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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/1874-0.txt b/1874-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1ee544 --- /dev/null +++ b/1874-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8270 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Railway Children, by E. Nesbit + +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.org + + +Title: The Railway Children + +Author: E. Nesbit + +Posting Date: November 6, 2008 [EBook #1874] +Release Date: August, 1999 +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAILWAY CHILDREN *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler + + + + + +THE RAILWAY CHILDREN + +By E. Nesbit + + + To my dear son Paul Bland, + behind whose knowledge of railways + my ignorance confidently shelters. + + +Contents. + + I. The beginning of things. + II. Peter's coal-mine. + III. The old gentleman. + IV. The engine-burglar. + V. Prisoners and captives. + VI. Saviours of the train. + VII. For valour. + VIII. The amateur fireman. + IX. The pride of Perks. + X. The terrible secret. + XI. The hound in the red jersey. + XII. What Bobbie brought home. + XIII. The hound's grandfather. + XIV. The End. + + + + +Chapter I. The beginning of things. + + +They were not railway children to begin with. I don't suppose they had +ever thought about railways except as a means of getting to Maskelyne +and Cook's, the Pantomime, Zoological Gardens, and Madame Tussaud's. +They were just ordinary suburban children, and they lived with their +Father and Mother in an ordinary red-brick-fronted villa, with coloured +glass in the front door, a tiled passage that was called a hall, a +bath-room with hot and cold water, electric bells, French windows, and +a good deal of white paint, and 'every modern convenience', as the +house-agents say. + +There were three of them. Roberta was the eldest. Of course, Mothers +never have favourites, but if their Mother HAD had a favourite, it might +have been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wished to be an Engineer when he +grew up; and the youngest was Phyllis, who meant extremely well. + +Mother did not spend all her time in paying dull calls to dull ladies, +and sitting dully at home waiting for dull ladies to pay calls to her. +She was almost always there, ready to play with the children, and read +to them, and help them to do their home-lessons. Besides this she used +to write stories for them while they were at school, and read them +aloud after tea, and she always made up funny pieces of poetry for their +birthdays and for other great occasions, such as the christening of the +new kittens, or the refurnishing of the doll's house, or the time when +they were getting over the mumps. + +These three lucky children always had everything they needed: pretty +clothes, good fires, a lovely nursery with heaps of toys, and a Mother +Goose wall-paper. They had a kind and merry nursemaid, and a dog who was +called James, and who was their very own. They also had a Father who was +just perfect--never cross, never unjust, and always ready for a game--at +least, if at any time he was NOT ready, he always had an excellent +reason for it, and explained the reason to the children so interestingly +and funnily that they felt sure he couldn't help himself. + +You will think that they ought to have been very happy. And so they +were, but they did not know HOW happy till the pretty life in the Red +Villa was over and done with, and they had to live a very different life +indeed. + +The dreadful change came quite suddenly. + +Peter had a birthday--his tenth. Among his other presents was a model +engine more perfect than you could ever have dreamed of. The other +presents were full of charm, but the Engine was fuller of charm than any +of the others were. + +Its charm lasted in its full perfection for exactly three days. Then, +owing either to Peter's inexperience or Phyllis's good intentions, which +had been rather pressing, or to some other cause, the Engine suddenly +went off with a bang. James was so frightened that he went out and did +not come back all day. All the Noah's Ark people who were in the tender +were broken to bits, but nothing else was hurt except the poor little +engine and the feelings of Peter. The others said he cried over it--but +of course boys of ten do not cry, however terrible the tragedies may be +which darken their lot. He said that his eyes were red because he had a +cold. This turned out to be true, though Peter did not know it was when +he said it, the next day he had to go to bed and stay there. Mother +began to be afraid that he might be sickening for measles, when suddenly +he sat up in bed and said: + +“I hate gruel--I hate barley water--I hate bread and milk. I want to get +up and have something REAL to eat.” + +“What would you like?” Mother asked. + +“A pigeon-pie,” said Peter, eagerly, “a large pigeon-pie. A very large +one.” + +So Mother asked the Cook to make a large pigeon-pie. The pie was made. +And when the pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was cooked, Peter +ate some of it. After that his cold was better. Mother made a piece of +poetry to amuse him while the pie was being made. It began by saying +what an unfortunate but worthy boy Peter was, then it went on: + + He had an engine that he loved + With all his heart and soul, + And if he had a wish on earth + It was to keep it whole. + + One day--my friends, prepare your minds; + I'm coming to the worst-- + Quite suddenly a screw went mad, + And then the boiler burst! + + With gloomy face he picked it up + And took it to his Mother, + Though even he could not suppose + That she could make another; + + For those who perished on the line + He did not seem to care, + His engine being more to him + Than all the people there. + + And now you see the reason why + Our Peter has been ill: + He soothes his soul with pigeon-pie + His gnawing grief to kill. + + He wraps himself in blankets warm + And sleeps in bed till late, + Determined thus to overcome + His miserable fate. + + And if his eyes are rather red, + His cold must just excuse it: + Offer him pie; you may be sure + He never will refuse it. + +Father had been away in the country for three or four days. All Peter's +hopes for the curing of his afflicted Engine were now fixed on his +Father, for Father was most wonderfully clever with his fingers. He +could mend all sorts of things. He had often acted as veterinary surgeon +to the wooden rocking-horse; once he had saved its life when all human +aid was despaired of, and the poor creature was given up for lost, and +even the carpenter said he didn't see his way to do anything. And it was +Father who mended the doll's cradle when no one else could; and with a +little glue and some bits of wood and a pen-knife made all the Noah's +Ark beasts as strong on their pins as ever they were, if not stronger. + +Peter, with heroic unselfishness, did not say anything about his Engine +till after Father had had his dinner and his after-dinner cigar. The +unselfishness was Mother's idea--but it was Peter who carried it out. +And needed a good deal of patience, too. + +At last Mother said to Father, “Now, dear, if you're quite rested, and +quite comfy, we want to tell you about the great railway accident, and +ask your advice.” + +“All right,” said Father, “fire away!” + +So then Peter told the sad tale, and fetched what was left of the +Engine. + +“Hum,” said Father, when he had looked the Engine over very carefully. + +The children held their breaths. + +“Is there NO hope?” said Peter, in a low, unsteady voice. + +“Hope? Rather! Tons of it,” said Father, cheerfully; “but it'll want +something besides hope--a bit of brazing say, or some solder, and a new +valve. I think we'd better keep it for a rainy day. In other words, I'll +give up Saturday afternoon to it, and you shall all help me.” + +“CAN girls help to mend engines?” Peter asked doubtfully. + +“Of course they can. Girls are just as clever as boys, and don't you +forget it! How would you like to be an engine-driver, Phil?” + +“My face would be always dirty, wouldn't it?” said Phyllis, in +unenthusiastic tones, “and I expect I should break something.” + +“I should just love it,” said Roberta--“do you think I could when I'm +grown up, Daddy? Or even a stoker?” + +“You mean a fireman,” said Daddy, pulling and twisting at the engine. +“Well, if you still wish it, when you're grown up, we'll see about +making you a fire-woman. I remember when I was a boy--” + +Just then there was a knock at the front door. + +“Who on earth!” said Father. “An Englishman's house is his castle, of +course, but I do wish they built semi-detached villas with moats and +drawbridges.” + +Ruth--she was the parlour-maid and had red hair--came in and said that +two gentlemen wanted to see the master. + +“I've shown them into the Library, Sir,” said she. + +“I expect it's the subscription to the Vicar's testimonial,” said +Mother, “or else it's the choir holiday fund. Get rid of them quickly, +dear. It does break up an evening so, and it's nearly the children's +bedtime.” + +But Father did not seem to be able to get rid of the gentlemen at all +quickly. + +“I wish we HAD got a moat and drawbridge,” said Roberta; “then, when we +didn't want people, we could just pull up the drawbridge and no one else +could get in. I expect Father will have forgotten about when he was a +boy if they stay much longer.” + +Mother tried to make the time pass by telling them a new fairy story +about a Princess with green eyes, but it was difficult because they +could hear the voices of Father and the gentlemen in the Library, and +Father's voice sounded louder and different to the voice he generally +used to people who came about testimonials and holiday funds. + +Then the Library bell rang, and everyone heaved a breath of relief. + +“They're going now,” said Phyllis; “he's rung to have them shown out.” + +But instead of showing anybody out, Ruth showed herself in, and she +looked queer, the children thought. + +“Please'm,” she said, “the Master wants you to just step into the study. +He looks like the dead, mum; I think he's had bad news. You'd best +prepare yourself for the worst, 'm--p'raps it's a death in the family or +a bank busted or--” + +“That'll do, Ruth,” said Mother gently; “you can go.” + +Then Mother went into the Library. There was more talking. Then the bell +rang again, and Ruth fetched a cab. The children heard boots go out and +down the steps. The cab drove away, and the front door shut. Then Mother +came in. Her dear face was as white as her lace collar, and her eyes +looked very big and shining. Her mouth looked like just a line of pale +red--her lips were thin and not their proper shape at all. + +“It's bedtime,” she said. “Ruth will put you to bed.” + +“But you promised we should sit up late tonight because Father's come +home,” said Phyllis. + +“Father's been called away--on business,” said Mother. “Come, darlings, +go at once.” + +They kissed her and went. Roberta lingered to give Mother an extra hug +and to whisper: + +“It wasn't bad news, Mammy, was it? Is anyone dead--or--” + +“Nobody's dead--no,” said Mother, and she almost seemed to push Roberta +away. “I can't tell you anything tonight, my pet. Go, dear, go NOW.” + +So Roberta went. + +Ruth brushed the girls' hair and helped them to undress. (Mother almost +always did this herself.) When she had turned down the gas and left them +she found Peter, still dressed, waiting on the stairs. + +“I say, Ruth, what's up?” he asked. + +“Don't ask me no questions and I won't tell you no lies,” the red-headed +Ruth replied. “You'll know soon enough.” + +Late that night Mother came up and kissed all three children as they +lay asleep. But Roberta was the only one whom the kiss woke, and she lay +mousey-still, and said nothing. + +“If Mother doesn't want us to know she's been crying,” she said to +herself as she heard through the dark the catching of her Mother's +breath, “we WON'T know it. That's all.” + +When they came down to breakfast the next morning, Mother had already +gone out. + +“To London,” Ruth said, and left them to their breakfast. + +“There's something awful the matter,” said Peter, breaking his egg. +“Ruth told me last night we should know soon enough.” + +“Did you ASK her?” said Roberta, with scorn. + +“Yes, I did!” said Peter, angrily. “If you could go to bed without +caring whether Mother was worried or not, I couldn't. So there.” + +“I don't think we ought to ask the servants things Mother doesn't tell +us,” said Roberta. + +“That's right, Miss Goody-goody,” said Peter, “preach away.” + +“I'M not goody,” said Phyllis, “but I think Bobbie's right this time.” + +“Of course. She always is. In her own opinion,” said Peter. + +“Oh, DON'T!” cried Roberta, putting down her egg-spoon; “don't let's be +horrid to each other. I'm sure some dire calamity is happening. Don't +let's make it worse!” + +“Who began, I should like to know?” said Peter. + +Roberta made an effort, and answered:-- + +“I did, I suppose, but--” + +“Well, then,” said Peter, triumphantly. But before he went to school he +thumped his sister between the shoulders and told her to cheer up. + +The children came home to one o'clock dinner, but Mother was not there. +And she was not there at tea-time. + +It was nearly seven before she came in, looking so ill and tired that +the children felt they could not ask her any questions. She sank into an +arm-chair. Phyllis took the long pins out of her hat, while Roberta took +off her gloves, and Peter unfastened her walking-shoes and fetched her +soft velvety slippers for her. + +When she had had a cup of tea, and Roberta had put eau-de-Cologne on her +poor head that ached, Mother said:-- + +“Now, my darlings, I want to tell you something. Those men last night +did bring very bad news, and Father will be away for some time. I am +very worried about it, and I want you all to help me, and not to make +things harder for me.” + +“As if we would!” said Roberta, holding Mother's hand against her face. + +“You can help me very much,” said Mother, “by being good and happy +and not quarrelling when I'm away”--Roberta and Peter exchanged guilty +glances--“for I shall have to be away a good deal.” + +“We won't quarrel. Indeed we won't,” said everybody. And meant it, too. + +“Then,” Mother went on, “I want you not to ask me any questions about +this trouble; and not to ask anybody else any questions.” + +Peter cringed and shuffled his boots on the carpet. + +“You'll promise this, too, won't you?” said Mother. + +“I did ask Ruth,” said Peter, suddenly. “I'm very sorry, but I did.” + +“And what did she say?” + +“She said I should know soon enough.” + +“It isn't necessary for you to know anything about it,” said Mother; +“it's about business, and you never do understand business, do you?” + +“No,” said Roberta; “is it something to do with Government?” For Father +was in a Government Office. + +“Yes,” said Mother. “Now it's bed-time, my darlings. And don't YOU +worry. It'll all come right in the end.” + +“Then don't YOU worry either, Mother,” said Phyllis, “and we'll all be +as good as gold.” + +Mother sighed and kissed them. + +“We'll begin being good the first thing tomorrow morning,” said Peter, +as they went upstairs. + +“Why not NOW?” said Roberta. + +“There's nothing to be good ABOUT now, silly,” said Peter. + +“We might begin to try to FEEL good,” said Phyllis, “and not call +names.” + +“Who's calling names?” said Peter. “Bobbie knows right enough that when +I say 'silly', it's just the same as if I said Bobbie.” + +“WELL,” said Roberta. + +“No, I don't mean what you mean. I mean it's just a--what is it Father +calls it?--a germ of endearment! Good night.” + +The girls folded up their clothes with more than usual neatness--which +was the only way of being good that they could think of. + +“I say,” said Phyllis, smoothing out her pinafore, “you used to say +it was so dull--nothing happening, like in books. Now something HAS +happened.” + +“I never wanted things to happen to make Mother unhappy,” said Roberta. +“Everything's perfectly horrid.” + +Everything continued to be perfectly horrid for some weeks. + +Mother was nearly always out. Meals were dull and dirty. The +between-maid was sent away, and Aunt Emma came on a visit. Aunt Emma was +much older than Mother. She was going abroad to be a governess. She +was very busy getting her clothes ready, and they were very ugly, dingy +clothes, and she had them always littering about, and the sewing-machine +seemed to whir--on and on all day and most of the night. Aunt Emma +believed in keeping children in their proper places. And they more than +returned the compliment. Their idea of Aunt Emma's proper place was +anywhere where they were not. So they saw very little of her. They +preferred the company of the servants, who were more amusing. Cook, +if in a good temper, could sing comic songs, and the housemaid, if she +happened not to be offended with you, could imitate a hen that has laid +an egg, a bottle of champagne being opened, and could mew like two cats +fighting. The servants never told the children what the bad news was +that the gentlemen had brought to Father. But they kept hinting +that they could tell a great deal if they chose--and this was not +comfortable. + +One day when Peter had made a booby trap over the bath-room door, and +it had acted beautifully as Ruth passed through, that red-haired +parlour-maid caught him and boxed his ears. + +“You'll come to a bad end,” she said furiously, “you nasty little limb, +you! If you don't mend your ways, you'll go where your precious Father's +gone, so I tell you straight!” + +Roberta repeated this to her Mother, and next day Ruth was sent away. + +Then came the time when Mother came home and went to bed and stayed +there two days and the Doctor came, and the children crept wretchedly +about the house and wondered if the world was coming to an end. + +Mother came down one morning to breakfast, very pale and with lines +on her face that used not to be there. And she smiled, as well as she +could, and said:-- + +“Now, my pets, everything is settled. We're going to leave this house, +and go and live in the country. Such a ducky dear little white house. I +know you'll love it.” + +A whirling week of packing followed--not just packing clothes, like when +you go to the seaside, but packing chairs and tables, covering their +tops with sacking and their legs with straw. + +All sorts of things were packed that you don't pack when you go to +the seaside. Crockery, blankets, candlesticks, carpets, bedsteads, +saucepans, and even fenders and fire-irons. + +The house was like a furniture warehouse. I think the children enjoyed +it very much. Mother was very busy, but not too busy now to talk to +them, and read to them, and even to make a bit of poetry for Phyllis to +cheer her up when she fell down with a screwdriver and ran it into her +hand. + +“Aren't you going to pack this, Mother?” Roberta asked, pointing to the +beautiful cabinet inlaid with red turtleshell and brass. + +“We can't take everything,” said Mother. + +“But we seem to be taking all the ugly things,” said Roberta. + +“We're taking the useful ones,” said Mother; “we've got to play at being +Poor for a bit, my chickabiddy.” + +When all the ugly useful things had been packed up and taken away in a +van by men in green-baize aprons, the two girls and Mother and Aunt Emma +slept in the two spare rooms where the furniture was all pretty. All +their beds had gone. A bed was made up for Peter on the drawing-room +sofa. + +“I say, this is larks,” he said, wriggling joyously, as Mother tucked +him up. “I do like moving! I wish we moved once a month.” + +Mother laughed. + +“I don't!” she said. “Good night, Peterkin.” + +As she turned away Roberta saw her face. She never forgot it. + +“Oh, Mother,” she whispered all to herself as she got into bed, “how +brave you are! How I love you! Fancy being brave enough to laugh when +you're feeling like THAT!” + +Next day boxes were filled, and boxes and more boxes; and then late in +the afternoon a cab came to take them to the station. + +Aunt Emma saw them off. They felt that THEY were seeing HER off, and +they were glad of it. + +“But, oh, those poor little foreign children that she's going to +governess!” whispered Phyllis. “I wouldn't be them for anything!” + +At first they enjoyed looking out of the window, but when it grew dusk +they grew sleepier and sleepier, and no one knew how long they had been +in the train when they were roused by Mother's shaking them gently and +saying:-- + +“Wake up, dears. We're there.” + +They woke up, cold and melancholy, and stood shivering on the draughty +platform while the baggage was taken out of the train. Then the engine, +puffing and blowing, set to work again, and dragged the train away. The +children watched the tail-lights of the guard's van disappear into the +darkness. + +This was the first train the children saw on that railway which was in +time to become so very dear to them. They did not guess then how they +would grow to love the railway, and how soon it would become the centre +of their new life, nor what wonders and changes it would bring to them. +They only shivered and sneezed and hoped the walk to the new house would +not be long. Peter's nose was colder than he ever remembered it to have +been before. Roberta's hat was crooked, and the elastic seemed tighter +than usual. Phyllis's shoe-laces had come undone. + +“Come,” said Mother, “we've got to walk. There aren't any cabs here.” + +The walk was dark and muddy. The children stumbled a little on the rough +road, and once Phyllis absently fell into a puddle, and was picked up +damp and unhappy. There were no gas-lamps on the road, and the road was +uphill. The cart went at a foot's pace, and they followed the gritty +crunch of its wheels. As their eyes got used to the darkness, they could +see the mound of boxes swaying dimly in front of them. + +A long gate had to be opened for the cart to pass through, and after +that the road seemed to go across fields--and now it went down hill. +Presently a great dark lumpish thing showed over to the right. + +“There's the house,” said Mother. “I wonder why she's shut the +shutters.” + +“Who's SHE?” asked Roberta. + +“The woman I engaged to clean the place, and put the furniture straight +and get supper.” + +There was a low wall, and trees inside. + +“That's the garden,” said Mother. + +“It looks more like a dripping-pan full of black cabbages,” said Peter. + +The cart went on along by the garden wall, and round to the back of the +house, and here it clattered into a cobble-stoned yard and stopped at +the back door. + +There was no light in any of the windows. + +Everyone hammered at the door, but no one came. + +The man who drove the cart said he expected Mrs. Viney had gone home. + +“You see your train was that late,” said he. + +“But she's got the key,” said Mother. “What are we to do?” + +“Oh, she'll have left that under the doorstep,” said the cart man; +“folks do hereabouts.” He took the lantern off his cart and stooped. + +“Ay, here it is, right enough,” he said. + +He unlocked the door and went in and set his lantern on the table. + +“Got e'er a candle?” said he. + +“I don't know where anything is.” Mother spoke rather less cheerfully +than usual. + +He struck a match. There was a candle on the table, and he lighted it. +By its thin little glimmer the children saw a large bare kitchen with +a stone floor. There were no curtains, no hearth-rug. The kitchen +table from home stood in the middle of the room. The chairs were in one +corner, and the pots, pans, brooms, and crockery in another. There was +no fire, and the black grate showed cold, dead ashes. + +As the cart man turned to go out after he had brought in the boxes, +there was a rustling, scampering sound that seemed to come from inside +the walls of the house. + +“Oh, what's that?” cried the girls. + +“It's only the rats,” said the cart man. And he went away and shut the +door, and the sudden draught of it blew out the candle. + +“Oh, dear,” said Phyllis, “I wish we hadn't come!” and she knocked a +chair over. + +“ONLY the rats!” said Peter, in the dark. + + + +Chapter II. Peter's coal-mine. + + +“What fun!” said Mother, in the dark, feeling for the matches on the +table. “How frightened the poor mice were--I don't believe they were +rats at all.” + +She struck a match and relighted the candle and everyone looked at each +other by its winky, blinky light. + +“Well,” she said, “you've often wanted something to happen and now it +has. This is quite an adventure, isn't it? I told Mrs. Viney to get us +some bread and butter, and meat and things, and to have supper ready. I +suppose she's laid it in the dining-room. So let's go and see.” + +The dining-room opened out of the kitchen. It looked much darker than +the kitchen when they went in with the one candle. Because the kitchen +was whitewashed, but the dining-room was dark wood from floor to +ceiling, and across the ceiling there were heavy black beams. There was +a muddled maze of dusty furniture--the breakfast-room furniture from +the old home where they had lived all their lives. It seemed a very long +time ago, and a very long way off. + +There was the table certainly, and there were chairs, but there was no +supper. + +“Let's look in the other rooms,” said Mother; and they looked. And in +each room was the same kind of blundering half-arrangement of furniture, +and fire-irons and crockery, and all sorts of odd things on the floor, +but there was nothing to eat; even in the pantry there were only a rusty +cake-tin and a broken plate with whitening mixed in it. + +“What a horrid old woman!” said Mother; “she's just walked off with the +money and not got us anything to eat at all.” + +“Then shan't we have any supper at all?” asked Phyllis, dismayed, +stepping back on to a soap-dish that cracked responsively. + +“Oh, yes,” said Mother, “only it'll mean unpacking one of those big +cases that we put in the cellar. Phil, do mind where you're walking to, +there's a dear. Peter, hold the light.” + +The cellar door opened out of the kitchen. There were five wooden steps +leading down. It wasn't a proper cellar at all, the children thought, +because its ceiling went up as high as the kitchen's. A bacon-rack hung +under its ceiling. There was wood in it, and coal. Also the big cases. + +Peter held the candle, all on one side, while Mother tried to open the +great packing-case. It was very securely nailed down. + +“Where's the hammer?” asked Peter. + +“That's just it,” said Mother. “I'm afraid it's inside the box. But +there's a coal-shovel--and there's the kitchen poker.” + +And with these she tried to get the case open. + +“Let me do it,” said Peter, thinking he could do it better himself. +Everyone thinks this when he sees another person stirring a fire, or +opening a box, or untying a knot in a bit of string. + +“You'll hurt your hands, Mammy,” said Roberta; “let me.” + +“I wish Father was here,” said Phyllis; “he'd get it open in two shakes. +What are you kicking me for, Bobbie?” + +“I wasn't,” said Roberta. + +Just then the first of the long nails in the packing-case began to come +out with a scrunch. Then a lath was raised and then another, till all +four stood up with the long nails in them shining fiercely like iron +teeth in the candle-light. + +“Hooray!” said Mother; “here are some candles--the very first thing! You +girls go and light them. You'll find some saucers and things. Just drop +a little candle-grease in the saucer and stick the candle upright in +it.” + +“How many shall we light?” + +“As many as ever you like,” said Mother, gaily. “The great thing is +to be cheerful. Nobody can be cheerful in the dark except owls and +dormice.” + +So the girls lighted candles. The head of the first match flew off and +stuck to Phyllis's finger; but, as Roberta said, it was only a little +burn, and she might have had to be a Roman martyr and be burned whole if +she had happened to live in the days when those things were fashionable. + +Then, when the dining-room was lighted by fourteen candles, Roberta +fetched coal and wood and lighted a fire. + +“It's very cold for May,” she said, feeling what a grown-up thing it was +to say. + +The fire-light and the candle-light made the dining-room look very +different, for now you could see that the dark walls were of wood, +carved here and there into little wreaths and loops. + +The girls hastily 'tidied' the room, which meant putting the chairs +against the wall, and piling all the odds and ends into a corner and +partly hiding them with the big leather arm-chair that Father used to +sit in after dinner. + +“Bravo!” cried Mother, coming in with a tray full of things. “This is +something like! I'll just get a tablecloth and then--” + +The tablecloth was in a box with a proper lock that was opened with a +key and not with a shovel, and when the cloth was spread on the table, a +real feast was laid out on it. + +Everyone was very, very tired, but everyone cheered up at the sight of +the funny and delightful supper. There were biscuits, the Marie and the +plain kind, sardines, preserved ginger, cooking raisins, and candied +peel and marmalade. + +“What a good thing Aunt Emma packed up all the odds and ends out of the +Store cupboard,” said Mother. “Now, Phil, DON'T put the marmalade spoon +in among the sardines.” + +“No, I won't, Mother,” said Phyllis, and put it down among the Marie +biscuits. + +“Let's drink Aunt Emma's health,” said Roberta, suddenly; “what should +we have done if she hadn't packed up these things? Here's to Aunt Emma!” + +And the toast was drunk in ginger wine and water, out of +willow-patterned tea-cups, because the glasses couldn't be found. + +They all felt that they had been a little hard on Aunt Emma. She wasn't +a nice cuddly person like Mother, but after all it was she who had +thought of packing up the odds and ends of things to eat. + +It was Aunt Emma, too, who had aired all the sheets ready; and the men +who had moved the furniture had put the bedsteads together, so the beds +were soon made. + +“Good night, chickies,” said Mother. “I'm sure there aren't any rats. +But I'll leave my door open, and then if a mouse comes, you need only +scream, and I'll come and tell it exactly what I think of it.” + +Then she went to her own room. Roberta woke to hear the little +travelling clock chime two. It sounded like a church clock ever so far +away, she always thought. And she heard, too, Mother still moving about +in her room. + +Next morning Roberta woke Phyllis by pulling her hair gently, but quite +enough for her purpose. + +“Wassermarrer?” asked Phyllis, still almost wholly asleep. + +“Wake up! wake up!” said Roberta. “We're in the new house--don't you +remember? No servants or anything. Let's get up and begin to be useful. +We'll just creep down mouse-quietly, and have everything beautiful +before Mother gets up. I've woke Peter. He'll be dressed as soon as we +are.” + +So they dressed quietly and quickly. Of course, there was no water in +their room, so when they got down they washed as much as they thought +was necessary under the spout of the pump in the yard. One pumped and +the other washed. It was splashy but interesting. + +“It's much more fun than basin washing,” said Roberta. “How sparkly +the weeds are between the stones, and the moss on the roof--oh, and the +flowers!” + +The roof of the back kitchen sloped down quite low. It was made +of thatch and it had moss on it, and house-leeks and stonecrop and +wallflowers, and even a clump of purple flag-flowers, at the far corner. + +“This is far, far, far and away prettier than Edgecombe Villa,” said +Phyllis. “I wonder what the garden's like.” + +“We mustn't think of the garden yet,” said Roberta, with earnest energy. +“Let's go in and begin to work.” + +They lighted the fire and put the kettle on, and they arranged the +crockery for breakfast; they could not find all the right things, but +a glass ash-tray made an excellent salt-cellar, and a newish baking-tin +seemed as if it would do to put bread on, if they had any. + +When there seemed to be nothing more that they could do, they went out +again into the fresh bright morning. + +“We'll go into the garden now,” said Peter. But somehow they couldn't +find the garden. They went round the house and round the house. The yard +occupied the back, and across it were stables and outbuildings. On the +other three sides the house stood simply in a field, without a yard +of garden to divide it from the short smooth turf. And yet they had +certainly seen the garden wall the night before. + +It was a hilly country. Down below they could see the line of the +railway, and the black yawning mouth of a tunnel. The station was out of +sight. There was a great bridge with tall arches running across one end +of the valley. + +“Never mind the garden,” said Peter; “let's go down and look at the +railway. There might be trains passing.” + +“We can see them from here,” said Roberta, slowly; “let's sit down a +bit.” + +So they all sat down on a great flat grey stone that had pushed itself +up out of the grass; it was one of many that lay about on the hillside, +and when Mother came out to look for them at eight o'clock, she found +them deeply asleep in a contented, sun-warmed bunch. + +They had made an excellent fire, and had set the kettle on it at about +half-past five. So that by eight the fire had been out for some time, +the water had all boiled away, and the bottom was burned out of the +kettle. Also they had not thought of washing the crockery before they +set the table. + +“But it doesn't matter--the cups and saucers, I mean,” said Mother. +“Because I've found another room--I'd quite forgotten there was one. And +it's magic! And I've boiled the water for tea in a saucepan.” + +The forgotten room opened out of the kitchen. In the agitation and half +darkness the night before its door had been mistaken for a cupboard's. +It was a little square room, and on its table, all nicely set out, was a +joint of cold roast beef, with bread, butter, cheese, and a pie. + +“Pie for breakfast!” cried Peter; “how perfectly ripping!” + +“It isn't pigeon-pie,” said Mother; “it's only apple. Well, this is the +supper we ought to have had last night. And there was a note from Mrs. +Viney. Her son-in-law has broken his arm, and she had to get home early. +She's coming this morning at ten.” + +That was a wonderful breakfast. It is unusual to begin the day with +cold apple pie, but the children all said they would rather have it than +meat. + +“You see it's more like dinner than breakfast to us,” said Peter, +passing his plate for more, “because we were up so early.” + +The day passed in helping Mother to unpack and arrange things. Six small +legs quite ached with running about while their owners carried clothes +and crockery and all sorts of things to their proper places. It was not +till quite late in the afternoon that Mother said:-- + +“There! That'll do for to-day. I'll lie down for an hour, so as to be as +fresh as a lark by supper-time.” + +Then they all looked at each other. Each of the three expressive +countenances expressed the same thought. That thought was double, +and consisted, like the bits of information in the Child's Guide to +Knowledge, of a question and an answer. + +Q. Where shall we go? + +A. To the railway. + +So to the railway they went, and as soon as they started for the railway +they saw where the garden had hidden itself. It was right behind the +stables, and it had a high wall all round. + +“Oh, never mind about the garden now!” cried Peter. “Mother told me +this morning where it was. It'll keep till to-morrow. Let's get to the +railway.” + +The way to the railway was all down hill over smooth, short turf with +here and there furze bushes and grey and yellow rocks sticking out like +candied peel from the top of a cake. + +The way ended in a steep run and a wooden fence--and there was the +railway with the shining metals and the telegraph wires and posts and +signals. + +They all climbed on to the top of the fence, and then suddenly there was +a rumbling sound that made them look along the line to the right, where +the dark mouth of a tunnel opened itself in the face of a rocky cliff; +next moment a train had rushed out of the tunnel with a shriek and +a snort, and had slid noisily past them. They felt the rush of its +passing, and the pebbles on the line jumped and rattled under it as it +went by. + +“Oh!” said Roberta, drawing a long breath; “it was like a great dragon +tearing by. Did you feel it fan us with its hot wings?” + +“I suppose a dragon's lair might look very like that tunnel from the +outside,” said Phyllis. + +But Peter said:-- + +“I never thought we should ever get as near to a train as this. It's the +most ripping sport!” + +“Better than toy-engines, isn't it?” said Roberta. + +(I am tired of calling Roberta by her name. I don't see why I should. +No one else did. Everyone else called her Bobbie, and I don't see why I +shouldn't.) + +“I don't know; it's different,” said Peter. “It seems so odd to see ALL +of a train. It's awfully tall, isn't it?” + +“We've always seen them cut in half by platforms,” said Phyllis. + +“I wonder if that train was going to London,” Bobbie said. “London's +where Father is.” + +“Let's go down to the station and find out,” said Peter. + +So they went. + +They walked along the edge of the line, and heard the telegraph wires +humming over their heads. When you are in the train, it seems such a +little way between post and post, and one after another the posts seem +to catch up the wires almost more quickly than you can count them. But +when you have to walk, the posts seem few and far between. + +But the children got to the station at last. + +Never before had any of them been at a station, except for the purpose +of catching trains--or perhaps waiting for them--and always with +grown-ups in attendance, grown-ups who were not themselves interested in +stations, except as places from which they wished to get away. + +Never before had they passed close enough to a signal-box to be able to +notice the wires, and to hear the mysterious 'ping, ping,' followed by +the strong, firm clicking of machinery. + +The very sleepers on which the rails lay were a delightful path to +travel by--just far enough apart to serve as the stepping-stones in a +game of foaming torrents hastily organised by Bobbie. + +Then to arrive at the station, not through the booking office, but in +a freebooting sort of way by the sloping end of the platform. This in +itself was joy. + +Joy, too, it was to peep into the porters' room, where the lamps are, +and the Railway almanac on the wall, and one porter half asleep behind a +paper. + +There were a great many crossing lines at the station; some of them just +ran into a yard and stopped short, as though they were tired of business +and meant to retire for good. Trucks stood on the rails here, and on one +side was a great heap of coal--not a loose heap, such as you see in your +coal cellar, but a sort of solid building of coals with large square +blocks of coal outside used just as though they were bricks, and built +up till the heap looked like the picture of the Cities of the Plain in +'Bible Stories for Infants.' There was a line of whitewash near the top +of the coaly wall. + +When presently the Porter lounged out of his room at the twice-repeated +tingling thrill of a gong over the station door, Peter said, “How do you +do?” in his best manner, and hastened to ask what the white mark was on +the coal for. + +“To mark how much coal there be,” said the Porter, “so as we'll know if +anyone nicks it. So don't you go off with none in your pockets, young +gentleman!” + +This seemed, at the time but a merry jest, and Peter felt at once that +the Porter was a friendly sort with no nonsense about him. But later the +words came back to Peter with a new meaning. + +Have you ever gone into a farmhouse kitchen on a baking day, and seen +the great crock of dough set by the fire to rise? If you have, and if +you were at that time still young enough to be interested in everything +you saw, you will remember that you found yourself quite unable to +resist the temptation to poke your finger into the soft round of dough +that curved inside the pan like a giant mushroom. And you will remember +that your finger made a dent in the dough, and that slowly, but quite +surely, the dent disappeared, and the dough looked quite the same as it +did before you touched it. Unless, of course, your hand was extra dirty, +in which case, naturally, there would be a little black mark. + +Well, it was just like that with the sorrow the children had felt at +Father's going away, and at Mother's being so unhappy. It made a deep +impression, but the impression did not last long. + +They soon got used to being without Father, though they did not forget +him; and they got used to not going to school, and to seeing very little +of Mother, who was now almost all day shut up in her upstairs room +writing, writing, writing. She used to come down at tea-time and read +aloud the stories she had written. They were lovely stories. + +The rocks and hills and valleys and trees, the canal, and above all, the +railway, were so new and so perfectly pleasing that the remembrance of +the old life in the villa grew to seem almost like a dream. + +Mother had told them more than once that they were 'quite poor now,' but +this did not seem to be anything but a way of speaking. Grown-up people, +even Mothers, often make remarks that don't seem to mean anything in +particular, just for the sake of saying something, seemingly. There was +always enough to eat, and they wore the same kind of nice clothes they +had always worn. + +But in June came three wet days; the rain came down, straight as lances, +and it was very, very cold. Nobody could go out, and everybody shivered. +They all went up to the door of Mother's room and knocked. + +“Well, what is it?” asked Mother from inside. + +“Mother,” said Bobbie, “mayn't I light a fire? I do know how.” + +And Mother said: “No, my ducky-love. We mustn't have fires in June--coal +is so dear. If you're cold, go and have a good romp in the attic. +That'll warm you.” + +“But, Mother, it only takes such a very little coal to make a fire.” + +“It's more than we can afford, chickeny-love,” said Mother, cheerfully. +“Now run away, there's darlings--I'm madly busy!” + +“Mother's always busy now,” said Phyllis, in a whisper to Peter. Peter +did not answer. He shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking. + +Thought, however, could not long keep itself from the suitable +furnishing of a bandit's lair in the attic. Peter was the bandit, of +course. Bobbie was his lieutenant, his band of trusty robbers, and, in +due course, the parent of Phyllis, who was the captured maiden for whom +a magnificent ransom--in horse-beans--was unhesitatingly paid. + +They all went down to tea flushed and joyous as any mountain brigands. + +But when Phyllis was going to add jam to her bread and butter, Mother +said:-- + +“Jam OR butter, dear--not jam AND butter. We can't afford that sort of +reckless luxury nowadays.” + +Phyllis finished the slice of bread and butter in silence, and followed +it up by bread and jam. Peter mingled thought and weak tea. + +After tea they went back to the attic and he said to his sisters:-- + +“I have an idea.” + +“What's that?” they asked politely. + +“I shan't tell you,” was Peter's unexpected rejoinder. + +“Oh, very well,” said Bobbie; and Phil said, “Don't, then.” + +“Girls,” said Peter, “are always so hasty tempered.” + +“I should like to know what boys are?” said Bobbie, with fine disdain. +“I don't want to know about your silly ideas.” + +“You'll know some day,” said Peter, keeping his own temper by what +looked exactly like a miracle; “if you hadn't been so keen on a row, I +might have told you about it being only noble-heartedness that made me +not tell you my idea. But now I shan't tell you anything at all about +it--so there!” + +And it was, indeed, some time before he could be induced to say +anything, and when he did it wasn't much. He said:-- + +“The only reason why I won't tell you my idea that I'm going to do is +because it MAY be wrong, and I don't want to drag you into it.” + +“Don't you do it if it's wrong, Peter,” said Bobbie; “let me do it.” But +Phyllis said:-- + +“_I_ should like to do wrong if YOU'RE going to!” + +“No,” said Peter, rather touched by this devotion; “it's a forlorn hope, +and I'm going to lead it. All I ask is that if Mother asks where I am, +you won't blab.” + +“We haven't got anything TO blab,” said Bobbie, indignantly. + +“Oh, yes, you have!” said Peter, dropping horse-beans through his +fingers. “I've trusted you to the death. You know I'm going to do a lone +adventure--and some people might think it wrong--I don't. And if Mother +asks where I am, say I'm playing at mines.” + +“What sort of mines?” + +“You just say mines.” + +“You might tell US, Pete.” + +“Well, then, COAL-mines. But don't you let the word pass your lips on +pain of torture.” + +“You needn't threaten,” said Bobbie, “and I do think you might let us +help.” + +“If I find a coal-mine, you shall help cart the coal,” Peter +condescended to promise. + +“Keep your secret if you like,” said Phyllis. + +“Keep it if you CAN,” said Bobbie. + +“I'll keep it, right enough,” said Peter. + +Between tea and supper there is an interval even in the most greedily +regulated families. At this time Mother was usually writing, and Mrs. +Viney had gone home. + +Two nights after the dawning of Peter's idea he beckoned the girls +mysteriously at the twilight hour. + +“Come hither with me,” he said, “and bring the Roman Chariot.” + +The Roman Chariot was a very old perambulator that had spent years of +retirement in the loft over the coach-house. The children had oiled its +works till it glided noiseless as a pneumatic bicycle, and answered to +the helm as it had probably done in its best days. + +“Follow your dauntless leader,” said Peter, and led the way down the +hill towards the station. + +Just above the station many rocks have pushed their heads out through +the turf as though they, like the children, were interested in the +railway. + +In a little hollow between three rocks lay a heap of dried brambles and +heather. + +Peter halted, turned over the brushwood with a well-scarred boot, and +said:-- + +“Here's the first coal from the St. Peter's Mine. We'll take it home in +the chariot. Punctuality and despatch. All orders carefully attended to. +Any shaped lump cut to suit regular customers.” + +The chariot was packed full of coal. And when it was packed it had to +be unpacked again because it was so heavy that it couldn't be got up the +hill by the three children, not even when Peter harnessed himself to the +handle with his braces, and firmly grasping his waistband in one hand +pulled while the girls pushed behind. + +Three journeys had to be made before the coal from Peter's mine was +added to the heap of Mother's coal in the cellar. + +Afterwards Peter went out alone, and came back very black and +mysterious. + +“I've been to my coal-mine,” he said; “to-morrow evening we'll bring +home the black diamonds in the chariot.” + +It was a week later that Mrs. Viney remarked to Mother how well this +last lot of coal was holding out. + +The children hugged themselves and each other in complicated wriggles of +silent laughter as they listened on the stairs. They had all forgotten +by now that there had ever been any doubt in Peter's mind as to whether +coal-mining was wrong. + +But there came a dreadful night when the Station Master put on a pair +of old sand shoes that he had worn at the seaside in his summer holiday, +and crept out very quietly to the yard where the Sodom and Gomorrah heap +of coal was, with the whitewashed line round it. He crept out there, and +he waited like a cat by a mousehole. On the top of the heap something +small and dark was scrabbling and rattling furtively among the coal. + +The Station Master concealed himself in the shadow of a brake-van that +had a little tin chimney and was labelled:-- + + G. N. and S. R. + 34576 + Return at once to + White Heather Sidings + +and in this concealment he lurked till the small thing on the top of +the heap ceased to scrabble and rattle, came to the edge of the heap, +cautiously let itself down, and lifted something after it. Then the arm +of the Station Master was raised, the hand of the Station Master fell +on a collar, and there was Peter firmly held by the jacket, with an old +carpenter's bag full of coal in his trembling clutch. + +“So I've caught you at last, have I, you young thief?” said the Station +Master. + +“I'm not a thief,” said Peter, as firmly as he could. “I'm a +coal-miner.” + +“Tell that to the Marines,” said the Station Master. + +“It would be just as true whoever I told it to,” said Peter. + +“You're right there,” said the man, who held him. “Stow your jaw, you +young rip, and come along to the station.” + +“Oh, no,” cried in the darkness an agonised voice that was not Peter's. + +“Not the POLICE station!” said another voice from the darkness. + +“Not yet,” said the Station Master. “The Railway Station first. Why, +it's a regular gang. Any more of you?” + +“Only us,” said Bobbie and Phyllis, coming out of the shadow of another +truck labelled Staveley Colliery, and bearing on it the legend in white +chalk: 'Wanted in No. 1 Road.' + +“What do you mean by spying on a fellow like this?” said Peter, angrily. + +“Time someone did spy on you, _I_ think,” said the Station Master. “Come +along to the station.” + +“Oh, DON'T!” said Bobbie. “Can't you decide NOW what you'll do to us? +It's our fault just as much as Peter's. We helped to carry the coal +away--and we knew where he got it.” + +“No, you didn't,” said Peter. + +“Yes, we did,” said Bobbie. “We knew all the time. We only pretended we +didn't just to humour you.” + +Peter's cup was full. He had mined for coal, he had struck coal, he had +been caught, and now he learned that his sisters had 'humoured' him. + +“Don't hold me!” he said. “I won't run away.” + +The Station Master loosed Peter's collar, struck a match and looked at +them by its flickering light. + +“Why,” said he, “you're the children from the Three Chimneys up yonder. +So nicely dressed, too. Tell me now, what made you do such a thing? +Haven't you ever been to church or learned your catechism or anything, +not to know it's wicked to steal?” He spoke much more gently now, and +Peter said:-- + +“I didn't think it was stealing. I was almost sure it wasn't. I thought +if I took it from the outside part of the heap, perhaps it would be. But +in the middle I thought I could fairly count it only mining. It'll +take thousands of years for you to burn up all that coal and get to the +middle parts.” + +“Not quite. But did you do it for a lark or what?” + +“Not much lark carting that beastly heavy stuff up the hill,” said +Peter, indignantly. + +“Then why did you?” The Station Master's voice was so much kinder now +that Peter replied:-- + +“You know that wet day? Well, Mother said we were too poor to have a +fire. We always had fires when it was cold at our other house, and--” + +“DON'T!” interrupted Bobbie, in a whisper. + +“Well,” said the Station Master, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I'll +tell you what I'll do. I'll look over it this once. But you remember, +young gentleman, stealing is stealing, and what's mine isn't yours, +whether you call it mining or whether you don't. Run along home.” + +“Do you mean you aren't going to do anything to us? Well, you are a +brick,” said Peter, with enthusiasm. + +“You're a dear,” said Bobbie. + +“You're a darling,” said Phyllis. + +“That's all right,” said the Station Master. + +And on this they parted. + +“Don't speak to me,” said Peter, as the three went up the hill. “You're +spies and traitors--that's what you are.” + +But the girls were too glad to have Peter between them, safe and free, +and on the way to Three Chimneys and not to the Police Station, to mind +much what he said. + +“We DID say it was us as much as you,” said Bobbie, gently. + +“Well--and it wasn't.” + +“It would have come to the same thing in Courts with judges,” said +Phyllis. “Don't be snarky, Peter. It isn't our fault your secrets are so +jolly easy to find out.” She took his arm, and he let her. + +“There's an awful lot of coal in the cellar, anyhow,” he went on. + +“Oh, don't!” said Bobbie. “I don't think we ought to be glad about +THAT.” + +“I don't know,” said Peter, plucking up a spirit. “I'm not at all sure, +even now, that mining is a crime.” + +But the girls were quite sure. And they were also quite sure that he was +quite sure, however little he cared to own it. + + + +Chapter III. The old gentleman. + + +After the adventure of Peter's Coal-mine, it seemed well to the children +to keep away from the station--but they did not, they could not, keep +away from the railway. They had lived all their lives in a street where +cabs and omnibuses rumbled by at all hours, and the carts of butchers +and bakers and candlestick makers (I never saw a candlestick-maker's +cart; did you?) might occur at any moment. Here in the deep silence of +the sleeping country the only things that went by were the trains. They +seemed to be all that was left to link the children to the old life that +had once been theirs. Straight down the hill in front of Three Chimneys +the daily passage of their six feet began to mark a path across the +crisp, short turf. They began to know the hours when certain trains +passed, and they gave names to them. The 9.15 up was called the Green +Dragon. The 10.7 down was the Worm of Wantley. The midnight town +express, whose shrieking rush they sometimes woke from their dreams +to hear, was the Fearsome Fly-by-night. Peter got up once, in chill +starshine, and, peeping at it through his curtains, named it on the +spot. + +It was by the Green Dragon that the old gentleman travelled. He was a +very nice-looking old gentleman, and he looked as if he were nice, +too, which is not at all the same thing. He had a fresh-coloured, +clean-shaven face and white hair, and he wore rather odd-shaped collars +and a top-hat that wasn't exactly the same kind as other people's. Of +course the children didn't see all this at first. In fact the first +thing they noticed about the old gentleman was his hand. + +It was one morning as they sat on the fence waiting for the Green +Dragon, which was three and a quarter minutes late by Peter's Waterbury +watch that he had had given him on his last birthday. + +“The Green Dragon's going where Father is,” said Phyllis; “if it were +a really real dragon, we could stop it and ask it to take our love to +Father.” + +“Dragons don't carry people's love,” said Peter; “they'd be above it.” + +“Yes, they do, if you tame them thoroughly first. They fetch and carry +like pet spaniels,” said Phyllis, “and feed out of your hand. I wonder +why Father never writes to us.” + +“Mother says he's been too busy,” said Bobbie; “but he'll write soon, +she says.” + +“I say,” Phyllis suggested, “let's all wave to the Green Dragon as it +goes by. If it's a magic dragon, it'll understand and take our loves to +Father. And if it isn't, three waves aren't much. We shall never miss +them.” + +So when the Green Dragon tore shrieking out of the mouth of its dark +lair, which was the tunnel, all three children stood on the railing and +waved their pocket-handkerchiefs without stopping to think whether they +were clean handkerchiefs or the reverse. They were, as a matter of fact, +very much the reverse. + +And out of a first-class carriage a hand waved back. A quite clean hand. +It held a newspaper. It was the old gentleman's hand. + +After this it became the custom for waves to be exchanged between the +children and the 9.15. + +And the children, especially the girls, liked to think that perhaps the +old gentleman knew Father, and would meet him 'in business,' wherever +that shady retreat might be, and tell him how his three children stood +on a rail far away in the green country and waved their love to him +every morning, wet or fine. + +For they were now able to go out in all sorts of weather such as they +would never have been allowed to go out in when they lived in their +villa house. This was Aunt Emma's doing, and the children felt more and +more that they had not been quite fair to this unattractive aunt, when +they found how useful were the long gaiters and waterproof coats that +they had laughed at her for buying for them. + +Mother, all this time, was very busy with her writing. She used to send +off a good many long blue envelopes with stories in them--and large +envelopes of different sizes and colours used to come to her. Sometimes +she would sigh when she opened them and say:-- + +“Another story come home to roost. Oh, dear, Oh, dear!” and then the +children would be very sorry. + +But sometimes she would wave the envelope in the air and say:--“Hooray, +hooray. Here's a sensible Editor. He's taken my story and this is the +proof of it.” + +At first the children thought 'the Proof' meant the letter the sensible +Editor had written, but they presently got to know that the proof was +long slips of paper with the story printed on them. + +Whenever an Editor was sensible there were buns for tea. + +One day Peter was going down to the village to get buns to celebrate +the sensibleness of the Editor of the Children's Globe, when he met the +Station Master. + +Peter felt very uncomfortable, for he had now had time to think over the +affair of the coal-mine. He did not like to say “Good morning” to the +Station Master, as you usually do to anyone you meet on a lonely road, +because he had a hot feeling, which spread even to his ears, that the +Station Master might not care to speak to a person who had stolen coals. +'Stolen' is a nasty word, but Peter felt it was the right one. So he +looked down, and said Nothing. + +It was the Station Master who said “Good morning” as he passed by. And +Peter answered, “Good morning.” Then he thought:-- + +“Perhaps he doesn't know who I am by daylight, or he wouldn't be so +polite.” + +And he did not like the feeling which thinking this gave him. And then +before he knew what he was going to do he ran after the Station Master, +who stopped when he heard Peter's hasty boots crunching the road, +and coming up with him very breathless and with his ears now quite +magenta-coloured, he said:-- + +“I don't want you to be polite to me if you don't know me when you see +me.” + +“Eh?” said the Station Master. + +“I thought perhaps you didn't know it was me that took the coals,” + Peter went on, “when you said 'Good morning.' But it was, and I'm sorry. +There.” + +“Why,” said the Station Master, “I wasn't thinking anything at all about +the precious coals. Let bygones be bygones. And where were you off to in +such a hurry?” + +“I'm going to buy buns for tea,” said Peter. + +“I thought you were all so poor,” said the Station Master. + +“So we are,” said Peter, confidentially, “but we always have three +pennyworth of halfpennies for tea whenever Mother sells a story or a +poem or anything.” + +“Oh,” said the Station Master, “so your Mother writes stories, does +she?” + +“The beautifulest you ever read,” said Peter. + +“You ought to be very proud to have such a clever Mother.” + +“Yes,” said Peter, “but she used to play with us more before she had to +be so clever.” + +“Well,” said the Station Master, “I must be getting along. You give us +a look in at the Station whenever you feel so inclined. And as to coals, +it's a word that--well--oh, no, we never mention it, eh?” + +“Thank you,” said Peter. “I'm very glad it's all straightened out +between us.” And he went on across the canal bridge to the village to +get the buns, feeling more comfortable in his mind than he had felt +since the hand of the Station Master had fastened on his collar that +night among the coals. + +Next day when they had sent the threefold wave of greeting to Father by +the Green Dragon, and the old gentleman had waved back as usual, Peter +proudly led the way to the station. + +“But ought we?” said Bobbie. + +“After the coals, she means,” Phyllis explained. + +“I met the Station Master yesterday,” said Peter, in an offhand way, +and he pretended not to hear what Phyllis had said; “he expresspecially +invited us to go down any time we liked.” + +“After the coals?” repeated Phyllis. “Stop a minute--my bootlace is +undone again.” + +“It always IS undone again,” said Peter, “and the Station Master was +more of a gentleman than you'll ever be, Phil--throwing coal at a chap's +head like that.” + +Phyllis did up her bootlace and went on in silence, but her shoulders +shook, and presently a fat tear fell off her nose and splashed on the +metal of the railway line. Bobbie saw it. + +“Why, what's the matter, darling?” she said, stopping short and putting +her arm round the heaving shoulders. + +“He called me un-un-ungentlemanly,” sobbed Phyllis. “I didn't never call +him unladylike, not even when he tied my Clorinda to the firewood bundle +and burned her at the stake for a martyr.” + +Peter had indeed perpetrated this outrage a year or two before. + +“Well, you began, you know,” said Bobbie, honestly, “about coals and all +that. Don't you think you'd better both unsay everything since the wave, +and let honour be satisfied?” + +“I will if Peter will,” said Phyllis, sniffling. + +“All right,” said Peter; “honour is satisfied. Here, use my hankie, +Phil, for goodness' sake, if you've lost yours as usual. I wonder what +you do with them.” + +“You had my last one,” said Phyllis, indignantly, “to tie up the +rabbit-hutch door with. But you're very ungrateful. It's quite right +what it says in the poetry book about sharper than a serpent it is to +have a toothless child--but it means ungrateful when it says toothless. +Miss Lowe told me so.” + +“All right,” said Peter, impatiently, “I'm sorry. THERE! Now will you +come on?” + +They reached the station and spent a joyous two hours with the Porter. +He was a worthy man and seemed never tired of answering the questions +that begin with “Why--” which many people in higher ranks of life often +seem weary of. + +He told them many things that they had not known before--as, for +instance, that the things that hook carriages together are called +couplings, and that the pipes like great serpents that hang over the +couplings are meant to stop the train with. + +“If you could get a holt of one o' them when the train is going and pull +'em apart,” said he, “she'd stop dead off with a jerk.” + +“Who's she?” said Phyllis. + +“The train, of course,” said the Porter. After that the train was never +again 'It' to the children. + +“And you know the thing in the carriages where it says on it, 'Five +pounds' fine for improper use.' If you was to improperly use that, the +train 'ud stop.” + +“And if you used it properly?” said Roberta. + +“It 'ud stop just the same, I suppose,” said he, “but it isn't proper +use unless you're being murdered. There was an old lady once--someone +kidded her on it was a refreshment-room bell, and she used it improper, +not being in danger of her life, though hungry, and when the train +stopped and the guard came along expecting to find someone weltering in +their last moments, she says, 'Oh, please, Mister, I'll take a glass of +stout and a bath bun,' she says. And the train was seven minutes behind +her time as it was.” + +“What did the guard say to the old lady?” + +“_I_ dunno,” replied the Porter, “but I lay she didn't forget it in a +hurry, whatever it was.” + +In such delightful conversation the time went by all too quickly. + +The Station Master came out once or twice from that sacred inner temple +behind the place where the hole is that they sell you tickets through, +and was most jolly with them all. + +“Just as if coal had never been discovered,” Phyllis whispered to her +sister. + +He gave them each an orange, and promised to take them up into the +signal-box one of these days, when he wasn't so busy. + +Several trains went through the station, and Peter noticed for the first +time that engines have numbers on them, like cabs. + +“Yes,” said the Porter, “I knowed a young gent as used to take down the +numbers of every single one he seed; in a green note-book with silver +corners it was, owing to his father being very well-to-do in the +wholesale stationery.” + +Peter felt that he could take down numbers, too, even if he was not +the son of a wholesale stationer. As he did not happen to have a green +leather note-book with silver corners, the Porter gave him a yellow +envelope and on it he noted:-- + + 379 + 663 + +and felt that this was the beginning of what would be a most interesting +collection. + +That night at tea he asked Mother if she had a green leather note-book +with silver corners. She had not; but when she heard what he wanted it +for she gave him a little black one. + +“It has a few pages torn out,” said she; “but it will hold quite a lot +of numbers, and when it's full I'll give you another. I'm so glad you +like the railway. Only, please, you mustn't walk on the line.” + +“Not if we face the way the train's coming?” asked Peter, after a gloomy +pause, in which glances of despair were exchanged. + +“No--really not,” said Mother. + +Then Phyllis said, “Mother, didn't YOU ever walk on the railway lines +when you were little?” + +Mother was an honest and honourable Mother, so she had to say, “Yes.” + +“Well, then,” said Phyllis. + +“But, darlings, you don't know how fond I am of you. What should I do if +you got hurt?” + +“Are you fonder of us than Granny was of you when you were little?” + Phyllis asked. Bobbie made signs to her to stop, but Phyllis never did +see signs, no matter how plain they might be. + +Mother did not answer for a minute. She got up to put more water in the +teapot. + +“No one,” she said at last, “ever loved anyone more than my mother loved +me.” + +Then she was quiet again, and Bobbie kicked Phyllis hard under the +table, because Bobbie understood a little bit the thoughts that were +making Mother so quiet--the thoughts of the time when Mother was a +little girl and was all the world to HER mother. It seems so easy and +natural to run to Mother when one is in trouble. Bobbie understood a +little how people do not leave off running to their mothers when they +are in trouble even when they are grown up, and she thought she knew a +little what it must be to be sad, and have no mother to run to any more. + +So she kicked Phyllis, who said:-- + +“What are you kicking me like that for, Bob?” + +And then Mother laughed a little and sighed and said:-- + +“Very well, then. Only let me be sure you do know which way the trains +come--and don't walk on the line near the tunnel or near corners.” + +“Trains keep to the left like carriages,” said Peter, “so if we keep to +the right, we're bound to see them coming.” + +“Very well,” said Mother, and I dare say you think that she ought not +to have said it. But she remembered about when she was a little girl +herself, and she did say it--and neither her own children nor you nor +any other children in the world could ever understand exactly what it +cost her to do it. Only some few of you, like Bobbie, may understand a +very little bit. + +It was the very next day that Mother had to stay in bed because her head +ached so. Her hands were burning hot, and she would not eat anything, +and her throat was very sore. + +“If I was you, Mum,” said Mrs. Viney, “I should take and send for the +doctor. There's a lot of catchy complaints a-going about just now. My +sister's eldest--she took a chill and it went to her inside, two years +ago come Christmas, and she's never been the same gell since.” + +Mother wouldn't at first, but in the evening she felt so much worse that +Peter was sent to the house in the village that had three laburnum trees +by the gate, and on the gate a brass plate with W. W. Forrest, M.D., on +it. + +W. W. Forrest, M.D., came at once. He talked to Peter on the way back. +He seemed a most charming and sensible man, interested in railways, and +rabbits, and really important things. + +When he had seen Mother, he said it was influenza. + +“Now, Lady Grave-airs,” he said in the hall to Bobbie, “I suppose you'll +want to be head-nurse.” + +“Of course,” said she. + +“Well, then, I'll send down some medicine. Keep up a good fire. Have +some strong beef tea made ready to give her as soon as the fever goes +down. She can have grapes now, and beef essence--and soda-water and +milk, and you'd better get in a bottle of brandy. The best brandy. Cheap +brandy is worse than poison.” + +She asked him to write it all down, and he did. + +When Bobbie showed Mother the list he had written, Mother laughed. It +WAS a laugh, Bobbie decided, though it was rather odd and feeble. + +“Nonsense,” said Mother, laying in bed with eyes as bright as beads. +“I can't afford all that rubbish. Tell Mrs. Viney to boil two pounds of +scrag-end of the neck for your dinners to-morrow, and I can have some +of the broth. Yes, I should like some more water now, love. And will you +get a basin and sponge my hands?” + +Roberta obeyed. When she had done everything she could to make Mother +less uncomfortable, she went down to the others. Her cheeks were very +red, her lips set tight, and her eyes almost as bright as Mother's. + +She told them what the Doctor had said, and what Mother had said. + +“And now,” said she, when she had told all, “there's no one but us to do +anything, and we've got to do it. I've got the shilling for the mutton.” + +“We can do without the beastly mutton,” said Peter; “bread and butter +will support life. People have lived on less on desert islands many a +time.” + +“Of course,” said his sister. And Mrs. Viney was sent to the village to +get as much brandy and soda-water and beef tea as she could buy for a +shilling. + +“But even if we never have anything to eat at all,” said Phyllis, “you +can't get all those other things with our dinner money.” + +“No,” said Bobbie, frowning, “we must find out some other way. Now +THINK, everybody, just as hard as ever you can.” + +They did think. And presently they talked. And later, when Bobbie had +gone up to sit with Mother in case she wanted anything, the other two +were very busy with scissors and a white sheet, and a paint brush, and +the pot of Brunswick black that Mrs. Viney used for grates and fenders. +They did not manage to do what they wished, exactly, with the first +sheet, so they took another out of the linen cupboard. It did not occur +to them that they were spoiling good sheets which cost good money. They +only knew that they were making a good--but what they were making comes +later. + +Bobbie's bed had been moved into Mother's room, and several times in +the night she got up to mend the fire, and to give her mother milk and +soda-water. Mother talked to herself a good deal, but it did not seem +to mean anything. And once she woke up suddenly and called out: “Mamma, +mamma!” and Bobbie knew she was calling for Granny, and that she had +forgotten that