The marvellous land of Snergs
All you have to do is to--but one thing at a time. Come inside and make
yourselves at home.”
He led the way up some steep steps to a door in the wall of the tower
and into a large round room which took the whole of one story. It was
big enough, but the most comfortless room possible. At one side was a
great four-foot post bedstead, and in the middle was a big heavy table
and one big heavy chair. And that was all the furniture, unless you
count an accumulation of mixed litter--old clothes and gardening tools
and pots and pans and sacks and barrels and so forth scattered on the
floor. Some wooden steps led to a trap-door in the ceiling and in the
stone floor was another trap-door, with a big iron ring to lift it by,
which led apparently to a cellar. There was only one window, with
little round panes of dull green glass.
“This is my kitchen-dining room,” he said with a look of pride. “I
sleep here too--that structure over there is my bed--so it is a bedroom
as well. Please take chairs--I mean, one of you take the chair and the
others sit on the floor. But whatever you do, make yourselves at home.”
“Thanks,” said Gorbo. “But what about the way across the river?”
“The river?” Golithos did not seem to grasp his meaning.
“Yes, the river outside. All that wet stuff over there. We want to get
back.”
“Undoubtedly. Well, you needn’t worry about _that_, because it’s a very
simple matter. I’ll show you how it can be done in the easiest way.
But first let’s see about dinner.” He picked up a pan and a knife and
rushed blunderingly down the steps.
“I’ve heard it said that he’s getting very slow since he reformed,”
said Gorbo after a minute’s thinking, “but he’s worse than I expected.
Somehow or other he makes me feel that I want to contradict him. And
I’m not like that usually.”
“But he’s going to give us something to eat,” Joe observed.
“Yes, Joe. But I don’t think it will be very strengthening. That’s the
worst of reformed people. Here he comes.”
Golithos came in like a mighty bumble bee, bumping against things
and getting his feet entangled with things on the floor and dropping
vegetables about and stooping to pick them up and dropping others as
he did so. “I’m going to give you the feed of your lives,” he said,
chopping up lettuce and smiling in his feeble way. “I always think
there’s nothing so appetizing as fine fresh lettuce and raw onions,
especially if they have lots of salt.”
DINNER WITH GOLITHOS
In a minute or so he placed a large pan on the table, and then he got
two empty barrels and laid a plank across them to make a seat for the
children. Sylvia whispered rather anxiously to Gorbo, who had been
watching their host with a discontented expression, and indicated that
Tiger’s contour was losing its curves.
“Look here, Golithos,” said Gorbo, “can you give this little dog
something to eat?”
Golithos scratched his head. “Let me see--I suppose he doesn’t eat
salad?”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s a dog, not a grasshopper. Haven’t you got any
bread?”
“I may have some odd bits in a sack somewhere. You see I don’t eat
bread very much. I find its heating to the blood. But I’ll try to find
some nice bits for him later. In the meantime, let us eat heartily.
Would you like the chair or do you prefer standing?”
“Chair for me, thanks,” replied Gorbo, seating himself. “Look here,
Golithos, this is all very kind and considerate and jolly of you, but
these young ones will want something a bit solider than this.”
“No solids here,” said Golithos quickly. “It wouldn’t do.”
“Well, you’ve got a cow outside. Why don’t you give them some milk?”
“Milk? Yes, but do you think it would be good for them? It’s rather
heady stuff.”
Gorbo clapped the table smartly. “You hop out and milk that old cow of
yours!” he said loudly. “These children want milk. They can’t live on
lip and lettuce.”
Golithos looked fearfully abashed. “Yes, yes, I’ll go,” he said. “Don’t
be violent.” He blundered out and down the steps.
“Can’t quite make him out,” said Gorbo. “He was a wicked old rascal
once, but if he was rough he was ready--and a bit interesting if you’re
not too particular. But I think the watercress diet has weakened his
brain.”
He felt his responsibility in the matter keenly; if he had not been a
born fool he would not have got the children into this mess; and his
easy-going disposition seemed to have suddenly disappeared with regard
to his host. After a minute he jumped out of the big chair and ran to
the window and poked his head out. “Golithos!” he called in a warning
voice. “Waiting!”
Golithos appeared, bearing a pitcher of milk and looking highly
flustered. “Shall I put some water in it?” he asked.
“Give it to me,” ordered Gorbo, taking the pitcher. He looked round the
littered table and found two earthenware mugs. “Wash them,” he said,
passing them over his shoulder to Golithos. “Dear, dear, this is barely
decent!”
The milk at any rate was nice and warm, and the children felt greatly
refreshed by it. A small bowlful was given to Tiger, who lapped it
up and then went to sleep on a sack. Then all set to on the salad,
Golithos standing by and pressing them to take more whenever they
paused. Gorbo took his portion in a dissatisfied way, sometimes looking
at a morsel with scorn before putting it into his mouth (I may mention
that they were eating with their fingers; there were no forks in this
disgusting ménage). After a time he made a crude attempt at polite
conversation.
“Doing well here, Golithos?” he asked.
“Pretty well, thank you. Oh, yes. It’s lonely, of course; people seem
to shun me so. But I have plenty of time to meditate on my past sins.”
“Ah, that ought to fill in the time. Keeping pretty fit, Golithos?”
“Tolerably so, thank you. I suffer from stomach trouble occasionally.”
“Only occasionally, eh? That’s strange. Sleep well, Golithos?”
