ey were very useful barbarians, too, for they chopped
the wood and built the fires and made the horses' coats shine--for he
and his father would have scorned to walk, and went galloping like the
wind everywhere. The forests about were filled with small brown cats,
tremendously furry, with long whiskers and sharp, beedy black eyes, and
sometimes they would hunt these on horseback; but they never caught
them, because the cats could run just a little bit faster than the
horses.

Christmas time at home was not so very exciting, but at Wishing-House
what a time they had! Then all the savages and their wives and children
received presents, and he and his father had a dreadfully scary shivery
time remembering them all, because some had so many children they ran
out of names and had to use numbers instead. So there was always the
harrowing fear that one might inadvertently be left out, and sometimes
they couldn't remember the last one till the very final minute. After
the Christmas turkey, the oldest and blackest savage of all would come
in where his father and he sat at the table, with a pudding as big as
the gold chariot in the circus, and the pudding, by some magic spell,
would set itself on fire, while he carried it round the table, with all
the other savages marching after him. This was the most awe-inspiring
spectacle of all. Christmases at other places were a long way apart, but
they came as often as they were wanted at Wishing-House, which, he
recalled, was very often indeed.

John Valiant felt an odd beating of the heart and a tightening of
the throat, for he saw another scene, too. It was the one hushed and
horrible night, after the spell had failed and the door had refused to
open for a long time, when dread things had been happening that he could
not understand, when a big man with gold eye-glasses, who smelled of
some curious sickish-sweet perfume, came and took him by the hand and
led him into a room where his father lay in bed, very gray and quiet.

The white hand on the coverlet had beckoned to him and he had gone close
up to the bed, standing very straight, his heart beating fast and hard.

"John!" the word had been almost a whisper, very tense and anxious, very
distinct. "John, you're a little boy, and father is going away."

"To--to Wishing-House?"

The gray lips had smiled then, ever so little, and sadly. "No, John."

"Take me with you, father! Take me with you, and let us find it!" His
voice had trem