XI
THE PUPIL
But ask now the beasts and they shall teach thee, and the fowls of the air and they shall tell thee.—HOLY WRIT.
Gigi the Gypsy was now become John; no longer an outcast and a wanderer, but a happy little Christian boy. Surely no child ever lived so strange a life as he. Surely no boy ever had such queer playmates, or studied in so wild a school.
First of all he had to become acquainted with his oddly-mixed family of two-footed and four-footed brothers. Brutus was his friend from the beginning. The great dog seemed to have adopted for his very own the boy whom, led by some kindly angel, he had found that night in the forest. But the other creatures were shy at first. They ran at the sound of John's shrill boyish voice, and shrank from his quick movements. They hid in the bushes when he came dashing and dancing into the clearing after a romp with Brutus, and it would take some patience to coax them back again.
John saw that this troubled the good old Hermit, whom he loved better every day, and he tried to imitate his teacher's gentle voice and manner and his soft tread. The little tumbler was himself light as a feather, and graceful as the deer, his new-found sister. He was quick to learn and naturally gentle, though his cruel life had made him careless and rough. Soon he had made friends with all the Hermit's pets, so that they knew and loved him almost as well as they did the master of this forest-school.
In his green doublet and hose, clumsily patched with pieces of gray serge from the Hermit's own cloak, John rambled about the wild woods, looking like one of the fairy-folk of whom legends tell. Often he went with the wise old man, who gave him lessons of the forest which he knew so well. John learned to steal on tiptoe and surprise the ways of the wood-folk,—the shy birds and the shyer little brothers who live in the moss and mould. He grew wise in the lore of flowers and herbs, and could tell where each one grew and when it blossomed, and which ones, giving their life-blood for the sake of men, could cure disease and bring comfort to the ailing. At night they watched the moon and the far-off, tiny stars. These, too, became friends, many of them known to John by name. He loved each one, for the Hermit said that they also were his brothers and sisters, like the birds and beasts and fishes; all being the children of that Father who had made this beautiful world to be the home where all should live together.
But the book of Nature was not all that John studied in these days. He learned to read also the written language of men, and studied the wise and holy words which have kept goodness before men's sight since knowledge began. Until now John had never opened a book or held a pen. But the Hermit taught him wisely and well, and soon he was in a fair way to become a scholar.
A busy life he led, what with his studies indoors and out and his duties about the hut,—for the Hermit taught him to be deft in all tasks, however simple and homely. John could cut up firewood or cook a porridge with as happy a face as he wore when he played with Brutus or sang the morning hymn of praise at the good Hermit's side.
One thing his teacher would not have him forget. He must practice his tumbling every day. For the Hermit said, "No skill once learned will ever come amiss, my son. You spent years and suffered hardly to gain this agility. It seems to me not frivolous nor undignified, but a beautiful thing, to keep one's body lithe and graceful even as are the free-natured animals. Then practice, John; and some day even this skill may not come amiss."
So the boy practiced daily in front of the cabin. He danced and tumbled; he turned somersaults and stood on his head; he leaped with a pole and swung nimbly as a monkey from the limbs of the overhanging trees. And the circle of animals watched him gravely, marveling no doubt at the strange antics of their brother; but, being now used to his voice and manner, neither annoyed nor shocked by anything which he might do.
[Illustration: The circle of animals watched him.]
When the day was over, John would throw himself on a soft bed of moss under a tree, beside the Hermit seated on a log. Then they would read or talk, and tell stories of what they had seen in the world of men. Brutus would be curled down between them. Blanche and her kittens, big and little, would play with John's hair as he lay there. The squirrel, perched on the boy's doubled-up knees, would chatter and crack nuts. The brown hares would run to and fro over his feet, while the doe and her little fawn nibbled the grass close by, listening to the sound of the human voices as though they liked it.
What a happy home it was! John wondered if ever any boy was so lucky as he.
XII
THE BEAR
John had grown to love the little four-footed brothers dearly, and they were great friends of his. But still the Hermit seemed to have a charm about him which John lacked, and which drew even the strange new creatures to him and made them trust him from the first. John longed to learn this secret. But when he asked the old man about it he looked at the boy kindly and said,—
"It will come, my son, with time. Love, live, and learn."
John had been with the Hermit some months, when happened an adventure that interested him more than anything which had befallen. He was walking one day with the old man in a part of the forest far distant from their hut. They were looking for a rare and wonderful herb which the sage needed to distill a certain precious balm.
"This should be the spot," said the old man, going toward a heap of rocks around which grew a tangle of shrubs and creepers. "The plant which I seek is shy, and hides in the shadows of sheltered places. Yonder is a cave, where first I made my dwelling when I came to the forest, before I built the hut in which we now live. And at the entrance, I remember, grew the herb of grace, which more than once has done me service in healing the hurts of my pets."
The Hermit plunged eagerly forward to the rocks. John followed close behind. At the entrance to the cave the old man stooped to pluck the herb which they had come so far to seek, and John, clambering beside him, bent curiously to peer into the cave. Suddenly a sound from within made him start. The Hermit paused in his task, and both stared motionless into the blackness of the cave. Presently the sound came again,—a deep growl ending in a whine.
"Some animal in pain," whispered the Hermit to John. "Stay you here, my son. I will discover what it may be."
"Nay, father!" pleaded the boy. "It may be some fierce creature; it may hurt you. Do not go!"
The old man turned beaming eyes upon him. "Never yet have I been hurt by an animal," he said gently. "My body bears only the scars of human hands. I am not afraid. But do you stay here, my son. You have not yet quite learned the language of dumb things."
"I shall go with you!" said John to himself. He seized the staff which the Hermit had dropped, and followed close upon his heels.
Soon their eyes became more used to the darkness of the cave, with which the Hermit was already familiar. Presently out of the shadows in a far corner they spied two red eyes glaring upon them. Behind the eyes bulked a huge, apparently shapeless form. It half rose as they drew near, and again they heard the growl of anger. But as the creature made a sudden movement, the growl turned into a howl of agony, and it rolled back into the corner, whimpering.
John plucked the Hermit by his robe. "It is a bear!" he said. "I have met them sometimes upon the highways, traveling with mountebanks. And the men told me that they were very fierce and hard to tame. Be careful, my father! Go not near, I beseech you!"
But the old man paid no heed to his words. Bending forward, he made a strange sound in his throat, a soothing, cooing noise. The bear heard it, and ceased to whine. They saw the ugly head rear up and look at the Hermit wildly. Again he made the sound, and stooping without fear brought his face close to the bear's great body. The animal did not move.
Presently the Hermit turned to John. "The poor beast has a wounded paw," he said. "An arrow has hurt it badly."
He unfastened from his girdle a cup which he always carried in his wanderings.
"Here, my son," he said, "fill this at the spring which we passed yonder. The creature suffers from thirst."
