"Call Trompetilla," exclaimed the lad, "and let us have a talk."
The witch appeared, this time crying with joy at seeing her son, and after kissing him, stuck him in her dress so that he should not be lost again. The wizard gave Rupert a lot of money and the witch gave him a splendid supper of stew and hemp-seed.
When supper was over they affectionately took leave of one another, and the wizard took Rupert out into the fresh air, carrying him carefully to the same spot in which he was when he met the priest. There he left the boy sleeping soundly, dreaming of a sweet awakening—the dream of the person who sees his future assured by reason of not having done anything wrong.
THE QUACK DOCTOR
I do not know whether it was true or not, but as it was told to me so I tell it to you.
There used to pass through the goodly streets, whether of Constantinople or Babylon I am not sure which—however, it makes no difference to my story—a quack doctor who, while beating a drum and clashing a pair of cymbals, announced his medicines and practised his cures.
You must place the action of this story in a place where there are no medical men, for if there were, certainly they would put the quack in prison where he would not see daylight for a long time. And the fact is that, with all his quackery, the man had acquired great fame in the difficult art to which he devoted himself. His adaptability was extraordinary. It was just the same to him to extract a big man's tooth as to pull out a knife and cut off anybody's leg without stopping for a moment.
For shamelessness this man could not be beaten. It is related that in the times when our quack wandered through the streets and towns, the emperor's son fell ill of a great and persistent melancholy. The youth was sad and weak, and even when he felt no pain his depression was alarming. The court doctors, who were important people, held a consultation, and, as always happens in these cases, each one put forward a different opinion from that of his companions.
"It appears to me," said one, putting on his spectacles, "saving the estimable opinion of my fellow-professors, that his highness the hereditary prince is suffering from his liver. Broth of green beans would be a good thing."
"Gently, wise companion," exclaimed another. "I maintain that his highness suffers from his spleen; and as what is good for the liver is bad for the other organ, I do not believe that green beans would be any good; roasted chick peas are wanted."