“But it won’t be—be the same as the real Black Leaf,” said Jack.
“Why not? Why not?” asked the old man touchily.
“Well—it isn’t magic, is it?” objected Jack. “It won’t have any power over the Pumpkin.”
“I won’t guarantee that it isn’t magic, though it may not have the same power over the Pumpkin,” the old man admitted. “But what’s the odds! They won’t know—the people won’t know—and anyway it’s very handsome to look at—and just think of how surprised everybody will be....”
The children could see that it was no use arguing the matter. Mr Papingay was beginning to look quite hurt and annoyed, and so to humour him and to save any further delay the children thanked him and said they would be pleased to take it with them. (They little guessed then how glad they would be later on that they had taken it with them.)
“It’s very clever of you to make it,” said Molly.
Immediately Mr Papingay’s ill-humour vanished, and he smiled down at the leaf in an affectionate manner.
“Oh, I don’t know about being clever,” he said. “Well—it’s not a bad piece of work,” he admitted modestly.
“Well now—I think we really must be going,” said Molly, “or else it will be too dark in the wood for us to find our way. Shall we pick the leaf and take it with us, then?”
“It looks so well in the pot—I like it best in the pot—take the plant-pot, too,” said Mr Papingay. “I shall be coming to the City in a few days and then you must tell me all about it—what the people said when they saw it and—I suppose you are going straight back to the City?” he inquired. “You won’t want to bother to search for the other Black Leaf now, until you see what the people say to this one, I’m sure.”
Self-centred Mr Papingay! He actually thought the children would be more anxious to hear what people said about his leaf, than to continue their search for the real Leaf. But the children were quite determined about continuing their work and at length made him understand that they must go on; but they were hoping, they said, to return to the City shortly when they would be very pleased to show his leaf. Mr Papingay cheered up a bit at this, and said they had better take it then, as they would be bound to reach the City before him. Then he asked them where they were going to search next.
“You needn’t bother about this wood—I’ve searched it from end to end, thoroughly—as I told you. And besides,” said Mr Papingay, “it isn’t wise to linger in this wood just now. The Pumpkin has spies about all over the place. Of course, they never touch me—Percy wouldn’t let them—but you two—! And I’m quite certain the Leaf isn’t in this wood—or I’d have had it before now.”
The children had not much faith in Mr Papingay’s careful searching, but glancing through the window they saw that it was now getting too dark to search the wood that night. They had better get out of it as quickly as possible, even if they had to return and search it in the morning.
They became aware of Mr Papingay murmuring something in the way of an apology for not asking them to stay over night there—but he was already overcrowded with visitors, the Pobjoys and others, he said. He knew of a nice little farmhouse outside the wood where they would be comfortable. The children were pleased to know of the farmhouse; not for worlds would they have spent a night in this silent wood. Mr Papingay was so careless, he would be sure to leave a window unfastened, and the Pumpkin’s spies would creep out from the trees and get into the house. At least, this is what the children felt, but they thanked Mr Papingay and told him not to apologize at all as they really couldn’t stay, but must go along.
“I’ll tell you what, then,” said Mr Papingay. “I’ll just get my lantern and come along with you and show you the quickest way out of the wood to the farmhouse.”
The children were much relieved at this, feeling that company and a light in the dusky wood before them was an unexpected blessing. After a great deal of fuss and bustle he found his lantern and escorted them through the front door—calling some final words of instruction to Percy (who remained gazing pensively up at the evening sky); they passed through the gate, or rather, stepped off the asphalt, and started out. Mr Papingay insisted on carrying his plant-pot and leaf until he should have to part with it at the end of the wood; so with this under his left arm, and his lantern swinging in his right hand he strode ahead of the children, crying cheerily:
“Come along, come along. I’ll show you a short cut out of the wood. Ah! I’m glad I brought my lantern—it’ll be dark enough in some parts of the wood.”
The children followed, gazing with puzzled expressions at his lantern. Then they understood. There would be no light from it in the darkest parts of the wood, for it was only a painted lantern.
