He That Took the City
by
Marmaduke trudged up the road. And the road went up, up, up the hill. First he thought that road was like a great worm, always squirming ahead of him, but then he decided that, although it twisted, it didn’t squirm, it was too still for that. After all, it was more like a ribbon, a wide brown ribbon, tied around the green shoulder of the hill.
He wondered where that ribbon road went–over the hill and far away–perhaps clear round the World! But, no, it couldn’t do that, for there was the Sea between, and it must stop at the Sea. Anyway, he would have liked to have travelled over it, to the very end, to see all the people and animals that walked over it, and the cities and churches that stood by its side.
But first he must find the Toyman. That is what he had come for. And the Toyman had just gone over that very road. Marmaduke had seen him from the valley below, his long legs climbing up that hill and the little boy had hurried after him, calling and calling.
“‘Llo, Toyman, ‘llo, Toyman!” he shouted.
He heard an answer and put his hand to his ear to hear more clearly.
“‘Llo, Toyman, ‘llo, Toyman!” came the mocking answer, faint and far-away.
But it wasn’t the Toyman. It was Echo, calling back from the hills.
Marmaduke had always wanted to meet Echo, but so far he never had. He thought she must be something like the Star-Lady, whom he had met, only not quite so bright. Her voice sounded a little sadder, too, like the Bluebird’s in the Fall when he says “Goodbye” to the fields and flies to the South. Often he had run after Echo, but he never could catch up with her, nor even see a glimpse of her silver and green dress. She always played Hide-and-Seek with him, and he was always “it.”
However, he didn’t worry long about friend Echo this morning. He was thinking of the Toyman. For the Toyman’s face had looked worried–far away and sad. It had looked somehow as Echo’s voice always sounded. What was it Mother had said? “Poor Frank!”–that’s what she called him; “he’s in trouble,” she had whispered to Father.
Marmaduke didn’t know what he could do, but he wanted to catch up with him, and put his hand in his, and tell him not to worry at all, and say, if he needed money he could have all there was in Marmaduke’s bank–every last penny, even the bright ones.
Across the road a big jack-rabbit jumped–jumped sping–sping–sping–like a toy animal made of steel springs. Wienerwurst ran after the rabbit, but his master didn’t stop to chase Jack. He was afraid if he wasted any time he would never catch up with the Toyman.
At last the ribbon road reached the top of the hill and wound along it a little way before it started twisting down the other side. For a moment Marmaduke’s eyes followed it down hill, and he wanted to follow it with his legs too, there were so many wonderful and mysterious places where it went, but just then he caught sight of the Toyman.
He was sitting right on the top of the hill, sitting with his chin in his hands, and his eyes on the West far away. And he said never a word.
So Marmaduke just stole up softly, and put his face against the Toyman’s, and sat down beside him.
And then the Toyman’s eyes came back from far away and looked down on the little boy and smiled again.
“Don’t you worry, Toyman,” the little boy said to him, “don’t you worry about anything. It’ll all come out in the wash.”
The Toyman didn’t ask what he meant by that, for he knew it was a proverb, a boy’s proverb that was as good as any King Soloman ever made.