Chapter II: Part 2

The children looked and, to their amazement, saw a midget crawling from the earth. He was dressed in tight-fitting breeches of blue with stockings to match. Red shoes, with golden buckles, were on his feet, and hanging over his shoulders was a rich crimson cape, fastened about his throat with a pearl clasp. At his belt dangled a highly polished sword, and in his hand he carried a black plumed hat. Not a sign of a beard was on his face, and his hair hung in curls on his back. He looked as though he had stepped out of an old fashion plate.

The youngsters were too surprised to move or speak; they hardly dared to breathe, for fear that he would vanish. The stranger walked toward Uncle Rupert and bowed to him.

"Well, sir, who are you?" demanded the big uncle, "and what brings you here?"

"I am an exile just banished from my own country," said the little man. "King Vitius and his selfish wife drove me away because I have always said that there is a better country above us."

"Oh!" exclaimed Madge, "what stupid people they must be not to know of this beautiful America."

The man sobered, and Uncle Rupert asked him: "Where is this dull world, and what is your name?"

"My name is Pietas, and our people live in the center of the earth," replied the dwarf.

Uncle Rupert smiled as he watched the children staring with wide-open mouths.

"We shall all go with you," began the wily story-teller, looking out of the corner of his eye to see how his scheme was taking, "and help you to regain your place in your own land."

"I cannot go back, because they would kill me; and besides, if I told them what I have seen today, they would laugh me to scorn."

"We shall go and force them to take you back!" exclaimed Tom.

"But I do not want to go back," answered the little man. "This is a glorious country. Our sun does not shine so brightly as yours. If my people only knew the truth, they would never think of their country as the greatest and best one. It is a poor gloomy world."

"But!" pleaded Madge, "you can return with us when we have fulfilled our mission of proving what you told the king."

Pietas agreed, on these terms, and turning on his heels, beckoned them to follow. All started after him, and when they got to the hole that the midget had come out of, he sprang lightly down a small embankment and disappeared through the opening into a cave below.

"Come!" said Tom, jumping in after him, "let us hurry."

They all followed without hesitation. Uncle Rupert was the last to go down.

When they had gone about a quarter of a mile through the underground passage, it became so dark that they lost their way.

"I wonder where Pietas is?" shouted Uncle Rupert. "The rascal has deserted us. Come, boys, let us call his name."

The children screamed, "Pietas!" three or four times, and then the little fellow appeared with a lantern.

"What do you mean by deserting us, Pietas?" asked Uncle Rupert.

"I was hoping you would not follow me," answered the dwarf; "and I was wishing that you would get tired and give up the venture. It may mean death to us all."

Fear now showed itself in the company, and some wanted to turn back, but others begged Uncle Rupert to go on, and after much talk it was decided to proceed. Tom was chosen leader, Pietas and Uncle Rupert were the guides, and in double column they began their journey.

Suddenly as they strode along at a brisk pace, the earth slid from beneath them, and they fell feet first, down, down--they did not know where. Filled with terror, they could only think of what might happen when they struck something.

At last, with a great jolt, they landed and went sprawling in all directions. When they scrambled to their feet they were glad to be alive, and for a few moments they stood there panting and wondering.

"Well, of all things!" exclaimed Uncle Rupert, "that was a terrible fall! I wonder where we are now? Tell us, Pietas."

Pietas said they had fallen three miles. But the force of gravity being not so strong near the center of the earth they did not fall as fast as they would have fallen near the surface. They were near his own kingdom, he said, and a walk of about a hundred yards would bring them to the alligator's tail.

"Do not be afraid of the animal, my dear people," he said, "for he cannot harm you. We shall find the monster lying in the path. We shall walk on the beast for a number of yards, but he cannot harm us nor shake us off. There will be a little danger when we get to the head, but if we jump from his nose without falling, no harm can come to us. The name of the creature is Mortuus, and he is dangerous only to those who try to leave our kingdom. Few have escaped his deadly bite when doing that. But let us move on at once."

The children did not hesitate to follow, for Uncle Rupert gave them confidence. When they came to the great tail, they stepped lightly upon it and walked along, as they might have walked on board an ocean liner.

"Hist!" exclaimed Pietas, "let us all gather together and get ready to run and jump off the end of his snout. This is the beginning of the Middle Earth Kingdom."

Uncle Rupert took little Bee in his arms, and the rest followed the dwarf, with Uncle Rupert in the rear.

They walked with some difficulty upon the great head of the alligator, for he kept opening and shutting his jaws. When he opened his mouth, they seemed to be going uphill, and when he shut it, they felt as if they were sliding downhill. How the boys did enjoy it! But the girls found the road a little rough.

When they came to jump off, Uncle Rupert showed them how to do so while the jaws were shut; then the fall was only seven or eight feet, whereas, with the mouth open, it would have been at least a hundred feet.

As soon as they had all landed safely, the monster began to roar like fifty bulls. He must have been disappointed at losing his supper.

