Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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encouraged him, and he trotted bravely on, remembering that he was a big chief and must do his duty. But even a big chief may become tired, and at last, forgetting all his dignity, Little Boy sat down by the side of the road and wept. He was so utterly alone, so weary and so sleepy. He wondered where mother was. How he did want her. He sank down on the grassy banks and wept softly. Then his eyes closed, and Little Boy Big Chief slept. Little Boy Big Chief opened his eyes in amazement. Where was he, and how did he get here ? Slowly he remembered—the goblin-man—the locket—of course ! He had started to bring it back and had gone down the path—but this—this wasn’t the path. Little Boy looked about in amazement. It must be fairy land. He had never seen such a place before. Flowers were everywhere, climbing in the trees, over arbors, twining about garden chairs—they were even at his feet. It was pretty, he decided, very pretty, he woudn’t mind staying here. Then he gave a gurgle of delight and ran toward a pond. It was full of bright, reddish gold creatures that moved about just like the minnies in the brook at home did. He would touch one and see if it were alive—he— “What are you doing in my fish pond ?” a harsh voice de¬ manded. “Do you think I carried you down that steep path into my garden just to have you catch my fish ?” It was the goblin man. Little Boy shivered. He didn’t know why the goblin-man had brought him here, he was sure. He must be brave now, however, and tell why he had started so he said in a little voice that tried not to quiver: “I don’t know why you brought me here, but I started to come and bring you somefing.” “To bring me something ? What could you possibly bring me, and who are you ?” “I ' m Little Boy Big Chief.” The old man looked quizzically at him. “So you ' re a big chief, are you ? he said a trifle less harshly, “and you come to bring me something. How did you happen to come as a big chief ?” “I’m a big chief because if I was a little boy you might not let me go back to my muvver. But goblin-men don ' t like big people, I guess. Why did you make my muvver cry ?” “Make your mother cry ! What is your name, little boy • and the old man ' s voice grew harsh again. Little Boy held out the locket. “My name is Wobert Gwaham Coleman, and I’m named fo’ my i3

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which his small legs were capable. After all he was a very tiny big chief. Out in the sunny road things seemed different, and the path was attractive again. Little Boy was tired now, though, and he sank on a stone to rest. A big yellow butterfly whizzed past, and Little Boy felt for his arrows. He reached down, then remembered that mother hadn’t put his “Big Chief suit on. Well, he would go and ask her to now, and tell her what a big butterfly he would bring back to her, then may be she would forget about the goblin-man. “The goblin-man —the goblin-man had wanted him. Perhaps —perhaps if he had his big chief suit on the goblin-man wouldn’t want him. He would hardly want a big chief. So Little Boy reasoned and went hurriedly to mother. Mother looked grave when he told her about the goblin-man, and cried again, but said to Little Boy’s great relief that he wouldn’t want a big chief. Then she kissed Little Boy and sent him happily down the road with his quiver. It was then as he passed down the road Little Boy saw some¬ thing glitter in the dust. He picked it up and gazed at it, a pretty little round thing with sparkly stones around it. It was just like the thing mother wore sometimes on her neck, only it was prettier, for mother’s had no shining stones in it. Little Boy grasped it tightly and gazed wonderingly at it. It must belong to the goblin- man. Goblin-men always had quantities of bright gems, his book said so, and they loved those sparkly stones, too. He musn’t lose it. He tightened his clasp on it, and it flew open. There was a picture of a pretty curly-haired little girl inside. Little Boy gazed at it for some moments, turning the matter over in his small mind. The goblin-man liked children, he had wanted him, and this was a very pretty little girl, almost as pretty as his own mother. The thing had sparkly stones on it—and goblin- men liked sparkling stones. Perhaps if he were very brave and took this back to the goblin-man he could make him promise not to hurt mother any more, or to make her cry. Plainly, then, it was his duty to go to the goblin-man with the trinket, and exact a promise from him. He started to the edge of the path again, then paused. It was so very black. He hesitated but a moment, however—he was Little Boy Big Chief now—and he was going for mother’s sake. Reso¬ lutely he closed his eyes to shut out the darkness and started down the path. When he found courage to open his eyes again he was sur¬ prised to find that the path had grown lighter and wider. This 12

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gwancl favver. I never saw him, but muvver says he doesn’t like little boys. Are you wealy a goblin-man ? I came to bring you back vis, ’cause goblin-men like sparkly stones, and little childwen, and vis has sparkly stones and a little gwil inside. An’ I corned to tell you you musn’t make my muvver cry any more. My muvver says you only make big people cry. My muvver—I want my muvver !” It was a long speech, but Little Boy kept on bravely until the end, and then he dropped the locket and burst into tears. The gob¬ lin-man was so unfriendly, and mother was so far off. He was hungry, too, and he wanted to play with those fishes. And after he had come all this way the goblin-man was angry. He sobbed on broken-heartedly, and wished his mother would come. The old man picked up the locket and gazed at it. He opened it. Slowly his face grew less stern. He made a movement to pick up the sobbing child, then hesitated. “No,” he said, after a pause, “it is no ruse, she couldn ' t have sent him. He must have found the locket and came as he said.” Then he stooped down gently and tenderly lifted the sobbing, dilapidated little chief to his knee. “There, there,” he said, and there was only softness in his voice. “Don’t cry so. I ' m not a goblin, and I won ' t make your mother cry any more. I’m—I ' m your grandfather. Little Roy Big Chief,” and he caressed the locket softly. If the child’s mother would only come. He had been harsh. She must have put the stage and its ways out of her life. He gathered the soft little body close to him. The brushes parted. Little Boy Big Chief ' s mother stood be¬ fore them, and held out her arms. “Little son,” she cried, “little son, come to mother.” The old man gazed dumbly at her. His lips trembled. She looked at him and at the locket with his dead child ' s picture, and she understood. “Father,” she whispered. “Father,” and he gathered them both in his arms. “You will stay,” he said huskily. “You will come and stay always?” Yeth,” murmured Little Boy Big Chief, “ve vill come and ve must tell daddy to come, and ven I won’t have to come down the path no more. We ' ll all be here—and I can play wif ze fishes.” 14