The bells led the boy and the boar into a eucalyptus grove so dense that even the path could not find its way and simply disappeared under broken branches. The hulls of ships, half sunk in the mud, jutted through the underbrush. Enormous vines spread like nets at their feet, and when Anatole heard something crackling in the bushes, he called out, “Is there another boar in the forest?” just as the boar exclaimed, “I shall charge at it, whatever it is,” and the branches burst apart and out tumbled Susannah, Captain Lark, Plumpet, and Quicksilver.
There were shouts of astonishment and cries of joy.
“How did you escape?” demanded Anatole, who could hardly believe his eyes.
“Quicksilver saved us,” said Captain Lark. “When he brought the water from Mother Weather-sky’s well, he saw her sprinkle it on a stone. The stone turned into a quail, which she ordered Susannah to cook for supper. So he took some of the water and sprinkled us back to life again.”
“And then I crept through the kitchen door and found Susannah,” added Plumpet.
“And I jumped out and we ran away.” Susannah laughed, clapping her hands till they rang like crystal.
Suddenly she caught sight of the boar, who had concealed himself in the foliage and now came forward to introduce himself. She gave a little shriek, and the others spun around in a panic.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Anatole. “This is my friend, Mr.—Mr.—”
“Toby,” said the boar. “The name’s Toby.”
“This is Toby,” continued Anatole, “and he has gotten us the golden key and he has read the spell in the Magician’s book, and we were following the bells through the forest and looking for the golden tree.”
“Bells?” inquired Plumpet.
“Let’s listen again for the bells,” said Toby. “I am sure they will lead us to the King of the Grass.”
They stood still and listened. The bells had stopped ringing, but another noise could be heard very distinctly, a thwack, thwack, which came from the direction of Mother Weather-sky’s house.
“Somebody’s chopping down trees,” said Plumpet.
Toby let out a howl.
“She’s found us,” he bellowed. “That’s her stick we hear, and it’s marching through the forest after us. We must run for our lives.”
“But where can we go?” wailed Susannah.
“To the river at the back of Mother Weather-sky’s garden,” answered Toby. “She can’t swim. Climb on my back. I can push aside the branches with my tusks.”
There was a mad scramble for places. They could hear the stick coming closer—thwack, thwack—and though Toby was running as fast as he could, the stick was running faster. Sitting behind Captain Lark, in the last place, Anatole looked back and saw the stick springing among the trees. And riding on the stick was Mother Weather-sky herself.
“She’s right behind us!” shouted Anatole. “Hurry!”
Susannah began to laugh.
“The river! I see the river! We’re saved!”
Toby rushed toward it and plunged down an embankment so steep that he nearly pitched his passengers over his head. Mother Weather-sky, whipping her stick, was bounding right after them. When Anatole looked back once more, her hand brushed his arm, and it felt cold as snow, just as Toby reached the water and waded in.
Behind them, Mother Weather-sky was dancing on the muddy banks and shouting, “May you turn into stones and sink! May the fish swallow you! May you never find your way home!”
“She’s casting a spell on us,” yowled Plumpet.
“No, she’s not,” said Toby. “She has no power over the river.”
The boar, who had been walking on the river bottom, now felt it give way under him, so that he was obliged to swim. The weight of so many passengers pushed him lower.
“I’m so glad you joined us, Toby,” said Susannah.
“Unfortunately,” choked Toby, “when I step out of Mother Weather-sky’s garden, I shall disappear. Magician’s orders, you know.”
He could go no farther. His head bobbed under the water, just as those on his back gave a joyful cry.
Before them glittered the golden tree. Its fiery leaves shimmered; its golden bark dazzled their eyes. Golden bells sparkled and chimed on every branch, and there, in all that blinding brightness, gleamed the golden door.
“Have you got the key?” gasped Toby as he struggled for footing on the roots that glowed under the dark water.
Anatole scrambled off, and trembling with excitement, he fitted the key to the lock. The hinges gave a musical sigh as the door sprang open. Sunlight streamed over the threshold and down a green corridor.
“Give me your hand, please,” called Susannah.
She was struggling on the slippery roots, trying to reach the door. Behind them on the riverbank Mother Weather-sky stopped shaking her stick and hurled it straight at Susannah. As Anatole stretched out his hand, he heard the shattering of glass. Mother Weather-sky gave a terrible laugh, and he found himself holding a hand as warm as his own.
