FOLLOW YOUR FORTUNE
WEATHERCOCK, oh, weathercock,
Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Shall I find the road I seek
If I follow you?
Turning, turning, ever turning
North, south, east, and west;
Weathercock, oh, weathercock,
Which way is the best?
Pointing, pointing, ever pointing
With your golden bill.
Does the road to fortune lead me
Up or down the hill?
CHAPTER VIII
A Nice Dragon
IT was really very jolly in this Once-upon-a-Time Land, though nothing wonderful happened at first. There were beautiful green trees, scattered about everywhere in twos and threes as if they were keeping one another company; there were large fields full of flowers; little rivers bustling along as if they were in a great hurry to get somewhere, and then turning a corner and flowing quite slowly as if they had remembered that it didn't really matter after all; and far off in the distance, with snowy peaks glittering in the sunshine—mountains!
The road led them along up and down like a switchback. It was quite easy walking; in fact, the road almost seemed to walk by itself. Whenever they felt thirsty there was a spring of delicious cold water bubbling up by the roadside, and when they felt hungry there were apples, pears, blackberries, strawberries, and raspberries all growing and ready for anybody who would take the trouble to pick them.
"I think it's time we got somewhere," said George.
"We're nearly there," replied Alexander. "I know She lives not far from here."
"She? Who is She?" asked George.
"Why, Her, of course," and Alexander ran on ahead and round the corner before George could ask another question. Suddenly he heard a loud barking, and thinking that Alexander was chasing a rabbit, or perhaps a cat, he ran as hard as he could, turned the corner, and saw——
Well, I never! It was wonderful, and yet it was in Once-upon-a-Time Land, where things like this happen every day. It was just as one sees it in picture-books, only naturally it looked ever so much bigger than one expected.
"A dragon!" cried George. "I haven't got a sword or anything at all to fight with. If it begins to breathe fire it will burn me right up! And what is Alexander doing? Why, I do believe he's playing with it."
And so he was, and what was even funnier still, the dragon actually seemed to like it. Alexander ran down its long, long back, which rippled and shone in the sunshine like scales of golden flame, bit the end of its tail playfully, and barked right under its great nose. The dragon opened its great mouth, showing rows and rows of sharp, pointed teeth, and laughed a really jolly laugh.
"You seem to want a game," it said, in a great deep voice which sounded as if it came from somewhere half-way down its back. "Come on, little George; just wait until I uncurl myself."
It gave itself a shake and uncoiled all the twists in its back, which cracked like little pistols, bang! bang! then jumped once or twice in the air to stretch its legs.
"See if you can catch my tail!" it cried, and then began a regular game of 'Catch me who can!' The dragon didn't seem to run exactly, but moved along somewhat like a snake, only ever so fast, with its tail hanging temptingly behind. Every time George put out his hand to catch hold of it, whisk!—away it went again! Alexander leapt this way and that way, and every time he came to the ground again found that the dragon was not where he expected it to be. Then the dragon began to make loops and curves of itself, as if it were writing all the letters of the alphabet with its long back.
At last all three lay down on the ground quite out of breath.
"I'm not so old as I thought I was," said the dragon. "I haven't had such a good game for a long time. Phew! I'm absolutely boiling hot!" and out came a long tongue like yards and yards of red flannel, and it smoothed its scales as far as it could reach.
"Alexander does just the same when he's washing himself," thought George.
"So you're going to look for your fortune?" said the dragon after a while.
"Yes," replied George, "I am. I hope Alexander will find his too."
"I hope so," smiled the dragon. "I like to see people who are looking for fortunes, though they don't always find them, even when they're under their very noses. I knew a dragon once—it's not a long story—who went to look for his fortune."
"Was it in Once-upon-a-Time Land?" asked George.
"Of course," replied the dragon. "People don't understand dragons anywhere else. They tell the most stupid stories about us, as if we went about doing nothing but eat up people and breathe fire. You might as well say that dogs do nothing else but kill cats," he added, with a laugh.
Alexander looked very solemn, and as if butter would not melt in his mouth.
"Well, this dragon, as I was saying, went out to look for his fortune. He was quite a young dragon, and ought to have stayed at home as his mother told him. He had never been farther than the end of the valley where they lived, though of course he thought he knew all about everything.
"So his mother kissed him good-bye, told him to take care not to catch cold, and watched him disappear in the distance. It was a fine day, and the young dragon went along thinking of all the great things he was going to do, and bumping his head against trees because he never looked where he was going.
