"Who ever heard of a thief in Kisington!" exclaimed the mother. "Who could it be? I never saw a shawl like this. Let us examine what she has taken, the wicked old creature!"
Harold got a candle, and presently returned to the pantry, where his mother was groping among the smashed crockery for some other clue to the thief. When the light flickered on the pantry shelves the mother gave a scream of surprise and anger. "My six beautiful pies!" she exclaimed.
"The thief has stolen my six beautiful apple pies! Oh, what a wicked old soul!"
"Those lovely pies!" groaned Harold. "See, Mother, she has gobbled one and left the empty plate. The others she has taken away with her."
"I wish they may choke her!" cried the mother angrily. "Now you will have none to take to your Red King to-morrow. I was going to save the finest of all for him, in the hope that it would soften his hard heart."
"It will never soften his heart nor please his stomach now, Mother,"
said Harold ruefully. "And still more I regret the other five pies which I know you meant for me. When shall we ever see such pies again?"
"They were made from the last of the flour and apples and sugar sent you in grat.i.tude by the Leading Citizens," said Harold"s mother sadly. "I am sorry your reward is thus wasted, my poor boy! What spiteful neighbor could have spied them through the pantry window and planned this midnight raid at our expense?"
Harold shook his head mournfully. "I do not know any one in Kisington whom I could suspect," he said. "Come, Mother, let us go back to bed.
To-morrow we will look further into the matter. We have at least this handsome shawl as one clue, which if it does not find us the thief will be very nice for you to wear."
They went to bed again, and slept until morning.
Now in the morning before school Harold took the shawl and went to his friend the Librarian and told him what had happened during the night.
The Librarian was greatly shocked to hear of a theft in town and went with Harold straight to the Lord Mayor.
The Mayor examined the shawl carefully and shook his head. "This is very strange!" he said. "This is no shawl made in Kisington, or in our Kingdom. It is a strange foreign shawl, and very valuable. I am glad to believe that the thief must have been a foreigner, or a gypsy, or a vagrant of some sort. But how did she find her way into our guarded city? I must look into this! Meanwhile, my lad, since you have suffered loss and damage to your pantry and to your feelings the Leading Citizens will see that you are made whole at their expense; I will answer for their grat.i.tude to you."
"My Lord," said the Librarian, patting Harold affectionately on the head, "our boy has done so well already in handling this savage King, may we not expect still more from him now that the time is so critical?
King Victor should soon be coming to our aid. If we can but postpone the siege for at least another day! Suppose Harold should invite Red Rex, under a flag of truce, to visit and inspect our Library?"
"Good!" cried the Mayor. "When you go to Red Rex this afternoon, Harold, my boy, see what you can do further in the matter."
"I will try, my Lord Mayor," said Harold. "But Red Rex is growing very impatient. I fear that I cannot much longer keep him amused with our tales."
"Clever lad! You have already done right well," said the Librarian, embracing Harold proudly. "And I dare say you will be able to do yet more. Now, run along to school; for we must not forget our everyday duties, even in these times of excitement and danger."
So Harold went to school, and you can imagine how many questions he had to answer at recess time. The Librarian went to his books and the Lord Mayor to his desk. And Harold"s mother went down on her knees, cleaning up the wrecked pantry.
But where was the strange old woman all this time?
XV: THE BANDAGED HAND
As soon as school was over on Thursday afternoon, Harold started once more on his errand to the War-Lord. As usual, he was accompanied to the city gate by a crowd of schoolboys and girls who envied him his luck and wished that they could go all the way with him. But this, naturally, the City Fathers would not permit. One boy carried Harold"s coat, and another his strap of schoolbooks. A third brought the basket with Harold"s luncheon, while Robert carried the flag of truce,--proud boy!
But Richard, Harold"s special chum, was the proudest of all. For he was trusted with the precious volume from the library containing the story of the King"s Pie, which Harold was to read to the War-Lord on that day.
All gave a great cheer when the gate was unbarred; and all the little girls waved their handkerchiefs when with a gay shake of his hand Harold stepped out into the danger zone.
Red Rex received him as usual, sitting upon the green hillock. Harold noticed straightway that the War-Lord"s hand was bound up with a bandage, and that he had a cut over his left eye, which made him look fiercer than ever.
"But I thought there was a truce!" exclaimed Harold, gazing at these tokens of trouble. "How came you to be thus hurt, Your Majesty?"
"Nay; it was an accident," said the Red King gruffly. "Say no more about it, pray. Well! I have no time to waste to-day. Things are coming to an issue. Let me hear your story as quickly as possible,--if you have brought one, as I think."
