A sunbeam creeping through the window and along the floor to Molly’s pillow awoke her in the morning; she sat up with a start, puzzled for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings; then she remembered—and giving a long sigh, snuggled down again for a few more minutes while she thought things over.

How strange it all seemed, just like some wonderful dream, she thought—and yet it was not a dream. Here were she and Jack in the middle of a real, exciting adventure. An adventure in which they were taking an important, and (she hoped) useful part. What would be the result of their search for the Black Leaf? Would either of them find it? And what had Old Nancy meant by saying that she thought only one of them would be successful? Wouldn’t she and Jack be allowed to search together, Molly wondered. She hoped Jack wouldn’t be sent to one part of the country, and she to another. She tried to recall all the information and warnings that had been given to them about the Pumpkin, and the more she recalled, the more difficult the task in front of them appeared to be.

Molly stretched out her arm and fumbled about in the clothes that lay on a chair by the bedside; she presently drew forth the box of matches, Old Nancy’s gift, and proceeded to examine this attentively, it being her first opportunity of doing so. Just an ordinary box of matches—at least, so it appeared—only there was no maker’s name on the outside, simply a dark blue wrapper. There were a dozen matches inside—Molly counted. “I wonder if Jack has got the same number,” she thought. Then hearing a distant clock strike seven, she put the match box back in her satchel and sprang out of bed.

While she was dressing she noticed that the bell which had been tolling solemnly when she fell asleep was now silent.

When Molly was ready to go downstairs she climbed on a chair and looked out of the window into the street below, which was already alive with people moving to and fro on their early morning business. Everything looked so clean and fresh, and the sun was shining, and a breeze greeted Molly, so warm and sweetly scented that all the little doubts and fears that had crowded in on her, trying to cloud her naturally sunny outlook, were suddenly swept clean away, and Molly felt that everything was possible and good on such a perfect morning. She jumped lightly to the ground and ran across the room humming.

A patch of sunshine lay on the floor by the door, and as Molly stopped for a second to do up her shoelace she saw a curious shadow form on the patch. And the shadow was shaped like a pumpkin! Startled, she looked hastily over her shoulder: but there was nothing there. And even as she looked again at the sunlit patch, the shadow passed away.

“Why, it must have been only a cloud, passing before the sun,” she told herself, relieved. “How silly of me.”

But, nevertheless, she felt suddenly depressed; she did not hum any more and she walked slowly downstairs, instead of running with her usual quick step. In passing Jack’s room, the door of which stood wide open, she saw that the room was empty. So Jack had raced her, and was already downstairs.

“Yes, he’s been up this last half-hour, and he’s out in the back garden now,” Aunt Janet informed her. “Did you sleep well, dearie? Run out and tell your brother breakfast’ll be ready in three minutes, will you, dearie?”

And Aunt Janet bustled about between the pantry and the fireplace and the breakfast table, in the little back room. A very tempting breakfast table it looked, too; set for five, and everything so spick and span, from the crisp brown rolls to the long glass vase filled with yellow flowers standing in the centre of the white cloth.

So Molly went in search of Jack, through the open back door into the garden. The garden which was long and narrow, was full of bushes and flowers and little winding paths. At the farthest end stood six tall elm trees in a row, and it was here that Molly spied Jack and Glan’s father, standing, talking earnestly together.

“Hullo, Molly,” called Jack, when he saw her. “Come and look here.”

Molly made her way down the garden, and saw that Jack and the old man were both gazing down at something at the foot of one of the trees. It was a dark red plant-pot filled with dry soil.

“Mr—er—he was just telling me—what do you think, Molly?” said Jack excitedly. “The Black Leaf came up in this plant-pot one year!”

“Oh,” Molly gasped, and gazed at the pot with awe. Such an ordinary plant-pot it looked, with nothing at all about it to suggest that it had ever been connected with any magic.

“Of course, missie,” Glan’s father explained mournfully, “it was no use me a-picking it that year, you see, because there was no Pumpkin to pick it for. Besides,” he added bitterly, “it on’y came up for spite. That’s all—pure spite, I call it—just to taunt me as it were. I couldn’t bide the sight of it—especially as the Pumpkin was out of reach—in—in your World.”

