/The Great Quillow/, continued: The lamplighter turned out the last street light, the sun rose, the crickets stopped calling and the clock struck five. Disturbed by the changing pattern of light and sound, the giant on the hills turned in his sleep. Around a corner into New Moon Street tiptoed the town crier. “Sh!” he said to the lamplighter. “Don’t wake the giant.” “Sh!” said the lamplighter. “His food may not be ready.” The town crier stood in the cobbled street and called softly, “Five o’clock and all’s well!” All the doors in New Moon Street except Quillow’s flew open. “The sheep are dressed,” said the butcher. “The pie is baked,” said the baker. “The chocolate is made,” said the candymaker. “I worked all night on the great brass key,” said the locksmith, “and the blacksmith helped me with his hammer and anvil.” “I have scarcely begun the enormous candle,” said the candlemaker. “I am weary of sawing and planing,” said the carpenter. “My fingers are already stiff,” said the tailor, “and I have just started the giant’s jerkin.” “My eyes are tired,” said the cobbler, “and I have hardly begun to make his boots.” The sun shone full on the giant’s face, and he woke up and yawned loudly. The councilors jumped, and a hundred children hid in a hundred closets. “Ho!” roared Hunder. It was the sign the blacksmith had waited for. He drove his wagon drawn by four horses into New Moon Street and climbed down. “Ho!” roared the giant. “Heave,” grunted the councilors as they lifted the sheep onto the wagon. “Ho!” roared the giant. “Heave,” grunted the councilors, and up went the pie. “Ho!” roared the giant. “Heave,” grunted the councilors, and they set the great chocolate in place. Hunder watched the loading of the wagon, licking his lips and growling like a cave full of bulldogs. The councilors climbed up on the wagon and the blacksmith yelled “Giddap!”, and then “Whoa!” He glared about him. “Where is Quillow?” he demanded. “Where is that foolish little fellow?” “He was in his shop at midnight,” said the lamplighter, “making toys.” The nine other councilors snorted. “He could have helped with the key,” said the locksmith. “The pie,” said the baker. “The sheep,” said the butcher. “The boots,” said the cobbler. At this, Quillow bounced out of his shop like a bird from a clock, bowing and smiling. “Well!” snarled the blacksmith. “Ho!” roared Hunder. “Good morning,” said Quillow. He climbed up on the wagon and the blacksmith spoke to each horse in turn. (Their names were Lobo, Bolo, Olob, and Obol.) “I worked all night with my hammer and anvil,” said the blacksmith as the horses lurched ahead, “helping the locksmith with the great brass key.” He scowled at Quillow. “The lamplighter tells us you spent the night making toys.” “Making toys,” said Quillow cheerily, “and thinking up a tale to amuse the giant Hunder.” The blacksmith snorted. “And a hard night you must have spent hammering out your tale.” “And twisting it,” said the locksmith. “And leveling it,” said the carpenter. “And rolling it out,” said the baker. “And stitching it up,” said the tailor. “And fitting it together,” said the cobbler. “And building it around a central thread,” said the candlemaker. “And dressing it up,” said the butcher. “And making it not too bitter and not too sweet,” said the candymaker. Continued …
Posted on: Tue, 04 Mar 2014 12:04:02 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015