But the children turned their backs on Mortuus and ran about a level held, gathering black roses and gazing upon the strange scenery that lay before them.

They had never seen such peculiar flowers. All natural things were of a somber hue because there was so little sunlight. But the girls were pleased with the new sights and the boys took off their shoes and waded in the brooks, chasing little fish.

To Uncle Rupert it was no wonder that the people would not believe what Pietas said about the better land, seeing that they had to face the monster alligator in their journey to the United States.

"Pietas," said Uncle Rupert, "I do not believe we shall be able to convince your people, for the only entrance to the upper country is so horrible. If we could only kill or disable the monster, we might succeed in bringing your people out of this place."

"Yes," replied the dwarf, "and besides no one has ever come back to tell about the other country. I am the first to return from there, and I hope, through your help, to be able to make my people believe my report. As for the monster, I am no longer afraid of him. If you and the boys will help me, perhaps we can put out his eyes so that he will not be able to harm people that come to him on their journey upward. Then, too, they can easily step onto his nose when he shuts his mouth, and when he opens it again he will lift them so that they can walk along his huge carcass and go on their way."

In a hurried conference, the boys worked out a plan. While the girls were left playing in the meadow, the boys, led by Uncle Rupert, cautiously approached the brute.

They found it hard to keep from being sucked into the gaping mouth, but by holding fast to one another they avoided that danger, while Uncle Rupert lifted Pietas, armed with his little sword, and threw the tiny fellow onto the snout. As the beast opened his mouth, thinking that his dinner had come, Pietas slid down his back out of danger.

The children kept at a safe distance and watched the little man as he crept toward the creature's left eye. When near enough, with his sword he made a quick thrust which put that eye quite out. The alligator roared in pain, and threw open his jaws with such force as to pitch Pietas into the air, whence he fell at the feet of the astonished party of boys. The fellow was badly hurt, and they had to carry him to a nearby brook, where they bathed his bruises. He soon recovered and became light-hearted again, although he was sorry that he had not put out both of the alligator's eyes.

"But," said Uncle Rupert, "if we approach him on his blind side, we may still be able to escape the danger."

The roaring of the monster brought the girls to the place, and when they found that the party were all safe, they asked Pietas to take them to see his people. Uncle Rupert and the boys joined in the request, and so Pietas led the way and they all followed.

They came to a good road that led through a beautiful country. This highway crossed a very large river. Uncle Rupert explained to the children that this was the source of one of the greatest rivers of America. They passed over the bridge and approached a little village. As they walked through the streets of the town the little pygmies, not bigger than babies, cried after them: "There go the giants!"

Their destination was the Royal City, which they could see as soon as they got out of the village. It was a beautiful sight. There nestled the city in the peculiar dull atmosphere, its spires and tall buildings shining with pure gold.

Before they reached the city, they were seen by some of the king's men. They had thought that the country was well rid of the hated Pietas. Great were their surprise and disgust when they saw him back and in company with giants. He had told them that he would return some day and prove to them the truth of all he had said. Here he was, and what were they to do?

The king hastily called his wise men together, and had a few words with them. They determined to capture Pietas if possible, and to destroy the giants. The army was called out and prepared to meet the enemy and disturber at the gate. The children were indeed surprised, when they arrived at the entrance, to be met by an army of pigmies, although they did not look dangerous for they were so small. The party supposed that the army had been sent out to greet them and Uncle Rupert had prepared in his mind a long speech of thanks. But things were different from what they imagined.

A guard, consisting of a captain and a few subordinates, approached them, and the captain, walking up to Pietas said: "In the name of his Majesty we arrest you as a disturber of the public conscience."

"But," said Uncle Rupert, "this man has done nothing to deserve arrest. We brought him hither so that we might confirm the things that he has told you. He is no disturber of the public conscience."

But without paying any attention, the soldiers began to march off with their prisoner. The children knew that this meant death to poor Pietas.

Uncle Rupert looked at his companions to see what they wanted to do about it. He had not long to wait, for Tom, who was as big as four of the soldiers, snatched Pietas from the guard and shoved the captain over. Thereupon the guard fled, and the captain, scrambling to his feet, ran after his men.

"I'll beat the whole bunch myself!" boasted Tom as he rolled up his sleeves.

Pietas begged the Americans to return and leave him to his fate, but they would not. Then the pygmy army prepared to charge the little band and take him if they could.

"Please," said Pietas, "let me meet my people in my own way. I feel that I am to blame for bringing you here."

"No, you are not!" cried all the children with one breath. "Indeed not," added Uncle Rupert.

Pietas smiled and then turned and fled to the armed men. In vain did Tom and others call him back. The party watched as he quietly gave himself up to the law of his people. The soldiers wheeled and marched with their captive to the palace of the king. A mob quickly gathered around the Americans and began to threaten them.

