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Chapter 11 For as much as a year Satan continued these visits, but at last he came less often, and then for a long time he did not come at all. This always made me lonely and melancholy. I felt that he was losing interest in our tiny world and might at any time abandon his visits entirely. When one day he finally came to me I was overjoyed, but only for a little while. He had come to say good-by, he told me, and for the last time. He had investigations and undertakings in other corners of the universe, he said, that would keep him busy for a longer period than I could wait for his return.

 

“I am sorry,” she answered, “but he can't. To punish him further, his father doesn't allow him to go out of the house to-day.”

 

We had a great hope! I saw it in Seppi's eyes. We thought, “If he cannot leave the house, he cannot be drowned.” Seppi asked, to make sure:

 

I reflected a little, then said, “Satan, you have given him a hard life, I think.”

 

“That's so!” shouted the crowd, and surged up as closely as they could to the center of interest.

 

When they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it like an overflow. And when they got to the grave they found they had about a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn’t thought to fetch a lantern. But they sailed into digging anyway by the flicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a mile off, to borrow one.

 

“No, you’re out, there. They hain’t got it.”

 

Then he turns around, blubbering, and makes a lot of idiotic signs to the duke on his hands, and blamed if he didn’t drop a carpet-bag and bust out a-crying. If they warn’t the beatenest lot, them two frauds, that ever I struck.

 

“Thirty-seven year—and he come out in China. That’s the kind. I wish the bottom of this fortress was solid rock.”

 

“Mf! It’s a very tough question, ain’t it! yes, sir, I k’n tell you what’s tattooed on his breast. It’s jest a small, thin, blue arrow—that’s what it is; and if you don’t look clost, you can’t see it. now what do you say—hey?”

 

The dull work went tediously on.  Petitions were read, and proclamations, patents, and all manner of wordy, repetitious, and wearisome papers relating to the public business; and at last Tom sighed pathetically and murmured to himself, “In what have I offended, that the good God should take me away from the fields and the free air and the sunshine, to shut me up here and make me a king and afflict me so?”  Then his poor muddled head nodded a while and presently drooped to his shoulder; and the business of the empire came to a standstill for want of that august factor, the ratifying power.  Silence ensued around the slumbering child, and the sages of the realm ceased from their deliberations.

 

“A longer purse would have got a better sort, but when one has not the long purse one must be content with what a short one may do—

 

Tom and his little ladies were received with due ceremony by the Lord Mayor and the Fathers of the City, in their gold chains and scarlet robes of state, and conducted to a rich canopy of state at the head of the great hall, preceded by heralds making proclamation, and by the Mace and the City Sword.  The lords and ladies who were to attend upon Tom and his two small friends took their places behind their chairs.

 

A shudder shook the boy’s frame, and his face blenched.  Then he struggled again to free himself—turning and twisting himself this way and that; tugging frantically, fiercely, desperately—but uselessly—to burst his fetters; and all the while the old ogre smiled down upon him, and nodded his head, and placidly whetted his knife; mumbling, from time to time, “The moments are precious, they are few and precious—pray the prayer for the dying!”

 

A servant entered with a smoking meal, disposed it upon a small deal table, placed the chairs, and took his departure, leaving such cheap lodgers as these to wait upon themselves.  The door slammed after him, and the noise woke the boy, who sprang to a sitting posture, and shot a glad glance about him; then a grieved look came into his face and he murmured to himself, with a deep sigh, “Alack, it was but a dream, woe is me!”  Next he noticed Miles Hendon’s doublet—glanced from that to Hendon, comprehended the sacrifice that had been made for him, and said, gently—

 

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