John hesitated. "Is it safe to leave you here alone with this wild beast?" he asked.
The Hermit smiled. "Quite safe," he said. "Do you think I need your protection? Brother Bear will soon know me for his friend."
When John returned he found the Hermit sitting on the floor of the cave, with the bear's paw resting on his knee. The animal was quiet, save for a whimpering now and then. John could see his little red eyes fixed upon the Hermit with a curious look of wonder and appeal. He seemed unable to move, and the Hermit touched the beast quite naturally, as if he were a great kitten. The bear stirred and turned his eyes when John entered.
"Thanks, son," said the Hermit, taking the cup from the boy's hand; and, turning again to' the bear, he held it to the animal's mouth. "Drink, brother," he said.
Eagerly the bear lapped up the water.
"Now, my son," said the Hermit to John, "go you to the entrance of the cave and pluck me a handful of the healing herb-leaves. I must bind up this suffering paw."
"Surely, father," begged John, "you will not try to touch the creature's wound. He will tear you to pieces!"
The old man turned reproachful eyes upon him. "Son," he said, "I have tried to teach you obedience. Go, get me the leaves."
Without more words John hastened to do as he was bid. When he returned with a handful of the plant, he found that the Hermit had bathed the wounded paw of the now quiet animal. He had torn a strip of linen from the shirt which he wore under his gray robe, and was making this into a bandage. Soon he had crushed the leaves and had bound them upon the foot of the bear, who lay still and gentle under his hands. John stared, amazed.
"Now we will go home," said the Hermit softly, "and you, John, shall return with food for this poor hungry brother. You will soon make him your dear friend also. For, you see, he asks only love and patience. Men have been cruel to him. But we will be kind to our Brother Bear."
Thus John learned a new lesson of courtesy to the wilder, bigger beasts. That same day he made the long journey a second time, bringing the bear his dinner, with a comb of wild honey which the Hermit had found on the way home. And he had the joy of seeing the creature act no longer like an enemy, but like a timid friend.
Day after day John went and ministered to the sick animal. At last, there came a joyous time when the bear rose to greet him on his approach. The injured paw was healed. And when John left the cave that night, the bear hobbled at his heels, even to the clearing where the Hermit lived. He would not go farther at that time. He sat down on his haunches outside the border of tall trees, and when John tried to coax him he looked at the hut doubtfully. At the sight of Brutus he made lumberingly away.
A few evenings later, the bear came of his own accord to beg for his supper; and at last this became a custom. Soon he also was accounted a member of the animal kingdom, and became good friends with them all. In time John taught him many tricks, such as he had seen the mountebanks do with their traveling bears. But unlike them, John taught only by kindness; and his bear learned the faster.
XIII
A FOREST RAMBLE
"Father," said John one summer afternoon, when his tasks for the day were quite finished, "Brutus and I are going for a long walk."
"Very well, my son," answered the Hermit, "I will bide here and read my book, for the heat has made me somewhat weary. But see that you return before sunset."
"Yes, father," said John.
Slinging over his shoulder a little basket in which to fetch home any
strange plants which he might find in the forest, John whistled to
Brutus, and the pair trotted away together as they loved to do. The
Hermit looked after them, and smiled.
"John is a good boy," he said. "One day he will be a fine man. May the Saints help me to make him worthy of his father and of the name he bears." Then he turned to his beloved book.
John and Brutus went merrily through the forest, the boy singing under his breath snatches of the cheerful hymns that he and the Hermit loved. The dog ran ahead, exploring in the bushes, sometimes disappearing for long minutes at a time, but ever returning to rub his nose in John's hand and exchange a silent word with him. They were not going for any particular errand to any especial spot. They were just rambling wherever the forest looked inviting; which is the nicest way to travel through the woods,—especially if one of you can be trusted to find the way home, however wavering may be the trail that you leave behind. It was what John loved to do more than anything in the world.
The woods were cool and green and full of lovely light. It was so still and peaceful, too! The tiny queer noises all about, which once, before he knew the kingdom of the forest, had frightened him so much, now filled John with the keenest joy. Often he paused and listened eagerly. He liked to feel that he was surrounded everywhere by little brothers, seen and unseen. With a word to Brutus, which made the dog lie down and keep perfectly quiet, John would steal forward softly and peer through a screen of bushes, or into a treetop, and watch the housekeeping of some shy brother beast or bird. Once he flung himself flat on the ground, and lay for a long time eagerly watching the antics of a beetle. A little later, with Brutus patiently beside him, he sat cross-legged for ten minutes, waiting to see how a certain big yellow spider would spin her web between two branches of a rose-bush.
They wandered on and on. A great golden butterfly rose before them from a bed of lilies, and together he and Brutus ran after it; not to capture and kill it, oh no! for to John the wonder of the flower with wings lay in the life which gave it power to move about and pay calls upon the other blossoms that must be always stay-at-homes. John chased it gaily, as one brother plays with another. And when it lighted on a rose-bush or a yellow broom-flower, or poised on a swaying blade of grass, he crept up and admired its lovely colors without touching the fragile thing. But at last, as if suddenly remembering an errand which it had forgotten, the butterfly soared quickly up and away over the treetops and out of sight.
"Good-by, little brother!" called John after it. "I wish I could fly as you do and look down upon the kingdom of the forest! Then indeed I would learn all the secrets of our friends up in the treetops there, who hide their nests so selfishly. Oh, I should so love to see all the little baby birds! To be sure, some that I have seen in the ground-nests are ugly enough. Oh, the big mouths of them! Oh, the bald skins and prickly pin-feathers! Ha! ha!" John laughed so heartily that Brutus came running up to see what the joke was. "O Brutus!" cried John. "I think I know why the father and mother birds build their nests so high. They are ashamed to have any one see their funny little ones before they are quite dressed!"
Brutus looked up in John's face and seemed to smile. The boy and the dog often had talks together in this wise.
"I think I will ask them," said John. "Now, Brutus, lie still." He gave a peculiar whistle, waited a moment, and repeated it, twice, thrice. At the first call there was a fluttering in the branches overhead. At the second call one saw the silhouettes of tiny bodies dropping from branch to branch ever nearer to the boy below. At the third, there was a flutter, a rush of wings, and a flock of dear little birds came flying to John's shoulder, to his out-stretched arms, to his head; so that presently he looked like a green bush which they had chosen for their perch.
John talked with them in his own way, with chirps and lisping of the lips, and they were no more afraid of him than of a good-natured tree. But after a while, a fly, which had been tickling Brutus's nose, grew so impertinent that the poor dog had to punish him with his paw. At the sudden movement the birds fluttered away, and John looked reproachfully at his friend. But when he saw the drop of blood on the dog's nose he forgave him.
[Illustration: John talked with them.]
"Poor Brutus!" he said. "You kept still as long as you could, I know.
