“Very well, then. Go! And never let me see your face again!”

It was the Court of Strenvaig, and old King Stren was speaking to his son. Without a word Prince Peerio turned away and went slowly off to pack his knapsack. But since his Father was banishing him penniless from the Kingdom, he had very little to put together, nothing at all in fact except a little knapsack containing one day’s provisions, two clean pairs of socks, a compass, and a picture of a Princess named Lily, who lived in the Castle of Mountainy, on the other side of the world.

It was this picture which had been the cause of their quarrel. A wealthy merchant of the kingdom, who, although he was a merchant, loved good painting, had bought it a week ago for a heavy heap of gold and presented it to the Prince; and Prince Peerio, the moment he saw it, had fallen in love, not with the picture, but with the Princess. He told his Father that unless he could find Princess Lily and persuade her to marry him he should certainly live in misery for the rest of his life. But old King Stren had his own ideas of love, and especially of love at first sight, and more especially still of love at first sight of a picture. He said:

“I think not.”

And he then explained to his son that it was his duty to marry Princess Killum, the daughter of a neighbouring monarch, who, besides having a large fortune, would make him a very good wife. But Prince Peerio said:

“I think not.”

And then the quarrel began which ended in the King’s banishing his son for ever. So Prince Peerio set out on a Sunday morning to walk round the world with a picture in his heart and knapsack. Luckily it was a very small picture and quite light. He was very sad when he thought of the quarrel, for he loved his Father and was afraid the old man would be lonely. But “It’s no use worrying,” he said to himself; “it can’t be helped.” And he determined to listen to the birds singing.

Well, he walked and he walked and he walked, and his boots wore out. So then he stopped at the town of Bremen and worked hard for a week, till he had earned enough money to buy a new pair of boots. And he walked and he walked and he walked, and his third pair of socks wore out. So then he stopped at the town of Tobolsk and worked hard for a week, till he had earned enough money to buy three new pairs of socks.

As for food, he lived all this time on roots and berries and what he could beg by the wayside. But he bought a little meat with the money that was left over when he had paid for his boots, and a little more with the money that was left over when he had paid for his socks.

And he walked and he walked and he walked, till his knapsack wore out and the picture dropped through the hole on to the ground. But luckily the ground was frozen hard at that time, so that, although the picture fell face downwards, it didn’t get smudged. So then he stopped at the town of Yakutsk and worked hard for a week, till he had earned enough money to buy a new knapsack and a little more meat. And he walked and he walked and he walked, and his boots wore out again; so he stopped at the first large town that he came to. But it seemed as though he had been in that town before, for he found that he knew his way about the streets.

“What is the name of this town?” he asked of the first kind face that he saw.

“Yakutsk,” answered the face.

“How can that be?” said the puzzled Prince; “I left Yakutsk a month ago, and I have been walking ever since.”

“Let me see your map,” said the face kindly.

“Alas,” said the Prince, “I have no map. When I left Strenvaig, I set my course by compass and I have steered myself by that and the stars.”

But at that the face looked so old-fashioned, and its owner hurried away so fast, that he didn’t care to ask anybody else just then. But when he had finished his week’s work, he asked his master:

“How shall I get to Mountainy Castle?”

“Mountainy,” said the master, a knowledgeable fellow; “let me see—ah!—that is in warmer climes. You must turn down south. It lies south-south-east by two degrees east and then back a little way.”

So Prince Peerio bought some new socks with the money he had earned, set his compass again, and started off. But he was dispirited, because he had thought, when he set out from Strenvaig, that if he only walked by his compass, he must reach Mountainy Castle by the very shortest route. And what am I to do, he said to himself miserably, if I walk for a month and find myself back here again? But at last, after walking for two months, he learnt that he was only three miles from Mountainy Castle. It was night, and he entered a little inn: for he had saved some money from his last purchase at Yakutsk to have at the end of his journey, meaning to rig himself out a little before he went a-wooing.

“Go away!” said Mine Host, coming out of the parlour door. “I have no room at all for you. There is a big party dining here tonight, and many of them staying, and I am at my wits' end already.”

