by Jay Williams
THE SILVER WHISTLE
The Wise Woman of the West had a daughter whose name was Prudence. She was a cheerful girl, as wise as her name, and as plain as the day is long.
She had a snub nose, a wide mouth, straight straw-colored hair, and so many freckles that it looked as if someone had sprinkled her with cinnamon.
When the time came for the Wise Woman of the West to die, she called her daughter to her and said,
“My dear, you must go out and make your way in the world. I can do nothing about your looks, but you have a merry heart and a lively mind, and there are plenty of people who like freckles. All that I have to give you is this silver whistle. If you blow it once, the birds will come to your call. If you blow it twice, the insects will be your friends. If you blow it three times, the beasts will speak to you. Thus you will never be lonely.”
“Suppose I were to blow it four times?” asked Prudence. “Try not to do so,” said her mother, gravely. “For if you do, it will make a sound shrill enough to shatter glass, and the whistle will be broken.”
So off Prudence went to make her way in the world, with nothing but the clothes on her back and the silver whistle in her pocket. She traveled for many a day and many a mile, and at last she came to a house that stood on four legs in the middle of a wood. The house turned round to face her, and out came an old witch. She was as dry as a winter leaf, and had only a few brown teeth.
“What do you want?” said she.
“I am making my way in the world,” said Prudence.
“Have you any work for me?”
“Plenty of work,” cackled the witch. “And a silver penny on the first day of every month if you do whatever I ask.”
“I don’t mind,” said Prudence. “It will make a nice change.”
She became the witch’s servant, and if the work was hard it was also interesting, for the witch did magic from morning to night, and there were always plenty of visitors. Whenever Prudence was lonely, she blew her silver whistle and talked to a bird, a bee, or a beast.
One day, a messenger from the king came through the forest. He had a proclamation which he had been commanded to read in every corner of the kingdom.
It said:
On the thirty-first day of May, Prince Pertinel is to be married. Therefore, all the maidens of the land are to come to the palace so that the prince may choose the one who suits him best, to be his bride.
Signed, King Quither V.
“Very good,” said the witch. “I have a mind to be chosen. For there is a nothing I’d like better than to be a princess, and someday queen.”
“Dear me,” said Prudence, and she couldn’t help chuckling. “It seems to me that you would have even less of a chance than I, for if I am plain you are perfectly hideous.”
“So you think,” retorted the witch. “But with the magical mirror of Morna I will win the prince’s heart.
For whoever looks into that mirror becomes more beautiful than the dawn of a spring morning. The spell lasts as long as the mirror lasts, and that will be long enough for me.”
“And have you the mirror of Morna?” asked Prudence.
“No,” said the witch. “But you are going to get it for me.”
“I am? Where is it, and how shall I get it?”
“It is kept in the treasure house of the Wazar,” the witch said. “And I don’t know how you are going to get it. But however you get it, it must be given to you freely or its magic will not work.”
“That doesn’t make things any easier,” murmured Prudence. “Where is the treasure house of the Wazar?”
“I don’t know that either,” said the witch. “All I know is that it is far to the south, in a land where the trees have leaves but no branches and where the ground moves when the wind blows.”
“I have never heard of such a place,” Prudence said.
“Well, are you going?”
“I don’t mind,” said Prudence. “It will make a nice change.”
She packed a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese in her handkerchief and put her silver whistle in her pocket. Then she said to the witch, “By the way, what exactly is a Wazar?”
“Nobody knows,” said the witch. “I wish you luck.”
Off went Prudence, traveling south under the great trees of the forest. She wandered for many days. She was chilled by the wind and made wet by the rain.
Sometimes she rested at inns or in the cottages of farmers. Sometimes she ate nothing but dry bread for her dinner and slept on the hard ground. Whenever she felt lonely, she blew her whistle and talked to a bird, a bee, or a beast. She remained as cheerful as she could, and journeyed on, looking for a land where the trees had leaves but no branches and where the ground moved when the wind blew.
After a time, she climbed a steep mountain and came down its other side onto a wide plain. The sun blazed overhead. There were tall trees with rough, scaly trunks and from their tops grew large graceful leaves like bunches of feathers. Underfoot, the ground was soft sand, and when the wind blew, the sand stirred and shifted.
“Ah,” said Prudence. “This must be the land of The Wazar.”
Not far away was a magnificent palace built of white marble. There were a thousand windows in its high walls. From a hundred spires and domes flew banners of red and gold. Prudence walked to the palace and stood before the gates.
They were wide open.
“I suppose that means I can go in,” she said.
She entered and found herself in a large hall. It was splendidly furnished but everything was covered with dust. Spider-webs hung from the ceiling. No servant came forward, and no guard stopped her. All was empty, silent, and dirty.
She passed through it into a corridor. She found a number of fine rooms, and all were as empty and as untended as the first. In the last room, seated on a chair studded with diamonds was a fat moon-faced man. He wore a tall red hat with a diamond on the front of it. His robes were embroidered with golden threads. Although the chair didn’t look very comfortable, he was sound asleep with his hands clasped on his round stomach.