And indeed, it is time we were moving. Come, Brutus!"
The pair continued their voyage of discovery. The woods are so full of thrilling stories for those who know how to read them! A field-mouse's nest in a tuft of grass; a beehive in a hollow tree; tracks of a wild boar in the muddy edge of the brook; a beautiful lizard changing color to match the leaves and moss over which it crept. John longed to carry this little brother home to join the circle of pets. But he knew it was kinder to leave him there, where perhaps he had a home and family.
And oh, the flowers! So many kinds, so fragrant and so beautiful! John gathered a great armful to carry back to the Hermit. And so the minutes went; the shadows began to lengthen, and it was time to turn homeward.
XIV
THE WOLF-BROTHER
John whistled to Brutus, to call him for the home-going. But just then he spied a new plant whose name he did not know. He was stooping over to examine the lovely pink blossoms, when Brutus came bounding up to him, behaving strangely. He whined and looked distressed; he started away into the bushes, begging John to follow. Evidently he had found something which he wished John to see. The boy laid down his armful of flowers and ran after the dog, as swiftly and softly as he could; for he did not know what forest secret he might be about to discover.
Brutus led him straight to a hollow under a great rock. And there John soon saw the cause of the dog's excitement. Stretched out on a bed of leaves were four little gray bodies. John ran up to them with a cry.
"Why, they are puppies!" he said. "Brutus, you have found some little brothers of your own!"
Brutus whined and sniffed about the rock strangely. John bent over the little bodies, which lay quite still and seemed to be asleep. He touched one softly. It was stiff and cold.
"Oh, they are dead, poor little things!" said John. "I am so sorry. I hoped to take them home to my father. How came they here, I wonder? They must have starved to death!"
Just then John saw one of the puppies give a tiny shiver. Its legs moved feebly and its eyes opened. "Ah! One of them still lives!" he cried eagerly. "Perhaps I can save its life, the dear little thing!"
He took the gray body up in his arms and hugged it tenderly, but it made no response. Then, laying it down again on the leaves, he drew from his basket a crust of bread which he had brought to nibble while he walked. (It is such fun to have something to nibble when one goes for a ramble in the woods!) John ran to the brook which babbled close by, and, dipping the bread in the water until it was soft, returned to put some in the mouth of the little gray thing that lay so pitifully on the leaves.
"Eat, little brother!" said John.
Brutus looked on gravely. The puppy opened its mouth feebly and swallowed a bit of bread. After the first taste it grew eager, and began to nibble hungrily. John gave it all he had, and was overjoyed to see it gradually gain strength. But still it could not stand on its weak little legs.
"We must take him home, Brutus," said John. "We will make him well and strong, then we shall have another little dog to be your baby brother."
Brutus said nothing, though perhaps he knew better. Presently he was trotting homeward; tracing backward, as no human being could have done, the winding way by which they had come through the dense forest. Behind him came John, carrying the little gray creature tenderly in his arms, and with the basket full of flowers on his back. And so at last they reached the hut, in the door of which stood the Hermit, shading his eyes and looking anxiously for them.
"My son!" he cried gladly when they appeared. "You were gone so long that I feared you were lost, even with Brutus to guide you. It is after sundown. Where have you been, and what do you bring there?"
"We have been—I know not where," said John; "farther than I have gone since I came to the forest. It must be near the homes of men. For see! We have found a little dog! His brothers were lying dead beside him; I think they were starved to death. But this one lives, and some day I hope he will grow into a big dog like Brutus,—though indeed he does not look much like him now!"
So John prattled eagerly, laying the little creature in the old man's arms. But the Hermit looked at it and looked again. Then he smiled at John.
"Ah, Son!" he said. "This will never be a dog like Brutus. You have brought home a baby wolf!"
"A wolf!" cried John. "He looks quite like a puppy, and he is gentle, too!"
"They are much alike," said the Hermit. "You saved this poor little cub in good time, John. He is very weak. Probably his mother was killed by some hunters, who left her little ones there to starve. That is what they do, John, never stopping to think what suffering they cause. But let us now feed this little fellow with warm milk, and we shall soon have him as gay as ever. I am glad that you brought him, John. We needed a wolf-brother in our kingdom."
"But, Father! a wolf!" cried John, with a shudder. He had not forgotten the horror of his first night alone in the forest, and the long howl which had made him lose his senses. "Oh, will he not grow big and eat us up, my father? Yes; that was why Brutus acted so strangely. He knew it was no puppy, although I told him so."
"It is quite safe to keep him, John," said the Hermit. "We cannot turn him out to starve, for he is too young to care for himself. You will see to-morrow that he will play like any puppy. Brutus and he will be great friends,—they are relatives already. Once upon a time Brutus had a wolf for his ancestor. And as we ourselves know not from whom we may be descended, so must we treat all creatures as our brothers. Yes, this wolfkin will grow up lean and ugly-looking, like any wolf. But we will teach him to be kind and gentle, John, even as Brutus is."
And the Hermit was right. The wolf-cub soon became the pet and plaything of the animal kingdom. With food and care he grew into a round, roly-poly ball of fur. He played merrily with Brutus and the kittens. And though at first he was a bit rough, they and John taught him better ways, so that he kicked and bit his friends no longer.
As the months went by, they watched him change gradually from cub to wolf. They were sorry to see him lose his puppy looks and frisky manners. But what could they do? It is a great pity, but no one has yet discovered how to make babies of any sort remain babies. Gradually he lost his roundness. He grew longer and longer, until he was stretched out into four feet of gaunt yellowish-gray wolf. But still he remained quiet and gentle with his friends, quick to learn and ready to obey.
He was a perfectly good wolf, and he loved John so dearly that he could scarcely be separated from him. He followed the boy wherever he went, and lay down beside him when he slept, like any watch-dog. And though he was so gentle in the animal kingdom, the Hermit knew that it would go hard with any one who should try to hurt Wolf's little master.
Yet he and Brutus were the best of friends. The good dog was too noble to be jealous.
XV
THE GREEN STRANGER
For five happy years John lived with the good Hermit, and became a sturdy lad of fourteen before anything new happened of great moment to the animal kingdom. In all this time he had seen no human creature except the Hermit himself. Their hut was so far in the forest that no travelers ever passed that way.
But John was never lonely, for he had the kindest of fathers in the Hermit, and the happiest of comrades and playmates in the circle of pets, ever increasing, who gathered about the abode of peace. Brutus was still his dearest friend. But the wolf was almost as intimate. As for Bruin, he was never a constant dweller with the colony, but came and went at will. Sometimes he disappeared for weeks at a time, and they knew that he was wandering through the forest which stretched for miles in every direction, pathless and uninhabited. And sometimes they wondered what adventures the big brother might be enjoying.
"If only he could tell me!" wished John. But this kind of gossip was still impossible between them.