CHAPTER XV
Jack’s Misfortune
THE children were obliged to walk quickly in order to keep pace with their guide, who trotted along rapidly, never troubling to glance round to see if they were coming. Once they had left the clearing and the queer little house behind them, and plunged into the wood, they found it quite dark; and darker still as they got farther in. Strange crackly noises could be heard from time to time behind the bushes and trees, which suggested all sorts of things to you if you happened to be a little girl or boy with a fairly active imagination.
Of course, there was always Old Nancy’s gift—the matches—if the darkness grew unbearable. Both Jack and Molly remembered the matches, but they did not feel quite sure whether this was the proper time to use them, as they were afraid of offending their guide if they suggested that his lantern did not give enough light.
They trotted along in silence for a time, until a particularly loud crack behind a bush close by startled Molly and made her feel that she could not bear the silence any longer.
“Don’t you find it very lonely here—living by yourself in the wood?” she asked the hurrying figure in front of her.
“Eh?” asked Mr Papingay.
It was such a relief to talk that Molly gladly repeated her question.
“Not a bit of it,” replied the old man, without slackening his pace or turning round. “Why should I? I have plenty of visitors—and Percy to take care of me.”
“Yes, but aren’t you afraid of—robbers—or anything?” asked Molly.
“Robbers!” the old man chuckled. “I should like to see the robber that could get past Percy. Besides, what is there to steal? That’s the best of a house like mine, you see. No one can take things from me. I get all the use and pleasure I want out of the things I paint—then when I want new things I paint the old ones out and paint fresh ones in their place. And they can’t be stolen—they’re of no use to any one else, you see. As for the Pumpkin’s spies,” he continued in a loud voice, that made Jack and Molly shudder in case he were overheard. “I’m not afraid of them—they never touch me....”
Molly gave a little scream, as something swept past her head, brushing her forehead as it did so.
“It’s only a bat, Molly. Don’t be a silly,” said Jack in a shaky voice.
“There’s heaps of them about—and owls,” said Mr Papingay, continuing his rapid walk without a moment’s pause. As if to confirm his words there came a mournful “Hoo, hoo, hoo,” from the depths of the wood. The children gripped each other’s arms tightly, and hastened on.
Another minute, and a patch of light appeared in the distance, and the children saw that it was the end of the wood.
“There,” said the old man as they came out from the trees at last, “you can find your way now, can’t you? I must get back—Percy doesn’t like me to stay out very late. That is the farmhouse, over there; straight across this field, over the stile and the wooden bridge across the river, and a few minutes’ walk up the hill, on the other side. You can see where I mean, can’t you?” And he pointed the farm out to the children. “You can mention my name to them—Farmer Rose knows me well. Now if you will take this,” he said, passing the plant-pot containing his precious leaf into Molly’s keeping. “And take care of it. I shall see you both again shortly, I hope. Good-bye. Good-bye.”
“Thank you so much for bringing us this short cut out of the wood,” said Molly. “It was awfully kind of you.”
“Rather,” said Jack. Then, relieved at being safely out of the wood, he added generously, “I say—your lantern’s a marvel!”
The old man nodded and beamed delightedly. Then, waving his hand, he stepped back into the wood, his painted lantern swinging at his side, and disappeared.
As soon as Mr Papingay had gone, Jack and Molly stopped and looked around them. They were in the open country once more, but a more hilly country than that on the other side of the wood, for they had passed right through the wood and come out at the opposite end.
The wood led straight out into a field, across which a narrow footpath straggled to a stile set in the middle of green hedges. On the other side of the stile was a path, and a little white wooden bridge across the river, and on the farther side of the river were hills and the farm-house. The red roofs and whitewashed walls of several cottages and other farm-houses could be seen here and there.
Evening was closing in rapidly, and while they had been in the wood dark clouds had drifted up and were now gathering threateningly overhead.
“It’s too dark to do any more searching to-night,” said Jack. “I suppose we’d better make straight for the farm; and come back and search all round here in the morning.”
“I suppose that would be best,” said Molly. “I don’t feel at all satisfied about the Orange Wood, do you, Jack? I think we must come back and search that too—to-morrow. It doesn’t look a very big wood.”
