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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17069-0.txt b/17069-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c38e85 --- /dev/null +++ b/17069-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7647 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Great Emergency and Other Tales, by Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: A Great Emergency and Other Tales + +Author: Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing + +Release Date: November 15, 2005 [eBook #17069] +[Most recently updated: October 15, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GREAT EMERGENCY AND OTHER TALES *** + + + + +A GREAT EMERGENCY AND OTHER TALES. + +by + +JULIANA HORATIA EWING + + + + + + + +London: +Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, +Northumberland Avenue, W.C. +Brighton: 129, North Street. +New York: E. & J. B. Young & Co. +[Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee.] + + + + + +DEDICATED TO + +JOHN, + +LORD BISHOP OF FREDERICTON, + +AND TO HIS DEAR WIFE + +MARGARET, + +IN PLEASANT AND GRATEFUL MEMORY OF + +NEW BRUNSWICK, + +BY J.H.E. + + + + +CONTENTS. + +A GREAT EMERGENCY. + +I. Rupert's Lectures—The Old Yellow Leather Book + +II. Henrietta—A Family Chronicle—The School Mimic—My First Fight + +III. School Cricket—Lemon-Kali—The Boys' Bridge—An Unexpected Emergency + +IV. A Doubtful Blessing—A Family Failing—Old Battles—The +Canal-Carrier's Home + +V. The Navy Captain—Seven Parrots in a Fuchsia Tree—The Harbour Lion +and the Silver Chain—The Legless Giants—Down Below—Johnson's Wharf + +VI. S. Philip and S. James—The Monkey-Barge and the Dog—War, Plague, +and Fire—The Dulness of Everyday Life + +VII. We Resolve to Run Away—Scruples—Baby Cecil—I Prepare—I Run Away + +VIII. We Go on Board—The Pie—An Explosion-Mr. Rowe the Barge-Master—The +_White Lion_—Two Letters—We Doubt Mr. Rowe's Good Faith + +IX. A Coasting Voyage—Musk Island—Linnet Flash—Mr. Rowe an Old Tar—The +Dog-Fancier at Home + +X. Locks—We Think of Going on the Tramp—Pyebridge—We Set Sail + +XI. Mr. Rowe on Barge-Women—The River—Nine Elms—A Mysterious +Noise—Rough Quarters—A Cheap Supper—John's Berth—We Make Our Escape—Out +into the World + +XII. Emergencies and Policemen—Fenchurch Street Station—Third Class to +Custom House—A Ship Forest + +XIII. A Dirty Street—A Bad Boy—Shipping and Merchandise—We Stowaway on +Board the 'Atalanta'—A Salt Tear + +XIV. A Glow on the Horizon—A Fantastic Peal—What I Saw when the Roof +Fell In + +XV. Henrietta's Diary—A Great Emergency + +XVI. Mr. Rowe on the Subject—Our Cousin—Weston Gets Into Print—The +Harbour's Mouth—What Lies Beyond + + +A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY. + +I. A Family Failing + +II. Ill-Tempered People and Their Friends—Narrow Escapes—The +Hatchet-Quarrel + +III. Warnings—My Aunt Isobel—Mr. Rampant's Temper, and His Conscience + +IV. Cases of Conscience—Ethics of Ill-Temper + +V. Celestial Fire—I Choose a Text + +VI. Theatrical Properties—I Prepare a Play—Philip Begins to Prepare the +Scenery—A New Friend + +VII. A Quarrel—Bobby is Willing—Exit Philip + +VIII. I Hear from Philip—A New Part Wanted—I Lose My Temper—We All Lose +Our Tempers + +IX. Self-Reproach—Family Discomfort—Out on the Marsh—Victory + + * * * * * + +OUR FIELD + + * * * * * + +MADAM LIBERALITY. + +PART I + +PART II + + + + +A GREAT EMERGENCY. + +CHAPTER I. + +RUPERT'S LECTURES—THE OLD YELLOW LEATHER BOOK. + + +We were very happy—I, Rupert, Henrietta, and Baby Cecil. The only +thing we found fault with in our lives was that there were so few +events in them. + +It was particularly provoking, because we were so well prepared for +events—any events. Rupert prepared us. He had found a fat old book in +the garret, bound in yellow leather, at the end of which were +"Directions how to act with presence of mind in any emergency;" and he +gave lectures out of this in the kitchen garden. + +Rupert was twelve years old. He was the eldest. Then came Henrietta, +then I, and last of all Baby Cecil, who was only four. The day I was +nine years old, Rupert came into the nursery, holding up his handsome +head with the dignified air which became him so well, that I had more +than once tried to put it on myself before the nursery looking-glass, +and said to me, "You are quite old enough now, Charlie, to learn what +to do whatever happens; so every half-holiday, when I am not playing +cricket, I'll teach you presence of mind near the cucumber frame, if +you're punctual. I've put up a bench." + +I thanked him warmly, and the next day he put his head into the +nursery at three o'clock in the afternoon, and said—"The lecture." + +I jumped up, and so did Henrietta. + +"It's not for girls," said Rupert; "women are not expected to do +things when there's danger." + +"_We_ take care of _them_" said I, wondering if my mouth looked like +Rupert's when I spoke, and whether my manner impressed Henrietta as +much as his impressed me. She sat down again and only said, "I stayed +in all Friday afternoon, and worked in bed on Saturday morning to +finish your net." + +"Come along," said Rupert. "You know I'm very much obliged to you for +the net; it's a splendid one." + +"I'll bring a camp-stool if there's not room on the bench," said +Henrietta cheerfully. + +"People never take camp-stools to lectures," said Rupert, and when we +got to the cucumber frame we found that the old plank, which he had +raised on inverted flower-pots, would have held a much larger audience +than he had invited. Opposite to it was a rhubarb-pot, with the round +top of a barrel resting on it. On this stood a glass of water. A +delightful idea thrilled through me, suggested by an imperfect +remembrance of a lecture on chemistry which I had attended. + +"Will there be experiments?" I whispered. + +"I think not," Henrietta replied. "There are glasses of water at the +missionary meetings, and there are no experiments." + +Meanwhile Rupert had been turning over the leaves of the yellow +leather book. To say the truth, I think he was rather nervous; but if +we have a virtue among us it is that of courage; and after dropping +the book twice, and drinking all the water at a draught, he found his +place, and began. + +"_How to act in an emergency_." + +"What's an emergency?" I asked. I was very proud of being taught by +Rupert, and anxious to understand everything as we went along. + +"You shouldn't interrupt," said Rupert, frowning. I am inclined now to +think that he could not answer my question off-hand; for though he +looked cross then, after referring to the book he answered me: "It's a +fire, or drowning, or an apoplectic fit, or anything of that sort." +After which explanation, he hurried on. If what he said next came out +of his own head, or whether he had learned it by heart, I never knew. + +"There is no stronger sign of good-breeding than presence of mind in +an—" + +"—apoplectic fit," I suggested. I was giving the keenest attention, +and Rupert had hesitated, the wind having blown over a leaf too many +of the yellow leather book. + +"An _emergency_," he shouted, when he had found his place. "Now we'll +have one each time. The one for to-day is—How to act in a case of +drowning." + +To speak the strict truth, I would rather not have thought about +drowning. I had my own private horror over a neighbouring mill-dam, +and I had once been very much frightened by a spring-tide at the sea; +but cowardice is not an indulgence for one of my race, so I screwed up +my lips and pricked my ears to learn my duty in the unpleasant +emergency of drowning. + +"It doesn't mean being drowned yourself," Rupert continued, "but what +to do when another person has been drowned." + +The emergency was undoubtedly easier, and I gave a cheerful attention +as Rupert began to question us. + +"Supposing a man had been drowned in the canal, and was brought +ashore, and you were the only people there, what would you do with +him?" + +I was completely nonplussed. "I felt quite sure I could do nothing +with him, he would be so heavy; but I felt equally certain that this +was not the answer which Rupert expected, so I left the question to +Henrietta's readier wit. She knitted her thick eyebrows for some +minutes, partly with perplexity, and partly because of the sunshine +reflected from the cucumber frame, and then said, + +"We should bury him in a vault; Charlie and I _couldn't_ dig a grave +deep enough." + +I admired Henrietta's foresight, but Rupert was furious. + +"How _silly_ you are!" he exclaimed, knocking over the top of the +rhubarb-pot table and the empty glass in his wrath. "Of course I don't +mean a dead man. I mean what would you do to bring a partly drowned +man to life again?" + +"That wasn't what you _said_," cried Henrietta, tossing her head. + +"I let you come to my lecture," grumbled Rupert bitterly, as he +stooped to set his table right, "and this is the way you behave!" + +"I'm very sorry, Rupert dear!" said Henrietta. "Indeed, I only mean to +do my best, and I do like your lecture so very much!" + +"So do I," I cried, "very, very much!" And by a simultaneous impulse +Henrietta and I both clapped our hands vehemently. This restored +Rupert's self-complacency, and he bowed and continued the lecture. +From this we learned that the drowned man should be turned over on his +face to let the canal water run out of his mouth and ears, and that +his wet clothes should be got off, and he should be made dry and warm +as quickly as possible, and placed in a comfortable position, with the +head and shoulders slightly raised. All this seemed quite feasible to +us. Henrietta had dressed and undressed lots of dolls, and I pictured +myself filling a hot-water bottle at the kitchen boiler with an air of +responsibility that should scare all lighter-minded folk. But the +directions for "restoring breathing" troubled our sincere desire to +learn; and this even though Henrietta practised for weeks afterwards +upon me. I represented the drowned man, and she drew my arms above my +head for "_inspiration_," and counted "one, two;" and doubled them and +drove them back for "_expiration_;" but it tickled, and I laughed, and +we could not feel at all sure that it would have made the drowned man +breathe again. + +Meanwhile Rupert went on with the course of lectures, and taught us +how to behave in the event of a fire in the house, an epidemic in the +neighbourhood, a bite from a mad dog, a chase by a mad bull, broken +limbs, runaway horses, a chimney on fire, or a young lady burning to +death. The lectures were not only delightful in themselves, but they +furnished us with a whole set of new games, for Henrietta and I +zealously practised every emergency as far as the nature of things +would allow. Covering our faces with wet cloths to keep off the smoke, +we crept on our hands and knees to rescue a fancy cripple from an +imaginary burning house, because of the current of air which Rupert +told us was to be found near the floor. We fastened Baby Cecil's left +leg to his right by pocket-handkerchiefs at the ankle, and above and +below the knee, pretending that it was broken, and must be kept steady +till we could convey him to the doctor. But for some unexplained +reason Baby Cecil took offence at this game, and I do not think he +could have howled and roared louder under the worst of real compound +fractures. We had done it so skilfully, that we were greatly disgusted +by his unaccommodating spirit, and his obstinate refusal to be put +into the litter we had made out of Henrietta's stilts and a railway +rug. We put the Scotch terrier in instead; but when one end of the +litter gave way and he fell out, we were not sorry that the emergency +was a fancy one, and that no broken limbs were really dependent upon +our well-meant efforts. + +There was one thing about Rupert's lectures which disappointed me. His +emergencies were all things that happened in the daytime. Now I should +not have liked the others to know that I was ever afraid of anything; +but, really and truly, I was sometimes a little frightened—not of +breaking my leg, or a house on fire, or an apoplectic fit, or anything +of that sort, but—of things in the dark. Every half-holiday I hoped +there would be something about what to do with robbers or ghosts, but +there never was. I do not think there can have been any emergencies of +that kind in the yellow leather book. + +On the whole, I fancy Rupert found us satisfactory pupils, for he +never did give up the lectures in a huff, though he sometimes +threatened to do so, when I asked stupid questions, or Henrietta +argued a point. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +HENRIETTA—A FAMILY CHRONICLE—THE SCHOOL MIMIC—MY FIRST FIGHT. + + +Henrietta often argued points, which made Rupert very angry. He said +that even if she were in the right, that had nothing to do with it, +for girls oughtn't to dispute or discuss. And then Henrietta argued +that point too. + +Rupert and Henrietta often squabbled, and always about the same sort +of thing. I am sure he would have been _very_ kind to her if she would +have agreed with him, and done what he wanted. He often told me that +the gentlemen of our family had always been courteous to women, and I +think he would have done anything for Henrietta if it had not been +that she would do everything for herself. + +When we wanted to vex her very much, we used to call her "Monkey," +because we knew she liked to be like a boy. She persuaded Mother to +let her have her boots made like ours, because she said the roads +were so rough and muddy (which they are). And we found two of her +books with her name written in, and she had put "Henry," and Rupert +wrote Etta after it, and "Monkey" after that. So she tore the leaves +out. Her hair was always coming out of curl. It was very dark, and +when it fell into her eyes she used to give her head a peculiar shake +and toss, so that half of it fell the wrong way, and there was a +parting at the side, like our partings. Nothing made Rupert angrier +than this. + +Henrietta was very good at inventing things. Once she invented a +charade quite like a story. Rupert was very much pleased with it, +because he was to act the hero, who was to be a young cavalier of a +very old family—our family. He was to arrive at an inn; Henrietta +made it the real old inn in the middle of the town, and I was the +innkeeper, with Henrietta's pillow to make me fat, and one of Nurse's +clean aprons. Then he was to ask to spend a night in the old Castle, +and Henrietta made that the real Castle, which was about nine miles +off, and which belonged to our cousin, though he never spoke to us. +And a ghost was to appear. The ghost of the ancestor in the miniature +in Mother's bedroom. Henrietta did the ghost in a white sheet; and +with her hair combed, and burnt-cork moustache, she looked so exactly +like the picture that Rupert started when she came in, and stared; +and Mother said he had acted splendidly. + +Henrietta was wonderfully like the picture. Much more like than Rupert +ever was, which rather vexed him, because that ancestor was one of the +very bravest, and his name was Rupert. He was rather vexed, too, when +she rode the pony bare-backed which had kicked him off. But I think +the pony was fonder of Henrietta, which perhaps made it easier for her +to manage it. She used to feed it with bits of bread. It got them out +of her pocket. + +One of the things Henrietta could not do as well as Rupert was +cricket. Rupert was one of the best players in the school. Henrietta +used to want to play with us at home, and she and I did play for a +bit, before breakfast, in the drying ground; but Rupert said, if I +encouraged her in being unladylike, he would not let me come to the +school matches. He said I might take my choice, and play either with +girls or boys, but not with both. But I thought it would be very mean +to leave Henrietta in the lurch. So I told her I would stick by her, +as Rupert had not actually forbidden me. He had given me my choice, +and he always kept his word. But she would not let me. She pretended +that she did not mind; but I know she did, for I could see afterwards +that she had been crying. However, she would not play, and Mother +said she had much rather she did not, as she was so afraid of her +getting hit by the ball. So that settled it, and I was very glad not +to have to give up going to the school matches. + +The school we went to was the old town grammar school. It was a very +famous one; but it was not so expensive as big public schools are, and +I believe this was why we lived in this town after my father's death, +for Mother was not at all rich. + +The grammar school was very large, and there were all sorts of boys +there—some of gentlemen, and tradesmen, and farmers. Some of the boys +were so very dirty, and had such horrid habits out of school, that +when Rupert was thirteen, and I was ten, he called a council at the +beginning of the half, and a lot of the boys formed a committee, and +drew up the code of honour, and we all subscribed to it. + +The code of honour was to forbid a lot of things that had been very +common in the school. Lying, cheating over bargains, telling tales, +bragging, bad language, and what the code called "conduct unbecoming +schoolfellows and gentlemen." There were a lot of rules in it, too, +about clean nails, and shirts, and collars and socks, and things of +that sort. If any boy refused to agree to it, he had to fight with +Thomas Johnson. + +There could not have been a better person than Rupert to make a code +of honour. We have always been taught that honour was the watch-word +of our family—dearer than anything that could be gained or lost, very +much dearer than mere life. The motto of our arms came from an +ancestor who lost the favour of the King by refusing to do something +against his conscience for which he would have been rewarded. It is +"Honour before honours." + +I can just remember the man, with iron-grey hair and gold spectacles, +who came to our house after my father's death. I think he was a +lawyer. He took lots of snuff, so that Henrietta sneezed when he +kissed her, which made her very angry. He put Rupert and me in front +of him, to see which of us was most like my father, and I can recall +the big pinch of snuff he took, and the sound of his voice saying "Be +like your father, boys! He was as good as he was gallant. And there +never lived a more honourable gentleman." + +Every one said the same. We were very proud of it, and always boasted +about our father to the new nursemaids, or any other suitable hearer. +I was a good deal annoyed by one little maid, who when I told her, +over our nursery tea, that my father had been the most honourable of +men, began to cry about her father, who was dead too, and said he was +"just the same; for in the one and twenty years he kept a +public-house, he never put so much as a pinch of salt into the beer, +nor even a gill of water, unless it was in the evening at fair-time, +when the only way to keep the men from fighting was to give them their +liquor so that it could not do them much harm." I was very much +offended by the comparison of _my_ father, who was an officer and a +gentleman of rank, with _her_ father, who was a village publican; but +I should like to say, that I think now that I was wrong and Jane was +right. If her father gave up profit for principle, he _was_ like my +father, and like the ancestor we get the motto from, and like every +other honourable man, of any rank or any trade. + +Every time I boasted in the nursery of my father being so honourable, +I always finished my saying, that that was why he had the word +Honourable before his name, as men in old times used to be called "the +Good" or "the Lion Heart." The nursemaids quite believed it, and I +believed it myself, till the first week I went to school. + +It makes me hot all over to remember what I suffered that week, and +for long, afterwards. But I think it cured me of bragging, which is a +mean ungentlemanly habit, and of telling everybody everything about +myself and my relations, which is very weak-minded. + +The second day I was there, one of the boys came up to me and said, +with a mock ceremony and politeness which unfortunately took me in, +"If I am not mistaken, sir, that esteemed lady, your mother, is an +Honourable?" + +He was nearly five years older than I; his name was Weston; he had a +thin cadaverous face, a very large nose, and a very melancholy +expression. I found out afterwards that he was commonly called "the +clown," and was considered by boys who had been to the London theatres +to surpass the best professional comic actors when he chose to put +forth his powers. I did not know this then. I thought him a little +formal, but particularly courteous in his manner, and not wishing to +be behindhand in politeness, I replied, with as much of his style as I +could assume, "Certainly, sir. But that is because my father was an +Honourable. My father, sir, was the most honourable of men." + +A slight spasm appeared to pass over Weston's face, and then he +continued the conversation in a sadder tone than the subject seemed to +require, but I supposed that this was due to his recalling that my +father was dead. + +I confess that it did not need many leading inquiries to draw from me +such a narrative of my father's valour and high principle, as well as +the noble sentiments and conspicuous bravery which have marked our +family from Saxon times, as I was well accustomed to pour forth for +the edification of our nursemaids. I had not proceeded far, when my +new friend said, "Won't you walk in and take a seat?" It was +recreation time, and the other boys were all out in the playground. I +had no special friend as yet; Rupert had stuck to me all the first +day, and had now left me to find my own level. I had lingered near the +door as we came out, and there Weston had joined me. He now led me +back into the deserted school-room, and we sat down together on an old +black oak locker, at the bottom of the room. + +How well I remember the scene! The dirty floor, the empty benches, the +torn books sprinkled upon the battered desks, the dusty sunshine +streaming in, the white-faced clock on the wall opposite, over which +the hands moved with almost incredible rapidity. But when does time +ever fly so fast as with people who are talking about themselves or +their relations? + +Once the mathematical master passed through the room. He glanced at us +curiously, but Weston's face was inscrutable, and I—tracing some +surprise that I should have secured so old and so fine-mannered a boy +for a friend—held up my head, and went on with my narrative, as +fluently as I could, to show that I had parts which justified Weston +in his preference. + +Tick, tack! went the clock. Click, clack! went my tongue. I fear that +quite half-an-hour must have passed, when a big boy, with an open +face, blue eyes, and closely curling fair hair, burst in. On seeing us +he exclaimed, "Hulloh!" and then stopped, I suspect in obedience to +Weston's eyes, which met his in a brief but expressive gaze. Then +Weston turned to me. + +"Allow me," said he, "to introduce Mr. Thomas Johnson. He bears a very +high character in this school, and it will afford him the keenest +satisfaction to hear an authentic account of such a man as your +esteemed father, whose character should be held up for the imitation +of young gentlemen in every establishment for the education of youth." + +I blushed with pride and somewhat with nervousness as Mr. Thomas +Johnson seated himself on the locker on the other side of me and +begged (with less elegance of expression than my first friend) that I +would "go ahead." + +I did so. But a very few minutes exhausted the patience of my new +hearer. When he had kicked a loose splinter of wood satisfactorily off +the leg of one of the desks he began to look at the clock, which +quickened my pace from my remoter ancestors to what the colonel of the +regiment in which my father was an ensign had said of him. I completed +my narrative at last with the lawyer's remark, and added, "and +everybody says the same. And _that_ is why my father had '_The +Honourable_' before his name, just as—" &c., &c. + +I had no sooner uttered these words than Johnson started from his +seat, and, covering his face with a spotted silk pocket-handkerchief, +rushed precipitately from the school-room. For one brief instant I +fancied I heard him choking with laughter, but when I turned to Weston +he got up too, with a look of deep concern. "Mr. Johnson is taken very +unwell, I fear," said he. "It is a peculiar kind of spasm to which he +is subject. Excuse me!" + +He hurried anxiously after his friend, and I was left alone in the +school-room, into which the other boys shortly began to pour. + +"Have you been all alone, old fellow?" said Rupert kindly; "I hoped +you had picked up a chum." + +"So I have," was my proud reply; "two chums." + +"I hope they're decent fellows," said Rupert. (He had a most pestilent +trick of perpetually playing monitor, to the wet-blanketing of all +good fellowship.) + +"You know best," said I pertly; "it's Weston and Johnson. We've been +together a long time." + +"Weston?" cried Rupert. "I hope to goodness, Charlie, you've not been +playing the fool?" + +"You can ask them," said I, and tossing my head I went to my proper +place. + +For the rest of school-time I wore a lofty and Rupert an anxious +demeanour. Secure on the level of a higher friendship, I was mean +enough to snub the friendly advances of one or two of the younger +boys. + +When we went home at night, I found my mother much more ready than +Rupert to believe that my merits had gained for me the regard of two +of the upper boys. I was exultingly happy. Not a qualm disturbed the +waking dreams in which (after I was in bed) I retold my family tale at +even greater length than before, except that I remembered one or two +incidents, which in the excitement of the hour I had forgotten when in +school. + +I was rather sorry, too, that, bound by the strictest of injunctions +from Rupert and my own promise, I had not been able, ever so casually, +to make my new friends aware that among my other advantages was that +of being first cousin to a peer, the very one who lived at the Castle. +The Castle was a show place, and I knew that many of my schoolfellows +were glad enough to take their friends and go themselves to be shown +by the housekeeper the pictures of _my_ ancestors. On this point they +certainly had an advantage over me. I had not seen the pictures. Our +cousin never called on us, and never asked us to the Castle, and of +course we could not go to our father's old home like common +holiday-making townspeople. + +I would rather not say very much about the next day. It must seem +almost incredible that I could have failed to see that Weston and +Johnson were making fun of me; and I confess that it was not for want +of warnings that I had made a fool of myself. + +I had looked forward to going to school with about equal measures of +delight and dread; my pride and ambition longed for this first step in +life, but Rupert had filled me with a wholesome awe of its stringent +etiquette, its withering ridicule, and unsparing severities. However, +in his anxiety to make me modest and circumspect, I think he rather +over-painted the picture, and when I got through the first day without +being bullied, and made such creditable friends on the second, I began +to think that Rupert's experience of school life must be due to some +lack of those social and conversational powers with which I seemed to +be better endowed. And then Weston's acting would have deceived a +wiser head than mine. And the nursemaids had always listened so +willingly! + +As it happened, Rupert was unwell next day and could not go to +school. He was obviously afraid of my going alone, but I had no fears. +My self-satisfaction was not undone till playtime. Then not a boy +dispersed to games. They all gathered round Weston in the playground, +and with a confident air I also made my way to his side. As he turned +his face to me I was undeceived. + +Weston was accustomed—at such times as suited his caprice and his +resources—to give exhibitions of his genius for mimicry to the rest +of the boys. I had heard from Rupert of these entertainments, which +were much admired by the school. They commonly consisted of funny +dialogues between various worthies of the place well known to +everybody, which made Weston's audience able to judge of the accuracy +of his imitations. From the head-master to the idiot who blew the +organ bellows in church, every inhabitant of the place who was gifted +with any recognizable peculiarity was personated at one time or +another by the wit of our school. The favourite imitation of all was +supposed to be one of the Dialogues of Plato, "omitted by some strange +over-sight in the edition which graces the library of our learned and +respected doctor," Weston would say with profound gravity. The +Dialogue was between Dr. Jessop and Silly Billy—the idiot already +referred to—and the apposite Latin quotations of the head-master and +his pompous English, with the inapposite replies of the organ-blower, +given in the local dialect and Billy's own peculiar jabber, were +supposed to form a masterpiece of mimicry. + +Little did I think that my family chronicle was to supply Weston with +a new field for his talents! + +In the midst of my shame, I could hardly help admiring the clever way +in which he had remembered all the details, and twisted them into a +comic ballad, which he had composed overnight, and which he now +recited with a mock heroic air and voice, which made every point tell, +and kept the boys in convulsions of laughter. Not a smile crossed his +long, lantern-jawed face; but Mr. Thomas Johnson made no effort this +time to hide a severe fit of his peculiar spasms in his spotted +handkerchief. + +Sometimes—at night—in the very bottom of my own heart, when the +darkness seemed thick with horrors, and when I could not make up my +mind whether to keep my ears strained to catch the first sound of +anything dreadful, or to pull the blankets over my head and run the +risk of missing it,—in such moments, I say, I have had a passing +private doubt whether I had inherited my share of the family instinct +of courage at a crisis. + +It was therefore a relief to me to feel that in this moment of +despair, when I was only waiting till the boys, being no longer +amused by Weston, should turn to amuse themselves with me, my first +and strongest feeling was a sense of relief that Rupert was not at +school, and that I could bear the fruits of my own folly on my own +shoulders. To be spared his hectoring and lecturing, his hurt pride, +his reproaches, and rage with me, and a probable fight with Weston, in +which he must have been seriously hurt and I should have been +blamed—this was some comfort. + +I had got my lesson well by heart. Fifty thousand preachers in fifty +thousand pulpits could never have taught me so effectually as Weston's +ballad, and the laughter of his audience, that there is less +difference than one would like to believe between the vanity of +bragging of one's self and the vanity of bragging of one's relations. +Also that it is not dignified or discreet to take new acquaintance +into your entire confidence and that even if one is blessed with +friends of such quick sympathy that they really enjoy hearing about +people they have never seen, it is well not to abuse the privilege, +and now and then to allow them an "innings" at describing _their_ +remarkable parents, brothers, sisters, and remoter relatives. + +I realized all this fully as I stood, with burning cheeks and downcast +eyes, at the very elbow of my tormentor. But I am glad to know that I +would not have run away even if I could. My resolution grew +stubborner with every peal of laughter to bear whatever might come +with pluck and good temper. I had been a fool, but I would show that I +was not a coward. + +I was very glad that Rupert's influenza kept him at home for a few +days. I told him briefly that I had been bullied, but that it was my +own fault, and I would rather say no more about it. I begged him to +promise that he would not take up my quarrel in any way, but leave me +to fight it out for myself, which he did. When he came back I think he +regretted his promise. Happily he never heard all the ballad, but the +odd verses which the boys sang about the place put him into a fury. It +was a long time before he forgave me, and I doubt if he ever quite +forgave Weston. + +I held out as well as I could. I made no complaint, and kept my +temper. I must say that Henrietta behaved uncommonly well to me at +this time. + +"After all, you know, Charlie," she said, "you've not done anything +_really wrong or dishonourable_." This was true, and it comforted me. + +Except Henrietta, I really had not a friend; for Rupert was angry with +me, and the holding up at school only made me feel worse at home. + +At last the joke began to die out, and I was getting on very well, but +for one boy, a heavy-looking fellow with a pasty face, who was always +creeping after me, and asking me to tell him about my father. "Johnson +Minor," we called him. He was a younger brother of Thomas Johnson, the +champion of the code of honour. + +He was older than I, but he was below me in class, and though he was +bigger, he was not a very great deal bigger; and if there is any truth +in the stories I have so often told, our family has been used to fight +against odds for many generations. + +I thought about this a good deal, and measured Johnson Minor with my +eye. At last I got Henrietta to wrestle and box with me for practice. + +She was always willing to do anything Tomboyish, indeed she was +generally willing to do anything one wanted, and her biceps were as +hard as mine, for I pinched them to see. We got two pairs of gloves, +much too big for us, and stuffed cotton wool in to make them like +boxing-gloves, as we used to stuff out the buff-coloured waistcoat +when we acted old gentlemen in it. But it did not do much good; for I +did not like to hurt Henrietta when I got a chance, and I do not think +she liked to hurt me. So I took to dumb-belling every morning in my +night-shirt; and at last I determined I would have it out with Johnson +Minor, once for all. + +One afternoon, when the boys had been very friendly with me, and were +going to have me in the paper chase on Saturday, he came up in the old +way and began asking me about my father, quite gravely, like a sort of +poor imitation of Weston. So I turned round and said, "Whatever my +father was—he's dead. Your father's alive, Johnson, and if you +weren't a coward, you wouldn't go on bullying a fellow who hasn't got +one." + +"I'm a coward, am I, Master Honourable?" said Johnson, turning +scarlet, and at the word _Honourable_ I thought he had broken my nose. +I never felt such pain in my life, but it was the only pain I felt on +the occasion; afterwards I was much too much excited, I am sorry that +I cannot remember very clearly about it, which I should have liked to +do, as it was my first fight. + +There was no time to fight properly. I was obliged to do the best I +could. I made a sort of rough plan in my head, that I would cling to +Johnson as long as I was able, and hit him whenever I got a chance. I +did not quite know when he was hitting me from when I was hitting him; +but I know that I held on, and that the ground seemed to be always +hitting us both. + +How long we had been struggling and cuffing and hitting (less +scientifically but more effectually than when Henrietta and I +flourished our stuffed driving gloves, with strict and constant +reference to the woodcuts in a sixpenny Boxer's Guide) before I got +slightly stunned, I do not know; when I came round I was lying in +Weston's arms, and Johnson Minor was weeping bitterly (as he believed) +over my corpse. I fear Weston had not allayed his remorse. + +My great anxiety was to shake hands with Johnson. I never felt more +friendly towards any one. + +He met me in the handsomest way. He apologized for speaking of my +father—"since you don't like it," he added, with an appearance of +sincerity which puzzled me at the time, and which I did not understand +till afterwards—and I apologized for calling him a coward. We were +always good friends, and our fight made an end of the particular chaff +which had caused it. + +It reconciled Rupert to me too, which was my greatest gain. + +Rupert is quite right. There is nothing like being prepared for +emergencies. I suppose, as I was stunned, that Johnson got the best of +it; but judging from his appearance as we washed ourselves at the +school pump, I was now quite prepared for the emergency of having to +defend myself against any boy not twice my own size. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +SCHOOL CRICKET—LEMON-KALI—THE BOYS' BRIDGE—AN UNEXPECTED EMERGENCY. + + +Rupert and I were now the best of good friends again. I cared more for +his favour than for the goodwill of any one else, and kept as much +with him as I could. + +I played cricket with him in the school matches. At least I did not +bat or bowl, but I and some of the junior fellows "fielded out," and +when Rupert was waiting for the ball, I would have given my life to +catch quickly and throw deftly. I used to think no one ever looked so +handsome as he did in his orange-coloured shirt, white flannel +trousers, and the cap which Henrietta made him. He and I had spent all +our savings on that new shirt, for Mother would not get him a new one. +She did not like cricket, or anything at which people could hurt +themselves. But Johnson Major had got a new sky-blue shirt and cap, +and we did not like Rupert to be outdone by him, for Johnson's father +is only a canal-carrier. + +But the shirt emptied our pockets, and made the old cap look worse +than ever. Then Henrietta, without saying a word to us, bought some +orange flannel, and picked the old cap to pieces, and cut out a new +one by it, and made it all herself, with a button, and a stiff peak +and everything, and it really did perfectly, and looked very well in +the sunshine over Rupert's brown face and glossy black hair. + +There always was sunshine when we played cricket. The hotter it was +the better we liked it. We had a bottle of lemon-kali powder on the +ground, and I used to have to make a fizzing-cup in a tin mug for the +other boys. I got the water from the canal. + +Lemon-kali is delicious on a very hot day—so refreshing! But I +sometimes fancied I felt a little sick _afterwards_, if I had had a +great deal. And Bustard (who was always called Bustard-Plaster, +because he was the doctor's son) said it was the dragons out of the +canal water lashing their tails inside us. He had seen them under his +father's microscope. + +The field where we played was on the banks of the canal, the opposite +side to the town. I believe it was school property. At any rate we had +the right of playing there. + +We had to go nearly a quarter of a mile out of the way before there +was a bridge, and it was very vexatious to toil a quarter of a mile +down on one side and a quarter of a mile up on the other to get at a +meadow which lay directly opposite to the school. Weston wrote a +letter about it to the weekly paper asking the town to build us a +bridge. He wrote splendid letters, and this was one of his very best. +He said that if the town council laughed at the notion of building a +bridge for boys, they must remember that the Boys of to-day were the +Men of to-morrow (which we all thought a grand sentence, though +MacDonald, a very accurate-minded fellow, said it would really be some +years before most of us were grown up). Then Weston called us the +Rising Generation, and showed that, in all probability, the Prime +Minister, Lord Chancellor, and Primate of the years to come now played +"all unconscious of their future fame" in the classic fields that lay +beyond the water, and promised that in the hours of our coming +greatness we would look back with gratitude to the munificence of our +native city. He put lots of Latin in, and ended with some Latin verses +of his own, in which he made the Goddess of the Stream plead for us as +her sons. By the stream he meant the canal, for we had no river, which +of course Weston couldn't help. + +How we watched for the next week's paper! But it wasn't in. They never +did put his things in, which mortified him sadly. His greatest +ambition was to get something of his own invention printed. Johnson +said he believed it was because Weston always put something personal +in the things he wrote. He was very sarcastic, and couldn't help +making fun of people. + +It was all the kinder of Weston to do his best about the bridge, +because he was not much of a cricketer himself. He said he was too +short-sighted, and that it suited him better to poke in the hedges for +beetles. He had a splendid collection of insects. Bustard used to say +that he poked with his nose, as if he were an insect himself, and it +was a proboscis but he said too that his father said it was a pleasure +to see Weston make a section of anything, and prepare objects for the +microscope. His fingers were as clever as his tongue. + +It was not long after Rupert got his new shirt and cap that a very sad +thing happened. + +We were playing cricket one day as usual. It was very hot, and I was +mixing some lemon-kali at the canal, and holding up the mug to tempt +Weston over, who was on the other side with his proboscis among the +water-plants collecting larvae. Rupert was batting, and a new fellow, +who bowled much more swiftly than we were accustomed to, had the ball. +I was straining my ears to catch what Weston was shouting to me +between his hands, when I saw him start and point to the cricketers, +and turning round I saw Rupert lying on the ground. + +The ball had hit him on the knee and knocked him down. He struggled +up, and tried to stand; but whilst he was saying it was nothing, and +scolding the other fellows for not going on, he fell down again +fainting from pain. + +"The leg's broken, depend upon it," said Bustard-Plaster; "shall I run +for my father?" + +I thanked him earnestly, for I did not like to leave Rupert myself. +But Johnson Major, who was kicking off his cricketing-shoes, said, +"It'll take an hour to get round. I'll go. Get him some water, and +keep his cap on. The sun is blazing." And before we could speak he was +in the canal and swimming across. + +I went back to the bank for my mug, in which the lemon-kali was +fizzing itself out, and with this I got some water for Rupert, and at +last he opened his eyes. As I was getting the water I saw Weston, +unmooring a boat which was fastened a little farther up. He was +evidently coming to help us to get Rupert across the canal. + +Bustard's words rang in my ears. Perhaps Rupert's leg was broken. +Bustard was a doctor's son, and ought to know. And I have often +thought it must be a very difficult thing _to_ know, for people's legs +don't break right off when they break. My first feeling had been utter +bewilderment and misery, but I collected my senses with the +reflection that if I lost my presence of mind in the first real +emergency that happened to me, my attendance at Rupert's lectures had +been a mockery, and I must be the first fool and coward of my family. +And if I failed in the emergency of a broken leg, how could I ever +hope to conduct myself with credit over a case of drowning? I did feel +thankful that Rupert's welfare did not depend on our pulling his arms +up and down in a particular way; but as Weston was just coming ashore, +I took out my pocket-handkerchief, and kneeling down by Rupert said, +with as good an air as I could assume, "We must tie the broken leg to +the other at the—" + +"_Don't touch it_, you young fool!" shrieked Rupert. And though +directly afterwards he begged my pardon for speaking sharply, he would +not hear of my touching his leg. So they got him into the boat the +best way they could, and Weston sat by him to hold him up, and the boy +who had been bowling pulled them across. I wasn't big enough to do +either, so I had to run round by the bridge. + +I fancy it must be easier to act with presence of mind if the +emergency has happened to somebody who has not been used to order you +about as much as Rupert was used to order me. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A DOUBTFUL BLESSING—A FAMILY FAILING—OLD BATTLES—THE +CANAL-CARRIER'S HOME. + + +When we found that Rupert's leg was not broken, and that it was only a +severe blow on his knee, we were all delighted. But when weeks and +months went by and he was still lame and very pale and always tired, +we began to count for how long past, if the leg had been broken, it +would have been set, and poor Rupert quite well. And when Johnny +Bustard said that legs and arms were often stronger after being broken +than before (if they were properly set, as his father could do them), +we felt that if Gregory would bowl for people's shins he had better +break them at once, and let Mr. Bustard make a good job of them. + +The first part of the time Rupert made light of his accident, and +wanted to go back to school, and was very irritable and impatient. But +as the year went on he left off talking about its being all nonsense, +and though he suffered a great deal he never complained. I used quite +to miss his lecturing me, but he did not even squabble with Henrietta +now. + +This reminds me of a great fault of mine—I am afraid it was a family +failing, though it is a very mean one—I was jealous. If I was +"particular friends" with any one, I liked to have him all to myself; +when Rupert was "out" with me because of the Weston affair, I was +"particular friends" with Henrietta. I did not exactly give her up +when Rupert and I were all right again, but when she complained one +day (I think _she_ was jealous too!) I said, "I'm particular friends +with you _as a sister_ still; but you know Rupert and I are both +boys." + +I did love Rupert very dearly, and I would have given up anything and +everything to serve him and wait upon him now that he was laid up; but +I would rather have had him all to myself, whereas Henrietta was now +his particular friend. It is because I know how meanly I felt about it +that I should like to say how good she was. My Mother was very +delicate, and she had a horror of accidents; but Henrietta stood at +Mr. Bustard's elbow all the time he was examining Rupert's knee, and +after that she always did the fomentations and things. At first Rupert +said she hurt him, and would have Nurse to do it; but Nurse hurt him +so much more, that then he would not let anybody but Henrietta touch +it. And he never called her Monkey now, and I could see how she tried +to please him. One day she came down to breakfast with her hair all +done up in the way that was in fashion then, like a grown-up young +lady, and I think Rupert was pleased, though she looked rather funny +and very red. And so Henrietta nursed him altogether, and used to read +battles to him as he lay on the sofa, and Rupert made plans of the +battles on cardboard, and moved bits of pith out of the elder-tree +about for the troops, and showed Henrietta how if he had had the +moving of them really, and had done it quite differently to the way +the generals did, the other side would have won instead of being +beaten. + +And Mother used to say, "That's just the way your poor father used to +go on! As if it wasn't enough to have to run the risk of being killed +or wounded once or twice yourself, without bothering your head about +battles you've nothing to do with." + +And when he did the battle in which my father fell, and planted the +battery against which he led his men for the last time, and where he +was struck under the arm, with which he was waving his sword over his +head, Rupert turned whiter than ever, and said, "Good Heavens, +Henrietta! Father _limped_ up to that battery! He led his men for two +hours, after he was wounded in the leg, before he fell—and here I +sit and grumble at a knock from a cricket-ball!" + +Just then Mr. Bustard came in, and when he shook Rupert's hand he kept +his fingers on it, and shook his own head; and he said there was "an +abnormal condition of the pulse," in such awful tones, that I was +afraid it was something that Rupert would die of. But Henrietta +understood better, and she would not let Rupert do that battle any +more. + +Rupert's friends were very kind to him when he was ill, but the +kindest of all was Thomas Johnson. + +Johnson's grandfather was a canal-carrier, and made a good deal of +money, and Johnson's father got the money and went on with the +business. We had a great discussion once in the nursery as to whether +Johnson's father was a gentleman, and Rupert ran down-stairs, and into +the drawing-room, shouting, "Now, Mother! _is_ a carrier a gentleman?" + +And Mother, who was lying on the sofa, said, "Of course not. What +silly things you children do ask! Why can't you amuse yourselves in +the nursery? It is very hard you should come and disturb me for such a +nonsensical question." + +Rupert was always good to Mother, and he shut the drawing-room door +very gently. Then he came rushing up to the nursery to say that Mother +said "Of course not." But Henrietta said, "What did you ask her?" And +when Rupert told her she said, "Of course Mother thought you meant one +of those men who have carts to carry things, with a hood on the top +and a dog underneath." + +Johnson's father and grandfather were not carriers of that kind. They +owned a lot of canal-boats, and one or two big barges, which took all +kinds of things all the way to London. + +Mr. Johnson used to say, "In my father's time men of business lived +near their work both in London and the country. That's why my house is +close to the wharf. I am not ashamed of my trade, and the place is +very comfortable, so I shall stick to it. Tom may move into the town +and give the old house to the foreman when I am gone, if he likes to +play the fine gentleman." + +Tom would be very foolish if he did. It is the dearest old house one +could wish for. It was built of red brick, but the ivy has covered it +so thickly that it is clipped round the old-fashioned windows like a +hedge. The gardens are simply perfect. In summer you can pick as many +flowers and eat as much fruit as you like, and if that is not the use +and beauty of a garden, I do not know what is. + +Johnson's father was very proud of him, and let him have anything he +liked, and in the midsummer holidays Johnson used to bring his +father's trap and take Rupert out for drives, and Mrs. Johnson used +to put meat pies and strawberries in a basket under the seat, so that +it was a kind of picnic, for the old horse had belonged to Mr. +Bustard, and was a capital one for standing still. + +It was partly because of the Johnsons being so kind to Rupert that +Johnson Minor and I became chums at school, and partly because the +fight had made us friendly, and I had no Rupert now, and was rather +jealous of his taking completely to Henrietta, and most of all, I +fancy, because Johnson Minor was determined to be friends with me. He +was a very odd fellow. There was nothing he liked so much as wonderful +stories about people, and I never heard such wonderful stories as he +told himself. When we became friends he told me that he had never +meant to bully me when he asked about my father; he really did want to +hear about his battles and so forth. + +But the utmost I could tell him about my father was nothing to the +tales he told me about his grandfather, the navy captain. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE NAVY CAPTAIN—SEVEN PARROTS IN A FUCHSIA TREE—THE HARBOUR LION +AND THE SILVER CHAIN—THE LEGLESS GIANTS—DOWN BELOW—JOHNSON'S WHARF. + + +The Johnsons were very fond of their father, he was such a good, kind +man; but I think they would have been glad if he had had a profession +instead of being a canal-carrier, and I am sure it pleased them to +think that Mrs. Johnson's father had been a navy captain, and that his +portrait—uniform and all—hung over the horsehair sofa in the +dining-room, near the window where the yellow roses used to come in. + +If I could get the room to myself, I used to kneel on the sofa, on one +of the bolsters, and gaze at the faded little picture till I lost my +balance on the slippery horsehair from the intensity of my interest in +the hero of Johnson Minor's tales. Every time, I think, I expected to +see some change in the expression of the captain's red face, adapting +it better to what, by his grandson's account, his character must have +been. It seemed so odd he should look so wooden after having seen so +much. + +The captain had been a native of South Devon. + +"Raleigh, Drake, my grandfather, and lots of other great sailors were +born in Devonshire," Johnson said. He certainly did brag; but he spoke +so slowly and quietly, that it did not sound as like bragging as it +would have done if he had talked faster, I think. + +The captain had lived at Dartmouth, and of this place Johnson gave me +such descriptions, that to this day the name of Dartmouth has a +romantic sound in my ears, though I know now that all the marvels were +Johnson's own invention, and barely founded upon the real quaintness +of the place, of which he must have heard from his mother. It became +the highest object of my ambition to see the captain's native city. +That there must be people—shopkeepers, for instance, and a man to +keep the post office—who lived there all along, was a fact that I +could not realize sufficiently to envy them. + +Johnson—or Fred, as I used to call him by this time—only exaggerated +the truth about the shrubs that grow in the greenhouse atmosphere of +South Devon, when he talked of the captain's fuchsia trees being as +big as the old willows by the canal wharf; but the parrots must have +been a complete invention. He said the captain had seven. Two green, +two crimson, two blue, and one violet with an orange-coloured beak and +grey lining to his wings; and that they built nests in the fuchsia +trees of sandal-wood shavings, and lined them with the captain's silk +pocket-handkerchiefs. He said that though the parrots stole the +captain's handkerchiefs, they were all very much attached to him; but +they quarrelled among themselves, and swore at each other in seven +dialects of the West Coast of Africa. + +Mrs. Johnson herself once showed me a little print of Dartmouth +harbour, and told me it was supposed that in old times an iron chain +was stretched from rock to rock across its mouth as a means of +defence. And that afternoon Fred told me a splendid story about the +chain, and how it was made of silver, and that each link was worth +twenty pounds, and how at the end where it was fastened with a padlock +every night at sunset, to keep out the French, a lion sat on the ledge +of rock at the harbour's mouth, with the key tied round his neck by a +sea-green ribbon. He had to have a new ribbon on the first Sunday in +every month, Fred said, because his mane dirtied them so fast. A story +which Fred had of his grandfather's single-handed encounter with this +lion on one occasion, when the gallant captain would let a brig in +distress into the harbour after sunset, and the lion would not let him +have the key, raised my opinion of his courage and his humanity to +the highest point. But what he did at home was nothing to the exploits +which Fred recounted of him in foreign lands. + +I fancy Fred must have read some real accounts of South America, the +tropical forests, the wonderful birds and flowers, and the ruins of +those buried cities which have no history; and that on these real +marvels he built up his own romances of the Great Stone City, where +the captain encountered an awful race of giants with no legs, who +carved stones into ornaments with clasp-knives, as the Swiss cut out +pretty things in wood, and cracked the cocoa-nuts with their fingers. +I am sure he invented flowers as he went along when he was telling me +about the forests. He used to look round the garden (which would have +satisfied any one who had not seen or heard of what the captain had +come across) and say in his slow way, "The blue chalice flower was +about the shape of that magnolia, only twice as big, and just the +colour of the gentians in the border, and it had a great white tassel +hanging out like the cactus in the parlour window, and all the leaves +were yellow underneath; and it smelt like rosemary." + +If the captain's experiences in other countries outshone what had +befallen him in his native land, both these paled before the wonders +he had seen, and the emergencies he had been placed in at sea. Fred +told me that his grandfather had a diving-bell of his own on board his +own ship, and the things he saw when he went down in it must have made +his remembrances of the South American forests appear tame by +comparison. + +Once, in the middle of the Pacific, the captain dropped down in his +bell into the midst of a society of sea people who had no hair, but +the backs of their heads were shaped like sou'-wester hats. The front +rim formed one eyebrow for both eyes, and they could move the peak +behind as beavers move their tails, and it helped them to go up and +down in the water. They were not exactly mermaids, Fred said, they had +no particular tail, it all ended in a kind of fringe of seaweed, which +swept after them when they moved, like the train of a lady's dress. +The captain was so delighted with them that he stayed below much +longer than usual; but in an unlucky moment some of the sea people let +the water into the diving-bell, and the captain was nearly drowned. He +did become senseless, but when his body floated, it was picked up and +restored to life by the first mate, who had been cruising, with tears +in his eyes, over the spot in the ship's boat for seven days without +taking anything to eat.—"_He_ was a Dartmouth man, too," said Fred +Johnson. + +"He evidently knew what to do in the emergency of drowning," thought I. + +I feel as if any one who hears of Fred's stories must think he was a +liar. But he really was not. Mr. Johnson was very strict with the boys +in some ways, though he was so good-natured, and Fred had been taught +to think a lie to get himself out of a scrape or anything of that sort +quite as wrong as we should have thought it. But he liked _telling_ +things. I believe he made them up and amused himself with them in his +own head if he had no one to listen. He used to say, "Come and sit in +the kitchen garden this afternoon, and I'll _tell_ you." And whether +he meant me to think them true or not, I certainly did believe in his +stories. + +One thing always struck me as very odd about Fred Johnson. He was very +fond of fruit, and when we sat on the wall and ate the white currants +with pounded sugar in a mug between us, I believe he always ate more +than I did, though he was "telling" all the time, and I had nothing to +do but to listen and eat. + +He certainly talked very slowly, in a dreary, monotonous sort of +voice, which suited his dull, pasty face better than it suited the +subject of his exciting narratives. But I think it seemed to make one +all the more impatient to hear what was coming. A very favourite +place of ours for "telling" was the wharf (Johnson's wharf, as it was +called), where the canal boats came and went, and loaded and unloaded. +We made a "coastguard station" among some old timber in the corner, +and here we used to sit and watch for the boats. + +When a real barge came we generally went over it, for the men knew +Fred, and were very good-natured. The barges seemed more like ships +than the canal boats did. They had masts, and could sail when they got +into the river. Sometimes we went down into the cabin, and peeped into +the little berths with sliding shutter fronts, and the lockers, which +were like a fixed seat running round two sides of the cabin, with lids +opening and showing places to put away things in. I was not famous in +the nursery for keeping my things very tidy, but I fancied I could +stow my clothes away to perfection in a locker, and almost cook my own +dinner with the bargeman's little stove. + +And every time a barge was loaded up, and the bargemaster took his +post at the rudder, whilst the old horse strained himself to +start—and when the heavy boat swung slowly down the canal and passed +out of sight, I felt more and more sorry to be left behind upon the +wharf. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +S. PHILIP AND S. JAMES—THE MONKEY-BARGE AND THE DOG—WAR, PLAGUE, AND +FIRE—THE DULNESS OF EVERYDAY LIFE. + + +There were two churches in our town. Not that the town was so very +large or the churches so very small as to make this needful. On the +contrary, the town was of modest size, with no traces of having ever +been much bigger, and the churches were very large and very handsome. +That is, they were fine outside, and might have been very imposing +within but for the painted galleries which blocked up the arches above +and the tall pews which dwarfed the majestic rows of pillars below. +They were not more than a quarter of a mile apart. One was dedicated +to S. Philip and the other to S. James, and they were commonly called +"the brother churches." In the tower of each hung a peal of eight +bells. + +One clergyman served both the brother churches, and the services were +at S. Philip one week and at S. James the next. We were so accustomed +to this that it never struck us as odd. What did seem odd, and perhaps +a little dull, was that people in other places should have to go to +the same church week after week. + +There was only one day in the year on which both the peals of bells +were heard, the Feast of SS. Philip and James, which is also May Day. +Then there was morning prayer at S. Philip and evening prayer at S. +James, and the bells rang changes and cannons, and went on ringing by +turns all the evening, the bell-ringers being escorted from one church +to another with May garlands and a sort of triumphal procession. The +churches were decorated, and flags put out on the towers, and +everybody in the congregation was expected to carry a nosegay. + +Rupert and I and Henrietta and Baby Cecil and the servants always +enjoyed this thoroughly, and thought the churches delightfully sweet; +but my Mother said the smell of the cottage nosegays and the noise of +the bells made her feel very ill, which was a pity. + +Fred Johnson once told me some wonderful stories about the brother +churches. We had gone over the canal to a field not far from the +cricketing field, but it was a sort of water-meadow, and lower down, +and opposite to the churches, which made us think of them. We had +gone there partly to get yellow flags to try and grow them in tubs as +Johnson's father did water-lilies, and partly to watch for a +canal-boat or "monkey-barge," which was expected up with coal. Fred +knew the old man, and we hoped to go home as part of the cargo if the +old man's dog would let us; but he was a rough terrier, with an +exaggerated conscience, and strongly objected to anything coming on +board the boat which was not in the bill of lading. He could not even +reconcile himself to the fact that people not connected with barges +took the liberty of walking on the canal banks. + +"He've been a-going up and down with me these fifteen year," said the +old man, "and he barks at 'em still." He barked so fiercely at us that +Fred would not go on board, to my great annoyance, for I never feel +afraid of dogs, and was quite sure I could see a disposition to wag +about the stumpy tail of the terrier in spite of his "bowfs." + +I may have been wrong, but once or twice I fancied that Fred shirked +adventures which seemed nothing to me; and I felt this to be very odd, +because I am not as brave as I should like to be, and Fred is grandson +to the navy captain. + +I think Fred wanted to make me forget the canal-boat, which I followed +with regretful eyes, for he began talking about the churches. + +"It must be splendid to hear all sixteen bells going at once," said +he. + +"They never do," said I, unmollified. + +"They do—_sometimes_," said Fred slowly, and so impressively that I +was constrained to ask "When?" + +"In great emergencies," was Fred's reply, which startled me. But we +had only lived in the place for part of our lives, and Fred's family +belonged to it, so he must know better than I. + +"Is it to call the doctor?" I asked, thinking of drowning, and broken +bones, and apoplectic fits. + +"It's to call everybody," said Fred; "that is in time of war, when the +town is in danger. And when the Great Plague was here, S. Philip and +S. James both tolled all day long with their bells muffled. But when +there's a fire they ring backwards, as witches say prayers, you know." + +War and the plague had not been here for a very long time, and there +had been no fire in the town in my remembrance; but Fred said that +awful calamities of the kind had happened within the memory of man, +when the town was still built in great part of wood, and that one +night, during a high gale, the whole place, except a few houses, had +been destroyed by fire. After this the streets were rebuilt of stone +and bricks. + +These new tales which Fred told me, of places I knew, had a terrible +interest peculiarly their own. For the captain's dangers were over for +good now, but war, plague, and fire in the town might come again. + +I thought of them by day, and dreamed of them by night. Once I +remember being awakened, as I fancied, by the clanging of the two +peals in discordant unison, and as I opened my eyes a bright light on +the wall convinced me that the town was on fire. Fred's vivid +descriptions rushed to my mind, and I looked out expecting to see S. +Philip and S. James standing up like dark rocks in a sea of dancing +flames, their bells ringing backwards, "as witches say prayers." It +was only when I saw both the towers standing grey and quiet above the +grey and quiet town, and when I found that the light upon the wall +came from the street lamp below, that my head seemed to grow clearer, +and I knew that no bells were ringing, and that those I fancied I +heard were only the prolonged echoes of a bad dream. + +I was very glad that it was so, and I did not exactly wish for war or +the plague to come back; and yet the more I heard of Fred's tales the +more restless I grew, because the days were so dull, and because we +never went anywhere, and nothing ever happened. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +WE RESOLVE TO RUN AWAY—SCRUPLES—BABY CECIL—I PREPARE—I RUN AWAY. + + +I think it was Fred's telling me tales of the navy captain's boyhood +which put it into our heads that the only way for people at our age, +and in our position, to begin a life of adventure is to run away. + +The captain had run away. He ran away from school. But then the school +was one which it made your hair stand on end to hear of. The master +must have been a monster of tyranny, the boys little prodigies of +wickedness and misery, and the food such as would have been rejected +by respectably reared pigs. + +It put his grandson and me at a disadvantage that we had no excuses of +the kind for running away from the grammar school. Dr. Jessop was a +little pompous, but he was sometimes positively kind. There was not +even a cruel usher. I was no dunce, nor was Fred—though he was below +me in class—so that we had not even a grievance in connection with +our lessons. This made me feel as if there would be something mean +and almost dishonourable in running away from school. "I think it +would not be fair to the Doctor," said I; "it would look as if he had +driven us to it, and he hasn't. We had better wait till the holidays." + +Fred seemed more willing to wait than I had expected; but he planned +what we were to do when we did go as vigorously as ever. + +It was not without qualms that I thought of running away from home. My +mother would certainly be greatly alarmed; but then she was greatly +alarmed by so many things to which she afterwards became reconciled! +My conscience reproached me more about Rupert and Henrietta. Not one +of us had longed for "events" and exploits so earnestly as my sister; +and who but Rupert had prepared me for emergencies, not perhaps such +as the captain had had to cope with, but of the kinds recognized by +the yellow leather book? We had been very happy together—Rupert, +Henrietta, Baby Cecil, and I—and we had felt in common the one defect +of our lives that there were no events in them; and now I was going to +begin a life of adventure, to run away and seek my fortune, without +even telling them what I was going to do. + +On the other hand, that old mean twinge of jealousy was one of my +strongest impulses to adventure-seeking, and it urged me to perform my +exploits alone. Some people seem to like dangers and adventures whilst +the dangers are going on; Henrietta always seemed to think that the +pleasantest part; but I confess that I think one of the best parts +must be when they are over and you are enjoying the credit of them. +When the captain's adventures stirred me most I looked forward with a +thrill of anticipation to my return home—modest from a justifiable +pride in my achievements, and so covered with renown by my deeds of +daring that I should play second fiddle in the family no more, and +that Rupert and Henrietta would outbid each other for my "particular" +friendship, and Baby Cecil dog my heels to hear the stories of my +adventures. + +The thought of Baby Cecil was the heaviest pang I felt when I was +dissatisfied with the idea of running away from home. Baby Cecil was +the pet of the house. He had been born after my father's death, and +from the day he was born everybody conspired to make much of him. +Dandy, the Scotch terrier, would renounce a romping ramble with us to +keep watch over Baby Cecil when he was really a baby, and was only +carried for a dull airing in the nursemaid's arms. I can quite +understand Dandy's feelings; for if when one was just preparing for a +paperchase, or anything of that sort, Baby Cecil trotted up and, +flinging himself head first into one's arms, after his usual fashion, +cried, "Baby Cecil 'ants Charlie to tell him a long, long story—_so +much!_" it always ended in one's giving up the race or the scramble, +and devoting one's self as sedately as Dandy to his service. But I +consoled myself with the thought of how Baby Cecil would delight in +me, and what stories I should be able to tell him on my return. + +The worst of running away now-a-days is that railways and telegrams +run faster. I was prepared for any emergency except that of being +found and brought home again. + +Thinking of this brought to my mind one of Fred's tales of the +captain, about how he was pursued by bloodhounds and escaped by +getting into water. Water not only retains no scent, it keeps no +track. I think perhaps this is one reason why boys so often go to sea +when they run away, that no one may be able to follow them. It helped +my decision that we would go to sea when we ran away, Fred and I. +Besides, there was no other road to strange countries, and no other +way of seeing the sea people with the sou'-wester heads. + +Fred did not seem to have any scruples about leaving his home, which +made me feel how much braver he must be than I. But his head was so +full of the plans he made for us, and the lists he drew up of natural +products of the earth in various places on which we could live without +paying for our living, that he neglected his school-work, and got into +scrapes about it. This distressed me very much, for I was working my +very best that half on purpose that no one might say that we ran away +from our lessons, but that it might be understood that we had gone +solely in search of adventure, like sea-captains or any other grown-up +travellers. + +All Fred's tales now began with the word "suppose." They were not +stories of what had happened to his grandfather, but of what might +happen to us. The half-holiday that Mr. Johnson's hay was carted we +sat behind the farthest haycock all the afternoon with an old atlas on +our knees, and Fred "supposed" till my brain whirled to think of all +that was coming on us. "Suppose we get on board a vessel bound for +Singapore, and hide behind some old casks—" he would say, coasting +strange continents with his stumpy little forefinger, as recklessly as +the captain himself; on which of course I asked, "What is Singapore +like?" which enabled Fred to close the atlas and lie back among the +hay and say whatever he could think of and I could believe. + +Meanwhile we saved up our pocket-money and put it in a canvas bag, as +being sailor-like. Most of the money was Fred's, but he was very +generous about this, and said I was to take care of it as I was more +managing than he. And we practised tree-climbing to be ready for the +masts, and ate earth-nuts to learn to live upon roots in case we were +thrown upon a desert island. Of course we did not give up our proper +meals, as we were not obliged to yet, and I sometimes felt rather +doubtful about how we should feel living upon nothing but roots for +breakfast, dinner, and tea. However, I had observed that whenever the +captain was wrecked a barrel of biscuits went ashore soon afterwards, +and I hoped it might always be so in wrecks, for biscuits go a long +way, especially sailors' biscuits, which are large. + +I made a kind of handbook for adventure-seekers, too, in an old +exercise book, showing what might be expected and should be prepared +for in a career like the captain's. I divided it under certain heads: +Hardships, Dangers, Emergencies, Wonders, &c. These were subdivided +again thus: Hardships—I, Hunger; 2, Thirst; 3, Cold; 4, Heat; 5, No +Clothes; and so forth. I got all my information from Fred, and I read +my lists over and over again to get used to the ideas, and to feel +brave. And on the last page I printed in red ink the word "Glory." + +And so the half went by and came to an end; and when the old Doctor +gave me my three prizes, and spoke of what he hoped I would do next +half, my blushes were not solely from modest pride. + +The first step of our runaway travels had been decided upon long ago. +We were to go by barge to London. "And from London you can go +anywhere," Fred said. + +The day after the holidays began I saw a canal-boat lading at the +wharf, and finding she was bound for London I told Fred of it. But he +said we had better wait for a barge, and that there would be one on +Thursday. "Or if you don't think you can be ready by then, we can wait +for the next," he added. He seemed quite willing to wait, but +(remembering that the captain's preparations for his longest voyage +had only taken him eighteen and a half minutes by the chronometer, +which was afterwards damaged in the diving-bell accident, and which I +had seen with my own eyes, in confirmation of the story) I said I +should be ready any time at half-an-hour's notice, and Thursday was +fixed as the day of our departure. + +To facilitate matters it was decided that Fred should invite me to +spend Wednesday with him, and to stay all night, for the barge was to +start at half-past six o'clock on Thursday morning. + +I was very busy on Wednesday. I wrote a letter to my mother in which I +hoped I made it quite clear that ambition and not discontent was +leading me to run away. I also made a will, dividing my things fairly +between Rupert, Henrietta, and Baby Cecil, in case I should be drowned +at sea. My knife, my prayer-book, the ball of string belonging to my +kite, and my little tool-box I took away with me. I also took the +match-box from the writing-table, but I told Mother of it in the +letter. The captain used to light his fires by rubbing sticks +together, but I had tried it, and thought matches would be much +better, at any rate to begin with. + +Rupert was lying under the crab-tree, and Henrietta was reading to +him, when I went away. Rupert was getting much stronger; he could walk +with a stick, and was going back to school next half. I felt a very +unreasonable vexation because they seemed quite cheerful. But as I was +leaving the garden to go over the fields, Baby Cecil came running +after me, with his wooden spade in one hand and a plant of chick weed +in the other, crying: "Charlie, dear! Come and tell Baby Cecil a +story." I kissed him, and tied his hat on, which had come off as he +ran. + +"Not now, Baby," I said; "I am going out now, and you are gardening." + +"I don't want to garden," he pleaded. "Where are you going? Take me +with you." + +"I am going to Fred Johnson's," I said bravely. + +Baby Cecil was a very good child, though he was so much petted. He +gave a sigh of disappointment, but only said very gravely, "Will you +promise, _onyer-onner_, to tell me one when you come back?" + +"I promise to tell you lots _when I come back_, on my honour," was my +answer. + +I had to skirt the garden-hedge for a yard or two before turning off +across the meadow. In a few minutes I heard a voice on the other side. +Baby Cecil had run down the inside, and was poking his face through a +hole, and kissing both hands to me. There came into my head a wonder +whether his face would be much changed next time I saw it. I little +guessed when and how that would be. But when he cried, "Come back +_very soon_, Charlie dear," my imperfect valour utterly gave way, and +hanging my head I ran, with hot tears pouring over my face, all the +way to Johnson's wharf. + +When Fred saw my face he offered to give up the idea if I felt +faint-hearted about it. Nothing that he could have said would have +dried my tears so soon. Every spark of pride in me blazed up to reject +the thought of turning craven now. Besides, I longed for a life of +adventure most sincerely; and I was soon quite happy again in the +excitement of being so near to what I had longed for. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +WE GO ON BOARD—THE PIE—AN EXPLOSION—MR. ROWE THE BARGE-MASTER—THE +'WHITE LION'—TWO LETTERS—WE DOUBT MR. ROWE'S GOOD FAITH. + + +The dew was still heavy on the grass when Fred and I crossed the +drying-ground about five o'clock on Thursday morning, and scrambled +through a hedge into our "coastguard" corner on the wharf. We did not +want to be seen by the barge-master till we were too far from home to +be put ashore. + +The freshness of early morning in summer has some quality which seems +to go straight to the heart. I felt intensely happy. There lay the +barge, the sun shining on the clean deck, and from the dewy edges of +the old ropes, and from the barge-master's zinc basin and pail put out +to sweeten in the air. + +"She won't leave us behind this time!" I cried, turning triumphantly +to Fred. + +"Take care of the pie," said Fred. + +It was a meat-pie which he had taken from the larder this morning; +but he had told Mrs. Johnson about it in the letter he had left behind +him; and had explained that we took it instead of the breakfast we +should otherwise have eaten. We felt that earth-nuts might not be +forthcoming on the canal banks, or even on the wharf at Nine Elms when +we reached London. + +At about a quarter to six Johnson's wharf was quite deserted. The +barge-master was having breakfast ashore, and the second man had gone +to the stable. "We had better hide ourselves now," I said. So we crept +out and went on board. We had chosen our hiding-place before. Not in +the cabin, of course, nor among the cargo, where something extra +thrown in at the last moment might smother us if it did not lead to +our discovery, but in the fore part of the boat, in a sort of well or +_hold_, where odd things belonging to the barge itself were stowed +away, and made sheltered nooks into which we could creep out of sight. +Here we found a very convenient corner, and squatted down, with the +pie at our feet, behind a hamper, a box, a coil of rope, a sack of +hay, and a very large ball, crossed four ways with rope, and with a +rope-tail, which puzzled me extremely. + +"It's like a giant tadpole," I whispered to Fred. + +"Don't nudge me," said Fred. "My pockets are full, and it hurts." + +_My_ pockets were far from light. The money-bag was heavily laden +with change—small in value but large in coin. The box of matches was +with it and the knife. String, nails, my prayer-book, a pencil, some +writing-paper, the handbook, and a more useful hammer than the one in +my tool-box filled another pocket. Some gooseberries and a piece of +cake were in my trousers, and I carried the tool-box in my hands. We +each had a change of linen, tied up in a pocket-handkerchief. Fred +would allow of nothing else. He said that when our jackets and +trousers were worn out we must make new clothes out of an old sail. + +Waiting is very dull work. After awhile, however, we heard voices, and +the tramp of the horse, and then the barge-master and Mr. Johnson's +foreman and other men kept coming and going on deck, and for a quarter +of an hour we had as many hairbreadth escapes of discovery as the +captain himself could have had in the circumstances. At last somebody +threw the barge-master a bag of something (fortunately soft) which he +was leaving behind, and which he chucked on to the top of my head. +Then the driver called to his horse, and the barge gave a jerk, which +threw Fred on to the pie, and in a moment more we were gliding slowly +and smoothly down the stream. + +When we were fairly off we ventured to peep out a little, and stretch +our cramped limbs. There was no one on board but the barge-master, +and he was at the other end of the vessel, smoking and minding his +rudder. The driver was walking on the towing-path by the old grey +horse. The motion of the boat was so smooth that we seemed to be lying +still whilst villages and orchards and green banks and osier-beds went +slowly by, as though the world were coming to show itself to us, +instead of our going out to see the world. + +When we passed the town we felt some anxiety for fear we should be +stopped; but there was no one on the bank, and though the towers of S. +Philip and S. James appeared again and again in lessening size as we +looked back, there came at last a bend in the canal, when a high bank +of gorse shut out the distance, and we saw them no more. + +In about an hour, having had no breakfast, we began to speak seriously +of the pie. (I had observed Fred breaking little corners from the +crust with an absent air more than once.) Thinking of the first +subdivision under the word Hardships in my handbook, I said, "I'm +afraid we ought to wait till we are _worse hungry_." + +But Fred said, "Oh no!" And that out adventure-seeking it was quite +impossible to save and plan and divide your meals exactly, as you +could never tell what might turn up. The captain always said, "Take +good luck and bad luck and pot-luck as they come!" So Fred assured me, +and we resolved to abide by the captain's rule. + +"We may have to weigh out our food with a bullet, like Admiral Bligh, +next week," said Fred. + +"So we may," said I. And the thought must have given an extra relish +to the beefsteak and hard-boiled eggs, for I never tasted anything so +good. + +Whether the smell of the pie went aft, or whether something else made +the barge-master turn round and come forward, I do not know; but when +we were encumbered with open clasp-knives, and full mouths, we saw him +bearing down upon us, and in a hasty movement of retreat I lost my +balance, and went backward with a crash upon a tub of potatoes. + +The noise this made was not the worst part of the business. I was +tightly wedged amongst the odds and ends, and the money-bag being +sharply crushed against the match-box, which was by this time well +warmed, the matches exploded in a body, and whilst I was putting as +heroic a face as I could on the pain I was enduring in my right +funny-bone, Fred cried, "Your jacket's smoking. You're on fire!" + +Whether Mr. Rowe, the barge-master, had learnt presence of mind out of +a book, I do not know; but before Fred and I could even think of what +to do in the emergency, my jacket was off, the matches were +overboard, and Mr. Rowe was squeezing the smouldering fire out of my +pocket, rather more deliberately than most men brush their hats. Then, +after civilly holding the jacket for me to put it on again, he took +off his hat, took his handkerchief out of it, and wiped his head, and +replacing both, with his eyes upon us, said, more deliberately still, +"Well, young gentlemen, this is a nice start!" + +It was impossible to resist the feeling of confidence inspired by Mr. +Rowe's manner, his shrewd and stolid appearance, and his promptness in +an emergency. Besides, we were completely at his mercy. We appealed to +it, and told him our plans. We offered him a share of the pie too, +which he accepted with conscious condescension. When the dish was +empty he brought his handkerchief into use once more, and then said, +in a peculiarly oracular manner, "You just look to me, young +gentlemen, and I'll put you in the way of every think." + +The immediate advantage we took of this offer was to ask about +whatever interested us in the landscape constantly passing before our +eyes, or the barge-furniture at our feet. The cord-compressed balls +were shore-fenders, said Mr. Rowe, and were popped over the side when +the barge was likely to grate against the shore, or against another +vessel. + +"Them's osier-beds. They cuts 'em every year or so for basket-work. +Wot's that little bird a-hanging head downwards? It's a titmouse +looking for insects, that is. There's scores on 'em in the osier-beds. +Aye, aye, the yellow lilies is pretty enough, but there's a lake the +other way—a mile or two beyond your father's, Master Fred—where +there's white water-lilies. They're pretty, if you like! It's a rum +thing in spring," continued Mr. Rowe, between puffs of his pipe, "to +see them lilies come up from the bottom of the canal; the leaves +packed as neat as any parcel, and when they git to the top, they turns +down and spreads out on the water as flat as you could spread a cloth +upon a table." + +As a rule, Mr. Rowe could give us no names for the aquatic plants at +which we clutched as we went by, nor for the shells we got out of the +mud; but his eye for a water-rat was like a terrier's. It was the only +thing which seemed to excite him. + +About mid-day we stopped by a village, where Mr. Rowe had business. +The horse was to rest and bait here; and the barge-master told us that +if we had "a shilling or so about" us, we might dine on excellent +bread and cheese at the _White Lion_, or even go so far as poached +eggs and yet more excellent bacon, if our resources allowed of it. We +were not sorry to go ashore. There was absolutely no shelter on the +deck of the barge from the sunshine, which was glaringly reflected by +the water. The inn parlour was low, but it was dark and cool. I felt +doubtful about the luxury even of cheese after that beefsteak-pie but +Fred smacked his lips and ordered eggs and bacon, and I paid for them +out of the canvas-bag. + +As we sat together I said, "I wrote a letter to my mother, Fred. Did +you write to Mrs. Johnson?" + +Fred nodded, and pulled a scrap of dirty paper from his pocket, +saying, "That's the letter; but I made a tidy copy of it afterwards." + +I have said that Fred was below me in class, though he is older; and +he was very bad at spelling. Otherwise the letter did very well, +except for smudges. + + "DEAR MOTHER, + + "Charlie and I are going to run away at least by the time you get + this we have run away but never mind for wen weve seen the wurld + were cumming back we took the pi wich I hope you wont mind as we + had no brekfust and I'll bring back the dish we send our best love + and I've no more to tell you to-day from your affectionate son + FRED." + +I saw Mr. Rowe myself very busy in the bar of the _White Lion_, with a +sheet of paper and an old steel pen, which looked as if the point had +been attenuated to that hair-like fineness by sheer age. He started +at the sight of me, which caused him to drop a very large blot of ink +from the very sharp point of the pen on to his paper. I left him +wiping it up with his handkerchief. But it never struck me that he was +writing a letter on the same subject as Fred and I had been writing +about. He was, however: and Mr. Johnson keeps it tied up with Fred's +to this day. The spelling was of about the same order. + + "MR. JOHNSON. HONERD SIR. + + "i rites in duty bound to acqaint you that the young genlemen is + with me, looking out for Advenchurs and asking your pardon i wish + they may find them as innercent as 2 Babes in the Wood on the + London and Lancingford Canal were they come aboard quite unknown to + me and blowed theirselves up with lucifers the fust go off and + you've no need to trubble yourself sir ill keep my I on them and + bring em safe to hand with return cargo and hoping you'll excuse + the stamp not expecting to have to rite from the fust stoppige your + obedient humble servant + + "SAMUEL ROWE." + +As I have said, we did not suspect that Mr. Rowe had betrayed us by +post; but in the course of the afternoon Fred said to me, "I'll tell +you what, Charlie, I know old Rowe well, and he's up to any trick, +and sure to want to keep in with my father. If we don't take care +he'll take us back with him. And what fools we shall look then!" + +The idea was intolerable; but I warned Fred to carefully avoid +betraying that we suspected him. The captain had had worse enemies to +outwit, and had kept a pirate in good humour for a much longer voyage +by affability and rum. We had no means of clouding Mr. Rowe's +particularly sharp wits with grog, but we resolved to be amiable and +wary, and when we did get to London to look out for the first +opportunity of giving the barge-master the slip. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A COASTING VOYAGE—MUSK ISLAND—LINNET FLASH—MR. ROWE AN OLD TAR—THE +DOG-FANCIER AT HOME. + + +It was a delightful feature of our first voyage—and one which we +could not hope to enjoy so often in voyages to come—that we were +always close to land, and this on both sides. We could touch either +coast without difficulty, and as the barge stopped several times +during the day to rest the horse, Fred and I had more than one chance +of going ashore. + +I hope to have many a voyage yet, and to see stranger people and +places than I saw then, but I hardly hope ever to enjoy myself so much +again. I have long ago found out that Fred's stories of the captain's +adventures were not true stories, and as I have read and learned more +about the world than I knew at that time, I know now that there are +only certain things which one can meet with by land or by sea. But +when Fred and I made our first voyage in emulation of his grandfather +there was no limit to my expectations, or to what we were prepared to +see or experience at every fresh bend of the London and Lancingford +Canal. + +I remember one of Fred's stories about the captain was of his spending +a year and a day on an island called Musk Island, in the Pacific. He +had left the ship, Fred said, to do a little exploring alone in his +gig. Not knowing at that time that the captain's gig is a boat, I was +a good deal puzzled, I remember, to think of Mrs. Johnson's red-faced +father crossing the sea in a gig like the one Mr. Bustard used to go +his professional "rounds" in. And when Fred spoke of his "pulling +himself" I was yet more bewildered by the unavoidable conclusion that +they had no horse on board, and that the gallant and ever-ready +captain went himself between the shafts. The wonder of his getting to +Musk Island in that fashion was, however, eclipsed by the wonders he +found when he did get there. Musk-hedges and bowers ten feet high, +with flowers as large as bindweed blossoms, and ladies with pale gold +hair all dressed in straw-coloured satin, and with such lovely faces +that the captain vowed that no power on earth should move him till he +had learned enough of the language to propose the health of the Musk +Island beauties in a suitable speech after dinner. "And there he would +have lived and died, I believe," Fred would say, "if that first mate, +who saved his life before, had not rescued him by main force, and +taken him back to his ship." + +I am reminded of this story when I think of the island in Linnet Lake, +for we were so deeply charmed by it that we very nearly broke our +voyage, as the captain broke his, to settle on it. + +Mr. Rowe called the lake Linnet Flash. Wherever the canal seemed to +spread out, and then go on again narrow and like a river, the +barge-master called these lakes "flashes" of the canal. There is no +other flash on that canal so large or so beautiful as Linnet Lake, and +in the middle of the lake lies the island. + +It was about three o'clock, the hottest part of a summer's day, and +Fred and I, rather faint with the heat, were sitting on a coil of rope +holding a clean sheet, which Mr. Rowe had brought up from the cabin to +protect our heads and backs from sunstroke. We had refused to take +shelter below, and sat watching the fields and hedges, which seemed to +palpitate in the heat as they went giddily by, and Mr. Rowe, who stood +quite steady, conversing coolly with the driver. The driver had been +on board for the last hour, the way being clear, and the old horse +quite able to take care of itself and us, and he and the barge-master +had pocket-handkerchiefs under their hats like the sou'-wester flaps +of the captain's sea-friends. Fred had dropped his end of the sheet +to fall asleep, and I was protecting us both, when the driver bawled +some directions to the horse in their common language, and the +barge-master said, "Here's a bit of shade for you, Master Fred;" and +we roused up and found ourselves gliding under the lee of an island +covered with trees. + +"Oh, _do_ stop here!" we both cried. + +"Well, I don't mind," said Mr. Rowe, removing his hat, and mopping +himself with his very useful pocket-handkerchief. "Jem, there's a bit +of grass there, let her have a mouthful." + +"I thought you'd like this," he continued; "there ain't a prettier bit +between here and Pyebridge." + +It was so lovely, that the same idea seized both Fred and me: Why not +settle here, at least for a time? It was an uninhabited island, only +waiting to be claimed by some adventurous navigator, and obviously +fertile. The prospect of blackberries on the mainland was particularly +fine, and how they would ripen in this blazing sun! Birds sang in the +trees above; fish leaping after flies broke the still surface of the +water with a musical splash below; and beyond a doubt there must be +the largest and the sweetest of earth-nuts on the island, easy to get +out of the deep beds of untouched leaf-mould. And when Mr. Rowe cried +"Look!" and we saw a water-fowl scud across the lake, leaving a sharp +trail like a line of light behind her, we felt that we might spend all +our savings in getting to the Pacific Ocean, and not find when we got +there a place which offered more natural resources to the desert +islander. + +If the barge-master would have gone ashore on the mainland out of the +way, and if we could have got ashore on the island without help, we +should not have confided our plans to so doubtful a friend. As it was, +we were obliged to tell Mr. Rowe that we proposed to found a +settlement in Linnet Lake, and he was completely opposed to the idea. + +It was only when he said (with that air of reserved and funded +knowledge which gave such unfathomable depth to his irony, and made +his sayings so oracular)—"There's very different places in the world +to Linnet Flash"—that we began to be ashamed of our hasty enthusiasm, +and to think that it would be a pity to stop so short in our +adventurous career. + +So we decided to go on; but the masterly way in which Mr. Rowe spoke +of the world made me think he must have seen a good deal of it, and +when we had looked our last upon the island, and had crept with +lowered mast under an old brick bridge where young ferns hung down +from the archway, and when we were once more travelling between flat +banks and coppices that gave us no shelter, I said to the +barge-master—"Have you ever been at sea, Mr. Rowe?" + +"Seven_teen_ year in the Royal Navy," said Mr. Rowe, with a strong +emphasis upon _teen_, as if he feared we might do him the injustice of +thinking he had only served his Queen and country for seven. + +For the next two hours Fred and I sat, indifferent alike to the +sunshine and the shore, in rapt attention to Mr. Rowe's narrative of +his experiences at sea under the flag that has + + "Braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze." + +I believe Fred enjoyed them simply as stories, but they fanned in my +heart that restless fever for which sea-breezes are the only cure. I +think Mr. Rowe got excited himself as he recalled old times. And when +he began to bawl sea-songs with a voice like an Atlantic gale, and +when he vowed in cadence + + "A sailor's life is the life for me," + +I felt that it was the life for me also, and expressed myself so +strongly to that effect that Mr. Rowe became alarmed for the +consequences of his indiscretion, and thenceforward told us +sea-stories with the obvious and quite futile intention of disgusting +me with what I already looked upon as my profession. + +But the barge-master's rapid change of tactics convinced me more and +more that we could not safely rely on him to help us in our plans. + +About five o'clock he made tea on board, and boiled the water on the +little stove in the cabin. I was very anxious to help, and it was I +who literally made the tea, whilst Mr. Rowe's steadier hand cut thick +slices of bread-and-butter from a large loaf. There was only one cup +and saucer. Fred and I shared the cup, and the barge-master took the +saucer. By preference, he said, as the tea cooled quicker. + +The driver had tea after we returned to the deck and could attend to +the horse and boat. + +Except the island in Linnet Lake, the most entertaining events of the +first day of our voyage were our passing villages or detached houses +on the canal banks. + +Of the latter by far the most interesting was that of a dog-fancier, +from whose residence melodious howls, in the dog-dialect of every +tribe deserving to be represented in so choice a company, were wafted +up the stream, and met our ears before our eyes beheld the +landing-stage of the establishment, where the dog-fancier and some of +his dogs were lounging in the cool of the evening, and glad to see the +barge. + +The fancier knew Mr. Rowe, and refreshed him (and us) with shandy-gaff +in horn tumblers. Some of the dogs who did not, barked incessantly at +us, wagging their tails at the same time, however, as if they had some +doubts of the correctness of their judgment in the matter. One very +small, very white, and very fluffy toy-dog, with a dove-coloured +ribbon, was—no doubt—incurably ill-tempered and inhospitable; but a +large brindled bull-dog, trying politely but vainly to hide his teeth +and tongue, wagged what the fancier had left him of a tail, and +dribbled with the pleasure of making our acquaintance, after the wont +of his benevolent and much-maligned family. I have since felt pretty +certain that Mr. Rowe gave his friend a sketch of our prospects and +intentions in the same spirit in which he had written to Mr. Johnson, +and I distinctly overheard the dog-fancier make some reply, in which +the words "hoffer a reward" were audible. But the barge-master shook +his head at suggestions probably drawn from his friend's professional +traditions, though the fancier told him some very good story about the +ill-tempered toy-dog, to which he referred with such violent jerks of +the head as threatened to throw his fur cap on to that of the brindled +gentleman who sat dripping and smiling at his feet. + +When Mr. Rowe began to tell him something good in return, and in spite +of my utmost endeavours not to hear anything, the words "Linnet Flash" +became audible, I blushed to hear the fancier choking over his +shandy-gaff with laughter, and I feared at our project for settling on +the island. + +The interview was now at an end, but as Mr. Rowe stepped briskly on +board, the fur cap nodded to the forehatch, where Fred and I were +sitting on coiled ropes, and the fancier said very knowingly, "The +better the breed the gamier the beast." + +He patted the bull-dog as he said it, and the bull-dog kissed his +dirty hand. + +"Hup to hanythink," were Mr. Rowe's parting words, as he went aft, and +the driver called to his horse. + +He may have referred to the bull-dog, but I had some doubts about it, +even then. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +LOCKS—WE THINK OF GOING ON THE TRAMP—PYEBRIDGE—WE SET SAIL. + + +During our first day's voyage we passed two locks. There was one not +very far from home, and Fred and I had more than once been to see a +barge pass it, sitting on the bank whilst the boat gradually sank to +the level of the water below. + +It was great fun being on board whilst the barge went down and down, +though I must say we did not feel anything peculiar, we sank so +gradually. + +"Just fancy if it was a hole in the ship's bottom," said Fred, "and we +were settling down with all on board. Some ships do, and are never +heard of again." + +We amused ourselves as we went along by guessing beforehand on which +shore the next house or hamlet would appear. We betted shillings on +the result, but neither of us won or lost, for however often the +shillings changed hands, they remained in the canvas bag. + +Perhaps places look more as if events happened in them if you do not +know them well. I noticed that even our town looked more interesting +from the water than I had ever seen it look, so I dare say to +strangers it does not appear so dull as it is. All the villages on the +canal banks looked interesting. We passed one soon after tea, where +the horse rested under some old willows by the towing-path, and we and +Mr. Rowe went ashore. Whilst the barge-master delivered a parcel to a +friend, Fred and I strolled into a lane which led us past cottages +with very gay gardens to the church. The church was not at all like S. +Philip or S. James. It was squat, and ivy-covered, and carefully +restored; and it stood in a garden where the flowers almost hid the +graves. Just outside the lych-gate, four lanes met, and all of them +were so shady and inviting, and it was so impossible to say what they +might not lead to, that I said to Fred, + +"You said the only way to run away besides going to sea was to +_tramp_. It sounds rather low, but we needn't beg, and I think walking +would be nice for a change, and I don't believe it would be much +slower than the barge, and it would be so much shadier. And we could +get off from Old Rowe at once, and hide if we heard anybody coming. I +wonder how far it is to London now?" + +"Not far, I dare say," said Fred, who was pleased by the idea; "and if +we keep on we must get there in time. And we can get things to eat in +the hedges, which we can't do on the barge." + +At this moment there passed a boy, to whom I said, "Which is the way +to London, if you please?" for there were four roads to choose from. + +"What d' say?" said the boy. + +I repeated my question. + +"Dunno," he replied, trying to cram half his hand into his mouth. The +captain would have thought him very stupid if he had met him as a +native in one of the islands of the Pacific, I am sure; but I followed +him, and begged him to try and think if he had not heard of people +going to London. + +At last his face brightened. He was looking over my head down the +lane. "There's a man a-cummin yonder's always a-going to Lunnon," said +he. Visions of a companion on our tramp—also perhaps in search of +adventures—made me look briskly round. "Him with the pipe, as b'longs +to the barge," the boy exclaimed. + +It was indeed Mr. Rowe come to look for us, and we had to try and seem +glad to see him, and to go on board once more. + +Towards evening the canal banks became dotted with fishers of all ages +and degrees, fishing very patiently, though they did not seem to catch +much. + +Soon after dark we reached the town of Pyebridge. + +When the barge lay-to for the night, and the driver was taking the +horse away to the stable, Mr. Rowe confronted us, in his firmest +manner, with the question, "And where are you going to sleep, young +gentlemen?" + +"Where are _you_ going to sleep, Mr. Rowe?" said I, after a thoughtful +pause. + +"_I_ sleeps below, but the captain's cabin is guv up to no one—unless +it be the Queen," replied the barge-master, humorously but decidedly. + +"We should like to sleep on deck," said I. + +But Mr. Rowe would not hear of it, on account of various dreadful +diseases which he assured us would be contracted by sleeping "in the +damps of the water," "the dews of the _h_air," and "the rays of the +moon." + +"There's a hotel—" he began; but I said at once, "We couldn't afford +a hotel, but if you know of any very cheap place we should be much +obliged." + +Mr. Rowe took off his hat and took out his handkerchief, though it was +no longer hot. Having cleared his brain, he said he "would see," and +he finally led us along one of the pebbled streets of Pyebridge to a +small house with a small shop-window for the sale of vegetables, and +with a card announcing that there were beds to let. A very little old +woman got up from behind a very big old geranium in the window as we +entered, and with her Mr. Rowe made our arrangements for the night. We +got a clean bed, and had a mug of milk and a slice of bread and +treacle apiece for breakfast the next morning, and I paid two +shillings. As I thanked the old lady and bade her good day, she called +to me to hold out my hat, which she filled with cherries, and then +stood at the door and watched us out of sight. + +There was a railway station in Pyebridge, and we might easily have +escaped from Mr. Rowe, and gone by train to London. But besides the +fact that our funds were becoming low, the water had a new attraction +for us. We had left the canal behind, and were henceforward on a +river. If the wind favoured us we were to sail. + +"A canal's nothing to a river," said Mr. Rowe, "same as a river's +nothing to the sea," and when Fred had some difficulty in keeping his +hat on in the gusty street (mine was in use as a fruit-basket), and +the barge-master said it was a "nice fresh morning," I felt that life +on Linnet Island would have been tame indeed compared to the hopes and +fears of a career which depended on the winds and waves. + +And when the boom went up the barge's mast, and the tightly corded +roll of dark canvas began to struggle for liberty, and writhe and flap +with throttling noises above our heads, and when Mr. Rowe wrestled +with it and the driver helped him, and Fred and I tried to, and were +all but swept overboard in consequence, whilst the barge-master +encouraged himself by strange and savage sounds—and when the sunshine +caught our nut-brown sail just as she spread gallantly to the breeze, +our excitement grew till we both cried in one breath, + +"This is something _like_ being at sea!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MR. ROWE ON BARGE-WOMEN—THE RIVER—NINE ELMS—A MYSTERIOUS +NOISE—ROUGH QUARTERS—A CHEAP SUPPER—JOHN'S BERTH—WE MAKE OUR +ESCAPE—OUT INTO THE WORLD. + + +Mr. Rowe is quite right. A canal is nothing to a river. + +There was a wide piece of water between us and one of the banks now, +and other barges went by us, some sailing, some towing only, and two +or three with women at the rudder, and children on the deck. + +"I wouldn't have my wife and fam'ly on board for something!" said Mr. +Rowe grimly. + +"Have you got a family, Mr. Rowe?" I inquired. + +"Yes, sir," said the barge-master. "I have, like other folk. But women +and children's best ashore." + +"Of course they are," said I. + +"If you was to turn over in your mind what they _might_ be good for +now," he continued, with an unfathomable eye on the mistress of a +passing canal-boat, "you'd say washing the decks and keeping the pots +clean. And they don't do it as well as a man—not by half." + +"They seem to steer pretty well," said I. + +"I've served in very different vessels to what I'm in now," said Mr. +Rowe, avoiding a reply, "and I _may_ come as low as a monkey-barge and +coal; but I'm blessed if ever I see myself walk on the towing-path and +leave the missus in command on board." + +At this moment a barge came sailing alongside of us. + +"Oh look!" cried Fred, "it's got a white horse painted on the sail." + +"That's a lime barge, sir," said Mr. Rowe; "all lime barges is marked +that way." + +She was homeward bound, and empty, and soon passed us, but we went at +a pretty good pace ourselves. The wind kept favourable, a matter in +which Fred and I took the deepest interest. We licked our fingers, and +held them up to see which side got cooled by the breeze, and whenever +this experiment convinced me that it was still behind us, I could not +help running back to Fred to say with triumph, "The wind's dead aft," +as if he knew nothing about it. + +At last this seemed to annoy him, so I went to contain myself by +sitting on the potato-tub and watching the shore. + +We got into the Thames earlier than usual, thanks to the fair wind. + +The world is certainly a very beautiful place. I suppose when I get +right out into it, and go to sea, and to other countries, I shall +think nothing of England and the Thames, but it was all new and +wonderful to Fred and me then. The green slopes and fine trees, and +the houses with gardens down to the river, and boats rocking by the +steps, the osier islands, which Mr. Rowe called "Aits," and the +bridges where the mast had to be lowered, all the craft on the +water—the red-sailed barges with one man on board—the steamers with +crowded decks and gay awnings—the schooners, yachts, and pleasure +boats—and all the people on shore, the fishers, and the people with +water-dogs and sticks, the ladies with fine dresses and parasols, and +the ragged boys who cheered us as we went by—everything we saw and +heard delighted us, and the only sore place in my heart was where I +longed for Rupert and Henrietta to enjoy it too. + +Later on we saw London. It was in the moonlight that we passed +Chelsea. Mr. Rowe pointed out the Hospital, in which the pensioners +must have been asleep, for not a wooden leg was stirring. In less than +half-an-hour afterwards we were at the end of our voyage. + +The first thing which struck me about Nine Elms was that they were not +to be seen. I had thought of those elms more than once under the +burning sun of the first day. I had imagined that we should land at +last on some green bank, where the shelter of a majestic grove might +tempt Mr. Rowe to sleep, while Fred and I should steal gently away to +the neighbouring city, and begin a quite independent search for +adventures. But I think I must have mixed up with my expectations a +story of one of the captain's escapes—from a savage chief in a +mango-grove. + +Our journey's end was not quite what I had thought it would be, but it +was novel and interesting enough. We seemed to have thoroughly got to +the town. Very old houses with feeble lights in their paper-patched +windows made strange reflections on the river. The pier looked dark +and dirty even by moonlight, and threw blacker and stranger shadows +still. + +Mr. Rowe was busy and tired, and—we thought—a little inclined to be +cross. + +"I wonder where we shall sleep!" said Fred, looking timidly up at the +dark old houses. + +I have said before that I find it hard work to be very brave after +dark, but I put a good face on the matter, and said I dared say old +Rowe would find us a cheap bedroom. + +"London's an awful place for robbers and murders, you know," said +Fred. + +I was hoping the cold shiver running down my back was due to what the +barge-master called "the damps from the water"—when a wail like the +cry of a hurt child made my skin stiffen into goose-prickles. A wilder +moan succeeded, and then one of the windows of one of the dark houses +was opened, and something thrown out which fell heavily down. Mr. Rowe +was just coming on board again, and I found courage in the emergency +to gasp out, "What was that?" + +"Wot's wot?" said Mr. Rowe testily. + +"That noise and the falling thing." + +"Somebody throwing, somethin' at a cat," said the barge-master. "Stand +aside, sir, _if_ you please." + +It was a relief, but when at length Mr. Rowe came up to me with his +cap off, in the act of taking out his handkerchief, and said, "I +suppose you're no richer than you was yesterday, young gentlemen—how +about a bed?"—I said, "No—o. That is, I mean if you can get us a +cheap one in a safe—I mean a respectable place." + +"If you leaves a comfortable 'ome, sir," moralized the barge-master, +"to go a-looking for adventures in this fashion, you must put up with +rough quarters, and wot you can get." + +"We'll go anywhere you think right, Mr. Rowe," said I diplomatically. + +"I knows a waterman," said Mr. Rowe, "that was in the Royal Navy like +myself. He lives near here, and they're decent folk. The place is a +poor place, but you'll have to make the best of it, young gentlemen, +and a shilling 'll cover the damage. If you wants supper you must pay +for it. Give the missis the money, and she'll do the best she can, and +bring you the change to a half-farthing." + +My courage was now fully restored, but Fred was very much overwhelmed +by the roughness of the streets we passed through, the drunken, +quarrelling, poverty-struck people, and the grim, dirty old houses. + +"We shall be out of it directly," I whispered, and indeed in a few +minutes more Mr. Rowe turned up a shabby entry, and led us to one of +several lower buildings round a small court. The house he stopped at +was cleaner within than without, and the woman was very civil. + +"It's a very poor place, sir," said she; "but we always keep a berth, +as his father calls it, for our son John." + +"But we can't take your son's bed," said I; "we'll sit up here, if you +will let us." + +"Bless ye, love," said the woman, "John's in foreign parts. He's a +sailor, sir, like his father before him; but John's in the merchant +service." + +Mr. Rowe now bade us good-night. "I'll be round in the morning," said +he. + +"What o'clock, Mr. Rowe?" I asked; I had a reason for asking. + +"There ain't much in the way of return cargo," he replied; "but I've a +bit of business to do for your father, Mr. Fred, that'll take me until +half-past nine. I'll be here by then, young gentlemen, and show you +about a bit." + +"It's roughish quarters for you," added the bargemaster, looking +round; "but you'll find rougher quarters at sea, Master Charles." + +Mr. Howe's moralizings nettled me, and they did no good, for my whole +thoughts were now bent on evading his guardianship and getting to sea, +but poor Fred was quite overpowered. "I wish we were safe home again," +he almost sobbed when I went up to the corner into which he had +huddled himself. + +"You'll be all right when we're afloat," said I. + +"I'm so hungry," he moaned. + +I was hungry myself, and decided to order some supper, so when the +woman came up and civilly asked if she could do anything for us before +we went to bed, I said, "If you please we're rather hungry, but we +can't afford anything very expensive. Do you think you can get us +anything—rather cheap—for supper?" + +"A red herring?" she suggested. + +"What price are they?" I felt bound to inquire. + +"Mrs. Jones has them beautiful and mild at two for a penny. You _can_ +get 'em at three a penny, but you wouldn't like 'em, sir." + +I felt convinced by the expression of her face that I should not, so I +ordered two. + +"And a penny loaf?" suggested our landlady, getting her bonnet from +behind the door. + +"If you please." + +"And a bunch of radishes and a pint of fourpenny would be +fivepence-half-penny the lot, sir." + +"If you please. And, if you please, that will do," said I, drawing a +shilling from the bag, for the thought of the herrings made me +ravenous, and I wanted her to go. She returned quickly with the bread, +and herrings. The "fourpenny" proved to be beer. She gave me +sixpence-half-penny in change, which puzzled my calculations. + +"You said _fourpenny_," said I, indicating the beer. + +"Yes, sir, but it's a pint," was the reply; and it was only when in +after-years I learned that beer at fourpence a quart is known to some +people as "fourpenny" that I got that part of the reckoning of the +canvas bag straight in my own mind. + +The room had an unwholesome smell about it, which the odour from our +fried herrings soon pleasantly overpowered. The bread was good, and +the beer did us no harm. Fred picked up his spirits again; when Mr. +Rowe's old mate came home he found us very cheerful and chatty. Fred +asked him about the son who was at sea, but I had some more important +questions to put, and I managed so to do, and with a sufficiently +careless air. + +"I suppose there are lots of ships at London?" said I. + +"In the Docks, sir, plenty," said our host. + +"And where are the Docks?" I inquired. "Are they far from you?" + +"Well, you see, sir, there's a many docks. There's the East India +Docks, St. Katharine's Docks, and the Commercial Docks, and Victoria +Dock, and lots more." + +I pondered. Ships in the East India Dock probably went only to India. +St. Katharine conveyed nothing to my mind. I did not fancy Commercial +Docks. I felt a loyal inclination towards the Victoria Dock. + +"How do people get from here to Victoria Dock now, if they want to?" I +asked. + +"Well, of course, sir, you can go down the river, or part that way and +then by rail from Fenchurch Street." + +"Where is Fenchurch Street, Mr. Smith?" said I, becoming a good deal +ashamed of my pertinacity. + +"In the city, sir," said Mr. Smith. + +The city! Now I never heard of any one in any story going out into the +world to seek his fortune, and coming to a city, who did not go into +it to see what was to be seen. Leaving the king's only daughter and +those kinds of things, which belong to story-books, out of the +question, I do not believe the captain would have passed a new city +without looking into it. + +"You go down the river to Fenchurch Street—in a barge?" I suggested. + +"Bless ye, no, sir!" said Mr. Smith, getting the smoke of his pipe +down his throat the wrong way with laughing, till I thought his +coughing-fit would never allow him to give me the important +information I required. "There's boats, sir, plenty on 'em. I could +take you myself, and be thankful, and there's steamers calls at the +wharf every quarter of an hour or so through the day, from nine in the +morning, and takes you to London Bridge for threepence. It ain't many +minutes' walk to Fenchurch Street, and the train takes you straight to +the Docks." + +After this we conversed on general seafaring matters. Mr. Smith was +not a very able-bodied man, in consequence of many years' service in +unhealthy climates, he said; and he complained of his trade as a +"poor one," and very different from what it had been in his father's +time, and before new London Bridge was built, which "anybody and +anything could get through" now without watermen's assistance. In his +present depressed condition he seemed to look back on his seafaring +days with pride and tender regret, and when we asked for tales of his +adventures he was checked by none of the scruples which withheld Mr. +Rowe from encouraging me to be a sailor. + +"John's berth" proved to be a truckle-bed in a closet which just held +it, and which also held more nasty smells than I could have believed +there was room for. Opening the window seemed only to let in fresh +ones. When Fred threw himself on his face on the bed, and said, "What +a beastly hole!" and cried bitterly, I was afraid he was going to be +ill; and when I had said my prayers and persuaded him to say his and +come to bed, I thought that if we got safely through the night we +would make the return voyage with Mr. Rowe, and for the future leave +events and emergencies to those who liked danger and discomfort. + +But when we woke with the sun shining on our faces, and through the +little window beheld it sparkling on the river below us, and on the +distant city, we felt all right again, and stuck to our plans. + +"Let's go by the city," said Fred, "I should like to see some of the +town." + +"If we don't get off before half-past nine we're lost," said I. + +We found an unexpected clog in Mr. Smith, who seemed inclined to stick +to us and repeat the stories he had told us overnight. At about +half-past eight, however, he went off to his boat, saying he supposed +we should wait for Mr. Rowe, and when his wife went into a neighbour's +house I laid a shilling on the table, and Fred and I slipped out and +made our way to the pier. + +Mr. Rowe was not there, and a church clock near struck nine. This was +echoed from the city more than once, and then we began to look +anxiously for the steamer. Five, ten minutes must have passed—they +seemed hours to me—when I asked a man who was waiting also when the +steamer from London Bridge would come. + +"She'll be here soon," said he. + +"So will old Rowe," whispered Fred. + +But the steamer came first, and we went on board; and the paddles +began to splash, and our escape was accomplished. + +It was a lovely morning, and the tall, dirty old houses looked almost +grand in the sunlight as we left Nine Elms. The distant city came +nearer and shone brighter, and when the fretted front of the Houses +of Parliament went by us like a fairy palace, and towers and blocks of +buildings rose solidly one behind another in shining tints of white +and grey against the blue summer sky, and when above the noise of our +paddle-wheels came the distant roar of the busy streets—Fred pressed +the arm I had pushed through his and said, "We're out in the world at +last!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +EMERGENCIES AND POLICEMEN—FENCHURCH STREET STATION—THIRD CLASS TO +CUSTOM HOUSE—A SHIP FOREST. + + +Policemen are very useful people. I do not know how we should have got +from the London Bridge Pier to the Fenchurch Street Station if it had +not been that Fred told me he knew one could ask policemen the way to +places. There is nothing to pay, which I was very glad of, as the +canvas bag was getting empty. + +Once or twice they helped us through emergencies. We had to go from +one footpath to another, straight across the street, and the street +was so full of carts and cabs and drays and omnibuses, that one could +see that it was quite an impossibility. We did it, however, for the +policeman made us. I said, "Hadn't we better wait till the crowd has +gone?" But the policeman laughed, and said then we had better take +lodgings close by and wait at the window. So we did it. Fred said the +captain once ran in a little cutter between two big ships that were +firing into him, but I do not think that can have been much worse than +running between a backing dray, full of rolling barrels, and a hansom +cab pulled up and ramping like a rocking-horse at the lowest point of +the rockers. + +When we were safely on the other pavement we thanked the policeman +very much, and then went on, asking our way till we got to Fenchurch +Street. + +If anything could smell nastier than John's berth in Nine Elms it is +Fenchurch Street Station. And I think it is worse in this way; John's +berth smelt horrible, but it was warm and weather-tight. You never +swallow a drop of pure air in Fenchurch Street Station, and yet you +cannot find a corner in which you can get out of the draughts. + +With one gale blowing on my right from an open door, and another gale +blowing on my left down some steps, and nasty smells blowing from +every point of the compass, I stood at a dirty little hole in a dirty +wooden wall and took our tickets. I had to stand on tiptoe to make the +young man see me. + +"What is the cheapest kind of tickets you have, if you please?" I +inquired, with the canvas bag in my hand. + +"Third class," said the young man, staring very hard at me, which I +thought rather rude. "Except working men's tickets, and they're not +for this train." + +"Two third-class tickets for Victoria Dock, then, if you please," said +I. + +"Single or return?" said he. + +"I beg your pardon?" I said, for I was puzzled. + +"Are you coming back to-day?" he inquired. + +"Oh dear, no!" said I, for some of the captain's voyages had lasted +for years; but the question made me anxious, as I knew nothing of +railway rules, and I added, "Does it matter?" + +"Not by no means," replied the young man smartly, and he began to +whistle, but stopped himself to ask, "Custom House or Tidal Basin?" + +I had no alternative but to repeat "I _beg_ your pardon?" + +He put his face right through the hole and looked at me. "Will you +take your ticket for Custom House or Tidal Basin?" he repeated; +"either will do for Victoria Docks." + +"Then whichever you please," said I, as politely as I could. + +The young man took out two tickets and snapped them impatiently in +something; and as a fat woman was squeezing me from behind, I was glad +to take what I could get and go back to Fred. + +He was taking care of our two bundles and the empty pie-dish. + +That pie-dish was a good deal in our way. Fred wanted to get rid of +it, and said he was sure his mother would not want us to be bothered +with it; but Fred had promised in his letter to bring it back, and he +could not break his word. I told him so, but I said as he did not like +to be seen with it I would carry it. So I did. + +With a strong breeze aft, we were driven up-stairs in the teeth of a +gale, and ran before a high wind down a platform where, after annoying +one of the railway men very much by not being able to guess which was +the train, and having to ask him, we got in among a lot of +rough-looking people, who were very civil and kind. A man with a black +face and a white jacket said he would tell us when we got to Custom +House, and he gave me his seat by the window, that I might look out. + +What struck me as rather odd was that everybody in the third-class +carriage seemed to have bundles like ours, and yet they couldn't all +be running away. One thin woman with a very troublesome baby had +three. Perhaps it is because portmanteaus and things of that sort are +rather expensive. + +Fred was opposite to me. It was a bright sunny morning, a fresh breeze +blew, and in the sunlight the backs of endless rows of shabby houses +looked more cheerful than usual, though very few of the gardens had +anything in them but dirt and cats, and very many of the windows had +the week's wash hanging out on strings and poles. The villages we had +passed on the canal banks all looked pretty and interesting, but I +think that most of the places we saw out of the window of the train +would look very ugly on a dull day. + +I fancy there were poplar-trees at a place called Poplar, and that I +thought it must be called after them; but Fred says No, and we have +never been there since, so I cannot be sure about it. If not, I must +have dreamt it. + +I did fall asleep in the corner, I know, I was so very much tired, and +we had had no breakfast, and I sat on the side where the wind blows +in, which I think helped to make me sleepy. I was wakened partly by +the pie-dish slipping off my lap, and partly by Fred saying in an +eager tone, + +"Oh, Charlie! LOOK! _Are they all ships_?" + +We stuffed our heads through the window, and my hat was nearly blown +away, so the man with the black face and the white jacket gave it to +the woman with the troublesome baby to take care of for me, and he +held us by our legs for fear we should fall out. + +On we flew! There was wind enough in our faces to have filled the +barge-sail three times over, and Fred licked his lips and said, "I do +believe there's salt in it!" + +But what he woke me up to show me drove me nearly wild. When I had +seen a couple of big barges lying together with their two bare masts +leaning towards each other I used to think how dignified and beautiful +they looked. But here were hundreds of masts, standing as thick as +tree-trunks in a fir-wood, and they were not bare poles, but lofty and +slender, and crossed by innumerable yards, and covered with ropes in +orderly profusion, which showed in the sunshine as cobwebs shine out +in a field in summer. Gay flags and pennons fluttered in the wind; +brown sails, grey sails, and gleaming white sails went up and down; +and behind it all the water sparkled and dazzled our eyes like the +glittering reflections from a mirror moving in the sun. + +As we ran nearer the ropes looked thicker, and we could see the +devices on the flags. And suddenly, straining his eyes at the yards of +a vessel in the thick of the ship-forest, on which was something +black, like a spider with only four legs, Fred cried, "It's a sailor!" + +I saw him quite well. And seeing him higher up than on any tree one +could ever climb, with the sunny sky above him and the shining water +below him, I could only mutter out with envious longing—"How happy he +must be!