"Beware, good people!" shouted Uncle Rupert. "Take care that you do not hurt a single hair of one of these children! We are not come to harm you, but to tell you a great truth. There is a fine country just above your heads where the sun shines all day and the stars come out in the evening; a land full of trees and birds and flowers and brooks. The air is not stuffy as it is here, nor is the place gloomy like this. All men and women are giants in our land. Now you have captured Pietas!" continued Uncle Rupert, coming to the business in hand. "I tell you that, if you do not let him go, we will fight this day for his freedom; and if we lose, be it known that our people will quickly send men to destroy your whole nation!"

To the surprise of the American party, Uncle Rupert's remarks were greeted with cheers of approval. The multitude of little folks gathered about the strangers and shook their hands. At last they believed the story of the other world. Many wished to go to America with the returning travelers.

Then Uncle Rupert led the whole crowd to the palace of the king, hoping to rescue poor Pietas. When they got there, the king was throned on a high platform, while Pietas, in chains, stood before him, the king's soldiers standing at rest and looking on.

Uncle Rupert made his way through the crowd of people and reached the platform.

There he turned to the soldiers and leaders and appealed to them for the life of his little friend.

The king arose with fear and asked: "Who art thou, great giant?"

"I am Rupert Randall, a citizen of the United States of America!"

"Do you speak of the Upper Country, sir, as this impudent Pietas has done?"

"I do, O King, and I wish that I could persuade you of the truth. Pietas is an honorable man and has tried to help your people, but you would not let him!"

The king wrung his hands and exclaimed: "I am determined to free Pietas now. I am puzzled beyond words, and fear I may be undone; but I shall set Pietas free."

But the soldiers shouted: "Away with the imposter! He has declared against the army. He is no friend of the king. Besides, these Americans have insulted and abused our captain!"

The king tried to appease the multitude but they kept on crying for the life of Pietas. No one could speak, no one could hear, because of the screaming. At last the poor king motioned to the people to leave, and the soldiers took Pietas and marched him away.

The Americans followed at a little distance, watching for an opportunity to rescue their friend, but before they could interfere, the soldiers had bound Pietas to a tree.

Suddenly Tom and Madge rushed through the crowd and struck right and left, knocking soldiers and citizens down in their mad rush to pull their friend from the tree. Uncle Rupert, with the rest of the children, followed the brave little leaders.

In a few moments the rescuers had Pietas unbound and in their arms.

The poor fellow was all but unconscious from fright and rough usage. The soldiers fled before the giants as they carried their dear little friend away. Pietas revived, sat up, called all the people to his side, and told them he was glad that they had treated him so. "For," explained he, "they have not really hurt me, and I rejoice to suffer in witnessing to the truth."

No sooner had he spoken than many poor people came to him and begged to be allowed to go with him. He told them to remain and tell all the others the good news. "When you are through doing your duty, then I will come for you. Meanwhile, I am going with my friends to the Upper Country."

With sorrow he bade them good-by, and with the American party he turned and walked the road to the great alligator. At first, the children were afraid of the monster, but soon they cautiously approached him on his blind side, without attracting his attention. It was not difficult for them to spring upon his head; but when they had done so, the monster opened his mouth and threw them into the air and they rolled down his nose.

"Oh! Oh!" they shouted. It took them a few minutes to realize that they had been in the park all the time and that Uncle Rupert had been telling them a story. "Oh, Uncle, where is Pietas?" asked Madge. "Pietas," replied Uncle Rupert, "is not here, he has returned to his own country to tell his people more about his new home. He expects to lead all his people here some day.

"I have preached you a long sermon, my dears, and I do hope that you understood it. Pietas represented the Master who was killed but was revived by his Father to return again on Easter to tell his own country of the beautiful heaven and how to live so as to be worthy of it."

"Do tell us another story!" cried Madge. "We did so enjoy that one. Why, I thought that I was in the land of the Under World and I pitied the poor creatures there."

"So, my dear, do the saints pity us in this world; and they are hoping that we will be good, so that we may reach the Upper World.

"Now what do you say--shall I jump off the cliff?"

"No!" they all shouted.

THE BLACK HUS

TO tell the complete story of the Black Hus would take as many years as civilized man has been on earth. The largest state in the Union is scarcely big enough to contain the books that could be written about the terrible monster.

Even today there is a Hus in every country, but this particular Hus lived in Greece many hundred years ago. It was related to the Hebrew Chazir spoken of in the Bible.

You remember the Chazir that attacked Noah when he was making merry in his tent. Noah was drinking some good wine, when all at once the beast rushed upon him, tore his clothing and seized him by the throat. When his sons came to his rescue, they found their father lying naked in his tent, in a helpless condition, and the dreadful Chazir standing over him. As soon as the beast saw the stalwart sons, he fled into the night.

You remember that it was Ham who laughed at his father's condition, because he had not seen the Chazir, but only his father's foolish condition. Ham's two brothers, Shem and Japheth, covered their father with a sheepskin blanket and went their way much wiser.