One day John was out in the forest, not far from the Hermit's hut, cutting wood for the winter, which was near at hand. He was alone, for a wonder. The wolf had come with him, but had now trotted away into the forest on business of his own. The bear had disappeared some weeks before, on one of his pilgrimages. Brutus was at that moment with the Hermit in the hut; for the dog divided his attentions between the young friend and the old.
John had lifted his axe to attack a certain tree when, with a scurry of little feet, a frightened hare came bounding past him, ears laid back and eyes bulging with fear. It was so strange to see a startled creature in this peaceful wood, that John dropped his axe wonderingly. Then he noted that the birds were chattering nervously overhead, and his quick ear caught furtive rustlings in the underbrush all around him. The forest was alive with fears. Presently the wolf came bounding past, with wild eyes, evidently making for the hut. John called, but the frightened creature did not pause.
Very soon John heard over his shoulder an unusual sound. He turned quickly, and saw a sight which made his heart rise in his throat.
Across an open glade in the wood his friend the bear was lumbering on all fours, wild-eyed, with lolling tongue and panting breath. Close behind him came on foot a young man, several years older than John, dressed in a suit of green velvet, with a plumed cap. In his hand he bore a long spear, and he was charging upon the bear with a cruel light in his eyes. Suddenly Bruin made for a tree, and began to climb, clutching the bark frantically with his claws. At sight of his prey about to escape, the stranger gave a loud, fierce cry and dashed forward, at the same time drawing from behind his shoulder a bow such as men used in hunting. He fitted an arrow to the string, and was about to shoot, when John sprang forward with blazing eyes.
"You shall not shoot!" he cried. "This is a peaceful wood. You shall not kill my friend the bear."
[Illustration: You shall not kill my friend the bear.]
At this unexpected happening, the young man turned with a start and a snarl, like a dog from whom one would take away his bone.
"Who are you?" he cried angrily. "How dare you interrupt my sport! Do you know who I am?"
"I do not care who you are!" answered John. "You shall not hunt in these woods, You must go away."
"Go away!"
The face of the stranger was white with rage. He turned from the tree in which the bear had now found a place of safety behind a crotch, and pointed his arrow at John. The lad saw his danger. Even as the stranger drew the arrow to its head John leaped forward; before the other knew what was happening, John seized him in his arms and with a mighty effort wrenched away the weapon. It was wonderful how easily he mastered this fellow, who was some inches taller than himself.
Beside himself with rage, the stranger grappled with John, and then began a wrestling match strange to see. If the bear up in the tree knew what it all meant, he must have been very much excited.
The two lads clinched, swayed, and finally fell to the ground, rolling over and over. The stranger pummeled and kicked, scratched and bit. John merely defended himself, holding his enemy firmly and trying to keep him under. It was easy to see that he was the stronger of the two. Presently the young man began to weaken, and at last John felt the stranger's body grow limp in his clutch. He felt a thrill of triumph such as the Hermit certainly had never taught him. But suddenly, remembering the duty of a noble foe, he rose to his feet, leaving the stranger lying where he was.
He was not badly hurt. Presently he also rose, sullenly, and pulled on his cap which had fallen off. John had taken possession of his spear and bow. He now gravely handed an arrow to the young man.
"You may keep that," he said politely. "I think you can do no harm with that."
The stranger turned crimson, and his face was wicked to see.
"You shall pay for this!" he spluttered, with sobs in his voice. "No one can injure me without danger. You shall—"
At this moment, not far away in the direction of the Hermit's hut, a horn sounded. Once, twice, thrice, it blew vigorously, as if giving a command. Both John and the stranger started.
"I must go!" muttered the latter to himself. "Needs must at that call." And without another word or glance at John, he ran to his horse, which was tethered close by, and was soon galloping away in the direction of the bugle-call.
Trembling with excitement and with alarm at this coming of strangers to the forest which so long had been at peace, John hurried back to the hut. But Bruin remained safe in his tree.
He seemed to have no wish to come down And learn what all these strange doings meant.
XVI
THE HUNT
John found the Hermit sitting as usual beside the door of his hut, reading his book. He was surrounded by his family of pets. Brutus bounded to meet John, but the boy was too excited to give him the usual caress.
"Father!" he cried, "have you heard or seen nothing? There are strangers in the forest, wicked strangers who hunt our friends the beasts. I have but now come from such a terrible scene!"
He covered his face with his hands. The Hermit started to his feet.
"What has happened?" he quavered. "Just now the wolf came leaping into the hut; but I feared nothing. Your clothes are torn. Your face is bloody. Who has been hurting you, my son?"
But before John could answer came again the call of a bugle, this time very near, "Tara! Tara! Tara!"
"Huntsmen!" cried the Hermit. "Send Brutus into the hut." John drove the dog inside, and some of the house-pets with him. Already the others had taken alarm at the threatening noise and were scattering in every direction.
Nearer and nearer came the sound of galloping hoofs, the baying of hounds, the shouts of many men. John and the Hermit stood with pale faces, waiting.
Suddenly into the clearing bounded a frightened deer,—a slender dappled creature with brown eyes. Straight to the Hermit she ran, and dropped panting at his feet.
"It is our doe!" cried John, his face turning whiter. "O father! They are hunting her!"
The old man said nothing, but stooped and threw his mantle over the trembling creature. Hardly had he done so when the hounds burst into the clearing, barking fiercely, rushing towards the spot where the deer lay.
The Hermit raised his staff and stepped forward with a quick word. Instantly the dogs paused, cringing. They snarled and snapped their teeth, but made no motion to draw nearer. There was another loud bugle-blast, and a group of horsemen burst into the open space.
"Hola! Hola! The stand!" cried the foremost rider, flourishing his sword. The others clustered about this leader. He was a tall, oldish man, red-faced and fierce-eyed. Like the stranger whom John had met, he was magnificently dressed in green velvet, with a gold chain about his neck, and a star blazing on his breast. He wore also a green cap bound with a gold band, from which a golden feather drooped to his shoulder. The gloves which he wore, the baldric of his bugle, and the hilt of the sword which he brandished aloft, glittered with jewels.
When he spied the Hermit standing with upraised staff over the deer, while the dogs cowered at his feet, he drew up his horse and gave a shout of wonder. Then once more there was a moment of intense silence in that spot whose quiet had been broken by such a din. Thereafter the splendid leader of the hunt spoke in a brutal voice.
"Ho! Who are you who interrupt our hunt and stand between us and our quarry? Stand aside, old man, whoever you are. This is no place for you. The deer is ours." He flourished his jeweled sword eagerly.
"I shall not stand aside," said the Hermit. "This doe is mine, my friend and companion. Her milk has nourished me many a day, and she shall not die in this place which is my home."
"Shall not die?" cried the huntsman hoarsely. "Do you know to whom you speak?"
