the list of his many misdeeds.
McMadden lived out his life alone. Something in him broke that day. The bitterness that bred violence in his soul was gone and something near to love prospered there, but not so much as to make good his past mistakes.
And Mandrake, more strange than all the others, had made a likeness of himself in imperishable bronze, exact in every detail. It stood in his house, as large as life, a man of metal that would never age or die. And daily he sat before it; he touched its cold skin and whispered quiet words to it. Thoughts and dreams he did convey, and he bid it prosper and survive when he had gone. And in his madness he bid it dream of him and keep his memory alive.
And one last word about Mankopf. When the men had gone and he and his boy were alone again, he let the child sob into his arms for what seemed like hours. He did nothing but hold him close and repeat to him: “You have a heart of gold. And all will be well.”
And sure enough, as time wore on, that terrible day was lost and winning over came better times, bright blue days that were filled with fascination for the curious things that filled and thronged in the little shop.
And when the boy had gone to bed, Mankopf sat late into the night, busy at his desk with a little box of bright golden springs and cogs and jewels and other things. And piece by piece a thing took shape, a curious musical box it was, of immaculate design, whose body was marked with signs and lines. For Mankopf, in his diligence, had picked up every last broken particle of the curious thing and with a dedication unmatched in any man, had laboured to restore it and bring it back to its former glory.
One evening, as the winter’s cold took hold, old Mankopf lit the stove and he and his boy warmed their hands before the flames. “It’s odd,” he began, “but in my trade, we men who mend and keep alive the things the old world made and treasured, will often say that things will pass from hand to hand until they find the heart that will love them most dearly. A painting or box, or fine oak chest will be bought and sold time and again, until such time as it comes to rest with the person that values it the most.” And with this he took a curious thing from its little box and handed it over to the boy. “This is for you”, he said.
THE END
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