it was no use calling, because Granny was dead. + +In the early morning Bobbie heard her name and jumped out of bed and ran +to Mother's bedside. + +“Oh--ah, yes--I think I was asleep,” said Mother. “My poor little duck, +how tired you'll be--I do hate to give you all this trouble.” + +“Trouble!” said Bobbie. + +“Ah, don't cry, sweet,” Mother said; “I shall be all right in a day or +two.” + +And Bobbie said, “Yes,” and tried to smile. + +When you are used to ten hours of solid sleep, to get up three or four +times in your sleep-time makes you feel as though you had been up all +night. Bobbie felt quite stupid and her eyes were sore and stiff, but +she tidied the room, and arranged everything neatly before the Doctor +came. + +This was at half-past eight. + +“Everything going on all right, little Nurse?” he said at the front +door. “Did you get the brandy?” + +“I've got the brandy,” said Bobbie, “in a little flat bottle.” + +“I didn't see the grapes or the beef tea, though,” said he. + +“No,” said Bobbie, firmly, “but you will to-morrow. And there's some +beef stewing in the oven for beef tea.” + +“Who told you to do that?” he asked. + +“I noticed what Mother did when Phil had mumps.” + +“Right,” said the Doctor. “Now you get your old woman to sit with your +mother, and then you eat a good breakfast, and go straight to bed and +sleep till dinner-time. We can't afford to have the head-nurse ill.” + +He was really quite a nice doctor. + +When the 9.15 came out of the tunnel that morning the old gentleman in +the first-class carriage put down his newspaper, and got ready to wave +his hand to the three children on the fence. But this morning there were +not three. There was only one. And that was Peter. + +Peter was not on the railings either, as usual. He was standing in front +of them in an attitude like that of a show-man showing off the animals +in a menagerie, or of the kind clergyman when he points with a wand at +the 'Scenes from Palestine,' when there is a magic-lantern and he is +explaining it. + +Peter was pointing, too. And what he was pointing at was a large white +sheet nailed against the fence. On the sheet there were thick black +letters more than a foot long. + +Some of them had run a little, because of Phyllis having put the +Brunswick black on too eagerly, but the words were quite easy to read. + +And this what the old gentleman and several other people in the train +read in the large black letters on the white sheet:-- + + LOOK OUT AT THE STATION. + +A good many people did look out at the station and were disappointed, +for they saw nothing unusual. The old gentleman looked out, too, and at +first he too saw nothing more unusual than the gravelled platform and +the sunshine and the wallflowers and forget-me-nots in the station +borders. It was only just as the train was beginning to puff and pull +itself together to start again that he saw Phyllis. She was quite out of +breath with running. + +“Oh,” she said, “I thought I'd missed you. My bootlaces would keep +coming down and I fell over them twice. Here, take it.” + +She thrust a warm, dampish letter into his hand as the train moved. + +He leaned back in his corner and opened the letter. This is what he +read:-- + +“Dear Mr. We do not know your name. + +Mother is ill and the doctor says to give her the things at the end of +the letter, but she says she can't aford it, and to get mutton for +us and she will have the broth. We do not know anybody here but you, +because Father is away and we do not know the address. Father will pay +you, or if he has lost all his money, or anything, Peter will pay you +when he is a man. We promise it on our honer. I.O.U. for all the things +Mother wants. + + “sined Peter. + +“Will you give the parsel to the Station Master, because of us not +knowing what train you come down by? Say it is for Peter that was sorry +about the coals and he will know all right. + + “Roberta. + “Phyllis. + “Peter.” + +Then came the list of things the Doctor had ordered. + +The old gentleman read it through once, and his eyebrows went up. He +read it twice and smiled a little. When he had read it thrice, he put it +in his pocket and went on reading The Times. + +At about six that evening there was a knock at the back door. The three +children rushed to open it, and there stood the friendly Porter, who had +told them so many interesting things about railways. He dumped down a +big hamper on the kitchen flags. + +“Old gent,” he said; “he asked me to fetch it up straight away.” + +“Thank you very much,” said Peter, and then, as the Porter lingered, he +added:-- + +“I'm most awfully sorry I haven't got twopence to give you like Father +does, but--” + +“You drop it if you please,” said the Porter, indignantly. “I wasn't +thinking about no tuppences. I only wanted to say I was sorry your Mamma +wasn't so well, and to ask how she finds herself this evening--and +I've fetched her along a bit of sweetbrier, very sweet to smell it is. +Twopence indeed,” said he, and produced a bunch of sweetbrier from his +hat, “just like a conjurer,” as Phyllis remarked afterwards. + +“Thank you very much,” said Peter, “and I beg your pardon about the +twopence.” + +“No offence,” said the Porter, untruly but politely, and went. + +Then the children undid the hamper. First there was straw, and then +there were fine shavings, and then came all the things they had asked +for, and plenty of them, and then a good many things they had not asked +for; among others peaches and port wine and two chickens, a cardboard +box of big red roses with long stalks, and a tall thin green bottle +of lavender water, and three smaller fatter bottles of eau-de-Cologne. +There was a letter, too. + +“Dear Roberta and Phyllis and Peter,” it said; “here are the things you +want. Your mother will want to know where they came from. Tell her they +were sent by a friend who heard she was ill. When she is well again you +must tell her all about it, of course. And if she says you ought not to +have asked for the things, tell her that I say you were quite right, +and that I hope she will forgive me for taking the liberty of allowing +myself a very great pleasure.” + +The letter was signed G. P. something that the children couldn't read. + +“I think we WERE right,” said Phyllis. + +“Right? Of course we were right,” said Bobbie. + +“All the same,” said Peter, with his hands in his pockets, “I don't +exactly look forward to telling Mother the whole truth about it.” + +“We're not to do it till she's well,” said Bobbie, “and when she's well +we shall be so happy we shan't mind a little fuss like that. Oh, just +look at the roses! I must take them up to her.” + +“And the sweetbrier,” said Phyllis, sniffing it loudly; “don't forget +the sweetbrier.” + +“As if I should!” said Roberta. “Mother told me the other day there was +a thick hedge of it at her mother's house when she was a little girl.” + + + +Chapter IV. The engine-burglar. + + +What was left of the second sheet and the Brunswick black came in very +nicely to make a banner bearing the legend + + SHE IS NEARLY WELL THANK YOU + +and this was displayed to the Green Dragon about a fortnight after the +arrival of the wonderful hamper. The old gentleman saw it, and waved +a cheerful response from the train. And when this had been done the +children saw that now was the time when they must tell Mother what they +had done when she was ill. And it did not seem nearly so easy as they +had thought it would be. But it had to be done. And it was done. Mother +was extremely angry. She was seldom angry, and now she was angrier than +they had ever known her. This was horrible. But it was much worse when +she suddenly began to cry. Crying is catching, I believe, like measles +and whooping-cough. At any rate, everyone at once found itself taking +part in a crying-party. + +Mother stopped first. She dried her eyes and then she said:-- + +“I'm sorry I was so angry, darlings, because I know you didn't +understand.” + +“We didn't mean to be naughty, Mammy,” sobbed Bobbie, and Peter and +Phyllis sniffed. + +“Now, listen,” said Mother; “it's quite true that we're poor, but +we have enough to live on. You mustn't go telling everyone about our +affairs--it's not right. And you must never, never, never ask strangers +to give you things. Now always remember that--won't you?” + +They all hugged her and rubbed their damp cheeks against hers and +promised that they would. + +“And I'll write a letter to your old gentleman, and I shall tell him +that I didn't approve--oh, of course I shall thank him, too, for +his kindness. It's YOU I don't approve of, my darlings, not the old +gentleman. He was as kind as ever he could be. And you can give the +letter to the Station Master to give him--and we won't say any more +about it.” + +Afterwards, when the children were alone, Bobbie said:-- + +“Isn't Mother splendid? You catch any other grown-up saying they were +sorry they had been angry.” + +“Yes,” said Peter, “she IS splendid; but it's rather awful when she's +angry.” + +“She's like Avenging and Bright in the song,” said Phyllis. “I should +like to look at her if it wasn't so awful. She looks so beautiful when +she's really downright furious.” + +They took the letter down to the Station Master. + +“I thought you said you hadn't got any friends except in London,” said +he. + +“We've made him since,” said Peter. + +“But he doesn't live hereabouts?” + +“No--we just know him on the railway.” + +Then the Station Master retired to that sacred inner temple behind the +little window where the tickets are sold, and the children went down +to the Porters' room and talked to the Porter. They learned several +interesting things from him--among others that his name was Perks, +that he was married and had three children, that the lamps in front of +engines are called head-lights and the ones at the back tail-lights. + +“And that just shows,” whispered Phyllis, “that trains really ARE +dragons in disguise, with proper heads and tails.” + +It was on this day that the children first noticed that all engines are +not alike. + +“Alike?” said the Porter, whose name was Perks, “lor, love you, no, +Miss. No more alike nor what you an' me are. That little 'un without +a tender as went by just now all on her own, that was a tank, that +was--she's off to do some shunting t'other side o' Maidbridge. That's as +it might be you, Miss. Then there's goods engines, great, strong things +with three wheels each side--joined with rods to strengthen 'em--as it +might be me. Then there's main-line engines as it might be this +'ere young gentleman when he grows up and wins all the races at 'is +school--so he will. The main-line engine she's built for speed as well +as power. That's one to the 9.15 up.” + +“The Green Dragon,” said Phyllis. + +“We calls her the Snail, Miss, among ourselves,” said the Porter. “She's +oftener be'ind'and nor any train on the line.” + +“But the engine's green,” said Phyllis. + +“Yes, Miss,” said Perks, “so's a snail some seasons o' the year.” + +The children agreed as they went home to dinner that the Porter was most +delightful company. + +Next day was Roberta's birthday. In the afternoon she was politely but +firmly requested to get out of the way and keep there till tea-time. + +“You aren't to see what we're going to do till it's done; it's a +glorious surprise,” said Phyllis. + +And Roberta went out into the garden all alone. She tried to be +grateful, but she felt she would much rather have helped in whatever it +was than have to spend her birthday afternoon by herself, no matter how +glorious the surprise might be. + +Now that she was alone, she had time to think, and one of the things she +thought of most was what mother had said in one of those feverish nights +when her hands were so hot and her eyes so bright. + +The words were: “Oh, what a doctor's bill there'll be for this!” + +She walked round and round the garden among the rose-bushes that hadn't +any roses yet, only buds, and the lilac bushes and syringas and American +currants, and the more she thought of the doctor's bill, the less she +liked the thought of it. + +And presently she made up her mind. She went out through the side door +of the garden and climbed up the steep field to where the road runs +along by the canal. She walked along until she came to the bridge that +crosses the canal and leads to the village, and here she waited. It was +very pleasant in the sunshine to lean one's elbows on the warm stone +of the bridge and look down at the blue water of the canal. Bobbie had +never seen any other canal, except the Regent's Canal, and the water of +that is not at all a pretty colour. And she had never seen any river at +all except the Thames, which also would be all the better if its face +was washed. + +Perhaps the children would have loved the canal as much as the railway, +but for two things. One was that they had found the railway FIRST--on +that first, wonderful morning when the house and the country and the +moors and rocks and great hills were all new to them. They had not found +the canal till some days later. The other reason was that everyone on +the railway had been kind to them--the Station Master, the Porter, and +the old gentleman who waved. And the people on the canal were anything +but kind. + +The people on the canal were, of course, the bargees, who steered the +slow barges up and down, or walked beside the old horses that trampled +up the mud of the towing-path, and strained at the long tow-ropes. + +Peter had once asked one of the bargees the time, and had been told +to “get out of that,” in a tone so fierce that he did not stop to say +anything about his having just as much right on the towing-path as the +man himself. Indeed, he did not even think of saying it till some time +later. + +Then another day when the children thought they would like to fish in +the canal, a boy in a barge threw lumps of coal at them, and one of +these hit Phyllis on the back of the neck. She was just stooping down to +tie up her bootlace--and though the coal hardly hurt at all it made her +not care very much about going on fishing. + +On the bridge, however, Roberta felt quite safe, because she could look +down on the canal, and if any boy showed signs of meaning to throw coal, +she could duck behind the parapet. + +Presently there was a sound of wheels, which was just what she expected. + +The wheels were the wheels of the Doctor's dogcart, and in the cart, of +course, was the Doctor. + +He pulled up, and called out:-- + +“Hullo, head nurse! Want a lift?” + +“I wanted to see you,” said Bobbie. + +“Your mother's not worse, I hope?” said the Doctor. + +“No--but--” + +“Well, skip in, then, and we'll go for a drive.” + +Roberta climbed in and the brown horse was made to turn round--which it +did not like at all, for it was looking forward to its tea--I mean its +oats. + +“This IS jolly,” said Bobbie, as the dogcart flew along the road by the +canal. + +“We could throw a stone down any one of your three chimneys,” said the +Doctor, as they passed the house. + +“Yes,” said Bobbie, “but you'd have to be a jolly good shot.” + +“How do you know I'm not?” said the Doctor. “Now, then, what's the +trouble?” + +Bobbie fidgeted with the hook of the driving apron. + +“Come, out with it,” said the Doctor. + +“It's rather hard, you see,” said Bobbie, “to out with it; because of +what Mother said.” + +“What DID Mother say?” + +“She said I wasn't to go telling everyone that we're poor. But you +aren't everyone, are you?” + +“Not at all,” said the Doctor, cheerfully. “Well?” + +“Well, I know doctors are very extravagant--I mean expensive, and Mrs. +Viney told me that her doctoring only cost her twopence a week because +she belonged to a Club.” + +“Yes?” + +“You see she told me what a good doctor you were, and I asked her how +she could afford you, because she's much poorer than we are. I've been +in her house and I know. And then she told me about the Club, and I +thought I'd ask you--and--oh, I don't want Mother to be worried! Can't +we be in the Club, too, the same as Mrs. Viney?” + +The Doctor was silent. He was rather poor himself, and he had been +pleased at getting a new family to attend. So I think his feelings at +that minute were rather mixed. + +“You aren't cross with me, are you?” said Bobbie, in a very small voice. + +The Doctor roused himself. + +“Cross? How could I be? You're a very sensible little woman. Now look +here, don't you worry. I'll make it all right with your Mother, even if +I have to make a special brand-new Club all for her. Look here, this is +where the Aqueduct begins.” + +“What's an Aque--what's its name?” asked Bobbie. + +“A water bridge,” said the Doctor. “Look.” + +The road rose to a bridge over the canal. To the left was a steep rocky +cliff with trees and shrubs growing in the cracks of the rock. And the +canal here left off running along the top of the hill and started to run +on a bridge of its own--a great bridge with tall arches that went right +across the valley. + +Bobbie drew a long breath. + +“It IS grand, isn't it?” she said. “It's like pictures in the History of +Rome.” + +“Right!” said the Doctor, “that's just exactly what it IS like. +The Romans were dead nuts on aqueducts. It's a splendid piece of +engineering.” + +“I thought engineering was making engines.” + +“Ah, there are different sorts of engineering--making road and bridges +and tunnels is one kind. And making fortifications is another. Well, we +must be turning back. And, remember, you aren't to worry about doctor's +bills or you'll be ill yourself, and then I'll send you in a bill as +long as the aqueduct.” + +When Bobbie had parted from the Doctor at the top of the field that ran +down from the road to Three Chimneys, she could not feel that she had +done wrong. She knew that Mother would perhaps think differently. +But Bobbie felt that for once she was the one who was right, and she +scrambled down the rocky slope with a really happy feeling. + +Phyllis and Peter met her at the back door. They were unnaturally clean +and neat, and Phyllis had a red bow in her hair. There was only just +time for Bobbie to make herself tidy and tie up her hair with a blue bow +before a little bell rang. + +“There!” said Phyllis, “that's to show the surprise is ready. Now +you wait till the bell rings again and then you may come into the +dining-room.” + +So Bobbie waited. + +“Tinkle, tinkle,” said the little bell, and Bobbie went into the +dining-room, feeling rather shy. Directly she opened the door she found +herself, as it seemed, in a new world of light and flowers and singing. +Mother and Peter and Phyllis were standing in a row at the end of the +table. The shutters were shut and there were twelve candles on the +table, one for each of Roberta's years. The table was covered with a +sort of pattern of flowers, and at Roberta's place was a thick wreath of +forget-me-nots and several most interesting little packages. And Mother +and Phyllis and Peter were singing--to the first part of the tune of St. +Patrick's Day. Roberta knew that Mother had written the words on purpose +for her birthday. It was a little way of Mother's on birthdays. It +had begun on Bobbie's fourth birthday when Phyllis was a baby. Bobbie +remembered learning the verses to say to Father 'for a surprise.' She +wondered if Mother had remembered, too. The four-year-old verse had +been:-- + + Daddy dear, I'm only four + And I'd rather not be more. + Four's the nicest age to be, + Two and two and one and three. + What I love is two and two, + Mother, Peter, Phil, and you. + What you love is one and three, + Mother, Peter, Phil, and me. + Give your little girl a kiss + Because she learned and told you this. + +The song the others were singing now went like this:-- + + Our darling Roberta, + No sorrow shall hurt her + If we can prevent it + Her whole life long. + Her birthday's our fete day, + We'll make it our great day, + And give her our presents + And sing her our song. + May pleasures attend her + And may the Fates send her + The happiest journey + Along her life's way. + With skies bright above her + And dear ones to love her! + Dear Bob! Many happy + Returns of the day! + +When they had finished singing they cried, “Three cheers for our +Bobbie!” and gave them very loudly. Bobbie felt exactly as though she +were going to cry--you know that odd feeling in the bridge of your nose +and the pricking in your eyelids? But before she had time to begin they +were all kissing and hugging her. + +“Now,” said Mother, “look at your presents.” + +They were very nice presents. There was a green and red needle-book that +Phyllis had made herself in secret moments. There was a darling little +silver brooch of Mother's shaped like a buttercup, which Bobbie had +known and loved for years, but which she had never, never thought would +come to be her very own. There was also a pair of blue glass vases from +Mrs. Viney. Roberta had seen and admired them in the village shop. And +there were three birthday cards with pretty pictures and wishes. + +Mother fitted the forget-me-not crown on Bobbie's brown head. + +“And now look at the table,” she said. + +There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with 'Dear +Bobbie' on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but +the nicest thing was that the big table was almost covered with +flowers--wallflowers were laid all round the tea-tray--there was a ring +of forget-me-nots round each plate. The cake had a wreath of white lilac +round it, and in the middle was something that looked like a pattern all +done with single blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum. + +“It's a map--a map of the railway!” cried Peter. “Look--those lilac +lines are the metals--and there's the station done in brown wallflowers. +The laburnum is the train, and there are the signal-boxes, and the road +up to here--and those fat red daisies are us three waving to the old +gentleman--that's him, the pansy in the laburnum train.” + +“And there's 'Three Chimneys' done in the purple primroses,” said +Phyllis. “And that little tiny rose-bud is Mother looking out for us +when we're late for tea. Peter invented it all, and we got all the +flowers from the station. We thought you'd like it better.” + +“That's my present,” said Peter, suddenly dumping down his adored +steam-engine on the table in front of her. Its tender had been lined +with fresh white paper, and was full of sweets. + +“Oh, Peter!” cried Bobbie, quite overcome by this munificence, “not your +own dear little engine that you're so fond of?” + +“Oh, no,” said Peter, very promptly, “not the engine. Only the sweets.” + +Bobbie couldn't help her face changing a little--not so much because she +was disappointed at not getting the engine, as because she had thought +it so very noble of Peter, and now she felt she had been silly to think +it. Also she felt she must have seemed greedy to expect the engine as +well as the sweets. So her face changed. Peter saw it. He hesitated a +minute; then his face changed, too, and he said: “I mean not ALL the +engine. I'll let you go halves if you like.” + +“You're a brick,” cried Bobbie; “it's a splendid present.” She said no +more aloud, but to herself she said:-- + +“That was awfully jolly decent of Peter because I know he didn't mean +to. Well, the broken half shall be my half of the engine, and I'll get +it mended and give it back to Peter for his birthday.”--“Yes, Mother +dear, I should like to cut the cake,” she added, and tea began. + +It was a delightful birthday. After tea Mother played games with +them--any game they liked--and of course their first choice was +blindman's-buff, in the course of which Bobbie's forget-me-not wreath +twisted itself crookedly over one of her ears and stayed there. Then, +when it was near bed-time and time to calm down, Mother had a lovely new +story to read to them. + +“You won't sit up late working, will you, Mother?” Bobbie asked as they +said good night. + +And Mother said no, she wouldn't--she would only just write to Father +and then go to bed. + +But when Bobbie crept down later to bring up her presents--for she felt +she really could not be separated from them all night--Mother was not +writing, but leaning her head on her arms and her arms on the table. I +think it was rather good of Bobbie to slip quietly away, saying over and +over, “She doesn't want me to know she's unhappy, and I won't know; I +won't know.” But it made a sad end to the birthday. + + * * * * * * + +The very next morning Bobbie began to watch her opportunity to get +Peter's engine mended secretly. And the opportunity came the very next +afternoon. + +Mother went by train to the nearest town to do shopping. When she went +there, she always went to the Post-office. Perhaps to post her letters +to Father, for she never gave them to the children or Mrs. Viney to +post, and she never went to the village herself. Peter and Phyllis went +with her. Bobbie wanted an excuse not to go, but try as she would she +couldn't think of a good one. And just when she felt that all was lost, +her frock caught on a big nail by the kitchen door and there was a great +criss-cross tear all along the front of the skirt. I assure you this was +really an accident. So the others pitied her and went without her, +for there was no time for her to change, because they were rather late +already and had to hurry to the station to catch the train. + +When they had gone, Bobbie put on her everyday frock, and went down to +the railway. She did not go into the station, but she went along the +line to the end of the platform where the engine is when the down train +is alongside the platform--the place where there are a water tank and +a long, limp, leather hose, like an elephant's trunk. She hid behind a +bush on the other side of the railway. She had the toy engine done up in +brown paper, and she waited patiently with it under her arm. + +Then when the next train came in and stopped, Bobbie went across the +metals of the up-line and stood beside the engine. She had never been so +close to an engine before. It looked much larger and harder than she +had expected, and it made her feel very small indeed, and, somehow, very +soft--as if she could very, very easily be hurt rather badly. + +“I know what silk-worms feel like now,” said Bobbie to herself. + +The engine-driver and fireman did not see her. They were leaning out +on the other side, telling the Porter a tale about a dog and a leg of +mutton. + +“If you please,” said Roberta--but the engine was blowing off steam and +no one heard her. + +“If you please, Mr. Engineer,” she spoke a little louder, but the Engine +happened to speak at the same moment, and of course Roberta's soft +little voice hadn't a chance. + +It seemed to her that the only way would be to climb on to the engine +and pull at their coats. The step was high, but she got her knee on it, +and clambered into the cab; she stumbled and fell on hands and knees on +the base of the great heap of coals that led up to the square opening in +the tender. The engine was not above the weaknesses of its fellows; it +was making a great deal more noise than there was the slightest need +for. And just as Roberta fell on the coals, the engine-driver, who +had turned without seeing her, started the engine, and when Bobbie had +picked herself up, the train was moving--not fast, but much too fast for +her to get off. + +All sorts of dreadful thoughts came to her all together in one horrible +flash. There were such things as express trains that went on, she +supposed, for hundreds of miles without stopping. Suppose this should be +one of them? How would she get home again? She had no money to pay for +the return journey. + +“And I've no business here. I'm an engine-burglar--that's what I am,” + she thought. “I shouldn't wonder if they could lock me up for this.” And +the train was going faster and faster. + +There was something in her throat that made it impossible for her to +speak. She tried twice. The men had their backs to her. They were doing +something to things that looked like taps. + +Suddenly she put out her hand and caught hold of the nearest sleeve. The +man turned with a start, and he and Roberta stood for a minute looking +at each other in silence. Then the silence was broken by them both. + +The man said, “Here's a bloomin' go!” and Roberta burst into tears. + +The other man said he was blooming well blest--or something like it--but +though naturally surprised they were not exactly unkind. + +“You're a naughty little gell, that's what you are,” said the fireman, +and the engine-driver said:-- + +“Daring little piece, I call her,” but they made her sit down on an iron +seat in the cab and told her to stop crying and tell them what she meant +by it. + +She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing that helped her was the +thought that Peter would give almost his ears to be in her place--on a +real engine--really going. The children had often wondered whether any +engine-driver could be found noble enough to take them for a ride on an +engine--and now there she was. She dried her eyes and sniffed earnestly. + +“Now, then,” said the fireman, “out with it. What do you mean by it, +eh?” + +“Oh, please,” sniffed Bobbie. + +“Try again,” said the engine-driver, encouragingly. + +Bobbie tried again. + +“Please, Mr. Engineer,” she said, “I did call out to you from the +line, but you didn't hear me--and I just climbed up to touch you on the +arm--quite gently I meant to do it--and then I fell into the coals--and +I am so sorry if I frightened you. Oh, don't be cross--oh, please +don't!” She sniffed again. + +“We ain't so much CROSS,” said the fireman, “as interested like. It +ain't every day a little gell tumbles into our coal bunker outer the +sky, is it, Bill? What did you DO it for--eh?” + +“That's the point,” agreed the engine-driver; “what did you do it FOR?” + +Bobbie found that she had not quite stopped crying. The engine-driver +patted her on the back and said: “Here, cheer up, Mate. It ain't so bad +as all that 'ere, I'll be bound.” + +“I wanted,” said Bobbie, much cheered to find herself addressed as +'Mate'--“I only wanted to ask you if you'd be so kind as to mend this.” + She picked up the brown-paper parcel from among the coals and undid the +string with hot, red fingers that trembled. + +Her feet and legs felt the scorch of the engine fire, but her shoulders +felt the wild chill rush of the air. The engine lurched and shook and +rattled, and as they shot under a bridge the engine seemed to shout in +her ears. + +The fireman shovelled on coals. + +Bobbie unrolled the brown paper and disclosed the toy engine. + +“I thought,” she said wistfully, “that perhaps you'd mend this for +me--because you're an engineer, you know.” + +The engine-driver said he was blowed if he wasn't blest. + +“I'm blest if I ain't blowed,” remarked the fireman. + +But the engine-driver took the little engine and looked at it--and the +fireman ceased for an instant to shovel coal, and looked, too. + +“It's like your precious cheek,” said the engine-driver--“whatever made +you think we'd be bothered tinkering penny toys?” + +“I didn't mean it for precious cheek,” said Bobbie; “only everybody that +has anything to do with railways is so kind and good, I didn't think +you'd mind. You don't really--do you?” she added, for she had seen a not +unkindly wink pass between the two. + +“My trade's driving of an engine, not mending her, especially such a +hout-size in engines as this 'ere,” said Bill. “An' 'ow are we a-goin' +to get you back to your sorrowing friends and relations, and all be +forgiven and forgotten?” + +“If you'll put me down next time you stop,” said Bobbie, firmly, though +her heart beat fiercely against her arm as she clasped her hands, “and +lend me the money for a third-class ticket, I'll pay you back--honour +bright. I'm not a confidence trick like in the newspapers--really, I'm +not.” + +“You're a little lady, every inch,” said Bill, relenting suddenly +and completely. “We'll see you gets home safe. An' about this +engine--Jim--ain't you got ne'er a pal as can use a soldering iron? +Seems to me that's about all the little bounder wants doing to it.” + +“That's what Father said,” Bobbie explained eagerly. “What's that for?” + +She pointed to a little brass wheel that he had turned as he spoke. + +“That's the injector.” + +“In--what?” + +“Injector to fill up the boiler.” + +“Oh,” said Bobbie, mentally registering the fact to tell the others; +“that IS interesting.” + +“This 'ere's the automatic brake,” Bill went on, flattered by her +enthusiasm. “You just move this 'ere little handle--do it with one +finger, you can--and the train jolly soon stops. That's what they call +the Power of Science in the newspapers.” + +He showed her two little dials, like clock faces, and told her how one +showed how much steam was going, and the other showed if the brake was +working properly. + +By the time she had seen him shut off steam with a big shining steel +handle, Bobbie knew more about the inside working of an engine than she +had ever thought there was to know, and Jim had promised that his second +cousin's wife's brother should solder the toy engine, or Jim would know +the reason why. Besides all the knowledge she had gained Bobbie felt +that she and Bill and Jim were now friends for life, and that they had +wholly and forever forgiven her for stumbling uninvited among the sacred +coals of their tender. + +At Stacklepoole Junction she parted from them with warm expressions of +mutual regard. They handed her over to the guard of a returning train--a +friend of theirs--and she had the joy of knowing what guards do in their +secret fastnesses, and understood how, when you pull the communication +cord in railway carriages, a wheel goes round under the guard's nose and +a loud bell rings in his ears. She asked the guard why his van smelt +so fishy, and learned that he had to carry a lot of fish every day, and +that the wetness in the hollows of the corrugated floor had all drained +out of boxes full of plaice and cod and mackerel and soles and smelts. + +Bobbie got home in time for tea, and she felt as though her mind would +burst with all that had been put into it since she parted from the +others. How she blessed the nail that had torn her frock! + +“Where have you been?” asked the others. + +“To the station, of course,” said Roberta. But she would not tell a word +of her adventures till the day appointed, when she mysteriously led them +to the station at the hour of the 3.19's transit, and proudly introduced +them to her friends, Bill and Jim. Jim's second cousin's wife's brother +had not been unworthy of the sacred trust reposed in him. The toy engine +was, literally, as good as new. + +“Good-bye--oh, good-bye,” said Bobbie, just before the engine screamed +ITS good-bye. “I shall always, always love you--and Jim's second +cousin's wife's brother as well!” + +And as the three children went home up the hill, Peter hugging the +engine, now quite its own self again, Bobbie told, with joyous leaps of +the heart, the story of how she had been an Engine-burglar. + + + +Chapter V. Prisoners and captives. + + +It was one day when Mother had gone to Maidbridge. She had gone alone, +but the children were to go to the station to meet her. And, loving the +station as they did, it was only natural that they should be there a +good hour before there was any chance of Mother's train arriving, even +if the train were punctual, which was most unlikely. No doubt they would +have been just as early, even if it had been a fine day, and all the +delights of woods and fields and rocks and rivers had been open to them. +But it happened to be a very wet day and, for July, very cold. There was +a wild wind that drove flocks of dark purple clouds across the sky “like +herds of dream-elephants,” as Phyllis said. And the rain stung sharply, +so that the way to the station was finished at a run. Then the rain fell +faster and harder, and beat slantwise against the windows of the booking +office and of the chill place that had General Waiting Room on its door. + +“It's like being in a besieged castle,” Phyllis said; “look at the +arrows of the foe striking against the battlements!” + +“It's much more like a great garden-squirt,” said Peter. + +They decided to wait on the up side, for the down platform looked very +wet indeed, and the rain was driving right into the little bleak shelter +where down-passengers have to wait for their trains. + +The hour would be full of incident and of interest, for there would be +two up trains and one down to look at before the one that should bring +Mother back. + +“Perhaps it'll have stopped raining by then,” said Bobbie; “anyhow, I'm +glad I brought Mother's waterproof and umbrella.” + +They went into the desert spot labelled General Waiting Room, and the +time passed pleasantly enough in a game of advertisements. You know the +game, of course? It is something like dumb Crambo. The players take +it in turns to go out, and then come back and look as like some +advertisement as they can, and the others have to guess what +advertisement it is meant to be. Bobbie came in and sat down under +Mother's umbrella and made a sharp face, and everyone knew she was the +fox who sits under the umbrella in the advertisement. Phyllis tried to +make a Magic Carpet of Mother's waterproof, but it would not stand out +stiff and raft-like as a Magic Carpet should, and nobody could guess +it. Everyone thought Peter was carrying things a little too far when he +blacked his face all over with coal-dust and struck a spidery attitude +and said he was the blot that advertises somebody's Blue Black Writing +Fluid. + +It was Phyllis's turn again, and she was trying to look like the Sphinx +that advertises What's-his-name's Personally Conducted Tours up the Nile +when the sharp ting of the signal announced the up train. The children +rushed out to see it pass. On its engine were the particular driver +and fireman who were now numbered among the children's dearest friends. +Courtesies passed between them. Jim asked after the toy engine, and +Bobbie pressed on his acceptance a moist, greasy package of toffee that +she had made herself. + +Charmed by this attention, the engine-driver consented to consider her +request that some day he would take Peter for a ride on the engine. + +“Stand back, Mates,” cried the engine-driver, suddenly, “and horf she +goes.” + +And sure enough, off the train went. The children watched the +tail-lights of the train till it disappeared round the curve of the +line, and then turned to go back to the dusty freedom of the General +Waiting Room and the joys of the advertisement game. + +They expected to see just one or two people, the end of the procession +of passengers who had given up their tickets and gone away. Instead, the +platform round the door of the station had a dark blot round it, and the +dark blot was a crowd of people. + +“Oh!” cried Peter, with a thrill of joyous excitement, “something's +happened! Come on!” + +They ran down the platform. When they got to the crowd, they could, of +course, see nothing but the damp backs and elbows of the people on the +crowd's outside. Everybody was talking at once. It was evident that +something had happened. + +“It's my belief he's nothing worse than a natural,” said a +farmerish-looking person. Peter saw his red, clean-shaven face as he +spoke. + +“If you ask me, I should say it was a Police Court case,” said a young +man with a black bag. + +“Not it; the Infirmary more like--” + +Then the voice of the Station Master was heard, firm and official:-- + +“Now, then--move along there. I'll attend to this, if YOU please.” + +But the crowd did not move. And then came a voice that thrilled the +children through and through. For it spoke in a foreign language. And, +what is more, it was a language that they had never heard. They had +heard French spoken and German. Aunt Emma knew German, and used to sing +a song about bedeuten and zeiten and bin and sin. Nor was it Latin. +Peter had been in Latin for four terms. + +It was some comfort, anyhow, to find that none of the crowd understood +the foreign language any better than the children did. + +“What's that he's saying?” asked the farmer, heavily. + +“Sounds like French to me,” said the Station Master, who had once been +to Boulogne for the day. + +“It isn't French!” cried Peter. + +“What is it, then?” asked more than one voice. The crowd fell back a +little to see who had spoken, and Peter pressed forward, so that when +the crowd closed up again he was in the front rank. + +“I don't know what it is,” said Peter, “but it isn't French. I know +that.” Then he saw what it was that the crowd had for its centre. It +was a man--the man, Peter did not doubt, who had spoken in that strange +tongue. A man with long hair and wild eyes, with shabby clothes of a cut +Peter had not seen before--a man whose hands and lips trembled, and who +spoke again as his eyes fell on Peter. + +“No, it's not French,” said Peter. + +“Try him with French if you know so much about it,” said the farmer-man. + +“Parlay voo Frongsay?” began Peter, boldly, and the next moment the +crowd recoiled again, for the man with the wild eyes had left leaning +against the wall, and had sprung forward and caught Peter's hands, +and begun to pour forth a flood of words which, though he could not +understand a word of them, Peter knew the sound of. + +“There!” said he, and turned, his hands still clasped in the hands of +the strange shabby figure, to throw a glance of triumph at the crowd; +“there; THAT'S French.” + +“What does he say?” + +“I don't know.” Peter was obliged to own it. + +“Here,” said the Station Master again; “you move on if you please. I'LL +deal with this case.” + +A few of the more timid or less inquisitive travellers moved slowly and +reluctantly away. And Phyllis and Bobbie got near to Peter. All three +had been TAUGHT French at school. How deeply they now wished that they +had LEARNED it! Peter shook his head at the stranger, but he also shook +his hands as warmly and looked at him as kindly as he could. A person +in the crowd, after some hesitation, said suddenly, “No comprenny!” and +then, blushing deeply, backed out of the press and went away. + +“Take him into your room,” whispered Bobbie to the Station Master. +“Mother can talk French. She'll be here by the next train from +Maidbridge.” + +The Station Master took the arm of the stranger, suddenly but not +unkindly. But the man wrenched his arm away, and cowered back coughing +and trembling and trying to push the Station Master away. + +“Oh, don't!” said Bobbie; “don't you see how frightened he is? He thinks +you're going to shut him up. I know he does--look at his eyes!” + +“They're like a fox's eyes when the beast's in a trap,” said the farmer. + +“Oh, let me try!” Bobbie went on; “I do really know one or two French +words if I could only think of them.” + +Sometimes, in moments of great need, we can do wonderful things--things +that in ordinary life we could hardly even dream of doing. Bobbie had +never been anywhere near the top of her French class, but she must have +learned something without knowing it, for now, looking at those wild, +hunted eyes, she actually remembered and, what is more, spoke, some +French words. She said:-- + +“Vous attendre. Ma mere parlez Francais. Nous--what's the French for +'being kind'?” + +Nobody knew. + +“Bong is 'good,'” said Phyllis. + +“Nous etre bong pour vous.” + +I do not know whether the man understood her words, but he understood +the touch of the hand she thrust into his, and the kindness of the other +hand that stroked his shabby sleeve. + +She pulled him gently towards the inmost sanctuary of the Station +Master. The other children followed, and the Station Master shut the +door in the face of the crowd, which stood a little while in the booking +office talking and looking at the fast closed yellow door, and then by +ones and twos went its way, grumbling. + +Inside the Station Master's room Bobbie still held the stranger's hand +and stroked his sleeve. + +“Here's a go,” said the Station Master; “no ticket--doesn't even know +where he wants to go. I'm not sure now but what I ought to send for the +police.” + +“Oh, DON'T!” all the children pleaded at once. And suddenly Bobbie +got between the others and the stranger, for she had seen that he was +crying. + +By a most unusual piece of good fortune she had a handkerchief in +her pocket. By a still more uncommon accident the handkerchief was +moderately clean. Standing in front of the stranger, she got out the +handkerchief and passed it to him so that the others did not see. + +“Wait till Mother comes,” Phyllis was saying; “she does speak French +beautifully. You'd just love to hear her.” + +“I'm sure he hasn't done anything like you're sent to prison for,” said +Peter. + +“Looks like without visible means to me,” said the Station Master. +“Well, I don't mind giving him the benefit of the doubt till your Mamma +comes. I SHOULD like to know what nation's got the credit of HIM, that I +should.” + +Then Peter had an idea. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and +showed that it was half full of foreign stamps. + +“Look here,” he said, “let's show him these--” + +Bobbie looked and saw that the stranger had dried his eyes with her +handkerchief. So she said: “All right.” + +They showed him an Italian stamp, and pointed from him to it and back +again, and made signs of question with their eyebrows. He shook his +head. Then they showed him a Norwegian stamp--the common blue kind it +was--and again he signed No. Then they showed him a Spanish one, and +at that he took the envelope from Peter's hand and searched among the +stamps with a hand that trembled. The hand that he reached out at last, +with a gesture as of one answering a question, contained a RUSSIAN +stamp. + +“He's Russian,” cried Peter, “or else he's like 'the man who was'--in +Kipling, you know.” + +The train from Maidbridge was signalled. + +“I'll stay with him till you bring Mother in,” said Bobbie. + +“You're not afraid, Missie?” + +“Oh, no,” said Bobbie, looking at the stranger, as she might have looked +at a strange dog of doubtful temper. “You wouldn't hurt me, would you?” + +She smiled at him, and he smiled back, a queer crooked smile. And then +he coughed again. And the heavy rattling swish of the incoming train +swept past, and the Station Master and Peter and Phyllis went out to +meet it. Bobbie was still holding the stranger's hand when they came +back with Mother. + +The Russian rose and bowed very ceremoniously. + +Then Mother spoke in French, and he replied, haltingly at first, but +presently in longer and longer sentences. + +The children, watching his face and Mother's, knew that he was telling +her things that made her angry and pitying, and sorry and indignant all +at once. + +“Well, Mum, what's it all about?” The Station Master could not restrain +his curiosity any longer. + +“Oh,” said Mother, “it's all right. He's a Russian, and he's lost his +ticket. And I'm afraid he's very ill. If you don't mind, I'll take him +home with me now. He's really quite worn out. I'll run down and tell you +all about him to-morrow.” + +“I hope you won't find you're taking home a frozen viper,” said the +Station Master, doubtfully. + +“Oh, no,” Mother said brightly, and she smiled; “I'm quite sure I'm +not. Why, he's a great man in his own country, writes books--beautiful +books--I've read some of them; but I'll tell you all about it +to-morrow.” + +She spoke again in French to the Russian, and everyone could see the +surprise and pleasure and gratitude in his eyes. He got up and politely +bowed to the Station Master, and offered his arm most ceremoniously to +Mother. She took it, but anybody could have seen that she was helping +him along, and not he her. + +“You girls run home and light a fire in the sitting-room,” Mother said, +“and Peter had better go for the Doctor.” + +But it was Bobbie who went for the Doctor. + +“I hate to tell you,” she said breathlessly when she came upon him +in his shirt sleeves, weeding his pansy-bed, “but Mother's got a very +shabby Russian, and I'm sure he'll have to belong to your Club. I'm +certain he hasn't got any money. We found him at the station.” + +“Found him! Was he lost, then?” asked the Doctor, reaching for his coat. + +“Yes,” said Bobbie, unexpectedly, “that's just what he was. He's been +telling Mother the sad, sweet story of his life in French; and she said +would you be kind enough to come directly if you were at home. He has a +dreadful cough, and he's been crying.” + +The Doctor smiled. + +“Oh, don't,” said Bobbie; “please don't. You wouldn't if you'd seen him. +I never saw a man cry before. You don't know what it's like.” + +Dr. Forrest wished then that he hadn't smiled. + +When Bobbie and the Doctor got to Three Chimneys, the Russian was +sitting in the arm-chair that had been Father's, stretching his feet +to the blaze of a bright wood fire, and sipping the tea Mother had made +him. + +“The man seems worn out, mind and body,” was what the Doctor said; “the +cough's bad, but there's nothing that can't be cured. He ought to go +straight to bed, though--and let him have a fire at night.” + +“I'll make one in my room; it's the only one with a fireplace,” said +Mother. She did, and presently the Doctor helped the stranger to bed. + +There was a big black trunk in Mother's room that none of the children +had ever seen unlocked. Now, when she had lighted the fire, she unlocked +it and took some clothes out--men's clothes--and set them to air by the +newly lighted fire. Bobbie, coming in with more wood for the fire, saw +the mark on the night-shirt, and looked over to the open trunk. All +the things she could see were men's clothes. And the name marked on the +shirt was Father's name. Then Father hadn't taken his clothes with him. +And that night-shirt was one of Father's new ones. Bobbie remembered its +being made, just before Peter's birthday. Why hadn't Father taken his +clothes? Bobbie slipped from the room. As she went she heard the key +turned in the lock of the trunk. Her heart was beating horribly. WHY +hadn't Father taken his clothes? When Mother came out of the room, +Bobbie flung tightly clasping arms round her waist, and whispered:-- + +“Mother--Daddy isn't--isn't DEAD, is he?” + +“My darling, no! What made you think of anything so horrible?” + +“I--I don't know,” said Bobbie, angry with herself, but still clinging +to that resolution of hers, not to see anything that Mother didn't mean +her to see. + +Mother gave her a hurried hug. “Daddy was quite, QUITE well when I heard +from him last,” she said, “and he'll come back to us some day. Don't +fancy such horrible things, darling!” + +Later on, when the Russian stranger had been made comfortable for the +night, Mother came into the girls' room. She was to sleep there in +Phyllis's bed, and Phyllis was to have a mattress on the floor, a +most amusing adventure for Phyllis. Directly Mother came in, two white +figures started up, and two eager voices called:-- + +“Now, Mother, tell us all about the Russian gentleman.” + +A white shape hopped into the room. It was Peter, dragging his quilt +behind him like the tail of a white peacock. + +“We have been patient,” he said, “and I had to bite my tongue not to +go to sleep, and I just nearly went to sleep and I bit too hard, and it +hurts ever so. DO tell us. Make a nice long story of it.” + +“I can't make a long story of it to-night,” said Mother; “I'm very +tired.” + +Bobbie knew by her voice that Mother had been crying, but the others +didn't know. + +“Well, make it as long as you can,” said Phil, and Bobbie got her arms +round Mother's waist and snuggled close to her. + +“Well, it's a story long enough to make a whole book of. He's a writer; +he's written beautiful books. In Russia at the time of the Czar one +dared not say anything about the rich people doing wrong, or about the +things that ought to be done to make poor people better and happier. If +one did one was sent to prison.” + +“But they CAN'T,” said Peter; “people only go to prison when they've +done wrong.” + +“Or when the Judges THINK they've done wrong,” said Mother. “Yes, that's +so in England. But in Russia it was different. And he wrote a beautiful +book about poor people and how to help them. I've read it. There's +nothing in it but goodness and kindness. And they sent him to prison for +it. He was three years in a horrible dungeon, with hardly any light, and +all damp and dreadful. In prison all alone for three years.” + +Mother's voice trembled a little and stopped suddenly. + +“But, Mother,” said Peter, “that can't be true NOW. It sounds like +something out of a history book--the Inquisition, or something.” + +“It WAS true,” said Mother; “it's all horribly true. Well, then they +took him out and sent him to Siberia, a convict chained to other +convicts--wicked men who'd done all sorts of crimes--a long chain of +them, and they walked, and walked, and walked, for days and weeks, till +he thought they'd never stop walking. And overseers went behind them +with whips--yes, whips--to beat them if they got tired. And some of them +went lame, and some fell down, and when they couldn't get up and go on, +they beat them, and then left them to die. Oh, it's all too terrible! +And at last he got to the mines, and he was condemned to stay there for +life--for life, just for writing a good, noble, splendid book.” + +“How did he get away?” + +“When the war came, some of the Russian prisoners were allowed to +volunteer as soldiers. And he volunteered. But he deserted at the first +chance he got and--” + +“But that's very cowardly, isn't it”--said Peter--“to desert? Especially +when it's war.” + +“Do you think he owed anything to a country that had done THAT to him? +If he did, he owed more to his wife and children. He didn't know what +had become of them.” + +“Oh,” cried Bobbie, “he had THEM to think about and be miserable about +TOO, then, all the time he was in prison?” + +“Yes, he had them to think about and be miserable about all the time he +was in prison. For anything he knew they might have been sent to prison, +too. They did those things in Russia. But while he was in the mines some +friends managed to get a message to him that his wife and children had +escaped and come to England. So when he deserted he came here to look +for them.” + +“Had he got their address?” said practical Peter. + +“No; just England. He was going to London, and he thought he had to +change at our station, and then he found he'd lost his ticket and his +purse.” + +“Oh, DO you think he'll find them?--I mean his wife and children, not +the ticket and things.” + +“I hope so. Oh, I hope and pray that he'll find his wife and children +again.” + +Even Phyllis now perceived that mother's voice was very unsteady. + +“Why, Mother,” she said, “how very sorry you seem to be for him!” + +Mother didn't answer for a minute. Then she just said, “Yes,” and then +she seemed to be thinking. The children were quiet. + +Presently she said, “Dears, when you say your prayers, I think you might +ask God to show His pity upon all prisoners and captives.” + +“To show His pity,” Bobbie repeated slowly, “upon all prisoners and +captives. Is that right, Mother?” + +“Yes,” said Mother, “upon all prisoners and captives. All prisoners and +captives.” + + + +Chapter VI. Saviours of the train. + + +The Russian gentleman was better the next day, and the day after that +better still, and on the third day he was well enough to come into the +garden. A basket chair was put for him and he sat there, dressed in +clothes of Father's which were too big for him. But when Mother had +hemmed up the ends of the sleeves and the trousers, the clothes did +well enough. His was a kind face now that it was no longer tired and +frightened, and he smiled at the children whenever he saw them. They +wished very much that he could speak English. Mother wrote several +letters to people she thought might know whereabouts in England a +Russian gentleman's wife and family might possibly be; not to the people +she used to know before she came to live at Three Chimneys--she never +wrote to any of them--but strange people--Members of Parliament and +Editors of papers, and Secretaries of Societies. + +And she did not do much of her story-writing, only corrected proofs as +she sat in the sun near the Russian, and talked to him every now and +then. + +The children wanted very much to show how kindly they felt to this man +who had been sent to prison and to Siberia just for writing a beautiful +book about poor people. They could smile at him, of course; they could +and they did. But if you smile too constantly, the smile is apt to +get fixed like the smile of the hyaena. And then it no longer looks +friendly, but simply silly. So they tried other ways, and brought him +flowers till the place where he sat was surrounded by little fading +bunches of clover and roses and Canterbury bells. + +And then Phyllis had an idea. She beckoned mysteriously to the others +and drew them into the back yard, and there, in a concealed spot, +between the pump and the water-butt, she said:-- + +“You remember Perks promising me the very first strawberries out of his +own garden?” Perks, you will recollect, was the Porter. “Well, I should +think they're ripe now. Let's go down and see.” + +Mother had been down as she had promised to tell the Station Master the +story of the Russian Prisoner. But even the charms of the railway had +been unable to tear the children away from the neighbourhood of the +interesting stranger. So they had not been to the station for three +days. + +They went now. + +And, to their surprise and distress, were very coldly received by Perks. + +“'Ighly honoured, I'm sure,” he said when they peeped in at the door of +the Porters' room. And he went on reading his newspaper. + +There was an uncomfortable silence. + +“Oh, dear,” said Bobbie, with a sigh, “I do believe you're CROSS.” + +“What, me? Not me!” said Perks loftily; “it ain't nothing to me.” + +“What AIN'T nothing to you?” said Peter, too anxious and alarmed to +change the form of words. + +“Nothing ain't nothing. What 'appens either 'ere or elsewhere,” said +Perks; “if you likes to 'ave your secrets, 'ave 'em and welcome. That's +what I say.” + +The secret-chamber of each heart was rapidly examined during the pause +that followed. Three heads were shaken. + +“We haven't got any secrets from YOU,” said Bobbie at last. + +“Maybe you 'ave, and maybe you 'aven't,” said Perks; “it ain't nothing +to me. And I wish you all a very good afternoon.” He held up the paper +between him and them and went on reading. + +“Oh, DON'T!” said Phyllis, in despair; “this is truly dreadful! Whatever +it is, do tell us.” + +“We didn't mean to do it whatever it was.” + +No answer. The paper was refolded and Perks began on another column. + +“Look here,” said Peter, suddenly, “it's not fair. Even people who do +crimes aren't punished without being told what it's for--as once they +were in Russia.” + +“I don't know nothing about Russia.” + +“Oh, yes, you do, when Mother came down on purpose to tell you and Mr. +Gills all about OUR Russian.” + +“Can't you fancy it?” said Perks, indignantly; “don't you see 'im +a-asking of me to step into 'is room and take a chair and listen to what +'er Ladyship 'as to say?” + +“Do you mean to say you've not heard?” + +“Not so much as a breath. I did go so far as to put a question. And he +shuts me up like a rat-trap. 'Affairs of State, Perks,' says he. But I +did think one o' you would 'a' nipped down to tell me--you're here sharp +enough when you want to get anything out of old Perks”--Phyllis +flushed purple as she thought of the strawberries--“information about +locomotives or signals or the likes,” said Perks. + +“We didn't know you didn't know.” + +“We thought Mother had told you.” + +“Wewantedtotellyouonlywethoughtitwouldbestalenews.” + +The three spoke all at once. + +Perks said it was all very well, and still held up the paper. Then +Phyllis suddenly snatched it away, and threw her arms round his neck. + +“Oh, let's kiss and be friends,” she said; “we'll say we're sorry first, +if you like, but we didn't really know that you didn't know.” + +“We are so sorry,” said the others. + +And Perks at last consented to accept their apologies. + +Then they got him to come out and sit in the sun on the green Railway +Bank, where the grass was quite hot to touch, and there, sometimes +speaking one at a time, and sometimes all together, they told the Porter +the story of the Russian Prisoner. + +“Well, I must say,” said Perks; but he did not say it--whatever it was. + +“Yes, it is pretty awful, isn't it?” said Peter, “and I don't wonder you +were curious about who the Russian was.” + +“I wasn't curious, not so much as interested,” said the Porter. + +“Well, I do think Mr. Gills might have told you about it. It was horrid +of him.” + +“I don't keep no down on 'im for that, Missie,” said the Porter; “cos +why? I see 'is reasons. 'E wouldn't want to give away 'is own side with +a tale like that 'ere. It ain't human nature. A man's got to stand +up for his own side whatever they does. That's what it means by Party +Politics. I should 'a' done the same myself if that long-'aired chap 'ad +'a' been a Jap.” + +“But the Japs didn't do cruel, wicked things like that,” said Bobbie. + +“P'r'aps not,” said Perks, cautiously; “still you can't be sure with +foreigners. My own belief is they're all tarred with the same brush.” + +“Then why were you on the side of the Japs?” Peter asked. + +“Well, you see, you must take one side or the other. Same as with +Liberals and Conservatives. The great thing is to take your side and +then stick to it, whatever happens.” + +A signal sounded. + +“There's the 3.14 up,” said Perks. “You lie low till she's through, +and then we'll go up along to my place, and see if there's any of them +strawberries ripe what I told you about.” + +“If there are any ripe, and you DO give them to me,” said Phyllis, “you +won't mind if I give them to the poor Russian, will you?” + +Perks narrowed his eyes and then raised his eyebrows. + +“So it was them strawberries you come down for this afternoon, eh?” said +he. + +This was an awkward moment for Phyllis. To say “yes” would seem rude and +greedy, and unkind to Perks. But she knew if she said “no,” she would +not be pleased with herself afterwards. So-- + +“Yes,” she said, “it was.” + +“Well done!” said the Porter; “speak the truth and shame the--” + +“But we'd have come down the very next day if we'd known you hadn't +heard the story,” Phyllis added hastily. + +“I believe you, Missie,” said Perks, and sprang across the line six feet +in front of the advancing train. + +The girls hated to see him do this, but Peter liked it. It was so +exciting. + +The Russian gentleman was so delighted with the strawberries that the +three racked their brains to find some other surprise for him. But all +the racking did not bring out any idea more novel than wild cherries. +And this idea occurred to them next morning. They had seen the blossom +on the trees in the spring, and they knew where to look for wild +cherries now that cherry time was here. The trees grew all up and along +the rocky face of the cliff out of which the mouth of the tunnel opened. +There were all sorts of trees there, birches and beeches and baby oaks +and hazels, and among them the cherry blossom had shone like snow and +silver. + +The mouth of the tunnel was some way from Three Chimneys, so Mother let +them take their lunch with them in a basket. And the basket would do +to bring the cherries back in if they found any. She also lent them her +silver watch so that they should not be late for tea. Peter's Waterbury +had taken it into its head not to go since the day when Peter dropped it +into the water-butt. And they started. When they got to the top of the +cutting, they leaned over the fence and looked down to where the railway +lines lay at the bottom of what, as Phyllis said, was exactly like a +mountain gorge. + +“If it wasn't for the railway at the bottom, it would be as though the +foot of man had never been there, wouldn't it?” + +The sides of the cutting were of grey stone, very roughly hewn. Indeed, +the top part of the cutting had been a little natural glen that had been +cut deeper to bring it down to the level of the tunnel's mouth. Among +the rocks, grass and flowers grew, and seeds dropped by birds in the +crannies of the stone had taken root and grown into bushes and trees +that overhung the cutting. Near the tunnel was a flight of steps leading +down to the line--just wooden bars roughly fixed into the earth--a very +steep and narrow way, more like a ladder than a stair. + +“We'd better get down,” said Peter; “I'm sure the cherries would be +quite easy to get at from the side of the steps. You remember it was +there we picked the cherry blossoms that we put on the rabbit's grave.” + +So they went along the fence towards the little swing gate that is at +the top of these steps. And they were almost at the gate when Bobbie +said:-- + +“Hush. Stop! What's that?” + +“That” was a very odd noise indeed--a soft noise, but quite plainly to +be heard through the sound of the wind in tree branches, and the hum +and whir of the telegraph wires. It was a sort of rustling, whispering +sound. As they listened it stopped, and then it began again. + +And this time it did not stop, but it grew louder and more rustling and +rumbling. + +“Look”--cried Peter, suddenly--“the tree over there!” + +The tree he pointed at was one of those that have rough grey leaves and +white flowers. The berries, when they come, are bright scarlet, but if +you pick them, they disappoint you by turning black before you get them +home. And, as Peter pointed, the tree was moving--not just the way trees +ought to move when the wind blows through them, but all in one piece, +as though it were a live creature and were walking down the side of the +cutting. + +“It's moving!” cried Bobbie. “Oh, look! and so are the others. It's like +the woods in Macbeth.” + +“It's magic,” said Phyllis, breathlessly. “I always knew this railway +was enchanted.” + +It really did seem a little like magic. For all the trees for about +twenty yards of the opposite bank seemed to be slowly walking down +towards the railway line, the tree with the grey leaves bringing up the +rear like some old shepherd driving a flock of green sheep. + +“What is it? Oh, what is it?” said Phyllis; “it's much too magic for me. +I don't like it. Let's go home.” + +But Bobbie and Peter clung fast to the rail and watched breathlessly. +And Phyllis made no movement towards going home by herself. + +The trees moved on and on. Some stones and loose earth fell down and +rattled on the railway metals far below. + +“It's ALL coming down,” Peter tried to say, but he found there was +hardly any voice to say it with. And, indeed, just as he spoke, the +great rock, on the top of which the walking trees were, leaned slowly +forward. The trees, ceasing to walk, stood still and shivered. Leaning +with the rock, they seemed to hesitate a moment, and then rock and trees +and grass and bushes, with a rushing sound, slipped right away from the +face of the cutting and fell on the line with a blundering crash that +could have been heard half a mile off. A cloud of dust rose up. + +“Oh,” said Peter, in awestruck tones, “isn't it exactly like when coals +come in?