When at last Gorbo desisted from his damp job of looking for mandrakes, the dawn was breaking. It seemed to him that his back was breaking also, for he had stooped and stooped and pulled at roots almost without pause throughout the dismal night. He rested awhile on a fallen log and tried to rest his spine, taking quick looks behind him at intervals.
It had been a night. Not only were the true mandrakes extremely rare—after hours and hours of search he had only got six that he was pretty sure of—but he had been worried by his surroundings. Leaving out the bats, who were troublesome enough, he had been in continuous doubt of the things that lurked in the black shade of the trees round about, things rather like men, but with little furious faces and big pointed ears and mouths that slobbered, who gibbered and pointed at him in the moonlight. There was one fat pale thing, who if he was not a ghoul was extremely like one, and he had come and sat under a holly bush, staring earnestly at him for hours and hours, and occasionally shrieking with laughter. Gorbo was not superstitious in the ordinary sense of the word, but the night had left him nervy, if I may be allowed the expression; especially as he had been warned not to speak while at the job and he wanted so much to relieve his feelings by saying things. In fact if cold fingers had touched him on the back of the neck while he was resting on the log, I think he would have jumped to quite a height; and I do not blame him, for I know that I should have done very much the same.
However, here he had six mandrakes in the basket and the night was past. He got up and made his way along the trail back to Mother Meldrum’s house, and hoped that part of his troubles were over, as she could now get busy with spells and the like, and so get the little doors open. There would be, of course, the wood of twisted trees to pass on the other side; but he had hopes that he would not find this too difficult, since he had learned quite a lot of common sense in the last two or three days and he would apply it. Let him but get to the other side of the river, he thought, and he would soon find a way to get the children safely home.
He called out for Sylvia and Joe as he came near the house; but there was no reply, no running of little feet to greet him. He went quickly to the kitchen door and pushed it open, but there was nobody there. He called again loudly and anxiously, and then a door at the side of the fireplace opened and Golithos came out, stooping almost double to get through.
“Hullo,” he said in an unfriendly tone, “what do you want?”
“Where are those children?” demanded Gorbo, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise.
“Children? How should I know? I’m not a nursery-maid.”
Gorbo dropped his basket and switched his bow round to have it handy.
“Oh, leave that bow of yours alone!” cried Golithos, changing his tone. “You’re always making me nervous with the beastly thing. The little ones went away in the night along with the funny man, Mother Meldrum says, and I don’t know where they are. How should I?”
“Where’s she gone to?” said Gorbo after a miserable moment. “Quick!”
“She ran out to look for them. Oh, do put it down! It’s not my fault, is it?”
Gorbo stood with his face all twisted with dismay, staring up at the other. What had happened now? He thought and thought, but could make nothing of it.
“Sit down and make yourself at home,” said Golithos after a moment, taking a seat on a stool by the fireplace. “She’ll be back soon I expect.”
Gorbo sat down after a moment or two and stared at the fire and thought. Golithos looked awkwardly at him from time to time, but did not speak. And so they sat in silence until a brisk step was heard without and Gorbo started up.
The door opened with a crash and Mother Meldrum appeared, looking horribly gaunt and ugly and angry in a long outdoor cloak and a high peaked hat.
“Oh, so you’re back, are you?” she said.
“Yes, Mum. But where’s Sylvia and Joe?”
“They’re gone—the little fools!”
“Gone where?” cried Gorbo.
“You keep civil!” shouted the old woman. “Don’t you bellow at me!”
“No, Mum, I won’t,” said poor Gorbo. “But where have they gone to—please?”
“King Kul will have them by to-night. Them and the funny man. I ran after them when I found they’d gone, but I was just too late. The funny man was on one horse—with his mouth tied up, which shows they’ve got some sense—and those fool children were each sitting in front of a rider. Now perhaps they’re wishing they hadn’t run away from old Mother Meldrum.”
“Which way did they go?” cried Gorbo, making for the door. “I’ll catch them up----”
“Oh, will you? Well, if you think you can catch mounted men when they’ve got a two hours’ start, or if you think you could do anything if you did catch up with them, you’re a bigger fool than you look—and that’s saying a good deal.”
“But—but what did they run away for?” asked Gorbo, struck with a new doubt.
“How do I know? I was sitting talking to this harmless old bunch of nerves” (indicating Golithos) “who’d come to pay me a neighbourly visit, when I thought I’d give a look at them to see that they were quite comfortable. And when I got up there the room was empty and the window was open and they’d gone. And the funny man was gone too. So I just went after them, and got sight of them just too late. King Kul’s got them all right. I suppose the funny man told them to go. He’s noodle enough for anything. But if you really want to save them, I’ll tell you the only way how.”
“Oh, thank you, Mum!” exclaimed Gorbo.
“But first I’m going to have breakfast.” She threw off her cloak and began clattering the pots and pans about. “I’m not going to starve for those brats.”
“If I hadn’t been all the night getting those mandrakes,” said Gorbo, tearing at his hair, “I wouldn’t have lost them. Oh, I am the biggest fool after all!”
“You’re near it at any rate.” Mother Meldrum had stopped in her work and picked up the basket he had brought. “Is this what you call mandrakes?”
“Yes, Mum,” replied Gorbo humbly. “It seemed to me they squeaked a little when I pulled them up.”
“Common swamp parsnips!” said Mother Meldrum with bitter scorn, flinging them out of the door. “So that’s all the good you are. Yah!”
She turned away and went on with her cooking.
Gorbo sat down and buried his face in his hands. Blow after blow. Not only had he lost the children, but he had lost them while searching throughout a hard disagreeable night for a few worthless specimens of the common swamp parsnip (Avacabolis communis). Life really did not seem worth living to him.
“Liven up!” said the old woman after a while. “I’ll show you the way to save them, as I said; you trust to old Mother Meldrum. Meantime you’d better eat.”
She dished up a huge platter of kidneys, small sausages and bacon, and an omelette. The exquisite savour of these, together with her proffer of help, brought some cheer to the sore heart of Gorbo and he drew up his stool to the table and ate gratefully. The kidneys were cooked to perfection, the omelette had been made by the hand of an artist. Mother Meldrum was wicked and cruel and ugly and feared by all, but there was that in her which goes far to redeem the character of the vilest—she could cook.
“Golithos only eats grass and such like,” she said with a fiendish laugh, “so he can finish up this bit of raw cabbage. Eat hearty, Golithos.”
Golithos drew up his stool with a discontented look and picked daintily at the cabbage, eating with his front teeth only as if he had no appetite for it. He looked longingly at the mixed grill, but his fear of Mother Meldrum was great and he kept silent. She told him (while drawing a pot of foaming beer for Gorbo) that he would find all the water he wanted and more in the water-butt outside.
Breakfast being over she sat and considered awhile, casting an occasional glance at Golithos. It was evident that she desired him out of the way; and it is usually a delicate matter to convey to a third person that he is what the French call de trop. But she managed it.
“Golithos,” she said suddenly, “get to blazes out of this. Go outside and stay by that tree stump over there so that I can see you’re not listening.”
Golithos got up and moved blunderingly out of the door and stood where she had told him to, looking sulkily about him.