Passing now to Greece, we read of a nobleman there who had many sons and daughters. The eldest son, who was the apple of his eye, he called Egkartes because he was a good, honest fellow.

"Egkartes," the father said one day, "I am going to give you the next litter of pigs born on the farm."

This was a fine offer, for it meant the beginning of the boy's fortune.

Not long after this there was a family of thirteen little pigs on the farm. Twelve of the baby pigs were perfectly white, but one little fellow's skin was black as pitch, and his eyes were red as live coals. Almost as soon as he was born he began to show a savage disposition.

The black fellow soon awakened the curiosity of the neighborhood. No pig like him anywhere to be seen. He grew twice as fast as his little brothers, and daily became more savage. When eighteen months old, he weighed fifteen hundred pounds, and had to be kept in a separate pen and watched day and night for fear he would devour his brothers. People came from far and near to see the monster, and went away thanking their stars that he was not allowed to run at large.

One beautiful autumn day the nobleman gave a thanksgiving dinner for his freemen. The best of foods and drinks were served, and the men ate till they could eat no more, and drank till they could scarcely see. They became very noisy and filled the banqueting hall with such profane language that the Greek maids who had been engaged to dance for their amusement fled in fear.

No sooner had they gone than the black pig appeared in the hall. Some of the men rose to drive him back to his pen, but he would not go. He stood before their blurred eyes, shaking his ugly head and gnashing his terrible teeth.

Some of the stupid fellows thought that the pig must be mad; others said he must be a devil clothed in pig's flesh. They all kept a safe distance from him, hiding wherever they could, till at last Egkartes cautiously approached the monster, intending to lead him to his pen, as the youth had done on like occasions. But when as usual, he took the pig by the ear, the beast turned upon him with a thundering roar, seized his arm, and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat.

Then the half-drunken father, staggering to his son's help, beat the animal over the head with a great stick; but this only increased the pig's fury, and dropping the boy, he ran amuck against the company, biting every man in the room.

One man, trying to escape by jumping over the pig, landed at full length on the creature's back, where he clung for dear life. The black pig did his best to shake the man off, but he held on with might and main. Round and round spun the pig squealing and grunting furiously. The man kept his hold so firmly, that at length some of his companions crept from their hiding places and cheered the plucky rider.

Finally the pig sprang through the door and ran for the open country, the man clinging to him like a "broncho-buster," while his companions--as many as were not too stupified by excess at table--gave chase, frantically shouting. Down the lane the strange steed charged, over the fence he leaped, madly shaking himself at every jump, and continued his career till he came to a narrow footbridge over a deep river, and tried to cross it. As he reached the middle of the bridge, he slipped and rolled into the stream below, carrying his rider with him.

When he reappeared the man was swimming desperately for the bank, which he soon succeeded in reaching. The pig also landed safely and disappeared into the opposite woods.

"Well, boys!" exclaimed the pig rider, sobered, "that was a narrow escape! That little bridge saved my life. That was one time when I needed some one to help me let go!"

These men were a sorry-looking crew as they returned home tattered and torn. There was not a man among them with a whole garment.

The Hus never came back to the farm.

When the story of his antics was repeated from mouth to mouth, people would not believe it. But the monster was by no means through. A month later he appeared in the Royal City and killed many of its inhabitants. The rumor spread everywhere that the Hus was devouring the men of Greece.

The king was much alarmed and offered a reward for its capture, but the dreadful destruction went on. Finally his Majesty offered the hand of his only daughter and the half of his kingdom to the man who would slay the brute. But in spite of all endeavors to win so great a prize, the pig continued his terrible work, appearing now here, now there, and killing even the bravest men of the kingdom. Strange to say the monster seldom attacked women.

A year passed, and the Hus had grown to a more enormous size. Some said that he was as big as an elephant.

For a long time the nobleman and his family had to remain in hiding because of the fury of the multitude, who blamed him for raising the pig. The king seized his property, and the nobleman became a poor man and for some years he and his family were outcasts.

At last Egkartes determined to redeem his father's good name and, if possible, win the fair princess.

His father and mother were pleased with his boldness and readily consented to his undertaking. At once great preparations were made, and five men were persuaded to accompany the young adventurer. With brave hearts they set forth, confident of victory.

On the third day, as they approached the city they met a woman crying as if her heart must break. She told them that on the night before, her husband had been killed by some monster. She described the spot, near her dwelling, where she had found her husband, Methuson, dying on the roadside. "I ran to him," she said, "and held his head in my arms. His clothes were torn almost off his back. When I spoke to him, he opened his eyes and muttered something about a black beast, and then fell back senseless."

The men accompanied the poor weeping woman to her miserable hut, and as they stepped within and beheld Methuson and sniffed the odor of the place, they knew that the Hus was the beast that had done the deed.

Egkartes stooped and listened over the unconscious man's heart for some sign of life. In a few moments he rose to his feet, and turning to the wife, exclaimed: "Your husband is not dead!"

