rhoda left behind, because she soon became Dan’s wife and went to live with him in the green van.

The Cochin-Chinaman married again, but this time with better luck; for he chose a good dame of suitable age, who knew the world far too well to wish to quarrel with anyone in it.

And Alfonso, in spite of his crippled body, was not unhappy. He limped round the van wheels or sat in his basket on the step, looking out on the green woods and blue distances of their various places of sojourn. His fighting days were done, but he was well content; for those who have taken their share in life are those who can best bear to see it go by and accept their rest.

THE FIDDLING GOBLIN

One day they were in the miller’s garden. He had white rose-bushes on either side of his door and a box-tree by the gate.

“Here is the book!” cried little Peter, who had dashed into the house, and now came dancing out with the volume in his hand. “I’ve been peeping inside, and there is such a fine bit about a man beating a big drum.”

“You rascal!” said the miller. “Who told you you might touch my book? I shall put you into the mill-pond for that!”

And he began to chase the little boy about, shouting and jumping over the flower-beds. It was really splendid.

Janet stood by laughing.

“Be quiet, Peter, or you’ll drop the book!” she exclaimed.

“If he promises to read about the drum-man I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” shrieked Peter.

“I promise, I promise,” said the miller, stopping beside a row of cabbages.

So when Peter gave him the book and had settled down to listen, he began.

There was once upon a time a widowed Baron who had a lovely daughter. She was so beautiful that she seldom went out of the castle gates, because people stared at her so much that it made her quite uncomfortable. Her name was Laurine, and she could dance so wonderfully that she looked more like an autumn leaf sailing in the wind than a human being. Her chestnut hair floated all round her, and her grey eyes shone like stars through a mist.

Now, in spite of all this, the Baron, who was only her stepfather, was most anxious to get rid of her by marriage, for he was a lazy old man, and did not like the trouble of looking after her; he liked to have his own house to himself. He let this be known far and wide, and the very greatest Princes and gentlemen came courting Laurine, which gave him more trouble than ever, for she persisted in refusing every one, and the expenses of their entertainment went, consequently, for nothing.

At last he could stand it no longer, and one morning, after a whole batch of suitors had been turned away, he sent for her to his room. He was sitting up in bed looking frightfully angry, and when she came in he roared and beat his cane on the bed-clothes. He always took it to bed with him, so that he might bang the servants if they made too much noise when they called him in the morning.

“What is the matter, sir?” asked Laurine, making a very pretty curtsey.

“Matter!” shouted the Baron; “the matter is that I’m tired of you and your airs, and I have made up my mind to stand them no longer. Married you shall be. I am going to give out a notice to be posted up everywhere that, in ten days from now, the first twelve gentlemen who send in their names to me are to come here, bringing a musical instrument each; and the one who plays best shall have your hand in marriage. Now, it’s no good crying. I have made up my mind, and the messenger carrying the news shall go out to-day. You have had the choice of all the grandest persons in the country, and now you must just take what you can get. So get out of my sight!”

And he laid about so furiously that Laurine burst into tears. This time she was at her wits’ end, and could not think what to do.

“Oh, my lady!” said her maid when she heard what had happened, “you must get advice from a Goblin I know. He is the cleverest person in the whole countryside, and he will be able to find some way out of it. Only say the word, and I will go at once to fetch him.”

“Go! go!” cried Laurine.

Now, in a wood not far off lived a Goblin who was well known to his neighbours as one of the finest musicians in the world. He was rich too, and it was said that he had a grander house than the King himself hidden in the heart of the wood. But, for all that, he generally chose to live in a little thatched hut near the edge of the trees, playing on his fiddle and coming occasionally into the village, where he was greatly honoured for his wisdom in spite of his strange appearance. He was only about four feet high and quite black; but he had thin legs and arms, a round, fat body and a head like a turnip. In spite of this he dressed in the very height of the fashion, with a pointed hat and feather, doublet and hose and a short cloak. He was called ‘The Fiddling Goblin.’

He entered Laurine’s presence with a low bow, though he was rather out of breath; for when he had received the message from the waiting-woman, he had made the large billy-goat which he rode gallop the whole way. It was a magnificent animal, with an action like a horse, and the men who took charge of it when he dismounted in the courtyard were lost in admiration of his handsome saddlery. It was easy to see he was a man of note.

“What you must do is this,” said the Goblin, when Laurine had finished her story: “As soon as you hear the names of the twelve suitors, write privately to each one. I will compose the letter for you, and this is what you must say:

‘SIR,