CHAPTER IV
AT THE COBBLER’S COTTAGE
“I DON’T like it here!” wailed the voice of the coward within him. “There are too many things that I don’t understand. I’d like to run away from it all.”
“My Grandmother used to tell me never to run away from what I can’t understand,” said David. “Try to understand it—face it, anyway—and if you can’t overcome it, go round it. But always keep your face toward it, because if you run from it, it may run after you, and then there is no telling what may happen. I’m going to face everything in this land! I feel so strong and so happy that you can’t make me afraid—no, not even you, you Doubting Voice—for I’m off to find the Garden, and I want you just to keep still.”
He had walked only a little way when he came to a small cottage. An elderly man was seated on the step, mending a pair of shoes. He called to David as the boy approached.
“What is your name?” asked the man.
“David,” the boy answered.
“Well, well, David,” said the Cobbler, “you are just the little boy I have been looking for. I want you to come into my cottage, and I will show you something.”
Now, the Cobbler was really a witch, and all he wanted to do was to get David into his cottage. Once he had the lad within its doors, he would cast a spell over him that would prevent him from wishing to leave. Then the old Cobbler could do with him as he pleased. But David knew nothing of all this. He entered the cottage; and as he entered, the witch’s spell began to take effect. He forgot the Garden for which he was seeking; he forgot the old woman to whom he had given the cup, and what she had told him; and, saddest of all, he forgot the Blue Bird. This meant that he could neither see nor hear it again till he thought of it himself and sought it of his own free will.
On the table was a tempting supper of cereal and milk, and a large slice of mocha pie stood enticingly before him. The Cobbler motioned to him to be seated and told him that the supper was spread there for him. David was really very hungry, and he sat down and ate a good meal.
Just as he finished the last mouthful of the pie, a little girl entered the room. David, looking at her, thought that he had never in his life seen so beautiful a child. She was about eight years of age. Her hair was golden brown, fine as spun gold, and she wore it pushed back from her face and held in place by a narrow shell band. Her forehead was high and well rounded. And her eyes were so kind and beautiful that David just stood and looked into them, as she in turn was looking into his. It seemed to them both as if they had known one another long, long ago; no, it was as if they had always known one another—as if their meeting now were the most natural thing in the world.