As the children turned to look back at the wood, the first spots of rain began to come down, so they hastened along the path toward the stile.
“I wonder if Mr Papingay really has searched it thoroughly,” said Molly. “He seems such a funny old man—I don’t know what to think.”
“I do,” laughed Jack. “Mr Papingay’s much too slap-dash to search it carefully. No, Moll, I’m afraid we’ve got to do it to-morrow. It won’t be so bad in daylight. My word! How the rain is coming down. We’re in for a storm, I should think.”
They hurried on, climbed the stile, but when they got on to the bridge Molly stopped for a moment.
“I say, Jack,” she called, and Jack stopped too. “I’m going to throw this plant-pot in the river—it’s too heavy to take all the way with us, and I don’t like to put it down in the field in case Mr Papingay comes along and finds it.” She pulled the leaf out of the pot, folded it up, and pushed it into her satchel, then threw the pot into the swiftly flowing river.
“What are you keeping the leaf for?” cried Jack. He had to raise his voice to be heard through the rising gale.
“Oh, I couldn’t throw that away,” said Molly. “And besides, it may come in useful,” she added as she ran along beside Jack up the hill. “You never know.”
“Won’t old Timothy feel sold when he hears what his Black Leaf really was!” chuckled Jack.
The rain was coming down heavily as they reached the front door of the farm-house. They knocked, and rang at the bell—but no one answered, and there was no sound within the house. They knocked again, then went round and knocked at the back door. But still no one came, and they began to fear that there was nobody at home. This proved to be the case. The stables and outhouses were all locked up, although they could hear a horse inside one of the buildings, and there were some fowls in a hen-run in the yard. Evidently the people were only out for a short time, so Jack and Molly decided to take shelter in the porch by the front door for a while, until the storm was over, or Farmer Rose returned.
“Oh, dear, what a dreadful night it’s going to be!” said Molly. “Are you very wet, Jack?”
“Hardly a bit. It’s quite comfortable in this porch,” Jack replied, and then she heard him chuckling. “I was just thinking of old Mr Papingay,” he explained, and then he broke off with a sudden exclamation: “Oh, bother!”
“What is it?” Molly asked.
“I clean forgot to look for Mr Waffer’s face! Why didn’t you remind me?” said Jack.
“I forgot too,” answered Molly. “Never mind, we’ll look to-morrow if we search the Orange Wood.”
“We mustn’t let Mr Papingay see us, though. What fun! It’ll be like playing hide-and-seek,” said Jack. “Goodness, how the wind is howling!”
They remained quiet for a time, huddled up in the porch. The storm was growing still worse, and it was very dark now. Presently the silence in the porch was broken by Jack exclaiming again: “Bother!”
“What is it now?” inquired Molly.
“Oh, I say, Moll—I’ve lost them—yes, I’ve lost my box of matches—Old Nancy’s matches.”
A thorough search of Jack’s satchel and all his pockets proved that this was unfortunately true.
“They must have fallen out—let me see now—I had them just before we climbed the stile, I’m sure of that, because I put my hand in my satchel to get one of those sweet squares and I remember feeling the box.” Jack tried hard to think back. “I believe I must have dropped them somewhere just by the bridge. Here, Molly, hold my satchel and things a sec, will you, and I’ll just run down to the bridge and fetch the box—yes, I’m sure now I heard something fall on the bridge. I won’t be a couple of minutes. You wait here, Molly; I’ll be ever so quick. No, it isn’t raining much.”
“Don’t go, Jack!” cried Molly. “Its so dark and wet, oh, Jack, don’t go! I’ve still got my matches left—never mind yours now.”
But Jack was hardly listening. “It’s only just down the hill—won’t be a minute—you wait here—I must get them, Molly—we may need them. It isn’t so dark—I can see all right.”
“Wait, wait, Jack. Oh, I know—let me strike one of my matches and see if it can find the other box for us.” Molly was fumbling in her satchel quickly. But Jack hadn’t heard her, and had started off impetuously, calling back, “Shall be back in a minute. Wait there, Moll.”
“I’m coming too,” called Molly, but the wind howled past and Jack did not hear as he raced down the hill.
