Bill the Minder/The Lost Grocer
THE LOST GROCER
FOR many and many a weary mile the persevering little band had now trudged on without meeting with any adventure worth relating, and every one was longing for the end of their travels, when one lovely evening they came across a good-natured-looking policeman, fast asleep on a stile by the roadside. The tramp, tramp of the army awakened him, and with a gentle smile he got off his perch and walked alongside the King. Charmed with his easy manner, the King jokingly asked him of what he had been dreaming that he smiled so pleasantly. 'Oh, of old times and old friends,' the policeman replied, and then as he walked along he thus related the strangest of experiences:—
'Many years ago it was my happy lot to be the principal policeman of the pleasant little town of Troutpeg, situated, as you know, on the banks of the river Peg, just where it flows into the estuary of the Drip, that here broadens into that well-known landlocked harbour of the same name, and thus finally finds its way to the sea. Nestling amongst its stone-capped hills, the happy place seemed designed by a kind nature as a retreat for all who were blithe and amiable, and such indeed it proved to be, for no more kindly and genial souls than the Troutpegsters could be found. Their simplicity was delightful, though perhaps such as to incline them all the more readily to believe in the wild legends of the country-side. Many were the strange stories told by the shepherds, who tended their flocks on the hills at night, of wild rites, and uncouth dances performed by ghostly beings, in the light of the moon, amidst the ancient circles of Druid stones. Little else, however, was there to disturb the peaceful thoughts of the Troutpegsters.
'The prosperity of the township was so great, and the comfort of each of its inhabitants so well assured that for many years no wickedness of any kind had shown its head, and the life of a policeman in this happy and secluded town was one long summer holiday. To be sure, a little skirmish here and there amongst the lads might make it wise gently to exert my authority, or a little quarrel amongst the girls call forth a slight rebuke, but otherwise my life was one of unbroken peace.
'My dearest friend was the tea-grocer, a man of sad and dreamy ways and quite devoid of guile, who returned my affection with all the ardour of a singularly loving nature. He shared his every joy with me, and when his holidays came round no greater recreation could he find than in my society. Walking by my side as I strolled along my beat, he would confide to me his simple hopes and fears, and in his troubles seek my readily extended sympathy. Such simplicity and inoffensive mien had he as brought to him a rich harvest of respect and love, together with the custom of his fellow-townsmen.
'In time his little store became quite an evening resort for those older townsmen who, no longer able to race about the green when work was done, would perhaps look in to purchase half a pound of coffee or tea, or sugar or salt for the good wife, and stay chatting with the amiable grocer. Then maybe one would look in to buy an ounce of tobacco, or the excellent snuff for which the grocer was far famed, and so on and so on until the shop was full. Seated around on the tea-chests, coffee bins, tobacco boxes and snuff tins, many a pleasant evening have we spent, enlivened by good-natured arguments and discussions on every conceivable subject.
'One sultry summer's afternoon, as I was standing thinking in the cobbled high-street, the quiet of the still warm day disturbed only by the gentle breathing of the shopmen as they dozed amongst their wares, or the distant bleating of the sheep as they browsed in and out the rocks and Druid stones capping the surrounding hills, the comforting remembrance came to me of many a refreshing cup of tea partaken with the grocer in the snug little parlour behind his shop. With hardly a thought of what I was about, I allowed my idle steps gently to stray towards the homely store of my friend. Entering therein, and finding that he was away from home, I sat me down upon the little chair, so thoughtfully provided for weary customers, and with my head supported by the counter, resumed my broken train of thought until, completely overcome by a sense of drowsy comfort, I feel asleep.
'I was suddenly awakened by the church clock striking eight, and found that all the town was wrapped in slumber and that the grocer had not yet returned. Wondering what on earth could keep him away so late, and hoping that no harm had overtaken him, I stiffly arose from my seat, stretched myself, and betook me to my home and bed.
'On the following morning my first thought was for my friend, and on learning that he had not returned during the night, I called in turn on each of his neighbours,—the doctor, the vicar, the solicitor, the postman, and the corn-chandler, and many another equally interested in his movements. Not one, however, had seen him since the previous day, and all showed the liveliest concern and anxiety at his mysterious absence.