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A DIRTY STREET—A BAD BOY—SHIPPING AND MERCHANDISE—WE STOWAWAY ON +BOARD THE 'ATALANTA'—A SALT TEAR. + + +The man in the white jacket helped us out, smiling as he did so, so +that his teeth shone like ivory in his black face. We took the +pie-dish and our bundles, and thanked him very much, and the train +went on and took him with it, which we felt sorry for. For when one +_is_ out in the world, you know, one sometimes feels rather lonely, +and sorry to part with a kind friend. + +Everybody else went through a little gate into the street, so we did +the same. It was a very dirty street, with houses on one side and the +railway on the other. There were cabbages and carrots and old shoes +and fishes' heads and oyster-shells and potato-peelings in the street, +and a goat was routing among it all with its nose, as if it had lost +something and hoped to find it by and by. + +Places like this always seemed to depress Fred's courage. Besides +which, he was never in good spirits when he had to go long without +food, which made me fear he would not bear being cast adrift at sea +without provisions as well as his grandfather had done. I was not +surprised when he said, + +"_What_ a place! And I don't believe one can get anything fit to eat, +and I am so hungry!" + +I looked at the houses. There was a pork-butcher's shop, and a real +butcher's shop, and a slop shop, and a seedy jeweller's shop with +second-hand watches, which looked as if nothing would ever make them +go, and a small toy and sweetmeat shop, but not a place that looked +like breakfast. I had taken Fred's bundle because he was so tired, and +I suppose it was because I was staring helplessly about that a dirty +boy a good deal bigger than either of us came up and pulled his dirty +hair and said, + +"Carry your things for you, sir?" + +"No, thank you," said I, moving on with the bundles and the pie-dish; +but as the boy would walk by me I said, + +"We want some breakfast very much, but we haven't much money." And, +remembering the cost of our supper, I added, "Could we get anything +here for about twopence-half-penny or threepence apiece?" + +There was a moment's pause, and then the boy gave a long whistle. + +"Vy, I thought you was swells!" said he. + +I really do not know whether it was because I did not like to be +supposed to be a poor person when it came to the point, or whether it +was because of that bad habit of mine of which even Weston's ballad +has not quite cured me, of being ready to tell people more about my +affairs than it can be interesting for them to hear or discreet for me +to communicate, but I replied at once: "We are gentlemen; but we are +going in search of adventures, and we don't want to spend more money +than we can help till we see what we may want it for when we get to +foreign countries." + +"You're going to sea, then, _h_are you?" said the boy, keeping up with +us. + +"Yes," said I; "but could you tell us where to get something to eat +before we go?" + +"There's a shop I knows on," said our new friend, "where they sells +prime pudding at a penny a slice. The plums goes all through and no +mistake. Three slices would be threepence: one for you, one for him, +and one for my trouble in showing you the way. Threepence more's a +quart of stout, and we drink fair by turns. Shall I take your purse +and pay it for you? They might cheat a stranger." + +"No, thank you," said I; "but we should like some pudding if you will +show us the way." + +The slices were small, but then they were very heavy. We had two each. +I rejected the notion of porter, and Fred said he was not thirsty; but +I turned back again into the shop to ask for a glass of water for +myself. The woman gave it me very civilly, looking as she did so with +a puzzled manner, first at me and then at my bundles and the pie-dish. +As she took back the tumbler she nodded her head towards the dirty +boy, who stood in the doorway, and said, + +"Is that young chap a companion of yours, my dear?" + +"Oh, dear no," said I, "only he showed us the way here." + +"Don't have nothing to do with him," she whispered "he's a bad un." + +In spite of this warning, however, as there was no policeman to be +seen, and the boy would keep up with us, I asked him the way to +Victoria Dock. + +It was not so easy to get to the ships as I had expected. There were +gates to pass through, and they were kept by a porter. He let some +people in and turned others back. + +"Have you got an order to see the docks?" asked the boy. + +I confessed that we had not, but added that we wanted very much to get +in. + +"My eyes!" said the bad boy, doubling himself in a fit of amusement, +"I believe you're both going for stowaways." + +"What do you mean by stowaways?" I asked. + +"Stowaways is chaps that hides aboard vessels going out of port, to +get their passage free gratis for nothing." + +"Do a good many manage it?" I asked with an anxious mind. + +"There ain't a vessel leaves the docks without one and sometimes more +aboard. The captain never looks that way, not by no accident +whatsoever. He don't lift no tarpaulins while the ship's in dock. But +when she gets to sea the captain gets his eyesight back, and he takes +it out of the stowaways for their wittles then. Oh, yes, rather so!" +said the bad boy. + +There was a crowd at the gates. + +"Hold your bundles down on your right side," said the boy, "and go in +quickly after any respectable-looking cove you see." + +Fred had got his own bundle now, and we followed our guide's +directions, and went through the gates after an elderly, well-dressed +man. The boy seemed to try to follow us, squeezing very close up to +me, but the gatekeeper stopped him. When we were on the other side I +saw him bend down and wink backwards at the gatekeeper through his +straddled legs. Then he stood derisively on his head. After which he +went away as a catherine-wheel, and I saw him no more. + +We were among the ships at last! Vessels very different from Mr. +Rowe's barge, or even the three-penny steamboat, Lofty and vast, with +shining decks of marvellous cleanliness, and giant figure-heads like +dismembered Jins out of some Arabian tale. Streamers of many colours +high up in the forest of masts, and seamen of many nations on the +decks and wharves below, moved idly in the breeze, which was redolent +of many kinds of cargo. Indeed, if the choice of our ship had not been +our chief care, the docks and warehouses would have fascinated us +little less than the shipping. Here were huge bales of cotton packed +as thickly as bricks in a brick-field. There were wine-casks +innumerable, and in another place the air was aromatic with so large a +cargo of coffee that it seemed as if no more could be required in this +country for some generations. + +It was very entertaining, and Fred was always calling to me to look at +something new, but my mind was with the shipping. There was a good +deal of anxiety on it too. The sooner we chose our ship and "stowed +away" the better. I hesitated between sailing-vessels and steamers. I +did not believe that one of the captain's adventures happened on +board any ship that could move faster than it could sail. And yet I +was much attracted by some grand-looking steamships. Even their huge +funnels had a look of power, I thought, among the masts, like old and +hollow oaks in a wood of young and slender trees. + +One of these was close in dock, and we could see her well. There were +some casks on deck, and by them lay a piece of tarpaulin which caught +my eye, and recalled what the bad boy had said about captains and +stowaways. Near the gangway were standing two men who did not seem to +be sailors. They were respectably dressed, one had a book and a +pencil, and they looked, I thought, as if they might have authority to +ask our business in the docks, so I drew Fred back under shelter of +some piled-up boxes. + +"When does she sail?" asked the man with the book. + +"To-morrow morning, sir," replied the other. + +And then they crossed the gangway and went into a warehouse opposite. + +It was noon, and being the men's dinner-time, the docks were not very +busy. At this moment there was not a soul in sight. I grasped Fred's +arm, and hoisted the bundle and pie-dish well under my own. + +"That's our ship," I said triumphantly; "come along!" + +We crossed the gangway unperceived. "The casks!" I whispered, and we +made our way to the corner I had noticed. If Fred's heart beat as +chokingly as mine did, we were far too much excited to speak, as we +settled ourselves into a corner, not quite as cosy as our hiding-place +in the forehold of the barge; and drew the tarpaulin over our heads, +resting some of the weight of it on the casks behind, that we might +not be smothered. + +I have waited for the kitchen kettle to boil when Fred and I wanted to +make "hot grog" with raspberry-vinegar and nutmeg at his father's +house; I have waited for a bonfire to burn up, when we wanted to roast +potatoes; I have waited for it to leave off raining when my mother +would not let us go out for fear of catching colds; but I never knew +time pass so slowly as when Fred and I were stowaways on board the +steam-ship _Atalanta_. + +He was just beginning to complain, when we heard men coming on board. +This amused us for a bit, but we were stowed so that we could not see +them, and we dared not look out. Neither dared we speak, except when +we heard them go a good way off, and then we whispered. So second +after second, and minute after minute, and hour after hour went by, +and Fred became very restless. + +"She's to sail in the morning," I whispered. + +"But where are we to get dinner and tea and supper?" asked Fred +indignantly. I was tired, and felt cross on my own account. + +"You said yourself we might have to weigh out our food with a bullet +like Admiral Bligh, next week." + +"He must have had something, or he couldn't have weighed it," retorted +Fred; "and how do we know if they'll ever give us anything to eat on +board this ship?" + +"I dare say we can buy food at first, till they find us something to +do for our meals," said I. + +"How much money is there left?" asked Fred. + +I put my hand into my pocket for the canvas bag—but it was gone! + +There could be little doubt that the bad boy had picked my pocket at +the gate, but I had a sense of guiltiness about it, for most of the +money was Fred's. This catastrophe completely overwhelmed him, and he +cried and grumbled till I was nearly at my wits' end. I could not stop +him, though heavy steps were coming quite close to us. + +"Sh! sh!" muttered I, "if you go on like that they'll certainly find +us, and then we shall have managed all this for nothing, and might as +well have gone back with old Rowe." + +"Which wind and weather permitting, young gentlemen, you will," said +a voice just above us, though we did not hear it. + +"I wish we could," sobbed Fred, "only there's no money now. But I'm +going to get out of this beastly hole any way." + +"You're a nice fellow to tell me about your grandfather," said I, in +desperate exasperation; "I don't believe you've the pluck for a common +sailor, let alone a Great Discoverer." + +"You've hit the right nail on the head there, Master Charles," said +the voice. + +"Fiddlesticks about my grandfather!" said Fred. + +In the practical experiences of the last three days my faith in Fred's +tales had more than once been rather rudely shaken; but the +contemptuous tone in which he disposed of our model, the Great Sea +Captain, startled me so severely that I do not think I felt any +additional shock of astonishment when strong hands lifted the +tarpaulin from our heads, and—grave amid several grinning faces—we +saw the bargemaster. + +How he reproached us, and how Fred begged him to take us home, and how +I besought him to let us go to sea, it would be tedious to relate. I +have no doubt now that he never swerved from his intention of taking +us back, but he preferred to do it by fair means if possible. So he +fubbed me off, and took us round the docks to amuse us, and talked of +dinner in a way that went to Fred's heart. + +But when I found that we were approaching the gates once more, I +stopped dead short. As we went about the docks I had replied to the +barge-master's remarks as well as I could, but I had never ceased +thinking of the desire of my heart, and I resolved to make one +passionate appeal to his pity. + +"Mr. Rowe," I said, in a choking voice, "please don't take me home! I +would give anything in the world to go to sea. Why shouldn't I be a +sailor when I want to? Take Fred home if he wants to go, and tell them +that I'm all right, and mean to do my duty and come back a credit to +them." + +Mr. Rowe's face was inscrutable, and I pleaded harder. + +"You're an old navy man, you know, Rowe," I said, "and if you +recommended me to the captain of one of these ships for a cabin-boy, +I'll be bound they'd take me." + +"Mr. Charles," said the old man earnestly, "you couldn't go for a +cabin-boy, you don't know—" + +"You think I can't rough it," I interrupted impatiently, "but try me, +and see. I know what I'm after," I added, consequentially; "and I'll +bear what I have to bear, and do what I'm set to do if I can get +afloat. I'll be a captain some day, and give orders instead of taking +them." + +Mr. Rowe drew up to attention and took off his hat. "And wanting an +able-bodied seaman in them circumstances, sir, for any voyage you +likes to make," said he emphatically, "call for Samuel Rowe." He then +wiped the passing enthusiasm from the crown of his head with his +handkerchief, and continued—with the judicious diplomacy for which he +was remarkable—"But of course, sir, it's the Royal Navy you'll begin +in, as a midshipman. It's seamanship _you_ wants to learn, not +swabbing decks or emptying buckets below whilst others is aloft. Your +father's son would be a good deal out of place, sir, as cabin-boy in a +common trading vessel." + +Mr. Rowe's speech made an impression, and I think he saw that it did. + +"Look here, Master Charles," said he, "you've a gentleman's feelings: +come home now, and bear me out with your widowed mother and your only +sister, sir, and with Master Fred's father, that I'm in duty bound to, +and promised to deliver safe and sound as return cargo, wind and +weather permitting." + +"Oh, come home! come home!" reiterated Fred. + +I stood speechless for a minute or two. All around and above me rose +the splendid masts, trellised with the rigging that I longed to climb. +The refreshing scent of tar mingled with the smells of the various +cargoes. The coming and going of men who came and went to and fro the +ends of the earth stirred all my pulses to restlessness. And above the +noises of their coming and going I heard the lapping of the water of +the incoming tide against the dock, which spoke with a voice more +powerful than that of Mr. Rowe. + +And yet I went with him. + +It was not because the canvas bag was empty, not because Fred would +not stay with me (for I had begun to think that the captain's grandson +was not destined to be the hero of exploits on the ocean), but when +Mr. Rowe spoke of my widowed mother and of Henrietta, he touched a +sore point on my conscience. I had had an uneasy feeling from the +first that there was something rather mean in my desertion of them. +Pride, and I hope some less selfish impulse, made me feel that I could +never be quite happy—even on the mainmast top—if I knew that I had +behaved ill to them. + +I could not very well speak, but I turned round and began to walk in +the direction of the dock gates. Mr. Rowe behaved uncommonly kindly. +He said nothing more, but turned as if I had given the word of +command, and walked respectfully just behind me. I resolved not to +look back, and I did not. I was quite determined too about one thing: +Mr. Rowe should never be able to say he had seen me make a fool of +myself after I had made up my mind. But in reality I had very hard +work to keep from beginning to cry, just when Fred was beginning to +leave off. + +I screwed up my eyes and kept them dry, however, but as we went +through the gate there came in a sailor with a little bundle like +ours, and a ship's name on his hat. His hat sat as if a gale were just +taking it off, and his sea-blue shirt was blown open by breezes that +my back was turned upon. In spite of all I could do one tear got +through my eyelashes and ran down, and I caught it on my lips. + +It was a very bitter tear, and as salt as the salt, salt sea! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A GLOW ON THE HORIZON—A FANTASTIC PEAL—WHAT I SAW WHEN THE ROOF FELL +IN. + + +It was the second day of our return voyage. Mr. Rowe had been very +kind, and especially so to me. He had told us tales of seafaring life, +but they related exclusively to the Royal Navy, and not unfrequently +bore with disparagement on the mercantile marine. + +Nowhere, perhaps, are grades of rank more strongly marked with +professional discipline and personal independence better combined than +in the army and navy. But the gulf implied by Mr. Rowe between the +youngest midshipman and the highest seaman who was not an officer was, +I think, in excess of the fact. As to becoming cabin-boy to a trading +vessel in hopes of rising to be a captain, the barge-master contrived +to impress me with the idea that I might as well take the situation of +boot and knife cleaner in the Royal Kitchen, in hopes of its proving +the first step towards ascending the Throne. + +We seemed to have seen and done so much since we were on the canal +before, that I felt quite sentimental as we glided into Linnet Flash. + +"The old place looks just the same, Barge-master," said I with a +travelled air. + +"So it do, sir," said Mr. Rowe; and he added—"There's no place like +Home." + +I hardly know how near we were to the town, but I know that it was +getting late, that the dew was heavy on the towing-path, and that +among the dark pencilled shadows of the sallows in the water the full +moon's reflection lay like a golden shield; when the driver, who was +ahead, stepped back and shouted—"The bells are ringing!" + +When we got a little nearer we heard them quite clearly, and just when +I was observing a red glow diffuse itself in the cold night sky above +the willow hedge on our left, Mr. Rowe said, "There must be a queer +kind of echo somewhere, I heard sixteen bells." + +And then I saw the driver, whose figure stood out dark against the +moonlit moorland on our right, point with his arm to the fast +crimsoning sky, and Mr. Rowe left the rudder and came forward, and +Fred, who had had his head low down listening, ran towards us from the +bows and cried, + +"There _are_ sixteen, and they're ringing backwards—_it's a fire_!" + +The driver mounted the horse, which was put to the trot, and we +hurried on. The bells came nearer and nearer with their fantastic +clanging, and the sky grew more lurid as they rang. Then there was a +bend in the canal, and we caught sight of the two towers of S. Philip +and S. James, dark against the glow. + +"The whole town is in flames!" cried Fred. + +"Not it," said the barge-master; "it's ten to one nothing but a +rubbish-heap burning, or the moors on fire beyond the town." + +Mr. Rowe rather snubbed Fred, but I think he was curious about the +matter. The driver urged his horse, and the good barge _Betsy_ swung +along at a pace to which she was little accustomed. + +When we came by the cricket-field Mr. Rowe himself said—"It's in the +middle of the town." + +Through the deafening noise of the bells I contrived to shout in his +ear a request that I might be put ashore, as we were now about on a +level with my home. Mr. Rowe ran a plank quickly out and landed me, +without time for adieux. + +I hastened up to the town. The first street I got into was empty, but +it seemed to vibrate to S. Philip's peal. And after that I pushed my +way through people, hurrying as I was hurrying, and the nearer I got +to home the thicker grew the crowd and the ruddier became the glow. +And now, in spite of the bells, I caught other noises. The roar of +irresistible fire,—which has a strange likeness to the roar of +irresistible water,—the loud crackling of the burning wood, and the +moving and talking of the crowd, which was so dense that I could +hardly get forward. + +I contrived to squeeze myself along, however, and as I turned into our +street I felt the warmth of the fire, and when I looked at my old home +it was a mass of flames. + +I tried to get people to make way for me by saying—"It's my house, +please let me through!" But nobody seemed to hear me. And yet there +was a pause, which was only filled by that curious sound when a crowd +of people gasp or sigh; and if every man had been a rock it could not +have been more impossible to move backwards or forwards. It was dark, +except for the moonlight, where I stood, but in a moment or two the +flames burst from the bedroom windows, and the red light spread +farther, and began to light up faces near me. I was just about to +appeal to a man I knew, when a roar began which I knew was not that of +the fire. It was the roar of human voices. And when it swelled louder, +and was caught up as it came along, and then broke into deafening +cheers, I was so wild with excitement and anxiety that I began to kick +the legs of the man in front of me to make him let me go to the home +that was burning before my eyes. + +What he would have done in return, I don't know, but at this moment +the crowd broke up, and we were pushed, and pressed, and jostled +about, and people kept calling to "Make way!" and after tumbling down, +and being picked up twice, I found myself in the front row of a kind +of lane that had been made through the crowd, down which several men +were coming, carrying on their shoulders an arm-chair with people in +it. + +As they passed me there was a crash, which seemed to shake the street. +The roof of our house had fallen in! + +As it fell the flames burst upon every side, and in the sudden glare +the street became as bright as day, and every little thing about one +seemed to spring into sight. Half the crowd was known to me in a +moment. + +Then I looked at the chair which was being carried along; and by a +large chip on one of the legs I knew it was my father's old arm-chair. + +And in the chair I saw Rupert in his shirt and trousers, and Henrietta +in a petticoat and an out-door jacket, with so white a face that even +the firelight seemed to give it no colour, and on her lap was Baby +Cecil in his night-gown, with black smut marks on his nose and chin. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +HENRIETTA'S DIARY—A GREAT EMERGENCY. + + +Rupert never was a fellow who could give descriptions of things, and +Henrietta was ill for some time after the fire, and Mr. Bustard said +she wasn't to talk about it. + +But she knew I wanted to know, so one day when she was down-stairs +with me in the "Miniature Room" (it was at the Castle) she gave me a +manuscript book, and said, "It's my diary, Charlie, so I know you +won't look. But I've put in two marks for the beginning and end of the +bit about the fire. I wrote it that evening, you know, before Mr. +Bustard came, and my head got so bad." + +Of course I made her show me exactly where to begin and leave off, and +then I read it. This was it. + +_"It had been a very hot day, and I had got rather a headache and gone +to bed. The pain kept me awake a good bit, and when I did get to sleep +I think I slept rather lightly. I was partly awakened by noises which +seemed to have been going in my head all night till I could bear them +no longer, so I woke up, and found that people were shouting outside, +and that there was a dreadful smell of burning. I had got on my +flannel petticoat when Rupert called me and said, 'Henny dear, the +house is on fire! Just put something round you, and come quickly.' + +"Just outside the door we met Cook; she said, 'The Lord be thanked! +it's you, Miss Henrietta. Come along!' + +"Rupert said, 'Where's Mother, Cook?' + +"'Missus was took with dreadful fainting fits,' she replied, 'and +they've got her over to the_ Crown. _We're all to go there, and +everything that can be saved.' + +"'Where's Baby,' said I, 'and Jane?' + +"'With your Ma, miss, I expect,' Cook said; and as we came out she +asked some one, who said, 'I saw Jane at the door of the_ Crown _just +now.' I had been half asleep till then, but when we got into the +street and saw the smoke coming out of the dining-room window, Rupert +and I wanted to stay and try to save something, but one of the men who +was there said, 'You and your brother's not strong enough to be of no +great use, miss; you're only in the way of the engine. Everybody's +doing their best to save your things, and if you'll go to the_ Crown +_to your mamma, you'll do the best that could be.' + +"The people who were saving our things saved them all alike. They +threw them out of the window, and as I had seen the big blue china jar +smashed to shivers, I felt a longing to go and show them what to do; +but Rupert said, 'The fellow's quite right, Henny,' and he seized me +by the hand and dragged me off to the_ Crown. _Jane was in the hall, +looking quite wild, and she said to us, 'Where's Master Cecil?' I +didn't stop to ask her how it was that she didn't know. I ran out +again, and Rupert came after me. I suppose we both looked up at the +nursery window when we came near, and there was Baby Cecil standing +and screaming for help. Before we got to the door other people had +seen him, and two or three men pushed into the house. They came out +gasping and puffing without Cecil, and I heard one man say, 'It's too +far gone. It wouldn't bear a child's weight, and if you got up you'd +never come down again.' + +"'God help the poor child!' said the other man, who was the chemist, +and had a large family, I know. I looked round and saw by Rupert's +face that he had heard. It was like a stone. I don't know how it was, +but it seemed to come into my head: 'If Baby Cecil is burnt it will +kill Rupert too.' And I began to think; and I thought of the back +stairs. There was a pocket-handkerchief in my jacket pocket, and I +soaked it in the water on the ground. The town burgesses wouldn't buy +a new hose when we got the new steam fire-engine, and when they used +the old one it burst in five places, so that everything was swimming, +for the water was laid on from the canal. I think my idea must have +been written on my face, for though I didn't speak, Rupert seemed to +guess at once, and he ran after me, crying, 'Let me go, Henrietta!' +but I pretended not to hear. + +"When we got to the back of the house the fire was not nearly so bad, +and we got in. But though it wasn't exactly on fire where we were, the +smoke came rolling down the passage from the front of the house, and +by the time we got to the back stairs we could not see or breathe, in +spite of wet cloths over our faces, and our eyes smarted with the +smoke. Go down on all fours, Henny,' said Rupert. So I did. It was +wonderful. When I got down with my face close to the ground there was +a bit of quite fresh air, and above this the smoke rolled like a +cloud. I could see the castors of the legs of a table in the hall, but +no higher up. In this way we saw the foot of the back stairs, and +climbed up them on our hands and knees. But in spite of the bit of +fresh air near the ground the smoke certainly grew thicker, and it got +hotter and hotter, and we could hear the roaring of the flames coming +nearer, and the clanging of the bells outside, and I never knew what +it was to feel thirst before then! When we were up the first flight, +and the smoke was suffocating, I heard Rupert say, 'Oh, Henny, you +good girl, shall we ever get down again!' I couldn't speak, my throat +was so sore, but I remember thinking, 'It's like going up through the +clouds into heaven; and we shall find Baby Cecil there.' But after +that it got rather clearer, because the fire was in the lower part of +the house then, and when we got to the top we stood up, and found our +way to the nursery by hearing Baby Cecil scream. + +"The great difficulty was to get him down, for we couldn't carry him +and keep close to the ground. So I said, 'You go first on your hands +and knees backwards, and tell him to do as you do, and I'll come last, +so that he may see me doing the same and imitate me.' Baby was very +good about it, and when the heat worried him and he stopped, Rupert +said, 'Come on, Baby, or Henny will run over you,' and he scrambled +down as good as gold. + +"And when we got to the door the people began to shout and to cheer, +and I thought they would have torn Baby to bits. It made me very +giddy, and so did the clanging of those dreadful bells; and then I +noticed that Rupert was limping, and I said, 'Oh, Rupert, have you +hurt your knee?' and he said, 'It's nothing, come to the_ Crown.' _But +there were two of the young men from Jones's shop there, and they +said, 'Don't you walk and hurt your knee, sir; we'll take you.' And +they pushed up my father's arm-chair, which had been saved and was +outside, and Rupert sat down, I believe, because he could not stand. +Then they said, 'There's room for you, miss,' and Rupert told me to +come, and I took Baby on my lap; but I felt so ill I thought I should +certainly fall out when they lifted us up. + +"The way the people cheered made me very giddy; I think I shall always +feel sick when I hear hurrahing now. + +"Rupert is very good if you're ill. He looked at me and said, 'You're +the bravest girl I ever knew, but don't faint if you can help it, or +Baby will fall out.' + +"I didn't; and I wouldn't have fainted when we got to the_ Crown _if I +could have stopped myself by anything I could do."_ + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +MR. ROWE ON THE SUBJECT—OUR COUSIN—WESTON GETS INTO PRINT—THE +HARBOUR'S MOUTH—WHAT LIES BEYOND. + + +Mr. Rowe's anxiety to see Rupert and Henrietta, and to "take the +liberty of expressing himself" about their having saved Baby Cecil's +life was very great, but the interview did not take place for some +time. The barge _Betsy_ took two voyages to Nine Elms and home again +before Henrietta was down-stairs and allowed to talk about the fire. + +Rupert refused to see the barge-master when he called to ask after +Henrietta; he was vexed because people made a fuss about the affair, +and when Rupert was vexed he was not gracious. When Henrietta got +better, however, she said, "We ought to see old Rowe and thank him for +his kindness to Charlie;" so the next time he called, we all went into +the housekeeper's room to see him. + +He was very much pleased and excited, which always seemed to make him +inclined to preach. He set forth the noble motives which must have +moved Rupert and Henrietta to their heroic conduct in the emergency, +so that I felt more proud of them than ever. But Rupert frowned, and +said, "Nonsense, Rowe, I'm sure I never thought anything of the kind. +I don't believe we either of us thought anything at all." + +But Mr. Rowe had not served seventeen years in the Royal Navy to be +put down when he expounded a point of valour. + +"That's where it is, Master Rupert," said he. "It wouldn't have been +you or Miss Henrietta either if you had. 'A man overboard,' says +you—that's enough for one of your family, sir. _They_ never stops to +think 'Can I swim?' but in you goes, up the stairs that wouldn't hold +the weight of a new-born babby, and right through the raging flames." + +"Oh, dear!" cried Henrietta, "that's just what Cook and all kinds of +people will say. But it was the front stairs that were on fire. We +only went up the back stairs, and they weren't burning at all." + +The barge-master smiled in reply. But it was with the affability of +superior knowledge, and I feel quite sure that he always told the +story (and believed it) according to his impossible version. + +It was on the third day after the fire that our cousin called at the +_Crown_. He had never been to see us before, and, as I have said, we +had never been to the Castle. But the next day he sent a close +carriage for Henrietta and my mother, and a dog-cart for Rupert and +me, and brought us up to the Castle. We were there for three months. + +It was through him that Rupert went to those baths abroad, which cured +his knee completely. And then, because my mother could not afford to +do it, he sent him to a grander public school than Dr. Jessop's old +grammar school, and Mr. Johnson sent Thomas Johnson there too, for Tom +could not bear to be parted from Rupert, and his father never refused +him anything. + +But what I think was so very kind of our cousin was his helping me. +Rupert and Henrietta had been a credit to the family, but I deserved +nothing. I had only run away in the mean hope of outshining them, and +had made a fool of myself, whilst they had been really great in doing +their duty at home. However, he did back me up with Mother about going +to sea, and got me on board the training-ship _Albion_; and my highest +hope is to have the chance of bringing my share of renown to my +father's name, that his cousin may never regret having helped me to my +heart's desire. + +Fred Johnson and I are very good friends, but since our barge voyage +we have never been quite so intimate. I think the strongest tie +between us was his splendid stories of the captain, and I do not +believe in them now. + +Oddly enough, my chief friend—of the whole lot—is Weston. Rupert +always said I had a vulgar taste in the choice of friends, so it seems +curious that of our old schoolmates Johnson should be his friend and +Weston mine. For Johnson's father is only a canal-carrier, and Weston +is a fellow of good family. + +He is so very clever! And I have such a habit of turning my pockets +inside out for everybody to see, that I admire his reticence; and +then, though he is so ironical with himself, as well as other people, +he has very fine ideas and ambitions and very noble and upright +principles—when you know him well. + +"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," and the fire that burned +down our house got Weston into print at last. + +It was not a common letter either, in the "correspondence" part, with +small type, and the editor not responsible. It was a leading article, +printed big, and it was about the fire and Rupert and Henrietta. +Thomas Johnson read it to us, and we did not know who wrote it; but it +was true, and in good taste. After the account of the fire came a +quotation from Horace, + + "Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis." + +And Johnson cried—"That's Weston, depend upon it. He's in the _Weekly +Spectator_ at last!" + +And then, to my utter amazement, came such a chronicle of the valiant +deeds of Rupert's ancestors as Weston could only have got from one +source. What had furnished his ready pen with matter for a comic +ballad to punish my bragging had filled it also to do honour to Rupert +and Henrietta's real bravery, and down to what the colonel of my +father's regiment had said of him—it was all there. + +Weston came to see me the other day at Dartmouth, where our +training-ship _Albion_ lies, and he was so charmed by the old town +with its carved and gabled houses, and its luxuriant gardens rich with +pale-blossomed laurels, which no frost dwarfs, and crimson fuchsias +gnarled with age, and its hill-embosomed harbour, where the people of +all grades and ages, and of both sexes, flit hither and thither in +their boats as landlubbers would take an evening stroll—that I felt +somewhat justified in the romantic love I have for the place. + +And when we lay in one of the _Albion's_ boats, rocking up and down in +that soothing swell which freshens the harbour's mouth, Weston made me +tell him all about the lion and the silver chain, and he called me a +prig for saying so often that I did not believe in it now. I remember +he said, "In this sleepy, damp, delightful Dartmouth, who but a prig +could deny the truth of a poetical dream?" + +He declared he could see the lion in a cave in the rock, and that the +poor beast wanted a new sea-green ribbon. + +Weston speaks so much more cleverly than I can, that I could not +explain to him then that I am still but too apt to dream! But the +harbour's mouth is now only the beginning of my visions, which stretch +far over the sea beyond, and over the darker line of that horizon +where the ships come and go. + +I hope it is not wrong to dream. My father was so modest as well as +ambitious, so good as well as so gallant, that I would rather die than +disgrace him by empty conceit and unprofitable hopes. + +Weston is a very religious fellow, though he does not "cant" at all. +When I was going away to Dartmouth, and he saw me off (for we were +great friends), one of the last things he said to me was, "I say, +don't leave off saying your prayers, you know." + +I haven't, and I told him so this last time. I often pray that if ever +I am great I may be good too; and sometimes I pray that if I try hard +to be good God will let me be great as well. + +The most wonderful thing was old Rowe's taking a cheap ticket and +coming down to see me last summer. I never can regret my voyage with +him in the _Betsy_, for I did thoroughly enjoy it, though I often +think how odd it is that in my vain, jealous wild-goose chase after +adventures I missed the chance of distinguishing myself in the only +Great Emergency which has yet occurred in our family. + + + + +A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY. + + "Finding, following, keeping, struggling, + Is HE sure to bless?" + +_Hymn of the Eastern Church._ + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A FAMILY FAILING. + + +We are a very ill-tempered family. + +I want to say it, and not to unsay it by any explanations, because I +think it is good for us to face the fact in the unadorned form in +which it probably presents itself to the minds of our friends. + +Amongst ourselves we have always admitted it by pieces, as it were, or +in negative propositions. We allow that we are firm of disposition; we +know that we are straightforward; we show what we feel. We have +opinions and principles of our own; we are not so thick-skinned as +some good people, nor as cold-blooded as others. + +When two of us quarrelled (and Nurse used to say that no two of us +ever agreed), the provocation always seemed, to each of us, great +enough amply to excuse the passion. But I have reason to think that +people seldom exclaimed, "What grievances those poor children are +exasperated with!" but that they often said, "What terrible tempers +they all have!" + +There are five of us: Philip and I are the eldest; we are twins. My +name is Isobel, and I never allow it to be shortened into the ugly +word _Bella_ nor into the still more hideous word _Izzy_, by either +the servants or the children. My aunt Isobel never would, and neither +will I. + +"The children" are the other three. They are a good deal younger than +Philip and I, so we have always kept them in order. I do not mean that +we taught them to behave wonderfully well, but I mean that we made +them give way to us elder ones. Among themselves they squabbled +dreadfully. + +We are a very ill-tempered family. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +ILL-TEMPERED PEOPLE AND THEIR FRIENDS—NARROW ESCAPES—THE +HATCHET-QUARREL. + + +I do not wish for a moment to defend ill-temper, but I do think that +people who suffer from ill-tempered people often talk as if they were +the only ones who do suffer in the matter; and as if the ill-tempered +people themselves quite enjoyed being in a rage. + +And yet how much misery is endured by those who have never got the +victory over their own ill-temper! To feel wretched and exasperated by +little annoyances which good-humoured people get over with a shrug or +a smile; to have things rankle in my mind like a splinter in the +flesh, which glide lightly off yours, and leave no mark; to be unable +to bear a joke, knowing that one is doubly laughed at because one +can't; to have this deadly sore at heart—"I _cannot_ forgive; I +_cannot_ forget," there is no pleasure in these things. The tears of +sorrow are not more bitter than the tears of anger, of hurt pride or +thwarted will. As to the fit of passion in which one is giddy, blind, +and deaf, if there is a relief to the overcharged mind in saying the +sharpest things and hitting the heaviest blows one can at the moment, +the pleasantness is less than momentary, for almost as we strike we +foresee the pains of regret and of humbling ourselves to beg pardon +which must ensue. Our friends do not always pity as well as blame us, +though they are sorry for those who were possessed by devils long ago. + +Good-tempered people, too, who I fancy would find it quite easy not to +be provoking, and to be a little patient and forbearing, really seem +sometimes to irritate hot-tempered ones on purpose, as if they thought +it was good for them to get used to it. + +I do not mean that I think ill-tempered people should be constantly +yielded to, as Nurse says Mrs. Rampant and the servants have given way +to Mr. Rampant till he has got to be quite as unreasonable and nearly +as dangerous as most maniacs, and his friends never cross him, for the +same reason that they would not stir up a mad bull. + +Perhaps I do not quite know how I would have our friends treat us who +are cursed with bad tempers. I think to avoid unnecessary provocation, +and to be patient with us in the height of our passion, is wise as +well as kind. But no principle should be conceded to us, and rights +that we have unjustly attacked should be faithfully defended when we +are calm enough to listen. I fancy that where gentle Mrs. Rampant is +wrong is that she allows Mr. Rampant to think that what really are +concessions to his weakness are concessions to his wisdom. And what is +not founded on truth cannot do lasting good. And if, years ago, before +he became a sort of gunpowder cask at large, he had been asked if he +wished Mrs. Rampant to persuade herself, and Mrs. Rampant, the little +Rampants, and the servants to combine to persuade him, that he was +right when he was wrong, and wise when he was foolish, and reasonable +when he was unjust, I think he would have said No. I do not believe +one could deliberately desire to be befooled by one's family for all +the best years of one's life. And yet how many people are! + +I do not think I am ever likely to be so loved and feared by those I +live with as to have my ill-humours made into laws. I hope not. But I +am sometimes thankful, on the other hand, that GOD is more +forbearing with us than we commonly are with each other, and does not +lead us into temptation when we are at our worst and weakest. + +Any one who has a bad temper must sometimes look back at the years +before he learned self-control, and feel thankful that he is not a +murderer, or burdened for life by the weight on his conscience of +some calamity of which he was the cause. If the knife which furious +Fred threw at his sister before he was out of petticoats had hit the +child's eye instead of her forehead, could he ever have looked into +the blinded face without a pang? If the blow with which impatient +Annie flattered herself she was correcting her younger brother had +thrown the naughty little lad out of the boat instead of into the +sailor's arms, and he had been drowned—at ten years old a murderess, +how could she endure for life the weight of her unavailing remorse? + +I very nearly killed Philip once. It makes me shudder to think of it, +and I often wonder I ever could lose my temper again. + +We were eight years old, and out in the garden together. We had +settled to build a moss-house for my dolls, and had borrowed the +hatchet out of the wood-house, without leave, to chop the stakes with. +It was entirely my idea, and I had collected all the moss and most of +the sticks. It was I, too, who had taken the hatchet. Philip had been +very tiresome about not helping me in the hard part; but when I had +driven in the sticks by leaning on them with all my weight, and had +put in bits of brushwood where the moss fell out and Philip laughed at +me, and, in short, when the moss-house was beginning to look quite +real, Philip was very anxious to work at it, and wanted the hatchet. + +"You wouldn't help me over the hard work," said I, "so I shan't give +it you now; I'll make my moss-house myself." + +"No, you won't," said Philip. + +"Yes, I shall," said I. + +"No, you won't," he reiterated; "for I shall pull it down as fast as +you build it." + +"You'd better not," I threatened. + +Just then we were called in to dinner. I hid the hatchet, and Philip +said no more; but he got out before me, and when I returned to work I +found that the moss-house walls, which had cost me so much labour, +were pulled to pieces and scattered about the shrubbery. Philip was +not to be seen. + +My heart had been so set upon my project that at first I could only +feel the overwhelming disappointment. I was not a child who often +cried, but I burst into tears. + +I was sobbing my hardest when Philip sprang upon me in triumph, and +laughing at my distress. + +"I kept my promise," said he, tossing his head, "and I'll go on doing +it." + +I am sure those shocks of fury which seize one like a fit must be a +devil possessing one. In an instant my eyes were as dry as the desert +in a hot wind, and my head reeling with passion. I ran to the +hatchet, and came back brandishing it. + +"If you touch one stake or bit of moss of mine again," said I, "I'll +throw my hatchet at your head. I can keep promises too." + +My intention was only to frighten him. I relied on his not daring to +brave such a threat; unhappily he relied on my not daring to carry it +out. He took up some of my moss and threw it at me by way of reply. + +I flung the hatchet!— + +My Aunt Isobel has a splendid figure, with such grace and power as one +might expect from her strong health and ready mind. I had not seen her +at the moment, for I was blind with passion, nor had Philip, for his +back was turned towards her. I did not see distinctly how she watched, +as one watches for a ball, and caught the hatchet within a yard of +Philip's head. + +My Aunt Isobel has a temper much like the temper of the rest of the +family. When she had caught it in her left hand she turned round and +boxed my ears with her right hand till I could see less than ever. (I +believe she suffered for that outburst for months afterwards. She was +afraid she had damaged my hearing, as that sense is too often damaged +or destroyed by the blows of ill-tempered parents, teachers, and +nurses.) + +Then she turned back and shook Philip as vigorously as she had boxed +me. "I saw you, you spiteful, malicious boy!" said my Aunt Isobel. + +All the time she was shaking him, Philip was looking at her feet. +Something that he saw absorbed his attention so fully that he forgot +to cry. + +"You're bleeding, Aunt Isobel," said he, when she gave him breath +enough to speak. + +The truth was this: the nervous force which Aunt Isobel had summoned +up to catch the hatchet seemed to cease when it was caught; her arm +fell powerless, and the hatchet cut her ankle. That left arm was +useless for many months afterwards, to my abiding reproach. + +Philip was not hurt, but he might have been killed. Everybody told me +so often that it was a warning to me to correct my terrible temper, +that I might have revolted against the reiteration if the facts had +been less grave. But I never can feel lightly about that +hatchet-quarrel. It opened a gulf of possible wickedness and life-long +misery, over the brink of which my temper would have dragged me, but +for Aunt Isobel's strong arm and keen eye, and over which it might +succeed in dragging me any day, unless I could cure myself of my +besetting sin. + +I never denied it. It was a warning. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WARNINGS—MY AUNT ISOBEL—MR. RAMPANT'S TEMPER, AND HIS CONSCIENCE. + + +I was not the only scarecrow held up before my own mind. + +Nurse had a gallery of historical characters, whom she kept as beacons +to warn our stormy passions of their fate. The hot-tempered boy who +killed his brother when they were at school; the hot-tempered farmer +who took his gun to frighten a trespasser, and ended by shooting him; +the young lady who destroyed the priceless porcelain in a pet; the +hasty young gentleman who kicked his favourite dog and broke its +ribs;—they were all warnings: so was old Mr. Rampant, so was my Aunt +Isobel. + +Aunt Isobel's story was a whispered tradition of the nursery for many +years before she and I were so intimate, in consequence of her +goodness and kindness to me, that one day I was bold enough to say to +her, "Aunt Isobel, is it true that the reason why you never married +is because you and he quarrelled, and you were very angry, and he went +away, and he was drowned at sea?" + +Child as I was, I do not think I should have been so indelicate as to +have asked this question if I had not come to fancy that Nurse made +out the story worse than it really was, for my behoof. Aunt Isobel was +so cheerful and bright with us!—and I was not at that time able to +believe that any one could mend a broken heart with other people's +interests so that the marks should show so little! + +My aunt had a very clear skin, but in an instant her face was thick +with a heavy blush, and she was silent. I marvelled that these were +the only signs of displeasure she allowed herself to betray, for the +question was no sooner out of my mouth than I wished it unsaid, and +felt how furious she must naturally feel to hear that her sad and +sacred story was bandied between servants and children as a +nursery-tale with a moral to it. + +But oh, Aunt Isobel! Aunt Isobel! you had at this time progressed far +along that hard but glorious road of self-conquest which I had hardly +found my way to. + +"I beg your pardon," I began, before she spoke. + +"You ought to," said my aunt—she never spoke less than decisively—"I +thought you had more tact, Isobel, than to tell any one what servants +have said of one's sins or sorrows behind one's back." + +"I am _very_ sorry," I repeated with shame; "but the thing is, I +didn't believe it was true, you always seem so happy. I am _very_ +sorry." + +"It is true," said Aunt Isobel. "Child, whilst we are speaking of +it—for the first and the last time—let it be a warning for you to +illustrate a very homely proverb: 'Don't cut off your nose to spite +your own face.' Ill-tempered people are always doing it, and I did it +to my life-long loss. I _was_ angry with him, and like Jonah I said to +myself, 'I do well to be angry.' And though I would die twenty deaths +harder than the death he died to see his face for five minutes and be +forgiven, I am not weak enough to warp my judgment with my misery. I +was in the right, and he was in the wrong. But I forgot how much +harder a position it is to be in the wrong than in the right in a +quarrel. I did not think of how, instead of making the return path +difficult to those who err, we ought to make it easy, as GOD +does for us. I gave him no chance of unsaying with grace or credit +what he could not fail to regret that he had said. Isobel, you have a +clear head and a sharp tongue, as I have. You will understand when I +say that I had the satisfaction of proving that I was in the right and +he was in the wrong, and that I was firmly, conscientiously +determined to make no concessions, no half-way advances, though our +Father _goes to meet_ His prodigals. Merciful Heaven! I had the +satisfaction of parting myself for all these slow years from the most +honest—the tenderest-hearted—" + +My Aunt Isobel had overrated her strength. After a short and vain +struggle in silence she got up and went slowly out of the room, +resting her hand for an instant on my little knick-knack table by the +door as she went out—the only time I ever saw her lean upon anything. + + * * * * * + +Old Mr. Rampant was another of my "warnings." He—to whose face no one +dared hint that he could ever be in the wrong—would have been more +astonished than Aunt Isobel to learn how plainly—nay, how +contemptuously—the servants spoke behind his back of his unbridled +temper and its results. They knew that the only son was somewhere on +the other side of the world, and that little Mrs. Rampant wept tears +for him and sent money to him in secret, and they had no difficulty in +deciding why: "He'd got his father's temper, and it stood to reason +that he and the old gentleman couldn't put up their horses together." +The moral was not obscure. From no lack of affection, but for want of +self-control, the son was condemned to homelessness and hardships in +his youth, and the father was sonless in his old age. + +But that was not the point of Nurse's tales about Mr. Rampant which +impressed me most, nor even the endless anecdotes of his unreasonable +passions which leaked out at his back-door and came up our back-stairs +to the nursery. They rather amused us. That assault on the butcher's +boy, who brought ribs of beef instead of sirloin, for which he was +summoned and fined; his throwing the dinner out of the window, and +going to dine at the village inn—by which the dogs ate the dinner and +he had to pay for two dinners, and to buy new plates and dishes. + +We laughed at these things, but in my serious moments, especially on +the first Sunday of the month, I was haunted by something else which +Nurse had told me about old Mr. Rampant. + +In our small parish—a dull village on the edge of a marsh—the Holy +Communion was only celebrated once a month. It was not because he was +irreligious that old Mr. Rampant was one of the too numerous +non-communicants. "It's his temper, poor gentleman," said Nurse. "He +can't answer for himself, and he has that religious feeling he +wouldn't like to come unless he was fit. The housekeeper overheard +Mrs. Rampant a-begging of him last Christmas. It was no listening +either, for he bellowed at her like a bull, and swore dreadful that +whatever else he was he wouldn't be profane." + +"Couldn't he keep his temper for a week, don't you think?" said I +sadly, thinking of my mother's old copy of the _Weeks Preparation_ for +the Lord's Supper. + +"It would be as bad if he got into one of his tantrums directly +afterwards," said Nurse: "and with people pestering for +Christmas-boxes, and the pudding and turkey, and so many things that +might go wrong, it would be as likely as not he would. It's a sad +thing too," she added, "for his neck's terribly short, and they say +all his family have gone suddenly with the apoplexy. It's an awful +thing, Miss Isobel, to be taken sudden—and unprepared." + +The awe of it came back on me every month when the fair white linen +covered the rustiness of the old velvet altar-cloth which the marsh +damps were rotting, and the silver vessels shone, and the village +organist played out the non-communicants with a somewhat inappropriate +triumphal march, and little Mrs. Rampant knelt on with buried face as +we went out, and Mr. Rampant came out with us, looking more glum than +usual, and with such a short neck! + +_Now_ I think poor Mr. Rampant was wrong, and that he ought to have +gone with Mrs. Rampant to the Lord's Supper that Christmas. He might +have found grace to have got through all the little ups and downs and +domestic disturbances of a holiday season without being very +ferocious; and if he had tried and failed I think GOD would +have forgiven him. And he might—it is possible that he +_might_—during that calm and solemn Communion, have forgiven his son +as he felt that Our Father forgave him. So Aunt Isobel says; and I +have good reason to think that she is likely to be right. + +I think so too _now_, but _then_ I was simply impressed by the thought +that an ill-tempered person was, as Nurse expressed it, "unfit" to +join in the highest religious worship. It is true that I was also +impressed by her other saying, "It's an awful thing, Miss Isobel, to +be taken sudden and unprepared;" but there was a temporary compromise +in my own case. I could not be a communicant till I was confirmed. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +CASES OF CONSCIENCE—ETHICS OF ILL-TEMPER. + + +Confirmations were not very frequent in our little village at this +time. About once in three years the Bishop came to us. He came when I +was twelve years old. Opinions were divided as to whether I was old +enough, but I decided the matter by saying I would rather wait till +the next opportunity. + +"I may be more fit by that time," was my thought, and it was probably +not unlike some of Mr. Rampant's self-communings. + +The time came, and the Bishop also; I was fifteen. + +I do not know why, but nobody had proposed that Philip should be +confirmed at twelve years old. Fifteen was thought to be quite early +enough for him, and so it came about that we were confirmed together. + +I am very thankful that, as it happened, I had Aunt Isobel to talk to. + +"You're relieved from one perplexity at any rate," said she, when I +had been speaking of that family failing which was also mine. "You +know your weak point. I remember a long talk I had, years ago, with +Mrs. Rampant, whom I used to know very well when we were young. She +said one of her great difficulties was not being able to find out her +besetting sin. She said it always made her so miserable when clergymen +preached on that subject, and said that every enlightened Christian +must have discovered one master passion amongst the others of his +soul. She had tried so hard, and could only find a lot, none much +bigger or much less than the others. Some vanity, some selfishness, +some distrust and weariness, some peevishness, some indolence, and a +lapful of omissions. Since she married," continued my aunt, slowly +pulling her thick black eyelashes, after a fashion she had, "I believe +she has found the long-lost failing. It is impatience with Mr. +Rampant, she thinks." + +I could not help laughing. + +"However, Isobel, we may be sure of this, people of soft, gentle +temperaments have their own difficulties with their own souls which we +escape. Perhaps in the absence of such marked vices as bring one to +open shame one might be slower to undertake vigorous self-improvement. +You and I have no difficulty in seeing the sin lying at _our_ door." + +"N—no," said I. + +"Well, _have you_?" said Aunt Isobel, facing round. "Bless me," she +added impetuously, "don't say you haven't if you have. Never let any +one else think for you, child!" + +"If you'll only have patience and let me explain—" + +"I'm patience its very self!" interrupted my aunt, "but I do hate a No +that means Yes." + +_My_ patience began to evaporate. + +"There are some things, Aunt Isobel, _you know_, which can't be +exactly squeezed into No and Yes. But if you don't want to be bothered +I won't say anything, or I'll say yes or no, which ever you like." + +And I kicked the shovel. (My aunt had shoved the poker with _her_ +slipper.) She drew her foot back and spoke very gently: + +"I beg your pardon, my dear. Please say what you were going to say, +and in your own way." + +There is no doubt that good-humour—like bad—is infectious. I drew +nearer to Aunt Isobel, and fingered the sleeve of her dress +caressingly. + +"You know, dear Aunt Isobel, that I should never think of saying to +the Rector what I want to say to you. And I don't mean that I don't +agree to whatever he tells us about right and wrong, but still I think +if one can be quite convinced in the depths of one's own head, too, +it's a good thing, as well as knowing that he must be right." + +"Certainly," said Aunt Isobel. + +"To begin with, I don't want you to think me any better than I am. +When we were very very little, Philip and I used to spit at each +other, and pull each other's hair out. I do not do nasty or unladylike +things now when I am angry, but, Aunt Isobel, my 'besetting sin' is +not conquered, it's only civilized." + +"I quite agree with you," said Aunt Isobel; which rather annoyed me. I +gulped this down, however, and went on: + +"The sin of ill-temper, _if it is a sin_," I began. I paused, +expecting an outburst, but Aunt Isobel sat quite composedly, and +fingered her eyelashes. + +"Of course the Rector would be horrified if I said such a thing at the +confirmation-class," I continued, in a dissatisfied tone. + +"Don't invent grievances, Isobel, for I see you have a real +stumbling-block, when we can come to it. You are not at the +confirmation-class, and I am not easily horrified." + +"Well, there are two difficulties—I explain very stupidly," said I +with some sadness. + +"We'll take them one at a time," replied Aunt Isobel with an +exasperating blandness, which fortunately stimulated me to +plain-speaking. + +"Everybody says one ought to 'restrain' one's temper, but I'm not sure +if I think one ought. Isn't it better to _have things out_? Look at +Philip. He's going to be confirmed, and then he'll go back to school, +and when he and another boy quarrel, they'll fight it out, and feel +comfortable afterwards. Aunt Isobel, I can quite understand feeling +friendly after you've had it out, even if you're the one who is +beaten, if it has been a fair fight. Now _restraining_ your temper +means forcing yourself to be good outside, and feeling all the worse +inside, and feeling it longer. There is that utterly stupid little +schoolroom-maid, who is under my orders, that I may teach her. Aunt +Isobel, you would not credit how often I tell her the same thing, and +how politely she says 'Yes, miss!' and how invariably she doesn't do +it after all. I say, 'You _know_ I told you only yesterday. What _is_ +the use of my trying to teach you?' and all kinds of mild things like +that; but really I quite hate her for giving me so much trouble and +taking so little herself, and I wish I might discharge her. Now, if +only it wasn't wrong to throw—what are those things hot-tempered +gentlemen always throw at their servants?" + +"Don't ask me, my dear; ask Mr. Rampant." + +"Oh, he throws everything. Bootjacks—that's it. Now, if only I might +throw a bootjack at her, it would waken her up, and be such a relief +to my feelings, that I shouldn't feel half so unforgiving towards her +all along. Then as to swearing, Aunt Isobel—" + +"Swearing!" ejaculated my aunt. + +"Of course swearing is very wrong, and all profane-speaking but I do +think it _would be_ a help if there was some innocent kind of strong +language to use when one feels strongly." + +"If we didn't use up all our innocent strong language by calling +things awful and horrible that have not an element of awe or horror in +them, we should have some left for our great occasions," said Aunt +Isobel. + +"Perhaps," said I, "but that's not exactly what I mean. Now do you +think it would be wrong to invent expletives that mean nothing bad? As +if Mr. Rampant were to say, 'Cockatoos and kingfishers! where are my +shooting-boots?' For you know I do think it would make him more +comfortable to put it in that way, especially if he had been kept +waiting for them." + +I paused, and Aunt Isobel turned round. + +"Let us carry your idea well forward, Isobel. Bootjacks and expletives +would no doubt be a relief to the thrower when hurled at servants or +some one who could not (or from principle would not) retaliate, and +the angry feelings that propelled them might be shortened by 'letting +off the steam,' so to speak. But imagine yourself to have thrown a +bootjack at Philip to relieve your feelings, and Philip (to relieve +his) flinging it back at you. This would only give fresh impetus to +_your_ indignation, and whatever you threw next would not be likely to +soothe _his_." + +"Please don't!" said I. "Aunt Isobel, I could never throw a hatchet +again." + +"You are bold to promise to stop short anywhere when relieving +passionate feelings by indulgence has begun on two sides. And, my +dear, matters are no better where the indulgence is in words instead +of blows. In the very mean and undignified position of abusing those +who cannot return your abuse it might answer; but 'innocent strong +language' would cease to be of any good when it was returned. If to +'Cockatoos and kingfishers! where are my shooting-boots?' an equally +violent voice from below replied, 'Bats and blackbeetles! look for +them yourself!' some stronger vent for the steam of hot temper would +have to be found, and words of any kind would soon cease to relieve +the feelings. Isobel, I have had long and hard experience, and your +ideas are not new ones to me. Believe me, child, the only real relief +is in absolute conquest, and the earlier the battle begins, the easier +and the shorter it will be. If one can keep irritability under, one +may escape a struggle to the death with passion. I am not cramming +principles down your throat—I say as a matter of personal practice, +that I do not know, and never hope to find a smoother or a shorter +way. But I can say also—after Victory comes Peace." + +I gave a heavy sigh. + +"Thank you, Aunt Isobel, I will try; but it makes my second difficulty +all the worse. I can fancy that I might possibly learn self-control; I +can fancy by main force holding my tongue, or compelling it to speak +very slowly and civilly: but one can't force one's feelings. Aunt +Isobel, if I had been very much insulted or provoked, I might keep on +being civil for years on the outside, but how I should hate! You can't +prevent yourself hating. People talk about 'forgive and forget.' If +forgiving means doing no harm, and forgetting means behaving quite +civilly, as if nothing had happened, one could. But of course it's +nonsense to talk of making yourself really _forget_ anything. And I +think it's just as absurd to talk of making yourself forgive, if +forgiveness means feeling really kindly and comfortable as you did +before. The very case in which I am most sure you are right about +self-control is one of the worst the other way. I ought to be ashamed +to speak of it—but I mean the hatchet-quarrel. If I had been very +good instead of very wicked, and had restrained myself when Philip +pulled all my work to pieces, and jeered at me for being miserable, I +_couldn't_ have loved him again as I did before. Forgive and forget! +One would often be very glad to. I have often awoke in the morning and +known that I had forgotten something disagreeable, and when it did +come back I was sorry; but one's memory isn't made of slate, or one's +heart either, that one can take a wet sponge and make it clean. Oh +dear! I wonder why ill-tempered people are allowed to live! They ought +to be smothered in their cradles." + +Aunt Isobel was about to reply, but I interrupted her. + +"Don't think me humble-minded, Aunt Isobel, for I'm not. Sometimes I +feel inclined to think that ill-tempered people have more sense of +justice and of the strict rights and wrongs of things—at least if +they are not very bad," I interpolated, thinking of Mr. Rampant—"than +people who can smile and look pleasant at everything and everybody +like Lucy Lambent, who goes on calling me darling when I know I'm +scowling like a horned-owl. Nurse says she's the 'sweetest tempered +young lady she ever did know!' Aunt Isobel, what a muddle life is!" + +"After some years of it," said my aunt, pulling her lashes hard, "_I_ +generally say, What a muddle my head is! Life is too much for it." + +"I am quite willing to put it that way," sighed I, laying my +muddle-head on the table, for I was tired. "It comes to much the same +thing. Now—there is my great difficulty! I give in about the other +one, but you can't cure this, and the truth is, I am not fit to go to +a confirmation-class, much less to the Holy Communion." + +"Isobel," said my aunt, folding her hands on her lap, and bending her +very thick brows on the fire, "I want you to clearly understand that I +speak with great hesitation, and without any authority. I can do +nothing for you but tell you what I have found myself in _my_ +struggles." + +"Thank you a thousand times," said I, "that's what I want. You know I +hear two sermons every Sunday, and I have a lot of good books. Mrs. +Welment sends me a little book about ill-temper every Christmas. The +last one was about saying a little hymn before you let yourself speak +whenever you feel angry. Philip got hold of it, and made fun of it. He +said it was like the recipe for catching a sparrow by putting salt on +its tail, because if you were cool enough to say a hymn, there would +then be no need for saying it. What do you think, Aunt Isobel?" + +"My dear, I have long ago given up the idea that everybody's weak +points can all be strengthened by one plaster. The hymn might be very +useful in some cases, though I confess that it would not be in mine. +But prayer is; and I find a form of prayer necessary. At the same time +I have such an irritable taste, that there are very few forms of +devotion that give me much help but the Prayer-Book collects and +Jeremy Taylor. I do not know if you may find it useful to hear that in +this struggle I sometimes find prayers more useful, if they are not +too much to the sore point. A prayer about ill-temper might tend to +make me cross, when the effort to join my spirit with the +temptation-tried souls of all ages in a solemn prayer for the Church +Universal would lift me out of the petty sphere of personal vexations, +better than going into my grievances even piously. I speak merely of +myself, mind." + +"Thank you," I said. "But about what I said about hating. Aunt Isobel, +did you ever change your feelings by force? Do you suppose anybody +ever did?" + +"I believe it is a great mistake to trouble one's self with the +spiritual experiences of other people when one cannot fully know their +circumstances, so I won't suppose at all. As to what I am sure of, +Isobel, you know I speak the truth." + +"Yes," said I; it would have been impertinence to say more. + +"_I_ have found that if one fights for good behaviour, GOD +makes one a present of the good feelings. I believe you will find it +so. Even when you were a child, if you had tried to be good, and had +managed to control yourself, and had not thrown the hatchet, I am +quite sure you would not have hated Philip for long. Perhaps you would +have thought how much better Philip used to behave before your father +and mother died, and a little elder-sisterly, motherly feeling would +have mixed with your wrath at seeing him with his fat legs planted +apart, and his shoulders up, the very picture of wilful naughtiness. +Perhaps you might have thought you had repulsed him a little harshly +when he wanted to help, as you were his chief playmate and twin +sister." + +"Please don't," said I. "How I wish I had! Indeed I don't know how I +can ever speak of hating one of the others when there are so few of +us, and we are orphans. But everybody isn't one's brother. And—oh, +Aunt Isobel, at the time one does get so wild, and hard, and twisted +in one's heart!" + +"I don't think it is possible to overrate the hardness of the first +close struggle with any natural passion," said my aunt earnestly; "but +indeed the easiness of after-steps is often quite beyond one's +expectations. The free gift of grace with which GOD perfects +our efforts may come in many ways, but I am convinced that it is the +common experience of Christians that it does come." + +"To every one, do you think?" said I. "I've no doubt it comes to you, +Aunt Isobel, but then you are so good." + +"For pity's sake don't say I am good," said my aunt, and she kicked +down all the fire-irons; and then begged my pardon, and picked them up +again. + +We were silent for awhile. Aunt Isobel sat upright with her hands +folded in her lap, and that look which her large eyes wear when she is +trying to see all the sides of a question. They were dilated with a +sorrowful earnestness when she spoke again. + +"There _may_ be some souls," she said, "whose brave and bitter lot it +is to conquer comfortless. Perhaps some terrible inheritance of strong +sin from the father is visited upon the son, and, only able to keep +his purpose pure, he falls as fast as he struggles up, and still +struggling falls again. Soft moments of peace with GOD and +man may never come to him. He may feel himself viler than a thousand +trumpery souls who could not have borne his trials for a day. Child, +for you and for me is reserved no such cross and no such crown as +theirs who falling still fight, and fighting fall, with their faces +Zionwards, into the arms of the Everlasting Father. 'As one whom his +mother comforteth' shall be the healing of _their_ wounds." + +There was a brisk knock at the door, and Philip burst in. + +"Look here, Isobel, if you mean to be late for confirmation-class I'm +not going to wait for you. I hate sneaking in with the benches all +full, and old Bartram blinking and keeping your place in the catechism +for you with his fat forefinger." + +"I am _very_ sorry, Philip dear," said I; "please go without me, and +I'll come on as quickly as I can. Thank you very much for coming to +remind me." + +"There's no such awful hurry," said Philip in a mollified tone; "I'll +wait for you down-stairs." + +Which he did, whistling. + +Aunt Isobel and I are not demonstrative, it does not suit us. She took +hold of my arms, and I laid my head on her shoulder. + +"Aunt Isobel, GOD help me, I will fight on to the very end." + +"HE _will_ help you," said Aunt Isobel. + +I could not look at her face and doubt it. Oh, my weak soul, never +doubt it more! + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +CELESTIAL FIRE—I CHOOSE A TEXT. + + +We were confirmed. + +As Aunt Isobel had said, I was spared perplexity by the unmistakable +nature of my weakest point. There was no doubt as to what I should +pray against and strive against. But on that day it seemed not only as +if I could never give way to ill-temper again, but as if the trumpery +causes of former outbreaks could never even tempt me to do so. As the +lines of that ancient hymn to the Holy Ghost—"_Veni Creator_"—rolled +on, I prayed humbly enough that my unworthy efforts might yet be +crowned by the sevenfold gifts of the Spirit; but that a soul which +sincerely longed to be "lightened with celestial fire" could be +tempted to a common fit of sulks or scolding by the rub of nursery +misdeeds and mischances, felt then so little likely as hardly to be +worth deprecating on my knees. + +And yet, when the service was over, the fatigue of the mental strain +and of long kneeling and standing began to tell in a feeling that came +sadly near to peevishness. I spent the rest of the day resolutely in +my room and on my knees, hoping to keep up those high thoughts and +emotions which had made me feel happy as well as good. And yet I all +but utterly broke down into the most commonplace crossness because +Philip did not do as I did, but romped noisily with the others, and +teased me for looking grave at tea. + +I just did not break down. So much remained alive of the "celestial +fire," that I kept my temper behind my teeth. Long afterwards, when I +learnt by accident that Philip's "good resolve" on the occasion had +been that he would be kinder to "the little ones," I was very glad +that I had not indulged my uncharitable impulse to lecture him on +indifference to spiritual progress. + +That evening Aunt Isobel gave me a new picture for my room. It was a +fine print of the Crucifixion, for which I had often longed, a German +woodcut in the powerful manner of Albert D¸rer, after a design by +Michael Angelo. It was neither too realistic nor too mediÊval, and the +face was very noble. Aunt Isobel had had it framed, and below on an +illuminated scroll was written—"What are these wounds in Thine +Hands? Those with which I was wounded in the house of My friends." + +"I often think," she said, when we had hung it up and were looking at +it, "that it is not in our Lord's Cross and Passion that His patience +comes most home to us. To be patient before an unjust judge or brutal +soldiers might be almost a part of self-respect; but patience with the +daily disappointments of a life 'too good for this world,' as people +say, patience with the follies, the unworthiness, the ingratitude of +those one loves—these things are our daily example. For wounds in the +house of our enemies pride may be prepared; wounds in the house of our +friends take human nature by surprise, and GOD only can teach us to +bear them. And with all reverence I think that we may say that ours +have an element of difficulty in which His were wanting. They are +mixed with blame on our own parts." + +"That is why you have put that text for me?" said I. My aunt nodded. + +I was learning to illuminate, and I took much pride in my room. I +determined to make a text for myself, and to choose a very plain +passage about ill-temper. Mrs. Welment's books supplied me with +plenty. I chose "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath," but I +resolved to have the complete text as it stands in the Bible. It +seemed fair to allow myself to remember that anger is not always a +sin, and I thought it useful to remind myself that if by obstinate +ill-temper I got the victory in a quarrel, it was only because the +devil had got the victory over me. So the text ran full length:—"Be +ye angry, and sin not; let not the sun go down upon your wrath: +neither give place to the devil." It made a very long scroll, and I +put it up over my window, and fastened it with drawing-pins. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THEATRICAL PROPERTIES—I PREPARE A PLAY—PHILIP BEGINS TO PREPARE THE +SCENERY—A NEW FRIEND. + + +Philip was at school during the remainder of the year, but I tried to +put my good resolves in practice with the children, and it made us a +more peaceful household than usual. When Philip came home for the +Christmas holidays we were certainly in very pleasant moods—for an +ill-tempered family. + +Our friends allow that some quickness of wits accompanies the +quickness of our tempers. From the days when we were very young our +private theatricals have been famous in our own little neighbourhood. +I was paramount in nursery mummeries, and in the children's charade +parties of the district, for Philip was not very reliable when steady +help was needed; but at school he became stage-manager of the +theatricals there. + +I do not know that he learned to act very much better than I, and I +think Alice (who was only twelve) had twice the gift of either of us, +but every half he came back more ingenious than before in matters for +which we had neither the talent nor the tools. He glued together yards +of canvas or calico, and produced scenes and drop-curtains which were +ambitious and effective, though I thought him a little reckless both +about good drawing and good clothes. His glue-kettles and size-pots +were always steaming, his paint was on many and more inappropriate +objects than the canvas. A shilling's-worth of gilding powder went +such a long way that we had not only golden crowns and golden +sceptres, and golden chains for our dungeon, and golden wings for our +fairies, but the nursery furniture became irregularly and +unintentionally gilded, as well as nurse's stuff dress, when she sat +on a warrior's shield, which was drying in the rocking-chair. + +But these were small matters. Philip gave us a wonderful account of +the "properties" he had made for school theatricals. A dragon painted +to the life, and with matches so fixed into the tip of him that the +boy who acted as the life and soul of this ungainly carcase could wag +a fiery tail before the amazed audience, by striking it on that +particular scale of his dragon's skin which was made of sand-paper. +Rabbit-skin masks, cotton-wool wigs and wigs of tow, seven-league +boots, and witches' hats, thunder with a tea-tray, and all the phases +of the moon with a moderator lamp—with all these things Philip +enriched the school theatre, though for some time he would not take so +much trouble for our own. + +But during this last half he had written me three letters—and three +very kind ones. In the latest he said that—partly because he had been +making some things for us, and partly because of changes in the +school-theatrical affairs—he should bring home with him a box of very +valuable "properties" for our use at Christmas. He charged me at once +to prepare a piece which should include a prince disguised as a woolly +beast on two legs with large fore-paws (easily shaken off), a fairy +godmother with a tow wig and the highest hat I could ever hope to see, +a princess turned into a willow-tree (painted from memory of the old +one at home), and with fine gnarls and knots, through which the +princess could see everything, and prompt (if needful), a disconsolate +parent, and a faithful attendant, to be acted by one person, with as +many belated travellers as the same actor could personate into the +bargain. These would all be eaten up by the dragon at the right wing, +and re-enter more belated than ever at the left, without stopping +longer than was required to roll a peal of thunder at the back. The +fifth and last character was to be the dragon himself. The forest +scene would be wanted, and I was to try and get an old cask for a +cave. + +I must explain that I was not expected to write a play. We never took +the trouble to "learn parts." We generally took some story which +pleased us out of _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ or the _Arabian Nights_, and +arranged for the various scenes. We each had a copy of the +arrangement, and our proper characters were assigned to us. After this +we did the dialogue as if it had been a charade. We were well +accustomed to act together, and could trust each other and ourselves. +Only Alice's brilliancy ever took us by surprise. + +By the time that Philip came home I had got in the rough outline of +the plot. He arrived with a box of properties, the mere size of which +raised a cheer of welcome from the little ones, and red-hot for our +theatricals. + +Philip was a little apt to be red-hot over projects, and to cool +before they were accomplished; but on this occasion we had no +forebodings of such evil. Besides, he was to play the dragon! When he +did fairly devote himself to anything, he grudged no trouble and +hesitated at no undertakings. He was so much pleased with my plot and +with the cave, that he announced that he should paint a new forest +scene for the occasion. I tried to dissuade him. There were so many +other things to be done, and the old scene was very good. But he had +learnt several new tricks of the scene-painter's trade, and was bent +upon putting them into practice. So he began his new scene, and I +resolved to work all the harder at the odds and ends of our +preparations. To be driven into a corner and pressed for time always +stimulated instead of confusing me. I think the excitement of it is +pleasant. Alice had the same dogged way of working at a crisis, and we +felt quite confident of being able to finish up "at a push," whatever +Philip might leave undone. The theatricals were to be on Twelfth +Night. + +Christmas passed very happily on the whole. I found my temper much +oftener tried since Philip's return, but this was not only because he +was very wilful and very fond of teasing, but because with the younger +ones I was always deferred to. + +One morning we were very busy in the nursery, which was our workshop. +Philip's glue-pots and size-pots were steaming, there were coloured +powders on every chair, Alice and I were laying a coat of invisible +green over the cave-cask, and Philip, in radiant good-humour, was +giving distance to his woodland glades in the most artful manner with +powder-blue, and calling on us for approbation—when the housemaid +came in. + +"It's _not_ lunch-time?" cried Alice. "It can't be!" + +"Get away, Mary," said Philip, "and tell cook if she puts on any more +meals I'll paint her best cap pea-green. She's sending up luncheons +and dinners all day long now: just because she knows we're busy." + +Mary only laughed, and said, "It's a gentleman wants to see you, +Master Philip," and she gave him a card. Philip read it, and we waited +with some curiosity. + +"It's a man I met in the train," said he, "a capital fellow. He lives +in the town. His father's a doctor there. Granny must invite him to +the theatricals. Ask him to come here, Mary, and show him the way." + +"Oughtn't you to go and fetch him yourself?" said I. + +"I can't leave this," said Philip. "He'll be all right. He's as +friendly as possible." + +I must say here that "Granny" was our maternal grandmother, with whom +we lived. My mother and father were cousins, and Granny's husband was +of that impetuous race to which we belonged. If he had been alive he +would have kept us all in good order, no doubt. But he was dead, and +Granny was the gentlest of old ladies: I fear she led a terrible life +with us all! + +Philip's friend came up-stairs. He _was_ very friendly; in fact Alice +and I thought him forward, but he was several years older than Philip, +who seemed proud of the acquaintance. Perhaps Alice and I were biased +by the fact that he spoilt our pleasant morning. He was one of those +people who look at everything one has been working at with such +unintelligent eyes that their indifference ought not to dishearten +one; and yet it does. + +"It's for our private theatricals," said Philip, as Mr. Clinton's +amazed stare passed from our paint-covered selves to the new scene. + +"My cousins in Dublin have private theatricals," said Mr. Clinton. "My +uncle has built on a room for the theatre. All the fittings and scenes +come from London, and the first costumiers in Dublin send in all the +dresses and everything that is required on the afternoon before the +performance." + +"Oh, we're in a much smaller way," said Philip; "but I've some +properties here that don't look bad by candlelight." But Mr. Clinton +had come up to the cask, and was staring at it and us. I knew by the +way Alice got quietly up, and shook some chips with a decided air out +of her apron, that she did not like being stared at. But her movement +only drew Mr. Clinton's especial attention. + +"You'll catch it from your grandmamma for making such a mess of your +clothes, won't you?" he asked. + +"I _beg_ your pardon?" said Alice, with so perfect an air of not +having heard him that he was about to repeat the question, when she +left the nursery with the exact exit which she had made as a Discreet +Princess repelling unwelcome advances in last year's play. + +I was afraid of an outburst from Philip, and said in hasty civility, +"This is a cave we are making." + +"They'd a splendid cave at Covent Garden last Christmas," said Mr. +Clinton. "It covered half the stage. An enormously tall man dressed in +cloth of silver stood in the entrance, and waved a spear ten or twelve +feet long over his head. A fairy was let down above that, so you may +be sure the cave was pretty big." + +"Oh, here's the dragon," said Philip, who had been rummaging in the +property box. "He's got a fiery tail." + +"They were quite the go in pantomimes a few years ago," said Mr. +Clinton, yawning. "My uncle had two or three—bigger than that, of +course." + +Philip saw that his friend was not interested in amateur +property-making, and changed the subject. + +"What have you been doing this morning?" said he. + +"I drove here with my father, who had got to pass your gates. I say, +there's splendid shooting on the marsh now. I want you to come out +with me, and we'll pot a wild duck or two." + +"I've no gun," said Philip, and to soften the statement added, +"there's no one here to go out with." + +"I'll go out with you. And I say, we could just catch the train back +to the town, and if you'll come and lunch with us, we'll go out a bit +this afternoon and look round. But you must get a gun." + +"I should like some fresh air," said Philip, "and as you've come over +for me—" + +I knew the appealing tone in his voice was for my ears, for my face +had fallen. + +"Could I be going on with it?" I asked, nodding towards the forest +scene. + +"Oh dear no! I'll go at it again to-night. It ought all to be painted +by candlelight by rights. I'm not going to desert my post," he added. + +"I hope not," said I as good-humouredly as I could; but dismay was in +my heart. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A QUARREL—BOBBY IS WILLING—EXIT PHILIP. + + +Philip came back by an evening train, and when he had had something to +eat he came up to the nursery to go on with the scene. We had got +everything ready for him, and he worked for about half-an-hour. But he +was so sleepy, with cold air and exercise, that he did not paint well, +and then he got impatient, and threw it up—"till the morning." + +In the morning he set to work, talking all the time about wild duck +and teal, and the price of guns; but by the time he had put last +night's blunders straight, the front door bell rang, and Mary +announced "Mr. Clinton." + +Philip was closeted in his room with his new friend till twelve +o'clock. Then they went out into the yard, and finally Mr. Clinton +stayed to luncheon. But I held my peace, and made Alice hold hers. Mr. +Clinton went away in the afternoon, but Philip got the plate-powder +and wash-leather, and occupied himself in polishing the silver +fittings of his dressing-case. + +"I think you might do that another time, Philip," said I; "you've not +been half-an-hour at the properties to-day, and you could clean your +bottles and things quite as well after the theatricals." + +"As it happens I just couldn't," said Philip; "I've made a bargain, +and bargains won't wait." + +Alice and I screamed in one breath, "You're _not_ going to give away +the dressing-case!"—for it had been my father's. + +"I said a _bargain_" replied Philip, rubbing harder than ever; "you +can't get hold of a gun every day without paying down hard cash." + +"I hate Mr. Clinton!" said Alice. + +It was a very unfortunate speech, for it declared open war; and when +this is done it cannot be undone. There is no taking back those sharp +sayings which the family curse hangs on the tips of our tongues. + +Philip and Alice exchanged them pretty freely. Philip called us +selfish, inhospitable, and jealous. He said we grudged his enjoying +himself in the holidays, when he had been working like a slave for us +during the half. That we disliked his friend because he _was_ his +friend, and (not to omit the taunt of sex) that Clinton was too manly +a fellow to please girls, etc., etc. In self-defence Alice was much +more out-spoken about both Philip and Mr. Clinton than she had +probably intended to be. That Philip began things hotly, and that his +zeal cooled before they were accomplished—that his imperiousness laid +him open to flattery, and the necessity of playing first-fiddle +betrayed him into second-rate friendships, which were thrown after the +discarded hobbies—that Mr. Clinton was ill-bred, and with that +vulgarity of mind which would make him rather proud than ashamed of +getting the best of a bargain with his friend—these things were not +the less taunts because they were true. + +If the violent scenes which occur in ill-tempered families _felt_ half +as undignified and miserable as they _look_, surely they would be less +common! I believe Philip and Alice would have come to blows if I had +not joined with him to expel her from the room. I was not happy about +it, for my sympathy was on her side of the quarrel, but she had been +the one to declare war, and I could not control Philip. In short, it +is often not easy to keep the peace and be just too, as I should like +to have said to Aunt Isobel, if she had been at home. But she was to +be away until the 6th. + +Alice defeated, I took Philip seriously to task. Not about his +friend—the subject was too sore, and Alice had told him all that we +thought, and rather more than we thought on that score—but about the +theatricals. I said if he really was tired of the business we would +throw it up, and let our friends know that the proposed entertainment +had fallen through, but that if he wanted it to go forward he must +decide what help he would give, and then abide by his promise. + +We came to terms. If I would let him have a day or two's fun with his +gun, Philip promised to "spurt," as he called it, at the end. I told +him we would be content if he would join in a "thorough rehearsal," +the afternoon before, and devote himself to the business on the day of +the performance. + +"Real business, you know," I added, "with nobody but ourselves. Nobody +coming in to interrupt." + +"Of course," said Philip; "but I'll do more than that, Isobel. There's +the scene—" + +"_We'll_ finish the scene," said I, "if you don't aggravate Alice so +that I lose her help as well as yours." + +Alice was very sulky, which I could hardly wonder at, and I worked +alone, except for Bobby, the only one with anything like a good temper +among us, who roasted himself very patiently with my size-pot, and +hammered bits of ivy, and of his fingers, rather neatly over the cave. +But Alice was impulsive and kind-hearted. When I got a bad headache, +from working too long, she came round, and helped me. Philip was +always going to do so, but as a matter of fact he went out every day +with the old fowling-piece for which he had given his dressing case. + +When the ice bore Charles also deserted us, but Alice and I worked +steadily on at dresses and scenery. And Bobby worked with us. + +The 5th of January arrived, the day before the theatricals. Philip +spent the morning in cleaning his gun, and after luncheon he brought +it into the nursery to "finish" with a peculiarly aggravating air. + +"When shall you be ready to rehearse?" I asked. + +"Oh, presently," said Philip, "there's plenty of time yet. It's a +great nuisance," he added, "I'll never have anything to do with +theatricals again. They make a perfect slave of one." + +"_You've_ not slaved much, at any rate," said Charles. + +"You'd better not give me any of your cheek," said Philip +threateningly. + +"We've done without him for a week, I don't know why we shouldn't do +without him to-morrow," muttered Alice from the corner where she was +sewing gold paper stars on to the Enchanted Prince's tunic. + +"I wish you could," growled Philip, who took the suggestion more +quietly than I expected; "anybody could do the Dragon, there's no +acting in it!" + +"I won't," said Charles, "Isobel gave me the Enchanted Prince or the +Woolly Beast, and I shall stick to my part." + +"Could I do the Dragon?" asked Bobby, releasing his hot face from the +folds of an old blue cloak lined with red, in which he was rehearsing +his walk as a belated wayfarer. + +"Certainly not," said I, "you're the Bereaved Father and the Faithful +Attendant to begin with, and I hope you won't muddle them. And you're +Twelve Travellers as well, and the thunder, remember!" + +"I don't care how many I do, if only I can," said Bobby, drawing his +willing arm across his steaming forehead. "I should like to have a +fiery tail." + +"You can't devour yourself once—let alone twelve times," said I +sternly. "Don't be silly, Bob." + +It was not Bob I was impatient with in reality, it was Philip. + +"If you really mean to desert the theatricals after all you promised, +I would much rather try to do without you," said I indignantly. + +"Then you may!" retorted Philip. "I wash my hands of it and of the +whole lot of you, and of every nursery entertainment henceforward!" +and he got the fragments of his gun together with much clatter. But +Charles had posted himself by the door to say his say, and to be ready +to escape when he had said it. + +"You're ashamed of it, that's it," said he; "you want to sit among the +grown-ups with a spy-glass, now you've got Apothecary Clinton's son +for a friend,"—and after this brief and insulting summary of the +facts, Charles vanished. But Philip, white with anger, was too quick +for him, and at the top of the back-stairs he dealt him such a heavy +blow that Charles fell head-long down the first flight. + +Alice and I flew to the rescue. I lived in dread of Philip really +injuring Charles some day, for his blows were becoming serious ones as +he grew taller and stronger, and his self-control did not seem to wax +in proportion. And Charles's temper was becoming very aggressive. On +this occasion, as soon as he had regained breath, and we found that no +bones were broken, it was only by main force that we held him back +from pursuing Philip. + +"I'll hit him—I'll stick to him," he sobbed in his fury, shaking his +head like a terrier, and doubling his fists. But he was rather sick +with the fall, and we made him lie down to recover himself, whilst +Alice, Bobby, and I laid our heads together to plan a substitute for +Philip in the Dragon. + +When bed-time came, and Philip was still absent, we became uneasy, and +as I lay sleepless that night I asked myself if I had been to blame +for the sulks in which he had gone off. In fits of passion Philip had +often threatened to go away and never let us hear of him again. I +knew that such things did happen, and it made me unhappy when he went +off like this, although his threats had hitherto been no more than a +common and rather unfair device of ill-temper. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +I HEAR FROM PHILIP—A NEW PART WANTED—I LOSE MY TEMPER—WE ALL LOSE +OUR TEMPERS. + + +Next morning's post brought the following letter from Philip:— + +"MY DEAR ISOBEL, + +"You need not bother about the Dragon—I'll do it. But I wish you +would put another character into the piece. It is for Clinton. He says +he will act with us. He says he can do anything if it is a leading +part. He has got black velvet knickerbockers and scarlet stockings, +and he can have the tunic and cloak I wore last year, and the flap +hat; and you must lend him your white ostrich feather. Make him some +kind of a grandee. If you can't, he must be the Prince, and Charles +can do some of the Travellers. We are going out on the marsh this +morning, but I shall be with you after luncheon, and Clinton in the +evening. He does not want any rehearsing, only a copy of the plan. +Let Alice make it, her writing is the clearest, and I wish she would +make me a new one; I've torn mine, and it is so dirty, I shall never +be able to read it inside the Dragon. Don't forget. + +"Your affectionate brother, + +"PHILIP." + +There are limits to one's patience, and with some of us they are not +very wide. Philip had passed the bounds of mine, and my natural +indignation was heightened by a sort of revulsion from last night's +anxiety on his account. His lordly indifference to other people's +feelings was more irritating than the trouble he gave us by changing +his mind. + +"You won't let him take the Woolly Beast from me, Isobel?" cried +Charles. "And you know you promised to lend _me_ your ostrich plume." + +"Certainly not," said I. "And you shall have the feather. I promised." + +"If Mr. Clinton acts—I shan't," said Alice. + +"Mr. Clinton won't act," said I, "I can't alter the piece now. But I +wish, Alice, you were not always so very ready to drive things into a +quarrel." + +"If we hadn't given way to Philip so much he wouldn't think we can +bear anything," said Alice. + +I could not but feel that there was some truth in this, and that it +was a dilemma not provided against in Aunt Isobel's teaching, that +one may be so obliging to those one lives with as to encourage, if not +to teach them to be selfish. + +Perhaps it would have been well if on the first day when Philip +deserted us Alice and I, had spent the afternoon with Lucy Lambent, +and if we had continued to amuse ourselves with our friends when +Philip amused himself with his. We should then have been forced into a +common decision as to whether the play should be given up, and, +without reproaches or counter-reproaches, Philip would have learned +that he could not leave all the work to us, and then arrange and +disarrange the plot at his own pleasure, or rather, he would never +have thought that he could. But a plan of this kind requires to be +carried out with perfect coolness to be either justifiable or +effective. And we have not a cool head amongst us. + +One thing was clear. I ought to keep faith with the others who had +worked when Philip would not. Charles should not be turned out of his +part. I rather hustled over the question of a new part for Mr. Clinton +in my mind. I disliked him, and did not want to introduce him. I said +to myself that it was quite unreasonable—out of the question in +fact—and I prepared to say so to Philip. + +Of course he was furious—that I knew he would be; but I was firm. + +"Charles can be the Old Father, and the Family Servant too," said he. +"They're both good parts." + +"Then give them to Mr. Clinton," said I, well knowing that he would +not. "Charles has taken a great deal of pains with his part, and these +are his holidays as well as yours, and the Prince shall not be taken +from him." + +"Well, I say it shall. And Charles may be uncommonly glad if I let him +act at all after the way he behaved yesterday." + +"The way _you_ behaved, you, mean," said I—for my temper was slipping +from my grasp;—"you might have broken his neck." + +"All the more danger in his provoking me, and in your encouraging +him." + +I began to feel giddy, which is always a bad sign with us. It rang in +my mind's ear that this was what came of being forbearing with a bully +like Philip. But I still tried to speak quietly. + +"If you think," said I through my teeth, "that I am going to let you +knock the others about, and rough-ride it over our theatricals, you +are mistaken." + +"_Your_ theatricals!" cried Philip, mimicking me. "I like that! Whom +do the properties belong to, pray?" + +"If it goes by buying," was my reply to this rather difficult +question, "most of them belong to Granny, for the canvas and the +paints and the stuff for the dresses, have gone down in the bills; and +if it goes by work, I think we have done quite as much as you. And if +some of the properties _are_ yours, the play is mine. And as to the +scene—you did the distance in the middle of the wood, but Alice and I +painted all the foreground." + +"Then you may keep your foreground, and I'll take my distance," roared +Philip, and in a moment his pocket-knife was open, and he had cut a +hole a foot-and-a-half square in the centre of the Enchanted Forest, +and Bobby's amazed face (he was running a tuck in his cloak behind the +scenes) appeared through the aperture. + +If a kind word would have saved the fruits of our week's hard labour, +not one of us would have spoken it. We sacrifice anything we possess +in our ill-tempered family—except our wills. + +"And you may take your play, and I'll take my properties," continued +Philip, gathering up hats, wigs, and what not from the costumes which +Alice and I had arranged in neat groups ready for the green-room. +"I'll give everything to Clinton this evening for his new theatre, and +we'll see how you get on without the Fiery Dragon." + +"Clinton _can't_ want a fiery dragon when he's got you," said Charles, +in a voice of mock compliment. + +The Fairy Godmother's crabstick was in Philip's hand. He raised it, +and flew at Charles, but I threw myself between them and caught +Philip's arm. + +"You shall not hit him," I cried. + +Aunt Isobel is right about one thing. If one _does_ mean to stop short +in a quarrel one must begin at a very early stage. It is easier to +smother one's feelings than to check one's words. By the time it comes +to blows it is like trying to pull up a runaway horse. The first pinch +Philip gave to my arm set my brain on fire. When he threw me heavily +against the cave with a mocking laugh, and sprang after Charles, I +could not have yielded an inch to him to save my life—not to earn +Fortunatus' purse, or three fairy wishes—not to save whatever I most +valued. + +What would have induced me? I do not know, but I know that I am very +glad it is not quite so easy to sell one's soul at one bargain as +fairy-tales make out! + +My struggle with Philip had given Charles time to escape. Philip could +not find him, and rough as were the words with which he returned to +me, I fancy they cost him some effort of self-control, and they +betrayed to Alice's instinct and mine that he would have been glad to +get out of the extremity to which our tempers had driven matters. + +"Look here!" said he in a tone which would have been perfect if we +had been acting a costermonger and his wife. "Are you going to make +Clinton the Prince or not?" + +"I am not," said I, nursing my elbow, which was cut by a nail on the +cask. "I am not going to do anything whatever for Mr. Clinton, and I +ought to be cured of working for you." + +"You have lost an opening to make peace," said an inner voice. "You've +given the yielding plan a fair trial, and it has failed," said +self-justification—the swiftest pleader I know. "There are some +people, with self-satisfied, arbitrary tempers, upon whom gentleness +is worse than wasted, because it misleads them. They have that remnant +of savage notions which drives them to mistake generosity for +weakness. The only way to convince them is to hit them harder than +they hit you. And it is the kindest plan for everybody concerned." + +I am bound to say—though it rather confuses some of my ideas—that +experience has convinced me that this last statement is not without +truth. But I am also bound to say that it was not really applicable to +Philip. He is not as generous as Alice, but I had no good reason to +believe that kindly concession would be wasted on him. + +When I had flung my last defiance, Philip replied in violent words of +a kind which girls in our class of life do not (happily!) use, even +in a rage. They were partly drowned by the clatter with which he +dragged his big box across the floor, and filled it with properties of +all kinds, from the Dragon to the foot-light reflectors. + +"I am going by the 4.15 to the town," said he, as he pulled the box +out towards his own room. "You need not wait for either Clinton or me. +Pray 'ring up' punctually!" + +At this moment—having fully realized the downfall of the +theatricals—Bobby burst into a howl of weeping. Alice scolded him for +crying, and Charles reproached her for scolding him, on the score that +her antipathy to Mr. Clinton had driven Philip to this extreme point +of insult and ill-temper. + +Charles's own conduct had been so far from soothing, that Alice had +abundant material for retorts, and she was not likely to be a loser in +the war of words. What she did say I did not hear, for by that time I +had locked myself up in my own room. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +SELF-REPROACH—FAMILY DISCOMFORT—OUT ON THE MARSH—VICTORY. + + +If I could have locked myself up anywhere else I should have preferred +it. I would have justified my own part in the present family quarrel +to Aunt Isobel herself, and yet I would rather not have been alone +just now with the text I had made and pinned up, and with my new +picture. However, there was nowhere else to go to. + +A restless way I have of pacing up and down when I am in a rage, has +often reminded me of the habits of the more ferocious of the wild +beasts in the Zoological Gardens, and has not lessened my convictions +on the subject of the family temper. For a few prowls up and down my +den I managed to occupy my thoughts with fuming against Philip's +behaviour, but as the first flush of anger began to cool, there was no +keeping out of my head the painful reflections which the sight of my +text, my picture, and my books suggested—the miserable contrast +between my good resolves and the result. + +"It only shows," I muttered to myself, in a voice about as amiable as +the growlings of a panther, "it only shows that it is quite hopeless. +We're an ill-tempered family—a hopelessly ill-tempered family; and to +try to cure us is like patching the lungs of a consumptive family, I +don't even wish that I _could_ forgive Philip. He doesn't deserve it." + +And then as I nursed the cut on my elbow, and recalled the long hours +of work at the properties, the damaged scene, the rifling of the +green-room, and Philip's desertion with the Dragon, his probable +industry for Mr. Clinton's theatricals, and the way he had left us to +face our own disappointed audience, fierce indignation got the upper +hand once more. + +"I don't care," I growled afresh; "if I have lost my temper, I believe +I was right to lose it—at least, that no one could have been expected +not to lose it, I will never beg his pardon for it, let Aunt Isobel +say what she will. I should hate him ever after if I did, for the +injustice of the thing. Pardon, indeed!" + +I turned at the top of the room and paced back towards the window, +towards the long illuminated text, and that + + "—— Noble face, + So sweet and full of grace," + +which bent unchangeable from the emblem of suffering and +self-sacrifice. + +I have a trick of talking to myself and to inanimate objects. I +addressed myself now to the text and the picture. + +"But if I don't," I continued, "if after being confirmed with Philip +in the autumn, we come to just one of our old catastrophes in the very +next holidays, as bad as ever, and spiting each other to the last—I +shall take you all down to-morrow! I don't pretend to be able to +persuade myself that black is white—like Mrs. Rampant; but I am not a +hypocrite, I won't ornament my room with texts, and crosses, and +pictures, and symbols of Eternal Patience, when I do not even mean to +_try_ to sacrifice myself, or to be patient." + +It is curious how one's faith and practice hang together. I felt very +doubtful whether it was even desirable that I should. Whether we did +not misunderstand GOD'S will, in thinking that it is well +that people in the right should ever sacrifice themselves for those +who are in the wrong. I did not however hide from myself, that to say +this was to unsay all my resolves about my besetting sin. I decided to +take down my texts, pictures, and books, and grimly thought that I +would frame a fine photograph Charles had given me of a lioness, and +would make a new inscription, the motto of the old Highland Clan +Chattan—with which our family is remotely connected—"_Touch not the +cat but a glove_."[1] + +[Footnote 1: _AnglicË_ "without a glove."] + +"Put on your gloves next time, Master Philip!" I thought. "I shall +make no more of these feeble attempts to keep in my claws, which only +tempt you to irritate me beyond endurance. We're an ill-tempered +family, and you're not the most amiable member of it. For my own part, +I can control my temper when it is not running away with me, and be +fairly kind to the little ones, so long as they do what I tell them. +But, at a crisis like this, I can no more yield to your unreasonable +wishes, stifle my just anger, apologize for a little wrong to you who +owe apologies for a big one, and pave the way to peace with my own +broken will, than the leopard can change his spots." + +"And yet—_if I could_!" + +It broke from me almost like a cry, "If my besetting sin _is_ a sin, +if I have given way to it under provocation—if this moment is the +very hardest of the battle, and the day is almost lost—and if now, +even now, I could turn round and tread down this Satan under my feet. +If this were to-morrow morning, and I had done it—O my soul, what +triumph, what satisfaction in past prayers, what hope for the future! + +"Then thou shouldest believe the old legends of sinners numbered with +the saints, of tyrants taught to be gentle, of the unholy learning to be +pure—for one believes with heartiness what he has experienced—then +text and picture and cross should hang on, in spite of frailty, and in +this sign shalt thou conquer." + +One ought to be very thankful for the blessings of good health and +strong nerves, but I sometimes wish I could cry more easily. I should +not like to be like poor Mrs. Rampant, whose head or back is always +aching, and whose nerves make me think of the strings of an ∆olian +harp, on which Mr. Rampant, like rude Boreas, is perpetually playing +with the tones of his voice, the creak of his boots, and the bang of +his doors. But her tears do relieve, if they exhaust her, and +back-ache cannot be as bad as heart-ache—hot, dry heart-ache, or +cold, hard heart-ache. I think if I could have cried I could have felt +softer. As it was I began to wish that I could do what I felt sure +that I could not. + +If I dragged myself to Philip, and got out a few conciliatory words, I +should break down in a worse fury than before if he sneered or rode +the high horse, "as he probably would," thought I. + +On my little carved Prayer-book shelf lay with other volumes a copy of +¿ Kempis, which had belonged to my mother. Honesty had already +whispered that if I deliberately gave up the fight with evil this +must be banished with my texts and pictures. At the present moment a +familiar passage came into my head: + + "When one that was in great anxiety of mind, often wavering + between fear and hope, did once humbly prostrate himself in + prayer, and said, 'O if I knew that I should persevere!' he + presently heard within him an answer from GOD, which said, + 'If thou didst know it, what would'st thou do? Do what thou + would'st do then, and thou shalt be safe.'" + +Supposing I began to do right, and trusted the rest? I could try to +speak to Philip, and it would be something even if I stopped short and +ran away. Or if I could not drag my feet to him, I could take Aunt +Isobel's advice, and pray. I might not be able to speak civilly to +Philip, or even to pray about him in my present state of mental +confusion, but I could repeat _some_ prayer reverently. Would it not +be better to start on the right road, even if I fell by the way? + +I crossed the room in three strides to the place where I usually say +my prayers. I knelt, and folded my hands, and shut my eyes, and began +to recite the Te Deum in my head, trying to attend to it. I did attend +pretty well, but it was mere attention, till I felt slightly softened +at the verse—"Make them to be numbered with Thy saints in glory +everlasting." For my young mother was very good, and I always think +of her when the choir comes to that verse on Sundays. + +"Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin." "It's too late +to ask that," thought I, with that half of my brain which was not +attending to the words of the Te Deum, "and yet there is a little bit +of the day left which will be dedicated either to good or evil." + +I prayed the rest, "O Lord, have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us. O +Lord, let Thy mercy lighten upon us, as our trust is in Thee. O Lord, +in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded!" and with the last +verse there came from my heart a very passion of desire for strength +to do the will of GOD at the sacrifice of my own. I flung myself on +the floor with inarticulate prayers that were very fully to the point +now, and they summed themselves up again in the old words, "In Thee, O +Lord, have I trusted, let me never be confounded!" + +When I raised my head I caught sight of the picture, and for an +instant felt a superstitious thrill. The finely drawn face shone with +a crimson glow. But in a moment more I saw the cause, and +exclaimed—"_The sun is setting_! I must speak to Philip before it +goes down." + +What should I say? Somehow, now, my judgment felt very clear and +decisive. I would not pretend that he had been in the right, but I +would acknowledge where I had been in the wrong. I _had_ been +disobliging about Mr. Clinton, and I would say so, and offer to repair +that matter. I would regret having lost my temper, and say nothing +about his. I would not offer to deprive Charles of his part, or break +my promise of the white feather; but I would make a new part for Mr. +Clinton, and he should be quite welcome to any finery in my possession +except Charles's plume. This concession was no difficulty to me. Bad +as our tempers are, I am thankful to say they are not mean ones. If I +dressed out Mr. Clinton at all, it would come natural to do it +liberally. I would do all this—_if I could_. I might break down into +passion at the mere sight of Philip and the properties, but at least I +would begin "as if I knew I should persevere." + +At this moment the front door was shut with a bang which shook the +house. + +It was Philip going to catch the 4.15. I bit my lips, and began to +pull on my boots, watching the red sun as it sank over the waste of +marshland which I could see from my window. I must try to overtake +him, but I could run well, and I suspected that he would not walk +fast. I did not believe that he was really pleased at the break-up of +our plans and the prospect of a public exposure of our squabbles, +though as a family we are always willing to make fools of ourselves +rather than conciliate each other. + +My things were soon on, and I hurried from my room. In the window-seat +of the corridor was Alice. The sight of her reproached me. She slept +in my room, but I jealously retained full power over it, and when I +locked myself in she dared not disturb me. + +"I'm afraid you've been wanting to come in," said I. "Do go in now." + +"Thank you," said Alice, "I've nowhere to go to." Then tightening her +lips, she added, "Philip's gone." + +"I know," said I. "I'm going to try and get him back." Alice stared in +amazement. + +"You always do spoil Philip, because he's your twin," she said, at +last; "you wouldn't do it for me." + +"Oh, Alice, you don't know. I'd much rather do it for you, girls are +so much less aggravating than boys. But don't try and make it harder +for me to make peace." + +"I beg your pardon, Isobel. If you do, you're an angel. I couldn't, to +save my life." + +At the head of the stairs I met Charles. + +"He's gone," said he significantly, and bestriding the balustrades, he +shot to the foot. When I reached him he was pinching the biceps muscle +of his arm. + +"Feel, Isobel," said he, "It's hard, isn't it?" + +"Very, Charles, but I'm in a hurry." + +"Look here," he continued, with an ugly expression on his face, "I'm +going into training. I'm going to eat bits of raw mutton, and +dumb-bell. Wait a year, wait half a year, and I shall be able to +thrash him. I'll make him remember these theatricals. I don't forget. +I haven't forgot his bursting my football out of spite." + +It is not pleasant to see one's own sins reflected on other faces. I +could not speak. + +By the front door was Bobby. He was by way of looking out of the +portico window, but his swollen eyes could not possibly have seen +anything. + +"Oh, Isobel, Isobel!" he sobbed, "Philip's gone, and taken the +D—d—d—dragon with him, and we're all m—m—m—miserable." + +"Don't cry, Bobby," said I, kissing him. "Finish your cloak, and be +doing anything you can. I'm going to try and bring Philip back." + +"Oh, thank you, thank you, Isobel! If only he'll come back I don't +care what I do. Or I'll give up my parts if he wants them, and be a +scene-shifter, if you'll lend me your carpet-slippers, and make me a +paper cap." + +"GOD has given you a very sweet temper, Bobby," said I, +solemnly. "I wish I had one like it." + +"You're as good as gold," said Bobby. His loving hug added strength +to my resolutions, and I ran across the garden and jumped the ha-ha, +and followed Philip over the marsh. I do not know whether he heard my +steps when I came nearly up with him, but I fancy his pace slackened. +Not that he looked round. He was much too sulky. + +Philip is a very good-looking boy, much handsomer than I am, though we +are alike. But the family curse disfigures his face when he is cross +more than any one's, and the back view of him is almost worse than the +front. His shoulders get so humped up, and his whole figure is stiff +with cross-grained obstinacy. + +"I shall never hold out if he speaks as ungraciously as he looks," +thought I in despair. "But I'll not give in till I can hold out no +longer." + +"Philip!" I said. He turned round, and his face was no prettier to +look at than his shoulders. + +"What do you want?" (in the costermonger tone.) + +"I want you to come back, Philip"—(here I choked). + +"I dare say," he sneered, "and you want the properties! But you've got +your play, and your amiable Charles, and your talented Alice, and your +ubiquitous Bobby. And the audience will be entertained with an +unexpected after-piece entitled—'The disobliging disobliged.'" + +Oh it _was_ hard! I think if I had looked at Philip's face I must have +broken down, but I kept my eyes steadily on the crimson sun, which +loomed large through the marsh mists that lay upon the horizon, as I +answered with justifiable vehemence: + +"I have a very bad temper, Philip" (I checked the disposition to +add—"and so have you"), "but I never tell a lie. I have _not_ come +after the properties. The only reason for which I have come is to try +and make peace." At this point I gathered up all my strength and +hurried on, staring at the sun till the bushes near us and the level +waste of marsh beyond seemed to vanish in the glow. "I came to say +that I am sorry for my share of the quarrel. I lost my temper, and I +beg your pardon for that. I was not very obliging about Mr. Clinton, +but you had tried me very much. However, what you did wrong, does not +excuse me, I know, and if you like to come back, I'll make a new part +as you wanted. I can't give him Charles's part, or the feather, but +anything I can do, or give up of my own, I will. It's not because of +to-night, for you know as well as I do that I do not care twopence +what happens when I'm angry, and, after all, we can only say that +you've taken the things. But I wanted us to get through these holidays +without quarrelling, and I wanted you to enjoy them, and I want to try +and be good to you, for you are my twin brother, and for my share of +the quarrel I beg your pardon—I can do no more." + +Some of this speech had been about as pleasant to say as eating +cinders, and when it was done I felt a sudden sensation (very rare +with me) of unendurable fatigue. As the last words left my lips the +sun set, but my eyes were so bedazzled that I am not sure that I +should not have fallen, but for an unexpected support. What Philip had +been thinking of during my speech I do not know, for I had avoided +looking at him, but when it was done he threw the properties out of +his arms, and flung them around me with the hug of a Polar bear. + +_"You_ ill-tempered!" he roared. "You've the temper of an angel, or +you would never have come after me like this. Isobel, I am a brute, I +have behaved like a brute all the week, and I beg _your_ pardon." + +I retract my wishes about crying, for when I do begin, I cry in such a +very disagreeable way—no spring shower, but a perfect tempest of +tears. Philip's unexpected generosity upset me, and I sobbed till I +frightened him, and he said I was hysterical. The absurdity of this +idea set me off into fits of laughing, which, oddly enough, seemed to +distress him so much that I stopped at last, and found breath to say, +"Then you'll come home?" + +"If you'll have me. And never mind about Clinton, I'll get out of it. +The truth is, Isobel, you and Alice did snub him from the first, and +that vexed me; but I _am_ disappointed in him. He does brag so, and +I've had to take that fowling-piece to the gunsmith's already, so I +know what it's worth. I did give Clinton a hint about it, and—would +you believe it?—he laughed, and said he thought he had got the best +of _that_ bargain. I said, 'I hope you have, if it isn't an even one, +for I should be very sorry to think _I_ had cheated a friend!' But he +either did not or wouldn't see it. He's a second-rate sort of fellow, +I'm sure, and I'm sorry I promised to let him act. But I'll get out of +it, you shan't be bothered by him." + +"No, no," said I, "if you promised I'd much rather. It won't bother me +at all." + +(It is certainly a much pleasanter kind of dispute when the struggle +is to give, and not to take!) + +"You can't fit him in now?" said Philip doubtfully. + +"Oh yes, I can." I felt sure that I could. I have often been short of +temper for our amusements, but never of ideas. Philip tucked the +properties under one arm, and me under the other, and as we ran +homewards over the marsh, I threaded Mr. Clinton into the plot with +perfect ease. + +"We'll have a second Prince, and he shall have an enchanted shield, +which shall protect him from you—though he can't kill you—for Charles +must do that. He shall be in love with the Princess too, but just when +he and Charles are going to fight for her, the Fairy Godmother shall +sprinkle him with the Waters of Memory, and break a spell which had made +him forget his own Princess in a distant land. You know, Philip, if he +_does_ act well, he may make a capital part of it. It will be a splendid +scene. We have two real metal swords, and as they are flashing in the +air—enter the Fairy with the carved claret jug. When he is sprinkled he +must drop his sword, and put his hands to his head. He will recall the +picture of his own Princess, and draw it out and kiss it (I can lend him +my locket miniature of great-grandpapa). Charles and he must swear +eternal friendship, and then he will pick up his sword, and exit right +centre, waving the golden shield, to find his Princess. It will look +very well, and as he goes out the Princess can enter left in distraction +about the combat, and she and Charles can fall in each other's arms, and +be blessed by the Fairy." + +"Capital!" said Philip. "What a head you have! But you're out of +breath? We're running too fast." + +"Not a bit," said I, "it refreshes me. Do you remember when you and I +used to run hand in hand from the top to the bottom of Breakneck Hill? +Oh, Philip, I do wish we could never quarrel any more! I think we +might keep our tempers if we tried." + +"_You_ might," said Philip, "because you are good. But I shall always +be a brute." + +(Just what _I_ said to Aunt Isobel! Must every one learn his own +lessons for himself? I had a sort of unreasonable feeling that my +experience ought to serve for the rest of our ill-tempered family into +the bargain.) + +Philip's spirits rose higher and higher. Of course he was delighted to +be out of the scrape. I am sure he was glad to be friendly again, and +he was hotter than ever for the theatricals. + +So was I. I felt certain that they would be successful now. But far +above and beyond the comfort of things "coming right," and the +pleasure of anticipated fun, my heart was rocked to a higher peace. In +my small religious experiences I had never known this triumph, this +thankfulness before. Circumstances, not self-control, had helped me +out of previous quarrels; I had never really done battle, and gained a +conquest over my besetting sin. Now, however imperfectly and +awkwardly, I yet _had_ fought. If Philip had been less generous I +might have failed, but the effort had been real—and it had been +successful. Henceforth my soul should fight with the prestige of +victory, with the courage that comes of having striven and won, +trusted and not been confounded. + +The first person we met after we got in was Aunt Isobel. She had +arrived in our absence. No doubt she had heard the whole affair, but +she is very good, and never _gauche_ and she only said— + +"Here come the stage-managers! Now what can I do to help? I have had +some tea, and am ready to obey orders till the curtain rings up." + +Boys do not carry things off well. Philip got very red, but I +said—"Oh, please come to the nursery, Aunt Isobel. There are lots of +things to do." She came, and was invaluable. I never said anything +about the row to her, and she never said anything to me. That is what +I call a friend! + +The first thing Philip did was to unlock the property-box in his room +and bring the Dragon and things back. The second thing he did was to +mend the new scene by replacing the bit he had cut out, glueing canvas +on behind it, and touching up with paint where it joined. + +We soon put straight what had been disarranged. Blinds were drawn, +candles lighted, seats fixed, and the theatre began to look like +itself. Aunt Isobel and I were bringing in the footlights, when we saw +Bobby at the extreme right of the stage wrapped in his cloak, and +contemplating, with apparent satisfaction, twelve old hats and six +pasteboard bandboxes which were spread before him. + +"My dear Bobby, what are these?" said Aunt Isobel. Bobby +hastily—almost stammeringly—explained, + +"I am Twelve Travellers, you know, Aunt Isobel." + +"Dear me!" said Aunt Isobel. + +"I'll show you how I am going to do it," said Bobby. + +"Here are twelve old hats—I have had such work to collect them!—and +six bandboxes." + +"Only six?" said Aunt Isobel with commendable gravity. + +"But there are the lids," said Bobby; "six of them, and six boxes, +make twelve, you know. I've only one cloak, but it's red on one side +and blue on the other, and two kinds of buttons. Well; I come on left +for the First Traveller, with my cloak the red side out, and this +white chimney-pot hat." + +"Ah!" said Aunt Isobel. + +"And one of the bandboxes under my cloak. The Dragon attacks me in the +centre, and drives me off the right, where I smash up the bandbox, +which sounds like him crunching my bones. Then I roll the thunder, +turn my cloak to the blue side, put on this wideawake, and come on +again with a bandbox lid and crunch that, and roll more thunder, and +so on. I'm the Faithful Attendant and the Bereaved Father as well," +added Bobby, with justifiable pride, "and I would have done the Dragon +if they would have let me." + +But even Bobby did not outdo the rest of us in willingness. Alice's +efforts were obvious tokens of remorse; she waited on Philip, was +attentive to Mr. Clinton (who, I think, to this day believes that he +made himself especially acceptable to "the young ladies"), and +surpassed herself on the stage. Charles does not "come round" so +quickly, but at the last moment he came and offered to yield the white +plume. I confess I was rather vexed with Mr. Clinton for accepting it, +but Alice and I despoiled our best hats of their black ostrich +feathers to make it up to Charles, and he said, with some dignity, +that he should never have offered the white one if he had not meant it +to be accepted. + +One thing took us by surprise. We had had more trouble over the +dressing of the new Prince than the costumes and make-up of all the +rest of the characters together cost—he was only just torn from the +big looking-glass by his "call" to the stage, and, to our amazement, +he seemed decidedly unwilling to go on. + +"It's a very odd thing, Miss Alice," said he in accents so pitiable +that I did not wonder that Alice did her best to encourage him,—"it's +a most extraordinary thing, but I feel quite nervous." + +"You'll be all right when you're once on," said Alice; "mind you don't +forget that it depends on you to explain that it's an invincible +shield." + +"Which arm had I better wear it on?" said Mr. Clinton, shifting it +nervously from side to side. + +"The left, the left!" cried Alice. "Now you ought to be on." + +"Oh what shall I say?" cried our new hero. + +"Say—'Devastating Monster! my arm is mortal, and my sword was forged +by human fingers, but this shield is invincible as ——'" + +"Second Prince," called Charles impatiently, and Mr. Clinton was +hustled on. + +He was greeted with loud applause. He said afterwards that this put +his part out of his head, that Alice had told him wrong, and that the +shield was too small for him. + +As a matter of fact he hammered and stammered and got himself and the +piece into such confusion, that Philip lost patience as he lay +awaiting his cue. With a fierce bellow he emerged from his cask, and +roaring, "Avaunt, knight of the invincible shield and craven heart!" +he crossed the stage with the full clatter of his canvas joints, and +chased Mr. Clinton off at the left centre. + +Once behind the scenes, he refused to go on again. He said that he had +never played without a proper part at his uncle's in Dublin, and +thought our plan quite a mistake. Besides which, he had got toothache, +and preferred to join the audience, which he did, and the play went on +without him. + +I was acting as stage-manager in the intervals of my part, when I +noticed Mr. Clinton (not the ex-Prince, but his father, the surgeon) +get up, and hastily leave his place among the spectators. But just as +I was wondering at this, I was recalled to business by delay on the +part of Bobby, who ought to have been on (with the lights down) as the +Twelfth Traveller. + +I found him at the left wing, with all the twelve hats fitted one over +another, the whole pile resting on a chair. + +"Bob, what are you after? You ought to be on." + +"All right," said Bob, "Philip knows. He's lashing his tail and doing +some business till I'm ready. Help me to put this cushion under my +cloak for a hump-back, will you? I didn't like the twelfth hat, it's +too like the third one, so I'm going on as a Jew Pedlar. Give me that +box. Now!" And before I could speak a roar of applause had greeted +Bobby as he limped on in his twelve hats, crying, "Oh tear, oh tear! +dish ish the tarkest night I ever shaw." + +But either we acted unusually well, or our audience was exceptionally +kind, for it applauded everything and everybody till the curtain fell. + + * * * * * + +"Behind the scenes" is always a place of confusion after amateur +theatricals; at least it used to be with us. We ran hither and +thither, lost our every-day shoes, washed the paint from our faces, +and mislaid any number of towels, and combs, and brushes, ate supper +by snatches, congratulated ourselves on a successful evening, and were +kissed all around by Granny, who came behind the scenes for the +purpose. + +All was over, and the guests were gone, when I gave an invitation to +the others to come and make lemon-brew over my bedroom fire as an +appropriate concluding festivity. (It had been suggested by Bobby.) I +had not seen Philip for some time, but we were all astonished to hear +that he had gone out. We kept his "brew" hot for him, and Charles and +Bobby were both nodding—though they stoutly refused to go to +bed,—when his step sounded in the corridor, and he knocked and came +hastily in. + +Everybody roused up. + +"Oh, Philip, we've been wondering where you were! Here's your brew, +and we've each kept a little drop, to drink your good health." + +("Mine is _all_ pips," observed Bobby as a parenthesis.) But Philip +was evidently thinking of something else. + +"Isobel," he said, standing by the table, as if he were making a +speech, "I shall never forget your coming after me to-day. I told you +you had the temper of an angel." + +"So did I," said Alice. + +"Hear! hear!" said Bobby, who was sucking his pips one by one and +laying them by—"to plant in a pot," as he afterwards explained. + +"You not only saved the theatricals," continued Philip, "you saved my +life I believe." + +No "situation" in the play had been half so startling as this. We +remained open-mouthed and silent, whilst Philip sat down as if he were +tired, and rested his head on his hands, which were dirty, and stained +with something red. + +"Haven't you heard about the accident?" he asked. + +We all said "No." + +"The 4.15 ran into the express where the lines cross, you know. +Isobel, _there were only two first-class carriages, and everybody in +them was killed but one man_. They have taken both his legs off, and +he's not expected to live. Oh, poor fellow, he did groan so!" + +Bobby burst into passionate tears, and Philip buried his head on his +arms. + +Neither Alice nor I could speak, but Charles got up and went round and +stood by Philip. + +"You've been helping," he said emphatically, "I know you have. You're +a good fellow, Philip, and I beg your pardon for saucing you. I am +going to forget about the football too. I was going to have eaten raw +meat, and dumb-belled, to make myself strong enough to thrash you," +added Charles remorsefully. + +"Eat a butcher's shop full, if you like," replied Philip with +contempt. And I think it showed that Charles was beginning to practise +forbearance, that he made no reply. + + * * * * * + +Some years have passed since those Twelfth Night theatricals. The +Dragon has long been dissolved into his component scales, and we never +have impromptu performances now. The passing fame which a terrible +railway accident gave to our insignificant station has also faded. But +it set a seal on our good resolutions which I may honestly say has not +been lightly broken. + +There, on the very spot where I had almost resolved never to forgive +Philip, never to try to heal the miserable wounds of the family peace, +I learned the news of the accident in which he might have been +killed. Philip says that if anything could make him behave better to +me it is the thought that I saved his life, as he calls it. But if +anything could help me to be good to him, surely it must be the +remembrance of how nearly I did not save him. + +I put Alice on an equality in our bedroom that night, and gave her +part-ownership of the text and the picture. We are very happy +together. + +We have all tried to improve, and I think I may say we have been +fairly successful. + +More than once I have heard (one does hear many things people say +behind one's back) that new acquaintances—people who have only known +us lately—have expressed astonishment, not unmixed with a generous +indignation, on hearing that we were ever described by our friends +as—A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY. + + + + +OUR FIELD. + + Though nothing can bring back the hour + Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; + We will grieve not, rather find + Strength in what remains behind, + In the primal sympathy + Which, having been, must ever be. + + * * * * * + + And, O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, + Think not of any severing of our loves! + Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; + + * * * * * + + Thanks to the human heart by which we live, + Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears: + To me the meanest flower that blows can give + Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. + +_Wordsworth_. + + + + +OUR FIELD + + +There were four of us, and three of us had godfathers and godmothers. +Three each. Three times three make nine, and not a fairy godmother in +the lot. That was what vexed us. + +It was very provoking, because we knew so well what we wanted if we +had one, and she had given us three wishes each. Three times three +make nine. We could have got all we wanted out of nine wishes, and +have provided for Perronet into the bargain. It would not have been +any good Perronet having wishes all to himself, because he was only a +dog. + +We never knew who it was that drowned Perronet, but it was Sandy who +saved his life and brought him home. It was when he was coming home +from school, and he brought Perronet with him. Perronet was not at all +nice to look at when we first saw him, though we were very sorry for +him. He was wet all over, and his eyes shut, and you could see his +ribs, and he looked quite dark and sticky. But when he dried, he +dried a lovely yellow, with two black ears like velvet. People +sometimes asked us what kind of dog he was, but we never knew, except +that he was the nicest possible kind. + +When we had got him, we were afraid we were not going to be allowed to +have him. Mother said we could not afford him, because of the tax and +his keep. The tax was five shillings, but there wanted nearly a year +to the time of paying it. Of course his keep began as soon as he could +eat, and that was the very same evening. We were all very miserable, +because we were so fond of Perronet—at least, Perronet was not his +name then, but he was the same person—and at last it was settled that +all three of us would give up sugar, towards saving the expense of his +keep, if he might stay. It was hardest for Sandy, because he was +particularly fond of sweet things; but then he was particularly fond +of Perronet. So we all gave up sugar, and Perronet was allowed to +remain. + +About the tax, we thought we could save any pennies or half-pennies we +got during the year, and it was such a long time to the time for +paying, that we should be almost sure to have enough by then. We had +not any money at the time, or we should have bought a savings-box; but +lots of people save their money in stockings, and we settled that we +would. An old stocking would not do, because of the holes, and I had +not many good pairs; but we took one of my winter ones to use in the +summer, and then we thought we could pour the money into one of my +good summer ones when the winter came. + +What we most of all wanted a fairy godmother for was about our +"homes." There was no kind of play we liked better than playing at +houses and new homes. But no matter where we made our "home," it was +sure to be disturbed. If it was indoors, and we made a palace under +the big table, as soon as ever we had got it nicely divided into rooms +according to where the legs came, it was certain to be dinner-time, +and people put their feet into it. The nicest house we ever had was in +the out-house; we had it, and kept it quite a secret, for weeks. And +then the new load of wood came and covered up everything, our best +oyster-shell dinner-service and all. + +Any one can see that it is impossible really to fancy anything when +you are constantly interrupted. You can't have any fun out of a +railway train stopping at stations, when they take all your carriages +to pieces because the chairs are wanted for tea; any more than you can +play properly at Grace Darling in a life-boat, when they say the old +cradle is too good to be knocked about in that way. + +It was always the same. If we wanted to play at Thames Tunnel under +the beds, we were not allowed; and the day we did Aladdin in the +store-closet, old Jane came and would put away the soap, just when +Aladdin could not possibly have got the door of the cave open. + +It was one day early in May—a very hot day for the time of year, +which had made us rather cross—when Sandy came in about four o'clock, +smiling more broadly even than usual, and said to Richard and me, +"I've got a fairy godmother, and she's given us a field." + +Sandy was very fond of eating, especially sweet things. He used to +keep back things from meals to enjoy afterwards, and he almost always +had a piece of cake in his pocket. He brought a piece out now, and +took a large mouthful, laughing at us with his eyes over the top of +it. + +"What's the good of a field?" said Richard. + +"Splendid houses in it," said Sandy. + +"I'm quite tired of fancying homes," said I. "It's no good; we always +get turned out." + +"It's quite a new place," Sandy continued; "you've never been there," +and he took a triumphant bite of the cake. + +"How did you get there?" asked Richard. + +"The fairy godmother showed me," was Sandy's reply. + +There is such a thing as nursery honour. We respected each other's +pretendings unless we were very cross, but I didn't disbelieve in his +fairy godmother. I only said, "You shouldn't talk with your mouth +full," to snub him for making a secret about his field. + +Sandy is very good-tempered. He only laughed and said, "Come along. +It's much cooler out now. The sun's going down." + +He took us along Gipsy Lane. We had been there once or twice, for +walks, but not very often, for there was some horrid story about it +which rather frightened us. I do not know what it was, but it was a +horrid one. Still we had been there, and I knew it quite well. At the +end of it there is a stile, by which you go into a field, and at the +other end you get over another stile, and find yourself in the high +road. + +"If this is our field, Sandy," said I, when we got to the first stile, +"I'm very sorry, but it really won't do. I know that lots of people +come through it. We should never be quiet here." + +Sandy laughed. He didn't speak, and he didn't get over the stile; he +went through a gate close by it leading into a little sort of bye-lane +that was all mud in winter and hard cart-ruts in summer. I had never +been up it, but I had seen hay and that sort of thing go in and come +out of it. + +He went on and we followed him. The ruts were very disagreeable to +walk on, but presently he led us through a hole in the hedge, and we +got into a field. It was a very bare-looking field, and went rather +uphill. There was no path, but Sandy walked away up it, and we went +after him. There was another hedge at the top, and a stile in it. It +had very rough posts, one much longer than the other, and the cross +step was gone, but there were two rails, and we all climbed over. And +when we got to the other side, Sandy leaned against the big post and +gave a wave with his right hand and said, "This is our field." + +It sloped down hill, and the hedges round it were rather high, with +awkward branches of blackthorn sticking out here and there without any +leaves, and with the blossom lying white on the black twigs like snow. +There were cowslips all over the field, but they were thicker at the +lower end, which was damp. The great heat of the day was over. The sun +shone still, but it shone low down and made such splendid shadows that +we all walked about with grey giants at our feet; and it made the +bright green of the grass, and the cowslips down below, and the top of +the hedge, and Sandy's hair, and everything in the sun and the mist +behind the elder bush which was out of the sun, so yellow—so very +yellow—that just for a minute I really believed about Sandy's +godmother, and thought it was a story come true, and that everything +was turning into gold. + +But it was only for a minute; of course I know that fairy tales are +not true. But it was a lovely field, and when we had put our hands to +our eyes and had a good look at it, I said to Sandy, "I beg your +pardon, Sandy, for telling you not to talk with your mouth full. It is +the best field I ever heard of." + +"Sit down," said Sandy, doing the honours; and we all sat down under +the hedge. + +"There are violets just behind us," he continued. "Can't you smell +them? But whatever you do, don't tell anybody of those, or we shan't +keep our field to ourselves for a day. And look here." He had turned +over on to his face, and Richard and I did the same, whilst Sandy +fumbled among the bleached grass and brown leaves. + +"Hyacinths," said Richard, as Sandy displayed the green tops of them. + +"As thick as peas," said Sandy. "This bank will be blue in a few +weeks; and fiddle-heads everywhere. There will be no end of ferns. May +to any extent—it's only in bud yet—and there's a wren's nest in +there——" At this point he rolled suddenly over on to his back and +looked up. + +"A lark," he explained; "there was one singing its head off, this +morning. I say, Dick, this will be a good field for a kite, won't it? +_But wait a bit_." + +After every fresh thing that Sandy showed us in our field, he always +finished by saying, "_Wait a bit"_; and that was because there was +always something else better still. + +"There's a brook at the bottom there," he said, "with lots of +fresh-water shrimps. I wonder whether they would boil red. _But wait a +bit_. This hedge, you see, has got a very high bank, and it's worn +into kind of ledges. I think we could play at 'shops' there—_but wait +a bit_." + +"It's almost _too_ good, Sandy dear!" said I, as we crossed the field +to the opposite hedge. + +"The best is to come," said Sandy. "I've a very good mind not to let +it out till to-morrow." And to our distraction he sat down in the +middle of the field, put his arms round his knees, as if we were +playing at "Honey-pots," and rocked himself backwards and forwards +with a face of brimming satisfaction. + +Neither Richard nor I would have been so mean as to explore on our own +account, when the field was Sandy's discovery, but we tried hard to +persuade him to show us everything. + +He had the most provoking way of laughing and holding his tongue, and +he did that now, besides slowly turning all his pockets inside-out +into his hands, and mumbling up the crumbs and odd currants, saying, +"Guess!" between every mouthful. + +But when there was not a crumb left in the seams of his pockets, Sandy +turned them back, and jumping up, said—"One can only tell a secret +once. It's a hollow oak. Come along!" + +He ran and we ran, to the other side of Our Field. I had read of +hollow oaks, and seen pictures of them, and once I dreamed of one, +with a witch inside, but we had never had one to play in. We were +nearly wild with delight. It looked all solid from the field, but when +we pushed behind, on the hedge side, there was the door, and I crept +in, and it smelt of wood, and delicious damp. There could not be a +more perfect castle, and though there were no windows in the sides, +the light came in from the top, where the polypody hung over like a +fringe. Sandy was quite right. It was the very best thing in Our +Field. + +Perronet was as fond of the field as we were. What he liked were the +little birds. At least, I don't know that he liked them, but they were +what he chiefly attended to. I think he knew that it was our field, +and thought he was the watch-dog of it, and whenever a bird settled +down anywhere, he barked at it, and then it flew away, and he ran +barking after it till he lost it; and by that time another had settled +down, and then Perronet flew at him, and so on, all up and down the +hedge. He never caught a bird, and never would let one sit down, if he +could see it. + +We had all kinds of games in Our Field. Shops—for there were +quantities of things to sell—and sometimes I was a moss-merchant, for +there were ten different kinds of moss by the brook, and sometimes I +was a jeweller, and sold daisy-chains and pebbles, and coral sets made +of holly berries, and oak-apple necklaces; and sometimes I kept +provisions, like earth-nuts and mallow-cheeses, and mushrooms; and +sometimes I kept a flower-shop, and sold nosegays and wreaths, and +umbrellas made of rushes, I liked that kind of shop, because I am fond +of arranging flowers, and I always make our birthday wreaths. And +sometimes I kept a whole lot of shops, and Richard and Sandy bought my +things, and paid for them with money made of elder-pith, sliced into +rounds. The first shop I kept was to sell cowslips, and Richard and +Sandy lived by the brook, and were wine merchants, and made cowslip +wine in a tin mug. + +The elder-tree was a beauty. In July the cream-coloured flowers were +so sweet, we could hardly sit under it, and in the autumn it was +covered with berries; but we were always a little disappointed that +they never tasted in the least like elderberry syrup. Richard used to +make flutes out of the stalks, and one really did to play tunes on, +but it always made Perronet bark. + +Richard's every-day cap had a large hole in the top, and when we were +in Our Field we always hung it on the top of the tallest of the two +stile-posts, to show that we were there; just as the Queen has a flag +hung out at Windsor Castle, when she is at home. + +We played at castles and houses, and when we were tired of the houses, +we pretended to pack up, and went to the seaside for change of air by +the brook. Sandy and I took off our shoes and stockings and were +bathing-women, and we bathed Perronet; and Richard sat on the bank and +was a "tripper," looking at us through a telescope; for when the +elder-stems cracked and wouldn't do for flutes, he made them into +telescopes. And before we went down to the brook we made jam of hips +and haws from the hedge at the top of the field, and put it into acorn +cups, and took it with us, that the children might not be short of +rolypolies at the seaside. + +Whatever we played at we were never disturbed. Birds, and cows, and +men and horses ploughing in the distance, do not disturb you at all. + +We were very happy that summer: the boys were quite happy, and the +only thing that vexed me was thinking of Perronet's tax-money. For +months and months went on and we did not save it. Once we got as far +as twopence half-penny, and then one day Richard came to me and said, +"I must have some more string for the kite. You might lend me a penny +out of Perronet's stocking, till I get some money of my own." + +So I did; and the next day Sandy came and said, "You lent Dick one of +Perronet's coppers; I'm sure Perronet would lend me one," and then +they said it was ridiculous to leave a half-penny there by itself, so +we spent it in acid drops. + +It worried me so much at last, that I began to dream horrible dreams +about Perronet having to go away because we hadn't saved his +tax-money. And then I used to wake up and cry, till the pillow was so +wet, I had to turn it. The boys never seemed to mind, but then boys +don't think about things; so that I was quite surprised when one day I +found Sandy alone in our field with Perronet in his arms, crying, and +feeding him with cake; and I found he was crying about the tax-money. + +I cannot bear to see boys cry. I would much rather cry myself, and I +begged Sandy to leave off, for I said I was quite determined to try +and think of something. + +It certainly was remarkable that the very next day should be the day +when we heard about the flower-show. + +It was in school—the village school, for Mother could not afford to +send us anywhere else—and the schoolmaster rapped on his desk and +said, "Silence, children!" and that at the agricultural show there was +to be a flower-show this year, and that an old gentleman was going to +give prizes to the school-children for window-plants and for the best +arranged wild flowers. There were to be nosegays and wreaths, and +there was to be a first prize of five shillings, and a second prize of +half-a-crown, for the best collection of wild flowers with the names +put to them. + +"The English names," said the schoolmaster; "and there may +be—silence, children!