"He met nobody and nothing for a long time. About midday he began to feel very hungry, and almost wished he were at home again. But at last, on the top of a hill, he saw a man standing by the door of a house; at least, he thought it must be a house, but he wasn't quite sure, for he had never seen one before. It was really a miller standing by his mill, whistling for the wind to come and turn the sails round.
"He was a friendly miller. He invited the dragon to rest for a while and have something to eat. After the dragon had eaten forty loaves and two hundred currant buns and drunk all the water out of the water-butt, he began to feel better, and told the miller what he was looking for.
"'Looking for your fortune, are you?' said the miller. 'Well, you've come to the right place, for the road to fortune starts from here and from nowhere else.'
"He saw that the dragon was quite young and rather vain, so he thought he would play a joke upon him.
"'Do you see those long fingers?' he said, pointing to the sails of the mill. 'They are pointing out the way to your fortune.'
"'Oh!' replied the dragon. 'They are all pointing different ways. How can I tell in which direction to go? Does my fortune lie everywhere all around me?'
"'No, no,' said the miller. 'Just stand quietly here for a bit, and by and by you will learn all about it.' Then he went inside the mill and waited to see what would happen.
"Presently the breeze heard the miller whistling and came blowing along in answer to his call. The sails of the mill shook, and then, very slowly, commenced to turn.
"'Dear me!' thought the young dragon. 'They seem to be pointing in a different direction now. This is very funny. I must see what it means,' and he walked right up to the sails, which were now whirling round quite fast.
"Suddenly, smack! on his nose came the first sail; smack! came the second, and SMACK! the third.
"The dragon tumbled head over heels backward. He was so frightened that he picked himself up and ran away as fast as he could with his tail between his legs, never once looking behind him.
"The miller laughed until he was so tired that he could laugh no more. 'That will teach him not to be so greedy next time,' he said, for he was rather vexed at seeing so many of his loaves and buns disappear down the dragon's throat.
"The dragon went on running until, to his great surprise, he found himself at the door of his home. His mother saw him coming, and there was a good tea waiting for him, you may be sure.
"He was very glad to find himself safe and sound and far away from the dreadful mill, but at the same time felt very sorry that he had not found his fortune. His mother listened to everything he told her, and then she said: 'My son, you have found your fortune, after all.'
"'Where?' asked her son, looking around him in surprise, as if he expected to see he didn't know what.
"'There, my child; it lies there, right under your very nose.'
"He looked down, and there he saw——"
"Oh, what was it?" cried George.
"Can't you guess?" said the dragon. "Dear me, I am surprised. Why, the dragon guessed at once. They don't seem to teach boys anything at school nowadays."
"Oh, I learn heaps of things," said George.
"Umph!" snorted the dragon. "I expect it's just heaps of rubbish. I don't suppose you know half as much as a dragon of the same age as yourself."
"But dragons don't go to school, do they?" asked George.
"Why not?" replied the dragon. "Of course they do; but they don't sit on benches in a schoolroom. They learn out of doors, which is the proper place for a school. They learn useful things, such as how to see what they see and hear what they hear; not to go about the world like blind mice, not believing in the fairies like a little boy I once heard of."
Alexander laughed. "He means you, George. You know, you never liked fairy stories, did you?"
George blushed. "I never said I didn't believe in them, but it always seemed as if they couldn't be real."
"Are you real?" suddenly asked the dragon.
"Of course I am," said George. "I'm as real as real can be."
"Well, you're not a bit, not a little bit real," replied the dragon. "Any boy who is lucky enough to find his way into this country, and then doesn't believe in the fairies, is not more real than a soap bubble, and will burst into little bits just as a bubble does."
Alexander laughed. "I should love to see George all in little bits. I wonder if we could ever fit him together again."
"No; he'd be just like Humpty Dumpty," said the dragon. "There have been hundreds of little boys like that, and I have never heard of one who was mended again. Some were patched up, but there were always pieces missing, and they were never the same boys. Their mothers soon got tired of them and gave them away to the rag-and-bone man."
George sat quite silent for some time. He didn't like being laughed at, and felt that both the dragon and Alexander thought him quite as stupid—or even more so—as the dragon in the story.
"Come, we'd better be starting," said the dragon. "She doesn't like to be kept waiting."
George was just about to ask who She might be, but he shut his mouth with a snap and pretended that he knew all about it.
"Get on my back!" ordered the dragon, and George jumped on at once and seated himself comfortably.
Off the dragon went like a great, long railway train, faster and faster, until they shot into a forest and it became as dark as the darkest tunnel.
"Wuff! Wuff!" barked Alexander. "Hold tight, George!"
Now,
do you
believe in the
fairies? If you
don't, then close the
book at once, and leave
George and Alexander to
seek their fortunes by themselves.