“Fairly well, I thank you. I have nightmares sometimes.”
“What do you expect? This all you’re going to give us, Golithos?”
“I’m really afraid I haven’t anything else--Yes, I have! I can give you
a fine fresh young cucumber.”
“Keep it, Golithos.” Gorbo stretched himself and yawned and turned to
the children. “Well, Sylvia, what do you think of _this_ for a hole?”
Sylvia glanced at the feeble though gigantic face of the once
child-eater and felt some pity for him. “Oh, it’s very nice,” she
answered, though not, I am afraid, very truthfully. “Isn’t it, Joe?”
“It’s fine,” said Joe. Then he put his hands before his mouth and
spluttered, for his manners were not good. Their host looked very
unhappy.
“Just fancy it on a rainy day,” went on Gorbo. “Well, Golithos, what’s
the country like in these parts?”
“I don’t know very much about it, because I don’t go about very much,
but I’ve heard it’s very bad. You see there’s the land of King Kul not
so very far off, and he’s got a very bad character.”
“Yes, we’ve heard of him. What does he do especially?”
“Well, he persecutes the people. You see he makes a hobby of it.
And from what I’ve heard they’re the sort of people who ought to be
persecuted. But I don’t really know much about them because I don’t
often see any of them. And when I do I lock myself up tight until
they’ve gone. Old Mother Meldrum comes over to see me sometimes and she
tells me about the goings-on.”
“And who’s old Mother Meldrum?”
“Well, she’s a witch, that’s what she is. She says nothing will go
right until King Kul is laid out, and she keeps trying to get me to go
for it. But somehow or other I don’t feel up to violent exercise since
I got reformed.”
“You’re losing your nerve, Golithos. But why doesn’t somebody else try
to do him in?”
“I think it’s because they’re afraid. It’s risky, you see. Mother
Meldrum says that his castle is three-quarters dungeons. And he keeps
six headsmen busy all the time except on Saturday afternoons and
Sundays.”
“That fits in with what I’ve heard of him myself,” said Gorbo, looking
anxiously at Sylvia and Joe, who were taking all this in. “But cheer
up, Sylvia, we’ll soon get out of it. Now, Golithos, what about how to
get across the river?”
GOLITHOS EXPLAINS
The giant took Gorbo by the arm and led him to the window. “Do you see
that tree?” he asked, pointing out a tall pine standing far off.
“Yes, Golithos.”
“Well, that tree’s close by the river, and I pointed it out because
it’s quite useless your trying to get across the river at that point.
Or for the matter of that, at any other point, if you understand me.”
“Well, I don’t, if you understand me. I can tell you fifty ways how
_not_ to get across the river. Rouse your wits, Golithos!”
“You make me nervous. And if you do that you’ll drive all the fine
ideas out of my head. You see the fact is that you don’t get _across_
the river at all. But, notwithstanding, it’s a perfectly easy matter to
get to the other side if you know the way how. Now do you see my point?”
“I thought I was something of a born fool, Golithos, but since I’ve met
you I’m quite proud of myself.”
“_Don’t_ speak to me like that; it gives me the all-overs. Look here,
all you have to do is to go _under_ the river. You go through a little
door.”
“I thought so. You’ve been a long time coming to it, Golithos. As a
matter of fact we came that way, but the little door shut up tight as
soon as we got out of it. And there’s another door on the other side.
How do we get them open?”
“It’s quite easy. But I don’t quite remember how it’s done--now don’t
get violent! You see it’s not exactly difficult; it’s only something to
do with some little magic spells. You make a circle on the ground and
divide it into six parts--or sixteen parts, I forget which. And then
you bring some simple little charms--twenty-eight altogether, I think.
I know one of them is the toe-nail of the seventh son of a seventh son
born on a Friday. And then you repeat something out of a book--oh, if
you’re going to look at me like that I shall get thoroughly nervous and
forget the rest.”
“Look here, Golithos,” said Gorbo, “do you think Mother Meldrum has
more sense than you?”
“Oh, yes, she’s got ever so much more! _She_ knows the way to get the
door open.”
“Oh, does she? Then where can we find her?”
“She may come here at any time. You see she comes because I amuse
her--at least that’s what she says--and if you wait here a day or two
she’s bound to turn up. I can give you a lovely room upstairs. I’ll
move the turnips to one side and give you some nearly clean straw to
sleep on. I’d give my own bed to the little ones, but I’m afraid the
mattress is rather bumpy; I think some brickbats must have got into
it. You see I air the mattress every November, and last November I was
doing some building, and as there were a few holes in it, you see----”
“Don’t worry, Golithos, we’ll take your upstairs room. So come and move
the turnips.”
THE UPSTAIRS ROOM
The upstairs room was much worse than the one below, which is saying
something. It was furnished chiefly with turnips and sacks of lime, and
these Golithos began to move to one side in a muddle-headed way, while
Gorbo sat on the window-ledge and watched him. At length there was a
clear space for the straw, which was spread out in the manner advocated
for sick horses.
“There!” said Golithos proudly, resting on his hay-fork, _“There’s_ a
bed for you!”
Gorbo only snorted and said nothing, and there was silence for a time.
“Those are dear little children,” remarked Golithos, trying to be
amiable and interesting.
“Yes,” said Gorbo shortly.
“It’s a long time since I saw any. In my bad old days I saw plenty, as
you know, but I thought it best--after I reformed--to keep away from
them for a good long time.”
“Sound idea.”