by Paul Gallico
It was bright, warm and sunny and thus even with the poor meal provided and the knowledge of what she was expected to do, Jane was able to cheer up somewhat and skip ahead with Ninian, while Adam and Mopsy brought up the rear. It certainly was a fine day for an outing.
For a while Adam marched along silently, swinging his oak staff, his eyes fixed upon the basket in Jane’s hand.
Mopsy asked, “Are you doing the lunch?”
“Yes. Don’t disturb me, I’m concentrating.”
“Chicken for me, please,” Mopsy ordered, “and some ‘Sweetiepups,’ if you could manage.”
“Coming up,” said Adam. “You’ve been a good dog.”
Soon Jane led them off from the road onto a footpath that climbed a rise through some woods, to emerge on a small clearing at the top of a hill looking down upon a pleasant and thriving farm. A wooden fence ran along the left side of the plateau, past clumps of thick shrubbery.
“This is where Daddy said was the best place,” Jane declared and then turned away quickly, so that they could not see her face, to guess how utterly miserable she was at having to play the traitor.
“Splendid!” said Adam. “What a lovely view.”
It was, too. The old, whitewashed farmhouse had a thatched roof and the stone barns and outbuildings had weathered many centuries. There were horses poking their heads from several of the stalls in the stables below; sheep in a pasture with their fluffy, wobbly legged, young lambs stumbling about; cows in a green field on the opposite hillside and a flourishing kitchen garden. At one end of the farmyard was a pigsty with a number of pigs rolling happily in the mud, or scratching themselves against the sharp corners of the boards. At the other was a pond fed by the brook that came out of the woods not far from the hill. Ducks and ducklings, geese and goslings sailed upon it like ships in line, leaving a trail of widening “V’s” behind them. Scores of chickens pecked in the dirt nearby.
In another field was a brown mare and her foal, the latter no more than a few weeks old and so enchanted with being alive that it bucked, jumped and rolled in the grass and then, frightened by a leaf, ran and cuddled to its mother.
Drifting upwards came the most delightful barnyard noises, the gabble of the geese and ducks, clucking of chickens, grunting of pigs and the lowing of the cattle. Distant dogs barked, horses neighed and every so often there was the gentle donkle of a cowbell.
They had hardly settled themselves in the lush grass when Mopsy nudged Adam and whispered, “Psst! Might I have a word with you?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“In private, if you don’t mind. I’ll just take a stroll over to that oak tree and pretend I’ve found something,” Mopsy suggested and suited his action to the words by trotting off and starting to dig at the roots of a huge and ancient oak that grew some thirty or forty yards away.
“Now what on earth has Mopsy got into?” Adam remarked casually. “I’d better go and see.” And he did.
“Nice work,” said Mopsy. “Don’t look now, but you see those bushes there behind Ninian, just the other side of the fence? The ones with the little yellow flowers.”
“Yes.”
“Well, before you sat down I had a sniff around. He’s in there.”
“What? Who’s in there?”
“That nasty bit of work, Peter, her brother. He’s hiding in them. I’ll bet he’s been sent to spy on us. I told you I thought this picnic was peculiar.”
“Are you sure, Mopsy?”
“Look,” his dog said in a slightly hurt voice, “I trust your magic, why can’t you trust my nose? It’s never wrong. I smelled him. He doesn’t wash behind his ears. Do you want me to rout him out for you?”
“No,” Adam replied. “I’ll deal with him. And well done, Mopsy!” Together they sauntered back to where Jane and Ninian were sitting on the knoll, with the picnic basket between them.
Adam remained standing. “Do you think this is really a good spot?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Jane.
“Lovely,” added Ninian.
“I’m not so sure I enjoy picnicking that close to a hornet’s nest,” Adam said.
“What? Where?” cried both Ninian and Jane.
“Right there next to you, on the fence,” Adam pointed out.
“Goodness!” cried Ninian, jumping up quickly, “I didn’t see that when we sat down.” Which wasn’t surprising, since it hadn’t been there.