Prudence cleared her throat. “Good day,” she said.
He opened one eye and then the other.
“I am looking for The Wazar,” she said.
“Then you can stop looking and go away,” said the man, closing his eyes again.
“Why do they call you The Wazar?” asked Prudence.
His eyes snapped open and he sat up. “Because I am the only one there is,” he answered. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m curious. What is a Wazar?”
“I am, of course. And now that we’re asking questions. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Prudence decided it might be better to say nothing about the mirror until she found out a bit more about The Wazar.
My name is Prudence, and I’m making my way through the world,” said she.
The Wazar stroked his ginger-colored whiskers.
“Hm,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a job, are you? All my servants have run off and left me.”
“I don’t mind,” said Prudence. “It will make a nice change. Why did your servants leave you?”
“It is surprising, isn’t it?” said The Wazar. “I am one of the kindest, most generous men imaginable. I suppose they were frightened because my neighbor, Arbroag the Unpleasant, has threatened to destroy me.”
“Why should he do that?”
“Well,” said The Wazar, “we Wazars, as you may know, are fond of diamonds. And since I am the only Wazar there is, I am even fonder of them than anyone. I stole a tiny little diamond from Arbroag-it only weighed about forty pounds-and when he demanded it back, I told him in the quietest and friendliest way that he was a thick-headed pig-snouted ring-tailed guttersnipe. For some reason he became angry and put a curse on me.”
“I see,” said Prudence. “When does he plan to destroy you?”
“Tonight,” said The Wazar, gloomily. “And I haven’t even had my dinner.”
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“Goodness!” said Prudence. “It doesn’t sound as though a job with you would last very long.”
“If you will work for me until sunrise tomorrow,”
said The Wazar, “and help me to escape from Arbroag’s curse, I will give you whatever you wish from my treasure house. However,” he added, quickly, “you must let me choose what it shall be.”
Prudence laughed. “Very well,” she said. “What do you want me to do first?”
“First of all,” said The Wazar, folding his hands over his stomach again, “clean up the palace. It’s a mess.”
Prudence looked about for a broom.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” said The Wazar, “that part of the curse Arbroag put on me was that here no broom will sweep and no mop will mop. Now, you’d better get busy.”
For a moment, Prudence stood, just thinking. Then she took out her silver whistle and blew a blast on it.
In a twinkling, the air was full of birds. Hundreds and thousands of them came, flapping and chirping.
Their wings blew away the dust. The larger birds picked up the bigger bits of rubbish; the smaller ones took grains of dirt or spiderwebs. Then they flew off, and when they had gone the palace was clean.
The Wazar pointed to one feather which remained on the floor. “Not very neat,” he said. “And the noise of the birds has given me a headache. Now I’d like some dinner.”
He led Prudence to the kitchen. But before she could begin to cook, it grew dark. It was not the darkness of night, but a deeper darkness as if every light everywhere in the world had been blown out.
The Wazar’s teeth could be heard chattering.
“I can’t bear this,” he groaned. “Do something!”
Prudence tried to light a candle. But although it flamed up, it gave off only a tiny glow, like the faint glimmer of a distant star.
“I forgot to tell you,” said The Wazar, “that part of the curse Arbroag put on me was that when the darkness comes no lamp nor candle will give light.”
Prudence took out her silver whistle and blew two blasts on it. At once, millions of fireflies came from the desert. They swarmed in at the windows and hung in cluster in the air. All their shining bodies together were like bright moonlight.
Prudence soon had a fire going in the stove and was able to cook a fine stew. The Wazar wrapped his robe about him, sat down at the kitchen table and ate with a hearty appetite.
“It’s not exactly what I’m used to,” he complained.
“I would have preferred roast pheasant, sugared rose petals, and champagne. However, I suppose this is the best you can do.”
Prudence thought she could understand why all his servants had left him. She said nothing, however, but helped herself to some stew.
Then it began to grow cold. Frost formed on the windows and walls. Icicles hung glittering from the rafters. And the flames of the fire in the stove froze and stood fixed as if they were made of yellow glass.
“I forgot to tell you,” whispered The Wazar, “that part of the curse Arbroag put on me was that when the cold comes no flame nor fire will warm me. This is the end. Good-bye.”
“Nonsense!” said Prudence. “You hired me to save you and that’s what I intend to do.”
She took out her silver whistle and blew three blasts on it.
In at the door bounded a lion.
The lion uttered a roar, and out by the other door bounded The Wazar. The lion ran after him. All through the palace they went, in one room and out the other, up stairs and down, and every time The Wazar stopped to catch his breath the lion would snarl and chase him again.
He grew hot from running. Sweat dripped down his face and stained his robe, and his cheeks were redder than his hat.
When at last the sun rose, he was thinner than he had been but warm and still alive.
“Now,” said Prudence, “it is sunrise and I have done as you asked.”
“That’s true,” said The Wazar, peevishly, “but I have lost ten pounds and I’ve had no sleep. However, I forgive you, for as I told you I am a kind and generous man. Come along with me to my treasure house.”
