Magical Marbles Of Mystery
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The next day, I went to the old man’s house. He was in his room and hadn’t come downstairs yet.
“What do you want?” he said with an edge of impatience that made me feel like a naughty boy who had forgotten to bring down his homework or something equally ridiculous. “I’ve got no time for children now.”
“Um,” I stammered. “Well, actually… I have to know where the marbles are.”
He looked at me curiously. “Marbles? What about them? Why should they interest you?” His gaze fell on my new shirt and he gave an approving nod. “You must be going somewhere special this year, eh, lad?” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards as if there were some joke he couldn’t quite share with me.
“Yes, sir,” I replied uncertainly.
His face softened then. “Ah well, it’s your life. Don’t worry about us.” He turned away from me and pulled out an old wooden chair. It creaked loudly as he sat down. “Tell me about these marbles.”
So I told him everything I knew—about how the stones had been hidden in the woods by my grandfather when he was little; how the magical ones glowed red-hot like embers; and how both sets of marbles had been lost for years until the night we’d found one set of stones.
I explained how the magic stones from the other set had disappeared over the summer because of a strange green light and how Mr. Nightingale had gone off to find the missing stones.
Finally, I confessed that I wanted to go back into the woods because I thought I might have seen the same lights the night before. The old man listened quietly to all this while stroking the beard on his chin. Then he leaned forward again and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair.
“It seems that you know more than you let on,” he said slowly. “But tell me, why is it so important to find those stones? Are they worth anything?”
I didn’t really want to admit that I’d already sold one stone (though not for much money) but it seemed like the only way to get any answers from him at all. So I admitted that yes, the stones were valuable and had been hidden there by my great-great-grandfather, James Morland, when he was a little boy.
That was what I meant about being greedy. But I added quickly that I wouldn’t sell them for a lot of money because I liked them so much.
“And you think the marbles will glow again tonight,” he mused.
“That’s right,” I answered without hesitation, though inside I was cringing, worried that I would be sent away with nothing after all.
“Hmm,” he murmured. “And you still haven’t told me why you need to return to the woods. Is it because of these lights?” He tapped his finger against the table. “Are you sure they’re not just fireflies?”
“No,” I said firmly. “They weren’t flickering lights. They were big, bright, steady, and glowing.”
The old man frowned. “Perhaps you’re mistaken. Fireflies aren’t usually so bright.”
“I’m not,” I insisted. “My mother saw them too. She even took a picture of one.” I held up the photograph I’d printed out.
He peered at the image and nodded his head slowly. “It does look like fireflies.” He handed me the photograph to show him.
“See?” I pointed to the photo. “There, in the middle.”
“Yes, yes, quite so,” he agreed. “But I can’t make out what else it could be.”
I stared hard at the photograph. It was a very poor picture with lots of shadows. There was no way I could see anything on it. I tried to look harder but the image was blurry. Suddenly I felt like a fool. How stupid of me to believe that I’d ever seen anything like that!
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I must have imagined it all.”
“Nonsense!” The old man shook his head. “Your eyes and ears are sharp enough to spot fireflies. You must have seen something, so don’t give up now. If you truly want to go into the wood, I’ll come with you.”
***
After that, I became friends with the old man. We went back into the woods almost every evening over the next few weeks and each time I learned a bit more. The old man knew a great deal about the trees and their names, and he told me stories of how people had lived in the woods long ago.
He also told me about a family of foxes that sometimes came into his garden. One day, when I mentioned the moonshine I’d made with my grandfather, he told me that he used to brew his own hooch.
We talked about lots of things. Sometimes I got bored with the old man’s stories, but mostly we had fun together. One day, he showed me how he played chess, and I taught him how to play marbles. I had to help him remember which marble was which, and we spent a long time practicing throwing them. He soon mastered the skill, and I won most of our games.
One evening, we decided to go into the woods after dark and watch for the marbles. We tied some rope around the tree branches so that if we happened upon the stones, we could pull them down easily. Before going back, I asked the old man to wait for me to climb up first and then follow me as far as the rope allowed. Otherwise, he’d just walk right under the ropes and fall out of the tree.
“Why do you want me to climb up?” he asked suspiciously.
