"You rang, sir?" she inquired, the feathers and roses bobbing as cheerily as live things around the sweeping brim.
"I did, Becky. It occurred to me," said Mr. Wicker, looking sideways at Chris, "that some hot chocolate for Master Christopher and coffee for me would not be amiss at this hour of the morning. And," he added, seeing the interested spark in the boy"s eyes, "some of your delicious little cakes, perhaps?"
"Most certainly," beamed Becky, "most certainly sir. I have the chocolate hot, as it so happens, and some cakes new-baked."
She bustled off and in no time returned with a tray of china cups, matching flowered pots for coffee and for chocolate, a bowl of sugar, and a plate piled high with cakes. From one corner Becky pulled out a small table which she placed between the two chairs. The tray was safely settled, the fire given a poke and a fresh log before Mistress Boozer removed herself, in her starched dress and ap.r.o.n and her outrageous hat, from her master"s study.
"Now," said Mr. Wicker, pouring out the steaming drinks, "we shall refresh ourselves and you shall listen, if you will."
Chris took a sip of the hot chocolate and a bite of golden cake, deciding that he had never tasted better. This point decided on within himself, he gave his attention to the man across from him.
"I told you," Mr. Wicker said, "that I was a shipowner and a merchant.
That is true. But these are troubled times. A revolution has had the land in its grasp. Times are bad, and this vast land is now convulsed with the birth throes of democracy. Money is hard to come by, and much needed, for General Washington"s troops were farmers called away from their harvesting or sowing. The period of healing, for them and for the land, will be long and costly."
He paused to sip his coffee and then put the cup down.
"Destruction is so fast, and to construct and build," Mr. Wicker said, staring at the fire, "that is what is slow." He turned to Chris.
"Without financial help, without money for the beginning of this new land and this new government that is struggling to be born, this free place and this fine democratic experiment will fail. I know a way to save it, and you have been sent back into the past from our future--my future and yours, and that of the land--to help us and make it real.
You will not disappoint me, Christopher?" Mr. Wicker turned burning eyes on Chris"s face. "You will help your country get its start?"
A wave of excitement such as he had never known surged over Chris and he started to his feet, almost upsetting the table and making the cups rattle on their saucers.
"Oh, yes sir! You bet! If I can, I"ll help!"
Mr. Wicker"s face expressed his satisfaction. He rose too and held out his hand.
"I knew you would," he said. "It had to be, for it could be no other way. But there is always doubt. Your hand, my boy, for we have work to do together."
The two hands, large and small, were firm, one in the other, and Chris felt a new power coming to him from the man whose hand he grasped.
"Listen closely," Mr. Wicker said, and Chris drew nearer. "There is a wondrous thing, unique in the world, and which, for the benefit of this growing country, we must obtain. Its possession will mean we can pay for many things--a new city here, tools; building materials. This wonderful object is the Jewel Tree belonging to the Princess of China."
Chris waited, listening.
"This Jewel Tree," Mr. Wicker went on, "is a tree that grows, that puts out leaves and flowers and bears fruit, but here is the wonder of it," and he bent his piercing eyes on Chris"s intent face. "This growing tree is made of jewels; leaves and flowers and even seeded fruit. The leaves are emeralds; the flowers, diamonds and sapphires; the fruits, huge rubies seeded thick with pearls. Imagine such a treasure if you can!" He spread his arms wide and Chris"s eyes were shining with excitement.
"Imagine the possession of such a plant!" Mr. Wicker went on. "Break off a branch of it--another grows. And flowers and fruit--much like your orange trees--bear both their fruit and flowers at the same time."
They sat down again, the better to continue their conversation.
"The taking of such a prize would be hard enough," Mr. Wicker continued, "for it is well guarded. But there is a greater hazard." He rose from his chair to walk about in his nervousness and eagerness at what lay ahead. Then he went on.
"There is a man here, posing as a merchant. Claggett Chew. You will see him in the town when you walk there, which you shall do, presently. But he has some magic powers, and knows me well. Too well."
Mr. Wicker shook his head and his eyes became slits of rage. "We have been enemies for long," said Mr. Wicker, "but he has yet to get the better of me."
"Is he after the Jewel Tree too?" Chris wanted to know.
"He is. He heard of it, by power of magic certainly, for it is a secret so well guarded that those who carry knowledge of it--all but myself, up to this time--all others have died before they could make use of it. You can well imagine," Mr. Wicker enlarged, turning his gaze on Chris, "that a treasure that replenishes itself is beyond price. The Chinese Emperor knows it well. So do the guards about his palaces, and so does Claggett Chew."