Fastening up Jack’s satchel and slipping it over her shoulders together with her own satchel, and clasping her own box of matches firmly in her hand, Molly set out after her brother, calling his name as she ran. It was very silly of Jack to tear off like this, she thought, but she was only anxious to get him back safely in the porch again out of the darkness and the rain. She did not stop to light one of her matches until she was about half-way down the hill. Then she stopped and struck one. No ordinary match would have kept alight a second in such a storm, but Old Nancy’s matches, as she already knew, were not ordinary. The light gathered all on one side as usual, pointing straight down the hill.
Molly had just time to see the figure of Jack running in front of her—he had reached the bridge—when the match flame veered right round and pointed up the hill.
Molly turned and looked, but there was nothing to be seen there. What did it mean? She hastened on down the hill, and as her match went out, she lit another one.
This time the light from the match showed her that Jack was on the bridge and had crossed over to the footpath, and was bending down to pick something up. So he had found his matches! But even as she saw Jack, her eye caught sight of something coming from the direction of the Orange Wood along the river bank, toward the bridge. Then the flame from the match veered round and pointed up the hill. But not before Molly had seen what it was that was creeping toward Jack on the other side of the river.
It was the Grey Pumpkin. And Jack had not seen him.
And the match flame was pointing the way of escape, up the hill to safety! Just as the flame had pointed out the way of escape in the underground cellar.
But there was no thought of her own safety while Jack was in such danger. Molly dashed forward, crying out: “Jack! Run! Quick! Come back! Look behind you!” But the wind roared around her as if mocking her, and Jack never heard.
As she ran she lit another match, and by its light saw that Jack was standing upright and had turned—and seen the Pumpkin close behind him. He went to run, but slipped and fell to his knees, and as he was scrambling up again the Pumpkin reached him. Jack seemed to collapse all in a heap on the ground, and then, there was no Jack—but in his place another great Grey Pumpkin. Molly pulled up and stood motionless, gazing with horrified eyes. Then her match went out. She lit another mechanically, and as she did so she heard a terrific crash a few yards ahead, and saw that the storm had broken down the wooden bridge; it collapsed into the river and was caught up by the rapidly rushing current and swirled away. If this hadn’t happened, Molly would have been over the bridge in another second (forgetting in her despair that she could do no good and would only get caught herself). But as it was, she was brought to an abrupt standstill at the water’s edge, while on the other side of the river two Grey Pumpkins rolled slowly away along the path toward a group of tall dark trees....
And so it was that the farmer and his kindly wife, returning home about half an hour later, found a little girl sitting in the porch by their front door, crying as if her heart would break.
CHAPTER XVI
Molly Accepts a Present
THE farmer’s wife proved a friend indeed to Molly. She gathered the little girl up in her arms and carried her indoors, made her put on some fresh clothes while she dried her wet things before a blazing fire, and not until Molly had emptied a big bowl of hot bread and milk would she let her say a word of thanks or explanation.
Then, when the farmer and Mrs Rose and Molly (wrapped in a warm cloak belonging to the farmer’s wife) sat round the fire, Molly told them her story, weeping afresh at the memory of Jack’s misfortune.
“There, there, my dear,” comforted Mrs Rose, her own eyes full of tears. “It’s no use crying, you know. What you have got to do is to determine to find the Black Leaf, and then, like as not, you’ll get your brother back again.”
“Oh, I am determined to find it,” cried Molly. “I was determined before—but I will—I will find it—whatever happens.”
“You must try to get a good rest to-night, and then you can start off fresh in the morning—and you mustn’t cry any more or you’ll make yourself ill—and then you won’t be able to do anything,” said Mrs Rose.
Molly quite saw the wisdom of Mrs Rose’s words and tried her best to stop crying. But she kept thinking about Jack, and wondering what they were doing to him, and why the Pumpkin had changed him into a likeness of himself. Supposing she had to return home to Mother without Jack. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t, she vowed to herself. She would stay in this country and search and search until the Black Leaf was found, even if she had to wait for years … and here her tears began to flow again.