'Night followed day, and day again followed night, with no sign of the vanished grocer. Weeks now passed by, and grief took possession of the little town at the loss of one who was missed at every turn. Hoping that even yet he might return, we kept his shop still open for him, and the little birds, encouraged by the silence, flew in and out and nested in the scales and amongst the stores, glutting their fluffy little bodies with the sugar-plums, the currants, the herbs and spices that everywhere abounded. And even the swallows, so much entertainment did they find therein, forgot, as the summer drew to its close, to fly away, preferring much to sleep the winter through in comfort.
'But alas! months, and years and years and years rolled by, and the grocer never returned, and in time little enough thought was given to one who had, at one time, been held in such esteem by all. But we, the older Troutpegsters, still thought at times of our vanished friend, and many were the theories we suggested to account for his disappearance.
'One held that he had been beguiled by gypsies, another that he had been stolen to be exhibited as a rare model of virtue in some distant clime, while others believed that the fairies, envious of our happiness in possessing such a friend, had taken him from our midst; but all agreed that we should have guarded our treasure with greater care.
'One never-to-be-forgotten evening the doctor, the 
AFFECTED BY HIS STORY
solicitor, the vicar, the corn-chandler, and myself (some of us already stricken in years) were seated, as was now our evening custom, upon the rustic bridge that carries the road across the river Peg. The fragrant smoke of our long pipes rising to the evening sky, our conversation, as was now so frequently the case, had drifted from politics, sport, fashions and the latest police intelligence to lovingly-recalled memories of our long-lost friend, and so sad did we become that lumps as large as egg plums rose to our throats, and our eyes brimmed over with tears.
PLUMP INTO THE RIVER WE WENT
long tangled grey hair and shaggy beard, clothed in the most pitiable rags, torn, and held together with straw and odd pieces of string. He passed slowly across the bridge, leaning heavily on his staff, and limped with difficulty towards the town, into which with one accord we followed him.
'Down the cobbled high street he walked until he came to the shop of the vanished grocer into which he turned without any hesitation. Wondering what business could take him there, we all hastened to the door of the shop, and there, with the utmost astonishment, beheld the stranger remove his threadbare coat, and replace it with the grocer's moth-eaten apron that had hung for so long from a peg on the door; then he commenced dusting the shop and putting it straight. As I gazed, my astonishment gave place to the most incredulous amazement when I detected in the old man a fancied likeness to the departed grocer. At last, after closer scrutiny, I was convinced that it was indeed no other than my friend actually returned after all these years, and as he at the same time more easily recognised me, we fell into each other's arms, and who shall describe the extravagance of our joy?
'In a little while, when we had calmed down, we all retired to the little parlour behind the shop, and our good friend brewed us a cup of tea as of old, and after a little gentle persuasion related to us the following strange story of his disappearance:—
'"On that memorable summer afternoon, many years ago, as I was weighing out the sugar into pound and half-pound packets (which, as you may remember, was my rule at that time of day to prepare for the evening trade), a strange old gentleman, clothed in the deepest black from cap to slippers, yet withal possessed of the most snowy ringlets and beard, entered my shop and begged of me some food for his family, assuring me that they were all slowly dying of starvation.
'"Affected by his story, I was making up for him a parcel containing lentils, raisins, dates, figs, sugar, and other goods which I thought might be acceptable, when, to my astonishment, the ungrateful old rascal snatched up a large tin of the finest snuff, which you will remember I used to sell in great quantities, and bolted with it out of the shop.
'"Without a moment's hesitation I divested myself of my apron, and donning my coat, followed him at the greatest speed. Away he ran down the high street towards the bridge, which he very soon crossed, and now along the river bends he sped, with me close at his heels. For miles we ran, even as far as the source of the river Peg, which we doubled and came tearing down the other side. I now perceived that, in spite of his age, he ran almost quicker than I did. Presently into the river he plunged, I following close, and then he retraced his steps towards its source. Once more plump into the river we went, and as I scrambled up the opposite bank I noticed to my dismay that, while I grew more tired and out of breath as we ran, he became brisker and fresher. Discarding his hat, cloak, and slippers, though still holding on to the snuff tin, he now appeared in robes of dazzling white, which, with his hair and long white beard, flowed behind him as he ran, and gradually increased the distance between us.