Jane had to look twice to make sure.
But there it was, a huge, gray globe and just at that moment a large and irritable specimen emerged from it to have a look around.
“Let’s get out of here,” cried Ninian, “I’m terrified of them!”
“There, under the oak,” said Adam, striding over to it. “Here’s a splendid spot,” and to mark it he drove the point of his staff firmly into the soft turf. “Set the basket down here, Jane.”
The tree was many hundreds of years old with its trunk thicker around than Adam, Ninian and Jane might encircle with their arms. It overlooked the same lovely view, and its glossy green foliage offered soothing shade from the hot sun. Mopsy was quivering with eagerness. “Soon?” he said.
“Hush,” said Adam, “any minute now. I’ve put a few ants and wasps in there too.”
Nor did it take long. They had hardly smoothed themselves a place to sit on the ground among the clover, buttercups and last year’s acorns, when from the bushes down by the fence came a series of the most appalling shouts and shrieks: “Ouch! Ooh! Ow! Wow! Help!” Then there was a tremendous thrashing about among the shrubbery whose tops waved violently back and forth.
“Why, whatever can that be?” Ninian queried.
With a howl of pain, a figure burst from the bushes, his arms flailing and beating about his head and body.
“Goodness, it’s Peter Robert,” said Ninian. “He must have been in that thicket.”
“What an extraordinary place to be,” Adam remarked, “when it’s so much nicer out here and safer, as well.”
Mopsy was sitting up on his hind legs with his two forepaws wrapped around his stomach, yelping with laughter. “Oh, Adam,” he cried, “you’ll kill me yet! I’ll die laughing!”
For not only was Peter slapping at the hornets and wasps that buzzed around his ears, he was at the same time performing the nearest thing to an Indian war dance, as large red ants nipped at his ankles and legs. The next moment he was running full tilt down the hill with the angry, winged insects in pursuit. When he came to the edge of the pond, he dived in as though shot from a bow, swam its length under water and emerged, dripping and muddy on the other side. He kept on going, until he disappeared in the distance.
They watched him go, Mopsy shrieking with mirth.
Adam murmured, “Strange boy. But he oughtn’t to be a-pinching of his sister.”
If Jane had heard, she gave no sign for there were other matters troubling her. One thing was certain: now Peter would not be spying upon them to overhear their conversation, as her father had ordered him to do. And surely it could not be laid at her door that he had chosen to conceal himself in such a stupid place, abounding in wasps, hornets and ants. Under threat of punishment she had carried out, to the letter, her own instructions as to where they were to go.
But what was really bothering her was the fact that she could have sworn that when they arrived there had been no insects. For she was an intelligent girl and when it came to sitting down in the country, being city bred, she always had a good look first to see what she was about to sit on or next.
Nor was her uneasiness dispelled when Adam, indicating the basket, said, “Jane, you spread the cloth, while Ninian unpacks the napkins, knives and forks and things.”
For she could not remember her mother putting in a tablecloth but only meager bits of food, wrapped up in greaseproof paper, much less napkins and cutlery. Had she? Hadn’t she? Now that she had taken out and was unfolding the large square of damask embroidered with flowers, Jane could not even remember wh
ether they had ever had such a piece at home. The napkins matched. There were plates, too. Things were becoming more and more confusing.
“Jane, you and Mopsy sit over there together,” Adam directed. “Now, Ninian, if you will dig into the basket and see what there is for us?”
Ninian obeyed and for the first time a broad smile appeared upon his usually melancholy features. “Oh, I say!” he exclaimed. “What an absolutely superb feed. I should think that Mrs. Robert had quite outdone herself.” And with that he began to take from the hamper, and hand around, the most luscious and appetizing things.
There was smoked salmon with brown bread and butter cut paper-thin, crusty veal-and-ham pie with a bit of hardboiled egg in the center, heaps of cold sausages and slices of tongue, chicken wings and drumsticks, cold roast beef with sweet and sour pickles, individual pork pies and galantines, stuffed eggs and liver pâté in jelly, lashings of potato crisps and hot, buttered rolls.