—there may be collections of ferns, or grasses, +or mosses to compete, too, for the gentleman wishes to encourage a +taste for natural history." + +And several of the village children said, "What's that?" and I +squeezed Sandy's arm, who was sitting next to me, and whispered, "Five +shillings!" and the schoolmaster said, "Silence, children!" and I +thought I never should have finished my lessons that day for thinking +of Perronet's tax-money. + +July is not at all a good month for wild flowers; May and June are far +better. However, the show was to be in the first week in July. + +I said to the boys, "Look here: I'll do a collection of flowers. I +know the names, and I can print. It's no good two or three people +muddling with arranging flowers; but; if you will get me what I want, +I shall be very much obliged. If either of you will make another +collection, you know there are ten kinds of mosses by the brook; and +we have names for them of our own, and they are English. Perhaps +they'll do. But everything must come out of Our Field." + +The boys agreed, and they were very good. Richard made me a box, +rather high at the back. We put sand at the bottom and damped it, and +then Feather Moss, lovely clumps of it, and into that I stuck the +flowers. They all came out of Our Field. I like to see grass with +flowers, and we had very pretty grasses, and between every bunch of +flowers I put a bunch of grass of different kinds. I got all the +flowers and all the grasses ready first, and printed the names on +pieces of cardboard to stick in with them, and then I arranged them by +my eye, and Sandy handed me what I called for, for Richard was busy at +the brook making a tray of mosses. + +Sandy knew the flowers and the names of them quite as well as I did, +of course; we knew everything that lived in Our Field; so when I +called, "Ox-eye daisies, cock's-foot grass, labels; meadow-sweet, +fox-tail grass, labels; dog-roses, shivering grass, labels;" and so +on, he gave me the right things, and I had nothing to do but to put +the colours that looked best together next to each other, and to make +the grass look light, and pull up bits of moss to show well. And at +the very end I put in a label, "All out of Our Field." + +I did not like it when it was done; but Richard praised it so much, it +cheered me up, and I thought his mosses looked lovely. + +The flower-show day was very hot. I did not think it could be hotter +anywhere in the world than it was in the field where the show was; but +it was hotter in the tent. + +We should never have got in at all—for you had to pay at the +gate—but they let competitors in free, though not at first. When we +got in, there were a lot of grown-up people, and it was very hard work +getting along among them, and getting to see the stands with the +things on. We kept seeing tickets with "1st Prize" and "2nd Prize," +and struggling up; but they were sure to be dahlias in a tray, or +fruit that you mightn't eat, or vegetables. The vegetables +disappointed us so often, I got to hate them. I don't think I shall +ever like very big potatoes (before they are boiled) again, +particularly the red ones. It makes me feel sick with heat and anxiety +to think of them. + +We had struggled slowly all round the tent, and seen all the +cucumbers, onions, lettuces, long potatoes, round potatoes, and +everything else, when we saw an old gentleman, with spectacles and +white hair, standing with two or three ladies. And then we saw three +nosegays in jugs, with all the green picked off, and the flowers tied +as tightly together as they would go, and then we saw some prettier +ones, and then we saw my collection, and it had got a big label in it +marked "1st Prize," and next to it came Richard's moss-tray, with the +Hair-moss, and the Pincushion-moss, and the Scale-mosses, and a lot of +others with names of our own, and it was marked "2nd Prize." And I +gripped one of Sandy's arms just as Richard seized the other, and we +both cried, "Perronet is paid for!" + + * * * * * + +There was two-and-sixpence over. We never had such a feast! It was a +picnic tea, and we had it in Our Field. I thought Sandy and Perronet +would have died of cake, but they were none the worse. + +We were very much frightened at first when the old gentleman invited +himself; but he would come, and he brought a lot of nuts, and he did +get inside the oak, though it is really too small for him. + +I don't think there ever was anybody so kind. If he were not a man, I +should really and truly believe in Sandy's fairy godmother. + +Of course I don't really believe in fairies. I am not so young as +that. And I know that Our Field does not exactly belong to us. + +I wonder to whom it does belong? Richard says he believes it belongs +to the gentleman who lives at the big red house among the trees. But +he must be wrong; for we see that gentleman at church every Sunday, +but we never saw him in Our Field. + +And I don't believe anybody could have such a field of their very own, +and never come to see it, from one end of Summer to the other. + + + + +MADAM LIBERALITY. + + "Like little body with a mighty heart." + + _King Henry V., Act 2._ + + + + +PART I. + + +It was not her real name: it was given to her by her brothers and +sister. People with very marked qualities of character do sometimes +get such distinctive titles, to rectify the indefiniteness of those +they inherit and those they receive in baptism. The ruling peculiarity +of a character is apt to show itself early in life, and it showed +itself in Madam Liberality when she was a little child. + +Plum-cakes were not plentiful in her home when Madam Liberality was +young, and such as there were, were of the "wholesome" kind—plenty of +bread-stuff, and the currants and raisins at a respectful distance +from each other. But few as the plums were, she seldom ate them. She +picked them out very carefully, and put them into a box, which was +hidden under her pinafore. + +When we grown-up people were children, and plum-cake and plum-pudding +tasted very much nicer than they do now, we also picked out the plums. +Some of us ate them at once, and had then to toil slowly through the +cake or pudding, and some valiantly dispatched the plainer portion of +the feast at the beginning, and kept the plums to sweeten the end. +Sooner or later we ate them ourselves, but Madam Liberality kept her +plums for other people. + +When the vulgar meal was over—that commonplace refreshment ordained +and superintended by the elders of the household—Madam Liberality +would withdraw into a corner, from which she issued notes of +invitation to all the dolls. They were "fancy written" on curl papers +and folded into cocked hats. + +Then began the real feast. The dolls came, and the children with them. +Madam Liberality had no toy tea-sets or dinner-sets, but there were +acorn-cups filled to the brim, and the water tasted deliciously, +though it came out of the ewer in the night nursery, and had not even +been filtered. And before every doll was a flat oyster-shell covered +with a round oyster-shell, a complete set of complete pairs, which had +been collected by degrees, like old family plate. And when the upper +shell was raised, on every dish lay a plum. It was then that Madam +Liberality got her sweetness out of the cake. + +She was in her glory at the head of the inverted tea-chest; and if +the raisins would not go round, the empty oyster-shell was hers, and +nothing offended her more than to have this noticed. That was her +spirit, then and always. She could "do without" anything, if the +wherewithal to be hospitable was left to her. + +When one's brain is no stronger than mine is, one gets very much +confused in disentangling motives and nice points of character. I have +doubted whether Madam Liberality's besetting virtue were a virtue at +all. Was it unselfishness or a love of approbation, benevolence or +fussiness, the gift of sympathy or the lust of power? Or was it +something else? She was a very sickly child, with much pain to bear, +and many pleasures to forego. Was it, as doctors say, "an effort of +nature," to make her live outside herself and be happy in the +happiness of others? + +Equal doubt may hang over the conduct of her brothers and sister +towards her. Did they more love her, or find her useful? Was their +gratitude—as gratitude has been defined to be—"a keen sense of +favours to come"? They certainly got used to her services, and to +begging and borrowing the few things that were her "very own," without +fear of refusal. But if they rather took her benevolence for granted, +and thought that she "liked lending her things," and that it was her +way of enjoying possessions, they may have been right; for next to +one's own soul, one's own family is perhaps the best judge of one's +temper and disposition. + +And they called her Madam Liberality, so Madam Liberality she shall +remain. + +It has been hinted that there was a reason for the scarceness of the +plums in the plum-cake. Madam Liberality's father was dead, and her +mother was very poor, and had several children. It was not an easy +matter with her to find bread for the family, putting currants and +raisins out of the question. + +Though poor, they were, however, gentle-folk, and had, for that +matter, rich relations. Very rich relations indeed! Madam Liberality's +mother's first cousin had fifteen thousand a year. His servants did +not spend ten thousand. (As to what he spent himself, it was +comparatively trifling.) The rest of the money accumulated. Not that +it was being got together to do something with by and by. He had no +intention of ever spending more than he spent at present. Indeed, with +a lump of coal taken off here, and a needless candle blown out there, +he rather hoped in future to spend less. + +His wife was Madam Liberality's godmother. She was a good-hearted +woman, and took real pleasure in being kind to people, in the way she +thought best for them. Sometimes it was a graceful and appropriate +way, and very often it was not. The most acceptable act of kindness +she ever did to her god-daughter was when the child was recovering +from an illness, and she asked her to visit her at the seaside. + +Madam Liberality had never seen the sea, and the thought of it proved +a better stimulus than the port wine which her doctor ordered so +easily, and her mother got with such difficulty. + +When new clothes were bought, or old ones refurbished, Madam +Liberality, as a rule, went to the wall. Not because her mother was +ever guilty of favouritism, but because such occasions afforded an +opportunity of displaying generosity towards her younger sister. + +But this time it was otherwise; for whatever could be spared towards +"summer things" for the two little girls was spent upon Madam +Liberality's outfit for the seaside. There was a new dress, and a +jacket "as good as new," for it was cut out of "mother's" cloth cloak +and made up, with the best binding and buttons in the shop, by the +village tailor. And he was bribed, in a secret visit, and with much +coaxing from the little girls, to make real pockets instead of braided +shams. The _second best_ frock was compounded of two which had +hitherto been _very bests_—Madam Liberality's own, eked out by +"Darling's" into a more fashionable fullness, and with a cape to +match. + +There was a sense of solid property to be derived from being able to +take in at a glance the stock of well-mended under-garments, half of +which were generally at the wash. Besides, they had been added to, and +all the stockings were darned, and only one pair in the legs where it +would show, below short petticoat mark. + +Then there was a bonnet newly turned and trimmed, and a pair and a +half of new boots, for surely boots are at least half new when they +have been (as the village cobbler described it in his bill) "souled +and healed"? + +Poor little Madam Liberality! When she saw the things which covered +her bed in their abundance, it seemed to her an outfit for a princess. +And yet when her godmother asked Podmore, the lady's-maid, "How is the +child off for clothes?" Podmore unhesitatingly replied, "She've +nothing fit to be seen, ma'am," which shows how differently the same +things appear in different circumstances. + +Podmore was a good friend to Madam Liberality. She had that +open-handed spirit which one acquires quite naturally in a house where +everything goes on on a large scale, at somebody else's expense. Now +Madam Liberality's godmother, from the very largeness of her +possessions, was obliged to leave the care of them to others, in such +matters as food, dress, the gardens, the stables, etc. So, like many +other people in a similar case, she amused herself and exercised her +economical instincts by troublesome little thriftinesses, by making +cheap presents, dear bargains, and so forth. She was by nature a +managing woman; and when those very grand people, the butler, the +housekeeper, the head-gardener, and the lady's-maid had divided her +household duties among them, there was nothing left for her to be +clever about, except such little matters as joining the fag-ends of +the bronze sealing-wax sticks which lay in the silver inkstand on the +malachite writing-table, and being good-natured at the cheapest rate +at which her friends could be benefited. + +Madam Liberality's best neckerchief had been very pretty when it was +new, and would have been pretty as well as clean still if the +washerwoman had not used rather too hot an iron to it, so that the +blue in the check pattern was somewhat faded. And yet it had felt very +smart as Madam Liberality drove in the carrier's cart to meet the +coach at the outset of her journey. But when she sat against the rich +blue leather of her godmother's coach as they drove up and down the +esplanade, it was like looking at fairy jewels by daylight when they +turn into faded leaves. + +"Is that your best neckerchief, child?" said the old lady. + +"Yes, ma'am," blushed Madam Liberality, + +So when they got home her godmother went to her odds-and-ends drawer. + +Podmore never interfered with this drawer. She was content to be +despotic among the dresses, and left the old lady to faddle to her +heart's content with bits of old lace and ribbon which she herself +would not have condescended to wear. + +The old lady fumbled them over. There were a good many half-yards of +ribbon with very large patterns, but nothing really fit for Madam +Liberality's little neck but a small Indian scarf of many-coloured +silk. It was old, and Podmore would never have allowed her mistress to +drive on the esplanade in anything so small and youthful-looking; but +the colours were quite bright, and there was no doubt but that Madam +Liberality might be provided for by a cheaper neck-ribbon. So the old +lady shut the drawer, and toddled down the corridor that led to +Podmore's room. + +She had a good general idea that Podmore's perquisites were large, but +perquisites seem to be a condition of valuable servants in large +establishments, and then anything which could be recovered from what +had already passed into Podmore's room must be a kind of economy. So +she resolved that Podmore should "find something" for Madam +Liberality's neck. + +"I never noticed it, ma'am, till I brought your shawl to the +carriage," said Podmore. "If I had seen it before, the young lady +shouldn't have come with you so. I'll see to it, ma'am." + +"Thank you, Podmore." + +"Can you spare me to go into the town this afternoon, ma'am?" added +the lady's-maid. "I want some things at Huckaback and Woolsey's." + +Huckaback and Woolsey were the linendrapers where Madam Liberality's +godmother "had an account." It was one of the things on a large scale +over the details of which she had no control. + +"You'll be back in time to dress me?" + +"Oh dear, yes, ma'am." And having settled the old lady's shawl on her +shoulders, and drawn out her cap-lappets, Podmore returned to her +work. + +It was a work of kindness. The old lady might deal shabbily with her +faded ribbons and her relations, but the butler, the housekeeper, and +the lady's-maid did their best to keep up the credit of the family. + +It was well known that Madam Liberality was a cousin, and Podmore +resolved that she should have a proper frock to go down to dessert in. + +So she had been very busy making a little slip out of a few yards of +blue silk which had been over and above one of the old lady's dresses, +and now she betook herself to the draper's to get spotted muslin to +cover it and ribbons to trim it with. + +And whilst Madam Liberality's godmother was still feeling a few +twinges about the Indian scarf, Podmore ordered a pink neckerchief +shot with white, and with pink and white fringes, to be included in +the parcel. + +But it was not in this way alone that Podmore was a good friend to +Madam Liberality. + +She took her out walking, and let her play on the beach, and even +bring home dirty weeds and shells. Indeed, Podmore herself was not +above collecting cowries in a pill-box for her little nephews. + +When Mrs. Podmore met acquaintances on the beach, Madam Liberality +played alone, and these were her happiest moments. She played amongst +the rotting, weed-grown stakes of an old pier, and "fancied" rooms +among them—suites of rooms in which she would lodge her brothers and +sister if they came to visit her, and where—with cockle-shells for +teacups, and lava for vegetables, and fucus-pods for fish—they +should find themselves as much enchanted as Beauty in the palace of +the Beast. + +Again and again she "fancied" Darling into her shore-palace, the +delights of which should only be marred by the growls which she +herself would utter from time to time from behind the stakes, in the +character of a sea-beast, and which should but enhance the moment +when she would rush out and throw her arms round Darling's neck and +reveal herself as Madam Liberality. + +"Darling" was the pet name of Madam Liberality's sister—her only +sister, on whom she lavished the intensest affection of a heart which +was always a large one in proportion to her little body. It seemed so +strange to play at any game of fancies without Darling, that Madam +Liberality could hardly realize it. + +She might be preparing by herself a larger treat than usual for the +others; but it was incredible that no one would come after all, and +that Darling would never see the palace on the beach, and the +state-rooms, and the limpets, and the seaweed, and the salt-water +soup, and the real fish (a small dab discarded from a herring-net) +which Madam Liberality had got for her. + +Her mind was filled with day-dreams of Darling's coming, and of how +she would display to her all the wonders of the seashore, which would +reflect almost as much credit upon her as if she had invented +razor-shells and crabs. She thought so much about it that she began +quite to expect it. + +Was it not natural that her godmother should see that she must be +lonely, and ask Darling to come and be with her? Perhaps the old lady +had already done so, and the visit was to be a surprise. Madam +Liberality could quite imagine doing a nice thing like this herself, +and she hoped it so strongly that she almost came to believe in it. + +Every day she waited hopefully, first for the post, and then for the +time when the coach came in, the hour at which she herself had +arrived; but the coach brought no Darling, and the post brought no +letter to say that she was coming, and Madam Liberality's hopes were +disappointed. + +Madam Liberality was accustomed to disappointment. + +From her earliest years it had been a family joke that poor Madam +Liberality was always in ill-luck's way. + +It is true that she was constantly planning; and if one builds +castles, one must expect a few loose stones about one's ears now and +then. But, besides this, her little hopes were constantly being +frustrated by fate. + +If the pigs or the hens got into the garden, Madam Liberality's bed +was sure to be laid waste before any one came to the rescue. When a +picnic or a tea-party was in store, if Madam Liberality did not catch +cold, so as to hinder her from going, she was pretty sure to have a +quinsy from fatigue or wet feet afterwards. When she had a treat she +paid for the pleasurable excitement by a headache, just as when she +ate sweet things they gave her toothache. + +But if her luck was less than other people's, her courage and good +spirits were more than common. She could think with pleasure about the +treat when she had forgotten the headache. One side of her little face +would look fairly cheerful when the other was obliterated by a flannel +bag of hot camomile flowers, and the whole was redolent of every +horrible domestic remedy for toothache, from oil of cloves and +creosote to a baked onion in the ear. No sufferings abated her energy +for fresh exploits, or quenched the hope that cold, and damp, and +fatigue would not hurt her "this time." + +In the intervals of wringing out hot flannels for her own quinsy, she +would amuse herself by devising a desert island expedition on a larger +and possibly a damper scale than hitherto, against the time when she +should be out again. + +It is a very old simile, but Madam Liberality really was like a cork +rising on the top of the very wave of ill-luck that had swallowed up +her hopes. Her little white face and undaunted spirit bobbed up after +each mischance or malady as ready and hopeful as ever. + +Though her day-dream about Darling and the shore palace was constantly +disappointed, this did not hinder her from indulging new hopes and +fancies in another place to which she went with Podmore; a place which +was filled with wonders of a different kind from the treasures of the +palace on the shore. + +It was called the Bazaar. It would be a very long business to say what +was in it. But amongst other things there were foreign cage-birds, +musical-boxes, and camp-stools, and baskets, and polished pebbles, and +paper patterns, and a little ladies' and children's millinery, and a +good deal of mock jewellery, and some very bad soaps and scents, and +some very good children's toys. + +It was Madam Liberality's godmother who first took her to the bazaar. +A titled lady of her acquaintance had heard that wire flower-baskets +of a certain shape could be bought in the bazaar cheaper (by +two-pence-halfpenny each) than in London; and after writing to her +friend to ascertain the truth of the statement, she wrote again to +authorize her to purchase three on her behalf. So Madam Liberality's +godmother ordered out the blue carriage and pair, and drove with her +little cousin to the bazaar. + +And as they came out, followed by a bearded man, bowing very low, and +carrying the wire baskets, Madam Liberality's godmother stopped near +the toy-stall to button her glove. And when she had buttoned it (which +took a long time, because her hands were stout, and Podmore generally +did it with a hook), she said to Madam Liberality, "Now, child, I want +to tell you that if you are very good whilst you are with me, and +Podmore gives me a good report of you, I will bring you here before +you go home, and buy you a present." + +Madam Liberality's heart danced with delight. She wished her godmother +would stand by the toy-stall for an hour, that she might see what she +most hoped the present would be. But the footman tucked them into the +carriage, and the bearded man bowed himself back into the bazaar, and +they drove home. Then Madam Liberality's godmother directed the butler +to dispatch the wire baskets to her ladyship, which he did by coach. +And her ladyship's butler paid the carriage, and tipped the man who +brought the parcel from the coach-office, and charged these items in +his account. And her ladyship wrote a long letter of thanks to Madam +Liberality's godmother for her kindness in saving her unnecessary +expense. + +The old lady did not go to the bazaar again for some time, but Madam +Liberality went there with Podmore. She looked at the toys and +wondered which of them might one day be her very own. The white china +tea-service with the green rim, big enough to make real tea in, was +too good to be hoped for, but there were tin tea-sets where the lids +would come off, and wooden ones where they were stuck on; and there +were all manner of toys that would be invaluable for all kinds of +nursery games and fancies. + +They helped a "fancy" of Madam Liberality even then. She used to stand +by the toy-stall, and fancy that she was as rich as her godmother, and +was going to give Christmas-boxes to her brothers and sister, and her +amusement was to choose, though she could not buy them. + +Out of this came a deep mortification. She had been playing at this +fancy one afternoon, and having rather confused herself by changing +her mind about the toys, she went through her final list in an +undertone, to get it clearly into her head. The shopman was serving a +lady, and Madam Liberality thought he could not hear her as she +murmured, "The china tea-set, the box of beasts, the doll's furniture +for Darling," etc., etc. But the shopman's hearing was very acute, and +he darted forward, crying, "The china tea-set, did you say, miss?" + +The blood rushed up to poor Madam Liberality's face till it seemed to +choke her, and the lady, whom the shopman had been serving, said +kindly, "I think the little girl said the box of beasts." + +Madam Liberality hoped it was a dream, but having pinched herself, she +found that it was not. + +Her mother had often said to her, "When you can't think what to say, +tell the truth." It was not a very easy rule, but Madam Liberality +went by it. + +"I don't want anything, thank you," said she; "at least, I mean I have +no money to buy anything with: I was only counting the things I should +like to get if I had." + +And then, as the floor of the bazaar would _not_ open and swallow her +up, she ran away, with her red face and her empty pocket, to shelter +herself with Podmore at the mock-jewellery stall, and she did not go +to the bazaar any more. + +Once again disappointment was in store for Madam Liberality. The end +of her visit came, and her godmother's promise seemed to be forgotten. +But the night before her departure, the old lady came into her room +and said, + +"I couldn't take you with me to-day, child, but I didn't forget my +promise. Podmore says you've been very good, and so I've brought you a +present. A very _useful_ one, I hope," added the old lady, in a tone +as if she were congratulating herself upon her good sense. "And tell +Catherine—that's your mother, child—with my love, always to have you +dressed for the evening. I like to see children come in to dessert, +when they have good manners—which I must say you have; besides, it +keeps the nurses up to their work." + +And then she drew out from its paper a little frock of pink +_mousseline-de-laine_, very prettily tacked together by the young +woman at the millinery-stall, and very cheap for its gay appearance. + +Down came all Madam Liberality's visions in connection with the +toy-stall: but she consoled herself that night with picturing +Darling's delight when she gave her (as she meant to give her) the +pink dress. + +She had another source of comfort and anticipation—_the +scallop-shells_. + +But this requires to be explained. The greatest prize which Madam +Liberality had gained from her wanderings by the seashore was a +complete scallop-shell. When washed the double shell was as clean and +as pretty as any china muffin-dish with a round top; and now her +ambition was to get four more, and thus to have a service for doll's +feasts which should far surpass the oyster-shells. She was talking +about this to Podmore one day when they were picking cowries together, +and Podmore cried, "Why, this little girl would get you them, miss, +I'll be bound!" + +She was a bare-footed little girl, who sold pebbles and seaweed, and +salt water for sponging with, and she had undertaken to get the +scallop-shells, and had run off to pick seaweed out of a newly landed +net before Madam Liberality could say "Thank you." + +She heard no more of the shells, however, until the day before she +went away, when the butler met her as she came indoors, and told her +that the little girl was waiting. And it was not till Madam Liberality +saw the scallop-shells lying clean and pink in a cotton handkerchief +that she remembered that she had no money to pay for them. + +Here was another occasion for painful truthtelling! But to make +humiliating confession before the butler seemed almost beyond even +Madam Liberality's moral courage. He went back to his pantry, however, +and she pulled off her pretty pink neckerchief and said, + +"I am _very_ sorry, little girl, but I've got no money of my own; but +if you would like this instead—" And the little girl seemed quite +pleased with her bargain, and ran hastily off, as if afraid that the +young lady would change her mind. + +And this was how Madam Liberality got her scallop-shells. + + * * * * * + +It may seem strange that Madam Liberality should ever have been +accused of meanness, and yet her eldest brother did once shake his +head at her and say, "You're the most meanest and the _generoustest_ +person I ever knew!" And Madam Liberality wept over the accusation, +although her brother was then too young to form either his words or +his opinions correctly. + +But it was the touch of truth in it which made Madam Liberality cry. +To the end of their lives Tom and she were alike and yet different in +this matter. Madam Liberality saved, and pinched, and planned, and +then gave away, and Tom gave away without the pinching and saving. +This sounds much handsomer, and it was poor Tom's misfortune that he +always believed it to be so; though he gave away what did not belong +to him, and fell back for the supply of his own pretty numerous wants +upon other people, not forgetting Madam Liberality. + +Painful experience convinced Madam Liberality in the end that his way +was a wrong one, but she had her doubts many times in her life whether +there were not something unhandsome in her own decided talent for +economy. Not that economy was always pleasant to her. When people are +very poor for their position in life, they can only keep out of debt +by stinting on many occasions when stinting is very painful to a +liberal spirit. And it requires a sterner virtue than good-nature to +hold fast the truth that it is nobler to be shabby and honest than to +do things handsomely in debt. + +But long before Tom had a bill even for bull's-eyes and Gibraltar +Rock, Madam Liberality was pinching and plotting, and saving bits of +coloured paper and ends of ribbon, with a thriftiness which seemed to +justify Tom's view of her character. + +The object of these savings was twofold: birthday presents and +Christmas-boxes. They were the chief cares and triumphs of Madam +Liberality's childhood. It was with the next birthday or the +approaching Christmas in view that she saved her pence instead of +spending them, but she so seldom had any money that she chiefly relied +on her own ingenuity. Year by year it became more difficult to make +anything which would "do for a boy;" but it was easy to please +Darling, and "Mother's" unabated appreciation of pincushions, and of +needle-books made out of old cards, was most satisfactory. + +To break the mystery in which it always pleased Madam Liberality to +shroud her small preparations, was to give her dire offence. As a +rule, the others respected this caprice, and would even feign a little +more surprise than they felt, upon occasion. But if during her +preparations she had given umbrage to one of the boys, her retreat was +soon invaded with cries of—"Ah! I see you, making birthday presents +out of nothing and a quarter of a yard of ribbon!" Or—"There you are! +At it again, with two old visiting cards and a ha'porth of flannel!" +And only Darling's tenderest kisses could appease Madam Liberality's +wrath and dry her tears. + +She had never made a grander project for Christmas, or had greater +difficulty in carrying it out, than in the winter which followed her +visit to the seaside. It was in the house of her cousin that she had +first heard of Christmas-trees, and to surprise the others with a +Christmas-tree she was quite resolved. But as the time drew near, poor +Madam Liberality was almost in despair about her presents, and this +was doubly provoking, because a nice little fir-tree had been promised +her. There was no blinking the fact that "Mother" had been provided +with pincushions to repletion. And most of these made the needles +rusty, from being stuffed with damp pig-meal, when the pigs and the +pincushions were both being fattened for Christmas. + +Madam Liberality sat with her little pale face on her hand and her +slate before her, making her calculations. She wondered what +emery-powder cost. Supposing it to be very cheap, and that she could +get a quarter of a pound for "next to nothing," how useful a present +might be made for "Mother" in the shape of an emery pincushion, to +counteract the evil effects of the pig-meal ones! It would be a +novelty even to Darling, especially if hers were made by glueing a +tiny bag of emery into the mouth of a "boiled fowl cowry." Madam +Liberality had seen such a pincushion in Podmore's work-basket. She +had a shell of the kind, and the village carpenter would always let +her put a stick into his glue-pot if she went to the shop. + +But then, if emery were only a penny a pound, Madam Liberality had not +a farthing to buy a quarter of a pound with. As she thought of this +her brow contracted, partly with vexation, and partly because of a +jumping pain in a big tooth, which, either from much illness or many +medicines, or both, was now but the wreck of what a tooth should be. +But as the toothache grew worse, a new hope dawned upon Madam +Liberality. Perhaps one of her troubles would mend the other! + +Being very tender-hearted over children's sufferings, it was her +mother's custom to bribe rather than coerce when teeth had to be taken +out. The fixed scale of reward was sixpence for a tooth without fangs, +and a shilling for one with them. If pain were any evidence, this +tooth certainly had fangs. But one does not have a tooth taken out if +one can avoid it, and Madam Liberality bore bad nights and painful +days till they could be endured no longer; and then, because she knew +it distressed her mother to be present, she went alone to the doctor's +house to ask him to take out her tooth. + +The doctor was a very kind old man, and he did his best, so we will +not say anything about his antique instruments, or the number of times +he tied a pocket-handkerchief round an awful-looking claw, and put +both into Madam Liberality's mouth without effect. + +At last he said he had got the tooth out, and he wrapped it in paper, +and gave it to Madam Liberality, who, having thought that it was her +head he had extracted from its socket, was relieved to get away. + +As she ran home she began to plan how to lay out her shilling for the +best, and when she was nearly there she opened the bit of paper to +look at her enemy, and it had no fangs! + +"I'm _sure_ it was more than a sixpenny one," she sobbed; "I believe +he has left them in." + +It involved more than the loss of half the funds she had reckoned +upon. Perhaps this dreadful pain would go on even on Christmas Day. +Her first thought was to carry her tears to her mother; her second +that, if she only could be brave enough to have the fangs taken out, +she might spare mother all distress about it till it was over, when +she would certainly like her sufferings to be known and sympathized +with. She knew well that courage does not come with waiting, and +making a desperate rally of stout-heartedness, she ran back to the +doctor. + +He had gone out, but his assistant was in. He looked at Madam +Liberality's mouth, and said that the fangs were certainly left in and +would be much better out. + +"Would it hurt _very_ much?" asked Madam Liberality, trembling. + +The assistant blinked the question of "hurting." + +"I think I could do it," said he, "if you could sit still. Not if you +were jumping about." + +"I will sit still," said Madam Liberality. + +"The boy shall hold your head," said the assistant. + +But Madam Liberality rebelled; she could screw up her sensitive nerves +to endure the pain, but not to be coerced by "the boy." + +"I give you my word of honour I will sit still," said she, with +plaintive earnestness. + +And the assistant (who had just remembered that the boy was out with +the gig) said, "Very well, miss." + +We need not dwell upon the next few seconds. The assistant kept his +word, and Madam Liberality kept hers. She sat still, and went on +sitting still after the operation was over till the assistant became +alarmed, and revived her by pouring some choking stuff down her +throat. After which she staggered to her feet and put out her hand and +thanked him. + +He was a strong, rough, good-natured young man, and little Madam +Liberality's pale face and politeness touched him. + +"You're the bravest little lady I ever knew," he said kindly; "and you +keep your word like a queen. There's some stuff to put to the place, +and there's sixpence, miss, if you'll take it, to buy lollipops with. +You'll be able to eat them now." + +After which he gave her an old pill-box to carry the fragments of her +tooth in, and it was labelled "three to be taken at bed-time." + +Madam Liberality staggered home, very giddy, but very happy. Moralists +say a great deal about pain treading so very closely on the heels of +pleasure in this life, but they are not always wise or grateful enough +to speak of the pleasure which springs out of pain. And yet there is a +bliss which comes just when pain has ceased, whose rapture rivals even +the high happiness of unbroken health; and there is a keen relish +about small pleasures hardly earned, in which the full measure of +those who can afford anything they want is sometimes lacking. + +Relief is certainly one of the most delicious sensations which poor +humanity, can enjoy! Madam Liberality enjoyed it to the full, and she +had more happiness yet in her cup, I fear praise was very pleasant to +her, and the assistant had praised her, not undeservedly, and she knew +that further praise was in store from the dearest source of +approbation—from her mother. Ah! how pleased she would be! And so +would Darling, who always cried when Madam Liberality was in great +pain. + +And this was only the beginning of pleasures. The sixpence would +amply provide "goodies" for the Christmas-tree, and much might be done +with the forthcoming shilling. And if her conduct on the present +occasion would not support a request for a few ends of candles from +the drawing-room candle-sticks, what profit would there be in being a +heroine? + +When her mother gave her two shillings instead of one, Madam +Liberality felt in honour bound to say that she had already been +rewarded with sixpence; but her mother only said, + +"You quite deserved it, I'm sure," and she found herself in possession +of no less than half-a-crown. + +And now it is sad to relate that misfortune again overtook Madam +Liberality. All the next day she longed to go into the village to buy +sweetmeats, but it snowed and rained, and was bitterly cold, and she +could not. + +Just about dusk the weather slightly cleared up, and she picked her +way through the melting snow to the shop. Her purchases were most +satisfactory. How the boys would enjoy them! Madam Liberality enjoyed +them already, though her face was still sore, and the pain had spread +to her throat, and though her ideas seemed unusually brilliant, and +her body pleasantly languid, which, added to a peculiar chill +trembling of the knees—generally forewarned her of a coming quinsy. +But warnings were thrown away upon Madam Liberality's obdurate +hopefulness. + +Just now she could think of nothing but the coming Christmas-tree. She +hid the sweetmeats, and put her hand into her pocket for the two +shillings, the exact outlay of which, in the neighbouring town, by +means of the carrier, she had already arranged. But—the two shillings +were gone! How she had lost them Madam Liberality had no idea. + +She trudged through the dirty snow once more to the shop, and the +counter was examined, and old Goody looked under the flour scales and +in the big chinks of the stone floor. But the shillings were not +there, and Madam Liberality kept her eyes on the pavement as she ran +home, with as little result. Moreover, it was nearly dark. + +It snowed heavily all night, and Madam Liberality slept very little +from pain and anxiety; but this did not deter her from going out with +the first daylight in the morning to rake among the snow near the +door, although her throat was sore beyond concealment, her jaws stiff, +and the pleasant languor and quick-wittedness had given way to +restless fever. + +Her conscience did prick her a little for the anxiety she was bringing +upon her mother (her own sufferings she never forecast); but she could +not give up her Christmas-tree without a struggle, and she hoped by a +few familiar remedies to drive back the threatened illness. + +Meanwhile, if the shillings were not found before eleven o'clock it +would be too late to send to the town shop by the carrier. But they +were not found, and the old hooded cart rumbled away without them. + +It was Christmas Eve. The boys were bustling about with holly. Darling +was perched on a very high chair in the kitchen, picking raisins in +the most honourable manner, without eating one, and Madam Liberality +ought to have been the happiest of all. + +Even now she dried her tears, and made the best of her ill-luck. The +sweetmeats were very good; and it was yet in her power to please the +others, though by a sacrifice from which she had shrunk. She could +divide her scallop-shells among them. It was economy—economy of +resources—which made her hesitate. Separated—they would please the +boys once, and then be lost. Kept together in her own possession—they +would be a constant source of triumph for herself, and of treats for +her brothers and sister. + +Meanwhile, she would gargle her throat with salt and water. As she +crept up-stairs with this purpose, she met her mother. + +Madam Liberality had not looked in the looking-glass lately, so she +did not understand her mother's exclamation of distress when they met. +Her face was perfectly white, except where dark marks lay under her +eyes, and her small lips formed between them the rigid line of pain. +It was impossible to hold out any longer, and Madam Liberality broke +down and poured forth all her woes. + +"I'll put my feet in hot water, and do anything you like, mother +dear," said she, "if only you'll let me try and have a tree, and keep +it secret from the others. I do so want to surprise them." + +"If you'll go to your room, my darling, and do as I tell you, I'll +keep your secret, and help you with your tree," said her mother. +"Don't cry, my child, don't cry; it's so bad for your throat. I think +I can find you some beads to make a necklace for Darling, and three +pencils for the boys, and some paper which you can cut up into +drawing-books for them." + +A little hope went a long way with Madam Liberality, and she began to +take heart. At the same time she felt her illness more keenly now +there was no need for concealing it. She sat over the fire and inhaled +steam from an old teapot, and threaded beads, and hoped she would be +allowed to go to church next day, and to preside at her Christmas-tree +afterwards. + +In the afternoon her throat grew rapidly worse. She had begged—almost +impatiently—that Darling would not leave the Christmas preparations +to sit with her, and as talking was bad for her, and as she had +secret preparations to make on her own account, her mother had +supported her wish to be left alone. + +But when it grew dusk, and the drawing-books were finished, Madam +Liberality felt lonely. She put a shawl round her head, and went to +the window. There was not much to be seen. The fields were deeply +buried in snow, and looked like great white feather beds, shaken up +unequally against the hedges. The road was covered so deeply that she +could hardly have traced it, if she had not known where it was. How +dark the old church tower looked amid so much whiteness! + +And the snow-flakes fell like sugar-plums among the black trees. One +could almost hear the keen wind rustling through the bending sedges by +the pond, where the ice looked quite "safe" now. Madam Liberality +hoped she would be able to get out before this fine frost was over. +She knew of an old plank which would make an admirable sledge, and she +had a plan for the grandest of winter games all ready in her head. It +was to be called Arctic Discovery—and she was to be the chief +discoverer. + +As she fancied herself—starving but scientific, chilled to the bone, +yet undaunted—discovering a north-west passage at the upper end of +the goose pond, the clock struck three from the old church tower. +Madam Liberality heard it with a pang. At three o'clock—if he had +had her shillings—she would have been expecting the return of the +carrier, with the presents for her Christmas-tree. + +Even as she thought about it, the old hooded waggon came lumbering +down among the snow-drifts in the lane. There was a bunch of mistletoe +at the head, and the old carrier went before the horse, and the dog +went before the carrier. And they were all three up to their knees in +snow, and all three had their noses down, as much as to say, "Such is +life; but we must struggle on." + +Poor Madam Liberality! The sight of the waggon and the mistletoe +overwhelmed her. It only made matters worse to see the waggon come +towards the house. She rather wondered what the carrier was bringing; +but whatever it was, it was not the toys. + +She went back to her seat by the fire, and cried bitterly; and, as she +cried, the ball in her throat seemed to grow larger, till she could +hardly breathe. She was glad when the door opened, and her mother's +kind face looked in. + +"Is Darling here?" she asked. + +"No, mother," said Madam Liberality huskily. + +"Then you may bring it in," said her mother to some one outside, and +the servant appeared, carrying a wooden box, which she put down before +Madam Liberality, and then withdrew. "Now don't speak," said her +mother, "it is bad for you, and your eyes have asked fifty questions +already, my child. Where did the box come from? The carrier brought +it. Who is it for? It's for you. Who sent it? That I don't know. What +is inside? I thought you would like to be the first to see. My idea is +that perhaps your godmother has sent you a Christmas-box, and I +thought that there might be things in it which would help you with +your Christmas-tree, so I have not told any one about it." + +To the end of her life Madam Liberality never forgot that +Christmas-box. It did not come from her godmother, and the name of the +giver she never knew. The first thing in it was a card, on which was +written—"A Christmas-box from an unknown friend;" and the second +thing in it was the set of china tea-things with the green rim; and +the third thing was a box of doll's furniture. + +"Oh, Mother!" cried Madam Liberality, "they're the very things I was +counting over in the bazaar, when the shopman heard me." + +"Did anybody else hear you?" asked her mother. + +"There was a lady, who said, 'I think the little girl said the box of +beasts.' And, oh! Mother, Mother! here _is_ the box of beasts! They're +not common beasts, you know—not wooden ones, painted; they're rough, +something like hair. And feel the old elephant's ears, they're quite +leathery, and the lion has real long hair for his mane and the tip of +his tail. They are such thorough beasts. Oh, how the boys will like +them! Tom shall have the darling brown bear. I do think he is the very +best beast of all; his mouth is a little open, you know, and you can +see his tongue, and it's red. And, Mother! the sheep are curly! And +oh, what a dog! with real hair. I think I _must_ keep the dog. And I +shall make him a paper collar, and print 'Faithful' on it, and let him +always stand on the drawers by our bed, and he'll be Darling's and my +watch-dog." + +Happiness is sometimes very wholesome, but it does not cure a quinsy +off hand. Darling cried that night when the big pillow was brought +out, which Madam Liberality always slept against in her quinsies, to +keep her from choking. She did not know of that consolatory +Christmas-box in the cupboard. + +On Christmas Day Madam Liberality was speechless. The quinsy had +progressed very rapidly. + +"It generally breaks the day I have to write on my slate," Madam +Liberality wrote, looking up at her mother with piteous eyes. + +She was conscious that she had been greatly to blame for what she was +suffering, and was anxious to "behave well about it" as an atonement. +She begged—on her slate—that no one would stay away from church on +her account, but her mother would not leave her. + +"And now the others are gone," said Mother, "since you won't let the +Christmas-tree be put off, I propose that we have it up, and I dress +it under your orders, whilst the others are out, and then it can be +moved into the little book-room, all ready for to-night." + +Madam Liberality nodded like a china Mandarin. + +"But you are in sad pain, I fear?" said her mother, + +"One can't have everything," wrote Madam Liberality on her slate. Many +illnesses had made her a very philosophical little woman; and, indeed, +if the quinsy broke and she were at ease, the combination of good +things would be more than any one could reasonably expect, even at +Christmas. + +Every beast was labelled, and hung up by her orders. The box of +furniture was addressed to herself and Darling, as a joint possession, +and the sweetmeats were tied in bags of muslin. The tree looked +charming. The very angel at the top seemed proud of it. + +"I'll leave the tea-things up-stairs," said Mother. + +But Madam Liberality shook her head vigorously. She had been making up +her mind, as she sat steaming over the old teapot; and now she wrote +on her slate, "Put a white cloth round the tub, and put out the +tea-things like a tea-party, and put a ticket in the slop-basin—_For +Darling. With very_, VERY _Best Love_. Make the last 'very' very big." + +Madam Liberality's mother nodded, but she was printing a ticket; much +too large a ticket, however, to go into the green and white +slop-basin. When it was done she hung it on the tree, under the angel. +The inscription was—_From Madam Liberality_. + +When supper was over, she came up to Madam Liberality's room, and +said, + +"Now, my dear, if you like to change your mind and put off the tree +till you are better, I will say nothing about it." + +But Madam Liberality shook her head more vehemently than before, and +her mother smiled and went away. + +Madam Liberality strained her ears. The book-room door opened—she +knew the voice of the handle—there was a rush and a noise, but it +died away into the room. The tears broke down Madam Liberality's +cheeks. It was hard not to be there now. Then there was a patter up +the stairs, and flying steps along the landing, and Madam Liberality's +door was opened by Darling. She was dressed in the pink dress, and her +cheeks were pinker still, and her eyes full of tears. And she threw +herself at Madam Liberality's feet, crying, + +"Oh _how_ good, how _very_ good you are!" + +At this moment a roar came up from below, and Madam Liberality wrote, + +"What is it?" and then dropped the slate to clutch the arms of her +chair, for the pain was becoming almost intolerable. Before Darling +could open the door her mother came in, and Darling repeated the +question, + +"What is it?" + +But at this moment the reply came from below, in Tom's loudest tones. +It rang through the house, and up into the bedroom. + +"Three cheers for Madam Liberality! Hip, hip, hooray!" + +The extremes of pleasure and of pain seemed to meet in Madam +Liberality's little head. But overwhelming gratification got the upper +hand, and, forgetting even her quinsy, she tried to speak, and after a +brief struggle she said, with tolerable distinctness, + +"Tell Tom I am very much obliged to him." + +But what they did tell Tom was that the quinsy had broken, on which he +gave three cheers more. + + + + +PART II. + + +Madam Liberality grew up into much the same sort of person that she +was when a child. She always had been what is termed old-fashioned, +and the older she grew the better her old-fashionedness became her, so +that at last her friends would say to her, "Ah, if we all wore as well +as you do, my dear! You've hardly changed at all since we remember you +in short petticoats." So far as she did change the change was for the +better. (It is to be hoped we do improve a little as we get older!) +She was still liberal and economical. She still planned and hoped +indefatigably. She was still tender-hearted in the sense in which Gray +speaks, + + "To each his sufferings, all are men + Condemned alike to groan, + The tender for another's pain, + The unfeeling for his own." + +She still had a good deal of ill-health and ill-luck, and a good deal +of pleasure in spite of both. She was still happy in the happiness of +others, and pleased by their praise. But she was less headstrong and +opinionated in her plans, and less fretful when they failed. It is +possible, after one has cut one's wisdom-teeth, to cure one's self +even of a good deal of vanity, and to learn to play the second fiddle +very gracefully; and Madam Liberality did not resist the lessons of +life. + +GOD teaches us wisdom in divers ways. Why He suffers some +people to have so many troubles and so little of what we call pleasure +in this world we cannot in this world know. The heaviest blows often +fall on the weakest shoulders, and how these endure and bear up under +them is another of the things which GOD knows better than we. + +I will not pretend to decide whether grown-up people's troubles are +harder to bear than children's troubles, but they are of a graver +kind. It is very bitter when the boys melt the nose of one's dearest +doll against the stove, and living pets with kind eyes and friendly +paws grow aged and die; but the death of friends is a more serious and +lasting sorrow, if it is not more real. + +Madam Liberality shed fewer tears after she grew up than she had done +before, but she had some heart-aches which did not heal. + +The thing which did most to cure her of being too managing for the +good of other people was Darling's marriage. If ever Madam Liberality +had felt proud of self-sacrifice and success, it was about this. But +when Darling was fairly gone, and "Faithful"—very grey with dust and +years—kept watch over only one sister in "the girls' room," he might +have seen Madam Liberality's nightly tears if his eyes had been made +of anything more sensitive than yellow paint. + +Desolate as she was, Madam Liberality would have hugged her grief if +she could have had her old consolation, and been happy in the +happiness of another. Darling never said she was not happy. It was +what she left out, not what she put into the long letters she sent +from India that cut Madam Liberality to the heart. + +Darling's husband read all her letters, and he did not like the home +ones to be too tender—as if Darling's mother and sister pitied her. +And he read Darling's letters before they went away by the mail. + +From this it came about that the sisters' letters were very +commonplace on the surface. And though Madam Liberality cried when +Darling wrote, "Have swallows built in the summer-house this year? +Have you put my old doll's chest of drawers back in its place since +the room was papered? What colour is the paper?"—the Major only said +that stuff like that was hardly worth the postage to England. And when +Madam Liberality wrote, "The clump of daffodils in your old bed was +enormous this spring. I have not touched it since you left. I made +Mother's birthday wreath out of the flowers in your bed and mine. +Jemima broke the slop-basin of the green and white tea-set to-day. It +was the last piece left. I am trying to forgive her,"—the Major made +no harsher remark than, "A storm in a slop-basin! Your sister is not a +brilliant letter-writer, certainly." + +The source of another heart-ache for Madam Liberality was poor Tom. He +was as liberal and hospitable as ever in his own way. He invited his +friends to stay with his mother, and when they and Tom had gone, Madam +Liberality and her mother lived without meat to get the housekeeping +book straight again. Their great difficulty in the matter was the +uncertain nature of Tom's requirements. And when he did write for +money he always wrote in such urgent need that there was no refusing +him if by the art of "doing without" his wants could be supplied. + +But Tom had a kindly heart; he sent his sister a gold locket, and +wrote on the box, "For the best and most generous of sisters." + +Madam Liberality liked praise, and she dearly liked praise from Tom; +but on this occasion it failed to soothe her. She said curtly, "I +suppose it's not paid for. If we can't afford much, we can afford to +live at our own expense, and not on the knavery or the forbearance of +tradesmen." With which she threw the locket into a box of odds and +ends, and turned the key with some temper. + +Years passed, and Madam Liberality was alone. Her mother was dead, and +Tom—poor Tom!—had been found drowned. Darling was still in India, +and the two living boys were in the colonies, farming. + +It seemed to be an aggravation of the calamity of Tom's death that he +died, as he had lived, in debt. But, as regards Madam Liberality, it +was not an unmixed evil. It is one of our bitterest pangs when we +survive those we love that with death the opportunity has passed for +being kind to them, though we love them more than ever. By what +earthly effort could Madam Liberality's mother now be pleased, whom so +little had pleased heretofore? + +But for poor Tom it was still possible to plan, to economize, to be +liberal—and by these means to pay his debts, and save the fair name +of which he had been as reckless as of everything else which he +possessed. + +Madam Liberality had had many a hard struggle to get Tom a birthday +present, but she had never pinched and planned and saved on his behalf +as she did now. There is a limit, however, to the strictest economies. +It would have taken a longer time to finish her labour of love but +for "the other boys." They were good, kind fellows, and having had to +earn daily bread where larks do not fall ready cooked into the mouth, +they knew more of the realities of life than poor Tom had ever +learned. They were prosperous now, and often sent a few pounds to +Madam Liberality "to buy a present with." + +"And none of your old 'Liberality' tricks, mind!" George wrote on one +occasion. "Fit yourself thoroughly out in the latest fashions, and do +us credit!" + +But it all went to Tom's tailor. + +She felt hardly justified in diverting George's money from his +purpose; but she had never told the boys of Tom's debts. There was +something of her old love of doing things without help in this, and +more of her special love for Tom. + +It was not from the boys alone that help came to her. Madam +Liberality's godmother died, and left her fifty pounds. In one lump +she had now got enough to finish her work. + +The acknowledgments of these last payments came on Tom's birthday. +More and more courteous had grown the tradesmen's letters, and Madam +Liberality felt a foolish pleasure in seeing how respectfully they all +spoke now of "Your lamented brother, Madam!" + +The jeweller's bill was the last; and when Madam Liberality tied up +the bundle, she got out Tom's locket and put a bit of his hair into +it, and tied it round her throat, sobbing as she did so, "Oh, Tom, if +you _could_ have lived and been happy in a small way! Your debts are +paid now, my poor boy. I wonder if you know. Oh, Tom, Tom!" + +It was her greatest triumph—to have saved Tom's fair name in the +place where he had lived so foolishly and died so sadly. + +But the triumphs of childhood cast fewer shadows. There was no one now +to say, "Three cheers for Madam Liberality!" + + * * * * * + +It was a very cold winter, but Madam Liberality and Jemima, the +maid-of-all-work, were warmer than they had been for several previous +winters, because they kept better fires. Time heals our sorrows in +spite of us, and Madam Liberality was a very cheerful little body now, +and as busy as ever about her Christmas-boxes. Those for her nephews +and nieces were already despatched. "The boys" were married; Madam +Liberality was godmother to several children she had never seen; but +the Benjamin of his aunt's heart was Darling's only child—Tom—though +she had not seen even him. + +Madam Liberality was still in the thick of her plans, which were +chiefly to benefit the old people and the well-behaved children of the +village. All the Christmas-boxes were to be "surprises," and Jemima +was in every secret but the one which most concerned her. + +Madam Liberality had even some plans for her own benefit. George had +talked of coming home in the summer, and she began to think of saving +up for a new carpet for the drawing-room. Then the last time she went +to the town she saw some curtains of a most artistic pattern, and +particularly cheap. So much good taste for so little money was rare in +provincial shops. By and by she might do without something which would +balance the cost of the curtains. And she had another ambition—to +provide Jemima with black dresses and white muslin aprons for +afternoon wear in addition to her wages, that the outward aspect of +that good soul might be more in accordance than hitherto with her +intrinsic excellence. + +She was pondering this when Jemima burst in in her cooking apron, +followed up the passage by the steam of Christmas cakes, and carrying +a letter. + +"It's a big one, Miss," said she. "Perhaps it's a Christmas-box, +Miss." And beaming with geniality and kitchen warmth, Jemima returned +to her labours. + +Madam Liberality made up her mind about the dresses and aprons; then +she opened her letter. + +It announced the death of her cousin, her godmother's husband. It +announced also that, in spite of the closest search for a will, which +he was supposed to have made, this could not be found. + +Possibly he had destroyed it, intending to make another. As it was he +had died intestate, and succession not being limited to heirs male, +and Madam Liberality being the eldest child of his nearest +relative—the old childish feeling of its being a dream came over her. + +She pinched herself, however, to no purpose. There lay the letter, and +after a second reading Madam Liberality picked up the thread of the +narrative and arrived at the result—she had inherited fifteen +thousand a year. + +The first rational idea which came to her was that there was no +difficulty now about getting the curtains; and the second was that +their chief merit was a merit no more. What is the good of a thing +being cheap when one has fifteen thousand a year? + +Madam Liberality poked the fire extravagantly, and sat down to think. + +The curtains naturally led her to household questions, and those to +that invaluable person, Jemima. That Jemima's wages should be doubled, +trebled, quadrupled, was a thing of course. What post she was to fill +in the new circumstances was another matter. Remembering Podmore, and +recalling the fatigue of dressing herself after her pretty numerous +illnesses, Madam Liberality felt that a lady's-maid would be a comfort +to be most thankful for. But she could not fancy Jemima in that +capacity, or as a housekeeper, or even as head housemaid or cook. She +had lived for years with Jemima herself, but she could not fit her +into a suitable place in the servants' hall. + +However, with fifteen thousand a year, Madam Liberality could buy, if +needful, a field, and build a house, and put Jemima into it with a +servant to wait upon her. The really important question was about her +new domestics. Sixteen servants are a heavy responsibility. + +Madam Liberality had very high ideas of the parental duties involved in +being the head of a household. She had suffered—more than Jemima—over +Jemima's lack of scruple as to telling lies for good purposes. Now a +footman is a young man who has, no doubt, his own peculiar temptations. +What check could Madam Liberality keep upon him? Possibly she might—under +the strong pressure of moral responsibility—give good general advice to +the footman; but the idea of the butler troubled her. + +When one has lived alone in a little house for many years one gets +timid. She put a case to herself. Say that she knew the butler to be +in the habit of stealing the wine, and suspected the gardener of +making a good income by the best of the wall fruit, would she have the +moral courage to be as firm with these important personages as if she +had caught one of the school-children picking and stealing in the +orchard? And if not, would not family prayers be a mockery? + +Madam Liberality sighed. Poor dear Tom! He had had his faults +certainly; but how well he would have managed a butler! + +This touched the weak point of her good fortune to the core. It had +come too late to heap luxuries about dear "Mother"; too late to open +careers for the boys; too late to give mad frolics and girlish +gaieties to light hearts, such as she and Darling had once had. Ah, if +they could have enjoyed it together years ago! + +There remained, however, Madam Liberality's old consolation: one can +be happy in the happiness of others. There were nephews and nieces to +be provided for, and a world so full of poor and struggling folk that +fifteen thousand a year would only go a little way. It was, perhaps, +useful that there had been so many articles lately in the papers about +begging letters, and impostors, and, the evil effects of the +indiscriminate charity of elderly ladies; but the remembrance of them +made Madam Liberality's head ache, and troubled her dreams that +night. + +It was well that the next day was Sunday. Face to face with those +greater interests common to the rich and the poor, the living and the +dead, Madam Liberality grew calmer under her new cares and prospects. +It did not need that brief pause by her mother's grave to remind her +how little money can do for us: and the sight of other people +wholesomely recalled how much it can effect. Near the church porch she +was passed by the wife of a retired chandler, who dressed in very fine +silks, and who was accustomed to eye Madam Liberality's old clothes as +she bowed to her more obviously than is consistent with good breeding. +The little lady nodded very kindly in return. With fifteen thousand a +year one can afford to be _quite_ at ease in an old shawl. + +The next day was Christmas Eve. Madam Liberality caught herself +thinking that if the legacy had been smaller—say fifty pounds a +year—she would at once have treated herself to certain little +embellishments of the old house, for which she had long been +ambitious. But it would be absurd to buy two or three yards of rosebud +chintz, and tire herself by making covers to two very old +sofa-cushions, when the point to be decided was in which of three +grandly furnished mansions she would first take up her abode. She +ordered a liberal supper, however, which confirmed Jemima in her +secret opinion that the big letter had brought good news. + +When, therefore, another letter of similar appearance arrived, Jemima +snatched up the waiter and burst breathlessly in upon Madam +Liberality, leaving the door open-behind her, though it was bitterly +cold and the snow fell fast. + +And when Madam Liberality opened this letter she learned that her +cousin's will had been found, and that (as seems to be natural) he had +left his money where it would be associated with more money and kept +well together. His heir was a cousin also, but in the next degree—an +old bachelor, who was already wealthy; and he had left Madam +Liberality five pounds to buy a mourning ring. + +It had been said that Madam Liberality was used to disappointment, but +some minutes passed before she quite realized the downfall of her +latest visions. Then the old sofa-cushions resumed their importance, +and she flattened the fire into a more economical shape, and set +vigorously to work to decorate the house with the Christmas +evergreens. She had just finished and gone up-stairs to wash her hands +when the church clock struck three. + +It was an old house, and the window of the bedroom went down to the +floor, and had a deep window-seat. Madam Liberality sat down in it and +looked out. She expected some linsey-woolsey by the carrier, to make +Christmas petticoats, and she was glad to see the hooded waggon +ploughing its way through the snow. The goose-pond was firmly frozen, +and everything looked as it had looked years ago, except that the +carrier's young son went before the waggon and a young dog went before +him. They passed slowly out of sight, but Madam Liberality sat on. She +gazed dreamily at the old church, and the trees, and the pond, and +thought of the past; of her mother, and of poor Tom, and of Darling, +and she thought till she fancied that she heard Darling's voice in the +passage below. She got up to go down to Jemima, but as she did so she +heard a footstep on the stairs, and it was not Jemima's tread. It was +too light for the step of any man or woman. + +Then the door opened, and on the threshold of Madam Liberality's room +stood a little boy dressed in black, with his little hat pushed back +from the loveliest of baby faces set in long flaxen hair. The +carnation colour of his cheeks was deepened by the frost, and his +bright eyes were brighter from mingled daring and doubt and curiosity, +as he looked leisurely round the room and said in a slow, +high-pitched, and very distinct tone, + +"Where are you, Aunt Liberality?" + +But, lovely as he was, Madam Liberality ran past him, for another +figure was in the doorway now, also in black, and, with a widow's cap; +and Madam Liberality and Darling fell sobbing into each other's arms. + +"This is better than fifteen thousand a year," said Madam Liberality. + + * * * * * + +It is not necessary to say much more. The Major had been killed by a +fall from horseback, and Darling came back to live at her old home. +She had a little pension, and the sisters were not parted again. + +It would be idle to dwell on Madam Liberality's devotion to her +nephew, or the princely manner in which he accepted her services. That +his pleasure was the object of a new series of plans, and presents, +and surprises, will be readily understood. The curtains were bought, +but the new carpet had to be deferred in consequence of an extravagant +outlay on mechanical toys. When the working of these brought a deeper +tint into his cheeks, and a brighter light into his eyes, Madam +Liberality was quite happy; and when he broke them one after another, +his infatuated aunt believed this to be a precocious development of +manly energies. + +The longest lived, if not the favourite, toys with him were the old +set of scallop-shells, with which he never wearied of making feasts, +to which Madam Liberality was never weary of being invited. He had +more plums than had ever sweetened her childhood, and when they sat +together on two footstools by the sofa, and Tom announced the contents +of the dishes in his shrillest voice and lifted the covers, Madam +Liberality would say in a tone of apology, + +"It's very odd, Darling, and I'm sure at my time of life it's +disgraceful, but I cannot feel old!" + +We could hardly take leave of Madam Liberality in pleasanter +circumstances. Why should we ask whether, for the rest of her life, +she was rich or poor, when we may feel so certain that she was +contented? No doubt she had many another hope and disappointment to +keep life from stagnating. + +As a matter of fact she outlived the bachelor cousin, and if he died +intestate she must have been rich after all. Perhaps she was. Perhaps +she never suffered again from insufficient food or warmth. Perhaps the +illnesses of her later years were alleviated by skill and comforts +such as hitherto she had never known. Perhaps Darling and she enjoyed +a sort of second spring in their old age, and went every year to the +Continent, and grew wonderful flowers in the greenhouse, and sent Tom +to Eton, and provided for their nephews and nieces, and built churches +to their mother's memory, and never had to withhold the liberal hand +from helping because it was empty; and so passed by a time of wealth +to the hour of death. + +Or perhaps the cousin took good care to bequeath his money where there +was more money for it to stick to. And Madam Liberality pinched out +her little presents as heretofore, and kept herself warm with a hot +bottle when she could not afford a fire, and was too thankful to have +Darling with her when she was ill to want anything else. And perhaps +Darling and she prepared Tom for school, and (like many another +widow's son) he did them credit. And perhaps they were quite happy +with a few common pot-plants in the sunny window, and kept their +mother's memory green by flowers about her grave, and so passed by a +life of small cares and small pleasures to where + + "Divided households re-unite." + +Of one thing we may be quite certain. Rich or poor, she was always + +MADAM LIBERALITY. + + + + +_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London, & Bungay_. + +_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, +complete, and uniform Edition published_. + +_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol., +issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will +appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series +will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was +specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing_. + +_The following is a list of the books included in the Series_— + + +1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES. + +2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES. + +3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES. + +4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING. + +5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES. + +6. SIX TO SIXTEEN. + +7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES. + +8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL. + +9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS. + +10. THE PEACE EGG—A CHRISTMAS MUMMING +PLAY—HINTS FOR PRIVATE +THEATRICALS, &c. + +11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER +TALES. + +12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES +OF BEASTS AND MEN. + +13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I + +14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II. + +15. JACKANAPES—DADDY DARWIN'S DOVE-COTE—THE +STORY OF A SHORT LIFE. + +16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES +OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS. + +17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the +Bloody Hand—Wonder Stories—Tales of the +Khoja, and other translations. + +18. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Great Emergency and Other Tales</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 15, 2005 [eBook #17069]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 15, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GREAT EMERGENCY AND OTHER TALES ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:45%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>A GREAT EMERGENCY</h1> + +<h2>AND OTHER TALES.</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>JULIANA HORATIA EWING.</h2> + +<h3>LONDON:</h3> +<h3>SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,</h3> +<h4>NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.<br /> +BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET. <br /> +NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO.</h4> + +<p class="center">[Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee.]</p> + +<p class="center"> </p> +<p class="center"> </p> +<p class="center"> </p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><b>DEDICATED TO<br /> + <br /> +JOHN,<br /> +<br /> +LORD BISHOP OF FREDERICTON,<br /> +<br /> +AND TO HIS DEAR WIFE<br /> +<br /> +MARGARET,<br /> +<br /> +IN PLEASANT AND GRATEFUL MEMORY OF<br /> +<br /> +NEW BRUNSWICK,</b></p> +<p class="quotsig"> + <b>BY J.H.E.</b></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table summary=" Contents"> + +<tr> + <td class="center" colspan="4"><a href="#A_GREAT_EMERGENCY">A GREAT EMERGENCY</a> </td> + <td class="tocpg"> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch" >CHAP</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">I</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I">Rupert's Lectures—The Old Yellow Leather Book</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">II</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_II">Henrietta—A Family Chronicle—The School Mimic—My First Fight</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">III</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_III">School Cricket—Lemon-Kali—The Boys' Bridge—An Unexpected Emergency</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">IV</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_IV">A Doubtful Blessing—A Family Failing—Old Battles—The Canal-Carrier's Home</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">V</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_V">The Navy Captain—Seven Parrots in a Fuchsia Tree—The Harbour Lion and the Silver Chain—The Legless Giants—Down Below—Johnson's Wharf</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VI</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_VI">S. Philip and S. James—The Monkey-Barge and the Dog—War, Plague, and Fire—The Dulness of Everyday Life</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VII</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_VII">We Resolve to Run Away—Scruples—Baby Cecil—I Prepare—I Run Away</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VIII</td> + <td class="tocpg"> </td> + <td class="tocpg"> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">We Go on Board—The Pie—An Explosion—Mr. Rowe the Barge-Master—The <i>White Lion</i>—Two Letters—We Doubt Mr. Rowe's Good Faith</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">IX</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_IX">A Coasting Voyage—Musk Island—Linnet Flash—Mr. Rowe an Old Tar—The Dog-Fancier at Home</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">X</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_X">Locks—We Think of Going on the Tramp—Pyebridge—We Set Sail</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">XI</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Mr. Rowe on Barge-Women—The River—Nine Elms—A Mysterious Noise—Rough Quarters—A Cheap Supper—John's Berth—We Make Our Escape—Out into the World</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">XII</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Emergencies and Policemen—Fenchurch Street Station—Third Class to Custom House—A Ship Forest</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">XIII</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">A Dirty Street—A Bad Boy—Shipping and Merchandise—We Stowaway on Board the 'Atalanta'—A Salt Tear</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">XIV</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">A Glow on the Horizon—A Fantastic Peal—What I Saw when the Roof Fell In</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">XV</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Henrietta's Diary—A Great Emergency</a></td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">XVI</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Mr. Rowe on the Subject—Our Cousin—Weston Gets Into Print—The Harbour's Mouth—What Lies Beyond</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td class="center" colspan="2"><a href="#A_VERY_ILL-TEMPERED_FAMILY">A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY.</a></td> + <td > </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">I</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_I">A Family Failing</a></td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">II</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_II">Ill-Tempered People and Their Friends—Narrow Escapes—The Hatchet-Quarrel</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">III</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_III">Warnings—My Aunt Isobel—Mr. Rampant's Temper, and His Conscience</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">IV</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_IV">Cases of Conscience—Ethics of Ill-Temper</a></td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">V</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_V">Celestial Fire—I Choose a Text</a></td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VI</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_VI">Theatrical Properties—I Prepare a Play—Philip Begins to Prepare the Scenery—A New Friend</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VII</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_VII">A Quarrel—Bobby is Willing—Exit Philip</a></td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VIII</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_VIII">I Hear from Philip—A New Part Wanted—I Lose My Temper—We All Lose Our Tempers</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">IX</td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > <a href="#CHAPTER_I_IX">Self-Reproach—Family Discomfort—Out on the Marsh—Victory</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td class="center" ><a href="#OUR_FIELD">OUR FIELD</a></td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td class="center" colspan="2"><a href="#MADAM_LIBERALITY">MADAM LIBERALITY.</a></td> + <td > </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td ><a href="#PART_I">PART I</a></td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td > </td> + <td ><a href="#PART_II">PART II</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="A_GREAT_EMERGENCY" id="A_GREAT_EMERGENCY"></a>A GREAT EMERGENCY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>RUPERT'S LECTURES—THE OLD YELLOW LEATHER BOOK.</h3> + +<p>We were very happy—I, Rupert, Henrietta, and Baby Cecil. The only +thing we found fault with in our lives was that there were so few +events in them.</p> + +<p>It was particularly provoking, because we were so well prepared for +events—any events. Rupert prepared us. He had found a fat old book in +the garret, bound in yellow leather, at the end of which were +"Directions how to act with presence of mind in any emergency;" and he +gave lectures out of this in the kitchen garden.</p> + +<p>Rupert was twelve years old. He was the eldest. Then came Henrietta, +then I, and last of all Baby Cecil, who was only four. The day I was +nine years old, Rupert came into the nursery, holding up his handsome +head with the dignified air which became him so well, that I had more +than once tried to put it on myself before the nursery looking-glass, +and said to me, "You are quite old enough now, Charlie, to learn what +to do whatever happens; so every half-holiday, when I am not playing +cricket, I'll teach you presence of mind near the cucumber frame, if +you're punctual. I've put up a bench."</p> + +<p>I thanked him warmly, and the next day he put his head into the +nursery at three o'clock in the afternoon, and said—"The lecture."</p> + +<p>I jumped up, and so did Henrietta.</p> + +<p>"It's not for girls," said Rupert; "women are not expected to do +things when there's danger."</p> + +<p>"<i>We</i> take care of <i>them</i>" said I, wondering if my mouth looked like +Rupert's when I spoke, and whether my manner impressed Henrietta as +much as his impressed me. She sat down again and only said, "I stayed +in all Friday afternoon, and worked in bed on Saturday morning to +finish your net."</p> + +<p>"Come along," said Rupert. "You know I'm very much obliged to you for +the net; it's a splendid one."</p> + +<p>"I'll bring a camp-stool if there's not room on the bench," said +Henrietta cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"People never take camp-stools to lectures," said Rupert, and when we +got to the cucumber frame we found that the old plank, which he had +raised on inverted flower-pots, would have held a much larger audience +than he had invited. Opposite to it was a rhubarb-pot, with the round +top of a barrel resting on it. On this stood a glass of water. A +delightful idea thrilled through me, suggested by an imperfect +remembrance of a lecture on chemistry which I had attended.</p> + +<p>"Will there be experiments?" I whispered.</p> + +<p>"I think not," Henrietta replied. "There are glasses of water at the +missionary meetings, and there are no experiments."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Rupert had been turning over the leaves of the yellow +leather book. To say the truth, I think he was rather nervous; but if +we have a virtue among us it is that of courage; and after dropping +the book twice, and drinking all the water at a draught, he found his +place, and began.</p> + +<p>"<i>How to act in an emergency</i>."</p> + +<p>"What's an emergency?" I asked. I was very proud of being taught by +Rupert, and anxious to understand everything as we went along.</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't interrupt," said Rupert, frowning. I am inclined now to +think that he could not answer my question off-hand; for though he +looked cross then, after referring to the book he answered me: "It's a +fire, or drowning, or an apoplectic fit, or anything of that sort." +After which explanation, he hurried on. If what he said next came out +of his own head, or whether he had learned it by heart, I never knew.</p> + +<p>"There is no stronger sign of good-breeding than presence of mind in +an—"</p> + +<p>"—apoplectic fit," I suggested. I was giving the keenest attention, +and Rupert had hesitated, the wind having blown over a leaf too many +of the yellow leather book.</p> + +<p>"An <i>emergency</i>," he shouted, when he had found his place. "Now we'll +have one each time. The one for to-day is—How to act in a case of +drowning."</p> + +<p>To speak the strict truth, I would rather not have thought about +drowning. I had my own private horror over a neighbouring mill-dam, +and I had once been very much frightened by a spring-tide at the sea; +but cowardice is not an indulgence for one of my race, so I screwed up +my lips and pricked my ears to learn my duty in the unpleasant +emergency of drowning.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't mean being drowned yourself," Rupert continued, "but what +to do when another person has been drowned."</p> + +<p>The emergency was undoubtedly easier, and I gave a cheerful attention +as Rupert began to question us.</p> + +<p>"Supposing a man had been drowned in the canal, and was brought +ashore, and you were the only people there, what would you do with +him?"</p> + +<p>I was completely nonplussed. "I felt quite sure I could do nothing +with him, he would be so heavy; but I felt equally certain that this +was not the answer which Rupert expected, so I left the question to +Henrietta's readier wit. She knitted her thick eyebrows for some +minutes, partly with perplexity, and partly because of the sunshine +reflected from the cucumber frame, and then said,</p> + +<p>"We should bury him in a vault; Charlie and I <i>couldn't</i> dig a grave +deep enough."</p> + +<p>I admired Henrietta's foresight, but Rupert was furious.</p> + +<p>"How <i>silly</i> you are!" he exclaimed, knocking over the top of the +rhubarb-pot table and the empty glass in his wrath. "Of course I don't +mean a dead man. I mean what would you do to bring a partly drowned +man to life again?"</p> + +<p>"That wasn't what you <i>said</i>," cried Henrietta, tossing her head.</p> + +<p>"I let you come to my lecture," grumbled Rupert bitterly, as he +stooped to set his table right, "and this is the way you behave!"</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry, Rupert dear!" said Henrietta. "Indeed, I only mean to +do my best, and I do like your lecture so very much!"</p> + +<p>"So do I," I cried, "very, very much!" And by a simultaneous impulse +Henrietta and I both clapped our hands vehemently. This restored +Rupert's self-complacency, and he bowed and continued the lecture. +From this we learned that the drowned man should be turned over on his +face to let the canal water run out of his mouth and ears, and that +his wet clothes should be got off, and he should be made dry and warm +as quickly as possible, and placed in a comfortable position, with the +head and shoulders slightly raised. All this seemed quite feasible to +us. Henrietta had dressed and undressed lots of dolls, and I pictured +myself filling a hot-water bottle at the kitchen boiler with an air of +responsibility that should scare all lighter-minded folk. But the +directions for "restoring breathing" troubled our sincere desire to +learn; and this even though Henrietta practised for weeks afterwards +upon me. I represented the drowned man, and she drew my arms above my +head for "<i>inspiration</i>," and counted "one, two;" and doubled them and +drove them back for "<i>expiration</i>;" but it tickled, and I laughed, and +we could not feel at all sure that it would have made the drowned man +breathe again.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Rupert went on with the course of lectures, and taught us +how to behave in the event of a fire in the house, an epidemic in the +neighbourhood, a bite from a mad dog, a chase by a mad bull, broken +limbs, runaway horses, a chimney on fire, or a young lady burning to +death. The lectures were not only delightful in themselves, but they +furnished us with a whole set of new games, for Henrietta and I +zealously practised every emergency as far as the nature of things +would allow. Covering our faces with wet cloths to keep off the smoke, +we crept on our hands and knees to rescue a fancy cripple from an +imaginary burning house, because of the current of air which Rupert +told us was to be found near the floor. We fastened Baby Cecil's left +leg to his right by pocket-handkerchiefs at the ankle, and above and +below the knee, pretending that it was broken, and must be kept steady +till we could convey him to the doctor. But for some unexplained +reason Baby Cecil took offence at this game, and I do not think he +could have howled and roared louder under the worst of real compound +fractures. We had done it so skilfully, that we were greatly disgusted +by his unaccommodating spirit, and his obstinate refusal to be put +into the litter we had made out of Henrietta's stilts and a railway +rug. We put the Scotch terrier in instead; but when one end of the +litter gave way and he fell out, we were not sorry that the emergency +was a fancy one, and that no broken limbs were really dependent upon +our well-meant efforts.</p> + +<p>There was one thing about Rupert's lectures which disappointed me. His +emergencies were all things that happened in the daytime. Now I should +not have liked the others to know that I was ever afraid of anything; +but, really and truly, I was sometimes a little frightened—not of +breaking my leg, or a house on fire, or an apoplectic fit, or anything +of that sort, but—of things in the dark. Every half-holiday I hoped +there would be something about what to do with robbers or ghosts, but +there never was. I do not think there can have been any emergencies of +that kind in the yellow leather book.</p> + +<p>On the whole, I fancy Rupert found us satisfactory pupils, for he +never did give up the lectures in a huff, though he sometimes +threatened to do so, when I asked stupid questions, or Henrietta +argued a point.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>HENRIETTA—A FAMILY CHRONICLE—THE SCHOOL MIMIC—MY FIRST FIGHT.</h3> + +<p>Henrietta often argued points, which made Rupert very angry. He said +that even if she were in the right, that had nothing to do with it, +for girls oughtn't to dispute or discuss. And then Henrietta argued +that point too.</p> + +<p>Rupert and Henrietta often squabbled, and always about the same sort +of thing. I am sure he would have been <i>very</i> kind to her if she would +have agreed with him, and done what he wanted. He often told me that +the gentlemen of our family had always been courteous to women, and I +think he would have done anything for Henrietta if it had not been +that she would do everything for herself.</p> + +<p>When we wanted to vex her very much, we used to call her "Monkey," +because we knew she liked to be like a boy. She persuaded Mother to +let her have her boots made like ours, because she said the roads +were so rough and muddy (which they are). And we found two of her +books with her name written in, and she had put "Henry," and Rupert +wrote Etta after it, and "Monkey" after that. So she tore the leaves +out. Her hair was always coming out of curl. It was very dark, and +when it fell into her eyes she used to give her head a peculiar shake +and toss, so that half of it fell the wrong way, and there was a +parting at the side, like our partings. Nothing made Rupert angrier +than this.</p> + +<p>Henrietta was very good at inventing things. Once she invented a +charade quite like a story. Rupert was very much pleased with it, +because he was to act the hero, who was to be a young cavalier of a +very old family—our family. He was to arrive at an inn; Henrietta +made it the real old inn in the middle of the town, and I was the +innkeeper, with Henrietta's pillow to make me fat, and one of Nurse's +clean aprons. Then he was to ask to spend a night in the old Castle, +and Henrietta made that the real Castle, which was about nine miles +off, and which belonged to our cousin, though he never spoke to us. +And a ghost was to appear. The ghost of the ancestor in the miniature +in Mother's bedroom. Henrietta did the ghost in a white sheet; and +with her hair combed, and burnt-cork moustache, she looked so exactly +like the picture that Rupert started when she came in, and stared; +and Mother said he had acted splendidly.</p> + +<p>Henrietta was wonderfully like the picture. Much more like than Rupert +ever was, which rather vexed him, because that ancestor was one of the +very bravest, and his name was Rupert. He was rather vexed, too, when +she rode the pony bare-backed which had kicked him off. But I think +the pony was fonder of Henrietta, which perhaps made it easier for her +to manage it. She used to feed it with bits of bread. It got them out +of her pocket.</p> + +<p>One of the things Henrietta could not do as well as Rupert was +cricket. Rupert was one of the best players in the school. Henrietta +used to want to play with us at home, and she and I did play for a +bit, before breakfast, in the drying ground; but Rupert said, if I +encouraged her in being unladylike, he would not let me come to the +school matches. He said I might take my choice, and play either with +girls or boys, but not with both. But I thought it would be very mean +to leave Henrietta in the lurch. So I told her I would stick by her, +as Rupert had not actually forbidden me. He had given me my choice, +and he always kept his word. But she would not let me. She pretended +that she did not mind; but I know she did, for I could see afterwards +that she had been crying. However, she would not play, and Mother +said she had much rather she did not, as she was so afraid of her +getting hit by the ball. So that settled it, and I was very glad not +to have to give up going to the school matches.</p> + +<p>The school we went to was the old town grammar school. It was a very +famous one; but it was not so expensive as big public schools are, and +I believe this was why we lived in this town after my father's death, +for Mother was not at all rich.</p> + +<p>The grammar school was very large, and there were all sorts of boys +there—some of gentlemen, and tradesmen, and farmers. Some of the boys +were so very dirty, and had such horrid habits out of school, that +when Rupert was thirteen, and I was ten, he called a council at the +beginning of the half, and a lot of the boys formed a committee, and +drew up the code of honour, and we all subscribed to it.</p> + +<p>The code of honour was to forbid a lot of things that had been very +common in the school. Lying, cheating over bargains, telling tales, +bragging, bad language, and what the code called "conduct unbecoming +schoolfellows and gentlemen." There were a lot of rules in it, too, +about clean nails, and shirts, and collars and socks, and things of +that sort. If any boy refused to agree to it, he had to fight with +Thomas Johnson.</p> + +<p>There could not have been a better person than Rupert to make a code +of honour. We have always been taught that honour was the watch-word +of our family—dearer than anything that could be gained or lost, very +much dearer than mere life. The motto of our arms came from an +ancestor who lost the favour of the King by refusing to do something +against his conscience for which he would have been rewarded. It is +"Honour before honours."</p> + +<p>I can just remember the man, with iron-grey hair and gold spectacles, +who came to our house after my father's death. I think he was a +lawyer. He took lots of snuff, so that Henrietta sneezed when he +kissed her, which made her very angry. He put Rupert and me in front +of him, to see which of us was most like my father, and I can recall +the big pinch of snuff he took, and the sound of his voice saying "Be +like your father, boys! He was as good as he was gallant. And there +never lived a more honourable gentleman."</p> + +<p>Every one said the same. We were very proud of it, and always boasted +about our father to the new nursemaids, or any other suitable hearer. +I was a good deal annoyed by one little maid, who when I told her, +over our nursery tea, that my father had been the most honourable of +men, began to cry about her father, who was dead too, and said he was +"just the same; for in the one and twenty years he kept a +public-house, he never put so much as a pinch of salt into the beer, +nor even a gill of water, unless it was in the evening at fair-time, +when the only way to keep the men from fighting was to give them their +liquor so that it could not do them much harm." I was very much +offended by the comparison of <i>my</i> father, who was an officer and a +gentleman of rank, with <i>her</i> father, who was a village publican; but +I should like to say, that I think now that I was wrong and Jane was +right. If her father gave up profit for principle, he <i>was</i> like my +father, and like the ancestor we get the motto from, and like every +other honourable man, of any rank or any trade.</p> + +<p>Every time I boasted in the nursery of my father being so honourable, +I always finished my saying, that that was why he had the word +Honourable before his name, as men in old times used to be called "the +Good" or "the Lion Heart." The nursemaids quite believed it, and I +believed it myself, till the first week I went to school.</p> + +<p>It makes me hot all over to remember what I suffered that week, and +for long, afterwards. But I think it cured me of bragging, which is a +mean ungentlemanly habit, and of telling everybody everything about +myself and my relations, which is very weak-minded.</p> + +<p>The second day I was there, one of the boys came up to me and said, +with a mock ceremony and politeness which unfortunately took me in, +"If I am not mistaken, sir, that esteemed lady, your mother, is an +Honourable?"</p> + +<p>He was nearly five years older than I; his name was Weston; he had a +thin cadaverous face, a very large nose, and a very melancholy +expression. I found out afterwards that he was commonly called "the +clown," and was considered by boys who had been to the London theatres +to surpass the best professional comic actors when he chose to put +forth his powers. I did not know this then. I thought him a little +formal, but particularly courteous in his manner, and not wishing to +be behindhand in politeness, I replied, with as much of his style as I +could assume, "Certainly, sir. But that is because my father was an +Honourable. My father, sir, was the most honourable of men."</p> + +<p>A slight spasm appeared to pass over Weston's face, and then he +continued the conversation in a sadder tone than the subject seemed to +require, but I supposed that this was due to his recalling that my +father was dead.</p> + +<p>I confess that it did not need many leading inquiries to draw from me +such a narrative of my father's valour and high principle, as well as +the noble sentiments and conspicuous bravery which have marked our +family from Saxon times, as I was well accustomed to pour forth for +the edification of our nursemaids. I had not proceeded far, when my +new friend said, "Won't you walk in and take a seat?" It was +recreation time, and the other boys were all out in the playground. I +had no special friend as yet; Rupert had stuck to me all the first +day, and had now left me to find my own level. I had lingered near the +door as we came out, and there Weston had joined me. He now led me +back into the deserted school-room, and we sat down together on an old +black oak locker, at the bottom of the room.</p> + +<p>How well I remember the scene! The dirty floor, the empty benches, the +torn books sprinkled upon the battered desks, the dusty sunshine +streaming in, the white-faced clock on the wall opposite, over which +the hands moved with almost incredible rapidity. But when does time +ever fly so fast as with people who are talking about themselves or +their relations?</p> + +<p>Once the mathematical master passed through the room. He glanced at us +curiously, but Weston's face was inscrutable, and I—tracing some +surprise that I should have secured so old and so fine-mannered a boy +for a friend—held up my head, and went on with my narrative, as +fluently as I could, to show that I had parts which justified Weston +in his preference.</p> + +<p>Tick, tack! went the clock. Click, clack! went my tongue. I fear that +quite half-an-hour must have passed, when a big boy, with an open +face, blue eyes, and closely curling fair hair, burst in. On seeing us +he exclaimed, "Hulloh!" and then stopped, I suspect in obedience to +Weston's eyes, which met his in a brief but expressive gaze. Then +Weston turned to me.</p> + +<p>"Allow me," said he, "to introduce Mr. Thomas Johnson. He bears a very +high character in this school, and it will afford him the keenest +satisfaction to hear an authentic account of such a man as your +esteemed father, whose character should be held up for the imitation +of young gentlemen in every establishment for the education of youth."</p> + +<p>I blushed with pride and somewhat with nervousness as Mr. Thomas +Johnson seated himself on the locker on the other side of me and +begged (with less elegance of expression than my first friend) that I +would "go ahead."</p> + +<p>I did so. But a very few minutes exhausted the patience of my new +hearer. When he had kicked a loose splinter of wood satisfactorily off +the leg of one of the desks he began to look at the clock, which +quickened my pace from my remoter ancestors to what the colonel of the +regiment in which my father was an ensign had said of him. I completed +my narrative at last with the lawyer's remark, and added, "and +everybody says the same. And <i>that</i> is why my father had '<i>The +Honourable</i>' before his name, just as—" &c., &c.</p> + +<p>I had no sooner uttered these words than Johnson started from his +seat, and, covering his face with a spotted silk pocket-handkerchief, +rushed precipitately from the school-room. For one brief instant I +fancied I heard him choking with laughter, but when I turned to Weston +he got up too, with a look of deep concern. "Mr. Johnson is taken very +unwell, I fear," said he. "It is a peculiar kind of spasm to which he +is subject. Excuse me!"</p> + +<p>He hurried anxiously after his friend, and I was left alone in the +school-room, into which the other boys shortly began to pour.</p> + +<p>"Have you been all alone, old fellow?" said Rupert kindly; "I hoped +you had picked up a chum."</p> + +<p>"So I have," was my proud reply; "two chums."</p> + +<p>"I hope they're decent fellows," said Rupert. (He had a most pestilent +trick of perpetually playing monitor, to the wet-blanketing of all +good fellowship.)</p> + +<p>"You know best," said I pertly; "it's Weston and Johnson. We've been +together a long time."</p> + +<p>"Weston?" cried Rupert. "I hope to goodness, Charlie, you've not been +playing the fool?"</p> + +<p>"You can ask them," said I, and tossing my head I went to my proper +place.</p> + +<p>For the rest of school-time I wore a lofty and Rupert an anxious +demeanour. Secure on the level of a higher friendship, I was mean +enough to snub the friendly advances of one or two of the younger +boys.</p> + +<p>When we went home at night, I found my mother much more ready than +Rupert to believe that my merits had gained for me the regard of two +of the upper boys. I was exultingly happy. Not a qualm disturbed the +waking dreams in which (after I was in bed) I retold my family tale at +even greater length than before, except that I remembered one or two +incidents, which in the excitement of the hour I had forgotten when in +school.</p> + +<p>I was rather sorry, too, that, bound by the strictest of injunctions +from Rupert and my own promise, I had not been able, ever so casually, +to make my new friends aware that among my other advantages was that +of being first cousin to a peer, the very one who lived at the Castle. +The Castle was a show place, and I knew that many of my schoolfellows +were glad enough to take their friends and go themselves to be shown +by the housekeeper the pictures of <i>my</i> ancestors. On this point they +certainly had an advantage over me. I had not seen the pictures. Our +cousin never called on us, and never asked us to the Castle, and of +course we could not go to our father's old home like common +holiday-making townspeople.</p> + +<p>I would rather not say very much about the next day. It must seem +almost incredible that I could have failed to see that Weston and +Johnson were making fun of me; and I confess that it was not for want +of warnings that I had made a fool of myself.</p> + +<p>I had looked forward to going to school with about equal measures of +delight and dread; my pride and ambition longed for this first step in +life, but Rupert had filled me with a wholesome awe of its stringent +etiquette, its withering ridicule, and unsparing severities. However, +in his anxiety to make me modest and circumspect, I think he rather +over-painted the picture, and when I got through the first day without +being bullied, and made such creditable friends on the second, I began +to think that Rupert's experience of school life must be due to some +lack of those social and conversational powers with which I seemed to +be better endowed. And then Weston's acting would have deceived a +wiser head than mine. And the nursemaids had always listened so +willingly!</p> + +<p>As it happened, Rupert was unwell next day and could not go to +school. He was obviously afraid of my going alone, but I had no fears. +My self-satisfaction was not undone till playtime. Then not a boy +dispersed to games. They all gathered round Weston in the playground, +and with a confident air I also made my way to his side. As he turned +his face to me I was undeceived.</p> + +<p>Weston was accustomed—at such times as suited his caprice and his +resources—to give exhibitions of his genius for mimicry to the rest +of the boys. I had heard from Rupert of these entertainments, which +were much admired by the school. They commonly consisted of funny +dialogues between various worthies of the place well known to +everybody, which made Weston's audience able to judge of the accuracy +of his imitations. From the head-master to the idiot who blew the +organ bellows in church, every inhabitant of the place who was gifted +with any recognizable peculiarity was personated at one time or +another by the wit of our school. The favourite imitation of all was +supposed to be one of the Dialogues of Plato, "omitted by some strange +over-sight in the edition which graces the library of our learned and +respected doctor," Weston would say with profound gravity. The +Dialogue was between Dr. Jessop and Silly Billy—the idiot already +referred to—and the apposite Latin quotations of the head-master and +his pompous English, with the inapposite replies of the organ-blower, +given in the local dialect and Billy's own peculiar jabber, were +supposed to form a masterpiece of mimicry.</p> + +<p>Little did I think that my family chronicle was to supply Weston with +a new field for his talents!</p> + +<p>In the midst of my shame, I could hardly help admiring the clever way +in which he had remembered all the details, and twisted them into a +comic ballad, which he had composed overnight, and which he now +recited with a mock heroic air and voice, which made every point tell, +and kept the boys in convulsions of laughter. Not a smile crossed his +long, lantern-jawed face; but Mr. Thomas Johnson made no effort this +time to hide a severe fit of his peculiar spasms in his spotted +handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Sometimes—at night—in the very bottom of my own heart, when the +darkness seemed thick with horrors, and when I could not make up my +mind whether to keep my ears strained to catch the first sound of +anything dreadful, or to pull the blankets over my head and run the +risk of missing it,—in such moments, I say, I have had a passing +private doubt whether I had inherited my share of the family instinct +of courage at a crisis.</p> + +<p>It was therefore a relief to me to feel that in this moment of +despair, when I was only waiting till the boys, being no longer +amused by Weston, should turn to amuse themselves with me, my first +and strongest feeling was a sense of relief that Rupert was not at +school, and that I could bear the fruits of my own folly on my own +shoulders. To be spared his hectoring and lecturing, his hurt pride, +his reproaches, and rage with me, and a probable fight with Weston, in +which he must have been seriously hurt and I should have been +blamed—this was some comfort.</p> + +<p>I had got my lesson well by heart. Fifty thousand preachers in fifty +thousand pulpits could never have taught me so effectually as Weston's +ballad, and the laughter of his audience, that there is less +difference than one would like to believe between the vanity of +bragging of one's self and the vanity of bragging of one's relations. +Also that it is not dignified or discreet to take new acquaintance +into your entire confidence and that even if one is blessed with +friends of such quick sympathy that they really enjoy hearing about +people they have never seen, it is well not to abuse the privilege, +and now and then to allow them an "innings" at describing <i>their</i> +remarkable parents, brothers, sisters, and remoter relatives.</p> + +<p>I realized all this fully as I stood, with burning cheeks and downcast +eyes, at the very elbow of my tormentor. But I am glad to know that I +would not have run away even if I could. My resolution grew +stubborner with every peal of laughter to bear whatever might come +with pluck and good temper. I had been a fool, but I would show that I +was not a coward.</p> + +<p>I was very glad that Rupert's influenza kept him at home for a few +days. I told him briefly that I had been bullied, but that it was my +own fault, and I would rather say no more about it. I begged him to +promise that he would not take up my quarrel in any way, but leave me +to fight it out for myself, which he did. When he came back I think he +regretted his promise. Happily he never heard all the ballad, but the +odd verses which the boys sang about the place put him into a fury. It +was a long time before he forgave me, and I doubt if he ever quite +forgave Weston.</p> + +<p>I held out as well as I could. I made no complaint, and kept my +temper. I must say that Henrietta behaved uncommonly well to me at +this time.</p> + +<p>"After all, you know, Charlie," she said, "you've not done anything +<i>really wrong or dishonourable</i>." This was true, and it comforted me.</p> + +<p>Except Henrietta, I really had not a friend; for Rupert was angry with +me, and the holding up at school only made me feel worse at home.</p> + +<p>At last the joke began to die out, and I was getting on very well, but +for one boy, a heavy-looking fellow with a pasty face, who was always +creeping after me, and asking me to tell him about my father. "Johnson +Minor," we called him. He was a younger brother of Thomas Johnson, the +champion of the code of honour.</p> + +<p>He was older than I, but he was below me in class, and though he was +bigger, he was not a very great deal bigger; and if there is any truth +in the stories I have so often told, our family has been used to fight +against odds for many generations.</p> + +<p>I thought about this a good deal, and measured Johnson Minor with my +eye. At last I got Henrietta to wrestle and box with me for practice.</p> + +<p>She was always willing to do anything Tomboyish, indeed she was +generally willing to do anything one wanted, and her biceps were as +hard as mine, for I pinched them to see. We got two pairs of gloves, +much too big for us, and stuffed cotton wool in to make them like +boxing-gloves, as we used to stuff out the buff-coloured waistcoat +when we acted old gentlemen in it. But it did not do much good; for I +did not like to hurt Henrietta when I got a chance, and I do not think +she liked to hurt me. So I took to dumb-belling every morning in my +night-shirt; and at last I determined I would have it out with Johnson +Minor, once for all.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, when the boys had been very friendly with me, and were +going to have me in the paper chase on Saturday, he came up in the old +way and began asking me about my father, quite gravely, like a sort of +poor imitation of Weston. So I turned round and said, "Whatever my +father was—he's dead. Your father's alive, Johnson, and if you +weren't a coward, you wouldn't go on bullying a fellow who hasn't got +one."</p> + +<p>"I'm a coward, am I, Master Honourable?" said Johnson, turning +scarlet, and at the word <i>Honourable</i> I thought he had broken my nose. +I never felt such pain in my life, but it was the only pain I felt on +the occasion; afterwards I was much too much excited, I am sorry that +I cannot remember very clearly about it, which I should have liked to +do, as it was my first fight.</p> + +<p>There was no time to fight properly. I was obliged to do the best I +could. I made a sort of rough plan in my head, that I would cling to +Johnson as long as I was able, and hit him whenever I got a chance. I +did not quite know when he was hitting me from when I was hitting him; +but I know that I held on, and that the ground seemed to be always +hitting us both.</p> + +<p>How long we had been struggling and cuffing and hitting (less +scientifically but more effectually than when Henrietta and I +flourished our stuffed driving gloves, with strict and constant +reference to the woodcuts in a sixpenny Boxer's Guide) before I got +slightly stunned, I do not know; when I came round I was lying in +Weston's arms, and Johnson Minor was weeping bitterly (as he believed) +over my corpse. I fear Weston had not allayed his remorse.</p> + +<p>My great anxiety was to shake hands with Johnson. I never felt more +friendly towards any one.</p> + +<p>He met me in the handsomest way. He apologized for speaking of my +father—"since you don't like it," he added, with an appearance of +sincerity which puzzled me at the time, and which I did not understand +till afterwards—and I apologized for calling him a coward. We were +always good friends, and our fight made an end of the particular chaff +which had caused it.</p> + +<p>It reconciled Rupert to me too, which was my greatest gain.</p> + +<p>Rupert is quite right. There is nothing like being prepared for +emergencies. I suppose, as I was stunned, that Johnson got the best of +it; but judging from his appearance as we washed ourselves at the +school pump, I was now quite prepared for the emergency of having to +defend myself against any boy not twice my own size.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>SCHOOL CRICKET—LEMON-KALI—THE BOYS' BRIDGE—AN UNEXPECTED EMERGENCY.</h3> + +<p>Rupert and I were now the best of good friends again. I cared more for +his favour than for the goodwill of any one else, and kept as much +with him as I could.</p> + +<p>I played cricket with him in the school matches. At least I did not +bat or bowl, but I and some of the junior fellows "fielded out," and +when Rupert was waiting for the ball, I would have given my life to +catch quickly and throw deftly. I used to think no one ever looked so +handsome as he did in his orange-coloured shirt, white flannel +trousers, and the cap which Henrietta made him. He and I had spent all +our savings on that new shirt, for Mother would not get him a new one. +She did not like cricket, or anything at which people could hurt +themselves. But Johnson Major had got a new sky-blue shirt and cap, +and we did not like Rupert to be outdone by him, for Johnson's father +is only a canal-carrier.</p> + +<p>But the shirt emptied our pockets, and made the old cap look worse +than ever. Then Henrietta, without saying a word to us, bought some +orange flannel, and picked the old cap to pieces, and cut out a new +one by it, and made it all herself, with a button, and a stiff peak +and everything, and it really did perfectly, and looked very well in +the sunshine over Rupert's brown face and glossy black hair.</p> + +<p>There always was sunshine when we played cricket. The hotter it was +the better we liked it. We had a bottle of lemon-kali powder on the +ground, and I used to have to make a fizzing-cup in a tin mug for the +other boys. I got the water from the canal.</p> + +<p>Lemon-kali is delicious on a very hot day—so refreshing! But I +sometimes fancied I felt a little sick <i>afterwards</i>, if I had had a +great deal. And Bustard (who was always called Bustard-Plaster, +because he was the doctor's son) said it was the dragons out of the +canal water lashing their tails inside us. He had seen them under his +father's microscope.</p> + +<p>The field where we played was on the banks of the canal, the opposite +side to the town. I believe it was school property. At any rate we had +the right of playing there.</p> + +<p>We had to go nearly a quarter of a mile out of the way before there +was a bridge, and it was very vexatious to toil a quarter of a mile +down on one side and a quarter of a mile up on the other to get at a +meadow which lay directly opposite to the school. Weston wrote a +letter about it to the weekly paper asking the town to build us a +bridge. He wrote splendid letters, and this was one of his very best. +He said that if the town council laughed at the notion of building a +bridge for boys, they must remember that the Boys of to-day were the +Men of to-morrow (which we all thought a grand sentence, though +MacDonald, a very accurate-minded fellow, said it would really be some +years before most of us were grown up). Then Weston called us the +Rising Generation, and showed that, in all probability, the Prime +Minister, Lord Chancellor, and Primate of the years to come now played +"all unconscious of their future fame" in the classic fields that lay +beyond the water, and promised that in the hours of our coming +greatness we would look back with gratitude to the munificence of our +native city. He put lots of Latin in, and ended with some Latin verses +of his own, in which he made the Goddess of the Stream plead for us as +her sons. By the stream he meant the canal, for we had no river, which +of course Weston couldn't help.</p> + +<p>How we watched for the next week's paper! But it wasn't in. They never +did put his things in, which mortified him sadly. His greatest +ambition was to get something of his own invention printed. Johnson +said he believed it was because Weston always put something personal +in the things he wrote. He was very sarcastic, and couldn't help +making fun of people.</p> + +<p>It was all the kinder of Weston to do his best about the bridge, +because he was not much of a cricketer himself. He said he was too +short-sighted, and that it suited him better to poke in the hedges for +beetles. He had a splendid collection of insects. Bustard used to say +that he poked with his nose, as if he were an insect himself, and it +was a proboscis but he said too that his father said it was a pleasure +to see Weston make a section of anything, and prepare objects for the +microscope. His fingers were as clever as his tongue.</p> + +<p>It was not long after Rupert got his new shirt and cap that a very sad +thing happened.</p> + +<p>We were playing cricket one day as usual. It was very hot, and I was +mixing some lemon-kali at the canal, and holding up the mug to tempt +Weston over, who was on the other side with his proboscis among the +water-plants collecting larvae. Rupert was batting, and a new fellow, +who bowled much more swiftly than we were accustomed to, had the ball. +I was straining my ears to catch what Weston was shouting to me +between his hands, when I saw him start and point to the cricketers, +and turning round I saw Rupert lying on the ground.</p> + +<p>The ball had hit him on the knee and knocked him down. He struggled +up, and tried to stand; but whilst he was saying it was nothing, and +scolding the other fellows for not going on, he fell down again +fainting from pain.</p> + +<p>"The leg's broken, depend upon it," said Bustard-Plaster; "shall I run +for my father?"</p> + +<p>I thanked him earnestly, for I did not like to leave Rupert myself. +But Johnson Major, who was kicking off his cricketing-shoes, said, +"It'll take an hour to get round. I'll go. Get him some water, and +keep his cap on. The sun is blazing." And before we could speak he was +in the canal and swimming across.</p> + +<p>I went back to the bank for my mug, in which the lemon-kali was +fizzing itself out, and with this I got some water for Rupert, and at +last he opened his eyes. As I was getting the water I saw Weston, +unmooring a boat which was fastened a little farther up. He was +evidently coming to help us to get Rupert across the canal.</p> + +<p>Bustard's words rang in my ears. Perhaps Rupert's leg was broken. +Bustard was a doctor's son, and ought to know. And I have often +thought it must be a very difficult thing <i>to</i> know, for people's legs +don't break right off when they break. My first feeling had been utter +bewilderment and misery, but I collected my senses with the +reflection that if I lost my presence of mind in the first real +emergency that happened to me, my attendance at Rupert's lectures had +been a mockery, and I must be the first fool and coward of my family. +And if I failed in the emergency of a broken leg, how could I ever +hope to conduct myself with credit over a case of drowning? I did feel +thankful that Rupert's welfare did not depend on our pulling his arms +up and down in a particular way; but as Weston was just coming ashore, +I took out my pocket-handkerchief, and kneeling down by Rupert said, +with as good an air as I could assume, "We must tie the broken leg to +the other at the—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't touch it</i>, you young fool!" shrieked Rupert. And though +directly afterwards he begged my pardon for speaking sharply, he would +not hear of my touching his leg. So they got him into the boat the +best way they could, and Weston sat by him to hold him up, and the boy +who had been bowling pulled them across. I wasn't big enough to do +either, so I had to run round by the bridge.</p> + +<p>I fancy it must be easier to act with presence of mind if the +emergency has happened to somebody who has not been used to order you +about as much as Rupert was used to order me.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>A DOUBTFUL BLESSING—A FAMILY FAILING—OLD BATTLES—THE +CANAL-CARRIER'S HOME.</h3> + +<p>When we found that Rupert's leg was not broken, and that it was only a +severe blow on his knee, we were all delighted. But when weeks and +months went by and he was still lame and very pale and always tired, +we began to count for how long past, if the leg had been broken, it +would have been set, and poor Rupert quite well. And when Johnny +Bustard said that legs and arms were often stronger after being broken +than before (if they were properly set, as his father could do them), +we felt that if Gregory would bowl for people's shins he had better +break them at once, and let Mr. Bustard make a good job of them.</p> + +<p>The first part of the time Rupert made light of his accident, and +wanted to go back to school, and was very irritable and impatient. But +as the year went on he left off talking about its being all nonsense, +and though he suffered a great deal he never complained. I used quite +to miss his lecturing me, but he did not even squabble with Henrietta +now.</p> + +<p>This reminds me of a great fault of mine—I am afraid it was a family +failing, though it is a very mean one—I was jealous. If I was +"particular friends" with any one, I liked to have him all to myself; +when Rupert was "out" with me because of the Weston affair, I was +"particular friends" with Henrietta. I did not exactly give her up +when Rupert and I were all right again, but when she complained one +day (I think <i>she</i> was jealous too!) I said, "I'm particular friends +with you <i>as a sister</i> still; but you know Rupert and I are both +boys."</p> + +<p>I did love Rupert very dearly, and I would have given up anything and +everything to serve him and wait upon him now that he was laid up; but +I would rather have had him all to myself, whereas Henrietta was now +his particular friend. It is because I know how meanly I felt about it +that I should like to say how good she was. My Mother was very +delicate, and she had a horror of accidents; but Henrietta stood at +Mr. Bustard's elbow all the time he was examining Rupert's knee, and +after that she always did the fomentations and things. At first Rupert +said she hurt him, and would have Nurse to do it; but Nurse hurt him +so much more, that then he would not let anybody but Henrietta touch +it. And he never called her Monkey now, and I could see how she tried +to please him. One day she came down to breakfast with her hair all +done up in the way that was in fashion then, like a grown-up young +lady, and I think Rupert was pleased, though she looked rather funny +and very red. And so Henrietta nursed him altogether, and used to read +battles to him as he lay on the sofa, and Rupert made plans of the +battles on cardboard, and moved bits of pith out of the elder-tree +about for the troops, and showed Henrietta how if he had had the +moving of them really, and had done it quite differently to the way +the generals did, the other side would have won instead of being +beaten.</p> + +<p>And Mother used to say, "That's just the way your poor father used to +go on! As if it wasn't enough to have to run the risk of being killed +or wounded once or twice yourself, without bothering your head about +battles you've nothing to do with."</p> + +<p>And when he did the battle in which my father fell, and planted the +battery against which he led his men for the last time, and where he +was struck under the arm, with which he was waving his sword over his +head, Rupert turned whiter than ever, and said, "Good Heavens, +Henrietta! Father <i>limped</i> up to that battery! He led his men for two +hours, after he was wounded in the leg, before he fell—and here I +sit and grumble at a knock from a cricket-ball!"