--if there wasn't any roof to the cellar and you could see +down.” + +“Look what a great mound it's made!” said Bobbie. + +“Yes,” said Peter, slowly. He was still leaning on the fence. “Yes,” he +said again, still more slowly. + +Then he stood upright. + +“The 11.29 down hasn't gone by yet. We must let them know at the +station, or there'll be a most frightful accident.” + +“Let's run,” said Bobbie, and began. + +But Peter cried, “Come back!” and looked at Mother's watch. He was very +prompt and businesslike, and his face looked whiter than they had ever +seen it. + +“No time,” he said; “it's two miles away, and it's past eleven.” + +“Couldn't we,” suggested Phyllis, breathlessly, “couldn't we climb up a +telegraph post and do something to the wires?” + +“We don't know how,” said Peter. + +“They do it in war,” said Phyllis; “I know I've heard of it.” + +“They only CUT them, silly,” said Peter, “and that doesn't do any good. +And we couldn't cut them even if we got up, and we couldn't get up. If +we had anything red, we could get down on the line and wave it.” + +“But the train wouldn't see us till it got round the corner, and then it +could see the mound just as well as us,” said Phyllis; “better, because +it's much bigger than us.” + +“If we only had something red,” Peter repeated, “we could go round the +corner and wave to the train.” + +“We might wave, anyway.” + +“They'd only think it was just US, as usual. We've waved so often +before. Anyway, let's get down.” + +They got down the steep stairs. Bobbie was pale and shivering. Peter's +face looked thinner than usual. Phyllis was red-faced and damp with +anxiety. + +“Oh, how hot I am!” she said; “and I thought it was going to be cold; I +wish we hadn't put on our--” she stopped short, and then ended in quite +a different tone--“our flannel petticoats.” + +Bobbie turned at the bottom of the stairs. + +“Oh, yes,” she cried; “THEY'RE red! Let's take them off.” + +They did, and with the petticoats rolled up under their arms, ran along +the railway, skirting the newly fallen mound of stones and rock and +earth, and bent, crushed, twisted trees. They ran at their best pace. +Peter led, but the girls were not far behind. They reached the corner +that hid the mound from the straight line of railway that ran half a +mile without curve or corner. + +“Now,” said Peter, taking hold of the largest flannel petticoat. + +“You're not”--Phyllis faltered--“you're not going to TEAR them?” + +“Shut up,” said Peter, with brief sternness. + +“Oh, yes,” said Bobbie, “tear them into little bits if you like. Don't +you see, Phil, if we can't stop the train, there'll be a real live +accident, with people KILLED. Oh, horrible! Here, Peter, you'll never +tear it through the band!” + +She took the red flannel petticoat from him and tore it off an inch from +the band. Then she tore the other in the same way. + +“There!” said Peter, tearing in his turn. He divided each petticoat into +three pieces. “Now, we've got six flags.” He looked at the watch again. +“And we've got seven minutes. We must have flagstaffs.” + +The knives given to boys are, for some odd reason, seldom of the kind +of steel that keeps sharp. The young saplings had to be broken off. Two +came up by the roots. The leaves were stripped from them. + +“We must cut holes in the flags, and run the sticks through the holes,” + said Peter. And the holes were cut. The knife was sharp enough to cut +flannel with. Two of the flags were set up in heaps of loose stones +between the sleepers of the down line. Then Phyllis and Roberta took +each a flag, and stood ready to wave it as soon as the train came in +sight. + +“I shall have the other two myself,” said Peter, “because it was my idea +to wave something red.” + +“They're our petticoats, though,” Phyllis was beginning, but Bobbie +interrupted-- + +“Oh, what does it matter who waves what, if we can only save the train?” + +Perhaps Peter had not rightly calculated the number of minutes it would +take the 11.29 to get from the station to the place where they were, or +perhaps the train was late. Anyway, it seemed a very long time that they +waited. + +Phyllis grew impatient. “I expect the watch is wrong, and the train's +gone by,” said she. + +Peter relaxed the heroic attitude he had chosen to show off his two +flags. And Bobbie began to feel sick with suspense. + +It seemed to her that they had been standing there for hours and hours, +holding those silly little red flannel flags that no one would ever +notice. The train wouldn't care. It would go rushing by them and tear +round the corner and go crashing into that awful mound. And everyone +would be killed. Her hands grew very cold and trembled so that she could +hardly hold the flag. And then came the distant rumble and hum of the +metals, and a puff of white steam showed far away along the stretch of +line. + +“Stand firm,” said Peter, “and wave like mad! When it gets to that +big furze bush step back, but go on waving! Don't stand ON the line, +Bobbie!” + +The train came rattling along very, very fast. + +“They don't see us! They won't see us! It's all no good!” cried Bobbie. + +The two little flags on the line swayed as the nearing train shook and +loosened the heaps of loose stones that held them up. One of them slowly +leaned over and fell on the line. Bobbie jumped forward and caught it +up, and waved it; her hands did not tremble now. + +It seemed that the train came on as fast as ever. It was very near now. + +“Keep off the line, you silly cuckoo!” said Peter, fiercely. + +“It's no good,” Bobbie said again. + +“Stand back!” cried Peter, suddenly, and he dragged Phyllis back by the +arm. + +But Bobbie cried, “Not yet, not yet!” and waved her two flags right over +the line. The front of the engine looked black and enormous. Its voice +was loud and harsh. + +“Oh, stop, stop, stop!” cried Bobbie. No one heard her. At least Peter +and Phyllis didn't, for the oncoming rush of the train covered the sound +of her voice with a mountain of sound. But afterwards she used to wonder +whether the engine itself had not heard her. It seemed almost as though +it had--for it slackened swiftly, slackened and stopped, not twenty +yards from the place where Bobbie's two flags waved over the line. She +saw the great black engine stop dead, but somehow she could not stop +waving the flags. And when the driver and the fireman had got off the +engine and Peter and Phyllis had gone to meet them and pour out their +excited tale of the awful mound just round the corner, Bobbie still +waved the flags but more and more feebly and jerkily. + +When the others turned towards her she was lying across the line with +her hands flung forward and still gripping the sticks of the little red +flannel flags. + +The engine-driver picked her up, carried her to the train, and laid her +on the cushions of a first-class carriage. + +“Gone right off in a faint,” he said, “poor little woman. And no wonder. +I'll just 'ave a look at this 'ere mound of yours, and then we'll run +you back to the station and get her seen to.” + +It was horrible to see Bobbie lying so white and quiet, with her lips +blue, and parted. + +“I believe that's what people look like when they're dead,” whispered +Phyllis. + +“DON'T!” said Peter, sharply. + +They sat by Bobbie on the blue cushions, and the train ran back. Before +it reached their station Bobbie had sighed and opened her eyes, +and rolled herself over and begun to cry. This cheered the others +wonderfully. They had seen her cry before, but they had never seen her +faint, nor anyone else, for the matter of that. They had not known what +to do when she was fainting, but now she was only crying they could +thump her on the back and tell her not to, just as they always did. And +presently, when she stopped crying, they were able to laugh at her for +being such a coward as to faint. + +When the station was reached, the three were the heroes of an agitated +meeting on the platform. + +The praises they got for their “prompt action,” their “common sense,” + their “ingenuity,” were enough to have turned anybody's head. Phyllis +enjoyed herself thoroughly. She had never been a real heroine before, +and the feeling was delicious. Peter's ears got very red. Yet he, too, +enjoyed himself. Only Bobbie wished they all wouldn't. She wanted to get +away. + +“You'll hear from the Company about this, I expect,” said the Station +Master. + +Bobbie wished she might never hear of it again. She pulled at Peter's +jacket. + +“Oh, come away, come away! I want to go home,” she said. + +So they went. And as they went Station Master and Porter and guards and +driver and fireman and passengers sent up a cheer. + +“Oh, listen,” cried Phyllis; “that's for US!” + +“Yes,” said Peter. “I say, I am glad I thought about something red, and +waving it.” + +“How lucky we DID put on our red flannel petticoats!” said Phyllis. + +Bobbie said nothing. She was thinking of the horrible mound, and the +trustful train rushing towards it. + +“And it was US that saved them,” said Peter. + +“How dreadful if they had all been killed!” said Phyllis; “wouldn't it, +Bobbie?” + +“We never got any cherries, after all,” said Bobbie. + +The others thought her rather heartless. + + + +Chapter VII. For valour. + + +I hope you don't mind my telling you a good deal about Roberta. The fact +is I am growing very fond of her. The more I observe her the more I love +her. And I notice all sorts of things about her that I like. + +For instance, she was quite oddly anxious to make other people happy. +And she could keep a secret, a tolerably rare accomplishment. Also she +had the power of silent sympathy. That sounds rather dull, I know, but +it's not so dull as it sounds. It just means that a person is able +to know that you are unhappy, and to love you extra on that account, +without bothering you by telling you all the time how sorry she is +for you. That was what Bobbie was like. She knew that Mother was +unhappy--and that Mother had not told her the reason. So she just loved +Mother more and never said a single word that could let Mother know how +earnestly her little girl wondered what Mother was unhappy about. This +needs practice. It is not so easy as you might think. + +Whatever happened--and all sorts of nice, pleasant ordinary things +happened--such as picnics, games, and buns for tea, Bobbie always had +these thoughts at the back of her mind. “Mother's unhappy. Why? I don't +know. She doesn't want me to know. I won't try to find out. But she +IS unhappy. Why? I don't know. She doesn't--” and so on, repeating and +repeating like a tune that you don't know the stopping part of. + +The Russian gentleman still took up a good deal of everybody's thoughts. +All the editors and secretaries of Societies and Members of Parliament +had answered Mother's letters as politely as they knew how; but none of +them could tell where the wife and children of Mr. Szezcpansky would be +likely to be. (Did I tell you that the Russian's very Russian name was +that?) + +Bobbie had another quality which you will hear differently described +by different people. Some of them call it interfering in other people's +business--and some call it “helping lame dogs over stiles,” and some +call it “loving-kindness.” It just means trying to help people. + +She racked her brains to think of some way of helping the Russian +gentleman to find his wife and children. He had learned a few words +of English now. He could say “Good morning,” and “Good night,” and +“Please,” and “Thank you,” and “Pretty,” when the children brought him +flowers, and “Ver' good,” when they asked him how he had slept. + +The way he smiled when he “said his English,” was, Bobbie felt, “just +too sweet for anything.” She used to think of his face because she +fancied it would help her to some way of helping him. But it did not. +Yet his being there cheered her because she saw that it made Mother +happier. + +“She likes to have someone to be good to, even beside us,” said Bobbie. +“And I know she hated to let him have Father's clothes. But I suppose it +'hurt nice,' or she wouldn't have.” + +For many and many a night after the day when she and Peter and Phyllis +had saved the train from wreck by waving their little red flannel flags, +Bobbie used to wake screaming and shivering, seeing again that horrible +mound, and the poor, dear trustful engine rushing on towards it--just +thinking that it was doing its swift duty, and that everything was clear +and safe. And then a warm thrill of pleasure used to run through her +at the remembrance of how she and Peter and Phyllis and the red flannel +petticoats had really saved everybody. + +One morning a letter came. It was addressed to Peter and Bobbie and +Phyllis. They opened it with enthusiastic curiosity, for they did not +often get letters. + +The letter said:-- + +“Dear Sir, and Ladies,--It is proposed to make a small presentation to +you, in commemoration of your prompt and courageous action in warning +the train on the --- inst., and thus averting what must, humanly +speaking, have been a terrible accident. The presentation will take +place at the --- Station at three o'clock on the 30th inst., if this +time and place will be convenient to you. + + “Yours faithfully, + + “Jabez Inglewood. +“Secretary, Great Northern and Southern Railway Co.” + +There never had been a prouder moment in the lives of the three +children. They rushed to Mother with the letter, and she also felt proud +and said so, and this made the children happier than ever. + +“But if the presentation is money, you must say, 'Thank you, but we'd +rather not take it,'” said Mother. “I'll wash your Indian muslins at +once,” she added. “You must look tidy on an occasion like this.” + +“Phil and I can wash them,” said Bobbie, “if you'll iron them, Mother.” + +Washing is rather fun. I wonder whether you've ever done it? This +particular washing took place in the back kitchen, which had a stone +floor and a very big stone sink under its window. + +“Let's put the bath on the sink,” said Phyllis; “then we can pretend +we're out-of-doors washerwomen like Mother saw in France.” + +“But they were washing in the cold river,” said Peter, his hands in his +pockets, “not in hot water.” + +“This is a HOT river, then,” said Phyllis; “lend a hand with the bath, +there's a dear.” + +“I should like to see a deer lending a hand,” said Peter, but he lent +his. + +“Now to rub and scrub and scrub and rub,” said Phyllis, hopping joyously +about as Bobbie carefully carried the heavy kettle from the kitchen +fire. + +“Oh, no!” said Bobbie, greatly shocked; “you don't rub muslin. You put +the boiled soap in the hot water and make it all frothy-lathery--and +then you shake the muslin and squeeze it, ever so gently, and all the +dirt comes out. It's only clumsy things like tablecloths and sheets that +have to be rubbed.” + +The lilac and the Gloire de Dijon roses outside the window swayed in the +soft breeze. + +“It's a nice drying day--that's one thing,” said Bobbie, feeling very +grown up. “Oh, I do wonder what wonderful feelings we shall have when we +WEAR the Indian muslin dresses!” + +“Yes, so do I,” said Phyllis, shaking and squeezing the muslin in quite +a professional manner. + +“NOW we squeeze out the soapy water. NO--we mustn't twist them--and then +rinse them. I'll hold them while you and Peter empty the bath and get +clean water.” + +“A presentation! That means presents,” said Peter, as his sisters, +having duly washed the pegs and wiped the line, hung up the dresses to +dry. “Whatever will it be?” + +“It might be anything,” said Phyllis; “what I've always wanted is a Baby +elephant--but I suppose they wouldn't know that.” + +“Suppose it was gold models of steam-engines?” said Bobbie. + +“Or a big model of the scene of the prevented accident,” suggested +Peter, “with a little model train, and dolls dressed like us and the +engine-driver and fireman and passengers.” + +“Do you LIKE,” said Bobbie, doubtfully, drying her hands on the rough +towel that hung on a roller at the back of the scullery door, “do you +LIKE us being rewarded for saving a train?” + +“Yes, I do,” said Peter, downrightly; “and don't you try to come it over +us that you don't like it, too. Because I know you do.” + +“Yes,” said Bobbie, doubtfully, “I know I do. But oughtn't we to be +satisfied with just having done it, and not ask for anything more?” + +“Who did ask for anything more, silly?” said her brother; “Victoria +Cross soldiers don't ASK for it; but they're glad enough to get it all +the same. Perhaps it'll be medals. Then, when I'm very old indeed, I +shall show them to my grandchildren and say, 'We only did our duty,' and +they'll be awfully proud of me.” + +“You have to be married,” warned Phyllis, “or you don't have any +grandchildren.” + +“I suppose I shall HAVE to be married some day,” said Peter, “but it +will be an awful bother having her round all the time. I'd like to marry +a lady who had trances, and only woke up once or twice a year.” + +“Just to say you were the light of her life and then go to sleep again. +Yes. That wouldn't be bad,” said Bobbie. + +“When _I_ get married,” said Phyllis, “I shall want him to want me to be +awake all the time, so that I can hear him say how nice I am.” + +“I think it would be nice,” said Bobbie, “to marry someone very poor, +and then you'd do all the work and he'd love you most frightfully, and +see the blue wood smoke curling up among the trees from the domestic +hearth as he came home from work every night. I say--we've got to answer +that letter and say that the time and place WILL be convenient to us. +There's the soap, Peter. WE'RE both as clean as clean. That pink box of +writing paper you had on your birthday, Phil.” + +It took some time to arrange what should be said. Mother had gone back +to her writing, and several sheets of pink paper with scalloped gilt +edges and green four-leaved shamrocks in the corner were spoiled before +the three had decided what to say. Then each made a copy and signed it +with its own name. + +The threefold letter ran:-- + +“Dear Mr. Jabez Inglewood,--Thank you very much. We did not want to be +rewarded but only to save the train, but we are glad you think so and +thank you very much. The time and place you say will be quite convenient +to us. Thank you very much. + + “Your affecate little friend,” + +Then came the name, and after it:-- + +“P.S. Thank you very much.” + +“Washing is much easier than ironing,” said Bobbie, taking the clean dry +dresses off the line. “I do love to see things come clean. Oh--I don't +know how we shall wait till it's time to know what presentation they're +going to present!” + +When at last--it seemed a very long time after--it was THE day, +the three children went down to the station at the proper time. And +everything that happened was so odd that it seemed like a dream. The +Station Master came out to meet them--in his best clothes, as Peter +noticed at once--and led them into the waiting room where once they had +played the advertisement game. It looked quite different now. A carpet +had been put down--and there were pots of roses on the mantelpiece and +on the window ledges--green branches stuck up, like holly and laurel +are at Christmas, over the framed advertisement of Cook's Tours and the +Beauties of Devon and the Paris Lyons Railway. There were quite a +number of people there besides the Porter--two or three ladies in +smart dresses, and quite a crowd of gentlemen in high hats and frock +coats--besides everybody who belonged to the station. They recognized +several people who had been in the train on the red-flannel-petticoat +day. Best of all their own old gentleman was there, and his coat and hat +and collar seemed more than ever different from anyone else's. He shook +hands with them and then everybody sat down on chairs, and a gentleman +in spectacles--they found out afterwards that he was the District +Superintendent--began quite a long speech--very clever indeed. I am not +going to write the speech down. First, because you would think it dull; +and secondly, because it made all the children blush so, and get so hot +about the ears that I am quite anxious to get away from this part of the +subject; and thirdly, because the gentleman took so many words to say +what he had to say that I really haven't time to write them down. He +said all sorts of nice things about the children's bravery and presence +of mind, and when he had done he sat down, and everyone who was there +clapped and said, “Hear, hear.” + +And then the old gentleman got up and said things, too. It was very like +a prize-giving. And then he called the children one by one, by their +names, and gave each of them a beautiful gold watch and chain. And +inside the watches were engraved after the name of the watch's new +owner:-- + +“From the Directors of the Northern and Southern Railway in grateful +recognition of the courageous and prompt action which averted an +accident on --- 1905.” + +The watches were the most beautiful you can possibly imagine, and each +one had a blue leather case to live in when it was at home. + +“You must make a speech now and thank everyone for their kindness,” + whispered the Station Master in Peter's ear and pushed him forward. +“Begin 'Ladies and Gentlemen,'” he added. + +Each of the children had already said “Thank you,” quite properly. + +“Oh, dear,” said Peter, but he did not resist the push. + +“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said in a rather husky voice. Then there +was a pause, and he heard his heart beating in his throat. “Ladies and +Gentlemen,” he went on with a rush, “it's most awfully good of you, and +we shall treasure the watches all our lives--but really we don't deserve +it because what we did wasn't anything, really. At least, I mean it +was awfully exciting, and what I mean to say--thank you all very, very +much.” + +The people clapped Peter more than they had done the District +Superintendent, and then everybody shook hands with them, and as soon as +politeness would let them, they got away, and tore up the hill to Three +Chimneys with their watches in their hands. + +It was a wonderful day--the kind of day that very seldom happens to +anybody and to most of us not at all. + +“I did want to talk to the old gentleman about something else,” said +Bobbie, “but it was so public--like being in church.” + +“What did you want to say?” asked Phyllis. + +“I'll tell you when I've thought about it more,” said Bobbie. + +So when she had thought a little more she wrote a letter. + +“My dearest old gentleman,” it said; “I want most awfully to ask you +something. If you could get out of the train and go by the next, it +would do. I do not want you to give me anything. Mother says we ought +not to. And besides, we do not want any THINGS. Only to talk to you +about a Prisoner and Captive. Your loving little friend, + + “Bobbie.” + +She got the Station Master to give the letter to the old gentleman, and +next day she asked Peter and Phyllis to come down to the station with +her at the time when the train that brought the old gentleman from town +would be passing through. + +She explained her idea to them--and they approved thoroughly. + +They had all washed their hands and faces, and brushed their hair, and +were looking as tidy as they knew how. But Phyllis, always unlucky, had +upset a jug of lemonade down the front of her dress. There was no time +to change--and the wind happening to blow from the coal yard, her frock +was soon powdered with grey, which stuck to the sticky lemonade stains +and made her look, as Peter said, “like any little gutter child.” + +It was decided that she should keep behind the others as much as +possible. + +“Perhaps the old gentleman won't notice,” said Bobbie. “The aged are +often weak in the eyes.” + +There was no sign of weakness, however, in the eyes, or in any other +part of the old gentleman, as he stepped from the train and looked up +and down the platform. + +The three children, now that it came to the point, suddenly felt that +rush of deep shyness which makes your ears red and hot, your hands warm +and wet, and the tip of your nose pink and shiny. + +“Oh,” said Phyllis, “my heart's thumping like a steam-engine--right +under my sash, too.” + +“Nonsense,” said Peter, “people's hearts aren't under their sashes.” + +“I don't care--mine is,” said Phyllis. + +“If you're going to talk like a poetry-book,” said Peter, “my heart's in +my mouth.” + +“My heart's in my boots--if you come to that,” said Roberta; “but do +come on--he'll think we're idiots.” + +“He won't be far wrong,” said Peter, gloomily. And they went forward to +meet the old gentleman. + +“Hullo,” he said, shaking hands with them all in turn. “This is a very +great pleasure.” + +“It WAS good of you to get out,” Bobbie said, perspiring and polite. + +He took her arm and drew her into the waiting room where she and the +others had played the advertisement game the day they found the Russian. +Phyllis and Peter followed. “Well?” said the old gentleman, giving +Bobbie's arm a kind little shake before he let it go. “Well? What is +it?” + +“Oh, please!” said Bobbie. + +“Yes?” said the old gentleman. + +“What I mean to say--” said Bobbie. + +“Well?” said the old gentleman. + +“It's all very nice and kind,” said she. + +“But?” he said. + +“I wish I might say something,” she said. + +“Say it,” said he. + +“Well, then,” said Bobbie--and out came the story of the Russian who +had written the beautiful book about poor people, and had been sent to +prison and to Siberia for just that. + +“And what we want more than anything in the world is to find his wife +and children for him,” said Bobbie, “but we don't know how. But you must +be most horribly clever, or you wouldn't be a Direction of the Railway. +And if YOU knew how--and would? We'd rather have that than anything else +in the world. We'd go without the watches, even, if you could sell them +and find his wife with the money.” + +And the others said so, too, though not with so much enthusiasm. + +“Hum,” said the old gentleman, pulling down the white waistcoat that +had the big gilt buttons on it, “what did you say the name +was--Fryingpansky?” + +“No, no,” said Bobbie earnestly. “I'll write it down for you. It doesn't +really look at all like that except when you say it. Have you a bit of +pencil and the back of an envelope?” she asked. + +The old gentleman got out a gold pencil-case and a beautiful, +sweet-smelling, green Russian leather note-book and opened it at a new +page. + +“Here,” he said, “write here.” + +She wrote down “Szezcpansky,” and said:-- + +“That's how you write it. You CALL it Shepansky.” + +The old gentleman took out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and fitted +them on his nose. When he had read the name, he looked quite different. + +“THAT man? Bless my soul!” he said. “Why, I've read his book! It's +translated into every European language. A fine book--a noble book. And +so your mother took him in--like the good Samaritan. Well, well. I'll +tell you what, youngsters--your mother must be a very good woman.” + +“Of course she is,” said Phyllis, in astonishment. + +“And you're a very good man,” said Bobbie, very shy, but firmly resolved +to be polite. + +“You flatter me,” said the old gentleman, taking off his hat with a +flourish. “And now am I to tell you what I think of you?” + +“Oh, please don't,” said Bobbie, hastily. + +“Why?” asked the old gentleman. + +“I don't exactly know,” said Bobbie. “Only--if it's horrid, I don't want +you to; and if it's nice, I'd rather you didn't.” + +The old gentleman laughed. + +“Well, then,” he said, “I'll only just say that I'm very glad you came +to me about this--very glad, indeed. And I shouldn't be surprised if I +found out something very soon. I know a great many Russians in London, +and every Russian knows HIS name. Now tell me all about yourselves.” + +He turned to the others, but there was only one other, and that was +Peter. Phyllis had disappeared. + +“Tell me all about yourself,” said the old gentleman again. And, quite +naturally, Peter was stricken dumb. + +“All right, we'll have an examination,” said the old gentleman; “you two +sit on the table, and I'll sit on the bench and ask questions.” + +He did, and out came their names and ages--their Father's name and +business--how long they had lived at Three Chimneys and a great deal +more. + +The questions were beginning to turn on a herring and a half for three +halfpence, and a pound of lead and a pound of feathers, when the door of +the waiting room was kicked open by a boot; as the boot entered everyone +could see that its lace was coming undone--and in came Phyllis, very +slowly and carefully. + +In one hand she carried a large tin can, and in the other a thick slice +of bread and butter. + +“Afternoon tea,” she announced proudly, and held the can and the bread +and butter out to the old gentleman, who took them and said:-- + +“Bless my soul!” + +“Yes,” said Phyllis. + +“It's very thoughtful of you,” said the old gentleman, “very.” + +“But you might have got a cup,” said Bobbie, “and a plate.” + +“Perks always drinks out of the can,” said Phyllis, flushing red. “I +think it was very nice of him to give it me at all--let alone cups and +plates,” she added. + +“So do I,” said the old gentleman, and he drank some of the tea and +tasted the bread and butter. + +And then it was time for the next train, and he got into it with many +good-byes and kind last words. + +“Well,” said Peter, when they were left on the platform, and the +tail-lights of the train disappeared round the corner, “it's my belief +that we've lighted a candle to-day--like Latimer, you know, when he was +being burned--and there'll be fireworks for our Russian before long.” + +And so there were. + +It wasn't ten days after the interview in the waiting room that the +three children were sitting on the top of the biggest rock in the field +below their house watching the 5.15 steam away from the station along +the bottom of the valley. They saw, too, the few people who had got out +at the station straggling up the road towards the village--and they saw +one person leave the road and open the gate that led across the fields +to Three Chimneys and to nowhere else. + +“Who on earth!” said Peter, scrambling down. + +“Let's go and see,” said Phyllis. + +So they did. And when they got near enough to see who the person was, +they saw it was their old gentleman himself, his brass buttons winking +in the afternoon sunshine, and his white waistcoat looking whiter than +ever against the green of the field. + +“Hullo!” shouted the children, waving their hands. + +“Hullo!” shouted the old gentleman, waving his hat. + +Then the three started to run--and when they got to him they hardly had +breath left to say:-- + +“How do you do?” + +“Good news,” said he. “I've found your Russian friend's wife and +child--and I couldn't resist the temptation of giving myself the +pleasure of telling him.” + +But as he looked at Bobbie's face he felt that he COULD resist that +temptation. + +“Here,” he said to her, “you run on and tell him. The other two will +show me the way.” + +Bobbie ran. But when she had breathlessly panted out the news to the +Russian and Mother sitting in the quiet garden--when Mother's face had +lighted up so beautifully, and she had said half a dozen quick French +words to the Exile--Bobbie wished that she had NOT carried the news. For +the Russian sprang up with a cry that made Bobbie's heart leap and then +tremble--a cry of love and longing such as she had never heard. Then he +took Mother's hand and kissed it gently and reverently--and then he sank +down in his chair and covered his face with his hands and sobbed. Bobbie +crept away. She did not want to see the others just then. + +But she was as gay as anybody when the endless French talking was over, +when Peter had torn down to the village for buns and cakes, and the +girls had got tea ready and taken it out into the garden. + +The old gentleman was most merry and delightful. He seemed to be able +to talk in French and English almost at the same moment, and Mother did +nearly as well. It was a delightful time. Mother seemed as if she could +not make enough fuss about the old gentleman, and she said yes at once +when he asked if he might present some “goodies” to his little friends. + +The word was new to the children--but they guessed that it meant sweets, +for the three large pink and green boxes, tied with green ribbon, which +he took out of his bag, held unheard-of layers of beautiful chocolates. + +The Russian's few belongings were packed, and they all saw him off at +the station. + +Then Mother turned to the old gentleman and said:-- + +“I don't know how to thank you for EVERYTHING. It has been a real +pleasure to me to see you. But we live very quietly. I am so sorry that +I can't ask you to come and see us again.” + +The children thought this very hard. When they HAD made a friend--and +such a friend--they would dearly have liked him to come and see them +again. + +What the old gentleman thought they couldn't tell. He only said:-- + +“I consider myself very fortunate, Madam, to have been received once at +your house.” + +“Ah,” said Mother, “I know I must seem surly and ungrateful--but--” + +“You could never seem anything but a most charming and gracious lady,” + said the old gentleman, with another of his bows. + +And as they turned to go up the hill, Bobbie saw her Mother's face. + +“How tired you look, Mammy,” she said; “lean on me.” + +“It's my place to give Mother my arm,” said Peter. “I'm the head man of +the family when Father's away.” + +Mother took an arm of each. + +“How awfully nice,” said Phyllis, skipping joyfully, “to think of the +dear Russian embracing his long-lost wife. The baby must have grown a +lot since he saw it.” + +“Yes,” said Mother. + +“I wonder whether Father will think I'VE grown,” Phyllis went on, +skipping still more gaily. “I have grown already, haven't I, Mother?” + +“Yes,” said Mother, “oh, yes,” and Bobbie and Peter felt her hands +tighten on their arms. + +“Poor old Mammy, you ARE tired,” said Peter. + +Bobbie said, “Come on, Phil; I'll race you to the gate.” + +And she started the race, though she hated doing it. YOU know why Bobbie +did that. Mother only thought that Bobbie was tired of walking slowly. +Even Mothers, who love you better than anyone else ever will, don't +always understand. + + + +Chapter VIII. The amateur firemen. + + +“That's a likely little brooch you've got on, Miss,” said Perks the +Porter; “I don't know as ever I see a thing more like a buttercup +without it WAS a buttercup.” + +“Yes,” said Bobbie, glad and flushed by this approval. “I always thought +it was more like a buttercup almost than even a real one--and I NEVER +thought it would come to be mine, my very own--and then Mother gave it +to me for my birthday.” + +“Oh, have you had a birthday?” said Perks; and he seemed quite +surprised, as though a birthday were a thing only granted to a favoured +few. + +“Yes,” said Bobbie; “when's your birthday, Mr. Perks?” The children were +taking tea with Mr. Perks in the Porters' room among the lamps and +the railway almanacs. They had brought their own cups and some jam +turnovers. Mr. Perks made tea in a beer can, as usual, and everyone felt +very happy and confidential. + +“My birthday?” said Perks, tipping some more dark brown tea out of the +can into Peter's cup. “I give up keeping of my birthday afore you was +born.” + +“But you must have been born SOMETIME, you know,” said Phyllis, +thoughtfully, “even if it was twenty years ago--or thirty or sixty or +seventy.” + +“Not so long as that, Missie,” Perks grinned as he answered. “If you +really want to know, it was thirty-two years ago, come the fifteenth of +this month.” + +“Then why don't you keep it?” asked Phyllis. + +“I've got something else to keep besides birthdays,” said Perks, +briefly. + +“Oh! What?” asked Phyllis, eagerly. “Not secrets?” + +“No,” said Perks, “the kids and the Missus.” + +It was this talk that set the children thinking, and, presently, +talking. Perks was, on the whole, the dearest friend they had made. Not +so grand as the Station Master, but more approachable--less powerful +than the old gentleman, but more confidential. + +“It seems horrid that nobody keeps his birthday,” said Bobbie. “Couldn't +WE do something?” + +“Let's go up to the Canal bridge and talk it over,” said Peter. “I got a +new gut line from the postman this morning. He gave it me for a bunch of +roses that I gave him for his sweetheart. She's ill.” + +“Then I do think you might have given her the roses for nothing,” said +Bobbie, indignantly. + +“Nyang, nyang!” said Peter, disagreeably, and put his hands in his +pockets. + +“He did, of course,” said Phyllis, in haste; “directly we heard she was +ill we got the roses ready and waited by the gate. It was when you were +making the brekker-toast. And when he'd said 'Thank you' for the roses +so many times--much more than he need have--he pulled out the line and +gave it to Peter. It wasn't exchange. It was the grateful heart.” + +“Oh, I BEG your pardon, Peter,” said Bobbie, “I AM so sorry.” + +“Don't mention it,” said Peter, grandly, “I knew you would be.” + +So then they all went up to the Canal bridge. The idea was to fish from +the bridge, but the line was not quite long enough. + +“Never mind,” said Bobbie. “Let's just stay here and look at things. +Everything's so beautiful.” + +It was. The sun was setting in red splendour over the grey and purple +hills, and the canal lay smooth and shiny in the shadow--no ripple broke +its surface. It was like a grey satin ribbon between the dusky green +silk of the meadows that were on each side of its banks. + +“It's all right,” said Peter, “but somehow I can always see how pretty +things are much better when I've something to do. Let's get down on to +the towpath and fish from there.” + +Phyllis and Bobbie remembered how the boys on the canal-boats had thrown +coal at them, and they said so. + +“Oh, nonsense,” said Peter. “There aren't any boys here now. If there +were, I'd fight them.” + +Peter's sisters were kind enough not to remind him how he had NOT fought +the boys when coal had last been thrown. Instead they said, “All right, +then,” and cautiously climbed down the steep bank to the towing-path. +The line was carefully baited, and for half an hour they fished +patiently and in vain. Not a single nibble came to nourish hope in their +hearts. + +All eyes were intent on the sluggish waters that earnestly pretended +they had never harboured a single minnow when a loud rough shout made +them start. + +“Hi!” said the shout, in most disagreeable tones, “get out of that, +can't you?” + +An old white horse coming along the towing-path was within half a dozen +yards of them. They sprang to their feet and hastily climbed up the +bank. + +“We'll slip down again when they've gone by,” said Bobbie. + +But, alas, the barge, after the manner of barges, stopped under the +bridge. + +“She's going to anchor,” said Peter; “just our luck!” + +The barge did not anchor, because an anchor is not part of a +canal-boat's furniture, but she was moored with ropes fore and aft--and +the ropes were made fast to the palings and to crowbars driven into the +ground. + +“What you staring at?” growled the Bargee, crossly. + +“We weren't staring,” said Bobbie; “we wouldn't be so rude.” + +“Rude be blessed,” said the man; “get along with you!” + +“Get along yourself,” said Peter. He remembered what he had said about +fighting boys, and, besides, he felt safe halfway up the bank. “We've as +much right here as anyone else.” + +“Oh, 'AVE you, indeed!” said the man. “We'll soon see about that.” And +he came across his deck and began to climb down the side of his barge. + +“Oh, come away, Peter, come away!” said Bobbie and Phyllis, in agonised +unison. + +“Not me,” said Peter, “but YOU'D better.” + +The girls climbed to the top of the bank and stood ready to bolt for +home as soon as they saw their brother out of danger. The way home lay +all down hill. They knew that they all ran well. The Bargee did not look +as if HE did. He was red-faced, heavy, and beefy. + +But as soon as his foot was on the towing-path the children saw that +they had misjudged him. + +He made one spring up the bank and caught Peter by the leg, dragged him +down--set him on his feet with a shake--took him by the ear--and said +sternly:-- + +“Now, then, what do you mean by it? Don't you know these 'ere waters is +preserved? You ain't no right catching fish 'ere--not to say nothing of +your precious cheek.” + +Peter was always proud afterwards when he remembered that, with the +Bargee's furious fingers tightening on his ear, the Bargee's crimson +countenance close to his own, the Bargee's hot breath on his neck, he +had the courage to speak the truth. + +“I WASN'T catching fish,” said Peter. + +“That's not YOUR fault, I'll be bound,” said the man, giving Peter's ear +a twist--not a hard one--but still a twist. + +Peter could not say that it was. Bobbie and Phyllis had been holding +on to the railings above and skipping with anxiety. Now suddenly Bobbie +slipped through the railings and rushed down the bank towards Peter, so +impetuously that Phyllis, following more temperately, felt certain that +her sister's descent would end in the waters of the canal. And so it +would have done if the Bargee hadn't let go of Peter's ear--and caught +her in his jerseyed arm. + +“Who are you a-shoving of?” he said, setting her on her feet. + +“Oh,” said Bobbie, breathless, “I'm not shoving anybody. At least, not +on purpose. Please don't be cross with Peter. Of course, if it's your +canal, we're sorry and we won't any more. But we didn't know it was +yours.” + +“Go along with you,” said the Bargee. + +“Yes, we will; indeed we will,” said Bobbie, earnestly; “but we do beg +your pardon--and really we haven't caught a single fish. I'd tell you +directly if we had, honour bright I would.” + +She held out her hands and Phyllis turned out her little empty pocket to +show that really they hadn't any fish concealed about them. + +“Well,” said the Bargee, more gently, “cut along, then, and don't you do +it again, that's all.” + +The children hurried up the bank. + +“Chuck us a coat, M'ria,” shouted the man. And a red-haired woman in a +green plaid shawl came out from the cabin door with a baby in her arms +and threw a coat to him. He put it on, climbed the bank, and slouched +along across the bridge towards the village. + +“You'll find me up at the 'Rose and Crown' when you've got the kid to +sleep,” he called to her from the bridge. + +When he was out of sight the children slowly returned. Peter insisted on +this. + +“The canal may belong to him,” he said, “though I don't believe it +does. But the bridge is everybody's. Doctor Forrest told me it's public +property. I'm not going to be bounced off the bridge by him or anyone +else, so I tell you.” + +Peter's ear was still sore and so were his feelings. + +The girls followed him as gallant soldiers might follow the leader of a +forlorn hope. + +“I do wish you wouldn't,” was all they said. + +“Go home if you're afraid,” said Peter; “leave me alone. I'M not +afraid.” + +The sound of the man's footsteps died away along the quiet road. The +peace of the evening was not broken by the notes of the sedge-warblers +or by the voice of the woman in the barge, singing her baby to sleep. It +was a sad song she sang. Something about Bill Bailey and how she wanted +him to come home. + +The children stood leaning their arms on the parapet of the bridge; they +were glad to be quiet for a few minutes because all three hearts were +beating much more quickly. + +“I'm not going to be driven away by any old bargeman, I'm not,” said +Peter, thickly. + +“Of course not,” Phyllis said soothingly; “you didn't give in to him! So +now we might go home, don't you think?” + +“NO,” said Peter. + +Nothing more was said till the woman got off the barge, climbed the +bank, and came across the bridge. + +She hesitated, looking at the three backs of the children, then she +said, “Ahem.” + +Peter stayed as he was, but the girls looked round. + +“You mustn't take no notice of my Bill,” said the woman; “'is bark's +worse'n 'is bite. Some of the kids down Farley way is fair terrors. It +was them put 'is back up calling out about who ate the puppy-pie under +Marlow bridge.” + +“Who DID?” asked Phyllis. + +“_I_ dunno,” said the woman. “Nobody don't know! But somehow, and I +don't know the why nor the wherefore of it, them words is p'ison to a +barge-master. Don't you take no notice. 'E won't be back for two hours +good. You might catch a power o' fish afore that. The light's good an' +all,” she added. + +“Thank you,” said Bobbie. “You're very kind. Where's your baby?” + +“Asleep in the cabin,” said the woman. “'E's all right. Never wakes +afore twelve. Reg'lar as a church clock, 'e is.” + +“I'm sorry,” said Bobbie; “I would have liked to see him, close to.” + +“And a finer you never did see, Miss, though I says it.” The woman's +face brightened as she spoke. + +“Aren't you afraid to leave it?” said Peter. + +“Lor' love you, no,” said the woman; “who'd hurt a little thing like +'im? Besides, Spot's there. So long!” + +The woman went away. + +“Shall we go home?” said Phyllis. + +“You can. I'm going to fish,” said Peter briefly. + +“I thought we came up here to talk about Perks's birthday,” said +Phyllis. + +“Perks's birthday'll keep.” + +So they got down on the towing-path again and Peter fished. He did not +catch anything. + +It was almost quite dark, the girls were getting tired, and as Bobbie +said, it was past bedtime, when suddenly Phyllis cried, “What's that?” + +And she pointed to the canal boat. Smoke was coming from the chimney of +the cabin, had indeed been curling softly into the soft evening air all +the time--but now other wreaths of smoke were rising, and these were +from the cabin door. + +“It's on fire--that's all,” said Peter, calmly. “Serve him right.” + +“Oh--how CAN you?” cried Phyllis. “Think of the poor dear dog.” + +“The BABY!” screamed Bobbie. + +In an instant all three made for the barge. + +Her mooring ropes were slack, and the little breeze, hardly strong +enough to be felt, had yet been strong enough to drift her stern against +the bank. Bobbie was first--then came Peter, and it was Peter who +slipped and fell. He went into the canal up to his neck, and his feet +could not feel the bottom, but his arm was on the edge of the barge. +Phyllis caught at his hair. It hurt, but it helped him to get out. Next +minute he had leaped on to the barge, Phyllis following. + +“Not you!” he shouted to Bobbie; “ME, because I'm wet.” + +He caught up with Bobbie at the cabin door, and flung her aside very +roughly indeed; if they had been playing, such roughness would have made +Bobbie weep with tears of rage and pain. Now, though he flung her on +to the edge of the hold, so that her knee and her elbow were grazed and +bruised, she only cried:-- + +“No--not you--ME,” and struggled up again. But not quickly enough. + +Peter had already gone down two of the cabin steps into the cloud of +thick smoke. He stopped, remembered all he had ever heard of fires, +pulled his soaked handkerchief out of his breast pocket and tied it over +his mouth. As he pulled it out he said:-- + +“It's all right, hardly any fire at all.” + +And this, though he thought it was a lie, was rather good of Peter. It +was meant to keep Bobbie from rushing after him into danger. Of course +it didn't. + +The cabin glowed red. A paraffin lamp was burning calmly in an orange +mist. + +“Hi,” said Peter, lifting the handkerchief from his mouth for a moment. +“Hi, Baby--where are you?” He choked. + +“Oh, let ME go,” cried Bobbie, close behind him. Peter pushed her back +more roughly than before, and went on. + +Now what would have happened if the baby hadn't cried I don't know--but +just at that moment it DID cry. Peter felt his way through the dark +smoke, found something small and soft and warm and alive, picked it up +and backed out, nearly tumbling over Bobbie who was close behind. A dog +snapped at his leg--tried to bark, choked. + +“I've got the kid,” said Peter, tearing off the handkerchief and +staggering on to the deck. + +Bobbie caught at the place where the bark came from, and her hands met +on the fat back of a smooth-haired dog. It turned and fastened its teeth +on her hand, but very gently, as much as to say:-- + +“I'm bound to bark and bite if strangers come into my master's cabin, +but I know you mean well, so I won't REALLY bite.” + +Bobbie dropped the dog. + +“All right, old man. Good dog,” said she. “Here--give me the baby, +Peter; you're so wet you'll give it cold.” + +Peter was only too glad to hand over the strange little bundle that +squirmed and whimpered in his arms. + +“Now,” said Bobbie, quickly, “you run straight to the 'Rose and Crown' +and tell them. Phil and I will stay here with the precious. Hush, then, +a dear, a duck, a darling! Go NOW, Peter! Run!” + +“I can't run in these things,” said Peter, firmly; “they're as heavy as +lead. I'll walk.” + +“Then I'LL run,” said Bobbie. “Get on the bank, Phil, and I'll hand you +the dear.” + +The baby was carefully handed. Phyllis sat down on the bank and tried to +hush the baby. Peter wrung the water from his sleeves and knickerbocker +legs as well as he could, and it was Bobbie who ran like the wind across +the bridge and up the long white quiet twilight road towards the 'Rose +and Crown.' + +There is a nice old-fashioned room at the 'Rose and Crown; where Bargees +and their wives sit of an evening drinking their supper beer, and +toasting their supper cheese at a glowing basketful of coals that +sticks out into the room under a great hooded chimney and is warmer and +prettier and more comforting than any other fireplace _I_ ever saw. + +There was a pleasant party of barge people round the fire. You might +not have thought it pleasant, but they did; for they were all friends +or acquaintances, and they liked the same sort of things, and talked +the same sort of talk. This is the real secret of pleasant society. The +Bargee Bill, whom the children had found so disagreeable, was considered +excellent company by his mates. He was telling a tale of his own +wrongs--always a thrilling subject. It was his barge he was speaking +about. + +“And 'e sent down word 'paint her inside hout,' not namin' no colour, +d'ye see? So I gets a lotter green paint and I paints her stem to stern, +and I tell yer she looked A1. Then 'E comes along and 'e says, 'Wot yer +paint 'er all one colour for?' 'e says. And I says, says I, 'Cause I +thought she'd look fust-rate,' says I, 'and I think so still.' An' he +says, 'DEW yer? Then ye can just pay for the bloomin' paint yerself,' +says he. An' I 'ad to, too.” A murmur of sympathy ran round the +room. Breaking noisily in on it came Bobbie. She burst open the swing +door--crying breathlessly:-- + +“Bill! I want Bill the Bargeman.” + +There was a stupefied silence. Pots of beer were held in mid-air, +paralysed on their way to thirsty mouths. + +“Oh,” said Bobbie, seeing the bargewoman and making for her. “Your barge +cabin's on fire. Go quickly.” + +The woman started to her feet, and put a big red hand to her waist, on +the left side, where your heart seems to be when you are frightened or +miserable. + +“Reginald Horace!” she cried in a terrible voice; “my Reginald Horace!” + +“All right,” said Bobbie, “if you mean the baby; got him out safe. Dog, +too.” She had no breath for more, except, “Go on--it's all alight.” + +Then she sank on the ale-house bench and tried to get that breath of +relief after running which people call the 'second wind.' But she felt +as though she would never breathe again. + +Bill the Bargee rose slowly and heavily. But his wife was a hundred +yards up the road before he had quite understood what was the matter. + +Phyllis, shivering by the canal side, had hardly heard the quick +approaching feet before the woman had flung herself on the railing, +rolled down the bank, and snatched the baby from her. + +“Don't,” said Phyllis, reproachfully; “I'd just got him to sleep.” + + * * * * * * + +Bill came up later talking in a language with which the children were +wholly unfamiliar. He leaped on to the barge and dipped up pails +of water. Peter helped him and they put out the fire. Phyllis, the +bargewoman, and the baby--and presently Bobbie, too--cuddled together in +a heap on the bank. + +“Lord help me, if it was me left anything as could catch alight,” said +the woman again and again. + +But it wasn't she. It was Bill the Bargeman, who had knocked his pipe +out and the red ash had fallen on the hearth-rug and smouldered there +and at last broken into flame. Though a stern man he was just. He did +not blame his wife for what was his own fault, as many bargemen, and +other men, too, would have done. + + * * * * * * + +Mother was half wild with anxiety when at last the three children turned +up at Three Chimneys, all very wet by now, for Peter seemed to have come +off on the others. But when she had disentangled the truth of what had +happened from their mixed and incoherent narrative, she owned that they +had done quite right, and could not possibly have done otherwise. Nor +did she put any obstacles in the way of their accepting the cordial +invitation with which the bargeman had parted from them. + +“Ye be here at seven to-morrow,” he had said, “and I'll take you the +entire trip to Farley and back, so I will, and not a penny to pay. +Nineteen locks!” + +They did not know what locks were; but they were at the bridge at seven, +with bread and cheese and half a soda cake, and quite a quarter of a leg +of mutton in a basket. + +It was a glorious day. The old white horse strained at the ropes, the +barge glided smoothly and steadily through the still water. The sky was +blue overhead. Mr. Bill was as nice as anyone could possibly be. No one +would have thought that he could be the same man who had held Peter by +the ear. As for Mrs. Bill, she had always been nice, as Bobbie said, and +so had the baby, and even Spot, who might have bitten them quite badly +if he had liked. + +“It was simply ripping, Mother,” said Peter, when they reached home very +happy, very tired, and very dirty, “right over that glorious aqueduct. +And locks--you don't know what they're like. You sink into the ground +and then, when you feel you're never going to stop going down, two great +black gates open slowly, slowly--you go out, and there you are on the +canal just like you were before.” + +“I know,” said Mother, “there are locks on the Thames. Father and I used +to go on the river at Marlow before we were married.” + +“And the dear, darling, ducky baby,” said Bobbie; “it let me nurse it +for ages and ages--and it WAS so good. Mother, I wish we had a baby to +play with.” + +“And everybody was so nice to us,” said Phyllis, “everybody we met. And +they say we may fish whenever we like. And Bill is going to show us the +way next time he's in these parts. He says we don't know really.” + +“He said YOU didn't know,” said Peter; “but, Mother, he said he'd tell +all the bargees up and down the canal that we were the real, right sort, +and they were to treat us like good pals, as we were.” + +“So then I said,” Phyllis interrupted, “we'd always each wear a red +ribbon when we went fishing by the canal, so they'd know it was US, and +we were the real, right sort, and be nice to us!” + +“So you've made another lot of friends,” said Mother; “first the railway +and then the canal!” + +“Oh, yes,” said Bobbie; “I think everyone in the world is friends if you +can only get them to see you don't want to be UN-friends.” + +“Perhaps you're right,” said Mother; and she sighed. “Come, Chicks. It's +bedtime.” + +“Yes,” said Phyllis. “Oh dear--and we went up there to talk about what +we'd do for Perks's birthday. And we haven't talked a single thing about +it!” + +“No more we have,” said Bobbie; “but Peter's saved Reginald Horace's +life. I think that's about good enough for one evening.” + +“Bobbie would have saved him if I hadn't knocked her down; twice I did,” + said Peter, loyally. + +“So would I,” said Phyllis, “if I'd known what to do.” + +“Yes,” said Mother, “you've saved a little child's life. I do think +that's enough for one evening. Oh, my darlings, thank God YOU'RE all +safe!” + + + +Chapter IX. The pride of Perks. + + +It was breakfast-time. Mother's face was very bright as she poured the +milk and ladled out the porridge. + +“I've sold another story, Chickies,” she said; “the one about the King +of the Mussels, so there'll be buns for tea. You can go and get them as +soon as they're baked. About eleven, isn't it?” + +Peter, Phyllis, and Bobbie exchanged glances with each other, six +glances in all. Then Bobbie said:-- + +“Mother, would you mind if we didn't have the buns for tea to-night, but +on the fifteenth? That's next Thursday.” + +“_I_ don't mind when you have them, dear,” said Mother, “but why?” + +“Because it's Perks's birthday,” said Bobbie; “he's thirty-two, and +he says he doesn't keep his birthday any more, because he's got other +things to keep--not rabbits or secrets--but the kids and the missus.” + +“You mean his wife and children,” said Mother. + +“Yes,” said Phyllis; “it's the same thing, isn't it?” + +“And we thought we'd make a nice birthday for him. He's been so awfully +jolly decent to us, you know, Mother,” said Peter, “and we agreed that +next bun-day we'd ask you if we could.” + +“But suppose there hadn't been a bun-day before the fifteenth?” said +Mother. + +“Oh, then, we meant to ask you to let us anti--antipate it, and go +without when the bun-day came.” + +“Anticipate,” said Mother. “I see. Certainly. It would be nice to put +his name on the buns with pink sugar, wouldn't it?” + +“Perks,” said Peter, “it's not a pretty name.” + +“His other name's Albert,” said Phyllis; “I asked him once.” + +“We might put A. P.,” said Mother; “I'll show you how when the day +comes.” + +This was all very well as far as it went. But even fourteen halfpenny +buns with A. P. on them in pink sugar do not of themselves make a very +grand celebration. + +“There are always flowers, of course,” said Bobbie, later, when a really +earnest council was being held on the subject in the hay-loft where +the broken chaff-cutting machine was, and the row of holes to drop hay +through into the hay-racks over the mangers of the stables below. + +“He's got lots of flowers of his own,” said Peter. + +“But it's always nice to have them given you,” said Bobbie, “however +many you've got of your own. We can use flowers for trimmings to the +birthday. But there must be something to trim besides buns.” + +“Let's all be quiet and think,” said Phyllis; “no one's to speak until +it's thought of something.” + +So they were all quiet and so very still that a brown rat thought that +there was no one in the loft and came out very boldly. When Bobbie +sneezed, the rat was quite shocked and hurried away, for he saw that a +hay-loft where such things could happen was no place for a respectable +middle-aged rat that liked a quiet life. + +“Hooray!” cried Peter, suddenly, “I've got it.” He jumped up and kicked +at the loose hay. + +“What?” said the others, eagerly. + +“Why, Perks is so nice to everybody. There must be lots of people in the +village who'd like to help to make him a birthday. Let's go round and +ask everybody.” + +“Mother said we weren't to ask people for things,” said Bobbie, +doubtfully. + +“For ourselves, she meant, silly, not for other people. I'll ask the old +gentleman too. You see if I don't,” said Peter. + +“Let's ask Mother first,” said Bobbie. + +“Oh, what's the use of bothering Mother about every little thing?” + said Peter, “especially when she's busy. Come on. Let's go down to the +village now and begin.” + +So they went. The old lady at the Post-office said she didn't see why +Perks should have a birthday any more than anyone else. + +“No,” said Bobbie, “I should like everyone to have one. Only we know +when his is.” + +“Mine's to-morrow,” said the old lady, “and much notice anyone will take +of it. Go along with you.” + +So they went. + +And some people were kind, and some were crusty. And some would give and +some would not. It is rather difficult work asking for things, even for +other people, as you have no doubt found if you have ever tried it. + +When the children got home and counted up what had been given and what +had been promised, they felt that for the first day it was not so bad. +Peter wrote down the lists of the things in the little pocket-book where +he kept the numbers of his engines. These were the lists:-- + + GIVEN. + A tobacco pipe from the sweet shop. + Half a pound of tea from the grocer's. + A woollen scarf slightly faded from the draper's, which was the + other side of the grocer's. + A stuffed squirrel from the Doctor. + + PROMISED. + A piece of meat from the butcher. + Six fresh eggs from the woman who lived in the old turnpike cottage. + A piece of honeycomb and six bootlaces from the cobbler, and an + iron shovel from the blacksmith's. + +Very early next morning Bobbie got up and woke Phyllis. This had been +agreed on between them. They had not told Peter because they thought he +would think it silly. But they told him afterwards, when it had turned +out all right. + +They cut a big bunch of roses, and put it in a basket with the +needle-book that Phyllis had made for Bobbie on her birthday, and a very +pretty blue necktie of Phyllis's. Then they wrote on a paper: 'For Mrs. +Ransome, with our best love, because it is her birthday,' and they put +the paper in the basket, and they took it to the Post-office, and went +in and put it on the counter and ran away before the old woman at the +Post-office had time to get into her shop. + +When they got home Peter had grown confidential over helping Mother to +get the breakfast and had told her their plans. + +“There's no harm in it,” said Mother, “but it depends HOW you do it. I +only hope he won't be offended and think it's CHARITY. Poor people are +very proud, you know.” + +“It isn't because he's poor,” said Phyllis; “it's because we're fond of +him.” + +“I'll find some things that Phyllis has outgrown,” said Mother, “if +you're quite sure you can give them to him without his being offended. I +should like to do some little thing for him because he's been so kind to +you. I can't do much because we're poor ourselves. What are you writing, +Bobbie?” + +“Nothing particular,” said Bobbie, who had suddenly begun to scribble. +“I'm sure he'd like the things, Mother.” + +The morning of the fifteenth was spent very happily in getting the buns +and watching Mother make A. P. on them with pink sugar. You know how +it's done, of course? You beat up whites of eggs and mix powdered sugar +with them, and put in a few drops of cochineal. And then you make a cone +of clean, white paper with a little hole at the pointed end, and put the +pink egg-sugar in at the big end. It runs slowly out at the pointed end, +and you write the letters with it just as though it were a great fat pen +full of pink sugar-ink. + +The buns looked beautiful with A. P. on every one, and, when they were +put in a cool oven to set the sugar, the children went up to the village +to collect the honey and the shovel and the other promised things. + +The old lady at the Post-office was standing on her doorstep. The +children said “Good morning,” politely, as they passed. + +“Here, stop a bit,” she said. + +So they stopped. + +“Those roses,” said she. + +“Did you like them?” said Phyllis; “they were as fresh as fresh. _I_ +made the needle-book, but it was Bobbie's present.” She skipped joyously +as she spoke. + +“Here's your basket,” said the Post-office woman. She went in and +brought out the basket. It was full of fat, red gooseberries. + +“I dare say Perks's children would like them,” said she. + +“You ARE an old dear,” said Phyllis, throwing her arms around the old +lady's fat waist. “Perks WILL be pleased.” + +“He won't be half so pleased as I was with your needle-book and the tie +and the pretty flowers and all,” said the old lady, patting Phyllis's +shoulder. “You're good little souls, that you are. Look here. I've got a +pram round the back in the wood-lodge. It was got for my Emmie's first, +that didn't live but six months, and she never had but that one. I'd +like Mrs. Perks to have it. It 'ud be a help to her with that great boy +of hers. Will you take it along?” + +“OH!” said all the children together. + +When Mrs. Ransome had got out the perambulator and taken off the careful +papers that covered it, and dusted it all over, she said:-- + +“Well, there it is. I don't know but what I'd have given it to her +before if I'd thought of it. Only I didn't quite know if she'd accept of +it from me. You tell her it was my Emmie's little one's pram--” + +“Oh, ISN'T it nice to think there is going to be a real live baby in it +again!” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Ransome, sighing, and then laughing; “here, I'll give +you some peppermint cushions for the little ones, and then you run along +before I give you the roof off my head and the clothes off my back.” + +All the things that had been collected for Perks were packed into +the perambulator, and at half-past three Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis +wheeled it down to the little yellow house where Perks lived. + +The house was very tidy. On the window ledge was a jug of wild-flowers, +big daisies, and red sorrel, and feathery, flowery grasses. + +There was a sound of splashing from the wash-house, and a partly washed +boy put his head round the door. + +“Mother's a-changing of herself,” he said. + +“Down in a minute,” a voice sounded down the narrow, freshly scrubbed +stairs. + +The children waited. Next moment the stairs creaked and Mrs. Perks came +down, buttoning her bodice. Her hair was brushed very smooth and tight, +and her face shone with soap and water. + +“I'm a bit late changing, Miss,” she said to Bobbie, “owing to me having +had a extry clean-up to-day, along o' Perks happening to name its being +his birthday. I don't know what put it into his head to think of such +a thing. We keeps the children's birthdays, of course; but him and +me--we're too old for such like, as a general rule.” + +“We knew it was his birthday,” said Peter, “and we've got some presents +for him outside in the perambulator.” + +As the presents were being unpacked, Mrs. Perks gasped. When they +were all unpacked, she surprised and horrified the children by sitting +suddenly down on a wooden chair and bursting into tears. + +“Oh, don't!” said everybody; “oh, please don't!” And Peter added, +perhaps a little impatiently: “What on earth is the matter? You don't +mean to say you don't like it?” + +Mrs. Perks only sobbed. The Perks children, now as shiny-faced as anyone +could wish, stood at the wash-house door, and scowled at the intruders. +There was a silence, an awkward silence. + +“DON'T you like it?” said Peter, again, while his sisters patted Mrs. +Perks on the back. + +She stopped crying as suddenly as she had begun. + +“There, there, don't you mind me. I'M all right!” she said. “Like it? +Why, it's a birthday such as Perks never 'ad, not even when 'e was a boy +and stayed with his uncle, who was a corn chandler in his own account. +He failed afterwards. Like it? Oh--” and then she went on and said all +sorts of things that I won't write down, because I am sure that Peter +and Bobbie and Phyllis would not like me to. Their ears got hotter and +hotter, and their faces redder and redder, at the kind things Mrs. Perks +said. They felt they had done nothing to deserve all this praise. + +At last Peter said: “Look here, we're glad you're pleased. But if you go +on saying things like that, we must go home. And we did want to stay and +see if Mr. Perks is pleased, too. But we can't stand this.” + +“I won't say another single word,” said Mrs. Perks, with a beaming face, +“but that needn't stop me thinking, need it? For if ever--” + +“Can we have a plate for the buns?” Bobbie asked abruptly. And then Mrs. +Perks hastily laid the table for tea, and the buns and the honey and +the gooseberries were displayed on plates, and the roses were put in two +glass jam jars, and the tea-table looked, as Mrs. Perks said, “fit for a +Prince.” + +“To think!” she said, “me getting the place tidy early, and the little +'uns getting the wild-flowers and all--when never did I think there'd be +anything more for him except the ounce of his pet particular that I +got o' Saturday and been saving up for 'im ever since. Bless us! 'e IS +early!” + +Perks had indeed unlatched the latch of the little front gate. + +“Oh,” whispered Bobbie, “let's hide in the back kitchen, and YOU tell +him about it. But give him the tobacco first, because you got it for +him. And when you've told him, we'll all come in and shout, 'Many happy +returns!'” + +It was a very nice plan, but it did not quite come off. To begin with, +there was only just time for Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis to rush into +the wash-house, pushing the young and open-mouthed Perks children in +front of them. There was not time to shut the door, so that, without at +all meaning it, they had to listen to what went on in the kitchen. The +wash-house was a tight fit for the Perks children and the Three Chimneys +children, as well as all the wash-house's proper furniture, including +the mangle and the copper. + +“Hullo, old woman!” they heard Mr. Perks's voice say; “here's a pretty +set-out!” + +“It's your birthday tea, Bert,” said Mrs. Perks, “and here's a ounce of +your extry particular. I got it o' Saturday along o' your happening to +remember it was your birthday to-day.” + +“Good old girl!” said Mr. Perks, and there was a sound of a kiss. + +“But what's that pram doing here? And what's all these bundles? And +where did you get the sweetstuff, and--” + +The children did not hear what Mrs. Perks replied, because just then +Bobbie gave a start, put her hand in her pocket, and all her body grew +stiff with horror. + +“Oh!” she whispered to the others, “whatever shall we do? I forgot to +put the labels on any of the things! He won't know what's from who. +He'll think it's all US, and that we're trying to be grand or charitable +or something horrid.” + +“Hush!” said Peter. + +And then they heard the voice of Mr. Perks, loud and rather angry. + +“I don't care,” he said; “I won't stand it, and so I tell you straight.” + +“But,” said Mrs. Perks, “it's them children you make such a fuss +about--the children from the Three Chimneys.” + +“I don't care,” said Perks, firmly, “not if it was a angel from Heaven. +We've got on all right all these years and no favours asked. I'm not +going to begin these sort of charity goings-on at my time of life, so +don't you think it, Nell.” + +“Oh, hush!” said poor Mrs Perks; “Bert, shut your silly tongue, for +goodness' sake. The all three of 'ems in the wash-house a-listening to +every word you speaks.” + +“Then I'll give them something to listen to,” said the angry Perks; +“I've spoke my mind to them afore now, and I'll do it again,” he added, +and he took two strides to the wash-house door, and flung it wide +open--as wide, that is, as it would go, with the tightly packed children +behind it. + +“Come out,” said Perks, “come out and tell me what you mean by it. 