The marvellous land of Snergs
am, alone with you dear things in the greenwood. And very nice too.”
“Is the King _very_ ruthless?” asked Sylvia anxiously.
“Ruthless! Oh, my! However, I’m not going to go into details because
that would only frighten you and serve no useful purpose.”
“We’ve heard that things are pretty bad on this side,” said Gorbo. “And
Golithos said the same.”
“Oh, yes, dear old Golithos. You told me you’d stayed a night with him.
I’ve never seen him myself, but I thought of paying him a visit.”
“Don’t you do it,” said Gorbo. “He’ll bore you stiff--and there’s
nothing to eat at his place but the stuff rabbits eat.”
“Then that settles _that_,” said Baldry. “Well, where shall we go?”
“We’d better try to find Mother Meldrum somehow. She’ll be able to tell
us how to get back home.”
“Dear old Mother Meldrum!” exclaimed Baldry. “Yes, let’s go and find
her; she lives somewhere in the dark woods, which are somewhere about
here. I’ve always wanted to meet that dear old lady, and now I shall!”
“Is she nice then?” asked Sylvia, rather relieved at his enthusiasm.
“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that. She’s a witch, and she’s rather
noted for blighting crops and injuring folks generally and she makes a
fairly good living by selling curses and nobody of any sense will go
near her. But she may have her good points. Let’s go at once!”
“Look here, my dear friend,” said Gorbo, “this is all very well for you
and me, but what about Sylvia and Joe? You stay here and look after
them and I’ll go and see her. There’s no need for all of us to come.”
“No, Gorbo,” cried Sylvia, “we’re going where you go.”
“Of course we are,” said Joe. “Besides, it’d be rather fun to meet a
real witch.”
“That’s my way of looking at it,” said Baldry. “Fun is the correct
word. Come along, Joe, let’s look for the dark woods. I’ll race you to
the top of that tree.”
He ran to an enormous tree a little distance away and Joe ran after
him. In another minute the two disappeared among the leaves. Then cries
of joy were heard from aloft.
“It’s lovely up here,” called Joe. “Swinging about like Billy O!”
“And the dark woods!” called Baldry. “Miles and miles and miles
and miles of dark woods. Oh, this makes life really worth living!”
(Certainly he seemed the kind that is easily pleased.) “Come down, Joe,
we’ll show them the way.”
The two came scrambling down, and they all went on and on until the
trees came to an end at a wide stretch of turf that sloped gently away
before them. And about half a mile or so away there were other woods,
stretching as far as they could see on either hand. Undoubtedly the
dark woods, for nothing in the shape of woods could be darker or more
dismal looking.
THE DARK WOODS
They went on and soon reached the edge of the sombre trees on the
opposite side, and then the question was, of course, which way were
they to go. Gorbo was of opinion that they had better go as straight
as they could and keep their eyes open for anything like a witch’s
house, but Baldry suggested that they should sit down comfortably and
shout for Mother Meldrum at intervals and see if she would turn up. And
considering the vast extent of the dark woods both proposals seem to me
ridiculous.
The question was settled for them by the sudden appearance of a man who
came walking out from the wood. He was dressed in a woollen jerkin and
hose and instead of a hat he had a hood with a cape to it, as in the
pictures of the cheaper sorts of mediæval people, and he carried in his
hand a little packet done up in leaves. From the expression of his face
they judged he was not a nice man. He stared at them for an instant and
then spoke angrily:
“Oh, yes, a man can’t buy a little curse without a lot of busybodies
following him about! I’m not going to use it on _you_, am I?”
“We hope better things of you, sweet chuck,” replied Baldry. “All we
want is the way to Mother Meldrum’s place.”
“Oh, then all you have to do is to follow this little path.” The man
appeared to be greatly relieved. “But she’s out of curses; I got the
last one. You see there’s been rather a run on them lately.”
“We’ve only come for a couple of blessings,” said Baldry, as he took
Sylvia’s hand and ran along the little path, followed by the others.
They heard the man shouting that in that case they were going to the
wrong shop, but they did not stop to argue the matter, and in a few
minutes they found themselves deep in the shadow of tall mournful trees
that shut out all but little chance glimpses of the sky. On either hand
they could see patches of black swampy water, but the track was fairly
plain (giving a hint that Mother Meldrum did a brisk business) and
they went along at a good rate. There were no birds or cheerful little
animals in this horrid place, but there were--as they soon became
aware--bats.
Compared to these the bats of the twisted trees were little pets.
These measured six feet or more across the wings and they had beaks
of enormous size, from which issued hoarse bubbling sounds. Sylvia,
who liked bats as much as she liked black-beetles, pulled her napkin
cap over her eyes (she still wore this little stolen head-dress) and
shuddered; but it was too late to think of turning back now however
much she would have liked to. She kept close under Gorbo’s arm, and in
time she began to be more used to them; after all they only flopped
about and bubbled, and did not bite, which is the main thing.
At length, late in the afternoon, after a journey that was very tiring
to the young ones, they came to a part where the forest seemed a little
clearer and lighter and not so swampy. The track went on for another
half-hour’s travel and then they saw before them a house which they
knew must be Mother Meldrum’s, if only because nobody but a witch would
select it for a home.