</p> + +<p>Just then Mr. Bustard came in, and when he shook Rupert's hand he kept +his fingers on it, and shook his own head; and he said there was "an +abnormal condition of the pulse," in such awful tones, that I was +afraid it was something that Rupert would die of. But Henrietta +understood better, and she would not let Rupert do that battle any +more.</p> + +<p>Rupert's friends were very kind to him when he was ill, but the +kindest of all was Thomas Johnson.</p> + +<p>Johnson's grandfather was a canal-carrier, and made a good deal of +money, and Johnson's father got the money and went on with the +business. We had a great discussion once in the nursery as to whether +Johnson's father was a gentleman, and Rupert ran down-stairs, and into +the drawing-room, shouting, "Now, Mother! <i>is</i> a carrier a gentleman?"</p> + +<p>And Mother, who was lying on the sofa, said, "Of course not. What +silly things you children do ask! Why can't you amuse yourselves in +the nursery? It is very hard you should come and disturb me for such a +nonsensical question."</p> + +<p>Rupert was always good to Mother, and he shut the drawing-room door +very gently. Then he came rushing up to the nursery to say that Mother +said "Of course not." But Henrietta said, "What did you ask her?" And +when Rupert told her she said, "Of course Mother thought you meant one +of those men who have carts to carry things, with a hood on the top +and a dog underneath."</p> + +<p>Johnson's father and grandfather were not carriers of that kind. They +owned a lot of canal-boats, and one or two big barges, which took all +kinds of things all the way to London.</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson used to say, "In my father's time men of business lived +near their work both in London and the country. That's why my house is +close to the wharf. I am not ashamed of my trade, and the place is +very comfortable, so I shall stick to it. Tom may move into the town +and give the old house to the foreman when I am gone, if he likes to +play the fine gentleman."</p> + +<p>Tom would be very foolish if he did. It is the dearest old house one +could wish for. It was built of red brick, but the ivy has covered it +so thickly that it is clipped round the old-fashioned windows like a +hedge. The gardens are simply perfect. In summer you can pick as many +flowers and eat as much fruit as you like, and if that is not the use +and beauty of a garden, I do not know what is.</p> + +<p>Johnson's father was very proud of him, and let him have anything he +liked, and in the midsummer holidays Johnson used to bring his +father's trap and take Rupert out for drives, and Mrs. Johnson used +to put meat pies and strawberries in a basket under the seat, so that +it was a kind of picnic, for the old horse had belonged to Mr. +Bustard, and was a capital one for standing still.</p> + +<p>It was partly because of the Johnsons being so kind to Rupert that +Johnson Minor and I became chums at school, and partly because the +fight had made us friendly, and I had no Rupert now, and was rather +jealous of his taking completely to Henrietta, and most of all, I +fancy, because Johnson Minor was determined to be friends with me. He +was a very odd fellow. There was nothing he liked so much as wonderful +stories about people, and I never heard such wonderful stories as he +told himself. When we became friends he told me that he had never +meant to bully me when he asked about my father; he really did want to +hear about his battles and so forth.</p> + +<p>But the utmost I could tell him about my father was nothing to the +tales he told me about his grandfather, the navy captain.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>THE NAVY CAPTAIN—SEVEN PARROTS IN A FUCHSIA TREE—THE HARBOUR LION +AND THE SILVER CHAIN—THE LEGLESS GIANTS—DOWN BELOW—JOHNSON'S WHARF.</h3> + +<p>The Johnsons were very fond of their father, he was such a good, kind +man; but I think they would have been glad if he had had a profession +instead of being a canal-carrier, and I am sure it pleased them to +think that Mrs. Johnson's father had been a navy captain, and that his +portrait—uniform and all—hung over the horsehair sofa in the +dining-room, near the window where the yellow roses used to come in.</p> + +<p>If I could get the room to myself, I used to kneel on the sofa, on one +of the bolsters, and gaze at the faded little picture till I lost my +balance on the slippery horsehair from the intensity of my interest in +the hero of Johnson Minor's tales. Every time, I think, I expected to +see some change in the expression of the captain's red face, adapting +it better to what, by his grandson's account, his character must have +been. It seemed so odd he should look so wooden after having seen so +much.</p> + +<p>The captain had been a native of South Devon.</p> + +<p>"Raleigh, Drake, my grandfather, and lots of other great sailors were +born in Devonshire," Johnson said. He certainly did brag; but he spoke +so slowly and quietly, that it did not sound as like bragging as it +would have done if he had talked faster, I think.</p> + +<p>The captain had lived at Dartmouth, and of this place Johnson gave me +such descriptions, that to this day the name of Dartmouth has a +romantic sound in my ears, though I know now that all the marvels were +Johnson's own invention, and barely founded upon the real quaintness +of the place, of which he must have heard from his mother. It became +the highest object of my ambition to see the captain's native city. +That there must be people—shopkeepers, for instance, and a man to +keep the post office—who lived there all along, was a fact that I +could not realize sufficiently to envy them.</p> + +<p>Johnson—or Fred, as I used to call him by this time—only exaggerated +the truth about the shrubs that grow in the greenhouse atmosphere of +South Devon, when he talked of the captain's fuchsia trees being as +big as the old willows by the canal wharf; but the parrots must have +been a complete invention. He said the captain had seven. Two green, +two crimson, two blue, and one violet with an orange-coloured beak and +grey lining to his wings; and that they built nests in the fuchsia +trees of sandal-wood shavings, and lined them with the captain's silk +pocket-handkerchiefs. He said that though the parrots stole the +captain's handkerchiefs, they were all very much attached to him; but +they quarrelled among themselves, and swore at each other in seven +dialects of the West Coast of Africa.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Johnson herself once showed me a little print of Dartmouth +harbour, and told me it was supposed that in old times an iron chain +was stretched from rock to rock across its mouth as a means of +defence. And that afternoon Fred told me a splendid story about the +chain, and how it was made of silver, and that each link was worth +twenty pounds, and how at the end where it was fastened with a padlock +every night at sunset, to keep out the French, a lion sat on the ledge +of rock at the harbour's mouth, with the key tied round his neck by a +sea-green ribbon. He had to have a new ribbon on the first Sunday in +every month, Fred said, because his mane dirtied them so fast. A story +which Fred had of his grandfather's single-handed encounter with this +lion on one occasion, when the gallant captain would let a brig in +distress into the harbour after sunset, and the lion would not let him +have the key, raised my opinion of his courage and his humanity to +the highest point. But what he did at home was nothing to the exploits +which Fred recounted of him in foreign lands.</p> + +<p>I fancy Fred must have read some real accounts of South America, the +tropical forests, the wonderful birds and flowers, and the ruins of +those buried cities which have no history; and that on these real +marvels he built up his own romances of the Great Stone City, where +the captain encountered an awful race of giants with no legs, who +carved stones into ornaments with clasp-knives, as the Swiss cut out +pretty things in wood, and cracked the cocoa-nuts with their fingers. +I am sure he invented flowers as he went along when he was telling me +about the forests. He used to look round the garden (which would have +satisfied any one who had not seen or heard of what the captain had +come across) and say in his slow way, "The blue chalice flower was +about the shape of that magnolia, only twice as big, and just the +colour of the gentians in the border, and it had a great white tassel +hanging out like the cactus in the parlour window, and all the leaves +were yellow underneath; and it smelt like rosemary."</p> + +<p>If the captain's experiences in other countries outshone what had +befallen him in his native land, both these paled before the wonders +he had seen, and the emergencies he had been placed in at sea. Fred +told me that his grandfather had a diving-bell of his own on board his +own ship, and the things he saw when he went down in it must have made +his remembrances of the South American forests appear tame by +comparison.</p> + +<p>Once, in the middle of the Pacific, the captain dropped down in his +bell into the midst of a society of sea people who had no hair, but +the backs of their heads were shaped like sou'-wester hats. The front +rim formed one eyebrow for both eyes, and they could move the peak +behind as beavers move their tails, and it helped them to go up and +down in the water. They were not exactly mermaids, Fred said, they had +no particular tail, it all ended in a kind of fringe of seaweed, which +swept after them when they moved, like the train of a lady's dress. +The captain was so delighted with them that he stayed below much +longer than usual; but in an unlucky moment some of the sea people let +the water into the diving-bell, and the captain was nearly drowned. He +did become senseless, but when his body floated, it was picked up and +restored to life by the first mate, who had been cruising, with tears +in his eyes, over the spot in the ship's boat for seven days without +taking anything to eat.—"<i>He</i> was a Dartmouth man, too," said Fred +Johnson.</p> + +<p>"He evidently knew what to do in the emergency of drowning," thought +I.</p> + +<p>I feel as if any one who hears of Fred's stories must think he was a +liar. But he really was not. Mr. Johnson was very strict with the boys +in some ways, though he was so good-natured, and Fred had been taught +to think a lie to get himself out of a scrape or anything of that sort +quite as wrong as we should have thought it. But he liked <i>telling</i> +things. I believe he made them up and amused himself with them in his +own head if he had no one to listen. He used to say, "Come and sit in +the kitchen garden this afternoon, and I'll <i>tell</i> you." And whether +he meant me to think them true or not, I certainly did believe in his +stories.</p> + +<p>One thing always struck me as very odd about Fred Johnson. He was very +fond of fruit, and when we sat on the wall and ate the white currants +with pounded sugar in a mug between us, I believe he always ate more +than I did, though he was "telling" all the time, and I had nothing to +do but to listen and eat.</p> + +<p>He certainly talked very slowly, in a dreary, monotonous sort of +voice, which suited his dull, pasty face better than it suited the +subject of his exciting narratives. But I think it seemed to make one +all the more impatient to hear what was coming. A very favourite +place of ours for "telling" was the wharf (Johnson's wharf, as it was +called), where the canal boats came and went, and loaded and unloaded. +We made a "coastguard station" among some old timber in the corner, +and here we used to sit and watch for the boats.</p> + +<p>When a real barge came we generally went over it, for the men knew +Fred, and were very good-natured. The barges seemed more like ships +than the canal boats did. They had masts, and could sail when they got +into the river. Sometimes we went down into the cabin, and peeped into +the little berths with sliding shutter fronts, and the lockers, which +were like a fixed seat running round two sides of the cabin, with lids +opening and showing places to put away things in. I was not famous in +the nursery for keeping my things very tidy, but I fancied I could +stow my clothes away to perfection in a locker, and almost cook my own +dinner with the bargeman's little stove.</p> + +<p>And every time a barge was loaded up, and the bargemaster took his +post at the rudder, whilst the old horse strained himself to +start—and when the heavy boat swung slowly down the canal and passed +out of sight, I felt more and more sorry to be left behind upon the +wharf.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>S. PHILIP AND S. JAMES—THE MONKEY-BARGE AND THE DOG—WAR, PLAGUE, AND +FIRE—THE DULNESS OF EVERYDAY LIFE.</h3> + +<p>There were two churches in our town. Not that the town was so very +large or the churches so very small as to make this needful. On the +contrary, the town was of modest size, with no traces of having ever +been much bigger, and the churches were very large and very handsome. +That is, they were fine outside, and might have been very imposing +within but for the painted galleries which blocked up the arches above +and the tall pews which dwarfed the majestic rows of pillars below. +They were not more than a quarter of a mile apart. One was dedicated +to S. Philip and the other to S. James, and they were commonly called +"the brother churches." In the tower of each hung a peal of eight +bells.</p> + +<p>One clergyman served both the brother churches, and the services were +at S. Philip one week and at S. James the next. We were so accustomed +to this that it never struck us as odd. What did seem odd, and perhaps +a little dull, was that people in other places should have to go to +the same church week after week.</p> + +<p>There was only one day in the year on which both the peals of bells +were heard, the Feast of SS. Philip and James, which is also May Day. +Then there was morning prayer at S. Philip and evening prayer at S. +James, and the bells rang changes and cannons, and went on ringing by +turns all the evening, the bell-ringers being escorted from one church +to another with May garlands and a sort of triumphal procession. The +churches were decorated, and flags put out on the towers, and +everybody in the congregation was expected to carry a nosegay.</p> + +<p>Rupert and I and Henrietta and Baby Cecil and the servants always +enjoyed this thoroughly, and thought the churches delightfully sweet; +but my Mother said the smell of the cottage nosegays and the noise of +the bells made her feel very ill, which was a pity.</p> + +<p>Fred Johnson once told me some wonderful stories about the brother +churches. We had gone over the canal to a field not far from the +cricketing field, but it was a sort of water-meadow, and lower down, +and opposite to the churches, which made us think of them. We had +gone there partly to get yellow flags to try and grow them in tubs as +Johnson's father did water-lilies, and partly to watch for a +canal-boat or "monkey-barge," which was expected up with coal. Fred +knew the old man, and we hoped to go home as part of the cargo if the +old man's dog would let us; but he was a rough terrier, with an +exaggerated conscience, and strongly objected to anything coming on +board the boat which was not in the bill of lading. He could not even +reconcile himself to the fact that people not connected with barges +took the liberty of walking on the canal banks.</p> + +<p>"He've been a-going up and down with me these fifteen year," said the +old man, "and he barks at 'em still." He barked so fiercely at us that +Fred would not go on board, to my great annoyance, for I never feel +afraid of dogs, and was quite sure I could see a disposition to wag +about the stumpy tail of the terrier in spite of his "bowfs."</p> + +<p>I may have been wrong, but once or twice I fancied that Fred shirked +adventures which seemed nothing to me; and I felt this to be very odd, +because I am not as brave as I should like to be, and Fred is grandson +to the navy captain.</p> + +<p>I think Fred wanted to make me forget the canal-boat, which I followed +with regretful eyes, for he began talking about the churches.</p> + +<p>"It must be splendid to hear all sixteen bells going at once," said +he.</p> + +<p>"They never do," said I, unmollified.</p> + +<p>"They do—<i>sometimes</i>," said Fred slowly, and so impressively that I +was constrained to ask "When?"</p> + +<p>"In great emergencies," was Fred's reply, which startled me. But we +had only lived in the place for part of our lives, and Fred's family +belonged to it, so he must know better than I.</p> + +<p>"Is it to call the doctor?" I asked, thinking of drowning, and broken +bones, and apoplectic fits.</p> + +<p>"It's to call everybody," said Fred; "that is in time of war, when the +town is in danger. And when the Great Plague was here, S. Philip and +S. James both tolled all day long with their bells muffled. But when +there's a fire they ring backwards, as witches say prayers, you know."</p> + +<p>War and the plague had not been here for a very long time, and there +had been no fire in the town in my remembrance; but Fred said that +awful calamities of the kind had happened within the memory of man, +when the town was still built in great part of wood, and that one +night, during a high gale, the whole place, except a few houses, had +been destroyed by fire. After this the streets were rebuilt of stone +and bricks.</p> + +<p>These new tales which Fred told me, of places I knew, had a terrible +interest peculiarly their own. For the captain's dangers were over for +good now, but war, plague, and fire in the town might come again.</p> + +<p>I thought of them by day, and dreamed of them by night. Once I +remember being awakened, as I fancied, by the clanging of the two +peals in discordant unison, and as I opened my eyes a bright light on +the wall convinced me that the town was on fire. Fred's vivid +descriptions rushed to my mind, and I looked out expecting to see S. +Philip and S. James standing up like dark rocks in a sea of dancing +flames, their bells ringing backwards, "as witches say prayers." It +was only when I saw both the towers standing grey and quiet above the +grey and quiet town, and when I found that the light upon the wall +came from the street lamp below, that my head seemed to grow clearer, +and I knew that no bells were ringing, and that those I fancied I +heard were only the prolonged echoes of a bad dream.</p> + +<p>I was very glad that it was so, and I did not exactly wish for war or +the plague to come back; and yet the more I heard of Fred's tales the +more restless I grew, because the days were so dull, and because we +never went anywhere, and nothing ever happened.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>WE RESOLVE TO RUN AWAY—SCRUPLES—BABY CECIL +—I PREPARE—I RUN AWAY.</h3> + +<p>I think it was Fred's telling me tales of the navy captain's boyhood +which put it into our heads that the only way for people at our age, +and in our position, to begin a life of adventure is to run away.</p> + +<p>The captain had run away. He ran away from school. But then the school +was one which it made your hair stand on end to hear of. The master +must have been a monster of tyranny, the boys little prodigies of +wickedness and misery, and the food such as would have been rejected +by respectably reared pigs.</p> + +<p>It put his grandson and me at a disadvantage that we had no excuses of +the kind for running away from the grammar school. Dr. Jessop was a +little pompous, but he was sometimes positively kind. There was not +even a cruel usher. I was no dunce, nor was Fred—though he was below +me in class—so that we had not even a grievance in connection with +our lessons. This made me feel as if there would be something mean and +almost dishonourable in running away from school. "I think it would +not be fair to the Doctor," said I; "it would look as if he had driven +us to it, and he hasn't. We had better wait till the holidays."</p> + +<p>Fred seemed more willing to wait than I had expected; but he planned +what we were to do when we did go as vigorously as ever.</p> + +<p>It was not without qualms that I thought of running away from home. My +mother would certainly be greatly alarmed; but then she was greatly +alarmed by so many things to which she afterwards became reconciled! +My conscience reproached me more about Rupert and Henrietta. Not one +of us had longed for "events" and exploits so earnestly as my sister; +and who but Rupert had prepared me for emergencies, not perhaps such +as the captain had had to cope with, but of the kinds recognized by +the yellow leather book? We had been very happy together—Rupert, +Henrietta, Baby Cecil, and I—and we had felt in common the one defect +of our lives that there were no events in them; and now I was going to +begin a life of adventure, to run away and seek my fortune, without +even telling them what I was going to do.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, that old mean twinge of jealousy was one of my +strongest impulses to adventure-seeking, and it urged me to perform my +exploits alone. Some people seem to like dangers and adventures whilst +the dangers are going on; Henrietta always seemed to think that the +pleasantest part; but I confess that I think one of the best parts +must be when they are over and you are enjoying the credit of them. +When the captain's adventures stirred me most I looked forward with a +thrill of anticipation to my return home—modest from a justifiable +pride in my achievements, and so covered with renown by my deeds of +daring that I should play second fiddle in the family no more, and +that Rupert and Henrietta would outbid each other for my "particular" +friendship, and Baby Cecil dog my heels to hear the stories of my +adventures.</p> + +<p>The thought of Baby Cecil was the heaviest pang I felt when I was +dissatisfied with the idea of running away from home. Baby Cecil was +the pet of the house. He had been born after my father's death, and +from the day he was born everybody conspired to make much of him. +Dandy, the Scotch terrier, would renounce a romping ramble with us to +keep watch over Baby Cecil when he was really a baby, and was only +carried for a dull airing in the nursemaid's arms. I can quite +understand Dandy's feelings; for if when one was just preparing for a +paperchase, or anything of that sort, Baby Cecil trotted up and, +flinging himself head first into one's arms, after his usual fashion, +cried, "Baby Cecil 'ants Charlie to tell him a long, long story—<i>so +much!</i>" it always ended in one's giving up the race or the scramble, +and devoting one's self as sedately as Dandy to his service. But I +consoled myself with the thought of how Baby Cecil would delight in +me, and what stories I should be able to tell him on my return.</p> + +<p>The worst of running away now-a-days is that railways and telegrams +run faster. I was prepared for any emergency except that of being +found and brought home again.</p> + +<p>Thinking of this brought to my mind one of Fred's tales of the +captain, about how he was pursued by bloodhounds and escaped by +getting into water. Water not only retains no scent, it keeps no +track. I think perhaps this is one reason why boys so often go to sea +when they run away, that no one may be able to follow them. It helped +my decision that we would go to sea when we ran away, Fred and I. +Besides, there was no other road to strange countries, and no other +way of seeing the sea people with the sou'-wester heads.</p> + +<p>Fred did not seem to have any scruples about leaving his home, which +made me feel how much braver he must be than I. But his head was so +full of the plans he made for us, and the lists he drew up of natural +products of the earth in various places on which we could live without +paying for our living, that he neglected his school-work, and got into +scrapes about it. This distressed me very much, for I was working my +very best that half on purpose that no one might say that we ran away +from our lessons, but that it might be understood that we had gone +solely in search of adventure, like sea-captains or any other grown-up +travellers.</p> + +<p>All Fred's tales now began with the word "suppose." They were not +stories of what had happened to his grandfather, but of what might +happen to us. The half-holiday that Mr. Johnson's hay was carted we +sat behind the farthest haycock all the afternoon with an old atlas on +our knees, and Fred "supposed" till my brain whirled to think of all +that was coming on us. "Suppose we get on board a vessel bound for +Singapore, and hide behind some old casks—" he would say, coasting +strange continents with his stumpy little forefinger, as recklessly as +the captain himself; on which of course I asked, "What is Singapore +like?" which enabled Fred to close the atlas and lie back among the +hay and say whatever he could think of and I could believe.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile we saved up our pocket-money and put it in a canvas bag, as +being sailor-like. Most of the money was Fred's, but he was very +generous about this, and said I was to take care of it as I was more +managing than he. And we practised tree-climbing to be ready for the +masts, and ate earth-nuts to learn to live upon roots in case we were +thrown upon a desert island. Of course we did not give up our proper +meals, as we were not obliged to yet, and I sometimes felt rather +doubtful about how we should feel living upon nothing but roots for +breakfast, dinner, and tea. However, I had observed that whenever the +captain was wrecked a barrel of biscuits went ashore soon afterwards, +and I hoped it might always be so in wrecks, for biscuits go a long +way, especially sailors' biscuits, which are large.</p> + +<p>I made a kind of handbook for adventure-seekers, too, in an old +exercise book, showing what might be expected and should be prepared +for in a career like the captain's. I divided it under certain heads: +Hardships, Dangers, Emergencies, Wonders, &c. These were subdivided +again thus: Hardships—I, Hunger; 2, Thirst; 3, Cold; 4, Heat; 5, No +Clothes; and so forth. I got all my information from Fred, and I read +my lists over and over again to get used to the ideas, and to feel +brave. And on the last page I printed in red ink the word "Glory."</p> + +<p>And so the half went by and came to an end; and when the old Doctor +gave me my three prizes, and spoke of what he hoped I would do next +half, my blushes were not solely from modest pride.</p> + +<p>The first step of our runaway travels had been decided upon long ago. +We were to go by barge to London. "And from London you can go +anywhere," Fred said.</p> + +<p>The day after the holidays began I saw a canal-boat lading at the +wharf, and finding she was bound for London I told Fred of it. But he +said we had better wait for a barge, and that there would be one on +Thursday. "Or if you don't think you can be ready by then, we can wait +for the next," he added. He seemed quite willing to wait, but +(remembering that the captain's preparations for his longest voyage +had only taken him eighteen and a half minutes by the chronometer, +which was afterwards damaged in the diving-bell accident, and which I +had seen with my own eyes, in confirmation of the story) I said I +should be ready any time at half-an-hour's notice, and Thursday was +fixed as the day of our departure.</p> + +<p>To facilitate matters it was decided that Fred should invite me to +spend Wednesday with him, and to stay all night, for the barge was to +start at half-past six o'clock on Thursday morning.</p> + +<p>I was very busy on Wednesday. I wrote a letter to my mother in which I +hoped I made it quite clear that ambition and not discontent was +leading me to run away. I also made a will, dividing my things fairly +between Rupert, Henrietta, and Baby Cecil, in case I should be drowned +at sea. My knife, my prayer-book, the ball of string belonging to my +kite, and my little tool-box I took away with me. I also took the +match-box from the writing-table, but I told Mother of it in the +letter. The captain used to light his fires by rubbing sticks +together, but I had tried it, and thought matches would be much +better, at any rate to begin with.</p> + +<p>Rupert was lying under the crab-tree, and Henrietta was reading to +him, when I went away. Rupert was getting much stronger; he could walk +with a stick, and was going back to school next half. I felt a very +unreasonable vexation because they seemed quite cheerful. But as I was +leaving the garden to go over the fields, Baby Cecil came running +after me, with his wooden spade in one hand and a plant of chick weed +in the other, crying: "Charlie, dear! Come and tell Baby Cecil a +story." I kissed him, and tied his hat on, which had come off as he +ran.</p> + +<p>"Not now, Baby," I said; "I am going out now, and you are gardening."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to garden," he pleaded. "Where are you going? Take me +with you."</p> + +<p>"I am going to Fred Johnson's," I said bravely.</p> + +<p>Baby Cecil was a very good child, though he was so much petted. He +gave a sigh of disappointment, but only said very gravely, "Will you +promise, <i>onyer-onner</i>, to tell me one when you come back?"</p> + +<p>"I promise to tell you lots <i>when I come back</i>, on my honour," was my +answer.</p> + +<p>I had to skirt the garden-hedge for a yard or two before turning off +across the meadow. In a few minutes I heard a voice on the other side. +Baby Cecil had run down the inside, and was poking his face through a +hole, and kissing both hands to me. There came into my head a wonder +whether his face would be much changed next time I saw it. I little +guessed when and how that would be. But when he cried, "Come back +<i>very soon</i>, Charlie dear," my imperfect valour utterly gave way, and +hanging my head I ran, with hot tears pouring over my face, all the +way to Johnson's wharf.</p> + +<p>When Fred saw my face he offered to give up the idea if I felt +faint-hearted about it. Nothing that he could have said would have +dried my tears so soon. Every spark of pride in me blazed up to reject +the thought of turning craven now. Besides, I longed for a life of +adventure most sincerely; and I was soon quite happy again in the +excitement of being so near to what I had longed for.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>WE GO ON BOARD—THE PIE—AN EXPLOSION—MR. ROWE THE BARGE-MASTER—THE +'WHITE LION'—TWO LETTERS—WE DOUBT MR. ROWE'S GOOD FAITH.</h3> + +<p>The dew was still heavy on the grass when Fred and I crossed the +drying-ground about five o'clock on Thursday morning, and scrambled +through a hedge into our "coastguard" corner on the wharf. We did not +want to be seen by the barge-master till we were too far from home to +be put ashore.</p> + +<p>The freshness of early morning in summer has some quality which seems +to go straight to the heart. I felt intensely happy. There lay the +barge, the sun shining on the clean deck, and from the dewy edges of +the old ropes, and from the barge-master's zinc basin and pail put out +to sweeten in the air.</p> + +<p>"She won't leave us behind this time!" I cried, turning triumphantly +to Fred.</p> + +<p>"Take care of the pie," said Fred.</p> + +<p>It was a meat-pie which he had taken from the larder this morning; +but he had told Mrs. Johnson about it in the letter he had left behind +him; and had explained that we took it instead of the breakfast we +should otherwise have eaten. We felt that earth-nuts might not be +forthcoming on the canal banks, or even on the wharf at Nine Elms when +we reached London.</p> + +<p>At about a quarter to six Johnson's wharf was quite deserted. The +barge-master was having breakfast ashore, and the second man had gone +to the stable. "We had better hide ourselves now," I said. So we crept +out and went on board. We had chosen our hiding-place before. Not in +the cabin, of course, nor among the cargo, where something extra +thrown in at the last moment might smother us if it did not lead to +our discovery, but in the fore part of the boat, in a sort of well or +<i>hold</i>, where odd things belonging to the barge itself were stowed +away, and made sheltered nooks into which we could creep out of sight. +Here we found a very convenient corner, and squatted down, with the +pie at our feet, behind a hamper, a box, a coil of rope, a sack of +hay, and a very large ball, crossed four ways with rope, and with a +rope-tail, which puzzled me extremely.</p> + +<p>"It's like a giant tadpole," I whispered to Fred.</p> + +<p>"Don't nudge me," said Fred. "My pockets are full, and it hurts."</p> + +<p><i>My</i> pockets were far from light. The money-bag was heavily laden +with change—small in value but large in coin. The box of matches was +with it and the knife. String, nails, my prayer-book, a pencil, some +writing-paper, the handbook, and a more useful hammer than the one in +my tool-box filled another pocket. Some gooseberries and a piece of +cake were in my trousers, and I carried the tool-box in my hands. We +each had a change of linen, tied up in a pocket-handkerchief. Fred +would allow of nothing else. He said that when our jackets and +trousers were worn out we must make new clothes out of an old sail.</p> + +<p>Waiting is very dull work. After awhile, however, we heard voices, and +the tramp of the horse, and then the barge-master and Mr. Johnson's +foreman and other men kept coming and going on deck, and for a quarter +of an hour we had as many hairbreadth escapes of discovery as the +captain himself could have had in the circumstances. At last somebody +threw the barge-master a bag of something (fortunately soft) which he +was leaving behind, and which he chucked on to the top of my head. +Then the driver called to his horse, and the barge gave a jerk, which +threw Fred on to the pie, and in a moment more we were gliding slowly +and smoothly down the stream.</p> + +<p>When we were fairly off we ventured to peep out a little, and stretch +our cramped limbs. There was no one on board but the barge-master, +and he was at the other end of the vessel, smoking and minding his +rudder. The driver was walking on the towing-path by the old grey +horse. The motion of the boat was so smooth that we seemed to be lying +still whilst villages and orchards and green banks and osier-beds went +slowly by, as though the world were coming to show itself to us, +instead of our going out to see the world.</p> + +<p>When we passed the town we felt some anxiety for fear we should be +stopped; but there was no one on the bank, and though the towers of S. +Philip and S. James appeared again and again in lessening size as we +looked back, there came at last a bend in the canal, when a high bank +of gorse shut out the distance, and we saw them no more.</p> + +<p>In about an hour, having had no breakfast, we began to speak seriously +of the pie. (I had observed Fred breaking little corners from the +crust with an absent air more than once.) Thinking of the first +subdivision under the word Hardships in my handbook, I said, "I'm +afraid we ought to wait till we are <i>worse hungry</i>."</p> + +<p>But Fred said, "Oh no!" And that out adventure-seeking it was quite +impossible to save and plan and divide your meals exactly, as you +could never tell what might turn up. The captain always said, "Take +good luck and bad luck and pot-luck as they come!" So Fred assured me, +and we resolved to abide by the captain's rule.</p> + +<p>"We may have to weigh out our food with a bullet, like Admiral Bligh, +next week," said Fred.</p> + +<p>"So we may," said I. And the thought must have given an extra relish +to the beefsteak and hard-boiled eggs, for I never tasted anything so +good.</p> + +<p>Whether the smell of the pie went aft, or whether something else made +the barge-master turn round and come forward, I do not know; but when +we were encumbered with open clasp-knives, and full mouths, we saw him +bearing down upon us, and in a hasty movement of retreat I lost my +balance, and went backward with a crash upon a tub of potatoes.</p> + +<p>The noise this made was not the worst part of the business. I was +tightly wedged amongst the odds and ends, and the money-bag being +sharply crushed against the match-box, which was by this time well +warmed, the matches exploded in a body, and whilst I was putting as +heroic a face as I could on the pain I was enduring in my right +funny-bone, Fred cried, "Your jacket's smoking. You're on fire!"</p> + +<p>Whether Mr. Rowe, the barge-master, had learnt presence of mind out of +a book, I do not know; but before Fred and I could even think of what +to do in the emergency, my jacket was off, the matches were +overboard, and Mr. Rowe was squeezing the smouldering fire out of my +pocket, rather more deliberately than most men brush their hats. Then, +after civilly holding the jacket for me to put it on again, he took +off his hat, took his handkerchief out of it, and wiped his head, and +replacing both, with his eyes upon us, said, more deliberately still, +"Well, young gentlemen, this is a nice start!"</p> + +<p>It was impossible to resist the feeling of confidence inspired by Mr. +Rowe's manner, his shrewd and stolid appearance, and his promptness in +an emergency. Besides, we were completely at his mercy. We appealed to +it, and told him our plans. We offered him a share of the pie too, +which he accepted with conscious condescension. When the dish was +empty he brought his handkerchief into use once more, and then said, +in a peculiarly oracular manner, "You just look to me, young +gentlemen, and I'll put you in the way of every think."</p> + +<p>The immediate advantage we took of this offer was to ask about +whatever interested us in the landscape constantly passing before our +eyes, or the barge-furniture at our feet. The cord-compressed balls +were shore-fenders, said Mr. Rowe, and were popped over the side when +the barge was likely to grate against the shore, or against another +vessel.</p> + +<p>"Them's osier-beds. They cuts 'em every year or so for basket-work. +Wot's that little bird a-hanging head downwards? It's a titmouse +looking for insects, that is. There's scores on 'em in the osier-beds. +Aye, aye, the yellow lilies is pretty enough, but there's a lake the +other way—a mile or two beyond your father's, Master Fred—where +there's white water-lilies. They're pretty, if you like! It's a rum +thing in spring," continued Mr. Rowe, between puffs of his pipe, "to +see them lilies come up from the bottom of the canal; the leaves +packed as neat as any parcel, and when they git to the top, they turns +down and spreads out on the water as flat as you could spread a cloth +upon a table."</p> + +<p>As a rule, Mr. Rowe could give us no names for the aquatic plants at +which we clutched as we went by, nor for the shells we got out of the +mud; but his eye for a water-rat was like a terrier's. It was the only +thing which seemed to excite him.</p> + +<p>About mid-day we stopped by a village, where Mr. Rowe had business. +The horse was to rest and bait here; and the barge-master told us that +if we had "a shilling or so about" us, we might dine on excellent +bread and cheese at the <i>White Lion</i>, or even go so far as poached +eggs and yet more excellent bacon, if our resources allowed of it. We +were not sorry to go ashore. There was absolutely no shelter on the +deck of the barge from the sunshine, which was glaringly reflected by +the water. The inn parlour was low, but it was dark and cool. I felt +doubtful about the luxury even of cheese after that beefsteak-pie but +Fred smacked his lips and ordered eggs and bacon, and I paid for them +out of the canvas-bag.</p> + +<p>As we sat together I said, "I wrote a letter to my mother, Fred. Did +you write to Mrs. Johnson?"</p> + +<p>Fred nodded, and pulled a scrap of dirty paper from his pocket, +saying, "That's the letter; but I made a tidy copy of it afterwards."</p> + +<p>I have said that Fred was below me in class, though he is older; and +he was very bad at spelling. Otherwise the letter did very well, +except for smudges.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mother</span>,</p> + +<p>"Charlie and I are going to run away at least by the time you get +this we have run away but never mind for wen weve seen the wurld +were cumming back we took the pi wich I hope you wont mind as we +had no brekfust and I'll bring back the dish we send our best love +and I've no more to tell you to-day from your affectionate son +<span class="smcap">Fred</span>."</p></div> + +<p>I saw Mr. Rowe myself very busy in the bar of the <i>White Lion</i>, with a +sheet of paper and an old steel pen, which looked as if the point had +been attenuated to that hair-like fineness by sheer age. He started +at the sight of me, which caused him to drop a very large blot of ink +from the very sharp point of the pen on to his paper. I left him +wiping it up with his handkerchief. But it never struck me that he was +writing a letter on the same subject as Fred and I had been writing +about. He was, however: and Mr. Johnson keeps it tied up with Fred's +to this day. The spelling was of about the same order.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Mr. Johnson. Honerd Sir</span>.</p> + +<p>"i rites in duty bound to acqaint you that the young genlemen is +with me, looking out for Advenchurs and asking your pardon i wish +they may find them as innercent as 2 Babes in the Wood on the +London and Lancingford Canal were they come aboard quite unknown to +me and blowed theirselves up with lucifers the fust go off and +you've no need to trubble yourself sir ill keep my I on them and +bring em safe to hand with return cargo and hoping you'll excuse +the stamp not expecting to have to rite from the fust stoppige your +obedient humble servant</p> + +<p class="citation">"<span class="smcap">Samuel Rowe</span>."</p></div> + +<p>As I have said, we did not suspect that Mr. Rowe had betrayed us by +post; but in the course of the afternoon Fred said to me, "I'll tell +you what, Charlie, I know old Rowe well, and he's up to any trick, +and sure to want to keep in with my father. If we don't take care +he'll take us back with him. And what fools we shall look then!"</p> + +<p>The idea was intolerable; but I warned Fred to carefully avoid +betraying that we suspected him. The captain had had worse enemies to +outwit, and had kept a pirate in good humour for a much longer voyage +by affability and rum. We had no means of clouding Mr. Rowe's +particularly sharp wits with grog, but we resolved to be amiable and +wary, and when we did get to London to look out for the first +opportunity of giving the barge-master the slip.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>A COASTING VOYAGE—MUSK ISLAND—LINNET FLASH—MR. ROWE AN OLD TAR—THE +DOG-FANCIER AT HOME.</h3> + +<p>It was a delightful feature of our first voyage—and one which we +could not hope to enjoy so often in voyages to come—that we were +always close to land, and this on both sides. We could touch either +coast without difficulty, and as the barge stopped several times +during the day to rest the horse, Fred and I had more than one chance +of going ashore.</p> + +<p>I hope to have many a voyage yet, and to see stranger people and +places than I saw then, but I hardly hope ever to enjoy myself so much +again. I have long ago found out that Fred's stories of the captain's +adventures were not true stories, and as I have read and learned more +about the world than I knew at that time, I know now that there are +only certain things which one can meet with by land or by sea. But +when Fred and I made our first voyage in emulation of his grandfather +there was no limit to my expectations, or to what we were prepared to +see or experience at every fresh bend of the London and Lancingford +Canal.</p> + +<p>I remember one of Fred's stories about the captain was of his spending +a year and a day on an island called Musk Island, in the Pacific. He +had left the ship, Fred said, to do a little exploring alone in his +gig. Not knowing at that time that the captain's gig is a boat, I was +a good deal puzzled, I remember, to think of Mrs. Johnson's red-faced +father crossing the sea in a gig like the one Mr. Bustard used to go +his professional "rounds" in. And when Fred spoke of his "pulling +himself" I was yet more bewildered by the unavoidable conclusion that +they had no horse on board, and that the gallant and ever-ready +captain went himself between the shafts. The wonder of his getting to +Musk Island in that fashion was, however, eclipsed by the wonders he +found when he did get there. Musk-hedges and bowers ten feet high, +with flowers as large as bindweed blossoms, and ladies with pale gold +hair all dressed in straw-coloured satin, and with such lovely faces +that the captain vowed that no power on earth should move him till he +had learned enough of the language to propose the health of the Musk +Island beauties in a suitable speech after dinner. "And there he would +have lived and died, I believe," Fred would say, "if that first mate, +who saved his life before, had not rescued him by main force, and +taken him back to his ship."</p> + +<p>I am reminded of this story when I think of the island in Linnet Lake, +for we were so deeply charmed by it that we very nearly broke our +voyage, as the captain broke his, to settle on it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe called the lake Linnet Flash. Wherever the canal seemed to +spread out, and then go on again narrow and like a river, the +barge-master called these lakes "flashes" of the canal. There is no +other flash on that canal so large or so beautiful as Linnet Lake, and +in the middle of the lake lies the island.</p> + +<p>It was about three o'clock, the hottest part of a summer's day, and +Fred and I, rather faint with the heat, were sitting on a coil of rope +holding a clean sheet, which Mr. Rowe had brought up from the cabin to +protect our heads and backs from sunstroke. We had refused to take +shelter below, and sat watching the fields and hedges, which seemed to +palpitate in the heat as they went giddily by, and Mr. Rowe, who stood +quite steady, conversing coolly with the driver. The driver had been +on board for the last hour, the way being clear, and the old horse +quite able to take care of itself and us, and he and the barge-master +had pocket-handkerchiefs under their hats like the sou'-wester flaps +of the captain's sea-friends. Fred had dropped his end of the sheet +to fall asleep, and I was protecting us both, when the driver bawled +some directions to the horse in their common language, and the +barge-master said, "Here's a bit of shade for you, Master Fred;" and +we roused up and found ourselves gliding under the lee of an island +covered with trees.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>do</i> stop here!" we both cried.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't mind," said Mr. Rowe, removing his hat, and mopping +himself with his very useful pocket-handkerchief. "Jem, there's a bit +of grass there, let her have a mouthful."</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd like this," he continued; "there ain't a prettier bit +between here and Pyebridge."</p> + +<p>It was so lovely, that the same idea seized both Fred and me: Why not +settle here, at least for a time? It was an uninhabited island, only +waiting to be claimed by some adventurous navigator, and obviously +fertile. The prospect of blackberries on the mainland was particularly +fine, and how they would ripen in this blazing sun! Birds sang in the +trees above; fish leaping after flies broke the still surface of the +water with a musical splash below; and beyond a doubt there must be +the largest and the sweetest of earth-nuts on the island, easy to get +out of the deep beds of untouched leaf-mould. And when Mr. Rowe cried +"Look!" and we saw a water-fowl scud across the lake, leaving a sharp +trail like a line of light behind her, we felt that we might spend all +our savings in getting to the Pacific Ocean, and not find when we got +there a place which offered more natural resources to the desert +islander.</p> + +<p>If the barge-master would have gone ashore on the mainland out of the +way, and if we could have got ashore on the island without help, we +should not have confided our plans to so doubtful a friend. As it was, +we were obliged to tell Mr. Rowe that we proposed to found a +settlement in Linnet Lake, and he was completely opposed to the idea.</p> + +<p>It was only when he said (with that air of reserved and funded +knowledge which gave such unfathomable depth to his irony, and made +his sayings so oracular)—"There's very different places in the world +to Linnet Flash"—that we began to be ashamed of our hasty enthusiasm, +and to think that it would be a pity to stop so short in our +adventurous career.</p> + +<p>So we decided to go on; but the masterly way in which Mr. Rowe spoke +of the world made me think he must have seen a good deal of it, and +when we had looked our last upon the island, and had crept with +lowered mast under an old brick bridge where young ferns hung down +from the archway, and when we were once more travelling between flat +banks and coppices that gave us no shelter, I said to the +barge-master—"Have you ever been at sea, Mr. Rowe?"</p> + +<p>"Seven<i>teen</i> year in the Royal Navy," said Mr. Rowe, with a strong +emphasis upon <i>teen</i>, as if he feared we might do him the injustice of +thinking he had only served his Queen and country for seven.</p> + +<p>For the next two hours Fred and I sat, indifferent alike to the +sunshine and the shore, in rapt attention to Mr. Rowe's narrative of +his experiences at sea under the flag that has</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze."</p></div> + +<p>I believe Fred enjoyed them simply as stories, but they fanned in my +heart that restless fever for which sea-breezes are the only cure. I +think Mr. Rowe got excited himself as he recalled old times. And when +he began to bawl sea-songs with a voice like an Atlantic gale, and +when he vowed in cadence</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A sailor's life is the life for me,"</p></div> + +<p>I felt that it was the life for me also, and expressed myself so +strongly to that effect that Mr. Rowe became alarmed for the +consequences of his indiscretion, and thenceforward told us +sea-stories with the obvious and quite futile intention of disgusting +me with what I already looked upon as my profession.</p> + +<p>But the barge-master's rapid change of tactics convinced me more and +more that we could not safely rely on him to help us in our plans.</p> + +<p>About five o'clock he made tea on board, and boiled the water on the +little stove in the cabin. I was very anxious to help, and it was I +who literally made the tea, whilst Mr. Rowe's steadier hand cut thick +slices of bread-and-butter from a large loaf. There was only one cup +and saucer. Fred and I shared the cup, and the barge-master took the +saucer. By preference, he said, as the tea cooled quicker.</p> + +<p>The driver had tea after we returned to the deck and could attend to +the horse and boat.</p> + +<p>Except the island in Linnet Lake, the most entertaining events of the +first day of our voyage were our passing villages or detached houses +on the canal banks.</p> + +<p>Of the latter by far the most interesting was that of a dog-fancier, +from whose residence melodious howls, in the dog-dialect of every +tribe deserving to be represented in so choice a company, were wafted +up the stream, and met our ears before our eyes beheld the +landing-stage of the establishment, where the dog-fancier and some of +his dogs were lounging in the cool of the evening, and glad to see the +barge.</p> + +<p>The fancier knew Mr. Rowe, and refreshed him (and us) with shandy-gaff +in horn tumblers. Some of the dogs who did not, barked incessantly at +us, wagging their tails at the same time, however, as if they had some +doubts of the correctness of their judgment in the matter. One very +small, very white, and very fluffy toy-dog, with a dove-coloured +ribbon, was—no doubt—incurably ill-tempered and inhospitable; but a +large brindled bull-dog, trying politely but vainly to hide his teeth +and tongue, wagged what the fancier had left him of a tail, and +dribbled with the pleasure of making our acquaintance, after the wont +of his benevolent and much-maligned family. I have since felt pretty +certain that Mr. Rowe gave his friend a sketch of our prospects and +intentions in the same spirit in which he had written to Mr. Johnson, +and I distinctly overheard the dog-fancier make some reply, in which +the words "hoffer a reward" were audible. But the barge-master shook +his head at suggestions probably drawn from his friend's professional +traditions, though the fancier told him some very good story about the +ill-tempered toy-dog, to which he referred with such violent jerks of +the head as threatened to throw his fur cap on to that of the brindled +gentleman who sat dripping and smiling at his feet.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Rowe began to tell him something good in return, and in spite +of my utmost endeavours not to hear anything, the words "Linnet Flash" +became audible, I blushed to hear the fancier choking over his +shandy-gaff with laughter, and I feared at our project for settling on +the island.</p> + +<p>The interview was now at an end, but as Mr. Rowe stepped briskly on +board, the fur cap nodded to the forehatch, where Fred and I were +sitting on coiled ropes, and the fancier said very knowingly, "The +better the breed the gamier the beast."</p> + +<p>He patted the bull-dog as he said it, and the bull-dog kissed his +dirty hand.</p> + +<p>"Hup to hanythink," were Mr. Rowe's parting words, as he went aft, and +the driver called to his horse.</p> + +<p>He may have referred to the bull-dog, but I had some doubts about it, +even then.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>LOCKS—WE THINK OF GOING ON THE TRAMP—PYEBRIDGE—WE SET SAIL.</h3> + +<p>During our first day's voyage we passed two locks. There was one not +very far from home, and Fred and I had more than once been to see a +barge pass it, sitting on the bank whilst the boat gradually sank to +the level of the water below.</p> + +<p>It was great fun being on board whilst the barge went down and down, +though I must say we did not feel anything peculiar, we sank so +gradually.</p> + +<p>"Just fancy if it was a hole in the ship's bottom," said Fred, "and we +were settling down with all on board. Some ships do, and are never +heard of again."</p> + +<p>We amused ourselves as we went along by guessing beforehand on which +shore the next house or hamlet would appear. We betted shillings on +the result, but neither of us won or lost, for however often the +shillings changed hands, they remained in the canvas bag.</p> + +<p>Perhaps places look more as if events happened in them if you do not +know them well. I noticed that even our town looked more interesting +from the water than I had ever seen it look, so I dare say to +strangers it does not appear so dull as it is. All the villages on the +canal banks looked interesting. We passed one soon after tea, where +the horse rested under some old willows by the towing-path, and we and +Mr. Rowe went ashore. Whilst the barge-master delivered a parcel to a +friend, Fred and I strolled into a lane which led us past cottages +with very gay gardens to the church. The church was not at all like S. +Philip or S. James. It was squat, and ivy-covered, and carefully +restored; and it stood in a garden where the flowers almost hid the +graves. Just outside the lych-gate, four lanes met, and all of them +were so shady and inviting, and it was so impossible to say what they +might not lead to, that I said to Fred,</p> + +<p>"You said the only way to run away besides going to sea was to +<i>tramp</i>. It sounds rather low, but we needn't beg, and I think walking +would be nice for a change, and I don't believe it would be much +slower than the barge, and it would be so much shadier. And we could +get off from Old Rowe at once, and hide if we heard anybody coming. I +wonder how far it is to London now?"</p> + +<p>"Not far, I dare say," said Fred, who was pleased by the idea; "and if +we keep on we must get there in time. And we can get things to eat in +the hedges, which we can't do on the barge."</p> + +<p>At this moment there passed a boy, to whom I said, "Which is the way +to London, if you please?" for there were four roads to choose from.</p> + +<p>"What d' say?" said the boy.</p> + +<p>I repeated my question.</p> + +<p>"Dunno," he replied, trying to cram half his hand into his mouth. The +captain would have thought him very stupid if he had met him as a +native in one of the islands of the Pacific, I am sure; but I followed +him, and begged him to try and think if he had not heard of people +going to London.</p> + +<p>At last his face brightened. He was looking over my head down the +lane. "There's a man a-cummin yonder's always a-going to Lunnon," said +he. Visions of a companion on our tramp—also perhaps in search of +adventures—made me look briskly round. "Him with the pipe, as b'longs +to the barge," the boy exclaimed.</p> + +<p>It was indeed Mr. Rowe come to look for us, and we had to try and seem +glad to see him, and to go on board once more.</p> + +<p>Towards evening the canal banks became dotted with fishers of all ages +and degrees, fishing very patiently, though they did not seem to catch +much.</p> + +<p>Soon after dark we reached the town of Pyebridge.</p> + +<p>When the barge lay-to for the night, and the driver was taking the +horse away to the stable, Mr. Rowe confronted us, in his firmest +manner, with the question, "And where are you going to sleep, young +gentlemen?"</p> + +<p>"Where are <i>you</i> going to sleep, Mr. Rowe?" said I, after a thoughtful +pause.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> sleeps below, but the captain's cabin is guv up to no one—unless +it be the Queen," replied the barge-master, humorously but decidedly.</p> + +<p>"We should like to sleep on deck," said I.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Rowe would not hear of it, on account of various dreadful +diseases which he assured us would be contracted by sleeping "in the +damps of the water," "the dews of the <i>h</i>air," and "the rays of the +moon."</p> + +<p>"There's a hotel—" he began; but I said at once, "We couldn't afford +a hotel, but if you know of any very cheap place we should be much +obliged."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe took off his hat and took out his handkerchief, though it was +no longer hot. Having cleared his brain, he said he "would see," and +he finally led us along one of the pebbled streets of Pyebridge to a +small house with a small shop-window for the sale of vegetables, and +with a card announcing that there were beds to let. A very little old +woman got up from behind a very big old geranium in the window as we +entered, and with her Mr. Rowe made our arrangements for the night. We +got a clean bed, and had a mug of milk and a slice of bread and +treacle apiece for breakfast the next morning, and I paid two +shillings. As I thanked the old lady and bade her good day, she called +to me to hold out my hat, which she filled with cherries, and then +stood at the door and watched us out of sight.</p> + +<p>There was a railway station in Pyebridge, and we might easily have +escaped from Mr. Rowe, and gone by train to London. But besides the +fact that our funds were becoming low, the water had a new attraction +for us. We had left the canal behind, and were henceforward on a +river. If the wind favoured us we were to sail.</p> + +<p>"A canal's nothing to a river," said Mr. Rowe, "same as a river's +nothing to the sea," and when Fred had some difficulty in keeping his +hat on in the gusty street (mine was in use as a fruit-basket), and +the barge-master said it was a "nice fresh morning," I felt that life +on Linnet Island would have been tame indeed compared to the hopes and +fears of a career which depended on the winds and waves.</p> + +<p>And when the boom went up the barge's mast, and the tightly corded +roll of dark canvas began to struggle for liberty, and writhe and flap +with throttling noises above our heads, and when Mr. Rowe wrestled +with it and the driver helped him, and Fred and I tried to, and were +all but swept overboard in consequence, whilst the barge-master +encouraged himself by strange and savage sounds—and when the sunshine +caught our nut-brown sail just as she spread gallantly to the breeze, +our excitement grew till we both cried in one breath,</p> + +<p>"This is something <i>like</i> being at sea!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>MR. ROWE ON BARGE-WOMEN—THE RIVER—NINE ELMS—A MYSTERIOUS +NOISE—ROUGH QUARTERS—A CHEAP SUPPER—JOHN'S BERTH—WE MAKE OUR +ESCAPE—OUT INTO THE WORLD.</h3> + +<p>Mr. Rowe is quite right. A canal is nothing to a river.</p> + +<p>There was a wide piece of water between us and one of the banks now, +and other barges went by us, some sailing, some towing only, and two +or three with women at the rudder, and children on the deck.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have my wife and fam'ly on board for something!" said Mr. +Rowe grimly.</p> + +<p>"Have you got a family, Mr. Rowe?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said the barge-master. "I have, like other folk. But women +and children's best ashore."</p> + +<p>"Of course they are," said I.</p> + +<p>"If you was to turn over in your mind what they <i>might</i> be good for +now," he continued, with an unfathomable eye on the mistress of a +passing canal-boat, "you'd say washing the decks and keeping the pots +clean. And they don't do it as well as a man—not by half."</p> + +<p>"They seem to steer pretty well," said I.</p> + +<p>"I've served in very different vessels to what I'm in now," said Mr. +Rowe, avoiding a reply, "and I <i>may</i> come as low as a monkey-barge and +coal; but I'm blessed if ever I see myself walk on the towing-path and +leave the missus in command on board."</p> + +<p>At this moment a barge came sailing alongside of us.</p> + +<p>"Oh look!" cried Fred, "it's got a white horse painted on the sail."</p> + +<p>"That's a lime barge, sir," said Mr. Rowe; "all lime barges is marked +that way."</p> + +<p>She was homeward bound, and empty, and soon passed us, but we went at +a pretty good pace ourselves. The wind kept favourable, a matter in +which Fred and I took the deepest interest. We licked our fingers, and +held them up to see which side got cooled by the breeze, and whenever +this experiment convinced me that it was still behind us, I could not +help running back to Fred to say with triumph, "The wind's dead aft," +as if he knew nothing about it.</p> + +<p>At last this seemed to annoy him, so I went to contain myself by +sitting on the potato-tub and watching the shore.</p> + +<p>We got into the Thames earlier than usual, thanks to the fair wind.</p> + +<p>The world is certainly a very beautiful place. I suppose when I get +right out into it, and go to sea, and to other countries, I shall +think nothing of England and the Thames, but it was all new and +wonderful to Fred and me then. The green slopes and fine trees, and +the houses with gardens down to the river, and boats rocking by the +steps, the osier islands, which Mr. Rowe called "Aits," and the +bridges where the mast had to be lowered, all the craft on the +water—the red-sailed barges with one man on board—the steamers with +crowded decks and gay awnings—the schooners, yachts, and pleasure +boats—and all the people on shore, the fishers, and the people with +water-dogs and sticks, the ladies with fine dresses and parasols, and +the ragged boys who cheered us as we went by—everything we saw and +heard delighted us, and the only sore place in my heart was where I +longed for Rupert and Henrietta to enjoy it too.</p> + +<p>Later on we saw London. It was in the moonlight that we passed +Chelsea. Mr. Rowe pointed out the Hospital, in which the pensioners +must have been asleep, for not a wooden leg was stirring. In less than +half-an-hour afterwards we were at the end of our voyage.</p> + +<p>The first thing which struck me about Nine Elms was that they were not +to be seen. I had thought of those elms more than once under the +burning sun of the first day. I had imagined that we should land at +last on some green bank, where the shelter of a majestic grove might +tempt Mr. Rowe to sleep, while Fred and I should steal gently away to +the neighbouring city, and begin a quite independent search for +adventures. But I think I must have mixed up with my expectations a +story of one of the captain's escapes—from a savage chief in a +mango-grove.</p> + +<p>Our journey's end was not quite what I had thought it would be, but it +was novel and interesting enough. We seemed to have thoroughly got to +the town. Very old houses with feeble lights in their paper-patched +windows made strange reflections on the river. The pier looked dark +and dirty even by moonlight, and threw blacker and stranger shadows +still.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe was busy and tired, and—we thought—a little inclined to be +cross.</p> + +<p>"I wonder where we shall sleep!" said Fred, looking timidly up at the +dark old houses.</p> + +<p>I have said before that I find it hard work to be very brave after +dark, but I put a good face on the matter, and said I dared say old +Rowe would find us a cheap bedroom.</p> + +<p>"London's an awful place for robbers and murders, you know," said +Fred.</p> + +<p>I was hoping the cold shiver running down my back was due to what the +barge-master called "the damps from the water"—when a wail like the +cry of a hurt child made my skin stiffen into goose-prickles. A wilder +moan succeeded, and then one of the windows of one of the dark houses +was opened, and something thrown out which fell heavily down. Mr. Rowe +was just coming on board again, and I found courage in the emergency +to gasp out, "What was that?"</p> + +<p>"Wot's wot?" said Mr. Rowe testily.</p> + +<p>"That noise and the falling thing."</p> + +<p>"Somebody throwing, somethin' at a cat," said the barge-master. "Stand +aside, sir, <i>if</i> you please."</p> + +<p>It was a relief, but when at length Mr. Rowe came up to me with his +cap off, in the act of taking out his handkerchief, and said, "I +suppose you're no richer than you was yesterday, young gentlemen—how +about a bed?"—I said, "No—o. That is, I mean if you can get us a +cheap one in a safe—I mean a respectable place."</p> + +<p>"If you leaves a comfortable 'ome, sir," moralized the barge-master, +"to go a-looking for adventures in this fashion, you must put up with +rough quarters, and wot you can get."</p> + +<p>"We'll go anywhere you think right, Mr. Rowe," said I diplomatically.</p> + +<p>"I knows a waterman," said Mr. Rowe, "that was in the Royal Navy like +myself. He lives near here, and they're decent folk. The place is a +poor place, but you'll have to make the best of it, young gentlemen, +and a shilling 'll cover the damage. If you wants supper you must pay +for it. Give the missis the money, and she'll do the best she can, and +bring you the change to a half-farthing."</p> + +<p>My courage was now fully restored, but Fred was very much overwhelmed +by the roughness of the streets we passed through, the drunken, +quarrelling, poverty-struck people, and the grim, dirty old houses.</p> + +<p>"We shall be out of it directly," I whispered, and indeed in a few +minutes more Mr. Rowe turned up a shabby entry, and led us to one of +several lower buildings round a small court. The house he stopped at +was cleaner within than without, and the woman was very civil.</p> + +<p>"It's a very poor place, sir," said she; "but we always keep a berth, +as his father calls it, for our son John."</p> + +<p>"But we can't take your son's bed," said I; "we'll sit up here, if you +will let us."</p> + +<p>"Bless ye, love," said the woman, "John's in foreign parts. He's a +sailor, sir, like his father before him; but John's in the merchant +service."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe now bade us good-night. "I'll be round in the morning," said +he.</p> + +<p>"What o'clock, Mr. Rowe?" I asked; I had a reason for asking.</p> + +<p>"There ain't much in the way of return cargo," he replied; "but I've a +bit of business to do for your father, Mr. Fred, that'll take me until +half-past nine. I'll be here by then, young gentlemen, and show you +about a bit."</p> + +<p>"It's roughish quarters for you," added the bargemaster, looking +round; "but you'll find rougher quarters at sea, Master Charles."</p> + +<p>Mr. Howe's moralizings nettled me, and they did no good, for my whole +thoughts were now bent on evading his guardianship and getting to sea, +but poor Fred was quite overpowered. "I wish we were safe home again," +he almost sobbed when I went up to the corner into which he had +huddled himself.</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right when we're afloat," said I.</p> + +<p>"I'm so hungry," he moaned.</p> + +<p>I was hungry myself, and decided to order some supper, so when the +woman came up and civilly asked if she could do anything for us before +we went to bed, I said, "If you please we're rather hungry, but we +can't afford anything very expensive. Do you think you can get us +anything—rather cheap—for supper?"</p> + +<p>"A red herring?" she suggested.</p> + +<p>"What price are they?" I felt bound to inquire.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Jones has them beautiful and mild at two for a penny. You <i>can</i> +get 'em at three a penny, but you wouldn't like 'em, sir."</p> + +<p>I felt convinced by the expression of her face that I should not, so I +ordered two.</p> + +<p>"And a penny loaf?" suggested our landlady, getting her bonnet from +behind the door.</p> + +<p>"If you please."</p> + +<p>"And a bunch of radishes and a pint of fourpenny would be +fivepence-halfpenny the lot, sir."</p> + +<p>"If you please. And, if you please, that will do," said I, drawing a +shilling from the bag, for the thought of the herrings made me +ravenous, and I wanted her to go. She returned quickly with the bread, +and herrings. The "fourpenny" proved to be beer. She gave me +sixpence-halfpenny in change, which puzzled my calculations.</p> + +<p>"You said <i>fourpenny</i>," said I, indicating the beer.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, but it's a pint," was the reply; and it was only when in +after-years I learned that beer at fourpence a quart is known to some +people as "fourpenny" that I got that part of the reckoning of the +canvas bag straight in my own mind.</p> + +<p>The room had an unwholesome smell about it, which the odour from our +fried herrings soon pleasantly overpowered. The bread was good, and +the beer did us no harm. Fred picked up his spirits again; when Mr. +Rowe's old mate came home he found us very cheerful and chatty. Fred +asked him about the son who was at sea, but I had some more important +questions to put, and I managed so to do, and with a sufficiently +careless air.</p> + +<p>"I suppose there are lots of ships at London?" said I.</p> + +<p>"In the Docks, sir, plenty," said our host.</p> + +<p>"And where are the Docks?" I inquired. "Are they far from you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, sir, there's a many docks. There's the East India +Docks, St. Katharine's Docks, and the Commercial Docks, and Victoria +Dock, and lots more."</p> + +<p>I pondered. Ships in the East India Dock probably went only to India. +St. Katharine conveyed nothing to my mind. I did not fancy Commercial +Docks. I felt a loyal inclination towards the Victoria Dock.</p> + +<p>"How do people get from here to Victoria Dock now, if they want to?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, sir, you can go down the river, or part that way and +then by rail from Fenchurch Street."</p> + +<p>"Where is Fenchurch Street, Mr. Smith?" said I, becoming a good deal +ashamed of my pertinacity.</p> + +<p>"In the city, sir," said Mr. Smith.</p> + +<p>The city! Now I never heard of any one in any story going out into the +world to seek his fortune, and coming to a city, who did not go into +it to see what was to be seen. Leaving the king's only daughter and +those kinds of things, which belong to story-books, out of the +question, I do not believe the captain would have passed a new city +without looking into it.</p> + +<p>"You go down the river to Fenchurch Street—in a barge?" I suggested.</p> + +<p>"Bless ye, no, sir!" said Mr. Smith, getting the smoke of his pipe +down his throat the wrong way with laughing, till I thought his +coughing-fit would never allow him to give me the important +information I required. "There's boats, sir, plenty on 'em. I could +take you myself, and be thankful, and there's steamers calls at the +wharf every quarter of an hour or so through the day, from nine in the +morning, and takes you to London Bridge for threepence. It ain't many +minutes' walk to Fenchurch Street, and the train takes you straight to +the Docks."</p> + +<p>After this we conversed on general seafaring matters. Mr. Smith was +not a very able-bodied man, in consequence of many years' service in +unhealthy climates, he said; and he complained of his trade as a +"poor one," and very different from what it had been in his father's +time, and before new London Bridge was built, which "anybody and +anything could get through" now without watermen's assistance. In his +present depressed condition he seemed to look back on his seafaring +days with pride and tender regret, and when we asked for tales of his +adventures he was checked by none of the scruples which withheld Mr. +Rowe from encouraging me to be a sailor.</p> + +<p>"John's berth" proved to be a truckle-bed in a closet which just held +it, and which also held more nasty smells than I could have believed +there was room for. Opening the window seemed only to let in fresh +ones. When Fred threw himself on his face on the bed, and said, "What +a beastly hole!" and cried bitterly, I was afraid he was going to be +ill; and when I had said my prayers and persuaded him to say his and +come to bed, I thought that if we got safely through the night we +would make the return voyage with Mr. Rowe, and for the future leave +events and emergencies to those who liked danger and discomfort.</p> + +<p>But when we woke with the sun shining on our faces, and through the +little window beheld it sparkling on the river below us, and on the +distant city, we felt all right again, and stuck to our plans.</p> + +<p>"Let's go by the city," said Fred, "I should like to see some of the +town."</p> + +<p>"If we don't get off before half-past nine we're lost," said I.</p> + +<p>We found an unexpected clog in Mr. Smith, who seemed inclined to stick +to us and repeat the stories he had told us overnight. At about +half-past eight, however, he went off to his boat, saying he supposed +we should wait for Mr. Rowe, and when his wife went into a neighbour's +house I laid a shilling on the table, and Fred and I slipped out and +made our way to the pier.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe was not there, and a church clock near struck nine. This was +echoed from the city more than once, and then we began to look +anxiously for the steamer. Five, ten minutes must have passed—they +seemed hours to me—when I asked a man who was waiting also when the +steamer from London Bridge would come.</p> + +<p>"She'll be here soon," said he.</p> + +<p>"So will old Rowe," whispered Fred.</p> + +<p>But the steamer came first, and we went on board; and the paddles +began to splash, and our escape was accomplished.</p> + +<p>It was a lovely morning, and the tall, dirty old houses looked almost +grand in the sunlight as we left Nine Elms. The distant city came +nearer and shone brighter, and when the fretted front of the Houses +of Parliament went by us like a fairy palace, and towers and blocks of +buildings rose solidly one behind another in shining tints of white +and grey against the blue summer sky, and when above the noise of our +paddle-wheels came the distant roar of the busy streets—Fred pressed +the arm I had pushed through his and said, "We're out in the world at +last!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>EMERGENCIES AND POLICEMEN—FENCHURCH STREET STATION—THIRD CLASS TO +CUSTOM HOUSE—A SHIP FOREST.</h3> + +<p>Policemen are very useful people. I do not know how we should have got +from the London Bridge Pier to the Fenchurch Street Station if it had +not been that Fred told me he knew one could ask policemen the way to +places. There is nothing to pay, which I was very glad of, as the +canvas bag was getting empty.</p> + +<p>Once or twice they helped us through emergencies. We had to go from +one footpath to another, straight across the street, and the street +was so full of carts and cabs and drays and omnibuses, that one could +see that it was quite an impossibility. We did it, however, for the +policeman made us. I said, "Hadn't we better wait till the crowd has +gone?" But the policeman laughed, and said then we had better take +lodgings close by and wait at the window. So we did it. Fred said the +captain once ran in a little cutter between two big ships that were +firing into him, but I do not think that can have been much worse than +running between a backing dray, full of rolling barrels, and a hansom +cab pulled up and ramping like a rocking-horse at the lowest point of +the rockers.</p> + +<p>When we were safely on the other pavement we thanked the policeman +very much, and then went on, asking our way till we got to Fenchurch +Street.</p> + +<p>If anything could smell nastier than John's berth in Nine Elms it is +Fenchurch Street Station. And I think it is worse in this way; John's +berth smelt horrible, but it was warm and weather-tight. You never +swallow a drop of pure air in Fenchurch Street Station, and yet you +cannot find a corner in which you can get out of the draughts.</p> + +<p>With one gale blowing on my right from an open door, and another gale +blowing on my left down some steps, and nasty smells blowing from +every point of the compass, I stood at a dirty little hole in a dirty +wooden wall and took our tickets. I had to stand on tiptoe to make the +young man see me.</p> + +<p>"What is the cheapest kind of tickets you have, if you please?" I +inquired, with the canvas bag in my hand.</p> + +<p>"Third class," said the young man, staring very hard at me, which I +thought rather rude. "Except working men's tickets, and they're not +for this train."</p> + +<p>"Two third-class tickets for Victoria Dock, then, if you please," said +I.</p> + +<p>"Single or return?" said he.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon?" I said, for I was puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Are you coming back to-day?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no!" said I, for some of the captain's voyages had lasted +for years; but the question made me anxious, as I knew nothing of +railway rules, and I added, "Does it matter?"</p> + +<p>"Not by no means," replied the young man smartly, and he began to +whistle, but stopped himself to ask, "Custom House or Tidal Basin?"</p> + +<p>I had no alternative but to repeat "I <i>beg</i> your pardon?"</p> + +<p>He put his face right through the hole and looked at me. "Will you +take your ticket for Custom House or Tidal Basin?" he repeated; +"either will do for Victoria Docks."</p> + +<p>"Then whichever you please," said I, as politely as I could.</p> + +<p>The young man took out two tickets and snapped them impatiently in +something; and as a fat woman was squeezing me from behind, I was glad +to take what I could get and go back to Fred.</p> + +<p>He was taking care of our two bundles and the empty pie-dish.</p> + +<p>That pie-dish was a good deal in our way. Fred wanted to get rid of +it, and said he was sure his mother would not want us to be bothered +with it; but Fred had promised in his letter to bring it back, and he +could not break his word. I told him so, but I said as he did not like +to be seen with it I would carry it. So I did.</p> + +<p>With a strong breeze aft, we were driven up-stairs in the teeth of a +gale, and ran before a high wind down a platform where, after annoying +one of the railway men very much by not being able to guess which was +the train, and having to ask him, we got in among a lot of +rough-looking people, who were very civil and kind. A man with a black +face and a white jacket said he would tell us when we got to Custom +House, and he gave me his seat by the window, that I might look out.</p> + +<p>What struck me as rather odd was that everybody in the third-class +carriage seemed to have bundles like ours, and yet they couldn't all +be running away. One thin woman with a very troublesome baby had +three. Perhaps it is because portmanteaus and things of that sort are +rather expensive.</p> + +<p>Fred was opposite to me. It was a bright sunny morning, a fresh breeze +blew, and in the sunlight the backs of endless rows of shabby houses +looked more cheerful than usual, though very few of the gardens had +anything in them but dirt and cats, and very many of the windows had +the week's wash hanging out on strings and poles. The villages we had +passed on the canal banks all looked pretty and interesting, but I +think that most of the places we saw out of the window of the train +would look very ugly on a dull day.</p> + +<p>I fancy there were poplar-trees at a place called Poplar, and that I +thought it must be called after them; but Fred says No, and we have +never been there since, so I cannot be sure about it. If not, I must +have dreamt it.</p> + +<p>I did fall asleep in the corner, I know, I was so very much tired, and +we had had no breakfast, and I sat on the side where the wind blows +in, which I think helped to make me sleepy. I was wakened partly by +the pie-dish slipping off my lap, and partly by Fred saying in an +eager tone,</p> + +<p>"Oh, Charlie!<span class="smcap"> LOOK!</span> <i>Are they all ships</i>?"</p> + +<p>We stuffed our heads through the window, and my hat was nearly blown +away, so the man with the black face and the white jacket gave it to +the woman with the troublesome baby to take care of for me, and he +held us by our legs for fear we should fall out.</p> + +<p>On we flew! There was wind enough in our faces to have filled the +barge-sail three times over, and Fred licked his lips and said, "I do +believe there's salt in it!"</p> + +<p>But what he woke me up to show me drove me nearly wild. When I had +seen a couple of big barges lying together with their two bare masts +leaning towards each other I used to think how dignified and beautiful +they looked. But here were hundreds of masts, standing as thick as +tree-trunks in a fir-wood, and they were not bare poles, but lofty and +slender, and crossed by innumerable yards, and covered with ropes in +orderly profusion, which showed in the sunshine as cobwebs shine out +in a field in summer. Gay flags and pennons fluttered in the wind; +brown sails, grey sails, and gleaming white sails went up and down; +and behind it all the water sparkled and dazzled our eyes like the +glittering reflections from a mirror moving in the sun.</p> + +<p>As we ran nearer the ropes looked thicker, and we could see the +devices on the flags. And suddenly, straining his eyes at the yards of +a vessel in the thick of the ship-forest, on which was something +black, like a spider with only four legs, Fred cried, "It's a sailor!"</p> + +<p>I saw him quite well. And seeing him higher up than on any tree one +could ever climb, with the sunny sky above him and the shining water +below him, I could only mutter out with envious longing—"How happy he +must be!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>A DIRTY STREET—A BAD BOY—SHIPPING AND MERCHANDISE—WE STOWAWAY ON +BOARD THE 'ATALANTA'—A SALT TEAR.</h3> + +<p>The man in the white jacket helped us out, smiling as he did so, so +that his teeth shone like ivory in his black face. We took the +pie-dish and our bundles, and thanked him very much, and the train +went on and took him with it, which we felt sorry for. For when one +<i>is</i> out in the world, you know, one sometimes feels rather lonely, +and sorry to part with a kind friend.</p> + +<p>Everybody else went through a little gate into the street, so we did +the same. It was a very dirty street, with houses on one side and the +railway on the other. There were cabbages and carrots and old shoes +and fishes' heads and oyster-shells and potato-peelings in the street, +and a goat was routing among it all with its nose, as if it had lost +something and hoped to find it by and by.</p> + +<p>Places like this always seemed to depress Fred's courage. Besides +which, he was never in good spirits when he had to go long without +food, which made me fear he would not bear being cast adrift at sea +without provisions as well as his grandfather had done. I was not +surprised when he said,</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> a place! And I don't believe one can get anything fit to eat, +and I am so hungry!"</p> + +<p>I looked at the houses. There was a pork-butcher's shop, and a real +butcher's shop, and a slop shop, and a seedy jeweller's shop with +second-hand watches, which looked as if nothing would ever make them +go, and a small toy and sweetmeat shop, but not a place that looked +like breakfast. I had taken Fred's bundle because he was so tired, and +I suppose it was because I was staring helplessly about that a dirty +boy a good deal bigger than either of us came up and pulled his dirty +hair and said,</p> + +<p>"Carry your things for you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said I, moving on with the bundles and the pie-dish; +but as the boy would walk by me I said,</p> + +<p>"We want some breakfast very much, but we haven't much money." And, +remembering the cost of our supper, I added, "Could we get anything +here for about twopence-halfpenny or threepence apiece?"</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause, and then the boy gave a long whistle.</p> + +<p>"Vy, I thought you was swells!" said he.</p> + +<p>I really do not know whether it was because I did not like to be +supposed to be a poor person when it came to the point, or whether it +was because of that bad habit of mine of which even Weston's ballad +has not quite cured me, of being ready to tell people more about my +affairs than it can be interesting for them to hear or discreet for me +to communicate, but I replied at once: "We are gentlemen; but we are +going in search of adventures, and we don't want to spend more money +than we can help till we see what we may want it for when we get to +foreign countries."</p> + +<p>"You're going to sea, then, <i>h</i>are you?" said the boy, keeping up with +us.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said I; "but could you tell us where to get something to eat +before we go?"</p> + +<p>"There's a shop I knows on," said our new friend, "where they sells +prime pudding at a penny a slice. The plums goes all through and no +mistake. Three slices would be threepence: one for you, one for him, +and one for my trouble in showing you the way. Threepence more's a +quart of stout, and we drink fair by turns. Shall I take your purse +and pay it for you? They might cheat a stranger."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said I; "but we should like some pudding if you will +show us the way."</p> + +<p>The slices were small, but then they were very heavy. We had two each. +I rejected the notion of porter, and Fred said he was not thirsty; but +I turned back again into the shop to ask for a glass of water for +myself. The woman gave it me very civilly, looking as she did so with +a puzzled manner, first at me and then at my bundles and the pie-dish. +As she took back the tumbler she nodded her head towards the dirty +boy, who stood in the doorway, and said,</p> + +<p>"Is that young chap a companion of yours, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear no," said I, "only he showed us the way here."</p> + +<p>"Don't have nothing to do with him," she whispered "he's a bad un."</p> + +<p>In spite of this warning, however, as there was no policeman to be +seen, and the boy would keep up with us, I asked him the way to +Victoria Dock.</p> + +<p>It was not so easy to get to the ships as I had expected. There were +gates to pass through, and they were kept by a porter. He let some +people in and turned others back.</p> + +<p>"Have you got an order to see the docks?" asked the boy.</p> + +<p>I confessed that we had not, but added that we wanted very much to get +in.</p> + +<p>"My eyes!" said the bad boy, doubling himself in a fit of amusement, +"I believe you're both going for stowaways."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by stowaways?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Stowaways is chaps that hides aboard vessels going out of port, to +get their passage free gratis for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Do a good many manage it?" I asked with an anxious mind.</p> + +<p>"There ain't a vessel leaves the docks without one and sometimes more +aboard. The captain never looks that way, not by no accident +whatsoever. He don't lift no tarpaulins while the ship's in dock. But +when she gets to sea the captain gets his eyesight back, and he takes +it out of the stowaways for their wittles then. Oh, yes, rather so!" +said the bad boy.</p> + +<p>There was a crowd at the gates.</p> + +<p>"Hold your bundles down on your right side," said the boy, "and go in +quickly after any respectable-looking cove you see."</p> + +<p>Fred had got his own bundle now, and we followed our guide's +directions, and went through the gates after an elderly, well-dressed +man. The boy seemed to try to follow us, squeezing very close up to +me, but the gatekeeper stopped him. When we were on the other side I +saw him bend down and wink backwards at the gatekeeper through his +straddled legs. Then he stood derisively on his head. After which he +went away as a catherine-wheel, and I saw him no more.</p> + +<p>We were among the ships at last! Vessels very different from Mr. +Rowe's barge, or even the three-penny steamboat, Lofty and vast, with +shining decks of marvellous cleanliness, and giant figure-heads like +dismembered Jins out of some Arabian tale. Streamers of many colours +high up in the forest of masts, and seamen of many nations on the +decks and wharves below, moved idly in the breeze, which was redolent +of many kinds of cargo. Indeed, if the choice of our ship had not been +our chief care, the docks and warehouses would have fascinated us +little less than the shipping. Here were huge bales of cotton packed +as thickly as bricks in a brick-field. There were wine-casks +innumerable, and in another place the air was aromatic with so large a +cargo of coffee that it seemed as if no more could be required in this +country for some generations.</p> + +<p>It was very entertaining, and Fred was always calling to me to look at +something new, but my mind was with the shipping. There was a good +deal of anxiety on it too. The sooner we chose our ship and "stowed +away" the better. I hesitated between sailing-vessels and steamers. I +did not believe that one of the captain's adventures happened on +board any ship that could move faster than it could sail. And yet I +was much attracted by some grand-looking steamships. Even their huge +funnels had a look of power, I thought, among the masts, like old and +hollow oaks in a wood of young and slender trees.</p> + +<p>One of these was close in dock, and we could see her well. There were +some casks on deck, and by them lay a piece of tarpaulin which caught +my eye, and recalled what the bad boy had said about captains and +stowaways. Near the gangway were standing two men who did not seem to +be sailors. They were respectably dressed, one had a book and a +pencil, and they looked, I thought, as if they might have authority to +ask our business in the docks, so I drew Fred back under shelter of +some piled-up boxes.</p> + +<p>"When does she sail?" asked the man with the book.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow morning, sir," replied the other.</p> + +<p>And then they crossed the gangway and went into a warehouse opposite.</p> + +<p>It was noon, and being the men's dinner-time, the docks were not very +busy. At this moment there was not a soul in sight. I grasped Fred's +arm, and hoisted the bundle and pie-dish well under my own.</p> + +<p>"That's our ship," I said triumphantly; "come along!"</p> + +<p>We crossed the gangway unperceived. "The casks!" I whispered, and we +made our way to the corner I had noticed. If Fred's heart beat as +chokingly as mine did, we were far too much excited to speak, as we +settled ourselves into a corner, not quite as cosy as our hiding-place +in the forehold of the barge; and drew the tarpaulin over our heads, +resting some of the weight of it on the casks behind, that we might +not be smothered.</p> + +<p>I have waited for the kitchen kettle to boil when Fred and I wanted to +make "hot grog" with raspberry-vinegar and nutmeg at his father's +house; I have waited for a bonfire to burn up, when we wanted to roast +potatoes; I have waited for it to leave off raining when my mother +would not let us go out for fear of catching colds; but I never knew +time pass so slowly as when Fred and I were stowaways on board the +steam-ship <i>Atalanta</i>.</p> + +<p>He was just beginning to complain, when we heard men coming on board. +This amused us for a bit, but we were stowed so that we could not see +them, and we dared not look out. Neither dared we speak, except when +we heard them go a good way off, and then we whispered. So second +after second, and minute after minute, and hour after hour went by, +and Fred became very restless.</p> + +<p>"She's to sail in the morning," I whispered.</p> + +<p>"But where are we to get dinner and tea and supper?" asked Fred +indignantly. I was tired, and felt cross on my own account.</p> + +<p>"You said yourself we might have to weigh out our food with a bullet +like Admiral Bligh, next week."</p> + +<p>"He must have had something, or he couldn't have weighed it," retorted +Fred; "and how do we know if they'll ever give us anything to eat on +board this ship?"</p> + +<p>"I dare say we can buy food at first, till they find us something to +do for our meals," said I.</p> + +<p>"How much money is there left?" asked Fred.</p> + +<p>I put my hand into my pocket for the canvas bag—but it was gone!</p> + +<p>There could be little doubt that the bad boy had picked my pocket at +the gate, but I had a sense of guiltiness about it, for most of the +money was Fred's. This catastrophe completely overwhelmed him, and he +cried and grumbled till I was nearly at my wits' end. I could not stop +him, though heavy steps were coming quite close to us.</p> + +<p>"Sh! sh!" muttered I, "if you go on like that they'll certainly find +us, and then we shall have managed all this for nothing, and might as +well have gone back with old Rowe."</p> + +<p>"Which wind and weather permitting, young gentlemen, you will," said +a voice just above us, though we did not hear it.</p> + +<p>"I wish we could," sobbed Fred, "only there's no money now. But I'm +going to get out of this beastly hole any way."</p> + +<p>"You're a nice fellow to tell me about your grandfather," said I, in +desperate exasperation; "I don't believe you've the pluck for a common +sailor, let alone a Great Discoverer."</p> + +<p>"You've hit the right nail on the head there, Master Charles," said +the voice.</p> + +<p>"Fiddlesticks about my grandfather!" said Fred.</p> + +<p>In the practical experiences of the last three days my faith in Fred's +tales had more than once been rather rudely shaken; but the +contemptuous tone in which he disposed of our model, the Great Sea +Captain, startled me so severely that I do not think I felt any +additional shock of astonishment when strong hands lifted the +tarpaulin from our heads, and—grave amid several grinning faces—we +saw the bargemaster.</p> + +<p>How he reproached us, and how Fred begged him to take us home, and how +I besought him to let us go to sea, it would be tedious to relate. I +have no doubt now that he never swerved from his intention of taking +us back, but he preferred to do it by fair means if possible. So he +fubbed me off, and took us round the docks to amuse us, and talked of +dinner in a way that went to Fred's heart.</p> + +<p>But when I found that we were approaching the gates once more, I +stopped dead short. As we went about the docks I had replied to the +barge-master's remarks as well as I could, but I had never ceased +thinking of the desire of my heart, and I resolved to make one +passionate appeal to his pity.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rowe," I said, in a choking voice, "please don't take me home! I +would give anything in the world to go to sea. Why shouldn't I be a +sailor when I want to? Take Fred home if he wants to go, and tell them +that I'm all right, and mean to do my duty and come back a credit to +them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe's face was inscrutable, and I pleaded harder.</p> + +<p>"You're an old navy man, you know, Rowe," I said, "and if you +recommended me to the captain of one of these ships for a cabin-boy, +I'll be bound they'd take me."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Charles," said the old man earnestly, "you couldn't go for a +cabin-boy, you don't know—"</p> + +<p>"You think I can't rough it," I interrupted impatiently, "but try me, +and see. I know what I'm after," I added, consequentially; "and I'll +bear what I have to bear, and do what I'm set to do if I can get +afloat. I'll be a captain some day, and give orders instead of taking +them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe drew up to attention and took off his hat. "And wanting an +able-bodied seaman in them circumstances, sir, for any voyage you +likes to make," said he emphatically, "call for Samuel Rowe." He then +wiped the passing enthusiasm from the crown of his head with his +handkerchief, and continued—with the judicious diplomacy for which he +was remarkable—"But of course, sir, it's the Royal Navy you'll begin +in, as a midshipman. It's seamanship <i>you</i> wants to learn, not +swabbing decks or emptying buckets below whilst others is aloft. Your +father's son would be a good deal out of place, sir, as cabin-boy in a +common trading vessel."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe's speech made an impression, and I think he saw that it did.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Master Charles," said he, "you've a gentleman's feelings: +come home now, and bear me out with your widowed mother and your only +sister, sir, and with Master Fred's father, that I'm in duty bound to, +and promised to deliver safe and sound as return cargo, wind and +weather permitting."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come home! come home!" reiterated Fred.</p> + +<p>I stood speechless for a minute or two. All around and above me rose +the splendid masts, trellised with the rigging that I longed to climb. +The refreshing scent of tar mingled with the smells of the various +cargoes. The coming and going of men who came and went to and fro the +ends of the earth stirred all my pulses to restlessness. And above the +noises of their coming and going I heard the lapping of the water of +the incoming tide against the dock, which spoke with a voice more +powerful than that of Mr. Rowe.</p> + +<p>And yet I went with him.</p> + +<p>It was not because the canvas bag was empty, not because Fred would +not stay with me (for I had begun to think that the captain's grandson +was not destined to be the hero of exploits on the ocean), but when +Mr. Rowe spoke of my widowed mother and of Henrietta, he touched a +sore point on my conscience. I had had an uneasy feeling from the +first that there was something rather mean in my desertion of them. +Pride, and I hope some less selfish impulse, made me feel that I could +never be quite happy—even on the mainmast top—if I knew that I had +behaved ill to them.</p> + +<p>I could not very well speak, but I turned round and began to walk in +the direction of the dock gates. Mr. Rowe behaved uncommonly kindly. +He said nothing more, but turned as if I had given the word of +command, and walked respectfully just behind me. I resolved not to +look back, and I did not. I was quite determined too about one thing: +Mr. Rowe should never be able to say he had seen me make a fool of +myself after I had made up my mind. But in reality I had very hard +work to keep from beginning to cry, just when Fred was beginning to +leave off.</p> + +<p>I screwed up my eyes and kept them dry, however, but as we went +through the gate there came in a sailor with a little bundle like +ours, and a ship's name on his hat. His hat sat as if a gale were just +taking it off, and his sea-blue shirt was blown open by breezes that +my back was turned upon. In spite of all I could do one tear got +through my eyelashes and ran down, and I caught it on my lips.</p> + +<p>It was a very bitter tear, and as salt as the salt, salt sea!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>A GLOW ON THE HORIZON—A FANTASTIC PEAL—WHAT I SAW WHEN THE ROOF FELL +IN.</h3> + +<p>It was the second day of our return voyage. Mr. Rowe had been very +kind, and especially so to me. He had told us tales of seafaring life, +but they related exclusively to the Royal Navy, and not unfrequently +bore with disparagement on the mercantile marine.</p> + +<p>Nowhere, perhaps, are grades of rank more strongly marked with +professional discipline and personal independence better combined than +in the army and navy. But the gulf implied by Mr. Rowe between the +youngest midshipman and the highest seaman who was not an officer was, +I think, in excess of the fact. As to becoming cabin-boy to a trading +vessel in hopes of rising to be a captain, the barge-master contrived +to impress me with the idea that I might as well take the situation of +boot and knife cleaner in the Royal Kitchen, in hopes of its proving +the first step towards ascending the Throne.</p> + +<p>We seemed to have seen and done so much since we were on the canal +before, that I felt quite sentimental as we glided into Linnet Flash.</p> + +<p>"The old place looks just the same, Barge-master," said I with a +travelled air.</p> + +<p>"So it do, sir," said Mr. Rowe; and he added—"There's no place like +Home."</p> + +<p>I hardly know how near we were to the town, but I know that it was +getting late, that the dew was heavy on the towing-path, and that +among the dark pencilled shadows of the sallows in the water the full +moon's reflection lay like a golden shield; when the driver, who was +ahead, stepped back and shouted—"The bells are ringing!"</p> + +<p>When we got a little nearer we heard them quite clearly, and just when +I was observing a red glow diffuse itself in the cold night sky above +the willow hedge on our left, Mr. Rowe said, "There must be a queer +kind of echo somewhere, I heard sixteen bells."</p> + +<p>And then I saw the driver, whose figure stood out dark against the +moonlit moorland on our right, point with his arm to the fast +crimsoning sky, and Mr. Rowe left the rudder and came forward, and +Fred, who had had his head low down listening, ran towards us from the +bows and cried,</p> + +<p>"There <i>are</i> sixteen, and they're ringing backwards—<i>it's a fire</i>!"</p> + +<p>The driver mounted the horse, which was put to the trot, and we +hurried on. The bells came nearer and nearer with their fantastic +clanging, and the sky grew more lurid as they rang. Then there was a +bend in the canal, and we caught sight of the two towers of S. Philip +and S. James, dark against the glow.</p> + +<p>"The whole town is in flames!" cried Fred.</p> + +<p>"Not it," said the barge-master; "it's ten to one nothing but a +rubbish-heap burning, or the moors on fire beyond the town."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rowe rather snubbed Fred, but I think he was curious about the +matter. The driver urged his horse, and the good barge <i>Betsy</i> swung +along at a pace to which she was little accustomed.</p> + +<p>When we came by the cricket-field Mr. Rowe himself said—"It's in the +middle of the town."</p> + +<p>Through the deafening noise of the bells I contrived to shout in his +ear a request that I might be put ashore, as we were now about on a +level with my home. Mr. Rowe ran a plank quickly out and landed me, +without time for adieux.</p> + +<p>I hastened up to the town. The first street I got into was empty, but +it seemed to vibrate to S. Philip's peal. And after that I pushed my +way through people, hurrying as I was hurrying, and the nearer I got +to home the thicker grew the crowd and the ruddier became the glow. +And now, in spite of the bells, I caught other noises. The roar of +irresistible fire,—which has a strange likeness to the roar of +irresistible water,—the loud crackling of the burning wood, and the +moving and talking of the crowd, which was so dense that I could +hardly get forward.</p> + +<p>I contrived to squeeze myself along, however, and as I turned into our +street I felt the warmth of the fire, and when I looked at my old home +it was a mass of flames.</p> + +<p>I tried to get people to make way for me by saying—"It's my house, +please let me through!" But nobody seemed to hear me. And yet there +was a pause, which was only filled by that curious sound when a crowd +of people gasp or sigh; and if every man had been a rock it could not +have been more impossible to move backwards or forwards. It was dark, +except for the moonlight, where I stood, but in a moment or two the +flames burst from the bedroom windows, and the red light spread +farther, and began to light up faces near me. I was just about to +appeal to a man I knew, when a roar began which I knew was not that of +the fire. It was the roar of human voices. And when it swelled louder, +and was caught up as it came along, and then broke into deafening +cheers, I was so wild with excitement and anxiety that I began to kick +the legs of the man in front of me to make him let me go to the home +that was burning before my eyes.</p> + +<p>What he would have done in return, I don't know, but at this moment +the crowd broke up, and we were pushed, and pressed, and jostled +about, and people kept calling to "Make way!" and after tumbling down, +and being picked up twice, I found myself in the front row of a kind +of lane that had been made through the crowd, down which several men +were coming, carrying on their shoulders an arm-chair with people in +it.</p> + +<p>As they passed me there was a crash, which seemed to shake the street. +The roof of our house had fallen in!</p> + +<p>As it fell the flames burst upon every side, and in the sudden glare +the street became as bright as day, and every little thing about one +seemed to spring into sight. Half the crowd was known to me in a +moment.</p> + +<p>Then I looked at the chair which was being carried along; and by a +large chip on one of the legs I knew it was my father's old arm-chair.</p> + +<p>And in the chair I saw Rupert in his shirt and trousers, and Henrietta +in a petticoat and an out-door jacket, with so white a face that even +the firelight seemed to give it no colour, and on her lap was Baby +Cecil in his night-gown, with black smut marks on his nose and chin.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>HENRIETTA'S DIARY—A GREAT EMERGENCY.</h3> + +<p>Rupert never was a fellow who could give descriptions of things, and +Henrietta was ill for some time after the fire, and Mr. Bustard said +she wasn't to talk about it.</p> + +<p>But she knew I wanted to know, so one day when she was down-stairs +with me in the "Miniature Room" (it was at the Castle) she gave me a +manuscript book, and said, "It's my diary, Charlie, so I know you +won't look. But I've put in two marks for the beginning and end of the +bit about the fire. I wrote it that evening, you know, before Mr. +Bustard came, and my head got so bad."</p> + +<p>Of course I made her show me exactly where to begin and leave off, and +then I read it. This was it.</p> + +<p>"It had been a very hot day, and I had got rather a headache and gone +to bed. The pain kept me awake a good bit, and when I did get to sleep +I think I slept rather lightly. I was partly awakened by noises which +seemed to have been going in my head all night till I could bear them +no longer, so I woke up, and found that people were shouting outside, +and that there was a dreadful smell of burning. I had got on my +flannel petticoat when Rupert called me and said, 'Henny dear, the +house is on fire! Just put something round you, and come quickly.'</p> + +<p>"Just outside the door we met Cook; she said, 'The Lord be thanked! +it's you, Miss Henrietta. Come along!'</p> + +<p>"Rupert said, 'Where's Mother, Cook?'</p> + +<p>"'Missus was took with dreadful fainting fits,' she replied, 'and +they've got her over to the<i> Crown.</i>We're all to go there, and +everything that can be saved.'</p> + +<p>"'Where's Baby,' said I, 'and Jane?'</p> + +<p>"'With your Ma, miss, I expect,' Cook said; and as we came out she +asked some one, who said, 'I saw Jane at the door of the<i> Crown </i>just +now.' I had been half asleep till then, but when we got into the +street and saw the smoke coming out of the dining-room window, Rupert +and I wanted to stay and try to save something, but one of the men who +was there said, 'You and your brother's not strong enough to be of no +great use, miss; you're only in the way of the engine. Everybody's +doing their best to save your things, and if you'll go to the<i> Crown +</i>to your mamma, you'll do the best that could be.'</p> + +<p>"The people who were saving our things saved them all alike. They +threw them out of the window, and as I had seen the big blue china jar +smashed to shivers, I felt a longing to go and show them what to do; +but Rupert said, 'The fellow's quite right, Henny,' and he seized me +by the hand and dragged me off to the<i> Crown. </i>Jane was in the hall, +looking quite wild, and she said to us, 'Where's Master Cecil?' I +didn't stop to ask her how it was that she didn't know. I ran out +again, and Rupert came after me. I suppose we both looked up at the +nursery window when we came near, and there was Baby Cecil standing +and screaming for help. Before we got to the door other people had +seen him, and two or three men pushed into the house. They came out +gasping and puffing without Cecil, and I heard one man say, 'It's too +far gone. It wouldn't bear a child's weight, and if you got up you'd +never come down again.'</p> + +<p>"'God help the poor child!' said the other man, who was the chemist, +and had a large family, I know. I looked round and saw by Rupert's +face that he had heard. It was like a stone. I don't know how it was, +but it seemed to come into my head: 'If Baby Cecil is burnt it will +kill Rupert too.' And I began to think; and I thought of the back +stairs. There was a pocket-handkerchief in my jacket pocket, and I +soaked it in the water on the ground. The town burgesses wouldn't buy +a new hose when we got the new steam fire-engine, and when they used +the old one it burst in five places, so that everything was swimming, +for the water was laid on from the canal. I think my idea must have +been written on my face, for though I didn't speak, Rupert seemed to +guess at once, and he ran after me, crying, 'Let me go, Henrietta!' +but I pretended not to hear.</p> + +<p>"When we got to the back of the house the fire was not nearly so bad, +and we got in. But though it wasn't exactly on fire where we were, the +smoke came rolling down the passage from the front of the house, and +by the time we got to the back stairs we could not see or breathe, in +spite of wet cloths over our faces, and our eyes smarted with the +smoke. Go down on all fours, Henny,' said Rupert. So I did. It was +wonderful. When I got down with my face close to the ground there was +a bit of quite fresh air, and above this the smoke rolled like a +cloud. I could see the castors of the legs of a table in the hall, but +no higher up. In this way we saw the foot of the back stairs, and +climbed up them on our hands and knees. But in spite of the bit of +fresh air near the ground the smoke certainly grew thicker, and it got +hotter and hotter, and we could hear the roaring of the flames coming +nearer, and the clanging of the bells outside, and I never knew what +it was to feel thirst before then! When we were up the first flight, +and the smoke was suffocating, I heard Rupert say, 'Oh, Henny, you +good girl, shall we ever get down again!' I couldn't speak, my throat +was so sore, but I remember thinking, 'It's like going up through the +clouds into heaven; and we shall find Baby Cecil there.' But after +that it got rather clearer, because the fire was in the lower part of +the house then, and when we got to the top we stood up, and found our +way to the nursery by hearing Baby Cecil scream.</p> + +<p>"The great difficulty was to get him down, for we couldn't carry him +and keep close to the ground. So I said, 'You go first on your hands +and knees backwards, and tell him to do as you do, and I'll come last, +so that he may see me doing the same and imitate me.' Baby was very +good about it, and when the heat worried him and he stopped, Rupert +said, 'Come on, Baby, or Henny will run over you,' and he scrambled +down as good as gold.</p> + +<p>"And when we got to the door the people began to shout and to cheer, +and I thought they would have torn Baby to bits. It made me very +giddy, and so did the clanging of those dreadful bells; and then I +noticed that Rupert was limping, and I said, 'Oh, Rupert, have you +hurt your knee?' and he said, 'It's nothing, come to the<i> Crown.' </i>But +there were two of the young men from Jones's shop there, and they +said, 'Don't you walk and hurt your knee, sir; we'll take you.' And +they pushed up my father's arm-chair, which had been saved and was +outside, and Rupert sat down, I believe, because he could not stand. +Then they said, 'There's room for you, miss,' and Rupert told me to +come, and I took Baby on my lap; but I felt so ill I thought I should +certainly fall out when they lifted us up.</p> + +<p>"The way the people cheered made me very giddy; I think I shall always +feel sick when I hear hurrahing now.</p> + +<p>"Rupert is very good if you're ill. He looked at me and said, 'You're +the bravest girl I ever knew, but don't faint if you can help it, or +Baby will fall out.'</p> + +<p>"I didn't; and I wouldn't have fainted when we got to the<i> Crown </i>if I +could have stopped myself by anything I could do."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>MR. ROWE ON THE SUBJECT—OUR COUSIN—WESTON GETS INTO PRINT—THE +HARBOUR'S MOUTH—WHAT LIES BEYOND.</h3> + +<p>Mr. Rowe's anxiety to see Rupert and Henrietta, and to "take the +liberty of expressing himself" about their having saved Baby Cecil's +life was very great, but the interview did not take place for some +time. The barge <i>Betsy</i> took two voyages to Nine Elms and home again +before Henrietta was down-stairs and allowed to talk about the fire.</p> + +<p>Rupert refused to see the barge-master when he called to ask after +Henrietta; he was vexed because people made a fuss about the affair, +and when Rupert was vexed he was not gracious. When Henrietta got +better, however, she said, "We ought to see old Rowe and thank him for +his kindness to Charlie;" so the next time he called, we all went into +the housekeeper's room to see him.</p> + +<p>He was very much pleased and excited, which always seemed to make him +inclined to preach. He set forth the noble motives which must have +moved Rupert and Henrietta to their heroic conduct in the emergency, +so that I felt more proud of them than ever. But Rupert frowned, and +said, "Nonsense, Rowe, I'm sure I never thought anything of the kind. +I don't believe we either of us thought anything at all."</p> + +<p>But Mr. Rowe had not served seventeen years in the Royal Navy to be +put down when he expounded a point of valour.</p> + +<p>"That's where it is, Master Rupert," said he. "It wouldn't have been +you or Miss Henrietta either if you had. 'A man overboard,' says +you—that's enough for one of your family, sir. <i>They</i> never stops to +think 'Can I swim?' but in you goes, up the stairs that wouldn't hold +the weight of a new-born babby, and right through the raging flames."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" cried Henrietta, "that's just what Cook and all kinds of +people will say. But it was the front stairs that were on fire. We +only went up the back stairs, and they weren't burning at all."</p> + +<p>The barge-master smiled in reply. But it was with the affability of +superior knowledge, and I feel quite sure that he always told the +story (and believed it) according to his impossible version.</p> + +<p>It was on the third day after the fire that our cousin called at the +<i>Crown</i>. He had never been to see us before, and, as I have said, we +had never been to the Castle. But the next day he sent a close +carriage for Henrietta and my mother, and a dog-cart for Rupert and +me, and brought us up to the Castle. We were there for three months.</p> + +<p>It was through him that Rupert went to those baths abroad, which cured +his knee completely. And then, because my mother could not afford to +do it, he sent him to a grander public school than Dr. Jessop's old +grammar school, and Mr. Johnson sent Thomas Johnson there too, for Tom +could not bear to be parted from Rupert, and his father never refused +him anything.</p> + +<p>But what I think was so very kind of our cousin was his helping me. +Rupert and Henrietta had been a credit to the family, but I deserved +nothing. I had only run away in the mean hope of outshining them, and +had made a fool of myself, whilst they had been really great in doing +their duty at home. However, he did back me up with Mother about going +to sea, and got me on board the training-ship <i>Albion</i>; and my highest +hope is to have the chance of bringing my share of renown to my +father's name, that his cousin may never regret having helped me to my +heart's desire.</p> + +<p>Fred Johnson and I are very good friends, but since our barge voyage +we have never been quite so intimate. I think the strongest tie +between us was his splendid stories of the captain, and I do not +believe in them now.</p> + +<p>Oddly enough, my chief friend—of the whole lot—is Weston. Rupert +always said I had a vulgar taste in the choice of friends, so it seems +curious that of our old schoolmates Johnson should be his friend and +Weston mine. For Johnson's father is only a canal-carrier, and Weston +is a fellow of good family.</p> + +<p>He is so very clever! And I have such a habit of turning my pockets +inside out for everybody to see, that I admire his reticence; and +then, though he is so ironical with himself, as well as other people, +he has very fine ideas and ambitions and very noble and upright +principles—when you know him well.</p> + +<p>"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," and the fire that burned +down our house got Weston into print at last.</p> + +<p>It was not a common letter either, in the "correspondence" part, with +small type, and the editor not responsible. It was a leading article, +printed big, and it was about the fire and Rupert and Henrietta. +Thomas Johnson read it to us, and we did not know who wrote it; but it +was true, and in good taste. After the account of the fire came a +quotation from Horace,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis."</p></div> + +<p>And Johnson cried—"That's Weston, depend upon it. He's in the <i>Weekly +Spectator</i> at last!"</p> + +<p>And then, to my utter amazement, came such a chronicle of the valiant +deeds of Rupert's ancestors as Weston could only have got from one +source. What had furnished his ready pen with matter for a comic +ballad to punish my bragging had filled it also to do honour to Rupert +and Henrietta's real bravery, and down to what the colonel of my +father's regiment had said of him—it was all there.</p> + +<p>Weston came to see me the other day at Dartmouth, where our +training-ship <i>Albion</i> lies, and he was so charmed by the old town +with its carved and gabled houses, and its luxuriant gardens rich with +pale-blossomed laurels, which no frost dwarfs, and crimson fuchsias +gnarled with age, and its hill-embosomed harbour, where the people of +all grades and ages, and of both sexes, flit hither and thither in +their boats as landlubbers would take an evening stroll—that I felt +somewhat justified in the romantic love I have for the place.</p> + +<p>And when we lay in one of the <i>Albion's</i> boats, rocking up and down in +that soothing swell which freshens the harbour's mouth, Weston made me +tell him all about the lion and the silver chain, and he called me a +prig for saying so often that I did not believe in it now. I remember +he said, "In this sleepy, damp, delightful Dartmouth, who but a prig +could deny the truth of a poetical dream?"</p> + +<p>He declared he could see the lion in a cave in the rock, and that the +poor beast wanted a new sea-green ribbon.</p> + +<p>Weston speaks so much more cleverly than I can, that I could not +explain to him then that I am still but too apt to dream! But the +harbour's mouth is now only the beginning of my visions, which stretch +far over the sea beyond, and over the darker line of that horizon +where the ships come and go.</p> + +<p>I hope it is not wrong to dream. My father was so modest as well as +ambitious, so good as well as so gallant, that I would rather die than +disgrace him by empty conceit and unprofitable hopes.</p> + +<p>Weston is a very religious fellow, though he does not "cant" at all. +When I was going away to Dartmouth, and he saw me off (for we were +great friends), one of the last things he said to me was, "I say, +don't leave off saying your prayers, you know."</p> + +<p>I haven't, and I told him so this last time. I often pray that if ever +I am great I may be good too; and sometimes I pray that if I try hard +to be good God will let me be great as well.</p> + +<p>The most wonderful thing was old Rowe's taking a cheap ticket and +coming down to see me last summer. I never can regret my voyage with +him in the <i>Betsy</i>, for I did thoroughly enjoy it, though I often +think how odd it is that in my vain, jealous wild-goose chase after +adventures I missed the chance of distinguishing myself in the only +Great Emergency which has yet occurred in our family.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="A_VERY_ILL-TEMPERED_FAMILY" id="A_VERY_ILL-TEMPERED_FAMILY"></a></h2> + +<h2>A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY.</h2> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i13">"Finding, following, keeping, struggling,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Is <span class="smcap">he</span> sure to bless?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="address1"><i>Hymn of the Eastern Church.</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_I" id="CHAPTER_I_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>A FAMILY FAILING.</h3> + +<p>We are a very ill-tempered family.</p> + +<p>I want to say it, and not to unsay it by any explanations, because I +think it is good for us to face the fact in the unadorned form in +which it probably presents itself to the minds of our friends.</p> + +<p>Amongst ourselves we have always admitted it by pieces, as it were, or +in negative propositions. We allow that we are firm of disposition; we +know that we are straightforward; we show what we feel. We have +opinions and principles of our own; we are not so thick-skinned as +some good people, nor as cold-blooded as others.</p> + +<p>When two of us quarrelled (and Nurse used to say that no two of us +ever agreed), the provocation always seemed, to each of us, great +enough amply to excuse the passion. But I have reason to think that +people seldom exclaimed, "What grievances those poor children are +exasperated with!" but that they often said, "What terrible tempers +they all have!"</p> + +<p>There are five of us: Philip and I are the eldest; we are twins. My +name is Isobel, and I never allow it to be shortened into the ugly +word <i>Bella</i> nor into the still more hideous word <i>Izzy</i>, by either +the servants or the children. My aunt Isobel never would, and neither +will I.</p> + +<p>"The children" are the other three. They are a good deal younger than +Philip and I, so we have always kept them in order. I do not mean that +we taught them to behave wonderfully well, but I mean that we made +them give way to us elder ones. Among themselves they squabbled +dreadfully.</p> + +<p>We are a very ill-tempered family.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_II" id="CHAPTER_I_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>ILL-TEMPERED PEOPLE AND THEIR FRIENDS—NARROW ESCAPES—THE +HATCHET-QUARREL.</h3> + +<p>I do not wish for a moment to defend ill-temper, but I do think that +people who suffer from ill-tempered people often talk as if they were +the only ones who do suffer in the matter; and as if the ill-tempered +people themselves quite enjoyed being in a rage.</p> + +<p>And yet how much misery is endured by those who have never got the +victory over their own ill-temper! To feel wretched and exasperated by +little annoyances which good-humoured people get over with a shrug or +a smile; to have things rankle in my mind like a splinter in the +flesh, which glide lightly off yours, and leave no mark; to be unable +to bear a joke, knowing that one is doubly laughed at because one +can't; to have this deadly sore at heart—"I <i>cannot</i> forgive; I +<i>cannot</i> forget," there is no pleasure in these things. The tears of +sorrow are not more bitter than the tears of anger, of hurt pride or +thwarted will. As to the fit of passion in which one is giddy, blind, +and deaf, if there is a relief to the overcharged mind in saying the +sharpest things and hitting the heaviest blows one can at the moment, +the pleasantness is less than momentary, for almost as we strike we +foresee the pains of regret and of humbling ourselves to beg pardon +which must ensue. Our friends do not always pity as well as blame us, +though they are sorry for those who were possessed by devils long ago.</p> + +<p>Good-tempered people, too, who I fancy would find it quite easy not to +be provoking, and to be a little patient and forbearing, really seem +sometimes to irritate hot-tempered ones on purpose, as if they thought +it was good for them to get used to it.</p> + +<p>I do not mean that I think ill-tempered people should be constantly +yielded to, as Nurse says Mrs. Rampant and the servants have given way +to Mr. Rampant till he has got to be quite as unreasonable and nearly +as dangerous as most maniacs, and his friends never cross him, for the +same reason that they would not stir up a mad bull.</p> + +<p>Perhaps I do not quite know how I would have our friends treat us who +are cursed with bad tempers. I think to avoid unnecessary provocation, +and to be patient with us in the height of our passion, is wise as +well as kind. But no principle should be conceded to us, and rights +that we have unjustly attacked should be faithfully defended when we +are calm enough to listen. I fancy that where gentle Mrs. Rampant is +wrong is that she allows Mr. Rampant to think that what really are +concessions to his weakness are concessions to his wisdom. And what is +not founded on truth cannot do lasting good. And if, years ago, before +he became a sort of gunpowder cask at large, he had been asked if he +wished Mrs. Rampant to persuade herself, and Mrs. Rampant, the little +Rampants, and the servants to combine to persuade him, that he was +right when he was wrong, and wise when he was foolish, and reasonable +when he was unjust, I think he would have said No. I do not believe +one could deliberately desire to be befooled by one's family for all +the best years of one's life. And yet how many people are!</p> + +<p>I do not think I am ever likely to be so loved and feared by those I +live with as to have my ill-humours made into laws. I hope not. But I +am sometimes thankful, on the other hand, that <span class="smcap">God</span> is more +forbearing with us than we commonly are with each other, and does not +lead us into temptation when we are at our worst and weakest.</p> + +<p>Any one who has a bad temper must sometimes look back at the years +before he learned self-control, and feel thankful that he is not a +murderer, or burdened for life by the weight on his conscience of +some calamity of which he was the cause. If the knife which furious +Fred threw at his sister before he was out of petticoats had hit the +child's eye instead of her forehead, could he ever have looked into +the blinded face without a pang? If the blow with which impatient +Annie flattered herself she was correcting her younger brother had +thrown the naughty little lad out of the boat instead of into the +sailor's arms, and he had been drowned—at ten years old a murderess, +how could she endure for life the weight of her unavailing remorse?</p> + +<p>I very nearly killed Philip once. It makes me shudder to think of it, +and I often wonder I ever could lose my temper again.</p> + +<p>We were eight years old, and out in the garden together. We had +settled to build a moss-house for my dolls, and had borrowed the +hatchet out of the wood-house, without leave, to chop the stakes with. +It was entirely my idea, and I had collected all the moss and most of +the sticks. It was I, too, who had taken the hatchet. Philip had been +very tiresome about not helping me in the hard part; but when I had +driven in the sticks by leaning on them with all my weight, and had +put in bits of brushwood where the moss fell out and Philip laughed at +me, and, in short, when the moss-house was beginning to look quite +real, Philip was very anxious to work at it, and wanted the hatchet.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't help me over the hard work," said I, "so I shan't give +it you now; I'll make my moss-house myself."</p> + +<p>"No, you won't," said Philip.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall," said I.</p> + +<p>"No, you won't," he reiterated; "for I shall pull it down as fast as +you build it."</p> + +<p>"You'd better not," I threatened.</p> + +<p>Just then we were called in to dinner. I hid the hatchet, and Philip +said no more; but he got out before me, and when I returned to work I +found that the moss-house walls, which had cost me so much labour, +were pulled to pieces and scattered about the shrubbery. Philip was +not to be seen.</p> + +<p>My heart had been so set upon my project that at first I could only +feel the overwhelming disappointment. I was not a child who often +cried, but I burst into tears.</p> + +<p>I was sobbing my hardest when Philip sprang upon me in triumph, and +laughing at my distress.</p> + +<p>"I kept my promise," said he, tossing his head, "and I'll go on doing +it."</p> + +<p>I am sure those shocks of fury which seize one like a fit must be a +devil possessing one. In an instant my eyes were as dry as the desert +in a hot wind, and my head reeling with passion. I ran to the +hatchet, and came back brandishing it.</p> + +<p>"If you touch one stake or bit of moss of mine again," said I, "I'll +throw my hatchet at your head. I can keep promises too."</p> + +<p>My intention was only to frighten him. I relied on his not daring to +brave such a threat; unhappily he relied on my not daring to carry it +out. He took up some of my moss and threw it at me by way of reply.</p> + +<p>I flung the hatchet!—</p> + +<p>My Aunt Isobel has a splendid figure, with such grace and power as one +might expect from her strong health and ready mind. I had not seen her +at the moment, for I was blind with passion, nor had Philip, for his +back was turned towards her. I did not see distinctly how she watched, +as one watches for a ball, and caught the hatchet within a yard of +Philip's head.</p> + +<p>My Aunt Isobel has a temper much like the temper of the rest of the +family. When she had caught it in her left hand she turned round and +boxed my ears with her right hand till I could see less than ever. (I +believe she suffered for that outburst for months afterwards. She was +afraid she had damaged my hearing, as that sense is too often damaged +or destroyed by the blows of ill-tempered parents, teachers, and +nurses.)</p> + +<p>Then she turned back and shook Philip as vigorously as she had boxed +me. "I saw you, you spiteful, malicious boy!" said my Aunt Isobel.</p> + +<p>All the time she was shaking him, Philip was looking at her feet. +Something that he saw absorbed his attention so fully that he forgot +to cry.</p> + +<p>"You're bleeding, Aunt Isobel," said he, when she gave him breath +enough to speak.</p> + +<p>The truth was this: the nervous force which Aunt Isobel had summoned +up to catch the hatchet seemed to cease when it was caught; her arm +fell powerless, and the hatchet cut her ankle. That left arm was +useless for many months afterwards, to my abiding reproach.</p> + +<p>Philip was not hurt, but he might have been killed. Everybody told me +so often that it was a warning to me to correct my terrible temper, +that I might have revolted against the reiteration if the facts had +been less grave. But I never can feel lightly about that +hatchet-quarrel. It opened a gulf of possible wickedness and life-long +misery, over the brink of which my temper would have dragged me, but +for Aunt Isobel's strong arm and keen eye, and over which it might +succeed in dragging me any day, unless I could cure myself of my +besetting sin.</p> + +<p>I never denied it. It was a warning.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_III" id="CHAPTER_I_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>WARNINGS—MY AUNT ISOBEL—MR. RAMPANT'S TEMPER, AND HIS CONSCIENCE.</h3> + +<p>I was not the only scarecrow held up before my own mind.</p> + +<p>Nurse had a gallery of historical characters, whom she kept as beacons +to warn our stormy passions of their fate. The hot-tempered boy who +killed his brother when they were at school; the hot-tempered farmer +who took his gun to frighten a trespasser, and ended by shooting him; +the young lady who destroyed the priceless porcelain in a pet; the +hasty young gentleman who kicked his favourite dog and broke its +ribs;—they were all warnings: so was old Mr. Rampant, so was my Aunt +Isobel.</p> + +<p>Aunt Isobel's story was a whispered tradition of the nursery for many +years before she and I were so intimate, in consequence of her +goodness and kindness to me, that one day I was bold enough to say to +her, "Aunt Isobel, is it true that the reason why you never married +is because you and he quarrelled, and you were very angry, and he went +away, and he was drowned at sea?"</p> + +<p>Child as I was, I do not think I should have been so indelicate as to +have asked this question if I had not come to fancy that Nurse made +out the story worse than it really was, for my behoof. Aunt Isobel was +so cheerful and bright with us!—and I was not at that time able to +believe that any one could mend a broken heart with other people's +interests so that the marks should show so little!</p> + +<p>My aunt had a very clear skin, but in an instant her face was thick +with a heavy blush, and she was silent. I marvelled that these were +the only signs of displeasure she allowed herself to betray, for the +question was no sooner out of my mouth than I wished it unsaid, and +felt how furious she must naturally feel to hear that her sad and +sacred story was bandied between servants and children as a +nursery-tale with a moral to it.</p> + +<p>But oh, Aunt Isobel! Aunt Isobel! you had at this time progressed far +along that hard but glorious road of self-conquest which I had hardly +found my way to.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," I began, before she spoke.</p> + +<p>"You ought to," said my aunt—she never spoke less than decisively—"I +thought you had more tact, Isobel, than to tell any one what servants +have said of one's sins or sorrows behind one's back."</p> + +<p>"I am <i>very</i> sorry," I repeated with shame; "but the thing is, I +didn't believe it was true, you always seem so happy. I am <i>very</i> +sorry."