CHAPTER IX
The Witch
SUDDENLY the dragon's eyes lit up as if they were lamps. They could see a little way ahead, but all around it was so dark that you could almost feel it. George thought—he was always having funny thoughts now—that if he put his hand out some of the black darkness would rub off on it.
After a time they seemed to be going down-hill. Far away gleamed a light which grew brighter and brighter every moment. At last George could see that they were close to the mouth of a large cave, in front of which sat a perfectly enormous black cat with green eyes shining like lights on a railway signal.
Its tail was standing straight up on end, black and bushy; never had George seen such a tail before. The dragon went on past the cat into the cave, round corners, on and on until at last he stopped with a jerk, and George fell off his back.
"Here we are," said the dragon, "just in time. I thought at first we were late, and then, my word!—we should have caught it! Come on!" and he led the way into the witch's kitchen.
All that George could see at first was a huge open fireplace upon which great logs of wood were crackling. Over the fire hung a big round kettle from which at times came weird gurgling sounds. The queerest shadows of goblins and imps danced about as if they were really alive. Altogether it was a most uncomfortable place to be in.
Curled up on the hearth was another cat; a yellow animal with red eyes which stared and stared at them as if it wondered who on earth they could be.
"So here you are at last!" said a voice from somewhere, so suddenly that it made George jump.
He looked round on every side, but for a long time could see nothing. At last, in the dim light, he could just make out what looked like the figure of an old, old woman with a very crooked back and a queer, wrinkled face. She was sitting in a dark corner in a high-backed chair, looking into the fire as if she were reading all kinds of stories in it.
"Come here, George," she said. "Tell me all about your fortune."
It was really rather annoying that everybody seemed to know all about George and what he was going to do. However, it couldn't be helped, so he walked up to the witch, feeling just a little bit afraid, and looked straight into her eyes.
Her face was covered with hundreds of little wrinkles, which crossed and recrossed one another almost without end. She looked as if she had lived for hundreds and hundreds of years, and was, oh, so tired of everything! Her eyes were very bright, and shone with a pale light which made George feel a little bit giddy at first, though he couldn't think why.
Her voice was quite gentle, rather sad, and sounded as if it came from far, far, away. Perhaps it had grown tired too.
"So you are following your fortune?" said the witch. "Dear me! Do you know who I am?"
"Please, ma'am," replied George, "you're a witch."
"And a very wicked old woman too, who turns little boys into frogs and toads, and flies through the air on a broomstick. Isn't that what you've learned about me?" asked the witch, with a queer smile. Where had George seen that smile before?
He blushed rosy red, for he certainly had always heard that witches were wicked women. Had not Father once called some old woman who was always telling disagreeable stories about other people behind their backs a wicked witch? George had asked this same old woman if she had brought her broomstick with her. She had been quite cross, and called him "a rude little boy."
"If you please, ma'am," he said, "I expect there are good witches as well as bad witches."
"Ah, well! Let us hope I'm a good witch, one who will help you to find your fortune, and Alexander's too"; and the witch stretched out her thin old hands to the fire to warm them.
Wonders will never cease! George suddenly caught sight of Alexander lying down side by side with the yellow cat—and when he was at home not a single cat was allowed to put even one foot inside the garden!
"He's quite an old friend," said the witch. "My dear Golden Girl and he are almost like brother and sister."
Alexander licked the end of the cat's nose, and she patted him gently with her paw and purred.
"Sit down and tell me all about it," continued the witch, pushing a three-legged stool toward George. He perched himself on it with his legs swinging in the air, and commenced to talk—at least, he always said afterward that he did—but what with the witch nodding, the cat purring, and the kettle boiling it is more than likely that he fell asleep.
Suddenly the kettle began to boil furiously, and clouds of steam poured out of its spout.
"Nearly ready! Nearly ready!" said the witch, and counted slowly up to ten. Then: "Take off the lid, Alexander!" she cried.
Alexander jumped up and lifted off the kettle-lid with his tail as if he had been used to doing it all his life.
In a moment the kitchen was full of steam, which wreathed and curled itself into the queerest shapes and figures. George wondered what was going to happen next, but sat still and said nothing.
The witch rose from her chair and hobbled up to the kettle, helping herself along with a long-handled stick. She leaned over the kettle, looking down into it for a moment or two, then, waving her stick, commenced to sing in a high, shrill voice. It sounded at first as if she were singing the multiplication table. George remembered bits of it, and this is what he said she sang:
"Twice times one is two,
Bubble, bubble brew!
Water boil and fire burn,
Turn around and turn and turn.