'"Soon I could perceive that he was making for the hill above the town which, with no difficulty at all, he mounted long before I had reached its foot, and when at last I struggled to the top the old rogue was seated upon one of the Druid stones that here in one great circle crown the hill, smiling, and hugging to himself the while the tin of snuff. On seeing me Followed him at the greatest speed
THERE GREW IN FRONT OP ME A GREAT MOUND
again, he soon jumped down, and I dodged him in and out of the stones for at least three hours by the church clock, and then weary and utterly dejected I sat me down on a stone in the centre of the ring and wept bitterly. Directly beneath me I could see, through my tears, the lights of our little town shine out here and there from the gathering darkness, while over the hills, away to my left, the edge of the full red moon began to show. As higher and higher it climbed the sky, one by one there leapt from the earth beneath each stone an aged Druid all clothed in white, with long waving grey locks and beard, and crowned with garlands of oak leaves, holly, laurels, and mistletoe. When the circle of Druids was quite complete the old rascal who had lured me from my shop, and who now appeared to be their chief, stepped towards me, now far too bewildered and astounded to resist, and solemnly placed upon my brow a wreath of wild violets. Then separately, each of the Druids came forward with some offering which he placed before me, afterwards returning to his place in the circle, so that presently there grew upon the grass in front of me a great mound of vegetables, fruit, flowers, haunches of venison, fowls, hares, rabbits, and young lambs. At length, every Druid having made his offering, their chief handed round the tin of snuff from which each old fellow took a large pinch, and then, linking hands, they danced wildly round me.
'"In utter silence, by the light of the moon, now high in the sky, these solemn rites were performed, and still without a sound they whirled quicker and quicker around me, their feet hardly seeming to touch the ground, and their long loose garments streaming after them as they flew.
'"Presently the distant chime of the church clock striking twelve reached me from the town below and I gradually fell into a trance, as one by one the old Druids sank into the earth beneath the stones.
'"Every day since then until to-day have I passed in complete oblivion, and every night have I awakened to find myself seated on the stone in the centre of the ring of Druids, with all the power of resistance taken from me, compelled to be the object of their weird rites.
'"Last night, however, just as the church clock began to strike twelve, such a rush of memories flooded my brain, and such a longing to see my old home and friends took possession of me, that a 
SNEEZING AND SNEEZING
terrible rage at the cruel tyranny of the Druids had gathered in my bosom before the clock had finished striking the hour. When it was about to strike the last beat, I arose from my seat in the centre of the circle and approaching the wicked old chief, I snatched the snuff tin from his hands and clapped it, snuff and all, right down over his eyes. Strange to say the contents of the tin had not diminished by so much as a single pinch, and such a fit of sneezing seized the old scoundrel that he rolled on the grass in the greatest distress, quite unable to put the usual spell upon me. All the other Druids, with abject terror expressed on their faces, sank at once into the ground. The form of the head Druid, sneezing and sneezing and sneezing, gradually faded away before my eyes, and long after he had completely disappeared the sneezing could still be heard. Eventually this died away, and pulling my clothes together as best I could (for by now they were all in rags), I made the best of my way home."
'Having finished his story the grocer now became very thoughtful, and we all sat round his little room smoking in silence until far into the night, wondering at the strange events he had related. Next day, and for a whole week, great festivities were held to celebrate his return, and the Mayor very willingly resigned his office in favour of one who was held in such esteem. Innumerable presentations were made to him and addresses read to him, yet, in spite of all the honours he received, never did he forget his old friends. Nor was he too proud to serve in his little shop, now enlivened by the songs of the birds he had not the heart to turn away. He spent the remainder of his useful life in the performance of kind deeds and in well-deserved happiness.'