"I can guess," said the Hermit quietly. "From his cruelty and his free speech I judge it must be he who calls himself king of the realm beyond this forest."
"King of this forest and lord of all that dwell therein," shouted the huntsman ferociously. "And who are you who dare oppose me?"
"I am a hermit," said the old man simply. "My service is to God, whom you dishonor. My friends are the creatures whom you hunt. My study is to save life, which you would destroy. Depart, and leave in peace this place where life is sacred."
"Depart!" roared the King, while his nobles crowded around him, murmuring and bending threatening looks upon the Hermit and the lad. "Not till yonder animal is slain. Ho, have at her!"
With prick of spur he urged his horse forward. But quick as thought the Hermit with his staff drew a circle around himself and John and the doe, which still lay panting at his feet, wrapped in the gray mantle.
"Dare not to cross this line!" he cried. "This ground is holy. Years ago in the Father's name I consecrated it. 'Tis holy as any cathedral, and 'tis sanctuary for man and beast. Hear what the Lord says to you: 'They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain.'"
The Hermit raised his hand and spoke a word to the horses that were being urged forward. With a shrill whinny they rose on their hind legs, pawing the air, and refused to advance.
"What witchcraft is this!" cried the King, spurring his steed cruelly.
But the animal, like the dogs, obeyed the Hermit's will rather than the
King's.
"No witchcraft," said the Hermit, still guarding the deer with his upraised staff. "It is the Lord's will. You, who have ever disobeyed His holy word, perhaps know not how dear to Him were the birds and beasts. His first companions. His childhood friends. And to this day, for He Himself hath said it, not a sparrow falleth without His knowledge and pity. O wicked man! How then can you delight to kill?"
The King gazed at the Hermit like one in a dream. "How dare you say such things to me, your King?" he said at last.
"You are no king of mine, thank God!" said the Hermit. "I am an exile. I am of no land. This forest is my domain, my animal kingdom. Depart, I beg, without more bloodshed. O King, already in time past the hunt has cost you dear. Will you not take heed lest the Lord punish you further for your sins?"
The King turned pale. "This is certainly witchcraft!" he muttered.
"What know you of the past?" he cried, almost as if against his will.
"I know much," said the Hermit calmly. "I know that hunting cost the life of your eldest son. Will you not heed that warning, lest more ill befall?"
There was a stir among the nobles, and John saw the young man with whom he had wrestled a short time before spur his horse forward to the King's side. His face was black and angry.
"Sire—father," he said. "Will you not end this parley and slay them all? I would have a hand in it for the sake of that young cub there!" and he shook his fist toward John. But more he did not say; perhaps he was ashamed to tell how the wood-boy had got the best of him.
"Ay," said the Hermit, pointing a finger at him and shaking it sadly. "The second son follows in the footsteps of his brother, and like his father is cruel, bloodthirsty, revengeful. Beware, O King! Beware, King's son! For happiness was never yet distilled from innocent blood, nor life from death."
The King shuddered, as all could see. "I hunt," he said,—and it was strange to see how he was almost apologetic,—"I hunt all animals mercilessly, because through them the Prince my son was slain. I will hunt them out of my kingdom, until not one remains. I will slay them until the ground is soaked with their blood! Not an animal, save such as are of use, shall exist in all my land. I will have no pets—no singing birds. I hate them all!"
"Ay," said the Hermit, shaking his head sadly, "you hate them all! But I love them all. And here they come to me. 'The sparrow hath found a house and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young.' I will protect them with my life. You dare not kill me, O King! Godless though you are, once you were a Christian, and you know the meaning of the words I spoke when I said that this was holy ground."
He drew from his bosom the iron Cross which he wore, and held it up before the King.
The monarch shrank back and seemed to hesitate. Suddenly he wheeled his horse and blew a blast upon his bugle. "Back!" he cried somewhat bitterly. "We will not linger here for a paltry doe. Let us leave this cursed wood and this crusty hermit. Back to our own demesne, where we shall find sport enough, I dare say."
Once more he blew his horn and bounded forward out of the clearing; the nobles after him, and the cowed, disappointed dogs trailing at the rear with tails between their legs. John could not help feeling sorry for them. Poor things! They at least knew no better.
John was just stooping to pet the frightened deer, when an arrow whizzed over his shoulder and struck the creature in the haunch. The poor animal gave a cry of pain, and blood dyed the gray mantle of the Hermit, the first blood shed in that place of peace.
With a shout of anger John leaped up and looked over his shoulder. A familiar wicked face grinned back at him, as a horse and rider galloped into the forest. The King's son had skulked behind to shoot that shaft.
"My son!" cried the Hermit, laying trembling hands on John's shoulder. "It was meant for you. You would have died had you not stooped at that moment to caress the doe."
"Poor doe!" said John, kneeling beside her and busying himself with the arrow. "You have saved my life. Now we must save yours. My father, I think she is not badly hurt."
And he began to stanch the blood and bind up the wound with the skill which the Hermit had taught him.
But the old man stood for a long time gazing into the forest after the party of huntsmen. "A murderer and a coward," he said. "In sanctuary he has shed innocent blood. For many evil deeds the price will surely be paid. And the price is heavy."
XVII
THE MESSENGER
The little deer was not greatly hurt by the cowardly hunter. John and the Hermit nursed her tenderly, and so great was their knowledge of healing balms that she was soon nibbling the grass about their dooryard, as sprightly as ever, save for a slight lameness in one leg.
Bruin was with them once more, a constant guest in the little circle. The fright of that day when the hunters came to the forest had affected all the animals, who clung closely to their two human friends, and did not venture far from the hut.
Although John and the Hermit had never spoken together of the King since that terrible day, the boy thought often about him, and about the young Prince with whom he had wrestled for the life of the bear. And John was troubled by many things. He thought how great must be the suffering among the helpless animals when men so cruel were in power. If animals were treated so, how must the poor and lowly people fare at the hands of their lords and masters? Were the mighty so cruel to one another,—to children and women and aged people? All these were weak and helpless, too. John remembered the Hermit's tales of war and the wickedness of cities, and his heart grew sick. What a terrible world this was to live in, if the great and powerful were so bad!
But when John was most unhappy, longing to change it all, he would look around the little hut where, surrounded by his animal friends, the dear old Hermit sat under the wooden Cross, reading out of the great book. Then John grew happy once more. For the Hermit had taught him well from that holy volume.
"It will all come right some time," he said to himself. "Some day the Lord will teach men better, and all will be peace and love as it is here. But oh! If only I were big and strong and powerful, so that I could help to hasten that happy day!"