“What would have happened if you had picked it?” asked Jack.

“Nothing would have happened. At the end of the thirteen days it would have withered away, and the plant might not have come up again, perhaps—but I don’t know about that. Still, if it hadn’t, what should we have done this year when we do want it? Eh?”

“Yes,” said Molly. “It is a good job you didn’t pick it, because, supposing it didn’t come up again—I suppose there would have been no hope of getting rid of the Pumpkin this time?”

“Unless Old Nancy had discovered another spell,” suggested Jack.

The old man shook his head dismally, and ran his fingers through his beard.

“No,” he said. “I had a feeling—in my bones—that we should need the Black Leaf some day. I always said the Pumpkin would return from—from your World. And then—and then those dreams I had——”

“Oh, why didn’t the Leaf come up in your plant-pot this year!” sighed Molly.

“Things never happen like that,” mumbled Glan’s father.

“They do sometimes,” said Molly.

But the old man only shook his head.

“There’s Aunt Janet calling us to breakfast,” said Molly. “I was sent out to fetch you. Come along!” And she led the way back indoors again, followed by the other two.

“Now, what have you been doing in the garden?” cried Aunt Janet, catching sight of the three serious faces. “Looking at that old plant-pot again, I’ll be bound. You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said, shaking her head at Glan’s father. “Brooding over that miserable old pot—before breakfast, and on such a lovely morning too. If I had my way I’d smash the ugly old thing up and have done with it—though really I believe you enjoy it”—she disregarded the old man’s reproachful glance, and clapped some plates on the table a little impatiently. “What good does it do, brooding over things that are past and gone and can’t be helped! It’s the future we can help, and it’s the future we should give our thought to, and make it better than the past. Glan! Glan! Where’s Glan! Call Glan, somebody. He’s in the shop!”

But Glan had heard, and appeared at that moment through the glass-windowed door that led from the parlour to the shop.

“Good-morning all, good-morning,” he cried, beaming and rubbing his hands together. “What a perfect morning, to be sure. And did the little lady and her brother rest well after the strenuous time they had yesterday?”

“Very well, thank you,” said Molly.

“Slept like a top,” said Jack.

“Ah, that’s right,” said Glan, taking his place at the table, round which the others were already seated. “And what is this our good Aunt has provided? Scrambled eggs! Excellent, excellent indeed. What a perfect morning. Who could feel sad at heart on a day like this!”

He seemed in great spirits, and started to hum as he helped himself to salt, while his father rolled his eyes up leaving only the whites visible, to signify his despair at the incurable cheerfulness of his son.

“Come, come now, and how is father this morning?” Glan continued, pushing his father’s chair closer to the table and tucking a serviette under his fathers chin, for all the world as if he were a baby in a high chair.

“He’s been at that old plant-pot again,” said Aunt Janet.

“Bad wicked man,” smiled Glan, wagging his spoon at his Father, who received all Glan’s bantering remarks with the same stolid expression, and without the flicker of a smile. Jack marvelled at Glan’s perseverance with his Father, when his attempts to cheer him up were always without success. He began to doubt whether the old man could smile, and tried to imagine him doing so—but failed.

“After breakfast,” said Glan, “if he is very good and promises not to pick the currants out of the buns, Father shall mind the shop while the little lady and her brother, and Aunt Janet, and yours faithfully, put on their best bonnets with the bead trimmings, and their elastic-sided boots, and brown cotton gloves”—he gave an elaborate wink at Aunt Janet—“and sally forth to learn what plans are afoot, and to find out what portion of the country we are each to search.”

“Will Jack and I be allowed to go together?” asked Molly, anxiously.

“Certainly, if you wish,” said Glan.

“Of course we’d rather, wouldn’t we, Moll?” said Jack.

And she assented quickly, hoping at the same time that now they would probably both win—or fail together.

When breakfast was finished, and while Aunt Janet went to put on her bead-trimmed bonnet, and elastic-sided boots, and brown cotton gloves, Glan showed the two children over the shop. It contained a most tempting array of sugared cakes and buns and pastries and bread—all of which Glan told them he made himself, in the bakehouse at the side of the shop. The shop was sweet and clean, like the rest of the house, and the sight of Glan, in his white cap and overall, standing behind the counter and beaming cheerfully around him was a sight to lighten the heart of anyone—except Glan’s father.

