But at the first turn of the path he met a little lad no older than himself, who was drawing a handcart filled with something covered, and he was singing merrily.
“Hello,” said the Merry Lad. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” said Hazen. And though he had readily confided to the old man what he was hoping to find, someway Hazen felt that if he told the Merry Lad, he would laugh at him. And that no one likes, though it is never a thing to fear.
“Come on with me,” said the Merry Lad. “I am going in the town to sell my images. There will be great sport.”
And, without stopping to think whether his fortune lay that way, Hazen, whose blood leapt at the idea of the town and its sports, turned and went with him.
The Merry Lad was very merry. He told Hazen more games and riddles than ever he had heard. He sang him songs, did little dances for him in the open glades, raced with him, and when they reached the dusty highway, got him in happy talk with the other wayfarers. And by the time they gained the town, they were a gay little company. There the Merry Lad took his images to the market-place and spread them under a tree—little figures made to represent Mirth, Merriment, Laughter, Fun, Fellowship, and Delight—no end there was to the variety and charm of the little images, and no end to all that the Merry Lad did to attract the people to them. He sang and danced and whistled and even stood on his head, and everyone crowded about him and was charmed.
“Pass my cap about,” he said, while he danced, to Hazen. “They will give us money.”
So Hazen passed the Merry Lad’s cap, and the people gave them money. They filled the cap, indeed, with clinking coins, and went away carrying the images. And by nightfall the Merry Lad and Hazen had more money than they knew how to use.
“Oh,” the Merry Lad cried, “we shall have a glorious time. Come!”
Now Hazen had never been in the town at night, and he had never been in any town at any time without some of the king’s servants for whom he had had to fetch and carry. To him the streets were strange and wonderful, blazing with lights, filled with gayly dressed folk, and sounding now and again to strains of music. But the Merry Lad seemed wholly at home, and he went here and there like a painted moth, belonging to the night and a part of it. They feasted and jested and joyed, and most of all they spent the money that they had earned, and they spent it on themselves. I cannot tell you the things that they bought. They bought a wonderful, tropical, talking bird; they bought a little pony on which they both could ride, with the bird on the pony’s neck; they bought a tiny trick monkey and a suit of Indian clothes with fringed leggings and head-feathers; and a music-box that played like a whole band. And when the evening with its lights and pantomimes was over, they pitched their tent on the edge of the town, picketed the pony outside, brought the other things safely within, and lay down to sleep.