Up and down, and down and up,
Fill the pot and fill the cup.
Blood of toad and juice of nettle
Stew and stew within the kettle.
Stir about with witch's stick.
Quick!... Quick!
"Oh, ho!... Oh, ho!
Twice times four is eight,
Now it's getting late.
Add a little puppy's tail
And a dragon's shining scale.
From the boy who's sitting there
Cut a lock of curly hair!
Ah, ha!... Ah, ha!"
"Ah, ha! Ah, ha!" sang Golden Girl and Alexander together, and the kettle bubbled and boiled: "Oh, ho! Oh, ho!"
This went on for quite a long time, and George wondered if the witch were going to cut off a lock of his hair. How nasty a stew with hair in it would taste. Ugh!
"It's time to start now. Are we all ready? Dragon! Where's that lazy dragon?" cried the witch.
"Here I am!" replied the dragon, appearing from somewhere or other: "I'm quite ready. Will you ride on your catoplane?"
George wondered whatever a catoplane might be, but was too polite to ask. The witch quickly put on a long cloak and waved her stick, and the wall of the kitchen flew open.
"Come along; don't keep me waiting!" she said to George, and he jumped off his stool and followed her. He could see nothing, but felt that they were in the open air again.
"Here's my broomstick!" he heard the witch say, with a laugh; he felt himself lifted on to something, and then—whirrrr! whizzz!—off they went.
"Oh, are we in an aeroplane, please?" asked George, feeling tremendously excited.
"Aeroplane, indeed!" sniffed the witch. "I should like to see the aeroplane that could fly as fast as this. Look and see for yourself, George!"
George looked in front of him. He certainly seemed to be seated on something like a broomstick, and right in front of him sat the yellow cat, flashing its red eyes into the darkness like searchlights. Alexander was seated quite close to her, looking as pleased as Punch.
George looked behind him and heard the noise of an engine, throb, throb, and saw a black something turning, turning without stopping.
"I suppose that's the motor," he said.
"Guess again, George!" laughed the witch.
George looked and looked. "No, I can't guess," he confessed.
"Well—wait and see!" And the witch smiled. Her smile was just like—no, it wasn't.... Oh, it was very puzzling!
CHAPTER X
The High Mountains
"WE must be going faster than a railway train," said George.
"We're going faster than twenty trains," replied the witch. "In a minute or two we shall catch up the daylight.... Ah, there you can see it already!" And she pointed to a speck of light toward which they were travelling at lightning speed.
The light grew brighter and brighter, and at last they shot into the most dazzling sunshine, and there, ahead of them, were the lovely mountains with their snowy tops all aglow. They were travelling high up above the land, and the only thing to be seen was a tremendously tall tower which stood erect in the middle of the plain.
"Blow the horn!" cried the witch, and Alexander barked "Wu-uff!" three times, while Golden Girl miaowed like ten railway engines all blowing off steam at the same time. The tower suddenly came to life, and, to George's astonishment, as they drew closer he saw that it was a giant holding out a hand nearly as big as a station platform.
They flew straight on and alighted gently on the outstretched hand, and then the engines stopped. George looked behind him and saw two large cats, as black as coal, sitting at the end of the broom.
"There, you see!" said the witch. "You never would have guessed."
"I haven't guessed now," replied George. "Did those two cats drive the machine along?"
"Of course!" laughed the witch. "That's why it's called a catoplane. If you wait until we start again you'll see how it's done." Then, turning, she called out: "Good-morning, friend! Are you quite well to-day?"
"Good-morning!" replied the giant in a deep voice which rumbled and rolled like thunder. "I'm fairly well, thank you. What brings you here?"
THE LIGHT GREW BRIGHTER AND BRIGHTER
"We're just giving George and Alexander a lift. George is following his fortune, you know."
"Ah, to be sure!" said the giant. "I remember hearing about it the last time the storks passed this way. They generally bring me some news of what is going on down below there."
George looked up at him with wide-open eyes. It isn't every day that one gets a chance of seeing a live giant, except in a circus—and even then they are disappointing, for they are not really a little bit like the picture which is shown outside. No circus would be big enough to hold this giant. He looked as if he were quite a mile long. His face was as big as an enormous moon, but he looked quite kind and smiled all the time.
"Are you off to the mountains?" he asked. "I expect you'll find Him there. He's not been very busy lately, but He's expecting you, I'm sure."
"Who's 'Him,' please?" asked George.
"Wait and see," replied the witch. "Little boys should always wait, and then—perhaps—they will see."
There seemed to be a great deal of waiting in this country, but George was learning to be patient. Alexander was busy talking to the cat, and the witch was whispering in the giant's ear, as he had bent down his head quite close to her.