</p> + +<p>"It is true," said Aunt Isobel. "Child, whilst we are speaking of +it—for the first and the last time—let it be a warning for you to +illustrate a very homely proverb: 'Don't cut off your nose to spite +your own face.' Ill-tempered people are always doing it, and I did it +to my life-long loss. I <i>was</i> angry with him, and like Jonah I said to +myself, 'I do well to be angry.' And though I would die twenty deaths +harder than the death he died to see his face for five minutes and be +forgiven, I am not weak enough to warp my judgment with my misery. I +was in the right, and he was in the wrong. But I forgot how much +harder a position it is to be in the wrong than in the right in a +quarrel. I did not think of how, instead of making the return path +difficult to those who err, we ought to make it easy, as <span class="smcap">God</span> +does for us. I gave him no chance of unsaying with grace or credit +what he could not fail to regret that he had said. Isobel, you have a +clear head and a sharp tongue, as I have. You will understand when I +say that I had the satisfaction of proving that I was in the right and +he was in the wrong, and that I was firmly, conscientiously +determined to make no concessions, no half-way advances, though our +Father <i>goes to meet</i> His prodigals. Merciful Heaven! I had the +satisfaction of parting myself for all these slow years from the most +honest—the tenderest-hearted—"</p> + +<p>My Aunt Isobel had overrated her strength. After a short and vain +struggle in silence she got up and went slowly out of the room, +resting her hand for an instant on my little knick-knack table by the +door as she went out—the only time I ever saw her lean upon anything.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Old Mr. Rampant was another of my "warnings." He—to whose face no one +dared hint that he could ever be in the wrong—would have been more +astonished than Aunt Isobel to learn how plainly—nay, how +contemptuously—the servants spoke behind his back of his unbridled +temper and its results. They knew that the only son was somewhere on +the other side of the world, and that little Mrs. Rampant wept tears +for him and sent money to him in secret, and they had no difficulty in +deciding why: "He'd got his father's temper, and it stood to reason +that he and the old gentleman couldn't put up their horses together." +The moral was not obscure. From no lack of affection, but for want of +self-control, the son was condemned to homelessness and hardships in +his youth, and the father was sonless in his old age.</p> + +<p>But that was not the point of Nurse's tales about Mr. Rampant which +impressed me most, nor even the endless anecdotes of his unreasonable +passions which leaked out at his back-door and came up our back-stairs +to the nursery. They rather amused us. That assault on the butcher's +boy, who brought ribs of beef instead of sirloin, for which he was +summoned and fined; his throwing the dinner out of the window, and +going to dine at the village inn—by which the dogs ate the dinner and +he had to pay for two dinners, and to buy new plates and dishes.</p> + +<p>We laughed at these things, but in my serious moments, especially on +the first Sunday of the month, I was haunted by something else which +Nurse had told me about old Mr. Rampant.</p> + +<p>In our small parish—a dull village on the edge of a marsh—the Holy +Communion was only celebrated once a month. It was not because he was +irreligious that old Mr. Rampant was one of the too numerous +non-communicants. "It's his temper, poor gentleman," said Nurse. "He +can't answer for himself, and he has that religious feeling he +wouldn't like to come unless he was fit. The housekeeper overheard +Mrs. Rampant a-begging of him last Christmas. It was no listening +either, for he bellowed at her like a bull, and swore dreadful that +whatever else he was he wouldn't be profane."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't he keep his temper for a week, don't you think?" said I +sadly, thinking of my mother's old copy of the <i>Weeks Preparation</i> for +the Lord's Supper.</p> + +<p>"It would be as bad if he got into one of his tantrums directly +afterwards," said Nurse: "and with people pestering for +Christmas-boxes, and the pudding and turkey, and so many things that +might go wrong, it would be as likely as not he would. It's a sad +thing too," she added, "for his neck's terribly short, and they say +all his family have gone suddenly with the apoplexy. It's an awful +thing, Miss Isobel, to be taken sudden—and unprepared."</p> + +<p>The awe of it came back on me every month when the fair white linen +covered the rustiness of the old velvet altar-cloth which the marsh +damps were rotting, and the silver vessels shone, and the village +organist played out the non-communicants with a somewhat inappropriate +triumphal march, and little Mrs. Rampant knelt on with buried face as +we went out, and Mr. Rampant came out with us, looking more glum than +usual, and with such a short neck!</p> + +<p><i>Now</i> I think poor Mr. Rampant was wrong, and that he ought to have +gone with Mrs. Rampant to the Lord's Supper that Christmas. He might +have found grace to have got through all the little ups and downs and +domestic disturbances of a holiday season without being very +ferocious; and if he had tried and failed I think <span class="smcap">God</span> would +have forgiven him. And he might—it is possible that he +<i>might</i>—during that calm and solemn Communion, have forgiven his son +as he felt that Our Father forgave him. So Aunt Isobel says; and I +have good reason to think that she is likely to be right.</p> + +<p>I think so too <i>now</i>, but <i>then</i> I was simply impressed by the thought +that an ill-tempered person was, as Nurse expressed it, "unfit" to +join in the highest religious worship. It is true that I was also +impressed by her other saying, "It's an awful thing, Miss Isobel, to +be taken sudden and unprepared;" but there was a temporary compromise +in my own case. I could not be a communicant till I was confirmed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_IV" id="CHAPTER_I_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>CASES OF CONSCIENCE—ETHICS OF ILL-TEMPER.</h3> + +<p>Confirmations were not very frequent in our little village at this +time. About once in three years the Bishop came to us. He came when I +was twelve years old. Opinions were divided as to whether I was old +enough, but I decided the matter by saying I would rather wait till +the next opportunity.</p> + +<p>"I may be more fit by that time," was my thought, and it was probably +not unlike some of Mr. Rampant's self-communings.</p> + +<p>The time came, and the Bishop also; I was fifteen.</p> + +<p>I do not know why, but nobody had proposed that Philip should be +confirmed at twelve years old. Fifteen was thought to be quite early +enough for him, and so it came about that we were confirmed together.</p> + +<p>I am very thankful that, as it happened, I had Aunt Isobel to talk to.</p> + +<p>"You're relieved from one perplexity at any rate," said she, when I +had been speaking of that family failing which was also mine. "You +know your weak point. I remember a long talk I had, years ago, with +Mrs. Rampant, whom I used to know very well when we were young. She +said one of her great difficulties was not being able to find out her +besetting sin. She said it always made her so miserable when clergymen +preached on that subject, and said that every enlightened Christian +must have discovered one master passion amongst the others of his +soul. She had tried so hard, and could only find a lot, none much +bigger or much less than the others. Some vanity, some selfishness, +some distrust and weariness, some peevishness, some indolence, and a +lapful of omissions. Since she married," continued my aunt, slowly +pulling her thick black eyelashes, after a fashion she had, "I believe +she has found the long-lost failing. It is impatience with Mr. +Rampant, she thinks."</p> + +<p>I could not help laughing.</p> + +<p>"However, Isobel, we may be sure of this, people of soft, gentle +temperaments have their own difficulties with their own souls which we +escape. Perhaps in the absence of such marked vices as bring one to +open shame one might be slower to undertake vigorous self-improvement. +You and I have no difficulty in seeing the sin lying at <i>our</i> door."</p> + +<p>"N—no," said I.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>have you</i>?" said Aunt Isobel, facing round. "Bless me," she +added impetuously, "don't say you haven't if you have. Never let any +one else think for you, child!"</p> + +<p>"If you'll only have patience and let me explain—"</p> + +<p>"I'm patience its very self!" interrupted my aunt, "but I do hate a No +that means Yes."</p> + +<p><i>My</i> patience began to evaporate.</p> + +<p>"There are some things, Aunt Isobel, <i>you know</i>, which can't be +exactly squeezed into No and Yes. But if you don't want to be bothered +I won't say anything, or I'll say yes or no, which ever you like."</p> + +<p>And I kicked the shovel. (My aunt had shoved the poker with <i>her</i> +slipper.) She drew her foot back and spoke very gently:</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, my dear. Please say what you were going to say, +and in your own way."</p> + +<p>There is no doubt that good-humour—like bad—is infectious. I drew +nearer to Aunt Isobel, and fingered the sleeve of her dress +caressingly.</p> + +<p>"You know, dear Aunt Isobel, that I should never think of saying to +the Rector what I want to say to you. And I don't mean that I don't +agree to whatever he tells us about right and wrong, but still I think +if one can be quite convinced in the depths of one's own head, too, +it's a good thing, as well as knowing that he must be right."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Aunt Isobel.</p> + +<p>"To begin with, I don't want you to think me any better than I am. +When we were very very little, Philip and I used to spit at each +other, and pull each other's hair out. I do not do nasty or unladylike +things now when I am angry, but, Aunt Isobel, my 'besetting sin' is +not conquered, it's only civilized."</p> + +<p>"I quite agree with you," said Aunt Isobel; which rather annoyed me. I +gulped this down, however, and went on:</p> + +<p>"The sin of ill-temper, <i>if it is a sin</i>," I began. I paused, +expecting an outburst, but Aunt Isobel sat quite composedly, and +fingered her eyelashes.</p> + +<p>"Of course the Rector would be horrified if I said such a thing at the +confirmation-class," I continued, in a dissatisfied tone.</p> + +<p>"Don't invent grievances, Isobel, for I see you have a real +stumbling-block, when we can come to it. You are not at the +confirmation-class, and I am not easily horrified."</p> + +<p>"Well, there are two difficulties—I explain very stupidly," said I +with some sadness.</p> + +<p>"We'll take them one at a time," replied Aunt Isobel with an +exasperating blandness, which fortunately stimulated me to +plain-speaking.</p> + +<p>"Everybody says one ought to 'restrain' one's temper, but I'm not sure +if I think one ought. Isn't it better to <i>have things out</i>? Look at +Philip. He's going to be confirmed, and then he'll go back to school, +and when he and another boy quarrel, they'll fight it out, and feel +comfortable afterwards. Aunt Isobel, I can quite understand feeling +friendly after you've had it out, even if you're the one who is +beaten, if it has been a fair fight. Now <i>restraining</i> your temper +means forcing yourself to be good outside, and feeling all the worse +inside, and feeling it longer. There is that utterly stupid little +schoolroom-maid, who is under my orders, that I may teach her. Aunt +Isobel, you would not credit how often I tell her the same thing, and +how politely she says 'Yes, miss!' and how invariably she doesn't do +it after all. I say, 'You <i>know</i> I told you only yesterday. What <i>is</i> +the use of my trying to teach you?' and all kinds of mild things like +that; but really I quite hate her for giving me so much trouble and +taking so little herself, and I wish I might discharge her. Now, if +only it wasn't wrong to throw—what are those things hot-tempered +gentlemen always throw at their servants?"</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me, my dear; ask Mr. Rampant."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he throws everything. Bootjacks—that's it. Now, if only I might +throw a bootjack at her, it would waken her up, and be such a relief +to my feelings, that I shouldn't feel half so unforgiving towards her +all along. Then as to swearing, Aunt Isobel—"</p> + +<p>"Swearing!" ejaculated my aunt.</p> + +<p>"Of course swearing is very wrong, and all profane-speaking but I do +think it <i>would be</i> a help if there was some innocent kind of strong +language to use when one feels strongly."</p> + +<p>"If we didn't use up all our innocent strong language by calling +things awful and horrible that have not an element of awe or horror in +them, we should have some left for our great occasions," said Aunt +Isobel.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said I, "but that's not exactly what I mean. Now do you +think it would be wrong to invent expletives that mean nothing bad? As +if Mr. Rampant were to say, 'Cockatoos and kingfishers! where are my +shooting-boots?' For you know I do think it would make him more +comfortable to put it in that way, especially if he had been kept +waiting for them."</p> + +<p>I paused, and Aunt Isobel turned round.</p> + +<p>"Let us carry your idea well forward, Isobel. Bootjacks and expletives +would no doubt be a relief to the thrower when hurled at servants or +some one who could not (or from principle would not) retaliate, and +the angry feelings that propelled them might be shortened by 'letting +off the steam,' so to speak. But imagine yourself to have thrown a +bootjack at Philip to relieve your feelings, and Philip (to relieve +his) flinging it back at you. This would only give fresh impetus to +<i>your</i> indignation, and whatever you threw next would not be likely to +soothe <i>his</i>."</p> + +<p>"Please don't!" said I. "Aunt Isobel, I could never throw a hatchet +again."</p> + +<p>"You are bold to promise to stop short anywhere when relieving +passionate feelings by indulgence has begun on two sides. And, my +dear, matters are no better where the indulgence is in words instead +of blows. In the very mean and undignified position of abusing those +who cannot return your abuse it might answer; but 'innocent strong +language' would cease to be of any good when it was returned. If to +'Cockatoos and kingfishers! where are my shooting-boots?' an equally +violent voice from below replied, 'Bats and blackbeetles! look for +them yourself!' some stronger vent for the steam of hot temper would +have to be found, and words of any kind would soon cease to relieve +the feelings. Isobel, I have had long and hard experience, and your +ideas are not new ones to me. Believe me, child, the only real relief +is in absolute conquest, and the earlier the battle begins, the easier +and the shorter it will be. If one can keep irritability under, one +may escape a struggle to the death with passion. I am not cramming +principles down your throat—I say as a matter of personal practice, +that I do not know, and never hope to find a smoother or a shorter +way. But I can say also—after Victory comes Peace."</p> + +<p>I gave a heavy sigh.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Aunt Isobel, I will try; but it makes my second difficulty +all the worse. I can fancy that I might possibly learn self-control; I +can fancy by main force holding my tongue, or compelling it to speak +very slowly and civilly: but one can't force one's feelings. Aunt +Isobel, if I had been very much insulted or provoked, I might keep on +being civil for years on the outside, but how I should hate! You can't +prevent yourself hating. People talk about 'forgive and forget.' If +forgiving means doing no harm, and forgetting means behaving quite +civilly, as if nothing had happened, one could. But of course it's +nonsense to talk of making yourself really <i>forget</i> anything. And I +think it's just as absurd to talk of making yourself forgive, if +forgiveness means feeling really kindly and comfortable as you did +before. The very case in which I am most sure you are right about +self-control is one of the worst the other way. I ought to be ashamed +to speak of it—but I mean the hatchet-quarrel. If I had been very +good instead of very wicked, and had restrained myself when Philip +pulled all my work to pieces, and jeered at me for being miserable, I +<i>couldn't</i> have loved him again as I did before. Forgive and forget! +One would often be very glad to. I have often awoke in the morning and +known that I had forgotten something disagreeable, and when it did +come back I was sorry; but one's memory isn't made of slate, or one's +heart either, that one can take a wet sponge and make it clean. Oh +dear! I wonder why ill-tempered people are allowed to live! They ought +to be smothered in their cradles."</p> + +<p>Aunt Isobel was about to reply, but I interrupted her.</p> + +<p>"Don't think me humble-minded, Aunt Isobel, for I'm not. Sometimes I +feel inclined to think that ill-tempered people have more sense of +justice and of the strict rights and wrongs of things—at least if +they are not very bad," I interpolated, thinking of Mr. Rampant—"than +people who can smile and look pleasant at everything and everybody +like Lucy Lambent, who goes on calling me darling when I know I'm +scowling like a horned-owl. Nurse says she's the 'sweetest tempered +young lady she ever did know!' Aunt Isobel, what a muddle life is!"</p> + +<p>"After some years of it," said my aunt, pulling her lashes hard, "<i>I</i> +generally say, What a muddle my head is! Life is too much for it."</p> + +<p>"I am quite willing to put it that way," sighed I, laying my +muddle-head on the table, for I was tired. "It comes to much the same +thing. Now—there is my great difficulty! I give in about the other +one, but you can't cure this, and the truth is, I am not fit to go to +a confirmation-class, much less to the Holy Communion."</p> + +<p>"Isobel," said my aunt, folding her hands on her lap, and bending her +very thick brows on the fire, "I want you to clearly understand that I +speak with great hesitation, and without any authority. I can do +nothing for you but tell you what I have found myself in <i>my</i> +struggles."</p> + +<p>"Thank you a thousand times," said I, "that's what I want. You know I +hear two sermons every Sunday, and I have a lot of good books. Mrs. +Welment sends me a little book about ill-temper every Christmas. The +last one was about saying a little hymn before you let yourself speak +whenever you feel angry. Philip got hold of it, and made fun of it. He +said it was like the recipe for catching a sparrow by putting salt on +its tail, because if you were cool enough to say a hymn, there would +then be no need for saying it. What do you think, Aunt Isobel?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, I have long ago given up the idea that everybody's weak +points can all be strengthened by one plaster. The hymn might be very +useful in some cases, though I confess that it would not be in mine. +But prayer is; and I find a form of prayer necessary. At the same time +I have such an irritable taste, that there are very few forms of +devotion that give me much help but the Prayer-Book collects and +Jeremy Taylor. I do not know if you may find it useful to hear that in +this struggle I sometimes find prayers more useful, if they are not +too much to the sore point. A prayer about ill-temper might tend to +make me cross, when the effort to join my spirit with the +temptation-tried souls of all ages in a solemn prayer for the Church +Universal would lift me out of the petty sphere of personal vexations, +better than going into my grievances even piously. I speak merely of +myself, mind."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," I said. "But about what I said about hating. Aunt Isobel, +did you ever change your feelings by force? Do you suppose anybody +ever did?"</p> + +<p>"I believe it is a great mistake to trouble one's self with the +spiritual experiences of other people when one cannot fully know their +circumstances, so I won't suppose at all. As to what I am sure of, +Isobel, you know I speak the truth."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said I; it would have been impertinence to say more.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> have found that if one fights for good behaviour, <span class="smcap">God</span> +makes one a present of the good feelings. I believe you will find it +so. Even when you were a child, if you had tried to be good, and had +managed to control yourself, and had not thrown the hatchet, I am +quite sure you would not have hated Philip for long. Perhaps you would +have thought how much better Philip used to behave before your father +and mother died, and a little elder-sisterly, motherly feeling would +have mixed with your wrath at seeing him with his fat legs planted +apart, and his shoulders up, the very picture of wilful naughtiness. +Perhaps you might have thought you had repulsed him a little harshly +when he wanted to help, as you were his chief playmate and twin +sister."</p> + +<p>"Please don't," said I. "How I wish I had! Indeed I don't know how I +can ever speak of hating one of the others when there are so few of +us, and we are orphans. But everybody isn't one's brother. And—oh, +Aunt Isobel, at the time one does get so wild, and hard, and twisted +in one's heart!"</p> + +<p>"I don't think it is possible to overrate the hardness of the first +close struggle with any natural passion," said my aunt earnestly; "but +indeed the easiness of after-steps is often quite beyond one's +expectations. The free gift of grace with which <span class="smcap">God</span> perfects +our efforts may come in many ways, but I am convinced that it is the +common experience of Christians that it does come."</p> + +<p>"To every one, do you think?" said I. "I've no doubt it comes to you, +Aunt Isobel, but then you are so good."</p> + +<p>"For pity's sake don't say I am good," said my aunt, and she kicked +down all the fire-irons; and then begged my pardon, and picked them up +again.</p> + +<p>We were silent for awhile. Aunt Isobel sat upright with her hands +folded in her lap, and that look which her large eyes wear when she is +trying to see all the sides of a question. They were dilated with a +sorrowful earnestness when she spoke again.</p> + +<p>"There <i>may</i> be some souls," she said, "whose brave and bitter lot it +is to conquer comfortless. Perhaps some terrible inheritance of strong +sin from the father is visited upon the son, and, only able to keep +his purpose pure, he falls as fast as he struggles up, and still +struggling falls again. Soft moments of peace with <span class="smcap">God</span> and +man may never come to him. He may feel himself viler than a thousand +trumpery souls who could not have borne his trials for a day. Child, +for you and for me is reserved no such cross and no such crown as +theirs who falling still fight, and fighting fall, with their faces +Zionwards, into the arms of the Everlasting Father. 'As one whom his +mother comforteth' shall be the healing of <i>their</i> wounds."</p> + +<p>There was a brisk knock at the door, and Philip burst in.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Isobel, if you mean to be late for confirmation-class I'm +not going to wait for you. I hate sneaking in with the benches all +full, and old Bartram blinking and keeping your place in the catechism +for you with his fat forefinger."</p> + +<p>"I am <i>very</i> sorry, Philip dear," said I; "please go without me, and +I'll come on as quickly as I can. Thank you very much for coming to +remind me."</p> + +<p>"There's no such awful hurry," said Philip in a mollified tone; "I'll +wait for you down-stairs."</p> + +<p>Which he did, whistling.</p> + +<p>Aunt Isobel and I are not demonstrative, it does not suit us. She took +hold of my arms, and I laid my head on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Isobel, GOD help me, I will fight on to the very end."</p> + +<p>"HE <i>will</i> help you," said Aunt Isobel.</p> + +<p>I could not look at her face and doubt it. Oh, my weak soul, never +doubt it more!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_V" id="CHAPTER_I_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>CELESTIAL FIRE—I CHOOSE A TEXT.</h3> + +<p>We were confirmed.</p> + +<p>As Aunt Isobel had said, I was spared perplexity by the unmistakable +nature of my weakest point. There was no doubt as to what I should +pray against and strive against. But on that day it seemed not only as +if I could never give way to ill-temper again, but as if the trumpery +causes of former outbreaks could never even tempt me to do so. As the +lines of that ancient hymn to the Holy Ghost—"<i>Veni Creator</i>"—rolled +on, I prayed humbly enough that my unworthy efforts might yet be +crowned by the sevenfold gifts of the Spirit; but that a soul which +sincerely longed to be "lightened with celestial fire" could be +tempted to a common fit of sulks or scolding by the rub of nursery +misdeeds and mischances, felt then so little likely as hardly to be +worth deprecating on my knees.</p> + +<p>And yet, when the service was over, the fatigue of the mental strain +and of long kneeling and standing began to tell in a feeling that came +sadly near to peevishness. I spent the rest of the day resolutely in +my room and on my knees, hoping to keep up those high thoughts and +emotions which had made me feel happy as well as good. And yet I all +but utterly broke down into the most commonplace crossness because +Philip did not do as I did, but romped noisily with the others, and +teased me for looking grave at tea.</p> + +<p>I just did not break down. So much remained alive of the "celestial +fire," that I kept my temper behind my teeth. Long afterwards, when I +learnt by accident that Philip's "good resolve" on the occasion had +been that he would be kinder to "the little ones," I was very glad +that I had not indulged my uncharitable impulse to lecture him on +indifference to spiritual progress.</p> + +<p>That evening Aunt Isobel gave me a new picture for my room. It was a +fine print of the Crucifixion, for which I had often longed, a German +woodcut in the powerful manner of Albert Dürer, after a design by +Michael Angelo. It was neither too realistic nor too mediæval, and the +face was very noble. Aunt Isobel had had it framed, and below on an +illuminated scroll was written—"What are these wounds in Thine +Hands? Those with which I was wounded in the house of My friends."</p> + +<p>"I often think," she said, when we had hung it up and were looking at +it, "that it is not in our Lord's Cross and Passion that His patience +comes most home to us. To be patient before an unjust judge or brutal +soldiers might be almost a part of self-respect; but patience with the +daily disappointments of a life 'too good for this world,' as people +say, patience with the follies, the unworthiness, the ingratitude of +those one loves—these things are our daily example. For wounds in the +house of our enemies pride may be prepared; wounds in the house of our +friends take human nature by surprise, and GOD only can teach us to +bear them. And with all reverence I think that we may say that ours +have an element of difficulty in which His were wanting. They are +mixed with blame on our own parts."</p> + +<p>"That is why you have put that text for me?" said I. My aunt nodded.</p> + +<p>I was learning to illuminate, and I took much pride in my room. I +determined to make a text for myself, and to choose a very plain +passage about ill-temper. Mrs. Welment's books supplied me with +plenty. I chose "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath," but I +resolved to have the complete text as it stands in the Bible. It +seemed fair to allow myself to remember that anger is not always a +sin, and I thought it useful to remind myself that if by obstinate +ill-temper I got the victory in a quarrel, it was only because the +devil had got the victory over me. So the text ran full length:—"Be +ye angry, and sin not; let not the sun go down upon your wrath: +neither give place to the devil." It made a very long scroll, and I +put it up over my window, and fastened it with drawing-pins.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_VI" id="CHAPTER_I_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>THEATRICAL PROPERTIES—I PREPARE A PLAY—PHILIP BEGINS TO PREPARE THE +SCENERY—A NEW FRIEND.</h3> + +<p>Philip was at school during the remainder of the year, but I tried to +put my good resolves in practice with the children, and it made us a +more peaceful household than usual. When Philip came home for the +Christmas holidays we were certainly in very pleasant moods—for an +ill-tempered family.</p> + +<p>Our friends allow that some quickness of wits accompanies the +quickness of our tempers. From the days when we were very young our +private theatricals have been famous in our own little neighbourhood. +I was paramount in nursery mummeries, and in the children's charade +parties of the district, for Philip was not very reliable when steady +help was needed; but at school he became stage-manager of the +theatricals there.</p> + +<p>I do not know that he learned to act very much better than I, and I +think Alice (who was only twelve) had twice the gift of either of us, +but every half he came back more ingenious than before in matters for +which we had neither the talent nor the tools. He glued together yards +of canvas or calico, and produced scenes and drop-curtains which were +ambitious and effective, though I thought him a little reckless both +about good drawing and good clothes. His glue-kettles and size-pots +were always steaming, his paint was on many and more inappropriate +objects than the canvas. A shilling's-worth of gilding powder went +such a long way that we had not only golden crowns and golden +sceptres, and golden chains for our dungeon, and golden wings for our +fairies, but the nursery furniture became irregularly and +unintentionally gilded, as well as nurse's stuff dress, when she sat +on a warrior's shield, which was drying in the rocking-chair.</p> + +<p>But these were small matters. Philip gave us a wonderful account of +the "properties" he had made for school theatricals. A dragon painted +to the life, and with matches so fixed into the tip of him that the +boy who acted as the life and soul of this ungainly carcase could wag +a fiery tail before the amazed audience, by striking it on that +particular scale of his dragon's skin which was made of sand-paper. +Rabbit-skin masks, cotton-wool wigs and wigs of tow, seven-league +boots, and witches' hats, thunder with a tea-tray, and all the phases +of the moon with a moderator lamp—with all these things Philip +enriched the school theatre, though for some time he would not take so +much trouble for our own.</p> + +<p>But during this last half he had written me three letters—and three +very kind ones. In the latest he said that—partly because he had been +making some things for us, and partly because of changes in the +school-theatrical affairs—he should bring home with him a box of very +valuable "properties" for our use at Christmas. He charged me at once +to prepare a piece which should include a prince disguised as a woolly +beast on two legs with large fore-paws (easily shaken off), a fairy +godmother with a tow wig and the highest hat I could ever hope to see, +a princess turned into a willow-tree (painted from memory of the old +one at home), and with fine gnarls and knots, through which the +princess could see everything, and prompt (if needful), a disconsolate +parent, and a faithful attendant, to be acted by one person, with as +many belated travellers as the same actor could personate into the +bargain. These would all be eaten up by the dragon at the right wing, +and re-enter more belated than ever at the left, without stopping +longer than was required to roll a peal of thunder at the back. The +fifth and last character was to be the dragon himself. The forest +scene would be wanted, and I was to try and get an old cask for a +cave.</p> + +<p>I must explain that I was not expected to write a play. We never took +the trouble to "learn parts." We generally took some story which +pleased us out of <i>Grimm's Fairy Tales</i> or the <i>Arabian Nights</i>, and +arranged for the various scenes. We each had a copy of the +arrangement, and our proper characters were assigned to us. After this +we did the dialogue as if it had been a charade. We were well +accustomed to act together, and could trust each other and ourselves. +Only Alice's brilliancy ever took us by surprise.</p> + +<p>By the time that Philip came home I had got in the rough outline of +the plot. He arrived with a box of properties, the mere size of which +raised a cheer of welcome from the little ones, and red-hot for our +theatricals.</p> + +<p>Philip was a little apt to be red-hot over projects, and to cool +before they were accomplished; but on this occasion we had no +forebodings of such evil. Besides, he was to play the dragon! When he +did fairly devote himself to anything, he grudged no trouble and +hesitated at no undertakings. He was so much pleased with my plot and +with the cave, that he announced that he should paint a new forest +scene for the occasion. I tried to dissuade him. There were so many +other things to be done, and the old scene was very good. But he had +learnt several new tricks of the scene-painter's trade, and was bent +upon putting them into practice. So he began his new scene, and I +resolved to work all the harder at the odds and ends of our +preparations. To be driven into a corner and pressed for time always +stimulated instead of confusing me. I think the excitement of it is +pleasant. Alice had the same dogged way of working at a crisis, and we +felt quite confident of being able to finish up "at a push," whatever +Philip might leave undone. The theatricals were to be on Twelfth +Night.</p> + +<p>Christmas passed very happily on the whole. I found my temper much +oftener tried since Philip's return, but this was not only because he +was very wilful and very fond of teasing, but because with the younger +ones I was always deferred to.</p> + +<p>One morning we were very busy in the nursery, which was our workshop. +Philip's glue-pots and size-pots were steaming, there were coloured +powders on every chair, Alice and I were laying a coat of invisible +green over the cave-cask, and Philip, in radiant good-humour, was +giving distance to his woodland glades in the most artful manner with +powder-blue, and calling on us for approbation—when the housemaid +came in.</p> + +<p>"It's <i>not</i> lunch-time?" cried Alice. "It can't be!"</p> + +<p>"Get away, Mary," said Philip, "and tell cook if she puts on any more +meals I'll paint her best cap pea-green. She's sending up luncheons +and dinners all day long now: just because she knows we're busy."</p> + +<p>Mary only laughed, and said, "It's a gentleman wants to see you, +Master Philip," and she gave him a card. Philip read it, and we waited +with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>"It's a man I met in the train," said he, "a capital fellow. He lives +in the town. His father's a doctor there. Granny must invite him to +the theatricals. Ask him to come here, Mary, and show him the way."</p> + +<p>"Oughtn't you to go and fetch him yourself?" said I.</p> + +<p>"I can't leave this," said Philip. "He'll be all right. He's as +friendly as possible."</p> + +<p>I must say here that "Granny" was our maternal grandmother, with whom +we lived. My mother and father were cousins, and Granny's husband was +of that impetuous race to which we belonged. If he had been alive he +would have kept us all in good order, no doubt. But he was dead, and +Granny was the gentlest of old ladies: I fear she led a terrible life +with us all!</p> + +<p>Philip's friend came up-stairs. He <i>was</i> very friendly; in fact Alice +and I thought him forward, but he was several years older than Philip, +who seemed proud of the acquaintance. Perhaps Alice and I were biased +by the fact that he spoilt our pleasant morning. He was one of those +people who look at everything one has been working at with such +unintelligent eyes that their indifference ought not to dishearten +one; and yet it does.</p> + +<p>"It's for our private theatricals," said Philip, as Mr. Clinton's +amazed stare passed from our paint-covered selves to the new scene.</p> + +<p>"My cousins in Dublin have private theatricals," said Mr. Clinton. "My +uncle has built on a room for the theatre. All the fittings and scenes +come from London, and the first costumiers in Dublin send in all the +dresses and everything that is required on the afternoon before the +performance."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we're in a much smaller way," said Philip; "but I've some +properties here that don't look bad by candlelight." But Mr. Clinton +had come up to the cask, and was staring at it and us. I knew by the +way Alice got quietly up, and shook some chips with a decided air out +of her apron, that she did not like being stared at. But her movement +only drew Mr. Clinton's especial attention.</p> + +<p>"You'll catch it from your grandmamma for making such a mess of your +clothes, won't you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I <i>beg</i> your pardon?" said Alice, with so perfect an air of not +having heard him that he was about to repeat the question, when she +left the nursery with the exact exit which she had made as a Discreet +Princess repelling unwelcome advances in last year's play.</p> + +<p>I was afraid of an outburst from Philip, and said in hasty civility, +"This is a cave we are making."</p> + +<p>"They'd a splendid cave at Covent Garden last Christmas," said Mr. +Clinton. "It covered half the stage. An enormously tall man dressed in +cloth of silver stood in the entrance, and waved a spear ten or twelve +feet long over his head. A fairy was let down above that, so you may +be sure the cave was pretty big."</p> + +<p>"Oh, here's the dragon," said Philip, who had been rummaging in the +property box. "He's got a fiery tail."</p> + +<p>"They were quite the go in pantomimes a few years ago," said Mr. +Clinton, yawning. "My uncle had two or three—bigger than that, of +course."</p> + +<p>Philip saw that his friend was not interested in amateur +property-making, and changed the subject.</p> + +<p>"What have you been doing this morning?" said he.</p> + +<p>"I drove here with my father, who had got to pass your gates. I say, +there's splendid shooting on the marsh now. I want you to come out +with me, and we'll pot a wild duck or two."</p> + +<p>"I've no gun," said Philip, and to soften the statement added, +"there's no one here to go out with."</p> + +<p>"I'll go out with you. And I say, we could just catch the train back +to the town, and if you'll come and lunch with us, we'll go out a bit +this afternoon and look round. But you must get a gun."</p> + +<p>"I should like some fresh air," said Philip, "and as you've come over +for me—"</p> + +<p>I knew the appealing tone in his voice was for my ears, for my face +had fallen.</p> + +<p>"Could I be going on with it?" I asked, nodding towards the forest +scene.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no! I'll go at it again to-night. It ought all to be painted +by candlelight by rights. I'm not going to desert my post," he added.</p> + +<p>"I hope not," said I as good-humouredly as I could; but dismay was in +my heart.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_VII" id="CHAPTER_I_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>A QUARREL—BOBBY IS WILLING—EXIT PHILIP.</h3> + +<p>Philip came back by an evening train, and when he had had something to +eat he came up to the nursery to go on with the scene. We had got +everything ready for him, and he worked for about half-an-hour. But he +was so sleepy, with cold air and exercise, that he did not paint well, +and then he got impatient, and threw it up—"till the morning."</p> + +<p>In the morning he set to work, talking all the time about wild duck +and teal, and the price of guns; but by the time he had put last +night's blunders straight, the front door bell rang, and Mary +announced "Mr. Clinton."</p> + +<p>Philip was closeted in his room with his new friend till twelve +o'clock. Then they went out into the yard, and finally Mr. Clinton +stayed to luncheon. But I held my peace, and made Alice hold hers. Mr. +Clinton went away in the afternoon, but Philip got the plate-powder +and wash-leather, and occupied himself in polishing the silver +fittings of his dressing-case.</p> + +<p>"I think you might do that another time, Philip," said I; "you've not +been half-an-hour at the properties to-day, and you could clean your +bottles and things quite as well after the theatricals."</p> + +<p>"As it happens I just couldn't," said Philip; "I've made a bargain, +and bargains won't wait."</p> + +<p>Alice and I screamed in one breath, "You're <i>not</i> going to give away +the dressing-case!"—for it had been my father's.</p> + +<p>"I said a <i>bargain</i>" replied Philip, rubbing harder than ever; "you +can't get hold of a gun every day without paying down hard cash."</p> + +<p>"I hate Mr. Clinton!" said Alice.</p> + +<p>It was a very unfortunate speech, for it declared open war; and when +this is done it cannot be undone. There is no taking back those sharp +sayings which the family curse hangs on the tips of our tongues.</p> + +<p>Philip and Alice exchanged them pretty freely. Philip called us +selfish, inhospitable, and jealous. He said we grudged his enjoying +himself in the holidays, when he had been working like a slave for us +during the half. That we disliked his friend because he <i>was</i> his +friend, and (not to omit the taunt of sex) that Clinton was too manly +a fellow to please girls, etc., etc. In self-defence Alice was much +more out-spoken about both Philip and Mr. Clinton than she had +probably intended to be. That Philip began things hotly, and that his +zeal cooled before they were accomplished—that his imperiousness laid +him open to flattery, and the necessity of playing first-fiddle +betrayed him into second-rate friendships, which were thrown after the +discarded hobbies—that Mr. Clinton was ill-bred, and with that +vulgarity of mind which would make him rather proud than ashamed of +getting the best of a bargain with his friend—these things were not +the less taunts because they were true.</p> + +<p>If the violent scenes which occur in ill-tempered families <i>felt</i> half +as undignified and miserable as they <i>look</i>, surely they would be less +common! I believe Philip and Alice would have come to blows if I had +not joined with him to expel her from the room. I was not happy about +it, for my sympathy was on her side of the quarrel, but she had been +the one to declare war, and I could not control Philip. In short, it +is often not easy to keep the peace and be just too, as I should like +to have said to Aunt Isobel, if she had been at home. But she was to +be away until the 6th.</p> + +<p>Alice defeated, I took Philip seriously to task. Not about his +friend—the subject was too sore, and Alice had told him all that we +thought, and rather more than we thought on that score—but about the +theatricals. I said if he really was tired of the business we would +throw it up, and let our friends know that the proposed entertainment +had fallen through, but that if he wanted it to go forward he must +decide what help he would give, and then abide by his promise.</p> + +<p>We came to terms. If I would let him have a day or two's fun with his +gun, Philip promised to "spurt," as he called it, at the end. I told +him we would be content if he would join in a "thorough rehearsal," +the afternoon before, and devote himself to the business on the day of +the performance.</p> + +<p>"Real business, you know," I added, "with nobody but ourselves. Nobody +coming in to interrupt."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Philip; "but I'll do more than that, Isobel. There's +the scene—"</p> + +<p>"<i>We'll</i> finish the scene," said I, "if you don't aggravate Alice so +that I lose her help as well as yours."</p> + +<p>Alice was very sulky, which I could hardly wonder at, and I worked +alone, except for Bobby, the only one with anything like a good temper +among us, who roasted himself very patiently with my size-pot, and +hammered bits of ivy, and of his fingers, rather neatly over the cave. +But Alice was impulsive and kind-hearted. When I got a bad headache, +from working too long, she came round, and helped me. Philip was +always going to do so, but as a matter of fact he went out every day +with the old fowling-piece for which he had given his dressing case.</p> + +<p>When the ice bore Charles also deserted us, but Alice and I worked +steadily on at dresses and scenery. And Bobby worked with us.</p> + +<p>The 5th of January arrived, the day before the theatricals. Philip +spent the morning in cleaning his gun, and after luncheon he brought +it into the nursery to "finish" with a peculiarly aggravating air.</p> + +<p>"When shall you be ready to rehearse?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, presently," said Philip, "there's plenty of time yet. It's a +great nuisance," he added, "I'll never have anything to do with +theatricals again. They make a perfect slave of one."</p> + +<p>"<i>You've</i> not slaved much, at any rate," said Charles.</p> + +<p>"You'd better not give me any of your cheek," said Philip +threateningly.</p> + +<p>"We've done without him for a week, I don't know why we shouldn't do +without him to-morrow," muttered Alice from the corner where she was +sewing gold paper stars on to the Enchanted Prince's tunic.</p> + +<p>"I wish you could," growled Philip, who took the suggestion more +quietly than I expected; "anybody could do the Dragon, there's no +acting in it!"</p> + +<p>"I won't," said Charles, "Isobel gave me the Enchanted Prince or the +Woolly Beast, and I shall stick to my part."</p> + +<p>"Could I do the Dragon?" asked Bobby, releasing his hot face from the +folds of an old blue cloak lined with red, in which he was rehearsing +his walk as a belated wayfarer.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said I, "you're the Bereaved Father and the Faithful +Attendant to begin with, and I hope you won't muddle them. And you're +Twelve Travellers as well, and the thunder, remember!"</p> + +<p>"I don't care how many I do, if only I can," said Bobby, drawing his +willing arm across his steaming forehead. "I should like to have a +fiery tail."</p> + +<p>"You can't devour yourself once—let alone twelve times," said I +sternly. "Don't be silly, Bob."</p> + +<p>It was not Bob I was impatient with in reality, it was Philip.</p> + +<p>"If you really mean to desert the theatricals after all you promised, +I would much rather try to do without you," said I indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Then you may!" retorted Philip. "I wash my hands of it and of the +whole lot of you, and of every nursery entertainment henceforward!" +and he got the fragments of his gun together with much clatter. But +Charles had posted himself by the door to say his say, and to be ready +to escape when he had said it.</p> + +<p>"You're ashamed of it, that's it," said he; "you want to sit among the +grown-ups with a spy-glass, now you've got Apothecary Clinton's son +for a friend,"—and after this brief and insulting summary of the +facts, Charles vanished. But Philip, white with anger, was too quick +for him, and at the top of the back-stairs he dealt him such a heavy +blow that Charles fell head-long down the first flight.</p> + +<p>Alice and I flew to the rescue. I lived in dread of Philip really +injuring Charles some day, for his blows were becoming serious ones as +he grew taller and stronger, and his self-control did not seem to wax +in proportion. And Charles's temper was becoming very aggressive. On +this occasion, as soon as he had regained breath, and we found that no +bones were broken, it was only by main force that we held him back +from pursuing Philip.</p> + +<p>"I'll hit him—I'll stick to him," he sobbed in his fury, shaking his +head like a terrier, and doubling his fists. But he was rather sick +with the fall, and we made him lie down to recover himself, whilst +Alice, Bobby, and I laid our heads together to plan a substitute for +Philip in the Dragon.</p> + +<p>When bed-time came, and Philip was still absent, we became uneasy, and +as I lay sleepless that night I asked myself if I had been to blame +for the sulks in which he had gone off. In fits of passion Philip had +often threatened to go away and never let us hear of him again. I +knew that such things did happen, and it made me unhappy when he went +off like this, although his threats had hitherto been no more than a +common and rather unfair device of ill-temper.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_VIII" id="CHAPTER_I_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>I HEAR FROM PHILIP—A NEW PART WANTED—I LOSE MY TEMPER—WE ALL LOSE +OUR TEMPERS.</h3> + +<p>Next morning's post brought the following letter from Philip:—</p> + +<p class="address">"MY DEAR ISOBEL,</p> + +<p>"You need not bother about the Dragon—I'll do it. But I wish you +would put another character into the piece. It is for Clinton. He says +he will act with us. He says he can do anything if it is a leading +part. He has got black velvet knickerbockers and scarlet stockings, +and he can have the tunic and cloak I wore last year, and the flap +hat; and you must lend him your white ostrich feather. Make him some +kind of a grandee. If you can't, he must be the Prince, and Charles +can do some of the Travellers. We are going out on the marsh this +morning, but I shall be with you after luncheon, and Clinton in the +evening. He does not want any rehearsing, only a copy of the plan. +Let Alice make it, her writing is the clearest, and I wish she would +make me a new one; I've torn mine, and it is so dirty, I shall never +be able to read it inside the Dragon. Don't forget.</p> + +<p class="address2"> +"Your affectionate brother,</p> +<p class="address1"> +"PHILIP." +</p> + +<p>There are limits to one's patience, and with some of us they are not +very wide. Philip had passed the bounds of mine, and my natural +indignation was heightened by a sort of revulsion from last night's +anxiety on his account. His lordly indifference to other people's +feelings was more irritating than the trouble he gave us by changing +his mind.</p> + +<p>"You won't let him take the Woolly Beast from me, Isobel?" cried +Charles. "And you know you promised to lend <i>me</i> your ostrich plume."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said I. "And you shall have the feather. I promised."</p> + +<p>"If Mr. Clinton acts—I shan't," said Alice.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Clinton won't act," said I, "I can't alter the piece now. But I +wish, Alice, you were not always so very ready to drive things into a +quarrel."</p> + +<p>"If we hadn't given way to Philip so much he wouldn't think we can +bear anything," said Alice.</p> + +<p>I could not but feel that there was some truth in this, and that it +was a dilemma not provided against in Aunt Isobel's teaching, that +one may be so obliging to those one lives with as to encourage, if not +to teach them to be selfish.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it would have been well if on the first day when Philip +deserted us Alice and I, had spent the afternoon with Lucy Lambent, +and if we had continued to amuse ourselves with our friends when +Philip amused himself with his. We should then have been forced into a +common decision as to whether the play should be given up, and, +without reproaches or counter-reproaches, Philip would have learned +that he could not leave all the work to us, and then arrange and +disarrange the plot at his own pleasure, or rather, he would never +have thought that he could. But a plan of this kind requires to be +carried out with perfect coolness to be either justifiable or +effective. And we have not a cool head amongst us.</p> + +<p>One thing was clear. I ought to keep faith with the others who had +worked when Philip would not. Charles should not be turned out of his +part. I rather hustled over the question of a new part for Mr. Clinton +in my mind. I disliked him, and did not want to introduce him. I said +to myself that it was quite unreasonable—out of the question in +fact—and I prepared to say so to Philip.</p> + +<p>Of course he was furious—that I knew he would be; but I was firm.</p> + +<p>"Charles can be the Old Father, and the Family Servant too," said he. +"They're both good parts."</p> + +<p>"Then give them to Mr. Clinton," said I, well knowing that he would +not. "Charles has taken a great deal of pains with his part, and these +are his holidays as well as yours, and the Prince shall not be taken +from him."</p> + +<p>"Well, I say it shall. And Charles may be uncommonly glad if I let him +act at all after the way he behaved yesterday."</p> + +<p>"The way <i>you</i> behaved, you, mean," said I—for my temper was slipping +from my grasp;—"you might have broken his neck."</p> + +<p>"All the more danger in his provoking me, and in your encouraging +him."</p> + +<p>I began to feel giddy, which is always a bad sign with us. It rang in +my mind's ear that this was what came of being forbearing with a bully +like Philip. But I still tried to speak quietly.</p> + +<p>"If you think," said I through my teeth, "that I am going to let you +knock the others about, and rough-ride it over our theatricals, you +are mistaken."</p> + +<p>"<i>Your</i> theatricals!" cried Philip, mimicking me. "I like that! Whom +do the properties belong to, pray?"</p> + +<p>"If it goes by buying," was my reply to this rather difficult +question, "most of them belong to Granny, for the canvas and the +paints and the stuff for the dresses, have gone down in the bills; and +if it goes by work, I think we have done quite as much as you. And if +some of the properties <i>are</i> yours, the play is mine. And as to the +scene—you did the distance in the middle of the wood, but Alice and I +painted all the foreground."</p> + +<p>"Then you may keep your foreground, and I'll take my distance," roared +Philip, and in a moment his pocket-knife was open, and he had cut a +hole a foot-and-a-half square in the centre of the Enchanted Forest, +and Bobby's amazed face (he was running a tuck in his cloak behind the +scenes) appeared through the aperture.</p> + +<p>If a kind word would have saved the fruits of our week's hard labour, +not one of us would have spoken it. We sacrifice anything we possess +in our ill-tempered family—except our wills.</p> + +<p>"And you may take your play, and I'll take my properties," continued +Philip, gathering up hats, wigs, and what not from the costumes which +Alice and I had arranged in neat groups ready for the green-room. +"I'll give everything to Clinton this evening for his new theatre, and +we'll see how you get on without the Fiery Dragon."</p> + +<p>"Clinton <i>can't</i> want a fiery dragon when he's got you," said Charles, +in a voice of mock compliment.</p> + +<p>The Fairy Godmother's crabstick was in Philip's hand. He raised it, +and flew at Charles, but I threw myself between them and caught +Philip's arm.</p> + +<p>"You shall not hit him," I cried.</p> + +<p>Aunt Isobel is right about one thing. If one <i>does</i> mean to stop short +in a quarrel one must begin at a very early stage. It is easier to +smother one's feelings than to check one's words. By the time it comes +to blows it is like trying to pull up a runaway horse. The first pinch +Philip gave to my arm set my brain on fire. When he threw me heavily +against the cave with a mocking laugh, and sprang after Charles, I +could not have yielded an inch to him to save my life—not to earn +Fortunatus' purse, or three fairy wishes—not to save whatever I most +valued.</p> + +<p>What would have induced me? I do not know, but I know that I am very +glad it is not quite so easy to sell one's soul at one bargain as +fairy-tales make out!</p> + +<p>My struggle with Philip had given Charles time to escape. Philip could +not find him, and rough as were the words with which he returned to +me, I fancy they cost him some effort of self-control, and they +betrayed to Alice's instinct and mine that he would have been glad to +get out of the extremity to which our tempers had driven matters.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" said he in a tone which would have been perfect if we +had been acting a costermonger and his wife. "Are you going to make +Clinton the Prince or not?"</p> + +<p>"I am not," said I, nursing my elbow, which was cut by a nail on the +cask. "I am not going to do anything whatever for Mr. Clinton, and I +ought to be cured of working for you."</p> + +<p>"You have lost an opening to make peace," said an inner voice. "You've +given the yielding plan a fair trial, and it has failed," said +self-justification—the swiftest pleader I know. "There are some +people, with self-satisfied, arbitrary tempers, upon whom gentleness +is worse than wasted, because it misleads them. They have that remnant +of savage notions which drives them to mistake generosity for +weakness. The only way to convince them is to hit them harder than +they hit you. And it is the kindest plan for everybody concerned."</p> + +<p>I am bound to say—though it rather confuses some of my ideas—that +experience has convinced me that this last statement is not without +truth. But I am also bound to say that it was not really applicable to +Philip. He is not as generous as Alice, but I had no good reason to +believe that kindly concession would be wasted on him.</p> + +<p>When I had flung my last defiance, Philip replied in violent words of +a kind which girls in our class of life do not (happily!) use, even +in a rage. They were partly drowned by the clatter with which he +dragged his big box across the floor, and filled it with properties of +all kinds, from the Dragon to the foot-light reflectors.</p> + +<p>"I am going by the 4.15 to the town," said he, as he pulled the box +out towards his own room. "You need not wait for either Clinton or me. +Pray 'ring up' punctually!"</p> + +<p>At this moment—having fully realized the downfall of the +theatricals—Bobby burst into a howl of weeping. Alice scolded him for +crying, and Charles reproached her for scolding him, on the score that +her antipathy to Mr. Clinton had driven Philip to this extreme point +of insult and ill-temper.</p> + +<p>Charles's own conduct had been so far from soothing, that Alice had +abundant material for retorts, and she was not likely to be a loser in +the war of words. What she did say I did not hear, for by that time I +had locked myself up in my own room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I_IX" id="CHAPTER_I_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>SELF-REPROACH—FAMILY DISCOMFORT—OUT ON THE MARSH—VICTORY.</h3> + +<p>If I could have locked myself up anywhere else I should have preferred +it. I would have justified my own part in the present family quarrel +to Aunt Isobel herself, and yet I would rather not have been alone +just now with the text I had made and pinned up, and with my new +picture. However, there was nowhere else to go to.</p> + +<p>A restless way I have of pacing up and down when I am in a rage, has +often reminded me of the habits of the more ferocious of the wild +beasts in the Zoological Gardens, and has not lessened my convictions +on the subject of the family temper. For a few prowls up and down my +den I managed to occupy my thoughts with fuming against Philip's +behaviour, but as the first flush of anger began to cool, there was no +keeping out of my head the painful reflections which the sight of my +text, my picture, and my books suggested—the miserable contrast +between my good resolves and the result.</p> + +<p>"It only shows," I muttered to myself, in a voice about as amiable as +the growlings of a panther, "it only shows that it is quite hopeless. +We're an ill-tempered family—a hopelessly ill-tempered family; and to +try to cure us is like patching the lungs of a consumptive family, I +don't even wish that I <i>could</i> forgive Philip. He doesn't deserve it."</p> + +<p>And then as I nursed the cut on my elbow, and recalled the long hours +of work at the properties, the damaged scene, the rifling of the +green-room, and Philip's desertion with the Dragon, his probable +industry for Mr. Clinton's theatricals, and the way he had left us to +face our own disappointed audience, fierce indignation got the upper +hand once more.</p> + +<p>"I don't care," I growled afresh; "if I have lost my temper, I believe +I was right to lose it—at least, that no one could have been expected +not to lose it, I will never beg his pardon for it, let Aunt Isobel +say what she will. I should hate him ever after if I did, for the +injustice of the thing. Pardon, indeed!"</p> + +<p>I turned at the top of the room and paced back towards the window, +towards the long illuminated text, and that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"—— Noble face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sweet and full of grace,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>which bent unchangeable from the emblem of suffering and +self-sacrifice.</p> + +<p>I have a trick of talking to myself and to inanimate objects. I +addressed myself now to the text and the picture.</p> + +<p>"But if I don't," I continued, "if after being confirmed with Philip +in the autumn, we come to just one of our old catastrophes in the very +next holidays, as bad as ever, and spiting each other to the last—I +shall take you all down to-morrow! I don't pretend to be able to +persuade myself that black is white—like Mrs. Rampant; but I am not a +hypocrite, I won't ornament my room with texts, and crosses, and +pictures, and symbols of Eternal Patience, when I do not even mean to +<i>try</i> to sacrifice myself, or to be patient."</p> + +<p>It is curious how one's faith and practice hang together. I felt very +doubtful whether it was even desirable that I should. Whether we did +not misunderstand <span class="smcap">GOD'S</span> will, in thinking that it is well +that people in the right should ever sacrifice themselves for those +who are in the wrong. I did not however hide from myself, that to say +this was to unsay all my resolves about my besetting sin. I decided to +take down my texts, pictures, and books, and grimly thought that I +would frame a fine photograph Charles had given me of a lioness, and +would make a new inscription, the motto of the old Highland Clan +Chattan—with which our family is remotely connected—"<i>Touch not the +cat but a glove</i>."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1" ></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor" title="Anglicè "without a glove."">[1]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Anglicè</i> "without a glove."</p></div> + +<p>"Put on your gloves next time, Master Philip!" I thought. "I shall +make no more of these feeble attempts to keep in my claws, which only +tempt you to irritate me beyond endurance. We're an ill-tempered +family, and you're not the most amiable member of it. For my own part, +I can control my temper when it is not running away with me, and be +fairly kind to the little ones, so long as they do what I tell them. +But, at a crisis like this, I can no more yield to your unreasonable +wishes, stifle my just anger, apologize for a little wrong to you who +owe apologies for a big one, and pave the way to peace with my own +broken will, than the leopard can change his spots."</p> + +<p>"And yet—<i>if I could</i>!"</p> + +<p>It broke from me almost like a cry, "If my besetting sin <i>is</i> a sin, +if I have given way to it under provocation—if this moment is the +very hardest of the battle, and the day is almost lost—and if now, +even now, I could turn round and tread down this Satan under my feet. +If this were to-morrow morning, and I had done it—O my soul, what +triumph, what satisfaction in past prayers, what hope for the future!</p> + +<p> +"Then thou shouldest believe the old legends of sinners numbered with +the saints, of tyrants taught to be gentle, of the unholy learning to +be pure—for one believes with heartiness what he has +experienced—then text and picture and cross should hang on, in spite +of frailty, and in this sign shalt thou conquer."</p> + +<p>One ought to be very thankful for the blessings of good health and +strong nerves, but I sometimes wish I could cry more easily. I should +not like to be like poor Mrs. Rampant, whose head or back is always +aching, and whose nerves make me think of the strings of an Æolian +harp, on which Mr. Rampant, like rude Boreas, is perpetually playing +with the tones of his voice, the creak of his boots, and the bang of +his doors. But her tears do relieve, if they exhaust her, and +back-ache cannot be as bad as heart-ache—hot, dry heart-ache, or +cold, hard heart-ache. I think if I could have cried I could have felt +softer. As it was I began to wish that I could do what I felt sure +that I could not.</p> + +<p>If I dragged myself to Philip, and got out a few conciliatory words, I +should break down in a worse fury than before if he sneered or rode +the high horse, "as he probably would," thought I.</p> + +<p>On my little carved Prayer-book shelf lay with other volumes a copy of +À Kempis, which had belonged to my mother. Honesty had already +whispered that if I deliberately gave up the fight with evil this +must be banished with my texts and pictures. At the present moment a +familiar passage came into my head:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"When one that was in great anxiety of mind, often wavering between +fear and hope, did once humbly prostrate himself in prayer, and +said, 'O if I knew that I should persevere!' he presently heard +within him an answer from GOD, which said, 'If thou didst know it, +what would'st thou do? Do what thou would'st do then, and thou +shalt be safe.'"</p></div> + +<p>Supposing I began to do right, and trusted the rest? I could try to +speak to Philip, and it would be something even if I stopped short and +ran away. Or if I could not drag my feet to him, I could take Aunt +Isobel's advice, and pray. I might not be able to speak civilly to +Philip, or even to pray about him in my present state of mental +confusion, but I could repeat <i>some</i> prayer reverently. Would it not +be better to start on the right road, even if I fell by the way?</p> + +<p>I crossed the room in three strides to the place where I usually say +my prayers. I knelt, and folded my hands, and shut my eyes, and began +to recite the Te Deum in my head, trying to attend to it. I did attend +pretty well, but it was mere attention, till I felt slightly softened +at the verse—"Make them to be numbered with Thy saints in glory +everlasting." For my young mother was very good, and I always think +of her when the choir comes to that verse on Sundays.</p> + +<p>"Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin." "It's too late +to ask that," thought I, with that half of my brain which was not +attending to the words of the Te Deum, "and yet there is a little bit +of the day left which will be dedicated either to good or evil."</p> + +<p>I prayed the rest, "O Lord, have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us. O +Lord, let Thy mercy lighten upon us, as our trust is in Thee. O Lord, +in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded!" and with the last +verse there came from my heart a very passion of desire for strength +to do the will of GOD at the sacrifice of my own. I flung myself on +the floor with inarticulate prayers that were very fully to the point +now, and they summed themselves up again in the old words, "In Thee, O +Lord, have I trusted, let me never be confounded!"</p> + +<p>When I raised my head I caught sight of the picture, and for an +instant felt a superstitious thrill. The finely drawn face shone with +a crimson glow. But in a moment more I saw the cause, and +exclaimed—"<i>The sun is setting</i>! I must speak to Philip before it +goes down."</p> + +<p>What should I say? Somehow, now, my judgment felt very clear and +decisive. I would not pretend that he had been in the right, but I +would acknowledge where I had been in the wrong. I <i>had</i> been +disobliging about Mr. Clinton, and I would say so, and offer to repair +that matter. I would regret having lost my temper, and say nothing +about his. I would not offer to deprive Charles of his part, or break +my promise of the white feather; but I would make a new part for Mr. +Clinton, and he should be quite welcome to any finery in my possession +except Charles's plume. This concession was no difficulty to me. Bad +as our tempers are, I am thankful to say they are not mean ones. If I +dressed out Mr. Clinton at all, it would come natural to do it +liberally. I would do all this—<i>if I could</i>. I might break down into +passion at the mere sight of Philip and the properties, but at least I +would begin "as if I knew I should persevere."</p> + +<p>At this moment the front door was shut with a bang which shook the +house.</p> + +<p>It was Philip going to catch the 4.15. I bit my lips, and began to +pull on my boots, watching the red sun as it sank over the waste of +marshland which I could see from my window. I must try to overtake +him, but I could run well, and I suspected that he would not walk +fast. I did not believe that he was really pleased at the break-up of +our plans and the prospect of a public exposure of our squabbles, +though as a family we are always willing to make fools of ourselves +rather than conciliate each other.</p> + +<p>My things were soon on, and I hurried from my room. In the window-seat +of the corridor was Alice. The sight of her reproached me. She slept +in my room, but I jealously retained full power over it, and when I +locked myself in she dared not disturb me.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you've been wanting to come in," said I. "Do go in now."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Alice, "I've nowhere to go to." Then tightening her +lips, she added, "Philip's gone."</p> + +<p>"I know," said I. "I'm going to try and get him back." Alice stared in +amazement.</p> + +<p>"You always do spoil Philip, because he's your twin," she said, at +last; "you wouldn't do it for me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Alice, you don't know. I'd much rather do it for you, girls are +so much less aggravating than boys. But don't try and make it harder +for me to make peace."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Isobel. If you do, you're an angel. I couldn't, to +save my life."</p> + +<p>At the head of the stairs I met Charles.</p> + +<p>"He's gone," said he significantly, and bestriding the balustrades, he +shot to the foot. When I reached him he was pinching the biceps muscle +of his arm.</p> + +<p>"Feel, Isobel," said he, "It's hard, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Very, Charles, but I'm in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"Look here," he continued, with an ugly expression on his face, "I'm +going into training. I'm going to eat bits of raw mutton, and +dumb-bell. Wait a year, wait half a year, and I shall be able to +thrash him. I'll make him remember these theatricals. I don't forget. +I haven't forgot his bursting my football out of spite."</p> + +<p>It is not pleasant to see one's own sins reflected on other faces. I +could not speak.</p> + +<p>By the front door was Bobby. He was by way of looking out of the +portico window, but his swollen eyes could not possibly have seen +anything.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Isobel, Isobel!" he sobbed, "Philip's gone, and taken the +D—d—d—dragon with him, and we're all m—m—m—miserable."</p> + +<p>"Don't cry, Bobby," said I, kissing him. "Finish your cloak, and be +doing anything you can. I'm going to try and bring Philip back."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, thank you, Isobel! If only he'll come back I don't +care what I do. Or I'll give up my parts if he wants them, and be a +scene-shifter, if you'll lend me your carpet-slippers, and make me a +paper cap."</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">GOD</span> has given you a very sweet temper, Bobby," said I, +solemnly. "I wish I had one like it."</p> + +<p>"You're as good as gold," said Bobby. His loving hug added strength +to my resolutions, and I ran across the garden and jumped the ha-ha, +and followed Philip over the marsh. I do not know whether he heard my +steps when I came nearly up with him, but I fancy his pace slackened. +Not that he looked round. He was much too sulky.</p> + +<p>Philip is a very good-looking boy, much handsomer than I am, though we +are alike. But the family curse disfigures his face when he is cross +more than any one's, and the back view of him is almost worse than the +front. His shoulders get so humped up, and his whole figure is stiff +with cross-grained obstinacy.</p> + +<p>"I shall never hold out if he speaks as ungraciously as he looks," +thought I in despair. "But I'll not give in till I can hold out no +longer."</p> + +<p>"Philip!" I said. He turned round, and his face was no prettier to +look at than his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" (in the costermonger tone.)</p> + +<p>"I want you to come back, Philip"—(here I choked).</p> + +<p>"I dare say," he sneered, "and you want the properties! But you've got +your play, and your amiable Charles, and your talented Alice, and your +ubiquitous Bobby. And the audience will be entertained with an +unexpected after-piece entitled—'The disobliging disobliged.'"</p> + +<p>Oh it <i>was</i> hard! I think if I had looked at Philip's face I must have +broken down, but I kept my eyes steadily on the crimson sun, which +loomed large through the marsh mists that lay upon the horizon, as I +answered with justifiable vehemence:</p> + +<p>"I have a very bad temper, Philip" (I checked the disposition to +add—"and so have you"), "but I never tell a lie. I have <i>not</i> come +after the properties. The only reason for which I have come is to try +and make peace." At this point I gathered up all my strength and +hurried on, staring at the sun till the bushes near us and the level +waste of marsh beyond seemed to vanish in the glow. "I came to say +that I am sorry for my share of the quarrel. I lost my temper, and I +beg your pardon for that. I was not very obliging about Mr. Clinton, +but you had tried me very much. However, what you did wrong, does not +excuse me, I know, and if you like to come back, I'll make a new part +as you wanted. I can't give him Charles's part, or the feather, but +anything I can do, or give up of my own, I will. It's not because of +to-night, for you know as well as I do that I do not care twopence +what happens when I'm angry, and, after all, we can only say that +you've taken the things. But I wanted us to get through these holidays +without quarrelling, and I wanted you to enjoy them, and I want to try +and be good to you, for you are my twin brother, and for my share of +the quarrel I beg your pardon—I can do no more."</p> + +<p>Some of this speech had been about as pleasant to say as eating +cinders, and when it was done I felt a sudden sensation (very rare +with me) of unendurable fatigue. As the last words left my lips the +sun set, but my eyes were so bedazzled that I am not sure that I +should not have fallen, but for an unexpected support. What Philip had +been thinking of during my speech I do not know, for I had avoided +looking at him, but when it was done he threw the properties out of +his arms, and flung them around me with the hug of a Polar bear.</p> + +<p><i>"You</i> ill-tempered!" he roared. "You've the temper of an angel, or +you would never have come after me like this. Isobel, I am a brute, I +have behaved like a brute all the week, and I beg <i>your</i> pardon."</p> + +<p>I retract my wishes about crying, for when I do begin, I cry in such a +very disagreeable way—no spring shower, but a perfect tempest of +tears. Philip's unexpected generosity upset me, and I sobbed till I +frightened him, and he said I was hysterical. The absurdity of this +idea set me off into fits of laughing, which, oddly enough, seemed to +distress him so much that I stopped at last, and found breath to say, +"Then you'll come home?"</p> + +<p>"If you'll have me. And never mind about Clinton, I'll get out of it. +The truth is, Isobel, you and Alice did snub him from the first, and +that vexed me; but I <i>am</i> disappointed in him. He does brag so, and +I've had to take that fowling-piece to the gunsmith's already, so I +know what it's worth. I did give Clinton a hint about it, and—would +you believe it?—he laughed, and said he thought he had got the best +of <i>that</i> bargain. I said, 'I hope you have, if it isn't an even one, +for I should be very sorry to think <i>I</i> had cheated a friend!' But he +either did not or wouldn't see it. He's a second-rate sort of fellow, +I'm sure, and I'm sorry I promised to let him act. But I'll get out of +it, you shan't be bothered by him."</p> + +<p>"No, no," said I, "if you promised I'd much rather. It won't bother me +at all."</p> + +<p>(It is certainly a much pleasanter kind of dispute when the struggle +is to give, and not to take!)</p> + +<p>"You can't fit him in now?" said Philip doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I can." I felt sure that I could. I have often been short of +temper for our amusements, but never of ideas. Philip tucked the +properties under one arm, and me under the other, and as we ran +homewards over the marsh, I threaded Mr. Clinton into the plot with +perfect ease.</p> + +<p>"We'll have a second Prince, and he shall have an enchanted shield, +which shall protect him from you—though he can't kill you—for +Charles must do that. He shall be in love with the Princess too, but +just when he and Charles are going to fight for her, the Fairy +Godmother shall sprinkle him with the Waters of Memory, and break a +spell which had made him forget his own Princess in a distant land. +You know, Philip, if he <i>does</i> act well, he may make a capital part of +it. It will be a splendid scene. We have two real metal swords, and as +they are flashing in the air—enter the Fairy with the carved claret +jug. When he is sprinkled he must drop his sword, and put his hands to +his head. He will recall the picture of his own Princess, and draw it +out and kiss it (I can lend him my locket miniature of +great-grandpapa). Charles and he must swear eternal friendship, and +then he will pick up his sword, and exit right centre, waving the +golden shield, to find his Princess. It will look very well, and as he +goes out the Princess can enter left in distraction about the combat, +and she and Charles can fall in each other's arms, and be blessed by +the Fairy."</p> + +<p>"Capital!" said Philip. "What a head you have! But you're out of +breath? We're running too fast."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said I, "it refreshes me. Do you remember when you and I +used to run hand in hand from the top to the bottom of Breakneck Hill? +Oh, Philip, I do wish we could never quarrel any more! I think we +might keep our tempers if we tried."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> might," said Philip, "because you are good. But I shall always +be a brute."</p> + +<p>(Just what <i>I</i> said to Aunt Isobel! Must every one learn his own +lessons for himself? I had a sort of unreasonable feeling that my +experience ought to serve for the rest of our ill-tempered family into +the bargain.)</p> + +<p>Philip's spirits rose higher and higher. Of course he was delighted to +be out of the scrape. I am sure he was glad to be friendly again, and +he was hotter than ever for the theatricals.</p> + +<p>So was I. I felt certain that they would be successful now. But far +above and beyond the comfort of things "coming right," and the +pleasure of anticipated fun, my heart was rocked to a higher peace. In +my small religious experiences I had never known this triumph, this +thankfulness before. Circumstances, not self-control, had helped me +out of previous quarrels; I had never really done battle, and gained a +conquest over my besetting sin. Now, however imperfectly and +awkwardly, I yet <i>had</i> fought. If Philip had been less generous I +might have failed, but the effort had been real—and it had been +successful. Henceforth my soul should fight with the prestige of +victory, with the courage that comes of having striven and won, +trusted and not been confounded.</p> + +<p>The first person we met after we got in was Aunt Isobel. She had +arrived in our absence. No doubt she had heard the whole affair, but +she is very good, and never <i>gauche</i> and she only said—</p> + +<p>"Here come the stage-managers! Now what can I do to help? I have had +some tea, and am ready to obey orders till the curtain rings up."</p> + +<p>Boys do not carry things off well. Philip got very red, but I +said—"Oh, please come to the nursery, Aunt Isobel. There are lots of +things to do." She came, and was invaluable. I never said anything +about the row to her, and she never said anything to me. That is what +I call a friend!</p> + +<p>The first thing Philip did was to unlock the property-box in his room +and bring the Dragon and things back. The second thing he did was to +mend the new scene by replacing the bit he had cut out, glueing canvas +on behind it, and touching up with paint where it joined.</p> + +<p>We soon put straight what had been disarranged. Blinds were drawn, +candles lighted, seats fixed, and the theatre began to look like +itself. Aunt Isobel and I were bringing in the footlights, when we saw +Bobby at the extreme right of the stage wrapped in his cloak, and +contemplating, with apparent satisfaction, twelve old hats and six +pasteboard bandboxes which were spread before him.</p> + +<p>"My dear Bobby, what are these?" said Aunt Isobel. Bobby +hastily—almost stammeringly—explained,</p> + +<p>"I am Twelve Travellers, you know, Aunt Isobel."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Aunt Isobel.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you how I am going to do it," said Bobby.</p> + +<p>"Here are twelve old hats—I have had such work to collect them!—and +six bandboxes."</p> + +<p>"Only six?" said Aunt Isobel with commendable gravity.</p> + +<p>"But there are the lids," said Bobby; "six of them, and six boxes, +make twelve, you know. I've only one cloak, but it's red on one side +and blue on the other, and two kinds of buttons. Well; I come on left +for the First Traveller, with my cloak the red side out, and this +white chimney-pot hat."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Aunt Isobel.</p> + +<p>"And one of the bandboxes under my cloak. The Dragon attacks me in the +centre, and drives me off the right, where I smash up the bandbox, +which sounds like him crunching my bones. Then I roll the thunder, +turn my cloak to the blue side, put on this wideawake, and come on +again with a bandbox lid and crunch that, and roll more thunder, and +so on. I'm the Faithful Attendant and the Bereaved Father as well," +added Bobby, with justifiable pride, "and I would have done the Dragon +if they would have let me."</p> + +<p>But even Bobby did not outdo the rest of us in willingness. Alice's +efforts were obvious tokens of remorse; she waited on Philip, was +attentive to Mr. Clinton (who, I think, to this day believes that he +made himself especially acceptable to "the young ladies"), and +surpassed herself on the stage. Charles does not "come round" so +quickly, but at the last moment he came and offered to yield the white +plume. I confess I was rather vexed with Mr. Clinton for accepting it, +but Alice and I despoiled our best hats of their black ostrich +feathers to make it up to Charles, and he said, with some dignity, +that he should never have offered the white one if he had not meant it +to be accepted.</p> + +<p>One thing took us by surprise. We had had more trouble over the +dressing of the new Prince than the costumes and make-up of all the +rest of the characters together cost—he was only just torn from the +big looking-glass by his "call" to the stage, and, to our amazement, +he seemed decidedly unwilling to go on.</p> + +<p>"It's a very odd thing, Miss Alice," said he in accents so pitiable +that I did not wonder that Alice did her best to encourage him,—"it's +a most extraordinary thing, but I feel quite nervous."</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right when you're once on," said Alice; "mind you don't +forget that it depends on you to explain that it's an invincible +shield."</p> + +<p>"Which arm had I better wear it on?" said Mr. Clinton, shifting it +nervously from side to side.</p> + +<p>"The left, the left!" cried Alice. "Now you ought to be on."</p> + +<p>"Oh what shall I say?" cried our new hero.</p> + +<p>"Say—'Devastating Monster! my arm is mortal, and my sword was forged +by human fingers, but this shield is invincible as ——'"</p> + +<p>"Second Prince," called Charles impatiently, and Mr. Clinton was +hustled on.</p> + +<p>He was greeted with loud applause. He said afterwards that this put +his part out of his head, that Alice had told him wrong, and that the +shield was too small for him.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact he hammered and stammered and got himself and the +piece into such confusion, that Philip lost patience as he lay +awaiting his cue. With a fierce bellow he emerged from his cask, and +roaring, "Avaunt, knight of the invincible shield and craven heart!" +he crossed the stage with the full clatter of his canvas joints, and +chased Mr. Clinton off at the left centre.</p> + +<p>Once behind the scenes, he refused to go on again. He said that he had +never played without a proper part at his uncle's in Dublin, and +thought our plan quite a mistake. Besides which, he had got toothache, +and preferred to join the audience, which he did, and the play went on +without him.</p> + +<p>I was acting as stage-manager in the intervals of my part, when I +noticed Mr. Clinton (not the ex-Prince, but his father, the surgeon) +get up, and hastily leave his place among the spectators. But just as +I was wondering at this, I was recalled to business by delay on the +part of Bobby, who ought to have been on (with the lights down) as the +Twelfth Traveller.</p> + +<p>I found him at the left wing, with all the twelve hats fitted one over +another, the whole pile resting on a chair.</p> + +<p>"Bob, what are you after? You ought to be on."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Bob, "Philip knows. He's lashing his tail and doing +some business till I'm ready. Help me to put this cushion under my +cloak for a hump-back, will you? I didn't like the twelfth hat, it's +too like the third one, so I'm going on as a Jew Pedlar. Give me that +box. Now!" And before I could speak a roar of applause had greeted +Bobby as he limped on in his twelve hats, crying, "Oh tear, oh tear! +dish ish the tarkest night I ever shaw."</p> + +<p>But either we acted unusually well, or our audience was exceptionally +kind, for it applauded everything and everybody till the curtain fell.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Behind the scenes" is always a place of confusion after amateur +theatricals; at least it used to be with us. We ran hither and +thither, lost our every-day shoes, washed the paint from our faces, +and mislaid any number of towels, and combs, and brushes, ate supper +by snatches, congratulated ourselves on a successful evening, and were +kissed all around by Granny, who came behind the scenes for the +purpose.</p> + +<p>All was over, and the guests were gone, when I gave an invitation to +the others to come and make lemon-brew over my bedroom fire as an +appropriate concluding festivity. (It had been suggested by Bobby.) I +had not seen Philip for some time, but we were all astonished to hear +that he had gone out. We kept his "brew" hot for him, and Charles and +Bobby were both nodding—though they stoutly refused to go to +bed,—when his step sounded in the corridor, and he knocked and came +hastily in.</p> + +<p>Everybody roused up.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Philip, we've been wondering where you were! Here's your brew, +and we've each kept a little drop, to drink your good health."</p> + +<p>("Mine is <i>all</i> pips," observed Bobby as a parenthesis.) But Philip +was evidently thinking of something else.</p> + +<p>"Isobel," he said, standing by the table, as if he were making a +speech, "I shall never forget your coming after me to-day. I told you +you had the temper of an angel."</p> + +<p>"So did I," said Alice.</p> + +<p>"Hear! hear!" said Bobby, who was sucking his pips one by one and +laying them by—"to plant in a pot," as he afterwards explained.</p> + +<p>"You not only saved the theatricals," continued Philip, "you saved my +life I believe."</p> + +<p>No "situation" in the play had been half so startling as this. We +remained open-mouthed and silent, whilst Philip sat down as if he were +tired, and rested his head on his hands, which were dirty, and stained +with something red.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you heard about the accident?" he asked.</p> + +<p>We all said "No."</p> + +<p>"The 4.15 ran into the express where the lines cross, you know. +Isobel, <i>there were only two first-class carriages, and everybody in +them was killed but one man</i>. They have taken both his legs off, and +he's not expected to live. Oh, poor fellow, he did groan so!"</p> + +<p>Bobby burst into passionate tears, and Philip buried his head on his +arms.</p> + +<p>Neither Alice nor I could speak, but Charles got up and went round and +stood by Philip.</p> + +<p>"You've been helping," he said emphatically, "I know you have. You're +a good fellow, Philip, and I beg your pardon for saucing you. I am +going to forget about the football too. I was going to have eaten raw +meat, and dumb-belled, to make myself strong enough to thrash you," +added Charles remorsefully.</p> + +<p>"Eat a butcher's shop full, if you like," replied Philip with +contempt. And I think it showed that Charles was beginning to practise +forbearance, that he made no reply.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Some years have passed since those Twelfth Night theatricals. The +Dragon has long been dissolved into his component scales, and we never +have impromptu performances now. The passing fame which a terrible +railway accident gave to our insignificant station has also faded. But +it set a seal on our good resolutions which I may honestly say has not +been lightly broken.</p> + +<p>There, on the very spot where I had almost resolved never to forgive +Philip, never to try to heal the miserable wounds of the family peace, +I learned the news of the accident in which he might have been +killed. Philip says that if anything could make him behave better to +me it is the thought that I saved his life, as he calls it. But if +anything could help me to be good to him, surely it must be the +remembrance of how nearly I did not save him.</p> + +<p>I put Alice on an equality in our bedroom that night, and gave her +part-ownership of the text and the picture. We are very happy +together.</p> + +<p>We have all tried to improve, and I think I may say we have been +fairly successful.</p> + +<p>More than once I have heard (one does hear many things people say +behind one's back) that new acquaintances—people who have only known +us lately—have expressed astonishment, not unmixed with a generous +indignation, on hearing that we were ever described by our friends +as—A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="OUR_FIELD" id="OUR_FIELD"></a>OUR FIELD.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though nothing can bring back the hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will grieve not, rather find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strength in what remains behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the primal sympathy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, having been, must ever be.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think not of any severing of our loves!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thanks to the human heart by which we live,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me the meanest flower that blows can give<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="address2"><i>Wordsworth</i>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>OUR FIELD</h2> + +<p>There were four of us, and three of us had godfathers and godmothers. +Three each. Three times three make nine, and not a fairy godmother in +the lot. That was what vexed us.</p> + +<p>It was very provoking, because we knew so well what we wanted if we +had one, and she had given us three wishes each. Three times three +make nine. We could have got all we wanted out of nine wishes, and +have provided for Perronet into the bargain. It would not have been +any good Perronet having wishes all to himself, because he was only a +dog.</p> + +<p>We never knew who it was that drowned Perronet, but it was Sandy who +saved his life and brought him home. It was when he was coming home +from school, and he brought Perronet with him. Perronet was not at all +nice to look at when we first saw him, though we were very sorry for +him. He was wet all over, and his eyes shut, and you could see his +ribs, and he looked quite dark and sticky. But when he dried, he +dried a lovely yellow, with two black ears like velvet. People +sometimes asked us what kind of dog he was, but we never knew, except +that he was the nicest possible kind.</p> + +<p>When we had got him, we were afraid we were not going to be allowed to +have him. Mother said we could not afford him, because of the tax and +his keep. The tax was five shillings, but there wanted nearly a year +to the time of paying it. Of course his keep began as soon as he could +eat, and that was the very same evening. We were all very miserable, +because we were so fond of Perronet—at least, Perronet was not his +name then, but he was the same person—and at last it was settled that +all three of us would give up sugar, towards saving the expense of his +keep, if he might stay. It was hardest for Sandy, because he was +particularly fond of sweet things; but then he was particularly fond +of Perronet. So we all gave up sugar, and Perronet was allowed to +remain.</p> + +<p>About the tax, we thought we could save any pennies or half-pennies we +got during the year, and it was such a long time to the time for +paying, that we should be almost sure to have enough by then. We had +not any money at the time, or we should have bought a savings-box; but +lots of people save their money in stockings, and we settled that we +would. An old stocking would not do, because of the holes, and I had +not many good pairs; but we took one of my winter ones to use in the +summer, and then we thought we could pour the money into one of my +good summer ones when the winter came.</p> + +<p>What we most of all wanted a fairy godmother for was about our +"homes." There was no kind of play we liked better than playing at +houses and new homes. But no matter where we made our "home," it was +sure to be disturbed. If it was indoors, and we made a palace under +the big table, as soon as ever we had got it nicely divided into rooms +according to where the legs came, it was certain to be dinner-time, +and people put their feet into it. The nicest house we ever had was in +the out-house; we had it, and kept it quite a secret, for weeks. And +then the new load of wood came and covered up everything, our best +oyster-shell dinner-service and all.</p> + +<p>Any one can see that it is impossible really to fancy anything when +you are constantly interrupted. You can't have any fun out of a +railway train stopping at stations, when they take all your carriages +to pieces because the chairs are wanted for tea; any more than you can +play properly at Grace Darling in a life-boat, when they say the old +cradle is too good to be knocked about in that way.</p> + +<p>It was always the same. If we wanted to play at Thames Tunnel under +the beds, we were not allowed; and the day we did Aladdin in the +store-closet, old Jane came and would put away the soap, just when +Aladdin could not possibly have got the door of the cave open.</p> + +<p>It was one day early in May—a very hot day for the time of year, +which had made us rather cross—when Sandy came in about four o'clock, +smiling more broadly even than usual, and said to Richard and me, +"I've got a fairy godmother, and she's given us a field."</p> + +<p>Sandy was very fond of eating, especially sweet things. He used to +keep back things from meals to enjoy afterwards, and he almost always +had a piece of cake in his pocket. He brought a piece out now, and +took a large mouthful, laughing at us with his eyes over the top of +it.</p> + +<p>"What's the good of a field?" said Richard.</p> + +<p>"Splendid houses in it," said Sandy.</p> + +<p>"I'm quite tired of fancying homes," said I. "It's no good; we always +get turned out."</p> + +<p>"It's quite a new place," Sandy continued; "you've never been there," +and he took a triumphant bite of the cake.</p> + +<p>"How did you get there?" asked Richard.</p> + +<p>"The fairy godmother showed me," was Sandy's reply.</p> + +<p>There is such a thing as nursery honour. We respected each other's +pretendings unless we were very cross, but I didn't disbelieve in his +fairy godmother. I only said, "You shouldn't talk with your mouth +full," to snub him for making a secret about his field.</p> + +<p>Sandy is very good-tempered. He only laughed and said, "Come along. +It's much cooler out now. The sun's going down."</p> + +<p>He took us along Gipsy Lane. We had been there once or twice, for +walks, but not very often, for there was some horrid story about it +which rather frightened us. I do not know what it was, but it was a +horrid one. Still we had been there, and I knew it quite well. At the +end of it there is a stile, by which you go into a field, and at the +other end you get over another stile, and find yourself in the high +road.</p> + +<p>"If this is our field, Sandy," said I, when we got to the first stile, +"I'm very sorry, but it really won't do. I know that lots of people +come through it. We should never be quiet here."</p> + +<p>Sandy laughed. He didn't speak, and he didn't get over the stile; he +went through a gate close by it leading into a little sort of bye-lane +that was all mud in winter and hard cart-ruts in summer. I had never +been up it, but I had seen hay and that sort of thing go in and come +out of it.</p> + +<p>He went on and we followed him. The ruts were very disagreeable to +walk on, but presently he led us through a hole in the hedge, and we +got into a field. It was a very bare-looking field, and went rather +uphill. There was no path, but Sandy walked away up it, and we went +after him. There was another hedge at the top, and a stile in it. It +had very rough posts, one much longer than the other, and the cross +step was gone, but there were two rails, and we all climbed over. And +when we got to the other side, Sandy leaned against the big post and +gave a wave with his right hand and said, "This is our field."</p> + +<p>It sloped down hill, and the hedges round it were rather high, with +awkward branches of blackthorn sticking out here and there without any +leaves, and with the blossom lying white on the black twigs like snow. +There were cowslips all over the field, but they were thicker at the +lower end, which was damp. The great heat of the day was over. The sun +shone still, but it shone low down and made such splendid shadows that +we all walked about with grey giants at our feet; and it made the +bright green of the grass, and the cowslips down below, and the top of +the hedge, and Sandy's hair, and everything in the sun and the mist +behind the elder bush which was out of the sun, so yellow—so very +yellow—that just for a minute I really believed about Sandy's +godmother, and thought it was a story come true, and that everything +was turning into gold.</p> + +<p>But it was only for a minute; of course I know that fairy tales are +not true. But it was a lovely field, and when we had put our hands to +our eyes and had a good look at it, I said to Sandy, "I beg your +pardon, Sandy, for telling you not to talk with your mouth full. It is +the best field I ever heard of."</p> + +<p>"Sit down," said Sandy, doing the honours; and we all sat down under +the hedge.</p> + +<p>"There are violets just behind us," he continued. "Can't you smell +them? But whatever you do, don't tell anybody of those, or we shan't +keep our field to ourselves for a day. And look here." He had turned +over on to his face, and Richard and I did the same, whilst Sandy +fumbled among the bleached grass and brown leaves.</p> + +<p>"Hyacinths," said Richard, as Sandy displayed the green tops of them.</p> + +<p>"As thick as peas," said Sandy. "This bank will be blue in a few +weeks; and fiddle-heads everywhere. There will be no end of ferns. May +to any extent—it's only in bud yet—and there's a wren's nest in +there——" At this point he rolled suddenly over on to his back and +looked up.</p> + +<p>"A lark," he explained; "there was one singing its head off, this +morning. I say, Dick, this will be a good field for a kite, won't it? +<i>But wait a bit</i>."</p> + +<p>After every fresh thing that Sandy showed us in our field, he always +finished by saying, "<i>Wait a bit"</i>; and that was because there was +always something else better still.</p> + +<p>"There's a brook at the bottom there," he said, "with lots of +fresh-water shrimps. I wonder whether they would boil red. <i>But wait a +bit</i>. This hedge, you see, has got a very high bank, and it's worn +into kind of ledges. I think we could play at 'shops' there—<i>but wait +a bit</i>."</p> + +<p>"It's almost <i>too</i> good, Sandy dear!" said I, as we crossed the field +to the opposite hedge.</p> + +<p>"The best is to come," said Sandy. "I've a very good mind not to let +it out till to-morrow." And to our distraction he sat down in the +middle of the field, put his arms round his knees, as if we were +playing at "Honey-pots," and rocked himself backwards and forwards +with a face of brimming satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Neither Richard nor I would have been so mean as to explore on our own +account, when the field was Sandy's discovery, but we tried hard to +persuade him to show us everything.</p> + +<p>He had the most provoking way of laughing and holding his tongue, and +he did that now, besides slowly turning all his pockets inside-out +into his hands, and mumbling up the crumbs and odd currants, saying, +"Guess!" between every mouthful.</p> + +<p>But when there was not a crumb left in the seams of his pockets, Sandy +turned them back, and jumping up, said—"One can only tell a secret +once. It's a hollow oak. Come along!"</p> + +<p>He ran and we ran, to the other side of Our Field. I had read of +hollow oaks, and seen pictures of them, and once I dreamed of one, +with a witch inside, but we had never had one to play in. We were +nearly wild with delight. It looked all solid from the field, but when +we pushed behind, on the hedge side, there was the door, and I crept +in, and it smelt of wood, and delicious damp. There could not be a +more perfect castle, and though there were no windows in the sides, +the light came in from the top, where the polypody hung over like a +fringe. Sandy was quite right. It was the very best thing in Our +Field.</p> + +<p>Perronet was as fond of the field as we were. What he liked were the +little birds. At least, I don't know that he liked them, but they were +what he chiefly attended to. I think he knew that it was our field, +and thought he was the watch-dog of it, and whenever a bird settled +down anywhere, he barked at it, and then it flew away, and he ran +barking after it till he lost it; and by that time another had settled +down, and then Perronet flew at him, and so on, all up and down the +hedge. He never caught a bird, and never would let one sit down, if he +could see it.</p> + +<p>We had all kinds of games in Our Field. Shops—for there were +quantities of things to sell—and sometimes I was a moss-merchant, for +there were ten different kinds of moss by the brook, and sometimes I +was a jeweller, and sold daisy-chains and pebbles, and coral sets made +of holly berries, and oak-apple necklaces; and sometimes I kept +provisions, like earth-nuts and mallow-cheeses, and mushrooms; and +sometimes I kept a flower-shop, and sold nosegays and wreaths, and +umbrellas made of rushes, I liked that kind of shop, because I am fond +of arranging flowers, and I always make our birthday wreaths. And +sometimes I kept a whole lot of shops, and Richard and Sandy bought my +things, and paid for them with money made of elder-pith, sliced into +rounds. The first shop I kept was to sell cowslips, and Richard and +Sandy lived by the brook, and were wine merchants, and made cowslip +wine in a tin mug.</p> + +<p>The elder-tree was a beauty. In July the cream-coloured flowers were +so sweet, we could hardly sit under it, and in the autumn it was +covered with berries; but we were always a little disappointed that +they never tasted in the least like elderberry syrup. Richard used to +make flutes out of the stalks, and one really did to play tunes on, +but it always made Perronet bark.</p> + +<p>Richard's every-day cap had a large hole in the top, and when we were +in Our Field we always hung it on the top of the tallest of the two +stile-posts, to show that we were there; just as the Queen has a flag +hung out at Windsor Castle, when she is at home.</p> + +<p>We played at castles and houses, and when we were tired of the houses, +we pretended to pack up, and went to the seaside for change of air by +the brook. Sandy and I took off our shoes and stockings and were +bathing-women, and we bathed Perronet; and Richard sat on the bank and +was a "tripper," looking at us through a telescope; for when the +elder-stems cracked and wouldn't do for flutes, he made them into +telescopes. And before we went down to the brook we made jam of hips +and haws from the hedge at the top of the field, and put it into acorn +cups, and took it with us, that the children might not be short of +rolypolies at the seaside.</p> + +<p>Whatever we played at we were never disturbed. Birds, and cows, and +men and horses ploughing in the distance, do not disturb you at all.</p> + +<p>We were very happy that summer: the boys were quite happy, and the +only thing that vexed me was thinking of Perronet's tax-money. For +months and months went on and we did not save it. Once we got as far +as twopence half-penny, and then one day Richard came to me and said, +"I must have some more string for the kite. You might lend me a penny +out of Perronet's stocking, till I get some money of my own."</p> + +<p>So I did; and the next day Sandy came and said, "You lent Dick one of +Perronet's coppers; I'm sure Perronet would lend me one," and then +they said it was ridiculous to leave a halfpenny there by itself, so +we spent it in acid drops.</p> + +<p>It worried me so much at last, that I began to dream horrible dreams +about Perronet having to go away because we hadn't saved his +tax-money. And then I used to wake up and cry, till the pillow was so +wet, I had to turn it. The boys never seemed to mind, but then boys +don't think about things; so that I was quite surprised when one day I +found Sandy alone in our field with Perronet in his arms, crying, and +feeding him with cake; and I found he was crying about the tax-money.</p> + +<p>I cannot bear to see boys cry. I would much rather cry myself, and I +begged Sandy to leave off, for I said I was quite determined to try +and think of something.</p> + +<p>It certainly was remarkable that the very next day should be the day +when we heard about the flower-show.</p> + +<p>It was in school—the village school, for Mother could not afford to +send us anywhere else—and the schoolmaster rapped on his desk and +said, "Silence, children!" and that at the agricultural show there was +to be a flower-show this year, and that an old gentleman was going to +give prizes to the school-children for window-plants and for the best +arranged wild flowers. There were to be nosegays and wreaths, and +there was to be a first prize of five shillings, and a second prize of +half-a-crown, for the best collection of wild flowers with the names +put to them.</p> + +<p>"The English names," said the schoolmaster; "and there may +be—silence, children!—there may be collections of ferns, or grasses, +or mosses to compete, too, for the gentleman wishes to encourage a +taste for natural history."</p> + +<p>And several of the village children said, "What's that?" and I +squeezed Sandy's arm, who was sitting next to me, and whispered, "Five +shillings!" and the schoolmaster said, "Silence, children!" and I +thought I never should have finished my lessons that day for thinking +of Perronet's tax-money.</p> + +<p>July is not at all a good month for wild flowers; May and June are far +better. However, the show was to be in the first week in July.</p> + +<p>I said to the boys, "Look here: I'll do a collection of flowers. I +know the names, and I can print. It's no good two or three people +muddling with arranging flowers; but; if you will get me what I want, +I shall be very much obliged. If either of you will make another +collection, you know there are ten kinds of mosses by the brook; and +we have names for them of our own, and they are English. Perhaps +they'll do. But everything must come out of Our Field."</p> + +<p>The boys agreed, and they were very good. Richard made me a box, +rather high at the back. We put sand at the bottom and damped it, and +then Feather Moss, lovely clumps of it, and into that I stuck the +flowers. They all came out of Our Field. I like to see grass with +flowers, and we had very pretty grasses, and between every bunch of +flowers I put a bunch of grass of different kinds. I got all the +flowers and all the grasses ready first, and printed the names on +pieces of cardboard to stick in with them, and then I arranged them by +my eye, and Sandy handed me what I called for, for Richard was busy at +the brook making a tray of mosses.</p> + +<p>Sandy knew the flowers and the names of them quite as well as I did, +of course; we knew everything that lived in Our Field; so when I +called, "Ox-eye daisies, cock's-foot grass, labels; meadow-sweet, +fox-tail grass, labels; dog-roses, shivering grass, labels;" and so +on, he gave me the right things, and I had nothing to do but to put +the colours that looked best together next to each other, and to make +the grass look light, and pull up bits of moss to show well. And at +the very end I put in a label, "All out of Our Field."</p> + +<p>I did not like it when it was done; but Richard praised it so much, it +cheered me up, and I thought his mosses looked lovely.</p> + +<p>The flower-show day was very hot. I did not think it could be hotter +anywhere in the world than it was in the field where the show was; but +it was hotter in the tent.</p> + +<p>We should never have got in at all—for you had to pay at the +gate—but they let competitors in free, though not at first. When we +got in, there were a lot of grown-up people, and it was very hard work +getting along among them, and getting to see the stands with the +things on. We kept seeing tickets with "1st Prize" and "2nd Prize," +and struggling up; but they were sure to be dahlias in a tray, or +fruit that you mightn't eat, or vegetables. The vegetables +disappointed us so often, I got to hate them. I don't think I shall +ever like very big potatoes (before they are boiled) again, +particularly the red ones. It makes me feel sick with heat and anxiety +to think of them.</p> + +<p>We had struggled slowly all round the tent, and seen all the +cucumbers, onions, lettuces, long potatoes, round potatoes, and +everything else, when we saw an old gentleman, with spectacles and +white hair, standing with two or three ladies. And then we saw three +nosegays in jugs, with all the green picked off, and the flowers tied +as tightly together as they would go, and then we saw some prettier +ones, and then we saw my collection, and it had got a big label in it +marked "1st Prize," and next to it came Richard's moss-tray, with the +Hair-moss, and the Pincushion-moss, and the Scale-mosses, and a lot of +others with names of our own, and it was marked "2nd Prize." And I +gripped one of Sandy's arms just as Richard seized the other, and we +both cried, "Perronet is paid for!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was two-and-sixpence over. We never had such a feast! It was a +picnic tea, and we had it in Our Field. I thought Sandy and Perronet +would have died of cake, but they were none the worse.</p> + +<p>We were very much frightened at first when the old gentleman invited +himself; but he would come, and he brought a lot of nuts, and he did +get inside the oak, though it is really too small for him.</p> + +<p>I don't think there ever was anybody so kind. If he were not a man, I +should really and truly believe in Sandy's fairy godmother.</p> + +<p>Of course I don't really believe in fairies. I am not so young as +that. And I know that Our Field does not exactly belong to us.</p> + +<p>I wonder to whom it does belong? Richard says he believes it belongs +to the gentleman who lives at the big red house among the trees. But +he must be wrong; for we see that gentleman at church every Sunday, +but we never saw him in Our Field.</p> + +<p>And I don't believe anybody could have such a field of their very own, +and never come to see it, from one end of Summer to the other.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="MADAM_LIBERALITY" id="MADAM_LIBERALITY"></a>MADAM LIBERALITY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i13">"Like little body with a mighty heart."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="address2"><i>King Henry V., Act 2.</i> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I.</h2> + +<p>It was not her real name: it was given to her by her brothers and +sister. People with very marked qualities of character do sometimes +get such distinctive titles, to rectify the indefiniteness of those +they inherit and those they receive in baptism. The ruling peculiarity +of a character is apt to show itself early in life, and it showed +itself in Madam Liberality when she was a little child.</p> + +<p>Plum-cakes were not plentiful in her home when Madam Liberality was +young, and such as there were, were of the "wholesome" kind—plenty of +bread-stuff, and the currants and raisins at a respectful distance +from each other. But few as the plums were, she seldom ate them. She +picked them out very carefully, and put them into a box, which was +hidden under her pinafore.</p> + +<p>When we grown-up people were children, and plum-cake and plum-pudding +tasted very much nicer than they do now, we also picked out the plums. +Some of us ate them at once, and had then to toil slowly through the +cake or pudding, and some valiantly dispatched the plainer portion of +the feast at the beginning, and kept the plums to sweeten the end. +Sooner or later we ate them ourselves, but Madam Liberality kept her +plums for other people.</p> + +<p>When the vulgar meal was over—that commonplace refreshment ordained +and superintended by the elders of the household—Madam Liberality +would withdraw into a corner, from which she issued notes of +invitation to all the dolls. They were "fancy written" on curl papers +and folded into cocked hats.</p> + +<p>Then began the real feast. The dolls came, and the children with them. +Madam Liberality had no toy tea-sets or dinner-sets, but there were +acorn-cups filled to the brim, and the water tasted deliciously, +though it came out of the ewer in the night nursery, and had not even +been filtered. And before every doll was a flat oyster-shell covered +with a round oyster-shell, a complete set of complete pairs, which had +been collected by degrees, like old family plate. And when the upper +shell was raised, on every dish lay a plum. It was then that Madam +Liberality got her sweetness out of the cake.</p> + +<p>She was in her glory at the head of the inverted tea-chest; and if +the raisins would not go round, the empty oyster-shell was hers, and +nothing offended her more than to have this noticed. That was her +spirit, then and always. She could "do without" anything, if the +wherewithal to be hospitable was left to her.</p> + +<p>When one's brain is no stronger than mine is, one gets very much +confused in disentangling motives and nice points of character. I have +doubted whether Madam Liberality's besetting virtue were a virtue at +all. Was it unselfishness or a love of approbation, benevolence or +fussiness, the gift of sympathy or the lust of power? Or was it +something else? She was a very sickly child, with much pain to bear, +and many pleasures to forego. Was it, as doctors say, "an effort of +nature," to make her live outside herself and be happy in the +happiness of others?</p> + +<p>Equal doubt may hang over the conduct of her brothers and sister +towards her. Did they more love her, or find her useful? Was their +gratitude—as gratitude has been defined to be—"a keen sense of +favours to come"? They certainly got used to her services, and to +begging and borrowing the few things that were her "very own," without +fear of refusal. But if they rather took her benevolence for granted, +and thought that she "liked lending her things," and that it was her +way of enjoying possessions, they may have been right; for next to +one's own soul, one's own family is perhaps the best judge of one's +temper and disposition.</p> + +<p>And they called her Madam Liberality, so Madam Liberality she shall +remain.</p> + +<p>It has been hinted that there was a reason for the scarceness of the +plums in the plum-cake. Madam Liberality's father was dead, and her +mother was very poor, and had several children. It was not an easy +matter with her to find bread for the family, putting currants and +raisins out of the question.</p> + +<p>Though poor, they were, however, gentle-folk, and had, for that +matter, rich relations. Very rich relations indeed! Madam Liberality's +mother's first cousin had fifteen thousand a year. His servants did +not spend ten thousand. (As to what he spent himself, it was +comparatively trifling.) The rest of the money accumulated. Not that +it was being got together to do something with by and by. He had no +intention of ever spending more than he spent at present. Indeed, with +a lump of coal taken off here, and a needless candle blown out there, +he rather hoped in future to spend less.</p> + +<p>His wife was Madam Liberality's god-mother. She was a good-hearted +woman, and took real pleasure in being kind to people, in the way she +thought best for them. Sometimes it was a graceful and appropriate +way, and very often it was not. The most acceptable act of kindness +she ever did to her god-daughter was when the child was recovering +from an illness, and she asked her to visit her at the seaside.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality had never seen the sea, and the thought of it proved +a better stimulus than the port wine which her doctor ordered so +easily, and her mother got with such difficulty.</p> + +<p>When new clothes were bought, or old ones refurbished, Madam +Liberality, as a rule, went to the wall. Not because her mother was +ever guilty of favouritism, but because such occasions afforded an +opportunity of displaying generosity towards her younger sister.</p> + +<p>But this time it was otherwise; for whatever could be spared towards +"summer things" for the two little girls was spent upon Madam +Liberality's outfit for the seaside. There was a new dress, and a +jacket "as good as new," for it was cut out of "mother's" cloth cloak +and made up, with the best binding and buttons in the shop, by the +village tailor. And he was bribed, in a secret visit, and with much +coaxing from the little girls, to make real pockets instead of braided +shams. The <i>second best</i> frock was compounded of two which had +hitherto been <i>very bests</i>—Madam Liberality's own, eked out by +"Darling's" into a more fashionable fullness, and with a cape to +match.</p> + +<p>There was a sense of solid property to be derived from being able to +take in at a glance the stock of well-mended under-garments, half of +which were generally at the wash. Besides, they had been added to, and +all the stockings were darned, and only one pair in the legs where it +would show, below short petticoat mark.</p> + +<p>Then there was a bonnet newly turned and trimmed, and a pair and a +half of new boots, for surely boots are at least half new when they +have been (as the village cobbler described it in his bill) "souled +and healed"?</p> + +<p>Poor little Madam Liberality! When she saw the things which covered +her bed in their abundance, it seemed to her an outfit for a princess. +And yet when her godmother asked Podmore, the lady's-maid, "How is the +child off for clothes?" Podmore unhesitatingly replied, "She've +nothing fit to be seen, ma'am," which shows how differently the same +things appear in different circumstances.</p> + +<p>Podmore was a good friend to Madam Liberality. She had that +open-handed spirit which one acquires quite naturally in a house where +everything goes on on a large scale, at somebody else's expense. Now +Madam Liberality's godmother, from the very largeness of her +possessions, was obliged to leave the care of them to others, in such +matters as food, dress, the gardens, the stables, etc. So, like many +other people in a similar case, she amused herself and exercised her +economical instincts by troublesome little thriftinesses, by making +cheap presents, dear bargains, and so forth. She was by nature a +managing woman; and when those very grand people, the butler, the +housekeeper, the head-gardener, and the lady's-maid had divided her +household duties among them, there was nothing left for her to be +clever about, except such little matters as joining the fag-ends of +the bronze sealing-wax sticks which lay in the silver inkstand on the +malachite writing-table, and being good-natured at the cheapest rate +at which her friends could be benefited.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality's best neckerchief had been very pretty when it was +new, and would have been pretty as well as clean still if the +washerwoman had not used rather too hot an iron to it, so that the +blue in the check pattern was somewhat faded. And yet it had felt very +smart as Madam Liberality drove in the carrier's cart to meet the +coach at the outset of her journey. But when she sat against the rich +blue leather of her godmother's coach as they drove up and down the +esplanade, it was like looking at fairy jewels by daylight when they +turn into faded leaves.</p> + +<p>"Is that your best neckerchief, child?" said the old lady.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am," blushed Madam Liberality,</p> + +<p>So when they got home her godmother went to her odds-and-ends drawer.</p> + +<p>Podmore never interfered with this drawer. She was content to be +despotic among the dresses, and left the old lady to faddle to her +heart's content with bits of old lace and ribbon which she herself +would not have condescended to wear.</p> + +<p>The old lady fumbled them over. There were a good many half-yards of +ribbon with very large patterns, but nothing really fit for Madam +Liberality's little neck but a small Indian scarf of many-coloured +silk. It was old, and Podmore would never have allowed her mistress to +drive on the esplanade in anything so small and youthful-looking; but +the colours were quite bright, and there was no doubt but that Madam +Liberality might be provided for by a cheaper neck-ribbon. So the old +lady shut the drawer, and toddled down the corridor that led to +Podmore's room.</p> + +<p>She had a good general idea that Podmore's perquisites were large, but +perquisites seem to be a condition of valuable servants in large +establishments, and then anything which could be recovered from what +had already passed into Podmore's room must be a kind of economy. So +she resolved that Podmore should "find something" for Madam +Liberality's neck.</p> + +<p>"I never noticed it, ma'am, till I brought your shawl to the +carriage," said Podmore. "If I had seen it before, the young lady +shouldn't have come with you so. I'll see to it, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Podmore."</p> + +<p>"Can you spare me to go into the town this afternoon, ma'am?" added +the lady's-maid. "I want some things at Huckaback and Woolsey's."</p> + +<p>Huckaback and Woolsey were the linendrapers where Madam Liberality's +godmother "had an account." It was one of the things on a large scale +over the details of which she had no control.</p> + +<p>"You'll be back in time to dress me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, yes, ma'am." And having settled the old lady's shawl on her +shoulders, and drawn out her cap-lappets, Podmore returned to her +work.</p> + +<p>It was a work of kindness. The old lady might deal shabbily with her +faded ribbons and her relations, but the butler, the housekeeper, and +the lady's-maid did their best to keep up the credit of the family.</p> + +<p>It was well known that Madam Liberality was a cousin, and Podmore +resolved that she should have a proper frock to go down to dessert in.</p> + +<p>So she had been very busy making a little slip out of a few yards of +blue silk which had been over and above one of the old lady's dresses, +and now she betook herself to the draper's to get spotted muslin to +cover it and ribbons to trim it with.</p> + +<p>And whilst Madam Liberality's godmother was still feeling a few +twinges about the Indian scarf, Podmore ordered a pink neckerchief +shot with white, and with pink and white fringes, to be included in +the parcel.</p> + +<p>But it was not in this way alone that Podmore was a good friend to +Madam Liberality.</p> + +<p>She took her out walking, and let her play on the beach, and even +bring home dirty weeds and shells. Indeed, Podmore herself was not +above collecting cowries in a pill-box for her little nephews.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Podmore met acquaintances on the beach, Madam Liberality +played alone, and these were her happiest moments. She played amongst +the rotting, weed-grown stakes of an old pier, and "fancied" rooms +among them—suites of rooms in which she would lodge her brothers and +sister if they came to visit her, and where—with cockle-shells for +teacups, and lava for vegetables, and fucus-pods for fish—they +should find themselves as much enchanted as Beauty in the palace of +the Beast.</p> + +<p>Again and again she "fancied" Darling into her shore-palace, the +delights of which should only be marred by the growls which she +herself would utter from time to time from behind the stakes, in the +character of a sea-beast, and which should but enhance the moment +when she would rush out and throw her arms round Darling's neck and +reveal herself as Madam Liberality.</p> + +<p>"Darling" was the pet name of Madam Liberality's sister—her only +sister, on whom she lavished the intensest affection of a heart which +was always a large one in proportion to her little body. It seemed so +strange to play at any game of fancies without Darling, that Madam +Liberality could hardly realize it.</p> + +<p>She might be preparing by herself a larger treat than usual for the +others; but it was incredible that no one would come after all, and +that Darling would never see the palace on the beach, and the +state-rooms, and the limpets, and the sea-weed, and the salt-water +soup, and the real fish (a small dab discarded from a herring-net) +which Madam Liberality had got for her.</p> + +<p>Her mind was filled with day-dreams of Darling's coming, and of how +she would display to her all the wonders of the seashore, which would +reflect almost as much credit upon her as if she had invented +razor-shells and crabs. She thought so much about it that she began +quite to expect it.</p> + +<p>Was it not natural that her godmother should see that she must be +lonely, and ask Darling to come and be with her? Perhaps the old lady +had already done so, and the visit was to be a surprise. Madam +Liberality could quite imagine doing a nice thing like this herself, +and she hoped it so strongly that she almost came to believe in it.</p> + +<p>Every day she waited hopefully, first for the post, and then for the +time when the coach came in, the hour at which she herself had +arrived; but the coach brought no Darling, and the post brought no +letter to say that she was coming, and Madam Liberality's hopes were +disappointed.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality was accustomed to disappointment.</p> + +<p>From her earliest years it had been a family joke that poor Madam +Liberality was always in ill-luck's way.</p> + +<p>It is true that she was constantly planning; and if one builds +castles, one must expect a few loose stones about one's ears now and +then. But, besides this, her little hopes were constantly being +frustrated by fate.</p> + +<p>If the pigs or the hens got into the garden, Madam Liberality's bed +was sure to be laid waste before any one came to the rescue. When a +picnic or a teaparty was in store, if Madam Liberality did not catch +cold, so as to hinder her from going, she was pretty sure to have a +quinsy from fatigue or wet feet afterwards. When she had a treat she +paid for the pleasurable excitement by a headache, just as when she +ate sweet things they gave her toothache.</p> + +<p>But if her luck was less than other people's, her courage and good +spirits were more than common. She could think with pleasure about the +treat when she had forgotten the headache. One side of her little face +would look fairly cheerful when the other was obliterated by a flannel +bag of hot camomile flowers, and the whole was redolent of every +horrible domestic remedy for toothache, from oil of cloves and +creosote to a baked onion in the ear. No sufferings abated her energy +for fresh exploits, or quenched the hope that cold, and damp, and +fatigue would not hurt her "this time."</p> + +<p>In the intervals of wringing out hot flannels for her own quinsy, she +would amuse herself by devising a desert island expedition on a larger +and possibly a damper scale than hitherto, against the time when she +should be out again.</p> + +<p>It is a very old simile, but Madam Liberality really was like a cork +rising on the top of the very wave of ill-luck that had swallowed up +her hopes. Her little white face and undaunted spirit bobbed up after +each mischance or malady as ready and hopeful as ever.</p> + +<p>Though her day-dream about Darling and the shore palace was constantly +disappointed, this did not hinder her from indulging new hopes and +fancies in another place to which she went with Podmore; a place which +was filled with wonders of a different kind from the treasures of the +palace on the shore.</p> + +<p>It was called the Bazaar. It would be a very long business to say what +was in it. But amongst other things there were foreign cage-birds, +musical-boxes, and camp-stools, and baskets, and polished pebbles, and +paper patterns, and a little ladies' and children's millinery, and a +good deal of mock jewellery, and some very bad soaps and scents, and +some very good children's toys.</p> + +<p>It was Madam Liberality's godmother who first took her to the bazaar. +A titled lady of her acquaintance had heard that wire flower-baskets +of a certain shape could be bought in the bazaar cheaper (by +two-pence-halfpenny each) than in London; and after writing to her +friend to ascertain the truth of the statement, she wrote again to +authorize her to purchase three on her behalf. So Madam Liberality's +godmother ordered out the blue carriage and pair, and drove with her +little cousin to the bazaar.</p> + +<p>And as they came out, followed by a bearded man, bowing very low, and +carrying the wire baskets, Madam Liberality's godmother stopped near +the toy-stall to button her glove. And when she had buttoned it (which +took a long time, because her hands were stout, and Podmore generally +did it with a hook), she said to Madam Liberality, "Now, child, I want +to tell you that if you are very good whilst you are with me, and +Podmore gives me a good report of you, I will bring you here before +you go home, and buy you a present."</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality's heart danced with delight. She wished her godmother +would stand by the toy-stall for an hour, that she might see what she +most hoped the present would be. But the footman tucked them into the +carriage, and the bearded man bowed himself back into the bazaar, and +they drove home. Then Madam Liberality's godmother directed the butler +to dispatch the wire baskets to her ladyship, which he did by coach. +And her ladyship's butler paid the carriage, and tipped the man who +brought the parcel from the coach-office, and charged these items in +his account. And her ladyship wrote a long letter of thanks to Madam +Liberality's godmother for her kindness in saving her unnecessary +expense.</p> + +<p>The old lady did not go to the bazaar again for some time, but Madam +Liberality went there with Podmore. She looked at the toys and +wondered which of them might one day be her very own. The white china +tea-service with the green rim, big enough to make real tea in, was +too good to be hoped for, but there were tin tea-sets where the lids +would come off, and wooden ones where they were stuck on; and there +were all manner of toys that would be invaluable for all kinds of +nursery games and fancies.</p> + +<p>They helped a "fancy" of Madam Liberality even then. She used to stand +by the toy-stall, and fancy that she was as rich as her godmother, and +was going to give Christmas-boxes to her brothers and sister, and her +amusement was to choose, though she could not buy them.</p> + +<p>Out of this came a deep mortification. She had been playing at this +fancy one afternoon, and having rather confused herself by changing +her mind about the toys, she went through her final list in an +undertone, to get it clearly into her head. The shopman was serving a +lady, and Madam Liberality thought he could not hear her as she +murmured, "The china tea-set, the box of beasts, the doll's furniture +for Darling," etc., etc. But the shopman's hearing was very acute, and +he darted forward, crying, "The china tea-set, did you say, miss?"</p> + +<p>The blood rushed up to poor Madam Liberality's face till it seemed to +choke her, and the lady, whom the shopman had been serving, said +kindly, "I think the little girl said the box of beasts."</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality hoped it was a dream, but having pinched herself, she +found that it was not.</p> + +<p>Her mother had often said to her, "When you can't think what to say, +tell the truth." It was not a very easy rule, but Madam Liberality +went by it.</p> + +<p>"I don't want anything, thank you," said she; "at least, I mean I have +no money to buy anything with: I was only counting the things I should +like to get if I had."</p> + +<p>And then, as the floor of the bazaar would <i>not</i> open and swallow her +up, she ran away, with her red face and her empty pocket, to shelter +herself with Podmore at the mock-jewellery stall, and she did not go +to the bazaar any more.</p> + +<p>Once again disappointment was in store for Madam Liberality. The end +of her visit came, and her godmother's promise seemed to be forgotten. +But the night before her departure, the old lady came into her room +and said,</p> + +<p>"I couldn't take you with me to-day, child, but I didn't forget my +promise. Podmore says you've been very good, and so I've brought you a +present. A very <i>useful</i> one, I hope," added the old lady, in a tone +as if she were congratulating herself upon her good sense. "And tell +Catherine—that's your mother, child—with my love, always to have you +dressed for the evening. I like to see children come in to dessert, +when they have good manners—which I must say you have; besides, it +keeps the nurses up to their work."