"Yes, Your Majesty," replied Harold. "I have brought you the spicy story of the King"s Pie, which I think you will like. I had meant, in order to ill.u.s.trate the story, to bring you also one of the veritable pies. But that, alas! I am now unable to do. My mother made a pie especially for this purpose; but it is gone with others which were to be mine, and for which I grieve on my own account. A wicked thief stole them all during last night. So I fear you will not appreciate the story so well as otherwise you might have done."
"Perhaps I shall," said the War-Lord whimsically. "Perhaps I shall appreciate it all the more."
"Now, what means Your Majesty by that?" cried Harold, wondering very much at these strange words. "It was such a fine pie! A large, fat, juicy, rich, crisp, crusty pie,--just such a one as the King enjoyed in the story."
"Yes, I know!" said Red Rex. "Go on with the story, right speedily, with no more details of that tantalizing, vanished pie!" And he licked his lips and shifted his seat as he sat upon his hillock.
Obediently Harold opened the book which his chum Richard had handed to him just inside the city gate, and began to read the toothsome tale of _The King"s Pie_.
XVI: THE KING"S PIE
There was great excitement in Kisington; for the King was coming with his new young bride, and the town was preparing to give them a famous welcome.
Hugh, the Lord Mayor, was at his wits" end with all that must be done.
As he sat in the Town Hall holding his aching head, while a mob of decorators and artists and musicians, costumers, jewelers, and florists clamored about him, there came to him a messenger from Cedric, his son.
Cedric was one of the King"s favorite friends, and he knew His Majesty"s taste well. So he had sent to the Lord Mayor a hint as to how the King might best be pleased. Being a man of few words, this is how his message ran:--
"His Majesty is exceedingly fond of pie."
Long pondered the Lord Mayor over this mysterious message, reading it backward and forward, upside down and crisscross, and mixed up like an anagram. But he could make nothing of it except what it straightforwardly said: that the King was exceedingly fond of pie.
Now, in those days pie meant but one thing--a pasty; that is, meat of some sort baked in a dish covered with dough. At that time there was no such thing known as a pie made of fruit or mincemeat. Pie was not even a dainty. Pie was vulgar, ordinary victuals, and the Lord Mayor was shocked at his son"s even mentioning pie in connection with the King.
"Pie, indeed!" he shuddered. "A pretty dish to set before a King on his wedding journey! How can pie be introduced into my grand pageant? The King can get pie anywhere, in any hut or hovel along his way. What has Kisington to do with pie?"
The Lord Mayor snorted scornfully, and was about to dismiss his son"s hint from his mind, when he had an idea! A Pie! A great, glorified, poetic, symbolic Pie such as could be carried in procession decorated with flowers! That was a happy thought. The Lord Mayor dismissed every one else and sent for all the master cooks of the city.
It was decided to accept Cedric"s hint for what it was worth, and make Pie the feature of the day. There should be a grand pageant of soldiers and maskers and music. And, following the other guilds, last of all should come the cooks, with their ideas of Pie presented as attractively as might be, for the edification of the King. Moreover, the Lord Mayor said, in dismissing the white-capped company:--
"To whichever of you best pleases His Majesty with the pie, I will give this reward: a team of white oxen, a hundred sacks of white flour, and a hundred pieces of white silver."
"Hurrah!" shouted the cooks, waving their white caps. Then away they hurried to put on their thinking-caps instead and plan for the building of the King"s Pie.
Now, among the cooks of Kisington there were two brothers, Roger and Rafe. Roger, the elder, had one of the hugest kitchens and shops in Kisington. But Rafe, the younger, had only a little old house on an acre of land under a little red-apple tree, with a little red cow who gave a little rich cream every day. Rafe was very poor, and no richer for having a brother well-to-do like Roger. For the thrifty cook had little to do with Rafe, whose ways were not his ways.
Rafe cooked in his little kitchen for the poor folk of the town, charging small prices such as they could pay. Indeed, often as not he gave away what he had cooked for himself to some one who seemed hungrier. This is a poor way to make profit of gold, but an excellent way to make profit of affection. And Rafe was rich in the love of the whole town.
Roger was among the cooks whom the Lord Mayor summoned to consult about the King"s Pie. But Rafe knew nothing at all of it, until one afternoon he was surprised by a visit from his brother, who had not darkened his door for many a day.
"Well, Brother," said Roger, briefly, "I suppose you are not busy, as I am. Will you work for me for a day or two? In fact, I need you."
"You need me!" said Rafe, in surprise. "How can that be, Brother?"
"I have a great task at hand," said the master-cook; "a task that needs extra help. You must come. Your own work can wait well enough, I judge."
Rafe hesitated. "I must cook for my poor people first," he said.