“It’s fortunate that your Father can look after the place while you are out,” remarked Molly. “But I thought you said he was taken back and given a place at Court, didn’t you? I thought that was why he wore a velvet robe and keys.”

“Quite right,” said Glan, “but it is only a very unimportant position. You see, he’s getting old—he only has to turn up at Court every Tuesday and Friday. It keeps him amused. On his free days he does all sorts of things to fill up his time.... Ah, here he comes,” he continued, as his Father shuffled into the shop. “Now, be very careful, Father, and look after everything nicely while we’re away, won’t you? And here—you’d better wear this or you’ll spoil that lovely velvet robe.”

And Glan whipped off his white apron and made his Father put it on. This, over his gorgeous velvet robe, gave him a comical appearance which was by no means lessened by the melancholy expression on his face. Glan gave a chuckle. With arms akimbo he surveyed his Father with his head on one side, then he chuckled again. Such an irresistible, infectious chuckle it was that Jack and Molly, despite their efforts not to, started to laugh. Glan went on chuckling and laughing, and once having started the three of them continued laughing and could not stop, until the tears came into their eyes, and Jack had a stitch in his side, and Aunt Janet appeared, all ready to start, to see what all the noise was about.

“Poor old Father ... it’s too bad to laugh ... but really ... really ...” and Glan dried his eyes on the sleeve of his white overall, and started to laugh again.

But Glan’s Father could see nothing to laugh at, and had continued dusting the scales slowly and methodically all the time.

“These jam puffs are two a penny, aren’t they?” he asked, quite unconscious of the figure he presented.

“Does your Father ever laugh?” Jack asked, as soon as they were outside the shop.

“Never to my knowledge,” said Aunt Janet, “and I’ve kept house for him these twenty years.”

“I’ve seen him smile—twice—as far as I can remember,” replied Glan. “But that was a long time ago.... Perhaps he’ll laugh one of these days—when we find the Black Leaf?”

They made their way down the street and into the market square, which presented a very different appearance in the daylight from the sleepy, peaceful look it had worn last night in the moonlight. Now it was awake and all was bustle and hurry, with shops open, and people passing to and fro.

“Where did you say we were going first?” asked Jack.

“I didn’t say,” said Glan, “but I should think you might guess by Aunt Janet’s bonnet that it’s somewhere very special.”

“We’re going to the Palace, dearies,” Aunt Janet broke in.

“To the Palace!” exclaimed the children.

“And shall we see the King?” Molly added.

“Of course,” said Glan.

At this moment their attention was attracted by the sound of people running and shouting, and they saw that a big crowd was rapidly gathering round the market cross. “What is it?” “What’s the matter?” people near by were asking each other, and unable to get information they would rush off and join the jostling, excited mob in order to find out for themselves.

“Wait here a moment,” said Glan, “and I’ll go and see. Don’t follow me or we shall lose each other in the crowd. I won’t be long.”

And leaving the children and Aunt Janet standing outside a quaint little tea-shop, he dashed forward and was quickly lost to sight in the surging mass of people that were rushing onward to the market cross. Everyone was simmering with excitement, and Jack and Molly had great difficulty in obeying Glan’s instructions to wait outside for him there, especially whenever a shout or groan of sympathy or indignation rose above the murmuring of the crowd, and told them that something unusual was taking place.

But they waited, and in a few minutes they saw Glan making his way back through the outskirts of the crowd. He hurried toward them, his face unusually grave.

“Come along,” he said, taking each of the children by an arm and hastening them away before they could ask any questions; and he signed to Aunt Janet, who followed behind them as quickly as possible. “Don’t look back. It’s no use. We can’t do anything to help. It’s one of the Pumpkin’s victims, some poor fellow caught by him outside the City walls.”

“What has he done to him?” Jack managed to gasp out.

“Made both his arms disappear, and covered his face with a horrible grey stain. The man looks awful. I’m glad you didn’t see him—we can do nothing to help ... except one thing,” said Glan.

“The Black Leaf?” asked Molly.

“The only thing,” said Glan.