Chapter Twenty Two.

 The Pigs’ Cure.

 

It was not long before our hero recovered from his delirium. Leading, as he had been doing, an abstemious and healthy life, ordinary disease could not long maintain its grasp of him. His superabundant life seemed to cast it off with the ease with which his physical frame was able to cast aside human foes. But he could not thus shake off the leprosy.

 

One of the first things he did on recovering consciousness was to uncover his arm. The fatal spot had increased considerably in size. With something of a shudder he looked round his little hut, endeavouring to remember where he was and to recall recent events. He was alone at the time, and he fancied the fight with the robbers and rescue of the boy must have been all a dream. The name Cormac, however, puzzled him not a little. Many a time before that had he dreamed of vivid scenes and thrilling incidents, but never in his recollection had he dreamt a name!

 

Being thoughtfully disposed, he lay meditating listlessly on this point in that tranquil frame of mind which often accompanies convalescence, and had almost fallen asleep when a slight noise outside awoke him. The curtain-door was lifted, and Cormac, entering, sat quietly down on a block of wood beside him.

 

Bladud became suddenly aware that he had not been dreaming, but he did not move. Through his slightly opened eyelids he watched the lad while he mixed some berries in a cup of water. As he lay thus silently observant, he was deeply impressed with the handsome countenance of his nurse and the graceful movements of his slight figure.

 

Presently the thought of his disease recurred to him—it was seldom, indeed, absent from his mind—and the strict injunctions which he had given to his young companion.

 

“Boy!—boy!” he cried suddenly, with a vigour that caused the boy to start off his seat and almost capsize the cup, “did I not forbid you to enter my hut or to touch me?”

 

At first Cormac looked alarmed, but, seeing that a decided change for the better had taken place in his patient, his brow smoothed and he laughed softly.

 

“How dared you to disobey me?” exclaimed Bladud again in stern tones.

 

“I dared because I saw you were unable to prevent me,” returned the lad, with a quiet smile. “Besides, you were too ill to feed yourself, so, of course, I had to do it for you. Do you suppose I am so ungrateful to the man who saved my life as to stand aside and let him die for want of a helping hand? Come, now, be reasonable and let me give you this drink.” He approached as he spoke.

 

“Keep off!—keep off, I say,” shouted the prince in a voice so resolute that Cormac was fain to obey. “It is bad enough to come into my hut, but you must not touch me!”

 

“Why not?—I have touched you already.”

 

“How! when?”

 

“I have lifted your head many a time to enable you to drink when you could not lift it yourself.”

 

A groan escaped Bladud.

 

“Then it is too late! Look at this,” he cried, suddenly uncovering his arm.

 

“What is that?” asked the boy, with a look of curiosity.

 

“It is—leprosy!”

 

“I am not afraid of leprosy!”

 

“Not afraid of it!” exclaimed the prince, “that may well be, for you have the air of one who fears nothing; but it will kill you for all that, unless the Maker of all defends you, for it is a dread—a terrible—disease that no strength can resist or youth throw off. It undermines the health and eats the flesh off the bones, renders those whom it attacks horrible to look at, and in the end it kills them. But it is possible that you may not yet have caught the infection, poor lad, so you must keep away from me now, and let not a finger touch me henceforth. Your life, I say, may depend on it.”

 

“I will obey you as to that,” replied Cormac, “now that you are beginning to recover, but I must still continue to put food and water within your reach.”

 

“Be it so,” rejoined the prince, turning away with a slight groan, for his excitement not less than the conversation had exhausted him. In a few minutes more he was asleep with an expression of profound anxiety stereotyped on his countenance.

 

It was not long after the fever left him that returning strength enabled Bladud to crawl out of his hut, and soon after that he was able to ramble through the woods in company with Cormac, and with Brownie—that faithful friend who had lain by his master’s side during all his illness. The sparkling river gladdened the eyes, and the bracing air and sunshine strengthened the frame of the prince, so that with the cheerful conversation of Cormac and the gambols of his canine friend he was sometimes led to forget for a time the dark cloud that hung over him.

 

One day he was struck by something in the appearance of his dog, and, sitting down on a bank, he called it to him. After a few minutes’ careful examination he turned to Cormac with a look of deep anxiety.

 

“My boy,” he said, “I verily believe that the hound is smitten with my own complaint. In his faithful kindness he has kept by me until I have infected him.”

 

“That cannot be,” returned Cormac, “for, during my rambles alone, when you were too ill to move, I saw that a great many of the pigs were affected by a skin disease something like that on the dog, and, you know, you could not have infected the pigs, for you have never touched them.”

 

Bladud’s anxiety was not removed but deepened when he heard this, for he called to remembrance the occasion when he had rescued one of the little pigs and carried it for some distance in his arms.

