David and the Phoenix Part 16

"Oh. Do you think it'll happen soon?"

"Oh, no, my boy, nothing to worry about for the time being. But we must remember that it will happen some day."

"Yes, I guess you're right. I think he's hateful!"

"I cannot disagree with you there, my boy. Of course, I have no doubt that, in general, the advancement of science is all to the good.

Knowledge is power. But on days like this I sometimes wonder.... Does it not seem to you that the highest aim in life at the moment is to enjoy the sunlight and allow others to do the same?"

"You're right, Phoenix--but then, you always are. I was just thinking the same thing. It's funny ... I mean ... well, _you_ know. Why can't people leave other people alone--and--and--well, just _enjoy_ themselves and lie in the sun and listen to the wind?"

"That is the way of the world, my boy. Getting and spending, and all that sort of thing. But come! Why should we worry over the follies of the rest of the world? A day like this was made for living, not thinking. Begone, dull care!"

And they would forget the Scientist and watch a pair of b.u.t.terflies chase each other instead.

But one day the Phoenix suddenly stood up with a startled expression on its face. "My dear chap!" it exclaimed. "I have just remembered!

Tomorrow...."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Why, my boy, tomorrow another century rounds its mark. To be brief, tomorrow is my birthday. My five hundredth birthday."

"Well, congratulations, Phoenix!"

"Thank you, my boy. Five hundred.... Destiny.... Have I mentioned before, my boy, that I have a magnificent destiny?"

"No. What is it, Phoenix?"

"I--well, it is strange, my boy, but I do not know ... but that it is magnificent no one can doubt."

"Do I have one too?"

"Of course, my boy. We all do."

David was glad of that. He did not know exactly what a destiny was, however, and he tried to think of how one would look. But the only picture which came to his mind was that of a small, mousy creature (his destiny) looking up in admiration to a splendid thing of flame and gold, dazzling to the eyes--the Phoenix's mysterious destiny.

He said, "We'll have to do something special tomorrow to celebrate, Phoenix."

The Phoenix looked thoughtful. "I think we had better do whatever we are going to do _today_," it said.

"Well, we can do something today _and_ tomorrow, then," said David.

"After all, a birthday only comes once a year, and it seems a shame to spend only one day on it. Especially when it's a five hundredth birthday."

"Tomorrow ..." said the Phoenix doubtfully. "I have a strange feeling, my boy--for once, I find myself unable to explain--most odd, _most_ odd ... five hundredth birthday...."

"Ah, well," it went on more cheerfully, "I shall undoubtedly remember later. The pressing question is, what shall we do now?"

David got up, thought for a while, and suddenly flung his arms wide.

"Oh, Phoenix," he cried, "it's such a beautiful day, I wish it could go on forever! Couldn't we go somewhere--somewhere where we--oh, I don't know. I can't explain it. Anywhere _you_ say, Phoenix."

The Phoenix looked at him for a long time. "I think I understand, my boy. Yes.... How about one of the forgotten places I told you about?

Should you like to meet a Faun?"

It was a green valley, completely enclosed by the barren mountains which towered above it. At one end a waterfall hung on the face of a cliff, a misty thread pouring into a rainbow-arched pool. A brook serpentined through fields and groves of trees. There were flocks of sheep and goats in the fields. Here and there were strange ruins of marble and red granite--columns, peristyles, benches carved with lions' heads, and pedestals.

They landed in a little glade, and David got down in silent wonderment. The very stillness of the air was enchanted. The gra.s.s, dappled with sun and shadow, wore a mantle of flowers. Clouds of b.u.t.terflies sprang up at their approach and swirled about them. To their right stood two broken columns, half-hidden beneath a wild tangle of vine and cl.u.s.ters of purple grapes. Beyond was the forest, dark and cool and silent, with shafts of sunlight in it like golden spears pinning the forest floor to earth. There was no breeze. And as David stood there, scarcely daring to breathe, they heard the sound of shepherd pipes coming from the edge of the wood. It was a minor tune, but somehow lilting too, with the rippling of water in it, and the laughter of birds flying high, and the whisper of reeds as they bend together by the edge of streams, and the gaiety of crickets by night, and the pouring of summer rain.

The piping died away, and the Phoenix beckoned to the spellbound David. Together they walked across the glade, leaving behind them a wake of swirling b.u.t.terflies. An immense oak stood at the edge of the forest. At its foot, on a bed of moss, sat the Faun.

He was the same size as David. From the waist down he was covered with s.h.a.ggy hair like a goat's, and instead of feet he had cloven hooves.

The hair on his head was black and curly, and tumbled around small pointed ears and a pair of short horns. His eyes were slanted slightly upward, and he had a pointed chin and a snub nose.

The Faun waved his pipes saucily at the Phoenix and gave a wry smile.

"Hullo, Phoenix! Back again to honor us with your wit and wisdom? What gems of advice have you got for us now?"

"My dear Faun," said the Phoenix stiffly, "I have brought my friend David, who is acquiring an education. We--"

The Faun smiled at David. "Want to race?" he said.

"Sure," said David. "Where to?"

"One moment," harrumphed the Phoenix. "What we--"

"Down to that pedestal and back," said the Faun.

"All right. Wait till I tie my shoe."

The Phoenix harrumphed again. "This is all very well in its place, but we _should_--"

"Ready?" said the Faun. "One, two, three, _go_!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

They dashed for the stone marker. It was an even race until they reached the pedestal, but there David tried to turn without slowing down, slipped on the gra.s.s, and went sprawling on his hands and knees.

The Faun knew better. He sprang at the pedestal with both hooves, bounced from it like a spring, and began to race back to the oak. But then he too fell, tripping over a vine, and David shot past him and touched the oak one jump ahead of him, shouting "First!"

They sat down on the moss, panting. The Faun said, "You can really run! I'm sorry you fell."

"Well, you fell too, so that makes us even," said David. They looked at each other and for some reason burst out laughing. They rolled around on the moss and laughed until tears came, while the Phoenix fidgeted in reproachful silence.

When they had calmed down a little, the Faun said, "Can you dance?"

"No," said David. "I wish I could, though."

"The educational value of dancing is practically nil," the Phoenix began severely. "I advise--"

"Sure you can dance," said the Faun. "Listen." He brought the pipes to his lips and began to play.