tucked behind his back as he grinned mysteriously for all to see.
Now there were three balls leaping between his hands. He threw the balls behind his back and under his leg without a pause and even balanced one on his nose, smiling wildly and making exaggerated expressions all the while. A fourth ball, then a fifth appeared and they all formed a circle that seemed to rotate between the man’s hands all on their own. All at once, he pulled open a great pocket in his baggy, purple pants and the balls all dropped neatly inside and disappeared one after the other. The small crowd clapped their hands and called out their appreciation and wonderment, as did Samuel, but the man was not finished yet.
He produced a long, sharp knife and made a show of jumping around with it and cutting the air, shouting as he did and looking somewhat savage. The crowd took a step back, unsure, while Samuel and Tom both giggled. The man then produced an orange with a twirl of his wrist and, before Samuel could blink, he had thrown it up and sliced it in quarters. Then, motioning dramatically for silence, he dropped to one knee and, bending his head back, pushed the blade inside his mouth and down his throat. Gasps came up from all around. Withdrawing the blade again without so much as a squirt of blood, he bowed, to the cheers and congratulations of all. He held out his purple hat and revealed his thick, short, curly, black hair. Each person took their turn to drop in a coin or two. When they were done, Samuel and Tom stepped forward.
‘Well, now,’ the performer said, reaching down and touching Samuel lightly on the head with the palm of his hand. ‘Who do we have here? And who is your friend?’ he then asked, looking at Tom.
‘Are you a magician?’ Tom asked before Samuel could reply.
The man laughed and smiled mysteriously. ‘I am merely a humble vagabond-a traveller and student of the world and entertainer of curious children.’ He towered high above the two small boys and their mouths hung open as they crooked their heads back to look up at him.
‘Do you make a lot of money?’ Samuel asked as the tall, dark fellow began counting all the coins from his hat.
Again, the man laughed and now bent over to roll up his little rug. ‘Very little, actually, but just enough to make it worthwhile. Just be sure not to try my tricks,’ he told them with a warning finger and a stern eye. ‘I learned everything I know over many years. It takes much practice and doing anything with knives can be very dangerous, especially in little hands.’
‘What happened to your skin?’ Tom asked, scratching his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Why are you so brown?’
At this, the strange man squinted one eye shut and opened the other wide, eye-balling Tom closely, as if in fascination. ‘Why are you so pasty and pale?’
Samuel was a little worried by the remark, but Tom only giggled at the man’s exaggerated expression.
‘How do you throw those balls?’ Tom asked enthusiastically. ‘Can you teach us?’
‘Questions! Questions! Children are ever full of questions!’ the man complained, but it was all in jest. ‘Start with one ball and practise every day until you can do two, or three, or five or six or
With that, he turned and strode into the inn with his sparkling surrounds vanishing after him. Samuel was still standing in awe, when he heard Tom gulp. It was only a moment’s warning and Samuel had no time to move before a firm hand had snatched his ear and had it stinging with pain.
‘Samuel!’ his mother growled and began to drag him back up the street by his ear. ‘How many times have I told you not to go running off?’
The whole way home, she did not say a word. She was obviously very angry with him and so Samuel did not say anything in return. They both merely sat in silence as Aaron drew them home.
Samuel addressed the task of chopping wood with a certain lack of vigour. He had been chopping for some time and there was not much kindling to show for his efforts. Father and his brothers did it much better, so why couldn’t they come and do it? It wasn’t
Father came striding down from the orchards with a spade over one shoulder and he shook his head when he saw Samuel’s efforts.
‘You should listen to your mother,’ he said, squatting beside his son. The usual healthy shine around his back was strange. It looked different. ‘She only wants the best for you,’ Father continued, heedless of his son’s examinations.
‘Did you hurt your back?’ Samuel asked.
‘I hurt it badly a long time ago and it sometimes gives me trouble, today more than usual. Does it look hurt?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Samuel replied. ‘But not too bad. Not as bad as Jason was.’
His father laughed. ‘That’s good, because Jason was very sick, indeed, but now I think he’s almost better.’
Samuel nodded in agreement.
Father smiled and stood and then gave Samuel a firm pat on the shoulder. He lifted his spade back onto his shoulder and continued past the house towards the river, rubbing his back absent-mindedly with one hand. Before his father had even disappeared, Samuel decided his tiny pile of kindling was quite sufficient for his mother’s needs and wandered off to play amid the apple trees in the warm afternoon sun.
The next day, Jason finally rose from his bed for the first time in several days. Despite his weakness, he insisted on accompanying Father into the orchards to help and Mother had finally agreed after he had promised not to do anything more than sit and watch. At least the fresh air would do him some good. Samuel was delighted that Jason was almost better, for while his mother had been busy caring for Jason, he had been burdened with all the extra chores. When Jason was fully better, Samuel would be free to explore and play games and have adventures as before.
It was particularly fine later that afternoon and, as Samuel was engaged in the fine art of lining up sticks on the front step and then tipping them successively over the edge, the sound of horseshoes came clip-clopping up the road towards the house. There was a stranger perched atop a frisky young thing of a horse, which was trotting along between the apple trees. Upon spying Samuel, the visitor waved his hand in greeting.
‘Mother!’ Samuel called out. ‘Someone’s here!’ And he ran out to meet the stranger eagerly.
His mother came out after him, patting clouds of pale flour from her hands and apron, for with the others all gone to Tom’s house to help mend their fences, she had busied herself with some baking.
‘Good morning to you, Madam,’ the man hailed as he brought his mount to a stop before them, its flank glossy with sweat. He spoke strangely, deep-voiced, and curling his words as some of the foreign merchants did when they passed through the village. His clothes, once fine, were stained and more than a little dirty, as if he had been wearing them for a few days too many. His mouth was engaged in a constant chewing action and Samuel had no idea what he could have been eating.
‘Good morning to you, too, Good Sir,’ Samuel’s mother replied. ‘What can we do for you?’
The man was grinning. ‘I see you run a fine orchard, but it’s just directions I’m after. Could you kindly put me on my way towards Cotter’s Bend, if it’s at all possible?’ As soon as his words had stopped, his chewing resumed.
‘From which way did you come?’
‘From Lowren, Madam.’ His smile was far too big, seeming to almost reach from ear to ear-and his teeth were awfully yellow. Samuel kept staring up the man, open-mouthed, like a fish splayed out in the markets.
‘Then you go back up to the highway and keep on for a short time that way back towards Stable Waterford, and the road to Cotter’s is shortly after. Just ask further once you get to the village-if you find yourself getting confused.’
The man tipped his hat, still grinning, still chewing, and, turning his snorting mare, started her dancing back up the track. Samuel’s mother promptly lifted her skirts and returned inside to her baking, shaking her head and mumbling to herself. The man, almost out of view, leaned from his saddle and plucked an apple from a nearby branch. He then stopped a moment, and half-turning his mount, he touched his forehead in salute and waved back