Mr. Wicker strode about, striking the closed fist of one hand into the palm of the other, and Chris scrambled out of his chair to stand watching the pacing figure. And it came to Chris as he followed with his eyes the black swinging coat, the silver-buckled black knee breeches, the neat white stock and black-brocaded waistcoat of the magician, it came to him that he had a great confidence and affection for this man. Even knowing him as little as he did, having to take so much on trust, still, in Chris"s mind there was no smallest grain of doubt, suspicion, or distrust. He knew, without having to think it out, that Mr. Wicker was a great man, great in knowledge and in heart.
Reliable and kind and wise. In that moment Chris put his whole faith in a man he had not known yet for a day.
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"There is one way," Mr. Wicker said, wheeling about and standing still, "and that is where I need your help." He strode back across the room towards Chris. "This villain, Claggett Chew--for that is what he is, no better--this villain knows me and he knows my power. But if my power were in a boy--a lad he never would suspect--then--" Mr. Wicker put both hands on Chris"s shoulders and looked searchingly at him--"then only would we have an opportunity to seize the Jewel Tree.
Can you learn what I know?" demanded Mr. Wicker. "Can you learn my magic?"
"_Magic?_" Chris stammered. "Those tricks--the fly--and others?"
"Yes," said Mr. Wicker quietly. "Many more."
"Well," Chris answered after a moment"s thought, "I got here, didn"t I? I"ve gone back all these years, so I guess I could." He looked up with a grin. "At least I can try," he said.
Mr. Wicker gave Chris"s shoulder a little shake of pride and acceptance. "Good lad!" he said. "I know that you can learn. For you it will not be hard."
"There"s just one thing," Chris said, with puzzlement in his voice.
"You say, sir, "Seize the Tree." That means just stealing it? Must we do that?"
Mr. Wicker looked at Chris and his face was serene and smooth with the great satisfaction of his feelings.
"You are the lad for me!" he cried, and Chris felt himself coloring with pleasure at the tone of Mr. Wicker"s voice. "I knew it from the first! It _would_ be stealing, boy, but for one thing. When--and heaven willing, if--you reach the Tree, you will break a branch from it and stick it in the ground. It will root itself and grow and thrive, and the Princess will still have delicate jewel flowers for her hair."
"And now," he said, "I smell a broiling chicken. Off you go and eat your lunch, and later we shall talk again."
Chris went out smiling.
CHAPTER 9
In the kitchen, Chris leaned against the corner of the pa.s.sage and kitchen wall to watch Becky at her tasks. How different from the compact white kitchen they had at home! And yet there was a cosy feeling about the huge room in front of him with its ruddy copper utensils, tub-size wicker basket of vegetables, steaming pots hung over the fire, and the browning row of four chickens on a revolving spit, that gave out a friendliness and welcome modern kitchens did not have. Becky finally paused in her work long enough to glance out from under her hat at Chris.
"Now then, me lad! "Tis not yet time to eat. That young belly of yours takes a bit of filling, and no mistake! Be off now, and do you not go a-bothering Becky for a bit. I will soon call you when all"s done."
Chris would have liked to go outside and put his hand on the handle of the back door, when a momentary confusion overtook him. He wondered if in going out he would step back into his own time before he had completed the work Mr. Wicker wanted him to do, and suddenly unsure, turned away regretfully. Not knowing where else to go, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
Becky had made his bed, and the little room looked spruce. Chris walked into one of the niches made by the projecting windows, pushed up the sash, and leaned perilously out.
This was to be the first of many such times that Chris was to lean out so, king of this new world spread out below him as far as the eye could reach. A vast and absorbing panorama lay beneath and beyond him.
Immediately below turned Water Street, narrow and muddy, while the broad wharves and wooden storehouses s.p.a.ced themselves at intervals along the sh.o.r.e. Beyond, the sailing ships of all kinds that he had admired that morning pointed their bowsprits along the docks or swung at anchor along the river.
Chris looked down at the many vessels. He could not tell one from another, but names began to drift into his mind from some forgotten trip to a museum, or from the pages of a book read long ago. Frigate, schooner, brigantine. Good ships all. The creak of rigging sounded in the names, the harsh whip of salty winds, and the heart-lifting sight of white sails cutting across blue water. Chris leaned on his arms, his eyes shining. If he should ever go to sea in a sailing ship, what a day that would be! And then he remembered that he must do so if he were ever to obtain the fabulous Jewel Tree. All at once the dangers of such a quest were terrifying, and Chris turned his thoughts away from them to look at the view.
Where the city of Washington lay in his time were only woods and marshlands. No Monument, no Lincoln Memorial, no houses. Lying in the river like a great green ship, he could see the island which had once belonged to his ancestor, George Mason. Once? Now it probably still did. He could make out figures moving at the bank of it, and a ferry pushing off from the sh.o.r.e.
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