The last dragon
we saw running up the road, just a little while ago.”
“_Were_ you?” asked the mountebank, wriggling one ear and keeping the
other perfectly still.
“Yes.”
“And you fell off?”
“Yes.”
The mountebank shook his head, dismally, “Dear, dear me, what a
careless thing to do!”
“I was running a race and I tripped,” explained Peter.
“Tripped? Then you can’t blame anybody for it but yourself, can you
now?” asked the mountebank, winking his right eye and wriggling his
left ear at the same time, which is a very difficult thing to do.
“I don’t want to blame anybody. I just want to find the dragon, again,
that’s all,” said Peter.
“Oh, you can’t possibly do that,” the mountebank returned. “He’s
probably two thousand leagues away from here already, more or less.”
“Which way is Ireland?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” said the mountebank. “It’s follow your nose, I
guess. I’ve never been there, but you’d never walk it in twenty years.
Better come along with us.”
“Can you dance?” inquired the gipsy girl.
“I went to dancing school once, but I can’t dance,” said Peter. “Why?”
“We need somebody else to dance at the fair,” the girl said, taking a
few fancy steps and the bear joined in, ending with a high kick.
“Can you juggle hoops and balls?” asked the mountebank.
“No,” Peter said, feeling quite useless.
“Can you swallow a sharp sword?”
“No.”
“Can you walk a tight rope?”
“No. I can’t do anything like that. I can only kill a dwagon with my
sword.”
“Well, you can’t very well kill a dragon when there’s none to kill, can
you now?” questioned the mountebank, cocking his head, “so come and
walk with us to the fair.”
“Where is it?” Peter asked.
“Just across those hills. You can see the church steeple straight ahead
if you only use your eyes.”
Peter nodded as he saw a thin point, far in the distance, sticking up
above a hill like the blade of a sword.
“Heigho, let’s go, to the beautiful show!” cried the clown, linking his
arm in Peter’s, and they started off for the fair, the bear walking
behind with the pretty gipsy girl who began to sing the sweetest song.
CHAPTER XII
PETER GOES TO THE FAIR AND WHAT HE FINDS THERE
Very soon they left the road and made a short-cut across the fields,
treading through tall grass and carpets of large red wild flowers.
Peter walked in sort of a daze. Everything had happened so quickly and
in such a strange manner that every so often he was sure he must be
dreaming.
“I really shouldn’t be going with these queer people,” he argued with
himself,--“I should keep on following the king’s highway. Doing this,
I’ll be lost for good, and I’ll never see Grams, or Janet Jane, or
Johnathan or the dwagon again. I ought to stay on the road.” And yet
he continued to walk on with the mountebank. “Still,” he argued the
other way, “what else is there for me to do? The mountebank says it
would take me twenty years to walk to Ireland. Let’s see? Twenty and
six?--that would make me twenty-six when I got there. They wouldn’t
know me then, I’d be so old. No, I guess I’d better stay with these
people and see what happens.”
They climbed a little hill and Peter found himself looking down on a
tiny hamlet with a gray church and little nudging houses with roofs
of red, red tiles. A patch of green was the village square, and Peter
could see tall and gay May-poles and tents with bright awnings, and
merry music floated up to him on the sweet, fresh air. People in gay
costumes filled the square.
“We’re very late,” exclaimed the girl--“let’s run down the hill!” And
taking the bear’s paw, she started. The mountebank took a firmer grip
on Peter’s arm and ran also. Poor Peter! The clown seemed to have wings
on his shoes instead of bells because he fairly flew down the hill, and
poor Peter had a dreadful time keeping up with him, running in stiff
armor. Every few steps his joints would stick and down he would fall
with a crash, making a noise like ten dishpans falling, and then up the
mountebank would pull him and on they would fly. In this way, they
reached the edge of the square in no time, and paused to catch their
breath. Peter’s armor was filled with dents and his helmet had worked
around to one side so that he could only see with one eye.
The mountebank helped him to straighten it, and just as they were
about to move on, there was a burst of shouting and yelling and high
giggling, and from all directions children in ribbons and flowers,
their sunny hair flying, surrounded the players, piling themselves as
thick as honey bees on the clown and the bear. “Dear old Beppo!” they
cried, kissing the clown, “And dear, dear Chuckles!” kissing the bear.
“We’re so glad to see you again. We were afraid you weren’t coming.”
“We’re a little late, I must admit,” said the clown, shaking the
children off his shoulders, “but we couldn’t help it. It’s a long walk
from Rome, you know.”
“Of course,” cried the children--“Well, come along. We want to see you
swallow your sword again!” And they dragged him into the square. Peter
was dragged along also for with so many children it was like being on
a very crowded street when you have to go where the others are going
whether you want to or not. On the way, the children flung all sorts of
questions at Peter. “Who are you going to fight?” “Have you ever killed
a dragon?” “Where’s your horse?” “Is that sword sharp?” And many more
which Peter couldn’t answer because he didn’t want them to find out
that he was just a little boy.
And now they were in the thick of the fair. In its way it was just as
noisy as the shop of Allan the armorer, but the noises here were all
jolly, just made for fun,--the fun of the spring time when the blossoms
are out once more and the grass is thick and green, and the birds have
returned.