"I wonder why he stands there all by himself," thought George. "He must feel very lonely with his feet down ever so far below him and his head in the clouds. I wonder if he ever goes to bed, and how does he get enough to eat? I shouldn't like to be as big as that."
"He wants to know all about you, you see," said the witch to the giant. George gave such a start! He had forgotten that she was there. How had she been able to read his thoughts?
"I'm a witch, my dear, and can tell everything," smiled the witch, answering his thoughts. "I can see right inside your little head if I want to. If I couldn't, I shouldn't be a witch at all."
"Well, it's rather a long story to tell you all about myself," began the giant. "It would take weeks and weeks. Even then we shouldn't have finished, for then there would be the story of all the weeks during which you had been listening to me."
"But I should know all about that," said George. "You would have been telling me the story, of course, and I should have been here."
The giant thought for a moment. "Yes ... but then I should have to tell you the story of how I told you the story ... and even then it wouldn't have an end, for——"
"You're half asleep!" cried the witch. "We can't wait to hear any more just now. You can tell it to George by and by."
"It's always by and by," grumbled the giant. "I've been trying to tell some one for years and years, and just as I'm going to begin it's always time to go somewhere and do something. Where's the dragon?"
"Playing with his tail, or else fast asleep, I expect," said the witch. "I never in all my life knew such a lazy creature. He's only awake when there's a chance of a game. If he comes along after we've gone, tell him your story."
"It's no use. He just jumps about and never listens. The last time he was here he played with my boots and bit a great piece out of one of them. He said he was sorry, but I've had a sore toe ever since. You wouldn't believe what a lot I have to put up with," and the poor giant looked as if he were going to cry.
"There, there!" said the witch soothingly. "You shall come with us if you're good, only don't cry. Remember, the last time you flooded the whole country and gave all of us dreadful colds. And what a bother it was making extra handkerchiefs for you."
"Oh, may I come with you?" cried the giant. "I should like that! I get such pins and needles in my feet standing here."
"Why do you stand here?" asked George.
"To look out, of course," said the witch; and then, as she saw George was going to ask another question, she gave the order to start.
The two black cats curled their tails round the end of the broom and then began to turn round and round in the air.
"Doesn't it make them dreadfully giddy?" asked George.
"No, of course not," said the witch. "It might do so if they were ordinary cats—but they're not. Listen to them purring."
What George had imagined was the throbbing of an engine was indeed the purring of the two cats as they whirled round in opposite directions. The witch was riding straight toward the mountains, and the giant with huge strides was keeping close by their side. He nodded to them from time to time, and George waved his hand in reply.
He was really a nice giant, and it was just as well to keep him cheerful and happy, for it would be very disagreeable to have a flood.
The mountains came nearer and nearer, and George thought he had never seen anything so splendid in all his life. Even the giant looked quite small beside them.
"Are we going right to the top, the very tip-top of that mountain?" asked George, pointing.
The witch did not answer for a moment. Then she turned to him and said: "Sing!"
"What shall I sing?" asked George in surprise, for he only knew some old nursery rhymes, and wasn't quite certain if he could remember the words or not.
"Listen to the music," answered the witch. "That will tell you the words."
True enough, there was music in the air all around them, as if the trees, the water, and the wind were all playing together. George listened, and then, to his surprise, began to sing all about the thoughts which he had been turning over in his mind.
"The mountain-tops are, oh, so high!
They make a hole right through the sky.
They glow with such a lovely light,
And far below them lies the night.
Their slopes are clad in fir and pine,
The queen has ne'er a dress so fine.
"And there they've stood, so I've heard say,
Ever so long and one long day.
And they will stand, so I've heard tell,
For ever and one day more as well.
So winds blow warm and winds blow cold
Over the mountain-tops so old.
"The mountain-tops so old and proud,
They wear a crown of mist and cloud.
For they were there when things began,
Ages before the oldest man.
Oh, mountain-tops, you're older far
Than great-great-great-great-grandpapa!"
CHAPTER XI
Tom Tiddler's Ground
THEY were now quite close to the mountains, and the witch gave the order to come to earth. The catoplane floated gently down until it came to rest in a beautiful grassy spot all ringed round with trees.
The giant was standing just a little way off, looking around him.
"Can you see Him?" called the witch.
"Yes, He's just coming," cried the giant. "Coo-ee! Coo-ee!"—and he waved his great hand to some one.
The witch, George, Alexander, and the cats all sat down and waited. Presently a funny little man came running along through the trees. He had a queer wrinkled-up face, with a smile in one corner of his mouth. He wore a high sugar-loaf hat with a bunch of feathers stuck in it, and a long golden cloak which floated behind him in the wind.
