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"Loud Whistle Long" a story |
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Will Williams poked his fingers in his mouth. Standing on the cobblestones, he sucked in his breath and blew hard. His whistle split the air. Children giggled. Peddlers rubbed their ears.
Will hollered his chant.
“Loud whistle long,
Proud whistle strong.
One farthing
For my course.
Laud your king,
Call your horse.
Well-nigh a song,
Loud whistle long.”
A boy and his father strode across the cobblestones to Will.
“Teach us your whistle,” said the man.
“Two farthings, please, sir,” Will replied.
The man handed Will two farthings.
“Pull your lips in tightly,” said Will to the boy. “Place two fingers of each hand in your mouth, up to the first knuckle. Flatten your tongue and pull it back from your lower teeth. Now blow.”
The boy tried. Nothing happened. He shifted his fingers and blew again. His whistle split the air. “I did it!” he crowed.
Then the father tried. Nothing happened. He shifted his fingers and blew again. Silence. “You cheated me!” he yelled.
“No, sir, you must keep trying,” said Will. “Move your fingers and practice a bit. You will learn.”
The man reddened. “You little troll! How dare you correct me?” Grasping his son’s wrist, the man stomped away.
Will needed new customers. He whistled and called again,
“Loud whistle long,
Proud whistle strong...”
Something fuzzy bumped Will’s hand. He glanced down. The dog stood tall as his waist. She had short fur and floppy ears. Will stroked her head, and she leaned against him.
“What’s this?” Will examined the ribbon circling the dog’s neck. A golden disk hung from the ribbon. Carved on the disk was a flat line above a sprig of berries. “I know this symbol!” exclaimed Will. “It’s Barberry Manor!”
He ruffled the dog’s fur. “You don’t want me, Barbara. I’ve no food and no bed. Let’s take you back to Barberry Manor.”
Will and Barbara set off. Barberry sat far at the edge of town. Along the road, people sold thread and sausages, brooms and pies. Horses whinnied. Dogs yapped. Cats blinked. Barbara sniffed every smell.
Whenever she wandered away, Will poked his fingers in his mouth and blew, loud whistle long. Immediately Barbara bounded back.
By sunset they reached Barberry Manor. High stone walls hid a huge house. Next to the iron gate marched a guard. Beyond the gardens stood a narrow tower.
Soon the gate opened to let a carriage enter. “Now!” whispered Will. He and Barbara trotted beside the carriage. The guard yawned.
Will saw a boy his age playing at bowls. “He’ll know who’s in charge,” Will declared.
The boy spotted them and flung his arms up. “Barbara! You’re back! I missed you!” Dashing to the dog, the boy hugged her. She plopped her front paws on his shoulders.
“I found your dog,” Will said.
Suddenly the guard clamped his hand on Will’s elbow. “Thief! I’ve caught you!”
Will argued. “No! I’m returning her!”
The guard dragged Will toward the tower. “Lying imp! With my own eyes I saw you steal her. How dare you try to sneak her back?” Turning to the other boy, the guard snarled, “Never you interfere, Geoffrey.”
At the tower, the guard prodded Will up two flights of stairs. The top cell was empty and dark, with one tiny window. “You’re here forever,” growled the guard. He slammed the cell door and locked it.
For many days Will lived in the tower. Each morning Geoffrey stood outside the tower door and called to him. “Hello, up there!” Then Will peered out the cell window and they talked.
“How did you know her name was Barbara?” Geoffrey asked.
Will shrugged. “Barbara sounds like Barberry.”
“Aye,” answered Geoffrey. “That’s why I named her so.”
From the tower Will could see the manor gardens. One day a gaggle of guests paraded to the gardens for a party. Gowns and breeches glistened in the sun. The guests twittered and laughed. They ate trifles from gold plates.
Forty-eight dogs frolicked on the lawn. Some of them were manor dogs, some guest dogs. Soon one dog wanted cake. He vaulted onto a table. It crashed to the ground, splattering the cakes. A dozen dogs jostled for the sweets.