The mountebank and the bear were indeed very popular. So was the gipsy
girl when she began to dance, and coins fell all around her like silver
rain. The bear picked them up and put them in a pouch he wore on a belt
around his middle.
Then the bear danced all by himself, using the silver chain for a
skipping rope, and then Beppo asked Peter for his sword, and after
balancing it on his chin, he put the sharp tip of it into his mouth
and began to swallow it slowly! When Peter saw it half gone, he became
afraid and called, “Don’t swallow all of it, Beppo!” for he certainly
didn’t want to be left all alone in the Dark Ages without a sword, but
Beppo only grinned and continued to swallow, and finally it got down to
the hilt and was almost gone when Beppo pulled it out again and handed
it back to Peter.
The crowd cheered and threw more silver coins and even gold ones, and
again the bear picked them up. After that, Beppo turned many amazing
handsprings and doubled himself up into knots, just like a snake--his
bones seemed to be made of jelly--and then the three troubadours
danced, the bear in the middle, and ended up, standing on their heads,
grinning upside down.
My, how the crowd applauded and shouted, and how the children swarmed
around! All the other booths and attractions were deserted and the
crowd became so thick that Peter was elbowed out, and before he knew
it, he found himself wandering alone down a little street of tents
flashing as many colors as a field of wild flowers.
Peter saw one tent that said spider monkeys over the door and another
that said snake charmers and yet another that said fresh peacock
sandwiches. He wanted to see the spider monkeys and he was hungry
enough to try a peacock sandwich, but he had no money, so on he
wandered, wondering just where he was going and what would happen
next, when he came to a tent of bright scarlet, outside of which sat a
strange old man with a long white beard and the sharpest pair of beady
eyes that Peter had ever seen. He wore a moldy green cloak and red
pointed shoes turned up at the ends, and a little green hat shaped like
a sauce pan with an owl’s feather in it, and his nose was shaped just
like a fish hook. He was rubbing his long and knotted hands together
and they made a noise like sandpaper, while he mumbled over and over
some strange rhyme that sounded like, Bubble, trouble,--trouble,
bubble--quite like a tea pot when it’s ready for tea.
He stopped mumbling when he saw Peter and he said, quickly: “How would
you like to see a princess with toes of silver?”
Peter was so startled that he just stood there with his mouth wide
open. Had he heard that really and truly, from the lips of this strange
old man?
“Well?” spoke the little man again, “I asked you a question. Why don’t
you answer me? Have you no tongue or are you deaf?”
“N-no,” stammered Peter, “I--I don’t think I quite heard what you said.
I was thinking of something else.”
The beady eyes were fixed upon him again and the little man repeated in
sort of a sing-song, “How would you like to see a princess with toes of
silver?” And Peter, after gulping, and feeling his heart leap up and
turn over, asked: “Really, _really_ silver?”
And the stranger replied, winking one of his crafty eyes, “As silver as
the throne of the Silver King and much more polished.”
“Is--is she in there?” questioned Peter, pointing at the bright scarlet
tent.
“She is for a fact,” said the odd old man, “and you may see her for a
ducat of gold.” And again he rubbed his hands together, making the same
gritty noise like sandpaper.
“But--but I have nothing--not even a penny,” said Peter.
“What’s a penny?” asked the stranger.
“It’s a--it’s a--well, it’s a penny--you can buy lemon sticks with it,
and--and--but since I haven’t one--”
The odd little man scowled, fearfully. “What sort of a knight are you,
going about without money?” he said. “Well, I’d certainly borrow some
ducats at once, if I were you, and then you could see the only princess
in captivity with silver toes.”
Quick as a flash, Peter had an idea. “Will you still be here when I get
back?” he asked, his eyes leaping with excitement.
“Yes, if you’re not gone until next Easter,” snapped the little man,
beginning to braid his long whiskers, two braids at a time.
“Why, no--I’ll be back in a jiffy,” said Peter, and he ran around the
tent and found himself in the middle of the square again.
He had no trouble locating the clown and his troupe for they were still
the center of an admiring crowd, and as Peter pushed his way through,
he heard an old lady with one front tooth say to an old lady with two
front teeth, “Beppo’s goin’ to swaller a sword agin!” And the old lady
with two front teeth chuckled and cackled, “Yes, an’ the bear’s goin’
to dance agin an’ the pretty girl’s goin’ to sing. Makes me disgusted
since I can’t hear.”
Peter had some trouble in getting through the crowd to the front and
was often hurled back by burly townsfolk, butchers and bakers and
candlestick makers, but at last he stood on the edge of the cleared
space, just as Beppo had a butcher’s knife half way down his throat.
Every one was silent with admiration until he had finished his trick,
and then they applauded most generously and threw coins and even
ribbons and tiny bouquets of red poppies and blue, blue cornflowers.
Presently, out leaped the gipsy girl and began to dance, light, light,
light, shaking a tambourine, and then the bear, lump, lump, lump,
clanking his chain, and before any one could think, Peter had dashed
out and was dancing with them, all in his dented armor, with his joints
squeaking like baby mice, and his sword clanking. Spurred on by the
desire to see the princess, he did many things that he had never done
before. He stood on one foot and whirled like a top. He did three
beautiful cartwheels. He stood on his head. He walked on his hands