THE MAGICIAN’S HELPER

THE MAGICIAN’S HELPER

A young man at the market place
Who wanted work was taken in
By one who had a wrinkled face
And a long, white beard upon his chin.

Deep in a wood, high in a tower,
The young man worked on, hour by hour-
He dusted books, he polished jars,
And folded up the maps of stars.

For magic was his master’s trade-
The many strange spells that he made
Were written in a great, big book.
The young man longed to take a look.

His master took a trip one day.
“Be sure,” he said, “ while I’m away
To fill the big pot to the brim.”
That was the task he left to him.

“ O dear,” the young man thought, “It’s far
Down all these steps to reach the lake!
And all I have is one small jar
And nothing else that I can take!”

“ I think”, he thought, “ I’ll take this book
Of spells and have a little look.
Now what could help? Now let me see-
This looks like one that’s made for me!”

“ Let’s see- a spell to give a hand;
That is exactly what I’d planned,
Now what I need is one old broom,
And yes, there is one in this room! “

“ Shim, shim shumber, without slumber,
Frim, frim frumber, without number!
Broom take legs and arms, I say,
And obey my will today!”

All at once the young man’s eyes
Opened wide with vast surprise -
For the broom stood up on legs
And grew arms like wooden pegs!

“ Go fetch the water to this spot
And pour it out to fill this pot.
So take this jar at once and make
Your way down to the wide, deep lake.”

At once it went and very soon
It trundled back into the room;
And seven times it came to him
And filled the pot up to the brim.

“ All right, all right, now you can stop.
Thank you, for filling up the pot.
Stop! Stop! Its quite enough today!”
But the broom continued on its way.

Oh yes, the broom just kept ongoing,
And soon the pot was overflowing.
The water poured out on the floor
And even reached right to the door.

The young man searched through every page
To find the spell to stop this stage;
But not one sentence could he find
To make the broom change its set mind.

“ I know,” he thought, “ I’ll grab a saw
And cut the wretched thing in two.
Yes, that should stop it, that’s for sure.
There’s nothing else that I can do.”

So when the broom returned once more
The young man hid behind the door.
And, as the broom came in, he sprang
And knocked it down with one loud bang!

He held it down with all his might,
When what should happen before his sight!
It changed, when it was on the floor,
Back to a normal broom once more.

He grabbed the saw without delay,
And sawed and sawed and sawed away.
“ Why stop at two? I’ll make it sure,
I’ll saw it into forty-four!”

Soon forty-four small bits of broom
Were lying scattered around the room.
“ At last I’ve stopped it in its tracks,
Now I can clean up and relax.”

But what was this? To his surprise
Each bit was growing before his eyes!
And soon each was a proper broom,
Now forty-four were in the room.

Yet worse than this, much worse by far,
Each one sprang up, each had a jar,
And each was walking through the door
Just as the first one had before!

Soon forty-four were coming back
And pouring water everywhere-
On every mat, on every stack
Of books, on every single chair!

“ O Heavens, what shall I do now?
They’ll drown the room; they’ll drown the tower!
What’s this? My master’s back. O please,
Help me to stop this broom disease!”

The old man frowned and raised his staff
And swiftly cut the air in half
And uttered a spell whose mighty power
Shook every stone within the tower!

The brooms were suddenly no more,
The water flowed back to the lake,
And everything was as before
The youth had made his great mistake.

“ I hope this mess did you some good,
Young man,” his master said, “ You should
Not have begun until you knew
How to control what it would do!”