kind of you, Nephew,” said Uncle Anson. “But look here—why don’t you take the pipe home and give it to your father? It would be a shame not to have a present for him.”
“But then there’s no present for you ,” Egan protested. “I wanted to do something for you.”
“You’ve done something for me already,” said Uncle Anson, smiling.
“I have?” wondered Egan. “What did I do?”
“You found my brother Ott. Remember? And you took Annabelle back to him. Now I won’t be worried about either of them again.”
“It sounds to me as if you’ve had a busy visit, Egan,” said the chandler. “But no busier than that boy who tried to climb up Kneeknock Rise. You heard about that, I suppose?”
“Yes,” said Uncle Anson. “We heard.”
“He got down again all right, I understand,” the chandler went on. “But they say he lost his dog to the Megrimum.”
“Is that what they’re saying?” asked Egan.
“I heard the whole story just now in the square,” said the chandler. “Well, come along, Egan. Your mother will be anxious to have you home. Oh, by the way, would you like to have one of these souvenirs? I have an extra.” He reached into his pocket and laid a polished wishbone on the counter. It was exactly like the one that lay in pieces in the square.
Egan picked it up and turned it over in his hands. “Thank you,” he said, and then, echoing Ada: “But there isn’t any Megrimum where we live.”
“Better take it, just the same,” said Uncle Anson, smiling at Egan. “Goodbye. Come back again next year.”
“All right now, Frieda,” said the chandler in a voice warm with encouragement. “Let’s get a move on.” The mule shook herself protestingly and clopped off down the street and around the square. Soon they had passed through the gates of Instep and were on their way across the level plains toward home.
Egan, sprawling in the empty straw behind the chandler, watched the village grow smaller and smaller. The rain had stopped and a feeble, watery sunshine filtered down through the clouds and touched the misty top of Kneeknock Rise with gold. The chandler looked back over his shoulder from the narrow seat and nodded at the cliff. “That’s right,” he said. “Give the old fellow some good weather and let him rest. He put on a splendid show for the Fair and now he must be tired.”
“What if that boy, the one who climbed the Rise—what if he went all the way to the top and there wasn’t anything there?” asked Egan.
“Well, I’ll tell you something,” said the chandler in a confidential tone. “In spite of what they say, I think it’s more than likely lots of people have climbed up to look. And I’d be willing to bet that none of them saw a thing at the top. But he’s up there just the same. What would you expect? That he’d come right out and shake hands? Not him. He’s got his own ways. No,” the chandler finished contentedly. “He’s been there for a thousand years and he’ll be there for another thousand.”
Egan took the wishbone out of his pocket and looked at it again. “Will you be coming back next year?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed!” said the chandler. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s the best thing anywhere around. You come along, too, next year, if you like.”
“Thank you,” said Egan. “Maybe I’ll climb up there myself, and have a look around.”
“You’re welcome to, as far as I’m concerned,” said the chandler. “As long as you don’t expect to find anything. Just don’t take your dog along with you, that’s all.”
The cart jolted on into a grove of trees and Kneeknock Rise was lost to view at last.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
When I was a preschooler, I wanted to be a pirate, and then when I started school, I wanted to be a librarian. But in the fourth grade, I got my copy of Alice in Wonderland / Alice Through the Looking-Glass and decided once and for all that I wanted to be an
“But then there’s no present for you ,” Egan protested. “I wanted to do something for you.”
“You’ve done something for me already,” said Uncle Anson, smiling.
“I have?” wondered Egan. “What did I do?”
“You found my brother Ott. Remember? And you took Annabelle back to him. Now I won’t be worried about either of them again.”
“It sounds to me as if you’ve had a busy visit, Egan,” said the chandler. “But no busier than that boy who tried to climb up Kneeknock Rise. You heard about that, I suppose?”
“Yes,” said Uncle Anson. “We heard.”
“He got down again all right, I understand,” the chandler went on. “But they say he lost his dog to the Megrimum.”
“Is that what they’re saying?” asked Egan.
“I heard the whole story just now in the square,” said the chandler. “Well, come along, Egan. Your mother will be anxious to have you home. Oh, by the way, would you like to have one of these souvenirs? I have an extra.” He reached into his pocket and laid a polished wishbone on the counter. It was exactly like the one that lay in pieces in the square.
Egan picked it up and turned it over in his hands. “Thank you,” he said, and then, echoing Ada: “But there isn’t any Megrimum where we live.”
“Better take it, just the same,” said Uncle Anson, smiling at Egan. “Goodbye. Come back again next year.”
“All right now, Frieda,” said the chandler in a voice warm with encouragement. “Let’s get a move on.” The mule shook herself protestingly and clopped off down the street and around the square. Soon they had passed through the gates of Instep and were on their way across the level plains toward home.
Egan, sprawling in the empty straw behind the chandler, watched the village grow smaller and smaller. The rain had stopped and a feeble, watery sunshine filtered down through the clouds and touched the misty top of Kneeknock Rise with gold. The chandler looked back over his shoulder from the narrow seat and nodded at the cliff. “That’s right,” he said. “Give the old fellow some good weather and let him rest. He put on a splendid show for the Fair and now he must be tired.”
“What if that boy, the one who climbed the Rise—what if he went all the way to the top and there wasn’t anything there?” asked Egan.
“Well, I’ll tell you something,” said the chandler in a confidential tone. “In spite of what they say, I think it’s more than likely lots of people have climbed up to look. And I’d be willing to bet that none of them saw a thing at the top. But he’s up there just the same. What would you expect? That he’d come right out and shake hands? Not him. He’s got his own ways. No,” the chandler finished contentedly. “He’s been there for a thousand years and he’ll be there for another thousand.”
Egan took the wishbone out of his pocket and looked at it again. “Will you be coming back next year?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed!” said the chandler. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s the best thing anywhere around. You come along, too, next year, if you like.”
“Thank you,” said Egan. “Maybe I’ll climb up there myself, and have a look around.”
“You’re welcome to, as far as I’m concerned,” said the chandler. “As long as you don’t expect to find anything. Just don’t take your dog along with you, that’s all.”
The cart jolted on into a grove of trees and Kneeknock Rise was lost to view at last.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
When I was a preschooler, I wanted to be a pirate, and then when I started school, I wanted to be a librarian. But in the fourth grade, I got my copy of Alice in Wonderland / Alice Through the Looking-Glass and decided once and for all that I wanted to be an
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