Lost trumpet

THE LOST TRUMPET
114
if indeed it lurked amidst the folds and crinkles of
the purse he could see of it no trace. And suddenly
he yawned, cavernously, displaying the teeth he had
had stopped with gold in the days of his wealth.
And he got upon his feet and climbed up the moun¬
tain-pass where the air, as he noticed, grew chill—
perhaps because of the great height.
“Upon his thigh flapped the gaudy, empty purse.
But it seemed to him that perhaps, somewhere,
somehow—some debt there was that he would yet
collect. He had never counted the contents. Beyond
the hills—perhaps some long-forgotten debtor
awaited him there.
“And at this thought, cheered, he began to sing
again, albeit pufflly, for his breath was short and the
path long. Singing, he rounded a corner, and there
in front of him, like Apollyon in Bunyan, burly and
broad and bestial, stood the Robber. Alone of the
travellers, before that last moment, did the Third
Brother glimpse face and yawn and club. And terror
gripped his heart and then passed ; and with a shaking
voice he stood and sang.”
“And—?” Pelagueya, tight-wrapped in her cloak,
was standing beside me.
“And that, of course, is the end.”
“Oh, Anton—a fairy-story and not one of them
lived happily ever after !”
I stood up beside her. “Assuredly one did—The
Robber.”