He stepped right into the middle of their circle, and, taking off his hat, made a low bow.
"Welcome!" he said, "welcome! I hope you are all quite well. So you want to follow your fortune?"—with a queer look out of the corner of his eye at George.
"Yes, please," replied George. "At least, I suppose I'm following it. I don't know where it is or where I am."
"To be sure!" chuckled the little man, sitting down suddenly as if he worked with springs. "Well, of course, you're here!"
"I know that," laughed George.
"If you know that, why did you ask me?" said the little man, cocking his hat on one side. "You're here: you might be there, but you're not. Now you know all about it.... Would you like something to eat?"
"Oh yes, please!" cried George, "I should like some——" And he stopped for a moment to think what he would like.
"Ask for what you want," said the little man. "I expect it's here. There are all sorts of things lying about if one knows where to look for them."
George looked around him. "I don't see anything——" he began.
"Of course not!" snapped the witch. "How can you when you don't know what to look for."
George did not wait a moment. "A plate of roast beef and potatoes, and a large bone for Alexander, please!"
"Help yourself!" said the little man.
There, sure enough, was a large plate of beef on George's knees, and Alexander was contentedly gnawing a huge bone.
"I've got no knife and fork," said George, looking at his plate longingly.
"Why don't you ask for them?" grumbled the witch. "You don't expect knives and forks to come of themselves, do you?"
"A knife and fork, please!" He had hardly spoken when Golden Girl got up—where had she found them?—and handed him a knife and fork; just the right size too!
"Aren't you going to have something to eat?" asked George.
"By and by," replied the witch. "Perhaps I shall eat you if I get very hungry," and she smiled as if it were a good joke.
There never was such good roast beef, and George was quite sorry when it was all finished.
"Might I have some apple tart—and a spoon," he added quickly, just remembering in time.
The apple tart appeared from nowhere, and George, when he had finished it, said his grace to himself, so as not to make the others feel that they had had no lunch.
The little man had wrapped himself up in his cloak and was sitting quite still. Now he jumped up. "What is your fortune?" he asked George.
"I don't know. No one ever told me—unless, of course, it's money. Father always says he's going to make his fortune some day, and he means money. I should like lots of money."
"Lots of money, eh?"—and the queer little man smiled a queer little smile. "Well, you've come to the right place for that!" and they all burst out laughing.
Then the little man sang in a voice like a shrill tin whistle:
"Here we are on Tom Tiddler's ground,
Picking up gold and silver,"
until the echoes answered: "Gold and silver! Gold and silver!"
George stared at him. "Are you Tom Tiddler?"
The little man bowed low. "At your service! This is my land. Make yourself at home, I beg you," and then sat down again.
"But I don't see any gold and silver," said George.
"Pick it up!" replied Tom Tiddler. "You'll see it quick enough then."
George bent down, and there, sure enough, in his hand was a lump of something sparkling in the light.
"Gold!" he cried, and he commenced to pick up more and more. He soon had a large heap by his side.
"How can I carry all this away?" he thought to himself.
Tom Tiddler jumped up and handed him a large sack.
"Oh, thank you!" and George shovelled all the gold and silver into it, while all the others sat watching him in silence. No one offered to help him, which he thought rather rude.
The sack was very heavy when he had filled it, and he could only just manage to lift it.
"Now that you've found your fortune, what are you going to do?" asked Tom Tiddler. "Go home, I suppose, and spend it." And they all laughed once more.
"I don't see anything to laugh at," said George. "I would go home, only I don't know my way."
"It's straight ahead until you get there, and then you stop," replied Tom Tiddler.
George thought this rather rude and not funny, so he turned and walked away a short distance. He felt as if he would like to cry, and began to wish he were at home again. Something cold touched his hand, and there was Alexander looking up at him, just in the old way, as if he were saying: "I'm here; don't mind what the others say. I'm always your friend."
George stooped down and patted him. "Dear old Alexander! Let us go back now. I don't like Tom Tiddler at all."
Alexander wagged his tail, but said never a word.
There was a sudden whirr—and there was the witch flying away far above their heads. George was rather glad, for he felt that he wanted only Alexander and nobody else.
Tom Tiddler came up to him again, and said with a bow: "May I show you the way, little master? You mustn't mind their laughter; you will understand better by and by. So many come here, following their fortunes like you, and don't even know what their fortunes are."
With another bow he turned and led the way up a rocky path which seemed to lead right into the heart of the mountains.