The other dogs chased round and round. They knocked over children and cups of punch. The grownups tried to stop the brawl. But the dogs tipped every table. They stuck their sticky paws on every guest.
Will saw Barbara slurping treats. He poked his fingers in his mouth and blew, loud whistle long.
All forty-eight dogs froze. They wriggled their ears. They raced to the tower.
Barbara spied Will in the window. She leaped at the tower, barking joyfully. The other forty-seven dogs sat beneath the window. They looked up at Will. They swished their tails.
The guests followed the dogs to the tower. “Who are you?” they asked Will.
“I returned the Barberrys’ lost dog Barbara,” he replied.
The guests faced Geoffrey. “Is this true?”
Geoffrey nodded. “Aye, it’s true.”
“Then why,” they asked, “is he locked in the tower?”
Will grunted. “Because the guard thinks I stole her.”
The guests summoned the guard. They demanded an explanation.
“I didn’t mean to let her escape,” whimpered the guard. “The manor dogs love to explore. I have a terrible time keeping them home.” Opening the tower, he set Will free.
Will stepped into the sunlight. “If you want your dogs to stay with you,” he said, “whistle like this.” He poked his fingers in his mouth and blew, loud whistle long. The dogs panted and grinned. They edged closer to Will’s feet.
“Where did you learn that?” asked Geoffrey.
“I taught myself,” answered Will. “I give whistling lessons for a farthing.”
Geoffrey cleared his throat. “I never believed you stole Barbara. Would you take care of the manor dogs and make sure they don’t get away? We’ll build you a house and a training field. Your title will be ‘Keeper of the Canines.’ Please?”
“And would you teach us how you whistle,” begged the guests, “so we can call our own dogs? We’ll pay much better than farthings.”
“Aye,” said Will. “If you wish, I will stay.”
He turned to the guard. “And you must learn to whistle first, because you need it most. Pull your lips in tightly. Place two fingers of each hand in your mouth, up to the first knuckle. Flatten your tongue and pull it back from your lower teeth. Now blow.”
The guard blew. Nothing happened. He shifted his fingers and blew again. His whistle split the air.
Will hollered his chant.
“Loud whistle long,
Proud whistle strong.
One farthing
For my course.
Laud your king,
Call your horse.
Well-nigh a song,
Loud whistle long.”
A boy and his father strode across the cobblestones to Will.
“Teach us your whistle,” said the man.
“Two farthings, please, sir,” Will replied.
The man handed Will two farthings.
“Pull your lips in tightly,” said Will to the boy. “Place two fingers of each hand in your mouth, up to the first knuckle. Flatten your tongue and pull it back from your lower teeth. Now blow.”
The boy tried. Nothing happened. He shifted his fingers and blew again. His whistle split the air. “I did it!” he crowed.
Then the father tried. Nothing happened. He shifted his fingers and blew again. Silence. “You cheated me!” he yelled.
“No, sir, you must keep trying,” said Will. “Move your fingers and practice a bit. You will learn.”
The man reddened. “You little troll! How dare you correct me?” Grasping his son’s wrist, the man stomped away.
Will needed new customers. He whistled and called again,
“Loud whistle long,
Proud whistle strong...”
Something fuzzy bumped Will’s hand. He glanced down. The dog stood tall as his waist. She had short fur and floppy ears. Will stroked her head, and she leaned against him.
“What’s this?” Will examined the ribbon circling the dog’s neck. A golden disk hung from the ribbon. Carved on the disk was a flat line above a sprig of berries. “I know this symbol!” exclaimed Will. “It’s Barberry Manor!”
He ruffled the dog’s fur. “You don’t want me, Barbara. I’ve no food and no bed. Let’s take you back to Barberry Manor.”
Will and Barbara set off. Barberry sat far at the edge of town. Along the road, people sold thread and sausages, brooms and pies. Horses whinnied. Dogs yapped. Cats blinked. Barbara sniffed every smell.
Whenever she wandered away, Will poked his fingers in his mouth and blew, loud whistle long. Immediately Barbara bounded back.
