Everychild Part 9

PART II

ARGUMENT: EVERYCHILD PITIES THE SORROWS OF CINDERELLA AND REJOICES IN HER RELEASE FROM BONDAGE; HE ENCOUNTERS A DOG THAT LOOKS UPON HIM WITH FAVOR.

CHAPTER VIII

A PURSUIT IN THE DARK

Everychild thought perhaps he had been asleep a long time when he was awakened by the sound of a clock in a distant tower striking the hour of 1. He became quite wide awake.

He looked to his right and to his left. Hansel and Grettel were on one side of him, sleeping deeply. Hansel was even snoring. The giant, on his other side, lay motionless.

He looked to see if the Masked Lady had remained near him, but she was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Literal also had disappeared.

Then he sat up suddenly, his heart thumping loudly. There was the sound of hurrying feet on the road nearby. And there was something about the sound . . . you could tell that it was some one who was lost, or in trouble. Presently there was a sound of weeping too.

Everychild sat with his hands clasped about his knees, staring at the road: and before long, there she was--a girl running as if she were in great peril. And as she drew nearer Everychild felt quite sure he knew who the girl was. He could not be sure how he knew. But a name came into his mind, and he said to himself, "It is Cinderella."

She raced past him as if she were a leaf caught in the wind. Again he heard her weeping. And then, without at all knowing what he intended to do, he sprang to his feet and dashed down the road after her. It would be fine to speak to her, he thought. And besides, it seemed almost certain that she needed help.

But it was amazing how fast she could run. He thought: "That's the kind of a girl you would like to play with--a girl who can run like that."

Still, he hoped she would become tired before long, so that he might overtake her. After all, it was rather uncomfortable, pursuing her in the dark. His own feet made a fearful noise--a ghostly patter which awoke the night echoes.

Moreover, certain wild creatures of the forest were disturbed. An owl dashed from its branches overhead and went sailing down the avenues of the forest. A rabbit, sitting on a little hummock, dropped its forefeet to the ground and went prancing away, to wheel presently and look at the road suspiciously.

"I'll never overtake her," thought Everychild. He could just see her now: a mere blur in the shadows far ahead of him. He could no longer hear the sound of her feet. Then quite suddenly she disappeared.

Had she fallen? Had she hidden behind a tree? Was she afraid of him?

He ran more softly. If she were hiding he must not frighten her. If he could only speak to her once she would know very well that she need not fear him.

But when he came to the spot where she had disappeared he perceived immediately that she had not hidden. At this point a path turned away from the road, and it seemed clear that she had taken the path.

The path led into a deeper forest. It became very silent and black.

He could barely see the path beneath his feet. And it seemed to him that he was now all surrounded by living, hidden creatures, who knew that he was pa.s.sing. But he could not feel that Cinderella was anywhere near him.

The path turned into a lane, and the lane entered a region where there were vague fields on either side, fields in which things had been planted. And then he stopped suddenly, not knowing whether he should continue on his way, or return to his companions by the side of the road. He had discerned a house before him, standing on the top of a hill. And although it was very late, a single light burned in one of its windows.

For just a moment he reflected; and then he continued on his way, in the direction of that lighted window.

CHAPTER IX

CINDERELLA AT HOME

For just a few moments let us enter that house of the lighted window, that we may witness certain strange happenings.

We come into an immense, old-fas.h.i.+oned kitchen or scullery.

A candle burned on a mantel, sending its tranquil light out into the room and creating ghostly shadows. Under the mantel, in the deepest shadows of all, andirons and a crane seemed to be slinking back as if they were hiding.

In the center of the room there was a rough wooden table. Over against the wall, near the door which opened to the highway, stood a grandfather's clock, ticking severely, as if it were dissatisfied with the way things were going in the house. There were a number of other doors visible, all closed as if they were saying, "This is an orderly house, and everybody has gone to bed, of course!"

But everybody hadn't gone to bed! Over beyond the wooden table, against the wall, there was a bed, and there was n.o.body in it.

Moreover, there was a figure seated at the wooden table: the figure of a woman, who silently polished the spoons which were scattered before her. She had already scoured certain pots and pans which were piled in a heap near her hand.

Suddenly the strange happenings began.

A mouse appeared among the pots and pans on the table. It sat an instant, with alert eyes and fidgety nose and whiskers, and then it scrambled down the leg of the table and crossed the floor in the direction of the grandfather's clock. An instant later there it was again, climbing up the white face of the clock!

The clock ticked more severely than ever. The mouse disappeared amid the works of the clock: and presto! The clock loudly struck one.

The mouse darted into sight again, slipping down across the face of the clock. Then it disappeared.

The vibrations of the clock, filling the room as with a great clamor, slowly died away.

Then there was another sound: a nervous rattling of the latch on the door opening to the highway. The door opened rather abruptly, and Cinderella, panting and pale, stood on the threshold.

For an instant she seemed afraid to enter; yet plainly she was also afraid to remain standing there on the threshold. She glanced swiftly about the room and then she entered and closed the door sharply behind her. She stood for a moment, panting and leaning against the door.

There was something very strange about her; for although she was weary and frightened, and clad in the shabbiest old dress imaginable, her face nevertheless shone with rapture.

Need I tell you what had occurred to her? She had forgotten what the good fairy had told her about coming home before one o'clock; and as a result her coach-and-four and her coachman had been changed back to what they had originally been: a pumpkin, a rat, and four mice. What a disaster!

Yet after she had stood against the door long enough to catch her breath she advanced into the room, thrusting her arms upward and forward as if she were embracing a lovely vision. Her eyes burned with a glorious light.

She had not seen the figure at the table, bending over the spoons. It was plain that in imagination she was seeing something far different.

And then she uttered these words (to n.o.body at all!):

"Oh, the wonder of it, the wonder of it!"

Then something else happened. One of the inner doors opened and a young lady stood craning her neck so that she could look into the room.

She stood so an instant, and then she was joined by another young lady, and both came into the room.

They were both simply glorious in party-frocks, though on the skirt of one the ruffles had been bunched clumsily, and the bodice of the other was slightly twisted.

They were Cinderella's sisters.

The first sister had opened the door just in time to hear what Cinderella said; and now she rather cleverly imitated Cinderella's words and manner--

"'Oh, the wonder of it!' The wonder of what?"

For a moment longer Cinderella gazed into s.p.a.ce, her eyes holding a glorious vision. Then, lowering her gaze and observing her sisters, she said, a little less fervently, "Oh . . . everything!"