To distract her, the farmer began talking about the country around and the most likely places to search. He had searched all his own land, he said, directly he heard the Pumpkin was back, and he had helped to prepare some of the beacons on the hills around this district. And he asked Molly if she knew on which hills the beacons were set.
Molly dried her eyes, got her map out, and showed him how the beacon hills were marked, and soon she and the farmer and Mrs Rose were poring over the map, planning out the best routes to take, and discussing the most likely places for search. The farmer showed her all the places where the Leaf was not growing, places he had personally searched; and at Molly’s request he marked these places on the map with a lead pencil. Molly decided to herself that she would leave these marked places until the very last, until she had searched all the more likely parts round about. She felt she could not leave them out altogether, although she trusted the farmer absolutely; she had promised to search each part herself.
When she mentioned Mr Papingay’s name the farmer and his wife smiled, and although they thought he would certainly have searched the Orange Wood as he said he had, yet he was not sure to have done it thoroughly, and they agreed with Molly that it would be as well to go over the ground again if possible. The fact that the Pumpkin was lurking about there made all three of them think that probably the Leaf was growing somewhere near. Of course, this might not be so; it might be only the Pumpkin’s object to prevent Jack and Molly going any further with the search.
“You’ll have to be very cautious, missie, if you go back to the wood,” said Farmer Rose. “It wouldn’t do for you to get caught too.”
“I’ll be very careful—but it won’t do for me to be afraid, or p’r’aps I’ll never get Jack back again,” said Molly. “I mustn’t be afraid of anything now.”
“That’s the spirit,” said the farmer, slapping his knee. “And if there’s anything we can do to help you—you’ve only got to name it—we shall be proud.”
When the farmer’s wife tucked her up in bed, about twenty minutes later, Molly threw her arms round her neck.
“I don’t know why you are so good to me,” she said. “Thank you so much. I’ve given you a lot of trouble, I’m afraid.”
“Not the least bit in the world,” replied the farmer’s wife. “Try to get to sleep, my dear.... P’r’aps to-morrow—who knows what may happen to-morrow!”
Molly was so exhausted that she slept soundly and dreamlessly, in spite of the fact that the wind rattled furiously at her window and roared down the chimney. In the morning she woke with a dreadful, leaden feeling at her heart, but she determined not to brood over yesterday, but to get to work at once.
After breakfast she collected up all the things from Jack’s satchel and put them with her belongings into her own satchel. The farmer’s wife insisted on giving her a big packet of food for luncheon, and told her to come back and sleep at the farm again that night if she ended her day’s search anywhere near.
Molly thanked her gratefully, then started out alone. The rain had ceased, and the wind was much less violent, but it was a grey day with a sky full of scurrying clouds.
And now began a long, wearying time for Molly. Alone, of course, the task of searching was longer and more difficult, though the enthusiasm with which she went to work kept her from realizing this to the full. She went on her way searching eagerly and thoroughly that part of the valley through which the river ran, which came within her square of map; she crossed the water by another bridge about a mile away from the place of last night’s accident, and searched the opposite bank, gradually working her way back to the spot where the Pumpkin had appeared.
Across the water she could see the farm-house, half-way up the hilly road on the other side. Behind her was the stile which she and Jack had clambered over yesterday. Was it only yesterday?—it seemed more like a week ago to Molly. She climbed over the stile again and crossed the field, searching as she went, to the Orange Wood.
Very cautiously she entered the wood, and started her search, ears and eyes constantly on the alert, and hands and feet ready to spring and climb up a tree at any moment, if the need arose. But the need did not arise, and presently Molly found she was back within sight of Mr Papingay’s house. She went extra carefully now, so as not to attract the old man’s attention, and made a tour of the wood near his house, working in a wide circle, so as not to cross the space before his front door. Once she heard his voice calling out to know what Percy was barking at, but she did not see him.
And though at length she searched the whole of the Orange Wood, she did not find the Black Leaf; nor did she see any sign of the Pumpkin or his spies.
So she left the wood behind her, and came back over the river, and made her way to the farm-house again, where she had tea, and told them all about her day’s search. But she would not stay the night there, as there was still a long light evening to work through, and she hoped to get some way on the road to Lake Desolate before the night fell.
