Part 15 (1/2)

Then up came the yoke of white oxen drawing the cart bearing the prize.

And the Lord Mayor gave a goad into Rafe's hands, with words of congratulation.

”Now, mount and come with me,” said the King.

But Rafe hesitated.

”Your Majesty,” he replied, ”I see no way to make another pie like this which has pleased you. For I have no more of the magic nuts wherewith to flavor a second.”

The King frowned. ”What! No more pie! Is this to be the first and the last? Sirrah, I am not pleased!”

Then little Meg stepped forth. ”The magic nut is the nutmeg,” said she.

”My name is Meg, and Granny called the magic nuts after me. I know where is hidden a store of them. These are my dower.”

She emptied her pockets of the nuts which they held, and they were a precious handful.

”Ha!” cried the King eagerly, ”you must marry Baron Applepy, that he may use your dower in our behalf.”

Rafe and the maid looked sidewise at one another.

”You are willing, my dear?” said the Queen, smiling upon Meg.

”Yes,” whispered she, with red-apple cheeks.

”Yes, indeed!” cried Rafe when the Queen looked at him.

But again he seemed troubled.

”Your Majesty,” he said, ”I cannot leave my poor neighbors. There will be no one to cook for them at my prices.”

”You shall have your own price from me,” said the King.

Rafe bowed low. ”You do me great honor,” he said humbly. ”But I cannot leave my poor people, my house and my cow and my apple tree; indeed, I cannot.”

The King looked very angry and raised his staff with a gesture of wrath.

But the Queen laid her hand upon his arm.

”Why may he not live where he will and yet cook the pies for us?” she said. ”A messenger on a fleet horse can bring them to us every day. We shall then have pies like that first delicious one, made of fresh apples from that very same red-apple tree of his. They would be best of all.”

”True,” said the King, reflecting for a moment.

”Please, Your Majesty!” said Meg, in her most winsome tones. ”I do so long to help Rafe pick the red apples for your pies and skim the yellow cream of the little red cow. And please, I do so long to help him cook for his poor neighbors, who will miss him sadly if he goes. Now that we have the prize, we can do much for them. Please, Your Majesty!”

”Please, Your Majesty!” echoed Rafe.

”Please, Your Majesty!” begged the Queen.

So the King hemmed and hawed and yielded. ”But see, Baron Applepy,” he said, ”that you make me three fine pies every day, for which my swiftest messenger shall call. Now, farewell to you--and to all! We must be off.

It is past dinner-time.”

”Heaven bless Your Majesties,” said Rafe and Meg, bowing and curtsying low.