Kisington Town Part 14

"Good morning, Rafe," said the maid, dropping a curtsy. "I am Meg, and I have come to help you carry the King's Pie." She smiled so sweetly that Rafe's heart danced a jig. She was dressed in a neat little gown of blue with a white ap.r.o.n, and had set a dainty cook's cap on her flaxen curls.

And she wore red stockings and shoes, with silver buckles. From under her ap.r.o.n she drew a little blue jug. "See, I have brought this to hold the cream," she said, "and it is full of red strawberries for your breakfast. Milk the little red cow, Rafe, and then we can eat and be gone as soon as I have skimmed the cream of yesterday."

In a happy daze Rafe did as she bade. Merrily they breakfasted together on a wheaten loaf and milk and berries which the maid had brought, as if she knew how hungry Rafe would be. Then Meg skimmed the cream for the blue jug, and they were ready to start. Rafe, in his white cap and ap.r.o.n, bore the precious pie, while Meg walked along at his side. A merry, handsome couple they were.

When they came to the market-place they found a great crowd a.s.sembled.

"Ho, Rafe! Rafe!" people shouted to him, for every one knew and loved him. "Come here! Come with us!"

But Rafe answered: "Nay. I am going to walk in the procession with the other cooks. I have a pie for the King."

"A pie! A pie!" they cried good-naturedly. "Look at Rafe's pasty! Of what is it made, Rafe? Gra.s.shoppers or mice?" For they knew how poor he was. But Rafe only smiled and pushed his way to where the cooks were gathered. They, too, greeted him with jests. But he insisted that he must march with them. So they gave him place at the very end of the line, with the little maid at his side. But when he saw the wonderful pies all around him, he sighed and shook his head, looking ruefully at his own simple offering. The little maid, seeing him so look, said:--

"Never mind, Rafe. You are giving your best to the King. No one can do more than that."

The people waited. The hands of the great clock in the market-place crept slowly around until they marked noon. Every one began to feel uneasy, for it was close upon the dinner-hour, and the long procession had not moved. The King and Queen were late.

At last there sounded the blast of a trumpet, which told that the King and his bride had arrived, and that the Lord Mayor had led them to their seats on the balcony in front of the Town Hall. Every one gave a sigh of relief. But then there was another long wait, while the hands of the clock crept on--on, and the people watched and craned their necks eagerly. The Lord Mayor was making his speech, and it was very long.

Finally arose more shouts and huzzas,--not because the speech was good, but because it was ended. And presently another trumpet gave signal for the procession to start.

Off they went, through the streets full of cheering, hungry people.

Soldiers and bands of music led the way; then came the maskers and the flower-maidens, the city guilds and all the arts and crafts. Finally pa.s.sed along the yoke of snowy oxen, with ribbons in their ears, drawing a white wain in which were the bags of flour and silver, the prize to be given the best pie-maker of Kisington. When the company of white-capped cooks came within sight of the King, he laughed merrily, rubbing his hands, and said:--

"Cooks! Now we shall have something worth while, for I am growing hungry, indeed!"

And the young Queen whispered: "So am I!"

Then came the pies. And such pies! Carried on the shoulders of st.u.r.dy boys, drawn on floats by teams of ponies, wreathed in flowers and stuck over with banners and mottoes, the pies pa.s.sed along before the hungry King. And not one of the pies was real! Gradually the King's smile faded.

There was a wonderful big pie fashioned like a ship,--rigged with masts and sails and manned by sailor-dolls. There was a fine brown pasty like a bird's nest, and when it pa.s.sed the King, off came the cover, and out flew four-and-twenty blackbirds croaking l.u.s.tily.

"Good-bye, dinner!" sighed the King, looking after them wistfully.

The Queen nudged him and said: "'Sh! Behave, Your Majesty!" But she also began to look hungrier and hungrier.

There pa.s.sed a pie in a carriage drawn by six mules. It seemed piping hot, for steam came out of it. But when it reached the King it blew up with a _bang!_ scattering showers of blossoms over the royal party.

"My faith!" cried the King; "methought this was the end of all things.

But it seems not. Here come more and more empty pies!"

The Queen smelled of her salts and grew paler every moment.