Sure enough the unfortunate fellow sat up. His eyes were red and inflamed, his temper was likewise fiery, for he broke into loud curses. But in a little while he recovered his reason and thanked his deliverers. Methuson begged to be allowed to accompany the band of Hus-hunters, and they readily gave their consent.

Toward evening of the next day, as they neared the City, they heard more news of the monster, who had been doing terrible damage to the people of the suburbs. Late that evening seven weary men crawled into beds in a very humble lodging-house.

As Egkartes felt himself slipping into a comfortable sleep, he was startled by the cry of a woman. He ran out to the house across the street, whence came the cry, and entered without knocking.

He found a mother holding her baby high up, while the awful Hus kept snapping at the child. A dozen men were in the room, sleeping off a debauch. Egkartes sprang at the monster, who seemed to recognize him, but without showing any fear, turned and coolly walked out of the house. It wounded the pride of the young champion to see the enemy treat him so indifferently. He returned to his men feeling disheartened. He could see no way of killing the monster. What could he do?

After many weeks of failure, Egkartes wandered to the king's garden and sat down near the entrance, where he found many other Greek youths who, like himself, aspired to the hand of the princess. They all knew that it was her daily custom to walk in the garden at sunset, and they were waiting to see her.

When the princess appeared, the young men stood up and humbly saluted her--all but Egkartes, who remained sitting.

She approached the gate, and looking earnestly into all the faces of the young men, paused for a moment, and threw down a rose. Then there was a wild scramble among the rival youths for possession of the flower, only a poor remnant of which finally remained in the hands of the strongest.

Meanwhile the princess was wondering about the handsome boy who took no part in the struggle, and presently she summoned Egkartes to her side. The youth rose, scarcely believing his senses, and bowing very low, approached the object of his despairing affection.

"Who are you, sir?" the princess asked, "and why have you not taken part in the contest for the flower?"

"I am your most humble servant, Egkartes, and I beg your pardon if I have displeased you by not joining in that mad rush for the flower. I must save my strength for a more serious contest."

"But," replied the princess, "I judge by your conduct that you are unwilling to please me."

For a moment the boy trembled on the brink of confessing his love, but just as the words were forming on his lips, the princess motioned him away. The boy was broken-hearted, for he was too blind to see that the princess had really singled him out because he had not entered into the contest, and had shown himself different from the common run of love-sick youths.

Scarcely had Egkartes turned away when the Hus came running toward the princess. She was almost paralyzed with fear.

But who could describe the panic that seized the foolish mob of young men who had fought so valiantly for the rose? At sight of the Hus, they fled in all directions. Egkartes alone remained to defend the princess. When he saw his foe, he shouted with joy and rushed at the monster with drawn sword.

The beast recognized his adversary, and, opening his great jaws, charged upon him. When the combatants met, the boy's sword entered the pig's mouth. As he withdrew his weapon, Egkartes fell, and the pig, leaping over him, disappeared. Regaining his feet, the youth gave pursuit, brandishing his bloody sword.

The princess saw the whole encounter, and as she ran to the palace, her thoughts were divided between the peril from which she had escaped and the wonderful valor of her young preserver. She was afraid to tell her father of what had happened, lest he should deprive her of her free hour, but all that night she lay awake dreaming of her hero and praying that she might meet him again.

Three days later the city rejoiced over the news that a conjuror had destroyed the Hus. The fellow was brought to the king to explain about it. He said he had destroyed the monster by means of a charm. When asked to produce the head of the pig, he said that as soon as the creature died he vanished into smoke. The man's story was so plausible that the king believed him, and ordered a great feast in his honor.

Poor Egkartes heard the news with sorrow, and the princess, shutting herself up in her inner room, mourned bitterly. She did not wish to marry the conjuror, for now she loved the brave Egkartes.

On the day of the feast the whole city was gay and the people ate and drank in excess. Even Egkartes's men joined in the merrymaking; but the young hero himself sulked in a dismal cellar.

It was fortunate for the boy that he had not joined with the masses in their dissipation, for the Hus, knowing that they could not resist, came into the city and bit thousands of the people.

When he heard the cry of the Hus in the streets, Egkartes emerged from the cellar, eager for another combat.

People were scurrying for safety. None but the boy was armed. Hither and thither ran the black brute biting as many as he could.

As Egkartes rushed at the beast, that knowing warrior recognized the young Greek again and charged him furiously, first springing at his throat.

The boy stood his ground, and thrusting his sword, as in their previous fight, into the Hus's mouth, drove so hard that the weapon sank deep into the stomach of the brute.

The Hus fell headlong, roaring loudly. Struggling to his feet, he stood for a few moments, swaying from side to side, while the blood flowed freely from his mouth. The boy, without knowing it, had struck the pig's only vulnerable spot, the mouth. After a moment the great Hus turned and fled, roaring like thunder. Though no one saw him die, it seemed evident that he was mortally wounded.