One evening, several weeks later, they sat as usual in the midst of their circle of pets. The Hermit, with the raven on his shoulder and the cat on his knee, was reading from the book. John, on a bench by the window, was using the last light of an autumn day to make a basket for gathering herbs. The gaunt wolf lay at his feet. Beside him rested the bear, snuffling in his sleep; and stretched out between him and the Hermit, Brutus snored peacefully. On John's shoulders roosted their carrier pigeon, and several kittens played about his legs. The deer lay on a pallet in the corner. It was a very peaceful scene, and every one seemed to have forgotten the fright of a month before.
Suddenly John said: "Father, tell me about the King."
The old man started, and placing a finger in the book to mark the place, looked at John with surprise. "Why should we speak of him?" he asked uneasily. "This is the hour of peace and meditation on pleasant things."
"I have thought about him so much," said John. "I cannot tell why, but
I am unable to forget him. I want to know more of him and of his son."
The old man shook his head. "I am sorry," he said. "Did you care so much for his gorgeous clothes and jewels, his horse and band of followers? Have they turned your head, foolish boy? Did you find anything to admire in their talk and manner and looks? I am disappointed, John!"
"Nay, I did not admire anything about them," John hastened to say. "I saw that the King was cruel. I believe well that he was also wicked. But he seemed to have friends. How can a bad man have friends? And why do the people allow him to be their king?"
"Ah, John!" cried the Hermit, "it is not so easy to find a good king! Perhaps his people do not care; perhaps they know no better. Perhaps he is so powerful that they have no choice but to obey him."
"Is the King so wicked?" asked John, wondering how the Hermit knew so much. "What has he done that is bad?"
The old man hesitated; then he turned to John with a gesture that the boy did not understand.
"Listen, John," he said. "I will tell you some things that this King has done. It is well that you should know. Years ago, before you were born, he was not the lawful king in this Country. The true king was his brother Cyril, who was good and kind, ruling wisely and well. But suddenly he died. Those in his service guessed that his brother Robert, this present King, had caused his death by poison. So Robert became king. A stormy time he had of it, at first; for the whole land loved King Cyril. Many accused Robert, and refused to do him honor,—especially one holy man, John, King Cyril's friend and physician. Yes, my son, he bore the same blessed name as yourself. This man the people loved dearly, for he was wise and generous with his wisdom. He healed them freely of their hurts. He went about the country doing good, bringing love and good cheer wherever he went. He was honored almost as a saint. But because he dared lift his voice against the King—he died. No one knew how it happened. At the same time his little son disappeared; men believed that he also was slain by the cruel King. The people were furious; they stormed and threatened. But alas! gradually the voices of their leaders were silenced. Some died suddenly, as John had done. Some disappeared. Some were banished from the kingdom. Some went away, broken-hearted; who knows where they may be now?"
"Oh, how could the people forget their King and the holy man who had been good to them?" cried John. "How could they allow that bad man to be their king?"
"The people?" said the Hermit sadly. "The people so soon forget! Do you not recall how, ages ago, the people treated the best Man who ever lived? These folk dared not seem to remember. They were selfish and lazy. The new King was rich and powerful. They found it easier to grumble and do nothing else. And when the King said, 'Hunt!' they hunted. When he commanded, 'Hate all animals; have no pets!' they obeyed him. But it is a gloomy land, a sad land, of which Robert is king!"
"Oh!" said John, "how do you know so much, my father?"
"Do not ask," said the Hermit. "One day I will tell you, but not now."
"Oh, he is a wicked King, who ought to die!" burst out John, throwing up his arm angrily. "Would I were a man, and I would go kill him. But I will do it when I am grown!"
At his rough tones and gestures the birds fluttered away, frightened, and the animals slunk into the corners, trembling. The peace of the little hut was rudely disturbed.
"Nay, my son, nay!" cried the old man in horror. "Say not such wicked words! See how you frighten our peaceful friends. What have I tried to teach you? It is not yours to avenge. The Lord himself will punish as he sees best. Perhaps even now he chastens that wicked heart. Already the King has lost his dearest, oldest son. He was killed five years ago while hunting a wild boar in the forest. But now—"
At this moment there was a loud knock on the door of the hut. The Hermit and John started and looked at each other in wonder. When had such a thing happened before! Brutus and the wolf arose, bristling. The bear growled savagely. The raven gave a screech of fear and burrowed under John's cot. There was a moment's pause. Then the Hermit, crossing himself, called loudly,—
"Enter, if your errand be peace. Enter, in the name of the Lord."
Quickly the latch clicked and the door flew open. Into the midst of the startled group stumbled a man, breathless and covered with dust from head to foot. His hat was gone. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes bloodshot.
"Hasten!" he cried, turning to the Hermit. "You are the man I seek,—you, skilled in herbs and healing. The King sends for you."
[Illustration: The King sends for you.]
"The King!" The Hermit and John spoke the word together, staring wildly.
"Yes, the King," repeated the man. "I have killed my horse to get here. He fell in the forest yonder, even as I spied the light from your window. There is no time to be lost. We must go on foot to the nearest town, where horses may be had. Hasten, old man, and bring your herbs and balsams."
"But whither? And for what purpose?" asked the Hermit, still standing with one trembling hand on the holy book.
"The King's son is wounded," cried the messenger. "Five days ago he was hunting the deer, and an arrow, glancing falsely, pierced his breast. He was grievously hurt. Even now he may be dying. Why do we waste words? The physicians have done their best, but they have given him up at last. The King raved; he was beyond reason. Suddenly, in his madness he spoke of you, the wizard of this forest. He recalled that day when you cursed him for the sake of your brute creatures. He vowed it was all enchantment. 'Send for the wizard!' he cried. 'Let him cure my son. He dare not refuse, for he claims to be a servant of God.'"
The Hermit was trembling now with emotion. "It is the Lord's will!" he said. "He was wounded while hunting an innocent beast. On the strength and speed of another beast hung his chance for life. And now, only with the aid of another can we reach him in time.—Nay, upon a fourth we must rely to find our way out of the forest. Brutus only can help us. But let us hasten. Come, my friend! Back to the city once more." Calling to the dog, he began to make hurried preparations for departure.
John ran to him. "Do not go to the wicked man!" he whispered. "They may kill you. Oh, what should I do then?"
The Hermit shook his head. "I must go," he said. "It is written, 'Do good to them that hate you.' There is no question of my duty."
"Oh, let me then go with you, father," pleaded John.
The Hermit laid his hand on the boy's head, and looked at him tenderly. "The time is not yet ripe, my son," he said. "Who knows what all this may mean? Wait a little longer. Stay and care for our little friends. From the nearest village I will send Brutus back to you. You will not be lonely, with your work and play as usual. Do not neglect either. Adieu, my dear son!" And he blessed John.
Embracing the boy and bidding farewell to the other friends, the Hermit took his staff and bag of simples, and wrapped his cloak about him. "I trust you, John," he said at the door. "Be patient, obedient, and wise." Then in the folds of his cloak he took the carrier pigeon. "I will send you word by our friend, if need be," he said, as he went out into the darkness.