Yet Prince Peerio, who had come to understand a good deal about faces in the course of his beggar’s walk round the world, saw at once that the man was not really unkind but only very tired and troubled. So though he was tired out himself with his day’s tramp, he said gently:

“Perhaps I can help you. I can’t cook, but I am sure I could wash up rather neatly.”

At once the man began to smile:

“I am sorry I spoke so tartly,” he said: “It is very kind of you to offer to help. I’ll tell you what. I can’t give you a room to sleep in, but, demme, if you shan’t have a kip in the kitchen. No sheets and blankets, you know—but at least it will be warm. I expect the Lit—my cook—will knock you up some kind of a bed. He’s a bonny little carpenter, is my cook.”

Prince Peerio entered the inn, took off his coat, and started in at once to help Mine Host lay the table. Going out to the kitchen to fetch in more crockery, he noticed what an odd little fellow the cook was. To begin with, he was scarcely that high—and, besides that, he had a way of whistling and singing to himself as he went about—not regularly, but in sudden jerks and snatches; he fidgeted, too, at abrupt intervals. He would be moving smoothly and silently to and fro just like any other cook (except that he was so small), when all of a sudden he would shrug his shoulders and click out a leg or an arm in front or behind or to the side of him, his eyebrows would shoot up and his lips out, and he would whistle half a phrase of music, such as “God save our gra—” or “Speed bonny bo—” or perhaps “Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your gar—” and then remember himself and stop dead, and go on quietly with his work again. Prince Peerio could not help laughing at first, but he soon saw that the cook was an absent-minded little man and that the head, which seemed so very much too large for that crooked little body, was crammed full of some trouble of its own which couldn’t get out.

But now the guests had arrived and were all assembled in the dining-room, talking.

“—Ha, ha, ha . . .”

“—My dear sir! . . .”

“—So sorry he can’t come . . .” “—Ha, ha, ha, ha . . .”

“—and the best of the thing was . . .” “—old Gamboy . . .”

“—What? . . . No! . . . Ha, ha . . .”

“—delicious soup . . .”

“—Now, my dear feller . . .”

That was what the Prince heard as somebody opened and closed the dining-room door.

The Prince and the little cook were both very busy running in and out with heavy dishes. Prince Peerio had never done this kind of thing before. Hitherto other people had always waited on him. But didn’t he enjoy it, tired as he was! What he liked most was to set down an enormous dish in front of Mine Host, or in front of the Vice-President at the other end of the table, and then to whisk the covers off and watch the cloud of steam leap up after it, like a man trying to catch his hat. And, moreover, as he walked out into the kitchen, he saw a tiny little porky reflection of himself in the bright nickel-plated cover, which made him laugh for pure joy. He had long ago forgotten how weary he was, and when the dinner was over and the dwarf-cook began to show him how to wash up the dishes, he was as ready to talk as the cook was to listen. He began at the beginning, therefore, and told the little man all his adventures, his setting out from Strenvaig, and his long, long tramp around the world. At first he was greatly disconcerted by the little cook’s odd manner; for he would be explaining some exciting adventure encountered on his journey, how once he was robbed by a thief and another time nearly murdered by Chineses, when the little cook, who appeared to be following his story with the greatest interest, would suddenly shoot up his eyebrows, click out an arm, and shrug his shoulders all in a trice, and there he would stand looking for all the world as though he had been frozen stiff in the middle of a dance. The first time the cook did this, the Prince politely stopped his narrative and waited, but “Go on, Go on!” cried the little man. “This has got nothing to do with it. I’m listening.”

So Prince Peerio went on with his long story, till he reached the point where he had asked the name of the town he had been in before and was told “Yakutsk”.

“How did that happen?” he paused and asked the cook. “Did I dream it? I can’t have done. I remember the season changed from Autumn to Winter between my first and second visits.”

“H’m,” said the little man, “what map did you use?” “No map at all. I used a compass.”

“Ah, that explains it,” said the cook. “You must have done just what the Mercator did. He hadn’t got a map either. In fact he went round on purpose to make one. See ‘cosmic circumambulation’ in the Encyclopedia Montanica.”

