Part 5 (2/2)

Dido digested this in silence for a minute or two. At first she felt rather mortified. He must think her a ninny! And yet he seemed friendly enough. Then something came into her mind, and she exclaimed, 'Your name's Bran?'

'That is what I am called by some.'

'Was that you, then, singing, a while ago? When I was shut in that place? About your heart being pink?'

He smiled and stroked the great white c.o.c.katoo, which all this time had been sitting as quiet as a stuffed bird on his shoulder.

'Sometimes my heart is white! Eh, Chanticleer?' The bird croaked gently and puffed up its feathers.

'He sure is a big 'un,' said Dido respectfully. Then she repeated, 'Was that you singing?'

'I was singing, yes. I am a jongleur.'

'What's that?'

'A minstrel. I sing songs for a living. And tell stories.'

Dido was interested. 'That's a rare way to make a living.'

She thought again, and went on, 'If that's all you do, though, why was that pair of old witches so frit of you? And if you know sich a blessed lot if you knew I was shut in there why the blazes didn't you help me?'

'What need?' Bran said. 'I knew that you would get out by yourself.'

'Mighty fine talk!'

'True talk.'

'Why was they scared?' she persisted.

'They have good reason to fear me,' Bran said. 'And you too, now.'

'Why me?'

'For various reasons. But one reason why they fear both of us is that we have escaped from them, and are now on our guard.'

Dido reflected that this was true. 'Did you escape from them too, mister?'

He smiled. 'I was their prisoner for more years than there are hairs on your head.'

'Go on! You can't gammon me like that!'

But, still smiling, he stroked the great bird, who suddenly spread out his wings in a wide stretch, then folded them again.

'I have been in the dark,' said Bran, 'listening to the drops that fell from the roof, till those drops had bored a hole deeper than thrice the height of Mount Catelonde. It was during that time that I made up my songs and my stories.'

'Could you tell me a story now, mister?' said Dido hopefully, as they started up the steep hill that led to the White Hart. She was walking rather slowly. Her bones ached, her bruises throbbed, she felt queasy from the effects of the poisonous pincus.h.i.+on, and hollow from hunger. But she added fairly, 'I can't pay you for it, though I guess you knows that! On account you seem to know everything else about me.'

'I will tell you a story for love, then,' Bran said smiling. 'It is about a stick. There was once a boy who was the youngest of twelve brothers, and so his father thought little of him.'

Dido was interested at once, being the youngest in her own family.

'When the older sons were grown,' Bran went on, 'their father gave them each a horse, sword and suit of armour, and sent them out into the world. But to the youngest he gave nothing, saying, 'You are too undersized and puny. It would be a waste to give you armour.'

'What a blame shame!' said Dido indignantly.

'The youngest son, however, went into the wood, and cut himself a stick, from which he made a hobbyhorse. And when he rode on it, saying, 'Fly quick, my stick!' the stick flew up into the air, and carried him wherever he wanted to go.'

'Coo!' said Dido.

'Riding on his magic stick, he was able to rescue his elder brothers, who were in great danger just then, and he also killed a dragon and saved a princess, and performed other feats. And was rewarded with fame and riches. But the day came when he started riding on the stick merely to astonish people and get their applause; he did it in the marketplace for money, like a circus rider.'

'Dunno as I blame him,' said Dido.

'No? But after he had done this for some time, the stick lost its power. And by degrees he lost all his wealth. Finally he was reduced to stealing and other bad ways, was imprisoned, and in the end sentenced to death.'

Dido heaved a sigh, but said nothing.

'His brothers would not help him. His eldest brother . was now king of the country; and at the last, since the condemned man was, after all, his brother, he sent a message that, on the night before his execution, the prisoner might have anything that he wished.'

'I'd have wished to be let out!'

'Anything but that.'

'So what did he wish?'

'He asked that someone should go to the wood and cut him a stick.'

'Did they?'

'A stick was brought to his cell. And the prisoner -who now, through wild living and vice and despair looked like an old, old bent man mounted, trembling, on the stick and said, ”Fly quick, my stick, carry me away.” '

'And did it?' said Dido eagerly.

'Here we are at the White Hart,' said Bran. 'Good night, Dido Twite.'

'But mister! Hey! The end of the story! Did it carry him?'

She heard a laugh in his voice as he said, 'We shall meet again.' Then he disappeared into the darkness.

Dido went gingerly into the White Hart. For all she knew, the two dressmakers would be somewhere about, waiting to waylay her again. But luckily the first person she saw was Captain Hughes, pacing about the hall with an expression of wrath and perturbation on his brow. When he saw Dido he pounced on her and almost shook her.

'Miss Twite! Where the deuce have you been? We have had the whole place turned upside down searching for you. How dare you go out when I forbade you to?'

'Here, hold hard, Cap!' said Dido aggrievedly, rubbing her bruised arms where he had gripped them. 'Don't you go a-banging me, now! It were that dicey pair as called 'emselves dressmakers they took and abducted me.'

'Balderdas.h.!.+ Do not seek to pull the wool over my eyes, Miss! Fabricate me no Banbury stories!'

<script>