Best of all, there wasn’t a single vegetable, celery stalk or salad leaf, or anything that might have been remotely considered healthy, or good for one.
“Oh, Adam,” cried Jane, clapping her hands and in her excitement completely forgetting for the moment that she had most certainly seen no such spread ever packed into that particular basket, “How wonderful! May I start?”
“Yes, do,” said Adam and then to Ninian, “Drinks, please.”
The tall magician, beaming, reached into the apparently bottomless hamper and produced a bottle of red wine for Adam and himself and some orange and grapefruit squash for Jane.
Mopsy was already ecstatically occupied with a whole breast of chicken cut off the bone, chopped up fine with crumbled dog biscuits and nicely moistened with gravy.
They gorged themselves happily.
“Now, Ninian,” Adam said, “dessert, please.”
Out from the basket came an assortment of sticky cakes, éclairs, profiteroles, sugared cherries and candied fruits, with a generous handful of the confection rather revoltingly called “Sweetiepups,” manufactured especially for dogs, that would not hurt their delicate stomachs. They all fell upon the goodies, with Ninian in seventh heaven, raising his glass again and again, proposing toasts of “Cheers!” “Here’s looking at you!” and “Good health!”
Mopsy, too, was enjoying himself thoroughly, scrunching his “Sweetiepups.” “I know I’ve made a mess of my face,” he confessed, “but I don’t care. Adam, you’ve surpassed yourself this time. May I say that I’d rather be your dog than anybody else’s in the world?”
“That’s a very fine compliment,” Adam replied gravely and then asked, “Jane, how is it going?”
“Scrumptious!” replied Jane. But it sounded more like “Frumpfrus,” because she had her mouth stuffed with chocolate éclair.
Soon they were all so full they could hardly budge and then the old worries and questions returned to harry Jane. How and where had it all come from?
Of course, there must have been a switch. As the daughter of a magician, she was certain that at some time or other one hamper might have been substituted for another. That was the way it was done on the stage when your attention was misdirected to something else. But when had it happened on this trip, and by whom?
For as she thought back, she could remember that her mother had placed the picnic basket directly in her hands when they left the house. She had carried it all the way and it had never been out of her possession up to the moment that she had opened it under the oak tree.
Ninian certainly wasn’t capable of any such legerdemain and Adam had not been near it, or even touched it for that matter.
While her young and healthy appetite was now quite stilled by the best and surely the most indigestible meal she had ever eaten, her curiosity was more intense than ever. She must know. She must find out, not only because of what she had been ordered to do, but for herself as well.
Ninian was indulging in a perfecto cigar which seemed also to have been in the hamper, and was luxuriously emitting clouds of fragrant, blue smoke. He said, “Well, well, dear Mrs. Robert hasn’t forgotten a thing. Oof, I’m stuffed! I wouldn’t have missed this for two of old Malvolio’s committee meetings.”
With the cigar half consumed he added, “You know, what seems to me to be in order now is a little zizz. The dog, there, has the right idea.”
For Mopsy, his stomach showing like a round ball beneath his fur, was already spread out close to the trunk of the oak, fast asleep and snoring slightly.
“Do you mind if I go over by that rock and have a bit of a snooze?”
“Not at all,” said Adam. “Sleep well.”
Ninian moved to where there was a small outcrop of stone, leaned his back against it and a few moments later his snores mingled with those of Mopsy.
But they weren’t genuine snores and he wasn’t really asleep at all. From time to time, though his eyes appeared to be shut, he would open them just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of Adam and Jane.
For the fact was that he was dying to find out more about Adam, just as everyone else was in Mageia and in particular how his astonishing tricks were performed. Although he did not know of the magic nature of the luncheon, since he had not been told of the skimpy meal that Mrs. Robert had packed, the bird cage had changed into a genuine fish bowl in his hands and he had witnessed a scrambled egg put together again. Perhaps if they thought he was asleep, Jane and Adam might talk together about their magic. And if only he could learn some part of Adam’s secrets, his days of failure and poverty might be over.