By sunset they reached Barberry Manor. High stone walls hid a huge house. Next to the iron gate marched a guard. Beyond the gardens stood a narrow tower.
Soon the gate opened to let a carriage enter. “Now!” whispered Will. He and Barbara trotted beside the carriage. The guard yawned.
Will saw a boy his age playing at bowls. “He’ll know who’s in charge,” Will declared.
The boy spotted them and flung his arms up. “Barbara! You’re back! I missed you!” Dashing to the dog, the boy hugged her. She plopped her front paws on his shoulders.
“I found your dog,” Will said.
Suddenly the guard clamped his hand on Will’s elbow. “Thief! I’ve caught you!”
Will argued. “No! I’m returning her!”
The guard dragged Will toward the tower. “Lying imp! With my own eyes I saw you steal her. How dare you try to sneak her back?” Turning to the other boy, the guard snarled, “Never you interfere, Geoffrey.”
At the tower, the guard prodded Will up two flights of stairs. The top cell was empty and dark, with one tiny window. “You’re here forever,” growled the guard. He slammed the cell door and locked it.
For many days Will lived in the tower. Each morning Geoffrey stood outside the tower door and called to him. “Hello, up there!” Then Will peered out the cell window and they talked.
“How did you know her name was Barbara?” Geoffrey asked.
Will shrugged. “Barbara sounds like Barberry.”
“Aye,” answered Geoffrey. “That’s why I named her so.”
From the tower Will could see the manor gardens. One day a gaggle of guests paraded to the gardens for a party. Gowns and breeches glistened in the sun. The guests twittered and laughed. They ate trifles from gold plates.
Forty-eight dogs frolicked on the lawn. Some of them were manor dogs, some guest dogs. Soon one dog wanted cake. He vaulted onto a table. It crashed to the ground, splattering the cakes. A dozen dogs jostled for the sweets.
The other dogs chased round and round. They knocked over children and cups of punch. The grownups tried to stop the brawl. But the dogs tipped every table. They stuck their sticky paws on every guest.
Will saw Barbara slurping treats. He poked his fingers in his mouth and blew, loud whistle long.
All forty-eight dogs froze. They wriggled their ears. They raced to the tower.
Barbara spied Will in the window. She leaped at the tower, barking joyfully. The other forty-seven dogs sat beneath the window. They looked up at Will. They swished their tails.
The guests followed the dogs to the tower. “Who are you?” they asked Will.
“I returned the Barberrys’ lost dog Barbara,” he replied.
The guests faced Geoffrey. “Is this true?”
Geoffrey nodded. “Aye, it’s true.”
“Then why,” they asked, “is he locked in the tower?”
Will grunted. “Because the guard thinks I stole her.”
The guests summoned the guard. They demanded an explanation.
“I didn’t mean to let her escape,” whimpered the guard. “The manor dogs love to explore. I have a terrible time keeping them home.” Opening the tower, he set Will free.
Will stepped into the sunlight. “If you want your dogs to stay with you,” he said, “whistle like this.” He poked his fingers in his mouth and blew, loud whistle long. The dogs panted and grinned. They edged closer to Will’s feet.
“Where did you learn that?” asked Geoffrey.
“I taught myself,” answered Will. “I give whistling lessons for a farthing.”
Geoffrey cleared his throat. “I never believed you stole Barbara. Would you take care of the manor dogs and make sure they don’t get away? We’ll build you a house and a training field. Your title will be ‘Keeper of the Canines.’ Please?”
“And would you teach us how you whistle,” begged the guests, “so we can call our own dogs? We’ll pay much better than farthings.”
“Aye,” said Will. “If you wish, I will stay.”
He turned to the guard. “And you must learn to whistle first, because you need it most. Pull your lips in tightly. Place two fingers of each hand in your mouth, up to the first knuckle. Flatten your tongue and pull it back from your lower teeth. Now blow.”
The guard blew. Nothing happened. He shifted his fingers and blew again. His whistle split the air.
© Suzanne Werkema