George followed him, carrying his bag. How heavy it was and how it hurt his shoulder! He got hot and then hotter, and at last, speaking half to himself, he said: "It is too heavy for me to carry.... I can't carry it any farther.... I'd sooner have no fortune at all if it's as difficult to take away as this is.... Oh, I wish it were gone!" Then, all in a moment, the sack no longer seemed to weigh anything. It might have been empty.
He felt so pleased and happy that he raced along after Tom Tiddler, but he could never quite catch him up, for the little man skipped along, jumping from rock to rock like a young goat. At last he gave a bigger jump than ever, and—hey presto!—like a Jack-in-the-box he was gone.
George rubbed his eyes. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Unless he had slipped through a hole in the ground or flown away, no one could tell what had become of him. He turned to Alexander, and was just going to ask him what they should do when he saw the great round face of the giant appear, as if it were floating in the air.
"This is a funny place," thought George. "One never knows what is going to happen next. Where did the poor old giant come from, I wonder."
"Hullo!" said the giant as he caught sight of them. "Hullo! Here you are at last. I've been waiting for you. They've all gone, I suppose."
"Yes, they've gone. How did you get here?" asked George.
"Oh, I'm just standing down in the valley below. I can put my head over the edge of the hill, and it's more comfortable for talking. Look over!"
George peeped over the edge of the cliff, and there, sure enough, below them in the valley were the great feet belonging to the giant. They looked, so far off were they, as if they must belong to some one else.
It was quite a long time before the giant spoke again. "Let us talk. You do want to talk, don't you? I was just thinking over one or two stories to tell you—not the whole of my life, you know—that's very long, as I told you before. It's a queer thing about stories. They grow just as you and I do. Every time I tell a story I find that it has grown longer. Some of them, so I've been told, have no end."
"Oh," said George, "but they must have an end, however long they are! They generally end with 'and so they married and lived happily ever after.'"
"I never heard that kind of story. It couldn't end that way if you were telling a story about a sausage. Sausages don't marry, do they?" And the giant laughed until all the echoes joined in with "Ha, ha! Ho, ho!"
"Is the story you are going to tell me about a sausage?" asked George.
The giant did not reply, but after a short pause he began: "Once there was a sausage. It was the most beautiful sausage I ever saw. Everybody loved it. It belonged to a prince who was very, very rich. He had so many sausages that he was never able to count them, and he had to go long past twelve times in the multiplication table even then.
"This sausage was large, round, and covered all over with gold paper to keep it from catching cold. It was rather delicate when it was young, but as it grew up——"
"Sausages don't grow up!" exclaimed George in surprise.
"Don't interrupt me," answered the giant. "As it grew up it became stronger and more beautiful every day. The prince was never tired of looking at it and admiring it.
"One day he thought it was time for him to get married, and so he wrote a letter to a lovely princess who lived not far away, and asked her if she would accept his hand and his sausages.
"The princess, however, was not very fond of sausages. She had once been ill after eating them, and had never cared for them since. So she wrote back and said that she was very sorry but she could not accept his kind invitation.
"The prince became very sorrowful when he received her letter, for she was a beautiful princess—almost as beautiful as his sausage. So he made up his mind to go and see where he could find a wife who would like both him and his sausages.
"He mounted his horse and rode away," continued the giant in a slow, sleepy voice, and George closed his eyes for just one minute, he felt so drowsy....
Hush! You must take forty winks
before turning over the page. It would
be unkind to hear the rest of the story
before George woke up.
CHAPTER XII
Over the Hills and Far Away
GEORGE woke with a start.
"And so the princess said to the prince: 'I had no idea it was a golden sausage. Why didn't you tell me that at first? It makes all the difference.' And so ... and so...." the giant had fallen fast asleep.
"Of course, they married and lived happily ever after!" cried George. "Didn't I tell you so?"
There was no answer. Suddenly he heard what sounded to him like thunder. It rumbled and rolled, nearer and nearer, louder and louder. At last a tremendous clap made the stones roll down the mountain-side, and the trees quivered and shook in fright.
"What shall we do, Alexander?" exclaimed George, for he hated thunder; and he wasn't in bed, so he couldn't bury his head under the clothes. If you do this—as everybody knows—the thunder can't get at you, and just rolls and bumps about under the bed until it gets tired.
Alexander yawned and stretched himself. "Oh, it's only the old giant snoring. I don't wonder, after talking so long about princesses and sausages. Nobody ate a sausage in the whole story. I wish I'd been there, that's all! We'd better be going. He won't wake up for at least a week now."
Sure enough, the poor old giant was fast asleep, and snoring so that you could have heard him twenty miles off. You could hardly hear yourself speak for the noise.