“You’ll pass several houses and cottages on the road,” said Mrs Rose, and proceeded to give Molly the names of several friends of hers, whom she could trust. “But be sure to come back here, if you want to.”
Mrs Rose stood at the gate waving her handkerchief to Molly, until the little girl turned round a bend in the road and was lost to sight. Then she dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “Bless the child,” she said, as she hurried indoors. “She deserves to win.”
From the top of one of the hills close by, Molly found she could get a splendid view of the surrounding country. The clouds had disappeared by now, and it promised to be a beautiful evening and a moonlight night. The river sparkled beneath, and the Orange Wood glowed in the evening sun, while far away, in the distance, she could see the white towers of the City. Looking down at the Orange Wood she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to look for Mr Waffer’s face, as she passed Mr Papingay’s house. What a pity! Jack would have liked to know, when—when she met him again. But she had had so many things to think about in the wood that it is no wonder she forgot about Mr Waffer.
Descending the hill, Molly started on the road to Lake Desolate. It was pretty and green at first with cottages dotted about in small clusters, and presently she passed through a tiny village, where she stopped to inquire and search. But although every one seemed kind, and eager to help, there was nothing to be heard or seen of the Black Leaf.
About half a mile outside the village, Molly came to a few more houses and a small shop. At the door of the shop stood an old gentleman wearing a black skull-cap and a long, shabby coat. When he saw Molly approaching he came out to meet her and, seizing her hand, shook it warmly, saying that he had heard of her goodness in helping with the search and thanked her gratefully.
“I have been keeping a watch on the road for the last few days, missie, hoping to catch a glimpse of you as you passed,” he said. “I heard you were coming this way.”
Molly was pleased at his impulsive friendliness, especially as she was feeling very lonely just now. She stopped chatting for a few minutes, and the old gentleman proudly showed her his shop. He was a watchmaker, and the shop was full of watches and clocks of all kinds and sizes. Besides these, he had a small collection of jewellery.
“I expect you wonder at a watchmaker being right out here,” he said, noting Molly’s surprised expression at the contents of his shop. “Many people wonder at first. But I supply the clocks and watches for all the neighbouring towns and villages and even for the City. I send to the City twice a week. I live out here simply because my father and grandfather and great-grandfather have always lived in this place—and because my health won’t permit me to live in crowded towns.... Now, miss, if you will be so good I want you to accept a little present from me, as a token of appreciation of the work you are doing.”
He opened a little box and drew out a dainty, silver bracelet, that jingled as he handled it—just the very kind of bracelet that Molly had longed for on her birthday.
Molly’s face lit up, but she hesitated. Ought she to accept this present from a stranger—especially as she had made up her mind not to trust anybody now, unless she was perfectly sure they were all right. The old watchmaker seemed harmless enough, and he was already looking disappointed at her hesitation. Molly felt it would be unkind to refuse the bracelet, and difficult also. It was not as if he had offered her food or drink, that might be poisoned; nor had he made any effort to entice her into his shop; she had merely stepped inside on the mat and the door had been left wide open. Surely there could be no harm in accepting the bracelet, Molly argued to herself. It was so pretty, and she would like to have it, and anyway, if she felt doubtful afterward she could always get rid of it somehow, when the old gentleman could not see her and be hurt.
“I beg you will accept this bracelet,” said the watchmaker. “I have been keeping it back specially for you.”
So Molly accepted the bracelet, and the old gentleman ‘had the honour,’ as he put it, of seeing her slip it over her right hand, where it gleamed and jingled, and nearly slipped off when she put her arm down straight—just as she had longed for it to do. Molly thanked the old watchmaker and shook hands with him again, as she bid him good-bye.
He stood at his door bowing as Molly went on her way, but no sooner was she out of sight than he returned to his shop and, closing the door, sat down on a stool behind the counter, and began to shake with silent laughter; he continued to laugh, hugging himself while he did so, and rocking backward and forward, and bending himself nearly double, and all this quite noiselessly—the only sounds in the shop being the rapid tick, tick, tick, and the steady tick-tock, of the watches and clocks around him.