Of course Egkartes became the hero of the hour. He was carried by six strong men to the palace of the king, who was feasting in his hall, not knowing of the brave deed that the boy had done. So when he heard the people shouting at his gate, the king came to the palace steps and called to the multitude who had followed Egkartes:

"Why have you come here with all this noise?" demanded his Majesty. "Have I not given you a holiday and the freedom of the city? Why cannot you caper in your own streets and lanes? Have I no rights as king? Go to your homes or I shall call my soldiers to drive you there. Begone, I say, begone!"

"May it please your Majesty," said one of the people, "we have brought the hero who has just slain the Black Hus!"

"But," protested the angry king, "have I not at this very moment the Black Hus hero at my table feasting with my nobles? By magic he slew the monster but yesterday!"

But the people shouted, "Away with the magicman--away with the imposter!"

The king was much perplexed, but wishing to learn the truth, he commanded silence while he listened to the story of Egkartes and his victorious encounter with the Hus. When he learned the truth then the king ordered the lying conjuror to be hanged, and immediately the poor imposter, protesting and struggling in vain, was dragged from the dining hall and hanged in the garden.

Two weeks after this Egkartes was taken to the palace, with a great flourish of trumpets, and was proclaimed the hero of the country. He knew that he had not killed the pig as they had told the king; but neither king nor people paid any attention to his explanations. All insisted that he had killed the monster and had a right to the great reward.

The princess of course was delighted, and said to Egkartes: "I do not care whether you have killed the monster or not. I shall have you and we shall live very happily together."

The boy yielded to her persuasion, and a week later they sat together at a royal banquet in honor of their coming marriage. The company was jubilant with praise and merrymaking. The king, the queen, the royal ladies and brave knights drank deep and long of the red wine of the hills.

The hero was happiest of all until he began to see knight after knight flushed and boisterous from much eating and drinking. Then his thoughts flitted back to the dinner at his father's home, and to the first appearance of the Hus. He could not shake off the feeling that the Hus would appear again, for the beast always appeared when men began to grow foolish through drink.

It was not long before the king noticed that the boy was not laughing and drinking with the rest.

"Art thou sick, Egkartes?" he asked.

"I am not sick, most noble Sire," replied the youth. "Be it known, O, King, that I have refrained from drinking tonight because I want to be ready for the Hus, which is sure to come wherever there is such overindulgence."

Before he could proceed further, the knights broke into furious curses. "Away with the imposter! Away with him! Ha! Ha!"

The king commanded silence as he stood up dizzy with wine. Red-faced and boiling with anger he looked at the youth and said:

"Fetch in the guards and take this fellow to the guard house, and presently we will have a hanging in the reception hall! Bah! Thou too hast thought to seize my daughter's hand by trickery! Well, thou shalt hang!"

The king sat down and the guards seized the boy by the back of the neck and dragged him away, amid the laughter and jeers of the company.

The boisterous merriment continued until the princess stood up and motioned for silence. Then she said:

"Most noble father, I now speak in behalf of all the women of Greece. The men of Greece have for years treated women as slaves, creatures of their wills. You, my father, without my consent offered my hand to any who should prove victor over the Hus. You have already seen what has happened. An imposter came first and frightened me nearly to death! You did not care so long as you could keep your foolish word. Now comes a youth who thrice has repelled the Hus, and because he has the courage to tell you the truth, you order him hanged without mercy or any thought of me. Henceforth I shall do my own choosing when it comes to mating! If you hang Egkartes then you will find my dead body in the morning by the side of his! Why have you condemned him in whom is our only hope of safety? If the Hus should come tonight--?"

"What do you say, Miss Impudence? I'll see whether your prophecy will come true. Let every gate be barred! Fasten every door with a double lock! Let the royal guards stand in every hallway! And you, ungrateful maiden, dance before this company. By the gods! We'll see whether the Hus is greater than the king!"

The king sat down heavily, and the princess obediently arose to dance before a drunken assembly.

Scarcely had she stood upon the floor than in rushed the Hus. Neither walls, nor doors nor swords had been able to keep him out.

The queen was first to try to leave the room, but the Hus flung himself upon her and buried his teeth in her shoulder. The king attempted to draw his sword, but the beast sprang upon him before he could even touch the hilt, seized him round the middle and shook him till he seemed like to fall apart. The once brave knights lay where they were and called loudly for the guards.

Amid the confusion the princess ran to the guard room where her lover lay bound. When the terrified guards heard that the Hus was in the palace, they were only too glad to release their prisoner.

Egkartes was not surprised to hear of the return of the Hus. He gladly dashed to the banqueting hall. When he appeared before him the Hus dropped his latest victim and squealed with rage. Well did the beast remember his many wounds received at the hands of Egkartes. As if to take revenge, he bounded toward the boy, who aiming his sword again at the beast's mouth, drove the weapon home, running it well down the throat. With a roar of rage the Hus sprang back, dashed for the nearest window, jumped to the earth, and disappeared into the dark night, still roaring furiously.

