By ROBERT BARR
It was the last day of kindergarten, and Katharine was walking along the sidewalk swinging her book bag, on her way to school. She often looked up the sky and often down to the earth, and often to the right and to the left, thinking about things.
She happened to glance down at her book bag, which she was swinging in her hand. And she noticed a bit of green cloth sticking out of it, like a handkerchief.
“Hmm!” thought Katharine to herself. “I don’t remember any such green cloth in my book bag. I shall have to see what it might be.” And she reached down and plucked it right out.
“Hey!”she heard someone pipe close by. “Gimme my hat!”
She stopped in her tracks. She looked about. But there was no one to be seen.
“Who took my hat?” the little voice objected again. This time Katharine could tell it came from her book bag! And out of the bag popped a little head.
“Hey! Gimme back my hat!” piped the voice a third time. Katharine was so astonished, that she just stood and looked, wide-eyed, as a little creature in the bag, furrowing his brow most anxiously, popped out his head, plucked the little green cap from Katharine’s hand, and put it on his head, pulling it down tight over his ears.
“There!” he said, more calmly. “There’s my hat. Back on my head.” And he looked up at Katharine and smiled.
Finally recovering from her shock, Katharine was able to inquire of the little person, “Who are you? And what are you doing in my book bag?”
“My name is Pwyll Gwynnedd (“Pwill gwin-NETH”--like the th in “this”),” said the little creature, “and I live in your book bag! Didn’t you know you have a magic book bag? And in every magic book bag lives an elf? And I am the elf in yours?” And he added, smiling slyly, “. . . Katharine!”
Now Katharine was surprised beyond surprise. “How did you know my name, Pwyll Gwy . . . Gwynn. . . .”
“Gwynnedd,” said Pwyll, still smiling. “I know everybody’s name. You learn a lot in five hundred years.”
“Are you five hundred?” asked Katharine, scarcely recovering from one astonishment before being plunged into the next.
“Surely,” responded Pwyll. “But that’s nothing. My gramma’s eight hundred twenty-seven. Even my Uncle Maelgwynn . . . But what are you standing here for? You’ll be late for the last day of school! And it’ll be my fault.”
And his smile disappeared as his little brow furrowed again and he began to slip down into Katharine’s book bag.
“Your fault? I’m the one who’s been standing here as time flies by!”
“Yes,” said Pwyll Gwynnedd, popping his head out again with a look of anxiety, “but I’m the one who’s supposed to be watching you and seeing that you look both ways when you cross the street and reminding you not to walk through puddles in your new shoes . . . and hurrying you to school on time! After all, you do have a magic book bag, and in every magic book bag lives an elf, and that’s what magic-book-bag elves are for! Who do you think has seen you safe to kindergarten all this year?”
“My goodness!” Katharine exclaimed. “Well, I’m very glad to meet you, Pwyll” And she held out her hand. Pwyll held out his too, and Katharine and Pwyll Gynnedd shook hands and smiled.
But then Pwyll’s eyes went big and round. “Llewnogoed is taelddno lloring!” he piped all afluster in Elf, “there’s the bell!”
“There’s what bell?” Katharine asked.
“The bell for class! I can hear it in my mind. And we’re still two blocks away!”
With that, Pwyll popped down inside Katharine’s book bag and zipped the zipper and caught his cap in the zipper and unzipped it again (“Gwion ceriden lluff!” he said) and pulled his hat down inside and zipped the zipper quickly shut again.
“And this summer,” came a muffled voice from the bag, “when you’ll not be carrying your book bag, don’t forget you have your Ring and your Hat and your Shoes! Oh, gwilling ty nedyll lluff, I forgot to tell you all about those, oh, Katharine, well, oh, never mind, hurry, hurry!”
And Katharine ran all the way to school.
Imagine her surprise when she found, on top of her books, a green cap like Pwyll’s; a ring set with clearest crystal; and a pair of lovely old-fashioned high-buttoned shoes, the like of which she had never seen. Oh, yes, and the Precepts of Pwyll, on an old scroll:
1. When in need of the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth– Rub the Ring of Truth.
2. When in need of a deep thought–Pull on the Thinking Cap.
3. When in need of moving forward very quickly, or downward very small, or upward very tall– Don the Magic Shoes.
4. When in a great deal of trouble suddenly, Call: “Pwyll!” and Pwyll will be there in one eyeblink.