Well, it was no use waiting, so George and Alexander started to follow the little path which wound in and out, like the letter S, up the mountain-side. It was the easiest thing in the world to climb. It was as nice as going upstairs on a very soft carpet, up—up, until they were right above the fir-trees, and it grew colder and colder. In another moment they were walking on real snow!
"We're nearly at the top now," said Alexander.
George had never been up to the top of a mountain before. Fancy going home and telling everybody what he'd done! Of course he would have to pretend that it was really very difficult, just as people do in books. But would anyone believe him?
Up—up, until at last there they were right on the very tip-top. Far below for miles and miles stretched a great plain, green and beautiful to behold. Was it fancy, that faint sound of music?
"Alexander, where does that music come from?" asked George.
"It comes from there," replied Alexander. "Over there, you know."
"But I don't know—and where is 'over there,' and why does nobody ever answer questions properly?"
Alexander looked as if he were going to say, "Wait and see," but George looked really vexed—so he didn't.
"We'd better go down and see," he said, and bounded down the mountain-side. Oh, you have no idea how fast they ran! It was almost like flying.
At last they came to a forest of pine-trees through which the path seemed to lead. Into the forest they ran helter-skelter. There must have been thousands of trees; there seemed to be no end to them, and no way through except by the little path which curled in and out and round about.
Curly paths are the best; they enjoy having a little fun, for just as you think you are getting to wherever you want to go you find that the path has turned itself round and is staring you in the face.
Straight paths just go there. They are rather dull unless you are in a hurry, and then it doesn't matter.
This path was sometimes curly and sometimes not. It never seemed to be quite sure what it wanted to do. At last it made up its mind, unrolled itself, and ran as straight as the straightest line right through the wood and out into the sun again.
"Look there!" cried George, pointing, to the branch of a tree just in front of them. There, perched on it and shining away like anything, was the little weathercock!
"You've come at last," he crowed. "It's just time for tea. Come along!" and he fluttered down to the ground beside them.
"How did you get here?" asked George.
"I've been here all the time," answered the weathercock. "Where else should I be?"
George gazed all round him; then he caught sight of a little house he thought he knew, with the smoke curling up from its chimneys. "Why, that's my house! How did it get here?"
"Really, you do ask a lot of questions," complained the little cock. "The house hasn't moved. You've been moving. Didn't you want to get back here?"
"Yes, of course, but—oh, well, I don't understand. I thought we were going somewhere else all the time."
"There is no such place as 'somewhere else' that I ever heard of," said the cock. "Where did you expect to get to? You said you wanted to get home, and here you are, aren't you?"
Alexander ran on ahead and disappeared through the garden gate. George waited for a moment to watch the cock fly up to his little perch on the roof again, and then went in. Tea was spread on the table just as usual. Oh, it was good to be home again! There was no time for talking. George put down his sack, which he had held in his hand all this time and quite forgotten. What's the good of talking at tea-time, except to say "Yes, please," and "Thank you"? Besides, it is rude to talk with your mouth full, and if you are enjoying your tea your mouth is full all the time. Anyway, that is what George thought. He didn't even stop to see if Alexander was getting anything to eat.
At last he finished, and Alexander, who had found some biscuits somewhere, licked the last crumb from his nose.
"Don't forget your sack, George," he said, in a queer kind of voice.
George gave a start of surprise, then picked up the sack from the floor. It had grown quite, quite small, and weighed almost nothing at all. He opened it, and there inside was—what do you think?—a heap of golden-coloured leaves!
He burst out laughing! So this was his wonderful fortune!
Alexander gazed at him, and neither of them said a word for a moment.
"I see," said George. "I think I see. My fortune isn't made of gold at all. Well, I don't mind a little bit. The sack was very heavy to carry at first, and I felt as cross as cross could be. I'll put these leaves on the fire."
"No, no!" cried Alexander. "Don't do that! You must never throw away anything that Tom Tiddler has given you. It might bring you bad luck.... You know, so many people throw away their good fortune, and they never, never get a chance of finding it a second time. And they never find their way back here."
"Do you mean that other people have been here in the house?" asked George.
"No, of course not. This is your house. Every one has his own house here until he—or she—grows up. Then they don't seem to want to come back. They're funny people, these grown-ups. I often wonder whether it's wearing trousers and long skirts that makes such a difference to them."
This was quite a long speech for Alexander, so he put his head down on his paws and fell fast asleep.
George wanted to ask ever so many more questions, but all of a sudden he felt sleepy too, so he climbed the stairs to the dear little bedroom, lay down on the bed, and fell fast asleep.