Brutus and the messenger followed him closely. The door banged behind them, and John was alone with the circle of frightened, cowering creatures. He threw himself on his knees before the Hermit's table, and laying his head on the book, began to weep, he scarcely knew why.
XVIII
THE CARRIER PIGEON
A evening of the next day, just as John had finished his simple supper, he heard a scratching at the door. It was Brutus, returning footsore and weary. Tied to his collar John found a message from the Hermit.
"Be of good cheer," it read. "We mount excellent steeds to ride to the King. If by God's help I may save the young man's life, I will return to you speedily thereafter. If it be the Lord's will that other things befall, I will send the carrier pigeon with news. Bear a good heart, my son. Keep to your studies, your exercise, and your devotions as if I were with you. So when I return I shall find you a little stronger, wiser, a better champion of the good. Farewell!"
John read this letter eagerly, and set himself to obey the master's wishes. But now the days seemed long indeed. In spite of the many friends who shared the hut with him, John felt very lonely, and longed for the dear old man's return. But now he had something more to think of: the good King Cyril and the holy man, his friend, who had borne the name of John. And he longed to be some day a man like that.
The Hermit had been gone for nearly a week. One day John was sitting by the door of the hut, busy with his studies, when he heard a whir in the air overhead. Glancing up, he saw the flash of snowy wings, and presently the carrier pigeon came fluttering down to his shoulder.
"Ah, my dear bird!" cried John, tenderly taking the creature in his hands and lifting it to peck at his lips as it always loved to do. "You have come to me safely from far away. You have come from the place where my dear father is. Have you brought me word from him?"
With a soft coo the pigeon nestled closer in John's arms. Reaching under its wing, he found a scroll of writing tied there securely with a silken cord.
"A letter from my father!" he cried, untying it eagerly.
It was indeed a long letter in the good man's clear script. It told of their safe arrival, after a hard journey through the night; of their reception by the King. They had come almost too late. But when they arrived the Prince was still breathing. They were ushered into his chamber, where he lay white and still. No one could rouse him to life or consciousness. By his bedside sat the King, his face like a mountain-top wrapped in clouds.
"Save my son!" he had cried when he saw the Hermit. "Save my son, sorcerer, and I will give you whatever your heart craves."
"I am no sorcerer," the Hermit had answered. "I am God's servant, with some skill in healing, because I have studied the work of His hands and the uses of His gifts. If it be His will, I may save the young man. If otherwise, we may not hope to prevail."
"Oh, he must not die!" cried the King. "You foretold it, I remember, in the forest. But think—he is my only son. He must be king after me. He must live!"
"Other sons have died," said the Hermit solemnly. "Other princes have not lived to reign. And what of them?"
The King shuddered. "Save my son!" he repeated. "Only save this boy, and I will do whatever you ask."
"Then" (said the Hermit's letter) "I did my best. I bathed the youth's wound with my healing balsam. I gave him soothing draughts to drink. I sat by his bedside and prayed that the Lord's will might be done through me. And then came a change. A faint color blossomed in his cheeks. His lips trembled; his eyes opened and he looked at me. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. What he thought I know not. But he had paused in his march towards death. From that day he mended. The Prince's wound is now healed. The King's gratitude knew no bounds. He promised me rewards beyond belief,—which, as you know, mean naught to me.
"But, John, a strange thing has befallen. The Prince should now be well upon the road to health. He should be gaining strength every day. There seems no reason otherwise. But such happens not. He lies passive and dazed. He seems not to care whether he lives or dies. He never speaks nor smiles, only looks sometimes at me as if he wanted to ask me something. The doctors say that he is slowly dying.
"And now, John," concluded the Hermit's letter, "now comes the reason for these long, tedious words to you. I have done my utmost, but I am powerless. Will you come? Will you try what your own skill and youth may do? It may be your mission in life to save this lad who tried to kill you. I know that if he could but once smile, he would get well. Therein lies your power. Come, as quickly as you may. Bring with you our animal friends who cannot be left behind. Brutus will lead you to the village, and thence you must find your way to the Capital. And one word more: if you find yourself in trouble or need, show the silver talisman which you wear about your neck, and I think all will be well. Remember my teachings, John, and come as soon as may be."
When John had finished the letter, he stood for a moment quite dazed. He was to leave this place where all was peace and happiness, and go back among men whom he feared! He was to go to the very King whose name he shuddered to remember,—the King who had killed his brother and that holy man John with his little son! He was to do all this for the sake of the enemy who had hunted the bear, who had injured the gentle deer, who had aimed to take John's own life! He grew sick at the thought. Yet,—it was the Hermit himself who summoned him. And he remembered the good man's teachings.
"How I can help I know not," sighed John, "but I must go!" He laid his head upon the feathers of the carrier pigeon and shed some bitter tears. Then, placing the bird gently on the tree beside him, he straightened himself bravely. "I will go!" he said. "I will go joyfully, as one should who hopes to be worthy to bear the name of John."
Just then Brutus came sauntering from the hut, shaking himself lazily after his nap.
"Ho, Brutus!" called John, snapping his fingers. "Shall we go on a journey together, you and I? Shall we take these little friends on a wonderful pilgrimage? And will you be my guide, as you were once before, good Brutus?"
The dog seemed to understand. He pricked up his ears, and leaped up to John's shoulders with a joyous bark. Then, rushing to the edge of the wood, he looked back, inviting John to follow.
"Oh, let us be off!" he seemed to say. "I have been longing to go to our dear master. Let us hasten, little brother!"
"Not so fast!" said John. "We have first to gather our provisions and make ready our company of pilgrims. I must take all the food I can. For I dare not trust wholly to the silver Cross. What could my father mean by that?"
Still wondering, John set about his preparations. They did not take long. There was neither lock nor bolt on the door of the Hermit's hut, nor aught of value to hide. When John's basket was packed with simple food, and the animals were gathered about him outside in the little clearing, he rolled a stone against the door, and they were ready to go.
XIX
THE JOURNEY
A strange company they were, these citizens of the Animal Kingdom traveling to town! Foremost went Brutus, leading the way and feeling very important with a bundle bound upon his strong back. Gray and gaunt, the wolf trotted along at his side, like another dog. Next came John, with a knapsack on his shoulders, in which three little kittens slumbered beside the provisions for their journey; there were always new kittens in the Animal Kingdom. On his shoulder perched the raven, and by a rope he led the bear, whom he felt safer to have close by his side. Sometimes the bear trotted on all fours. Sometimes he walked upright like a big brown man, towering over John's head. Now before and now behind them went Blanche the cat, pretending as cats do that she was neither following nor leading, but traveling quite independently of them all. Frequently she disappeared into the bushes or up a tree, but soon came scampering past, when she would stop to make a hasty toilet. Overhead fluttered from tree to tree the carrier pigeon and the other birds, who were John's pets and bound to follow wherever he went.