'Ave +I ever complained to you of being short, as you comes this charity lay +over me?” + +“OH!” said Phyllis, “I thought you'd be so pleased; I'll never try to be +kind to anyone else as long as I live. No, I won't, not never.” + +She burst into tears. + +“We didn't mean any harm,” said Peter. + +“It ain't what you means so much as what you does,” said Perks. + +“Oh, DON'T!” cried Bobbie, trying hard to be braver than Phyllis, and to +find more words than Peter had done for explaining in. “We thought you'd +love it. We always have things on our birthdays.” + +“Oh, yes,” said Perks, “your own relations; that's different.” + +“Oh, no,” Bobbie answered. “NOT our own relations. All the servants +always gave us things at home, and us to them when it was their +birthdays. And when it was mine, and Mother gave me the brooch like a +buttercup, Mrs. Viney gave me two lovely glass pots, and nobody thought +she was coming the charity lay over us.” + +“If it had been glass pots here,” said Perks, “I wouldn't ha' said so +much. It's there being all this heaps and heaps of things I can't stand. +No--nor won't, neither.” + +“But they're not all from us--” said Peter, “only we forgot to put the +labels on. They're from all sorts of people in the village.” + +“Who put 'em up to it, I'd like to know?” asked Perks. + +“Why, we did,” sniffed Phyllis. + +Perks sat down heavily in the elbow-chair and looked at them with what +Bobbie afterwards described as withering glances of gloomy despair. + +“So you've been round telling the neighbours we can't make both +ends meet? Well, now you've disgraced us as deep as you can in the +neighbourhood, you can just take the whole bag of tricks back w'ere it +come from. Very much obliged, I'm sure. I don't doubt but what you meant +it kind, but I'd rather not be acquainted with you any longer if it's +all the same to you.” He deliberately turned the chair round so that +his back was turned to the children. The legs of the chair grated on the +brick floor, and that was the only sound that broke the silence. + +Then suddenly Bobbie spoke. + +“Look here,” she said, “this is most awful.” + +“That's what I says,” said Perks, not turning round. + +“Look here,” said Bobbie, desperately, “we'll go if you like--and you +needn't be friends with us any more if you don't want, but--” + +“WE shall always be friends with YOU, however nasty you are to us,” + sniffed Phyllis, wildly. + +“Be quiet,” said Peter, in a fierce aside. + +“But before we go,” Bobbie went on desperately, “do let us show you the +labels we wrote to put on the things.” + +“I don't want to see no labels,” said Perks, “except proper luggage ones +in my own walk of life. Do you think I've kept respectable and outer +debt on what I gets, and her having to take in washing, to be give away +for a laughing-stock to all the neighbours?” + +“Laughing?” said Peter; “you don't know.” + +“You're a very hasty gentleman,” whined Phyllis; “you know you were +wrong once before, about us not telling you the secret about the +Russian. Do let Bobbie tell you about the labels!” + +“Well. Go ahead!” said Perks, grudgingly. + +“Well, then,” said Bobbie, fumbling miserably, yet not without hope, in +her tightly stuffed pocket, “we wrote down all the things everybody said +when they gave us the things, with the people's names, because Mother +said we ought to be careful--because--but I wrote down what she +said--and you'll see.” + +But Bobbie could not read the labels just at once. She had to swallow +once or twice before she could begin. + +Mrs. Perks had been crying steadily ever since her husband had opened +the wash-house door. Now she caught her breath, choked, and said:-- + +“Don't you upset yourself, Missy. _I_ know you meant it kind if he +doesn't.” + +“May I read the labels?” said Bobbie, crying on to the slips as she +tried to sort them. “Mother's first. It says:-- + +“'Little Clothes for Mrs. Perks's children.' Mother said, 'I'll find +some of Phyllis's things that she's grown out of if you're quite sure +Mr. Perks wouldn't be offended and think it's meant for charity. I'd +like to do some little thing for him, because he's so kind to you. I +can't do much because we're poor ourselves.'” + +Bobbie paused. + +“That's all right,” said Perks, “your Ma's a born lady. We'll keep the +little frocks, and what not, Nell.” + +“Then there's the perambulator and the gooseberries, and the sweets,” + said Bobbie, “they're from Mrs. Ransome. She said: 'I dare say Mr. +Perks's children would like the sweets. And the perambulator was got for +my Emmie's first--it didn't live but six months, and she's never had but +that one. I'd like Mrs. Perks to have it. It would be a help with her +fine boy. I'd have given it before if I'd been sure she'd accept of +it from me.' She told me to tell you,” Bobbie added, “that it was her +Emmie's little one's pram.” + +“I can't send that pram back, Bert,” said Mrs Perks, firmly, “and I +won't. So don't you ask me--” + +“I'm not a-asking anything,” said Perks, gruffly. + +“Then the shovel,” said Bobbie. “Mr. James made it for you himself. And +he said--where is it? Oh, yes, here! He said, 'You tell Mr. Perks it's a +pleasure to make a little trifle for a man as is so much respected,' and +then he said he wished he could shoe your children and his own children, +like they do the horses, because, well, he knew what shoe leather was.” + +“James is a good enough chap,” said Perks. + +“Then the honey,” said Bobbie, in haste, “and the boot-laces. HE said +he respected a man that paid his way--and the butcher said the same. And +the old turnpike woman said many was the time you'd lent her a hand +with her garden when you were a lad--and things like that came home to +roost--I don't know what she meant. And everybody who gave anything said +they liked you, and it was a very good idea of ours; and nobody said +anything about charity or anything horrid like that. And the old +gentleman gave Peter a gold pound for you, and said you were a man who +knew your work. And I thought you'd LOVE to know how fond people are +of you, and I never was so unhappy in my life. Good-bye. I hope you'll +forgive us some day--” + +She could say no more, and she turned to go. + +“Stop,” said Perks, still with his back to them; “I take back every word +I've said contrary to what you'd wish. Nell, set on the kettle.” + +“We'll take the things away if you're unhappy about them,” said Peter; +“but I think everybody'll be most awfully disappointed, as well as us.” + +“I'm not unhappy about them,” said Perks; “I don't know,” he added, +suddenly wheeling the chair round and showing a very odd-looking +screwed-up face, “I don't know as ever I was better pleased. Not so much +with the presents--though they're an A1 collection--but the kind respect +of our neighbours. That's worth having, eh, Nell?” + +“I think it's all worth having,” said Mrs. Perks, “and you've made a +most ridiculous fuss about nothing, Bert, if you ask me.” + +“No, I ain't,” said Perks, firmly; “if a man didn't respect hisself, no +one wouldn't do it for him.” + +“But everyone respects you,” said Bobbie; “they all said so.” + +“I knew you'd like it when you really understood,” said Phyllis, +brightly. + +“Humph! You'll stay to tea?” said Mr. Perks. + +Later on Peter proposed Mr. Perks's health. And Mr. Perks proposed a +toast, also honoured in tea, and the toast was, “May the garland of +friendship be ever green,” which was much more poetical than anyone had +expected from him. + + * * * * * * + +“Jolly good little kids, those,” said Mr. Perks to his wife as they went +to bed. + +“Oh, they're all right, bless their hearts,” said his wife; “it's you +that's the aggravatingest old thing that ever was. I was ashamed of +you--I tell you--” + +“You didn't need to be, old gal. I climbed down handsome soon as I +understood it wasn't charity. But charity's what I never did abide, and +won't neither.” + + * * * * * * + +All sorts of people were made happy by that birthday party. Mr. Perks +and Mrs. Perks and the little Perkses by all the nice things and by the +kind thoughts of their neighbours; the Three Chimneys children by the +success, undoubted though unexpectedly delayed, of their plan; and Mrs. +Ransome every time she saw the fat Perks baby in the perambulator. +Mrs. Perks made quite a round of visits to thank people for their kind +birthday presents, and after each visit felt that she had a better +friend than she had thought. + +“Yes,” said Perks, reflectively, “it's not so much what you does as what +you means; that's what I say. Now if it had been charity--” + +“Oh, drat charity,” said Mrs. Perks; “nobody won't offer you +charity, Bert, however much you was to want it, I lay. That was just +friendliness, that was.” + +When the clergyman called on Mrs. Perks, she told him all about it. “It +WAS friendliness, wasn't it, Sir?” said she. + +“I think,” said the clergyman, “it was what is sometimes called +loving-kindness.” + +So you see it was all right in the end. But if one does that sort of +thing, one has to be careful to do it in the right way. For, as Mr. +Perks said, when he had time to think it over, it's not so much what you +do, as what you mean. + + + +Chapter X. The terrible secret. + + +When they first went to live at Three Chimneys, the children had talked +a great deal about their Father, and had asked a great many questions +about him, and what he was doing and where he was and when he would come +home. Mother always answered their questions as well as she could. But +as the time went on they grew to speak less of him. Bobbie had felt +almost from the first that for some strange miserable reason these +questions hurt Mother and made her sad. And little by little the others +came to have this feeling, too, though they could not have put it into +words. + +One day, when Mother was working so hard that she could not leave off +even for ten minutes, Bobbie carried up her tea to the big bare room +that they called Mother's workshop. It had hardly any furniture. Just +a table and a chair and a rug. But always big pots of flowers on the +window-sills and on the mantelpiece. The children saw to that. And from +the three long uncurtained windows the beautiful stretch of meadow and +moorland, the far violet of the hills, and the unchanging changefulness +of cloud and sky. + +“Here's your tea, Mother-love,” said Bobbie; “do drink it while it's +hot.” + +Mother laid down her pen among the pages that were scattered all over +the table, pages covered with her writing, which was almost as plain +as print, and much prettier. She ran her hands into her hair, as if she +were going to pull it out by handfuls. + +“Poor dear head,” said Bobbie, “does it ache?” + +“No--yes--not much,” said Mother. “Bobbie, do you think Peter and Phil +are FORGETTING Father?” + +“NO,” said Bobbie, indignantly. “Why?” + +“You none of you ever speak of him now.” + +Bobbie stood first on one leg and then on the other. + +“We often talk about him when we're by ourselves,” she said. + +“But not to me,” said Mother. “Why?” + +Bobbie did not find it easy to say why. + +“I--you--” she said and stopped. She went over to the window and looked +out. + +“Bobbie, come here,” said her Mother, and Bobbie came. + +“Now,” said Mother, putting her arm round Bobbie and laying her ruffled +head against Bobbie's shoulder, “try to tell me, dear.” + +Bobbie fidgeted. + +“Tell Mother.” + +“Well, then,” said Bobbie, “I thought you were so unhappy about Daddy +not being here, it made you worse when I talked about him. So I stopped +doing it.” + +“And the others?” + +“I don't know about the others,” said Bobbie. “I never said anything +about THAT to them. But I expect they felt the same about it as me.” + +“Bobbie dear,” said Mother, still leaning her head against her, “I'll +tell you. Besides parting from Father, he and I have had a great +sorrow--oh, terrible--worse than anything you can think of, and at first +it did hurt to hear you all talking of him as if everything were just +the same. But it would be much more terrible if you were to forget him. +That would be worse than anything.” + +“The trouble,” said Bobbie, in a very little voice--“I promised I +would never ask you any questions, and I never have, have I? But--the +trouble--it won't last always?” + +“No,” said Mother, “the worst will be over when Father comes home to +us.” + +“I wish I could comfort you,” said Bobbie. + +“Oh, my dear, do you suppose you don't? Do you think I haven't noticed +how good you've all been, not quarrelling nearly as much as you used +to--and all the little kind things you do for me--the flowers, and +cleaning my shoes, and tearing up to make my bed before I get time to do +it myself?” + +Bobbie HAD sometimes wondered whether Mother noticed these things. + +“That's nothing,” she said, “to what--” + +“I MUST get on with my work,” said Mother, giving Bobbie one last +squeeze. “Don't say anything to the others.” + +That evening in the hour before bed-time instead of reading to the +children Mother told them stories of the games she and Father used +to have when they were children and lived near each other in the +country--tales of the adventures of Father with Mother's brothers when +they were all boys together. Very funny stories they were, and the +children laughed as they listened. + +“Uncle Edward died before he was grown up, didn't he?” said Phyllis, as +Mother lighted the bedroom candles. + +“Yes, dear,” said Mother, “you would have loved him. He was such a +brave boy, and so adventurous. Always in mischief, and yet friends with +everybody in spite of it. And your Uncle Reggie's in Ceylon--yes, and +Father's away, too. But I think they'd all like to think we'd enjoyed +talking about the things they used to do. Don't you think so?” + +“Not Uncle Edward,” said Phyllis, in a shocked tone; “he's in Heaven.” + +“You don't suppose he's forgotten us and all the old times, because God +has taken him, any more than I forget him. Oh, no, he remembers. He's +only away for a little time. We shall see him some day.” + +“And Uncle Reggie--and Father, too?” said Peter. + +“Yes,” said Mother. “Uncle Reggie and Father, too. Good night, my +darlings.” + +“Good night,” said everyone. Bobbie hugged her mother more closely even +than usual, and whispered in her ear, “Oh, I do love you so, Mummy--I +do--I do--” + +When Bobbie came to think it all over, she tried not to wonder what +the great trouble was. But she could not always help it. Father was not +dead--like poor Uncle Edward--Mother had said so. And he was not ill, or +Mother would have been with him. Being poor wasn't the trouble. Bobbie +knew it was something nearer the heart than money could be. + +“I mustn't try to think what it is,” she told herself; “no, I mustn't. I +AM glad Mother noticed about us not quarrelling so much. We'll keep that +up.” + +And alas, that very afternoon she and Peter had what Peter called a +first-class shindy. + +They had not been a week at Three Chimneys before they had asked Mother +to let them have a piece of garden each for their very own, and she had +agreed, and the south border under the peach trees had been divided into +three pieces and they were allowed to plant whatever they liked there. + +Phyllis had planted mignonette and nasturtium and Virginia Stock in +hers. The seeds came up, and though they looked just like weeds, Phyllis +believed that they would bear flowers some day. The Virginia Stock +justified her faith quite soon, and her garden was gay with a band of +bright little flowers, pink and white and red and mauve. + +“I can't weed for fear I pull up the wrong things,” she used to say +comfortably; “it saves such a lot of work.” + +Peter sowed vegetable seeds in his--carrots and onions and turnips. +The seed was given to him by the farmer who lived in the nice +black-and-white, wood-and-plaster house just beyond the bridge. He +kept turkeys and guinea fowls, and was a most amiable man. But Peter's +vegetables never had much of a chance, because he liked to use the earth +of his garden for digging canals, and making forts and earthworks for +his toy soldiers. And the seeds of vegetables rarely come to much in +a soil that is constantly disturbed for the purposes of war and +irrigation. + +Bobbie planted rose-bushes in her garden, but all the little new leaves +of the rose-bushes shrivelled and withered, perhaps because she moved +them from the other part of the garden in May, which is not at all the +right time of year for moving roses. But she would not own that they +were dead, and hoped on against hope, until the day when Perks came up +to see the garden, and told her quite plainly that all her roses were as +dead as doornails. + +“Only good for bonfires, Miss,” he said. “You just dig 'em up and burn +'em, and I'll give you some nice fresh roots outer my garden; pansies, +and stocks, and sweet willies, and forget-me-nots. I'll bring 'em along +to-morrow if you get the ground ready.” + +So next day she set to work, and that happened to be the day when Mother +had praised her and the others about not quarrelling. She moved the +rose-bushes and carried them to the other end of the garden, where the +rubbish heap was that they meant to make a bonfire of when Guy Fawkes' +Day came. + +Meanwhile Peter had decided to flatten out all his forts and earthworks, +with a view to making a model of the railway-tunnel, cutting, +embankment, canal, aqueduct, bridges, and all. + +So when Bobbie came back from her last thorny journey with the dead +rose-bushes, he had got the rake and was using it busily. + +“_I_ was using the rake,” said Bobbie. + +“Well, I'm using it now,” said Peter. + +“But I had it first,” said Bobbie. + +“Then it's my turn now,” said Peter. And that was how the quarrel began. + +“You're always being disagreeable about nothing,” said Peter, after some +heated argument. + +“I had the rake first,” said Bobbie, flushed and defiant, holding on to +its handle. + +“Don't--I tell you I said this morning I meant to have it. Didn't I, +Phil?” + +Phyllis said she didn't want to be mixed up in their rows. And +instantly, of course, she was. + +“If you remember, you ought to say.” + +“Of course she doesn't remember--but she might say so.” + +“I wish I'd had a brother instead of two whiny little kiddy sisters,” + said Peter. This was always recognised as indicating the high-water mark +of Peter's rage. + +Bobbie made the reply she always made to it. + +“I can't think why little boys were ever invented,” and just as she said +it she looked up, and saw the three long windows of Mother's workshop +flashing in the red rays of the sun. The sight brought back those words +of praise:-- + +“You don't quarrel like you used to do.” + +“OH!” cried Bobbie, just as if she had been hit, or had caught her +finger in a door, or had felt the hideous sharp beginnings of toothache. + +“What's the matter?” said Phyllis. + +Bobbie wanted to say: “Don't let's quarrel. Mother hates it so,” but +though she tried hard, she couldn't. Peter was looking too disagreeable +and insulting. + +“Take the horrid rake, then,” was the best she could manage. And she +suddenly let go her hold on the handle. Peter had been holding on to +it too firmly and pullingly, and now that the pull the other way was +suddenly stopped, he staggered and fell over backward, the teeth of the +rake between his feet. + +“Serve you right,” said Bobbie, before she could stop herself. + +Peter lay still for half a moment--long enough to frighten Bobbie a +little. Then he frightened her a little more, for he sat up--screamed +once--turned rather pale, and then lay back and began to shriek, faintly +but steadily. It sounded exactly like a pig being killed a quarter of a +mile off. + +Mother put her head out of the window, and it wasn't half a minute after +that she was in the garden kneeling by the side of Peter, who never for +an instant ceased to squeal. + +“What happened, Bobbie?” Mother asked. + +“It was the rake,” said Phyllis. “Peter was pulling at it, so was +Bobbie, and she let go and he went over.” + +“Stop that noise, Peter,” said Mother. “Come. Stop at once.” + +Peter used up what breath he had left in a last squeal and stopped. + +“Now,” said Mother, “are you hurt?” + +“If he was really hurt, he wouldn't make such a fuss,” said Bobbie, +still trembling with fury; “he's not a coward!” + +“I think my foot's broken off, that's all,” said Peter, huffily, and sat +up. Then he turned quite white. Mother put her arm round him. + +“He IS hurt,” she said; “he's fainted. Here, Bobbie, sit down and take +his head on your lap.” + +Then Mother undid Peter's boots. As she took the right one off, +something dripped from his foot on to the ground. It was red blood. And +when the stocking came off there were three red wounds in Peter's foot +and ankle, where the teeth of the rake had bitten him, and his foot was +covered with red smears. + +“Run for water--a basinful,” said Mother, and Phyllis ran. She upset +most of the water out of the basin in her haste, and had to fetch more +in a jug. + +Peter did not open his eyes again till Mother had tied her handkerchief +round his foot, and she and Bobbie had carried him in and laid him on +the brown wooden settle in the dining-room. By this time Phyllis was +halfway to the Doctor's. + +Mother sat by Peter and bathed his foot and talked to him, and Bobbie +went out and got tea ready, and put on the kettle. + +“It's all I can do,” she told herself. “Oh, suppose Peter should die, or +be a helpless cripple for life, or have to walk with crutches, or wear a +boot with a sole like a log of wood!” + +She stood by the back door reflecting on these gloomy possibilities, her +eyes fixed on the water-butt. + +“I wish I'd never been born,” she said, and she said it out loud. + +“Why, lawk a mercy, what's that for?” asked a voice, and Perks stood +before her with a wooden trug basket full of green-leaved things and +soft, loose earth. + +“Oh, it's you,” she said. “Peter's hurt his foot with a rake--three +great gaping wounds, like soldiers get. And it was partly my fault.” + +“That it wasn't, I'll go bail,” said Perks. “Doctor seen him?” + +“Phyllis has gone for the Doctor.” + +“He'll be all right; you see if he isn't,” said Perks. “Why, my father's +second cousin had a hay-fork run into him, right into his inside, and he +was right as ever in a few weeks, all except his being a bit weak in +the head afterwards, and they did say that it was along of his getting +a touch of the sun in the hay-field, and not the fork at all. I remember +him well. A kind-'earted chap, but soft, as you might say.” + +Bobbie tried to let herself be cheered by this heartening reminiscence. + +“Well,” said Perks, “you won't want to be bothered with gardening just +this minute, I dare say. You show me where your garden is, and I'll +pop the bits of stuff in for you. And I'll hang about, if I may make so +free, to see the Doctor as he comes out and hear what he says. You cheer +up, Missie. I lay a pound he ain't hurt, not to speak of.” + +But he was. The Doctor came and looked at the foot and bandaged it +beautifully, and said that Peter must not put it to the ground for at +least a week. + +“He won't be lame, or have to wear crutches or a lump on his foot, will +he?” whispered Bobbie, breathlessly, at the door. + +“My aunt! No!” said Dr. Forrest; “he'll be as nimble as ever on his pins +in a fortnight. Don't you worry, little Mother Goose.” + +It was when Mother had gone to the gate with the Doctor to take his last +instructions and Phyllis was filling the kettle for tea, that Peter and +Bobbie found themselves alone. + +“He says you won't be lame or anything,” said Bobbie. + +“Oh, course I shan't, silly,” said Peter, very much relieved all the +same. + +“Oh, Peter, I AM so sorry,” said Bobbie, after a pause. + +“That's all right,” said Peter, gruffly. + +“It was ALL my fault,” said Bobbie. + +“Rot,” said Peter. + +“If we hadn't quarrelled, it wouldn't have happened. I knew it was wrong +to quarrel. I wanted to say so, but somehow I couldn't.” + +“Don't drivel,” said Peter. “I shouldn't have stopped if you HAD said +it. Not likely. And besides, us rowing hadn't anything to do with it. +I might have caught my foot in the hoe, or taken off my fingers in the +chaff-cutting machine or blown my nose off with fireworks. It would have +been hurt just the same whether we'd been rowing or not.” + +“But I knew it was wrong to quarrel,” said Bobbie, in tears, “and now +you're hurt and--” + +“Now look here,” said Peter, firmly, “you just dry up. If you're not +careful, you'll turn into a beastly little Sunday-school prig, so I tell +you.” + +“I don't mean to be a prig. But it's so hard not to be when you're +really trying to be good.” + +(The Gentle Reader may perhaps have suffered from this difficulty.) + +“Not it,” said Peter; “it's a jolly good thing it wasn't you was hurt. +I'm glad it was ME. There! If it had been you, you'd have been lying +on the sofa looking like a suffering angel and being the light of the +anxious household and all that. And I couldn't have stood it.” + +“No, I shouldn't,” said Bobbie. + +“Yes, you would,” said Peter. + +“I tell you I shouldn't.” + +“I tell you you would.” + +“Oh, children,” said Mother's voice at the door. “Quarrelling again? +Already?” + +“We aren't quarrelling--not really,” said Peter. “I wish you wouldn't +think it's rows every time we don't agree!” When Mother had gone out +again, Bobbie broke out:-- + +“Peter, I AM sorry you're hurt. But you ARE a beast to say I'm a prig.” + +“Well,” said Peter unexpectedly, “perhaps I am. You did say I wasn't a +coward, even when you were in such a wax. The only thing is--don't +you be a prig, that's all. You keep your eyes open and if you feel +priggishness coming on just stop in time. See?” + +“Yes,” said Bobbie, “I see.” + +“Then let's call it Pax,” said Peter, magnanimously: “bury the hatchet +in the fathoms of the past. Shake hands on it. I say, Bobbie, old chap, +I am tired.” + +He was tired for many days after that, and the settle seemed hard and +uncomfortable in spite of all the pillows and bolsters and soft folded +rugs. It was terrible not to be able to go out. They moved the settle +to the window, and from there Peter could see the smoke of the trains +winding along the valley. But he could not see the trains. + +At first Bobbie found it quite hard to be as nice to him as she wanted +to be, for fear he should think her priggish. But that soon wore off, +and both she and Phyllis were, as he observed, jolly good sorts. Mother +sat with him when his sisters were out. And the words, “he's not a +coward,” made Peter determined not to make any fuss about the pain in +his foot, though it was rather bad, especially at night. + +Praise helps people very much, sometimes. + +There were visitors, too. Mrs. Perks came up to ask how he was, and so +did the Station Master, and several of the village people. But the time +went slowly, slowly. + +“I do wish there was something to read,” said Peter. “I've read all our +books fifty times over.” + +“I'll go to the Doctor's,” said Phyllis; “he's sure to have some.” + +“Only about how to be ill, and about people's nasty insides, I expect,” + said Peter. + +“Perks has a whole heap of Magazines that came out of trains when people +are tired of them,” said Bobbie. “I'll run down and ask him.” + +So the girls went their two ways. + +Bobbie found Perks busy cleaning lamps. + +“And how's the young gent?” said he. + +“Better, thanks,” said Bobbie, “but he's most frightfully bored. I came +to ask if you'd got any Magazines you could lend him.” + +“There, now,” said Perks, regretfully, rubbing his ear with a black +and oily lump of cotton waste, “why didn't I think of that, now? I was +trying to think of something as 'ud amuse him only this morning, and I +couldn't think of anything better than a guinea-pig. And a young chap I +know's going to fetch that over for him this tea-time.” + +“How lovely! A real live guinea! He will be pleased. But he'd like the +Magazines as well.” + +“That's just it,” said Perks. “I've just sent the pick of 'em to +Snigson's boy--him what's just getting over the pewmonia. But I've lots +of illustrated papers left.” + +He turned to the pile of papers in the corner and took up a heap six +inches thick. + +“There!” he said. “I'll just slip a bit of string and a bit of paper +round 'em.” + +He pulled an old newspaper from the pile and spread it on the table, and +made a neat parcel of it. + +“There,” said he, “there's lots of pictures, and if he likes to mess 'em +about with his paint-box, or coloured chalks or what not, why, let him. +_I_ don't want 'em.” + +“You're a dear,” said Bobbie, took the parcel, and started. The papers +were heavy, and when she had to wait at the level-crossing while a train +went by, she rested the parcel on the top of the gate. And idly she +looked at the printing on the paper that the parcel was wrapped in. + +Suddenly she clutched the parcel tighter and bent her head over it. It +seemed like some horrible dream. She read on--the bottom of the column +was torn off--she could read no farther. + +She never remembered how she got home. But she went on tiptoe to her +room and locked the door. Then she undid the parcel and read that +printed column again, sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands and feet +icy cold and her face burning. When she had read all there was, she drew +a long, uneven breath. + +“So now I know,” she said. + +What she had read was headed, 'End of the Trial. Verdict. Sentence.' + +The name of the man who had been tried was the name of her Father. +The verdict was 'Guilty.' And the sentence was 'Five years' Penal +Servitude.' + +“Oh, Daddy,” she whispered, crushing the paper hard, “it's not true--I +don't believe it. You never did it! Never, never, never!” + +There was a hammering on the door. + +“What is it?” said Bobbie. + +“It's me,” said the voice of Phyllis; “tea's ready, and a boy's brought +Peter a guinea-pig. Come along down.” + +And Bobbie had to. + + + +Chapter XI. The hound in the red jersey. + + +Bobbie knew the secret now. A sheet of old newspaper wrapped round a +parcel--just a little chance like that--had given the secret to her. And +she had to go down to tea and pretend that there was nothing the matter. +The pretence was bravely made, but it wasn't very successful. + +For when she came in, everyone looked up from tea and saw her +pink-lidded eyes and her pale face with red tear-blotches on it. + +“My darling,” cried Mother, jumping up from the tea-tray, “whatever IS +the matter?” + +“My head aches, rather,” said Bobbie. And indeed it did. + +“Has anything gone wrong?” Mother asked. + +“I'm all right, really,” said Bobbie, and she telegraphed to her Mother +from her swollen eyes this brief, imploring message--“NOT before the +others!” + +Tea was not a cheerful meal. Peter was so distressed by the obvious fact +that something horrid had happened to Bobbie that he limited his speech +to repeating, “More bread and butter, please,” at startlingly short +intervals. Phyllis stroked her sister's hand under the table to express +sympathy, and knocked her cup over as she did it. Fetching a cloth and +wiping up the spilt milk helped Bobbie a little. But she thought that +tea would never end. Yet at last it did end, as all things do at last, +and when Mother took out the tray, Bobbie followed her. + +“She's gone to own up,” said Phyllis to Peter; “I wonder what she's +done.” + +“Broken something, I suppose,” said Peter, “but she needn't be so silly +over it. Mother never rows for accidents. Listen! Yes, they're going +upstairs. She's taking Mother up to show her--the water-jug with storks +on it, I expect it is.” + +Bobbie, in the kitchen, had caught hold of Mother's hand as she set down +the tea-things. + +“What is it?” Mother asked. + +But Bobbie only said, “Come upstairs, come up where nobody can hear us.” + +When she had got Mother alone in her room she locked the door and then +stood quite still, and quite without words. + +All through tea she had been thinking of what to say; she had decided +that “I know all,” or “All is known to me,” or “The terrible secret is +a secret no longer,” would be the proper thing. But now that she and +her Mother and that awful sheet of newspaper were alone in the room +together, she found that she could say nothing. + +Suddenly she went to Mother and put her arms round her and began to cry +again. And still she could find no words, only, “Oh, Mammy, oh, Mammy, +oh, Mammy,” over and over again. + +Mother held her very close and waited. + +Suddenly Bobbie broke away from her and went to her bed. From under her +mattress she pulled out the paper she had hidden there, and held it out, +pointing to her Father's name with a finger that shook. + +“Oh, Bobbie,” Mother cried, when one little quick look had shown her +what it was, “you don't BELIEVE it? You don't believe Daddy did it?” + +“NO,” Bobbie almost shouted. She had stopped crying. + +“That's all right,” said Mother. “It's not true. And they've shut him +up in prison, but he's done nothing wrong. He's good and noble and +honourable, and he belongs to us. We have to think of that, and be proud +of him, and wait.” + +Again Bobbie clung to her Mother, and again only one word came to her, +but now that word was “Daddy,” and “Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy!” + again and again. + +“Why didn't you tell me, Mammy?” she asked presently. + +“Are you going to tell the others?” Mother asked. + +“No.” + +“Why?” + +“Because--” + +“Exactly,” said Mother; “so you understand why I didn't tell you. We two +must help each other to be brave.” + +“Yes,” said Bobbie; “Mother, will it make you more unhappy if you tell +me all about it? I want to understand.” + +So then, sitting cuddled up close to her Mother, Bobbie heard “all +about it.” She heard how those men, who had asked to see Father on that +remembered last night when the Engine was being mended, had come +to arrest him, charging him with selling State secrets to the +Russians--with being, in fact, a spy and a traitor. She heard about the +trial, and about the evidence--letters, found in Father's desk at the +office, letters that convinced the jury that Father was guilty. + +“Oh, how could they look at him and believe it!” cried Bobbie; “and how +could ANY one do such a thing!” + +“SOMEONE did it,” said Mother, “and all the evidence was against Father. +Those letters--” + +“Yes. How did the letters get into his desk?” + +“Someone put them there. And the person who put them there was the +person who was really guilty.” + +“HE must be feeling pretty awful all this time,” said Bobbie, +thoughtfully. + +“I don't believe he had any feelings,” Mother said hotly; “he couldn't +have done a thing like that if he had.” + +“Perhaps he just shoved the letters into the desk to hide them when he +thought he was going to be found out. Why don't you tell the lawyers, +or someone, that it must have been that person? There wasn't anyone that +would have hurt Father on purpose, was there?” + +“I don't know--I don't know. The man under him who got Daddy's place +when he--when the awful thing happened--he was always jealous of your +Father because Daddy was so clever and everyone thought such a lot of +him. And Daddy never quite trusted that man.” + +“Couldn't we explain all that to someone?” + +“Nobody will listen,” said Mother, very bitterly, “nobody at all. Do you +suppose I've not tried everything? No, my dearest, there's nothing to be +done. All we can do, you and I and Daddy, is to be brave, and patient, +and--” she spoke very softly--“to pray, Bobbie, dear.” + +“Mother, you've got very thin,” said Bobbie, abruptly. + +“A little, perhaps.” + +“And oh,” said Bobbie, “I do think you're the bravest person in the +world as well as the nicest!” + +“We won't talk of all this any more, will we, dear?” said Mother; “we +must bear it and be brave. And, darling, try not to think of it. Try to +be cheerful, and to amuse yourself and the others. It's much easier for +me if you can be a little bit happy and enjoy things. Wash your poor +little round face, and let's go out into the garden for a bit.” + +The other two were very gentle and kind to Bobbie. And they did not +ask her what was the matter. This was Peter's idea, and he had drilled +Phyllis, who would have asked a hundred questions if she had been left +to herself. + +A week later Bobbie managed to get away alone. And once more she wrote a +letter. And once more it was to the old gentleman. + +“My dear Friend,” she said, “you see what is in this paper. It is +not true. Father never did it. Mother says someone put the papers in +Father's desk, and she says the man under him that got Father's place +afterwards was jealous of Father, and Father suspected him a long time. +But nobody listens to a word she says, but you are so good and clever, +and you found out about the Russian gentleman's wife directly. Can't you +find out who did the treason because he wasn't Father upon my honour; +he is an Englishman and uncapable to do such things, and then they would +let Father out of prison. It is dreadful, and Mother is getting so thin. +She told us once to pray for all prisoners and captives. I see now. +Oh, do help me--there is only just Mother and me know, and we can't do +anything. Peter and Phil don't know. I'll pray for you twice every day +as long as I live if you'll only try--just try to find out. Think if it +was YOUR Daddy, what you would feel. Oh, do, do, DO help me. With love + +“I remain Your affectionately little friend + +“Roberta. + +P.S. Mother would send her kind regards if she knew I am writing--but +it is no use telling her I am, in case you can't do anything. But I know +you will. Bobbie with best love.” + +She cut the account of her Father's trial out of the newspaper with +Mother's big cutting-out scissors, and put it in the envelope with her +letter. + +Then she took it down to the station, going out the back way and round +by the road, so that the others should not see her and offer to come +with her, and she gave the letter to the Station Master to give to the +old gentleman next morning. + +“Where HAVE you been?” shouted Peter, from the top of the yard wall +where he and Phyllis were. + +“To the station, of course,” said Bobbie; “give us a hand, Pete.” + +She set her foot on the lock of the yard door. Peter reached down a +hand. + +“What on earth?” she asked as she reached the wall-top--for Phyllis and +Peter were very muddy. A lump of wet clay lay between them on the wall, +they had each a slip of slate in a very dirty hand, and behind Peter, +out of the reach of accidents, were several strange rounded objects +rather like very fat sausages, hollow, but closed up at one end. + +“It's nests,” said Peter, “swallows' nests. We're going to dry them +in the oven and hang them up with string under the eaves of the +coach-house.” + +“Yes,” said Phyllis; “and then we're going to save up all the wool and +hair we can get, and in the spring we'll line them, and then how pleased +the swallows will be!” + +“I've often thought people don't do nearly enough for dumb animals,” + said Peter with an air of virtue. “I do think people might have thought +of making nests for poor little swallows before this.” + +“Oh,” said Bobbie, vaguely, “if everybody thought of everything, there'd +be nothing left for anybody else to think about.” + +“Look at the nests--aren't they pretty?” said Phyllis, reaching across +Peter to grasp a nest. + +“Look out, Phil, you goat,” said her brother. But it was too late; her +strong little fingers had crushed the nest. + +“There now,” said Peter. + +“Never mind,” said Bobbie. + +“It IS one of my own,” said Phyllis, “so you needn't jaw, Peter. Yes, +we've put our initial names on the ones we've done, so that the swallows +will know who they've got to be so grateful to and fond of.” + +“Swallows can't read, silly,” said Peter. + +“Silly yourself,” retorted Phyllis; “how do you know?” + +“Who thought of making the nests, anyhow?” shouted Peter. + +“I did,” screamed Phyllis. + +“Nya,” rejoined Peter, “you only thought of making hay ones and sticking +them in the ivy for the sparrows, and they'd have been sopping LONG +before egg-laying time. It was me said clay and swallows.” + +“I don't care what you said.” + +“Look,” said Bobbie, “I've made the nest all right again. Give me the +bit of stick to mark your initial name on it. But how can you? Your +letter and Peter's are the same. P. for Peter, P. for Phyllis.” + +“I put F. for Phyllis,” said the child of that name. “That's how +it sounds. The swallows wouldn't spell Phyllis with a P., I'm +certain-sure.” + +“They can't spell at all,” Peter was still insisting. + +“Then why do you see them always on Christmas cards and valentines +with letters round their necks? How would they know where to go if they +couldn't read?” + +“That's only in pictures. You never saw one really with letters round +its neck.” + +“Well, I have a pigeon, then; at least Daddy told me they did. Only it +was under their wings and not round their necks, but it comes to the +same thing, and--” + +“I say,” interrupted Bobbie, “there's to be a paperchase to-morrow.” + +“Who?” Peter asked. + +“Grammar School. Perks thinks the hare will go along by the line at +first. We might go along the cutting. You can see a long way from +there.” + +The paperchase was found to be a more amusing subject of conversation +than the reading powers of swallows. Bobbie had hoped it might be. And +next morning Mother let them take their lunch and go out for the day to +see the paperchase. + +“If we go to the cutting,” said Peter, “we shall see the workmen, even +if we miss the paperchase.” + +Of course it had taken some time to get the line clear from the rocks +and earth and trees that had fallen on it when the great landslip +happened. That was the occasion, you will remember, when the three +children saved the train from being wrecked by waving six little +red-flannel-petticoat flags. It is always interesting to watch people +working, especially when they work with such interesting things as +spades and picks and shovels and planks and barrows, when they have +cindery red fires in iron pots with round holes in them, and red lamps +hanging near the works at night. Of course the children were never +out at night; but once, at dusk, when Peter had got out of his bedroom +skylight on to the roof, he had seen the red lamp shining far away at +the edge of the cutting. The children had often been down to watch the +work, and this day the interest of picks and spades, and barrows being +wheeled along planks, completely put the paperchase out of their heads, +so that they quite jumped when a voice just behind them panted, “Let me +pass, please.” It was the hare--a big-boned, loose-limbed boy, with dark +hair lying flat on a very damp forehead. The bag of torn paper under +his arm was fastened across one shoulder by a strap. The children stood +back. The hare ran along the line, and the workmen leaned on their picks +to watch him. He ran on steadily and disappeared into the mouth of the +tunnel. + +“That's against the by-laws,” said the foreman. + +“Why worry?” said the oldest workman; “live and let live's what I always +say. Ain't you never been young yourself, Mr. Bates?” + +“I ought to report him,” said the foreman. + +“Why spoil sport's what I always say.” + +“Passengers are forbidden to cross the line on any pretence,” murmured +the foreman, doubtfully. + +“He ain't no passenger,” said one of the workmen. + +“Nor 'e ain't crossed the line, not where we could see 'im do it,” said +another. + +“Nor yet 'e ain't made no pretences,” said a third. + +“And,” said the oldest workman, “'e's outer sight now. What the eye +don't see the 'art needn't take no notice of's what I always say.” + +And now, following the track of the hare by the little white blots of +scattered paper, came the hounds. There were thirty of them, and they +all came down the steep, ladder-like steps by ones and twos and threes +and sixes and sevens. Bobbie and Phyllis and Peter counted them as they +passed. The foremost ones hesitated a moment at the foot of the ladder, +then their eyes caught the gleam of scattered whiteness along the line +and they turned towards the tunnel, and, by ones and twos and threes and +sixes and sevens, disappeared in the dark mouth of it. The last one, in +a red jersey, seemed to be extinguished by the darkness like a candle +that is blown out. + +“They don't know what they're in for,” said the foreman; “it isn't so +easy running in the dark. The tunnel takes two or three turns.” + +“They'll take a long time to get through, you think?” Peter asked. + +“An hour or more, I shouldn't wonder.” + +“Then let's cut across the top and see them come out at the other end,” + said Peter; “we shall get there long before they do.” + +The counsel seemed good, and they went. + +They climbed the steep steps from which they had picked the wild cherry +blossom for the grave of the little wild rabbit, and reaching the top of +the cutting, set their faces towards the hill through which the tunnel +was cut. It was stiff work. + +“It's like Alps,” said Bobbie, breathlessly. + +“Or Andes,” said Peter. + +“It's like Himmy what's its names?” gasped Phyllis. “Mount Everlasting. +Do let's stop.” + +“Stick to it,” panted Peter; “you'll get your second wind in a minute.” + +Phyllis consented to stick to it--and on they went, running when the +turf was smooth and the slope easy, climbing over stones, helping +themselves up rocks by the branches of trees, creeping through narrow +openings between tree trunks and rocks, and so on and on, up and up, +till at last they stood on the very top of the hill where they had so +often wished to be. + +“Halt!” cried Peter, and threw himself flat on the grass. For the very +top of the hill was a smooth, turfed table-land, dotted with mossy rocks +and little mountain-ash trees. + +The girls also threw themselves down flat. + +“Plenty of time,” Peter panted; “the rest's all down hill.” + +When they were rested enough to sit up and look round them, Bobbie +cried:-- + +“Oh, look!” + +“What at?” said Phyllis. + +“The view,” said Bobbie. + +“I hate views,” said Phyllis, “don't you, Peter?” + +“Let's get on,” said Peter. + +“But this isn't like a view they take you to in carriages when you're +at the seaside, all sea and sand and bare hills. It's like the 'coloured +counties' in one of Mother's poetry books.” + +“It's not so dusty,” said Peter; “look at the Aqueduct straddling slap +across the valley like a giant centipede, and then the towns sticking +their church spires up out of the trees like pens out of an inkstand. +_I_ think it's more like + + “There could he see the banners + Of twelve fair cities shine.” + +“I love it,” said Bobbie; “it's worth the climb.” + +“The paperchase is worth the climb,” said Phyllis, “if we don't lose it. +Let's get on. It's all down hill now.” + +“_I_ said that ten minutes ago,” said Peter. + +“Well, I'VE said it now,” said Phyllis; “come on.” + +“Loads of time,” said Peter. And there was. For when they had got down +to a level with the top of the tunnel's mouth--they were a couple of +hundred yards out of their reckoning and had to creep along the face of +the hill--there was no sign of the hare or the hounds. + +“They've gone long ago, of course,” said Phyllis, as they leaned on the +brick parapet above the tunnel. + +“I don't think so,” said Bobbie, “but even if they had, it's ripping +here, and we shall see the trains come out of the tunnel like dragons +out of lairs. We've never seen that from the top side before.” + +“No more we have,” said Phyllis, partially appeased. + +It was really a most exciting place to be in. The top of the tunnel +seemed ever so much farther from the line than they had expected, and +it was like being on a bridge, but a bridge overgrown with bushes and +creepers and grass and wild-flowers. + +“I KNOW the paperchase has gone long ago,” said Phyllis every two +minutes, and she hardly knew whether she was pleased or disappointed +when Peter, leaning over the parapet, suddenly cried:-- + +“Look out. Here he comes!” + +They all leaned over the sun-warmed brick wall in time to see the hare, +going very slowly, come out from the shadow of the tunnel. + +“There, now,” said Peter, “what did I tell you? Now for the hounds!” + +Very soon came the hounds--by ones and twos and threes and sixes and +sevens--and they also were going slowly and seemed very tired. Two or +three who lagged far behind came out long after the others. + +“There,” said Bobbie, “that's all--now what shall we do?” + +“Go along into the tulgy wood over there and have lunch,” said Phyllis; +“we can see them for miles from up here.” + +“Not yet,” said Peter. “That's not the last. There's the one in the red +jersey to come yet. Let's see the last of them come out.” + +But though they waited and waited and waited, the boy in the red jersey +did not appear. + +“Oh, let's have lunch,” said Phyllis; “I've got a pain in my front with +being so hungry. You must have missed seeing the red-jerseyed one when +he came out with the others--” + +But Bobbie and Peter agreed that he had not come out with the others. + +“Let's get down to the tunnel mouth,” said Peter; “then perhaps we shall +see him coming along from the inside. I expect he felt spun-chuck, and +rested in one of the manholes. You stay up here and watch, Bob, and when +I signal from below, you come down. We might miss seeing him on the way +down, with all these trees.” + +So the others climbed down and Bobbie waited till they signalled to her +from the line below. And then she, too, scrambled down the roundabout +slippery path among roots and moss till she stepped out between two +dogwood trees and joined the others on the line. And still there was no +sign of the hound with the red jersey. + +“Oh, do, DO let's have something to eat,” wailed Phyllis. “I shall die +if you don't, and then you'll be sorry.” + +“Give her the sandwiches, for goodness' sake, and stop her silly mouth,” + said Peter, not quite unkindly. “Look here,” he added, turning to +Bobbie, “perhaps we'd better have one each, too. We may need all our +strength. Not more than one, though. There's no time.” + +“What?” asked Bobbie, her mouth already full, for she was just as hungry +as Phyllis. + +“Don't you see,” replied Peter, impressively, “that red-jerseyed hound +has had an accident--that's what it is. Perhaps even as we speak he's +lying with his head on the metals, an unresisting prey to any passing +express--” + +“Oh, don't try to talk like a book,” cried Bobbie, bolting what was left +of her sandwich; “come on. Phil, keep close behind me, and if a train +comes, stand flat against the tunnel wall and hold your petticoats close +to you.” + +“Give me one more sandwich,” pleaded Phyllis, “and I will.” + +“I'm going first,” said Peter; “it was my idea,” and he went. + +Of course you know what going into a tunnel is like? The engine gives +a scream and then suddenly the noise of the running, rattling train +changes and grows different and much louder. Grown-up people pull up the +windows and hold them by the strap. The railway carriage suddenly grows +like night--with lamps, of course, unless you are in a slow local train, +in which case lamps are not always provided. Then by and by the darkness +outside the carriage window is touched by puffs of cloudy whiteness, +then you see a blue light on the walls of the tunnel, then the sound of +the moving train changes once more, and you are out in the good open air +again, and grown-ups let the straps go. The windows, all dim with the +yellow breath of the tunnel, rattle down into their places, and you see +once more the dip and catch of the telegraph wires beside the line, and +the straight-cut hawthorn hedges with the tiny baby trees growing up out +of them every thirty yards. + +All this, of course, is what a tunnel means when you are in a train. But +everything is quite different when you walk into a tunnel on your own +feet, and tread on shifting, sliding stones and gravel on a path that +curves downwards from the shining metals to the wall. Then you see +slimy, oozy trickles of water running down the inside of the tunnel, +and you notice that the bricks are not red or brown, as they are at the +tunnel's mouth, but dull, sticky, sickly green. Your voice, when you +speak, is quite changed from what it was out in the sunshine, and it is +a long time before the tunnel is quite dark. + +It was not yet quite dark in the tunnel when Phyllis caught at Bobbie's +skirt, ripping out half a yard of gathers, but no one noticed this at +the time. + +“I want to go back,” she said, “I don't like it. It'll be pitch dark +in a minute. I WON'T go on in the dark. I don't care what you say, I +WON'T.” + +“Don't be a silly cuckoo,” said Peter; “I've got a candle end and +matches, and--what's that?” + +“That” was a low, humming sound on the railway line, a trembling of the +wires beside it, a buzzing, humming sound that grew louder and louder as +they listened. + +“It's a train,” said Bobbie. + +“Which line?” + +“Let me go back,” cried Phyllis, struggling to get away from the hand by +which Bobbie held her. + +“Don't be a coward,” said Bobbie; “it's quite safe. Stand back.” + +“Come on,” shouted Peter, who was a few yards ahead. “Quick! Manhole!” + +The roar of the advancing train was now louder than the noise you hear +when your head is under water in the bath and both taps are running, and +you are kicking with your heels against the bath's tin sides. But Peter +had shouted for all he was worth, and Bobbie heard him. She dragged +Phyllis along to the manhole. Phyllis, of course, stumbled over the +wires and grazed both her legs. But they dragged her in, and all three +stood in the dark, damp, arched recess while the train roared louder and +louder. It seemed as if it would deafen them. And, in the distance, they +could see its eyes of fire growing bigger and brighter every instant. + +“It IS a dragon--I always knew it was--it takes its own shape in here, +in the dark,” shouted Phyllis. But nobody heard her. You see the train +was shouting, too, and its voice was bigger than hers. + +And now, with a rush and a roar and a rattle and a long dazzling flash +of lighted carriage windows, a smell of smoke, and blast of hot air, the +train hurtled by, clanging and jangling and echoing in the vaulted roof +of the tunnel. Phyllis and Bobbie clung to each other. Even Peter +caught hold of Bobbie's arm, “in case she should be frightened,” as he +explained afterwards. + +And now, slowly and gradually, the tail-lights grew smaller and smaller, +and so did the noise, till with one last WHIZ the train got itself out +of the tunnel, and silence settled again on its damp walls and dripping +roof. + +“OH!” said the children, all together in a whisper. + +Peter was lighting the candle end with a hand that trembled. + +“Come on,” he said; but he had to clear his throat before he could speak +in his natural voice. + +“Oh,” said Phyllis, “if the red-jerseyed one was in the way of the +train!” + +“We've got to go and see,” said Peter. + +“Couldn't we go and send someone from the station?” said Phyllis. + +“Would you rather wait here for us?” asked Bobbie, severely, and of +course that settled the question. + +So the three went on into the deeper darkness of the tunnel. Peter led, +holding his candle end high to light the way. The grease ran down his +fingers, and some of it right up his sleeve. He found a long streak from +wrist to elbow when he went to bed that night. + +It was not more than a hundred and fifty yards from the spot where +they had stood while the train went by that Peter stood still, shouted +“Hullo,” and then went on much quicker than before. When the others +caught him up, he stopped. And he stopped within a yard of what they had +come into the tunnel to look for. Phyllis saw a gleam of red, and +shut her eyes tight. There, by the curved, pebbly down line, was the +red-jerseyed hound. His back was against the wall, his arms hung limply +by his sides, and his eyes were shut. + +“Was the red, blood? Is he all killed?” asked Phyllis, screwing her +eyelids more tightly together. + +“Killed? Nonsense!” said Peter. “There's nothing red about him except +his jersey. He's only fainted. What on earth are we to do?” + +“Can we move him?” asked Bobbie. + +“I don't know; he's a big chap.” + +“Suppose we bathe his forehead with water. No, I know we haven't any, +but milk's just as wet. There's a whole bottle.” + +“Yes,” said Peter, “and they rub people's hands, I believe.” + +“They burn feathers, I know,” said Phyllis. + +“What's the good of saying that when we haven't any feathers?” + +“As it happens,” said Phyllis, in a tone of exasperated triumph, “I've +got a shuttlecock in my pocket. So there!” + +And now Peter rubbed the hands of the red-jerseyed one. Bobbie burned +the feathers of the shuttlecock one by one under his nose, Phyllis +splashed warmish milk on his forehead, and all three kept on saying as +fast and as earnestly as they could:-- + +“Oh, look up, speak to me! For my sake, speak!” + + + +Chapter XII. What Bobbie brought home. + + +“Oh, look up! Speak to me! For MY sake, speak!” The children said the +words over and over again to the unconscious hound in a red jersey, who +sat with closed eyes and pale face against the side of the tunnel. + +“Wet his ears with milk,” said Bobbie. “I know they do it to people that +faint--with eau-de-Cologne. But I expect milk's just as good.” + +So they wetted his ears, and some of the milk ran down his neck under +the red jersey. It was very dark in the tunnel. The candle end Peter had +carried, and which now burned on a flat stone, gave hardly any light at +all. + +“Oh, DO look up,” said Phyllis. “For MY sake! I believe he's dead.” + +“For MY sake,” repeated Bobbie. “No, he isn't.” + +“For ANY sake,” said Peter; “come out of it.” And he shook the sufferer +by the arm. + +And then the boy in the red jersey sighed, and opened his eyes, and shut +them again and said in a very small voice, “Chuck it.” + +“Oh, he's NOT dead,” said Phyllis. “I KNEW he wasn't,” and she began to +cry. + +“What's up? I'm all right,” said the boy. + +“Drink this,” said Peter, firmly, thrusting the nose of the milk bottle +into the boy's mouth. The boy struggled, and some of the milk was upset +before he could get his mouth free to say:-- + +“What is it?” + +“It's milk,” said Peter. “Fear not, you are in the hands of friends. +Phil, you stop bleating this minute.” + +“Do drink it,” said Bobbie, gently; “it'll do you good.” + +So he drank. And the three stood by without speaking to him. + +“Let him be a minute,” Peter whispered; “he'll be all right as soon as +the milk begins to run like fire through his veins.” + +He was. + +“I'm better now,” he announced. “I remember all about it.” He tried to +move, but the movement ended in a groan. “Bother! I believe I've broken +my leg,” he said. + +“Did you tumble down?” asked Phyllis, sniffing. + +“Of course not--I'm not a kiddie,” said the boy, indignantly; “it was +one of those beastly wires tripped me up, and when I tried to get up +again I couldn't stand, so I sat down. Gee whillikins! it does hurt, +though. How did YOU get here?” + +“We saw you all go into the tunnel and then we went across the hill to +see you all come out. And the others did--all but you, and you didn't. +So we are a rescue party,” said Peter, with pride. + +“You've got some pluck, I will say,” remarked the boy. + +“Oh, that's nothing,” said Peter, with modesty. “Do you think you could +walk if we helped you?” + +“I could try,” said the boy. + +He did try. But he could only stand on one foot; the other dragged in a +very nasty way. + +“Here, let me sit down. I feel like dying,” said the boy. “Let go of +me--let go, quick--” He lay down and closed his eyes. The others looked +at each other by the dim light of the little candle. + +“What on earth!” said Peter. + +“Look here,” said Bobbie, quickly, “you must go and get help. Go to the +nearest house.” + +“Yes, that's the only thing,” said Peter. “Come on.” + +“If you take his feet and Phil and I take his head, we could carry him +to the manhole.” + +They did it. It was perhaps as well for the sufferer that he had fainted +again. + +“Now,” said Bobbie, “I'll stay with him. You take the longest bit of +candle, and, oh--be quick, for this bit won't burn long.” + +“I don't think Mother would like me leaving you,” said Peter, +doubtfully. “Let me stay, and you and Phil go.” + +“No, no,” said Bobbie, “you and Phil go--and lend me your knife. I'll +try to get his boot off before he wakes up again.” + +“I hope it's all right what we're doing,” said Peter. + +“Of course it's right,” said Bobbie, impatiently. “What else WOULD you +do? Leave him here all alone because it's dark? Nonsense. Hurry up, +that's all.” + +So they hurried up. + +Bobbie watched their dark figures and the little light of the little +candle with an odd feeling of having come to the end of everything. She +knew now, she thought, what nuns who were bricked up alive in convent +walls felt like. Suddenly she gave herself a little shake. + +“Don't be a silly little girl,” she said. She was always very angry when +anyone else called her a little girl, even if the adjective that went +first was not “silly” but “nice” or “good” or “clever.” And it was only +when she was very angry with herself that she allowed Roberta to use +that expression to Bobbie. + +She fixed the little candle end on a broken brick near the red-jerseyed +boy's feet. Then she opened Peter's knife. It was always hard to +manage--a halfpenny was generally needed to get it open at all. This +time Bobbie somehow got it open with her thumbnail. She broke the nail, +and it hurt horribly. Then she cut the boy's bootlace, and got the boot +off. She tried to pull off his stocking, but his leg was dreadfully +swollen, and it did not seem to be the proper shape. So she cut the +stocking down, very slowly and carefully. It was a brown, knitted +stocking, and she wondered who had knitted it, and whether it was the +boy's mother, and whether she was feeling anxious about him, and how she +would feel when he was brought home with his leg broken. When Bobbie had +got the stocking off and saw the poor leg, she felt as though the tunnel +was growing darker, and the ground felt unsteady, and nothing seemed +quite real. + +“SILLY little girl!” said Roberta to Bobbie, and felt better. + +“The poor leg,” she told herself; “it ought to have a cushion--ah!” + +She remembered the day when she and Phyllis had torn up their red +flannel petticoats to make danger signals to stop the train and prevent +an accident. Her flannel petticoat to-day was white, but it would be +quite as soft as a red one. She took it off. + +“Oh, what useful things flannel petticoats are!” she said; “the man who +invented them ought to have a statue directed to him.” And she said +it aloud, because it seemed that any voice, even her own, would be a +comfort in that darkness. + +“WHAT ought to be directed? Who to?” asked the boy, suddenly and very +feebly. + +“Oh,” said Bobbie, “now you're better! Hold your teeth and don't let it +hurt too much. Now!” + +She had folded the petticoat, and lifting his leg laid it on the cushion +of folded flannel. + +“Don't faint again, PLEASE don't,” said Bobbie, as he groaned. She +hastily wetted her handkerchief with milk and spread it over the poor +leg. + +“Oh, that hurts,” cried the boy, shrinking. “Oh--no, it doesn't--it's +nice, really.” + +“What's your name?” said Bobbie. + +“Jim.” + +“Mine's Bobbie.” + +“But you're a girl, aren't you?” + +“Yes, my long name's Roberta.” + +“I say--Bobbie.” + +“Yes?” + +“Wasn't there some more of you just now?” + +“Yes, Peter and Phil--that's my brother and sister. They've gone to get +someone to carry you out.” + +“What rum names. All boys'.” + +“Yes--I wish I was a boy, don't you?” + +“I think you're all right as you are.” + +“I didn't mean that--I meant don't you wish YOU were a boy, but of +course you are without wishing.” + +“You're just as brave as a boy. Why didn't you go with the others?” + +“Somebody had to stay with you,” said Bobbie. + +“Tell you what, Bobbie,” said Jim, “you're a brick. Shake.” He reached +out a red-jerseyed arm and Bobbie squeezed his hand. + +“I won't shake it,” she explained, “because it would shake YOU, and that +would shake your poor leg, and that would hurt. Have you got a hanky?” + +“I don't expect I have.” He felt in his pocket. “Yes, I have. What for?” + +She took it and wetted it with milk and put it on his forehead. + +“That's jolly,” he said; “what is it?” + +“Milk,” said Bobbie. “We haven't any water--” + +“You're a jolly good little nurse,” said Jim. + +“I do it for Mother sometimes,” said Bobbie--“not milk, of course, +but scent, or vinegar and water. I say, I must put the candle out now, +because there mayn't be enough of the other one to get you out by.” + +“By George,” said he, “you think of everything.” + +Bobbie blew. Out went the candle. You have no idea how black-velvety the +darkness was. + +“I say, Bobbie,” said a voice through the blackness, “aren't you afraid +of the dark?” + +“Not--not very, that is--” + +“Let's hold hands,” said the boy, and it was really rather good of him, +because he was like most boys of his age and hated all material tokens +of affection, such as kissing and holding of hands. He called all such +things “pawings,” and detested them. + +The darkness was more bearable to Bobbie now that her hand was held in +the large rough hand of the red-jerseyed sufferer; and he, holding her +little smooth hot paw, was surprised to find that he did not mind it so +much as he expected. She tried to talk, to amuse him, and “take his mind +off” his sufferings, but it is very difficult to go on talking in the +dark, and presently they found themselves in a silence, only broken now +and then by a-- + +“You all right, Bobbie?” + +or an-- + +“I'm afraid it's hurting you most awfully, Jim. I AM so sorry.” + +And it was very cold. + + * * * * * * + +Peter and Phyllis tramped down the long way of the tunnel towards +daylight, the candle-grease dripping over Peter's fingers. There were no +accidents unless you count Phyllis's catching her frock on a wire, and +tearing a long, jagged slit in it, and tripping over her bootlace when +it came undone, or going down on her hands and knees, all four of which +were grazed. + +“There's no end to this tunnel,” said Phyllis--and indeed it did seem +very very long. + +“Stick to it,” said Peter; “everything has an end, and you get to it if +you only keep all on.” + +Which is quite true, if you come to think of it, and a useful thing +to remember in seasons of trouble--such as measles, arithmetic, +impositions, and those times when you are in disgrace, and feel as +though no one would ever love you again, and you could never--never +again--love anybody. + +“Hurray,” said Peter, suddenly, “there's the end of the tunnel--looks +just like a pin-hole in a bit of black paper, doesn't it?” + +The pin-hole got larger--blue lights lay along the sides of the tunnel. +The children could see the gravel way that lay in front of them; the air +grew warmer and sweeter. Another twenty steps and they were out in the +good glad sunshine with the green trees on both sides. + +Phyllis drew a long breath. + +“I'll never go into a tunnel again as long as ever I live,” said she, +“not if there are twenty hundred thousand millions hounds inside with +red jerseys and their legs broken.” + +“Don't be a silly cuckoo,” said Peter, as usual. “You'd HAVE to.” + +“I think it was very brave and good of me,” said Phyllis. + +“Not it,” said Peter; “you didn't go because you were brave, but because +Bobbie and I aren't skunks. Now where's the nearest house, I wonder? You +can't see anything here for the trees.” + +“There's a roof over there,” said Phyllis, pointing down the line. + +“That's the signal-box,” said Peter, “and you know you're not allowed to +speak to signalmen on duty. It's wrong.” + +“I'm not near so afraid of doing wrong as I was of going into that +tunnel,” said Phyllis. “Come on,” and she started to run along the line. +So Peter ran, too. + +It was very hot in the sunshine, and both children were hot and +breathless by the time they stopped, and bending their heads back to +look up at the open windows of the signal-box, shouted “Hi!” as loud +as their breathless state allowed. But no one answered. The signal-box +stood quiet as an empty nursery, and the handrail of its steps was hot +to the hands of the children as they climbed softly up. They peeped +in at the open door. The signalman was sitting on a chair tilted back +against the wall. His head leaned sideways, and his mouth was open. He +was fast asleep. + +“My hat!” cried Peter; “wake up!” And he cried it in a terrible voice, +for he knew that if a signalman sleeps on duty, he risks losing his +situation, let alone all the other dreadful risks to trains which expect +him to tell them when it is safe for them to go their ways. + +The signalman never moved. Then Peter sprang to him and shook him. And +slowly, yawning and stretching, the man awoke. But the moment he WAS +awake he leapt to his feet, put his hands to his head “like a mad +maniac,” as Phyllis said afterwards, and shouted:-- + +“Oh, my heavens--what's o'clock?” + +“Twelve thirteen,” said Peter, and indeed it was by the white-faced, +round-faced clock on the wall of the signal-box. + +The man looked at the clock, sprang to the levers, and wrenched them +this way and that. An electric bell tingled--the wires and cranks +creaked, and the man threw himself into a chair. He was very pale, +and the sweat stood on his forehead “like large dewdrops on a white +cabbage,” as Phyllis remarked later. He was trembling, too; the children +could see his big hairy hands shake from side to side, “with quite +extra-sized trembles,” to use the subsequent words of Peter. He drew +long breaths. Then suddenly he cried, “Thank God, thank God you come in +when you did--oh, thank God!” and his shoulders began to heave and his +face grew red again, and he hid it in those large hairy hands of his. + +“Oh, don't cry--don't,” said Phyllis, “it's all right now,” and she +patted him on one big, broad shoulder, while Peter conscientiously +thumped the other. + +But the signalman seemed quite broken down, and the children had to +pat him and thump him for quite a long time before he found his +handkerchief--a red one with mauve and white horseshoes on it--and +mopped his face and spoke. During this patting and thumping interval a +train thundered by. + +“I'm downright shamed, that I am,” were the words of the big signalman +when he had stopped crying; “snivelling like a kid.” Then suddenly he +seemed to get cross. “And what was you doing up here, anyway?” he said; +“you know it ain't allowed.” + +“Yes,” said Phyllis, “we knew it was wrong--but I wasn't afraid of doing +wrong, and so it turned out right. You aren't sorry we came.” + +“Lor' love you--if you hadn't 'a' come--” he stopped and then went on. +“It's a disgrace, so it is, sleeping on duty. If it was to come to be +known--even as it is, when no harm's come of it.” + +“It won't come to be known,” said Peter; “we aren't sneaks. All the +same, you oughtn't to sleep on duty--it's dangerous.” + +“Tell me something I don't know,” said the man, “but I can't help it. +I know'd well enough just how it 'ud be. But I couldn't get off. They +couldn't get no one to take on my duty. I tell you I ain't had ten +minutes' sleep this last five days. My little chap's ill--pewmonia, the +Doctor says--and there's no one but me and 'is little sister to do for +him. That's where it is. The gell must 'ave her sleep. Dangerous? Yes, I +believe you. Now go and split on me if you like.” + +“Of course we won't,” said Peter, indignantly, but Phyllis ignored the +whole of the signalman's speech, except the first six words. + +“You asked us,” she said, “to tell you something you don't know. Well, +I will. There's a boy in the tunnel over there with a red jersey and his +leg broken.” + +“What did he want to go into the blooming tunnel for, then?” said the +man. + +“Don't you be so cross,” said Phyllis, kindly. “WE haven't done anything +wrong except coming and waking you up, and that was right, as it +happens.” + +Then Peter told how the boy came to be in the tunnel. + +“Well,” said the man, “I don't see as I can do anything. I can't leave +the box.” + +“You might tell us where to go after someone who isn't in a box, +though,” said Phyllis. + +“There's Brigden's farm over yonder--where you see the smoke a-coming +up through the trees,” said the man, more and more grumpy, as Phyllis +noticed. + +“Well, good-bye, then,” said Peter. + +But the man said, “Wait a minute.” He put his hand in his pocket and +brought out some money--a lot of pennies and one or two shillings and +sixpences and half-a-crown. He picked out two shillings and held them +out. + +“Here,” he said. “I'll give you this to hold your tongues about what's +taken place to-day.” + +There was a short, unpleasant pause. Then:-- + +“You ARE a nasty man, though, aren't you?” said Phyllis. + +Peter took a step forward and knocked the man's hand up, so that the +shillings leapt out of it and rolled on the floor. + +“If anything COULD make me sneak, THAT would!” he said. “Come, Phil,” + and marched out of the signal-box with flaming cheeks. + +Phyllis hesitated. Then she took the hand, still held out stupidly, that +the shillings had been in. + +“I forgive you,” she said, “even if Peter doesn't. You're not in your +proper senses, or you'd never have done that. I know want of sleep sends +people mad. Mother told me. I hope your little boy will soon be better, +and--” + +“Come on, Phil,” cried Peter, eagerly. + +“I give you my sacred honour-word we'll never tell anyone. Kiss and be +friends,” said Phyllis, feeling how noble it was of her to try to make +up a quarrel in which she was not to blame. + +The signalman stooped and kissed her. + +“I do believe I'm a bit off my head, Sissy,” he said. “Now run along +home to Mother. I didn't mean to put you about--there.” + +So Phil left the hot signal-box and followed Peter across the fields to +the farm. + +When the farm men, led by Peter and Phyllis and carrying a hurdle +covered with horse-cloths, reached the manhole in the tunnel, Bobbie +was fast asleep and so was Jim. Worn out with the pain, the Doctor said +afterwards. + +“Where does he live?” the bailiff from the farm asked, when Jim had been +lifted on to the hurdle. + +“In Northumberland,” answered Bobbie. + +“I'm at school at Maidbridge,” said Jim. “I suppose I've got to get back +there, somehow.” + +“Seems to me the Doctor ought to have a look in first,” said the +bailiff. + +“Oh, bring him up to our house,” said Bobbie. “It's