</p> + +<p>And then she drew out from its paper a little frock of pink +<i>mousseline-de-laine</i>, very prettily tacked together by the young +woman at the millinery-stall, and very cheap for its gay appearance.</p> + +<p>Down came all Madam Liberality's visions in connection with the +toy-stall: but she consoled herself that night with picturing +Darling's delight when she gave her (as she meant to give her) the +pink dress.</p> + +<p>She had another source of comfort and anticipation—<i>the +scallop-shells</i>.</p> + +<p>But this requires to be explained. The greatest prize which Madam +Liberality had gained from her wanderings by the seashore was a +complete scallop-shell. When washed the double shell was as clean and +as pretty as any china muffin-dish with a round top; and now her +ambition was to get four more, and thus to have a service for doll's +feasts which should far surpass the oyster-shells. She was talking +about this to Podmore one day when they were picking cowries together, +and Podmore cried, "Why, this little girl would get you them, miss, +I'll be bound!"</p> + +<p>She was a bare-footed little girl, who sold pebbles and seaweed, and +salt water for sponging with, and she had undertaken to get the +scallop-shells, and had run off to pick seaweed out of a newly landed +net before Madam Liberality could say "Thank you."</p> + +<p>She heard no more of the shells, however, until the day before she +went away, when the butler met her as she came indoors, and told her +that the little girl was waiting. And it was not till Madam Liberality +saw the scallop-shells lying clean and pink in a cotton handkerchief +that she remembered that she had no money to pay for them.</p> + +<p>Here was another occasion for painful truthtelling! But to make +humiliating confession before the butler seemed almost beyond even +Madam Liberality's moral courage. He went back to his pantry, however, +and she pulled off her pretty pink neckerchief and said,</p> + +<p>"I am <i>very</i> sorry, little girl, but I've got no money of my own; but +if you would like this instead—" And the little girl seemed quite +pleased with her bargain, and ran hastily off, as if afraid that the +young lady would change her mind.</p> + +<p>And this was how Madam Liberality got her scallop-shells.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It may seem strange that Madam Liberality should ever have been +accused of meanness, and yet her eldest brother did once shake his +head at her and say, "You're the most meanest and the <i>generoustest</i> +person I ever knew!" And Madam Liberality wept over the accusation, +although her brother was then too young to form either his words or +his opinions correctly.</p> + +<p>But it was the touch of truth in it which made Madam Liberality cry. +To the end of their lives Tom and she were alike and yet different in +this matter. Madam Liberality saved, and pinched, and planned, and +then gave away, and Tom gave away without the pinching and saving. +This sounds much handsomer, and it was poor Tom's misfortune that he +always believed it to be so; though he gave away what did not belong +to him, and fell back for the supply of his own pretty numerous wants +upon other people, not forgetting Madam Liberality.</p> + +<p>Painful experience convinced Madam Liberality in the end that his way +was a wrong one, but she had her doubts many times in her life whether +there were not something unhandsome in her own decided talent for +economy. Not that economy was always pleasant to her. When people are +very poor for their position in life, they can only keep out of debt +by stinting on many occasions when stinting is very painful to a +liberal spirit. And it requires a sterner virtue than good-nature to +hold fast the truth that it is nobler to be shabby and honest than to +do things handsomely in debt.</p> + +<p>But long before Tom had a bill even for bull's-eyes and Gibraltar +Rock, Madam Liberality was pinching and plotting, and saving bits of +coloured paper and ends of ribbon, with a thriftiness which seemed to +justify Tom's view of her character.</p> + +<p>The object of these savings was twofold: birthday presents and +Christmas-boxes. They were the chief cares and triumphs of Madam +Liberality's childhood. It was with the next birthday or the +approaching Christmas in view that she saved her pence instead of +spending them, but she so seldom had any money that she chiefly relied +on her own ingenuity. Year by year it became more difficult to make +anything which would "do for a boy;" but it was easy to please +Darling, and "Mother's" unabated appreciation of pincushions, and of +needle-books made out of old cards, was most satisfactory.</p> + +<p>To break the mystery in which it always pleased Madam Liberality to +shroud her small preparations, was to give her dire offence. As a +rule, the others respected this caprice, and would even feign a little +more surprise than they felt, upon occasion. But if during her +preparations she had given umbrage to one of the boys, her retreat was +soon invaded with cries of—"Ah! I see you, making birthday presents +out of nothing and a quarter of a yard of ribbon!" Or—"There you are! +At it again, with two old visiting cards and a ha'porth of flannel!" +And only Darling's tenderest kisses could appease Madam Liberality's +wrath and dry her tears.</p> + +<p>She had never made a grander project for Christmas, or had greater +difficulty in carrying it out, than in the winter which followed her +visit to the seaside. It was in the house of her cousin that she had +first heard of Christmas-trees, and to surprise the others with a +Christmas-tree she was quite resolved. But as the time drew near, poor +Madam Liberality was almost in despair about her presents, and this +was doubly provoking, because a nice little fir-tree had been promised +her. There was no blinking the fact that "Mother" had been provided +with pincushions to repletion. And most of these made the needles +rusty, from being stuffed with damp pig-meal, when the pigs and the +pincushions were both being fattened for Christmas.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality sat with her little pale face on her hand and her +slate before her, making her calculations. She wondered what +emery-powder cost. Supposing it to be very cheap, and that she could +get a quarter of a pound for "next to nothing," how useful a present +might be made for "Mother" in the shape of an emery pincushion, to +counteract the evil effects of the pig-meal ones! It would be a +novelty even to Darling, especially if hers were made by glueing a +tiny bag of emery into the mouth of a "boiled fowl cowry." Madam +Liberality had seen such a pincushion in Podmore's work-basket. She +had a shell of the kind, and the village carpenter would always let +her put a stick into his glue-pot if she went to the shop.</p> + +<p>But then, if emery were only a penny a pound, Madam Liberality had not +a farthing to buy a quarter of a pound with. As she thought of this +her brow contracted, partly with vexation, and partly because of a +jumping pain in a big tooth, which, either from much illness or many +medicines, or both, was now but the wreck of what a tooth should be. +But as the toothache grew worse, a new hope dawned upon Madam +Liberality. Perhaps one of her troubles would mend the other!</p> + +<p>Being very tender-hearted over children's sufferings, it was her +mother's custom to bribe rather than coerce when teeth had to be taken +out. The fixed scale of reward was sixpence for a tooth without fangs, +and a shilling for one with them. If pain were any evidence, this +tooth certainly had fangs. But one does not have a tooth taken out if +one can avoid it, and Madam Liberality bore bad nights and painful +days till they could be endured no longer; and then, because she knew +it distressed her mother to be present, she went alone to the doctor's +house to ask him to take out her tooth.</p> + +<p>The doctor was a very kind old man, and he did his best, so we will +not say anything about his antique instruments, or the number of times +he tied a pocket-handkerchief round an awful-looking claw, and put +both into Madam Liberality's mouth without effect.</p> + +<p>At last he said he had got the tooth out, and he wrapped it in paper, +and gave it to Madam Liberality, who, having thought that it was her +head he had extracted from its socket, was relieved to get away.</p> + +<p>As she ran home she began to plan how to lay out her shilling for the +best, and when she was nearly there she opened the bit of paper to +look at her enemy, and it had no fangs!</p> + +<p>"I'm <i>sure</i> it was more than a sixpenny one," she sobbed; "I believe +he has left them in."</p> + +<p>It involved more than the loss of half the funds she had reckoned +upon. Perhaps this dreadful pain would go on even on Christmas Day. +Her first thought was to carry her tears to her mother; her second +that, if she only could be brave enough to have the fangs taken out, +she might spare mother all distress about it till it was over, when +she would certainly like her sufferings to be known and sympathized +with. She knew well that courage does not come with waiting, and +making a desperate rally of stout-heartedness, she ran back to the +doctor.</p> + +<p>He had gone out, but his assistant was in. He looked at Madam +Liberality's mouth, and said that the fangs were certainly left in and +would be much better out.</p> + +<p>"Would it hurt <i>very</i> much?" asked Madam Liberality, trembling.</p> + +<p>The assistant blinked the question of "hurting."</p> + +<p>"I think I could do it," said he, "if you could sit still. Not if you +were jumping about."</p> + +<p>"I will sit still," said Madam Liberality.</p> + +<p>"The boy shall hold your head," said the assistant.</p> + +<p>But Madam Liberality rebelled; she could screw up her sensitive nerves +to endure the pain, but not to be coerced by "the boy."</p> + +<p>"I give you my word of honour I will sit still," said she, with +plaintive earnestness.</p> + +<p>And the assistant (who had just remembered that the boy was out with +the gig) said, "Very well, miss."</p> + +<p>We need not dwell upon the next few seconds. The assistant kept his +word, and Madam Liberality kept hers. She sat still, and went on +sitting still after the operation was over till the assistant became +alarmed, and revived her by pouring some choking stuff down her +throat. After which she staggered to her feet and put out her hand and +thanked him.</p> + +<p>He was a strong, rough, good-natured young man, and little Madam +Liberality's pale face and politeness touched him.</p> + +<p>"You're the bravest little lady I ever knew," he said kindly; "and you +keep your word like a queen. There's some stuff to put to the place, +and there's sixpence, miss, if you'll take it, to buy lollipops with. +You'll be able to eat them now."</p> + +<p>After which he gave her an old pill-box to carry the fragments of her +tooth in, and it was labelled "three to be taken at bed-time."</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality staggered home, very giddy, but very happy. Moralists +say a great deal about pain treading so very closely on the heels of +pleasure in this life, but they are not always wise or grateful enough +to speak of the pleasure which springs out of pain. And yet there is a +bliss which comes just when pain has ceased, whose rapture rivals even +the high happiness of unbroken health; and there is a keen relish +about small pleasures hardly earned, in which the full measure of +those who can afford anything they want is sometimes lacking.</p> + +<p>Relief is certainly one of the most delicious sensations which poor +humanity, can enjoy! Madam Liberality enjoyed it to the full, and she +had more happiness yet in her cup, I fear praise was very pleasant to +her, and the assistant had praised her, not undeservedly, and she knew +that further praise was in store from the dearest source of +approbation—from her mother. Ah! how pleased she would be! And so +would Darling, who always cried when Madam Liberality was in great +pain.</p> + +<p>And this was only the beginning of pleasures. The sixpence would +amply provide "goodies" for the Christmas-tree, and much might be done +with the forthcoming shilling. And if her conduct on the present +occasion would not support a request for a few ends of candles from +the drawing-room candle-sticks, what profit would there be in being a +heroine?</p> + +<p>When her mother gave her two shillings instead of one, Madam +Liberality felt in honour bound to say that she had already been +rewarded with sixpence; but her mother only said,</p> + +<p>"You quite deserved it, I'm sure," and she found herself in possession +of no less than half-a-crown.</p> + +<p>And now it is sad to relate that misfortune again overtook Madam +Liberality. All the next day she longed to go into the village to buy +sweetmeats, but it snowed and rained, and was bitterly cold, and she +could not.</p> + +<p>Just about dusk the weather slightly cleared up, and she picked her +way through the melting snow to the shop. Her purchases were most +satisfactory. How the boys would enjoy them! Madam Liberality enjoyed +them already, though her face was still sore, and the pain had spread +to her throat, and though her ideas seemed unusually brilliant, and +her body pleasantly languid, which, added to a peculiar chill +trembling of the knees—generally forewarned her of a coming quinsy. +But warnings were thrown away upon Madam Liberality's obdurate +hopefulness.</p> + +<p>Just now she could think of nothing but the coming Christmas-tree. She +hid the sweetmeats, and put her hand into her pocket for the two +shillings, the exact outlay of which, in the neighbouring town, by +means of the carrier, she had already arranged. But—the two shillings +were gone! How she had lost them Madam Liberality had no idea.</p> + +<p>She trudged through the dirty snow once more to the shop, and the +counter was examined, and old Goody looked under the flour scales and +in the big chinks of the stone floor. But the shillings were not +there, and Madam Liberality kept her eyes on the pavement as she ran +home, with as little result. Moreover, it was nearly dark.</p> + +<p>It snowed heavily all night, and Madam Liberality slept very little +from pain and anxiety; but this did not deter her from going out with +the first daylight in the morning to rake among the snow near the +door, although her throat was sore beyond concealment, her jaws stiff, +and the pleasant languor and quick-wittedness had given way to +restless fever.</p> + +<p>Her conscience did prick her a little for the anxiety she was bringing +upon her mother (her own sufferings she never forecast); but she could +not give up her Christmas-tree without a struggle, and she hoped by a +few familiar remedies to drive back the threatened illness.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, if the shillings were not found before eleven o'clock it +would be too late to send to the town shop by the carrier. But they +were not found, and the old hooded cart rumbled away without them.</p> + +<p>It was Christmas Eve. The boys were bustling about with holly. Darling +was perched on a very high chair in the kitchen, picking raisins in +the most honourable manner, without eating one, and Madam Liberality +ought to have been the happiest of all.</p> + +<p>Even now she dried her tears, and made the best of her ill-luck. The +sweetmeats were very good; and it was yet in her power to please the +others, though by a sacrifice from which she had shrunk. She could +divide her scallop-shells among them. It was economy—economy of +resources—which made her hesitate. Separated—they would please the +boys once, and then be lost. Kept together in her own possession—they +would be a constant source of triumph for herself, and of treats for +her brothers and sister.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, she would gargle her throat with salt and water. As she +crept up-stairs with this purpose, she met her mother.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality had not looked in the looking-glass lately, so she +did not understand her mother's exclamation of distress when they met. +Her face was perfectly white, except where dark marks lay under her +eyes, and her small lips formed between them the rigid line of pain. +It was impossible to hold out any longer, and Madam Liberality broke +down and poured forth all her woes.</p> + +<p>"I'll put my feet in hot water, and do anything you like, mother +dear," said she, "if only you'll let me try and have a tree, and keep +it secret from the others. I do so want to surprise them."</p> + +<p>"If you'll go to your room, my darling, and do as I tell you, I'll +keep your secret, and help you with your tree," said her mother. +"Don't cry, my child, don't cry; it's so bad for your throat. I think +I can find you some beads to make a necklace for Darling, and three +pencils for the boys, and some paper which you can cut up into +drawing-books for them."</p> + +<p>A little hope went a long way with Madam Liberality, and she began to +take heart. At the same time she felt her illness more keenly now +there was no need for concealing it. She sat over the fire and inhaled +steam from an old teapot, and threaded beads, and hoped she would be +allowed to go to church next day, and to preside at her Christmas-tree +afterwards.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon her throat grew rapidly worse. She had begged—almost +impatiently—that Darling would not leave the Christmas preparations +to sit with her, and as talking was bad for her, and as she had +secret preparations to make on her own account, her mother had +supported her wish to be left alone.</p> + +<p>But when it grew dusk, and the drawing-books were finished, Madam +Liberality felt lonely. She put a shawl round her head, and went to +the window. There was not much to be seen. The fields were deeply +buried in snow, and looked like great white feather beds, shaken up +unequally against the hedges. The road was covered so deeply that she +could hardly have traced it, if she had not known where it was. How +dark the old church tower looked amid so much whiteness!</p> + +<p>And the snow-flakes fell like sugar-plums among the black trees. One +could almost hear the keen wind rustling through the bending sedges by +the pond, where the ice looked quite "safe" now. Madam Liberality +hoped she would be able to get out before this fine frost was over. +She knew of an old plank which would make an admirable sledge, and she +had a plan for the grandest of winter games all ready in her head. It +was to be called Arctic Discovery—and she was to be the chief +discoverer.</p> + +<p>As she fancied herself—starving but scientific, chilled to the bone, +yet undaunted—discovering a north-west passage at the upper end of +the goose pond, the clock struck three from the old church tower. +Madam Liberality heard it with a pang. At three o'clock—if he had +had her shillings—she would have been expecting the return of the +carrier, with the presents for her Christmas-tree.</p> + +<p>Even as she thought about it, the old hooded waggon came lumbering +down among the snow-drifts in the lane. There was a bunch of mistletoe +at the head, and the old carrier went before the horse, and the dog +went before the carrier. And they were all three up to their knees in +snow, and all three had their noses down, as much as to say, "Such is +life; but we must struggle on."</p> + +<p>Poor Madam Liberality! The sight of the waggon and the mistletoe +overwhelmed her. It only made matters worse to see the waggon come +towards the house. She rather wondered what the carrier was bringing; +but whatever it was, it was not the toys.</p> + +<p>She went back to her seat by the fire, and cried bitterly; and, as she +cried, the ball in her throat seemed to grow larger, till she could +hardly breathe. She was glad when the door opened, and her mother's +kind face looked in.</p> + +<p>"Is Darling here?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, mother," said Madam Liberality huskily.</p> + +<p>"Then you may bring it in," said her mother to some one outside, and +the servant appeared, carrying a wooden box, which she put down before +Madam Liberality, and then withdrew. "Now don't speak," said her +mother, "it is bad for you, and your eyes have asked fifty questions +already, my child. Where did the box come from? The carrier brought +it. Who is it for? It's for you. Who sent it? That I don't know. What +is inside? I thought you would like to be the first to see. My idea is +that perhaps your godmother has sent you a Christmas-box, and I +thought that there might be things in it which would help you with +your Christmas-tree, so I have not told any one about it."</p> + +<p>To the end of her life Madam Liberality never forgot that +Christmas-box. It did not come from her godmother, and the name of the +giver she never knew. The first thing in it was a card, on which was +written—"A Christmas-box from an unknown friend;" and the second +thing in it was the set of china tea-things with the green rim; and +the third thing was a box of doll's furniture.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mother!" cried Madam Liberality, "they're the very things I was +counting over in the bazaar, when the shopman heard me."</p> + +<p>"Did anybody else hear you?" asked her mother.</p> + +<p>"There was a lady, who said, 'I think the little girl said the box of +beasts.' And, oh! Mother, Mother! here <i>is</i> the box of beasts! They're +not common beasts, you know—not wooden ones, painted; they're rough, +something like hair. And feel the old elephant's ears, they're quite +leathery, and the lion has real long hair for his mane and the tip of +his tail. They are such thorough beasts, Oh, how the boys will like +them! Tom shall have the darling brown bear. I do think he is the very +best beast of all; his mouth is a little open, you know, and you can +see his tongue, and it's red. And, Mother! the sheep are curly! And +oh, what a dog! with real hair. I think I <i>must</i> keep the dog. And I +shall make him a paper collar, and print 'Faithful' on it, and let him +always stand on the drawers by our bed, and he'll be Darling's and my +watch-dog."</p> + +<p>Happiness is sometimes very wholesome, but it does not cure a quinsy +off hand. Darling cried that night when the big pillow was brought +out, which Madam Liberality always slept against in her quinsies, to +keep her from choking. She did not know of that consolatory +Christmas-box in the cupboard.</p> + +<p>On Christmas Day Madam Liberality was speechless. The quinsy had +progressed very rapidly.</p> + +<p>"It generally breaks the day I have to write on my slate," Madam +Liberality wrote, looking up at her mother with piteous eyes.</p> + +<p>She was conscious that she had been greatly to blame for what she was +suffering, and was anxious to "behave well about it" as an atonement. +She begged—on her slate—that no one would stay away from church on +her account, but her mother would not leave her.</p> + +<p>"And now the others are gone," said Mother, "since you won't let the +Christmas-tree be put off, I propose that we have it up, and I dress +it under your orders, whilst the others are out, and then it can be +moved into the little book-room, all ready for to-night."</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality nodded like a china Mandarin.</p> + +<p>"But you are in sad pain, I fear?" said her mother,</p> + +<p>"One can't have everything," wrote Madam Liberality on her slate. Many +illnesses had made her a very philosophical little woman; and, indeed, +if the quinsy broke and she were at ease, the combination of good +things would be more than any one could reasonably expect, even at +Christmas.</p> + +<p>Every beast was labelled, and hung up by her orders. The box of +furniture was addressed to herself and Darling, as a joint possession, +and the sweetmeats were tied in bags of muslin. The tree looked +charming. The very angel at the top seemed proud of it.</p> + +<p>"I'll leave the tea-things up-stairs," said Mother.</p> + +<p>But Madam Liberality shook her head vigorously. She had been making up +her mind, as she sat steaming over the old teapot; and now she wrote +on her slate, "Put a white cloth round the tub, and put out the +tea-things like a tea-party, and put a ticket in the slop-basin—<i>For +Darling. With very</i>, VERY <i>Best Love</i>. Make the last 'very' very big."</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality's mother nodded, but she was printing a ticket; much +too large a ticket, however, to go into the green and white +slop-basin. When it was done she hung it on the tree, under the angel. +The inscription was—<i>From Madam Liberality</i>.</p> + +<p>When supper was over, she came up to Madam Liberality's room, and +said,</p> + +<p>"Now, my dear, if you like to change your mind and put off the tree +till you are better, I will say nothing about it."</p> + +<p>But Madam Liberality shook her head more vehemently than before, and +her mother smiled and went away.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality strained her ears. The book-room door opened—she +knew the voice of the handle—there was a rush and a noise, but it +died away into the room. The tears broke down Madam Liberality's +cheeks. It was hard not to be there now. Then there was a patter up +the stairs, and flying steps along the landing, and Madam Liberality's +door was opened by Darling. She was dressed in the pink dress, and her +cheeks were pinker still, and her eyes full of tears. And she threw +herself at Madam Liberality's feet, crying,</p> + +<p>"Oh <i>how</i> good, how <i>very</i> good you are!"</p> + +<p>At this moment a roar came up from below, and Madam Liberality wrote,</p> + +<p>"What is it?" and then dropped the slate to clutch the arms of her +chair, for the pain was becoming almost intolerable. Before Darling +could open the door her mother came in, and Darling repeated the +question,</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>But at this moment the reply came from below, in Tom's loudest tones. +It rang through the house, and up into the bedroom.</p> + +<p>"Three cheers for Madam Liberality! Hip, hip, hooray!"</p> + +<p>The extremes of pleasure and of pain seemed to meet in Madam +Liberality's little head. But overwhelming gratification got the upper +hand, and, forgetting even her quinsy, she tried to speak, and after a +brief struggle she said, with tolerable distinctness,</p> + +<p>"Tell Tom I am very much obliged to him."</p> + +<p>But what they did tell Tom was that the quinsy had broken, on which he +gave three cheers more.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II.</h2> + +<p>Madam Liberality grew up into much the same sort of person that she +was when a child. She always had been what is termed old-fashioned, +and the older she grew the better her old-fashionedness became her, so +that at last her friends would say to her, "Ah, if we all wore as well +as you do, my dear! You've hardly changed at all since we remember you +in short petticoats." So far as she did change the change was for the +better. (It is to be hoped we do improve a little as we get older!) +She was still liberal and economical. She still planned and hoped +indefatigably. She was still tender-hearted in the sense in which Gray +speaks,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i13">"To each his sufferings, all are men<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Condemned alike to groan,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">The tender for another's pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">The unfeeling for his own."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She still had a good deal of ill-health and ill-luck, and a good deal +of pleasure in spite of both. She was still happy in the happiness of +others, and pleased by their praise. But she was less headstrong and +opinionated in her plans, and less fretful when they failed. It is +possible, after one has cut one's wisdom-teeth, to cure one's self +even of a good deal of vanity, and to learn to play the second fiddle +very gracefully; and Madam Liberality did not resist the lessons of +life.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">GOD</span> teaches us wisdom in divers ways. Why He suffers some +people to have so many troubles and so little of what we call pleasure +in this world we cannot in this world know. The heaviest blows often +fall on the weakest shoulders, and how these endure and bear up under +them is another of the things which <span class="smcap">GOD</span> knows better than we.</p> + +<p>I will not pretend to decide whether grown-up people's troubles are +harder to bear than children's troubles, but they are of a graver +kind. It is very bitter when the boys melt the nose of one's dearest +doll against the stove, and living pets with kind eyes and friendly +paws grow aged and die; but the death of friends is a more serious and +lasting sorrow, if it is not more real.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality shed fewer tears after she grew up than she had done +before, but she had some heartaches which did not heal.</p> + +<p>The thing which did most to cure her of being too managing for the +good of other people was Darling's marriage. If ever Madam Liberality +had felt proud of self-sacrifice and success, it was about this. But +when Darling was fairly gone, and "Faithful"—very grey with dust and +years—kept watch over only one sister in "the girls' room," he might +have seen Madam Liberality's nightly tears if his eyes had been made +of anything more sensitive than yellow paint.</p> + +<p>Desolate as she was, Madam Liberality would have hugged her grief if +she could have had her old consolation, and been happy in the +happiness of another. Darling never said she was not happy. It was +what she left out, not what she put into the long letters she sent +from India that cut Madam Liberality to the heart.</p> + +<p>Darling's husband read all her letters, and he did not like the home +ones to be too tender—as if Darling's mother and sister pitied her. +And he read Darling's letters before they went away by the mail.</p> + +<p>From this it came about that the sisters' letters were very +commonplace on the surface. And though Madam Liberality cried when +Darling wrote, "Have swallows built in the summer-house this year? +Have you put my old doll's chest of drawers back in its place since +the room was papered? What colour is the paper?"—the Major only said +that stuff like that was hardly worth the postage to England. And when +Madam Liberality wrote, "The clump of daffodils in your old bed was +enormous this spring. I have not touched it since you left. I made +Mother's birthday wreath out of the flowers in your bed and mine. +Jemima broke the slop-basin of the green and white tea-set to-day. It +was the last piece left. I am trying to forgive her,"—the Major made +no harsher remark than, "A storm in a slop-basin! Your sister is not a +brilliant letter-writer, certainly."</p> + +<p>The source of another heartache for Madam Liberality was poor Tom. He +was as liberal and hospitable as ever in his own way. He invited his +friends to stay with his mother, and when they and Tom had gone, Madam +Liberality and her mother lived without meat to get the housekeeping +book straight again. Their great difficulty in the matter was the +uncertain nature of Tom's requirements. And when he did write for +money he always wrote in such urgent need that there was no refusing +him if by the art of "doing without" his wants could be supplied.</p> + +<p>But Tom had a kindly heart; he sent his sister a gold locket, and +wrote on the box, "For the best and most generous of sisters."</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality liked praise, and she dearly liked praise from Tom; +but on this occasion it failed to soothe her. She said curtly, "I +suppose it's not paid for. If we can't afford much, we can afford to +live at our own expense, and not on the knavery or the forbearance of +tradesmen." With which she threw the locket into a box of odds and +ends, and turned the key with some temper.</p> + +<p>Years passed, and Madam Liberality was alone. Her mother was dead, and +Tom—poor Tom!—had been found drowned. Darling was still in India, +and the two living boys were in the colonies, farming.</p> + +<p>It seemed to be an aggravation of the calamity of Tom's death that he +died, as he had lived, in debt. But, as regards Madam Liberality, it +was not an unmixed evil. It is one of our bitterest pangs when we +survive those we love that with death the opportunity has passed for +being kind to them, though we love them more than ever. By what +earthly effort could Madam Liberality's mother now be pleased, whom so +little had pleased heretofore?</p> + +<p>But for poor Tom it was still possible to plan, to economize, to be +liberal—and by these means to pay his debts, and save the fair name +of which he had been as reckless as of everything else which he +possessed.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality had had many a hard struggle to get Tom a birthday +present, but she had never pinched and planned and saved on his behalf +as she did now. There is a limit, however, to the strictest economies. +It would have taken a longer time to finish her labour of love but +for "the other boys." They were good, kind fellows, and having had to +earn daily bread where larks do not fall ready cooked into the mouth, +they knew more of the realities of life than poor Tom had ever +learned. They were prosperous now, and often sent a few pounds to +Madam Liberality "to buy a present with."</p> + +<p>"And none of your old 'Liberality' tricks, mind!" George wrote on one +occasion. "Fit yourself thoroughly out in the latest fashions, and do +us credit!"</p> + +<p>But it all went to Tom's tailor.</p> + +<p>She felt hardly justified in diverting George's money from his +purpose; but she had never told the boys of Tom's debts. There was +something of her old love of doing things without help in this, and +more of her special love for Tom.</p> + +<p>It was not from the boys alone that help came to her. Madam +Liberality's godmother died, and left her fifty pounds. In one lump +she had now got enough to finish her work.</p> + +<p>The acknowledgments of these last payments came on Tom's birthday. +More and more courteous had grown the tradesmen's letters, and Madam +Liberality felt a foolish pleasure in seeing how respectfully they all +spoke now of "Your lamented brother, Madam!"</p> + +<p>The jeweller's bill was the last; and when Madam Liberality tied up +the bundle, she got out Tom's locket and put a bit of his hair into +it, and tied it round her throat, sobbing as she did so, "Oh, Tom, if +you <i>could</i> have lived and been happy in a small way! Your debts are +paid now, my poor boy. I wonder if you know. Oh, Tom, Tom!"</p> + +<p>It was her greatest triumph—to have saved Tom's fair name in the +place where he had lived so foolishly and died so sadly.</p> + +<p>But the triumphs of childhood cast fewer shadows. There was no one now +to say, "Three cheers for Madam Liberality!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a very cold winter, but Madam Liberality and Jemima, the +maid-of-all-work, were warmer than they had been for several previous +winters, because they kept better fires. Time heals our sorrows in +spite of us, and Madam Liberality was a very cheerful little body now, +and as busy as ever about her Christmas-boxes. Those for her nephews +and nieces were already despatched. "The boys" were married; Madam +Liberality was godmother to several children she had never seen; but +the Benjamin of his aunt's heart was Darling's only child—Tom—though +she had not seen even him.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality was still in the thick of her plans, which were +chiefly to benefit the old people and the well-behaved children of the +village. All the Christmas-boxes were to be "surprises," and Jemima +was in every secret but the one which most concerned her.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality had even some plans for her own benefit. George had +talked of coming home in the summer, and she began to think of saving +up for a new carpet for the drawing-room. Then the last time she went +to the town she saw some curtains of a most artistic pattern, and +particularly cheap. So much good taste for so little money was rare in +provincial shops. By and by she might do without something which would +balance the cost of the curtains. And she had another ambition—to +provide Jemima with black dresses and white muslin aprons for +afternoon wear in addition to her wages, that the outward aspect of +that good soul might be more in accordance than hitherto with her +intrinsic excellence.</p> + +<p>She was pondering this when Jemima burst in in her cooking apron, +followed up the passage by the steam of Christmas cakes, and carrying +a letter.</p> + +<p>"It's a big one, Miss," said she. "Perhaps it's a Christmas-box, +Miss." And beaming with geniality and kitchen warmth, Jemima returned +to her labours.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality made up her mind about the dresses and aprons; then +she opened her letter.</p> + +<p>It announced the death of her cousin, her godmother's husband. It +announced also that, in spite of the closest search for a will, which +he was supposed to have made, this could not be found.</p> + +<p>Possibly he had destroyed it, intending to make another. As it was he +had died intestate, and succession not being limited to heirs male, +and Madam Liberality being the eldest child of his nearest +relative—the old childish feeling of its being a dream came over her.</p> + +<p>She pinched herself, however, to no purpose. There lay the letter, and +after a second reading Madam Liberality picked up the thread of the +narrative and arrived at the result—she had inherited fifteen +thousand a year.</p> + +<p>The first rational idea which came to her was that there was no +difficulty now about getting the curtains; and the second was that +their chief merit was a merit no more. What is the good of a thing +being cheap when one has fifteen thousand a year?</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality poked the fire extravagantly, and sat down to think.</p> + +<p>The curtains naturally led her to household questions, and those to +that invaluable person, Jemima. That Jemima's wages should be doubled, +trebled, quadrupled, was a thing of course. What post she was to fill +in the new circumstances was another matter. Remembering Podmore, and +recalling the fatigue of dressing herself after her pretty numerous +illnesses, Madam Liberality felt that a lady's-maid would be a comfort +to be most thankful for. But she could not fancy Jemima in that +capacity, or as a housekeeper, or even as head housemaid or cook. She +had lived for years with Jemima herself, but she could not fit her +into a suitable place in the servants' hall.</p> + +<p>However, with fifteen thousand a year, Madam Liberality could buy, if +needful, a field, and build a house, and put Jemima into it with a +servant to wait upon her. The really important question was about her +new domestics. Sixteen servants are a heavy responsibility.</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality had very high ideas of the parental duties involved +in being the head of a household. She had suffered—more than +Jemima—over Jemima's lack of scruple as to telling lies for good +purposes. Now a footman is a young man who has, no doubt, his own +peculiar temptations. What check could Madam Liberality keep upon him? +Possibly she might—under the strong pressure of moral +responsibility—give good general advice to the footman; but the idea +of the butler troubled her.</p> + +<p>When one has lived alone in a little house for many years one gets +timid. She put a case to herself. Say that she knew the butler to be +in the habit of stealing the wine, and suspected the gardener of +making a good income by the best of the wall fruit, would she have the +moral courage to be as firm with these important personages as if she +had caught one of the school-children picking and stealing in the +orchard? And if not, would not family prayers be a mockery?</p> + +<p>Madam Liberality sighed. Poor dear Tom! He had had his faults +certainly; but how well he would have managed a butler!</p> + +<p>This touched the weak point of her good fortune to the core. It had +come too late to heap luxuries about dear "Mother"; too late to open +careers for the boys; too late to give mad frolics and girlish +gaieties to light hearts, such as she and Darling had once had. Ah, if +they could have enjoyed it together years ago!</p> + +<p>There remained, however, Madam Liberality's old consolation: one can +be happy in the happiness of others. There were nephews and nieces to +be provided for, and a world so full of poor and struggling folk that +fifteen thousand a year would only go a little way. It was, perhaps, +useful that there had been so many articles lately in the papers about +begging letters, and impostors, and, the evil effects of the +indiscriminate charity of elderly ladies; but the remembrance of them +made Madam Liberality's head ache, and troubled her dreams that +night.</p> + +<p>It was well that the next day was Sunday. Face to face with those +greater interests common to the rich and the poor, the living and the +dead, Madam Liberality grew calmer under her new cares and prospects. +It did not need that brief pause by her mother's grave to remind her +how little money can do for us: and the sight of other people +wholesomely recalled how much it can effect. Near the church porch she +was passed by the wife of a retired chandler, who dressed in very fine +silks, and who was accustomed to eye Madam Liberality's old clothes as +she bowed to her more obviously than is consistent with good breeding. +The little lady nodded very kindly in return. With fifteen thousand a +year one can afford to be <i>quite</i> at ease in an old shawl.</p> + +<p>The next day was Christmas Eve. Madam Liberality caught herself +thinking that if the legacy had been smaller—say fifty pounds a +year—she would at once have treated herself to certain little +embellishments of the old house, for which she had long been +ambitious. But it would be absurd to buy two or three yards of rosebud +chintz, and tire herself by making covers to two very old +sofa-cushions, when the point to be decided was in which of three +grandly furnished mansions she would first take up her abode. She +ordered a liberal supper, however, which confirmed Jemima in her +secret opinion that the big letter had brought good news.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, another letter of similar appearance arrived, Jemima +snatched up the waiter and burst breathlessly in upon Madam +Liberality, leaving the door open-behind her, though it was bitterly +cold and the snow fell fast.</p> + +<p>And when Madam Liberality opened this letter she learned that her +cousin's will had been found, and that (as seems to be natural) he had +left his money where it would be associated with more money and kept +well together. His heir was a cousin also, but in the next degree—an +old bachelor, who was already wealthy; and he had left Madam +Liberality five pounds to buy a mourning ring.</p> + +<p>It had been said that Madam Liberality was used to disappointment, but +some minutes passed before she quite realized the downfall of her +latest visions. Then the old sofa-cushions resumed their importance, +and she flattened the fire into a more economical shape, and set +vigorously to work to decorate the house with the Christmas +evergreens. She had just finished and gone up-stairs to wash her hands +when the church clock struck three.</p> + +<p>It was an old house, and the window of the bedroom went down to the +floor, and had a deep window-seat. Madam Liberality sat down in it and +looked out. She expected some linsey-woolsey by the carrier, to make +Christmas petticoats, and she was glad to see the hooded waggon +ploughing its way through the snow. The goose-pond was firmly frozen, +and everything looked as it had looked years ago, except that the +carrier's young son went before the waggon and a young dog went before +him. They passed slowly out of sight, but Madam Liberality sat on. She +gazed dreamily at the old church, and the trees, and the pond, and +thought of the past; of her mother, and of poor Tom, and of Darling, +and she thought till she fancied that she heard Darling's voice in the +passage below. She got up to go down to Jemima, but as she did so she +heard a footstep on the stairs, and it was not Jemima's tread. It was +too light for the step of any man or woman.</p> + +<p>Then the door opened, and on the threshold of Madam Liberality's room +stood a little boy dressed in black, with his little hat pushed back +from the loveliest of baby faces set in long flaxen hair. The +carnation colour of his cheeks was deepened by the frost, and his +bright eyes were brighter from mingled daring and doubt and curiosity, +as he looked leisurely round the room and said in a slow, +high-pitched, and very distinct tone,</p> + +<p>"Where are you, Aunt Liberality?"</p> + +<p>But, lovely as he was, Madam Liberality ran past him, for another +figure was in the doorway now, also in black, and, with a widow's cap; +and Madam Liberality and Darling fell sobbing into each other's arms.</p> + +<p>"This is better than fifteen thousand a year," said Madam Liberality.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It is not necessary to say much more. The Major had been killed by a +fall from horseback, and Darling came back to live at her old home. +She had a little pension, and the sisters were not parted again.</p> + +<p>It would be idle to dwell on Madam Liberality's devotion to her +nephew, or the princely manner in which he accepted her services. That +his pleasure was the object of a new series of plans, and presents, +and surprises, will be readily understood. The curtains were bought, +but the new carpet had to be deferred in consequence of an extravagant +outlay on mechanical toys. When the working of these brought a deeper +tint into his cheeks, and a brighter light into his eyes, Madam +Liberality was quite happy; and when he broke them one after another, +his infatuated aunt believed this to be a precocious development of +manly energies.</p> + +<p>The longest lived, if not the favourite, toys with him were the old +set of scallop-shells, with which he never wearied of making feasts, +to which Madam Liberality was never weary of being invited. He had +more plums than had ever sweetened her childhood, and when they sat +together on two footstools by the sofa, and Tom announced the contents +of the dishes in his shrillest voice and lifted the covers, Madam +Liberality would say in a tone of apology,</p> + +<p>"It's very odd, Darling, and I'm sure at my time of life it's +disgraceful, but I cannot feel old!"</p> + +<p>We could hardly take leave of Madam Liberality in pleasanter +circumstances. Why should we ask whether, for the rest of her life, +she was rich or poor, when we may feel so certain that she was +contented? No doubt she had many another hope and disappointment to +keep life from stagnating.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact she outlived the bachelor cousin, and if he died +intestate she must have been rich after all. Perhaps she was. Perhaps +she never suffered again from insufficient food or warmth. Perhaps the +illnesses of her later years were alleviated by skill and comforts +such as hitherto she had never known. Perhaps Darling and she enjoyed +a sort of second spring in their old age, and went every year to the +Continent, and grew wonderful flowers in the greenhouse, and sent Tom +to Eton, and provided for their nephews and nieces, and built churches +to their mother's memory, and never had to withhold the liberal hand +from helping because it was empty; and so passed by a time of wealth +to the hour of death.</p> + +<p>Or perhaps the cousin took good care to bequeath his money where there +was more money for it to stick to. And Madam Liberality pinched out +her little presents as heretofore, and kept herself warm with a hot +bottle when she could not afford a fire, and was too thankful to have +Darling with her when she was ill to want anything else. And perhaps +Darling and she prepared Tom for school, and (like many another +widow's son) he did them credit. And perhaps they were quite happy +with a few common pot-plants in the sunny window, and kept their +mother's memory green by flowers about her grave, and so passed by a +life of small cares and small pleasures to where</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Divided households re-unite."</p></div> + +<p>Of one thing we may be quite certain. Rich or poor, she was always</p> + +<p class="center">MADAM LIBERALITY.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><i>Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London, & Bungay</i>.</h2> + +<p><i>The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, +complete, and uniform Edition published</i>.</p> + +<p><i>It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol., +issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will +appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series +will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was +specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing</i>.</p> + +<p><i>The following is a list of the books included in the Series</i>—</p> + +<p> +1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES.<br /> +<br /> +2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.<br /> +<br /> +3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES.<br /> +<br /> +4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING.<br /> +<br /> +5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES.<br /> +<br /> +6. SIX TO SIXTEEN.<br /> +<br /> +7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES.<br /> +<br /> +8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL.<br /> +<br /> +9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS.<br /> +<br /> +10. THE PEACE EGG—A CHRISTMAS MUMMING +PLAY—HINTS FOR PRIVATE +THEATRICALS, &c.<br /> +<br /> +11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER +TALES.<br /> +<br /> +12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES +OF BEASTS AND MEN.<br /> +<br /> +13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I<br /> +<br /> +14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II.<br /> +<br /> +15. JACKANAPES—DADDY DARWIN'S DOVE-COTE—THE +STORY OF A SHORT LIFE.<br /> +<br /> +16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES +OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS.<br /> +<br /> +17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the +Bloody Hand—Wonder Stories—Tales of the +Khoja, and other translations.<br /> +<br /> +18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER +BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. Ewing's +Letters.<br /> +</p> + +<h3>S.P.C.K., NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W.C.</h3> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GREAT EMERGENCY AND OTHER TALES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c3d658 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #17069 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17069) diff --git a/old/17069.txt b/old/17069.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..59c094c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/17069.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7687 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Great Emergency and Other Tales, by Juliana +Horatia Gatty Ewing + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net + + + + + +Title: A Great Emergency and Other Tales + A Great Emergency; A Very Ill-Tempered Family; Our Field; Madam Liberality + + +Author: Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing + + + +Release Date: November 15, 2005 [eBook #17069] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GREAT EMERGENCY AND OTHER +TALES*** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +A GREAT EMERGENCY AND OTHER TALES. + +by + +JULIANA HORATIA EWING + + + + + + + +London: +Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, +Northumberland Avenue, W.C. +Brighton: 129, North Street. +New York: E. & J. B. Young & Co. +[Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee.] + + + + + +DEDICATED TO + +JOHN, + +LORD BISHOP OF FREDERICTON, + +AND TO HIS DEAR WIFE + +MARGARET, + +IN PLEASANT AND GRATEFUL MEMORY OF + +NEW BRUNSWICK, + +BY J.H.E. + + + + +CONTENTS. + +A GREAT EMERGENCY. + +I. Rupert's Lectures--The Old Yellow Leather +Book + +II. Henrietta--A Family Chronicle--The School +Mimic--My First Fight + +III. School Cricket--Lemon-Kali--The Boys' +Bridge--An Unexpected Emergency + +IV. A Doubtful Blessing--A Family Failing--Old +Battles--The Canal-Carrier's Home + +V. The Navy Captain--Seven Parrots in a Fuchsia +Tree--The Harbour Lion and the Silver +Chain--The Legless Giants--Down Below--Johnson's +Wharf + +VI. S. Philip and S. James--The Monkey-Barge +and the Dog--War, Plague, and Fire--The +Dulness of Everyday Life + +VII. We Resolve to Run Away--Scruples--Baby +Cecil--I Prepare--I Run Away + +VIII. We Go on Board--The Pie--An Explosion-Mr. +Rowe the Barge-Master--The _White +Lion_--Two Letters--We Doubt Mr. Rowe's +Good Faith + +IX. A Coasting Voyage--Musk Island--Linnet +Flash--Mr. Rowe an Old Tar--The Dog-Fancier +at Home + +X. Locks--We Think of Going on the Tramp--Pyebridge--We +Set Sail + +XI. Mr. Rowe on Barge-Women--The River--Nine +Elms--A Mysterious Noise--Rough +Quarters--A Cheap Supper--John's Berth--We +Make Our Escape--Out into the +World + +XII. Emergencies and Policemen--Fenchurch +Street Station--Third Class to Custom +House--A Ship Forest + +XIII. A Dirty Street--A Bad Boy--Shipping and +Merchandise--We Stowaway on Board the +'Atalanta'--A Salt Tear + +XIV. A Glow on the Horizon--A Fantastic Peal--What +I Saw when the Roof Fell In + +XV. Henrietta's Diary--A Great Emergency + +XVI. Mr. Rowe on the Subject--Our Cousin--Weston +Gets Into Print--The Harbour's +Mouth--What Lies Beyond + + +A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY. + +I. A Family Failing + +II. Ill-Tempered People and Their Friends--Narrow +Escapes--The Hatchet-Quarrel + +III. Warnings--My Aunt Isobel--Mr. Rampant's +Temper, and His Conscience + +IV. Cases of Conscience--Ethics of Ill-Temper + +V. Celestial Fire--I Choose a Text + +VI. Theatrical Properties--I Prepare a Play--Philip +Begins to Prepare the Scenery--A +New Friend + +VII. A Quarrel--Bobby is Willing--Exit Philip + +VIII. I Hear from Philip--A New Part Wanted--I +Lose My Temper--We All Lose Our +Tempers + +IX. Self-Reproach--Family Discomfort--Out on +the Marsh--Victory + + * * * * * + +OUR FIELD + + * * * * * + +MADAM LIBERALITY. + +PART I + +PART II + + + + +A GREAT EMERGENCY. + +CHAPTER I. + +RUPERT'S LECTURES--THE OLD YELLOW LEATHER BOOK. + + +We were very happy--I, Rupert, Henrietta, and Baby Cecil. The only +thing we found fault with in our lives was that there were so few +events in them. + +It was particularly provoking, because we were so well prepared for +events--any events. Rupert prepared us. He had found a fat old book in +the garret, bound in yellow leather, at the end of which were +"Directions how to act with presence of mind in any emergency;" and he +gave lectures out of this in the kitchen garden. + +Rupert was twelve years old. He was the eldest. Then came Henrietta, +then I, and last of all Baby Cecil, who was only four. The day I was +nine years old, Rupert came into the nursery, holding up his handsome +head with the dignified air which became him so well, that I had more +than once tried to put it on myself before the nursery looking-glass, +and said to me, "You are quite old enough now, Charlie, to learn what +to do whatever happens; so every half-holiday, when I am not playing +cricket, I'll teach you presence of mind near the cucumber frame, if +you're punctual. I've put up a bench." + +I thanked him warmly, and the next day he put his head into the +nursery at three o'clock in the afternoon, and said--"The lecture." + +I jumped up, and so did Henrietta. + +"It's not for girls," said Rupert; "women are not expected to do +things when there's danger." + +"_We_ take care of _them_" said I, wondering if my mouth looked like +Rupert's when I spoke, and whether my manner impressed Henrietta as +much as his impressed me. She sat down again and only said, "I stayed +in all Friday afternoon, and worked in bed on Saturday morning to +finish your net." + +"Come along," said Rupert. "You know I'm very much obliged to you for +the net; it's a splendid one." + +"I'll bring a camp-stool if there's not room on the bench," said +Henrietta cheerfully. + +"People never take camp-stools to lectures," said Rupert, and when we +got to the cucumber frame we found that the old plank, which he had +raised on inverted flower-pots, would have held a much larger audience +than he had invited. Opposite to it was a rhubarb-pot, with the round +top of a barrel resting on it. On this stood a glass of water. A +delightful idea thrilled through me, suggested by an imperfect +remembrance of a lecture on chemistry which I had attended. + +"Will there be experiments?" I whispered. + +"I think not," Henrietta replied. "There are glasses of water at the +missionary meetings, and there are no experiments." + +Meanwhile Rupert had been turning over the leaves of the yellow +leather book. To say the truth, I think he was rather nervous; but if +we have a virtue among us it is that of courage; and after dropping +the book twice, and drinking all the water at a draught, he found his +place, and began. + +"_How to act in an emergency_." + +"What's an emergency?" I asked. I was very proud of being taught by +Rupert, and anxious to understand everything as we went along. + +"You shouldn't interrupt," said Rupert, frowning. I am inclined now to +think that he could not answer my question off-hand; for though he +looked cross then, after referring to the book he answered me: "It's a +fire, or drowning, or an apoplectic fit, or anything of that sort." +After which explanation, he hurried on. If what he said next came out +of his own head, or whether he had learned it by heart, I never knew. + +"There is no stronger sign of good-breeding than presence of mind in +an--" + +"--apoplectic fit," I suggested. I was giving the keenest attention, +and Rupert had hesitated, the wind having blown over a leaf too many +of the yellow leather book. + +"An _emergency_," he shouted, when he had found his place. "Now we'll +have one each time. The one for to-day is--How to act in a case of +drowning." + +To speak the strict truth, I would rather not have thought about +drowning. I had my own private horror over a neighbouring mill-dam, +and I had once been very much frightened by a spring-tide at the sea; +but cowardice is not an indulgence for one of my race, so I screwed up +my lips and pricked my ears to learn my duty in the unpleasant +emergency of drowning. + +"It doesn't mean being drowned yourself," Rupert continued, "but what +to do when another person has been drowned." + +The emergency was undoubtedly easier, and I gave a cheerful attention +as Rupert began to question us. + +"Supposing a man had been drowned in the canal, and was brought +ashore, and you were the only people there, what would you do with +him?" + +I was completely nonplussed. "I felt quite sure I could do nothing +with him, he would be so heavy; but I felt equally certain that this +was not the answer which Rupert expected, so I left the question to +Henrietta's readier wit. She knitted her thick eyebrows for some +minutes, partly with perplexity, and partly because of the sunshine +reflected from the cucumber frame, and then said, + +"We should bury him in a vault; Charlie and I _couldn't_ dig a grave +deep enough." + +I admired Henrietta's foresight, but Rupert was furious. + +"How _silly_ you are!" he exclaimed, knocking over the top of the +rhubarb-pot table and the empty glass in his wrath. "Of course I don't +mean a dead man. I mean what would you do to bring a partly drowned +man to life again?" + +"That wasn't what you _said_," cried Henrietta, tossing her head. + +"I let you come to my lecture," grumbled Rupert bitterly, as he +stooped to set his table right, "and this is the way you behave!" + +"I'm very sorry, Rupert dear!" said Henrietta. "Indeed, I only mean to +do my best, and I do like your lecture so very much!" + +"So do I," I cried, "very, very much!" And by a simultaneous impulse +Henrietta and I both clapped our hands vehemently. This restored +Rupert's self-complacency, and he bowed and continued the lecture. +From this we learned that the drowned man should be turned over on his +face to let the canal water run out of his mouth and ears, and that +his wet clothes should be got off, and he should be made dry and warm +as quickly as possible, and placed in a comfortable position, with the +head and shoulders slightly raised. All this seemed quite feasible to +us. Henrietta had dressed and undressed lots of dolls, and I pictured +myself filling a hot-water bottle at the kitchen boiler with an air of +responsibility that should scare all lighter-minded folk. But the +directions for "restoring breathing" troubled our sincere desire to +learn; and this even though Henrietta practised for weeks afterwards +upon me. I represented the drowned man, and she drew my arms above my +head for "_inspiration_," and counted "one, two;" and doubled them and +drove them back for "_expiration_;" but it tickled, and I laughed, and +we could not feel at all sure that it would have made the drowned man +breathe again. + +Meanwhile Rupert went on with the course of lectures, and taught us +how to behave in the event of a fire in the house, an epidemic in the +neighbourhood, a bite from a mad dog, a chase by a mad bull, broken +limbs, runaway horses, a chimney on fire, or a young lady burning to +death. The lectures were not only delightful in themselves, but they +furnished us with a whole set of new games, for Henrietta and I +zealously practised every emergency as far as the nature of things +would allow. Covering our faces with wet cloths to keep off the smoke, +we crept on our hands and knees to rescue a fancy cripple from an +imaginary burning house, because of the current of air which Rupert +told us was to be found near the floor. We fastened Baby Cecil's left +leg to his right by pocket-handkerchiefs at the ankle, and above and +below the knee, pretending that it was broken, and must be kept steady +till we could convey him to the doctor. But for some unexplained +reason Baby Cecil took offence at this game, and I do not think he +could have howled and roared louder under the worst of real compound +fractures. We had done it so skilfully, that we were greatly disgusted +by his unaccommodating spirit, and his obstinate refusal to be put +into the litter we had made out of Henrietta's stilts and a railway +rug. We put the Scotch terrier in instead; but when one end of the +litter gave way and he fell out, we were not sorry that the emergency +was a fancy one, and that no broken limbs were really dependent upon +our well-meant efforts. + +There was one thing about Rupert's lectures which disappointed me. His +emergencies were all things that happened in the daytime. Now I should +not have liked the others to know that I was ever afraid of anything; +but, really and truly, I was sometimes a little frightened--not of +breaking my leg, or a house on fire, or an apoplectic fit, or anything +of that sort, but--of things in the dark. Every half-holiday I hoped +there would be something about what to do with robbers or ghosts, but +there never was. I do not think there can have been any emergencies of +that kind in the yellow leather book. + +On the whole, I fancy Rupert found us satisfactory pupils, for he +never did give up the lectures in a huff, though he sometimes +threatened to do so, when I asked stupid questions, or Henrietta +argued a point. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +HENRIETTA--A FAMILY CHRONICLE--THE SCHOOL MIMIC--MY FIRST FIGHT. + + +Henrietta often argued points, which made Rupert very angry. He said +that even if she were in the right, that had nothing to do with it, +for girls oughtn't to dispute or discuss. And then Henrietta argued +that point too. + +Rupert and Henrietta often squabbled, and always about the same sort +of thing. I am sure he would have been _very_ kind to her if she would +have agreed with him, and done what he wanted. He often told me that +the gentlemen of our family had always been courteous to women, and I +think he would have done anything for Henrietta if it had not been +that she would do everything for herself. + +When we wanted to vex her very much, we used to call her "Monkey," +because we knew she liked to be like a boy. She persuaded Mother to +let her have her boots made like ours, because she said the roads +were so rough and muddy (which they are). And we found two of her +books with her name written in, and she had put "Henry," and Rupert +wrote Etta after it, and "Monkey" after that. So she tore the leaves +out. Her hair was always coming out of curl. It was very dark, and +when it fell into her eyes she used to give her head a peculiar shake +and toss, so that half of it fell the wrong way, and there was a +parting at the side, like our partings. Nothing made Rupert angrier +than this. + +Henrietta was very good at inventing things. Once she invented a +charade quite like a story. Rupert was very much pleased with it, +because he was to act the hero, who was to be a young cavalier of a +very old family--our family. He was to arrive at an inn; Henrietta +made it the real old inn in the middle of the town, and I was the +innkeeper, with Henrietta's pillow to make me fat, and one of Nurse's +clean aprons. Then he was to ask to spend a night in the old Castle, +and Henrietta made that the real Castle, which was about nine miles +off, and which belonged to our cousin, though he never spoke to us. +And a ghost was to appear. The ghost of the ancestor in the miniature +in Mother's bedroom. Henrietta did the ghost in a white sheet; and +with her hair combed, and burnt-cork moustache, she looked so exactly +like the picture that Rupert started when she came in, and stared; +and Mother said he had acted splendidly. + +Henrietta was wonderfully like the picture. Much more like than Rupert +ever was, which rather vexed him, because that ancestor was one of the +very bravest, and his name was Rupert. He was rather vexed, too, when +she rode the pony bare-backed which had kicked him off. But I think +the pony was fonder of Henrietta, which perhaps made it easier for her +to manage it. She used to feed it with bits of bread. It got them out +of her pocket. + +One of the things Henrietta could not do as well as Rupert was +cricket. Rupert was one of the best players in the school. Henrietta +used to want to play with us at home, and she and I did play for a +bit, before breakfast, in the drying ground; but Rupert said, if I +encouraged her in being unladylike, he would not let me come to the +school matches. He said I might take my choice, and play either with +girls or boys, but not with both. But I thought it would be very mean +to leave Henrietta in the lurch. So I told her I would stick by her, +as Rupert had not actually forbidden me. He had given me my choice, +and he always kept his word. But she would not let me. She pretended +that she did not mind; but I know she did, for I could see afterwards +that she had been crying. However, she would not play, and Mother +said she had much rather she did not, as she was so afraid of her +getting hit by the ball. So that settled it, and I was very glad not +to have to give up going to the school matches. + +The school we went to was the old town grammar school. It was a very +famous one; but it was not so expensive as big public schools are, and +I believe this was why we lived in this town after my father's death, +for Mother was not at all rich. + +The grammar school was very large, and there were all sorts of boys +there--some of gentlemen, and tradesmen, and farmers. Some of the boys +were so very dirty, and had such horrid habits out of school, that +when Rupert was thirteen, and I was ten, he called a council at the +beginning of the half, and a lot of the boys formed a committee, and +drew up the code of honour, and we all subscribed to it. + +The code of honour was to forbid a lot of things that had been very +common in the school. Lying, cheating over bargains, telling tales, +bragging, bad language, and what the code called "conduct unbecoming +schoolfellows and gentlemen." There were a lot of rules in it, too, +about clean nails, and shirts, and collars and socks, and things of +that sort. If any boy refused to agree to it, he had to fight with +Thomas Johnson. + +There could not have been a better person than Rupert to make a code +of honour. We have always been taught that honour was the watch-word +of our family--dearer than anything that could be gained or lost, very +much dearer than mere life. The motto of our arms came from an +ancestor who lost the favour of the King by refusing to do something +against his conscience for which he would have been rewarded. It is +"Honour before honours." + +I can just remember the man, with iron-grey hair and gold spectacles, +who came to our house after my father's death. I think he was a +lawyer. He took lots of snuff, so that Henrietta sneezed when he +kissed her, which made her very angry. He put Rupert and me in front +of him, to see which of us was most like my father, and I can recall +the big pinch of snuff he took, and the sound of his voice saying "Be +like your father, boys! He was as good as he was gallant. And there +never lived a more honourable gentleman." + +Every one said the same. We were very proud of it, and always boasted +about our father to the new nursemaids, or any other suitable hearer. +I was a good deal annoyed by one little maid, who when I told her, +over our nursery tea, that my father had been the most honourable of +men, began to cry about her father, who was dead too, and said he was +"just the same; for in the one and twenty years he kept a +public-house, he never put so much as a pinch of salt into the beer, +nor even a gill of water, unless it was in the evening at fair-time, +when the only way to keep the men from fighting was to give them their +liquor so that it could not do them much harm." I was very much +offended by the comparison of _my_ father, who was an officer and a +gentleman of rank, with _her_ father, who was a village publican; but +I should like to say, that I think now that I was wrong and Jane was +right. If her father gave up profit for principle, he _was_ like my +father, and like the ancestor we get the motto from, and like every +other honourable man, of any rank or any trade. + +Every time I boasted in the nursery of my father being so honourable, +I always finished my saying, that that was why he had the word +Honourable before his name, as men in old times used to be called "the +Good" or "the Lion Heart." The nursemaids quite believed it, and I +believed it myself, till the first week I went to school. + +It makes me hot all over to remember what I suffered that week, and +for long, afterwards. But I think it cured me of bragging, which is a +mean ungentlemanly habit, and of telling everybody everything about +myself and my relations, which is very weak-minded. + +The second day I was there, one of the boys came up to me and said, +with a mock ceremony and politeness which unfortunately took me in, +"If I am not mistaken, sir, that esteemed lady, your mother, is an +Honourable?" + +He was nearly five years older than I; his name was Weston; he had a +thin cadaverous face, a very large nose, and a very melancholy +expression. I found out afterwards that he was commonly called "the +clown," and was considered by boys who had been to the London theatres +to surpass the best professional comic actors when he chose to put +forth his powers. I did not know this then. I thought him a little +formal, but particularly courteous in his manner, and not wishing to +be behindhand in politeness, I replied, with as much of his style as I +could assume, "Certainly, sir. But that is because my father was an +Honourable. My father, sir, was the most honourable of men." + +A slight spasm appeared to pass over Weston's face, and then he +continued the conversation in a sadder tone than the subject seemed to +require, but I supposed that this was due to his recalling that my +father was dead. + +I confess that it did not need many leading inquiries to draw from me +such a narrative of my father's valour and high principle, as well as +the noble sentiments and conspicuous bravery which have marked our +family from Saxon times, as I was well accustomed to pour forth for +the edification of our nursemaids. I had not proceeded far, when my +new friend said, "Won't you walk in and take a seat?" It was +recreation time, and the other boys were all out in the playground. I +had no special friend as yet; Rupert had stuck to me all the first +day, and had now left me to find my own level. I had lingered near the +door as we came out, and there Weston had joined me. He now led me +back into the deserted school-room, and we sat down together on an old +black oak locker, at the bottom of the room. + +How well I remember the scene! The dirty floor, the empty benches, the +torn books sprinkled upon the battered desks, the dusty sunshine +streaming in, the white-faced clock on the wall opposite, over which +the hands moved with almost incredible rapidity. But when does time +ever fly so fast as with people who are talking about themselves or +their relations? + +Once the mathematical master passed through the room. He glanced at us +curiously, but Weston's face was inscrutable, and I--tracing some +surprise that I should have secured so old and so fine-mannered a boy +for a friend--held up my head, and went on with my narrative, as +fluently as I could, to show that I had parts which justified Weston +in his preference. + +Tick, tack! went the clock. Click, clack! went my tongue. I fear that +quite half-an-hour must have passed, when a big boy, with an open +face, blue eyes, and closely curling fair hair, burst in. On seeing us +he exclaimed, "Hulloh!" and then stopped, I suspect in obedience to +Weston's eyes, which met his in a brief but expressive gaze. Then +Weston turned to me. + +"Allow me," said he, "to introduce Mr. Thomas Johnson. He bears a very +high character in this school, and it will afford him the keenest +satisfaction to hear an authentic account of such a man as your +esteemed father, whose character should be held up for the imitation +of young gentlemen in every establishment for the education of youth." + +I blushed with pride and somewhat with nervousness as Mr. Thomas +Johnson seated himself on the locker on the other side of me and +begged (with less elegance of expression than my first friend) that I +would "go ahead." + +I did so. But a very few minutes exhausted the patience of my new +hearer. When he had kicked a loose splinter of wood satisfactorily off +the leg of one of the desks he began to look at the clock, which +quickened my pace from my remoter ancestors to what the colonel of the +regiment in which my father was an ensign had said of him. I completed +my narrative at last with the lawyer's remark, and added, "and +everybody says the same. And _that_ is why my father had '_The +Honourable_' before his name, just as--" &c., &c. + +I had no sooner uttered these words than Johnson started from his +seat, and, covering his face with a spotted silk pocket-handkerchief, +rushed precipitately from the school-room. For one brief instant I +fancied I heard him choking with laughter, but when I turned to Weston +he got up too, with a look of deep concern. "Mr. Johnson is taken very +unwell, I fear," said he. "It is a peculiar kind of spasm to which he +is subject. Excuse me!" + +He hurried anxiously after his friend, and I was left alone in the +school-room, into which the other boys shortly began to pour. + +"Have you been all alone, old fellow?" said Rupert kindly; "I hoped +you had picked up a chum." + +"So I have," was my proud reply; "two chums." + +"I hope they're decent fellows," said Rupert. (He had a most pestilent +trick of perpetually playing monitor, to the wet-blanketing of all +good fellowship.) + +"You know best," said I pertly; "it's Weston and Johnson. We've been +together a long time." + +"Weston?" cried Rupert. "I hope to goodness, Charlie, you've not been +playing the fool?" + +"You can ask them," said I, and tossing my head I went to my proper +place. + +For the rest of school-time I wore a lofty and Rupert an anxious +demeanour. Secure on the level of a higher friendship, I was mean +enough to snub the friendly advances of one or two of the younger +boys. + +When we went home at night, I found my mother much more ready than +Rupert to believe that my merits had gained for me the regard of two +of the upper boys. I was exultingly happy. Not a qualm disturbed the +waking dreams in which (after I was in bed) I retold my family tale at +even greater length than before, except that I remembered one or two +incidents, which in the excitement of the hour I had forgotten when in +school. + +I was rather sorry, too, that, bound by the strictest of injunctions +from Rupert and my own promise, I had not been able, ever so casually, +to make my new friends aware that among my other advantages was that +of being first cousin to a peer, the very one who lived at the Castle. +The Castle was a show place, and I knew that many of my schoolfellows +were glad enough to take their friends and go themselves to be shown +by the housekeeper the pictures of _my_ ancestors. On this point they +certainly had an advantage over me. I had not seen the pictures. Our +cousin never called on us, and never asked us to the Castle, and of +course we could not go to our father's old home like common +holiday-making townspeople. + +I would rather not say very much about the next day. It must seem +almost incredible that I could have failed to see that Weston and +Johnson were making fun of me; and I confess that it was not for want +of warnings that I had made a fool of myself. + +I had looked forward to going to school with about equal measures of +delight and dread; my pride and ambition longed for this first step in +life, but Rupert had filled me with a wholesome awe of its stringent +etiquette, its withering ridicule, and unsparing severities. However, +in his anxiety to make me modest and circumspect, I think he rather +over-painted the picture, and when I got through the first day without +being bullied, and made such creditable friends on the second, I began +to think that Rupert's experience of school life must be due to some +lack of those social and conversational powers with which I seemed to +be better endowed. And then Weston's acting would have deceived a +wiser head than mine. And the nursemaids had always listened so +willingly! + +As it happened, Rupert was unwell next day and could not go to +school. He was obviously afraid of my going alone, but I had no fears. +My self-satisfaction was not undone till playtime. Then not a boy +dispersed to games. They all gathered round Weston in the playground, +and with a confident air I also made my way to his side. As he turned +his face to me I was undeceived. + +Weston was accustomed--at such times as suited his caprice and his +resources--to give exhibitions of his genius for mimicry to the rest +of the boys. I had heard from Rupert of these entertainments, which +were much admired by the school. They commonly consisted of funny +dialogues between various worthies of the place well known to +everybody, which made Weston's audience able to judge of the accuracy +of his imitations. From the head-master to the idiot who blew the +organ bellows in church, every inhabitant of the place who was gifted +with any recognizable peculiarity was personated at one time or +another by the wit of our school. The favourite imitation of all was +supposed to be one of the Dialogues of Plato, "omitted by some strange +over-sight in the edition which graces the library of our learned and +respected doctor," Weston would say with profound gravity. The +Dialogue was between Dr. Jessop and Silly Billy--the idiot already +referred to--and the apposite Latin quotations of the head-master and +his pompous English, with the inapposite replies of the organ-blower, +given in the local dialect and Billy's own peculiar jabber, were +supposed to form a masterpiece of mimicry. + +Little did I think that my family chronicle was to supply Weston with +a new field for his talents! + +In the midst of my shame, I could hardly help admiring the clever way +in which he had remembered all the details, and twisted them into a +comic ballad, which he had composed overnight, and which he now +recited with a mock heroic air and voice, which made every point tell, +and kept the boys in convulsions of laughter. Not a smile crossed his +long, lantern-jawed face; but Mr. Thomas Johnson made no effort this +time to hide a severe fit of his peculiar spasms in his spotted +handkerchief. + +Sometimes--at night--in the very bottom of my own heart, when the +darkness seemed thick with horrors, and when I could not make up my +mind whether to keep my ears strained to catch the first sound of +anything dreadful, or to pull the blankets over my head and run the +risk of missing it,--in such moments, I say, I have had a passing +private doubt whether I had inherited my share of the family instinct +of courage at a crisis. + +It was therefore a relief to me to feel that in this moment of +despair, when I was only waiting till the boys, being no longer +amused by Weston, should turn to amuse themselves with me, my first +and strongest feeling was a sense of relief that Rupert was not at +school, and that I could bear the fruits of my own folly on my own +shoulders. To be spared his hectoring and lecturing, his hurt pride, +his reproaches, and rage with me, and a probable fight with Weston, in +which he must have been seriously hurt and I should have been +blamed--this was some comfort. + +I had got my lesson well by heart. Fifty thousand preachers in fifty +thousand pulpits could never have taught me so effectually as Weston's +ballad, and the laughter of his audience, that there is less +difference than one would like to believe between the vanity of +bragging of one's self and the vanity of bragging of one's relations. +Also that it is not dignified or discreet to take new acquaintance +into your entire confidence and that even if one is blessed with +friends of such quick sympathy that they really enjoy hearing about +people they have never seen, it is well not to abuse the privilege, +and now and then to allow them an "innings" at describing _their_ +remarkable parents, brothers, sisters, and remoter relatives. + +I realized all this fully as I stood, with burning cheeks and downcast +eyes, at the very elbow of my tormentor. But I am glad to know that I +would not have run away even if I could. My resolution grew +stubborner with every peal of laughter to bear whatever might come +with pluck and good temper. I had been a fool, but I would show that I +was not a coward. + +I was very glad that Rupert's influenza kept him at home for a few +days. I told him briefly that I had been bullied, but that it was my +own fault, and I would rather say no more about it. I begged him to +promise that he would not take up my quarrel in any way, but leave me +to fight it out for myself, which he did. When he came back I think he +regretted his promise. Happily he never heard all the ballad, but the +odd verses which the boys sang about the place put him into a fury. It +was a long time before he forgave me, and I doubt if he ever quite +forgave Weston. + +I held out as well as I could. I made no complaint, and kept my +temper. I must say that Henrietta behaved uncommonly well to me at +this time. + +"After all, you know, Charlie," she said, "you've not done anything +_really wrong or dishonourable_." This was true, and it comforted me. + +Except Henrietta, I really had not a friend; for Rupert was angry with +me, and the holding up at school only made me feel worse at home. + +At last the joke began to die out, and I was getting on very well, but +for one boy, a heavy-looking fellow with a pasty face, who was always +creeping after me, and asking me to tell him about my father. "Johnson +Minor," we called him. He was a younger brother of Thomas Johnson, the +champion of the code of honour. + +He was older than I, but he was below me in class, and though he was +bigger, he was not a very great deal bigger; and if there is any truth +in the stories I have so often told, our family has been used to fight +against odds for many generations. + +I thought about this a good deal, and measured Johnson Minor with my +eye. At last I got Henrietta to wrestle and box with me for practice. + +She was always willing to do anything Tomboyish, indeed she was +generally willing to do anything one wanted, and her biceps were as +hard as mine, for I pinched them to see. We got two pairs of gloves, +much too big for us, and stuffed cotton wool in to make them like +boxing-gloves, as we used to stuff out the buff-coloured waistcoat +when we acted old gentlemen in it. But it did not do much good; for I +did not like to hurt Henrietta when I got a chance, and I do not think +she liked to hurt me. So I took to dumb-belling every morning in my +night-shirt; and at last I determined I would have it out with Johnson +Minor, once for all. + +One afternoon, when the boys had been very friendly with me, and were +going to have me in the paper chase on Saturday, he came up in the old +way and began asking me about my father, quite gravely, like a sort of +poor imitation of Weston. So I turned round and said, "Whatever my +father was--he's dead. Your father's alive, Johnson, and if you +weren't a coward, you wouldn't go on bullying a fellow who hasn't got +one." + +"I'm a coward, am I, Master Honourable?" said Johnson, turning +scarlet, and at the word _Honourable_ I thought he had broken my nose. +I never felt such pain in my life, but it was the only pain I felt on +the occasion; afterwards I was much too much excited, I am sorry that +I cannot remember very clearly about it, which I should have liked to +do, as it was my first fight. + +There was no time to fight properly. I was obliged to do the best I +could. I made a sort of rough plan in my head, that I would cling to +Johnson as long as I was able, and hit him whenever I got a chance. I +did not quite know when he was hitting me from when I was hitting him; +but I know that I held on, and that the ground seemed to be always +hitting us both. + +How long we had been struggling and cuffing and hitting (less +scientifically but more effectually than when Henrietta and I +flourished our stuffed driving gloves, with strict and constant +reference to the woodcuts in a sixpenny Boxer's Guide) before I got +slightly stunned, I do not know; when I came round I was lying in +Weston's arms, and Johnson Minor was weeping bitterly (as he believed) +over my corpse. I fear Weston had not allayed his remorse. + +My great anxiety was to shake hands with Johnson. I never felt more +friendly towards any one. + +He met me in the handsomest way. He apologized for speaking of my +father--"since you don't like it," he added, with an appearance of +sincerity which puzzled me at the time, and which I did not understand +till afterwards--and I apologized for calling him a coward. We were +always good friends, and our fight made an end of the particular chaff +which had caused it. + +It reconciled Rupert to me too, which was my greatest gain. + +Rupert is quite right. There is nothing like being prepared for +emergencies. I suppose, as I was stunned, that Johnson got the best of +it; but judging from his appearance as we washed ourselves at the +school pump, I was now quite prepared for the emergency of having to +defend myself against any boy not twice my own size. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +SCHOOL CRICKET--LEMON-KALI--THE BOYS' BRIDGE--AN UNEXPECTED EMERGENCY. + + +Rupert and I were now the best of good friends again. I cared more for +his favour than for the goodwill of any one else, and kept as much +with him as I could. + +I played cricket with him in the school matches. At least I did not +bat or bowl, but I and some of the junior fellows "fielded out," and +when Rupert was waiting for the ball, I would have given my life to +catch quickly and throw deftly. I used to think no one ever looked so +handsome as he did in his orange-coloured shirt, white flannel +trousers, and the cap which Henrietta made him. He and I had spent all +our savings on that new shirt, for Mother would not get him a new one. +She did not like cricket, or anything at which people could hurt +themselves. But Johnson Major had got a new sky-blue shirt and cap, +and we did not like Rupert to be outdone by him, for Johnson's father +is only a canal-carrier. + +But the shirt emptied our pockets, and made the old cap look worse +than ever. Then Henrietta, without saying a word to us, bought some +orange flannel, and picked the old cap to pieces, and cut out a new +one by it, and made it all herself, with a button, and a stiff peak +and everything, and it really did perfectly, and looked very well in +the sunshine over Rupert's brown face and glossy black hair. + +There always was sunshine when we played cricket. The hotter it was +the better we liked it. We had a bottle of lemon-kali powder on the +ground, and I used to have to make a fizzing-cup in a tin mug for the +other boys. I got the water from the canal. + +Lemon-kali is delicious on a very hot day--so refreshing! But I +sometimes fancied I felt a little sick _afterwards_, if I had had a +great deal. And Bustard (who was always called Bustard-Plaster, +because he was the doctor's son) said it was the dragons out of the +canal water lashing their tails inside us. He had seen them under his +father's microscope. + +The field where we played was on the banks of the canal, the opposite +side to the town. I believe it was school property. At any rate we had +the right of playing there. + +We had to go nearly a quarter of a mile out of the way before there +was a bridge, and it was very vexatious to toil a quarter of a mile +down on one side and a quarter of a mile up on the other to get at a +meadow which lay directly opposite to the school. Weston wrote a +letter about it to the weekly paper asking the town to build us a +bridge. He wrote splendid letters, and this was one of his very best. +He said that if the town council laughed at the notion of building a +bridge for boys, they must remember that the Boys of to-day were the +Men of to-morrow (which we all thought a grand sentence, though +MacDonald, a very accurate-minded fellow, said it would really be some +years before most of us were grown up). Then Weston called us the +Rising Generation, and showed that, in all probability, the Prime +Minister, Lord Chancellor, and Primate of the years to come now played +"all unconscious of their future fame" in the classic fields that lay +beyond the water, and promised that in the hours of our coming +greatness we would look back with gratitude to the munificence of our +native city. He put lots of Latin in, and ended with some Latin verses +of his own, in which he made the Goddess of the Stream plead for us as +her sons. By the stream he meant the canal, for we had no river, which +of course Weston couldn't help. + +How we watched for the next week's paper! But it wasn't in. They never +did put his things in, which mortified him sadly. His greatest +ambition was to get something of his own invention printed. Johnson +said he believed it was because Weston always put something personal +in the things he wrote. He was very sarcastic, and couldn't help +making fun of people. + +It was all the kinder of Weston to do his best about the bridge, +because he was not much of a cricketer himself. He said he was too +short-sighted, and that it suited him better to poke in the hedges for +beetles. He had a splendid collection of insects. Bustard used to say +that he poked with his nose, as if he were an insect himself, and it +was a proboscis but he said too that his father said it was a pleasure +to see Weston make a section of anything, and prepare objects for the +microscope. His fingers were as clever as his tongue. + +It was not long after Rupert got his new shirt and cap that a very sad +thing happened. + +We were playing cricket one day as usual. It was very hot, and I was +mixing some lemon-kali at the canal, and holding up the mug to tempt +Weston over, who was on the other side with his proboscis among the +water-plants collecting larvae. Rupert was batting, and a new fellow, +who bowled much more swiftly than we were accustomed to, had the ball. +I was straining my ears to catch what Weston was shouting to me +between his hands, when I saw him start and point to the cricketers, +and turning round I saw Rupert lying on the ground. + +The ball had hit him on the knee and knocked him down. He struggled +up, and tried to stand; but whilst he was saying it was nothing, and +scolding the other fellows for not going on, he fell down again +fainting from pain. + +"The leg's broken, depend upon it," said Bustard-Plaster; "shall I run +for my father?" + +I thanked him earnestly, for I did not like to leave Rupert myself. +But Johnson Major, who was kicking off his cricketing-shoes, said, +"It'll take an hour to get round. I'll go. Get him some water, and +keep his cap on. The sun is blazing." And before we could speak he was +in the canal and swimming across. + +I went back to the bank for my mug, in which the lemon-kali was +fizzing itself out, and with this I got some water for Rupert, and at +last he opened his eyes. As I was getting the water I saw Weston, +unmooring a boat which was fastened a little farther up. He was +evidently coming to help us to get Rupert across the canal. + +Bustard's words rang in my ears. Perhaps Rupert's leg was broken. +Bustard was a doctor's son, and ought to know. And I have often +thought it must be a very difficult thing _to_ know, for people's legs +don't break right off when they break. My first feeling had been utter +bewilderment and misery, but I collected my senses with the +reflection that if I lost my presence of mind in the first real +emergency that happened to me, my attendance at Rupert's lectures had +been a mockery, and I must be the first fool and coward of my family. +And if I failed in the emergency of a broken leg, how could I ever +hope to conduct myself with credit over a case of drowning? I did feel +thankful that Rupert's welfare did not depend on our pulling his arms +up and down in a particular way; but as Weston was just coming ashore, +I took out my pocket-handkerchief, and kneeling down by Rupert said, +with as good an air as I could assume, "We must tie the broken leg to +the other at the--" + +"_Don't touch it_, you young fool!" shrieked Rupert. And though +directly afterwards he begged my pardon for speaking sharply, he would +not hear of my touching his leg. So they got him into the boat the +best way they could, and Weston sat by him to hold him up, and the boy +who had been bowling pulled them across. I wasn't big enough to do +either, so I had to run round by the bridge. + +I fancy it must be easier to act with presence of mind if the +emergency has happened to somebody who has not been used to order you +about as much as Rupert was used to order me. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A DOUBTFUL BLESSING--A FAMILY FAILING--OLD BATTLES--THE +CANAL-CARRIER'S HOME. + + +When we found that Rupert's leg was not broken, and that it was only a +severe blow on his knee, we were all delighted. But when weeks and +months went by and he was still lame and very pale and always tired, +we began to count for how long past, if the leg had been broken, it +would have been set, and poor Rupert quite well. And when Johnny +Bustard said that legs and arms were often stronger after being broken +than before (if they were properly set, as his father could do them), +we felt that if Gregory would bowl for people's shins he had better +break them at once, and let Mr. Bustard make a good job of them. + +The first part of the time Rupert made light of his accident, and +wanted to go back to school, and was very irritable and impatient. But +as the year went on he left off talking about its being all nonsense, +and though he suffered a great deal he never complained. I used quite +to miss his lecturing me, but he did not even squabble with Henrietta +now. + +This reminds me of a great fault of mine--I am afraid it was a family +failing, though it is a very mean one--I was jealous. If I was +"particular friends" with any one, I liked to have him all to myself; +when Rupert was "out" with me because of the Weston affair, I was +"particular friends" with Henrietta. I did not exactly give her up +when Rupert and I were all right again, but when she complained one +day (I think _she_ was jealous too!) I said, "I'm particular friends +with you _as a sister_ still; but you know Rupert and I are both +boys." + +I did love Rupert very dearly, and I would have given up anything and +everything to serve him and wait upon him now that he was laid up; but +I would rather have had him all to myself, whereas Henrietta was now +his particular friend. It is because I know how meanly I felt about it +that I should like to say how good she was. My Mother was very +delicate, and she had a horror of accidents; but Henrietta stood at +Mr. Bustard's elbow all the time he was examining Rupert's knee, and +after that she always did the fomentations and things. At first Rupert +said she hurt him, and would have Nurse to do it; but Nurse hurt him +so much more, that then he would not let anybody but Henrietta touch +it. And he never called her Monkey now, and I could see how she tried +to please him. One day she came down to breakfast with her hair all +done up in the way that was in fashion then, like a grown-up young +lady, and I think Rupert was pleased, though she looked rather funny +and very red. And so Henrietta nursed him altogether, and used to read +battles to him as he lay on the sofa, and Rupert made plans of the +battles on cardboard, and moved bits of pith out of the elder-tree +about for the troops, and showed Henrietta how if he had had the +moving of them really, and had done it quite differently to the way +the generals did, the other side would have won instead of being +beaten. + +And Mother used to say, "That's just the way your poor father used to +go on! As if it wasn't enough to have to run the risk of being killed +or wounded once or twice yourself, without bothering your head about +battles you've nothing to do with." + +And when he did the battle in which my father fell, and planted the +battery against which he led his men for the last time, and where he +was struck under the arm, with which he was waving his sword over his +head, Rupert turned whiter than ever, and said, "Good Heavens, +Henrietta! Father _limped_ up to that battery! He led his men for two +hours, after he was wounded in the leg, before he fell--and here I +sit and grumble at a knock from a cricket-ball!" + +Just then Mr. Bustard came in, and when he shook Rupert's hand he kept +his fingers on it, and shook his own head; and he said there was "an +abnormal condition of the pulse," in such awful tones, that I was +afraid it was something that Rupert would die of. But Henrietta +understood better, and she would not let Rupert do that battle any +more. + +Rupert's friends were very kind to him when he was ill, but the +kindest of all was Thomas Johnson. + +Johnson's grandfather was a canal-carrier, and made a good deal of +money, and Johnson's father got the money and went on with the +business. We had a great discussion once in the nursery as to whether +Johnson's father was a gentleman, and Rupert ran down-stairs, and into +the drawing-room, shouting, "Now, Mother! _is_ a carrier a gentleman?" + +And Mother, who was lying on the sofa, said, "Of course not. What +silly things you children do ask! Why can't you amuse yourselves in +the nursery? It is very hard you should come and disturb me for such a +nonsensical question." + +Rupert was always good to Mother, and he shut the drawing-room door +very gently. Then he came rushing up to the nursery to say that Mother +said "Of course not." But Henrietta said, "What did you ask her?" And +when Rupert told her she said, "Of course Mother thought you meant one +of those men who have carts to carry things, with a hood on the top +and a dog underneath." + +Johnson's father and grandfather were not carriers of that kind. They +owned a lot of canal-boats, and one or two big barges, which took all +kinds of things all the way to London. + +Mr. Johnson used to say, "In my father's time men of business lived +near their work both in London and the country. That's why my house is +close to the wharf. I am not ashamed of my trade, and the place is +very comfortable, so I shall stick to it. Tom may move into the town +and give the old house to the foreman when I am gone, if he likes to +play the fine gentleman." + +Tom would be very foolish if he did. It is the dearest old house one +could wish for. It was built of red brick, but the ivy has covered it +so thickly that it is clipped round the old-fashioned windows like a +hedge. The gardens are simply perfect. In summer you can pick as many +flowers and eat as much fruit as you like, and if that is not the use +and beauty of a garden, I do not know what is. + +Johnson's father was very proud of him, and let him have anything he +liked, and in the midsummer holidays Johnson used to bring his +father's trap and take Rupert out for drives, and Mrs. Johnson used +to put meat pies and strawberries in a basket under the seat, so that +it was a kind of picnic, for the old horse had belonged to Mr. +Bustard, and was a capital one for standing still. + +It was partly because of the Johnsons being so kind to Rupert that +Johnson Minor and I became chums at school, and partly because the +fight had made us friendly, and I had no Rupert now, and was rather +jealous of his taking completely to Henrietta, and most of all, I +fancy, because Johnson Minor was determined to be friends with me. He +was a very odd fellow. There was nothing he liked so much as wonderful +stories about people, and I never heard such wonderful stories as he +told himself. When we became friends he told me that he had never +meant to bully me when he asked about my father; he really did want to +hear about his battles and so forth. + +But the utmost I could tell him about my father was nothing to the +tales he told me about his grandfather, the navy captain. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE NAVY CAPTAIN--SEVEN PARROTS IN A FUCHSIA TREE--THE HARBOUR LION +AND THE SILVER CHAIN--THE LEGLESS GIANTS--DOWN BELOW--JOHNSON'S WHARF. + + +The Johnsons were very fond of their father, he was such a good, kind +man; but I think they would have been glad if he had had a profession +instead of being a canal-carrier, and I am sure it pleased them to +think that Mrs. Johnson's father had been a navy captain, and that his +portrait--uniform and all--hung over the horsehair sofa in the +dining-room, near the window where the yellow roses used to come in. + +If I could get the room to myself, I used to kneel on the sofa, on one +of the bolsters, and gaze at the faded little picture till I lost my +balance on the slippery horsehair from the intensity of my interest in +the hero of Johnson Minor's tales. Every time, I think, I expected to +see some change in the expression of the captain's red face, adapting +it better to what, by his grandson's account, his character must have +been. It seemed so odd he should look so wooden after having seen so +much. + +The captain had been a native of South Devon. + +"Raleigh, Drake, my grandfather, and lots of other great sailors were +born in Devonshire," Johnson said. He certainly did brag; but he spoke +so slowly and quietly, that it did not sound as like bragging as it +would have done if he had talked faster, I think. + +The captain had lived at Dartmouth, and of this place Johnson gave me +such descriptions, that to this day the name of Dartmouth has a +romantic sound in my ears, though I know now that all the marvels were +Johnson's own invention, and barely founded upon the real quaintness +of the place, of which he must have heard from his mother. It became +the highest object of my ambition to see the captain's native city. +That there must be people--shopkeepers, for instance, and a man to +keep the post office--who lived there all along, was a fact that I +could not realize sufficiently to envy them. + +Johnson--or Fred, as I used to call him by this time--only exaggerated +the truth about the shrubs that grow in the greenhouse atmosphere of +South Devon, when he talked of the captain's fuchsia trees being as +big as the old willows by the canal wharf; but the parrots must have +been a complete invention. He said the captain had seven. Two green, +two crimson, two blue, and one violet with an orange-coloured beak and +grey lining to his wings; and that they built nests in the fuchsia +trees of sandal-wood shavings, and lined them with the captain's silk +pocket-handkerchiefs. He said that though the parrots stole the +captain's handkerchiefs, they were all very much attached to him; but +they quarrelled among themselves, and swore at each other in seven +dialects of the West Coast of Africa. + +Mrs. Johnson herself once showed me a little print of Dartmouth +harbour, and told me it was supposed that in old times an iron chain +was stretched from rock to rock across its mouth as a means of +defence. And that afternoon Fred told me a splendid story about the +chain, and how it was made of silver, and that each link was worth +twenty pounds, and how at the end where it was fastened with a padlock +every night at sunset, to keep out the French, a lion sat on the ledge +of rock at the harbour's mouth, with the key tied round his neck by a +sea-green ribbon. He had to have a new ribbon on the first Sunday in +every month, Fred said, because his mane dirtied them so fast. A story +which Fred had of his grandfather's single-handed encounter with this +lion on one occasion, when the gallant captain would let a brig in +distress into the harbour after sunset, and the lion would not let him +have the key, raised my opinion of his courage and his humanity to +the highest point. But what he did at home was nothing to the exploits +which Fred recounted of him in foreign lands. + +I fancy Fred must have read some real accounts of South America, the +tropical forests, the wonderful birds and flowers, and the ruins of +those buried cities which have no history; and that on these real +marvels he built up his own romances of the Great Stone City, where +the captain encountered an awful race of giants with no legs, who +carved stones into ornaments with clasp-knives, as the Swiss cut out +pretty things in wood, and cracked the cocoa-nuts with their fingers. +I am sure he invented flowers as he went along when he was telling me +about the forests. He used to look round the garden (which would have +satisfied any one who had not seen or heard of what the captain had +come across) and say in his slow way, "The blue chalice flower was +about the shape of that magnolia, only twice as big, and just the +colour of the gentians in the border, and it had a great white tassel +hanging out like the cactus in the parlour window, and all the leaves +were yellow underneath; and it smelt like rosemary." + +If the captain's experiences in other countries outshone what had +befallen him in his native land, both these paled before the wonders +he had seen, and the emergencies he had been placed in at sea. Fred +told me that his grandfather had a diving-bell of his own on board his +own ship, and the things he saw when he went down in it must have made +his remembrances of the South American forests appear tame by +comparison. + +Once, in the middle of the Pacific, the captain dropped down in his +bell into the midst of a society of sea people who had no hair, but +the backs of their heads were shaped like sou'-wester hats. The front +rim formed one eyebrow for both eyes, and they could move the peak +behind as beavers move their tails, and it helped them to go up and +down in the water. They were not exactly mermaids, Fred said, they had +no particular tail, it all ended in a kind of fringe of seaweed, which +swept after them when they moved, like the train of a lady's dress. +The captain was so delighted with them that he stayed below much +longer than usual; but in an unlucky moment some of the sea people let +the water into the diving-bell, and the captain was nearly drowned. He +did become senseless, but when his body floated, it was picked up and +restored to life by the first mate, who had been cruising, with tears +in his eyes, over the spot in the ship's boat for seven days without +taking anything to eat.--"_He_ was a Dartmouth man, too," said Fred +Johnson. + +"He evidently knew what to do in the emergency of drowning," thought I. + +I feel as if any one who hears of Fred's stories must think he was a +liar. But he really was not. Mr. Johnson was very strict with the boys +in some ways, though he was so good-natured, and Fred had been taught +to think a lie to get himself out of a scrape or anything of that sort +quite as wrong as we should have thought it. But he liked _telling_ +things. I believe he made them up and amused himself with them in his +own head if he had no one to listen. He used to say, "Come and sit in +the kitchen garden this afternoon, and I'll _tell_ you." And whether +he meant me to think them true or not, I certainly did believe in his +stories. + +One thing always struck me as very odd about Fred Johnson. He was very +fond of fruit, and when we sat on the wall and ate the white currants +with pounded sugar in a mug between us, I believe he always ate more +than I did, though he was "telling" all the time, and I had nothing to +do but to listen and eat. + +He certainly talked very slowly, in a dreary, monotonous sort of +voice, which suited his dull, pasty face better than it suited the +subject of his exciting narratives. But I think it seemed to make one +all the more impatient to hear what was coming. A very favourite +place of ours for "telling" was the wharf (Johnson's wharf, as it was +called), where the canal boats came and went, and loaded and unloaded. +We made a "coastguard station" among some old timber in the corner, +and here we used to sit and watch for the boats. + +When a real barge came we generally went over it, for the men knew +Fred, and were very good-natured. The barges seemed more like ships +than the canal boats did. They had masts, and could sail when they got +into the river. Sometimes we went down into the cabin, and peeped into +the little berths with sliding shutter fronts, and the lockers, which +were like a fixed seat running round two sides of the cabin, with lids +opening and showing places to put away things in. I was not famous in +the nursery for keeping my things very tidy, but I fancied I could +stow my clothes away to perfection in a locker, and almost cook my own +dinner with the bargeman's little stove. + +And every time a barge was loaded up, and the bargemaster took his +post at the rudder, whilst the old horse strained himself to +start--and when the heavy boat swung slowly down the canal and passed +out of sight, I felt more and more sorry to be left behind upon the +wharf. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +S. PHILIP AND S. JAMES--THE MONKEY-BARGE AND THE DOG--WAR, PLAGUE, AND +FIRE--THE DULNESS OF EVERYDAY LIFE. + + +There were two churches in our town. Not that the town was so very +large or the churches so very small as to make this needful. On the +contrary, the town was of modest size, with no traces of having ever +been much bigger, and the churches were very large and very handsome. +That is, they were fine outside, and might have been very imposing +within but for the painted galleries which blocked up the arches above +and the tall pews which dwarfed the majestic rows of pillars below. +They were not more than a quarter of a mile apart. One was dedicated +to S. Philip and the other to S. James, and they were commonly called +"the brother churches." In the tower of each hung a peal of eight +bells. + +One clergyman served both the brother churches, and the services were +at S. Philip one week and at S. James the next. We were so accustomed +to this that it never struck us as odd. What did seem odd, and perhaps +a little dull, was that people in other places should have to go to +the same church week after week. + +There was only one day in the year on which both the peals of bells +were heard, the Feast of SS. Philip and James, which is also May Day. +Then there was morning prayer at S. Philip and evening prayer at S. +James, and the bells rang changes and cannons, and went on ringing by +turns all the evening, the bell-ringers being escorted from one church +to another with May garlands and a sort of triumphal procession. The +churches were decorated, and flags put out on the towers, and +everybody in the congregation was expected to carry a nosegay. + +Rupert and I and Henrietta and Baby Cecil and the servants always +enjoyed this thoroughly, and thought the churches delightfully sweet; +but my Mother said the smell of the cottage nosegays and the noise of +the bells made her feel very ill, which was a pity. + +Fred Johnson once told me some wonderful stories about the brother +churches. We had gone over the canal to a field not far from the +cricketing field, but it was a sort of water-meadow, and lower down, +and opposite to the churches, which made us think of them. We had +gone there partly to get yellow flags to try and grow them in tubs as +Johnson's father did water-lilies, and partly to watch for a +canal-boat or "monkey-barge," which was expected up with coal. Fred +knew the old man, and we hoped to go home as part of the cargo if the +old man's dog would let us; but he was a rough terrier, with an +exaggerated conscience, and strongly objected to anything coming on +board the boat which was not in the bill of lading. He could not even +reconcile himself to the fact that people not connected with barges +took the liberty of walking on the canal banks. + +"He've been a-going up and down with me these fifteen year," said the +old man, "and he barks at 'em still." He barked so fiercely at us that +Fred would not go on board, to my great annoyance, for I never feel +afraid of dogs, and was quite sure I could see a disposition to wag +about the stumpy tail of the terrier in spite of his "bowfs." + +I may have been wrong, but once or twice I fancied that Fred shirked +adventures which seemed nothing to me; and I felt this to be very odd, +because I am not as brave as I should like to be, and Fred is grandson +to the navy captain. + +I think Fred wanted to make me forget the canal-boat, which I followed +with regretful eyes, for he began talking about the churches. + +"It must be splendid to hear all sixteen bells going at once," said +he. + +"They never do," said I, unmollified. + +"They do--_sometimes_," said Fred slowly, and so impressively that I +was constrained to ask "When?" + +"In great emergencies," was Fred's reply, which startled me. But we +had only lived in the place for part of our lives, and Fred's family +belonged to it, so he must know better than I. + +"Is it to call the doctor?" I asked, thinking of drowning, and broken +bones, and apoplectic fits. + +"It's to call everybody," said Fred; "that is in time of war, when the +town is in danger. And when the Great Plague was here, S. Philip and +S. James both tolled all day long with their bells muffled. But when +there's a fire they ring backwards, as witches say prayers, you know." + +War and the plague had not been here for a very long time, and there +had been no fire in the town in my remembrance; but Fred said that +awful calamities of the kind had happened within the memory of man, +when the town was still built in great part of wood, and that one +night, during a high gale, the whole place, except a few houses, had +been destroyed by fire. After this the streets were rebuilt of stone +and bricks. + +These new tales which Fred told me, of places I knew, had a terrible +interest peculiarly their own. For the captain's dangers were over for +good now, but war, plague, and fire in the town might come again. + +I thought of them by day, and dreamed of them by night. Once I +remember being awakened, as I fancied, by the clanging of the two +peals in discordant unison, and as I opened my eyes a bright light on +the wall convinced me that the town was on fire. Fred's vivid +descriptions rushed to my mind, and I looked out expecting to see S. +Philip and S. James standing up like dark rocks in a sea of dancing +flames, their bells ringing backwards, "as witches say prayers." It +was only when I saw both the towers standing grey and quiet above the +grey and quiet town, and when I found that the light upon the wall +came from the street lamp below, that my head seemed to grow clearer, +and I knew that no bells were ringing, and that those I fancied I +heard were only the prolonged echoes of a bad dream. + +I was very glad that it was so, and I did not exactly wish for war or +the plague to come back; and yet the more I heard of Fred's tales the +more restless I grew, because the days were so dull, and because we +never went anywhere, and nothing ever happened. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +WE RESOLVE TO RUN AWAY--SCRUPLES--BABY CECIL--I PREPARE--I RUN AWAY. + + +I think it was Fred's telling me tales of the navy captain's boyhood +which put it into our heads that the only way for people at our age, +and in our position, to begin a life of adventure is to run away. + +The captain had run away. He ran away from school. But then the school +was one which it made your hair stand on end to hear of. The master +must have been a monster of tyranny, the boys little prodigies of +wickedness and misery, and the food such as would have been rejected +by respectably reared pigs. + +It put his grandson and me at a disadvantage that we had no excuses of +the kind for running away from the grammar school. Dr. Jessop was a +little pompous, but he was sometimes positively kind. There was not +even a cruel usher. I was no dunce, nor was Fred-though he was below +me in class--so that we had not even a grievance in connection with +our lessons. This made me feel as if there would be something mean +and almost dishonourable in running away from school. "I think it +would not be fair to the Doctor," said I; "it would look as if he had +driven us to it, and he hasn't. We had better wait till the holidays." + +Fred seemed more willing to wait than I had expected; but he planned +what we were to do when we did go as vigorously as ever. + +It was not without qualms that I thought of running away from home. My +mother would certainly be greatly alarmed; but then she was greatly +alarmed by so many things to which she afterwards became reconciled! +My conscience reproached me more about Rupert and Henrietta. Not one +of us had longed for "events" and exploits so earnestly as my sister; +and who but Rupert had prepared me for emergencies, not perhaps such +as the captain had had to cope with, but of the kinds recognized by +the yellow leather book? We had been very happy together--Rupert, +Henrietta, Baby Cecil, and I--and we had felt in common the one defect +of our lives that there were no events in them; and now I was going to +begin a life of adventure, to run away and seek my fortune, without +even telling them what I was going to do. + +On the other hand, that old mean twinge of jealousy was one of my +strongest impulses to adventure-seeking, and it urged me to perform my +exploits alone. Some people seem to like dangers and adventures whilst +the dangers are going on; Henrietta always seemed to think that the +pleasantest part; but I confess that I think one of the best parts +must be when they are over and you are enjoying the credit of them. +When the captain's adventures stirred me most I looked forward with a +thrill of anticipation to my return home--modest from a justifiable +pride in my achievements, and so covered with renown by my deeds of +daring that I should play second fiddle in the family no more, and +that Rupert and Henrietta would outbid each other for my "particular" +friendship, and Baby Cecil dog my heels to hear the stories of my +adventures. + +The thought of Baby Cecil was the heaviest pang I felt when I was +dissatisfied with the idea of running away from home. Baby Cecil was +the pet of the house. He had been born after my father's death, and +from the day he was born everybody conspired to make much of him. +Dandy, the Scotch terrier, would renounce a romping ramble with us to +keep watch over Baby Cecil when he was really a baby, and was only +carried for a dull airing in the nursemaid's arms. I can quite +understand Dandy's feelings; for if when one was just preparing for a +paperchase, or anything of that sort, Baby Cecil trotted up and, +flinging himself head first into one's arms, after his usual fashion, +cried, "Baby Cecil 'ants Charlie to tell him a long, long story--_so +much!_" it always ended in one's giving up the race or the scramble, +and devoting one's self as sedately as Dandy to his service. But I +consoled myself with the thought of how Baby Cecil would delight in +me, and what stories I should be able to tell him on my return. + +The worst of running away now-a-days is that railways and telegrams +run faster. I was prepared for any emergency except that of being +found and brought home again. + +Thinking of this brought to my mind one of Fred's tales of the +captain, about how he was pursued by bloodhounds and escaped by +getting into water. Water not only retains no scent, it keeps no +track. I think perhaps this is one reason why boys so often go to sea +when they run away, that no one may be able to follow them. It helped +my decision that we would go to sea when we ran away, Fred and I. +Besides, there was no other road to strange countries, and no other +way of seeing the sea people with the sou'-wester heads. + +Fred did not seem to have any scruples about leaving his home, which +made me feel how much braver he must be than I. But his head was so +full of the plans he made for us, and the lists he drew up of natural +products of the earth in various places on which we could live without +paying for our living, that he neglected his school-work, and got into +scrapes about it. This distressed me very much, for I was working my +very best that half on purpose that no one might say that we ran away +from our lessons, but that it might be understood that we had gone +solely in search of adventure, like sea-captains or any other grown-up +travellers. + +All Fred's tales now began with the word "suppose." They were not +stories of what had happened to his grandfather, but of what might +happen to us. The half-holiday that Mr. Johnson's hay was carted we +sat behind the farthest haycock all the afternoon with an old atlas on +our knees, and Fred "supposed" till my brain whirled to think of all +that was coming on us. "Suppose we get on board a vessel bound for +Singapore, and hide behind some old casks--" he would say, coasting +strange continents with his stumpy little forefinger, as recklessly as +the captain himself; on which of course I asked, "What is Singapore +like?" which enabled Fred to close the atlas and lie back among the +hay and say whatever he could think of and I could believe. + +Meanwhile we saved up our pocket-money and put it in a canvas bag, as +being sailor-like. Most of the money was Fred's, but he was very +generous about this, and said I was to take care of it as I was more +managing than he. And we practised tree-climbing to be ready for the +masts, and ate earth-nuts to learn to live upon roots in case we were +thrown upon a desert island. Of course we did not give up our proper +meals, as we were not obliged to yet, and I sometimes felt rather +doubtful about how we should feel living upon nothing but roots for +breakfast, dinner, and tea. However, I had observed that whenever the +captain was wrecked a barrel of biscuits went ashore soon afterwards, +and I hoped it might always be so in wrecks, for biscuits go a long +way, especially sailors' biscuits, which are large. + +I made a kind of handbook for adventure-seekers, too, in an old +exercise book, showing what might be expected and should be prepared +for in a career like the captain's. I divided it under certain heads: +Hardships, Dangers, Emergencies, Wonders, &c. These were subdivided +again thus: Hardships--I, Hunger; 2, Thirst; 3, Cold; 4, Heat; 5, No +Clothes; and so forth. I got all my information from Fred, and I read +my lists over and over again to get used to the ideas, and to feel +brave. And on the last page I printed in red ink the word "Glory." + +And so the half went by and came to an end; and when the old Doctor +gave me my three prizes, and spoke of what he hoped I would do next +half, my blushes were not solely from modest pride. + +The first step of our runaway travels had been decided upon long ago. +We were to go by barge to London. "And from London you can go +anywhere," Fred said. + +The day after the holidays began I saw a canal-boat lading at the +wharf, and finding she was bound for London I told Fred of it. But he +said we had better wait for a barge, and that there would be one on +Thursday. "Or if you don't think you can be ready by then, we can wait +for the next," he added. He seemed quite willing to wait, but +(remembering that the captain's preparations for his longest voyage +had only taken him eighteen and a half minutes by the chronometer, +which was afterwards damaged in the diving-bell accident, and which I +had seen with my own eyes, in confirmation of the story) I said I +should be ready any time at half-an-hour's notice, and Thursday was +fixed as the day of our departure. + +To facilitate matters it was decided that Fred should invite me to +spend Wednesday with him, and to stay all night, for the barge was to +start at half-past six o'clock on Thursday morning. + +I was very busy on Wednesday. I wrote a letter to my mother in which I +hoped I made it quite clear that ambition and not discontent was +leading me to run away. I also made a will, dividing my things fairly +between Rupert, Henrietta, and Baby Cecil, in case I should be drowned +at sea. My knife, my prayer-book, the ball of string belonging to my +kite, and my little tool-box I took away with me. I also took the +match-box from the writing-table, but I told Mother of it in the +letter. The captain used to light his fires by rubbing sticks +together, but I had tried it, and thought matches would be much +better, at any rate to begin with. + +Rupert was lying under the crab-tree, and Henrietta was reading to +him, when I went away. Rupert was getting much stronger; he could walk +with a stick, and was going back to school next half. I felt a very +unreasonable vexation because they seemed quite cheerful. But as I was +leaving the garden to go over the fields, Baby Cecil came running +after me, with his wooden spade in one hand and a plant of chick weed +in the other, crying: "Charlie, dear! Come and tell Baby Cecil a +story." I kissed him, and tied his hat on, which had come off as he +ran. + +"Not now, Baby," I said; "I am going out now, and you are gardening." + +"I don't want to garden," he pleaded. "Where are you going? Take me +with you." + +"I am going to Fred Johnson's," I said bravely. + +Baby Cecil was a very good child, though he was so much petted. He +gave a sigh of disappointment, but only said very gravely, "Will you +promise, _onyer-onner_, to tell me one when you come back?" + +"I promise to tell you lots _when I come back_, on my honour," was my +answer. + +I had to skirt the garden-hedge for a yard or two before turning off +across the meadow. In a few minutes I heard a voice on the other side. +Baby Cecil had run down the inside, and was poking his face through a +hole, and kissing both hands to me. There came into my head a wonder +whether his face would be much changed next time I saw it. I little +guessed when and how that would be. But when he cried, "Come back +_very soon_, Charlie dear," my imperfect valour utterly gave way, and +hanging my head I ran, with hot tears pouring over my face, all the +way to Johnson's wharf. + +When Fred saw my face he offered to give up the idea if I felt +faint-hearted about it. Nothing that he could have said would have +dried my tears so soon. Every spark of pride in me blazed up to reject +the thought of turning craven now. Besides, I longed for a life of +adventure most sincerely; and I was soon quite happy again in the +excitement of being so near to what I had longed for. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +WE GO ON BOARD--THE PIE--AN EXPLOSION--MR. ROWE THE BARGE-MASTER--THE +'WHITE LION'--TWO LETTERS--WE DOUBT MR. ROWE'S GOOD FAITH. + + +The dew was still heavy on the grass when Fred and I crossed the +drying-ground about five o'clock on Thursday morning, and scrambled +through a hedge into our "coastguard" corner on the wharf. We did not +want to be seen by the barge-master till we were too far from home to +be put ashore. + +The freshness of early morning in summer has some quality which seems +to go straight to the heart. I felt intensely happy. There lay the +barge, the sun shining on the clean deck, and from the dewy edges of +the old ropes, and from the barge-master's zinc basin and pail put out +to sweeten in the air. + +"She won't leave us behind this time!" I cried, turning triumphantly +to Fred. + +"Take care of the pie," said Fred. + +It was a meat-pie which he had taken from the larder this morning; +but he had told Mrs. Johnson about it in the letter he had left behind +him; and had explained that we took it instead of the breakfast we +should otherwise have eaten. We felt that earth-nuts might not be +forthcoming on the canal banks, or even on the wharf at Nine Elms when +we reached London. + +At about a quarter to six Johnson's wharf was quite deserted. The +barge-master was having breakfast ashore, and the second man had gone +to the stable. "We had better hide ourselves now," I said. So we crept +out and went on board. We had chosen our hiding-place before. Not in +the cabin, of course, nor among the cargo, where something extra +thrown in at the last moment might smother us if it did not lead to +our discovery, but in the fore part of the boat, in a sort of well or +_hold_, where odd things belonging to the barge itself were stowed +away, and made sheltered nooks into which we could creep out of sight. +Here we found a very convenient corner, and squatted down, with the +pie at our feet, behind a hamper, a box, a coil of rope, a sack of +hay, and a very large ball, crossed four ways with rope, and with a +rope-tail, which puzzled me extremely. + +"It's like a giant tadpole," I whispered to Fred. + +"Don't nudge me," said Fred. "My pockets are full, and it hurts." + +_My_ pockets were far from light. The money-bag was heavily laden +with change--small in value but large in coin. The box of matches was +with it and the knife. String, nails, my prayer-book, a pencil, some +writing-paper, the handbook, and a more useful hammer than the one in +my tool-box filled another pocket. Some gooseberries and a piece of +cake were in my trousers, and I carried the tool-box in my hands. We +each had a change of linen, tied up in a pocket-handkerchief. Fred +would allow of nothing else. He said that when our jackets and +trousers were worn out we must make new clothes out of an old sail. + +Waiting is very dull work. After awhile, however, we heard voices, and +the tramp of the horse, and then the barge-master and Mr. Johnson's +foreman and other men kept coming and going on deck, and for a quarter +of an hour we had as many hairbreadth escapes of discovery as the +captain himself could have had in the circumstances. At last somebody +threw the barge-master a bag of something (fortunately soft) which he +was leaving behind, and which he chucked on to the top of my head. +Then the driver called to his horse, and the barge gave a jerk, which +threw Fred on to the pie, and in a moment more we were gliding slowly +and smoothly down the stream. + +When we were fairly off we ventured to peep out a little, and stretch +our cramped limbs. There was no one on board but the barge-master, +and he was at the other end of the vessel, smoking and minding his +rudder. The driver was walking on the towing-path by the old grey +horse. The motion of the boat was so smooth that we seemed to be lying +still whilst villages and orchards and green banks and osier-beds went +slowly by, as though the world were coming to show itself to us, +instead of our going out to see the world. + +When we passed the town we felt some anxiety for fear we should be +stopped; but there was no one on the bank, and though the towers of S. +Philip and S. James appeared again and again in lessening size as we +looked back, there came at last a bend in the canal, when a high bank +of gorse shut out the distance, and we saw them no more. + +In about an hour, having had no breakfast, we began to speak seriously +of the pie. (I had observed Fred breaking little corners from the +crust with an absent air more than once.) Thinking of the first +subdivision under the word Hardships in my handbook, I said, "I'm +afraid we ought to wait till we are _worse hungry_." + +But Fred said, "Oh no!" And that out adventure-seeking it was quite +impossible to save and plan and divide your meals exactly, as you +could never tell what might turn up. The captain always said, "Take +good luck and bad luck and pot-luck as they come!" So Fred assured me, +and we resolved to abide by the captain's rule. + +"We may have to weigh out our food with a bullet, like Admiral Bligh, +next week," said Fred. + +"So we may," said I. And the thought must have given an extra relish +to the beefsteak and hard-boiled eggs, for I never tasted anything so +good. + +Whether the smell of the pie went aft, or whether something else made +the barge-master turn round and come forward, I do not know; but when +we were encumbered with open clasp-knives, and full mouths, we saw him +bearing down upon us, and in a hasty movement of retreat I lost my +balance, and went backward with a crash upon a tub of potatoes. + +The noise this made was not the worst part of the business. I was +tightly wedged amongst the odds and ends, and the money-bag being +sharply crushed against the match-box, which was by this time well +warmed, the matches exploded in a body, and whilst I was putting as +heroic a face as I could on the pain I was enduring in my right +funny-bone, Fred cried, "Your jacket's smoking. You're on fire!" + +Whether Mr. Rowe, the barge-master, had learnt presence of mind out of +a book, I do not know; but before Fred and I could even think of what +to do in the emergency, my jacket was off, the matches were +overboard, and Mr. Rowe was squeezing the smouldering fire out of my +pocket, rather more deliberately than most men brush their hats. Then, +after civilly holding the jacket for me to put it on again, he took +off his hat, took his handkerchief out of it, and wiped his head, and +replacing both, with his eyes upon us, said, more deliberately still, +"Well, young gentlemen, this is a nice start!" + +It was impossible to resist the feeling of confidence inspired by Mr. +Rowe's manner, his shrewd and stolid appearance, and his promptness in +an emergency. Besides, we were completely at his mercy. We appealed to +it, and told him our plans. We offered him a share of the pie too, +which he accepted with conscious condescension. When the dish was +empty he brought his handkerchief into use once more, and then said, +in a peculiarly oracular manner, "You just look to me, young +gentlemen, and I'll put you in the way of every think." + +The immediate advantage we took of this offer was to ask about +whatever interested us in the landscape constantly passing before our +eyes, or the barge-furniture at our feet. The cord-compressed balls +were shore-fenders, said Mr. Rowe, and were popped over the side when +the barge was likely to grate against the shore, or against another +vessel. + +"Them's osier-beds. They cuts 'em every year or so for basket-work. +Wot's that little bird a-hanging head downwards? It's a titmouse +looking for insects, that is. There's scores on 'em in the osier-beds. +Aye, aye, the yellow lilies is pretty enough, but there's a lake the +other way--a mile or two beyond your father's, Master Fred--where +there's white water-lilies. They're pretty, if you like! It's a rum +thing in spring," continued Mr. Rowe, between puffs of his pipe, "to +see them lilies come up from the bottom of the canal; the leaves +packed as neat as any parcel, and when they git to the top, they turns +down and spreads out on the water as flat as you could spread a cloth +upon a table." + +As a rule, Mr. Rowe could give us no names for the aquatic plants at +which we clutched as we went by, nor for the shells we got out of the +mud; but his eye for a water-rat was like a terrier's. It was the only +thing which seemed to excite him. + +About mid-day we stopped by a village, where Mr. Rowe had business. +The horse was to rest and bait here; and the barge-master told us that +if we had "a shilling or so about" us, we might dine on excellent +bread and cheese at the _White Lion_, or even go so far as poached +eggs and yet more excellent bacon, if our resources allowed of it. We +were not sorry to go ashore. There was absolutely no shelter on the +deck of the barge from the sunshine, which was glaringly reflected by +the water. The inn parlour was low, but it was dark and cool. I felt +doubtful about the luxury even of cheese after that beefsteak-pie but +Fred smacked his lips and ordered eggs and bacon, and I paid for them +out of the canvas-bag. + +As we sat together I said, "I wrote a letter to my mother, Fred. Did +you write to Mrs. Johnson?" + +Fred nodded, and pulled a scrap of dirty paper from his pocket, +saying, "That's the letter; but I made a tidy copy of it afterwards." + +I have said that Fred was below me in class, though he is older; and +he was very bad at spelling. Otherwise the letter did very well, +except for smudges. + + "DEAR MOTHER, + + "Charlie and I are going to run away at least by the time you get + this we have run away but never mind for wen weve seen the wurld + were cumming back we took the pi wich I hope you wont mind as we + had no brekfust and I'll bring back the dish we send our best love + and I've no more to tell you to-day from your affectionate son + FRED." + +I saw Mr. Rowe myself very busy in the bar of the _White Lion_, with a +sheet of paper and an old steel pen, which looked as if the point had +been attenuated to that hair-like fineness by sheer age. He started +at the sight of me, which caused him to drop a very large blot of ink +from the very sharp point of the pen on to his paper. I left him +wiping it up with his handkerchief. But it never struck me that he was +writing a letter on the same subject as Fred and I had been writing +about. He was, however: and Mr. Johnson keeps it tied up with Fred's +to this day. The spelling was of about the same order. + + "MR. JOHNSON. HONERD SIR. + + "i rites in duty bound to acqaint you that the young genlemen is + with me, looking out for Advenchurs and asking your pardon i wish + they may find them as innercent as 2 Babes in the Wood on the + London and Lancingford Canal were they come aboard quite unknown to + me and blowed theirselves up with lucifers the fust go off and + you've no need to trubble yourself sir ill keep my I on them and + bring em safe to hand with return cargo and hoping you'll excuse + the stamp not expecting to have to rite from the fust stoppige your + obedient humble servant + + "SAMUEL ROWE." + +As I have said, we did not suspect that Mr. Rowe had betrayed us by +post; but in the course of the afternoon Fred said to me, "I'll tell +you what, Charlie, I know old Rowe well, and he's up to any trick, +and sure to want to keep in with my father. If we don't take care +he'll take us back with him. And what fools we shall look then!" + +The idea was intolerable; but I warned Fred to carefully avoid +betraying that we suspected him. The captain had had worse enemies to +outwit, and had kept a pirate in good humour for a much longer voyage +by affability and rum. We had no means of clouding Mr. Rowe's +particularly sharp wits with grog, but we resolved to be amiable and +wary, and when we did get to London to look out for the first +opportunity of giving the barge-master the slip. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A COASTING VOYAGE--MUSK ISLAND--LINNET FLASH--MR. ROWE AN OLD TAR--THE +DOG-FANCIER AT HOME. + + +It was a delightful feature of our first voyage--and one which we +could not hope to enjoy so often in voyages to come--that we were +always close to land, and this on both sides. We could touch either +coast without difficulty, and as the barge stopped several times +during the day to rest the horse, Fred and I had more than one chance +of going ashore. + +I hope to have many a voyage yet, and to see stranger people and +places than I saw then, but I hardly hope ever to enjoy myself so much +again. I have long ago found out that Fred's stories of the captain's +adventures were not true stories, and as I have read and learned more +about the world than I knew at that time, I know now that there are +only certain things which one can meet with by land or by sea. But +when Fred and I made our first voyage in emulation of his grandfather +there was no limit to my expectations, or to what we were prepared to +see or experience at every fresh bend of the London and Lancingford +Canal. + +I remember one of Fred's stories about the captain was of his spending +a year and a day on an island called Musk Island, in the Pacific. He +had left the ship, Fred said, to do a little exploring alone in his +gig. Not knowing at that time that the captain's gig is a boat, I was +a good deal puzzled, I remember, to think of Mrs. Johnson's red-faced +father crossing the sea in a gig like the one Mr. Bustard used to go +his professional "rounds" in. And when Fred spoke of his "pulling +himself" I was yet more bewildered by the unavoidable conclusion that +they had no horse on board, and that the gallant and ever-ready +captain went himself between the shafts. The wonder of his getting to +Musk Island in that fashion was, however, eclipsed by the wonders he +found when he did get there. Musk-hedges and bowers ten feet high, +with flowers as large as bindweed blossoms, and ladies with pale gold +hair all dressed in straw-coloured satin, and with such lovely faces +that the captain vowed that no power on earth should move him till he +had learned enough of the language to propose the health of the Musk +Island beauties in a suitable speech after dinner. "And there he would +have lived and died, I believe," Fred would say, "if that first mate, +who saved his life before, had not rescued him by main force, and +taken him back to his ship." + +I am reminded of this story when I think of the island in Linnet Lake, +for we were so deeply charmed by it that we very nearly broke our +voyage, as the captain broke his, to settle on it. + +Mr. Rowe called the lake Linnet Flash. Wherever the canal seemed to +spread out, and then go on again narrow and like a river, the +barge-master called these lakes "flashes" of the canal. There is no +other flash on that canal so large or so beautiful as Linnet Lake, and +in the middle of the lake lies the island. + +It was about three o'clock, the hottest part of a summer's day, and +Fred and I, rather faint with the heat, were sitting on a coil of rope +holding a clean sheet, which Mr. Rowe had brought up from the cabin to +protect our heads and backs from sunstroke. We had refused to take +shelter below, and sat watching the fields and hedges, which seemed to +palpitate in the heat as they went giddily by, and Mr. Rowe, who stood +quite steady, conversing coolly with the driver. The driver had been +on board for the last hour, the way being clear, and the old horse +quite able to take care of itself and us, and he and the barge-master +had pocket-handkerchiefs under their hats like the sou'-wester flaps +of the captain's sea-friends. Fred had dropped his end of the sheet +to fall asleep, and I was protecting us both, when the driver bawled +some directions to the horse in their common language, and the +barge-master said, "Here's a bit of shade for you, Master Fred;" and +we roused up and found ourselves gliding under the lee of an island +covered with trees. + +"Oh, _do_ stop here!" we both cried. + +"Well, I don't mind," said Mr. Rowe, removing his hat, and mopping +himself with his very useful pocket-handkerchief. "Jem, there's a bit +of grass there, let her have a mouthful." + +"I thought you'd like this," he continued; "there ain't a prettier bit +between here and Pyebridge." + +It was so lovely, that the same idea seized both Fred and me: Why not +settle here, at least for a time? It was an uninhabited island, only +waiting to be claimed by some adventurous navigator, and obviously +fertile. The prospect of blackberries on the mainland was particularly +fine, and how they would ripen in this blazing sun! Birds sang in the +trees above; fish leaping after flies broke the still surface of the +water with a musical splash below; and beyond a doubt there must be +the largest and the sweetest of earth-nuts on the island, easy to get +out of the deep beds of untouched leaf-mould. And when Mr. Rowe cried +"Look!" and we saw a water-fowl scud across the lake, leaving a sharp +trail like a line of light behind her, we felt that we might spend all +our savings in getting to the Pacific Ocean, and not find when we got +there a place which offered more natural resources to the desert +islander. + +If the barge-master would have gone ashore on the mainland out of the +way, and if we could have got ashore on the island without help, we +should not have confided our plans to so doubtful a friend. As it was, +we were obliged to tell Mr. Rowe that we proposed to found a +settlement in Linnet Lake, and he was completely opposed to the idea. + +It was only when he said (with that air of reserved and funded +knowledge which gave such unfathomable depth to his irony, and made +his sayings so oracular)--"There's very different places in the world +to Linnet Flash"--that we began to be ashamed of our hasty enthusiasm, +and to think that it would be a pity to stop so short in our +adventurous career. + +So we decided to go on; but the masterly way in which Mr. Rowe spoke +of the world made me think he must have seen a good deal of it, and +when we had looked our last upon the island, and had crept with +lowered mast under an old brick bridge where young ferns hung down +from the archway, and when we were once more travelling between flat +banks and coppices that gave us no shelter, I said to the +barge-master--"Have you ever been at sea, Mr. Rowe?" + +"Seven_teen_ year in the Royal Navy," said Mr. Rowe, with a strong +emphasis upon _teen_, as if he feared we might do him the injustice of +thinking he had only served his Queen and country for seven. + +For the next two hours Fred and I sat, indifferent alike to the +sunshine and the shore, in rapt attention to Mr. Rowe's narrative of +his experiences at sea under the flag that has + + "Braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze." + +I believe Fred enjoyed them simply as stories, but they fanned in my +heart that restless fever for which sea-breezes are the only cure. I +think Mr. Rowe got excited himself as he recalled old times. And when +he began to bawl sea-songs with a voice like an Atlantic gale, and +when he vowed in cadence + + "A sailor's life is the life for me," + +I felt that it was the life for me also, and expressed myself so +strongly to that effect that Mr. Rowe became alarmed for the +consequences of his indiscretion, and thenceforward told us +sea-stories with the obvious and quite futile intention of disgusting +me with what I already looked upon as my profession. + +But the barge-master's rapid change of tactics convinced me more and +more that we could not safely rely on him to help us in our plans. + +About five o'clock he made tea on board, and boiled the water on the +little stove in the cabin. I was very anxious to help, and it was I +who literally made the tea, whilst Mr. Rowe's steadier hand cut thick +slices of bread-and-butter from a large loaf. There was only one cup +and saucer. Fred and I shared the cup, and the barge-master took the +saucer. By preference, he said, as the tea cooled quicker. + +The driver had tea after we returned to the deck and could attend to +the horse and boat. + +Except the island in Linnet Lake, the most entertaining events of the +first day of our voyage were our passing villages or detached houses +on the canal banks. + +Of the latter by far the most interesting was that of a dog-fancier, +from whose residence melodious howls, in the dog-dialect of every +tribe deserving to be represented in so choice a company, were wafted +up the stream, and met our ears before our eyes beheld the +landing-stage of the establishment, where the dog-fancier and some of +his dogs were lounging in the cool of the evening, and glad to see the +barge. + +The fancier knew Mr. Rowe, and refreshed him (and us) with shandy-gaff +in horn tumblers. Some of the dogs who did not, barked incessantly at +us, wagging their tails at the same time, however, as if they had some +doubts of the correctness of their judgment in the matter. One very +small, very white, and very fluffy toy-dog, with a dove-coloured +ribbon, was--no doubt--incurably ill-tempered and inhospitable; but a +large brindled bull-dog, trying politely but vainly to hide his teeth +and tongue, wagged what the fancier had left him of a tail, and +dribbled with the pleasure of making our acquaintance, after the wont +of his benevolent and much-maligned family. I have since felt pretty +certain that Mr. Rowe gave his friend a sketch of our prospects and +intentions in the same spirit in which he had written to Mr. Johnson, +and I distinctly overheard the dog-fancier make some reply, in which +the words "hoffer a reward" were audible. But the barge-master shook +his head at suggestions probably drawn from his friend's professional +traditions, though the fancier told him some very good story about the +ill-tempered toy-dog, to which he referred with such violent jerks of +the head as threatened to throw his fur cap on to that of the brindled +gentleman who sat dripping and smiling at his feet. + +When Mr. Rowe began to tell him something good in return, and in spite +of my utmost endeavours not to hear anything, the words "Linnet Flash" +became audible, I blushed to hear the fancier choking over his +shandy-gaff with laughter, and I feared at our project for settling on +the island. + +The interview was now at an end, but as Mr. Rowe stepped briskly on +board, the fur cap nodded to the forehatch, where Fred and I were +sitting on coiled ropes, and the fancier said very knowingly, "The +better the breed the gamier the beast." + +He patted the bull-dog as he said it, and the bull-dog kissed his +dirty hand. + +"Hup to hanythink," were Mr. Rowe's parting words, as he went aft, and +the driver called to his horse. + +He may have referred to the bull-dog, but I had some doubts about it, +even then. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +LOCKS--WE THINK OF GOING ON THE TRAMP--PYEBRIDGE--WE SET SAIL. + + +During our first day's voyage we passed two locks. There was one not +very far from home, and Fred and I had more than once been to see a +barge pass it, sitting on the bank whilst the boat gradually sank to +the level of the water below. + +It was great fun being on board whilst the barge went down and down, +though I must say we did not feel anything peculiar, we sank so +gradually. + +"Just fancy if it was a hole in the ship's bottom," said Fred, "and we +were settling down with all on board. Some ships do, and are never +heard of again." + +We amused ourselves as we went along by guessing beforehand on which +shore the next house or hamlet would appear. We betted shillings on +the result, but neither of us won or lost, for however often the +shillings changed hands, they remained in the canvas bag. + +Perhaps places look more as if events happened in them if you do not +know them well. I noticed that even our town looked more interesting +from the water than I had ever seen it look, so I dare say to +strangers it does not appear so dull as it is. All the villages on the +canal banks looked interesting. We passed one soon after tea, where +the horse rested under some old willows by the towing-path, and we and +Mr. Rowe went ashore. Whilst the barge-master delivered a parcel to a +friend, Fred and I strolled into a lane which led us past cottages +with very gay gardens to the church. The church was not at all like S. +Philip or S. James. It was squat, and ivy-covered, and carefully +restored; and it stood in a garden where the flowers almost hid the +graves. Just outside the lych-gate, four lanes met, and all of them +were so shady and inviting, and it was so impossible to say what they +might not lead to, that I said to Fred, + +"You said the only way to run away besides going to sea was to +_tramp_. It sounds rather low, but we needn't beg, and I think walking +would be nice for a change, and I don't believe it would be much +slower than the barge, and it would be so much shadier. And we could +get off from Old Rowe at once, and hide if we heard anybody coming. I +wonder how far it is to London now?" + +"Not far, I dare say," said Fred, who was pleased by the idea; "and if +we keep on we must get there in time. And we can get things to eat in +the hedges, which we can't do on the barge." + +At this moment there passed a boy, to whom I said, "Which is the way +to London, if you please?" for there were four roads to choose from. + +"What d' say?" said the boy. + +I repeated my question. + +"Dunno," he replied, trying to cram half his hand into his mouth. The +captain would have thought him very stupid if he had met him as a +native in one of the islands of the Pacific, I am sure; but I followed +him, and begged him to try and think if he had not heard of people +going to London. + +At last his face brightened. He was looking over my head down the +lane. "There's a man a-cummin yonder's always a-going to Lunnon," said +he. Visions of a companion on our tramp--also perhaps in search of +adventures--made me look briskly round. "Him with the pipe, as b'longs +to the barge," the boy exclaimed. + +It was indeed Mr. Rowe come to look for us, and we had to try and seem +glad to see him, and to go on board once more. + +Towards evening the canal banks became dotted with fishers of all ages +and degrees, fishing very patiently, though they did not seem to catch +much. + +Soon after dark we reached the town of Pyebridge. + +When the barge lay-to for the night, and the driver was taking the +horse away to the stable, Mr. Rowe confronted us, in his firmest +manner, with the question, "And where are you going to sleep, young +gentlemen?" + +"Where are _you_ going to sleep, Mr. Rowe?" said I, after a thoughtful +pause. + +"_I_ sleeps below, but the captain's cabin is guv up to no one--unless +it be the Queen," replied the barge-master, humorously but decidedly. + +"We should like to sleep on deck," said I. + +But Mr. Rowe would not hear of it, on account of various dreadful +diseases which he assured us would be contracted by sleeping "in the +damps of the water," "the dews of the _h_air," and "the rays of the +moon." + +"There's a hotel--" he began; but I said at once, "We couldn't afford +a hotel, but if you know of any very cheap place we should be much +obliged." + +Mr. Rowe took off his hat and took out his handkerchief, though it was +no longer hot. Having cleared his brain, he said he "would see," and +he finally led us along one of the pebbled streets of Pyebridge to a +small house with a small shop-window for the sale of vegetables, and +with a card announcing that there were beds to let. A very little old +woman got up from behind a very big old geranium in the window as we +entered, and with her Mr. Rowe made our arrangements for the night. We +got a clean bed, and had a mug of milk and a slice of bread and +treacle apiece for breakfast the next morning, and I paid two +shillings. As I thanked the old lady and bade her good day, she called +to me to hold out my hat, which she filled with cherries, and then +stood at the door and watched us out of sight. + +There was a railway station in Pyebridge, and we might easily have +escaped from Mr. Rowe, and gone by train to London. But besides the +fact that our funds were becoming low, the water had a new attraction +for us. We had left the canal behind, and were henceforward on a +river. If the wind favoured us we were to sail. + +"A canal's nothing to a river," said Mr. Rowe, "same as a river's +nothing to the sea," and when Fred had some difficulty in keeping his +hat on in the gusty street (mine was in use as a fruit-basket), and +the barge-master said it was a "nice fresh morning," I felt that life +on Linnet Island would have been tame indeed compared to the hopes and +fears of a career which depended on the winds and waves. + +And when the boom went up the barge's mast, and the tightly corded +roll of dark canvas began to struggle for liberty, and writhe and flap +with throttling noises above our heads, and when Mr. Rowe wrestled +with it and the driver helped him, and Fred and I tried to, and were +all but swept overboard in consequence, whilst the barge-master +encouraged himself by strange and savage sounds--and when the sunshine +caught our nut-brown sail just as she spread gallantly to the breeze, +our excitement grew till we both cried in one breath, + +"This is something _like_ being at sea!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MR. ROWE ON BARGE-WOMEN--THE RIVER--NINE ELMS--A MYSTERIOUS +NOISE--ROUGH QUARTERS--A CHEAP SUPPER--JOHN'S BERTH--WE MAKE OUR +ESCAPE--OUT INTO THE WORLD. + + +Mr. Rowe is quite right. A canal is nothing to a river. + +There was a wide piece of water between us and one of the banks now, +and other barges went by us, some sailing, some towing only, and two +or three with women at the rudder, and children on the deck. + +"I wouldn't have my wife and fam'ly on board for something!" said Mr. +Rowe grimly. + +"Have you got a family, Mr. Rowe?" I inquired. + +"Yes, sir," said the barge-master. "I have, like other folk. But women +and children's best ashore." + +"Of course they are," said I. + +"If you was to turn over in your mind what they _might_ be good for +now," he continued, with an unfathomable eye on the mistress of a +passing canal-boat, "you'd say washing the decks and keeping the pots +clean. And they don't do it as well as a man--not by half." + +"They seem to steer pretty well," said I. + +"I've served in very different vessels to what I'm in now," said Mr. +Rowe, avoiding a reply, "and I _may_ come as low as a monkey-barge and +coal; but I'm blessed if ever I see myself walk on the towing-path and +leave the missus in command on board." + +At this moment a barge came sailing alongside of us. + +"Oh look!" cried Fred, "it's got a white horse painted on the sail." + +"That's a lime barge, sir," said Mr. Rowe; "all lime barges is marked +that way." + +She was homeward bound, and empty, and soon passed us, but we went at +a pretty good pace ourselves. The wind kept favourable, a matter in +which Fred and I took the deepest interest. We licked our fingers, and +held them up to see which side got cooled by the breeze, and whenever +this experiment convinced me that it was still behind us, I could not +help running back to Fred to say with triumph, "The wind's dead aft," +as if he knew nothing about it. + +At last this seemed to annoy him, so I went to contain myself by +sitting on the potato-tub and watching the shore. + +We got into the Thames earlier than usual, thanks to the fair wind. + +The world is certainly a very beautiful place. I suppose when I get +right out into it, and go to sea, and to other countries, I shall +think nothing of England and the Thames, but it was all new and +wonderful to Fred and me then. The green slopes and fine trees, and +the houses with gardens down to the river, and boats rocking by the +steps, the osier islands, which Mr. Rowe called "Aits," and the +bridges where the mast had to be lowered, all the craft on the +water--the red-sailed barges with one man on board--the steamers with +crowded decks and gay awnings--the schooners, yachts, and pleasure +boats--and all the people on shore, the fishers, and the people with +water-dogs and sticks, the ladies with fine dresses and parasols, and +the ragged boys who cheered us as we went by--everything we saw and +heard delighted us, and the only sore place in my heart was where I +longed for Rupert and Henrietta to enjoy it too. + +Later on we saw London. It was in the moonlight that we passed +Chelsea. Mr. Rowe pointed out the Hospital, in which the pensioners +must have been asleep, for not a wooden leg was stirring. In less than +half-an-hour afterwards we were at the end of our voyage. + +The first thing which struck me about Nine Elms was that they were not +to be seen. I had thought of those elms more than once under the +burning sun of the first day. I had imagined that we should land at +last on some green bank, where the shelter of a majestic grove might +tempt Mr. Rowe to sleep, while Fred and I should steal gently away to +the neighbouring city, and begin a quite independent search for +adventures. But I think I must have mixed up with my expectations a +story of one of the captain's escapes--from a savage chief in a +mango-grove. + +Our journey's end was not quite what I had thought it would be, but it +was novel and interesting enough. We seemed to have thoroughly got to +the town. Very old houses with feeble lights in their paper-patched +windows made strange reflections on the river. The pier looked dark +and dirty even by moonlight, and threw blacker and stranger shadows +still. + +Mr. Rowe was busy and tired, and--we thought--a little inclined to be +cross. + +"I wonder where we shall sleep!" said Fred, looking timidly up at the +dark old houses. + +I have said before that I find it hard work to be very brave after +dark, but I put a good face on the matter, and said I dared say old +Rowe would find us a cheap bedroom. + +"London's an awful place for robbers and murders, you know," said +Fred. + +I was hoping the cold shiver running down my back was due to what the +barge-master called "the damps from the water"--when a wail like the +cry of a hurt child made my skin stiffen into goose-prickles. A wilder +moan succeeded, and then one of the windows of one of the dark houses +was opened, and something thrown out which fell heavily down. Mr. Rowe +was just coming on board again, and I found courage in the emergency +to gasp out, "What was that?" + +"Wot's wot?" said Mr. Rowe testily. + +"That noise and the falling thing." + +"Somebody throwing, somethin' at a cat," said the barge-master. "Stand +aside, sir, _if_ you please." + +It was a relief, but when at length Mr. Rowe came up to me with his +cap off, in the act of taking out his handkerchief, and said, "I +suppose you're no richer than you was yesterday, young gentlemen--how +about a bed?"--I said, "No--o. That is, I mean if you can get us a +cheap one in a safe--I mean a respectable place." + +"If you leaves a comfortable 'ome, sir," moralized the barge-master, +"to go a-looking for adventures in this fashion, you must put up with +rough quarters, and wot you can get." + +"We'll go anywhere you think right, Mr. Rowe," said I diplomatically. + +"I knows a waterman," said Mr. Rowe, "that was in the Royal Navy like +myself. He lives near here, and they're decent folk. The place is a +poor place, but you'll have to make the best of it, young gentlemen, +and a shilling 'll cover the damage. If you wants supper you must pay +for it. Give the missis the money, and she'll do the best she can, and +bring you the change to a half-farthing." + +My courage was now fully restored, but Fred was very much overwhelmed +by the roughness of the streets we passed through, the drunken, +quarrelling, poverty-struck people, and the grim, dirty old houses. + +"We shall be out of it directly," I whispered, and indeed in a few +minutes more Mr. Rowe turned up a shabby entry, and led us to one of +several lower buildings round a small court. The house he stopped at +was cleaner within than without, and the woman was very civil. + +"It's a very poor place, sir," said she; "but we always keep a berth, +as his father calls it, for our son John." + +"But we can't take your son's bed," said I; "we'll sit up here, if you +will let us." + +"Bless ye, love," said the woman, "John's in foreign parts. He's a +sailor, sir, like his father before him; but John's in the merchant +service." + +Mr. Rowe now bade us good-night. "I'll be round in the morning," said +he. + +"What o'clock, Mr. Rowe?" I asked; I had a reason for asking. + +"There ain't much in the way of return cargo," he replied; "but I've a +bit of business to do for your father, Mr. Fred, that'll take me until +half-past nine. I'll be here by then, young gentlemen, and show you +about a bit." + +"It's roughish quarters for you," added the bargemaster, looking +round; "but you'll find rougher quarters at sea, Master Charles." + +Mr. Howe's moralizings nettled me, and they did no good, for my whole +thoughts were now bent on evading his guardianship and getting to sea, +but poor Fred was quite overpowered. "I wish we were safe home again," +he almost sobbed when I went up to the corner into which he had +huddled himself. + +"You'll be all right when we're afloat," said I. + +"I'm so hungry," he moaned. + +I was hungry myself, and decided to order some supper, so when the +woman came up and civilly asked if she could do anything for us before +we went to bed, I said, "If you please we're rather hungry, but we +can't afford anything very expensive. Do you think you can get us +anything--rather cheap--for supper?" + +"A red herring?" she suggested. + +"What price are they?" I felt bound to inquire. + +"Mrs. Jones has them beautiful and mild at two for a penny. You _can_ +get 'em at three a penny, but you wouldn't like 'em, sir." + +I felt convinced by the expression of her face that I should not, so I +ordered two. + +"And a penny loaf?" suggested our landlady, getting her bonnet from +behind the door. + +"If you please." + +"And a bunch of radishes and a pint of fourpenny would be +fivepence-half-penny the lot, sir." + +"If you please. And, if you please, that will do," said I, drawing a +shilling from the bag, for the thought of the herrings made me +ravenous, and I wanted her to go. She returned quickly with the bread, +and herrings. The "fourpenny" proved to be beer. She gave me +sixpence-half-penny in change, which puzzled my calculations. + +"You said _fourpenny_," said I, indicating the beer. + +"Yes, sir, but it's a pint," was the reply; and it was only when in +after-years I learned that beer at fourpence a quart is known to some +people as "fourpenny" that I got that part of the reckoning of the +canvas bag straight in my own mind. + +The room had an unwholesome smell about it, which the odour from our +fried herrings soon pleasantly overpowered. The bread was good, and +the beer did us no harm. Fred picked up his spirits again; when Mr. +Rowe's old mate came home he found us very cheerful and chatty. Fred +asked him about the son who was at sea, but I had some more important +questions to put, and I managed so to do, and with a sufficiently +careless air. + +"I suppose there are lots of ships at London?" said I. + +"In the Docks, sir, plenty," said our host. + +"And where are the Docks?" I inquired. "Are they far from you?" + +"Well, you see, sir, there's a many docks. There's the East India +Docks, St. Katharine's Docks, and the Commercial Docks, and Victoria +Dock, and lots more." + +I pondered. Ships in the East India Dock probably went only to India. +St. Katharine conveyed nothing to my mind. I did not fancy Commercial +Docks. I felt a loyal inclination towards the Victoria Dock. + +"How do people get from here to Victoria Dock now, if they want to?" I +asked. + +"Well, of course, sir, you can go down the river, or part that way and +then by rail from Fenchurch Street." + +"Where is Fenchurch Street, Mr. Smith?" said I, becoming a good deal +ashamed of my pertinacity. + +"In the city, sir," said Mr. Smith. + +The city! Now I never heard of any one in any story going out into the +world to seek his fortune, and coming to a city, who did not go into +it to see what was to be seen. Leaving the king's only daughter and +those kinds of things, which belong to story-books, out of the +question, I do not believe the captain would have passed a new city +without looking into it. + +"You go down the river to Fenchurch Street--in a barge?" I suggested. + +"Bless ye, no, sir!" said Mr. Smith, getting the smoke of his pipe +down his throat the wrong way with laughing, till I thought his +coughing-fit would never allow him to give me the important +information I required. "There's boats, sir, plenty on 'em. I could +take you myself, and be thankful, and there's steamers calls at the +wharf every quarter of an hour or so through the day, from nine in the +morning, and takes you to London Bridge for threepence. It ain't many +minutes' walk to Fenchurch Street, and the train takes you straight to +the Docks." + +After this we conversed on general seafaring matters. Mr. Smith was +not a very able-bodied man, in consequence of many years' service in +unhealthy climates, he said; and he complained of his trade as a +"poor one," and very different from what it had been in his father's +time, and before new London Bridge was built, which "anybody and +anything could get through" now without watermen's assistance. In his +present depressed condition he seemed to look back on his seafaring +days with pride and tender regret, and when we asked for tales of his +adventures he was checked by none of the scruples which withheld Mr. +Rowe from encouraging me to be a sailor. + +"John's berth" proved to be a truckle-bed in a closet which just held +it, and which also held more nasty smells than I could have believed +there was room for. Opening the window seemed only to let in fresh +ones. When Fred threw himself on his face on the bed, and said, "What +a beastly hole!" and cried bitterly, I was afraid he was going to be +ill; and when I had said my prayers and persuaded him to say his and +come to bed, I thought that if we got safely through the night we +would make the return voyage with Mr. Rowe, and for the future leave +events and emergencies to those who liked danger and discomfort. + +But when we woke with the sun shining on our faces, and through the +little window beheld it sparkling on the river below us, and on the +distant city, we felt all right again, and stuck to our plans. + +"Let's go by the city," said Fred, "I should like to see some of the +town." + +"If we don't get off before half-past nine we're lost," said I. + +We found an unexpected clog in Mr. Smith, who seemed inclined to stick +to us and repeat the stories he had told us overnight. At about +half-past eight, however, he went off to his boat, saying he supposed +we should wait for Mr. Rowe, and when his wife went into a neighbour's +house I laid a shilling on the table, and Fred and I slipped out and +made our way to the pier. + +Mr. Rowe was not there, and a church clock near struck nine. This was +echoed from the city more than once, and then we began to look +anxiously for the steamer. Five, ten minutes must have passed--they +seemed hours to me--when I asked a man who was waiting also when the +steamer from London Bridge would come. + +"She'll be here soon," said he. + +"So will old Rowe," whispered Fred. + +But the steamer came first, and we went on board; and the paddles +began to splash, and our escape was accomplished. + +It was a lovely morning, and the tall, dirty old houses looked almost +grand in the sunlight as we left Nine Elms. The distant city came +nearer and shone brighter, and when the fretted front of the Houses +of Parliament went by us like a fairy palace, and towers and blocks of +buildings rose solidly one behind another in shining tints of white +and grey against the blue summer sky, and when above the noise of our +paddle-wheels came the distant roar of the busy streets--Fred pressed +the arm I had pushed through his and said, "We're out in the world at +last!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +EMERGENCIES AND POLICEMEN--FENCHURCH STREET STATION--THIRD CLASS TO +CUSTOM HOUSE--A SHIP FOREST. + + +Policemen are very useful people. I do not know how we should have got +from the London Bridge Pier to the Fenchurch Street Station if it had +not been that Fred told me he knew one could ask policemen the way to +places. There is nothing to pay, which I was very glad of, as the +canvas bag was getting empty. + +Once or twice they helped us through emergencies. We had to go from +one footpath to another, straight across the street, and the street +was so full of carts and cabs and drays and omnibuses, that one could +see that it was quite an impossibility. We did it, however, for the +policeman made us. I said, "Hadn't we better wait till the crowd has +gone?" But the policeman laughed, and said then we had better take +lodgings close by and wait at the window. So we did it. Fred said the +captain once ran in a little cutter between two big ships that were +firing into him, but I do not think that can have been much worse than +running between a backing dray, full of rolling barrels, and a hansom +cab pulled up and ramping like a rocking-horse at the lowest point of +the rockers. + +When we were safely on the other pavement we thanked the policeman +very much, and then went on, asking our way till we got to Fenchurch +Street. + +If anything could smell nastier than John's berth in Nine Elms it is +Fenchurch Street Station. And I think it is worse in this way; John's +berth smelt horrible, but it was warm and weather-tight. You never +swallow a drop of pure air in Fenchurch Street Station, and yet you +cannot find a corner in which you can get out of the draughts. + +With one gale blowing on my right from an open door, and another gale +blowing on my left down some steps, and nasty smells blowing from +every point of the compass, I stood at a dirty little hole in a dirty +wooden wall and took our tickets. I had to stand on tiptoe to make the +young man see me. + +"What is the cheapest kind of tickets you have, if you please?" I +inquired, with the canvas bag in my hand. + +"Third class," said the young man, staring very hard at me, which I +thought rather rude. "Except working men's tickets, and they're not +for this train." + +"Two third-class tickets for Victoria Dock, then, if you please," said +I. + +"Single or return?" said he. + +"I beg your pardon?" I said, for I was puzzled. + +"Are you coming back to-day?" he inquired. + +"Oh dear, no!" said I, for some of the captain's voyages had lasted +for years; but the question made me anxious, as I knew nothing of +railway rules, and I added, "Does it matter?" + +"Not by no means," replied the young man smartly, and he began to +whistle, but stopped himself to ask, "Custom House or Tidal Basin?" + +I had no alternative but to repeat "I _beg_ your pardon?" + +He put his face right through the hole and looked at me. "Will you +take your ticket for Custom House or Tidal Basin?" he repeated; +"either will do for Victoria Docks." + +"Then whichever you please," said I, as politely as I could. + +The young man took out two tickets and snapped them impatiently in +something; and as a fat woman was squeezing me from behind, I was glad +to take what I could get and go back to Fred. + +He was taking care of our two bundles and the empty pie-dish. + +That pie-dish was a good deal in our way. Fred wanted to get rid of +it, and said he was sure his mother would not want us to be bothered +with it; but Fred had promised in his letter to bring it back, and he +could not break his word. I told him so, but I said as he did not like +to be seen with it I would carry it. So I did. + +With a strong breeze aft, we were driven up-stairs in the teeth of a +gale, and ran before a high wind down a platform where, after annoying +one of the railway men very much by not being able to guess which was +the train, and having to ask him, we got in among a lot of +rough-looking people, who were very civil and kind. A man with a black +face and a white jacket said he would tell us when we got to Custom +House, and he gave me his seat by the window, that I might look out. + +What struck me as rather odd was that everybody in the third-class +carriage seemed to have bundles like ours, and yet they couldn't all +be running away. One thin woman with a very troublesome baby had +three. Perhaps it is because portmanteaus and things of that sort are +rather expensive. + +Fred was opposite to me. It was a bright sunny morning, a fresh breeze +blew, and in the sunlight the backs of endless rows of shabby houses +looked more cheerful than usual, though very few of the gardens had +anything in them but dirt and cats, and very many of the windows had +the week's wash hanging out on strings and poles. The villages we had +passed on the canal banks all looked pretty and interesting, but I +think that most of the places we saw out of the window of the train +would look very ugly on a dull day. + +I fancy there were poplar-trees at a place called Poplar, and that I +thought it must be called after them; but Fred says No, and we have +never been there since, so I cannot be sure about it. If not, I must +have dreamt it. + +I did fall asleep in the corner, I know, I was so very much tired, and +we had had no breakfast, and I sat on the side where the wind blows +in, which I think helped to make me sleepy. I was wakened partly by +the pie-dish slipping off my lap, and partly by Fred saying in an +eager tone, + +"Oh, Charlie! LOOK! _Are they all ships_?" + +We stuffed our heads through the window, and my hat was nearly blown +away, so the man with the black face and the white jacket gave it to +the woman with the troublesome baby to take care of for me, and he +held us by our legs for fear we should fall out. + +On we flew! There was wind enough in our faces to have filled the +barge-sail three times over, and Fred licked his lips and said, "I do +believe there's salt in it!" + +But what he woke me up to show me drove me nearly wild. When I had +seen a couple of big barges lying together with their two bare masts +leaning towards each other I used to think how dignified and beautiful +they looked. But here were hundreds of masts, standing as thick as +tree-trunks in a fir-wood, and they were not bare poles, but lofty and +slender, and crossed by innumerable yards, and covered with ropes in +orderly profusion, which showed in the sunshine as cobwebs shine out +in a field in summer. Gay flags and pennons fluttered in the wind; +brown sails, grey sails, and gleaming white sails went up and down; +and behind it all the water sparkled and dazzled our eyes like the +glittering reflections from a mirror moving in the sun. + +As we ran nearer the ropes looked thicker, and we could see the +devices on the flags. And suddenly, straining his eyes at the yards of +a vessel in the thick of the ship-forest, on which was something +black, like a spider with only four legs, Fred cried, "It's a sailor!" + +I saw him quite well. And seeing him higher up than on any tree one +could ever climb, with the sunny sky above him and the shining water +below him, I could only mutter out with envious longing--"How happy he +must be!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A DIRTY STREET--A BAD BOY--SHIPPING AND MERCHANDISE--WE STOWAWAY ON +BOARD THE 'ATALANTA'--A SALT TEAR. + + +The man in the white jacket helped us out, smiling as he did so, so +that his teeth shone like ivory in his black face. We took the +pie-dish and our bundles, and thanked him very much, and the train +went on and took him with it, which we felt sorry for. For when one +_is_ out in the world, you know, one sometimes feels rather lonely, +and sorry to part with a kind friend. + +Everybody else went through a little gate into the street, so we did +the same. It was a very dirty street, with houses on one side and the +railway on the other. There were cabbages and carrots and old shoes +and fishes' heads and oyster-shells and potato-peelings in the street, +and a goat was routing among it all with its nose, as if it had lost +something and hoped to find it by and by. + +Places like this always seemed to depress Fred's courage. Besides +which, he was never in good spirits when he had to go long without +food, which made me fear he would not bear being cast adrift at sea +without provisions as well as his grandfather had done. I was not +surprised when he said, + +"_What_ a place! And I don't believe one can get anything fit to eat, +and I am so hungry!" + +I looked at the houses. There was a pork-butcher's shop, and a real +butcher's shop, and a slop shop, and a seedy jeweller's shop with +second-hand watches, which looked as if nothing would ever make them +go, and a small toy and sweetmeat shop, but not a place that looked +like breakfast. I had taken Fred's bundle because he was so tired, and +I suppose it was because I was staring helplessly about that a dirty +boy a good deal bigger than either of us came up and pulled his dirty +hair and said, + +"Carry your things for you, sir?" + +"No, thank you," said I, moving on with the bundles and the pie-dish; +but as the boy would walk by me I said, + +"We want some breakfast very much, but we haven't much money." And, +remembering the cost of our supper, I added, "Could we get anything +here for about twopence-half-penny or threepence apiece?" + +There was a moment's pause, and then the boy gave a long whistle. + +"Vy, I thought you was swells!" said he. + +I really do not know whether it was because I did not like to be +supposed to be a poor person when it came to the point, or whether it +was because of that bad habit of mine of which even Weston's ballad +has not quite cured me, of being ready to tell people more about my +affairs than it can be interesting for them to hear or discreet for me +to communicate, but I replied at once: "We are gentlemen; but we are +going in search of adventures, and we don't want to spend more money +than we can help till we see what we may want it for when we get to +foreign countries." + +"You're going to sea, then, _h_are you?" said the boy, keeping up with +us. + +"Yes," said I; "but could you tell us where to get something to eat +before we go?" + +"There's a shop I knows on," said our new friend, "where they sells +prime pudding at a penny a slice. The plums goes all through and no +mistake. Three slices would be threepence: one for you, one for him, +and one for my trouble in showing you the way. Threepence more's a +quart of stout, and we drink fair by turns. Shall I take your purse +and pay it for you? They might cheat a stranger." + +"No, thank you," said I; "but we should like some pudding if you will +show us the way." + +The slices were small, but then they were very heavy. We had two each. +I rejected the notion of porter, and Fred said he was not thirsty; but +I turned back again into the shop to ask for a glass of water for +myself. The woman gave it me very civilly, looking as she did so with +a puzzled manner, first at me and then at my bundles and the pie-dish. +As she took back the tumbler she nodded her head towards the dirty +boy, who stood in the doorway, and said, + +"Is that young chap a companion of yours, my dear?" + +"Oh, dear no," said I, "only he showed us the way here." + +"Don't have nothing to do with him," she whispered "he's a bad un." + +In spite of this warning, however, as there was no policeman to be +seen, and the boy would keep up with us, I asked him the way to +Victoria Dock. + +It was not so easy to get to the ships as I had expected. There were +gates to pass through, and they were kept by a porter. He let some +people in and turned others back. + +"Have you got an order to see the docks?" asked the boy. + +I confessed that we had not, but added that we wanted very much to get +in. + +"My eyes!" said the bad boy, doubling himself in a fit of amusement, +"I believe you're both going for stowaways." + +"What do you mean by stowaways?" I asked. + +"Stowaways is chaps that hides aboard vessels going out of port, to +get their passage free gratis for nothing." + +"Do a good many manage it?" I asked with an anxious mind. + +"There ain't a vessel leaves the docks without one and sometimes more +aboard. The captain never looks that way, not by no accident +whatsoever. He don't lift no tarpaulins while the ship's in dock. But +when she gets to sea the captain gets his eyesight back, and he takes +it out of the stowaways for their wittles then. Oh, yes, rather so!" +said the bad boy. + +There was a crowd at the gates. + +"Hold your bundles down on your right side," said the boy, "and go in +quickly after any respectable-looking cove you see." + +Fred had got his own bundle now, and we followed our guide's +directions, and went through the gates after an elderly, well-dressed +man. The boy seemed to try to follow us, squeezing very close up to +me, but the gatekeeper stopped him. When we were on the other side I +saw him bend down and wink backwards at the gatekeeper through his +straddled legs. Then he stood derisively on his head. After which he +went away as a catherine-wheel, and I saw him no more. + +We were among the ships at last! Vessels very different from Mr. +Rowe's barge, or even the three-penny steamboat, Lofty and vast, with +shining decks of marvellous cleanliness, and giant figure-heads like +dismembered Jins out of some Arabian tale. Streamers of many colours +high up in the forest of masts, and seamen of many nations on the +decks and wharves below, moved idly in the breeze, which was redolent +of many kinds of cargo. Indeed, if the choice of our ship had not been +our chief care, the docks and warehouses would have fascinated us +little less than the shipping. Here were huge bales of cotton packed +as thickly as bricks in a brick-field. There were wine-casks +innumerable, and in another place the air was aromatic with so large a +cargo of coffee that it seemed as if no more could be required in this +country for some generations. + +It was very entertaining, and Fred was always calling to me to look at +something new, but my mind was with the shipping. There was a good +deal of anxiety on it too. The sooner we chose our ship and "stowed +away" the better. I hesitated between sailing-vessels and steamers. I +did not believe that one of the captain's adventures happened on +board any ship that could move faster than it could sail. And yet I +was much attracted by some grand-looking steamships. Even their huge +funnels had a look of power, I thought, among the masts, like old and +hollow oaks in a wood of young and slender trees. + +One of these was close in dock, and we could see her well. There were +some casks on deck, and by them lay a piece of tarpaulin which caught +my eye, and recalled what the bad boy had said about captains and +stowaways. Near the gangway were standing two men who did not seem to +be sailors. They were respectably dressed, one had a book and a +pencil, and they looked, I thought, as if they might have authority to +ask our business in the docks, so I drew Fred back under shelter of +some piled-up boxes. + +"When does she sail?" asked the man with the book. + +"To-morrow morning, sir," replied the other. + +And then they crossed the gangway and went into a warehouse opposite. + +It was noon, and being the men's dinner-time, the docks were not very +busy. At this moment there was not a soul in sight. I grasped Fred's +arm, and hoisted the bundle and pie-dish well under my own. + +"That's our ship," I said triumphantly; "come along!" + +We crossed the gangway unperceived. "The casks!" I whispered, and we +made our way to the corner I had noticed. If Fred's heart beat as +chokingly as mine did, we were far too much excited to speak, as we +settled ourselves into a corner, not quite as cosy as our hiding-place +in the forehold of the barge; and drew the tarpaulin over our heads, +resting some of the weight of it on the casks behind, that we might +not be smothered. + +I have waited for the kitchen kettle to boil when Fred and I wanted to +make "hot grog" with raspberry-vinegar and nutmeg at his father's +house; I have waited for a bonfire to burn up, when we wanted to roast +potatoes; I have waited for it to leave off raining when my mother +would not let us go out for fear of catching colds; but I never knew +time pass so slowly as when Fred and I were stowaways on board the +steam-ship _Atalanta_. + +He was just beginning to complain, when we heard men coming on board. +This amused us for a bit, but we were stowed so that we could not see +them, and we dared not look out. Neither dared we speak, except when +we heard them go a good way off, and then we whispered. So second +after second, and minute after minute, and hour after hour went by, +and Fred became very restless. + +"She's to sail in the morning," I whispered. + +"But where are we to get dinner and tea and supper?" asked Fred +indignantly. I was tired, and felt cross on my own account. + +"You said yourself we might have to weigh out our food with a bullet +like Admiral Bligh, next week." + +"He must have had something, or he couldn't have weighed it," retorted +Fred; "and how do we know if they'll ever give us anything to eat on +board this ship?" + +"I dare say we can buy food at first, till they find us something to +do for our meals," said I. + +"How much money is there left?" asked Fred. + +I put my hand into my pocket for the canvas bag--but it was gone! + +There could be little doubt that the bad boy had picked my pocket at +the gate, but I had a sense of guiltiness about it, for most of the +money was Fred's. This catastrophe completely overwhelmed him, and he +cried and grumbled till I was nearly at my wits' end. I could not stop +him, though heavy steps were coming quite close to us. + +"Sh! sh!" muttered I, "if you go on like that they'll certainly find +us, and then we shall have managed all this for nothing, and might as +well have gone back with old Rowe." + +"Which wind and weather permitting, young gentlemen, you will," said +a voice just above us, though we did not hear it. + +"I wish we could," sobbed Fred, "only there's no money now. But I'm +going to get out of this beastly hole any way." + +"You're a nice fellow to tell me about your grandfather," said I, in +desperate exasperation; "I don't believe you've the pluck for a common +sailor, let alone a Great Discoverer." + +"You've hit the right nail on the head there, Master Charles," said +the voice. + +"Fiddlesticks about my grandfather!" said Fred. + +In the practical experiences of the last three days my faith in Fred's +tales had more than once been rather rudely shaken; but the +contemptuous tone in which he disposed of our model, the Great Sea +Captain, startled me so severely that I do not think I felt any +additional shock of astonishment when strong hands lifted the +tarpaulin from our heads, and--grave amid several grinning faces--we +saw the bargemaster. + +How he reproached us, and how Fred begged him to take us home, and how +I besought him to let us go to sea, it would be tedious to relate. I +have no doubt now that he never swerved from his intention of taking +us back, but he preferred to do it by fair means if possible. So he +fubbed me off, and took us round the docks to amuse us, and talked of +dinner in a way that went to Fred's heart. + +But when I found that we were approaching the gates once more, I +stopped dead short. As we went about the docks I had replied to the +barge-master's remarks as well as I could, but I had never ceased +thinking of the desire of my heart, and I resolved to make one +passionate appeal to his pity. + +"Mr. Rowe," I said, in a choking voice, "please don't take me home! I +would give anything in the world to go to sea. Why shouldn't I be a +sailor when I want to? Take Fred home if he wants to go, and tell them +that I'm all right, and mean to do my duty and come back a credit to +them." + +Mr. Rowe's face was inscrutable, and I pleaded harder. + +"You're an old navy man, you know, Rowe," I said, "and if you +recommended me to the captain of one of these ships for a cabin-boy, +I'll be bound they'd take me." + +"Mr. Charles," said the old man earnestly, "you couldn't go for a +cabin-boy, you don't know--" + +"You think I can't rough it," I interrupted impatiently, "but try me, +and see. I know what I'm after," I added, consequentially; "and I'll +bear what I have to bear, and do what I'm set to do if I can get +afloat. I'll be a captain some day, and give orders instead of taking +them." + +Mr. Rowe drew up to attention and took off his hat. "And wanting an +able-bodied seaman in them circumstances, sir, for any voyage you +likes to make," said he emphatically, "call for Samuel Rowe." He then +wiped the passing enthusiasm from the crown of his head with his +handkerchief, and continued--with the judicious diplomacy for which he +was remarkable--"But of course, sir, it's the Royal Navy you'll begin +in, as a midshipman. It's seamanship _you_ wants to learn, not +swabbing decks or emptying buckets below whilst others is aloft. Your +father's son would be a good deal out of place, sir, as cabin-boy in a +common trading vessel." + +Mr. Rowe's speech made an impression, and I think he saw that it did. + +"Look here, Master Charles," said he, "you've a gentleman's feelings: +come home now, and bear me out with your widowed mother and your only +sister, sir, and with Master Fred's father, that I'm in duty bound to, +and promised to deliver safe and sound as return cargo, wind and +weather permitting." + +"Oh, come home! come home!" reiterated Fred. + +I stood speechless for a minute or two. All around and above me rose +the splendid masts, trellised with the rigging that I longed to climb. +The refreshing scent of tar mingled with the smells of the various +cargoes. The coming and going of men who came and went to and fro the +ends of the earth stirred all my pulses to restlessness. And above the +noises of their coming and going I heard the lapping of the water of +the incoming tide against the dock, which spoke with a voice more +powerful than that of Mr. Rowe. + +And yet I went with him. + +It was not because the canvas bag was empty, not because Fred would +not stay with me (for I had begun to think that the captain's grandson +was not destined to be the hero of exploits on the ocean), but when +Mr. Rowe spoke of my widowed mother and of Henrietta, he touched a +sore point on my conscience. I had had an uneasy feeling from the +first that there was something rather mean in my desertion of them. +Pride, and I hope some less selfish impulse, made me feel that I could +never be quite happy--even on the mainmast top--if I knew that I had +behaved ill to them. + +I could not very well speak, but I turned round and began to walk in +the direction of the dock gates. Mr. Rowe behaved uncommonly kindly. +He said nothing more, but turned as if I had given the word of +command, and walked respectfully just behind me. I resolved not to +look back, and I did not. I was quite determined too about one thing: +Mr. Rowe should never be able to say he had seen me make a fool of +myself after I had made up my mind. But in reality I had very hard +work to keep from beginning to cry, just when Fred was beginning to +leave off. + +I screwed up my eyes and kept them dry, however, but as we went +through the gate there came in a sailor with a little bundle like +ours, and a ship's name on his hat. His hat sat as if a gale were just +taking it off, and his sea-blue shirt was blown open by breezes that +my back was turned upon. In spite of all I could do one tear got +through my eyelashes and ran down, and I caught it on my lips. + +It was a very bitter tear, and as salt as the salt, salt sea! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A GLOW ON THE HORIZON--A FANTASTIC PEAL--WHAT I SAW WHEN THE ROOF FELL +IN. + + +It was the second day of our return voyage. Mr. Rowe had been very +kind, and especially so to me. He had told us tales of seafaring life, +but they related exclusively to the Royal Navy, and not unfrequently +bore with disparagement on the mercantile marine. + +Nowhere, perhaps, are grades of rank more strongly marked with +professional discipline and personal independence better combined than +in the army and navy. But the gulf implied by Mr. Rowe between the +youngest midshipman and the highest seaman who was not an officer was, +I think, in excess of the fact. As to becoming cabin-boy to a trading +vessel in hopes of rising to be a captain, the barge-master contrived +to impress me with the idea that I might as well take the situation of +boot and knife cleaner in the Royal Kitchen, in hopes of its proving +the first step towards ascending the Throne. + +We seemed to have seen and done so much since we were on the canal +before, that I felt quite sentimental as we glided into Linnet Flash. + +"The old place looks just the same, Barge-master," said I with a +travelled air. + +"So it do, sir," said Mr. Rowe; and he added--"There's no place like +Home." + +I hardly know how near we were to the town, but I know that it was +getting late, that the dew was heavy on the towing-path, and that +among the dark pencilled shadows of the sallows in the water the full +moon's reflection lay like a golden shield; when the driver, who was +ahead, stepped back and shouted--"The bells are ringing!" + +When we got a little nearer we heard them quite clearly, and just when +I was observing a red glow diffuse itself in the cold night sky above +the willow hedge on our left, Mr. Rowe said, "There must be a queer +kind of echo somewhere, I heard sixteen bells." + +And then I saw the driver, whose figure stood out dark against the +moonlit moorland on our right, point with his arm to the fast +crimsoning sky, and Mr. Rowe left the rudder and came forward, and +Fred, who had had his head low down listening, ran towards us from the +bows and cried, + +"There _are_ sixteen, and they're ringing backwards--_it's a fire_!" + +The driver mounted the horse, which was put to the trot, and we +hurried on. The bells came nearer and nearer with their fantastic +clanging, and the sky grew more lurid as they rang. Then there was a +bend in the canal, and we caught sight of the two towers of S. Philip +and S. James, dark against the glow. + +"The whole town is in flames!" cried Fred. + +"Not it," said the barge-master; "it's ten to one nothing but a +rubbish-heap burning, or the moors on fire beyond the town." + +Mr. Rowe rather snubbed Fred, but I think he was curious about the +matter. The driver urged his horse, and the good barge _Betsy_ swung +along at a pace to which she was little accustomed. + +When we came by the cricket-field Mr. Rowe himself said--"It's in the +middle of the town." + +Through the deafening noise of the bells I contrived to shout in his +ear a request that I might be put ashore, as we were now about on a +level with my home. Mr. Rowe ran a plank quickly out and landed me, +without time for adieux. + +I hastened up to the town. The first street I got into was empty, but +it seemed to vibrate to S. Philip's peal. And after that I pushed my +way through people, hurrying as I was hurrying, and the nearer I got +to home the thicker grew the crowd and the ruddier became the glow. +And now, in spite of the bells, I caught other noises. The roar of +irresistible fire,--which has a strange likeness to the roar of +irresistible water,--the loud crackling of the burning wood, and the +moving and talking of the crowd, which was so dense that I could +hardly get forward. + +I contrived to squeeze myself along, however, and as I turned into our +street I felt the warmth of the fire, and when I looked at my old home +it was a mass of flames. + +I tried to get people to make way for me by saying--"It's my house, +please let me through!" But nobody seemed to hear me. And yet there +was a pause, which was only filled by that curious sound when a crowd +of people gasp or sigh; and if every man had been a rock it could not +have been more impossible to move backwards or forwards. It was dark, +except for the moonlight, where I stood, but in a moment or two the +flames burst from the bedroom windows, and the red light spread +farther, and began to light up faces near me. I was just about to +appeal to a man I knew, when a roar began which I knew was not that of +the fire. It was the roar of human voices. And when it swelled louder, +and was caught up as it came along, and then broke into deafening +cheers, I was so wild with excitement and anxiety that I began to kick +the legs of the man in front of me to make him let me go to the home +that was burning before my eyes. + +What he would have done in return, I don't know, but at this moment +the crowd broke up, and we were pushed, and pressed, and jostled +about, and people kept calling to "Make way!" and after tumbling down, +and being picked up twice, I found myself in the front row of a kind +of lane that had been made through the crowd, down which several men +were coming, carrying on their shoulders an arm-chair with people in +it. + +As they passed me there was a crash, which seemed to shake the street. +The roof of our house had fallen in! + +As it fell the flames burst upon every side, and in the sudden glare +the street became as bright as day, and every little thing about one +seemed to spring into sight. Half the crowd was known to me in a +moment. + +Then I looked at the chair which was being carried along; and by a +large chip on one of the legs I knew it was my father's old arm-chair. + +And in the chair I saw Rupert in his shirt and trousers, and Henrietta +in a petticoat and an out-door jacket, with so white a face that even +the firelight seemed to give it no colour, and on her lap was Baby +Cecil in his night-gown, with black smut marks on his nose and chin. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +HENRIETTA'S DIARY--A GREAT EMERGENCY. + + +Rupert never was a fellow who could give descriptions of things, and +Henrietta was ill for some time after the fire, and Mr. Bustard said +she wasn't to talk about it. + +But she knew I wanted to know, so one day when she was down-stairs +with me in the "Miniature Room" (it was at the Castle) she gave me a +manuscript book, and said, "It's my diary, Charlie, so I know you +won't look. But I've put in two marks for the beginning and end of the +bit about the fire. I wrote it that evening, you know, before Mr. +Bustard came, and my head got so bad." + +Of course I made her show me exactly where to begin and leave off, and +then I read it. This was it. + +_"It had been a very hot day, and I had got rather a headache and gone +to bed. The pain kept me awake a good bit, and when I did get to sleep +I think I slept rather lightly. I was partly awakened by noises which +seemed to have been going in my head all night till I could bear them +no longer, so I woke up, and found that people were shouting outside, +and that there was a dreadful smell of burning. I had got on my +flannel petticoat when Rupert called me and said, 'Henny dear, the +house is on fire! Just put something round you, and come quickly.' + +"Just outside the door we met Cook; she said, 'The Lord be thanked! +it's you, Miss Henrietta. Come along!' + +"Rupert said, 'Where's Mother, Cook?' + +"'Missus was took with dreadful fainting fits,' she replied, 'and +they've got her over to the_ Crown. _We're all to go there, and +everything that can be saved.' + +"'Where's Baby,' said I, 'and Jane?' + +"'With your Ma, miss, I expect,' Cook said; and as we came out she +asked some one, who said, 'I saw Jane at the door of the_ Crown _just +now.' I had been half asleep till then, but when we got into the +street and saw the smoke coming out of the dining-room window, Rupert +and I wanted to stay and try to save something, but one of the men who +was there said, 'You and your brother's not strong enough to be of no +great use, miss; you're only in the way of the engine. Everybody's +doing their best to save your things, and if you'll go to the_ Crown +_to your mamma, you'll do the best that could be.' + +"The people who were saving our things saved them all alike. They +threw them out of the window, and as I had seen the big blue china jar +smashed to shivers, I felt a longing to go and show them what to do; +but Rupert said, 'The fellow's quite right, Henny,' and he seized me +by the hand and dragged me off to the_ Crown. _Jane was in the hall, +looking quite wild, and she said to us, 'Where's Master Cecil?' I +didn't stop to ask her how it was that she didn't know. I ran out +again, and Rupert came after me. I suppose we both looked up at the +nursery window when we came near, and there was Baby Cecil standing +and screaming for help. Before we got to the door other people had +seen him, and two or three men pushed into the house. They came out +gasping and puffing without Cecil, and I heard one man say, 'It's too +far gone. It wouldn't bear a child's weight, and if you got up you'd +never come down again.' + +"'God help the poor child!' said the other man, who was the chemist, +and had a large family, I know. I looked round and saw by Rupert's +face that he had heard. It was like a stone. I don't know how it was, +but it seemed to come into my head: 'If Baby Cecil is burnt it will +kill Rupert too.' And I began to think; and I thought of the back +stairs. There was a pocket-handkerchief in my jacket pocket, and I +soaked it in the water on the ground. The town burgesses wouldn't buy +a new hose when we got the new steam fire-engine, and when they used +the old one it burst in five places, so that everything was swimming, +for the water was laid on from the canal. I think my idea must have +been written on my face, for though I didn't speak, Rupert seemed to +guess at once, and he ran after me, crying, 'Let me go, Henrietta!' +but I pretended not to hear. + +"When we got to the back of the house the fire was not nearly so bad, +and we got in. But though it wasn't exactly on fire where we were, the +smoke came rolling down the passage from the front of the house, and +by the time we got to the back stairs we could not see or breathe, in +spite of wet cloths over our faces, and our eyes smarted with the +smoke. Go down on all fours, Henny,' said Rupert. So I did. It was +wonderful. When I got down with my face close to the ground there was +a bit of quite fresh air, and above this the smoke rolled like a +cloud. I could see the castors of the legs of a table in the hall, but +no higher up. In this way we saw the foot of the back stairs, and +climbed up them on our hands and knees. But in spite of the bit of +fresh air near the ground the smoke certainly grew thicker, and it got +hotter and hotter, and we could hear the roaring of the flames coming +nearer, and the clanging of the bells outside, and I never knew what +it was to feel thirst before then! When we were up the first flight, +and the smoke was suffocating, I heard Rupert say, 'Oh, Henny, you +good girl, shall we ever get down again!' I couldn't speak, my throat +was so sore, but I remember thinking, 'It's like going up through the +clouds into heaven; and we shall find Baby Cecil there.' But after +that it got rather clearer, because the fire was in the lower part of +the house then, and when we got to the top we stood up, and found our +way to the nursery by hearing Baby Cecil scream. + +"The great difficulty was to get him down, for we couldn't carry him +and keep close to the ground. So I said, 'You go first on your hands +and knees backwards, and tell him to do as you do, and I'll come last, +so that he may see me doing the same and imitate me.' Baby was very +good about it, and when the heat worried him and he stopped, Rupert +said, 'Come on, Baby, or Henny will run over you,' and he scrambled +down as good as gold. + +"And when we got to the door the people began to shout and to cheer, +and I thought they would have torn Baby to bits. It made me very +giddy, and so did the clanging of those dreadful bells; and then I +noticed that Rupert was limping, and I said, 'Oh, Rupert, have you +hurt your knee?' and he said, 'It's nothing, come to the_ Crown.' _But +there were two of the young men from Jones's shop there, and they +said, 'Don't you walk and hurt your knee, sir; we'll take you.' And +they pushed up my father's arm-chair, which had been saved and was +outside, and Rupert sat down, I believe, because he could not stand. +Then they said, 'There's room for you, miss,' and Rupert told me to +come, and I took Baby on my lap; but I felt so ill I thought I should +certainly fall out when they lifted us up. + +"The way the people cheered made me very giddy; I think I shall always +feel sick when I hear hurrahing now. + +"Rupert is very good if you're ill. He looked at me and said, 'You're +the bravest girl I ever knew, but don't faint if you can help it, or +Baby will fall out.' + +"I didn't; and I wouldn't have fainted when we got to the_ Crown _if I +could have stopped myself by anything I could do."_ + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +MR. ROWE ON THE SUBJECT--OUR COUSIN--WESTON GETS INTO PRINT--THE +HARBOUR'S MOUTH--WHAT LIES BEYOND. + + +Mr. Rowe's anxiety to see Rupert and Henrietta, and to "take the +liberty of expressing himself" about their having saved Baby Cecil's +life was very great, but the interview did not take place for some +time. The barge _Betsy_ took two voyages to Nine Elms and home again +before Henrietta was down-stairs and allowed to talk about the fire. + +Rupert refused to see the barge-master when he called to ask after +Henrietta; he was vexed because people made a fuss about the affair, +and when Rupert was vexed he was not gracious. When Henrietta got +better, however, she said, "We ought to see old Rowe and thank him for +his kindness to Charlie;" so the next time he called, we all went into +the housekeeper's room to see him. + +He was very much pleased and excited, which always seemed to make him +inclined to preach. He set forth the noble motives which must have +moved Rupert and Henrietta to their heroic conduct in the emergency, +so that I felt more proud of them than ever. But Rupert frowned, and +said, "Nonsense, Rowe, I'm sure I never thought anything of the kind. +I don't believe we either of us thought anything at all." + +But Mr. Rowe had not served seventeen years in the Royal Navy to be +put down when he expounded a point of valour. + +"That's where it is, Master Rupert," said he. "It wouldn't have been +you or Miss Henrietta either if you had. 'A man overboard,' says +you--that's enough for one of your family, sir. _They_ never stops to +think 'Can I swim?' but in you goes, up the stairs that wouldn't hold +the weight of a new-born babby, and right through the raging flames." + +"Oh, dear!" cried Henrietta, "that's just what Cook and all kinds of +people will say. But it was the front stairs that were on fire. We +only went up the back stairs, and they weren't burning at all." + +The barge-master smiled in reply. But it was with the affability of +superior knowledge, and I feel quite sure that he always told the +story (and believed it) according to his impossible version. + +It was on the third day after the fire that our cousin called at the +_Crown_. He had never been to see us before, and, as I have said, we +had never been to the Castle. But the next day he sent a close +carriage for Henrietta and my mother, and a dog-cart for Rupert and +me, and brought us up to the Castle. We were there for three months. + +It was through him that Rupert went to those baths abroad, which cured +his knee completely. And then, because my mother could not afford to +do it, he sent him to a grander public school than Dr. Jessop's old +grammar school, and Mr. Johnson sent Thomas Johnson there too, for Tom +could not bear to be parted from Rupert, and his father never refused +him anything. + +But what I think was so very kind of our cousin was his helping me. +Rupert and Henrietta had been a credit to the family, but I deserved +nothing. I had only run away in the mean hope of outshining them, and +had made a fool of myself, whilst they had been really great in doing +their duty at home. However, he did back me up with Mother about going +to sea, and got me on board the training-ship _Albion_; and my highest +hope is to have the chance of bringing my share of renown to my +father's name, that his cousin may never regret having helped me to my +heart's desire. + +Fred Johnson and I are very good friends, but since our barge voyage +we have never been quite so intimate. I think the strongest tie +between us was his splendid stories of the captain, and I do not +believe in them now. + +Oddly enough, my chief friend--of the whole lot--is Weston. Rupert +always said I had a vulgar taste in the choice of friends, so it seems +curious that of our old schoolmates Johnson should be his friend and +Weston mine. For Johnson's father is only a canal-carrier, and Weston +is a fellow of good family. + +He is so very clever! And I have such a habit of turning my pockets +inside out for everybody to see, that I admire his reticence; and +then, though he is so ironical with himself, as well as other people, +he has very fine ideas and ambitions and very noble and upright +principles--when you know him well. + +"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," and the fire that burned +down our house got Weston into print at last. + +It was not a common letter either, in the "correspondence" part, with +small type, and the editor not responsible. It was a leading article, +printed big, and it was about the fire and Rupert and Henrietta. +Thomas Johnson read it to us, and we did not know who wrote it; but it +was true, and in good taste. After the account of the fire came a +quotation from Horace, + + "Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis." + +And Johnson cried--"That's Weston, depend upon it. He's in the _Weekly +Spectator_ at last!" + +And then, to my utter amazement, came such a chronicle of the valiant +deeds of Rupert's ancestors as Weston could only have got from one +source. What had furnished his ready pen with matter for a comic +ballad to punish my bragging had filled it also to do honour to Rupert +and Henrietta's real bravery, and down to what the colonel of my +father's regiment had said of him--it was all there. + +Weston came to see me the other day at Dartmouth, where our +training-ship _Albion_ lies, and he was so charmed by the old town +with its carved and gabled houses, and its luxuriant gardens rich with +pale-blossomed laurels, which no frost dwarfs, and crimson fuchsias +gnarled with age, and its hill-embosomed harbour, where the people of +all grades and ages, and of both sexes, flit hither and thither in +their boats as landlubbers would take an evening stroll--that I felt +somewhat justified in the romantic love I have for the place. + +And when we lay in one of the _Albion's_ boats, rocking up and down in +that soothing swell which freshens the harbour's mouth, Weston made me +tell him all about the lion and the silver chain, and he called me a +prig for saying so often that I did not believe in it now. I remember +he said, "In this sleepy, damp, delightful Dartmouth, who but a prig +could deny the truth of a poetical dream?" + +He declared he could see the lion in a cave in the rock, and that the +poor beast wanted a new sea-green ribbon. + +Weston speaks so much more cleverly than I can, that I could not +explain to him then that I am still but too apt to dream! But the +harbour's mouth is now only the beginning of my visions, which stretch +far over the sea beyond, and over the darker line of that horizon +where the ships come and go. + +I hope it is not wrong to dream. My father was so modest as well as +ambitious, so good as well as so gallant, that I would rather die than +disgrace him by empty conceit and unprofitable hopes. + +Weston is a very religious fellow, though he does not "cant" at all. +When I was going away to Dartmouth, and he saw me off (for we were +great friends), one of the last things he said to me was, "I say, +don't leave off saying your prayers, you know." + +I haven't, and I told him so this last time. I often pray that if ever +I am great I may be good too; and sometimes I pray that if I try hard +to be good God will let me be great as well. + +The most wonderful thing was old Rowe's taking a cheap ticket and +coming down to see me last summer. I never can regret my voyage with +him in the _Betsy_, for I did thoroughly enjoy it, though I often +think how odd it is that in my vain, jealous wild-goose chase after +adventures I missed the chance of distinguishing myself in the only +Great Emergency which has yet occurred in our family. + + + + +A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY. + + "Finding, following, keeping, struggling, + Is HE sure to bless?" + +_Hymn of the Eastern Church._ + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A FAMILY FAILING. + + +We are a very ill-tempered family. + +I want to say it, and not to unsay it by any explanations, because I +think it is good for us to face the fact in the unadorned form in +which it probably presents itself to the minds of our friends. + +Amongst ourselves we have always admitted it by pieces, as it were, or +in negative propositions. We allow that we are firm of disposition; we +know that we are straightforward; we show what we feel. We have +opinions and principles of our own; we are not so thick-skinned as +some good people, nor as cold-blooded as others. + +When two of us quarrelled (and Nurse used to say that no two of us +ever agreed), the provocation always seemed, to each of us, great +enough amply to excuse the passion. But I have reason to think that +people seldom exclaimed, "What grievances those poor children are +exasperated with!" but that they often said, "What terrible tempers +they all have!" + +There are five of us: Philip and I are the eldest; we are twins. My +name is Isobel, and I never allow it to be shortened into the ugly +word _Bella_ nor into the still more hideous word _Izzy_, by either +the servants or the children. My aunt Isobel never would, and neither +will I. + +"The children" are the other three. They are a good deal younger than +Philip and I, so we have always kept them in order. I do not mean that +we taught them to behave wonderfully well, but I mean that we made +them give way to us elder ones. Among themselves they squabbled +dreadfully. + +We are a very ill-tempered family. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +ILL-TEMPERED PEOPLE AND THEIR FRIENDS--NARROW ESCAPES--THE +HATCHET-QUARREL. + + +I do not wish for a moment to defend ill-temper, but I do think that +people who suffer from ill-tempered people often talk as if they were +the only ones who do suffer in the matter; and as if the ill-tempered +people themselves quite enjoyed being in a rage. + +And yet how much misery is endured by those who have never got the +victory over their own ill-temper! To feel wretched and exasperated by +little annoyances which good-humoured people get over with a shrug or +a smile; to have things rankle in my mind like a splinter in the +flesh, which glide lightly off yours, and leave no mark; to be unable +to bear a joke, knowing that one is doubly laughed at because one +can't; to have this deadly sore at heart--"I _cannot_ forgive; I +_cannot_ forget," there is no pleasure in these things. The tears of +sorrow are not more bitter than the tears of anger, of hurt pride or +thwarted will. As to the fit of passion in which one is giddy, blind, +and deaf, if there is a relief to the overcharged mind in saying the +sharpest things and hitting the heaviest blows one can at the moment, +the pleasantness is less than momentary, for almost as we strike we +foresee the pains of regret and of humbling ourselves to beg pardon +which must ensue. Our friends do not always pity as well as blame us, +though they are sorry for those who were possessed by devils long ago. + +Good-tempered people, too, who I fancy would find it quite easy not to +be provoking, and to be a little patient and forbearing, really seem +sometimes to irritate hot-tempered ones on purpose, as if they thought +it was good for them to get used to it. + +I do not mean that I think ill-tempered people should be constantly +yielded to, as Nurse says Mrs. Rampant and the servants have given way +to Mr. Rampant till he has got to be quite as unreasonable and nearly +as dangerous as most maniacs, and his friends never cross him, for the +same reason that they would not stir up a mad bull. + +Perhaps I do not quite know how I would have our friends treat us who +are cursed with bad tempers. I think to avoid unnecessary provocation, +and to be patient with us in the height of our passion, is wise as +well as kind. But no principle should be conceded to us, and rights +that we have unjustly attacked should be faithfully defended when we +are calm enough to listen. I fancy that where gentle Mrs. Rampant is +wrong is that she allows Mr. Rampant to think that what really are +concessions to his weakness are concessions to his wisdom. And what is +not founded on truth cannot do lasting good. And if, years ago, before +he became a sort of gunpowder cask at large, he had been asked if he +wished Mrs. Rampant to persuade herself, and Mrs. Rampant, the little +Rampants, and the servants to combine to persuade him, that he was +right when he was wrong, and wise when he was foolish, and reasonable +when he was unjust, I think he would have said No. I do not believe +one could deliberately desire to be befooled by one's family for all +the best years of one's life. And yet how many people are! + +I do not think I am ever likely to be so loved and feared by those I +live with as to have my ill-humours made into laws. I hope not. But I +am sometimes thankful, on the other hand, that GOD is more +forbearing with us than we commonly are with each other, and does not +lead us into temptation when we are at our worst and weakest. + +Any one who has a bad temper must sometimes look back at the years +before he learned self-control, and feel thankful that he is not a +murderer, or burdened for life by the weight on his conscience of +some calamity of which he was the cause. If the knife which furious +Fred threw at his sister before he was out of petticoats had hit the +child's eye instead of her forehead, could he ever have looked into +the blinded face without a pang? If the blow with which impatient +Annie flattered herself she was correcting her younger brother had +thrown the naughty little lad out of the boat instead of into the +sailor's arms, and he had been drowned--at ten years old a murderess, +how could she endure for life the weight of her unavailing remorse? + +I very nearly killed Philip once. It makes me shudder to think of it, +and I often wonder I ever could lose my temper again. + +We were eight years old, and out in the garden together. We had +settled to build a moss-house for my dolls, and had borrowed the +hatchet out of the wood-house, without leave, to chop the stakes with. +It was entirely my idea, and I had collected all the moss and most of +the sticks. It was I, too, who had taken the hatchet. Philip had been +very tiresome about not helping me in the hard part; but when I had +driven in the sticks by leaning on them with all my weight, and had +put in bits of brushwood where the moss fell out and Philip laughed at +me, and, in short, when the moss-house was beginning to look quite +real, Philip was very anxious to work at it, and wanted the hatchet. + +"You wouldn't help me over the hard work," said I, "so I shan't give +it you now; I'll make my moss-house myself." + +"No, you won't," said Philip. + +"Yes, I shall," said I. + +"No, you won't," he reiterated; "for I shall pull it down as fast as +you build it." + +"You'd better not," I threatened. + +Just then we were called in to dinner. I hid the hatchet, and Philip +said no more; but he got out before me, and when I returned to work I +found that the moss-house walls, which had cost me so much labour, +were pulled to pieces and scattered about the shrubbery. Philip was +not to be seen. + +My heart had been so set upon my project that at first I could only +feel the overwhelming disappointment. I was not a child who often +cried, but I burst into tears. + +I was sobbing my hardest when Philip sprang upon me in triumph, and +laughing at my distress. + +"I kept my promise," said he, tossing his head, "and I'll go on doing +it." + +I am sure those shocks of fury which seize one like a fit must be a +devil possessing one. In an instant my eyes were as dry as the desert +in a hot wind, and my head reeling with passion. I ran to the +hatchet, and came back brandishing it. + +"If you touch one stake or bit of moss of mine again," said I, "I'll +throw my hatchet at your head. I can keep promises too." + +My intention was only to frighten him. I relied on his not daring to +brave such a threat; unhappily he relied on my not daring to carry it +out. He took up some of my moss and threw it at me by way of reply. + +I flung the hatchet!-- + +My Aunt Isobel has a splendid figure, with such grace and power as one +might expect from her strong health and ready mind. I had not seen her +at the moment, for I was blind with passion, nor had Philip, for his +back was turned towards her. I did not see distinctly how she watched, +as one watches for a ball, and caught the hatchet within a yard of +Philip's head. + +My Aunt Isobel has a temper much like the temper of the rest of the +family. When she had caught it in her left hand she turned round and +boxed my ears with her right hand till I could see less than ever. (I +believe she suffered for that outburst for months afterwards. She was +afraid she had damaged my hearing, as that sense is too often damaged +or destroyed by the blows of ill-tempered parents, teachers, and +nurses.) + +Then she turned back and shook Philip as vigorously as she had boxed +me. "I saw you, you spiteful, malicious boy!" said my Aunt Isobel. + +All the time she was shaking him, Philip was looking at her feet. +Something that he saw absorbed his attention so fully that he forgot +to cry. + +"You're bleeding, Aunt Isobel," said he, when she gave him breath +enough to speak. + +The truth was this: the nervous force which Aunt Isobel had summoned +up to catch the hatchet seemed to cease when it was caught; her arm +fell powerless, and the hatchet cut her ankle. That left arm was +useless for many months afterwards, to my abiding reproach. + +Philip was not hurt, but he might have been killed. Everybody told me +so often that it was a warning to me to correct my terrible temper, +that I might have revolted against the reiteration if the facts had +been less grave. But I never can feel lightly about that +hatchet-quarrel. It opened a gulf of possible wickedness and life-long +misery, over the brink of which my temper would have dragged me, but +for Aunt Isobel's strong arm and keen eye, and over which it might +succeed in dragging me any day, unless I could cure myself of my +besetting sin. + +I never denied it. It was a warning. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WARNINGS--MY AUNT ISOBEL--MR. RAMPANT'S TEMPER, AND HIS CONSCIENCE. + + +I was not the only scarecrow held up before my own mind. + +Nurse had a gallery of historical characters, whom she kept as beacons +to warn our stormy passions of their fate. The hot-tempered boy who +killed his brother when they were at school; the hot-tempered farmer +who took his gun to frighten a trespasser, and ended by shooting him; +the young lady who destroyed the priceless porcelain in a pet; the +hasty young gentleman who kicked his favourite dog and broke its +ribs;--they were all warnings: so was old Mr. Rampant, so was my Aunt +Isobel. + +Aunt Isobel's story was a whispered tradition of the nursery for many +years before she and I were so intimate, in consequence of her +goodness and kindness to me, that one day I was bold enough to say to +her, "Aunt Isobel, is it true that the reason why you never married +is because you and he quarrelled, and you were very angry, and he went +away, and he was drowned at sea?" + +Child as I was, I do not think I should have been so indelicate as to +have asked this question if I had not come to fancy that Nurse made +out the story worse than it really was, for my behoof. Aunt Isobel was +so cheerful and bright with us!--and I was not at that time able to +believe that any one could mend a broken heart with other people's +interests so that the marks should show so little! + +My aunt had a very clear skin, but in an instant her face was thick +with a heavy blush, and she was silent. I marvelled that these were +the only signs of displeasure she allowed herself to betray, for the +question was no sooner out of my mouth than I wished it unsaid, and +felt how furious she must naturally feel to hear that her sad and +sacred story was bandied between servants and children as a +nursery-tale with a moral to it. + +But oh, Aunt Isobel! Aunt Isobel! you had at this time progressed far +along that hard but glorious road of self-conquest which I had hardly +found my way to. + +"I beg your pardon," I began, before she spoke. + +"You ought to," said my aunt--she never spoke less than decisively--"I +thought you had more tact, Isobel, than to tell any one what servants +have said of one's sins or sorrows behind one's back." + +"I am _very_ sorry," I repeated with shame; "but the thing is, I +didn't believe it was true, you always seem so happy. I am _very_ +sorry." + +"It is true," said Aunt Isobel. "Child, whilst we are speaking of +it--for the first and the last time--let it be a warning for you to +illustrate a very homely proverb: 'Don't cut off your nose to spite +your own face.' Ill-tempered people are always doing it, and I did it +to my life-long loss. I _was_ angry with him, and like Jonah I said to +myself, 'I do well to be angry.' And though I would die twenty deaths +harder than the death he died to see his face for five minutes and be +forgiven, I am not weak enough to warp my judgment with my misery. I +was in the right, and he was in the wrong. But I forgot how much +harder a position it is to be in the wrong than in the right in a +quarrel. I did not think of how, instead of making the return path +difficult to those who err, we ought to make it easy, as GOD +does for us. I gave him no chance of unsaying with grace or credit +what he could not fail to regret that he had said. Isobel, you have a +clear head and a sharp tongue, as I have. You will understand when I +say that I had the satisfaction of proving that I was in the right and +he was in the wrong, and that I was firmly, conscientiously +determined to make no concessions, no half-way advances, though our +Father _goes to meet_ His prodigals. Merciful Heaven! I had the +satisfaction of parting myself for all these slow years from the most +honest--the tenderest-hearted--" + +My Aunt Isobel had overrated her strength. After a short and vain +struggle in silence she got up and went slowly out of the room, +resting her hand for an instant on my little knick-knack table by the +door as she went out--the only time I ever saw her lean upon anything. + + * * * * * + +Old Mr. Rampant was another of my "warnings." He--to whose face no one +dared hint that he could ever be in the wrong--would have been more +astonished than Aunt Isobel to learn how plainly--nay, how +contemptuously--the servants spoke behind his back of his unbridled +temper and its results. They knew that the only son was somewhere on +the other side of the world, and that little Mrs. Rampant wept tears +for him and sent money to him in secret, and they had no difficulty in +deciding why: "He'd got his father's temper, and it stood to reason +that he and the old gentleman couldn't put up their horses together." +The moral was not obscure. From no lack of affection, but for want of +self-control, the son was condemned to homelessness and hardships in +his youth, and the father was sonless in his old age. + +But that was not the point of Nurse's tales about Mr. Rampant which +impressed me most, nor even the endless anecdotes of his unreasonable +passions which leaked out at his back-door and came up our back-stairs +to the nursery. They rather amused us. That assault on the butcher's +boy, who brought ribs of beef instead of sirloin, for which he was +summoned and fined; his throwing the dinner out of the window, and +going to dine at the village inn--by which the dogs ate the dinner and +he had to pay for two dinners, and to buy new plates and dishes. + +We laughed at these things, but in my serious moments, especially on +the first Sunday of the month, I was haunted by something else which +Nurse had told me about old Mr. Rampant. + +In our small parish--a dull village on the edge of a marsh--the Holy +Communion was only celebrated once a month. It was not because he was +irreligious that old Mr. Rampant was one of the too numerous +non-communicants. "It's his temper, poor gentleman," said Nurse. "He +can't answer for himself, and he has that religious feeling he +wouldn't like to come unless he was fit. The housekeeper overheard +Mrs. Rampant a-begging of him last Christmas. It was no listening +either, for he bellowed at her like a bull, and swore dreadful that +whatever else he was he wouldn't be profane." + +"Couldn't he keep his temper for a week, don't you think?" said I +sadly, thinking of my mother's old copy of the _Weeks Preparation_ for +the Lord's Supper. + +"It would be as bad if he got into one of his tantrums directly +afterwards," said Nurse: "and with people pestering for +Christmas-boxes, and the pudding and turkey, and so many things that +might go wrong, it would be as likely as not he would. It's a sad +thing too," she added, "for his neck's terribly short, and they say +all his family have gone suddenly with the apoplexy. It's an awful +thing, Miss Isobel, to be taken sudden--and unprepared." + +The awe of it came back on me every month when the fair white linen +covered the rustiness of the old velvet altar-cloth which the marsh +damps were rotting, and the silver vessels shone, and the village +organist played out the non-communicants with a somewhat inappropriate +triumphal march, and little Mrs. Rampant knelt on with buried face as +we went out, and Mr. Rampant came out with us, looking more glum than +usual, and with such a short neck! + +_Now_ I think poor Mr. Rampant was wrong, and that he ought to have +gone with Mrs. Rampant to the Lord's Supper that Christmas. He might +have found grace to have got through all the little ups and downs and +domestic disturbances of a holiday season without being very +ferocious; and if he had tried and failed I think GOD would +have forgiven him. And he might--it is possible that he +_might_--during that calm and solemn Communion, have forgiven his son +as he felt that Our Father forgave him. So Aunt Isobel says; and I +have good reason to think that she is likely to be right. + +I think so too _now_, but _then_ I was simply impressed by the thought +that an ill-tempered person was, as Nurse expressed it, "unfit" to +join in the highest religious worship. It is true that I was also +impressed by her other saying, "It's an awful thing, Miss Isobel, to +be taken sudden and unprepared;" but there was a temporary compromise +in my own case. I could not be a communicant till I was confirmed. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +CASES OF CONSCIENCE--ETHICS OF ILL-TEMPER. + + +Confirmations were not very frequent in our little village at this +time. About once in three years the Bishop came to us. He came when I +was twelve years old. Opinions were divided as to whether I was old +enough, but I decided the matter by saying I would rather wait till +the next opportunity. + +"I may be more fit by that time," was my thought, and it was probably +not unlike some of Mr. Rampant's self-communings. + +The time came, and the Bishop also; I was fifteen. + +I do not know why, but nobody had proposed that Philip should be +confirmed at twelve years old. Fifteen was thought to be quite early +enough for him, and so it came about that we were confirmed together. + +I am very thankful that, as it happened, I had Aunt Isobel to talk to. + +"You're relieved from one perplexity at any rate," said she, when I +had been speaking of that family failing which was also mine. "You +know your weak point. I remember a long talk I had, years ago, with +Mrs. Rampant, whom I used to know very well when we were young. She +said one of her great difficulties was not being able to find out her +besetting sin. She said it always made her so miserable when clergymen +preached on that subject, and said that every enlightened Christian +must have discovered one master passion amongst the others of his +soul. She had tried so hard, and could only find a lot, none much +bigger or much less than the others. Some vanity, some selfishness, +some distrust and weariness, some peevishness, some indolence, and a +lapful of omissions. Since she married," continued my aunt, slowly +pulling her thick black eyelashes, after a fashion she had, "I believe +she has found the long-lost failing. It is impatience with Mr. +Rampant, she thinks." + +I could not help laughing. + +"However, Isobel, we may be sure of this, people of soft, gentle +temperaments have their own difficulties with their own souls which we +escape. Perhaps in the absence of such marked vices as bring one to +open shame one might be slower to undertake vigorous self-improvement. +You and I have no difficulty in seeing the sin lying at _our_ door." + +"N--no," said I. + +"Well, _have you_?" said Aunt Isobel, facing round. "Bless me," she +added impetuously, "don't say you haven't if you have. Never let any +one else think for you, child!" + +"If you'll only have patience and let me explain--" + +"I'm patience its very self!" interrupted my aunt, "but I do hate a No +that means Yes." + +_My_ patience began to evaporate. + +"There are some things, Aunt Isobel, _you know_, which can't be +exactly squeezed into No and Yes. But if you don't want to be bothered +I won't say anything, or I'll say yes or no, which ever you like." + +And I kicked the shovel. (My aunt had shoved the poker with _her_ +slipper.) She drew her foot back and spoke very gently: + +"I beg your pardon, my dear. Please say what you were going to say, +and in your own way." + +There is no doubt that good-humour--like bad--is infectious. I drew +nearer to Aunt Isobel, and fingered the sleeve of her dress +caressingly. + +"You know, dear Aunt Isobel, that I should never think of saying to +the Rector what I want to say to you. And I don't mean that I don't +agree to whatever he tells us about right and wrong, but still I think +if one can be quite convinced in the depths of one's own head, too, +it's a good thing, as well as knowing that he must be right." + +"Certainly," said Aunt Isobel. + +"To begin with, I don't want you to think me any better than I am. +When we were very very little, Philip and I used to spit at each +other, and pull each other's hair out. I do not do nasty or unladylike +things now when I am angry, but, Aunt Isobel, my 'besetting sin' is +not conquered, it's only civilized." + +"I quite agree with you," said Aunt Isobel; which rather annoyed me. I +gulped this down, however, and went on: + +"The sin of ill-temper, _if it is a sin_," I began. I paused, +expecting an outburst, but Aunt Isobel sat quite composedly, and +fingered her eyelashes. + +"Of course the Rector would be horrified if I said such a thing at the +confirmation-class," I continued, in a dissatisfied tone. + +"Don't invent grievances, Isobel, for I see you have a real +stumbling-block, when we can come to it. You are not at the +confirmation-class, and I am not easily horrified." + +"Well, there are two difficulties--I explain very stupidly," said I +with some sadness. + +"We'll take them one at a time," replied Aunt Isobel with an +exasperating blandness, which fortunately stimulated me to +plain-speaking. + +"Everybody says one ought to 'restrain' one's temper, but I'm not sure +if I think one ought. Isn't it better to _have things out_? Look at +Philip. He's going to be confirmed, and then he'll go back to school, +and when he and another boy quarrel, they'll fight it out, and feel +comfortable afterwards. Aunt Isobel, I can quite understand feeling +friendly after you've had it out, even if you're the one who is +beaten, if it has been a fair fight. Now _restraining_ your temper +means forcing yourself to be good outside, and feeling all the worse +inside, and feeling it longer. There is that utterly stupid little +schoolroom-maid, who is under my orders, that I may teach her. Aunt +Isobel, you would not credit how often I tell her the same thing, and +how politely she says 'Yes, miss!' and how invariably she doesn't do +it after all. I say, 'You _know_ I told you only yesterday. What _is_ +the use of my trying to teach you?' and all kinds of mild things like +that; but really I quite hate her for giving me so much trouble and +taking so little herself, and I wish I might discharge her. Now, if +only it wasn't wrong to throw--what are those things hot-tempered +gentlemen always throw at their servants?" + +"Don't ask me, my dear; ask Mr. Rampant." + +"Oh, he throws everything. Bootjacks--that's it. Now, if only I might +throw a bootjack at her, it would waken her up, and be such a relief +to my feelings, that I shouldn't feel half so unforgiving towards her +all along. Then as to swearing, Aunt Isobel--" + +"Swearing!" ejaculated my aunt. + +"Of course swearing is very wrong, and all profane-speaking but I do +think it _would be_ a help if there was some innocent kind of strong +language to use when one feels strongly." + +"If we didn't use up all our innocent strong language by calling +things awful and horrible that have not an element of awe or horror in +them, we should have some left for our great occasions," said Aunt +Isobel. + +"Perhaps," said I, "but that's not exactly what I mean. Now do you +think it would be wrong to invent expletives that mean nothing bad? As +if Mr. Rampant were to say, 'Cockatoos and kingfishers! where are my +shooting-boots?' For you know I do think it would make him more +comfortable to put it in that way, especially if he had been kept +waiting for them." + +I paused, and Aunt Isobel turned round. + +"Let us carry your idea well forward, Isobel. Bootjacks and expletives +would no doubt be a relief to the thrower when hurled at servants or +some one who could not (or from principle would not) retaliate, and +the angry feelings that propelled them might be shortened by 'letting +off the steam,' so to speak. But imagine yourself to have thrown a +bootjack at Philip to relieve your feelings, and Philip (to relieve +his) flinging it back at you. This would only give fresh impetus to +_your_ indignation, and whatever you threw next would not be likely to +soothe _his_." + +"Please don't!" said I. "Aunt Isobel, I could never throw a hatchet +again." + +"You are bold to promise to stop short anywhere when relieving +passionate feelings by indulgence has begun on two sides. And, my +dear, matters are no better where the indulgence is in words instead +of blows. In the very mean and undignified position of abusing those +who cannot return your abuse it might answer; but 'innocent strong +language' would cease to be of any good when it was returned. If to +'Cockatoos and kingfishers! where are my shooting-boots?' an equally +violent voice from below replied, 'Bats and blackbeetles! look for +them yourself!' some stronger vent for the steam of hot temper would +have to be found, and words of any kind would soon cease to relieve +the feelings. Isobel, I have had long and hard experience, and your +ideas are not new ones to me. Believe me, child, the only real relief +is in absolute conquest, and the earlier the battle begins, the easier +and the shorter it will be. If one can keep irritability under, one +may escape a struggle to the death with passion. I am not cramming +principles down your throat--I say as a matter of personal practice, +that I do not know, and never hope to find a smoother or a shorter +way. But I can say also--after Victory comes Peace." + +I gave a heavy sigh. + +"Thank you, Aunt Isobel, I will try; but it makes my second difficulty +all the worse. I can fancy that I might possibly learn self-control; I +can fancy by main force holding my tongue, or compelling it to speak +very slowly and civilly: but one can't force one's feelings. Aunt +Isobel, if I had been very much insulted or provoked, I might keep on +being civil for years on the outside, but how I should hate! You can't +prevent yourself hating. People talk about 'forgive and forget.' If +forgiving means doing no harm, and forgetting means behaving quite +civilly, as if nothing had happened, one could. But of course it's +nonsense to talk of making yourself really _forget_ anything. And I +think it's just as absurd to talk of making yourself forgive, if +forgiveness means feeling really kindly and comfortable as you did +before. The very case in which I am most sure you are right about +self-control is one of the worst the other way. I ought to be ashamed +to speak of it--but I mean the hatchet-quarrel. If I had been very +good instead of very wicked, and had restrained myself when Philip +pulled all my work to pieces, and jeered at me for being miserable, I +_couldn't_ have loved him again as I did before. Forgive and forget! +One would often be very glad to. I have often awoke in the morning and +known that I had forgotten something disagreeable, and when it did +come back I was sorry; but one's memory isn't made of slate, or one's +heart either, that one can take a wet sponge and make it clean. Oh +dear! I wonder why ill-tempered people are allowed to live! They ought +to be smothered in their cradles." + +Aunt Isobel was about to reply, but I interrupted her. + +"Don't think me humble-minded, Aunt Isobel, for I'm not. Sometimes I +feel inclined to think that ill-tempered people have more sense of +justice and of the strict rights and wrongs of things--at least if +they are not very bad," I interpolated, thinking of Mr. Rampant--"than +people who can smile and look pleasant at everything and everybody +like Lucy Lambent, who goes on calling me darling when I know I'm +scowling like a horned-owl. Nurse says she's the 'sweetest tempered +young lady she ever did know!' Aunt Isobel, what a muddle life is!" + +"After some years of it," said my aunt, pulling her lashes hard, "_I_ +generally say, What a muddle my head is! Life is too much for it." + +"I am quite willing to put it that way," sighed I, laying my +muddle-head on the table, for I was tired. "It comes to much the same +thing. Now--there is my great difficulty! I give in about the other +one, but you can't cure this, and the truth is, I am not fit to go to +a confirmation-class, much less to the Holy Communion." + +"Isobel," said my aunt, folding her hands on her lap, and bending her +very thick brows on the fire, "I want you to clearly understand that I +speak with great hesitation, and without any authority. I can do +nothing for you but tell you what I have found myself in _my_ +struggles." + +"Thank you a thousand times," said I, "that's what I want. You know I +hear two sermons every Sunday, and I have a lot of good books. Mrs. +Welment sends me a little book about ill-temper every Christmas. The +last one was about saying a little hymn before you let yourself speak +whenever you feel angry. Philip got hold of it, and made fun of it. He +said it was like the recipe for catching a sparrow by putting salt on +its tail, because if you were cool enough to say a hymn, there would +then be no need for saying it. What do you think, Aunt Isobel?" + +"My dear, I have long ago given up the idea that everybody's weak +points can all be strengthened by one plaster. The hymn might be very +useful in some cases, though I confess that it would not be in mine. +But prayer is; and I find a form of prayer necessary. At the same time +I have such an irritable taste, that there are very few forms of +devotion that give me much help but the Prayer-Book collects and +Jeremy Taylor. I do not know if you may find it useful to hear that in +this struggle I sometimes find prayers more useful, if they are not +too much to the sore point. A prayer about ill-temper might tend to +make me cross, when the effort to join my spirit with the +temptation-tried souls of all ages in a solemn prayer for the Church +Universal would lift me out of the petty sphere of personal vexations, +better than going into my grievances even piously. I speak merely of +myself, mind." + +"Thank you," I said. "But about what I said about hating. Aunt Isobel, +did you ever change your feelings by force? Do you suppose anybody +ever did?" + +"I believe it is a great mistake to trouble one's self with the +spiritual experiences of other people when one cannot fully know their +circumstances, so I won't suppose at all. As to what I am sure of, +Isobel, you know I speak the truth." + +"Yes," said I; it would have been impertinence to say more. + +"_I_ have found that if one fights for good behaviour, GOD +makes one a present of the good feelings. I believe you will find it +so. Even when you were a child, if you had tried to be good, and had +managed to control yourself, and had not thrown the hatchet, I am +quite sure you would not have hated Philip for long. Perhaps you would +have thought how much better Philip used to behave before your father +and mother died, and a little elder-sisterly, motherly feeling would +have mixed with your wrath at seeing him with his fat legs planted +apart, and his shoulders up, the very picture of wilful naughtiness. +Perhaps you might have thought you had repulsed him a little harshly +when he wanted to help, as you were his chief playmate and twin +sister." + +"Please don't," said I. "How I wish I had! Indeed I don't know how I +can ever speak of hating one of the others when there are so few of +us, and we are orphans. But everybody isn't one's brother. And--oh, +Aunt Isobel, at the time one does get so wild, and hard, and twisted +in one's heart!" + +"I don't think it is possible to overrate the hardness of the first +close struggle with any natural passion," said my aunt earnestly; "but +indeed the easiness of after-steps is often quite beyond one's +expectations. The free gift of grace with which GOD perfects +our efforts may come in many ways, but I am convinced that it is the +common experience of Christians that it does come." + +"To every one, do you think?" said I. "I've no doubt it comes to you, +Aunt Isobel, but then you are so good." + +"For pity's sake don't say I am good," said my aunt, and she kicked +down all the fire-irons; and then begged my pardon, and picked them up +again. + +We were silent for awhile. Aunt Isobel sat upright with her hands +folded in her lap, and that look which her large eyes wear when she is +trying to see all the sides of a question. They were dilated with a +sorrowful earnestness when she spoke again. + +"There _may_ be some souls," she said, "whose brave and bitter lot it +is to conquer comfortless. Perhaps some terrible inheritance of strong +sin from the father is visited upon the son, and, only able to keep +his purpose pure, he falls as fast as he struggles up, and still +struggling falls again. Soft moments of peace with GOD and +man may never come to him. He may feel himself viler than a thousand +trumpery souls who could not have borne his trials for a day. Child, +for you and for me is reserved no such cross and no such crown as +theirs who falling still fight, and fighting fall, with their faces +Zionwards, into the arms of the Everlasting Father. 'As one whom his +mother comforteth' shall be the healing of _their_ wounds." + +There was a brisk knock at the door, and Philip burst in. + +"Look here, Isobel, if you mean to be late for confirmation-class I'm +not going to wait for you. I hate sneaking in with the benches all +full, and old Bartram blinking and keeping your place in the catechism +for you with his fat forefinger." + +"I am _very_ sorry, Philip dear," said I; "please go without me, and +I'll come on as quickly as I can. Thank you very much for coming to +remind me." + +"There's no such awful hurry," said Philip in a mollified tone; "I'll +wait for you down-stairs." + +Which he did, whistling. + +Aunt Isobel and I are not demonstrative, it does not suit us. She took +hold of my arms, and I laid my head on her shoulder. + +"Aunt Isobel, GOD help me, I will fight on to the very end." + +"HE _will_ help you," said Aunt Isobel. + +I could not look at her face and doubt it. Oh, my weak soul, never +doubt it more! + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +CELESTIAL FIRE--I CHOOSE A TEXT. + + +We were confirmed. + +As Aunt Isobel had said, I was spared perplexity by the unmistakable +nature of my weakest point. There was no doubt as to what I should +pray against and strive against. But on that day it seemed not only as +if I could never give way to ill-temper again, but as if the trumpery +causes of former outbreaks could never even tempt me to do so. As the +lines of that ancient hymn to the Holy Ghost--"_Veni Creator_"--rolled +on, I prayed humbly enough that my unworthy efforts might yet be +crowned by the sevenfold gifts of the Spirit; but that a soul which +sincerely longed to be "lightened with celestial fire" could be +tempted to a common fit of sulks or scolding by the rub of nursery +misdeeds and mischances, felt then so little likely as hardly to be +worth deprecating on my knees. + +And yet, when the service was over, the fatigue of the mental strain +and of long kneeling and standing began to tell in a feeling that came +sadly near to peevishness. I spent the rest of the day resolutely in +my room and on my knees, hoping to keep up those high thoughts and +emotions which had made me feel happy as well as good. And yet I all +but utterly broke down into the most commonplace crossness because +Philip did not do as I did, but romped noisily with the others, and +teased me for looking grave at tea. + +I just did not break down. So much remained alive of the "celestial +fire," that I kept my temper behind my teeth. Long afterwards, when I +learnt by accident that Philip's "good resolve" on the occasion had +been that he would be kinder to "the little ones," I was very glad +that I had not indulged my uncharitable impulse to lecture him on +indifference to spiritual progress. + +That evening Aunt Isobel gave me a new picture for my room. It was a +fine print of the Crucifixion, for which I had often longed, a German +woodcut in the powerful manner of Albert Duerer, after a design by +Michael Angelo. It was neither too realistic nor too mediaeval, and the +face was very noble. Aunt Isobel had had it framed, and below on an +illuminated scroll was written--"What are these wounds in Thine +Hands? Those with which I was wounded in the house of My friends." + +"I often think," she said, when we had hung it up and were looking at +it, "that it is not in our Lord's Cross and Passion that His patience +comes most home to us. To be patient before an unjust judge or brutal +soldiers might be almost a part of self-respect; but patience with the +daily disappointments of a life 'too good for this world,' as people +say, patience with the follies, the unworthiness, the ingratitude of +those one loves--these things are our daily example. For wounds in the +house of our enemies pride may be prepared; wounds in the house of our +friends take human nature by surprise, and GOD only can teach us to +bear them. And with all reverence I think that we may say that ours +have an element of difficulty in which His were wanting. They are +mixed with blame on our own parts." + +"That is why you have put that text for me?" said I. My aunt nodded. + +I was learning to illuminate, and I took much pride in my room. I +determined to make a text for myself, and to choose a very plain +passage about ill-temper. Mrs. Welment's books supplied me with +plenty. I chose "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath," but I +resolved to have the complete text as it stands in the Bible. It +seemed fair to allow myself to remember that anger is not always a +sin, and I thought it useful to remind myself that if by obstinate +ill-temper I got the victory in a quarrel, it was only because the +devil had got the victory over me. So the text ran full length:--"Be +ye angry, and sin not; let not the sun go down upon your wrath: +neither give place to the devil." It made a very long scroll, and I +put it up over my window, and fastened it with drawing-pins. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THEATRICAL PROPERTIES--I PREPARE A PLAY--PHILIP BEGINS TO PREPARE THE +SCENERY--A NEW FRIEND. + + +Philip was at school during the remainder of the year, but I tried to +put my good resolves in practice with the children, and it made us a +more peaceful household than usual. When Philip came home for the +Christmas holidays we were certainly in very pleasant moods--for an +ill-tempered family. + +Our friends allow that some quickness of wits accompanies the +quickness of our tempers. From the days when we were very young our +private theatricals have been famous in our own little neighbourhood. +I was paramount in nursery mummeries, and in the children's charade +parties of the district, for Philip was not very reliable when steady +help was needed; but at school he became stage-manager of the +theatricals there. + +I do not know that he learned to act very much better than I, and I +think Alice (who was only twelve) had twice the gift of either of us, +but every half he came back more ingenious than before in matters for +which we had neither the talent nor the tools. He glued together yards +of canvas or calico, and produced scenes and drop-curtains which were +ambitious and effective, though I thought him a little reckless both +about good drawing and good clothes. His glue-kettles and size-pots +were always steaming, his paint was on many and more inappropriate +objects than the canvas. A shilling's-worth of gilding powder went +such a long way that we had not only golden crowns and golden +sceptres, and golden chains for our dungeon, and golden wings for our +fairies, but the nursery furniture became irregularly and +unintentionally gilded, as well as nurse's stuff dress, when she sat +on a warrior's shield, which was drying in the rocking-chair. + +But these were small matters. Philip gave us a wonderful account of +the "properties" he had made for school theatricals. A dragon painted +to the life, and with matches so fixed into the tip of him that the +boy who acted as the life and soul of this ungainly carcase could wag +a fiery tail before the amazed audience, by striking it on that +particular scale of his dragon's skin which was made of sand-paper. +Rabbit-skin masks, cotton-wool wigs and wigs of tow, seven-league +boots, and witches' hats, thunder with a tea-tray, and all the phases +of the moon with a moderator lamp--with all these things Philip +enriched the school theatre, though for some time he would not take so +much trouble for our own. + +But during this last half he had written me three letters--and three +very kind ones. In the latest he said that--partly because he had been +making some things for us, and partly because of changes in the +school-theatrical affairs--he should bring home with him a box of very +valuable "properties" for our use at Christmas. He charged me at once +to prepare a piece which should include a prince disguised as a woolly +beast on two legs with large fore-paws (easily shaken off), a fairy +godmother with a tow wig and the highest hat I could ever hope to see, +a princess turned into a willow-tree (painted from memory of the old +one at home), and with fine gnarls and knots, through which the +princess could see everything, and prompt (if needful), a disconsolate +parent, and a faithful attendant, to be acted by one person, with as +many belated travellers as the same actor could personate into the +bargain. These would all be eaten up by the dragon at the right wing, +and re-enter more belated than ever at the left, without stopping +longer than was required to roll a peal of thunder at the back. The +fifth and last character was to be the dragon himself. The forest +scene would be wanted, and I was to try and get an old cask for a +cave. + +I must explain that I was not expected to write a play. We never took +the trouble to "learn parts." We generally took some story which +pleased us out of _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ or the _Arabian Nights_, and +arranged for the various scenes. We each had a copy of the +arrangement, and our proper characters were assigned to us. After this +we did the dialogue as if it had been a charade. We were well +accustomed to act together, and could trust each other and ourselves. +Only Alice's brilliancy ever took us by surprise. + +By the time that Philip came home I had got in the rough outline of +the plot. He arrived with a box of properties, the mere size of which +raised a cheer of welcome from the little ones, and red-hot for our +theatricals. + +Philip was a little apt to be red-hot over projects, and to cool +before they were accomplished; but on this occasion we had no +forebodings of such evil. Besides, he was to play the dragon! When he +did fairly devote himself to anything, he grudged no trouble and +hesitated at no undertakings. He was so much pleased with my plot and +with the cave, that he announced that he should paint a new forest +scene for the occasion. I tried to dissuade him. There were so many +other things to be done, and the old scene was very good. But he had +learnt several new tricks of the scene-painter's trade, and was bent +upon putting them into practice. So he began his new scene, and I +resolved to work all the harder at the odds and ends of our +preparations. To be driven into a corner and pressed for time always +stimulated instead of confusing me. I think the excitement of it is +pleasant. Alice had the same dogged way of working at a crisis, and we +felt quite confident of being able to finish up "at a push," whatever +Philip might leave undone. The theatricals were to be on Twelfth +Night. + +Christmas passed very happily on the whole. I found my temper much +oftener tried since Philip's return, but this was not only because he +was very wilful and very fond of teasing, but because with the younger +ones I was always deferred to. + +One morning we were very busy in the nursery, which was our workshop. +Philip's glue-pots and size-pots were steaming, there were coloured +powders on every chair, Alice and I were laying a coat of invisible +green over the cave-cask, and Philip, in radiant good-humour, was +giving distance to his woodland glades in the most artful manner with +powder-blue, and calling on us for approbation--when the housemaid +came in. + +"It's _not_ lunch-time?" cried Alice. "It can't be!" + +"Get away, Mary," said Philip, "and tell cook if she puts on any more +meals I'll paint her best cap pea-green. She's sending up luncheons +and dinners all day long now: just because she knows we're busy." + +Mary only laughed, and said, "It's a gentleman wants to see you, +Master Philip," and she gave him a card. Philip read it, and we waited +with some curiosity. + +"It's a man I met in the train," said he, "a capital fellow. He lives +in the town. His father's a doctor there. Granny must invite him to +the theatricals. Ask him to come here, Mary, and show him the way." + +"Oughtn't you to go and fetch him yourself?" said I. + +"I can't leave this," said Philip. "He'll be all right. He's as +friendly as possible." + +I must say here that "Granny" was our maternal grandmother, with whom +we lived. My mother and father were cousins, and Granny's husband was +of that impetuous race to which we belonged. If he had been alive he +would have kept us all in good order, no doubt. But he was dead, and +Granny was the gentlest of old ladies: I fear she led a terrible life +with us all! + +Philip's friend came up-stairs. He _was_ very friendly; in fact Alice +and I thought him forward, but he was several years older than Philip, +who seemed proud of the acquaintance. Perhaps Alice and I were biased +by the fact that he spoilt our pleasant morning. He was one of those +people who look at everything one has been working at with such +unintelligent eyes that their indifference ought not to dishearten +one; and yet it does. + +"It's for our private theatricals," said Philip, as Mr. Clinton's +amazed stare passed from our paint-covered selves to the new scene. + +"My cousins in Dublin have private theatricals," said Mr. Clinton. "My +uncle has built on a room for the theatre. All the fittings and scenes +come from London, and the first costumiers in Dublin send in all the +dresses and everything that is required on the afternoon before the +performance." + +"Oh, we're in a much smaller way," said Philip; "but I've some +properties here that don't look bad by candlelight." But Mr. Clinton +had come up to the cask, and was staring at it and us. I knew by the +way Alice got quietly up, and shook some chips with a decided air out +of her apron, that she did not like being stared at. But her movement +only drew Mr. Clinton's especial attention. + +"You'll catch it from your grandmamma for making such a mess of your +clothes, won't you?" he asked. + +"I _beg_ your pardon?" said Alice, with so perfect an air of not +having heard him that he was about to repeat the question, when she +left the nursery with the exact exit which she had made as a Discreet +Princess repelling unwelcome advances in last year's play. + +I was afraid of an outburst from Philip, and said in hasty civility, +"This is a cave we are making." + +"They'd a splendid cave at Covent Garden last Christmas," said Mr. +Clinton. "It covered half the stage. An enormously tall man dressed in +cloth of silver stood in the entrance, and waved a spear ten or twelve +feet long over his head. A fairy was let down above that, so you may +be sure the cave was pretty big." + +"Oh, here's the dragon," said Philip, who had been rummaging in the +property box. "He's got a fiery tail." + +"They were quite the go in pantomimes a few years ago," said Mr. +Clinton, yawning. "My uncle had two or three--bigger than that, of +course." + +Philip saw that his friend was not interested in amateur +property-making, and changed the subject. + +"What have you been doing this morning?" said he. + +"I drove here with my father, who had got to pass your gates. I say, +there's splendid shooting on the marsh now. I want you to come out +with me, and we'll pot a wild duck or two." + +"I've no gun," said Philip, and to soften the statement added, +"there's no one here to go out with." + +"I'll go out with you. And I say, we could just catch the train back +to the town, and if you'll come and lunch with us, we'll go out a bit +this afternoon and look round. But you must get a gun." + +"I should like some fresh air," said Philip, "and as you've come over +for me--" + +I knew the appealing tone in his voice was for my ears, for my face +had fallen. + +"Could I be going on with it?" I asked, nodding towards the forest +scene. + +"Oh dear no! I'll go at it again to-night. It ought all to be painted +by candlelight by rights. I'm not going to desert my post," he added. + +"I hope not," said I as good-humouredly as I could; but dismay was in +my heart. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A QUARREL--BOBBY IS WILLING--EXIT PHILIP. + + +Philip came back by an evening train, and when he had had something to +eat he came up to the nursery to go on with the scene. We had got +everything ready for him, and he worked for about half-an-hour. But he +was so sleepy, with cold air and exercise, that he did not paint well, +and then he got impatient, and threw it up--"till the morning." + +In the morning he set to work, talking all the time about wild duck +and teal, and the price of guns; but by the time he had put last +night's blunders straight, the front door bell rang, and Mary +announced "Mr. Clinton." + +Philip was closeted in his room with his new friend till twelve +o'clock. Then they went out into the yard, and finally Mr. Clinton +stayed to luncheon. But I held my peace, and made Alice hold hers. Mr. +Clinton went away in the afternoon, but Philip got the plate-powder +and wash-leather, and occupied himself in polishing the silver +fittings of his dressing-case. + +"I think you might do that another time, Philip," said I; "you've not +been half-an-hour at the properties to-day, and you could clean your +bottles and things quite as well after the theatricals." + +"As it happens I just couldn't," said Philip; "I've made a bargain, +and bargains won't wait." + +Alice and I screamed in one breath, "You're _not_ going to give away +the dressing-case!"