In a moment the knights were on their feet. Now that there was no danger they were eager to defend the king and queen; but his Majesty, ordering the knights out of the palace, embraced the hero, exclaiming: "Thou shalt indeed be my son."

So the royal marriage was consummated and the princess became the wife of the noble Egkartes.

The first act of the prince was to banish all drink from the kingdom, for, as he told the people, the Hus could never be killed but would be helpless as long as they refused to befuddle their senses with wine. He received great honor and later ascended to the throne--and the kingdom prospered as long as it took heed to the words of Egkartes.

THE LEVIATHAN

MANY years ago, before New York was settled, a poor old crocodile left her native Egyptian shores and swam to the mouth of the Hudson River. Up the river bank she crawled, till she found a home. Here she laid ten eggs and hid them in the hot sand.

Soon ten wee long-jaws came out and crept about in the sun. Mother crocodile fed her offspring with small birds, that she caught by lying in the river with her mouth wide open. The birds, seeing only the upper part of the great jaws, were easily fooled into mistaking them for an old tree trunk. Sometimes as many as fifty of them flew down to rest and gossip on the crocodile's teeth and cold tongue. Suddenly, when the clatter was loudest, the huge jaws came together with a mighty snap, crushing every little warbler. Then the cunning old mother fed her children with sweet titbits.

In the course of five years one of the young brood had grown to a monstrous size, and his ugly temper made him the terror of all the others. One day, in a fit of anger, he bit his two sisters so badly that they died. Then the savage reptile disappeared and stayed away, none of the family knew where, for fifteen years.

At the end of that time, he returned to find his mother dying, with her seven good sons about her, weeping bitter tears. But not a sign of pity did the returned wanderer show for his dying mother and her sorrowing children.

He was now a monster more than a hundred feet in length, and it was no wonder that when the brothers--pygmies in comparison with him--saw him coming toward them they fled in terror to the river, leaving their helpless mother at the mercy of her wicked son. Toward evening the brothers crept to the bank to see what was going on and the furious giant, who was lying in wait for them caught five of the little fellows and killed them as if in mere love of slaughter. The two others saved their lives by hiding till dark, when they fled to a place of safety down the river.

Not content with killing his brothers, the fiendish destroyer turned upon his mother, telling her that he had come back to avenge the insults heaped upon him when he was a little fellow; then with a vicious snap he bit off her tail, and she died at sundown.

"What a terrible brother!" thought the two escaping crocodiles as they made their way farther from the scene of danger. But the truth of the whole matter was that the monstrous fellow was not really their brother at all! He was the great Leviathan from Asia. You see, after the old crocodile had laid her ten eggs in the hot sun to hatch, Mendacia, the mother of lies and injustice, exchanged a Leviathan egg for one of the crocodile eggs. So when the eggs were hatched, Mrs. Crocodile, without knowing it, had a stranger among her own children.

Mendacia was jealous of the new nation across the waters, and had secretly followed the old crocodile, hoping to destroy the young republic through her terrible Leviathan. This monster was related to all the Leviathans that did so much damage to the children of Israel in the days of Moses. These beasts had always been murderers and man-eaters and Mendacia was the evil spirit that prompted all the wicked deeds.

So here she was in the land of America with her cruel monster fully grown and ready to begin work. Fifteen years ago, when her pet had committed murder, she it was who carried him away to shield him from just punishment. She was with him when he killed his mother, and Mendacia and her slave Brutus applauded him for that crime of unspeakable shame. After committing this terrible deed, Leviathan lay down and slept for a month.

Meanwhile Brutus built a beautiful house on Leviathan's back, and Mendacia richly furnished it. When the sleeper awoke, slowly he opened his dull eyes and blinked. Then, more slowly, he opened his forty-foot mouth and shook his forty-foot tail. As yet he was unconscious of the house upon his back but when he rose to his short legs and shook himself, he realized that he was holding up something besides his own weight.

Finding that he could not shake off his strange burden, the beast made for the river and attempted to sink, but could not do that, for the house kept him afloat. He tried to roll over, to turn a somersault, but all in vain. At last, exhausted, he lay in the river as if dead.

It was then that Mendacia spake words of reproof to her beast. "Leviathan! You poor foolish fellow! Why do you make such a fuss over a thing that you cannot change? If you disturb my house any more I'll be compelled to drive a nail through your back into your heart. But if you obey me, all will be well and I'll be your best friend. I'll help you obtain your food, and I promise that one human being a day will be furnished for your evening meal. Come, will you agree to do as I say, or not?"

The Leviathan thought for a long time and ended in blinking his lazy consent.

Now, on the bank of the river lived a boy and a girl. The boy's name was Lex and the girl's was Veritas. Both were seventeen years old.

One hot July day Lex took his friend for a little row up the Hudson. They had not gone far before they spied a peculiar craft coming toward them. Lex ceased rowing and the two gazed with wonder at the strange sight. On came the wonderful house, like a floating palace upon a brown island.

