Marion St. John Webb - Knock Three Times!

Molly was standing gazing down the hill. “Oh, Jack! Jack! Look!” she cried, pointing to the dark wood on their left. About thirty yards away down the hill, something was slowly emerging from the black shadows of the trees.

It was the Grey Pumpkin.

It rolled leisurely out into the moonlit road, paused for a moment, then turned and moved up the hill toward them.

“Don’t be ashamed to run,” Old Nancy had said. And they were not ashamed. Jack and Molly took to their heels and ran. They did not want to be stopped by the Pumpkin at the very beginning of their quest, knowing how powerless they were until the Black Leaf was found. So they ran with all their might, on, on, until the City Gate was but a little farther ahead of them, and the tolling bell clanged loudly from within.

“Jack, oh, Jack—I—can’t—run—any—more,” gasped poor Molly. “Oh—what—what shall—we—do?”

“Were just there—keep—up—old girl—only a—little—bit more—we’re—just—there,” panted Jack.

With a final effort they rushed forward and reached the gate at last. Jack flung himself against it and started beating on it with his fists, and then snatching up a large stone from the road he hammered it with that; while Molly seized the thick bell chain at the side and began pulling it vigorously.

It was a curious gate—more like a door than a gate—made of solid iron; and at the top, high above the children’s heads, was a tiny grating through which the citizens could see who stood without.

Jack glanced despairingly up at the high white walls and the black iron gate, while he continued to beat wildly with the stone and shout as loudly as he could for help. There seemed no way of escape if they did not open the gate, and looking back he saw the Pumpkin coming silently onward.

“It’s no good making a dash for the woods, Molly,” he exclaimed, “he’d cut us off. Pull harder, and shout too.”

So Molly pulled harder at the bell chain and cried out for someone to come and open the gate and let them in.

Suddenly, above the noise they were making and the sound of the tolling bell within, the children heard voices, and a clattering on the other side of the gate. Then a face appeared at the grating.

“Open the gate!” cried Jack. “Quick! Quick! We’ve got a pass. Open the gate and save us!”

A loud murmuring arose within, and they heard the jangling of keys. When all at once a voice shrieked, “Look! Look! On the hill. It’s the Pumpkin! Don’t open the gate! Don’t open the gate, it’s a decoy!”

“It’s not, it’s not,” cried Jack. “Oh, save us, save us. We have got a pass. Let us in and save us from the Pumpkin. For pity’s sake open the gate!”

The voices inside were now loud and angry; the people were evidently not inclined to believe him.

“Oh, Jack, Jack!” screamed Molly. “He’s just behind us, Jack!”

Jack wheeled round and saw to his horror that the Pumpkin was near the top of the hill and close upon them. He was desperate. Raising the stone above his head, he flung it with all his strength at the big, grey, moving thing. There was a dull thud as the stone struck the Pumpkin and sent it back a few paces; but it quickly came to a standstill, and began at once to cover the ground it had lost.

Meanwhile a fresh arrival had come upon the scene behind the gate. In the midst of all the hubbub, the angry voices, the clanging bell, the pattering feet, there was a moment’s lull, and Jack and Molly could distantly hear the sound of running feet. Then a familiar voice exclaimed: “Hi, there! What’s all the fuss about?”

A score of voices started to explain.

Molly gave a sob of relief, “Oh, it’s Glan!” she cried.

“Glan! Glan!” the children called imploringly. “Open the gate quick and save us. Oh, do be quick!”

Glan’s face appeared at the grating.

“Bless my soul!” he cried in his big voice. “Here, give me the keys! Yes, I know it’s the Pumpkin too, but if we don’t open the gate this instant the little lady outside and her brother will be.... Give me the keys … give me the keys! Decoys?… Bah!”

There was a jangling of keys again, the sound of a lock being turned, and the huge gate swung back.

Jack and Molly dashed in, and Glan slammed the gate behind them—just in time. Another minute and the Pumpkin would have got through.

“But can’t he open the gate if he just touches it?” cried Jack, tugging Glan’s sleeve excitedly.

“No, no, he can’t do that!” Glan said, shaking his head as he stood on tiptoe to bolt and padlock the gate securely. “Thank goodness there are some limits to his magic!”

Jack and Molly found themselves in the centre of an excited crowd of people who regarded them curiously, but without anger or fear, since Glan had befriended them. Most of them were chattering and waving their hands toward the gate, but some watched the children with narrowed eyes and then whispered behind their hands to their neighbours, while others stood and gazed gloomily at them in silence. They were a picturesque race of people, these citizens of the Possible World, clothed in a bewildering variety of dresses, of no particular style; apparently each person dressed in whichever style took his or her fancy, or which was best suited to the occupation carried on by that person. And this, after all, is the only sensible way to dress. The result of these numerous styles and colours was very pleasing to the eye: at least, so thought Jack and Molly as they gazed round at the animated scene before them.

“Don’t you fret,” said a kindly-looking woman dressed in dark blue with a blue cap on her head and a chain of dull yellow beads round her neck. “We took care to have the gate washed with a magic lotion, and the Pumpkin cannot touch it—nor the gate at the other end of the City—though we have to keep both safely locked in case a friend of the Pumpkin’s were to get in and open the gate for him.” She looked straight into the eyes of first Jack and then Molly—and then she smiled.

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