As yesterday, so today. Up at the castle the cauldron full of porridge was steaming over a fire in a corner of the courtyard, and Jabor was still in bed. Karl left the sheep in the courtyard, carried the butter and the cheeses up into the bedroom, and was told by Jabor to go and stir the porridge. Karl had a thought to let his brothers out of the stable—but then, what use in that? Jabor would only catch them again, and then he would surely kill them. “I must kill him,” thought Karl. “But how—how?”
And as he stood and stirred, and wondered desperately what he should do, there came a starling flying round over the porridge pot.
“Good morning, good morning!” said the starling. “I could do with a beakful of that porridge, if it wasn’t so hot!”
Then Karl tipped a ladleful of porridge on to the ground. “It will soon cool, little bird,” he said. “May you live happy!”
“May you live happy also,” said the starling.
“I think there is not much chance of that,” said Karl.
“Oh, never say die!” chirruped the starling, and he swallowed down the spoonful of porridge, and flew swiftly away. In less than no time he came flying back. He had a brown pebble in his beak. He laid the pebble at Karl’s feet and said, “Pick it up—put it in the cauldron.”
“Well, to please you,” said Karl. And he dropped the pebble into the cauldron. “But what good will it do? You can’t choke a monster with a pebble!”
“You’ll see, you’ll see!” chirruped the starling. And he flew up on to the courtyard wall.
By and by Jabor came stamping out. “Is the porridge ready?” he roared.
“Yes,” said Karl.
“Not burned?” roared Jabor.
“No, not burned,” said Karl.
“We’ll soon see about that!” roared Jabor. And he snatched the ladle out of Karl’s hand, and crammed it dripping with porridge into his mouth. “Good,” he said, “good! We’ll have another mouthful.”
But he was not to have another mouthfuclass="underline" for no sooner had he gulped once, than he gave a faint roar, and the ladle dropped from his hand. “You—” he stuttered. “What—”
And that was the last word ever he spoke; for his eyes glazed and his limbs stiffened, and there he stood, no longer living, but turned to stone.
“Oh, my bird, my bird,” shouted Karl, “you have saved our lives!”
And he ran to unbolt the stable door. “Come out, my brothers, come out!” he shouted.
But even as Konrad and Fabian were stumbling out of the stable, the starling came flying.
“Not saved yet!” cried the starling. “Don’t you know that Jabor invited seven more monsters to feast with him today? Even now, even now, those seven monsters are tramping into the valley. Hurry! Hurry! Go into the castle kitchen, you will find seven iron pots there. Bring them here, fill them with porridge, carry them out of the courtyard, and put them in a row, one beyond the other, along the road outside the castle gates. If you are to save your lives, the monsters must all have a taste of that porridge!”
So Karl ran, and Konrad ran, and Fabian ran; they fetched the iron pots, they filled them with porridge, they carried them out of the courtyard and set them in a row, one beyond the other, along the road that led up to the castle gates. And all the time the starling flew round and round them, crying out, “Hurry, lads, hurry!”
And scarcely had they set down the seven iron pots along the road, and gone back into the courtyard, when the earth shook and the hills echoed, and seven great monsters came stamping up out of the valley, one behind the other.
Stamp, stamp, stamp! Up came the seven monsters to where the seven pots of porridge stood by the roadside. And there they stopped and stared.
“Ha!” roared the leading monster. “A pretty thought! Our friend Jabor welcomes us with a foretaste of the feast! Come, stand in line, my lads, and let us wish him good health in a gulp of porridge.”
So each monster took up a pot, and having roared out, “Good health and good eating to our friend, Jabor!” they threw back their heads, opened their great mouths, set the pots to their lips, and gulped down the porridge.
What happened? The pots dropped from their hands, their eyes glazed, their limbs stiffened: there they stood in line along the road, turned to stone.
“We are saved, we are saved, brothers!” cried Karl.
“We are saved, we are saved!” cried Konrad and Fabian.
“Yes, you are saved,” chirped the starling. “Now the first thing to do is to make a bonfire and tip all the porridge into it, lest any of my friends should fancy a beakful . . . And you’d better give the pebble back to me—it’s a dangerous plaything to leave lying about.”
So Karl took the pebble out of the cauldron and gave it to the starling, who flew off with it. And then the three lads gathered a great pile of wood and set fire to it. And when the fire was burning merrily, they tipped all the porridge from the cauldron and from the iron pots into the flames. And after that, they let the sheep out of the stable and drove them down into the valley.
But they didn’t stay long in their little cabin in the valley. Since there were now no monsters left in that part of the country, they took possession of Jabor’s great castle, and there they lived ever after in great happiness—and proudly too. For there are not many castles in the world that can boast a stone monster in the courtyard; nor yet a procession of stone monsters on the road leading up to it.
And in the spring the starling came with his mate and built a nest on stone Jabor’s head. There he brought up a brood of young ones, to whom he often told the story of the wonderful pebble. But in what secret place he kept the pebble—that he would never tell them. And to this day, no one but the starling knows where it is hidden.
THE GARGOYLE
By Roger Malisson
Miss Harper, the science teacher, said it sounded like a herd of mad elephants; but Mr. Groves, who took games, said it was more like a flock of parrots.
“It” was the noise made by Forms 1A and IB milling round the bus which was to take them on their annual history outing. Fifty-eight boys and girls were boarding it together, though as the driver kept roaring out, the doorway wouldn’t take them all at once.
“One at a time, you perishing little —, one at a time!” he appealed over and over again, and was ignored. Finally Mr. Morris the history teacher appeared and quelled the riot with a thundering threat to send home instantly anyone who misbehaved.
“They can’t do that,” muttered Beverley Riley to her best friend Christine Lee. “My dad’s already paid. I’m not getting off even if they tell me to.”
She was huddled with Christine on the best seat at the very back of the bus. It had been only the work of a moment to persuade the previous occupant to leave, by the simple but effective method of threatening to strike him over the head with Christine’s vacuum flask.
“I’m glad we’re going on holiday,” said Christine, settling back.
“It’s only a rotten day trip to an old church!” said Beverley contemptuously. “Anybody’d think you were going to rotten Spain!”
Christine did not answer because just then the driver started the engine and a cheer went up that drowned everything, even Philip Smith’s frantic cry that he had left his packed lunch behind. Once through the school gates, the bus headed noisily and swiftly for the motorway. The history outing to Church Milton had begun.
“We might go past our house,” said Christine wistfully. “I might see Mum and Gran and Kevin.” She peered hopefully out of the window, a quiet, timid, short-sighted little girl with pale fluffy hair and a vaguely pretty face.
Beside her Beverley Riley gave a snort of disgust. She was bigger, tougher and cleverer than her friend. “Your house isn’t this way, silly! Anyway your Mum’s at work and Kevin’s in the nursery—here, have a crisp.” She thrust the bag under Christine’s nose, and when Christine took one, made her take a whole handful. Beverley Riley was rough, but very generous.