“You’re too heavy for me to carry,” I explained. “If you wanted to go further into the woods, you’d need to find another way. If you fell out of a tree, you might break your neck.”
“Oh no,” he muttered. “This place is much too dangerous for me to wander off alone.”
“What will happen if you try to leave?” I demanded. “Will someone come to take you home?”
He hesitated. “Perhaps,” he finally admitted. “Though I wouldn’t want anyone to know where I live.”
“Then let me come along,” I said. “Or at least tell me where you’ll be waiting.”
“Very well, I suppose,” he grumbled. Then he climbed up the tree and waited for me to tie off the rope. When it was secure, he turned to me, and said, “I shall look here.”
With those words, he disappeared from sight.
A moment later, I heard him shouting. “Help! Help me!”
I scrambled up the rope and hurried over to him. He lay on the ground, holding his stomach, gasping for breath.
“Are you hurt?” I asked quickly, kneeling beside him.
“Not badly,” he gasped between gulps of air. “But I’ve been poisoned by a thorny vine.”
“Poisoned? Poisoned by a thorny vine?” I repeated. “How did that happen?”
“I picked up this stone,” he said, pointing to the rock on the ground. “And somehow it cut me. That’s when the poison started working.” His hand began to tremble and he pressed it against his chest.
I felt around his wound with my fingers. It was red and swollen, but it wasn’t bleeding any more. “Let me clean it up,” I said. “Then we should get you home. Your father and brothers would worry about you.”
“I shouldn’t have gone into the woods,” he murmured.
“Don’t say that,” I said firmly, trying to reassure him. “It’s not your fault. And besides, you were right to come with me because I needed you to show me the way.”
The old man smiled weakly. “That makes two of us,” he whispered.
***
I stayed with the old man until I finished my term at school. In the end, I didn’t really need the rope, but I still carried it with me whenever I went into the woods.
One day, my mother arrived home while we were watching the marbles. She looked worried, so I rushed over to greet her.
“Is everything all right?” I asked anxiously.
“My husband has lost his job,” she said. “They fired him because he tried to stop them from stealing a cow.”
“But why would they do something like that?” I cried.
“Because he refused to sell meat to a tavern,” she replied. “One night, he found a whole pig in the cellar that one of the customers had left there. The next morning, the butcher came to buy it, and Father refused to sell him anything.”
“But what does that have to do with the cow?” I wondered aloud.
“Father wouldn’t give up the cow,” Mother told me sadly. “So the butcher went to the sheriff and reported him to the magistrate. Now he’s being charged with theft—and may even be imprisoned.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts. “Your father would never steal a thing,” she said softly. “No matter how desperate our circumstances became, he’d always find a way to care for us. But now… well, things are very difficult.”
“We can help,” I said quickly. “At least we can keep ourselves fed.”
Mother smiled gratefully. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “Thank you.”
After that, we made sure to bring home as many eggs and apples as we could gather. At least we’d have something to eat.
***
On the last day before summer vacation, the boys and girls lined up outside their classrooms to meet their parents. All the students watched us curiously. Soon everyone was whispering about the strange new student who was staying behind.
When my mother arrived, she stared at me with concern. “What happened to your arm?” she demanded, reaching out to touch my sling.
I pulled away and covered up the injury with my cloak. “I got into a fight with an animal,” I said. “Now it’s better, thank you.”
“Did you get hurt badly?” Mother asked nervously.
“No, nothing serious,” I reassured her.
As soon as I spotted my father, I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck.
“Where’s your brother?” he asked, eyeing the stone in my hand. “You’re still carrying that rock, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Father,” I said, dropping the stone into his palm. “Here.”
He studied the stone for a moment then shook his head. “I don’t remember giving you permission to wander off alone,” he said sternly. “Next time, I expect to see you coming back with the others.”
I nodded, feeling defeated. I hadn’t seen little Gerd or Maribor since the day I’d brought them back from the forest. They must have run away again. We couldn’t afford to feed another mouth, especially not those two. But if I didn’t take care of them, no one else would.
“All right, all right,” I muttered, hurrying out of the classroom. “I’ll look after them myself.”
The End