The deer and her fawn went part way with them, and the little rabbits hopped a staccato accompaniment for some time. But John did not urge them to follow. He knew they were better off in the forest, where they could take care of themselves.
All day they fared on the uneven path by which, nose to earth, Brutus led them. And at last, weary and spent, they came to the little village where the Hermit had taken horse for the longer journey.
John paused at the first house in the village and knocked at the gate.
A burly fellow came to the door.
"Hello!" he cried. Starting back when he saw the strange group gathered in his dooryard. "What means all this?"
[Illustration: A strange company.]
"If you please," said John politely, "we go upon a Journey to the King, and we seek shelter. Will you let us sleep in your stable, friend?"
"Sleep in my stable!" muttered the man, "a beggar with a band of outlaw animals! A wolf and a bear! No, indeed. I have too much respect for the safety of my cattle and for the King's laws."
He was about to shut the door in John's face. But the lad had a sudden thought. He would try at this first place the value of the Hermit's hint.
"Stay," he said, "one moment, friend." Fumbling in his breast, he drew out the silver medal which he wore about his neck. "I was to show this—" he began.
But he saw the man start, and, shading his lantern with his hands, peer more closely at the object. Then he stared at John's face with wonder.
"In God's name!" exclaimed the man, "who are you who travel with this strange company?"
John looked almost as surprised as he. "A poor pilgrim, on the King's errand," he said. "We ask only a corner of your stable with a bed of straw to lie on. Give us shelter, kind friend, and to-morrow speed us on our way."
The man still stared at John as though he saw a fairy. But now he threw the door wide open. "Enter," he said. "I cannot refuse you. Enter my house. You shall have a bed and supper, fair boy; but what of these?" and he turned troubled eyes upon the animals.
"Nay," said John simply, "I ask no better bed than theirs, my fellow pilgrims. Thank you for your hospitality, kind friend. May we all sleep in your stable? My animals are quite safe company. They will hurt nothing that hurts not me."
John smiled then in his happy, trustful way, and the face of the man looking into his brightened as if by reflection. His coarse mouth broadened into a smile.
"They shall sleep soundly in the hay," said he kindly, "though it be against the law. I will risk even the bear and the wolf for the sake of that you wear about your neck. But the stable and the company of beasts are not fit for the like of you. That I know, though you be in rags. Come into the house, young stranger."
"Have you forgotten," said John gently, "how once a stable sheltered the greatest King of all among the humblest beasts? I have often had worse beds than a pile of sweet straw. I shall be happy enough among my friends."
The man hung his head for a moment, then raised it and looked at John strangely.
"I had forgotten," he said. "Who are you? Who are you who talk so wisely, and who wear that silver Cross upon you?"
"I am John, the Hermit's pupil, and I am very tired," was the answer. "May we not rest now? To-morrow perhaps we will show you some pretty tricks to pay for our night's lodging."
"John," mused the man, "that is a good name! I want no pay from any one who bears that name." And still eyeing John strangely, he led the way to the stable door.
He bade them good-night; and thereupon the straw the two-footed and four-footed pilgrims rested peacefully together, nestled in a warm mass of fur and feathers, flaxen hair, and woolen rags.
In the morning the farmer brought them food, and his family came with him to see the strange visitors. For so many animals had never before been seen together in that country. John put Bruin and Brutus through their tricks, and the children clapped their hands joyously at the sight. Then John himself tumbled and danced for them, and they were in an ecstasy.
At the end of the performance they clung about the boy's neck and flung themselves upon the animals, declaring that they must not go away, and begging them to stay forever.
But John shook his head, smiling. "I must be off," he said. "I must do the King's errand."
And so they went upon their way, the children watching them wistfully out of sight. But the farmer went with them some little distance to point out the road; and when he left them he spoke a last word of warning.
"The King has no love of animals," he said. "There are none in all the kingdom save those for use and those he hunts to kill. There are no pets nor playmates for the children; no birds even in his forests. Beware his wrath, my lad, when he has word of your caravan."
"I am going to the King," said John simply. "We go to save the life of his son."
The farmer stared again at John with a strange expression. "You, to save his life!" he muttered. "I cannot understand it all!" And he passed his hand over his forehead.
"I have some skill at healing. Farewell!" cried John gaily. "We shall be safe, I know."
"Ay, with that silver thing on your neck," said the man to himself, shading his eyes to watch them out of sight. "John; the Hermit's pupil; a boy with the knowledge of healing, and a smile,—Saint Francis! What a smile! He is like our holy John come back again as a child. Who can he be?" And he crossed himself devoutly as he went back to his work.
But John and his friends went sturdily upon their way. Up and down hills they traveled; along dusty roads; through lonely stretches of moor and plain. They caused great excitement in the villages through which they passed. It was years since the townsfolk had seen a dancing bear; years even since they had enjoyed the frolics of a cat and kittens. The raven was a source of delight. The birds that followed overhead and came at John's call, perching on his arms and shoulders, filled the children with envy. The wolf looked so fierce that they were afraid of him; but his brother Brutus was petted in a way to spoil any ordinary dog. Yet he kept his temper and his poise, and endured their homage meekly.
Often, in the country through which they passed, John found sick persons to whom he could bring relief, and gladly he used the knowledge which the Hermit had taught him. It seemed that there were few in that land who had the skill of healing, and many of the sick had long suffered for lack of the simple remedies which John had often used for his pets. He saved several lives. Oh! that was joy for John! The people were very grateful, and would have paid him anything he wished. But all he asked was food or shelter for himself and his friends. Then they spoke his name softly and kissed his hands, which made John laugh.
John found it easy enough to earn all the food he needed in the villages. Remembering his mountebank days, he had but to hold a little performance in the public square. Every one would hurry to see Bruin do his tricks and John himself turn somersaults and walk on his hands; after which the bear would dance and pass the hat, into which the pennies rained generously.
But it was harder to find lodgings for the night. Knowing the King's hatred for animals, men feared to shelter this caravan. Only when John would pull from his breast the talisman of silver would they soften and yield to his wishes, wondering and almost worshiping, as the farmer had done on that first day. John himself was the most wondering of them all. For he saw no reason why the silver Cross should have such power. Sometimes he wondered if it was bewitched; but he knew the good Hermit would not have bade him rely on magic. Yet it made him almost afraid, so that he used this power only when he had to for the sake of the weary animals. He himself was welcome everywhere,—perhaps for the sake of his yellow hair and blue eyes, which were a wonder in that country; but more likely for the smiling ways and cheerful speech of him, that made his passing through that gloomy land like the passage of a sunbeam through thick clouds; and blessings followed after him.
And so, after six days of travel, they came at last to the King's city.