The Wishing Tree Read online

  It was a horn they heard, and they rode on and came to a huge gray castle. The redheaded boy stopped again. “Which way now?” he asked.

  “That way,” the little old man answered, pointing. A soldier on the wall of the castle was blowing the horn. They rode on and passed the castle, and a little further on they came to a curious tree beside the road. It was a white tree, and at first they thought it was a dogwood tree in bloom. But when they came up to it they saw that the leaves were white.

  “What a funny tree,” Dulcie said. “What kind of tree is it?”

  “It’s a—a mellomax tree,” the little old man said. “There are a lot of them in this forest.”

  “I never saw a tree with white leaves before,” Dulcie said, and she pulled one of the leaves off, and as soon as she touched it, the leaf changed its color and became a lovely blue. Then they all pulled a leaf off the tree. George’s leaf turned purple, and the redheaded boy’s was gold; and Alice took one and hers became bright red, and she held Dicky up and he got one, and his was not any color especially—kind of faint pinks and greens and mostly the same shade of blue as Dulcie’s, but paler.

  “What color is yours?” Dulcie asked the old man, who showed them his leaf, and it was almost exactly like Dicky’s except for the blue.

  “That’s the color of everybody’s wishes,” the redheaded boy told them. “Dulcie’s are blue, and Dicky’s are not very much of anything yet, because he’s little, but they’ll be blue when he gets bigger, because he is Dulcie’s brother; and Alice’s are red wishes, and George’s are purple, and mine are gold ones; and yours—” to the little old man “—are the same as Dicky’s because you don’t have many wishes either.”

  “Why, this may be the Wishing Tree,” Dulcie said.

  “No, no,” the little old man answered. “This is not the Wishing Tree: I’ve been to the Wishing Tree too many times. This is a mellomax tree.”

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  “Well, which way is the Wishing Tree, then?” the redheaded boy asked.

  “That way,” the little old man said promptly. And so they rode on.

  “It’s an awful long way,” George said, “and I’m hungry. I wish I had a sandwich.” And then George nearly fell off his pony in surprise, for there in his hand was a sandwich. George stared at the sandwich, then he smelled it, then he bit it, and whooped for joy.

  “I want something to eat too,” Dicky said, and as soon as he said it there was something in his hand.

  “What you got in your hand, honey?” Alice asked. The others crowded around the cart to see also.

  “What in the world is it?” Dulcie asked. The redheaded boy pinched a bit of it off and put it in his mouth. “What does it taste like?”

  “It doesn’t taste like anything.” the boy said. “because it isn’t anything. It’s just Something. That was what Dicky said he wanted, you see—he didn’t say bread or candy, he just said he wanted Something.”

  “I want some candy,” Dicky said, and immediately it was a cake of chocolate that he held in his hand.

  “Alice, you know he can’t have candy,” Dulcie said.

  “That’s right, honey,” Alice said. “You don’t want no old candy, do you?”

  “Wants candy,” Dicky repeated.

  “You better have somethin’ else. Here, give me your candy.” Alice took the candy out of his hand, but as soon as she did so, the candy disappeared.

  Alice sat for a moment in astonishment. Then she whirled upon the little old man.

  “You, old man,” Alice said, “you give me back that candy, you hear? Taking right out of a baby’s hand, like that. You, give me that candy, you hear?”

  “Why,” the little old man said with surprise, “I didn’t take it. You took it yourself.”

  “Don’t you try to prank with me!” Alice exclaimed. “Didn’t somebody took it right out of my hand?”

  “Why, Alice!” said Dulcie, “He didn’t take it.”

  “Somebody did, then. And he is the closest.” Alice glared at the little old man.

  “It just went,” the redheaded boy explained. “Dicky was the one who wished it, and when Alice took it, it just went, because Alice hadn’t wished for candy.”

  “Well, I don’t like no such goin’ on around me. I think we better turn around and go home.”

  “I’m hungry,” Dicky said. “I want—”

  “Don’t you want some bread and butter and sugar?” Dulcie said quickly, “Or cookies?”