The treasure house was heaped high with The Wazar’s collection of diamonds. Diamonds of all shapes and sizes lay there in dazzling heaps.
Prudence looked thoughtfully at a very fine green diamond which was about the size of a St. Bernard dog.
The Wazar turned pale. Before he could speak, Prudence said, “You were quite right when you said
that you wanted to choose what I should take. All these diamonds are too big and too heavy. Pick something that will do for a girl like me.”
The Wazar sighed with relief. Climbing a ladder to the topmost shelf, he took down a plain, simple mirror of ivory.
“This is the magical mirror of Morna,” he said, blowing the dust off it. “It is said to make people beautiful. It’s no use to me, as I’m already as beautiful as possible. But it might do you some good.”
“You are right,” said Prudence. “Do you give it to me freely?”
“Absolutely,” said The Wazar, and he pushed her out the door and locked it behind him with sixteen keys.
Prudence started for home. When she had gone a mile or two, she thought, perhaps I might just take a peep into the mirror and see if it makes me beautiful.
She was beginning to unwrap it, and then she laughed.
“I don’t think I want to be beautiful,” she said. “I might be different outside but I’d be the same inside, and I’m used to me the way I am. Anyway, I don’t own the mirror, for I only got it for the witch.” So she wrapped it up again and went on her way, as cheerfully as ever.
When she came, at last, to the witch’s house, it was the thirty-first of May. The witch came out screeching with impatience, and even the house hopped from foot to foot.
“High time you returned, you lazy thing!” she screamed.
“Bring the mirror and follow me. We must hurry to the king’s palace.”
The city was full of girls. Smiling, they went in through the front door of the palace. Sadly, they filed out through the back door.
When Prudence and the witch arrived, there were only a few girls waiting to enter, for it was nearly evening. At the door of the palace, the witch held out her hand. Prudence gave her the mirror.
The witch gazed into it. Instantly, she straightened and grew taller. Her white hair turned to gold. Her face had changed and she became so beautiful that all of the birds began to sing as if it were the dawn of a spring morning.
Into the palace she went, with Prudence behind her.
There sat the king and the queen, and before them stood Prince Pertinel. He was a tall, handsome young man, but pale with weariness, and his eyes were glazed from the sight of so many maidens.
Prudence looked at the prince and then she looked at the witch. Although the witch’s face was lovely, her eyes had not changed. They were old and hard, and full of witchcraft. She was different outside but the same inside.
“He must not marry her,” Prudence said to herself.
“If someday she becomes queen, she will be full of wickedness.”
There was no help for it. With a sigh, Prudence took out her silver whistle and blew four notes on it.
With the last note, the whistle split in two. But the mirror cracked with a loud noise and shattered to bits.
And as the pieces clattered to the floor, the witch changed again into her own shape. With a screech of rage, she flew straight up into the air and vanished
through the ceiling, leaving a large and untidy hole in the plaster.
Prince Pertinel stepped forward and took Prudence by the hand.
“Marvelous!” he said. “You are the girl for me.”
Prudence stared at him in surprise.
“Me? But I’m not beautiful,” she said.
The prince smiled. “That is true,” he said. “But I never said I would choose the most beautiful girl in the kingdom. I only said I would choose the one who su
ited me best. As it happens, I prefer freckles. Will you marry me?”
“Oh, well, I don’t mind,” said Prudence, returning his smile. “It will make a nice change.”
FORGETFUL FRED
The richest man in the land, even richer than the king, was Bumberdumble Pott. He lived in an enormous house with forty-four rooms, and he had nine cooks, twelve housemaids, four butlers, sixteen helpers, and a young man named Fred who did everything that was left over.
Fred was good-looking and bright, but he was very absentminded. This was because his head was full of music. When he should have been thinking about his job, he was thinking of songs instead, and when he should have been working, he was playing on his flute. If Bumberdumble Pott said to him, “Fred, throw out the rubbish and hang up my coat,” Fred was just as apt to throw away the coat and hang up the rubbish.
In spite of this, Bumberdumble liked him and so did everyone else, because he was merry, kind, friendly, and always polite.
One day, Bumberdumble called together all the servants in the great hall of his house. Standing on the staircase where everyone could see and hear him, he said, “As you all know, I am the richest man in the land.”
Everyone nodded. They knew.
“You might think I’d be very happy,”
Bumberdumble continued, “but I’m not. There is one thing I’ve wanted all my life, and that is the Bitter Fruit of Satisfaction. When I was young, I could have gone to find it but I was too busy making money.
Now I am too old to make the journey. But if one of you will go and get it for me, I will give him half my wealth so that he will be as rich as I am.”
Everyone thought that over. At last, the youngest of the butlers said, “Where is the Bitter Fruit of Satisfaction?”
Bumberdumble looked worried. “I’m afraid it is a long way off,” he admitted. “It is beyond six mountains and six sandy deserts, beyond the Boiling River and the Grimly Wood. And it is guarded by a Fire Drake.”