THE
ADVENTURES OF
PETERKIN.

“Inside his Pumperkin house”

THE

ADVENTURES of

PETERKIN

BY

AUTHOR OF “TOM TIT TALES,” “THE GREEN TULIP,”

“FUN IN THE FOREST,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

BY

HELEN E.

OHRENSCHALL

SAM’L GABRIEL SONS & COMPANY

NEW YORK

Copyright, 1916, by

SAM’L GABRIEL SONS & COMPANY

NEW YORK

By kind Permission of The Evening Sun, New York

CONTENTS

LIST OF COLORED PLATES

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!

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.

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.

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.

II
PETERKIN AFLOAT

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.

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?

“An early morning peek”

III
PETERKIN AND THE WHALE

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.

“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.

IV
PETERKIN’S APPETITE

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.

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!

V
PETERKIN’S COOKING

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!

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

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.

“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.

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

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!

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.

VIII
PETERKIN IN THE VALLEY

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.”

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.

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

IX
PETERKIN TAKES A FALL

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.

“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

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.

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

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.

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.”

“‘Take him away!’ ordered the King”

XII
PETERKIN’S FATE

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.

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

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....

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!

XIV
PETERKIN’S RESCUE

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——