MOTHER MELDRUM’S HOUSE
There was a little shabby patch of grass in front of the house, but
behind and at the sides it was closely surrounded by trees and thick
bushes. It seemed to be mostly roof--an untidy roof of thatch that
reached nearly to the ground in some places and twisted up into gables
here and there over ugly little windows like eyes. Although it was by
no means a big house it looked somehow as if it had rather a lot of
little lopsided secret rooms, and it had what I may call a generally
wicked appearance. One could not imagine kind silver-haired people
living in it and doing good deeds to the poor. It had its effect on
Sylvia, who hung back a little as they came near; and even Joe showed
no anxiety to get inside.
“I think we’d better tie Tiger up in one of these napkins,” said
Sylvia. “You see Sir Percival said she had black cats, and if Tiger
takes to chasing them about she may get angry.”
“Yes, Sylvia,” said Gorbo. “That’s a good idea. We must keep her in a
good temper.”
So the puppy was tied up carefully in a napkin, with only his nose out,
and carried in Sylvia’s arms. Then Baldry--who suggested that he should
be the spokesman because of his ready wit--rapped smartly at the door.
“Who knocks?” called a disagreeable voice.
“I, good mother, Baldry the King’s High Jester. And I have with me my
dear old friend Gorbo and my dear little friends, Sylvia and Joe, to
say nothing of their small hound. And we have come a long, long way to
pay our respects to you.”
“Pull the string of the latch and come in,” said the voice.
Baldry did as he was told and they all went into a fairly large
low-ceilinged room which looked like a kitchen. At the chimney-place a
tall old woman was standing, stirring up a pot. She turned and looked
at them, and Sylvia gave a little squawk at the sight of her face,
which was indeed horrible.
“Here we are again!” cried Baldry, cutting a swift caper and then
striking an attitude calculated to put anybody into a good humour.
“What do you mean by ‘again’?” asked the old woman with a scowl.
“You’ve never been here before.”
“Well, good dame, it means--well, it means ‘Here we are and let’s be
jolly’ or words to that effect. It’s an expression in common use among
jesters,” he added lamely, for the old woman merely turned round and
went on stirring the pot.
“So that’s what it means.” She tasted a spoonful of soup from the pot
in a leisurely way. “I see. And does the King laugh when you say that?”
“Yes--sometimes.”
“Ah!” she said, “I’ve heard he’s not quite in his right mind.”
Now this was an unsatisfactory reception, and they all four felt very
uncomfortable standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the old
woman’s back turned to them as she went on stirring. The room was very
dark, for there was only one small window at one end, shaded with
thatch, and there was not too much light outside owing to the trees.
But every now and then the fire would flicker up and give them glimpses
of articles such as a witch would be likely to have about her--bundles
of herbs that looked poisonous and a stuffed alligator hanging from the
rafters, and so forth. Poor Sylvia need not have worried about Tiger
chasing the witch’s cats, for things were the other way about. Six or
seven of the biggest and blackest cats that ever lashed a tail came
crawling out of corners and rubbing themselves against her so that she
could hardly keep her feet, all the while purring like horrible snores,
their green eyes fixed on the napkin that held the shivering Tiger.
After a couple of minutes or so the old woman turned round and seated
herself on a stool and looked at them. “Are you the one who squealed
just now?” she asked Sylvia.
“Ye--yes, Mrs Meldrum,” replied Sylvia faintly.
“You’d better not do it again. Now then, one of you! What do you want?”
“We only want to know how to get back across the river, please, Mum,”
said Gorbo politely.
“Ah, you’re a Snerg, I see. How did you get here?”
Gorbo gave her a brief account of the result of his fatheadedness, and
Mother Meldrum chuckled.
“What will you give me if I tell you?” she asked after a while.
Gorbo brought out his silver-tipped horn and laid it on the table. “If
this little christening present will do, Mum----”
“What else?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t anything else really valuable, Mum. But Sylvia
here has a little coral necklace----”
“Let’s see your necklace, Sylvia,” said Mother Meldrum.
Sylvia took it off and gave it to Gorbo, who handed it to the old
woman. She glanced contemptuously at it and threw it on the table.
“What else?”
“That’s all we’ve got, Mum--except clothes.”
She looked at the clothes of all of them in a general way. Then she
reached out her arm and fingered the material of Sylvia’s frock. Then
she sniffed.
“This little lot,” she said, nodding at the horn and necklace, “will
just about pay a tenth part of what I want to show you the way.”
There was an unpleasant silence for a time. Even Baldry appeared to
have mislaid his blithe disposition. Though he had expressed a desire
to meet the witch, now that he had the opportunity he did not seem
to enjoy it. The truth is he was overwhelmed by what is known as the
personality of the old lady.
“Make me laugh,” she said, suddenly turning to him.
MORE SORROW FOR BALDRY
“Er--laugh, good mother?” he replied. “Oh, yes, of course. Would you
like----”
“I want to be amused,” she interrupted angrily rapping on the table.
“It’s your job, isn’t it? Don’t stand there like a pump but say amusing
things!”
“I’ll do my best, dame,” said Baldry, rousing himself. “Perhaps a few
rib-tickling conundrums will please you. If so, tell me the difference
between an unripe gooseberry----”
“Shan’t!” shouted Mother Meldrum.
“Oh--then would you like a merry song?”
“Not a bit.”
“Oh--then perhaps--perhaps a jolly tale would please you.”