  “Wants cookies,” Dicky said, and as soon as he said it, he had one in each hand.

  “Well, if that isn’t the funniest thing!” Dulcie exclaimed. “That must have been the Wishing Tree back there.”

  “No, no,” the little old man said. “I know the Wishing Tree too well. That was just a mellomax tree.”

  “Well, whatever it was, I’m hungry too. Suppose we stop and all wish ourselves something to eat,” the redheaded boy suggested. So they stopped and hitched the ponies. “Now, Dulcie, you wish first.”

  “I want—I want … Let me think what I want. Oh, yes: I want some green peas and lady-fingers and an alligator pear and a chocolate malted milk.” And as soon as she spoke, there they were on the grass before her.

  “Now, Dicky,” said the redheaded boy.

  “Alice, you’ll have to wish for him,” Dulcie said. “What do you want, darling?”

  “You wants some rice and gravy, don’t you, honey?” asked Alice.

  “Wants wice and gravy,” said Dicky, and there it was before him.

  “Now, George,” said the redheaded boy.

  “I want so much strawberries and chocolate cake that I’ll be sick for a week.” And immediately there was a huge bowl of strawberries and a fresh chocolate cake before him.

  “Now, Alice,” said the redheaded boy.

  “I wants some ham and gravy and cornbread and a cup of coffee,” Alice said, and there it was.

  “Now, you choose,” the redheaded boy said to the little old man.

  “I’ll take apple pie and ice cream,” the little old man said. “We don’t have ice cream very much at home,” he explained.

  “Now it’s my turn,” the redheaded boy said. “I want some hot gingerbread and an apple.”

  They sat on the ground and ate.

  “George, you’re going to be terribly sick if you eat all that cake and those strawberries,” Dulcie said.

  “Don’t care,” George mumbled. “That’s what I want.”

  When they had all finished they got on the ponies again. The redheaded boy turned to the old man. “Which way now?” he asked.

  “That way,” the little old man answered, and they went on through the forest.

  “I wish I hadn’t eaten so much,” George said.

  “I wish we’d find the Wishing Tree pretty soon. That’s what I wish,” Dulcie said. A little further on the road forked again.

  “That way,” the little old man said, and they went on.

  “I don’t feel good,” George said.

  “Why, there’s that white tree again,” Dulcie said with surprise. “We’ve come back to it.”

  “No, no,” the little old man said. “That’s not the same one. That’s just another mellomax tree. There’s a lot of them in this forest.”

  “I believe it’s the same one, myself,” the redheaded boy said.

  “So does I,” Alice agreed. “I don’t believe he knows where that Wishing Tree is no more than we does. Did you ever see that Wishing Tree?”

  “I’ve been to it more than a hundred times,” the little old man answered. “I know exactly where it is.”

  “Have you been to it, really?” asked Dulcie.

  “I cross my heart, I have,” the little old man said. “I used to go to it every day when I was a young man. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “Well, this certainly looks like the same tree, to me,” the redheaded boy said. “Which way, now?”

  “Don’t youall pay no more mi
nd to him,” Alice said. “He don’t no more know where that tree is than I does.” Alice’s voice mumbled on, and Dulcie asked,

  “What did you say, Alice?”

  “I says, he ain’t no better than a old tramp, that’s what I says.” She turned and glared at the little old man, who cringed back into the corner of the cart.

  “If we just had a gun,” he said to Dicky, “we could shoot some of these squirrels and birds, couldn’t we, now? There’s lots of game in this forest.”

  “I want a gun,” Dicky said, and Alice flung up her hands and shrieked, for there was a gun in Dicky’s hands, a gun so big that he couldn’t hold it and so it dropped right on the little old man’s foot.

  “You—” said Alice, and she shrieked again. “You, young redheaded man, you take us right back home ’fore this old fool kills us all dead. You come here and get this gun. Look at him, pullin’ a gun out on me and this baby!”

  “Why, Alice!” exclaimed Dulcie, “he didn’t do it! It was Dicky that wished the gun!”

  “I don’t care who done it. Just look at him there, grinnin’ at us, waitin’ a chance to rob and kill us all.” She turned and glared at the little old man.