It was the Leviathan, of course. As it approached them, a beautiful woman gracefully walked toward the snout of the Leviathan, followed by her slave, and both sat down on the humps that formed the monster's eyebrows. From these commanding positions they held curtains over the creature's eyes, lest he should become too restive, and frighten away his prey. The beast had not eaten a human morsel for many days and he was very hungry. Nearer and nearer came the boy and the girl to the threatened destruction. But Mendacia, whose eyes were fastened upon the boy, suddenly thought of a new way to vary her life of plotting and murder. How amusing it would be to drag the children aboard and play with them a little before taking their lives! It would be such fun to hear them crying and begging for the mercy that would never be granted. So she guided the Leviathan by gently tapping him with her heel till the children's boat touched his side, and then, quicker than can be told, she and Brutus dragged the surprised youngsters aboard.

When the monster knew what the woman was doing, and found that his anticipated dinner had been lifted upon his back, his barking sounded like thunder-claps and his great thrashing tail lashed the water into foam. But the woman told her captives that they were on an island and that the noises were made by machinery.

She ordered a sumptuous luncheon and while the children ate with great delight, she watched them. Finally she determined to serve Veritas to the hungry monster and keep Lex. Why not keep him and make a slave of him? With this in view she gave the boy a powerful drink which made him entirely subject to her will while he was under its influence. He entirely forgot poor Veritas.

When Veritas saw what influence the woman had gained over Lex she was much disturbed.

As soon as she found an opportunity to speak to her friend, the girl said: "Oh, Lex, do not go near that woman, who is as ugly as she can be!"

Yes, she was ugly to all who did not like her, but to Lex she seemed very beautiful, and he was angry with Veritas for making such a remark. But before he could reply they heard Mendacia talking to her beast. "Be quiet for a little while," she said, "your supper will soon be served." What did it all mean? The crashing of the great jaws and the roaring of the ravenous beast made a hideous din.

The children now knew that they were on the back of some sea monster, and the thought made both shudder; even Lex began to see the woman as she was, though the charm had not entirely lost its effect.

But he had not long to wait before learning her real character. As soon as she had convinced the monster that he would be fed, he quieted down, and Mendacia walked with dignity toward the children.

Before she reached them, her slave appeared and delivered a message to his mistress.

"Most gracious queen," he said, bowing very low, "there is a man swimming at a little distance. What shall we do?"

Mendacia hesitated; but reflecting that the magic potion she had given Lex would make everything she did look right to him, she decided to secure the bather for the Leviathan's meal. She did not care for Veritas's opinion--in fact she was glad of an opportunity to frighten her.

So she directed the beast toward the bather. Being naked, the man modestly crouched as far beneath the water as possible, and in amazement he watched the craft gliding nearer and nearer.

When they were almost upon the poor fellow, Veritas screamed. The man turned to flee, but hesitated because he had no clothes, and only sank deeper in the dark waters, while Mendacia called to him with a gentle voice and an inviting motion of her arm.

It did not take long for something to happen. The hungry monster was overeager and snatched for his prey too soon. With a wild yell, the man sprang to his feet and plunged for the bank, the Leviathan following him rapidly.

The children, speechless with fright, watched the frantic efforts of the man striving to escape his pursuer. With a sigh of relief they saw him, not more than a few feet beyond the beast's snout, reach the bank and stagger for safety. The monster climbed the bank after him with his burden swaying on his back like a captive balloon. But the man reached a small cave, into which he flung himself with all the strength that he had left.

All this happened so quickly that the children did not comprehend it; they leaned weakly against the side of the house, scarcely realizing that they were on the beast's back.

By this time Lex had fully recovered from the spell. Suddenly he turned upon Mendacia with a scathing rebuke, calling her an ugly hag and a terrible monster.

Mendacia was terribly enraged again, sharp lines of anger furrowed her face. Fearing for his companion, Lex caught her arm and they turned and fled into the house. The woman quickly followed, and with the help of the serving man thrust them into a dark room, with a warning that if they did not obey her their end was near.

Though much frightened, the prisoners barricaded the door as best they could, and tried to plan a way of escape.

They thought of several schemes but dismissed them as not being likely to succeed. At last Lex whispered:

"Oh! Veritas, I know what I shall do!" and he drew out his pocket knife. "I'll dig through this floor to the beast's hide and scoop a few handfuls of leather from his hide, till he shakes the house off his back!"

At once the boy proceeded to put his words into action. It was not easy as it seemed, for the wood of the floor was hard and the knife not very sharp. But soon Lex found a small crack and set to work to whittle his way through. For hours he worked. His hands became so sore that he had to rest every few minutes and Veritas took turns at whittling till Lex refused to let her work any longer.

At last the boy succeeded in making a hole through which he could easily approach the back of the monster. It was then midnight, and all was ready for the last act; but now Lex was too tired to do more. Both he and Veritas were so weary that they fell into deep slumber.