being limber and alive. That is change enough from a carved wooden
figure. It would only confuse and trouble him to think you do not
really belong where you are. So let him be happy. And I shall seal
your lips with regard to the secret of the Jewel Tree, for that must
be known to no one," and so saying he rubbed a salve over Chris's
lips.

"Now tell me what you are to journey after," commanded Mr. Wicker. But
when Chris attempted to talk of the Jewel Tree, the words would not
pass his lips but remained in his mouth like a handful of marbles.

"Good," said Mr. Wicker, rubbing his hands. "Not even to me. Excellent
stuff, this," he added, turning the tiny case that contained the salve
in his fingers. "I got it in India years ago, and this is the last of
it. But I hardly imagine I shall need it again. Its use is somewhat
drastic, but occasionally wise."

"Mr. Wicker," Chris said thoughtfully one afternoon after his lessons
and memorizing were over for the day, "of the three things in your
shop window that I liked best, two have been explained. Yet the third,
which still interests me, seems to have had, so far, no significance.
I mean, of course, the rope."

"Ah yes," Mr. Wicker agreed, nodding and stretching his feet out
toward the fire, "the rope. Very well, my boy, since it has come into
your mind again, that means that the time has come for you to discover
its use. Go and bring it to me."

Chris ran to get the coiled rope. He experienced almost a shock when
he touched it. It had looked harsh and coarse to the touch, of rough
hemp fibre, but on picking it up, the coils in his hand seemed almost
silky. Certainly they were more than usually pliable. Returning to the
study, the boy put the rope beside Mr. Wicker's chair. The magician
did not move, his feet still stretched comfortably towards the flames.
His dark handsome face was dreamy and remote, and Chris wondered in
what faraway place or time his teacher moved. The apprentice sat down
cross-legged with his back to the fire, and presently Mr. Wicker took
his gaze from the sparks and smoke to look thoughtfully at him.

"You have heard of the Indian rope trick, Christopher?"

"Yes--and no, sir," Chris replied. "I'm not sure how it works."

Mr. Wicker gave a chuckle. "Indeed? Well, let me tell you, my boy, no
one else does either. The rope is made to go up in the air, so stiffly
that the fakir--that is, the Eastern magician--can climb it. Some
claim to have seen th