  “Honest, ma’am,” the little old man said, “I never done it. I wouldn’t even think—”

  “Hush your mouf and get that gun out of this cart.” The little old man stooped and put his hand on the gun, but as soon as he touched it, it disappeared, because he hadn’t wished for the gun. “Well,” Alice said, “where is it? Take it right out from under your coat, ’fore I calls a policeman.”

  “Alice,” Dulcie exclaimed, “don’t you see it’s gone? It’s gone, Alice. He didn’t wish for a gun, it was Dicky who wished for the gun.”

  Alice flopped around on the seat. “We’s goin’ right straight home: you tell that redheaded boy to pick out the first road. I’se had about all of this goin’ on I can stand.” Alice went to mumbling again, and they rode on, and soon they came to the gray castle again. There were some soldiers marching through the gate.

  “Look at the soldiers,” Dulcie said.

  “I don’t feel very good,” George said. The soldiers marched through the gate, with a flag at the head of the company. Once Alice had a husband who was a corporal in the army. I mean, a husband that Alice used to have was a soldier also.

  “A soldier’s life is awful hard,” Alice said.

  “I want a soldier,” Dicky said.

  “You …” Alice exclaimed. “Where you been?”

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  The soldier that Dicky had wished for touched his soldier hat. “Why, if it ain’t Alice,” he said.

  “And I’ll Alice you,” Alice shouted, “if I jes’ had a stick of stovewood in my hand—” Alice blinked her eyes at the stick of wood, then she threw it at the soldier, but as soon as it touched him, it disappeared. “Jes’ give me one more stick,” and there was another in her hand, and she threw it and it disappeared too. The soldier ducked behind a tree.

  “Lawd a mussy, woman,” he said. “What is you chunkin’ at me? Birds?”

  “You triflin’ vilyun,” said Alice, and she started to climb out of the cart.

  “Alice!” exclaimed Dulcie. “What in the world!”

  “It’s that husban’ I used to have. The one that run off on me and lef’ me with a month houserent and not even a hunk of sidemeat in the house, and me payin’ a lawyer to fin’ out what the gov’ment done with him. Him and his army! I’ll war him, I will: he ain’t never seen no war like what I can aggravoke. You come out from behime that tree.”

  “Don’t you hurt my soldier!” Dicky shouted.

  “Run, run,” the little old man said. “She ain’t got a flatiron or a rollingpin.”

  “Hol’ up,” the soldier said. “I can explain how come I never got back.”

  “I bet you can,” Alice retorted. “You come right here and get in this buggy and save your explainin’ twell we get home.” The soldier came up and got in the cart.

  “Don’t you hurt my soldier,” Dicky repeated.

  “He’s Alice’s soldier, darling,” Dulcie said. “Is that the soldier you lost in the war, Alice?”

  “He’s the one,” Alice answered. “And a good losin’, too. Look at him! even the war don’t want him!”

  They drove on. The soldier and the little old man sat side by side at the back of the cart.

  “What’s your husband’s name, Alice?” Dulcie asked.

  “Name Exodus,” Alice answered. “They was two of ’em. The other one was name Genesis, but meanness kilt him ’fore he was ten years old.”

  “I was in a war,” the little old man said to Alice’s husband.

  “Which one?” Alice’s husband asked.

  “I never did know,” the little old man answered. “There was a lot of folks in it, I remember.”

  “Sound like the one I was at,” Alice’s husband said.

  “They’re all about alike, I reckon,” the little old man said.

  “I ’speck you’s right,” Alice’s husband agreed. “Was it across the water?”

  “Across the water?” the little old man repeated.

  “Across the big up and down water,” Alice’s husband explained. “Man, man, that was a war. A hundred days, and jes’ water, up and down and up and down, and when you looked out you never seen nothin’. Not even sagegrass. I knowed they killed folks in wars, but it seemed like day after day that I jes’ couldn’t die. I don’t know how in the world folks ever dammed up a pond that big. Nor what they can do with it. That water ’ud hol’ all the excursion boats in the rentire world.”