only a little way by +the road. I'm sure Mother would say we ought to.” + +“Will your Ma like you bringing home strangers with broken legs?” + +“She took the poor Russian home herself,” said Bobbie. “I know she'd say +we ought.” + +“All right,” said the bailiff, “you ought to know what your Ma 'ud like. +I wouldn't take it upon me to fetch him up to our place without I asked +the Missus first, and they call me the Master, too.” + +“Are you sure your Mother won't mind?” whispered Jim. + +“Certain,” said Bobbie. + +“Then we're to take him up to Three Chimneys?” said the bailiff. + +“Of course,” said Peter. + +“Then my lad shall nip up to Doctor's on his bike, and tell him to come +down there. Now, lads, lift him quiet and steady. One, two, three!” + + * * * * * * + +Thus it happened that Mother, writing away for dear life at a story +about a Duchess, a designing villain, a secret passage, and a missing +will, dropped her pen as her work-room door burst open, and turned to +see Bobbie hatless and red with running. + +“Oh, Mother,” she cried, “do come down. We found a hound in a red jersey +in the tunnel, and he's broken his leg and they're bringing him home.” + +“They ought to take him to the vet,” said Mother, with a worried frown; +“I really CAN'T have a lame dog here.” + +“He's not a dog, really--he's a boy,” said Bobbie, between laughing and +choking. + +“Then he ought to be taken home to his mother.” + +“His mother's dead,” said Bobbie, “and his father's in Northumberland. +Oh, Mother, you will be nice to him? I told him I was sure you'd want us +to bring him home. You always want to help everybody.” + +Mother smiled, but she sighed, too. It is nice that your children should +believe you willing to open house and heart to any and every one who +needs help. But it is rather embarrassing sometimes, too, when they act +on their belief. + +“Oh, well,” said Mother, “we must make the best of it.” + +When Jim was carried in, dreadfully white and with set lips whose red +had faded to a horrid bluey violet colour, Mother said:-- + +“I am glad you brought him here. Now, Jim, let's get you comfortable in +bed before the Doctor comes!” + +And Jim, looking at her kind eyes, felt a little, warm, comforting flush +of new courage. + +“It'll hurt rather, won't it?” he said. “I don't mean to be a coward. +You won't think I'm a coward if I faint again, will you? I really +and truly don't do it on purpose. And I do hate to give you all this +trouble.” + +“Don't you worry,” said Mother; “it's you that have the trouble, you +poor dear--not us.” + +And she kissed him just as if he had been Peter. “We love to have you +here--don't we, Bobbie?” + +“Yes,” said Bobbie--and she saw by her Mother's face how right she had +been to bring home the wounded hound in the red jersey. + + + +Chapter XIII. The hound's grandfather. + + +Mother did not get back to her writing all that day, for the +red-jerseyed hound whom the children had brought to Three Chimneys had +to be put to bed. And then the Doctor came, and hurt him most horribly. +Mother was with him all through it, and that made it a little better +than it would have been, but “bad was the best,” as Mrs. Viney said. + +The children sat in the parlour downstairs and heard the sound of the +Doctor's boots going backwards and forwards over the bedroom floor. And +once or twice there was a groan. + +“It's horrible,” said Bobbie. “Oh, I wish Dr. Forrest would make haste. +Oh, poor Jim!” + +“It IS horrible,” said Peter, “but it's very exciting. I wish Doctors +weren't so stuck-up about who they'll have in the room when they're +doing things. I should most awfully like to see a leg set. I believe the +bones crunch like anything.” + +“Don't!” said the two girls at once. + +“Rubbish!” said Peter. “How are you going to be Red Cross Nurses, like +you were talking of coming home, if you can't even stand hearing me say +about bones crunching? You'd have to HEAR them crunch on the field of +battle--and be steeped in gore up to the elbows as likely as not, and--” + +“Stop it!” cried Bobbie, with a white face; “you don't know how funny +you're making me feel.” + +“Me, too,” said Phyllis, whose face was pink. + +“Cowards!” said Peter. + +“I'm not,” said Bobbie. “I helped Mother with your rake-wounded foot, +and so did Phil--you know we did.” + +“Well, then!” said Peter. “Now look here. It would be a jolly good thing +for you if I were to talk to you every day for half an hour about broken +bones and people's insides, so as to get you used to it.” + +A chair was moved above. + +“Listen,” said Peter, “that's the bone crunching.” + +“I do wish you wouldn't,” said Phyllis. “Bobbie doesn't like it.” + +“I'll tell you what they do,” said Peter. I can't think what made him so +horrid. Perhaps it was because he had been so very nice and kind all the +earlier part of the day, and now he had to have a change. This is called +reaction. One notices it now and then in oneself. Sometimes when one has +been extra good for a longer time than usual, one is suddenly attacked +by a violent fit of not being good at all. “I'll tell you what they do,” + said Peter; “they strap the broken man down so that he can't resist or +interfere with their doctorish designs, and then someone holds his head, +and someone holds his leg--the broken one, and pulls it till the bones +fit in--with a crunch, mind you! Then they strap it up and--let's play +at bone-setting!” + +“Oh, no!” said Phyllis. + +But Bobbie said suddenly: “All right--LET'S! I'll be the doctor, and +Phil can be the nurse. You can be the broken boner; we can get at your +legs more easily, because you don't wear petticoats.” + +“I'll get the splints and bandages,” said Peter; “you get the couch of +suffering ready.” + +The ropes that had tied up the boxes that had come from home were all +in a wooden packing-case in the cellar. When Peter brought in a trailing +tangle of them, and two boards for splints, Phyllis was excitedly +giggling. + +“Now, then,” he said, and lay down on the settle, groaning most +grievously. + +“Not so loud!” said Bobbie, beginning to wind the rope round him and the +settle. “You pull, Phil.” + +“Not so tight,” moaned Peter. “You'll break my other leg.” + +Bobbie worked on in silence, winding more and more rope round him. + +“That's enough,” said Peter. “I can't move at all. Oh, my poor leg!” He +groaned again. + +“SURE you can't move?” asked Bobbie, in a rather strange tone. + +“Quite sure,” replied Peter. “Shall we play it's bleeding freely or +not?” he asked cheerfully. + +“YOU can play what you like,” said Bobbie, sternly, folding her arms and +looking down at him where he lay all wound round and round with cord. +“Phil and I are going away. And we shan't untie you till you promise +never, never to talk to us about blood and wounds unless we say you may. +Come, Phil!” + +“You beast!” said Peter, writhing. “I'll never promise, never. I'll +yell, and Mother will come.” + +“Do,” said Bobbie, “and tell her why we tied you up! Come on, Phil. No, +I'm not a beast, Peter. But you wouldn't stop when we asked you and--” + +“Yah,” said Peter, “it wasn't even your own idea. You got it out of +Stalky!” + +Bobbie and Phil, retiring in silent dignity, were met at the door by the +Doctor. He came in rubbing his hands and looking pleased with himself. + +“Well,” he said, “THAT job's done. It's a nice clean fracture, and it'll +go on all right, I've no doubt. Plucky young chap, too--hullo! what's +all this?” + +His eye had fallen on Peter who lay mousy-still in his bonds on the +settle. + +“Playing at prisoners, eh?” he said; but his eyebrows had gone up a +little. Somehow he had not thought that Bobbie would be playing while in +the room above someone was having a broken bone set. + +“Oh, no!” said Bobbie, “not at PRISONERS. We were playing at setting +bones. Peter's the broken boner, and I was the doctor.” + +The Doctor frowned. + +“Then I must say,” he said, and he said it rather sternly, “that's it's +a very heartless game. Haven't you enough imagination even to faintly +picture what's been going on upstairs? That poor chap, with the drops +of sweat on his forehead, and biting his lips so as not to cry out, and +every touch on his leg agony and--” + +“YOU ought to be tied up,” said Phyllis; “you're as bad as--” + +“Hush,” said Bobbie; “I'm sorry, but we weren't heartless, really.” + +“I was, I suppose,” said Peter, crossly. “All right, Bobbie, don't you +go on being noble and screening me, because I jolly well won't have it. +It was only that I kept on talking about blood and wounds. I wanted to +train them for Red Cross Nurses. And I wouldn't stop when they asked +me.” + +“Well?” said Dr. Forrest, sitting down. + +“Well--then I said, 'Let's play at setting bones.' It was all rot. I +knew Bobbie wouldn't. I only said it to tease her. And then when she +said 'yes,' of course I had to go through with it. And they tied me up. +They got it out of Stalky. And I think it's a beastly shame.” + +He managed to writhe over and hide his face against the wooden back of +the settle. + +“I didn't think that anyone would know but us,” said Bobbie, indignantly +answering Peter's unspoken reproach. “I never thought of your coming in. +And hearing about blood and wounds does really make me feel most awfully +funny. It was only a joke our tying him up. Let me untie you, Pete.” + +“I don't care if you never untie me,” said Peter; “and if that's your +idea of a joke--” + +“If I were you,” said the Doctor, though really he did not quite know +what to say, “I should be untied before your Mother comes down. You +don't want to worry her just now, do you?” + +“I don't promise anything about not saying about wounds, mind,” said +Peter, in very surly tones, as Bobbie and Phyllis began to untie the +knots. + +“I'm very sorry, Pete,” Bobbie whispered, leaning close to him as she +fumbled with the big knot under the settle; “but if you only knew how +sick you made me feel.” + +“You've made ME feel pretty sick, I can tell you,” Peter rejoined. Then +he shook off the loose cords, and stood up. + +“I looked in,” said Dr. Forrest, “to see if one of you would come along +to the surgery. There are some things that your Mother will want at +once, and I've given my man a day off to go and see the circus; will you +come, Peter?” + +Peter went without a word or a look to his sisters. + +The two walked in silence up to the gate that led from the Three +Chimneys field to the road. Then Peter said:-- + +“Let me carry your bag. I say, it is heavy--what's in it?” + +“Oh, knives and lancets and different instruments for hurting people. +And the ether bottle. I had to give him ether, you know--the agony was +so intense.” + +Peter was silent. + +“Tell me all about how you found that chap,” said Dr. Forrest. + +Peter told. And then Dr. Forrest told him stories of brave rescues; he +was a most interesting man to talk to, as Peter had often remarked. + +Then in the surgery Peter had a better chance than he had ever had of +examining the Doctor's balance, and his microscope, and his scales and +measuring glasses. When all the things were ready that Peter was to take +back, the Doctor said suddenly:-- + +“You'll excuse my shoving my oar in, won't you? But I should like to say +something to you.” + +“Now for a rowing,” thought Peter, who had been wondering how it was +that he had escaped one. + +“Something scientific,” added the Doctor. + +“Yes,” said Peter, fiddling with the fossil ammonite that the Doctor +used for a paper-weight. + +“Well then, you see. Boys and girls are only little men and women. And +WE are much harder and hardier than they are--” (Peter liked the “we.” + Perhaps the Doctor had known he would.)--“and much stronger, and things +that hurt THEM don't hurt US. You know you mustn't hit a girl--” + +“I should think not, indeed,” muttered Peter, indignantly. + +“Not even if she's your own sister. That's because girls are so much +softer and weaker than we are; they have to be, you know,” he added, +“because if they weren't, it wouldn't be nice for the babies. And that's +why all the animals are so good to the mother animals. They never fight +them, you know.” + +“I know,” said Peter, interested; “two buck rabbits will fight all day +if you let them, but they won't hurt a doe.” + +“No; and quite wild beasts--lions and elephants--they're immensely +gentle with the female beasts. And we've got to be, too.” + +“I see,” said Peter. + +“And their hearts are soft, too,” the Doctor went on, “and things that +we shouldn't think anything of hurt them dreadfully. So that a man has +to be very careful, not only of his fists, but of his words. They're +awfully brave, you know,” he went on. “Think of Bobbie waiting alone in +the tunnel with that poor chap. It's an odd thing--the softer and more +easily hurt a woman is the better she can screw herself up to do what +HAS to be done. I've seen some brave women--your Mother's one,” he ended +abruptly. + +“Yes,” said Peter. + +“Well, that's all. Excuse my mentioning it. But nobody knows everything +without being told. And you see what I mean, don't you?” + +“Yes,” said Peter. “I'm sorry. There!” + +“Of course you are! People always are--directly they understand. +Everyone ought to be taught these scientific facts. So long!” + +They shook hands heartily. When Peter came home, his sisters looked at +him doubtfully. + +“It's Pax,” said Peter, dumping down the basket on the table. “Dr. +Forrest has been talking scientific to me. No, it's no use my telling +you what he said; you wouldn't understand. But it all comes to you girls +being poor, soft, weak, frightened things like rabbits, so us men have +just got to put up with them. He said you were female beasts. Shall I +take this up to Mother, or will you?” + +“I know what BOYS are,” said Phyllis, with flaming cheeks; “they're just +the nastiest, rudest--” + +“They're very brave,” said Bobbie, “sometimes.” + +“Ah, you mean the chap upstairs? I see. Go ahead, Phil--I shall put +up with you whatever you say because you're a poor, weak, frightened, +soft--” + +“Not if I pull your hair you won't,” said Phyllis, springing at him. + +“He said 'Pax,'” said Bobbie, pulling her away. “Don't you see,” she +whispered as Peter picked up the basket and stalked out with it, “he's +sorry, really, only he won't say so? Let's say we're sorry.” + +“It's so goody goody,” said Phyllis, doubtfully; “he said we were female +beasts, and soft and frightened--” + +“Then let's show him we're not frightened of him thinking us goody +goody,” said Bobbie; “and we're not any more beasts than he is.” + +And when Peter came back, still with his chin in the air, Bobbie said:-- + +“We're sorry we tied you up, Pete.” + +“I thought you would be,” said Peter, very stiff and superior. + +This was hard to bear. But-- + +“Well, so we are,” said Bobbie. “Now let honour be satisfied on both +sides.” + +“I did call it Pax,” said Peter, in an injured tone. + +“Then let it BE Pax,” said Bobbie. “Come on, Phil, let's get the tea. +Pete, you might lay the cloth.” + +“I say,” said Phyllis, when peace was really restored, which was not +till they were washing up the cups after tea, “Dr. Forrest didn't REALLY +say we were female beasts, did he?” + +“Yes,” said Peter, firmly, “but I think he meant we men were wild +beasts, too.” + +“How funny of him!” said Phyllis, breaking a cup. + + * * * * * * + +“May I come in, Mother?” Peter was at the door of Mother's writing room, +where Mother sat at her table with two candles in front of her. Their +flames looked orange and violet against the clear grey blue of the sky +where already a few stars were twinkling. + +“Yes, dear,” said Mother, absently, “anything wrong?” She wrote a few +more words and then laid down her pen and began to fold up what she had +written. “I was just writing to Jim's grandfather. He lives near here, +you know.” + +“Yes, you said so at tea. That's what I want to say. Must you write to +him, Mother? Couldn't we keep Jim, and not say anything to his people +till he's well? It would be such a surprise for them.” + +“Well, yes,” said Mother, laughing, “I think it would.” + +“You see,” Peter went on, “of course the girls are all right and all +that--I'm not saying anything against THEM. But I should like it if I +had another chap to talk to sometimes.” + +“Yes,” said Mother, “I know it's dull for you, dear. But I can't +help it. Next year perhaps I can send you to school--you'd like that, +wouldn't you?” + +“I do miss the other chaps, rather,” Peter confessed; “but if Jim could +stay after his leg was well, we could have awful larks.” + +“I've no doubt of it,” said Mother. “Well--perhaps he could, but you +know, dear, we're not rich. I can't afford to get him everything he'll +want. And he must have a nurse.” + +“Can't you nurse him, Mother? You do nurse people so beautifully.” + +“That's a pretty compliment, Pete--but I can't do nursing and my writing +as well. That's the worst of it.” + +“Then you MUST send the letter to his grandfather?” + +“Of course--and to his schoolmaster, too. We telegraphed to them both, +but I must write as well. They'll be most dreadfully anxious.” + +“I say, Mother, why can't his grandfather pay for a nurse?” Peter +suggested. “That would be ripping. I expect the old boy's rolling in +money. Grandfathers in books always are.” + +“Well, this one isn't in a book,” said Mother, “so we mustn't expect him +to roll much.” + +“I say,” said Peter, musingly, “wouldn't it be jolly if we all WERE in +a book, and you were writing it? Then you could make all sorts of jolly +things happen, and make Jim's legs get well at once and be all right +to-morrow, and Father come home soon and--” + +“Do you miss your Father very much?” Mother asked, rather coldly, Peter +thought. + +“Awfully,” said Peter, briefly. + +Mother was enveloping and addressing the second letter. + +“You see,” Peter went on slowly, “you see, it's not only him BEING +Father, but now he's away there's no other man in the house but +me--that's why I want Jim to stay so frightfully much. Wouldn't you like +to be writing that book with us all in it, Mother, and make Daddy come +home soon?” + +Peter's Mother put her arm round him suddenly, and hugged him in silence +for a minute. Then she said:-- + +“Don't you think it's rather nice to think that we're in a book that +God's writing? If I were writing the book, I might make mistakes. But +God knows how to make the story end just right--in the way that's best +for us.” + +“Do you really believe that, Mother?” Peter asked quietly. + +“Yes,” she said, “I do believe it--almost always--except when I'm so sad +that I can't believe anything. But even when I can't believe it, I know +it's true--and I try to believe. You don't know how I try, Peter. Now +take the letters to the post, and don't let's be sad any more. Courage, +courage! That's the finest of all the virtues! I dare say Jim will be +here for two or three weeks yet.” + +For what was left of the evening Peter was so angelic that Bobbie feared +he was going to be ill. She was quite relieved in the morning to find +him plaiting Phyllis's hair on to the back of her chair in quite his old +manner. + +It was soon after breakfast that a knock came at the door. The children +were hard at work cleaning the brass candlesticks in honour of Jim's +visit. + +“That'll be the Doctor,” said Mother; “I'll go. Shut the kitchen +door--you're not fit to be seen.” + +But it wasn't the Doctor. They knew that by the voice and by the sound +of the boots that went upstairs. They did not recognise the sound of the +boots, but everyone was certain that they had heard the voice before. + +There was a longish interval. The boots and the voice did not come down +again. + +“Who can it possibly be?” they kept on asking themselves and each other. + +“Perhaps,” said Peter at last, “Dr. Forrest has been attacked by +highwaymen and left for dead, and this is the man he's telegraphed for +to take his place. Mrs. Viney said he had a local tenant to do his work +when he went for a holiday, didn't you, Mrs. Viney?” + +“I did so, my dear,” said Mrs. Viney from the back kitchen. + +“He's fallen down in a fit, more likely,” said Phyllis, “all human aid +despaired of. And this is his man come to break the news to Mother.” + +“Nonsense!” said Peter, briskly; “Mother wouldn't have taken the man +up into Jim's bedroom. Why should she? Listen--the door's opening. Now +they'll come down. I'll open the door a crack.” + +He did. + +“It's not listening,” he replied indignantly to Bobbie's scandalised +remarks; “nobody in their senses would talk secrets on the stairs. And +Mother can't have secrets to talk with Dr. Forrest's stable-man--and you +said it was him.” + +“Bobbie,” called Mother's voice. + +They opened the kitchen door, and Mother leaned over the stair railing. + +“Jim's grandfather has come,” she said; “wash your hands and faces and +then you can see him. He wants to see you!” The bedroom door shut again. + +“There now!” said Peter; “fancy us not even thinking of that! Let's have +some hot water, Mrs. Viney. I'm as black as your hat.” + +The three were indeed dirty, for the stuff you clean brass candlesticks +with is very far from cleaning to the cleaner. + +They were still busy with soap and flannel when they heard the boots +and the voice come down the stairs and go into the dining-room. And when +they were clean, though still damp--because it takes such a long time +to dry your hands properly, and they were very impatient to see the +grandfather--they filed into the dining-room. + +Mother was sitting in the window-seat, and in the leather-covered +armchair that Father always used to sit in at the other house sat-- + + THEIR OWN OLD GENTLEMAN! + +“Well, I never did,” said Peter, even before he said, “How do you do?” + He was, as he explained afterwards, too surprised even to remember that +there was such a thing as politeness--much less to practise it. + +“It's our own old gentleman!” said Phyllis. + +“Oh, it's you!” said Bobbie. And then they remembered themselves and +their manners and said, “How do you do?” very nicely. + +“This is Jim's grandfather, Mr. ----” said Mother, naming the old +gentleman's name. + +“How splendid!” said Peter; “that's just exactly like a book, isn't it, +Mother?” + +“It is, rather,” said Mother, smiling; “things do happen in real life +that are rather like books, sometimes.” + +“I am so awfully glad it IS you,” said Phyllis; “when you think of the +tons of old gentlemen there are in the world--it might have been almost +anyone.” + +“I say, though,” said Peter, “you're not going to take Jim away, though, +are you?” + +“Not at present,” said the old gentleman. “Your Mother has most kindly +consented to let him stay here. I thought of sending a nurse, but your +Mother is good enough to say that she will nurse him herself.” + +“But what about her writing?” said Peter, before anyone could stop him. +“There won't be anything for him to eat if Mother doesn't write.” + +“That's all right,” said Mother, hastily. + +The old gentleman looked very kindly at Mother. + +“I see,” he said, “you trust your children, and confide in them.” + +“Of course,” said Mother. + +“Then I may tell them of our little arrangement,” he said. “Your Mother, +my dears, has consented to give up writing for a little while and to +become a Matron of my Hospital.” + +“Oh!” said Phyllis, blankly; “and shall we have to go away from Three +Chimneys and the Railway and everything?” + +“No, no, darling,” said Mother, hurriedly. + +“The Hospital is called Three Chimneys Hospital,” said the old +gentleman, “and my unlucky Jim's the only patient, and I hope he'll +continue to be so. Your Mother will be Matron, and there'll be a +hospital staff of a housemaid and a cook--till Jim's well.” + +“And then will Mother go on writing again?” asked Peter. + +“We shall see,” said the old gentleman, with a slight, swift glance at +Bobbie; “perhaps something nice may happen and she won't have to.” + +“I love my writing,” said Mother, very quickly. + +“I know,” said the old gentleman; “don't be afraid that I'm going to try +to interfere. But one never knows. Very wonderful and beautiful things +do happen, don't they? And we live most of our lives in the hope of +them. I may come again to see the boy?” + +“Surely,” said Mother, “and I don't know how to thank you for making it +possible for me to nurse him. Dear boy!” + +“He kept calling Mother, Mother, in the night,” said Phyllis. “I woke up +twice and heard him.” + +“He didn't mean me,” said Mother, in a low voice to the old gentleman; +“that's why I wanted so much to keep him.” + +The old gentleman rose. + +“I'm so glad,” said Peter, “that you're going to keep him, Mother.” + +“Take care of your Mother, my dears,” said the old gentleman. “She's a +woman in a million.” + +“Yes, isn't she?” whispered Bobbie. + +“God bless her,” said the old gentleman, taking both Mother's hands, +“God bless her! Ay, and she shall be blessed. Dear me, where's my hat? +Will Bobbie come with me to the gate?” + +At the gate he stopped and said:-- + +“You're a good child, my dear--I got your letter. But it wasn't needed. +When I read about your Father's case in the papers at the time, I had my +doubts. And ever since I've known who you were, I've been trying to find +out things. I haven't done very much yet. But I have hopes, my dear--I +have hopes.” + +“Oh!” said Bobbie, choking a little. + +“Yes--I may say great hopes. But keep your secret a little longer. +Wouldn't do to upset your Mother with a false hope, would it?” + +“Oh, but it isn't false!” said Bobbie; “I KNOW you can do it. I knew you +could when I wrote. It isn't a false hope, is it?” + +“No,” he said, “I don't think it's a false hope, or I wouldn't have told +you. And I think you deserve to be told that there IS a hope.” + +“And you don't think Father did it, do you? Oh, say you don't think he +did.” + +“My dear,” he said, “I'm perfectly CERTAIN he didn't.” + +If it was a false hope, it was none the less a very radiant one that lay +warm at Bobbie's heart, and through the days that followed lighted her +little face as a Japanese lantern is lighted by the candle within. + + + +Chapter XIV. The End. + + +Life at the Three Chimneys was never quite the same again after the old +gentleman came to see his grandson. Although they now knew his name, +the children never spoke of him by it--at any rate, when they were by +themselves. To them he was always the old gentleman, and I think he had +better be the old gentleman to us, too. It wouldn't make him seem any +more real to you, would it, if I were to tell you that his name was +Snooks or Jenkins (which it wasn't)?--and, after all, I must be allowed +to keep one secret. It's the only one; I have told you everything else, +except what I am going to tell you in this chapter, which is the last. +At least, of course, I haven't told you EVERYTHING. If I were to do +that, the book would never come to an end, and that would be a pity, +wouldn't it? + +Well, as I was saying, life at Three Chimneys was never quite the same +again. The cook and the housemaid were very nice (I don't mind telling +you their names--they were Clara and Ethelwyn), but they told Mother +they did not seem to want Mrs. Viney, and that she was an old muddler. +So Mrs. Viney came only two days a week to do washing and ironing. Then +Clara and Ethelwyn said they could do the work all right if they weren't +interfered with, and that meant that the children no longer got the tea +and cleared it away and washed up the tea-things and dusted the rooms. + +This would have left quite a blank in their lives, although they +had often pretended to themselves and to each other that they hated +housework. But now that Mother had no writing and no housework to do, +she had time for lessons. And lessons the children had to do. However +nice the person who is teaching you may be, lessons are lessons all the +world over, and at their best are worse fun than peeling potatoes or +lighting a fire. + +On the other hand, if Mother now had time for lessons, she also had time +for play, and to make up little rhymes for the children as she used +to do. She had not had much time for rhymes since she came to Three +Chimneys. + +There was one very odd thing about these lessons. Whatever the children +were doing, they always wanted to be doing something else. When Peter +was doing his Latin, he thought it would be nice to be learning History +like Bobbie. Bobbie would have preferred Arithmetic, which was what +Phyllis happened to be doing, and Phyllis of course thought Latin much +the most interesting kind of lesson. And so on. + +So, one day, when they sat down to lessons, each of them found a little +rhyme at its place. I put the rhymes in to show you that their Mother +really did understand a little how children feel about things, and also +the kind of words they use, which is the case with very few grown-up +people. I suppose most grown-ups have very bad memories, and have +forgotten how they felt when they were little. Of course, the verses are +supposed to be spoken by the children. + + PETER + + I once thought Caesar easy pap-- + How very soft I must have been! + When they start Caesar with a chap + He little know what that will mean. + Oh, verbs are silly stupid things. + I'd rather learn the dates of kings! + + BOBBIE + + The worst of all my lesson things + Is learning who succeeded who + In all the rows of queens and kings, + With dates to everything they do: + With dates enough to make you sick;-- + I wish it was Arithmetic! + + PHYLLIS + + Such pounds and pounds of apples fill + My slate--what is the price you'd spend? + You scratch the figures out until + You cry upon the dividend. + I'd break the slate and scream for joy + If I did Latin like a boy! + +This kind of thing, of course, made lessons much jollier. It is +something to know that the person who is teaching you sees that it is +not all plain sailing for you, and does not think that it is just your +stupidness that makes you not know your lessons till you've learned +them! + +Then as Jim's leg got better it was very pleasant to go up and sit with +him and hear tales about his school life and the other boys. There +was one boy, named Parr, of whom Jim seemed to have formed the lowest +possible opinion, and another boy named Wigsby Minor, for whose views +Jim had a great respect. Also there were three brothers named Paley, and +the youngest was called Paley Terts, and was much given to fighting. + +Peter drank in all this with deep joy, and Mother seemed to have +listened with some interest, for one day she gave Jim a sheet of paper +on which she had written a rhyme about Parr, bringing in Paley and +Wigsby by name in a most wonderful way, as well as all the reasons Jim +had for not liking Parr, and Wigsby's wise opinion on the matter. Jim +was immensely pleased. He had never had a rhyme written expressly for +him before. He read it till he knew it by heart and then he sent it to +Wigsby, who liked it almost as much as Jim did. Perhaps you may like it, +too. + + THE NEW BOY + + His name is Parr: he says that he + Is given bread and milk for tea. + He says his father killed a bear. + He says his mother cuts his hair. + + He wears goloshes when it's wet. + I've heard his people call him “Pet”! + He has no proper sense of shame; + He told the chaps his Christian name. + + He cannot wicket-keep at all, + He's frightened of a cricket ball. + He reads indoors for hours and hours. + He knows the names of beastly flowers. + + He says his French just like Mossoo-- + A beastly stuck-up thing to do-- + He won't keep _cave_, shirks his turn + And says he came to school to learn! + + He won't play football, says it hurts; + He wouldn't fight with Paley Terts; + He couldn't whistle if he tried, + And when we laughed at him he cried! + + Now Wigsby Minor says that Parr + Is only like all new boys are. + I know when _I_ first came to school + I wasn't such a jolly fool! + +Jim could never understand how Mother could have been clever enough +to do it. To the others it seemed nice, but natural. You see they had +always been used to having a mother who could write verses just like +the way people talk, even to the shocking expression at the end of the +rhyme, which was Jim's very own. + +Jim taught Peter to play chess and draughts and dominoes, and altogether +it was a nice quiet time. + +Only Jim's leg got better and better, and a general feeling began to +spring up among Bobbie, Peter, and Phyllis that something ought to be +done to amuse him; not just games, but something really handsome. But it +was extraordinarily difficult to think of anything. + +“It's no good,” said Peter, when all of them had thought and thought +till their heads felt quite heavy and swollen; “if we can't think of +anything to amuse him, we just can't, and there's an end of it. Perhaps +something will just happen of its own accord that he'll like.” + +“Things DO happen by themselves sometimes, without your making them,” + said Phyllis, rather as though, usually, everything that happened in the +world was her doing. + +“I wish something would happen,” said Bobbie, dreamily, “something +wonderful.” + +And something wonderful did happen exactly four days after she had said +this. I wish I could say it was three days after, because in fairy tales +it is always three days after that things happen. But this is not a +fairy story, and besides, it really was four and not three, and I am +nothing if not strictly truthful. + +They seemed to be hardly Railway children at all in those days, and as +the days went on each had an uneasy feeling about this which Phyllis +expressed one day. + +“I wonder if the Railway misses us,” she said, plaintively. “We never go +to see it now.” + +“It seems ungrateful,” said Bobbie; “we loved it so when we hadn't +anyone else to play with.” + +“Perks is always coming up to ask after Jim,” said Peter, “and the +signalman's little boy is better. He told me so.” + +“I didn't mean the people,” explained Phyllis; “I meant the dear Railway +itself.” + +“The thing I don't like,” said Bobbie, on this fourth day, which was a +Tuesday, “is our having stopped waving to the 9.15 and sending our love +to Father by it.” + +“Let's begin again,” said Phyllis. And they did. + +Somehow the change of everything that was made by having servants in +the house and Mother not doing any writing, made the time seem extremely +long since that strange morning at the beginning of things, when they +had got up so early and burnt the bottom out of the kettle and had apple +pie for breakfast and first seen the Railway. + +It was September now, and the turf on the slope to the Railway was dry +and crisp. Little long grass spikes stood up like bits of gold wire, +frail blue harebells trembled on their tough, slender stalks, Gipsy +roses opened wide and flat their lilac-coloured discs, and the golden +stars of St. John's Wort shone at the edges of the pool that lay halfway +to the Railway. Bobbie gathered a generous handful of the flowers and +thought how pretty they would look lying on the green-and-pink blanket +of silk-waste that now covered Jim's poor broken leg. + +“Hurry up,” said Peter, “or we shall miss the 9.15!” + +“I can't hurry more than I am doing,” said Phyllis. “Oh, bother it! My +bootlace has come undone AGAIN!” + +“When you're married,” said Peter, “your bootlace will come undone going +up the church aisle, and your man that you're going to get married to +will tumble over it and smash his nose in on the ornamented pavement; +and then you'll say you won't marry him, and you'll have to be an old +maid.” + +“I shan't,” said Phyllis. “I'd much rather marry a man with his nose +smashed in than not marry anybody.” + +“It would be horrid to marry a man with a smashed nose, all the same,” + went on Bobbie. “He wouldn't be able to smell the flowers at the +wedding. Wouldn't that be awful!” + +“Bother the flowers at the wedding!” cried Peter. “Look! the signal's +down. We must run!” + +They ran. And once more they waved their handkerchiefs, without at all +minding whether the handkerchiefs were clean or not, to the 9.15. + +“Take our love to Father!” cried Bobbie. And the others, too, shouted:-- + +“Take our love to Father!” + +The old gentleman waved from his first-class carriage window. Quite +violently he waved. And there was nothing odd in that, for he always +had waved. But what was really remarkable was that from every window +handkerchiefs fluttered, newspapers signalled, hands waved wildly. The +train swept by with a rustle and roar, the little pebbles jumped and +danced under it as it passed, and the children were left looking at each +other. + +“Well!” said Peter. + +“WELL!” said Bobbie. + +“_WELL!_” said Phyllis. + +“Whatever on earth does that mean?” asked Peter, but he did not expect +any answer. + +“_I_ don't know,” said Bobbie. “Perhaps the old gentleman told the +people at his station to look out for us and wave. He knew we should +like it!” + +Now, curiously enough, this was just what had happened. The old +gentleman, who was very well known and respected at his particular +station, had got there early that morning, and he had waited at the door +where the young man stands holding the interesting machine that clips +the tickets, and he had said something to every single passenger who +passed through that door. And after nodding to what the old gentleman +had said--and the nods expressed every shade of surprise, interest, +doubt, cheerful pleasure, and grumpy agreement--each passenger had gone +on to the platform and read one certain part of his newspaper. And when +the passengers got into the train, they had told the other passengers +who were already there what the old gentleman had said, and then the +other passengers had also looked at their newspapers and seemed very +astonished and, mostly, pleased. Then, when the train passed the fence +where the three children were, newspapers and hands and handkerchiefs +were waved madly, till all that side of the train was fluttery with +white like the pictures of the King's Coronation in the biograph at +Maskelyne and Cook's. To the children it almost seemed as though the +train itself was alive, and was at last responding to the love that they +had given it so freely and so long. + +“It is most extraordinarily rum!” said Peter. + +“Most stronery!” echoed Phyllis. + +But Bobbie said, “Don't you think the old gentleman's waves seemed more +significating than usual?” + +“No,” said the others. + +“I do,” said Bobbie. “I thought he was trying to explain something to us +with his newspaper.” + +“Explain what?” asked Peter, not unnaturally. + +“_I_ don't know,” Bobbie answered, “but I do feel most awfully funny. I +feel just exactly as if something was going to happen.” + +“What is going to happen,” said Peter, “is that Phyllis's stocking is +going to come down.” + +This was but too true. The suspender had given way in the agitation of +the waves to the 9.15. Bobbie's handkerchief served as first aid to the +injured, and they all went home. + +Lessons were more than usually difficult to Bobbie that day. Indeed, she +disgraced herself so deeply over a quite simple sum about the division +of 48 pounds of meat and 36 pounds of bread among 144 hungry children +that Mother looked at her anxiously. + +“Don't you feel quite well, dear?” she asked. + +“I don't know,” was Bobbie's unexpected answer. “I don't know how +I feel. It isn't that I'm lazy. Mother, will you let me off lessons +to-day? I feel as if I wanted to be quite alone by myself.” + +“Yes, of course I'll let you off,” said Mother; “but--” + +Bobbie dropped her slate. It cracked just across the little green mark +that is so useful for drawing patterns round, and it was never the same +slate again. Without waiting to pick it up she bolted. Mother caught her +in the hall feeling blindly among the waterproofs and umbrellas for her +garden hat. + +“What is it, my sweetheart?” said Mother. “You don't feel ill, do you?” + +“I DON'T know,” Bobbie answered, a little breathlessly, “but I want to +be by myself and see if my head really IS all silly and my inside all +squirmy-twisty.” + +“Hadn't you better lie down?” Mother said, stroking her hair back from +her forehead. + +“I'd be more alive in the garden, I think,” said Bobbie. + +But she could not stay in the garden. The hollyhocks and the asters and +the late roses all seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It was +one of those still, shiny autumn days, when everything does seem to be +waiting. + +Bobbie could not wait. + +“I'll go down to the station,” she said, “and talk to Perks and ask +about the signalman's little boy.” + +So she went down. On the way she passed the old lady from the +Post-office, who gave her a kiss and a hug, but, rather to Bobbie's +surprise, no words except:-- + +“God bless you, love--” and, after a pause, “run along--do.” + +The draper's boy, who had sometimes been a little less than civil and +a little more than contemptuous, now touched his cap, and uttered the +remarkable words:-- + +“'Morning, Miss, I'm sure--” + +The blacksmith, coming along with an open newspaper in his hand, was +even more strange in his manner. He grinned broadly, though, as a rule, +he was a man not given to smiles, and waved the newspaper long before +he came up to her. And as he passed her, he said, in answer to her “Good +morning”:-- + +“Good morning to you, Missie, and many of them! I wish you joy, that I +do!” + +“Oh!” said Bobbie to herself, and her heart quickened its beats, +“something IS going to happen! I know it is--everyone is so odd, like +people are in dreams.” + +The Station Master wrung her hand warmly. In fact he worked it up and +down like a pump-handle. But he gave her no reason for this unusually +enthusiastic greeting. He only said:-- + +“The 11.54's a bit late, Miss--the extra luggage this holiday time,” + and went away very quickly into that inner Temple of his into which even +Bobbie dared not follow him. + +Perks was not to be seen, and Bobbie shared the solitude of the platform +with the Station Cat. This tortoiseshell lady, usually of a retiring +disposition, came to-day to rub herself against the brown stockings of +Bobbie with arched back, waving tail, and reverberating purrs. + +“Dear me!” said Bobbie, stooping to stroke her, “how very kind everybody +is to-day--even you, Pussy!” + +Perks did not appear until the 11.54 was signalled, and then he, like +everybody else that morning, had a newspaper in his hand. + +“Hullo!” he said, “'ere you are. Well, if THIS is the train, it'll be +smart work! Well, God bless you, my dear! I see it in the paper, and +I don't think I was ever so glad of anything in all my born days!” He +looked at Bobbie a moment, then said, “One I must have, Miss, and no +offence, I know, on a day like this 'ere!” and with that he kissed her, +first on one cheek and then on the other. + +“You ain't offended, are you?” he asked anxiously. “I ain't took too +great a liberty? On a day like this, you know--” + +“No, no,” said Bobbie, “of course it's not a liberty, dear Mr. Perks; +we love you quite as much as if you were an uncle of ours--but--on a day +like WHAT?” + +“Like this 'ere!” said Perks. “Don't I tell you I see it in the paper?” + +“Saw WHAT in the paper?” asked Bobbie, but already the 11.54 was +steaming into the station and the Station Master was looking at all the +places where Perks was not and ought to have been. + +Bobbie was left standing alone, the Station Cat watching her from under +the bench with friendly golden eyes. + +Of course you know already exactly what was going to happen. Bobbie was +not so clever. She had the vague, confused, expectant feeling that comes +to one's heart in dreams. What her heart expected I can't tell--perhaps +the very thing that you and I know was going to happen--but her mind +expected nothing; it was almost blank, and felt nothing but tiredness +and stupidness and an empty feeling, like your body has when you have +been a long walk and it is very far indeed past your proper dinner-time. + +Only three people got out of the 11.54. The first was a countryman with +two baskety boxes full of live chickens who stuck their russet heads +out anxiously through the wicker bars; the second was Miss Peckitt, the +grocer's wife's cousin, with a tin box and three brown-paper parcels; +and the third-- + +“Oh! my Daddy, my Daddy!” That scream went like a knife into the heart +of everyone in the train, and people put their heads out of the windows +to see a tall pale man with lips set in a thin close line, and a little +girl clinging to him with arms and legs, while his arms went tightly +round her. + + * * * * * * + +“I knew something wonderful was going to happen,” said Bobbie, as they +went up the road, “but I didn't think it was going to be this. Oh, my +Daddy, my Daddy!” + +“Then didn't Mother get my letter?” Father asked. + +“There weren't any letters this morning. Oh! Daddy! it IS really you, +isn't it?” + +The clasp of a hand she had not forgotten assured her that it was. “You +must go in by yourself, Bobbie, and tell Mother quite quietly that it's +all right. They've caught the man who did it. Everyone knows now that it +wasn't your Daddy.” + +“_I_ always knew it wasn't,” said Bobbie. “Me and Mother and our old +gentleman.” + +“Yes,” he said, “it's all his doing. Mother wrote and told me you had +found out. And she told me what you'd been to her. My own little girl!” + They stopped a minute then. + +And now I see them crossing the field. Bobbie goes into the house, +trying to keep her eyes from speaking before her lips have found the +right words to “tell Mother quite quietly” that the sorrow and the +struggle and the parting are over and done, and that Father has come +home. + +I see Father walking in the garden, waiting--waiting. He is looking at +the flowers, and each flower is a miracle to eyes that all these months +of Spring and Summer have seen only flagstones and gravel and a little +grudging grass. But his eyes keep turning towards the house. And +presently he leaves the garden and goes to stand outside the nearest +door. It is the back door, and across the yard the swallows are +circling. They are getting ready to fly away from cold winds and keen +frost to the land where it is always summer. They are the same swallows +that the children built the little clay nests for. + +Now the house door opens. Bobbie's voice calls:-- + +“Come in, Daddy; come in!” + +He goes in and the door is shut. I think we will not open the door or +follow him. I think that just now we are not wanted there. I think it +will be best for us to go quickly and quietly away. At the end of the +field, among the thin gold spikes of grass and the harebells and Gipsy +roses and St. John's Wort, we may just take one last look, over our +shoulders, at the white house where neither we nor anyone else is wanted +now. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Railway Children, by E. Nesbit + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAILWAY CHILDREN *** + +***** This file should be named 1874-0.txt or 1874-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/7/1874/ + +Produced by Les Bowler + +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. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1874-0.zip b/1874-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9273881 --- /dev/null +++ b/1874-0.zip diff --git a/1874-h.zip b/1874-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e80678 --- /dev/null +++ b/1874-h.zip diff --git a/1874-h/1874-h.htm b/1874-h/1874-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9460903 --- /dev/null +++ b/1874-h/1874-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10514 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Railway Children, by E. Nesbit + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Railway Children, by E. Nesbit + +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.org + + +Title: The Railway Children + +Author: E. Nesbit + +Release Date: November 6, 2008 [EBook #1874] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAILWAY CHILDREN *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE RAILWAY CHILDREN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By E. Nesbit + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + To my dear son Paul Bland,<br /> behind whose knowledge of railways<br /> my + ignorance confidently shelters. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter I. </a> + </td> + <td> + The beginning of things. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter II. </a> + </td> + <td> + Peter's coal-mine. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter III. </a> + </td> + <td> + The old gentleman. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter IV. </a> + </td> + <td> + The engine-burglar. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter V. </a> + </td> + <td> + Prisoners and captives. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter VI. </a> + </td> + <td> + Saviours of the train. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter VII. </a> + </td> + <td> + For valour. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter VIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + The amateur firemen. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter IX. </a> + </td> + <td> + The pride of Perks. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter X. </a> + </td> + <td> + The terrible secret. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> Chapter XI. </a> + </td> + <td> + The hound in the red jersey. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> Chapter XII. </a> + </td> + <td> + What Bobbie brought home. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter XIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + The hound's grandfather. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter XIV. </a> + </td> + <td> + The End. + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Chapter I. The beginning of things. + </h2> + <p> + They were not railway children to begin with. I don't suppose they had + ever thought about railways except as a means of getting to Maskelyne and + Cook's, the Pantomime, Zoological Gardens, and Madame Tussaud's. They were + just ordinary suburban children, and they lived with their Father and + Mother in an ordinary red-brick-fronted villa, with coloured glass in the + front door, a tiled passage that was called a hall, a bath-room with hot + and cold water, electric bells, French windows, and a good deal of white + paint, and 'every modern convenience', as the house-agents say. + </p> + <p> + There were three of them. Roberta was the eldest. Of course, Mothers never + have favourites, but if their Mother HAD had a favourite, it might have + been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wished to be an Engineer when he grew + up; and the youngest was Phyllis, who meant extremely well. + </p> + <p> + Mother did not spend all her time in paying dull calls to dull ladies, and + sitting dully at home waiting for dull ladies to pay calls to her. She was + almost always there, ready to play with the children, and read to them, + and help them to do their home-lessons. Besides this she used to write + stories for them while they were at school, and read them aloud after tea, + and she always made up funny pieces of poetry for their birthdays and for + other great occasions, such as the christening of the new kittens, or the + refurnishing of the doll's house, or the time when they were getting over + the mumps. + </p> + <p> + These three lucky children always had everything they needed: pretty + clothes, good fires, a lovely nursery with heaps of toys, and a Mother + Goose wall-paper. They had a kind and merry nursemaid, and a dog who was + called James, and who was their very own. They also had a Father who was + just perfect—never cross, never unjust, and always ready for a game—at + least, if at any time he was NOT ready, he always had an excellent reason + for it, and explained the reason to the children so interestingly and + funnily that they felt sure he couldn't help himself. + </p> + <p> + You will think that they ought to have been very happy. And so they were, + but they did not know HOW happy till the pretty life in the Red Villa was + over and done with, and they had to live a very different life indeed. + </p> + <p> + The dreadful change came quite suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Peter had a birthday—his tenth. Among his other presents was a model + engine more perfect than you could ever have dreamed of. The other + presents were full of charm, but the Engine was fuller of charm than any + of the others were. + </p> + <p> + Its charm lasted in its full perfection for exactly three days. Then, + owing either to Peter's inexperience or Phyllis's good intentions, which + had been rather pressing, or to some other cause, the Engine suddenly went + off with a bang. James was so frightened that he went out and did not come + back all day. All the Noah's Ark people who were in the tender were broken + to bits, but nothing else was hurt except the poor little engine and the + feelings of Peter. The others said he cried over it—but of course + boys of ten do not cry, however terrible the tragedies may be which darken + their lot. He said that his eyes were red because he had a cold. This + turned out to be true, though Peter did not know it was when he said it, + the next day he had to go to bed and stay there. Mother began to be afraid + that he might be sickening for measles, when suddenly he sat up in bed and + said: + </p> + <p> + “I hate gruel—I hate barley water—I hate bread and milk. I + want to get up and have something REAL to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you like?” Mother asked. + </p> + <p> + “A pigeon-pie,” said Peter, eagerly, “a large pigeon-pie. A very large + one.” + </p> + <p> + So Mother asked the Cook to make a large pigeon-pie. The pie was made. And + when the pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was cooked, Peter ate + some of it. After that his cold was better. Mother made a piece of poetry + to amuse him while the pie was being made. It began by saying what an + unfortunate but worthy boy Peter was, then it went on: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He had an engine that he loved + With all his heart and soul, + And if he had a wish on earth + It was to keep it whole. + + One day—my friends, prepare your minds; + I'm coming to the worst— + Quite suddenly a screw went mad, + And then the boiler burst! + + With gloomy face he picked it up + And took it to his Mother, + Though even he could not suppose + That she could make another; + + For those who perished on the line + He did not seem to care, + His engine being more to him + Than all the people there. + + And now you see the reason why + Our Peter has been ill: + He soothes his soul with pigeon-pie + His gnawing grief to kill. + + He wraps himself in blankets warm + And sleeps in bed till late, + Determined thus to overcome + His miserable fate. + + And if his eyes are rather red, + His cold must just excuse it: + Offer him pie; you may be sure + He never will refuse it. +</pre> + <p> + Father had been away in the country for three or four days. All Peter's + hopes for the curing of his afflicted Engine were now fixed on his Father, + for Father was most wonderfully clever with his fingers. He could mend all + sorts of things. He had often acted as veterinary surgeon to the wooden + rocking-horse; once he had saved its life when all human aid was despaired + of, and the poor creature was given up for lost, and even the carpenter + said he didn't see his way to do anything. And it was Father who mended + the doll's cradle when no one else could; and with a little glue and some + bits of wood and a pen-knife made all the Noah's Ark beasts as strong on + their pins as ever they were, if not stronger. + </p> + <p> + Peter, with heroic unselfishness, did not say anything about his Engine + till after Father had had his dinner and his after-dinner cigar. The + unselfishness was Mother's idea—but it was Peter who carried it out. + And needed a good deal of patience, too. + </p> + <p> + At last Mother said to Father, “Now, dear, if you're quite rested, and + quite comfy, we want to tell you about the great railway accident, and ask + your advice.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Father, “fire away!” + </p> + <p> + So then Peter told the sad tale, and fetched what was left of the Engine. + </p> + <p> + “Hum,” said Father, when he had looked the Engine over very carefully. + </p> + <p> + The children held their breaths. + </p> + <p> + “Is there NO hope?” said Peter, in a low, unsteady voice. + </p> + <p> + “Hope? Rather! Tons of it,” said Father, cheerfully; “but it'll want + something besides hope—a bit of brazing say, or some solder, and a + new valve. I think we'd better keep it for a rainy day. In other words, + I'll give up Saturday afternoon to it, and you shall all help me.” + </p> + <p> + “CAN girls help to mend engines?” Peter asked doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Of course they can. Girls are just as clever as boys, and don't you + forget it! How would you like to be an engine-driver, Phil?” + </p> + <p> + “My face would be always dirty, wouldn't it?” said Phyllis, in + unenthusiastic tones, “and I expect I should break something.” + </p> + <p> + “I should just love it,” said Roberta—“do you think I could when I'm + grown up, Daddy? Or even a stoker?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean a fireman,” said Daddy, pulling and twisting at the engine. + “Well, if you still wish it, when you're grown up, we'll see about making + you a fire-woman. I remember when I was a boy—” + </p> + <p> + Just then there was a knock at the front door. + </p> + <p> + “Who on earth!” said Father. “An Englishman's house is his castle, of + course, but I do wish they built semi-detached villas with moats and + drawbridges.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth—she was the parlour-maid and had red hair—came in and + said that two gentlemen wanted to see the master. + </p> + <p> + “I've shown them into the Library, Sir,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I expect it's the subscription to the Vicar's testimonial,” said Mother, + “or else it's the choir holiday fund. Get rid of them quickly, dear. It + does break up an evening so, and it's nearly the children's bedtime.” + </p> + <p> + But Father did not seem to be able to get rid of the gentlemen at all + quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we HAD got a moat and drawbridge,” said Roberta; “then, when we + didn't want people, we could just pull up the drawbridge and no one else + could get in. I expect Father will have forgotten about when he was a boy + if they stay much longer.” + </p> + <p> + Mother tried to make the time pass by telling them a new fairy story about + a Princess with green eyes, but it was difficult because they could hear + the voices of Father and the gentlemen in the Library, and Father's voice + sounded louder and different to the voice he generally used to people who + came about testimonials and holiday funds. + </p> + <p> + Then the Library bell rang, and everyone heaved a breath of relief. + </p> + <p> + “They're going now,” said Phyllis; “he's rung to have them shown out.” + </p> + <p> + But instead of showing anybody out, Ruth showed herself in, and she looked + queer, the children thought. + </p> + <p> + “Please'm,” she said, “the Master wants you to just step into the study. + He looks like the dead, mum; I think he's had bad news. You'd best prepare + yourself for the worst, 'm—p'raps it's a death in the family or a + bank busted or—” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do, Ruth,” said Mother gently; “you can go.” + </p> + <p> + Then Mother went into the Library. There was more talking. Then the bell + rang again, and Ruth fetched a cab. The children heard boots go out and + down the steps. The cab drove away, and the front door shut. Then Mother + came in. Her dear face was as white as her lace collar, and her eyes + looked very big and shining. Her mouth looked like just a line of pale red—her + lips were thin and not their proper shape at all. + </p> + <p> + “It's bedtime,” she said. “Ruth will put you to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “But you promised we should sit up late tonight because Father's come + home,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Father's been called away—on business,” said Mother. “Come, + darlings, go at once.” + </p> + <p> + They kissed her and went. Roberta lingered to give Mother an extra hug and + to whisper: + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't bad news, Mammy, was it? Is anyone dead—or—” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody's dead—no,” said Mother, and she almost seemed to push + Roberta away. “I can't tell you anything tonight, my pet. Go, dear, go + NOW.” + </p> + <p> + So Roberta went. + </p> + <p> + Ruth brushed the girls' hair and helped them to undress. (Mother almost + always did this herself.) When she had turned down the gas and left them + she found Peter, still dressed, waiting on the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Ruth, what's up?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me no questions and I won't tell you no lies,” the red-headed + Ruth replied. “You'll know soon enough.” + </p> + <p> + Late that night Mother came up and kissed all three children as they lay + asleep. But Roberta was the only one whom the kiss woke, and she lay + mousey-still, and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “If Mother doesn't want us to know she's been crying,” she said to herself + as she heard through the dark the catching of her Mother's breath, “we + WON'T know it. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + When they came down to breakfast the next morning, Mother had already gone + out. + </p> + <p> + “To London,” Ruth said, and left them to their breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “There's something awful the matter,” said Peter, breaking his egg. “Ruth + told me last night we should know soon enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ASK her?” said Roberta, with scorn. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did!” said Peter, angrily. “If you could go to bed without caring + whether Mother was worried or not, I couldn't. So there.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think we ought to ask the servants things Mother doesn't tell + us,” said Roberta. + </p> + <p> + “That's right, Miss Goody-goody,” said Peter, “preach away.” + </p> + <p> + “I'M not goody,” said Phyllis, “but I think Bobbie's right this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. She always is. In her own opinion,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DON'T!” cried Roberta, putting down her egg-spoon; “don't let's be + horrid to each other. I'm sure some dire calamity is happening. Don't + let's make it worse!” + </p> + <p> + “Who began, I should like to know?” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + Roberta made an effort, and answered:— + </p> + <p> + “I did, I suppose, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Peter, triumphantly. But before he went to school he + thumped his sister between the shoulders and told her to cheer up. + </p> + <p> + The children came home to one o'clock dinner, but Mother was not there. + And she was not there at tea-time. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly seven before she came in, looking so ill and tired that the + children felt they could not ask her any questions. She sank into an + arm-chair. Phyllis took the long pins out of her hat, while Roberta took + off her gloves, and Peter unfastened her walking-shoes and fetched her + soft velvety slippers for her. + </p> + <p> + When she had had a cup of tea, and Roberta had put eau-de-Cologne on her + poor head that ached, Mother said:— + </p> + <p> + “Now, my darlings, I want to tell you something. Those men last night did + bring very bad news, and Father will be away for some time. I am very + worried about it, and I want you all to help me, and not to make things + harder for me.” + </p> + <p> + “As if we would!” said Roberta, holding Mother's hand against her face. + </p> + <p> + “You can help me very much,” said Mother, “by being good and happy and not + quarrelling when I'm away”—Roberta and Peter exchanged guilty + glances—“for I shall have to be away a good deal.” + </p> + <p> + “We won't quarrel. Indeed we won't,” said everybody. And meant it, too. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” Mother went on, “I want you not to ask me any questions about this + trouble; and not to ask anybody else any questions.” + </p> + <p> + Peter cringed and shuffled his boots on the carpet. + </p> + <p> + “You'll promise this, too, won't you?” said Mother. + </p> + <p> + “I did ask Ruth,” said Peter, suddenly. “I'm very sorry, but I did.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “She said I should know soon enough.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't necessary for you to know anything about it,” said Mother; “it's + about business, and you never do understand business, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Roberta; “is it something to do with Government?” For Father + was in a Government Office. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mother. “Now it's bed-time, my darlings. And don't YOU worry. + It'll all come right in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don't YOU worry either, Mother,” said Phyllis, “and we'll all be as + good as gold.” + </p> + <p> + Mother sighed and kissed them. + </p> + <p> + “We'll begin being good the first thing tomorrow morning,” said Peter, as + they went upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “Why not NOW?” said Roberta. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing to be good ABOUT now, silly,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “We might begin to try to FEEL good,” said Phyllis, “and not call names.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's calling names?” said Peter. “Bobbie knows right enough that when I + say 'silly', it's just the same as if I said Bobbie.” + </p> + <p> + “WELL,” said Roberta. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't mean what you mean. I mean it's just a—what is it + Father calls it?—a germ of endearment! Good night.” + </p> + <p> + The girls folded up their clothes with more than usual neatness—which + was the only way of being good that they could think of. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said Phyllis, smoothing out her pinafore, “you used to say it was + so dull—nothing happening, like in books. Now something HAS + happened.” + </p> + <p> + “I never wanted things to happen to make Mother unhappy,” said Roberta. + “Everything's perfectly horrid.” + </p> + <p> + Everything continued to be perfectly horrid for some weeks. + </p> + <p> + Mother was nearly always out. Meals were dull and dirty. The between-maid + was sent away, and Aunt Emma came on a visit. Aunt Emma was much older + than Mother. She was going abroad to be a governess. She was very busy + getting her clothes ready, and they were very ugly, dingy clothes, and she + had them always littering about, and the sewing-machine seemed to whir—on + and on all day and most of the night. Aunt Emma believed in keeping + children in their proper places. And they more than returned the + compliment. Their idea of Aunt Emma's proper place was anywhere where they + were not. So they saw very little of her. They preferred the company of + the servants, who were more amusing. Cook, if in a good temper, could sing + comic songs, and the housemaid, if she happened not to be offended with + you, could imitate a hen that has laid an egg, a bottle of champagne being + opened, and could mew like two cats fighting. The servants never told the + children what the bad news was that the gentlemen had brought to Father. + But they kept hinting that they could tell a great deal if they chose—and + this was not comfortable. + </p> + <p> + One day when Peter had made a booby trap over the bath-room door, and it + had acted beautifully as Ruth passed through, that red-haired parlour-maid + caught him and boxed his ears. + </p> + <p> + “You'll come to a bad end,” she said furiously, “you nasty little limb, + you! If you don't mend your ways, you'll go where your precious Father's + gone, so I tell you straight!” + </p> + <p> + Roberta repeated this to her Mother, and next day Ruth was sent away. + </p> + <p> + Then came the time when Mother came home and went to bed and stayed there + two days and the Doctor came, and the children crept wretchedly about the + house and wondered if the world was coming to an end. + </p> + <p> + Mother came down one morning to breakfast, very pale and with lines on her + face that used not to be there. And she smiled, as well as she could, and + said:— + </p> + <p> + “Now, my pets, everything is settled. We're going to leave this house, and + go and live in the country. Such a ducky dear little white house. I know + you'll love it.” + </p> + <p> + A whirling week of packing followed—not just packing clothes, like + when you go to the seaside, but packing chairs and tables, covering their + tops with sacking and their legs with straw. + </p> + <p> + All sorts of things were packed that you don't pack when you go to the + seaside. Crockery, blankets, candlesticks, carpets, bedsteads, saucepans, + and even fenders and fire-irons. + </p> + <p> + The house was like a furniture warehouse. I think the children enjoyed it + very much. Mother was very busy, but not too busy now to talk to them, and + read to them, and even to make a bit of poetry for Phyllis to cheer her up + when she fell down with a screwdriver and ran it into her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you going to pack this, Mother?” Roberta asked, pointing to the + beautiful cabinet inlaid with red turtleshell and brass. + </p> + <p> + “We can't take everything,” said Mother. + </p> + <p> + “But we seem to be taking all the ugly things,” said Roberta. + </p> + <p> + “We're taking the useful ones,” said Mother; “we've got to play at being + Poor for a bit, my chickabiddy.” + </p> + <p> + When all the ugly useful things had been packed up and taken away in a van + by men in green-baize aprons, the two girls and Mother and Aunt Emma slept + in the two spare rooms where the furniture was all pretty. All their beds + had gone. A bed was made up for Peter on the drawing-room sofa. + </p> + <p> + “I say, this is larks,” he said, wriggling joyously, as Mother tucked him + up. “I do like moving! I wish we moved once a month.” + </p> + <p> + Mother laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I don't!” she said. “Good night, Peterkin.” + </p> + <p> + As she turned away Roberta saw her face. She never forgot it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mother,” she whispered all to herself as she got into bed, “how brave + you are! How I love you! Fancy being brave enough to laugh when you're + feeling like THAT!” + </p> + <p> + Next day boxes were filled, and boxes and more boxes; and then late in the + afternoon a cab came to take them to the station. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Emma saw them off. They felt that THEY were seeing HER off, and they + were glad of it. + </p> + <p> + “But, oh, those poor little foreign children that she's going to + governess!” whispered Phyllis. “I wouldn't be them for anything!” + </p> + <p> + At first they enjoyed looking out of the window, but when it grew dusk + they grew sleepier and sleepier, and no one knew how long they had been in + the train when they were roused by Mother's shaking them gently and + saying:— + </p> + <p> + “Wake up, dears. We're there.” + </p> + <p> + They woke up, cold and melancholy, and stood shivering on the draughty + platform while the baggage was taken out of the train. Then the engine, + puffing and blowing, set to work again, and dragged the train away. The + children watched the tail-lights of the guard's van disappear into the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + This was the first train the children saw on that railway which was in + time to become so very dear to them. They did not guess then how they + would grow to love the railway, and how soon it would become the centre of + their new life, nor what wonders and changes it would bring to them. They + only shivered and sneezed and hoped the walk to the new house would not be + long. Peter's nose was colder than he ever remembered it to have been + before. Roberta's hat was crooked, and the elastic seemed tighter than + usual. Phyllis's shoe-laces had come undone. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Mother, “we've got to walk. There aren't any cabs here.” + </p> + <p> + The walk was dark and muddy. The children stumbled a little on the rough + road, and once Phyllis absently fell into a puddle, and was picked up damp + and unhappy. There were no gas-lamps on the road, and the road was uphill. + The cart went at a foot's pace, and they followed the gritty crunch of its + wheels. As their eyes got used to the darkness, they could see the mound + of boxes swaying dimly in front of them. + </p> + <p> + A long gate had to be opened for the cart to pass through, and after that + the road seemed to go across fields—and now it went down hill. + Presently a great dark lumpish thing showed over to the right. + </p> + <p> + “There's the house,” said Mother. “I wonder why she's shut the shutters.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's SHE?” asked Roberta. + </p> + <p> + “The woman I engaged to clean the place, and put the furniture straight + and get supper.” + </p> + <p> + There was a low wall, and trees inside. + </p> + <p> + “That's the garden,” said Mother. + </p> + <p> + “It looks more like a dripping-pan full of black cabbages,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + The cart went on along by the garden wall, and round to the back of the + house, and here it clattered into a cobble-stoned yard and stopped at the + back door. + </p> + <p> + There was no light in any of the windows. + </p> + <p> + Everyone hammered at the door, but no one came. + </p> + <p> + The man who drove the cart said he expected Mrs. Viney had gone home. + </p> + <p> + “You see your train was that late,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “But she's got the key,” said Mother. “What are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she'll have left that under the doorstep,” said the cart man; “folks + do hereabouts.” He took the lantern off his cart and stooped. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, here it is, right enough,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He unlocked the door and went in and set his lantern on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Got e'er a candle?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know where anything is.” Mother spoke rather less cheerfully than + usual. + </p> + <p> + He struck a match. There was a candle on the table, and he lighted it. By + its thin little glimmer the children saw a large bare kitchen with a stone + floor. There were no curtains, no hearth-rug. The kitchen table from home + stood in the middle of the room. The chairs were in one corner, and the + pots, pans, brooms, and crockery in another. There was no fire, and the + black grate showed cold, dead ashes. + </p> + <p> + As the cart man turned to go out after he had brought in the boxes, there + was a rustling, scampering sound that seemed to come from inside the walls + of the house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what's that?” cried the girls. + </p> + <p> + “It's only the rats,” said the cart man. And he went away and shut the + door, and the sudden draught of it blew out the candle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear,” said Phyllis, “I wish we hadn't come!” and she knocked a chair + over. + </p> + <p> + “ONLY the rats!” said Peter, in the dark. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter II. Peter's coal-mine. + </h2> + <p> + “What fun!” said Mother, in the dark, feeling for the matches on the + table. “How frightened the poor mice were—I don't believe they were + rats at all.” + </p> + <p> + She struck a match and relighted the candle and everyone looked at each + other by its winky, blinky light. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, “you've often wanted something to happen and now it has. + This is quite an adventure, isn't it? I told Mrs. Viney to get us some + bread and butter, and meat and things, and to have supper ready. I suppose + she's laid it in the dining-room. So let's go and see.” + </p> + <p> + The dining-room opened out of the kitchen. It looked much darker than the + kitchen when they went in with the one candle. Because the kitchen was + whitewashed, but the dining-room was dark wood from floor to ceiling, and + across the ceiling there were heavy black beams. There was a muddled maze + of dusty furniture—the breakfast-room furniture from the old home + where they had lived all their lives. It seemed a very long time ago, and + a very long way off. + </p> + <p> + There was the table certainly, and there were chairs, but there was no + supper. + </p> + <p> + “Let's look in the other rooms,” said Mother; and they looked. And in each + room was the same kind of blundering half-arrangement of furniture, and + fire-irons and crockery, and all sorts of odd things on the floor, but + there was nothing to eat; even in the pantry there were only a rusty + cake-tin and a broken plate with whitening mixed in it. + </p> + <p> + “What a horrid old woman!” said Mother; “she's just walked off with the + money and not got us anything to eat at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then shan't we have any supper at all?” asked Phyllis, dismayed, stepping + back on to a soap-dish that cracked responsively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Mother, “only it'll mean unpacking one of those big cases + that we put in the cellar. Phil, do mind where you're walking to, there's + a dear. Peter, hold the light.” + </p> + <p> + The cellar door opened out of the kitchen. There were five wooden steps + leading down. It wasn't a proper cellar at all, the children thought, + because its ceiling went up as high as the kitchen's. A bacon-rack hung + under its ceiling. There was wood in it, and coal. Also the big cases. + </p> + <p> + Peter held the candle, all on one side, while Mother tried to open the + great packing-case. It was very securely nailed down. + </p> + <p> + “Where's the hammer?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “That's just it,” said Mother. “I'm afraid it's inside the box. But + there's a coal-shovel—and there's the kitchen poker.” + </p> + <p> + And with these she tried to get the case open. + </p> + <p> + “Let me do it,” said Peter, thinking he could do it better himself. + Everyone thinks this when he sees another person stirring a fire, or + opening a box, or untying a knot in a bit of string. + </p> + <p> + “You'll hurt your hands, Mammy,” said Roberta; “let me.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Father was here,” said Phyllis; “he'd get it open in two shakes. + What are you kicking me for, Bobbie?” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't,” said Roberta. + </p> + <p> + Just then the first of the long nails in the packing-case began to come + out with a scrunch. Then a lath was raised and then another, till all four + stood up with the long nails in them shining fiercely like iron teeth in + the candle-light. + </p> + <p> + “Hooray!” said Mother; “here are some candles—the very first thing! + You girls go and light them. You'll find some saucers and things. Just + drop a little candle-grease in the saucer and stick the candle upright in + it.” + </p> + <p> + “How many shall we light?” + </p> + <p> + “As many as ever you like,” said Mother, gaily. “The great thing is to be + cheerful. Nobody can be cheerful in the dark except owls and dormice.” + </p> + <p> + So the girls lighted candles. The head of the first match flew off and + stuck to Phyllis's finger; but, as Roberta said, it was only a little + burn, and she might have had to be a Roman martyr and be burned whole if + she had happened to live in the days when those things were fashionable. + </p> + <p> + Then, when the dining-room was lighted by fourteen candles, Roberta + fetched coal and wood and lighted a fire. + </p> + <p> + “It's very cold for May,” she said, feeling what a grown-up thing it was + to say. + </p> + <p> + The fire-light and the candle-light made the dining-room look very + different, for now you could see that the dark walls were of wood, carved + here and there into little wreaths and loops. + </p> + <p> + The girls hastily 'tidied' the room, which meant putting the chairs + against the wall, and piling all the odds and ends into a corner and + partly hiding them with the big leather arm-chair that Father used to sit + in after dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried Mother, coming in with a tray full of things. “This is + something like! I'll just get a tablecloth and then—” + </p> + <p> + The tablecloth was in a box with a proper lock that was opened with a key + and not with a shovel, and when the cloth was spread on the table, a real + feast was laid out on it. + </p> + <p> + Everyone was very, very tired, but everyone cheered up at the sight of the + funny and delightful supper. There were biscuits, the Marie and the plain + kind, sardines, preserved ginger, cooking raisins, and candied peel and + marmalade. + </p> + <p> + “What a good thing Aunt Emma packed up all the odds and ends out of the + Store cupboard,” said Mother. “Now, Phil, DON'T put the marmalade spoon in + among the sardines.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won't, Mother,” said Phyllis, and put it down among the Marie + biscuits. + </p> + <p> + “Let's drink Aunt Emma's health,” said Roberta, suddenly; “what should we + have done if she hadn't packed up these things? Here's to Aunt Emma!” + </p> + <p> + And the toast was drunk in ginger wine and water, out of willow-patterned + tea-cups, because the glasses couldn't be found. + </p> + <p> + They all felt that they had been a little hard on Aunt Emma. She wasn't a + nice cuddly person like Mother, but after all it was she who had thought + of packing up the odds and ends of things to eat. + </p> + <p> + It was Aunt Emma, too, who had aired all the sheets ready; and the men who + had moved the furniture had put the bedsteads together, so the beds were + soon made. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, chickies,” said Mother. “I'm sure there aren't any rats. But + I'll leave my door open, and then if a mouse comes, you need only scream, + and I'll come and tell it exactly what I think of it.” + </p> + <p> + Then she went to her own room. Roberta woke to hear the little travelling + clock chime two. It sounded like a church clock ever so far away, she + always thought. And she heard, too, Mother still moving about in her room. + </p> + <p> + Next morning Roberta woke Phyllis by pulling her hair gently, but quite + enough for her purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Wassermarrer?” asked Phyllis, still almost wholly asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Wake up! wake up!” said Roberta. “We're in the new house—don't you + remember? No servants or anything. Let's get up and begin to be useful. + We'll just creep down mouse-quietly, and have everything beautiful before + Mother gets up. I've woke Peter. He'll be dressed as soon as we are.” + </p> + <p> + So they dressed quietly and quickly. Of course, there was no water in + their room, so when they got down they washed as much as they thought was + necessary under the spout of the pump in the yard. One pumped and the + other washed. It was splashy but interesting. + </p> + <p> + “It's much more fun than basin washing,” said Roberta. “How sparkly the + weeds are between the stones, and the moss on the roof—oh, and the + flowers!” + </p> + <p> + The roof of the back kitchen sloped down quite low. It was made of thatch + and it had moss on it, and house-leeks and stonecrop and wallflowers, and + even a clump of purple flag-flowers, at the far corner. + </p> + <p> + “This is far, far, far and away prettier than Edgecombe Villa,” said + Phyllis. “I wonder what the garden's like.” + </p> + <p> + “We mustn't think of the garden yet,” said Roberta, with earnest energy. + “Let's go in and begin to work.” + </p> + <p> + They lighted the fire and put the kettle on, and they arranged the + crockery for breakfast; they could not find all the right things, but a + glass ash-tray made an excellent salt-cellar, and a newish baking-tin + seemed as if it would do to put bread on, if they had any. + </p> + <p> + When there seemed to be nothing more that they could do, they went out + again into the fresh bright morning. + </p> + <p> + “We'll go into the garden now,” said Peter. But somehow they couldn't find + the garden. They went round the house and round the house. The yard + occupied the back, and across it were stables and outbuildings. On the + other three sides the house stood simply in a field, without a yard of + garden to divide it from the short smooth turf. And yet they had certainly + seen the garden wall the night before. + </p> + <p> + It was a hilly country. Down below they could see the line of the railway, + and the black yawning mouth of a tunnel. The station was out of sight. + There was a great bridge with tall arches running across one end of the + valley. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the garden,” said Peter; “let's go down and look at the + railway. There might be trains passing.” + </p> + <p> + “We can see them from here,” said Roberta, slowly; “let's sit down a bit.” + </p> + <p> + So they all sat down on a great flat grey stone that had pushed itself up + out of the grass; it was one of many that lay about on the hillside, and + when Mother came out to look for them at eight o'clock, she found them + deeply asleep in a contented, sun-warmed bunch. + </p> + <p> + They had made an excellent fire, and had set the kettle on it at about + half-past five. So that by eight the fire had been out for some time, the + water had all boiled away, and the bottom was burned out of the kettle. + Also they had not thought of washing the crockery before they set the + table. + </p> + <p> + “But it doesn't matter—the cups and saucers, I mean,” said Mother. + “Because I've found another room—I'd quite forgotten there was one. + And it's magic! And I've boiled the water for tea in a saucepan.” + </p> + <p> + The forgotten room opened out of the kitchen. In the agitation and half + darkness the night before its door had been mistaken for a cupboard's. It + was a little square room, and on its table, all nicely set out, was a + joint of cold roast beef, with bread, butter, cheese, and a pie. + </p> + <p> + “Pie for breakfast!” cried Peter; “how perfectly ripping!” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't pigeon-pie,” said Mother; “it's only apple. Well, this is the + supper we ought to have had last night. And there was a note from Mrs. + Viney. Her son-in-law has broken his arm, and she had to get home early. + She's coming this morning at ten.” + </p> + <p> + That was a wonderful breakfast. It is unusual to begin the day with cold + apple pie, but the children all said they would rather have it than meat. + </p> + <p> + “You see it's more like dinner than breakfast to us,” said Peter, passing + his plate for more, “because we were up so early.” + </p> + <p> + The day passed in helping Mother to unpack and arrange things. Six small + legs quite ached with running about while their owners carried clothes and + crockery and all sorts of things to their proper places. It was not till + quite late in the afternoon that Mother said:— + </p> + <p> + “There! That'll do for to-day. I'll lie down for an hour, so as to be as + fresh as a lark by supper-time.” + </p> + <p> + Then they all looked at each other. Each of the three expressive + countenances expressed the same thought. That thought was double, and + consisted, like the bits of information in the Child's Guide to Knowledge, + of a question and an answer. + </p> + <p> + Q. Where shall we go? + </p> + <p> + A. To the railway. + </p> + <p> + So to the railway they went, and as soon as they started for the railway + they saw where the garden had hidden itself. It was right behind the + stables, and it had a high wall all round. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind about the garden now!” cried Peter. “Mother told me this + morning where it was. It'll keep till to-morrow. Let's get to the + railway.” + </p> + <p> + The way to the railway was all down hill over smooth, short turf with here + and there furze bushes and grey and yellow rocks sticking out like candied + peel from the top of a cake. + </p> + <p> + The way ended in a steep run and a wooden fence—and there was the + railway with the shining metals and the telegraph wires and posts and + signals. + </p> + <p> + They all climbed on to the top of the fence, and then suddenly there was a + rumbling sound that made them look along the line to the right, where the + dark mouth of a tunnel opened itself in the face of a rocky cliff; next + moment a train had rushed out of the tunnel with a shriek and a snort, and + had slid noisily past them. They felt the rush of its passing, and the + pebbles on the line jumped and rattled under it as it went by. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Roberta, drawing a long breath; “it was like a great dragon + tearing by. Did you feel it fan us with its hot wings?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose a dragon's lair might look very like that tunnel from the + outside,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + But Peter said:— + </p> + <p> + “I never thought we should ever get as near to a train as this. It's the + most ripping sport!” + </p> + <p> + “Better than toy-engines, isn't it?” said Roberta. + </p> + <p> + (I am tired of calling Roberta by her name. I don't see why I should. No + one else did. Everyone else called her Bobbie, and I don't see why I + shouldn't.) + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; it's different,” said Peter. “It seems so odd to see ALL of + a train. It's awfully tall, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “We've always seen them cut in half by platforms,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if that train was going to London,” Bobbie said. “London's where + Father is.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's go down to the station and find out,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + So they went. + </p> + <p> + They walked along the edge of the line, and heard the telegraph wires + humming over their heads. When you are in the train, it seems such a + little way between post and post, and one after another the posts seem to + catch up the wires almost more quickly than you can count them. But when + you have to walk, the posts seem few and far between. + </p> + <p> + But the children got to the station at last. + </p> + <p> + Never before had any of them been at a station, except for the purpose of + catching trains—or perhaps waiting for them—and always with + grown-ups in attendance, grown-ups who were not themselves interested in + stations, except as places from which they wished to get away. + </p> + <p> + Never before had they passed close enough to a signal-box to be able to + notice the wires, and to hear the mysterious 'ping, ping,' followed by the + strong, firm clicking of machinery. + </p> + <p> + The very sleepers on which the rails lay were a delightful path to travel + by—just far enough apart to serve as the stepping-stones in a game + of foaming torrents hastily organised by Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + Then to arrive at the station, not through the booking office, but in a + freebooting sort of way by the sloping end of the platform. This in itself + was joy. + </p> + <p> + Joy, too, it was to peep into the porters' room, where the lamps are, and + the Railway almanac on the wall, and one porter half asleep behind a + paper. + </p> + <p> + There were a great many crossing lines at the station; some of them just + ran into a yard and stopped short, as though they were tired of business + and meant to retire for good. Trucks stood on the rails here, and on one + side was a great heap of coal—not a loose heap, such as you see in + your coal cellar, but a sort of solid building of coals with large square + blocks of coal outside used just as though they were bricks, and built up + till the heap looked like the picture of the Cities of the Plain in 'Bible + Stories for Infants.' There was a line of whitewash near the top of the + coaly wall. + </p> + <p> + When presently the Porter lounged out of his room at the twice-repeated + tingling thrill of a gong over the station door, Peter said, “How do you + do?” in his best manner, and hastened to ask what the white mark was on + the coal for. + </p> + <p> + “To mark how much coal there be,” said the Porter, “so as we'll know if + anyone nicks it. So don't you go off with none in your pockets, young + gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + This seemed, at the time but a merry jest, and Peter felt at once that the + Porter was a friendly sort with no nonsense about him. But later the words + came back to Peter with a new meaning. + </p> + <p> + Have you ever gone into a farmhouse kitchen on a baking day, and seen the + great crock of dough set by the fire to rise? If you have, and if you were + at that time still young enough to be interested in everything you saw, + you will remember that you found yourself quite unable to resist the + temptation to poke your finger into the soft round of dough that curved + inside the pan like a giant mushroom. And you will remember that your + finger made a dent in the dough, and that slowly, but quite surely, the + dent disappeared, and the dough looked quite the same as it did before you + touched it. Unless, of course, your hand was extra dirty, in which case, + naturally, there would be a little black mark. + </p> + <p> + Well, it was just like that with the sorrow the children had felt at + Father's going away, and at Mother's being so unhappy. It made a deep + impression, but the impression did not last long. + </p> + <p> + They soon got used to being without Father, though they did not forget + him; and they got used to not going to school, and to seeing very little + of Mother, who was now almost all day shut up in her upstairs room + writing, writing, writing. She used to come down at tea-time and read + aloud the stories she had written. They were lovely stories. + </p> + <p> + The rocks and hills and valleys and trees, the canal, and above all, the + railway, were so new and so perfectly pleasing that the remembrance of the + old life in the villa grew to seem almost like a dream. + </p> + <p> + Mother had told them more than once that they were 'quite poor now,' but + this did not seem to be anything but a way of speaking. Grown-up people, + even Mothers, often make remarks that don't seem to mean anything in + particular, just for the sake of saying something, seemingly. There was + always enough to eat, and they wore the same kind of nice clothes they had + always worn. + </p> + <p> + But in June came three wet days; the rain came down, straight as lances, + and it was very, very cold. Nobody could go out, and everybody shivered. + They all went up to the door of Mother's room and knocked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” asked Mother from inside. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said Bobbie, “mayn't I light a fire? I do know how.” + </p> + <p> + And Mother said: “No, my ducky-love. We mustn't have fires in June—coal + is so dear. If you're cold, go and have a good romp in the attic. That'll + warm you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Mother, it only takes such a very little coal to make a fire.” + </p> + <p> + “It's more than we can afford, chickeny-love,” said Mother, cheerfully. + “Now run away, there's darlings—I'm madly busy!” + </p> + <p> + “Mother's always busy now,” said Phyllis, in a whisper to Peter. Peter did + not answer. He shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking. + </p> + <p> + Thought, however, could not long keep itself from the suitable furnishing + of a bandit's lair in the attic. Peter was the bandit, of course. Bobbie + was his lieutenant, his band of trusty robbers, and, in due course, the + parent of Phyllis, who was the captured maiden for whom a magnificent + ransom—in horse-beans—was unhesitatingly paid. + </p> + <p> + They all went down to tea flushed and joyous as any mountain brigands. + </p> + <p> + But when Phyllis was going to add jam to her bread and butter, Mother + said:— + </p> + <p> + “Jam OR butter, dear—not jam AND butter. We can't afford that sort + of reckless luxury nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis finished the slice of bread and butter in silence, and followed it + up by bread and jam. Peter mingled thought and weak tea. + </p> + <p> + After tea they went back to the attic and he said to his sisters:— + </p> + <p> + “I have an idea.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” they asked politely. + </p> + <p> + “I shan't tell you,” was Peter's unexpected rejoinder. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” said Bobbie; and Phil said, “Don't, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Girls,” said Peter, “are always so hasty tempered.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know what boys are?” said Bobbie, with fine disdain. “I + don't want to know about your silly ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll know some day,” said Peter, keeping his own temper by what looked + exactly like a miracle; “if you hadn't been so keen on a row, I might have + told you about it being only noble-heartedness that made me not tell you + my idea. But now I shan't tell you anything at all about it—so + there!” + </p> + <p> + And it was, indeed, some time before he could be induced to say anything, + and when he did it wasn't much. He said:— + </p> + <p> + “The only reason why I won't tell you my idea that I'm going to do is + because it MAY be wrong, and I don't want to drag you into it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you do it if it's wrong, Peter,” said Bobbie; “let me do it.” But + Phyllis said:— + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> should like to do wrong if YOU'RE going to!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Peter, rather touched by this devotion; “it's a forlorn hope, + and I'm going to lead it. All I ask is that if Mother asks where I am, you + won't blab.” + </p> + <p> + “We haven't got anything TO blab,” said Bobbie, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you have!” said Peter, dropping horse-beans through his fingers. + “I've trusted you to the death. You know I'm going to do a lone adventure—and + some people might think it wrong—I don't. And if Mother asks where I + am, say I'm playing at mines.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of mines?” + </p> + <p> + “You just say mines.” + </p> + <p> + “You might tell US, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, COAL-mines. But don't you let the word pass your lips on pain + of torture.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't threaten,” said Bobbie, “and I do think you might let us + help.” + </p> + <p> + “If I find a coal-mine, you shall help cart the coal,” Peter condescended + to promise. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your secret if you like,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Keep it if you CAN,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “I'll keep it, right enough,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + Between tea and supper there is an interval even in the most greedily + regulated families. At this time Mother was usually writing, and Mrs. + Viney had gone home. + </p> + <p> + Two nights after the dawning of Peter's idea he beckoned the girls + mysteriously at the twilight hour. + </p> + <p> + “Come hither with me,” he said, “and bring the Roman Chariot.” + </p> + <p> + The Roman Chariot was a very old perambulator that had spent years of + retirement in the loft over the coach-house. The children had oiled its + works till it glided noiseless as a pneumatic bicycle, and answered to the + helm as it had probably done in its best days. + </p> + <p> + “Follow your dauntless leader,” said Peter, and led the way down the hill + towards the station. + </p> + <p> + Just above the station many rocks have pushed their heads out through the + turf as though they, like the children, were interested in the railway. + </p> + <p> + In a little hollow between three rocks lay a heap of dried brambles and + heather. + </p> + <p> + Peter halted, turned over the brushwood with a well-scarred boot, and + said:— + </p> + <p> + “Here's the first coal from the St. Peter's Mine. We'll take it home in + the chariot. Punctuality and despatch. All orders carefully attended to. + Any shaped lump cut to suit regular customers.” + </p> + <p> + The chariot was packed full of coal. And when it was packed it had to be + unpacked again because it was so heavy that it couldn't be got up the hill + by the three children, not even when Peter harnessed himself to the handle + with his braces, and firmly grasping his waistband in one hand pulled + while the girls pushed behind. + </p> + <p> + Three journeys had to be made before the coal from Peter's mine was added + to the heap of Mother's coal in the cellar. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards Peter went out alone, and came back very black and mysterious. + </p> + <p> + “I've been to my coal-mine,” he said; “to-morrow evening we'll bring home + the black diamonds in the chariot.” + </p> + <p> + It was a week later that Mrs. Viney remarked to Mother how well this last + lot of coal was holding out. + </p> + <p> + The children hugged themselves and each other in complicated wriggles of + silent laughter as they listened on the stairs. They had all forgotten by + now that there had ever been any doubt in Peter's mind as to whether + coal-mining was wrong. + </p> + <p> + But there came a dreadful night when the Station Master put on a pair of + old sand shoes that he had worn at the seaside in his summer holiday, and + crept out very quietly to the yard where the Sodom and Gomorrah heap of + coal was, with the whitewashed line round it. He crept out there, and he + waited like a cat by a mousehole. On the top of the heap something small + and dark was scrabbling and rattling furtively among the coal. + </p> + <p> + The Station Master concealed himself in the shadow of a brake-van that had + a little tin chimney and was labelled:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + G. N. and S. R. + 34576 + Return at once to + White Heather Sidings +</pre> + <p> + and in this concealment he lurked till the small thing on the top of the + heap ceased to scrabble and rattle, came to the edge of the heap, + cautiously let itself down, and lifted something after it. Then the arm of + the Station Master was raised, the hand of the Station Master fell on a + collar, and there was Peter firmly held by the jacket, with an old + carpenter's bag full of coal in his trembling clutch. + </p> + <p> + “So I've caught you at last, have I, you young thief?” said the Station + Master. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a thief,” said Peter, as firmly as he could. “I'm a coal-miner.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell that to the Marines,” said the Station Master. + </p> + <p> + “It would be just as true whoever I told it to,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “You're right there,” said the man, who held him. “Stow your jaw, you + young rip, and come along to the station.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” cried in the darkness an agonised voice that was not Peter's. + </p> + <p> + “Not the POLICE station!” said another voice from the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said the Station Master. “The Railway Station first. Why, it's + a regular gang. Any more of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Only us,” said Bobbie and Phyllis, coming out of the shadow of another + truck labelled Staveley Colliery, and bearing on it the legend in white + chalk: 'Wanted in No. 1 Road.' + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by spying on a fellow like this?” said Peter, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Time someone did spy on you, <i>I</i> think,” said the Station Master. + “Come along to the station.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DON'T!” said Bobbie. “Can't you decide NOW what you'll do to us? It's + our fault just as much as Peter's. We helped to carry the coal away—and + we knew where he got it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you didn't,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we did,” said Bobbie. “We knew all the time. We only pretended we + didn't just to humour you.” + </p> + <p> + Peter's cup was full. He had mined for coal, he had struck coal, he had + been caught, and now he learned that his sisters had 'humoured' him. + </p> + <p> + “Don't hold me!” he said. “I won't run away.” + </p> + <p> + The Station Master loosed Peter's collar, struck a match and looked at + them by its flickering light. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said he, “you're the children from the Three Chimneys up yonder. So + nicely dressed, too. Tell me now, what made you do such a thing? Haven't + you ever been to church or learned your catechism or anything, not to know + it's wicked to steal?” He spoke much more gently now, and Peter said:— + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think it was stealing. I was almost sure it wasn't. I thought if + I took it from the outside part of the heap, perhaps it would be. But in + the middle I thought I could fairly count it only mining. It'll take + thousands of years for you to burn up all that coal and get to the middle + parts.” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite. But did you do it for a lark or what?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much lark carting that beastly heavy stuff up the hill,” said Peter, + indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you?” The Station Master's voice was so much kinder now that + Peter replied:— + </p> + <p> + “You know that wet day? Well, Mother said we were too poor to have a fire. + We always had fires when it was cold at our other house, and—” + </p> + <p> + “DON'T!” interrupted Bobbie, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Station Master, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I'll tell + you what I'll do. I'll look over it this once. But you remember, young + gentleman, stealing is stealing, and what's mine isn't yours, whether you + call it mining or whether you don't. Run along home.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean you aren't going to do anything to us? Well, you are a + brick,” said Peter, with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “You're a dear,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “You're a darling,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said the Station Master. + </p> + <p> + And on this they parted. + </p> + <p> + “Don't speak to me,” said Peter, as the three went up the hill. “You're + spies and traitors—that's what you are.” + </p> + <p> + But the girls were too glad to have Peter between them, safe and free, and + on the way to Three Chimneys and not to the Police Station, to mind much + what he said. + </p> + <p> + “We DID say it was us as much as you,” said Bobbie, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Well—and it wasn't.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have come to the same thing in Courts with judges,” said + Phyllis. “Don't be snarky, Peter. It isn't our fault your secrets are so + jolly easy to find out.” She took his arm, and he let her. + </p> + <p> + “There's an awful lot of coal in the cellar, anyhow,” he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't!” said Bobbie. “I don't think we ought to be glad about THAT.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Peter, plucking up a spirit. “I'm not at all sure, + even now, that mining is a crime.” + </p> + <p> + But the girls were quite sure. And they were also quite sure that he was + quite sure, however little he cared to own it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter III. The old gentleman. + </h2> + <p> + After the adventure of Peter's Coal-mine, it seemed well to the children + to keep away from the station—but they did not, they could not, keep + away from the railway. They had lived all their lives in a street where + cabs and omnibuses rumbled by at all hours, and the carts of butchers and + bakers and candlestick makers (I never saw a candlestick-maker's cart; did + you?) might occur at any moment. Here in the deep silence of the sleeping + country the only things that went by were the trains. They seemed to be + all that was left to link the children to the old life that had once been + theirs. Straight down the hill in front of Three Chimneys the daily + passage of their six feet began to mark a path across the crisp, short + turf. They began to know the hours when certain trains passed, and they + gave names to them. The 9.15 up was called the Green Dragon. The 10.7 down + was the Worm of Wantley. The midnight town express, whose shrieking rush + they sometimes woke from their dreams to hear, was the Fearsome + Fly-by-night. Peter got up once, in chill starshine, and, peeping at it + through his curtains, named it on the spot. + </p> + <p> + It was by the Green Dragon that the old gentleman travelled. He was a very + nice-looking old gentleman, and he looked as if he were nice, too, which + is not at all the same thing. He had a fresh-coloured, clean-shaven face + and white hair, and he wore rather odd-shaped collars and a top-hat that + wasn't exactly the same kind as other people's. Of course the children + didn't see all this at first. In fact the first thing they noticed about + the old gentleman was his hand. + </p> + <p> + It was one morning as they sat on the fence waiting for the Green Dragon, + which was three and a quarter minutes late by Peter's Waterbury watch that + he had had given him on his last birthday. + </p> + <p> + “The Green Dragon's going where Father is,” said Phyllis; “if it were a + really real dragon, we could stop it and ask it to take our love to + Father.” + </p> + <p> + “Dragons don't carry people's love,” said Peter; “they'd be above it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they do, if you tame them thoroughly first. They fetch and carry + like pet spaniels,” said Phyllis, “and feed out of your hand. I wonder why + Father never writes to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother says he's been too busy,” said Bobbie; “but he'll write soon, she + says.” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” Phyllis suggested, “let's all wave to the Green Dragon as it goes + by. If it's a magic dragon, it'll understand and take our loves to Father. + And if it isn't, three waves aren't much. We shall never miss them.” + </p> + <p> + So when the Green Dragon tore shrieking out of the mouth of its dark lair, + which was the tunnel, all three children stood on the railing and waved + their pocket-handkerchiefs without stopping to think whether they were + clean handkerchiefs or the reverse. They were, as a matter of fact, very + much the reverse. + </p> + <p> + And out of a first-class carriage a hand waved back. A quite clean hand. + It held a newspaper. It was the old gentleman's hand. + </p> + <p> + After this it became the custom for waves to be exchanged between the + children and the 9.15. + </p> + <p> + And the children, especially the girls, liked to think that perhaps the + old gentleman knew Father, and would meet him 'in business,' wherever that + shady retreat might be, and tell him how his three children stood on a + rail far away in the green country and waved their love to him every + morning, wet or fine. + </p> + <p> + For they were now able to go out in all sorts of weather such as they + would never have been allowed to go out in when they lived in their villa + house. This was Aunt Emma's doing, and the children felt more and more + that they had not been quite fair to this unattractive aunt, when they + found how useful were the long gaiters and waterproof coats that they had + laughed at her for buying for them. + </p> + <p> + Mother, all this time, was very busy with her writing. She used to send + off a good many long blue envelopes with stories in them—and large + envelopes of different sizes and colours used to come to her. Sometimes + she would sigh when she opened them and say:— + </p> + <p> + “Another story come home to roost. Oh, dear, Oh, dear!” and then the + children would be very sorry. + </p> + <p> + But sometimes she would wave the envelope in the air and say:—“Hooray, + hooray. Here's a sensible Editor. He's taken my story and this is the + proof of it.” + </p> + <p> + At first the children thought 'the Proof' meant the letter the sensible + Editor had written, but they presently got to know that the proof was long + slips of paper with the story printed on them. + </p> + <p> + Whenever an Editor was sensible there were buns for tea. + </p> + <p> + One day Peter was going down to the village to get buns to celebrate the + sensibleness of the Editor of the Children's Globe, when he met the + Station Master. + </p> + <p> + Peter felt very uncomfortable, for he had now had time to think over the + affair of the coal-mine. He did not like to say “Good morning” to the + Station Master, as you usually do to anyone you meet on a lonely road, + because he had a hot feeling, which spread even to his ears, that the + Station Master might not care to speak to a person who had stolen coals. + 'Stolen' is a nasty word, but Peter felt it was the right one. So he + looked down, and said Nothing. + </p> + <p> + It was the Station Master who said “Good morning” as he passed by. And + Peter answered, “Good morning.” Then he thought:— + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he doesn't know who I am by daylight, or he wouldn't be so + polite.” + </p> + <p> + And he did not like the feeling which thinking this gave him. And then + before he knew what he was going to do he ran after the Station Master, + who stopped when he heard Peter's hasty boots crunching the road, and + coming up with him very breathless and with his ears now quite + magenta-coloured, he said:— + </p> + <p> + “I don't want you to be polite to me if you don't know me when you see + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” said the Station Master. + </p> + <p> + “I thought perhaps you didn't know it was me that took the coals,” Peter + went on, “when you said 'Good morning.' But it was, and I'm sorry. There.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the Station Master, “I wasn't thinking anything at all about + the precious coals. Let bygones be bygones. And where were you off to in + such a hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to buy buns for tea,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were all so poor,” said the Station Master. + </p> + <p> + “So we are,” said Peter, confidentially, “but we always have three + pennyworth of halfpennies for tea whenever Mother sells a story or a poem + or anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the Station Master, “so your Mother writes stories, does she?” + </p> + <p> + “The beautifulest you ever read,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be very proud to have such a clever Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter, “but she used to play with us more before she had to be + so clever.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Station Master, “I must be getting along. You give us a + look in at the Station whenever you feel so inclined. And as to coals, + it's a word that—well—oh, no, we never mention it, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Peter. “I'm very glad it's all straightened out between + us.” And he went on across the canal bridge to the village to get the + buns, feeling more comfortable in his mind than he had felt since the hand + of the Station Master had fastened on his collar that night among the + coals. + </p> + <p> + Next day when they had sent the threefold wave of greeting to Father by + the Green Dragon, and the old gentleman had waved back as usual, Peter + proudly led the way to the station. + </p> + <p> + “But ought we?” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “After the coals, she means,” Phyllis explained. + </p> + <p> + “I met the Station Master yesterday,” said Peter, in an offhand way, and + he pretended not to hear what Phyllis had said; “he expresspecially + invited us to go down any time we liked.” + </p> + <p> + “After the coals?” repeated Phyllis. “Stop a minute—my bootlace is + undone again.” + </p> + <p> + “It always IS undone again,” said Peter, “and the Station Master was more + of a gentleman than you'll ever be, Phil—throwing coal at a chap's + head like that.” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis did up her bootlace and went on in silence, but her shoulders + shook, and presently a fat tear fell off her nose and splashed on the + metal of the railway line. Bobbie saw it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's the matter, darling?” she said, stopping short and putting + her arm round the heaving shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “He called me un-un-ungentlemanly,” sobbed Phyllis. “I didn't never call + him unladylike, not even when he tied my Clorinda to the firewood bundle + and burned her at the stake for a martyr.” + </p> + <p> + Peter had indeed perpetrated this outrage a year or two before. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you began, you know,” said Bobbie, honestly, “about coals and all + that. Don't you think you'd better both unsay everything since the wave, + and let honour be satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “I will if Peter will,” said Phyllis, sniffling. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Peter; “honour is satisfied. Here, use my hankie, Phil, + for goodness' sake, if you've lost yours as usual. I wonder what you do + with them.” + </p> + <p> + “You had my last one,” said Phyllis, indignantly, “to tie up the + rabbit-hutch door with. But you're very ungrateful. It's quite right what + it says in the poetry book about sharper than a serpent it is to have a + toothless child—but it means ungrateful when it says toothless. Miss + Lowe told me so.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Peter, impatiently, “I'm sorry. THERE! Now will you come + on?” + </p> + <p> + They reached the station and spent a joyous two hours with the Porter. He + was a worthy man and seemed never tired of answering the questions that + begin with “Why—” which many people in higher ranks of life often + seem weary of. + </p> + <p> + He told them many things that they had not known before—as, for + instance, that the things that hook carriages together are called + couplings, and that the pipes like great serpents that hang over the + couplings are meant to stop the train with. + </p> + <p> + “If you could get a holt of one o' them when the train is going and pull + 'em apart,” said he, “she'd stop dead off with a jerk.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's she?” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “The train, of course,” said the Porter. After that the train was never + again 'It' to the children. + </p> + <p> + “And you know the thing in the carriages where it says on it, 'Five + pounds' fine for improper use.' If you was to improperly use that, the + train 'ud stop.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you used it properly?” said Roberta. + </p> + <p> + “It 'ud stop just the same, I suppose,” said he, “but it isn't proper use + unless you're being murdered. There was an old lady once—someone + kidded her on it was a refreshment-room bell, and she used it improper, + not being in danger of her life, though hungry, and when the train stopped + and the guard came along expecting to find someone weltering in their last + moments, she says, 'Oh, please, Mister, I'll take a glass of stout and a + bath bun,' she says. And the train was seven minutes behind her time as it + was.” + </p> + <p> + “What did the guard say to the old lady?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> dunno,” replied the Porter, “but I lay she didn't forget it in a + hurry, whatever it was.” + </p> + <p> + In such delightful conversation the time went by all too quickly. + </p> + <p> + The Station Master came out once or twice from that sacred inner temple + behind the place where the hole is that they sell you tickets through, and + was most jolly with them all. + </p> + <p> + “Just as if coal had never been discovered,” Phyllis whispered to her + sister. + </p> + <p> + He gave them each an orange, and promised to take them up into the + signal-box one of these days, when he wasn't so busy. + </p> + <p> + Several trains went through the station, and Peter noticed for the first + time that engines have numbers on them, like cabs. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Porter, “I knowed a young gent as used to take down the + numbers of every single one he seed; in a green note-book with silver + corners it was, owing to his father being very well-to-do in the wholesale + stationery.” + </p> + <p> + Peter felt that he could take down numbers, too, even if he was not the + son of a wholesale stationer. As he did not happen to have a green leather + note-book with silver corners, the Porter gave him a yellow envelope and + on it he noted:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 379 + 663 +</pre> + <p> + and felt that this was the beginning of what would be a most interesting + collection. + </p> + <p> + That night at tea he asked Mother if she had a green leather note-book + with silver corners. She had not; but when she heard what he wanted it for + she gave him a little black one. + </p> + <p> + “It has a few pages torn out,” said she; “but it will hold quite a lot of + numbers, and when it's full I'll give you another. I'm so glad you like + the railway. Only, please, you mustn't walk on the line.” + </p> + <p> + “Not if we face the way the train's coming?” asked Peter, after a gloomy + pause, in which glances of despair were exchanged. + </p> + <p> + “No—really not,” said Mother. + </p> + <p> + Then Phyllis said, “Mother, didn't YOU ever walk on the railway lines when + you were little?” + </p> + <p> + Mother was an honest and honourable Mother, so she had to say, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “But, darlings, you don't know how fond I am of you. What should I do if + you got hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you fonder of us than Granny was of you when you were little?” + Phyllis asked. Bobbie made signs to her to stop, but Phyllis never did see + signs, no matter how plain they might be. + </p> + <p> + Mother did not answer for a minute. She got up to put more water in the + teapot. + </p> + <p> + “No one,” she said at last, “ever loved anyone more than my mother loved + me.” + </p> + <p> + Then she was quiet again, and Bobbie kicked Phyllis hard under the table, + because Bobbie understood a little bit the thoughts that were making + Mother so quiet—the thoughts of the time when Mother was a little + girl and was all the world to HER mother. It seems so easy and natural to + run to Mother when one is in trouble. Bobbie understood a little how + people do not leave off running to their mothers when they are in trouble + even when they are grown up, and she thought she knew a little what it + must be to be sad, and have no mother to run to any more. + </p> + <p> + So she kicked Phyllis, who said:— + </p> + <p> + “What are you kicking me like that for, Bob?” + </p> + <p> + And then Mother laughed a little and sighed and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Only let me be sure you do know which way the trains + come—and don't walk on the line near the tunnel or near corners.” + </p> + <p> + “Trains keep to the left like carriages,” said Peter, “so if we keep to + the right, we're bound to see them coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Mother, and I dare say you think that she ought not to + have said it. But she remembered about when she was a little girl herself, + and she did say it—and neither her own children nor you nor any + other children in the world could ever understand exactly what it cost her + to do it. Only some few of you, like Bobbie, may understand a very little + bit. + </p> + <p> + It was the very next day that Mother had to stay in bed because her head + ached so. Her hands were burning hot, and she would not eat anything, and + her throat was very sore. + </p> + <p> + “If I was you, Mum,” said Mrs. Viney, “I should take and send for the + doctor. There's a lot of catchy complaints a-going about just now. My + sister's eldest—she took a chill and it went to her inside, two + years ago come Christmas, and she's never been the same gell since.” + </p> + <p> + Mother wouldn't at first, but in the evening she felt so much worse that + Peter was sent to the house in the village that had three laburnum trees + by the gate, and on the gate a brass plate with W. W. Forrest, M.D., on + it. + </p> + <p> + W. W. Forrest, M.D., came at once. He talked to Peter on the way back. He + seemed a most charming and sensible man, interested in railways, and + rabbits, and really important things. + </p> + <p> + When he had seen Mother, he said it was influenza. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Lady Grave-airs,” he said in the hall to Bobbie, “I suppose you'll + want to be head-nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I'll send down some medicine. Keep up a good fire. Have some + strong beef tea made ready to give her as soon as the fever goes down. She + can have grapes now, and beef essence—and soda-water and milk, and + you'd better get in a bottle of brandy. The best brandy. Cheap brandy is + worse than poison.” + </p> + <p> + She asked him to write it all down, and he did. + </p> + <p> + When Bobbie showed Mother the list he had written, Mother laughed. It WAS + a laugh, Bobbie decided, though it was rather odd and feeble. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said Mother, laying in bed with eyes as bright as beads. “I + can't afford all that rubbish. Tell Mrs. Viney to boil two pounds of + scrag-end of the neck for your dinners to-morrow, and I can have some of + the broth. Yes, I should like some more water now, love. And will you get + a basin and sponge my hands?” + </p> + <p> + Roberta obeyed. When she had done everything she could to make Mother less + uncomfortable, she went down to the others. Her cheeks were very red, her + lips set tight, and her eyes almost as bright as Mother's. + </p> + <p> + She told them what the Doctor had said, and what Mother had said. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said she, when she had told all, “there's no one but us to do + anything, and we've got to do it. I've got the shilling for the mutton.” + </p> + <p> + “We can do without the beastly mutton,” said Peter; “bread and butter will + support life. People have lived on less on desert islands many a time.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said his sister. And Mrs. Viney was sent to the village to + get as much brandy and soda-water and beef tea as she could buy for a + shilling. + </p> + <p> + “But even if we never have anything to eat at all,” said Phyllis, “you + can't get all those other things with our dinner money.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bobbie, frowning, “we must find out some other way. Now THINK, + everybody, just as hard as ever you can.” + </p> + <p> + They did think. And presently they talked. And later, when Bobbie had gone + up to sit with Mother in case she wanted anything, the other two were very + busy with scissors and a white sheet, and a paint brush, and the pot of + Brunswick black that Mrs. Viney used for grates and fenders. They did not + manage to do what they wished, exactly, with the first sheet, so they took + another out of the linen cupboard. It did not occur to them that they were + spoiling good sheets which cost good money. They only knew that they were + making a good—but what they were making comes later. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie's bed had been moved into Mother's room, and several times in the + night she got up to mend the fire, and to give her mother milk and + soda-water. Mother talked to herself a good deal, but it did not seem to + mean anything. And once she woke up suddenly and called out: “Mamma, + mamma!” and Bobbie knew she was calling for Granny, and that she had + forgotten that it was no use calling, because Granny was dead. + </p> + <p> + In the early morning Bobbie heard her name and jumped out of bed and ran + to Mother's bedside. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—ah, yes—I think I was asleep,” said Mother. “My poor + little duck, how tired you'll be—I do hate to give you all this + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Trouble!” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don't cry, sweet,” Mother said; “I shall be all right in a day or + two.” + </p> + <p> + And Bobbie said, “Yes,” and tried to smile. + </p> + <p> + When you are used to ten hours of solid sleep, to get up three or four + times in your sleep-time makes you feel as though you had been up all + night. Bobbie felt quite stupid and her eyes were sore and stiff, but she + tidied the room, and arranged everything neatly before the Doctor came. + </p> + <p> + This was at half-past eight. + </p> + <p> + “Everything going on all right, little Nurse?” he said at the front door. + “Did you get the brandy?” + </p> + <p> + “I've got the brandy,” said Bobbie, “in a little flat bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't see the grapes or the beef tea, though,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bobbie, firmly, “but you will to-morrow. And there's some beef + stewing in the oven for beef tea.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you to do that?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I noticed what Mother did when Phil had mumps.” + </p> + <p> + “Right,” said the Doctor. “Now you get your old woman to sit with your + mother, and then you eat a good breakfast, and go straight to bed and + sleep till dinner-time. We can't afford to have the head-nurse ill.” + </p> + <p> + He was really quite a nice doctor. + </p> + <p> + When the 9.15 came out of the tunnel that morning the old gentleman in the + first-class carriage put down his newspaper, and got ready to wave his + hand to the three children on the fence. But this morning there were not + three. There was only one. And that was Peter. + </p> + <p> + Peter was not on the railings either, as usual. He was standing in front + of them in an attitude like that of a show-man showing off the animals in + a menagerie, or of the kind clergyman when he points with a wand at the + 'Scenes from Palestine,' when there is a magic-lantern and he is + explaining it. + </p> + <p> + Peter was pointing, too. And what he was pointing at was a large white + sheet nailed against the fence. On the sheet there were thick black + letters more than a foot long. + </p> + <p> + Some of them had run a little, because of Phyllis having put the Brunswick + black on too eagerly, but the words were quite easy to read. + </p> + <p> + And this what the old gentleman and several other people in the train read + in the large black letters on the white sheet:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LOOK OUT AT THE STATION. +</pre> + <p> + A good many people did look out at the station and were disappointed, for + they saw nothing unusual. The old gentleman looked out, too, and at first + he too saw nothing more unusual than the gravelled platform and the + sunshine and the wallflowers and forget-me-nots in the station borders. It + was only just as the train was beginning to puff and pull itself together + to start again that he saw Phyllis. She was quite out of breath with + running. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “I thought I'd missed you. My bootlaces would keep coming + down and I fell over them twice. Here, take it.” + </p> + <p> + She thrust a warm, dampish letter into his hand as the train moved. + </p> + <p> + He leaned back in his corner and opened the letter. This is what he read:— + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mr. We do not know your name. + </p> + <p> + Mother is ill and the doctor says to give her the things at the end of the + letter, but she says she can't aford it, and to get mutton for us and she + will have the broth. We do not know anybody here but you, because Father + is away and we do not know the address. Father will pay you, or if he has + lost all his money, or anything, Peter will pay you when he is a man. We + promise it on our honer. I.O.U. for all the things Mother wants. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “sined Peter. +</pre> + <p> + “Will you give the parsel to the Station Master, because of us not knowing + what train you come down by? Say it is for Peter that was sorry about the + coals and he will know all right. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Roberta. + “Phyllis. + “Peter.” + </pre> + <p> + Then came the list of things the Doctor had ordered. + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman read it through once, and his eyebrows went up. He read + it twice and smiled a little. When he had read it thrice, he put it in his + pocket and went on reading The Times. + </p> + <p> + At about six that evening there was a knock at the back door. The three + children rushed to open it, and there stood the friendly Porter, who had + told them so many interesting things about railways. He dumped down a big + hamper on the kitchen flags. + </p> + <p> + “Old gent,” he said; “he asked me to fetch it up straight away.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much,” said Peter, and then, as the Porter lingered, he + added:— + </p> + <p> + “I'm most awfully sorry I haven't got twopence to give you like Father + does, but—” + </p> + <p> + “You drop it if you please,” said the Porter, indignantly. “I wasn't + thinking about no tuppences. I only wanted to say I was sorry your Mamma + wasn't so well, and to ask how she finds herself this evening—and + I've fetched her along a bit of sweetbrier, very sweet to smell it is. + Twopence indeed,” said he, and produced a bunch of sweetbrier from his + hat, “just like a conjurer,” as Phyllis remarked afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much,” said Peter, “and I beg your pardon about the + twopence.” + </p> + <p> + “No offence,” said the Porter, untruly but politely, and went. + </p> + <p> + Then the children undid the hamper. First there was straw, and then there + were fine shavings, and then came all the things they had asked for, and + plenty of them, and then a good many things they had not asked for; among + others peaches and port wine and two chickens, a cardboard box of big red + roses with long stalks, and a tall thin green bottle of lavender water, + and three smaller fatter bottles of eau-de-Cologne. There was a letter, + too. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Roberta and Phyllis and Peter,” it said; “here are the things you + want. Your mother will want to know where they came from. Tell her they + were sent by a friend who heard she was ill. When she is well again you + must tell her all about it, of course. And if she says you ought not to + have asked for the things, tell her that I say you were quite right, and + that I hope she will forgive me for taking the liberty of allowing myself + a very great pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + The letter was signed G. P. something that the children couldn't read. + </p> + <p> + “I think we WERE right,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Right? Of course we were right,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” said Peter, with his hands in his pockets, “I don't + exactly look forward to telling Mother the whole truth about it.” + </p> + <p> + “We're not to do it till she's well,” said Bobbie, “and when she's well we + shall be so happy we shan't mind a little fuss like that. Oh, just look at + the roses! I must take them up to her.” + </p> + <p> + “And the sweetbrier,” said Phyllis, sniffing it loudly; “don't forget the + sweetbrier.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I should!” said Roberta. “Mother told me the other day there was a + thick hedge of it at her mother's house when she was a little girl.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter IV. The engine-burglar. + </h2> + <p> + What was left of the second sheet and the Brunswick black came in very + nicely to make a banner bearing the legend + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SHE IS NEARLY WELL THANK YOU +</pre> + <p> + and this was displayed to the Green Dragon about a fortnight after the + arrival of the wonderful hamper. The old gentleman saw it, and waved a + cheerful response from the train. And when this had been done the children + saw that now was the time when they must tell Mother what they had done + when she was ill. And it did not seem nearly so easy as they had thought + it would be. But it had to be done. And it was done. Mother was extremely + angry. She was seldom angry, and now she was angrier than they had ever + known her. This was horrible. But it was much worse when she suddenly + began to cry. Crying is catching, I believe, like measles and + whooping-cough. At any rate, everyone at once found itself taking part in + a crying-party. + </p> + <p> + Mother stopped first. She dried her eyes and then she said:— + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry I was so angry, darlings, because I know you didn't + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “We didn't mean to be naughty, Mammy,” sobbed Bobbie, and Peter and + Phyllis sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “Now, listen,” said Mother; “it's quite true that we're poor, but we have + enough to live on. You mustn't go telling everyone about our affairs—it's + not right. And you must never, never, never ask strangers to give you + things. Now always remember that—won't you?” + </p> + <p> + They all hugged her and rubbed their damp cheeks against hers and promised + that they would. + </p> + <p> + “And I'll write a letter to your old gentleman, and I shall tell him that + I didn't approve—oh, of course I shall thank him, too, for his + kindness. It's YOU I don't approve of, my darlings, not the old gentleman. + He was as kind as ever he could be. And you can give the letter to the + Station Master to give him—and we won't say any more about it.” + </p> + <p> + Afterwards, when the children were alone, Bobbie said:— + </p> + <p> + “Isn't Mother splendid? You catch any other grown-up saying they were + sorry they had been angry.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter, “she IS splendid; but it's rather awful when she's + angry.” + </p> + <p> + “She's like Avenging and Bright in the song,” said Phyllis. “I should like + to look at her if it wasn't so awful. She looks so beautiful when she's + really downright furious.” + </p> + <p> + They took the letter down to the Station Master. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said you hadn't got any friends except in London,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “We've made him since,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “But he doesn't live hereabouts?” + </p> + <p> + “No—we just know him on the railway.” + </p> + <p> + Then the Station Master retired to that sacred inner temple behind the + little window where the tickets are sold, and the children went down to + the Porters' room and talked to the Porter. They learned several + interesting things from him—among others that his name was Perks, + that he was married and had three children, that the lamps in front of + engines are called head-lights and the ones at the back tail-lights. + </p> + <p> + “And that just shows,” whispered Phyllis, “that trains really ARE dragons + in disguise, with proper heads and tails.” + </p> + <p> + It was on this day that the children first noticed that all engines are + not alike. + </p> + <p> + “Alike?” said the Porter, whose name was Perks, “lor, love you, no, Miss. + No more alike nor what you an' me are. That little 'un without a tender as + went by just now all on her own, that was a tank, that was—she's off + to do some shunting t'other side o' Maidbridge. That's as it might be you, + Miss. Then there's goods engines, great, strong things with three wheels + each side—joined with rods to strengthen 'em—as it might be + me. Then there's main-line engines as it might be this 'ere young + gentleman when he grows up and wins all the races at 'is school—so + he will. The main-line engine she's built for speed as well as power. + That's one to the 9.15 up.” + </p> + <p> + “The Green Dragon,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “We calls her the Snail, Miss, among ourselves,” said the Porter. “She's + oftener be'ind'and nor any train on the line.” + </p> + <p> + “But the engine's green,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss,” said Perks, “so's a snail some seasons o' the year.” + </p> + <p> + The children agreed as they went home to dinner that the Porter was most + delightful company. + </p> + <p> + Next day was Roberta's birthday. In the afternoon she was politely but + firmly requested to get out of the way and keep there till tea-time. + </p> + <p> + “You aren't to see what we're going to do till it's done; it's a glorious + surprise,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + And Roberta went out into the garden all alone. She tried to be grateful, + but she felt she would much rather have helped in whatever it was than + have to spend her birthday afternoon by herself, no matter how glorious + the surprise might be. + </p> + <p> + Now that she was alone, she had time to think, and one of the things she + thought of most was what mother had said in one of those feverish nights + when her hands were so hot and her eyes so bright. + </p> + <p> + The words were: “Oh, what a doctor's bill there'll be for this!” + </p> + <p> + She walked round and round the garden among the rose-bushes that hadn't + any roses yet, only buds, and the lilac bushes and syringas and American + currants, and the more she thought of the doctor's bill, the less she + liked the thought of it. + </p> + <p> + And presently she made up her mind. She went out through the side door of + the garden and climbed up the steep field to where the road runs along by + the canal. She walked along until she came to the bridge that crosses the + canal and leads to the village, and here she waited. It was very pleasant + in the sunshine to lean one's elbows on the warm stone of the bridge and + look down at the blue water of the canal. Bobbie had never seen any other + canal, except the Regent's Canal, and the water of that is not at all a + pretty colour. And she had never seen any river at all except the Thames, + which also would be all the better if its face was washed. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the children would have loved the canal as much as the railway, + but for two things. One was that they had found the railway FIRST—on + that first, wonderful morning when the house and the country and the moors + and rocks and great hills were all new to them. They had not found the + canal till some days later. The other reason was that everyone on the + railway had been kind to them—the Station Master, the Porter, and + the old gentleman who waved. And the people on the canal were anything but + kind. + </p> + <p> + The people on the canal were, of course, the bargees, who steered the slow + barges up and down, or walked beside the old horses that trampled up the + mud of the towing-path, and strained at the long tow-ropes. + </p> + <p> + Peter had once asked one of the bargees the time, and had been told to + “get out of that,” in a tone so fierce that he did not stop to say + anything about his having just as much right on the towing-path as the man + himself. Indeed, he did not even think of saying it till some time later. + </p> + <p> + Then another day when the children thought they would like to fish in the + canal, a boy in a barge threw lumps of coal at them, and one of these hit + Phyllis on the back of the neck. She was just stooping down to tie up her + bootlace—and though the coal hardly hurt at all it made her not care + very much about going on fishing. + </p> + <p> + On the bridge, however, Roberta felt quite safe, because she could look + down on the canal, and if any boy showed signs of meaning to throw coal, + she could duck behind the parapet. + </p> + <p> + Presently there was a sound of wheels, which was just what she expected. + </p> + <p> + The wheels were the wheels of the Doctor's dogcart, and in the cart, of + course, was the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + He pulled up, and called out:— + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, head nurse! Want a lift?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to see you,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother's not worse, I hope?” said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “No—but—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, skip in, then, and we'll go for a drive.” + </p> + <p> + Roberta climbed in and the brown horse was made to turn round—which + it did not like at all, for it was looking forward to its tea—I mean + its oats. + </p> + <p> + “This IS jolly,” said Bobbie, as the dogcart flew along the road by the + canal. + </p> + <p> + “We could throw a stone down any one of your three chimneys,” said the + Doctor, as they passed the house. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bobbie, “but you'd have to be a jolly good shot.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know I'm not?” said the Doctor. “Now, then, what's the + trouble?” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie fidgeted with the hook of the driving apron. + </p> + <p> + “Come, out with it,” said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “It's rather hard, you see,” said Bobbie, “to out with it; because of what + Mother said.” + </p> + <p> + “What DID Mother say?” + </p> + <p> + “She said I wasn't to go telling everyone that we're poor. But you aren't + everyone, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said the Doctor, cheerfully. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I know doctors are very extravagant—I mean expensive, and + Mrs. Viney told me that her doctoring only cost her twopence a week + because she belonged to a Club.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “You see she told me what a good doctor you were, and I asked her how she + could afford you, because she's much poorer than we are. I've been in her + house and I know. And then she told me about the Club, and I thought I'd + ask you—and—oh, I don't want Mother to be worried! Can't we be + in the Club, too, the same as Mrs. Viney?” + </p> + <p> + The Doctor was silent. He was rather poor himself, and he had been pleased + at getting a new family to attend. So I think his feelings at that minute + were rather mixed. + </p> + <p> + “You aren't cross with me, are you?” said Bobbie, in a very small voice. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor roused himself. + </p> + <p> + “Cross? How could I be? You're a very sensible little woman. Now look + here, don't you worry. I'll make it all right with your Mother, even if I + have to make a special brand-new Club all for her. Look here, this is + where the Aqueduct begins.” + </p> + <p> + “What's an Aque—what's its name?” asked Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “A water bridge,” said the Doctor. “Look.” + </p> + <p> + The road rose to a bridge over the canal. To the left was a steep rocky + cliff with trees and shrubs growing in the cracks of the rock. And the + canal here left off running along the top of the hill and started to run + on a bridge of its own—a great bridge with tall arches that went + right across the valley. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “It IS grand, isn't it?” she said. “It's like pictures in the History of + Rome.” + </p> + <p> + “Right!” said the Doctor, “that's just exactly what it IS like. The Romans + were dead nuts on aqueducts. It's a splendid piece of engineering.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought engineering was making engines.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there are different sorts of engineering—making road and + bridges and tunnels is one kind. And making fortifications is another. + Well, we must be turning back. And, remember, you aren't to worry about + doctor's bills or you'll be ill yourself, and then I'll send you in a bill + as long as the aqueduct.” + </p> + <p> + When Bobbie had parted from the Doctor at the top of the field that ran + down from the road to Three Chimneys, she could not feel that she had done + wrong. She knew that Mother would perhaps think differently. But Bobbie + felt that for once she was the one who was right, and she scrambled down + the rocky slope with a really happy feeling. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis and Peter met her at the back door. They were unnaturally clean + and neat, and Phyllis had a red bow in her hair. There was only just time + for Bobbie to make herself tidy and tie up her hair with a blue bow before + a little bell rang. + </p> + <p> + “There!” said Phyllis, “that's to show the surprise is ready. Now you wait + till the bell rings again and then you may come into the dining-room.” + </p> + <p> + So Bobbie waited. + </p> + <p> + “Tinkle, tinkle,” said the little bell, and Bobbie went into the + dining-room, feeling rather shy. Directly she opened the door she found + herself, as it seemed, in a new world of light and flowers and singing. + Mother and Peter and Phyllis were standing in a row at the end of the + table. The shutters were shut and there were twelve candles on the table, + one for each of Roberta's years. The table was covered with a sort of + pattern of flowers, and at Roberta's place was a thick wreath of + forget-me-nots and several most interesting little packages. And Mother + and Phyllis and Peter were singing—to the first part of the tune of + St. Patrick's Day. Roberta knew that Mother had written the words on + purpose for her birthday. It was a little way of Mother's on birthdays. It + had begun on Bobbie's fourth birthday when Phyllis was a baby. Bobbie + remembered learning the verses to say to Father 'for a surprise.' She + wondered if Mother had remembered, too. The four-year-old verse had been:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Daddy dear, I'm only four + And I'd rather not be more. + Four's the nicest age to be, + Two and two and one and three. + What I love is two and two, + Mother, Peter, Phil, and you. + What you love is one and three, + Mother, Peter, Phil, and me. + Give your little girl a kiss + Because she learned and told you this. +</pre> + <p> + The song the others were singing now went like this:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Our darling Roberta, + No sorrow shall hurt her + If we can prevent it + Her whole life long. + Her birthday's our fete day, + We'll make it our great day, + And give her our presents + And sing her our song. + May pleasures attend her + And may the Fates send her + The happiest journey + Along her life's way. + With skies bright above her + And dear ones to love her! + Dear Bob! Many happy + Returns of the day! +</pre> + <p> + When they had finished singing they cried, “Three cheers for our Bobbie!” + and gave them very loudly. Bobbie felt exactly as though she were going to + cry—you know that odd feeling in the bridge of your nose and the + pricking in your eyelids? But before she had time to begin they were all + kissing and hugging her. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Mother, “look at your presents.” + </p> + <p> + They were very nice presents. There was a green and red needle-book that + Phyllis had made herself in secret moments. There was a darling little + silver brooch of Mother's shaped like a buttercup, which Bobbie had known + and loved for years, but which she had never, never thought would come to + be her very own. There was also a pair of blue glass vases from Mrs. + Viney. Roberta had seen and admired them in the village shop. And there + were three birthday cards with pretty pictures and wishes. + </p> + <p> + Mother fitted the forget-me-not crown on Bobbie's brown head. + </p> + <p> + “And now look at the table,” she said. + </p> + <p> + There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with 'Dear Bobbie' + on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but the nicest thing + was that the big table was almost covered with flowers—wallflowers + were laid all round the tea-tray—there was a ring of forget-me-nots + round each plate. The cake had a wreath of white lilac round it, and in + the middle was something that looked like a pattern all done with single + blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum. + </p> + <p> + “It's a map—a map of the railway!” cried Peter. “Look—those + lilac lines are the metals—and there's the station done in brown + wallflowers. The laburnum is the train, and there are the signal-boxes, + and the road up to here—and those fat red daisies are us three + waving to the old gentleman—that's him, the pansy in the laburnum + train.” + </p> + <p> + “And there's 'Three Chimneys' done in the purple primroses,” said Phyllis. + “And that little tiny rose-bud is Mother looking out for us when we're + late for tea. Peter invented it all, and we got all the flowers from the + station. We thought you'd like it better.” + </p> + <p> + “That's my present,” said Peter, suddenly dumping down his adored + steam-engine on the table in front of her. Its tender had been lined with + fresh white paper, and was full of sweets. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter!” cried Bobbie, quite overcome by this munificence, “not your + own dear little engine that you're so fond of?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Peter, very promptly, “not the engine. Only the sweets.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie couldn't help her face changing a little—not so much because + she was disappointed at not getting the engine, as because she had thought + it so very noble of Peter, and now she felt she had been silly to think + it. Also she felt she must have seemed greedy to expect the engine as well + as the sweets. So her face changed. Peter saw it. He hesitated a minute; + then his face changed, too, and he said: “I mean not ALL the engine. I'll + let you go halves if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a brick,” cried Bobbie; “it's a splendid present.” She said no + more aloud, but to herself she said:— + </p> + <p> + “That was awfully jolly decent of Peter because I know he didn't mean to. + Well, the broken half shall be my half of the engine, and I'll get it + mended and give it back to Peter for his birthday.”—“Yes, Mother + dear, I should like to cut the cake,” she added, and tea began. + </p> + <p> + It was a delightful birthday. After tea Mother played games with them—any + game they liked—and of course their first choice was + blindman's-buff, in the course of which Bobbie's forget-me-not wreath + twisted itself crookedly over one of her ears and stayed there. Then, when + it was near bed-time and time to calm down, Mother had a lovely new story + to read to them. + </p> + <p> + “You won't sit up late working, will you, Mother?” Bobbie asked as they + said good night. + </p> + <p> + And Mother said no, she wouldn't—she would only just write to Father + and then go to bed. + </p> + <p> + But when Bobbie crept down later to bring up her presents—for she + felt she really could not be separated from them all night—Mother + was not writing, but leaning her head on her arms and her arms on the + table. I think it was rather good of Bobbie to slip quietly away, saying + over and over, “She doesn't want me to know she's unhappy, and I won't + know; I won't know.” But it made a sad end to the birthday. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + The very next morning Bobbie began to watch her opportunity to get Peter's + engine mended secretly. And the opportunity came the very next afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Mother went by train to the nearest town to do shopping. When she went + there, she always went to the Post-office. Perhaps to post her letters to + Father, for she never gave them to the children or Mrs. Viney to post, and + she never went to the village herself. Peter and Phyllis went with her. + Bobbie wanted an excuse not to go, but try as she would she couldn't think + of a good one. And just when she felt that all was lost, her frock caught + on a big nail by the kitchen door and there was a great criss-cross tear + all along the front of the skirt. I assure you this was really an + accident. So the others pitied her and went without her, for there was no + time for her to change, because they were rather late already and had to + hurry to the station to catch the train. + </p> + <p> + When they had gone, Bobbie put on her everyday frock, and went down to the + railway. She did not go into the station, but she went along the line to + the end of the platform where the engine is when the down train is + alongside the platform—the place where there are a water tank and a + long, limp, leather hose, like an elephant's trunk. She hid behind a bush + on the other side of the railway. She had the toy engine done up in brown + paper, and she waited patiently with it under her arm. + </p> + <p> + Then when the next train came in and stopped, Bobbie went across the + metals of the up-line and stood beside the engine. She had never been so + close to an engine before. It looked much larger and harder than she had + expected, and it made her feel very small indeed, and, somehow, very soft—as + if she could very, very easily be hurt rather badly. + </p> + <p> + “I know what silk-worms feel like now,” said Bobbie to herself. + </p> + <p> + The engine-driver and fireman did not see her. They were leaning out on + the other side, telling the Porter a tale about a dog and a leg of mutton. + </p> + <p> + “If you please,” said Roberta—but the engine was blowing off steam + and no one heard her. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, Mr. Engineer,” she spoke a little louder, but the Engine + happened to speak at the same moment, and of course Roberta's soft little + voice hadn't a chance. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to her that the only way would be to climb on to the engine and + pull at their coats. The step was high, but she got her knee on it, and + clambered into the cab; she stumbled and fell on hands and knees on the + base of the great heap of coals that led up to the square opening in the + tender. The engine was not above the weaknesses of its fellows; it was + making a great deal more noise than there was the slightest need for. And + just as Roberta fell on the coals, the engine-driver, who had turned + without seeing her, started the engine, and when Bobbie had picked herself + up, the train was moving—not fast, but much too fast for her to get + off. + </p> + <p> + All sorts of dreadful thoughts came to her all together in one horrible + flash. There were such things as express trains that went on, she + supposed, for hundreds of miles without stopping. Suppose this should be + one of them? How would she get home again? She had no money to pay for the + return journey. + </p> + <p> + “And I've no business here. I'm an engine-burglar—that's what I am,” + she thought. “I shouldn't wonder if they could lock me up for this.” And + the train was going faster and faster. + </p> + <p> + There was something in her throat that made it impossible for her to + speak. She tried twice. The men had their backs to her. They were doing + something to things that looked like taps. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she put out her hand and caught hold of the nearest sleeve. The + man turned with a start, and he and Roberta stood for a minute looking at + each other in silence. Then the silence was broken by them both. + </p> + <p> + The man said, “Here's a bloomin' go!” and Roberta burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + The other man said he was blooming well blest—or something like it—but + though naturally surprised they were not exactly unkind. + </p> + <p> + “You're a naughty little gell, that's what you are,” said the fireman, and + the engine-driver said:— + </p> + <p> + “Daring little piece, I call her,” but they made her sit down on an iron + seat in the cab and told her to stop crying and tell them what she meant + by it. + </p> + <p> + She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing that helped her was the + thought that Peter would give almost his ears to be in her place—on + a real engine—really going. The children had often wondered whether + any engine-driver could be found noble enough to take them for a ride on + an engine—and now there she was. She dried her eyes and sniffed + earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then,” said the fireman, “out with it. What do you mean by it, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please,” sniffed Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Try again,” said the engine-driver, encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie tried again. + </p> + <p> + “Please, Mr. Engineer,” she said, “I did call out to you from the line, + but you didn't hear me—and I just climbed up to touch you on the arm—quite + gently I meant to do it—and then I fell into the coals—and I + am so sorry if I frightened you. Oh, don't be cross—oh, please + don't!” She sniffed again. + </p> + <p> + “We ain't so much CROSS,” said the fireman, “as interested like. It ain't + every day a little gell tumbles into our coal bunker outer the sky, is it, + Bill? What did you DO it for—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the point,” agreed the engine-driver; “what did you do it FOR?” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie found that she had not quite stopped crying. The engine-driver + patted her on the back and said: “Here, cheer up, Mate. It ain't so bad as + all that 'ere, I'll be bound.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted,” said Bobbie, much cheered to find herself addressed as 'Mate'—“I + only wanted to ask you if you'd be so kind as to mend this.” She picked up + the brown-paper parcel from among the coals and undid the string with hot, + red fingers that trembled. + </p> + <p> + Her feet and legs felt the scorch of the engine fire, but her shoulders + felt the wild chill rush of the air. The engine lurched and shook and + rattled, and as they shot under a bridge the engine seemed to shout in her + ears. + </p> + <p> + The fireman shovelled on coals. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie unrolled the brown paper and disclosed the toy engine. + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” she said wistfully, “that perhaps you'd mend this for me—because + you're an engineer, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The engine-driver said he was blowed if he wasn't blest. + </p> + <p> + “I'm blest if I ain't blowed,” remarked the fireman. + </p> + <p> + But the engine-driver took the little engine and looked at it—and + the fireman ceased for an instant to shovel coal, and looked, too. + </p> + <p> + “It's like your precious cheek,” said the engine-driver—“whatever + made you think we'd be bothered tinkering penny toys?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean it for precious cheek,” said Bobbie; “only everybody that + has anything to do with railways is so kind and good, I didn't think you'd + mind. You don't really—do you?” she added, for she had seen a not + unkindly wink pass between the two. + </p> + <p> + “My trade's driving of an engine, not mending her, especially such a + hout-size in engines as this 'ere,” said Bill. “An' 'ow are we a-goin' to + get you back to your sorrowing friends and relations, and all be forgiven + and forgotten?” + </p> + <p> + “If you'll put me down next time you stop,” said Bobbie, firmly, though + her heart beat fiercely against her arm as she clasped her hands, “and + lend me the money for a third-class ticket, I'll pay you back—honour + bright. I'm not a confidence trick like in the newspapers—really, + I'm not.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a little lady, every inch,” said Bill, relenting suddenly and + completely. “We'll see you gets home safe. An' about this engine—Jim—ain't + you got ne'er a pal as can use a soldering iron? Seems to me that's about + all the little bounder wants doing to it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what Father said,” Bobbie explained eagerly. “What's that for?” + </p> + <p> + She pointed to a little brass wheel that he had turned as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “That's the injector.” + </p> + <p> + “In—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Injector to fill up the boiler.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Bobbie, mentally registering the fact to tell the others; “that + IS interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “This 'ere's the automatic brake,” Bill went on, flattered by her + enthusiasm. “You just move this 'ere little handle—do it with one + finger, you can—and the train jolly soon stops. That's what they + call the Power of Science in the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + He showed her two little dials, like clock faces, and told her how one + showed how much steam was going, and the other showed if the brake was + working properly. + </p> + <p> + By the time she had seen him shut off steam with a big shining steel + handle, Bobbie knew more about the inside working of an engine than she + had ever thought there was to know, and Jim had promised that his second + cousin's wife's brother should solder the toy engine, or Jim would know + the reason why. Besides all the knowledge she had gained Bobbie felt that + she and Bill and Jim were now friends for life, and that they had wholly + and forever forgiven her for stumbling uninvited among the sacred coals of + their tender. + </p> + <p> + At Stacklepoole Junction she parted from them with warm expressions of + mutual regard. They handed her over to the guard of a returning train—a + friend of theirs—and she had the joy of knowing what guards do in + their secret fastnesses, and understood how, when you pull the + communication cord in railway carriages, a wheel goes round under the + guard's nose and a loud bell rings in his ears. She asked the guard why + his van smelt so fishy, and learned that he had to carry a lot of fish + every day, and that the wetness in the hollows of the corrugated floor had + all drained out of boxes full of plaice and cod and mackerel and soles and + smelts. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie got home in time for tea, and she felt as though her mind would + burst with all that had been put into it since she parted from the others. + How she blessed the nail that had torn her frock! + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been?” asked the others. + </p> + <p> + “To the station, of course,” said Roberta. But she would not tell a word + of her adventures till the day appointed, when she mysteriously led them + to the station at the hour of the 3.19's transit, and proudly introduced + them to her friends, Bill and Jim. Jim's second cousin's wife's brother + had not been unworthy of the sacred trust reposed in him. The toy engine + was, literally, as good as new. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye—oh, good-bye,” said Bobbie, just before the engine + screamed ITS good-bye. “I shall always, always love you—and Jim's + second cousin's wife's brother as well!” + </p> + <p> + And as the three children went home up the hill, Peter hugging the engine, + now quite its own self again, Bobbie told, with joyous leaps of the heart, + the story of how she had been an Engine-burglar. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter V. Prisoners and captives. + </h2> + <p> + It was one day when Mother had gone to Maidbridge. She had gone alone, but + the children were to go to the station to meet her. And, loving the + station as they did, it was only natural that they should be there a good + hour before there was any chance of Mother's train arriving, even if the + train were punctual, which was most unlikely. No doubt they would have + been just as early, even if it had been a fine day, and all the delights + of woods and fields and rocks and rivers had been open to them. But it + happened to be a very wet day and, for July, very cold. There was a wild + wind that drove flocks of dark purple clouds across the sky “like herds of + dream-elephants,” as Phyllis said. And the rain stung sharply, so that the + way to the station was finished at a run. Then the rain fell faster and + harder, and beat slantwise against the windows of the booking office and + of the chill place that had General Waiting Room on its door. + </p> + <p> + “It's like being in a besieged castle,” Phyllis said; “look at the arrows + of the foe striking against the battlements!” + </p> + <p> + “It's much more like a great garden-squirt,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + They decided to wait on the up side, for the down platform looked very wet + indeed, and the rain was driving right into the little bleak shelter where + down-passengers have to wait for their trains. + </p> + <p> + The hour would be full of incident and of interest, for there would be two + up trains and one down to look at before the one that should bring Mother + back. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it'll have stopped raining by then,” said Bobbie; “anyhow, I'm + glad I brought Mother's waterproof and umbrella.” + </p> + <p> + They went into the desert spot labelled General Waiting Room, and the time + passed pleasantly enough in a game of advertisements. You know the game, + of course? It is something like dumb Crambo. The players take it in turns + to go out, and then come back and look as like some advertisement as they + can, and the others have to guess what advertisement it is meant to be. + Bobbie came in and sat down under Mother's umbrella and made a sharp face, + and everyone knew she was the fox who sits under the umbrella in the + advertisement. Phyllis tried to make a Magic Carpet of Mother's + waterproof, but it would not stand out stiff and raft-like as a Magic + Carpet should, and nobody could guess it. Everyone thought Peter was + carrying things a little too far when he blacked his face all over with + coal-dust and struck a spidery attitude and said he was the blot that + advertises somebody's Blue Black Writing Fluid. + </p> + <p> + It was Phyllis's turn again, and she was trying to look like the Sphinx + that advertises What's-his-name's Personally Conducted Tours up the Nile + when the sharp ting of the signal announced the up train. The children + rushed out to see it pass. On its engine were the particular driver and + fireman who were now numbered among the children's dearest friends. + Courtesies passed between them. Jim asked after the toy engine, and Bobbie + pressed on his acceptance a moist, greasy package of toffee that she had + made herself. + </p> + <p> + Charmed by this attention, the engine-driver consented to consider her + request that some day he would take Peter for a ride on the engine. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back, Mates,” cried the engine-driver, suddenly, “and horf she + goes.” + </p> + <p> + And sure enough, off the train went. The children watched the tail-lights + of the train till it disappeared round the curve of the line, and then + turned to go back to the dusty freedom of the General Waiting Room and the + joys of the advertisement game. + </p> + <p> + They expected to see just one or two people, the end of the procession of + passengers who had given up their tickets and gone away. Instead, the + platform round the door of the station had a dark blot round it, and the + dark blot was a crowd of people. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Peter, with a thrill of joyous excitement, “something's + happened! Come on!” + </p> + <p> + They ran down the platform. When they got to the crowd, they could, of + course, see nothing but the damp backs and elbows of the people on the + crowd's outside. Everybody was talking at once. It was evident that + something had happened. + </p> + <p> + “It's my belief he's nothing worse than a natural,” said a + farmerish-looking person. Peter saw his red, clean-shaven face as he + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “If you ask me, I should say it was a Police Court case,” said a young man + with a black bag. + </p> + <p> + “Not it; the Infirmary more like—” + </p> + <p> + Then the voice of the Station Master was heard, firm and official:— + </p> + <p> + “Now, then—move along there. I'll attend to this, if YOU please.” + </p> + <p> + But the crowd did not move. And then came a voice that thrilled the + children through and through. For it spoke in a foreign language. And, + what is more, it was a language that they had never heard. They had heard + French spoken and German. Aunt Emma knew German, and used to sing a song + about bedeuten and zeiten and bin and sin. Nor was it Latin. Peter had + been in Latin for four terms. + </p> + <p> + It was some comfort, anyhow, to find that none of the crowd understood the + foreign language any better than the children did. + </p> + <p> + “What's that he's saying?” asked the farmer, heavily. + </p> + <p> + “Sounds like French to me,” said the Station Master, who had once been to + Boulogne for the day. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't French!” cried Peter. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, then?” asked more than one voice. The crowd fell back a + little to see who had spoken, and Peter pressed forward, so that when the + crowd closed up again he was in the front rank. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what it is,” said Peter, “but it isn't French. I know that.” + Then he saw what it was that the crowd had for its centre. It was a man—the + man, Peter did not doubt, who had spoken in that strange tongue. A man + with long hair and wild eyes, with shabby clothes of a cut Peter had not + seen before—a man whose hands and lips trembled, and who spoke again + as his eyes fell on Peter. + </p> + <p> + “No, it's not French,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Try him with French if you know so much about it,” said the farmer-man. + </p> + <p> + “Parlay voo Frongsay?” began Peter, boldly, and the next moment the crowd + recoiled again, for the man with the wild eyes had left leaning against + the wall, and had sprung forward and caught Peter's hands, and begun to + pour forth a flood of words which, though he could not understand a word + of them, Peter knew the sound of. + </p> + <p> + “There!” said he, and turned, his hands still clasped in the hands of the + strange shabby figure, to throw a glance of triumph at the crowd; “there; + THAT'S French.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” Peter was obliged to own it. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said the Station Master again; “you move on if you please. I'LL + deal with this case.” + </p> + <p> + A few of the more timid or less inquisitive travellers moved slowly and + reluctantly away. And Phyllis and Bobbie got near to Peter. All three had + been TAUGHT French at school. How deeply they now wished that they had + LEARNED it! Peter shook his head at the stranger, but he also shook his + hands as warmly and looked at him as kindly as he could. A person in the + crowd, after some hesitation, said suddenly, “No comprenny!” and then, + blushing deeply, backed out of the press and went away. + </p> + <p> + “Take him into your room,” whispered Bobbie to the Station Master. “Mother + can talk French. She'll be here by the next train from Maidbridge.” + </p> + <p> + The Station Master took the arm of the stranger, suddenly but not + unkindly. But the man wrenched his arm away, and cowered back coughing and + trembling and trying to push the Station Master away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't!” said Bobbie; “don't you see how frightened he is? He thinks + you're going to shut him up. I know he does—look at his eyes!” + </p> + <p> + “They're like a fox's eyes when the beast's in a trap,” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let me try!” Bobbie went on; “I do really know one or two French + words if I could only think of them.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, in moments of great need, we can do wonderful things—things + that in ordinary life we could hardly even dream of doing. Bobbie had + never been anywhere near the top of her French class, but she must have + learned something without knowing it, for now, looking at those wild, + hunted eyes, she actually remembered and, what is more, spoke, some French + words. She said:— + </p> + <p> + “Vous attendre. Ma mere parlez Francais. Nous—what's the French for + 'being kind'?” + </p> + <p> + Nobody knew. + </p> + <p> + “Bong is 'good,'” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Nous etre bong pour vous.” + </p> + <p> + I do not know whether the man understood her words, but he understood the + touch of the hand she thrust into his, and the kindness of the other hand + that stroked his shabby sleeve. + </p> + <p> + She pulled him gently towards the inmost sanctuary of the Station Master. + The other children followed, and the Station Master shut the door in the + face of the crowd, which stood a little while in the booking office + talking and looking at the fast closed yellow door, and then by ones and + twos went its way, grumbling. + </p> + <p> + Inside the Station Master's room Bobbie still held the stranger's hand and + stroked his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a go,” said the Station Master; “no ticket—doesn't even know + where he wants to go. I'm not sure now but what I ought to send for the + police.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DON'T!” all the children pleaded at once. And suddenly Bobbie got + between the others and the stranger, for she had seen that he was crying. + </p> + <p> + By a most unusual piece of good fortune she had a handkerchief in her + pocket. By a still more uncommon accident the handkerchief was moderately + clean. Standing in front of the stranger, she got out the handkerchief and + passed it to him so that the others did not see. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till Mother comes,” Phyllis was saying; “she does speak French + beautifully. You'd just love to hear her.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure he hasn't done anything like you're sent to prison for,” said + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like without visible means to me,” said the Station Master. “Well, + I don't mind giving him the benefit of the doubt till your Mamma comes. I + SHOULD like to know what nation's got the credit of HIM, that I should.” + </p> + <p> + Then Peter had an idea. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and + showed that it was half full of foreign stamps. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said, “let's show him these—” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie looked and saw that the stranger had dried his eyes with her + handkerchief. So she said: “All right.” + </p> + <p> + They showed him an Italian stamp, and pointed from him to it and back + again, and made signs of question with their eyebrows. He shook his head. + Then they showed him a Norwegian stamp—the common blue kind it was—and + again he signed No. Then they showed him a Spanish one, and at that he + took the envelope from Peter's hand and searched among the stamps with a + hand that trembled. The hand that he reached out at last, with a gesture + as of one answering a question, contained a RUSSIAN stamp. + </p> + <p> + “He's Russian,” cried Peter, “or else he's like 'the man who was'—in + Kipling, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The train from Maidbridge was signalled. + </p> + <p> + “I'll stay with him till you bring Mother in,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “You're not afraid, Missie?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Bobbie, looking at the stranger, as she might have looked + at a strange dog of doubtful temper. “You wouldn't hurt me, would you?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled at him, and he smiled back, a queer crooked smile. And then he + coughed again. And the heavy rattling swish of the incoming train swept + past, and the Station Master and Peter and Phyllis went out to meet it. + Bobbie was still holding the stranger's hand when they came back with + Mother. + </p> + <p> + The Russian rose and bowed very ceremoniously. + </p> + <p> + Then Mother spoke in French, and he replied, haltingly at first, but + presently in longer and longer sentences. + </p> + <p> + The children, watching his face and Mother's, knew that he was telling her + things that made her angry and pitying, and sorry and indignant all at + once. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mum, what's it all about?” The Station Master could not restrain + his curiosity any longer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mother, “it's all right. He's a Russian, and he's lost his + ticket. And I'm afraid he's very ill. If you don't mind, I'll take him + home with me now. He's really quite worn out. I'll run down and tell you + all about him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won't find you're taking home a frozen viper,” said the + Station Master, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” Mother said brightly, and she smiled; “I'm quite sure I'm not. + Why, he's a great man in his own country, writes books—beautiful + books—I've read some of them; but I'll tell you all about it + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke again in French to the Russian, and everyone could see the + surprise and pleasure and gratitude in his eyes. He got up and politely + bowed to the Station Master, and offered his arm most ceremoniously to + Mother. She took it, but anybody could have seen that she was helping him + along, and not he her. + </p> + <p> + “You girls run home and light a fire in the sitting-room,” Mother said, + “and Peter had better go for the Doctor.” + </p> + <p> + But it was Bobbie who went for the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I hate to tell you,” she said breathlessly when she came upon him in his + shirt sleeves, weeding his pansy-bed, “but Mother's got a very shabby + Russian, and I'm sure he'll have to belong to your Club. I'm certain he + hasn't got any money. We found him at the station.” + </p> + <p> + “Found him! Was he lost, then?” asked the Doctor, reaching for his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bobbie, unexpectedly, “that's just what he was. He's been + telling Mother the sad, sweet story of his life in French; and she said + would you be kind enough to come directly if you were at home. He has a + dreadful cough, and he's been crying.” + </p> + <p> + The Doctor smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't,” said Bobbie; “please don't. You wouldn't if you'd seen him. I + never saw a man cry before. You don't know what it's like.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Forrest wished then that he hadn't smiled. + </p> + <p> + When Bobbie and the Doctor got to Three Chimneys, the Russian was sitting + in the arm-chair that had been Father's, stretching his feet to the blaze + of a bright wood fire, and sipping the tea Mother had made him. + </p> + <p> + “The man seems worn out, mind and body,” was what the Doctor said; “the + cough's bad, but there's nothing that can't be cured. He ought to go + straight to bed, though—and let him have a fire at night.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll make one in my room; it's the only one with a fireplace,” said + Mother. She did, and presently the Doctor helped the stranger to bed. + </p> + <p> + There was a big black trunk in Mother's room that none of the children had + ever seen unlocked. Now, when she had lighted the fire, she unlocked it + and took some clothes out—men's clothes—and set them to air by + the newly lighted fire. Bobbie, coming in with more wood for the fire, saw + the mark on the night-shirt, and looked over to the open trunk. All the + things she could see were men's clothes. And the name marked on the shirt + was Father's name. Then Father hadn't taken his clothes with him. And that + night-shirt was one of Father's new ones. Bobbie remembered its being + made, just before Peter's birthday. Why hadn't Father taken his clothes? + Bobbie slipped from the room. As she went she heard the key turned in the + lock of the trunk. Her heart was beating horribly. WHY hadn't Father taken + his clothes? When Mother came out of the room, Bobbie flung tightly + clasping arms round her waist, and whispered:— + </p> + <p> + “Mother—Daddy isn't—isn't DEAD, is he?” + </p> + <p> + “My darling, no! What made you think of anything so horrible?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don't know,” said Bobbie, angry with herself, but still + clinging to that resolution of hers, not to see anything that Mother + didn't mean her to see. + </p> + <p> + Mother gave her a hurried hug. “Daddy was quite, QUITE well when I heard + from him last,” she said, “and he'll come back to us some day. Don't fancy + such horrible things, darling!” + </p> + <p> + Later on, when the Russian stranger had been made comfortable for the + night, Mother came into the girls' room. She was to sleep there in + Phyllis's bed, and Phyllis was to have a mattress on the floor, a most + amusing adventure for Phyllis. Directly Mother came in, two white figures + started up, and two eager voices called:— + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mother, tell us all about the Russian gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + A white shape hopped into the room. It was Peter, dragging his quilt + behind him like the tail of a white peacock. + </p> + <p> + “We have been patient,” he said, “and I had to bite my tongue not to go to + sleep, and I just nearly went to sleep and I bit too hard, and it hurts + ever so. DO tell us. Make a nice long story of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't make a long story of it to-night,” said Mother; “I'm very tired.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie knew by her voice that Mother had been crying, but the others + didn't know. + </p> + <p> + “Well, make it as long as you can,” said Phil, and Bobbie got her arms + round Mother's waist and snuggled close to her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's a story long enough to make a whole book of. He's a writer; + he's written beautiful books. In Russia at the time of the Czar one dared + not say anything about the rich people doing wrong, or about the things + that ought to be done to make poor people better and happier. If one did + one was sent to prison.” + </p> + <p> + “But they CAN'T,” said Peter; “people only go to prison when they've done + wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Or when the Judges THINK they've done wrong,” said Mother. “Yes, that's + so in England. But in Russia it was different. And he wrote a beautiful + book about poor people and how to help them. I've read it. There's nothing + in it but goodness and kindness. And they sent him to prison for it. He + was three years in a horrible dungeon, with hardly any light, and all damp + and dreadful. In prison all alone for three years.” + </p> + <p> + Mother's voice trembled a little and stopped suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “But, Mother,” said Peter, “that can't be true NOW. It sounds like + something out of a history book—the Inquisition, or something.” + </p> + <p> + “It WAS true,” said Mother; “it's all horribly true. Well, then they took + him out and sent him to Siberia, a convict chained to other convicts—wicked + men who'd done all sorts of crimes—a long chain of them, and they + walked, and walked, and walked, for days and weeks, till he thought they'd + never stop walking. And overseers went behind them with whips—yes, + whips—to beat them if they got tired. And some of them went lame, + and some fell down, and when they couldn't get up and go on, they beat + them, and then left them to die. Oh, it's all too terrible! And at last he + got to the mines, and he was condemned to stay there for life—for + life, just for writing a good, noble, splendid book.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he get away?” + </p> + <p> + “When the war came, some of the Russian prisoners were allowed to + volunteer as soldiers. And he volunteered. But he deserted at the first + chance he got and—” + </p> + <p> + “But that's very cowardly, isn't it”—said Peter—“to desert? + Especially when it's war.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he owed anything to a country that had done THAT to him? If + he did, he owed more to his wife and children. He didn't know what had + become of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Bobbie, “he had THEM to think about and be miserable about + TOO, then, all the time he was in prison?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he had them to think about and be miserable about all the time he + was in prison. For anything he knew they might have been sent to prison, + too. They did those things in Russia. But while he was in the mines some + friends managed to get a message to him that his wife and children had + escaped and come to England. So when he deserted he came here to look for + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Had he got their address?” said practical Peter. + </p> + <p> + “No; just England. He was going to London, and he thought he had to change + at our station, and then he found he'd lost his ticket and his purse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DO you think he'll find them?—I mean his wife and children, not + the ticket and things.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so. Oh, I hope and pray that he'll find his wife and children + again.” + </p> + <p> + Even Phyllis now perceived that mother's voice was very unsteady. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mother,” she said, “how very sorry you seem to be for him!” + </p> + <p> + Mother didn't answer for a minute. Then she just said, “Yes,” and then she + seemed to be thinking. The children were quiet. + </p> + <p> + Presently she said, “Dears, when you say your prayers, I think you might + ask God to show His pity upon all prisoners and captives.” + </p> + <p> + “To show His pity,” Bobbie repeated slowly, “upon all prisoners and + captives. Is that right, Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mother, “upon all prisoners and captives. All prisoners and + captives.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VI. Saviours of the train. + </h2> + <p> + The Russian gentleman was better the next day, and the day after that + better still, and on the third day he was well enough to come into the + garden. A basket chair was put for him and he sat there, dressed in + clothes of Father's which were too big for him. But when Mother had hemmed + up the ends of the sleeves and the trousers, the clothes did well enough. + His was a kind face now that it was no longer tired and frightened, and he + smiled at the children whenever he saw them. They wished very much that he + could speak English. Mother wrote several letters to people she thought + might know whereabouts in England a Russian gentleman's wife and family + might possibly be; not to the people she used to know before she came to + live at Three Chimneys—she never wrote to any of them—but + strange people—Members of Parliament and Editors of papers, and + Secretaries of Societies. + </p> + <p> + And she did not do much of her story-writing, only corrected proofs as she + sat in the sun near the Russian, and talked to him every now and then. + </p> + <p> + The children wanted very much to show how kindly they felt to this man who + had been sent to prison and to Siberia just for writing a beautiful book + about poor people. They could smile at him, of course; they could and they + did. But if you smile too constantly, the smile is apt to get fixed like + the smile of the hyaena. And then it no longer looks friendly, but simply + silly. So they tried other ways, and brought him flowers till the place + where he sat was surrounded by little fading bunches of clover and roses + and Canterbury bells. + </p> + <p> + And then Phyllis had an idea. She beckoned mysteriously to the others and + drew them into the back yard, and there, in a concealed spot, between the + pump and the water-butt, she said:— + </p> + <p> + “You remember Perks promising me the very first strawberries out of his + own garden?” Perks, you will recollect, was the Porter. “Well, I should + think they're ripe now. Let's go down and see.” + </p> + <p> + Mother had been down as she had promised to tell the Station Master the + story of the Russian Prisoner. But even the charms of the railway had been + unable to tear the children away from the neighbourhood of the interesting + stranger. So they had not been to the station for three days. + </p> + <p> + They went now. + </p> + <p> + And, to their surprise and distress, were very coldly received by Perks. + </p> + <p> + “'Ighly honoured, I'm sure,” he said when they peeped in at the door of + the Porters' room. And he went on reading his newspaper. + </p> + <p> + There was an uncomfortable silence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear,” said Bobbie, with a sigh, “I do believe you're CROSS.” + </p> + <p> + “What, me? Not me!” said Perks loftily; “it ain't nothing to me.” + </p> + <p> + “What AIN'T nothing to you?” said Peter, too anxious and alarmed to change + the form of words. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing ain't nothing. What 'appens either 'ere or elsewhere,” said + Perks; “if you likes to 'ave your secrets, 'ave 'em and welcome. That's + what I say.” + </p> + <p> + The secret-chamber of each heart was rapidly examined during the pause + that followed. Three heads were shaken. + </p> + <p> + “We haven't got any secrets from YOU,” said Bobbie at last. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you 'ave, and maybe you 'aven't,” said Perks; “it ain't nothing to + me. And I wish you all a very good afternoon.” He held up the paper + between him and them and went on reading. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DON'T!” said Phyllis, in despair; “this is truly dreadful! Whatever + it is, do tell us.” + </p> + <p> + “We didn't mean to do it whatever it was.” + </p> + <p> + No answer. The paper was refolded and Perks began on another column. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Peter, suddenly, “it's not fair. Even people who do + crimes aren't punished without being told what it's for—as once they + were in Russia.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know nothing about Russia.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you do, when Mother came down on purpose to tell you and Mr. + Gills all about OUR Russian.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you fancy it?” said Perks, indignantly; “don't you see 'im a-asking + of me to step into 'is room and take a chair and listen to what 'er + Ladyship 'as to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say you've not heard?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so much as a breath. I did go so far as to put a question. And he + shuts me up like a rat-trap. 'Affairs of State, Perks,' says he. But I did + think one o' you would 'a' nipped down to tell me—you're here sharp + enough when you want to get anything out of old Perks”—Phyllis + flushed purple as she thought of the strawberries—“information about + locomotives or signals or the likes,” said Perks. + </p> + <p> + “We didn't know you didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “We thought Mother had told you.” + </p> + <p> + “Wewantedtotellyouonlywethoughtitwouldbestalenews.” + </p> + <p> + The three spoke all at once. + </p> + <p> + Perks said it was all very well, and still held up the paper. Then Phyllis + suddenly snatched it away, and threw her arms round his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let's kiss and be friends,” she said; “we'll say we're sorry first, + if you like, but we didn't really know that you didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “We are so sorry,” said the others. + </p> + <p> + And Perks at last consented to accept their apologies. + </p> + <p> + Then they got him to come out and sit in the sun on the green Railway + Bank, where the grass was quite hot to touch, and there, sometimes + speaking one at a time, and sometimes all together, they told the Porter + the story of the Russian Prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must say,” said Perks; but he did not say it—whatever it + was. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is pretty awful, isn't it?” said Peter, “and I don't wonder you + were curious about who the Russian was.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't curious, not so much as interested,” said the Porter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do think Mr. Gills might have told you about it. It was horrid of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't keep no down on 'im for that, Missie,” said the Porter; “cos why? + I see 'is reasons. 'E wouldn't want to give away 'is own side with a tale + like that 'ere. It ain't human nature. A man's got to stand up for his own + side whatever they does. That's what it means by Party Politics. I should + 'a' done the same myself if that long-'aired chap 'ad 'a' been a Jap.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Japs didn't do cruel, wicked things like that,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “P'r'aps not,” said Perks, cautiously; “still you can't be sure with + foreigners. My own belief is they're all tarred with the same brush.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why were you on the side of the Japs?” Peter asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, you must take one side or the other. Same as with Liberals + and Conservatives. The great thing is to take your side and then stick to + it, whatever happens.” + </p> + <p> + A signal sounded. + </p> + <p> + “There's the 3.14 up,” said Perks. “You lie low till she's through, and + then we'll go up along to my place, and see if there's any of them + strawberries ripe what I told you about.” + </p> + <p> + “If there are any ripe, and you DO give them to me,” said Phyllis, “you + won't mind if I give them to the poor Russian, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Perks narrowed his eyes and then raised his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “So it was them strawberries you come down for this afternoon, eh?” said + he. + </p> + <p> + This was an awkward moment for Phyllis. To say “yes” would seem rude and + greedy, and unkind to Perks. But she knew if she said “no,” she would not + be pleased with herself afterwards. So— + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Well done!” said the Porter; “speak the truth and shame the—” + </p> + <p> + “But we'd have come down the very next day if we'd known you hadn't heard + the story,” Phyllis added hastily. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you, Missie,” said Perks, and sprang across the line six feet + in front of the advancing train. + </p> + <p> + The girls hated to see him do this, but Peter liked it. It was so + exciting. + </p> + <p> + The Russian gentleman was so delighted with the strawberries that the + three racked their brains to find some other surprise for him. But all the + racking did not bring out any idea more novel than wild cherries. And this + idea occurred to them next morning. They had seen the blossom on the trees + in the spring, and they knew where to look for wild cherries now that + cherry time was here. The trees grew all up and along the rocky face of + the cliff out of which the mouth of the tunnel opened. There were all + sorts of trees there, birches and beeches and baby oaks and hazels, and + among them the cherry blossom had shone like snow and silver. + </p> + <p> + The mouth of the tunnel was some way from Three Chimneys, so Mother let + them take their lunch with them in a basket. And the basket would do to + bring the cherries back in if they found any. She also lent them her + silver watch so that they should not be late for tea. Peter's Waterbury + had taken it into its head not to go since the day when Peter dropped it + into the water-butt. And they started. When they got to the top of the + cutting, they leaned over the fence and looked down to where the railway + lines lay at the bottom of what, as Phyllis said, was exactly like a + mountain gorge. + </p> + <p> + “If it wasn't for the railway at the bottom, it would be as though the + foot of man had never been there, wouldn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The sides of the cutting were of grey stone, very roughly hewn. Indeed, + the top part of the cutting had been a little natural glen that had been + cut deeper to bring it down to the level of the tunnel's mouth. Among the + rocks, grass and flowers grew, and seeds dropped by birds in the crannies + of the stone had taken root and grown into bushes and trees that overhung + the cutting. Near the tunnel was a flight of steps leading down to the + line—just wooden bars roughly fixed into the earth—a very + steep and narrow way, more like a ladder than a stair. + </p> + <p> + “We'd better get down,” said Peter; “I'm sure the cherries would be quite + easy to get at from the side of the steps. You remember it was there we + picked the cherry blossoms that we put on the rabbit's grave.” + </p> + <p> + So they went along the fence towards the little swing gate that is at the + top of these steps. And they were almost at the gate when Bobbie said:— + </p> + <p> + “Hush. Stop! What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “That” was a very odd noise indeed—a soft noise, but quite plainly + to be heard through the sound of the wind in tree branches, and the hum + and whir of the telegraph wires. It was a sort of rustling, whispering + sound. As they listened it stopped, and then it began again. + </p> + <p> + And this time it did not stop, but it grew louder and more rustling and + rumbling. + </p> + <p> + “Look”—cried Peter, suddenly—“the tree over there!” + </p> + <p> + The tree he pointed at was one of those that have rough grey leaves and + white flowers. The berries, when they come, are bright scarlet, but if you + pick them, they disappoint you by turning black before you get them home. + And, as Peter pointed, the tree was moving—not just the way trees + ought to move when the wind blows through them, but all in one piece, as + though it were a live creature and were walking down the side of the + cutting. + </p> + <p> + “It's moving!” cried Bobbie. “Oh, look! and so are the others. It's like + the woods in Macbeth.” + </p> + <p> + “It's magic,” said Phyllis, breathlessly. “I always knew this railway was + enchanted.” + </p> + <p> + It really did seem a little like magic. For all the trees for about twenty + yards of the opposite bank seemed to be slowly walking down towards the + railway line, the tree with the grey leaves bringing up the rear like some + old shepherd driving a flock of green sheep. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? Oh, what is it?” said Phyllis; “it's much too magic for me. I + don't like it. Let's go home.” + </p> + <p> + But Bobbie and Peter clung fast to the rail and watched breathlessly. And + Phyllis made no movement towards going home by herself. + </p> + <p> + The trees moved on and on. Some stones and loose earth fell down and + rattled on the railway metals far below. + </p> + <p> + “It's ALL coming down,” Peter tried to say, but he found there was hardly + any voice to say it with. And, indeed, just as he spoke, the great rock, + on the top of which the walking trees were, leaned slowly forward. The + trees, ceasing to walk, stood still and shivered. Leaning with the rock, + they seemed to hesitate a moment, and then rock and trees and grass and + bushes, with a rushing sound, slipped right away from the face of the + cutting and fell on the line with a blundering crash that could have been + heard half a mile off. A cloud of dust rose up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Peter, in awestruck tones, “isn't it exactly like when coals + come in?—if there wasn't any roof to the cellar and you could see + down.” + </p> + <p> + “Look what a great mound it's made!” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter, slowly. He was still leaning on the fence. “Yes,” he + said again, still more slowly. + </p> + <p> + Then he stood upright. + </p> + <p> + “The 11.29 down hasn't gone by yet. We must let them know at the station, + or there'll be a most frightful accident.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's run,” said Bobbie, and began. + </p> + <p> + But Peter cried, “Come back!” and looked at Mother's watch. He was very + prompt and businesslike, and his face looked whiter than they had ever + seen it. + </p> + <p> + “No time,” he said; “it's two miles away, and it's past eleven.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't we,” suggested Phyllis, breathlessly, “couldn't we climb up a + telegraph post and do something to the wires?” + </p> + <p> + “We don't know how,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “They do it in war,” said Phyllis; “I know I've heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “They only CUT them, silly,” said Peter, “and that doesn't do any good. + And we couldn't cut them even if we got up, and we couldn't get up. If we + had anything red, we could get down on the line and wave it.” + </p> + <p> + “But the train wouldn't see us till it got round the corner, and then it + could see the mound just as well as us,” said Phyllis; “better, because + it's much bigger than us.” + </p> + <p> + “If we only had something red,” Peter repeated, “we could go round the + corner and wave to the train.” + </p> + <p> + “We might wave, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “They'd only think it was just US, as usual. We've waved so often before. + Anyway, let's get down.” + </p> + <p> + They got down the steep stairs. Bobbie was pale and shivering. Peter's + face looked thinner than usual. Phyllis was red-faced and damp with + anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how hot I am!” she said; “and I thought it was going to be cold; I + wish we hadn't put on our—” she stopped short, and then ended in + quite a different tone—“our flannel petticoats.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie turned at the bottom of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she cried; “THEY'RE red! Let's take them off.” + </p> + <p> + They did, and with the petticoats rolled up under their arms, ran along + the railway, skirting the newly fallen mound of stones and rock and earth, + and bent, crushed, twisted trees. They ran at their best pace. Peter led, + but the girls were not far behind. They reached the corner that hid the + mound from the straight line of railway that ran half a mile without curve + or corner. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Peter, taking hold of the largest flannel petticoat. + </p> + <p> + “You're not”—Phyllis faltered—“you're not going to TEAR them?” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up,” said Peter, with brief sternness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Bobbie, “tear them into little bits if you like. Don't you + see, Phil, if we can't stop the train, there'll be a real live accident, + with people KILLED. Oh, horrible! Here, Peter, you'll never tear it + through the band!” + </p> + <p> + She took the red flannel petticoat from him and tore it off an inch from + the band. Then she tore the other in the same way. + </p> + <p> + “There!” said Peter, tearing in his turn. He divided each petticoat into + three pieces. “Now, we've got six flags.” He looked at the watch again. + “And we've got seven minutes. We must have flagstaffs.” + </p> + <p> + The knives given to boys are, for some odd reason, seldom of the kind of + steel that keeps sharp. The young saplings had to be broken off. Two came + up by the roots. The leaves were stripped from them. + </p> + <p> + “We must cut holes in the flags, and run the sticks through the holes,” + said Peter. And the holes were cut. The knife was sharp enough to cut + flannel with. Two of the flags were set up in heaps of loose stones + between the sleepers of the down line. Then Phyllis and Roberta took each + a flag, and stood ready to wave it as soon as the train came in sight. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have the other two myself,” said Peter, “because it was my idea + to wave something red.” + </p> + <p> + “They're our petticoats, though,” Phyllis was beginning, but Bobbie + interrupted— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what does it matter who waves what, if we can only save the train?” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps Peter had not rightly calculated the number of minutes it would + take the 11.29 to get from the station to the place where they were, or + perhaps the train was late. Anyway, it seemed a very long time that they + waited. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis grew impatient. “I expect the watch is wrong, and the train's gone + by,” said she. + </p> + <p> + Peter relaxed the heroic attitude he had chosen to show off his two flags. + And Bobbie began to feel sick with suspense. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to her that they had been standing there for hours and hours, + holding those silly little red flannel flags that no one would ever + notice. The train wouldn't care. It would go rushing by them and tear + round the corner and go crashing into that awful mound. And everyone would + be killed. Her hands grew very cold and trembled so that she could hardly + hold the flag. And then came the distant rumble and hum of the metals, and + a puff of white steam showed far away along the stretch of line. + </p> + <p> + “Stand firm,” said Peter, “and wave like mad! When it gets to that big + furze bush step back, but go on waving! Don't stand ON the line, Bobbie!” + </p> + <p> + The train came rattling along very, very fast. + </p> + <p> + “They don't see us! They won't see us! It's all no good!” cried Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + The two little flags on the line swayed as the nearing train shook and + loosened the heaps of loose stones that held them up. One of them slowly + leaned over and fell on the line. Bobbie jumped forward and caught it up, + and waved it; her hands did not tremble now. + </p> + <p> + It seemed that the train came on as fast as ever. It was very near now. + </p> + <p> + “Keep off the line, you silly cuckoo!” said Peter, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “It's no good,” Bobbie said again. