Marion St. John Webb - Knock Three Times!

“Oh, do please wake up,” said Molly, laying her hand on Old Nancy’s lap.

Old Nancy stirred, turned her head from side to side and gave a great sigh; then she slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze travelled from Molly to Jack, and then on to Glan. She sat up. Then passed her hand across her eyes and stared, dazed, in front of her for a moment. Her glance came back to Molly.

“Who are you?” she said, in a low voice. “And what’s the matter?”

It was Glan who answered.

“The sun has set,” he said gravely, “and you were asleep.”

With a cry Old Nancy started to her feet.

“No, no, Glan; it can’t be true!” she exclaimed. “Oh, what have I done! What have I done! It cannot be sunset yet.”

She crossed hurriedly to the window and peered through. A glance at the darkening countryside was sufficient. She turned away, and creeping back to her chair sank into it and buried her face in her hands.

There was a dead silence in the room. A cinder fell out of the fire on to the red hearth.

“Well, well.” Glan cleared his throat and tried to speak cheerfully. “What isn’t well must be made well, you know. No good crying over spilt milk, Old Nancy. Come, come, snap your fingers at adversity, you know. We must all put our heads together and see what we can do. What’s the best thing to do first?” he smiled bravely, and Jack and Molly took heart and things looked brighter, although they scarcely knew what all the trouble meant.

“Is it back then?” asked Old Nancy, raising her head.

“The Pumpkin?—yes, it’s back,” said Glan.

“Then there’s not a moment to be lost,” said Old Nancy firmly, and with an effort she pulled herself together and sat up straight.

“How did it happen—your going to sleep?” inquired Glan.

“I don’t know,” said Old Nancy, with a puzzled frown. “Never have I missed doing the spell at sunset. I think I must have been … drugged. The Pumpkin must still have a few followers in the country—perhaps one of them drugged me—but I don’t know how they did it, they must have chosen the opportunity carefully, so that I fell asleep just before sunset.... I remember looking out and seeing the sun about half an hour before sunset time: and then I sat down for a few minutes … and I don’t remember anything more. When did the Pumpkin come back?”

“About half an hour ago,” said Glan.

“He came through the tree,” said Jack, “and we followed him.”

“You are from the Impossible World, then,” murmured Old Nancy, “where I sent the Pumpkin. But now—this will be the Impossible World again soon, I fear, unless–” She looked earnestly into the faces of the two children, then she smiled faintly. “Will you stay and help us,” she asked. “Help us to make our world Possible again?”

“We’ll stay. Rather!” began Jack.

“Only—only—what about Mother?” Molly interrupted.

“I will tell you the history of the Pumpkin first of all,” said Old Nancy; “and then you shall decide whether you will stay and help us, or go home. If you decide to stay I will see that your Mother is not made anxious about you, until your work is finished and you return to her. But, meanwhile, Glan, what are you going to do?”

“Father has already gone to arouse the City,” said Glan. “I think I will follow him and see what I can do; then I will come back and see what the little lady and her brother have decided. But before they can do a thing they must hear the Pumpkin’s story from you.”

So saying he took off his cap with a flourish and opened the door.

“Keep up heart. Laugh at misfortune, remember, and—tss– We shall win!” he cried, his fat face all a-smile; and he was gone.

“Sit down on the rug,” said Old Nancy, “and tell me, first of all, what you know about the Pumpkin, and then I will tell you why it is the Pumpkin is so dreaded in our country, and how he came to be what he is.”

So Jack and Molly sat down on the rug, and after relating what they knew of the Pumpkin and how they happened to come across him, they listened while Old Nancy told them the following story, fascinated by her low, sweet voice, and her kind eyes.

“LONG ago,” began Old Nancy, gazing dreamily into the fire, “a great King ruled over this country who had an only daughter to whom he was passionately attached. She was a sweet, frail little creature—very delicate. In spite of all the care and attention bestowed upon her, she grew no stronger; indeed, as time passed, she seemed to grow weaker and weaker, until at length it became obvious to all that the Princess was dying. The King was in despair. All that love, money, doctors, and nurses could do for her was done—but all in vain.

“Then, one evening, someone found a shabby old book at the back of a shelf in the Royal Library. To whom it belonged and how it got there no one seemed to know, but anyway, the book proved of priceless value as it contained a remarkable recipe for curing just such an illness as the Princess was suffering from. I need not tell you all about this recipe now: it is sufficient that one of the most important items was—pumpkin juice. Needless to say, the King seized eagerly at any chance to save his daughter’s life, and so all the pumpkins available were quickly purchased and the recipe made up, and a dose of this new cure was given to the Princess. From the very first dose there was a marked change for the better, and with perseverance this new remedy gradually worked wonders in the Princess; she grew stronger and stronger and was soon on the road to a complete recovery.

“And then–

“But first you must know that in order to have plenty of pumpkins on hand to complete the cure, the delighted King had a special garden made in which to grow nothing but pumpkins; and he employed a special staff of gardeners to look after this garden. And every day he would go to the garden himself to see how the pumpkins were getting on. One night, a fearful storm swept over the country; and while the thunder growled and the lightning flashed and the wind and rain struggled for mastery—some strange things were taking place down in the pumpkin garden. For when morning broke—there was not a single pumpkin left in the garden: nor in the whole of the country, apparently. But it was not the storm that had destroyed them all. Under cover of the black night and the storm somebody had come and had deliberately cut off the pumpkins, and destroyed them.

“Now this somebody—although he was not discovered for days afterward—was an evil little dwarf man, who imagined that he owed the King a grudge—and sought to punish him this way.

“Nor was this all. When the Princess’s nurse went to fetch her medicine—there was none left. All the bottles were smashed to pieces and the precious liquid was spilled all over the floor.

“The King was terribly upset, and sent messengers far and wide, post haste, to try to get some more pumpkins. But they could not get any. And from that time, as each hour passed, the Princess began to decline again. She got steadily worse, and weaker and weaker as days went by. You can imagine what grief it must have been to her father to see her losing her newly-gained health, to see her cheeks growing pale and thin again—to see her gradually fading away. He made every attempt possible to get hold of a pumpkin—but it seemed as if all the pumpkins in the land had suddenly vanished.

“At length the Princess lay at death’s door; the doctors gravely shook their heads at each other; while the King paced ceaselessly up and down the corridor outside her room. He was waiting thus, torn with anxiety and suspense, when a messenger arrived at the palace with a note for the King, which contained the news that a pumpkin had been found! The owner of the pumpkin would give it up to no one but the King himself (the note continued). Would his Majesty kindly walk down into a certain part of the City, and go to a certain house (the address was given), where he would be met by someone who would place the pumpkin in the Kings hands. The King, wondering why the person who had the pumpkin did not hasten with it to the palace, nevertheless did not wait to question, but went at once to the house down in the City.