"There is one way," Mr. Wicker said, wheeling about and standing still, "and that is where I need your help." He strode back across the room towards Chris. "This villain, Claggett Chew--for that is what he is, no better--this villain knows me and he knows my power. But if my power were in a boy--a lad he never would suspect--then--" Mr. Wicker put both hands on Chris's shoulders and looked searchingly at him--"then only would we have an opportunity to seize the Jewel Tree. Can you learn what I know?" demanded Mr. Wicker. "Can you learn my magic?" "_Magic?_" Chris stammered. "Those tricks--the fly--and others?" "Yes," said Mr. Wicker quietly. "Many more." "Well," Chris answered after a moment's thought, "I got here, didn't I? I've gone back all these years, so I guess I could." He looked up with a grin. "At least I can try," he said. Mr. Wicker gave Chris's shoulder a little shake of pride and acceptance. "Good lad!" he said. "I know that you can learn. For you it will not be hard." "There's just one thing," Chris said, with puzzlement in his voice. "You say, sir, 'Seize the Tree.' That means just stealing it? Must we do that?" Mr. Wicker looked at Chris and his face was serene and smooth with the great satisfaction of his feelings. "You are the lad for me!" he cried, and Chris felt himself coloring with pleasure at the tone of Mr. Wicker's voice. "I knew it from the first! It _would_ be stealing, boy, but for one thing. When--and heaven willing, if--you reach the Tree, you will break a branch from it and stick it in the ground. It will root itself and grow and thrive, and the Princess will still have delicate jewel flowers for her hair." "And now," he said, "I smell a broiling chicken. Off you go and eat your lunch, and later we shall talk again." Chris went out smiling. CHAPTER 9 In the kitchen, Chris leaned against the corner of the passage and kitchen wall to watch Becky at her tasks. How different from the compact white kitchen they had at home! And yet there was a cosy feeling about the huge room in front of him with its ruddy copper utensils, tub-size wicker basket of vegetables, steaming pots hung over the fire, and the browning row of four chickens on a revolving spit, that gave out a friendliness and welcome modern kitchens did not have. Becky finally paused in her work long enough to glance out from under her hat at Chris. "Now then, me lad! 'Tis not yet time to eat. That young belly of yours takes a bit of filling, and no mistake! Be off now, and do you not go a-bothering Becky for a bit. I will soon call you when all's done." Chris would have liked to go outside and put his hand on the handle of the back door, when a momentary confusion overtook him. He wondered if in going out he would step back into his own time before he had completed the work Mr. Wicker wanted him to do, and suddenly unsure, turned away regretfully. Not knowing where else to go, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.