 

“And, do you know,” continued the lad, “I have observed a strange thing. I have seen that many of the pigs, affected with this complaint, have gone down to the place where the hot waters rise, and, after bathing there, have returned all covered with mud, and these pigs seem to have got better of the disease, while many of those which did not go down to the swamp have died.”

 

“That is strange indeed,” returned the prince; “I must see to this, for if these waters cure the pigs, why not the dog?”

 

“Ay,” rejoined Cormac, “and why not the man?”

 

“Because my disease is well known to be incurable.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“We can hardly be sure of anything, not even of killing our mid-day meal,” rejoined the prince. “See, there goes a bird that is big enough to do for both of us. Try your hand.”

 

“That will be but losing an opportunity, for, as you know, I am not a good marksman,” returned the youth, fitting an arrow quickly to his bow nevertheless, and discharging it. Although the bird in question was large and not far off, the arrow missed the mark, but startled the bird so that it took wing. Before it had risen a yard from the ground, however, an arrow from Bladud’s bow transfixed it.

 

That night, after the bird had been eaten, when Brownie was busy with the scraps, and Cormac had retired to his couch in the firewood booth, Bladud lay in his hut unable to sleep because of what he had heard and seen that day. “Hope springs eternal in the human breast”—not less in the olden time than now. At all events it welled up in the breast of the royal outcast with unusual power as he waited anxiously for the first dawn of day.

 

Up to this time, although living within a few miles of it, the prince had not paid more than one or two visits to the Hot Swamp, because birds and other game did not seem to inhabit the place, and the ground was difficult to traverse. He had, of course, speculated a good deal as to the cause of the springs, but had not come to any conclusions more satisfactory than have been arrived at by the scientific minds of modern days. That heat of some sort was the cause applied in one fashion or another to the water so as to make it almost boil he had no manner of doubt, but what caused the heat he could not imagine, and it certainly did not occur to him that the interior of the earth was a lake of fire—the lovely world of vision being a mere crust. At least, if it did, he was never heard to say so.

 

But now he went down to the swamp with a renewed feeling of hope that gave fresh impulse to his heart and elasticity to his tread.

 

Arrived at the place, he observed that numbers of his porcine family were there before him. On seeing him they retreated with indignant grunts—their hasty retreat being accelerated by a few remarks from Brownie.

 

Making his way to what he believed to be the main fountain of the spring, the prince and the dog stood contemplating it for some time. Then the former dipped his hand in, but instantly withdrew it, for he found the water to be unbearably hot. Following its course, however, and testing it as he went along, he soon came to a spot where the temperature was sufficiently cool to render it agreeable. Here, finding a convenient hole big enough to hold him, he stripped and bathed. Brownie, who seemed much interested and enlivened by his master’s proceedings, joined him on invitation, and appeared to enjoy himself greatly. Thereafter they returned home to breakfast and found Cormac already up and roasting venison ribs before the fire.

 

“I thought you were still sound asleep in your hut,” he said in surprise, as they came up, “and I have been doing my best to make little noise, for fear of awaking you. Have you been bathing at the springs? I see the hound’s coat is muddy.”

 

“Thanks for your care, Cormac. Ay, we have indeed had a bath—Brownie and I. You see I have taken your advice, and am trying the pigs’ cure.”

 

“Right, Bladud. Wiser men have learned lessons from pigs.”

 

“Are you not presumptuous, my lad, to suggest that there may be a wiser man than I?”

 

“Truly, no, for taking the advice of a mere stripling like me, is not a sign of wisdom in a man.”

 

“In the present case you are perhaps right, but there are some striplings whose wisdom is sufficient to guide men. However, I will hope that even you, with all your presumption, may be right this time.”

 

“That encourages me to offer additional advice,” retorted the lad with a laugh, “namely, that you should devote your attention to these ribs, for you will find them excellent, and even a full-grown man can hardly fail to know that without food no cure can be effected.”

 

“You are right, my boy. Sit down and set me an example, for youth, not less than age, must be supported.”

 

Without more words they set to work, first throwing a bone to the hound, in order, as Bladud remarked, that they might all start on equal terms.

 

From that day the health of the prince began to mend—slowly but steadily the spot on his arm also began to diminish and to assume a more healthy aspect. Brownie also became convalescent, and much to the joy of Bladud, Cormac showed no symptoms of having caught the disease. Still, as a precaution, they kept studiously apart, and the prince observed—and twitted the boy with the fact—that the more he gained in health, and the less danger there was of infection, the more anxious did he seem to be to keep away from him!

 

Things were in this state when, one evening, they received a visit—which claims a new chapter to itself.