  “No, this wasn’t that war. They came right down in my pappy’s pasture and fought the war I went to.”

  “Well, now,” said Alice’s husband, “if that ain’t makin’ war comvenient!”

  “And there was another war I went to. It was at a place named Seven Pines.”

  “Were you behind one of them?” Dulcie asked.

  “No, ma’am,” the little old man answered. “There were more than seven generals in that war.”

  “Well, now,” said Alice’s husband, “wars don’t change, does they?”

  “I don’t feel good,” George said. “I think …” George’s eyes had a faraway look in them. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Who won the war you were in?” Dulcie asked.

  “I don’t know, ma’am,” the little old man answered. “I didn’t.”

  “That’s right, too,” Alice’s husband agreed. “I never seed a soldier yet that ever won anything in a war. But then, whitefolks’ wars is always run funny. Next time the whitefolks has a war, I think I ain’t goin’. I think I’ll jes’ stay in the army instead.”

  “I guess that’s better,” the little old man agreed.

  “I think,” said George, “that I’m going to be sick.” And George sat right on his pony and got dreadfully sick.

  “He sho’ did,” Alice’s husband said. “He couldn’t a got no sicker goin’ to the far offest war in the whole world.”

  They all stopped, and presently George got a little better, and they helped him into the cart.

  “Can I ride his pony, mister?” the little old man said to the redheaded boy. The redheaded boy said Yes, and the little old man hopped out of the cart and mounted the pony.

  “Why didn’t you wish for a pony before, if you wanted to ride on one?” Dulcie asked the little old man. “You haven’t wished for anything except apple pie and ice cream. Can’t you think of something you’d like to wish for?”

  “I don’t know,” the little old man said. “I hadn’t thought about it. But I will think of something. Let’s see … I wish we all had a sack of pink and white striped candy.” And as soon as he said it, everyone had a sack of candy in his hand.

  “Mine are soft ones,” the little old man said. “I used to like the hard ones best, but now I have to eat the soft kind, because my teeth ain’t what they used to be when I was a young man.
”

  “Let me see your teeth,” Dulcie said, and the little old man opened his mouth. He didn’t have any teeth at all.

  “Why don’t you wish for some false teeth?” Dulcie asked.

  “What are false teeth?” asked the little old man.

  “Wish for some and see,” Dulcie suggested.

  “All right. I wish I had some false teeth,” the little old man said, and he clapped his hand to his mouth and looked at Dulcie with astonishment.

  “Don’t you like them?” Dulcie asked.

  “I don’t really believe I do,” the little old man answered. “I’ve got used to not having any, you see.” He took the teeth out and looked at them. “They’re right pretty, ain’t they? They’d look right nice on the mantelpiece, now, wouldn’t they? I think I’ll just keep them for that.”

  They rode on through the forest, under the huge oak trees. There were a lot of birds in these trees, chirping to one another, and squirrels scudded across the grass from one tree to another, and there were flowers of all kinds and colors in the grass.

  The little old man kicked his pony with his heels until it leapt and pranced, and the little bells on the bridle jingled like mad. “We rode horses in that war I used to go to,” the little old man said. “This is the way I used to do.” And he made the pony dash down the road until the little old man’s beard streamed out behind him in the wind, then he made the pony whirl and come dashing back.

  “I bet you never went to no war in your life,” Alice said.

  “I bet so too,” George said. George was feeling better now. “I bet if you ever saw a enemy, you’d run.”

  “I bet I wouldn’t,” the little old man replied. “I bet I’d cut him right in two with my sword. If I just had a sword in my hand, I’d show you exactly how I’d do.” And there was the sword in his hand—a new shiny one, with a gold handle, and the little old man looked at the sword and rubbed it on his coat until it shone like a mirror, and he showed his sword to Alice’s husband. Alice’s husband said it was a fine sword, but he said it was a little too long to suit him, because he liked a knife you could hang on a string down your back, inside your shirt.

  “This is the way I used to do at the war,” the little old man explained. “Watch me.” And he waved his sword and made his pony dash down the road again and then come flying back.