One pie had a musical box inside and played a sweet tune as it pa.s.sed the King. In one was hidden a tiny dwarf, who popped out like a jack-in-the-box when the Queen pulled a golden cord.

Still the procession moved on, and so did the hands of the clock; and the King's hands moved to his ample girdle, which he tightened sharply.

But both he and the pale young Queen were too polite to ask the Lord Mayor for buns or something to sustain them.

The pie which caused the greatest excitement as it pa.s.sed along, drawn by four white horses, was that of Roger, the master cook, who walked proudly beside it. When it came opposite the King the carriage stopped, the cover was lifted, and ten beautiful babies on a bed of roses waved their little hands and began to sing.

The Queen leaned forward eagerly, forgetting to be hungry. "How sweet!

The darlings!" she murmured. "Oh, this is the best of all!"

Roger the cook heard her and flushed with triumph.

But the King grumbled: "Humph! They look good enough to eat, but--my faith! I hope that this is the end, for soon I must eat something, or I shall become a cannibal!"

"Your Majesty!" protested the Queen, faintly.

But the King interrupted her.

"What comes here?" he cried. "This looks sensible!" It was Rafe and the pretty maid bringing up the rear of the procession. Side by side they walked in cap and ap.r.o.n, he bearing the small, delicately browned pie, she with a jug of yellow cream. No one paid any attention to them, but closed in around them, following Roger's chariot.

When Rafe and Meg came opposite the King and Queen, they turned and Rafe bowed low, holding up the pie as high as he could. The pretty maid curtsied gracefully, and offered the cream-jug with a winsome smile. The crowd was fain to hustle them on; but the King struck the floor with his staff and pointed eagerly at the pie.

"Hold!" he cried. "What have you there?" Every one stopped and began to stare. Rafe bowed again.

"'T is a pie, Your Majesty," said Rafe simply,--"an apple pie."

"With cream for the top," lisped the little maid, curtsying again.

"Apple pie!" cried the King. "Who ever heard of an apple pie! A pie should be of savory meat. But of apples!" Words failed to express his astonishment.

"b.u.t.ter and sugar, Sire, go to the making of it, and the dust of a wondrous nut. Will you taste it, Sire?" Rafe held out the pie temptingly.

"With thick cream to pour on the top--yellow, sweet, rich, thick cream!"

said Meg, lingering over each word as if it melted on her lips.

"Give hither that pie!" almost shouted the hungry King. "I will look into this matter." And, drawing a dagger from his girdle, he seized and stabbed the pie to the heart. Sniffing at it eagerly, his eyes grew round, and he smacked his lips. "It is good, I wager my scepter!" he cried. "Hand me the cream, fair maid."

The little maid stepped up and daintily poured cream upon the shattered pie, and without more ado the King began to eat with his dagger. (This was not considered bad manners in those days.) After the first mouthful he stopped only to say: "Food of the Fairies! Pie of the Pixies! Cook, you are a magician!" He went on at a rate which threatened not to leave a mouthful.

But the Queen pulled at his sleeve. "A bite for me, Your Majesty," she begged.

And, with an apology, the King handed her what was left, watching her wistfully till she ate the last crumb.

"Delicious! I never tasted anything finer!" she cried. "I must have the recipe."

"I must have the cook!" cried the King, turning to Rafe, with a broad grin on his merry, fat face. "You must come with me and cook such pies for every meal. Yes, I will have them for breakfast, too," he insisted, in response to a protest from the Queen.

Just then up stepped Hugh, the Lord Mayor.

"Sire," said he, bowing low, "will Your Majesty deign to point out to me the pie which has best pleased you, that I may have it set in the place of honor, and give the prize to the maker?"

"That I cannot do," said the King, "for the pie no longer exists. I have eaten it!" And he slapped his generous waistband. "But give whatever prize there may be to this worthy fellow, whom I now dub Baron Applepy.

Baron, wear this ring in token of my pleasure in your pie." He drew a fine ruby from his finger and gave it to Rafe.

"And this is for the little maid," said the Queen, taking a beautiful pearl necklace and tossing it over Meg's curls.

But Roger, the master cook, stood by and tore his hair when he saw what was happening.