“Expound, expound,” said the Prince, laughing at the little fellow’s long words.

But the little fellow didn’t like being laughed at.

“Very well, then,” he said in a hurt voice. “Next time you have an orange, you try and spread the peel out flat on the table. Australia happens twice. Siberia happens twice. That’s more than my advice does. Next time you ask questions, listen to the answer. Handsome is as handsome does. People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Catch hold!” And he threw a sopping, slippery dish to the Prince, who deftly caught it and began drying it with a dish- clout.

For a little while they worked in silence; but when at last they had broken the back of the job, and the great pile of greasy clobber on the wash-board was turning slowly into polite rows of shining plates in the rack and dangling cups in the cupboard, and when the cook perceived that, however quickly he washed, the Prince could wipe a little faster and was always waiting for him, he grew good-humoured again, and at last, as they sat down at the yellow kitchen table to their own meal:

“Well,” he said, “what did you do it for?”

“Do what?” said the Prince.

“Why, walk round the world,” said the little cook.

“Well,” said the Prince, “it is true I was happy enough at home with Stren, my Father. But one day a wealthy merchant, who, although he is a merchant, loves good painting, came to the palace and brought with him this—” and he got up and walked over to his knapsack to show the little cook his picture. But before he could get it out, the cook held up one hand like a policeman stopping the traffic.

“Portrait?” he said.

“Yes,” answered the Prince, tugging at the frame to get it out of the bag.

“Aha,” said the little cook, archly wagging his finger. “La grande passion!”

“I beg yours?” asked the Prince politely.

“No compos mentis,” explained the cook gently; “it’s the same thing nowadays.” And laying his cheek flat on the flat table, he looked hard at the Prince, whistled “Let the great big world keep tur—"¹ and stopped dead. . . .

“—What pleasure it gives me to see us all here again tonight . . .”

“—Hear, hear . . .”

“—Shame! No, no! . . .”

“—Tullywich, the port is with you . . .”

“—this grave occasion which calls us all together, calls for something more than . . .”

once more a burst of talking floated in from the dining-room, as somebody opened the door and went out into the yard.

“All the same,” said the cook at last, lifting his head slowly from the table and addressing the Prince as though he were a baby, “let me see pretty picture!”

It was a rude thing to say, but he did not say it rudely—only as if he were very tired. For there was a clear ring of kindness in his voice, and the Prince, who had come to understand a good deal about voices in the course of his beggar’s walk round the world, was not offended by it. So he took the picture over to his companion.

How startled he was by the result! For “Princess Lily!”

gasped the little cook, all his queer manners fallen from him like an overall. “What, then, do you know her?” cried the Prince.

“Yes! No! That is—I—once knew her Mother.” The little man was white and trembly. “Do you love Princess Lily?” he asked.

“Love her!” said the Prince. “I—”

“Yes, yes,” said the little cook, looking at him, “cut all that out, but do you love her?” “Yes,” said the Prince, looking at him.

“I’ll help you!” said the cook, putting his hand in the Prince’s.

Now the Prince looked rather old-fashioned at this, for he did not see how this little man, a cook in a wayside inn, could help him, the Prince of Strenvaig, to woo his lady. But the cook took no notice.

“The only thing I can do,” he said in a thoughtful voice, “is to give you an introduction to Miss Thomson. You’ll need it, let me tell you, before you’ve done, with a fox at the cupboard like old Gamboy. Heaven knows what she may be up to nowadays.”

“Who’s ‘Old Gamboy’?” asked the Prince.

So then the little cook, who had lived many years ago at the Castle, began to explain to Prince Peerio who Princess Gamboy was; and if it took him as long as it is taking me, it must have been very late that night before the cook knocked up a wooden bed for the Prince and they both went off to sleep.

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1. Let the great big world keep tur—” Of course this is not really the tune the little cook whistled, any more than the language I am writing in is the language which he and the Prince spoke. But as nobody would understand the popular songs of Mountainy, if I quoted them, it seemed better to find the English songs most like them and put them in instead. Much better. ↩︎