He saw before him a little girl who looked exactly like Susannah. But she was not made of glass. She wore a green velvet gown and a green ribbon in her hair, and the whistle around her neck was a real blade of grass looped on a chain of forget-me-nots.
“Where is Susannah?” asked Captain Lark, bewildered.
“Here,” said the girl. “Don’t you know me?”
“Don’t dawdle over miracles,” called Plumpet’s voice from beyond the threshold, “for I think we have found the King and Queen at last.”
Everyone, even Toby, followed the cat down the corridor into a round green room, so magically furnished that Anatole thought that of all the marvels they met on their travels, this was the very best. Moss and wild strawberries tapestried the walls, which gave off a delicious scent of wild thyme and freshly cut grass. From the ceiling hung a small green castle cut from a single emerald, in which a light shone and lit up a company of dancing couples within, each a different-colored jewel given human shape, just as a real castle might appear to shepherds gazing at it from a distant hillside.
But the most remarkable sight was the fragrant bed of rosemary that grew in the middle of the room, on which lay a man and woman elegantly dressed in green robes, their hands folded, their eyes closed. On the man’s head grew a crown of fennel, as green as if it had seen nothing but sun all its days.
Susannah rushed to them, knelt down, and kissed them. Then she rubbed their hands. And the others, seeing that she could not wake the sleepers, greeted them with “Time to rise” and “Top o’ the morning to you” and other cheerful expressions, but all their efforts failed.
“The whistle,” said Anatole. “Blow the whistle.”
Susannah put the blade of grass to her lips and blew a loud clear note.
Nothing changed. She blew a second time.
Then the walls of the tree began to grow lighter and thinner. The man and the woman opened their eyes and sat up and looked at each other.
“I had such a peculiar dream,” said the man, helping his wife to her feet.
“And so had I,” she told him.
“Mother! Father!” cried Susannah. Then she turned to her companions. “These are my true parents. The spell is broken!”
Now the tree was gone and they were all standing together on a bridge over the river in the open air. The Queen of the Grass put her arms around Susannah.
“Are these friends of yours, Daisy?” she asked.
“My name isn’t Daisy now. My friends gave me a new one,” answered the girl gravely. “My name is Susannah.”
And she began to tell her father and mother the whole story. But when she mentioned the rabbit, she paused in surprise.
“Why, what has become of Captain Lark?” she asked.
Where the rabbit had been leaning on his wooden leg only a moment before, they saw a man in a sailor suit, examining his two sound legs and rubbing his short brown hair and carefully touching his pale, modest ears.
“I am Captain Lark,” he said, “and I’m as hale as the day I set forth on my maiden voyage. Look sharp, children. I’ve my own face at last.”
Behind him a handsome young man in green doublet and hose stepped forward. First he embraced the King, then the Queen, and then Susannah.
“Toby, at your service,” he said. Tears of joy shone on his cheeks. “Come into the garden. The spell is broken.”
It was marigold time in the garden, and on both sides of the river stretched a sea of gold, dotted by men and women, all in green, who moved slowly toward them, as in a dance. Behind them rose a golden castle.
“Where are the figureheads? Where are the broken ships?” Anatole whispered.
The King pointed to the sky, blue and clear save for one gray cloud in which could be seen, very faintly, the shape of a tiny woman in a green cape, beating the air with her stick. When the cloud broke into pieces, she disappeared.
“Is she gone for good?” asked Anatole.
“From our island, yes,” said the King of the Grass.
“And where is her house?” asked Captain Lark.
“She hasn’t one,” replied the Queen. “She never did have one till the Magician came.”
“Papa, who are the people coming this way?” asked Susannah.
“They are the people who live in the garden,” said the King. “Let’s go and meet them.”
Then there was such rejoicing that it seemed to Anatole as if everyone on the island were celebrating a birthday. The castle of the King and Queen was built entirely of sod, planted with flowers, so that every wall and turret was a garden in itself. Marigolds covered the castle from top to bottom. Hedges of silvery green artemisia, taller than Anatole had seen it growing at home, led from the main door into an intricate labyrinth of terraces and fountains. Exploring the grounds at the back of the castle, Anatole came upon a row of marigold kennels and was at first alarmed to see Mother Weather-sky’s dogs taking their ease in the yard.
“You’d better not try anything funny,” he warned the Great Dane, keeping a safe distance from his old tormentor. “The King and Queen are back, you know.”
The Great Dane only wagged his tail.