--for it had been my father's. + +"I said a _bargain_" replied Philip, rubbing harder than ever; "you +can't get hold of a gun every day without paying down hard cash." + +"I hate Mr. Clinton!" said Alice. + +It was a very unfortunate speech, for it declared open war; and when +this is done it cannot be undone. There is no taking back those sharp +sayings which the family curse hangs on the tips of our tongues. + +Philip and Alice exchanged them pretty freely. Philip called us +selfish, inhospitable, and jealous. He said we grudged his enjoying +himself in the holidays, when he had been working like a slave for us +during the half. That we disliked his friend because he _was_ his +friend, and (not to omit the taunt of sex) that Clinton was too manly +a fellow to please girls, etc., etc. In self-defence Alice was much +more out-spoken about both Philip and Mr. Clinton than she had +probably intended to be. That Philip began things hotly, and that his +zeal cooled before they were accomplished--that his imperiousness laid +him open to flattery, and the necessity of playing first-fiddle +betrayed him into second-rate friendships, which were thrown after the +discarded hobbies--that Mr. Clinton was ill-bred, and with that +vulgarity of mind which would make him rather proud than ashamed of +getting the best of a bargain with his friend--these things were not +the less taunts because they were true. + +If the violent scenes which occur in ill-tempered families _felt_ half +as undignified and miserable as they _look_, surely they would be less +common! I believe Philip and Alice would have come to blows if I had +not joined with him to expel her from the room. I was not happy about +it, for my sympathy was on her side of the quarrel, but she had been +the one to declare war, and I could not control Philip. In short, it +is often not easy to keep the peace and be just too, as I should like +to have said to Aunt Isobel, if she had been at home. But she was to +be away until the 6th. + +Alice defeated, I took Philip seriously to task. Not about his +friend--the subject was too sore, and Alice had told him all that we +thought, and rather more than we thought on that score--but about the +theatricals. I said if he really was tired of the business we would +throw it up, and let our friends know that the proposed entertainment +had fallen through, but that if he wanted it to go forward he must +decide what help he would give, and then abide by his promise. + +We came to terms. If I would let him have a day or two's fun with his +gun, Philip promised to "spurt," as he called it, at the end. I told +him we would be content if he would join in a "thorough rehearsal," +the afternoon before, and devote himself to the business on the day of +the performance. + +"Real business, you know," I added, "with nobody but ourselves. Nobody +coming in to interrupt." + +"Of course," said Philip; "but I'll do more than that, Isobel. There's +the scene--" + +"_We'll_ finish the scene," said I, "if you don't aggravate Alice so +that I lose her help as well as yours." + +Alice was very sulky, which I could hardly wonder at, and I worked +alone, except for Bobby, the only one with anything like a good temper +among us, who roasted himself very patiently with my size-pot, and +hammered bits of ivy, and of his fingers, rather neatly over the cave. +But Alice was impulsive and kind-hearted. When I got a bad headache, +from working too long, she came round, and helped me. Philip was +always going to do so, but as a matter of fact he went out every day +with the old fowling-piece for which he had given his dressing case. + +When the ice bore Charles also deserted us, but Alice and I worked +steadily on at dresses and scenery. And Bobby worked with us. + +The 5th of January arrived, the day before the theatricals. Philip +spent the morning in cleaning his gun, and after luncheon he brought +it into the nursery to "finish" with a peculiarly aggravating air. + +"When shall you be ready to rehearse?" I asked. + +"Oh, presently," said Philip, "there's plenty of time yet. It's a +great nuisance," he added, "I'll never have anything to do with +theatricals again. They make a perfect slave of one." + +"_You've_ not slaved much, at any rate," said Charles. + +"You'd better not give me any of your cheek," said Philip +threateningly. + +"We've done without him for a week, I don't know why we shouldn't do +without him to-morrow," muttered Alice from the corner where she was +sewing gold paper stars on to the Enchanted Prince's tunic. + +"I wish you could," growled Philip, who took the suggestion more +quietly than I expected; "anybody could do the Dragon, there's no +acting in it!" + +"I won't," said Charles, "Isobel gave me the Enchanted Prince or the +Woolly Beast, and I shall stick to my part." + +"Could I do the Dragon?" asked Bobby, releasing his hot face from the +folds of an old blue cloak lined with red, in which he was rehearsing +his walk as a belated wayfarer. + +"Certainly not," said I, "you're the Bereaved Father and the Faithful +Attendant to begin with, and I hope you won't muddle them. And you're +Twelve Travellers as well, and the thunder, remember!" + +"I don't care how many I do, if only I can," said Bobby, drawing his +willing arm across his steaming forehead. "I should like to have a +fiery tail." + +"You can't devour yourself once--let alone twelve times," said I +sternly. "Don't be silly, Bob." + +It was not Bob I was impatient with in reality, it was Philip. + +"If you really mean to desert the theatricals after all you promised, +I would much rather try to do without you," said I indignantly. + +"Then you may!" retorted Philip. "I wash my hands of it and of the +whole lot of you, and of every nursery entertainment henceforward!" +and he got the fragments of his gun together with much clatter. But +Charles had posted himself by the door to say his say, and to be ready +to escape when he had said it. + +"You're ashamed of it, that's it," said he; "you want to sit among the +grown-ups with a spy-glass, now you've got Apothecary Clinton's son +for a friend,"--and after this brief and insulting summary of the +facts, Charles vanished. But Philip, white with anger, was too quick +for him, and at the top of the back-stairs he dealt him such a heavy +blow that Charles fell head-long down the first flight. + +Alice and I flew to the rescue. I lived in dread of Philip really +injuring Charles some day, for his blows were becoming serious ones as +he grew taller and stronger, and his self-control did not seem to wax +in proportion. And Charles's temper was becoming very aggressive. On +this occasion, as soon as he had regained breath, and we found that no +bones were broken, it was only by main force that we held him back +from pursuing Philip. + +"I'll hit him--I'll stick to him," he sobbed in his fury, shaking his +head like a terrier, and doubling his fists. But he was rather sick +with the fall, and we made him lie down to recover himself, whilst +Alice, Bobby, and I laid our heads together to plan a substitute for +Philip in the Dragon. + +When bed-time came, and Philip was still absent, we became uneasy, and +as I lay sleepless that night I asked myself if I had been to blame +for the sulks in which he had gone off. In fits of passion Philip had +often threatened to go away and never let us hear of him again. I +knew that such things did happen, and it made me unhappy when he went +off like this, although his threats had hitherto been no more than a +common and rather unfair device of ill-temper. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +I HEAR FROM PHILIP--A NEW PART WANTED--I LOSE MY TEMPER--WE ALL LOSE +OUR TEMPERS. + + +Next morning's post brought the following letter from Philip:-- + +"MY DEAR ISOBEL, + +"You need not bother about the Dragon--I'll do it. But I wish you +would put another character into the piece. It is for Clinton. He says +he will act with us. He says he can do anything if it is a leading +part. He has got black velvet knickerbockers and scarlet stockings, +and he can have the tunic and cloak I wore last year, and the flap +hat; and you must lend him your white ostrich feather. Make him some +kind of a grandee. If you can't, he must be the Prince, and Charles +can do some of the Travellers. We are going out on the marsh this +morning, but I shall be with you after luncheon, and Clinton in the +evening. He does not want any rehearsing, only a copy of the plan. +Let Alice make it, her writing is the clearest, and I wish she would +make me a new one; I've torn mine, and it is so dirty, I shall never +be able to read it inside the Dragon. Don't forget. + +"Your affectionate brother, + +"PHILIP." + +There are limits to one's patience, and with some of us they are not +very wide. Philip had passed the bounds of mine, and my natural +indignation was heightened by a sort of revulsion from last night's +anxiety on his account. His lordly indifference to other people's +feelings was more irritating than the trouble he gave us by changing +his mind. + +"You won't let him take the Woolly Beast from me, Isobel?" cried +Charles. "And you know you promised to lend _me_ your ostrich plume." + +"Certainly not," said I. "And you shall have the feather. I promised." + +"If Mr. Clinton acts--I shan't," said Alice. + +"Mr. Clinton won't act," said I, "I can't alter the piece now. But I +wish, Alice, you were not always so very ready to drive things into a +quarrel." + +"If we hadn't given way to Philip so much he wouldn't think we can +bear anything," said Alice. + +I could not but feel that there was some truth in this, and that it +was a dilemma not provided against in Aunt Isobel's teaching, that +one may be so obliging to those one lives with as to encourage, if not +to teach them to be selfish. + +Perhaps it would have been well if on the first day when Philip +deserted us Alice and I, had spent the afternoon with Lucy Lambent, +and if we had continued to amuse ourselves with our friends when +Philip amused himself with his. We should then have been forced into a +common decision as to whether the play should be given up, and, +without reproaches or counter-reproaches, Philip would have learned +that he could not leave all the work to us, and then arrange and +disarrange the plot at his own pleasure, or rather, he would never +have thought that he could. But a plan of this kind requires to be +carried out with perfect coolness to be either justifiable or +effective. And we have not a cool head amongst us. + +One thing was clear. I ought to keep faith with the others who had +worked when Philip would not. Charles should not be turned out of his +part. I rather hustled over the question of a new part for Mr. Clinton +in my mind. I disliked him, and did not want to introduce him. I said +to myself that it was quite unreasonable--out of the question in +fact--and I prepared to say so to Philip. + +Of course he was furious--that I knew he would be; but I was firm. + +"Charles can be the Old Father, and the Family Servant too," said he. +"They're both good parts." + +"Then give them to Mr. Clinton," said I, well knowing that he would +not. "Charles has taken a great deal of pains with his part, and these +are his holidays as well as yours, and the Prince shall not be taken +from him." + +"Well, I say it shall. And Charles may be uncommonly glad if I let him +act at all after the way he behaved yesterday." + +"The way _you_ behaved, you, mean," said I--for my temper was slipping +from my grasp;--"you might have broken his neck." + +"All the more danger in his provoking me, and in your encouraging +him." + +I began to feel giddy, which is always a bad sign with us. It rang in +my mind's ear that this was what came of being forbearing with a bully +like Philip. But I still tried to speak quietly. + +"If you think," said I through my teeth, "that I am going to let you +knock the others about, and rough-ride it over our theatricals, you +are mistaken." + +"_Your_ theatricals!" cried Philip, mimicking me. "I like that! Whom +do the properties belong to, pray?" + +"If it goes by buying," was my reply to this rather difficult +question, "most of them belong to Granny, for the canvas and the +paints and the stuff for the dresses, have gone down in the bills; and +if it goes by work, I think we have done quite as much as you. And if +some of the properties _are_ yours, the play is mine. And as to the +scene--you did the distance in the middle of the wood, but Alice and I +painted all the foreground." + +"Then you may keep your foreground, and I'll take my distance," roared +Philip, and in a moment his pocket-knife was open, and he had cut a +hole a foot-and-a-half square in the centre of the Enchanted Forest, +and Bobby's amazed face (he was running a tuck in his cloak behind the +scenes) appeared through the aperture. + +If a kind word would have saved the fruits of our week's hard labour, +not one of us would have spoken it. We sacrifice anything we possess +in our ill-tempered family--except our wills. + +"And you may take your play, and I'll take my properties," continued +Philip, gathering up hats, wigs, and what not from the costumes which +Alice and I had arranged in neat groups ready for the green-room. +"I'll give everything to Clinton this evening for his new theatre, and +we'll see how you get on without the Fiery Dragon." + +"Clinton _can't_ want a fiery dragon when he's got you," said Charles, +in a voice of mock compliment. + +The Fairy Godmother's crabstick was in Philip's hand. He raised it, +and flew at Charles, but I threw myself between them and caught +Philip's arm. + +"You shall not hit him," I cried. + +Aunt Isobel is right about one thing. If one _does_ mean to stop short +in a quarrel one must begin at a very early stage. It is easier to +smother one's feelings than to check one's words. By the time it comes +to blows it is like trying to pull up a runaway horse. The first pinch +Philip gave to my arm set my brain on fire. When he threw me heavily +against the cave with a mocking laugh, and sprang after Charles, I +could not have yielded an inch to him to save my life--not to earn +Fortunatus' purse, or three fairy wishes--not to save whatever I most +valued. + +What would have induced me? I do not know, but I know that I am very +glad it is not quite so easy to sell one's soul at one bargain as +fairy-tales make out! + +My struggle with Philip had given Charles time to escape. Philip could +not find him, and rough as were the words with which he returned to +me, I fancy they cost him some effort of self-control, and they +betrayed to Alice's instinct and mine that he would have been glad to +get out of the extremity to which our tempers had driven matters. + +"Look here!" said he in a tone which would have been perfect if we +had been acting a costermonger and his wife. "Are you going to make +Clinton the Prince or not?" + +"I am not," said I, nursing my elbow, which was cut by a nail on the +cask. "I am not going to do anything whatever for Mr. Clinton, and I +ought to be cured of working for you." + +"You have lost an opening to make peace," said an inner voice. "You've +given the yielding plan a fair trial, and it has failed," said +self-justification--the swiftest pleader I know. "There are some +people, with self-satisfied, arbitrary tempers, upon whom gentleness +is worse than wasted, because it misleads them. They have that remnant +of savage notions which drives them to mistake generosity for +weakness. The only way to convince them is to hit them harder than +they hit you. And it is the kindest plan for everybody concerned." + +I am bound to say--though it rather confuses some of my ideas--that +experience has convinced me that this last statement is not without +truth. But I am also bound to say that it was not really applicable to +Philip. He is not as generous as Alice, but I had no good reason to +believe that kindly concession would be wasted on him. + +When I had flung my last defiance, Philip replied in violent words of +a kind which girls in our class of life do not (happily!) use, even +in a rage. They were partly drowned by the clatter with which he +dragged his big box across the floor, and filled it with properties of +all kinds, from the Dragon to the foot-light reflectors. + +"I am going by the 4.15 to the town," said he, as he pulled the box +out towards his own room. "You need not wait for either Clinton or me. +Pray 'ring up' punctually!" + +At this moment--having fully realized the downfall of the +theatricals--Bobby burst into a howl of weeping. Alice scolded him for +crying, and Charles reproached her for scolding him, on the score that +her antipathy to Mr. Clinton had driven Philip to this extreme point +of insult and ill-temper. + +Charles's own conduct had been so far from soothing, that Alice had +abundant material for retorts, and she was not likely to be a loser in +the war of words. What she did say I did not hear, for by that time I +had locked myself up in my own room. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +SELF-REPROACH--FAMILY DISCOMFORT--OUT ON THE MARSH--VICTORY. + + +If I could have locked myself up anywhere else I should have preferred +it. I would have justified my own part in the present family quarrel +to Aunt Isobel herself, and yet I would rather not have been alone +just now with the text I had made and pinned up, and with my new +picture. However, there was nowhere else to go to. + +A restless way I have of pacing up and down when I am in a rage, has +often reminded me of the habits of the more ferocious of the wild +beasts in the Zoological Gardens, and has not lessened my convictions +on the subject of the family temper. For a few prowls up and down my +den I managed to occupy my thoughts with fuming against Philip's +behaviour, but as the first flush of anger began to cool, there was no +keeping out of my head the painful reflections which the sight of my +text, my picture, and my books suggested--the miserable contrast +between my good resolves and the result. + +"It only shows," I muttered to myself, in a voice about as amiable as +the growlings of a panther, "it only shows that it is quite hopeless. +We're an ill-tempered family--a hopelessly ill-tempered family; and to +try to cure us is like patching the lungs of a consumptive family, I +don't even wish that I _could_ forgive Philip. He doesn't deserve it." + +And then as I nursed the cut on my elbow, and recalled the long hours +of work at the properties, the damaged scene, the rifling of the +green-room, and Philip's desertion with the Dragon, his probable +industry for Mr. Clinton's theatricals, and the way he had left us to +face our own disappointed audience, fierce indignation got the upper +hand once more. + +"I don't care," I growled afresh; "if I have lost my temper, I believe +I was right to lose it--at least, that no one could have been expected +not to lose it, I will never beg his pardon for it, let Aunt Isobel +say what she will. I should hate him ever after if I did, for the +injustice of the thing. Pardon, indeed!" + +I turned at the top of the room and paced back towards the window, +towards the long illuminated text, and that + + "---- Noble face, + So sweet and full of grace," + +which bent unchangeable from the emblem of suffering and +self-sacrifice. + +I have a trick of talking to myself and to inanimate objects. I +addressed myself now to the text and the picture. + +"But if I don't," I continued, "if after being confirmed with Philip +in the autumn, we come to just one of our old catastrophes in the very +next holidays, as bad as ever, and spiting each other to the last--I +shall take you all down to-morrow! I don't pretend to be able to +persuade myself that black is white--like Mrs. Rampant; but I am not a +hypocrite, I won't ornament my room with texts, and crosses, and +pictures, and symbols of Eternal Patience, when I do not even mean to +_try_ to sacrifice myself, or to be patient." + +It is curious how one's faith and practice hang together. I felt very +doubtful whether it was even desirable that I should. Whether we did +not misunderstand GOD'S will, in thinking that it is well +that people in the right should ever sacrifice themselves for those +who are in the wrong. I did not however hide from myself, that to say +this was to unsay all my resolves about my besetting sin. I decided to +take down my texts, pictures, and books, and grimly thought that I +would frame a fine photograph Charles had given me of a lioness, and +would make a new inscription, the motto of the old Highland Clan +Chattan--with which our family is remotely connected--"_Touch not the +cat but a glove_."[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Anglice_ "without a glove."] + +"Put on your gloves next time, Master Philip!" I thought. "I shall +make no more of these feeble attempts to keep in my claws, which only +tempt you to irritate me beyond endurance. We're an ill-tempered +family, and you're not the most amiable member of it. For my own part, +I can control my temper when it is not running away with me, and be +fairly kind to the little ones, so long as they do what I tell them. +But, at a crisis like this, I can no more yield to your unreasonable +wishes, stifle my just anger, apologize for a little wrong to you who +owe apologies for a big one, and pave the way to peace with my own +broken will, than the leopard can change his spots." + +"And yet--_if I could_!" + +It broke from me almost like a cry, "If my besetting sin _is_ a sin, +if I have given way to it under provocation--if this moment is the +very hardest of the battle, and the day is almost lost--and if now, +even now, I could turn round and tread down this Satan under my feet. +If this were to-morrow morning, and I had done it--O my soul, what +triumph, what satisfaction in past prayers, what hope for the future! + +"Then thou shouldest believe the old legends of sinners numbered with +the saints, of tyrants taught to be gentle, of the unholy learning to be +pure--for one believes with heartiness what he has experienced--then +text and picture and cross should hang on, in spite of frailty, and in +this sign shalt thou conquer." + +One ought to be very thankful for the blessings of good health and +strong nerves, but I sometimes wish I could cry more easily. I should +not like to be like poor Mrs. Rampant, whose head or back is always +aching, and whose nerves make me think of the strings of an AEolian +harp, on which Mr. Rampant, like rude Boreas, is perpetually playing +with the tones of his voice, the creak of his boots, and the bang of +his doors. But her tears do relieve, if they exhaust her, and +back-ache cannot be as bad as heart-ache--hot, dry heart-ache, or +cold, hard heart-ache. I think if I could have cried I could have felt +softer. As it was I began to wish that I could do what I felt sure +that I could not. + +If I dragged myself to Philip, and got out a few conciliatory words, I +should break down in a worse fury than before if he sneered or rode +the high horse, "as he probably would," thought I. + +On my little carved Prayer-book shelf lay with other volumes a copy of +A Kempis, which had belonged to my mother. Honesty had already +whispered that if I deliberately gave up the fight with evil this +must be banished with my texts and pictures. At the present moment a +familiar passage came into my head: + + "When one that was in great anxiety of mind, often wavering + between fear and hope, did once humbly prostrate himself in + prayer, and said, 'O if I knew that I should persevere!' he + presently heard within him an answer from GOD, which said, + 'If thou didst know it, what would'st thou do? Do what thou + would'st do then, and thou shalt be safe.'" + +Supposing I began to do right, and trusted the rest? I could try to +speak to Philip, and it would be something even if I stopped short and +ran away. Or if I could not drag my feet to him, I could take Aunt +Isobel's advice, and pray. I might not be able to speak civilly to +Philip, or even to pray about him in my present state of mental +confusion, but I could repeat _some_ prayer reverently. Would it not +be better to start on the right road, even if I fell by the way? + +I crossed the room in three strides to the place where I usually say +my prayers. I knelt, and folded my hands, and shut my eyes, and began +to recite the Te Deum in my head, trying to attend to it. I did attend +pretty well, but it was mere attention, till I felt slightly softened +at the verse--"Make them to be numbered with Thy saints in glory +everlasting." For my young mother was very good, and I always think +of her when the choir comes to that verse on Sundays. + +"Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin." "It's too late +to ask that," thought I, with that half of my brain which was not +attending to the words of the Te Deum, "and yet there is a little bit +of the day left which will be dedicated either to good or evil." + +I prayed the rest, "O Lord, have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us. O +Lord, let Thy mercy lighten upon us, as our trust is in Thee. O Lord, +in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded!" and with the last +verse there came from my heart a very passion of desire for strength +to do the will of GOD at the sacrifice of my own. I flung myself on +the floor with inarticulate prayers that were very fully to the point +now, and they summed themselves up again in the old words, "In Thee, O +Lord, have I trusted, let me never be confounded!" + +When I raised my head I caught sight of the picture, and for an +instant felt a superstitious thrill. The finely drawn face shone with +a crimson glow. But in a moment more I saw the cause, and +exclaimed--"_The sun is setting_! I must speak to Philip before it +goes down." + +What should I say? Somehow, now, my judgment felt very clear and +decisive. I would not pretend that he had been in the right, but I +would acknowledge where I had been in the wrong. I _had_ been +disobliging about Mr. Clinton, and I would say so, and offer to repair +that matter. I would regret having lost my temper, and say nothing +about his. I would not offer to deprive Charles of his part, or break +my promise of the white feather; but I would make a new part for Mr. +Clinton, and he should be quite welcome to any finery in my possession +except Charles's plume. This concession was no difficulty to me. Bad +as our tempers are, I am thankful to say they are not mean ones. If I +dressed out Mr. Clinton at all, it would come natural to do it +liberally. I would do all this--_if I could_. I might break down into +passion at the mere sight of Philip and the properties, but at least I +would begin "as if I knew I should persevere." + +At this moment the front door was shut with a bang which shook the +house. + +It was Philip going to catch the 4.15. I bit my lips, and began to +pull on my boots, watching the red sun as it sank over the waste of +marshland which I could see from my window. I must try to overtake +him, but I could run well, and I suspected that he would not walk +fast. I did not believe that he was really pleased at the break-up of +our plans and the prospect of a public exposure of our squabbles, +though as a family we are always willing to make fools of ourselves +rather than conciliate each other. + +My things were soon on, and I hurried from my room. In the window-seat +of the corridor was Alice. The sight of her reproached me. She slept +in my room, but I jealously retained full power over it, and when I +locked myself in she dared not disturb me. + +"I'm afraid you've been wanting to come in," said I. "Do go in now." + +"Thank you," said Alice, "I've nowhere to go to." Then tightening her +lips, she added, "Philip's gone." + +"I know," said I. "I'm going to try and get him back." Alice stared in +amazement. + +"You always do spoil Philip, because he's your twin," she said, at +last; "you wouldn't do it for me." + +"Oh, Alice, you don't know. I'd much rather do it for you, girls are +so much less aggravating than boys. But don't try and make it harder +for me to make peace." + +"I beg your pardon, Isobel. If you do, you're an angel. I couldn't, to +save my life." + +At the head of the stairs I met Charles. + +"He's gone," said he significantly, and bestriding the balustrades, he +shot to the foot. When I reached him he was pinching the biceps muscle +of his arm. + +"Feel, Isobel," said he, "It's hard, isn't it?" + +"Very, Charles, but I'm in a hurry." + +"Look here," he continued, with an ugly expression on his face, "I'm +going into training. I'm going to eat bits of raw mutton, and +dumb-bell. Wait a year, wait half a year, and I shall be able to +thrash him. I'll make him remember these theatricals. I don't forget. +I haven't forgot his bursting my football out of spite." + +It is not pleasant to see one's own sins reflected on other faces. I +could not speak. + +By the front door was Bobby. He was by way of looking out of the +portico window, but his swollen eyes could not possibly have seen +anything. + +"Oh, Isobel, Isobel!" he sobbed, "Philip's gone, and taken the +D--d--d--dragon with him, and we're all m--m--m--miserable." + +"Don't cry, Bobby," said I, kissing him. "Finish your cloak, and be +doing anything you can. I'm going to try and bring Philip back." + +"Oh, thank you, thank you, Isobel! If only he'll come back I don't +care what I do. Or I'll give up my parts if he wants them, and be a +scene-shifter, if you'll lend me your carpet-slippers, and make me a +paper cap." + +"GOD has given you a very sweet temper, Bobby," said I, +solemnly. "I wish I had one like it." + +"You're as good as gold," said Bobby. His loving hug added strength +to my resolutions, and I ran across the garden and jumped the ha-ha, +and followed Philip over the marsh. I do not know whether he heard my +steps when I came nearly up with him, but I fancy his pace slackened. +Not that he looked round. He was much too sulky. + +Philip is a very good-looking boy, much handsomer than I am, though we +are alike. But the family curse disfigures his face when he is cross +more than any one's, and the back view of him is almost worse than the +front. His shoulders get so humped up, and his whole figure is stiff +with cross-grained obstinacy. + +"I shall never hold out if he speaks as ungraciously as he looks," +thought I in despair. "But I'll not give in till I can hold out no +longer." + +"Philip!" I said. He turned round, and his face was no prettier to +look at than his shoulders. + +"What do you want?" (in the costermonger tone.) + +"I want you to come back, Philip"--(here I choked). + +"I dare say," he sneered, "and you want the properties! But you've got +your play, and your amiable Charles, and your talented Alice, and your +ubiquitous Bobby. And the audience will be entertained with an +unexpected after-piece entitled--'The disobliging disobliged.'" + +Oh it _was_ hard! I think if I had looked at Philip's face I must have +broken down, but I kept my eyes steadily on the crimson sun, which +loomed large through the marsh mists that lay upon the horizon, as I +answered with justifiable vehemence: + +"I have a very bad temper, Philip" (I checked the disposition to +add--"and so have you"), "but I never tell a lie. I have _not_ come +after the properties. The only reason for which I have come is to try +and make peace." At this point I gathered up all my strength and +hurried on, staring at the sun till the bushes near us and the level +waste of marsh beyond seemed to vanish in the glow. "I came to say +that I am sorry for my share of the quarrel. I lost my temper, and I +beg your pardon for that. I was not very obliging about Mr. Clinton, +but you had tried me very much. However, what you did wrong, does not +excuse me, I know, and if you like to come back, I'll make a new part +as you wanted. I can't give him Charles's part, or the feather, but +anything I can do, or give up of my own, I will. It's not because of +to-night, for you know as well as I do that I do not care twopence +what happens when I'm angry, and, after all, we can only say that +you've taken the things. But I wanted us to get through these holidays +without quarrelling, and I wanted you to enjoy them, and I want to try +and be good to you, for you are my twin brother, and for my share of +the quarrel I beg your pardon--I can do no more." + +Some of this speech had been about as pleasant to say as eating +cinders, and when it was done I felt a sudden sensation (very rare +with me) of unendurable fatigue. As the last words left my lips the +sun set, but my eyes were so bedazzled that I am not sure that I +should not have fallen, but for an unexpected support. What Philip had +been thinking of during my speech I do not know, for I had avoided +looking at him, but when it was done he threw the properties out of +his arms, and flung them around me with the hug of a Polar bear. + +_"You_ ill-tempered!" he roared. "You've the temper of an angel, or +you would never have come after me like this. Isobel, I am a brute, I +have behaved like a brute all the week, and I beg _your_ pardon." + +I retract my wishes about crying, for when I do begin, I cry in such a +very disagreeable way--no spring shower, but a perfect tempest of +tears. Philip's unexpected generosity upset me, and I sobbed till I +frightened him, and he said I was hysterical. The absurdity of this +idea set me off into fits of laughing, which, oddly enough, seemed to +distress him so much that I stopped at last, and found breath to say, +"Then you'll come home?" + +"If you'll have me. And never mind about Clinton, I'll get out of it. +The truth is, Isobel, you and Alice did snub him from the first, and +that vexed me; but I _am_ disappointed in him. He does brag so, and +I've had to take that fowling-piece to the gunsmith's already, so I +know what it's worth. I did give Clinton a hint about it, and--would +you believe it?--he laughed, and said he thought he had got the best +of _that_ bargain. I said, 'I hope you have, if it isn't an even one, +for I should be very sorry to think _I_ had cheated a friend!' But he +either did not or wouldn't see it. He's a second-rate sort of fellow, +I'm sure, and I'm sorry I promised to let him act. But I'll get out of +it, you shan't be bothered by him." + +"No, no," said I, "if you promised I'd much rather. It won't bother me +at all." + +(It is certainly a much pleasanter kind of dispute when the struggle +is to give, and not to take!) + +"You can't fit him in now?" said Philip doubtfully. + +"Oh yes, I can." I felt sure that I could. I have often been short of +temper for our amusements, but never of ideas. Philip tucked the +properties under one arm, and me under the other, and as we ran +homewards over the marsh, I threaded Mr. Clinton into the plot with +perfect ease. + +"We'll have a second Prince, and he shall have an enchanted shield, +which shall protect him from you--though he can't kill you--for Charles +must do that. He shall be in love with the Princess too, but just when +he and Charles are going to fight for her, the Fairy Godmother shall +sprinkle him with the Waters of Memory, and break a spell which had made +him forget his own Princess in a distant land. You know, Philip, if he +_does_ act well, he may make a capital part of it. It will be a splendid +scene. We have two real metal swords, and as they are flashing in the +air--enter the Fairy with the carved claret jug. When he is sprinkled he +must drop his sword, and put his hands to his head. He will recall the +picture of his own Princess, and draw it out and kiss it (I can lend him +my locket miniature of great-grandpapa). Charles and he must swear +eternal friendship, and then he will pick up his sword, and exit right +centre, waving the golden shield, to find his Princess. It will look +very well, and as he goes out the Princess can enter left in distraction +about the combat, and she and Charles can fall in each other's arms, and +be blessed by the Fairy." + +"Capital!" said Philip. "What a head you have! But you're out of +breath? We're running too fast." + +"Not a bit," said I, "it refreshes me. Do you remember when you and I +used to run hand in hand from the top to the bottom of Breakneck Hill? +Oh, Philip, I do wish we could never quarrel any more! I think we +might keep our tempers if we tried." + +"_You_ might," said Philip, "because you are good. But I shall always +be a brute." + +(Just what _I_ said to Aunt Isobel! Must every one learn his own +lessons for himself? I had a sort of unreasonable feeling that my +experience ought to serve for the rest of our ill-tempered family into +the bargain.) + +Philip's spirits rose higher and higher. Of course he was delighted to +be out of the scrape. I am sure he was glad to be friendly again, and +he was hotter than ever for the theatricals. + +So was I. I felt certain that they would be successful now. But far +above and beyond the comfort of things "coming right," and the +pleasure of anticipated fun, my heart was rocked to a higher peace. In +my small religious experiences I had never known this triumph, this +thankfulness before. Circumstances, not self-control, had helped me +out of previous quarrels; I had never really done battle, and gained a +conquest over my besetting sin. Now, however imperfectly and +awkwardly, I yet _had_ fought. If Philip had been less generous I +might have failed, but the effort had been real--and it had been +successful. Henceforth my soul should fight with the prestige of +victory, with the courage that comes of having striven and won, +trusted and not been confounded. + +The first person we met after we got in was Aunt Isobel. She had +arrived in our absence. No doubt she had heard the whole affair, but +she is very good, and never _gauche_ and she only said-- + +"Here come the stage-managers! Now what can I do to help? I have had +some tea, and am ready to obey orders till the curtain rings up." + +Boys do not carry things off well. Philip got very red, but I +said--"Oh, please come to the nursery, Aunt Isobel. There are lots of +things to do." She came, and was invaluable. I never said anything +about the row to her, and she never said anything to me. That is what +I call a friend! + +The first thing Philip did was to unlock the property-box in his room +and bring the Dragon and things back. The second thing he did was to +mend the new scene by replacing the bit he had cut out, glueing canvas +on behind it, and touching up with paint where it joined. + +We soon put straight what had been disarranged. Blinds were drawn, +candles lighted, seats fixed, and the theatre began to look like +itself. Aunt Isobel and I were bringing in the footlights, when we saw +Bobby at the extreme right of the stage wrapped in his cloak, and +contemplating, with apparent satisfaction, twelve old hats and six +pasteboard bandboxes which were spread before him. + +"My dear Bobby, what are these?" said Aunt Isobel. Bobby +hastily--almost stammeringly--explained, + +"I am Twelve Travellers, you know, Aunt Isobel." + +"Dear me!" said Aunt Isobel. + +"I'll show you how I am going to do it," said Bobby. + +"Here are twelve old hats--I have had such work to collect them!--and +six bandboxes." + +"Only six?" said Aunt Isobel with commendable gravity. + +"But there are the lids," said Bobby; "six of them, and six boxes, +make twelve, you know. I've only one cloak, but it's red on one side +and blue on the other, and two kinds of buttons. Well; I come on left +for the First Traveller, with my cloak the red side out, and this +white chimney-pot hat." + +"Ah!" said Aunt Isobel. + +"And one of the bandboxes under my cloak. The Dragon attacks me in the +centre, and drives me off the right, where I smash up the bandbox, +which sounds like him crunching my bones. Then I roll the thunder, +turn my cloak to the blue side, put on this wideawake, and come on +again with a bandbox lid and crunch that, and roll more thunder, and +so on. I'm the Faithful Attendant and the Bereaved Father as well," +added Bobby, with justifiable pride, "and I would have done the Dragon +if they would have let me." + +But even Bobby did not outdo the rest of us in willingness. Alice's +efforts were obvious tokens of remorse; she waited on Philip, was +attentive to Mr. Clinton (who, I think, to this day believes that he +made himself especially acceptable to "the young ladies"), and +surpassed herself on the stage. Charles does not "come round" so +quickly, but at the last moment he came and offered to yield the white +plume. I confess I was rather vexed with Mr. Clinton for accepting it, +but Alice and I despoiled our best hats of their black ostrich +feathers to make it up to Charles, and he said, with some dignity, +that he should never have offered the white one if he had not meant it +to be accepted. + +One thing took us by surprise. We had had more trouble over the +dressing of the new Prince than the costumes and make-up of all the +rest of the characters together cost--he was only just torn from the +big looking-glass by his "call" to the stage, and, to our amazement, +he seemed decidedly unwilling to go on. + +"It's a very odd thing, Miss Alice," said he in accents so pitiable +that I did not wonder that Alice did her best to encourage him,--"it's +a most extraordinary thing, but I feel quite nervous." + +"You'll be all right when you're once on," said Alice; "mind you don't +forget that it depends on you to explain that it's an invincible +shield." + +"Which arm had I better wear it on?" said Mr. Clinton, shifting it +nervously from side to side. + +"The left, the left!" cried Alice. "Now you ought to be on." + +"Oh what shall I say?" cried our new hero. + +"Say--'Devastating Monster! my arm is mortal, and my sword was forged +by human fingers, but this shield is invincible as ----'" + +"Second Prince," called Charles impatiently, and Mr. Clinton was +hustled on. + +He was greeted with loud applause. He said afterwards that this put +his part out of his head, that Alice had told him wrong, and that the +shield was too small for him. + +As a matter of fact he hammered and stammered and got himself and the +piece into such confusion, that Philip lost patience as he lay +awaiting his cue. With a fierce bellow he emerged from his cask, and +roaring, "Avaunt, knight of the invincible shield and craven heart!" +he crossed the stage with the full clatter of his canvas joints, and +chased Mr. Clinton off at the left centre. + +Once behind the scenes, he refused to go on again. He said that he had +never played without a proper part at his uncle's in Dublin, and +thought our plan quite a mistake. Besides which, he had got toothache, +and preferred to join the audience, which he did, and the play went on +without him. + +I was acting as stage-manager in the intervals of my part, when I +noticed Mr. Clinton (not the ex-Prince, but his father, the surgeon) +get up, and hastily leave his place among the spectators. But just as +I was wondering at this, I was recalled to business by delay on the +part of Bobby, who ought to have been on (with the lights down) as the +Twelfth Traveller. + +I found him at the left wing, with all the twelve hats fitted one over +another, the whole pile resting on a chair. + +"Bob, what are you after? You ought to be on." + +"All right," said Bob, "Philip knows. He's lashing his tail and doing +some business till I'm ready. Help me to put this cushion under my +cloak for a hump-back, will you? I didn't like the twelfth hat, it's +too like the third one, so I'm going on as a Jew Pedlar. Give me that +box. Now!" And before I could speak a roar of applause had greeted +Bobby as he limped on in his twelve hats, crying, "Oh tear, oh tear! +dish ish the tarkest night I ever shaw." + +But either we acted unusually well, or our audience was exceptionally +kind, for it applauded everything and everybody till the curtain fell. + + * * * * * + +"Behind the scenes" is always a place of confusion after amateur +theatricals; at least it used to be with us. We ran hither and +thither, lost our every-day shoes, washed the paint from our faces, +and mislaid any number of towels, and combs, and brushes, ate supper +by snatches, congratulated ourselves on a successful evening, and were +kissed all around by Granny, who came behind the scenes for the +purpose. + +All was over, and the guests were gone, when I gave an invitation to +the others to come and make lemon-brew over my bedroom fire as an +appropriate concluding festivity. (It had been suggested by Bobby.) I +had not seen Philip for some time, but we were all astonished to hear +that he had gone out. We kept his "brew" hot for him, and Charles and +Bobby were both nodding--though they stoutly refused to go to +bed,--when his step sounded in the corridor, and he knocked and came +hastily in. + +Everybody roused up. + +"Oh, Philip, we've been wondering where you were! Here's your brew, +and we've each kept a little drop, to drink your good health." + +("Mine is _all_ pips," observed Bobby as a parenthesis.) But Philip +was evidently thinking of something else. + +"Isobel," he said, standing by the table, as if he were making a +speech, "I shall never forget your coming after me to-day. I told you +you had the temper of an angel." + +"So did I," said Alice. + +"Hear! hear!" said Bobby, who was sucking his pips one by one and +laying them by--"to plant in a pot," as he afterwards explained. + +"You not only saved the theatricals," continued Philip, "you saved my +life I believe." + +No "situation" in the play had been half so startling as this. We +remained open-mouthed and silent, whilst Philip sat down as if he were +tired, and rested his head on his hands, which were dirty, and stained +with something red. + +"Haven't you heard about the accident?" he asked. + +We all said "No." + +"The 4.15 ran into the express where the lines cross, you know. +Isobel, _there were only two first-class carriages, and everybody in +them was killed but one man_. They have taken both his legs off, and +he's not expected to live. Oh, poor fellow, he did groan so!" + +Bobby burst into passionate tears, and Philip buried his head on his +arms. + +Neither Alice nor I could speak, but Charles got up and went round and +stood by Philip. + +"You've been helping," he said emphatically, "I know you have. You're +a good fellow, Philip, and I beg your pardon for saucing you. I am +going to forget about the football too. I was going to have eaten raw +meat, and dumb-belled, to make myself strong enough to thrash you," +added Charles remorsefully. + +"Eat a butcher's shop full, if you like," replied Philip with +contempt. And I think it showed that Charles was beginning to practise +forbearance, that he made no reply. + + * * * * * + +Some years have passed since those Twelfth Night theatricals. The +Dragon has long been dissolved into his component scales, and we never +have impromptu performances now. The passing fame which a terrible +railway accident gave to our insignificant station has also faded. But +it set a seal on our good resolutions which I may honestly say has not +been lightly broken. + +There, on the very spot where I had almost resolved never to forgive +Philip, never to try to heal the miserable wounds of the family peace, +I learned the news of the accident in which he might have been +killed. Philip says that if anything could make him behave better to +me it is the thought that I saved his life, as he calls it. But if +anything could help me to be good to him, surely it must be the +remembrance of how nearly I did not save him. + +I put Alice on an equality in our bedroom that night, and gave her +part-ownership of the text and the picture. We are very happy +together. + +We have all tried to improve, and I think I may say we have been +fairly successful. + +More than once I have heard (one does hear many things people say +behind one's back) that new acquaintances--people who have only known +us lately--have expressed astonishment, not unmixed with a generous +indignation, on hearing that we were ever described by our friends +as--A VERY ILL-TEMPERED FAMILY. + + + + +OUR FIELD. + + Though nothing can bring back the hour + Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; + We will grieve not, rather find + Strength in what remains behind, + In the primal sympathy + Which, having been, must ever be. + + * * * * * + + And, O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, + Think not of any severing of our loves! + Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; + + * * * * * + + Thanks to the human heart by which we live, + Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears: + To me the meanest flower that blows can give + Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. + +_Wordsworth_. + + + + +OUR FIELD + + +There were four of us, and three of us had godfathers and godmothers. +Three each. Three times three make nine, and not a fairy godmother in +the lot. That was what vexed us. + +It was very provoking, because we knew so well what we wanted if we +had one, and she had given us three wishes each. Three times three +make nine. We could have got all we wanted out of nine wishes, and +have provided for Perronet into the bargain. It would not have been +any good Perronet having wishes all to himself, because he was only a +dog. + +We never knew who it was that drowned Perronet, but it was Sandy who +saved his life and brought him home. It was when he was coming home +from school, and he brought Perronet with him. Perronet was not at all +nice to look at when we first saw him, though we were very sorry for +him. He was wet all over, and his eyes shut, and you could see his +ribs, and he looked quite dark and sticky. But when he dried, he +dried a lovely yellow, with two black ears like velvet. People +sometimes asked us what kind of dog he was, but we never knew, except +that he was the nicest possible kind. + +When we had got him, we were afraid we were not going to be allowed to +have him. Mother said we could not afford him, because of the tax and +his keep. The tax was five shillings, but there wanted nearly a year +to the time of paying it. Of course his keep began as soon as he could +eat, and that was the very same evening. We were all very miserable, +because we were so fond of Perronet--at least, Perronet was not his +name then, but he was the same person--and at last it was settled that +all three of us would give up sugar, towards saving the expense of his +keep, if he might stay. It was hardest for Sandy, because he was +particularly fond of sweet things; but then he was particularly fond +of Perronet. So we all gave up sugar, and Perronet was allowed to +remain. + +About the tax, we thought we could save any pennies or half-pennies we +got during the year, and it was such a long time to the time for +paying, that we should be almost sure to have enough by then. We had +not any money at the time, or we should have bought a savings-box; but +lots of people save their money in stockings, and we settled that we +would. An old stocking would not do, because of the holes, and I had +not many good pairs; but we took one of my winter ones to use in the +summer, and then we thought we could pour the money into one of my +good summer ones when the winter came. + +What we most of all wanted a fairy godmother for was about our +"homes." There was no kind of play we liked better than playing at +houses and new homes. But no matter where we made our "home," it was +sure to be disturbed. If it was indoors, and we made a palace under +the big table, as soon as ever we had got it nicely divided into rooms +according to where the legs came, it was certain to be dinner-time, +and people put their feet into it. The nicest house we ever had was in +the out-house; we had it, and kept it quite a secret, for weeks. And +then the new load of wood came and covered up everything, our best +oyster-shell dinner-service and all. + +Any one can see that it is impossible really to fancy anything when +you are constantly interrupted. You can't have any fun out of a +railway train stopping at stations, when they take all your carriages +to pieces because the chairs are wanted for tea; any more than you can +play properly at Grace Darling in a life-boat, when they say the old +cradle is too good to be knocked about in that way. + +It was always the same. If we wanted to play at Thames Tunnel under +the beds, we were not allowed; and the day we did Aladdin in the +store-closet, old Jane came and would put away the soap, just when +Aladdin could not possibly have got the door of the cave open. + +It was one day early in May--a very hot day for the time of year, +which had made us rather cross--when Sandy came in about four o'clock, +smiling more broadly even than usual, and said to Richard and me, +"I've got a fairy godmother, and she's given us a field." + +Sandy was very fond of eating, especially sweet things. He used to +keep back things from meals to enjoy afterwards, and he almost always +had a piece of cake in his pocket. He brought a piece out now, and +took a large mouthful, laughing at us with his eyes over the top of +it. + +"What's the good of a field?" said Richard. + +"Splendid houses in it," said Sandy. + +"I'm quite tired of fancying homes," said I. "It's no good; we always +get turned out." + +"It's quite a new place," Sandy continued; "you've never been there," +and he took a triumphant bite of the cake. + +"How did you get there?" asked Richard. + +"The fairy godmother showed me," was Sandy's reply. + +There is such a thing as nursery honour. We respected each other's +pretendings unless we were very cross, but I didn't disbelieve in his +fairy godmother. I only said, "You shouldn't talk with your mouth +full," to snub him for making a secret about his field. + +Sandy is very good-tempered. He only laughed and said, "Come along. +It's much cooler out now. The sun's going down." + +He took us along Gipsy Lane. We had been there once or twice, for +walks, but not very often, for there was some horrid story about it +which rather frightened us. I do not know what it was, but it was a +horrid one. Still we had been there, and I knew it quite well. At the +end of it there is a stile, by which you go into a field, and at the +other end you get over another stile, and find yourself in the high +road. + +"If this is our field, Sandy," said I, when we got to the first stile, +"I'm very sorry, but it really won't do. I know that lots of people +come through it. We should never be quiet here." + +Sandy laughed. He didn't speak, and he didn't get over the stile; he +went through a gate close by it leading into a little sort of bye-lane +that was all mud in winter and hard cart-ruts in summer. I had never +been up it, but I had seen hay and that sort of thing go in and come +out of it. + +He went on and we followed him. The ruts were very disagreeable to +walk on, but presently he led us through a hole in the hedge, and we +got into a field. It was a very bare-looking field, and went rather +uphill. There was no path, but Sandy walked away up it, and we went +after him. There was another hedge at the top, and a stile in it. It +had very rough posts, one much longer than the other, and the cross +step was gone, but there were two rails, and we all climbed over. And +when we got to the other side, Sandy leaned against the big post and +gave a wave with his right hand and said, "This is our field." + +It sloped down hill, and the hedges round it were rather high, with +awkward branches of blackthorn sticking out here and there without any +leaves, and with the blossom lying white on the black twigs like snow. +There were cowslips all over the field, but they were thicker at the +lower end, which was damp. The great heat of the day was over. The sun +shone still, but it shone low down and made such splendid shadows that +we all walked about with grey giants at our feet; and it made the +bright green of the grass, and the cowslips down below, and the top of +the hedge, and Sandy's hair, and everything in the sun and the mist +behind the elder bush which was out of the sun, so yellow--so very +yellow--that just for a minute I really believed about Sandy's +godmother, and thought it was a story come true, and that everything +was turning into gold. + +But it was only for a minute; of course I know that fairy tales are +not true. But it was a lovely field, and when we had put our hands to +our eyes and had a good look at it, I said to Sandy, "I beg your +pardon, Sandy, for telling you not to talk with your mouth full. It is +the best field I ever heard of." + +"Sit down," said Sandy, doing the honours; and we all sat down under +the hedge. + +"There are violets just behind us," he continued. "Can't you smell +them? But whatever you do, don't tell anybody of those, or we shan't +keep our field to ourselves for a day. And look here." He had turned +over on to his face, and Richard and I did the same, whilst Sandy +fumbled among the bleached grass and brown leaves. + +"Hyacinths," said Richard, as Sandy displayed the green tops of them. + +"As thick as peas," said Sandy. "This bank will be blue in a few +weeks; and fiddle-heads everywhere. There will be no end of ferns. May +to any extent--it's only in bud yet--and there's a wren's nest in +there----" At this point he rolled suddenly over on to his back and +looked up. + +"A lark," he explained; "there was one singing its head off, this +morning. I say, Dick, this will be a good field for a kite, won't it? +_But wait a bit_." + +After every fresh thing that Sandy showed us in our field, he always +finished by saying, "_Wait a bit"_; and that was because there was +always something else better still. + +"There's a brook at the bottom there," he said, "with lots of +fresh-water shrimps. I wonder whether they would boil red. _But wait a +bit_. This hedge, you see, has got a very high bank, and it's worn +into kind of ledges. I think we could play at 'shops' there--_but wait +a bit_." + +"It's almost _too_ good, Sandy dear!" said I, as we crossed the field +to the opposite hedge. + +"The best is to come," said Sandy. "I've a very good mind not to let +it out till to-morrow." And to our distraction he sat down in the +middle of the field, put his arms round his knees, as if we were +playing at "Honey-pots," and rocked himself backwards and forwards +with a face of brimming satisfaction. + +Neither Richard nor I would have been so mean as to explore on our own +account, when the field was Sandy's discovery, but we tried hard to +persuade him to show us everything. + +He had the most provoking way of laughing and holding his tongue, and +he did that now, besides slowly turning all his pockets inside-out +into his hands, and mumbling up the crumbs and odd currants, saying, +"Guess!" between every mouthful. + +But when there was not a crumb left in the seams of his pockets, Sandy +turned them back, and jumping up, said--"One can only tell a secret +once. It's a hollow oak. Come along!" + +He ran and we ran, to the other side of Our Field. I had read of +hollow oaks, and seen pictures of them, and once I dreamed of one, +with a witch inside, but we had never had one to play in. We were +nearly wild with delight. It looked all solid from the field, but when +we pushed behind, on the hedge side, there was the door, and I crept +in, and it smelt of wood, and delicious damp. There could not be a +more perfect castle, and though there were no windows in the sides, +the light came in from the top, where the polypody hung over like a +fringe. Sandy was quite right. It was the very best thing in Our +Field. + +Perronet was as fond of the field as we were. What he liked were the +little birds. At least, I don't know that he liked them, but they were +what he chiefly attended to. I think he knew that it was our field, +and thought he was the watch-dog of it, and whenever a bird settled +down anywhere, he barked at it, and then it flew away, and he ran +barking after it till he lost it; and by that time another had settled +down, and then Perronet flew at him, and so on, all up and down the +hedge. He never caught a bird, and never would let one sit down, if he +could see it. + +We had all kinds of games in Our Field. Shops--for there were +quantities of things to sell--and sometimes I was a moss-merchant, for +there were ten different kinds of moss by the brook, and sometimes I +was a jeweller, and sold daisy-chains and pebbles, and coral sets made +of holly berries, and oak-apple necklaces; and sometimes I kept +provisions, like earth-nuts and mallow-cheeses, and mushrooms; and +sometimes I kept a flower-shop, and sold nosegays and wreaths, and +umbrellas made of rushes, I liked that kind of shop, because I am fond +of arranging flowers, and I always make our birthday wreaths. And +sometimes I kept a whole lot of shops, and Richard and Sandy bought my +things, and paid for them with money made of elder-pith, sliced into +rounds. The first shop I kept was to sell cowslips, and Richard and +Sandy lived by the brook, and were wine merchants, and made cowslip +wine in a tin mug. + +The elder-tree was a beauty. In July the cream-coloured flowers were +so sweet, we could hardly sit under it, and in the autumn it was +covered with berries; but we were always a little disappointed that +they never tasted in the least like elderberry syrup. Richard used to +make flutes out of the stalks, and one really did to play tunes on, +but it always made Perronet bark. + +Richard's every-day cap had a large hole in the top, and when we were +in Our Field we always hung it on the top of the tallest of the two +stile-posts, to show that we were there; just as the Queen has a flag +hung out at Windsor Castle, when she is at home. + +We played at castles and houses, and when we were tired of the houses, +we pretended to pack up, and went to the seaside for change of air by +the brook. Sandy and I took off our shoes and stockings and were +bathing-women, and we bathed Perronet; and Richard sat on the bank and +was a "tripper," looking at us through a telescope; for when the +elder-stems cracked and wouldn't do for flutes, he made them into +telescopes. And before we went down to the brook we made jam of hips +and haws from the hedge at the top of the field, and put it into acorn +cups, and took it with us, that the children might not be short of +rolypolies at the seaside. + +Whatever we played at we were never disturbed. Birds, and cows, and +men and horses ploughing in the distance, do not disturb you at all. + +We were very happy that summer: the boys were quite happy, and the +only thing that vexed me was thinking of Perronet's tax-money. For +months and months went on and we did not save it. Once we got as far +as twopence half-penny, and then one day Richard came to me and said, +"I must have some more string for the kite. You might lend me a penny +out of Perronet's stocking, till I get some money of my own." + +So I did; and the next day Sandy came and said, "You lent Dick one of +Perronet's coppers; I'm sure Perronet would lend me one," and then +they said it was ridiculous to leave a half-penny there by itself, so +we spent it in acid drops. + +It worried me so much at last, that I began to dream horrible dreams +about Perronet having to go away because we hadn't saved his +tax-money. And then I used to wake up and cry, till the pillow was so +wet, I had to turn it. The boys never seemed to mind, but then boys +don't think about things; so that I was quite surprised when one day I +found Sandy alone in our field with Perronet in his arms, crying, and +feeding him with cake; and I found he was crying about the tax-money. + +I cannot bear to see boys cry. I would much rather cry myself, and I +begged Sandy to leave off, for I said I was quite determined to try +and think of something. + +It certainly was remarkable that the very next day should be the day +when we heard about the flower-show. + +It was in school--the village school, for Mother could not afford to +send us anywhere else--and the schoolmaster rapped on his desk and +said, "Silence, children!" and that at the agricultural show there was +to be a flower-show this year, and that an old gentleman was going to +give prizes to the school-children for window-plants and for the best +arranged wild flowers. There were to be nosegays and wreaths, and +there was to be a first prize of five shillings, and a second prize of +half-a-crown, for the best collection of wild flowers with the names +put to them. + +"The English names," said the schoolmaster; "and there may +be--silence, children!--there may be collections of ferns, or grasses, +or mosses to compete, too, for the gentleman wishes to encourage a +taste for natural history." + +And several of the village children said, "What's that?" and I +squeezed Sandy's arm, who was sitting next to me, and whispered, "Five +shillings!" and the schoolmaster said, "Silence, children!" and I +thought I never should have finished my lessons that day for thinking +of Perronet's tax-money. + +July is not at all a good month for wild flowers; May and June are far +better. However, the show was to be in the first week in July. + +I said to the boys, "Look here: I'll do a collection of flowers. I +know the names, and I can print. It's no good two or three people +muddling with arranging flowers; but; if you will get me what I want, +I shall be very much obliged. If either of you will make another +collection, you know there are ten kinds of mosses by the brook; and +we have names for them of our own, and they are English. Perhaps +they'll do. But everything must come out of Our Field." + +The boys agreed, and they were very good. Richard made me a box, +rather high at the back. We put sand at the bottom and damped it, and +then Feather Moss, lovely clumps of it, and into that I stuck the +flowers. They all came out of Our Field. I like to see grass with +flowers, and we had very pretty grasses, and between every bunch of +flowers I put a bunch of grass of different kinds. I got all the +flowers and all the grasses ready first, and printed the names on +pieces of cardboard to stick in with them, and then I arranged them by +my eye, and Sandy handed me what I called for, for Richard was busy at +the brook making a tray of mosses. + +Sandy knew the flowers and the names of them quite as well as I did, +of course; we knew everything that lived in Our Field; so when I +called, "Ox-eye daisies, cock's-foot grass, labels; meadow-sweet, +fox-tail grass, labels; dog-roses, shivering grass, labels;" and so +on, he gave me the right things, and I had nothing to do but to put +the colours that looked best together next to each other, and to make +the grass look light, and pull up bits of moss to show well. And at +the very end I put in a label, "All out of Our Field." + +I did not like it when it was done; but Richard praised it so much, it +cheered me up, and I thought his mosses looked lovely. + +The flower-show day was very hot. I did not think it could be hotter +anywhere in the world than it was in the field where the show was; but +it was hotter in the tent. + +We should never have got in at all--for you had to pay at the +gate--but they let competitors in free, though not at first. When we +got in, there were a lot of grown-up people, and it was very hard work +getting along among them, and getting to see the stands with the +things on. We kept seeing tickets with "1st Prize" and "2nd Prize," +and struggling up; but they were sure to be dahlias in a tray, or +fruit that you mightn't eat, or vegetables. The vegetables +disappointed us so often, I got to hate them. I don't think I shall +ever like very big potatoes (before they are boiled) again, +particularly the red ones. It makes me feel sick with heat and anxiety +to think of them. + +We had struggled slowly all round the tent, and seen all the +cucumbers, onions, lettuces, long potatoes, round potatoes, and +everything else, when we saw an old gentleman, with spectacles and +white hair, standing with two or three ladies. And then we saw three +nosegays in jugs, with all the green picked off, and the flowers tied +as tightly together as they would go, and then we saw some prettier +ones, and then we saw my collection, and it had got a big label in it +marked "1st Prize," and next to it came Richard's moss-tray, with the +Hair-moss, and the Pincushion-moss, and the Scale-mosses, and a lot of +others with names of our own, and it was marked "2nd Prize." And I +gripped one of Sandy's arms just as Richard seized the other, and we +both cried, "Perronet is paid for!" + + * * * * * + +There was two-and-sixpence over. We never had such a feast! It was a +picnic tea, and we had it in Our Field. I thought Sandy and Perronet +would have died of cake, but they were none the worse. + +We were very much frightened at first when the old gentleman invited +himself; but he would come, and he brought a lot of nuts, and he did +get inside the oak, though it is really too small for him. + +I don't think there ever was anybody so kind. If he were not a man, I +should really and truly believe in Sandy's fairy godmother. + +Of course I don't really believe in fairies. I am not so young as +that. And I know that Our Field does not exactly belong to us. + +I wonder to whom it does belong? Richard says he believes it belongs +to the gentleman who lives at the big red house among the trees. But +he must be wrong; for we see that gentleman at church every Sunday, +but we never saw him in Our Field. + +And I don't believe anybody could have such a field of their very own, +and never come to see it, from one end of Summer to the other. + + + + +MADAM LIBERALITY. + + "Like little body with a mighty heart." + + _King Henry V., Act 2._ + + + + +PART I. + + +It was not her real name: it was given to her by her brothers and +sister. People with very marked qualities of character do sometimes +get such distinctive titles, to rectify the indefiniteness of those +they inherit and those they receive in baptism. The ruling peculiarity +of a character is apt to show itself early in life, and it showed +itself in Madam Liberality when she was a little child. + +Plum-cakes were not plentiful in her home when Madam Liberality was +young, and such as there were, were of the "wholesome" kind--plenty of +bread-stuff, and the currants and raisins at a respectful distance +from each other. But few as the plums were, she seldom ate them. She +picked them out very carefully, and put them into a box, which was +hidden under her pinafore. + +When we grown-up people were children, and plum-cake and plum-pudding +tasted very much nicer than they do now, we also picked out the plums. +Some of us ate them at once, and had then to toil slowly through the +cake or pudding, and some valiantly dispatched the plainer portion of +the feast at the beginning, and kept the plums to sweeten the end. +Sooner or later we ate them ourselves, but Madam Liberality kept her +plums for other people. + +When the vulgar meal was over--that commonplace refreshment ordained +and superintended by the elders of the household--Madam Liberality +would withdraw into a corner, from which she issued notes of +invitation to all the dolls. They were "fancy written" on curl papers +and folded into cocked hats. + +Then began the real feast. The dolls came, and the children with them. +Madam Liberality had no toy tea-sets or dinner-sets, but there were +acorn-cups filled to the brim, and the water tasted deliciously, +though it came out of the ewer in the night nursery, and had not even +been filtered. And before every doll was a flat oyster-shell covered +with a round oyster-shell, a complete set of complete pairs, which had +been collected by degrees, like old family plate. And when the upper +shell was raised, on every dish lay a plum. It was then that Madam +Liberality got her sweetness out of the cake. + +She was in her glory at the head of the inverted tea-chest; and if +the raisins would not go round, the empty oyster-shell was hers, and +nothing offended her more than to have this noticed. That was her +spirit, then and always. She could "do without" anything, if the +wherewithal to be hospitable was left to her. + +When one's brain is no stronger than mine is, one gets very much +confused in disentangling motives and nice points of character. I have +doubted whether Madam Liberality's besetting virtue were a virtue at +all. Was it unselfishness or a love of approbation, benevolence or +fussiness, the gift of sympathy or the lust of power? Or was it +something else? She was a very sickly child, with much pain to bear, +and many pleasures to forego. Was it, as doctors say, "an effort of +nature," to make her live outside herself and be happy in the +happiness of others? + +Equal doubt may hang over the conduct of her brothers and sister +towards her. Did they more love her, or find her useful? Was their +gratitude--as gratitude has been defined to be--"a keen sense of +favours to come"? They certainly got used to her services, and to +begging and borrowing the few things that were her "very own," without +fear of refusal. But if they rather took her benevolence for granted, +and thought that she "liked lending her things," and that it was her +way of enjoying possessions, they may have been right; for next to +one's own soul, one's own family is perhaps the best judge of one's +temper and disposition. + +And they called her Madam Liberality, so Madam Liberality she shall +remain. + +It has been hinted that there was a reason for the scarceness of the +plums in the plum-cake. Madam Liberality's father was dead, and her +mother was very poor, and had several children. It was not an easy +matter with her to find bread for the family, putting currants and +raisins out of the question. + +Though poor, they were, however, gentle-folk, and had, for that +matter, rich relations. Very rich relations indeed! Madam Liberality's +mother's first cousin had fifteen thousand a year. His servants did +not spend ten thousand. (As to what he spent himself, it was +comparatively trifling.) The rest of the money accumulated. Not that +it was being got together to do something with by and by. He had no +intention of ever spending more than he spent at present. Indeed, with +a lump of coal taken off here, and a needless candle blown out there, +he rather hoped in future to spend less. + +His wife was Madam Liberality's godmother. She was a good-hearted +woman, and took real pleasure in being kind to people, in the way she +thought best for them. Sometimes it was a graceful and appropriate +way, and very often it was not. The most acceptable act of kindness +she ever did to her god-daughter was when the child was recovering +from an illness, and she asked her to visit her at the seaside. + +Madam Liberality had never seen the sea, and the thought of it proved +a better stimulus than the port wine which her doctor ordered so +easily, and her mother got with such difficulty. + +When new clothes were bought, or old ones refurbished, Madam +Liberality, as a rule, went to the wall. Not because her mother was +ever guilty of favouritism, but because such occasions afforded an +opportunity of displaying generosity towards her younger sister. + +But this time it was otherwise; for whatever could be spared towards +"summer things" for the two little girls was spent upon Madam +Liberality's outfit for the seaside. There was a new dress, and a +jacket "as good as new," for it was cut out of "mother's" cloth cloak +and made up, with the best binding and buttons in the shop, by the +village tailor. And he was bribed, in a secret visit, and with much +coaxing from the little girls, to make real pockets instead of braided +shams. The _second best_ frock was compounded of two which had +hitherto been _very bests_--Madam Liberality's own, eked out by +"Darling's" into a more fashionable fullness, and with a cape to +match. + +There was a sense of solid property to be derived from being able to +take in at a glance the stock of well-mended under-garments, half of +which were generally at the wash. Besides, they had been added to, and +all the stockings were darned, and only one pair in the legs where it +would show, below short petticoat mark. + +Then there was a bonnet newly turned and trimmed, and a pair and a +half of new boots, for surely boots are at least half new when they +have been (as the village cobbler described it in his bill) "souled +and healed"? + +Poor little Madam Liberality! When she saw the things which covered +her bed in their abundance, it seemed to her an outfit for a princess. +And yet when her godmother asked Podmore, the lady's-maid, "How is the +child off for clothes?" Podmore unhesitatingly replied, "She've +nothing fit to be seen, ma'am," which shows how differently the same +things appear in different circumstances. + +Podmore was a good friend to Madam Liberality. She had that +open-handed spirit which one acquires quite naturally in a house where +everything goes on on a large scale, at somebody else's expense. Now +Madam Liberality's godmother, from the very largeness of her +possessions, was obliged to leave the care of them to others, in such +matters as food, dress, the gardens, the stables, etc. So, like many +other people in a similar case, she amused herself and exercised her +economical instincts by troublesome little thriftinesses, by making +cheap presents, dear bargains, and so forth. She was by nature a +managing woman; and when those very grand people, the butler, the +housekeeper, the head-gardener, and the lady's-maid had divided her +household duties among them, there was nothing left for her to be +clever about, except such little matters as joining the fag-ends of +the bronze sealing-wax sticks which lay in the silver inkstand on the +malachite writing-table, and being good-natured at the cheapest rate +at which her friends could be benefited. + +Madam Liberality's best neckerchief had been very pretty when it was +new, and would have been pretty as well as clean still if the +washerwoman had not used rather too hot an iron to it, so that the +blue in the check pattern was somewhat faded. And yet it had felt very +smart as Madam Liberality drove in the carrier's cart to meet the +coach at the outset of her journey. But when she sat against the rich +blue leather of her godmother's coach as they drove up and down the +esplanade, it was like looking at fairy jewels by daylight when they +turn into faded leaves. + +"Is that your best neckerchief, child?" said the old lady. + +"Yes, ma'am," blushed Madam Liberality, + +So when they got home her godmother went to her odds-and-ends drawer. + +Podmore never interfered with this drawer. She was content to be +despotic among the dresses, and left the old lady to faddle to her +heart's content with bits of old lace and ribbon which she herself +would not have condescended to wear. + +The old lady fumbled them over. There were a good many half-yards of +ribbon with very large patterns, but nothing really fit for Madam +Liberality's little neck but a small Indian scarf of many-coloured +silk. It was old, and Podmore would never have allowed her mistress to +drive on the esplanade in anything so small and youthful-looking; but +the colours were quite bright, and there was no doubt but that Madam +Liberality might be provided for by a cheaper neck-ribbon. So the old +lady shut the drawer, and toddled down the corridor that led to +Podmore's room. + +She had a good general idea that Podmore's perquisites were large, but +perquisites seem to be a condition of valuable servants in large +establishments, and then anything which could be recovered from what +had already passed into Podmore's room must be a kind of economy. So +she resolved that Podmore should "find something" for Madam +Liberality's neck. + +"I never noticed it, ma'am, till I brought your shawl to the +carriage," said Podmore. "If I had seen it before, the young lady +shouldn't have come with you so. I'll see to it, ma'am." + +"Thank you, Podmore." + +"Can you spare me to go into the town this afternoon, ma'am?" added +the lady's-maid. "I want some things at Huckaback and Woolsey's." + +Huckaback and Woolsey were the linendrapers where Madam Liberality's +godmother "had an account." It was one of the things on a large scale +over the details of which she had no control. + +"You'll be back in time to dress me?" + +"Oh dear, yes, ma'am." And having settled the old lady's shawl on her +shoulders, and drawn out her cap-lappets, Podmore returned to her +work. + +It was a work of kindness. The old lady might deal shabbily with her +faded ribbons and her relations, but the butler, the housekeeper, and +the lady's-maid did their best to keep up the credit of the family. + +It was well known that Madam Liberality was a cousin, and Podmore +resolved that she should have a proper frock to go down to dessert in. + +So she had been very busy making a little slip out of a few yards of +blue silk which had been over and above one of the old lady's dresses, +and now she betook herself to the draper's to get spotted muslin to +cover it and ribbons to trim it with. + +And whilst Madam Liberality's godmother was still feeling a few +twinges about the Indian scarf, Podmore ordered a pink neckerchief +shot with white, and with pink and white fringes, to be included in +the parcel. + +But it was not in this way alone that Podmore was a good friend to +Madam Liberality. + +She took her out walking, and let her play on the beach, and even +bring home dirty weeds and shells. Indeed, Podmore herself was not +above collecting cowries in a pill-box for her little nephews. + +When Mrs. Podmore met acquaintances on the beach, Madam Liberality +played alone, and these were her happiest moments. She played amongst +the rotting, weed-grown stakes of an old pier, and "fancied" rooms +among them--suites of rooms in which she would lodge her brothers and +sister if they came to visit her, and where--with cockle-shells for +teacups, and lava for vegetables, and fucus-pods for fish--they +should find themselves as much enchanted as Beauty in the palace of +the Beast. + +Again and again she "fancied" Darling into her shore-palace, the +delights of which should only be marred by the growls which she +herself would utter from time to time from behind the stakes, in the +character of a sea-beast, and which should but enhance the moment +when she would rush out and throw her arms round Darling's neck and +reveal herself as Madam Liberality. + +"Darling" was the pet name of Madam Liberality's sister--her only +sister, on whom she lavished the intensest affection of a heart which +was always a large one in proportion to her little body. It seemed so +strange to play at any game of fancies without Darling, that Madam +Liberality could hardly realize it. + +She might be preparing by herself a larger treat than usual for the +others; but it was incredible that no one would come after all, and +that Darling would never see the palace on the beach, and the +state-rooms, and the limpets, and the seaweed, and the salt-water +soup, and the real fish (a small dab discarded from a herring-net) +which Madam Liberality had got for her. + +Her mind was filled with day-dreams of Darling's coming, and of how +she would display to her all the wonders of the seashore, which would +reflect almost as much credit upon her as if she had invented +razor-shells and crabs. She thought so much about it that she began +quite to expect it. + +Was it not natural that her godmother should see that she must be +lonely, and ask Darling to come and be with her? Perhaps the old lady +had already done so, and the visit was to be a surprise. Madam +Liberality could quite imagine doing a nice thing like this herself, +and she hoped it so strongly that she almost came to believe in it. + +Every day she waited hopefully, first for the post, and then for the +time when the coach came in, the hour at which she herself had +arrived; but the coach brought no Darling, and the post brought no +letter to say that she was coming, and Madam Liberality's hopes were +disappointed. + +Madam Liberality was accustomed to disappointment. + +From her earliest years it had been a family joke that poor Madam +Liberality was always in ill-luck's way. + +It is true that she was constantly planning; and if one builds +castles, one must expect a few loose stones about one's ears now and +then. But, besides this, her little hopes were constantly being +frustrated by fate. + +If the pigs or the hens got into the garden, Madam Liberality's bed +was sure to be laid waste before any one came to the rescue. When a +picnic or a tea-party was in store, if Madam Liberality did not catch +cold, so as to hinder her from going, she was pretty sure to have a +quinsy from fatigue or wet feet afterwards. When she had a treat she +paid for the pleasurable excitement by a headache, just as when she +ate sweet things they gave her toothache. + +But if her luck was less than other people's, her courage and good +spirits were more than common. She could think with pleasure about the +treat when she had forgotten the headache. One side of her little face +would look fairly cheerful when the other was obliterated by a flannel +bag of hot camomile flowers, and the whole was redolent of every +horrible domestic remedy for toothache, from oil of cloves and +creosote to a baked onion in the ear. No sufferings abated her energy +for fresh exploits, or quenched the hope that cold, and damp, and +fatigue would not hurt her "this time." + +In the intervals of wringing out hot flannels for her own quinsy, she +would amuse herself by devising a desert island expedition on a larger +and possibly a damper scale than hitherto, against the time when she +should be out again. + +It is a very old simile, but Madam Liberality really was like a cork +rising on the top of the very wave of ill-luck that had swallowed up +her hopes. Her little white face and undaunted spirit bobbed up after +each mischance or malady as ready and hopeful as ever. + +Though her day-dream about Darling and the shore palace was constantly +disappointed, this did not hinder her from indulging new hopes and +fancies in another place to which she went with Podmore; a place which +was filled with wonders of a different kind from the treasures of the +palace on the shore. + +It was called the Bazaar. It would be a very long business to say what +was in it. But amongst other things there were foreign cage-birds, +musical-boxes, and camp-stools, and baskets, and polished pebbles, and +paper patterns, and a little ladies' and children's millinery, and a +good deal of mock jewellery, and some very bad soaps and scents, and +some very good children's toys. + +It was Madam Liberality's godmother who first took her to the bazaar. +A titled lady of her acquaintance had heard that wire flower-baskets +of a certain shape could be bought in the bazaar cheaper (by +two-pence-halfpenny each) than in London; and after writing to her +friend to ascertain the truth of the statement, she wrote again to +authorize her to purchase three on her behalf. So Madam Liberality's +godmother ordered out the blue carriage and pair, and drove with her +little cousin to the bazaar. + +And as they came out, followed by a bearded man, bowing very low, and +carrying the wire baskets, Madam Liberality's godmother stopped near +the toy-stall to button her glove. And when she had buttoned it (which +took a long time, because her hands were stout, and Podmore generally +did it with a hook), she said to Madam Liberality, "Now, child, I want +to tell you that if you are very good whilst you are with me, and +Podmore gives me a good report of you, I will bring you here before +you go home, and buy you a present." + +Madam Liberality's heart danced with delight. She wished her godmother +would stand by the toy-stall for an hour, that she might see what she +most hoped the present would be. But the footman tucked them into the +carriage, and the bearded man bowed himself back into the bazaar, and +they drove home. Then Madam Liberality's godmother directed the butler +to dispatch the wire baskets to her ladyship, which he did by coach. +And her ladyship's butler paid the carriage, and tipped the man who +brought the parcel from the coach-office, and charged these items in +his account. And her ladyship wrote a long letter of thanks to Madam +Liberality's godmother for her kindness in saving her unnecessary +expense. + +The old lady did not go to the bazaar again for some time, but Madam +Liberality went there with Podmore. She looked at the toys and +wondered which of them might one day be her very own. The white china +tea-service with the green rim, big enough to make real tea in, was +too good to be hoped for, but there were tin tea-sets where the lids +would come off, and wooden ones where they were stuck on; and there +were all manner of toys that would be invaluable for all kinds of +nursery games and fancies. + +They helped a "fancy" of Madam Liberality even then. She used to stand +by the toy-stall, and fancy that she was as rich as her godmother, and +was going to give Christmas-boxes to her brothers and sister, and her +amusement was to choose, though she could not buy them. + +Out of this came a deep mortification. She had been playing at this +fancy one afternoon, and having rather confused herself by changing +her mind about the toys, she went through her final list in an +undertone, to get it clearly into her head. The shopman was serving a +lady, and Madam Liberality thought he could not hear her as she +murmured, "The china tea-set, the box of beasts, the doll's furniture +for Darling," etc., etc. But the shopman's hearing was very acute, and +he darted forward, crying, "The china tea-set, did you say, miss?" + +The blood rushed up to poor Madam Liberality's face till it seemed to +choke her, and the lady, whom the shopman had been serving, said +kindly, "I think the little girl said the box of beasts." + +Madam Liberality hoped it was a dream, but having pinched herself, she +found that it was not. + +Her mother had often said to her, "When you can't think what to say, +tell the truth." It was not a very easy rule, but Madam Liberality +went by it. + +"I don't want anything, thank you," said she; "at least, I mean I have +no money to buy anything with: I was only counting the things I should +like to get if I had." + +And then, as the floor of the bazaar would _not_ open and swallow her +up, she ran away, with her red face and her empty pocket, to shelter +herself with Podmore at the mock-jewellery stall, and she did not go +to the bazaar any more. + +Once again disappointment was in store for Madam Liberality. The end +of her visit came, and her godmother's promise seemed to be forgotten. +But the-night before her departure, the old lady came into her room +and said, + +"I couldn't take you with me to-day, child, but I didn't forget my +promise. Podmore says you've been very good, and so I've brought you a +present. A very _useful_ one, I hope," added the old lady, in a tone +as if she were congratulating herself upon her good sense. "And tell +Catherine--that's your mother, child--with my love, always to have you +dressed for the evening. I like to see children come in to dessert, +when they have good manners--which I must say you have; besides, it +keeps the nurses up to their work." + +And then she drew out from its paper a little frock of pink +_mousseline-de-laine_, very prettily tacked together by the young +woman at the millinery-stall, and very cheap for its gay appearance. + +Down came all Madam Liberality's visions in connection with the +toy-stall: but she consoled herself that night with picturing +Darling's delight when she gave her (as she meant to give her) the +pink dress. + +She had another source of comfort and anticipation--_the +scallop-shells_. + +But this requires to be explained. The greatest prize which Madam +Liberality had gained from her wanderings by the seashore was a +complete scallop-shell. When washed the double shell was as clean and +as pretty as any china muffin-dish with a round top; and now her +ambition was to get four more, and thus to have a service for doll's +feasts which should far surpass the oyster-shells. She was talking +about this to Podmore one day when they were picking cowries together, +and Podmore cried, "Why, this little girl would get you them, miss, +I'll be bound!" + +She was a bare-footed little girl, who sold pebbles and seaweed, and +salt water for sponging with, and she had undertaken to get the +scallop-shells, and had run off to pick seaweed out of a newly landed +net before Madam Liberality could say "Thank you." + +She heard no more of the shells, however, until the day before she +went away, when the butler met her as she came indoors, and told her +that the little girl was waiting. And it was not till Madam Liberality +saw the scallop-shells lying clean and pink in a cotton handkerchief +that she remembered that she had no money to pay for them. + +Here was another occasion for painful truthtelling! But to make +humiliating confession before the butler seemed almost beyond even +Madam Liberality's moral courage. He went back to his pantry, however, +and she pulled off her pretty pink neckerchief and said, + +"I am _very_ sorry, little girl, but I've got no money of my own; but +if you would like this instead--" And the little girl seemed quite +pleased with her bargain, and ran hastily off, as if afraid that the +young lady would change her mind. + +And this was how Madam Liberality got her scallop-shells. + + * * * * * + +It may seem strange that Madam Liberality should ever have been +accused of meanness, and yet her eldest brother did once shake his +head at her and say, "You're the most meanest and the _generoustest_ +person I ever knew!" And Madam Liberality wept over the accusation, +although her brother was then too young to form either his words or +his opinions correctly. + +But it was the touch of truth in it which made Madam Liberality cry. +To the end of their lives Tom and she were alike and yet different in +this matter. Madam Liberality saved, and pinched, and planned, and +then gave away, and Tom gave away without the pinching and saving. +This sounds much handsomer, and it was poor Tom's misfortune that he +always believed it to be so; though he gave away what did not belong +to him, and fell back for the supply of his own pretty numerous wants +upon other people, not forgetting Madam Liberality. + +Painful experience convinced Madam Liberality in the end that his way +was a wrong one, but she had her doubts many times in her life whether +there were not something unhandsome in her own decided talent for +economy. Not that economy was always pleasant to her. When people are +very poor for their position in life, they can only keep out of debt +by stinting on many occasions when stinting is very painful to a +liberal spirit. And it requires a sterner virtue than good-nature to +hold fast the truth that it is nobler to be shabby and honest than to +do things handsomely in debt. + +But long before Tom had a bill even for bull's-eyes and Gibraltar +Rock, Madam Liberality was pinching and plotting, and saving bits of +coloured paper and ends of ribbon, with a thriftiness which seemed to +justify Tom's view of her character. + +The object of these savings was twofold: birthday presents and +Christmas-boxes. They were the chief cares and triumphs of Madam +Liberality's childhood. It was with the next birthday or the +approaching Christmas in view that she saved her pence instead of +spending them, but she so seldom had any money that she chiefly relied +on her own ingenuity. Year by year it became more difficult to make +anything which would "do for a boy;" but it was easy to please +Darling, and "Mother's" unabated appreciation of pincushions, and of +needle-books made out of old cards, was most satisfactory. + +To break the mystery in which it always pleased Madam Liberality to +shroud her small preparations, was to give her dire offence. As a +rule, the others respected this caprice, and would even feign a little +more surprise than they felt, upon occasion. But if during her +preparations she had given umbrage to one of the boys, her retreat was +soon invaded with cries of--"Ah! I see you, making birthday presents +out of nothing and a quarter of a yard of ribbon!" Or--"There you are! +At it again, with two old visiting cards and a ha'porth of flannel!" +And only Darling's tenderest kisses could appease Madam Liberality's +wrath and dry her tears. + +She had never made a grander project for Christmas, or had greater +difficulty in carrying it out, than in the winter which followed her +visit to the seaside. It was in the house of her cousin that she had +first heard of Christmas-trees, and to surprise the others with a +Christmas-tree she was quite resolved. But as the time drew near, poor +Madam Liberality was almost in despair about her presents, and this +was doubly provoking, because a nice little fir-tree had been promised +her. There was no blinking the fact that "Mother" had been provided +with pincushions to repletion. And most of these made the needles +rusty, from being stuffed with damp pig-meal, when the pigs and the +pincushions were both being fattened for Christmas. + +Madam Liberality sat with her little pale face on her hand and her +slate before her, making her calculations. She wondered what +emery-powder cost. Supposing it to be very cheap, and that she could +get a quarter of a pound for "next to nothing," how useful a present +might be made for "Mother" in the shape of an emery pincushion, to +counteract the evil effects of the pig-meal ones! It would be a +novelty even to Darling, especially if hers were made by glueing a +tiny bag of emery into the mouth of a "boiled fowl cowry." Madam +Liberality had seen such a pincushion in Podmore's work-basket. She +had a shell of the kind, and the village carpenter would always let +her put a stick into his glue-pot if she went to the shop. + +But then, if emery were only a penny a pound, Madam Liberality had not +a farthing to buy a quarter of a pound with. As she thought of this +her brow contracted, partly with vexation, and partly because of a +jumping pain in a big tooth, which, either from much illness or many +medicines, or both, was now but the wreck of what a tooth should be. +But as the toothache grew worse, a new hope dawned upon Madam +Liberality. Perhaps one of her troubles would mend the other! + +Being very tender-hearted over children's sufferings, it was her +mother's custom to bribe rather than coerce when teeth had to be taken +out. The fixed scale of reward was sixpence for a tooth without fangs, +and a shilling for one with them. If pain were any evidence, this +tooth certainly had fangs. But one does not have a tooth taken out if +one can avoid it, and Madam Liberality bore bad nights and painful +days till they could be endured no longer; and then, because she knew +it distressed her mother to be present, she went alone to the doctor's +house to ask him to take out her tooth. + +The doctor was a very kind old man, and he did his best, so we will +not say anything about his antique instruments, or the number of times +he tied a pocket-handkerchief round an awful-looking claw, and put +both into Madam Liberality's mouth without effect. + +At last he said he had got the tooth out, and he wrapped it in paper, +and gave it to Madam Liberality, who, having thought that it was her +head he had extracted from its socket, was relieved to get away. + +As she ran home she began to plan how to lay out her shilling for the +best, and when she was nearly there she opened the bit of paper to +look at her enemy, and it had no fangs! + +"I'm _sure_ it was more than a sixpenny one," she sobbed; "I believe +he has left them in." + +It involved more than the loss of half the funds she had reckoned +upon. Perhaps this dreadful pain would go on even on Christmas Day. +Her first thought was to carry her tears to her mother; her second +that, if she only could be brave enough to have the fangs taken out, +she might spare mother all distress about it till it was over, when +she would certainly like her sufferings to be known and sympathized +with. She knew well that courage does not come with waiting, and +making a desperate rally of stout-heartedness, she ran back to the +doctor. + +He had gone out, but his assistant was in. He looked at Madam +Liberality's mouth, and said that the fangs were certainly left in and +would be much better out. + +"Would it hurt _very_ much?" asked Madam Liberality, trembling. + +The assistant blinked the question of "hurting." + +"I think I could do it," said he, "if you could sit still. Not if you +were jumping about." + +"I will sit still," said Madam Liberality. + +"The boy shall hold your head," said the assistant. + +But Madam Liberality rebelled; she could screw up her sensitive nerves +to endure the pain, but not to be coerced by "the boy." + +"I give you my word of honour I will sit still," said she, with +plaintive earnestness. + +And the assistant (who had just remembered that the boy was out with +the gig) said, "Very well, miss." + +We need not dwell upon the next few seconds. The assistant kept his +word, and Madam Liberality kept hers. She sat still, and went on +sitting still after the operation was over till the assistant became +alarmed, and revived her by pouring some choking stuff down her +throat. After which she staggered to her feet and put out her hand and +thanked him. + +He was a strong, rough, good-natured young man, and little Madam +Liberality's pale face and politeness touched him. + +"You're the bravest little lady I ever knew," he said kindly; "and you +keep your word like a queen. There's some stuff to put to the place, +and there's sixpence, miss, if you'll take it, to buy lollipops with. +You'll be able to eat them now." + +After which he gave her an old pill-box to carry the fragments of her +tooth in, and it was labelled "three to be taken at bed-time." + +Madam Liberality staggered home, very giddy, but very happy. Moralists +say a great deal about pain treading so very closely on the heels of +pleasure in this life, but they are not always wise or grateful enough +to speak of the pleasure which springs out of pain. And yet there is a +bliss which comes just when pain has ceased, whose rapture rivals even +the high happiness of unbroken health; and there is a keen relish +about small pleasures hardly earned, in which the full measure of +those who can afford anything they want is sometimes lacking. + +Relief is certainly one of the most delicious sensations which poor +humanity, can enjoy! Madam Liberality enjoyed it to the full, and she +had more happiness yet in her cup, I fear praise was very pleasant to +her, and the assistant had praised her, not undeservedly, and she knew +that further praise was in store from the dearest source of +approbation--from her mother. Ah! how pleased she would be! And so +would Darling, who always cried when Madam Liberality was in great +pain. + +And this was only the beginning of pleasures. The sixpence would +amply provide "goodies" for the Christmas-tree, and much might be done +with the forthcoming shilling. And if her conduct on the present +occasion would not support a request for a few ends of candles from +the drawing-room candle-sticks, what profit would there be in being a +heroine? + +When her mother gave her two shillings instead of one, Madam +Liberality felt in honour bound to say that she had already been +rewarded with sixpence; but her mother only said, + +"You quite deserved it, I'm sure," and she found herself in possession +of no less than half-a-crown. + +And now it is sad to relate that misfortune again overtook Madam +Liberality. All the next day she longed to go into the village to buy +sweetmeats, but it snowed and rained, and was bitterly cold, and she +could not. + +Just about dusk the weather slightly cleared up, and she picked her +way through the melting snow to the shop. Her purchases were most +satisfactory. How the boys would enjoy them! Madam Liberality enjoyed +them already, though her face was still sore, and the pain had spread +to her throat, and though her ideas seemed unusually brilliant, and +her body pleasantly languid, which, added to a peculiar chill +trembling of the knees--generally forewarned her of a coming quinsy. +But warnings were thrown away upon Madam Liberality's obdurate +hopefulness. + +Just now she could think of nothing but the coming Christmas-tree. She +hid the sweetmeats, and put her hand into her pocket for the two +shillings, the exact outlay of which, in the neighbouring town, by +means of the carrier, she had already arranged. But--the two shillings +were gone! How she had lost them Madam Liberality had no idea. + +She trudged through the dirty snow once more to the shop, and the +counter was examined, and old Goody looked under the flour scales and +in the big chinks of the stone floor. But the shillings were not +there, and Madam Liberality kept her eyes on the pavement as she ran +home, with as little result. Moreover, it was nearly dark. + +It snowed heavily all night, and Madam Liberality slept very little +from pain and anxiety; but this did not deter her from going out with +the first daylight in the morning to rake among the snow near the +door, although her throat was sore beyond concealment, her jaws stiff, +and the pleasant languor and quick-wittedness had given way to +restless fever. + +Her conscience did prick her a little for the anxiety she was bringing +upon her mother (her own sufferings she never forecast); but she could +not give up her Christmas-tree without a struggle, and she hoped by a +few familiar remedies to drive back the threatened illness. + +Meanwhile, if the shillings were not found before eleven o'clock it +would be too late to send to the town shop by the carrier. But they +were not found, and the old hooded cart rumbled away without them. + +It was Christmas Eve. The boys were bustling about with holly. Darling +was perched on a very high chair in the kitchen, picking raisins in +the most honourable manner, without eating one, and Madam Liberality +ought to have been the happiest of all. + +Even now she dried her tears, and made the best of her ill-luck. The +sweetmeats were very good; and it was yet in her power to please the +others, though by a sacrifice from which she had shrunk. She could +divide her scallop-shells among them. It was economy--economy of +resources--which made her hesitate. Separated--they would please the +boys once, and then be lost. Kept together in her own possession--they +would be a constant source of triumph for herself, and of treats for +her brothers and sister. + +Meanwhile, she would gargle her throat with salt and water. As she +crept up-stairs with this purpose, she met her mother. + +Madam Liberality had not looked in the looking-glass lately, so she +did not understand her mother's exclamation of distress when they met. +Her face was perfectly white, except where dark marks lay under her +eyes, and her small lips formed between them the rigid line of pain. +It was impossible to hold out any longer, and Madam Liberality broke +down and poured forth all her woes. + +"I'll put my feet in hot water, and do anything you like, mother +dear," said she, "if only you'll let me try and have a tree, and keep +it secret from the others. I do so want to surprise them." + +"If you'll go to your room, my darling, and do as I tell you, I'll +keep your secret, and help you with your tree," said her mother. +"Don't cry, my child, don't cry; it's so bad for your throat. I think +I can find you some beads to make a necklace for Darling, and three +pencils for the boys, and some paper which you can cut up into +drawing-books for them." + +A little hope went a long way with Madam Liberality, and she began to +take heart. At the same time she felt her illness more keenly now +there was no need for concealing it. She sat over the fire and inhaled +steam from an old teapot, and threaded beads, and hoped she would be +allowed to go to church next day, and to preside at her Christmas-tree +afterwards. + +In the afternoon her throat grew rapidly worse. She had begged--almost +impatiently--that Darling would not leave the Christmas preparations +to sit with her, and as talking was bad for her, and as she had +secret preparations to make on her own account, her mother had +supported her wish to be left alone. + +But when it grew dusk, and the drawing-books were finished, Madam +Liberality felt lonely. She put a shawl round her head, and went to +the window. There was not much to be seen. The fields were deeply +buried in snow, and looked like great white feather beds, shaken up +unequally against the hedges. The road was covered so deeply that she +could hardly have traced it, if she had not known where it was. How +dark the old church tower looked amid so much whiteness! + +And the snow-flakes fell like sugar-plums among the black trees. One +could almost hear the keen wind rustling through the bending sedges by +the pond, where the ice looked quite "safe" now. Madam Liberality +hoped she would be able to get out before this fine frost was over. +She knew of an old plank which would make an admirable sledge, and she +had a plan for the grandest of winter games all ready in her head. It +was to be called Arctic Discovery--and she was to be the chief +discoverer. + +As she fancied herself--starving but scientific, chilled to the bone, +yet undaunted--discovering a north-west passage at the upper end of +the goose pond, the clock struck three from the old church tower. +Madam Liberality heard it with a pang. At three o'clock--if he had +had her shillings--she would have been expecting the return of the +carrier, with the presents for her Christmas-tree. + +Even as she thought about it, the old hooded waggon came lumbering +down among the snow-drifts in the lane. There was a bunch of mistletoe +at the head, and the old carrier went before the horse, and the dog +went before the carrier. And they were all three up to their knees in +snow, and all three had their noses down, as much as to say, "Such is +life; but we must struggle on." + +Poor Madam Liberality! The sight of the waggon and the mistletoe +overwhelmed her. It only made matters worse to see the waggon come +towards the house. She rather wondered what the carrier was bringing; +but whatever it was, it was not the toys. + +She went back to her seat by the fire, and cried bitterly; and, as she +cried, the ball in her throat seemed to grow larger, till she could +hardly breathe. She was glad when the door opened, and her mother's +kind face looked in. + +"Is Darling here?" she asked. + +"No, mother," said Madam Liberality huskily. + +"Then you may bring it in," said her mother to some one outside, and +the servant appeared, carrying a wooden box, which she put down before +Madam Liberality, and then withdrew. "Now don't speak," said her +mother, "it is bad for you, and your eyes have asked fifty questions +already, my child. Where did the box come from? The carrier brought +it. Who is it for? It's for you. Who sent it? That I don't know. What +is inside? I thought you would like to be the first to see. My idea is +that perhaps your godmother has sent you a Christmas-box, and I +thought that there might be things in it which would help you with +your Christmas-tree, so I have not told any one about it." + +To the end of her life Madam Liberality never forgot that +Christmas-box. It did not come from her godmother, and the name of the +giver she never knew. The first thing in it was a card, on which was +written--"A Christmas-box from an unknown friend;" and the second +thing in it was the set of china tea-things with the green rim; and +the third thing was a box of doll's furniture. + +"Oh, Mother!" cried Madam Liberality, "they're the very things I was +counting over in the bazaar, when the shopman heard me." + +"Did anybody else hear you?" asked her mother. + +"There was a lady, who said, 'I think the little girl said the box of +beasts.' And, oh! Mother, Mother! here _is_ the box of beasts! They're +not common beasts, you know--not wooden ones, painted; they're rough, +something like hair. And feel the old elephant's ears, they're quite +leathery, and the lion has real long hair for his mane and the tip of +his tail. They are such thorough beasts. Oh, how the boys will like +them! Tom shall have the darling brown bear. I do think he is the very +best beast of all; his mouth is a little open, you know, and you can +see his tongue, and it's red. And, Mother! the sheep are curly! And +oh, what a dog! with real hair. I think I _must_ keep the dog. And I +shall make him a paper collar, and print 'Faithful' on it, and let him +always stand on the drawers by our bed, and he'll be Darling's and my +watch-dog." + +Happiness is sometimes very wholesome, but it does not cure a quinsy +off hand. Darling cried that night when the big pillow was brought +out, which Madam Liberality always slept against in her quinsies, to +keep her from choking. She did not know of that consolatory +Christmas-box in the cupboard. + +On Christmas Day Madam Liberality was speechless. The quinsy had +progressed very rapidly. + +"It generally breaks the day I have to write on my slate," Madam +Liberality wrote, looking up at her mother with piteous eyes. + +She was conscious that she had been greatly to blame for what she was +suffering, and was anxious to "behave well about it" as an atonement. +She begged--on her slate--that no one would stay away from church on +her account, but her mother would not leave her. + +"And now the others are gone," said Mother, "since you won't let the +Christmas-tree be put off, I propose that we have it up, and I dress +it under your orders, whilst the others are out, and then it can be +moved into the little book-room, all ready for to-night." + +Madam Liberality nodded like a china Mandarin. + +"But you are in sad pain, I fear?" said her mother, + +"One can't have everything," wrote Madam Liberality on her slate. Many +illnesses had made her a very philosophical little woman; and, indeed, +if the quinsy broke and she were at ease, the combination of good +things would be more than any one could reasonably expect, even at +Christmas. + +Every beast was labelled, and hung up by her orders. The box of +furniture was addressed to herself and Darling, as a joint possession, +and the sweetmeats were tied in bags of muslin. The tree looked +charming. The very angel at the top seemed proud of it. + +"I'll leave the tea-things up-stairs," said Mother. + +But Madam Liberality shook her head vigorously. She had been making up +her mind, as she sat steaming over the old teapot; and now she wrote +on her slate, "Put a white cloth round the tub, and put out the +tea-things like a tea-party, and put a ticket in the slop-basin--_For +Darling. With very_, VERY _Best Love_. Make the last 'very' very big." + +Madam Liberality's mother nodded, but she was printing a ticket; much +too large a ticket, however, to go into the green and white +slop-basin. When it was done she hung it on the tree, under the angel. +The inscription was--_From Madam Liberality_. + +When supper was over, she came up to Madam Liberality's room, and +said, + +"Now, my dear, if you like to change your mind and put off the tree +till you are better, I will say nothing about it." + +But Madam Liberality shook her head more vehemently than before, and +her mother smiled and went away. + +Madam Liberality strained her ears. The book-room door opened--she +knew the voice of the handle--there was a rush and a noise, but it +died away into the room. The tears broke down Madam Liberality's +cheeks. It was hard not to be there now. Then there was a patter up +the stairs, and flying steps along the landing, and Madam Liberality's +door was opened by Darling. She was dressed in the pink dress, and her +cheeks were pinker still, and her eyes full of tears. And she threw +herself at Madam Liberality's feet, crying, + +"Oh _how_ good, how _very_ good you are!" + +At this moment a roar came up from below, and Madam Liberality wrote, + +"What is it?" and then dropped the slate to clutch the arms of her +chair, for the pain was becoming almost intolerable. Before Darling +could open the door her mother came in, and Darling repeated the +question, + +"What is it?" + +But at this moment the reply came from below, in Tom's loudest tones. +It rang through the house, and up into the bedroom. + +"Three cheers for Madam Liberality! Hip, hip, hooray!" + +The extremes of pleasure and of pain seemed to meet in Madam +Liberality's little head. But overwhelming gratification got the upper +hand, and, forgetting even her quinsy, she tried to speak, and after a +brief struggle she said, with tolerable distinctness, + +"Tell Tom I am very much obliged to him." + +But what they did tell Tom was that the quinsy had broken, on which he +gave three cheers more. + + + + +PART II. + + +Madam Liberality grew up into much the same sort of person that she +was when a child. She always had been what is termed old-fashioned, +and the older she grew the better her old-fashionedness became her, so +that at last her friends would say to her, "Ah, if we all wore as well +as you do, my dear! You've hardly changed at all since we remember you +in short petticoats." So far as she did change the change was for the +better. (It is to be hoped we do improve a little as we get older!) +She was still liberal and economical. She still planned and hoped +indefatigably. She was still tender-hearted in the sense in which Gray +speaks, + + "To each his sufferings, all are men + Condemned alike to groan, + The tender for another's pain, + The unfeeling for his own." + +She still had a good deal of ill-health and ill-luck, and a good deal +of pleasure in spite of both. She was still happy in the happiness of +others, and pleased by their praise. But she was less headstrong and +opinionated in her plans, and less fretful when they failed. It is +possible, after one has cut one's wisdom-teeth, to cure one's self +even of a good deal of vanity, and to learn to play the second fiddle +very gracefully; and Madam Liberality did not resist the lessons of +life. + +GOD teaches us wisdom in divers ways. Why He suffers some +people to have so many troubles and so little of what we call pleasure +in this world we cannot in this world know. The heaviest blows often +fall on the weakest shoulders, and how these endure and bear up under +them is another of the things which GOD knows better than we. + +I will not pretend to decide whether grown-up people's troubles are +harder to bear than children's troubles, but they are of a graver +kind. It is very bitter when the boys melt the nose of one's dearest +doll against the stove, and living pets with kind eyes and friendly +paws grow aged and die; but the death of friends is a more serious and +lasting sorrow, if it is not more real. + +Madam Liberality shed fewer tears after she grew up than she had done +before, but she had some heart-aches which did not heal. + +The thing which did most to cure her of being too managing for the +good of other people was Darling's marriage. If ever Madam Liberality +had felt proud of self-sacrifice and success, it was about this. But +when Darling was fairly gone, and "Faithful"--very grey with dust and +years--kept watch over only one sister in "the girls' room," he might +have seen Madam Liberality's nightly tears if his eyes had been made +of anything more sensitive than yellow paint. + +Desolate as she was, Madam Liberality would have hugged her grief if +she could have had her old consolation, and been happy in the +happiness of another. Darling never said she was not happy. It was +what she left out, not what she put into the long letters she sent +from India that cut Madam Liberality to the heart. + +Darling's husband read all her letters, and he did not like the home +ones to be too tender--as if Darling's mother and sister pitied her. +And he read Darling's letters before they went away by the mail. + +From this it came about that the sisters' letters were very +commonplace on the surface. And though Madam Liberality cried when +Darling wrote, "Have swallows built in the summer-house this year? +Have you put my old doll's chest of drawers back in its place since +the room was papered? What colour is the paper?"--the Major only said +that stuff like that was hardly worth the postage to England. And when +Madam Liberality wrote, "The clump of daffodils in your old bed was +enormous this spring. I have not touched it since you left. I made +Mother's birthday wreath out of the flowers in your bed and mine. +Jemima broke the slop-basin of the green and white tea-set to-day. It +was the last piece left. I am trying to forgive her,"--the Major made +no harsher remark than, "A storm in a slop-basin! Your sister is not a +brilliant letter-writer, certainly." + +The source of another heart-ache for Madam Liberality was poor Tom. He +was as liberal and hospitable as ever in his own way. He invited his +friends to stay with his mother, and when they and Tom had gone, Madam +Liberality and her mother lived without meat to get the housekeeping +book straight again. Their great difficulty in the matter was the +uncertain nature of Tom's requirements. And when he did write for +money he always wrote in such urgent need that there was no refusing +him if by the art of "doing without" his wants could be supplied. + +But Tom had a kindly heart; he sent his sister a gold locket, and +wrote on the box, "For the best and most generous of sisters." + +Madam Liberality liked praise, and she dearly liked praise from Tom; +but on this occasion it failed to soothe her. She said curtly, "I +suppose it's not paid for. If we can't afford much, we can afford to +live at our own expense, and not on the knavery or the forbearance of +tradesmen." With which she threw the locket into a box of odds and +ends, and turned the key with some temper. + +Years passed, and Madam Liberality was alone. Her mother was dead, and +Tom--poor Tom!--had been found drowned. Darling was still in India, +and the two living boys were in the colonies, farming. + +It seemed to be an aggravation of the calamity of Tom's death that he +died, as he had lived, in debt. But, as regards Madam Liberality, it +was not an unmixed evil. It is one of our bitterest pangs when we +survive those we love that with death the opportunity has passed for +being kind to them, though we love them more than ever. By what +earthly effort could Madam Liberality's mother now be pleased, whom so +little had pleased heretofore? + +But for poor Tom it was still possible to plan, to economize, to be +liberal--and by these means to pay his debts, and save the fair name +of which he had been as reckless as of everything else which he +possessed. + +Madam Liberality had had many a hard struggle to get Tom a birthday +present, but she had never pinched and planned and saved on his behalf +as she did now. There is a limit, however, to the strictest economies. +It would have taken a longer time to finish her labour of love but +for "the other boys." They were good, kind fellows, and having had to +earn daily bread where larks do not fall ready cooked into the mouth, +they knew more of the realities of life than poor Tom had ever +learned. They were prosperous now, and often sent a few pounds to +Madam Liberality "to buy a present with." + +"And none of your old 'Liberality' tricks, mind!" George wrote on one +occasion. "Fit yourself thoroughly out in the latest fashions, and do +us credit!" + +But it all went to Tom's tailor. + +She felt hardly justified in diverting George's money from his +purpose; but she had never told the boys of Tom's debts. There was +something of her old love of doing things without help in this, and +more of her special love for Tom. + +It was not from the boys alone that help came to her. Madam +Liberality's godmother died, and left her fifty pounds. In one lump +she had now got enough to finish her work. + +The acknowledgments of these last payments came on Tom's birthday. +More and more courteous had grown the tradesmen's letters, and Madam +Liberality felt a foolish pleasure in seeing how respectfully they all +spoke now of "Your lamented brother, Madam!" + +The jeweller's bill was the last; and when Madam Liberality tied up +the bundle, she got out Tom's locket and put a bit of his hair into +it, and tied it round her throat, sobbing as she did so, "Oh, Tom, if +you _could_ have lived and been happy in a small way! Your debts are +paid now, my poor boy. I wonder if you know. Oh, Tom, Tom!" + +It was her greatest triumph--to have saved Tom's fair name in the +place where he had lived so foolishly and died so sadly. + +But the triumphs of childhood cast fewer shadows. There was no one now +to say, "Three cheers for Madam Liberality!" + + * * * * * + +It was a very cold winter, but Madam Liberality and Jemima, the +maid-of-all-work, were warmer than they had been for several previous +winters, because they kept better fires. Time heals our sorrows in +spite of us, and Madam Liberality was a very cheerful little body now, +and as busy as ever about her Christmas-boxes. Those for her nephews +and nieces were already despatched. "The boys" were married; Madam +Liberality was godmother to several children she had never seen; but +the Benjamin of his aunt's heart was Darling's only child--Tom--though +she had not seen even him. + +Madam Liberality was still in the thick of her plans, which were +chiefly to benefit the old people and the well-behaved children of the +village. All the Christmas-boxes were to be "surprises," and Jemima +was in every secret but the one which most concerned her. + +Madam Liberality had even some plans for her own benefit. George had +talked of coming home in the summer, and she began to think of saving +up for a new carpet for the drawing-room. Then the last time she went +to the town she saw some curtains of a most artistic pattern, and +particularly cheap. So much good taste for so little money was rare in +provincial shops. By and by she might do without something which would +balance the cost of the curtains. And she had another ambition--to +provide Jemima with black dresses and white muslin aprons for +afternoon wear in addition to her wages, that the outward aspect of +that good soul might be more in accordance than hitherto with her +intrinsic excellence. + +She was pondering this when Jemima burst in in her cooking apron, +followed up the passage by the steam of Christmas cakes, and carrying +a letter. + +"It's a big one, Miss," said she. "Perhaps it's a Christmas-box, +Miss." And beaming with geniality and kitchen warmth, Jemima returned +to her labours. + +Madam Liberality made up her mind about the dresses and aprons; then +she opened her letter. + +It announced the death of her cousin, her godmother's husband. It +announced also that, in spite of the closest search for a will, which +he was supposed to have made, this could not be found. + +Possibly he had destroyed it, intending to make another. As it was he +had died intestate, and succession not being limited to heirs male, +and Madam Liberality being the eldest child of his nearest +relative--the old childish feeling of its being a dream came over her. + +She pinched herself, however, to no purpose. There lay the letter, and +after a second reading Madam Liberality picked up the thread of the +narrative and arrived at the result--she had inherited fifteen +thousand a year. + +The first rational idea which came to her was that there was no +difficulty now about getting the curtains; and the second was that +their chief merit was a merit no more. What is the good of a thing +being cheap when one has fifteen thousand a year? + +Madam Liberality poked the fire extravagantly, and sat down to think. + +The curtains naturally led her to household questions, and those to +that invaluable person, Jemima. That Jemima's wages should be doubled, +trebled, quadrupled, was a thing of course. What post she was to fill +in the new circumstances was another matter. Remembering Podmore, and +recalling the fatigue of dressing herself after her pretty numerous +illnesses, Madam Liberality felt that a lady's-maid would be a comfort +to be most thankful for. But she could not fancy Jemima in that +capacity, or as a housekeeper, or even as head housemaid or cook. She +had lived for years with Jemima herself, but she could not fit her +into a suitable place in the servants' hall. + +However, with fifteen thousand a year, Madam Liberality could buy, if +needful, a field, and build a house, and put Jemima into it with a +servant to wait upon her. The really important question was about her +new domestics. Sixteen servants are a heavy responsibility. + +Madam Liberality had very high ideas of the parental duties involved in +being the head of a household. She had suffered--more than Jemima--over +Jemima's lack of scruple as to telling lies for good purposes. Now a +footman is a young man who has, no doubt, his own peculiar temptations. +What check could Madam Liberality keep upon him? Possibly she might--under +the strong pressure of moral responsibility--give good general advice to +the footman; but the idea of the butler troubled her. + +When one has lived alone in a little house for many years one gets +timid. She put a case to herself. Say that she knew the butler to be +in the habit of stealing the wine, and suspected the gardener of +making a good income by the best of the wall fruit, would she have the +moral courage to be as firm with these important personages as if she +had caught one of the school-children picking and stealing in the +orchard? And if not, would not family prayers be a mockery? + +Madam Liberality sighed. Poor dear Tom! He had had his faults +certainly; but how well he would have managed a butler! + +This touched the weak point of her good fortune to the core. It had +come too late to heap luxuries about dear "Mother"; too late to open +careers for the boys; too late to give mad frolics and girlish +gaieties to light hearts, such as she and Darling had once had. Ah, if +they could have enjoyed it together years ago! + +There remained, however, Madam Liberality's old consolation: one can +be happy in the happiness of others. There were nephews and nieces to +be provided for, and a world so full of poor and struggling folk that +fifteen thousand a year would only go a little way. It was, perhaps, +useful that there had been so many articles lately in the papers about +begging letters, and impostors, and, the evil effects of the +indiscriminate charity of elderly ladies; but the remembrance of them +made Madam Liberality's head ache, and troubled her dreams that +night. + +It was well that the next day was Sunday. Face to face with those +greater interests common to the rich and the poor, the living and the +dead, Madam Liberality grew calmer under her new cares and prospects. +It did not need that brief pause by her mother's grave to remind her +how little money can do for us: and the sight of other people +wholesomely recalled how much it can effect. Near the church porch she +was passed by the wife of a retired chandler, who dressed in very fine +silks, and who was accustomed to eye Madam Liberality's old clothes as +she bowed to her more obviously than is consistent with good breeding. +The little lady nodded very kindly in return. With fifteen thousand a +year one can afford to be _quite_ at ease in an old shawl. + +The next day was Christmas Eve. Madam Liberality caught herself +thinking that if the legacy had been smaller--say fifty pounds a +year--she would at once have treated herself to certain little +embellishments of the old house, for which she had long been +ambitious. But it would be absurd to buy two or three yards of rosebud +chintz, and tire herself by making covers to two very old +sofa-cushions, when the point to be decided was in which of three +grandly furnished mansions she would first take up her abode. She +ordered a liberal supper, however, which confirmed Jemima in her +secret opinion that the big letter had brought good news. + +When, therefore, another letter of similar appearance arrived, Jemima +snatched up the waiter and burst breathlessly in upon Madam +Liberality, leaving the door open-behind her, though it was bitterly +cold and the snow fell fast. + +And when Madam Liberality opened this letter she learned that her +cousin's will had been found, and that (as seems to be natural) he had +left his money where it would be associated with more money and kept +well together. His heir was a cousin also, but in the next degree--an +old bachelor, who was already wealthy; and he had left Madam +Liberality five pounds to buy a mourning ring. + +It had been said that Madam Liberality was used to disappointment, but +some minutes passed before she quite realized the downfall of her +latest visions. Then the old sofa-cushions resumed their importance, +and she flattened the fire into a more economical shape, and set +vigorously to work to decorate the house with the Christmas +evergreens. She had just finished and gone up-stairs to wash her hands +when the church clock struck three. + +It was an old house, and the window of the bedroom went down to the +floor, and had a deep window-seat. Madam Liberality sat down in it and +looked out. She expected some linsey-woolsey by the carrier, to make +Christmas petticoats, and she was glad to see the hooded waggon +ploughing its way through the snow. The goose-pond was firmly frozen, +and everything looked as it had looked years ago, except that the +carrier's young son went before the waggon and a young dog went before +him. They passed slowly out of sight, but Madam Liberality sat on. She +gazed dreamily at the old church, and the trees, and the pond, and +thought of the past; of her mother, and of poor Tom, and of Darling, +and she thought till she fancied that she heard Darling's voice in the +passage below. She got up to go down to Jemima, but as she did so she +heard a footstep on the stairs, and it was not Jemima's tread. It was +too light for the step of any man or woman. + +Then the door opened, and on the threshold of Madam Liberality's room +stood a little boy dressed in black, with his little hat pushed back +from the loveliest of baby faces set in long flaxen hair. The +carnation colour of his cheeks was deepened by the frost, and his +bright eyes were brighter from mingled daring and doubt and curiosity, +as he looked leisurely round the room and said in a slow, +high-pitched, and very distinct tone, + +"Where are you, Aunt Liberality?" + +But, lovely as he was, Madam Liberality ran past him, for another +figure was in the doorway now, also in black, and, with a widow's cap; +and Madam Liberality and Darling fell sobbing into each other's arms. + +"This is better than fifteen thousand a year," said Madam Liberality. + + * * * * * + +It is not necessary to say much more. The Major had been killed by a +fall from horseback, and Darling came back to live at her old home. +She had a little pension, and the sisters were not parted again. + +It would be idle to dwell on Madam Liberality's devotion to her +nephew, or the princely manner in which he accepted her services. That +his pleasure was the object of a new series of plans, and presents, +and surprises, will be readily understood. The curtains were bought, +but the new carpet had to be deferred in consequence of an extravagant +outlay on mechanical toys. When the working of these brought a deeper +tint into his cheeks, and a brighter light into his eyes, Madam +Liberality was quite happy; and when he broke them one after another, +his infatuated aunt believed this to be a precocious development of +manly energies. + +The longest lived, if not the favourite, toys with him were the old +set of scallop-shells, with which he never wearied of making feasts, +to which Madam Liberality was never weary of being invited. He had +more plums than had ever sweetened her childhood, and when they sat +together on two footstools by the sofa, and Tom announced the contents +of the dishes in his shrillest voice and lifted the covers, Madam +Liberality would say in a tone of apology, + +"It's very odd, Darling, and I'm sure at my time of life it's +disgraceful, but I cannot feel old!" + +We could hardly take leave of Madam Liberality in pleasanter +circumstances. Why should we ask whether, for the rest of her life, +she was rich or poor, when we may feel so certain that she was +contented? No doubt she had many another hope and disappointment to +keep life from stagnating. + +As a matter of fact she outlived the bachelor cousin, and if he died +intestate she must have been rich after all. Perhaps she was. Perhaps +she never suffered again from insufficient food or warmth. Perhaps the +illnesses of her later years were alleviated by skill and comforts +such as hitherto she had never known. Perhaps Darling and she enjoyed +a sort of second spring in their old age, and went every year to the +Continent, and grew wonderful flowers in the greenhouse, and sent Tom +to Eton, and provided for their nephews and nieces, and built churches +to their mother's memory, and never had to withhold the liberal hand +from helping because it was empty; and so passed by a time of wealth +to the hour of death. + +Or perhaps the cousin took good care to bequeath his money where there +was more money for it to stick to. And Madam Liberality pinched out +her little presents as heretofore, and kept herself warm with a hot +bottle when she could not afford a fire, and was too thankful to have +Darling with her when she was ill to want anything else. And perhaps +Darling and she prepared Tom for school, and (like many another +widow's son) he did them credit. And perhaps they were quite happy +with a few common pot-plants in the sunny window, and kept their +mother's memory green by flowers about her grave, and so passed by a +life of small cares and small pleasures to where + + "Divided households re-unite." + +Of one thing we may be quite certain. Rich or poor, she was always + +MADAM LIBERALITY. + + + + +_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London, & Bungay_. + +_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, +complete, and uniform Edition published_. + +_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol., +issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will +appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series +will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was +specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing_. + +_The following is a list of the books included in the Series_-- + + +1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES. + +2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES. + +3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES. + +4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING. + +5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES. + +6. SIX TO SIXTEEN. + +7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES. + +8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL. + +9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS. + +10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING +PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATE +THEATRICALS, &c. + +11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER +TALES. + +12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES +OF BEASTS AND MEN. + +13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I + +14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II. + +15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVE-COTE--THE +STORY OF A SHORT LIFE. + +16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES +OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS. + +17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the +Bloody Hand--Wonder Stories--Tales of the +Khoja, and other translations. + +18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER +BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. Ewing's +Letters. + + +S.P.C.K., NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W.C. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GREAT EMERGENCY AND OTHER TALES*** + + +******* This file should be named 17069.txt or 17069.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/0/6/17069 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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