And as for Jane, she was thinking: At last, here’s my chance! For with both Ninian and Mopsy asleep, I can make Adam tell me somehow.
XIII
THE MAGIC FARM
Jane began in her most wheedling manner, “Please, please, please, Adam, won’t you tell me how you did it?” She had climbed to her knees, with her hands clasped before her, in supplication.
“Did what?” Adam asked. He was stretched out on the ground, leaning on his elbow with a quizzical smile on his face, his eyes half lost in the crinkles.
“Oh, everything. The rose you gave me; Fussmer’s teeth; Ninian’s trick—he didn’t do it at all, because I was watching. And then putting the egg back together again. As for those ants and hornets and things, I know they weren’t there when we came. Oh, and then that scrumptious lunch. I saw what Mummy put in the picnic basket and it wasn’t what Ninian took out.”
“But, Jane,” said Adam, “what else is there to say? It’s nothing but . . .”
Jane clapped her hands to her ears and cried, “If you say ‘plain and simple magic’ once more, I’ll scream!”
Adam grinned at her. “You’ll wake Mopsy and Ninian, if you do.”
“But you promised to tell me!” Jane wailed. “And I must know because Daddy will be furious if I can’t tell him. Oh dear! It slipped out! Now I’ve told you. It was Daddy’s idea for us to go on the picnic and Peter was to hide in the bushes and listen. I was to find out how you did the egg trick and if I didn’t, I was to be punished when I came home. I was frightened not to try, he was so angry with me. And he said also that if I told you it would be even worse for me. I thought it was a rotten thing to do and I hate myself. I wouldn’t have done it, except Daddy said if I didn’t he’d forbid me to be your assistant and then you wouldn’t be able to appear tonight. I don’t know what to do or say any more. I’m so unhappy, Adam!”
He sat up now, facing her, serious and concerned. He said, “How awful for you, Jane; I do understand. It was foolish of your father to make all that trouble for everyone, for I told him last night how it was done, only he didn’t believe me and neither do you. I can only tell you the truth, as indeed I promised. It’s the only magic I can do. Until now I’d always thought it was the same kind as yours.”
For the first time Adam’s sincerity made an impression upon Jane yet she could not believe.
“But there’s no such thing as real magic,” she said, shaking her head. “There
can’t be because Daddy says so and he knows. There’s an explanation for everything. It’s all a trick of one kind or another, because Daddy shows us. We have a whole library full of books on how to do them—things worked up to fool people. That’s the only magic there is.”
Adam said gently, “Perhaps that’s the only kind of magic there is in Mageia.”
She was regarding him defiantly and yet with longing in her eyes, as though she wished that what she had said and believed so firmly might not be wholly true.
“Can’t you see, Jane,” Adam continued, “that there’s magic all about us? None of it can be explained and there isn’t a single soul who really and truly knows the secret. Supposing, for instance, you tell me how this is done.” He picked up an old, brown acorn from the ground and, holding it between thumb and forefinger, he indicated the spreading branches and shining leaves of the ancient tree towering above their heads. “From this, comes that,” he said. “Well?”
“It—it just grows.”
“Oh, yes. But how does something so tremendous come from something so tiny? And why? And when was the first one? And how did it all begin?”
Jane reflected. It had never occurred to her before that oak trees, or for that matter any tree, must have had a beginning. Now, no longer quite so sure of herself, she replied, “I don’t know.”
“Can your father, or Malvolio, or Fussmer, or anyone in Mageia do this trick?”
Jane whispered, “No. But you made a real rose come out of a staff and put an egg back together again.”
“Is that so very remarkable?” Adam asked. “See over there,” and he indicated the field at the bottom of the hill where the young foal was lying on its back, wriggling and squirming, waving its thin legs at a cloud sailing by in the sky. “Look how full of life and joy he is. And only a little while ago he wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere. You could have searched the ends of the earth and you wouldn’t have found him. And now there he is, strong and happy. Super magic, isn’t it?”