“So you’ve changed too,” said Anatole. “You’ve gotten smaller somehow. And more friendly.”
In front of the castle, tablecloths had been spread on the grass and laid with platters of apples and grapes, and bowls of butter and cream, and loaves of bread that steamed when you cut them open. The men and women of the court came eagerly forward to pay their respects to the King and Queen and the guests of honor. Captain Lark sat at the Queen’s right hand, Plumpet sat at the King’s left, so that she could have a good view of him, because as she said later, “A cat may look at a king, and I don’t know when I shall ever have another opportunity.” Quicksilver padded to and fro, snuffling up a little of everything, to the great amusement of Toby. Anatole and Susannah walked among the courtiers, greeting them; everyone wanted to hug Susannah and to shake Anatole’s hand.
When Captain Lark saw the two children coming to join him at last, he bowed and said, “I have decided to stay here forever. The King of the Grass has made me captain of the royal navy.”
“We haven’t a navy yet,” said the King, laughing, “but if we should ever need one, Captain Lark will be in charge of it. Tell me, Anatole, would you like to be my son and live on our island? It is always summer here, and though you will grow up, you will never grow old.”
Stay here on the island? Anatole tried to imagine such a life, warm, pleasant, but without his mother to sing him songs, his father to play soccer with him in the front yard, his grandmother to tell him stories of when his mother was a child and of her own childhood, so many years before he was born.
“Thank you very much,” said Anatole, “but I would like to go home. What I really want is some of the fennel that grows in your crown. We had a hard winter, and my grandmother’s fennel didn’t come up this year.”
“So my daughter tells me,” said the King.
He reached up, lifted a fragrant clump from his crown, and handed it to Anatole.
“Oh,” said the boy, “you’ve made a great hole in your crown!”
“It will grow together again,” the King assured him.
Even while he was speaking, a new shoot appeared, unfolded its leaves, and closed the gap.
“Plant it as soon as possible when you get home,” said Toby.
“How do I get home?” asked Anatole.
The Queen leaned toward him and pointed to a row of silvery green hedges that wound from where they sat toward the horizon.
“In the Magician’s labyrinth, people lost their way. In ours, they will find it again. Take the path that starts from the castle.”
“How long should I follow it?”
“Till you reach home,” answered the Queen.
“I wish very much you could stay with us,” said the King.
“And so do I,” said Susannah. “Don’t forget me, Anatole.” She took from her neck the grass whistle on its chain of forget-me-nots and put it around his neck. “When you whistle on the grass, I shall hear you and know you are thinking of us.”
Captain Lark was too much overcome to say a word. He whisked a large handkerchief from his pocket, blew his nose fiercely, and hugged first Anatole and then Plumpet. He even hugged Quicksilver, who wiggled all over with pleasure, for never in his life had anyone shown him so much affection.
“SHE TOOK FROM HER NECK THE GRASS WHISTLE ON ITS CHAIN OF FORGET-ME-NOTS AND PUT IT AROUND HIS NECK.”
Plumpet offered her paw, rather solemnly, to the King and Queen and Susannah, and then to Toby, who presented her with a bouquet of catnip. This moved her so much that she forgot the fine speech she had prepared for the occasion and could only say, “I shall include you in my memoirs. Your names will be household words among cats.”
“I shall miss you,” said Anatole, “all of you.”
Holding Quicksilver, he started down the path the Queen had shown him. Glancing over his shoulder and waving as he walked while Plumpet scampered at his heels, he saw his friends’ hands waving back, like the bright crests of waves moving farther and farther away from him, until the hedges grew so high that he lost sight of them altogether. Before he had time to regret it, a tiny bird, feathered in gold, darted out of the hedge and lighted on his shoulder.
“Good-bye, Anatole,” it chirped. “Thanks to you, I’m free again.”
“Have we met before?” asked Anatole, puzzled, for he did not remember ever having seen such a bird.
The bird laughed.
“How could I meet you when I’ve never left you? I am the road to Mother Weather-sky’s garden, and nobody will ever need me again.”
“You don’t look much like a road,” said Plumpet.
“I almost never look like a road,” sang the bird. “Sometimes I look like a lizard, leading you into moonlight. Sometimes I look like a blossom turning to stone on the water. Good-bye!”
Before Anatole could say thank you, the bird flew off. But the boy could hear it singing, “This way! This way!” and he ran after it, his eyes scanning the sky for a last glimpse of it, so that he hardly knew where his feet carried him—