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back!” cried Peter, suddenly, and he dragged Phyllis back by the + arm. + </p> + <p> + But Bobbie cried, “Not yet, not yet!” and waved her two flags right over + the line. The front of the engine looked black and enormous. Its voice was + loud and harsh. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stop, stop, stop!” cried Bobbie. No one heard her. At least Peter and + Phyllis didn't, for the oncoming rush of the train covered the sound of + her voice with a mountain of sound. But afterwards she used to wonder + whether the engine itself had not heard her. It seemed almost as though it + had—for it slackened swiftly, slackened and stopped, not twenty + yards from the place where Bobbie's two flags waved over the line. She saw + the great black engine stop dead, but somehow she could not stop waving + the flags. And when the driver and the fireman had got off the engine and + Peter and Phyllis had gone to meet them and pour out their excited tale of + the awful mound just round the corner, Bobbie still waved the flags but + more and more feebly and jerkily. + </p> + <p> + When the others turned towards her she was lying across the line with her + hands flung forward and still gripping the sticks of the little red + flannel flags. + </p> + <p> + The engine-driver picked her up, carried her to the train, and laid her on + the cushions of a first-class carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Gone right off in a faint,” he said, “poor little woman. And no wonder. + I'll just 'ave a look at this 'ere mound of yours, and then we'll run you + back to the station and get her seen to.” + </p> + <p> + It was horrible to see Bobbie lying so white and quiet, with her lips + blue, and parted. + </p> + <p> + “I believe that's what people look like when they're dead,” whispered + Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “DON'T!” said Peter, sharply. + </p> + <p> + They sat by Bobbie on the blue cushions, and the train ran back. Before it + reached their station Bobbie had sighed and opened her eyes, and rolled + herself over and begun to cry. This cheered the others wonderfully. They + had seen her cry before, but they had never seen her faint, nor anyone + else, for the matter of that. They had not known what to do when she was + fainting, but now she was only crying they could thump her on the back and + tell her not to, just as they always did. And presently, when she stopped + crying, they were able to laugh at her for being such a coward as to + faint. + </p> + <p> + When the station was reached, the three were the heroes of an agitated + meeting on the platform. + </p> + <p> + The praises they got for their “prompt action,” their “common sense,” + their “ingenuity,” were enough to have turned anybody's head. Phyllis + enjoyed herself thoroughly. She had never been a real heroine before, and + the feeling was delicious. Peter's ears got very red. Yet he, too, enjoyed + himself. Only Bobbie wished they all wouldn't. She wanted to get away. + </p> + <p> + “You'll hear from the Company about this, I expect,” said the Station + Master. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie wished she might never hear of it again. She pulled at Peter's + jacket. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come away, come away! I want to go home,” she said. + </p> + <p> + So they went. And as they went Station Master and Porter and guards and + driver and fireman and passengers sent up a cheer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, listen,” cried Phyllis; “that's for US!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter. “I say, I am glad I thought about something red, and + waving it.” + </p> + <p> + “How lucky we DID put on our red flannel petticoats!” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie said nothing. She was thinking of the horrible mound, and the + trustful train rushing towards it. + </p> + <p> + “And it was US that saved them,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “How dreadful if they had all been killed!” said Phyllis; “wouldn't it, + Bobbie?” + </p> + <p> + “We never got any cherries, after all,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + The others thought her rather heartless. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VII. For valour. + </h2> + <p> + I hope you don't mind my telling you a good deal about Roberta. The fact + is I am growing very fond of her. The more I observe her the more I love + her. And I notice all sorts of things about her that I like. + </p> + <p> + For instance, she was quite oddly anxious to make other people happy. And + she could keep a secret, a tolerably rare accomplishment. Also she had the + power of silent sympathy. That sounds rather dull, I know, but it's not so + dull as it sounds. It just means that a person is able to know that you + are unhappy, and to love you extra on that account, without bothering you + by telling you all the time how sorry she is for you. That was what Bobbie + was like. She knew that Mother was unhappy—and that Mother had not + told her the reason. So she just loved Mother more and never said a single + word that could let Mother know how earnestly her little girl wondered + what Mother was unhappy about. This needs practice. It is not so easy as + you might think. + </p> + <p> + Whatever happened—and all sorts of nice, pleasant ordinary things + happened—such as picnics, games, and buns for tea, Bobbie always had + these thoughts at the back of her mind. “Mother's unhappy. Why? I don't + know. She doesn't want me to know. I won't try to find out. But she IS + unhappy. Why? I don't know. She doesn't—” and so on, repeating and + repeating like a tune that you don't know the stopping part of. + </p> + <p> + The Russian gentleman still took up a good deal of everybody's thoughts. + All the editors and secretaries of Societies and Members of Parliament had + answered Mother's letters as politely as they knew how; but none of them + could tell where the wife and children of Mr. Szezcpansky would be likely + to be. (Did I tell you that the Russian's very Russian name was that?) + </p> + <p> + Bobbie had another quality which you will hear differently described by + different people. Some of them call it interfering in other people's + business—and some call it “helping lame dogs over stiles,” and some + call it “loving-kindness.” It just means trying to help people. + </p> + <p> + She racked her brains to think of some way of helping the Russian + gentleman to find his wife and children. He had learned a few words of + English now. He could say “Good morning,” and “Good night,” and “Please,” + and “Thank you,” and “Pretty,” when the children brought him flowers, and + “Ver' good,” when they asked him how he had slept. + </p> + <p> + The way he smiled when he “said his English,” was, Bobbie felt, “just too + sweet for anything.” She used to think of his face because she fancied it + would help her to some way of helping him. But it did not. Yet his being + there cheered her because she saw that it made Mother happier. + </p> + <p> + “She likes to have someone to be good to, even beside us,” said Bobbie. + “And I know she hated to let him have Father's clothes. But I suppose it + 'hurt nice,' or she wouldn't have.” + </p> + <p> + For many and many a night after the day when she and Peter and Phyllis had + saved the train from wreck by waving their little red flannel flags, + Bobbie used to wake screaming and shivering, seeing again that horrible + mound, and the poor, dear trustful engine rushing on towards it—just + thinking that it was doing its swift duty, and that everything was clear + and safe. And then a warm thrill of pleasure used to run through her at + the remembrance of how she and Peter and Phyllis and the red flannel + petticoats had really saved everybody. + </p> + <p> + One morning a letter came. It was addressed to Peter and Bobbie and + Phyllis. They opened it with enthusiastic curiosity, for they did not + often get letters. + </p> + <p> + The letter said:— + </p> + <p> + “Dear Sir, and Ladies,—It is proposed to make a small presentation + to you, in commemoration of your prompt and courageous action in warning + the train on the —- inst., and thus averting what must, humanly + speaking, have been a terrible accident. The presentation will take place + at the —- Station at three o'clock on the 30th inst., if this time + and place will be convenient to you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Yours faithfully, + + “Jabez Inglewood. +“Secretary, Great Northern and Southern Railway Co.” + </pre> + <p> + There never had been a prouder moment in the lives of the three children. + They rushed to Mother with the letter, and she also felt proud and said + so, and this made the children happier than ever. + </p> + <p> + “But if the presentation is money, you must say, 'Thank you, but we'd + rather not take it,'” said Mother. “I'll wash your Indian muslins at + once,” she added. “You must look tidy on an occasion like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Phil and I can wash them,” said Bobbie, “if you'll iron them, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + Washing is rather fun. I wonder whether you've ever done it? This + particular washing took place in the back kitchen, which had a stone floor + and a very big stone sink under its window. + </p> + <p> + “Let's put the bath on the sink,” said Phyllis; “then we can pretend we're + out-of-doors washerwomen like Mother saw in France.” + </p> + <p> + “But they were washing in the cold river,” said Peter, his hands in his + pockets, “not in hot water.” + </p> + <p> + “This is a HOT river, then,” said Phyllis; “lend a hand with the bath, + there's a dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see a deer lending a hand,” said Peter, but he lent his. + </p> + <p> + “Now to rub and scrub and scrub and rub,” said Phyllis, hopping joyously + about as Bobbie carefully carried the heavy kettle from the kitchen fire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Bobbie, greatly shocked; “you don't rub muslin. You put the + boiled soap in the hot water and make it all frothy-lathery—and then + you shake the muslin and squeeze it, ever so gently, and all the dirt + comes out. It's only clumsy things like tablecloths and sheets that have + to be rubbed.” + </p> + <p> + The lilac and the Gloire de Dijon roses outside the window swayed in the + soft breeze. + </p> + <p> + “It's a nice drying day—that's one thing,” said Bobbie, feeling very + grown up. “Oh, I do wonder what wonderful feelings we shall have when we + WEAR the Indian muslin dresses!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so do I,” said Phyllis, shaking and squeezing the muslin in quite a + professional manner. + </p> + <p> + “NOW we squeeze out the soapy water. NO—we mustn't twist them—and + then rinse them. I'll hold them while you and Peter empty the bath and get + clean water.” + </p> + <p> + “A presentation! That means presents,” said Peter, as his sisters, having + duly washed the pegs and wiped the line, hung up the dresses to dry. + “Whatever will it be?” + </p> + <p> + “It might be anything,” said Phyllis; “what I've always wanted is a Baby + elephant—but I suppose they wouldn't know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose it was gold models of steam-engines?” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Or a big model of the scene of the prevented accident,” suggested Peter, + “with a little model train, and dolls dressed like us and the + engine-driver and fireman and passengers.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you LIKE,” said Bobbie, doubtfully, drying her hands on the rough + towel that hung on a roller at the back of the scullery door, “do you LIKE + us being rewarded for saving a train?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Peter, downrightly; “and don't you try to come it over + us that you don't like it, too. Because I know you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bobbie, doubtfully, “I know I do. But oughtn't we to be + satisfied with just having done it, and not ask for anything more?” + </p> + <p> + “Who did ask for anything more, silly?” said her brother; “Victoria Cross + soldiers don't ASK for it; but they're glad enough to get it all the same. + Perhaps it'll be medals. Then, when I'm very old indeed, I shall show them + to my grandchildren and say, 'We only did our duty,' and they'll be + awfully proud of me.” + </p> + <p> + “You have to be married,” warned Phyllis, “or you don't have any + grandchildren.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I shall HAVE to be married some day,” said Peter, “but it will + be an awful bother having her round all the time. I'd like to marry a lady + who had trances, and only woke up once or twice a year.” + </p> + <p> + “Just to say you were the light of her life and then go to sleep again. + Yes. That wouldn't be bad,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “When <i>I</i> get married,” said Phyllis, “I shall want him to want me to + be awake all the time, so that I can hear him say how nice I am.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be nice,” said Bobbie, “to marry someone very poor, and + then you'd do all the work and he'd love you most frightfully, and see the + blue wood smoke curling up among the trees from the domestic hearth as he + came home from work every night. I say—we've got to answer that + letter and say that the time and place WILL be convenient to us. There's + the soap, Peter. WE'RE both as clean as clean. That pink box of writing + paper you had on your birthday, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + It took some time to arrange what should be said. Mother had gone back to + her writing, and several sheets of pink paper with scalloped gilt edges + and green four-leaved shamrocks in the corner were spoiled before the + three had decided what to say. Then each made a copy and signed it with + its own name. + </p> + <p> + The threefold letter ran:— + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mr. Jabez Inglewood,—Thank you very much. We did not want to + be rewarded but only to save the train, but we are glad you think so and + thank you very much. The time and place you say will be quite convenient + to us. Thank you very much. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Your affecate little friend,” + </pre> + <p> + Then came the name, and after it:— + </p> + <p> + “P.S. Thank you very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Washing is much easier than ironing,” said Bobbie, taking the clean dry + dresses off the line. “I do love to see things come clean. Oh—I + don't know how we shall wait till it's time to know what presentation + they're going to present!” + </p> + <p> + When at last—it seemed a very long time after—it was THE day, + the three children went down to the station at the proper time. And + everything that happened was so odd that it seemed like a dream. The + Station Master came out to meet them—in his best clothes, as Peter + noticed at once—and led them into the waiting room where once they + had played the advertisement game. It looked quite different now. A carpet + had been put down—and there were pots of roses on the mantelpiece + and on the window ledges—green branches stuck up, like holly and + laurel are at Christmas, over the framed advertisement of Cook's Tours and + the Beauties of Devon and the Paris Lyons Railway. There were quite a + number of people there besides the Porter—two or three ladies in + smart dresses, and quite a crowd of gentlemen in high hats and frock coats—besides + everybody who belonged to the station. They recognized several people who + had been in the train on the red-flannel-petticoat day. Best of all their + own old gentleman was there, and his coat and hat and collar seemed more + than ever different from anyone else's. He shook hands with them and then + everybody sat down on chairs, and a gentleman in spectacles—they + found out afterwards that he was the District Superintendent—began + quite a long speech—very clever indeed. I am not going to write the + speech down. First, because you would think it dull; and secondly, because + it made all the children blush so, and get so hot about the ears that I am + quite anxious to get away from this part of the subject; and thirdly, + because the gentleman took so many words to say what he had to say that I + really haven't time to write them down. He said all sorts of nice things + about the children's bravery and presence of mind, and when he had done he + sat down, and everyone who was there clapped and said, “Hear, hear.” + </p> + <p> + And then the old gentleman got up and said things, too. It was very like a + prize-giving. And then he called the children one by one, by their names, + and gave each of them a beautiful gold watch and chain. And inside the + watches were engraved after the name of the watch's new owner:— + </p> + <p> + “From the Directors of the Northern and Southern Railway in grateful + recognition of the courageous and prompt action which averted an accident + on —- 1905.” + </p> + <p> + The watches were the most beautiful you can possibly imagine, and each one + had a blue leather case to live in when it was at home. + </p> + <p> + “You must make a speech now and thank everyone for their kindness,” + whispered the Station Master in Peter's ear and pushed him forward. “Begin + 'Ladies and Gentlemen,'” he added. + </p> + <p> + Each of the children had already said “Thank you,” quite properly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear,” said Peter, but he did not resist the push. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said in a rather husky voice. Then there was a + pause, and he heard his heart beating in his throat. “Ladies and + Gentlemen,” he went on with a rush, “it's most awfully good of you, and we + shall treasure the watches all our lives—but really we don't deserve + it because what we did wasn't anything, really. At least, I mean it was + awfully exciting, and what I mean to say—thank you all very, very + much.” + </p> + <p> + The people clapped Peter more than they had done the District + Superintendent, and then everybody shook hands with them, and as soon as + politeness would let them, they got away, and tore up the hill to Three + Chimneys with their watches in their hands. + </p> + <p> + It was a wonderful day—the kind of day that very seldom happens to + anybody and to most of us not at all. + </p> + <p> + “I did want to talk to the old gentleman about something else,” said + Bobbie, “but it was so public—like being in church.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you want to say?” asked Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you when I've thought about it more,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + So when she had thought a little more she wrote a letter. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest old gentleman,” it said; “I want most awfully to ask you + something. If you could get out of the train and go by the next, it would + do. I do not want you to give me anything. Mother says we ought not to. + And besides, we do not want any THINGS. Only to talk to you about a + Prisoner and Captive. Your loving little friend, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Bobbie.” + </pre> + <p> + She got the Station Master to give the letter to the old gentleman, and + next day she asked Peter and Phyllis to come down to the station with her + at the time when the train that brought the old gentleman from town would + be passing through. + </p> + <p> + She explained her idea to them—and they approved thoroughly. + </p> + <p> + They had all washed their hands and faces, and brushed their hair, and + were looking as tidy as they knew how. But Phyllis, always unlucky, had + upset a jug of lemonade down the front of her dress. There was no time to + change—and the wind happening to blow from the coal yard, her frock + was soon powdered with grey, which stuck to the sticky lemonade stains and + made her look, as Peter said, “like any little gutter child.” + </p> + <p> + It was decided that she should keep behind the others as much as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the old gentleman won't notice,” said Bobbie. “The aged are often + weak in the eyes.” + </p> + <p> + There was no sign of weakness, however, in the eyes, or in any other part + of the old gentleman, as he stepped from the train and looked up and down + the platform. + </p> + <p> + The three children, now that it came to the point, suddenly felt that rush + of deep shyness which makes your ears red and hot, your hands warm and + wet, and the tip of your nose pink and shiny. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Phyllis, “my heart's thumping like a steam-engine—right + under my sash, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said Peter, “people's hearts aren't under their sashes.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care—mine is,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “If you're going to talk like a poetry-book,” said Peter, “my heart's in + my mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “My heart's in my boots—if you come to that,” said Roberta; “but do + come on—he'll think we're idiots.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't be far wrong,” said Peter, gloomily. And they went forward to + meet the old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo,” he said, shaking hands with them all in turn. “This is a very + great pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “It WAS good of you to get out,” Bobbie said, perspiring and polite. + </p> + <p> + He took her arm and drew her into the waiting room where she and the + others had played the advertisement game the day they found the Russian. + Phyllis and Peter followed. “Well?” said the old gentleman, giving + Bobbie's arm a kind little shake before he let it go. “Well? What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please!” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said the old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “What I mean to say—” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said the old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “It's all very nice and kind,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “But?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I might say something,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Say it,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Bobbie—and out came the story of the Russian who + had written the beautiful book about poor people, and had been sent to + prison and to Siberia for just that. + </p> + <p> + “And what we want more than anything in the world is to find his wife and + children for him,” said Bobbie, “but we don't know how. But you must be + most horribly clever, or you wouldn't be a Direction of the Railway. And + if YOU knew how—and would? We'd rather have that than anything else + in the world. We'd go without the watches, even, if you could sell them + and find his wife with the money.” + </p> + <p> + And the others said so, too, though not with so much enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Hum,” said the old gentleman, pulling down the white waistcoat that had + the big gilt buttons on it, “what did you say the name was—Fryingpansky?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Bobbie earnestly. “I'll write it down for you. It doesn't + really look at all like that except when you say it. Have you a bit of + pencil and the back of an envelope?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman got out a gold pencil-case and a beautiful, + sweet-smelling, green Russian leather note-book and opened it at a new + page. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said, “write here.” + </p> + <p> + She wrote down “Szezcpansky,” and said:— + </p> + <p> + “That's how you write it. You CALL it Shepansky.” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman took out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and fitted + them on his nose. When he had read the name, he looked quite different. + </p> + <p> + “THAT man? Bless my soul!” he said. “Why, I've read his book! It's + translated into every European language. A fine book—a noble book. + And so your mother took him in—like the good Samaritan. Well, well. + I'll tell you what, youngsters—your mother must be a very good + woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course she is,” said Phyllis, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “And you're a very good man,” said Bobbie, very shy, but firmly resolved + to be polite. + </p> + <p> + “You flatter me,” said the old gentleman, taking off his hat with a + flourish. “And now am I to tell you what I think of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please don't,” said Bobbie, hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “I don't exactly know,” said Bobbie. “Only—if it's horrid, I don't + want you to; and if it's nice, I'd rather you didn't.” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” he said, “I'll only just say that I'm very glad you came to + me about this—very glad, indeed. And I shouldn't be surprised if I + found out something very soon. I know a great many Russians in London, and + every Russian knows HIS name. Now tell me all about yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the others, but there was only one other, and that was Peter. + Phyllis had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all about yourself,” said the old gentleman again. And, quite + naturally, Peter was stricken dumb. + </p> + <p> + “All right, we'll have an examination,” said the old gentleman; “you two + sit on the table, and I'll sit on the bench and ask questions.” + </p> + <p> + He did, and out came their names and ages—their Father's name and + business—how long they had lived at Three Chimneys and a great deal + more. + </p> + <p> + The questions were beginning to turn on a herring and a half for three + halfpence, and a pound of lead and a pound of feathers, when the door of + the waiting room was kicked open by a boot; as the boot entered everyone + could see that its lace was coming undone—and in came Phyllis, very + slowly and carefully. + </p> + <p> + In one hand she carried a large tin can, and in the other a thick slice of + bread and butter. + </p> + <p> + “Afternoon tea,” she announced proudly, and held the can and the bread and + butter out to the old gentleman, who took them and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “It's very thoughtful of you,” said the old gentleman, “very.” + </p> + <p> + “But you might have got a cup,” said Bobbie, “and a plate.” + </p> + <p> + “Perks always drinks out of the can,” said Phyllis, flushing red. “I think + it was very nice of him to give it me at all—let alone cups and + plates,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” said the old gentleman, and he drank some of the tea and tasted + the bread and butter. + </p> + <p> + And then it was time for the next train, and he got into it with many + good-byes and kind last words. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Peter, when they were left on the platform, and the + tail-lights of the train disappeared round the corner, “it's my belief + that we've lighted a candle to-day—like Latimer, you know, when he + was being burned—and there'll be fireworks for our Russian before + long.” + </p> + <p> + And so there were. + </p> + <p> + It wasn't ten days after the interview in the waiting room that the three + children were sitting on the top of the biggest rock in the field below + their house watching the 5.15 steam away from the station along the bottom + of the valley. They saw, too, the few people who had got out at the + station straggling up the road towards the village—and they saw one + person leave the road and open the gate that led across the fields to + Three Chimneys and to nowhere else. + </p> + <p> + “Who on earth!” said Peter, scrambling down. + </p> + <p> + “Let's go and see,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + So they did. And when they got near enough to see who the person was, they + saw it was their old gentleman himself, his brass buttons winking in the + afternoon sunshine, and his white waistcoat looking whiter than ever + against the green of the field. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” shouted the children, waving their hands. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” shouted the old gentleman, waving his hat. + </p> + <p> + Then the three started to run—and when they got to him they hardly + had breath left to say:— + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Good news,” said he. “I've found your Russian friend's wife and child—and + I couldn't resist the temptation of giving myself the pleasure of telling + him.” + </p> + <p> + But as he looked at Bobbie's face he felt that he COULD resist that + temptation. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said to her, “you run on and tell him. The other two will show + me the way.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie ran. But when she had breathlessly panted out the news to the + Russian and Mother sitting in the quiet garden—when Mother's face + had lighted up so beautifully, and she had said half a dozen quick French + words to the Exile—Bobbie wished that she had NOT carried the news. + For the Russian sprang up with a cry that made Bobbie's heart leap and + then tremble—a cry of love and longing such as she had never heard. + Then he took Mother's hand and kissed it gently and reverently—and + then he sank down in his chair and covered his face with his hands and + sobbed. Bobbie crept away. She did not want to see the others just then. + </p> + <p> + But she was as gay as anybody when the endless French talking was over, + when Peter had torn down to the village for buns and cakes, and the girls + had got tea ready and taken it out into the garden. + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman was most merry and delightful. He seemed to be able to + talk in French and English almost at the same moment, and Mother did + nearly as well. It was a delightful time. Mother seemed as if she could + not make enough fuss about the old gentleman, and she said yes at once + when he asked if he might present some “goodies” to his little friends. + </p> + <p> + The word was new to the children—but they guessed that it meant + sweets, for the three large pink and green boxes, tied with green ribbon, + which he took out of his bag, held unheard-of layers of beautiful + chocolates. + </p> + <p> + The Russian's few belongings were packed, and they all saw him off at the + station. + </p> + <p> + Then Mother turned to the old gentleman and said:— + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how to thank you for EVERYTHING. It has been a real pleasure + to me to see you. But we live very quietly. I am so sorry that I can't ask + you to come and see us again.” + </p> + <p> + The children thought this very hard. When they HAD made a friend—and + such a friend—they would dearly have liked him to come and see them + again. + </p> + <p> + What the old gentleman thought they couldn't tell. He only said:— + </p> + <p> + “I consider myself very fortunate, Madam, to have been received once at + your house.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Mother, “I know I must seem surly and ungrateful—but—” + </p> + <p> + “You could never seem anything but a most charming and gracious lady,” + said the old gentleman, with another of his bows. + </p> + <p> + And as they turned to go up the hill, Bobbie saw her Mother's face. + </p> + <p> + “How tired you look, Mammy,” she said; “lean on me.” + </p> + <p> + “It's my place to give Mother my arm,” said Peter. “I'm the head man of + the family when Father's away.” + </p> + <p> + Mother took an arm of each. + </p> + <p> + “How awfully nice,” said Phyllis, skipping joyfully, “to think of the dear + Russian embracing his long-lost wife. The baby must have grown a lot since + he saw it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mother. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder whether Father will think I'VE grown,” Phyllis went on, skipping + still more gaily. “I have grown already, haven't I, Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mother, “oh, yes,” and Bobbie and Peter felt her hands tighten + on their arms. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Mammy, you ARE tired,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie said, “Come on, Phil; I'll race you to the gate.” + </p> + <p> + And she started the race, though she hated doing it. YOU know why Bobbie + did that. Mother only thought that Bobbie was tired of walking slowly. + Even Mothers, who love you better than anyone else ever will, don't always + understand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VIII. The amateur firemen. + </h2> + <p> + “That's a likely little brooch you've got on, Miss,” said Perks the + Porter; “I don't know as ever I see a thing more like a buttercup without + it WAS a buttercup.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bobbie, glad and flushed by this approval. “I always thought + it was more like a buttercup almost than even a real one—and I NEVER + thought it would come to be mine, my very own—and then Mother gave + it to me for my birthday.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you had a birthday?” said Perks; and he seemed quite surprised, + as though a birthday were a thing only granted to a favoured few. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bobbie; “when's your birthday, Mr. Perks?” The children were + taking tea with Mr. Perks in the Porters' room among the lamps and the + railway almanacs. They had brought their own cups and some jam turnovers. + Mr. Perks made tea in a beer can, as usual, and everyone felt very happy + and confidential. + </p> + <p> + “My birthday?” said Perks, tipping some more dark brown tea out of the can + into Peter's cup. “I give up keeping of my birthday afore you was born.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must have been born SOMETIME, you know,” said Phyllis, + thoughtfully, “even if it was twenty years ago—or thirty or sixty or + seventy.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so long as that, Missie,” Perks grinned as he answered. “If you + really want to know, it was thirty-two years ago, come the fifteenth of + this month.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why don't you keep it?” asked Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “I've got something else to keep besides birthdays,” said Perks, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! What?” asked Phyllis, eagerly. “Not secrets?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Perks, “the kids and the Missus.” + </p> + <p> + It was this talk that set the children thinking, and, presently, talking. + Perks was, on the whole, the dearest friend they had made. Not so grand as + the Station Master, but more approachable—less powerful than the old + gentleman, but more confidential. + </p> + <p> + “It seems horrid that nobody keeps his birthday,” said Bobbie. “Couldn't + WE do something?” + </p> + <p> + “Let's go up to the Canal bridge and talk it over,” said Peter. “I got a + new gut line from the postman this morning. He gave it me for a bunch of + roses that I gave him for his sweetheart. She's ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I do think you might have given her the roses for nothing,” said + Bobbie, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Nyang, nyang!” said Peter, disagreeably, and put his hands in his + pockets. + </p> + <p> + “He did, of course,” said Phyllis, in haste; “directly we heard she was + ill we got the roses ready and waited by the gate. It was when you were + making the brekker-toast. And when he'd said 'Thank you' for the roses so + many times—much more than he need have—he pulled out the line + and gave it to Peter. It wasn't exchange. It was the grateful heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I BEG your pardon, Peter,” said Bobbie, “I AM so sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it,” said Peter, grandly, “I knew you would be.” + </p> + <p> + So then they all went up to the Canal bridge. The idea was to fish from + the bridge, but the line was not quite long enough. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Bobbie. “Let's just stay here and look at things. + Everything's so beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + It was. The sun was setting in red splendour over the grey and purple + hills, and the canal lay smooth and shiny in the shadow—no ripple + broke its surface. It was like a grey satin ribbon between the dusky green + silk of the meadows that were on each side of its banks. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” said Peter, “but somehow I can always see how pretty + things are much better when I've something to do. Let's get down on to the + towpath and fish from there.” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis and Bobbie remembered how the boys on the canal-boats had thrown + coal at them, and they said so. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense,” said Peter. “There aren't any boys here now. If there + were, I'd fight them.” + </p> + <p> + Peter's sisters were kind enough not to remind him how he had NOT fought + the boys when coal had last been thrown. Instead they said, “All right, + then,” and cautiously climbed down the steep bank to the towing-path. The + line was carefully baited, and for half an hour they fished patiently and + in vain. Not a single nibble came to nourish hope in their hearts. + </p> + <p> + All eyes were intent on the sluggish waters that earnestly pretended they + had never harboured a single minnow when a loud rough shout made them + start. + </p> + <p> + “Hi!” said the shout, in most disagreeable tones, “get out of that, can't + you?” + </p> + <p> + An old white horse coming along the towing-path was within half a dozen + yards of them. They sprang to their feet and hastily climbed up the bank. + </p> + <p> + “We'll slip down again when they've gone by,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + But, alas, the barge, after the manner of barges, stopped under the + bridge. + </p> + <p> + “She's going to anchor,” said Peter; “just our luck!” + </p> + <p> + The barge did not anchor, because an anchor is not part of a canal-boat's + furniture, but she was moored with ropes fore and aft—and the ropes + were made fast to the palings and to crowbars driven into the ground. + </p> + <p> + “What you staring at?” growled the Bargee, crossly. + </p> + <p> + “We weren't staring,” said Bobbie; “we wouldn't be so rude.” + </p> + <p> + “Rude be blessed,” said the man; “get along with you!” + </p> + <p> + “Get along yourself,” said Peter. He remembered what he had said about + fighting boys, and, besides, he felt safe halfway up the bank. “We've as + much right here as anyone else.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, 'AVE you, indeed!” said the man. “We'll soon see about that.” And he + came across his deck and began to climb down the side of his barge. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come away, Peter, come away!” said Bobbie and Phyllis, in agonised + unison. + </p> + <p> + “Not me,” said Peter, “but YOU'D better.” + </p> + <p> + The girls climbed to the top of the bank and stood ready to bolt for home + as soon as they saw their brother out of danger. The way home lay all down + hill. They knew that they all ran well. The Bargee did not look as if HE + did. He was red-faced, heavy, and beefy. + </p> + <p> + But as soon as his foot was on the towing-path the children saw that they + had misjudged him. + </p> + <p> + He made one spring up the bank and caught Peter by the leg, dragged him + down—set him on his feet with a shake—took him by the ear—and + said sternly:— + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, what do you mean by it? Don't you know these 'ere waters is + preserved? You ain't no right catching fish 'ere—not to say nothing + of your precious cheek.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was always proud afterwards when he remembered that, with the + Bargee's furious fingers tightening on his ear, the Bargee's crimson + countenance close to his own, the Bargee's hot breath on his neck, he had + the courage to speak the truth. + </p> + <p> + “I WASN'T catching fish,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “That's not YOUR fault, I'll be bound,” said the man, giving Peter's ear a + twist—not a hard one—but still a twist. + </p> + <p> + Peter could not say that it was. Bobbie and Phyllis had been holding on to + the railings above and skipping with anxiety. Now suddenly Bobbie slipped + through the railings and rushed down the bank towards Peter, so + impetuously that Phyllis, following more temperately, felt certain that + her sister's descent would end in the waters of the canal. And so it would + have done if the Bargee hadn't let go of Peter's ear—and caught her + in his jerseyed arm. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you a-shoving of?” he said, setting her on her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Bobbie, breathless, “I'm not shoving anybody. At least, not on + purpose. Please don't be cross with Peter. Of course, if it's your canal, + we're sorry and we won't any more. But we didn't know it was yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Go along with you,” said the Bargee. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we will; indeed we will,” said Bobbie, earnestly; “but we do beg + your pardon—and really we haven't caught a single fish. I'd tell you + directly if we had, honour bright I would.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hands and Phyllis turned out her little empty pocket to + show that really they hadn't any fish concealed about them. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Bargee, more gently, “cut along, then, and don't you do + it again, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + The children hurried up the bank. + </p> + <p> + “Chuck us a coat, M'ria,” shouted the man. And a red-haired woman in a + green plaid shawl came out from the cabin door with a baby in her arms and + threw a coat to him. He put it on, climbed the bank, and slouched along + across the bridge towards the village. + </p> + <p> + “You'll find me up at the 'Rose and Crown' when you've got the kid to + sleep,” he called to her from the bridge. + </p> + <p> + When he was out of sight the children slowly returned. Peter insisted on + this. + </p> + <p> + “The canal may belong to him,” he said, “though I don't believe it does. + But the bridge is everybody's. Doctor Forrest told me it's public + property. I'm not going to be bounced off the bridge by him or anyone + else, so I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Peter's ear was still sore and so were his feelings. + </p> + <p> + The girls followed him as gallant soldiers might follow the leader of a + forlorn hope. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish you wouldn't,” was all they said. + </p> + <p> + “Go home if you're afraid,” said Peter; “leave me alone. I'M not afraid.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of the man's footsteps died away along the quiet road. The peace + of the evening was not broken by the notes of the sedge-warblers or by the + voice of the woman in the barge, singing her baby to sleep. It was a sad + song she sang. Something about Bill Bailey and how she wanted him to come + home. + </p> + <p> + The children stood leaning their arms on the parapet of the bridge; they + were glad to be quiet for a few minutes because all three hearts were + beating much more quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to be driven away by any old bargeman, I'm not,” said + Peter, thickly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” Phyllis said soothingly; “you didn't give in to him! So + now we might go home, don't you think?” + </p> + <p> + “NO,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + Nothing more was said till the woman got off the barge, climbed the bank, + and came across the bridge. + </p> + <p> + She hesitated, looking at the three backs of the children, then she said, + “Ahem.” + </p> + <p> + Peter stayed as he was, but the girls looked round. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't take no notice of my Bill,” said the woman; “'is bark's + worse'n 'is bite. Some of the kids down Farley way is fair terrors. It was + them put 'is back up calling out about who ate the puppy-pie under Marlow + bridge.” + </p> + <p> + “Who DID?” asked Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> dunno,” said the woman. “Nobody don't know! But somehow, and I + don't know the why nor the wherefore of it, them words is p'ison to a + barge-master. Don't you take no notice. 'E won't be back for two hours + good. You might catch a power o' fish afore that. The light's good an' + all,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Bobbie. “You're very kind. Where's your baby?” + </p> + <p> + “Asleep in the cabin,” said the woman. “'E's all right. Never wakes afore + twelve. Reg'lar as a church clock, 'e is.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said Bobbie; “I would have liked to see him, close to.” + </p> + <p> + “And a finer you never did see, Miss, though I says it.” The woman's face + brightened as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you afraid to leave it?” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Lor' love you, no,” said the woman; “who'd hurt a little thing like 'im? + Besides, Spot's there. So long!” + </p> + <p> + The woman went away. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go home?” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “You can. I'm going to fish,” said Peter briefly. + </p> + <p> + “I thought we came up here to talk about Perks's birthday,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Perks's birthday'll keep.” + </p> + <p> + So they got down on the towing-path again and Peter fished. He did not + catch anything. + </p> + <p> + It was almost quite dark, the girls were getting tired, and as Bobbie + said, it was past bedtime, when suddenly Phyllis cried, “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + And she pointed to the canal boat. Smoke was coming from the chimney of + the cabin, had indeed been curling softly into the soft evening air all + the time—but now other wreaths of smoke were rising, and these were + from the cabin door. + </p> + <p> + “It's on fire—that's all,” said Peter, calmly. “Serve him right.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—how CAN you?” cried Phyllis. “Think of the poor dear dog.” + </p> + <p> + “The BABY!” screamed Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + In an instant all three made for the barge. + </p> + <p> + Her mooring ropes were slack, and the little breeze, hardly strong enough + to be felt, had yet been strong enough to drift her stern against the + bank. Bobbie was first—then came Peter, and it was Peter who slipped + and fell. He went into the canal up to his neck, and his feet could not + feel the bottom, but his arm was on the edge of the barge. Phyllis caught + at his hair. It hurt, but it helped him to get out. Next minute he had + leaped on to the barge, Phyllis following. + </p> + <p> + “Not you!” he shouted to Bobbie; “ME, because I'm wet.” + </p> + <p> + He caught up with Bobbie at the cabin door, and flung her aside very + roughly indeed; if they had been playing, such roughness would have made + Bobbie weep with tears of rage and pain. Now, though he flung her on to + the edge of the hold, so that her knee and her elbow were grazed and + bruised, she only cried:— + </p> + <p> + “No—not you—ME,” and struggled up again. But not quickly + enough. + </p> + <p> + Peter had already gone down two of the cabin steps into the cloud of thick + smoke. He stopped, remembered all he had ever heard of fires, pulled his + soaked handkerchief out of his breast pocket and tied it over his mouth. + As he pulled it out he said:— + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, hardly any fire at all.” + </p> + <p> + And this, though he thought it was a lie, was rather good of Peter. It was + meant to keep Bobbie from rushing after him into danger. Of course it + didn't. + </p> + <p> + The cabin glowed red. A paraffin lamp was burning calmly in an orange + mist. + </p> + <p> + “Hi,” said Peter, lifting the handkerchief from his mouth for a moment. + “Hi, Baby—where are you?” He choked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let ME go,” cried Bobbie, close behind him. Peter pushed her back + more roughly than before, and went on. + </p> + <p> + Now what would have happened if the baby hadn't cried I don't know—but + just at that moment it DID cry. Peter felt his way through the dark smoke, + found something small and soft and warm and alive, picked it up and backed + out, nearly tumbling over Bobbie who was close behind. A dog snapped at + his leg—tried to bark, choked. + </p> + <p> + “I've got the kid,” said Peter, tearing off the handkerchief and + staggering on to the deck. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie caught at the place where the bark came from, and her hands met on + the fat back of a smooth-haired dog. It turned and fastened its teeth on + her hand, but very gently, as much as to say:— + </p> + <p> + “I'm bound to bark and bite if strangers come into my master's cabin, but + I know you mean well, so I won't REALLY bite.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie dropped the dog. + </p> + <p> + “All right, old man. Good dog,” said she. “Here—give me the baby, + Peter; you're so wet you'll give it cold.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was only too glad to hand over the strange little bundle that + squirmed and whimpered in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Bobbie, quickly, “you run straight to the 'Rose and Crown' and + tell them. Phil and I will stay here with the precious. Hush, then, a + dear, a duck, a darling! Go NOW, Peter! Run!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't run in these things,” said Peter, firmly; “they're as heavy as + lead. I'll walk.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'LL run,” said Bobbie. “Get on the bank, Phil, and I'll hand you + the dear.” + </p> + <p> + The baby was carefully handed. Phyllis sat down on the bank and tried to + hush the baby. Peter wrung the water from his sleeves and knickerbocker + legs as well as he could, and it was Bobbie who ran like the wind across + the bridge and up the long white quiet twilight road towards the 'Rose and + Crown.' + </p> + <p> + There is a nice old-fashioned room at the 'Rose and Crown; where Bargees + and their wives sit of an evening drinking their supper beer, and toasting + their supper cheese at a glowing basketful of coals that sticks out into + the room under a great hooded chimney and is warmer and prettier and more + comforting than any other fireplace <i>I</i> ever saw. + </p> + <p> + There was a pleasant party of barge people round the fire. You might not + have thought it pleasant, but they did; for they were all friends or + acquaintances, and they liked the same sort of things, and talked the same + sort of talk. This is the real secret of pleasant society. The Bargee + Bill, whom the children had found so disagreeable, was considered + excellent company by his mates. He was telling a tale of his own wrongs—always + a thrilling subject. It was his barge he was speaking about. + </p> + <p> + “And 'e sent down word 'paint her inside hout,' not namin' no colour, d'ye + see? So I gets a lotter green paint and I paints her stem to stern, and I + tell yer she looked A1. Then 'E comes along and 'e says, 'Wot yer paint + 'er all one colour for?' 'e says. And I says, says I, 'Cause I thought + she'd look fust-rate,' says I, 'and I think so still.' An' he says, 'DEW + yer? Then ye can just pay for the bloomin' paint yerself,' says he. An' I + 'ad to, too.” A murmur of sympathy ran round the room. Breaking noisily in + on it came Bobbie. She burst open the swing door—crying + breathlessly:— + </p> + <p> + “Bill! I want Bill the Bargeman.” + </p> + <p> + There was a stupefied silence. Pots of beer were held in mid-air, + paralysed on their way to thirsty mouths. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Bobbie, seeing the bargewoman and making for her. “Your barge + cabin's on fire. Go quickly.” + </p> + <p> + The woman started to her feet, and put a big red hand to her waist, on the + left side, where your heart seems to be when you are frightened or + miserable. + </p> + <p> + “Reginald Horace!” she cried in a terrible voice; “my Reginald Horace!” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Bobbie, “if you mean the baby; got him out safe. Dog, + too.” She had no breath for more, except, “Go on—it's all alight.” + </p> + <p> + Then she sank on the ale-house bench and tried to get that breath of + relief after running which people call the 'second wind.' But she felt as + though she would never breathe again. + </p> + <p> + Bill the Bargee rose slowly and heavily. But his wife was a hundred yards + up the road before he had quite understood what was the matter. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis, shivering by the canal side, had hardly heard the quick + approaching feet before the woman had flung herself on the railing, rolled + down the bank, and snatched the baby from her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” said Phyllis, reproachfully; “I'd just got him to sleep.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Bill came up later talking in a language with which the children were + wholly unfamiliar. He leaped on to the barge and dipped up pails of water. + Peter helped him and they put out the fire. Phyllis, the bargewoman, and + the baby—and presently Bobbie, too—cuddled together in a heap + on the bank. + </p> + <p> + “Lord help me, if it was me left anything as could catch alight,” said the + woman again and again. + </p> + <p> + But it wasn't she. It was Bill the Bargeman, who had knocked his pipe out + and the red ash had fallen on the hearth-rug and smouldered there and at + last broken into flame. Though a stern man he was just. He did not blame + his wife for what was his own fault, as many bargemen, and other men, too, + would have done. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Mother was half wild with anxiety when at last the three children turned + up at Three Chimneys, all very wet by now, for Peter seemed to have come + off on the others. But when she had disentangled the truth of what had + happened from their mixed and incoherent narrative, she owned that they + had done quite right, and could not possibly have done otherwise. Nor did + she put any obstacles in the way of their accepting the cordial invitation + with which the bargeman had parted from them. + </p> + <p> + “Ye be here at seven to-morrow,” he had said, “and I'll take you the + entire trip to Farley and back, so I will, and not a penny to pay. + Nineteen locks!” + </p> + <p> + They did not know what locks were; but they were at the bridge at seven, + with bread and cheese and half a soda cake, and quite a quarter of a leg + of mutton in a basket. + </p> + <p> + It was a glorious day. The old white horse strained at the ropes, the + barge glided smoothly and steadily through the still water. The sky was + blue overhead. Mr. Bill was as nice as anyone could possibly be. No one + would have thought that he could be the same man who had held Peter by the + ear. As for Mrs. Bill, she had always been nice, as Bobbie said, and so + had the baby, and even Spot, who might have bitten them quite badly if he + had liked. + </p> + <p> + “It was simply ripping, Mother,” said Peter, when they reached home very + happy, very tired, and very dirty, “right over that glorious aqueduct. And + locks—you don't know what they're like. You sink into the ground and + then, when you feel you're never going to stop going down, two great black + gates open slowly, slowly—you go out, and there you are on the canal + just like you were before.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Mother, “there are locks on the Thames. Father and I used + to go on the river at Marlow before we were married.” + </p> + <p> + “And the dear, darling, ducky baby,” said Bobbie; “it let me nurse it for + ages and ages—and it WAS so good. Mother, I wish we had a baby to + play with.” + </p> + <p> + “And everybody was so nice to us,” said Phyllis, “everybody we met. And + they say we may fish whenever we like. And Bill is going to show us the + way next time he's in these parts. He says we don't know really.” + </p> + <p> + “He said YOU didn't know,” said Peter; “but, Mother, he said he'd tell all + the bargees up and down the canal that we were the real, right sort, and + they were to treat us like good pals, as we were.” + </p> + <p> + “So then I said,” Phyllis interrupted, “we'd always each wear a red ribbon + when we went fishing by the canal, so they'd know it was US, and we were + the real, right sort, and be nice to us!” + </p> + <p> + “So you've made another lot of friends,” said Mother; “first the railway + and then the canal!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Bobbie; “I think everyone in the world is friends if you + can only get them to see you don't want to be UN-friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you're right,” said Mother; and she sighed. “Come, Chicks. It's + bedtime.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phyllis. “Oh dear—and we went up there to talk about + what we'd do for Perks's birthday. And we haven't talked a single thing + about it!” + </p> + <p> + “No more we have,” said Bobbie; “but Peter's saved Reginald Horace's life. + I think that's about good enough for one evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Bobbie would have saved him if I hadn't knocked her down; twice I did,” + said Peter, loyally. + </p> + <p> + “So would I,” said Phyllis, “if I'd known what to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mother, “you've saved a little child's life. I do think that's + enough for one evening. Oh, my darlings, thank God YOU'RE all safe!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter IX. The pride of Perks. + </h2> + <p> + It was breakfast-time. Mother's face was very bright as she poured the + milk and ladled out the porridge. + </p> + <p> + “I've sold another story, Chickies,” she said; “the one about the King of + the Mussels, so there'll be buns for tea. You can go and get them as soon + as they're baked. About eleven, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Peter, Phyllis, and Bobbie exchanged glances with each other, six glances + in all. Then Bobbie said:— + </p> + <p> + “Mother, would you mind if we didn't have the buns for tea to-night, but + on the fifteenth? That's next Thursday.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> don't mind when you have them, dear,” said Mother, “but why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it's Perks's birthday,” said Bobbie; “he's thirty-two, and he + says he doesn't keep his birthday any more, because he's got other things + to keep—not rabbits or secrets—but the kids and the missus.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean his wife and children,” said Mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phyllis; “it's the same thing, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “And we thought we'd make a nice birthday for him. He's been so awfully + jolly decent to us, you know, Mother,” said Peter, “and we agreed that + next bun-day we'd ask you if we could.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose there hadn't been a bun-day before the fifteenth?” said + Mother. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then, we meant to ask you to let us anti—antipate it, and go + without when the bun-day came.” + </p> + <p> + “Anticipate,” said Mother. “I see. Certainly. It would be nice to put his + name on the buns with pink sugar, wouldn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Perks,” said Peter, “it's not a pretty name.” + </p> + <p> + “His other name's Albert,” said Phyllis; “I asked him once.” + </p> + <p> + “We might put A. P.,” said Mother; “I'll show you how when the day comes.” + </p> + <p> + This was all very well as far as it went. But even fourteen halfpenny buns + with A. P. on them in pink sugar do not of themselves make a very grand + celebration. + </p> + <p> + “There are always flowers, of course,” said Bobbie, later, when a really + earnest council was being held on the subject in the hay-loft where the + broken chaff-cutting machine was, and the row of holes to drop hay through + into the hay-racks over the mangers of the stables below. + </p> + <p> + “He's got lots of flowers of his own,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “But it's always nice to have them given you,” said Bobbie, “however many + you've got of your own. We can use flowers for trimmings to the birthday. + But there must be something to trim besides buns.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's all be quiet and think,” said Phyllis; “no one's to speak until + it's thought of something.” + </p> + <p> + So they were all quiet and so very still that a brown rat thought that + there was no one in the loft and came out very boldly. When Bobbie + sneezed, the rat was quite shocked and hurried away, for he saw that a + hay-loft where such things could happen was no place for a respectable + middle-aged rat that liked a quiet life. + </p> + <p> + “Hooray!” cried Peter, suddenly, “I've got it.” He jumped up and kicked at + the loose hay. + </p> + <p> + “What?” said the others, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Perks is so nice to everybody. There must be lots of people in the + village who'd like to help to make him a birthday. Let's go round and ask + everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother said we weren't to ask people for things,” said Bobbie, + doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “For ourselves, she meant, silly, not for other people. I'll ask the old + gentleman too. You see if I don't,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Let's ask Mother first,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what's the use of bothering Mother about every little thing?” said + Peter, “especially when she's busy. Come on. Let's go down to the village + now and begin.” + </p> + <p> + So they went. The old lady at the Post-office said she didn't see why + Perks should have a birthday any more than anyone else. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bobbie, “I should like everyone to have one. Only we know when + his is.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine's to-morrow,” said the old lady, “and much notice anyone will take + of it. Go along with you.” + </p> + <p> + So they went. + </p> + <p> + And some people were kind, and some were crusty. And some would give and + some would not. It is rather difficult work asking for things, even for + other people, as you have no doubt found if you have ever tried it. + </p> + <p> + When the children got home and counted up what had been given and what had + been promised, they felt that for the first day it was not so bad. Peter + wrote down the lists of the things in the little pocket-book where he kept + the numbers of his engines. These were the lists:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + GIVEN. + A tobacco pipe from the sweet shop. + Half a pound of tea from the grocer's. + A woollen scarf slightly faded from the draper's, which was the + other side of the grocer's. + A stuffed squirrel from the Doctor. + + PROMISED. + A piece of meat from the butcher. + Six fresh eggs from the woman who lived in the old turnpike cottage. + A piece of honeycomb and six bootlaces from the cobbler, and an + iron shovel from the blacksmith's. +</pre> + <p> + Very early next morning Bobbie got up and woke Phyllis. This had been + agreed on between them. They had not told Peter because they thought he + would think it silly. But they told him afterwards, when it had turned out + all right. + </p> + <p> + They cut a big bunch of roses, and put it in a basket with the needle-book + that Phyllis had made for Bobbie on her birthday, and a very pretty blue + necktie of Phyllis's. Then they wrote on a paper: 'For Mrs. Ransome, with + our best love, because it is her birthday,' and they put the paper in the + basket, and they took it to the Post-office, and went in and put it on the + counter and ran away before the old woman at the Post-office had time to + get into her shop. + </p> + <p> + When they got home Peter had grown confidential over helping Mother to get + the breakfast and had told her their plans. + </p> + <p> + “There's no harm in it,” said Mother, “but it depends HOW you do it. I + only hope he won't be offended and think it's CHARITY. Poor people are + very proud, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't because he's poor,” said Phyllis; “it's because we're fond of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll find some things that Phyllis has outgrown,” said Mother, “if you're + quite sure you can give them to him without his being offended. I should + like to do some little thing for him because he's been so kind to you. I + can't do much because we're poor ourselves. What are you writing, Bobbie?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing particular,” said Bobbie, who had suddenly begun to scribble. + “I'm sure he'd like the things, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + The morning of the fifteenth was spent very happily in getting the buns + and watching Mother make A. P. on them with pink sugar. You know how it's + done, of course? You beat up whites of eggs and mix powdered sugar with + them, and put in a few drops of cochineal. And then you make a cone of + clean, white paper with a little hole at the pointed end, and put the pink + egg-sugar in at the big end. It runs slowly out at the pointed end, and + you write the letters with it just as though it were a great fat pen full + of pink sugar-ink. + </p> + <p> + The buns looked beautiful with A. P. on every one, and, when they were put + in a cool oven to set the sugar, the children went up to the village to + collect the honey and the shovel and the other promised things. + </p> + <p> + The old lady at the Post-office was standing on her doorstep. The children + said “Good morning,” politely, as they passed. + </p> + <p> + “Here, stop a bit,” she said. + </p> + <p> + So they stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Those roses,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Did you like them?” said Phyllis; “they were as fresh as fresh. <i>I</i> + made the needle-book, but it was Bobbie's present.” She skipped joyously + as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Here's your basket,” said the Post-office woman. She went in and brought + out the basket. It was full of fat, red gooseberries. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say Perks's children would like them,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “You ARE an old dear,” said Phyllis, throwing her arms around the old + lady's fat waist. “Perks WILL be pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't be half so pleased as I was with your needle-book and the tie + and the pretty flowers and all,” said the old lady, patting Phyllis's + shoulder. “You're good little souls, that you are. Look here. I've got a + pram round the back in the wood-lodge. It was got for my Emmie's first, + that didn't live but six months, and she never had but that one. I'd like + Mrs. Perks to have it. It 'ud be a help to her with that great boy of + hers. Will you take it along?” + </p> + <p> + “OH!” said all the children together. + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Ransome had got out the perambulator and taken off the careful + papers that covered it, and dusted it all over, she said:— + </p> + <p> + “Well, there it is. I don't know but what I'd have given it to her before + if I'd thought of it. Only I didn't quite know if she'd accept of it from + me. You tell her it was my Emmie's little one's pram—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ISN'T it nice to think there is going to be a real live baby in it + again!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Ransome, sighing, and then laughing; “here, I'll give you + some peppermint cushions for the little ones, and then you run along + before I give you the roof off my head and the clothes off my back.” + </p> + <p> + All the things that had been collected for Perks were packed into the + perambulator, and at half-past three Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis wheeled + it down to the little yellow house where Perks lived. + </p> + <p> + The house was very tidy. On the window ledge was a jug of wild-flowers, + big daisies, and red sorrel, and feathery, flowery grasses. + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of splashing from the wash-house, and a partly washed + boy put his head round the door. + </p> + <p> + “Mother's a-changing of herself,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Down in a minute,” a voice sounded down the narrow, freshly scrubbed + stairs. + </p> + <p> + The children waited. Next moment the stairs creaked and Mrs. Perks came + down, buttoning her bodice. Her hair was brushed very smooth and tight, + and her face shone with soap and water. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a bit late changing, Miss,” she said to Bobbie, “owing to me having + had a extry clean-up to-day, along o' Perks happening to name its being + his birthday. I don't know what put it into his head to think of such a + thing. We keeps the children's birthdays, of course; but him and me—we're + too old for such like, as a general rule.” + </p> + <p> + “We knew it was his birthday,” said Peter, “and we've got some presents + for him outside in the perambulator.” + </p> + <p> + As the presents were being unpacked, Mrs. Perks gasped. When they were all + unpacked, she surprised and horrified the children by sitting suddenly + down on a wooden chair and bursting into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't!” said everybody; “oh, please don't!” And Peter added, perhaps + a little impatiently: “What on earth is the matter? You don't mean to say + you don't like it?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Perks only sobbed. The Perks children, now as shiny-faced as anyone + could wish, stood at the wash-house door, and scowled at the intruders. + There was a silence, an awkward silence. + </p> + <p> + “DON'T you like it?” said Peter, again, while his sisters patted Mrs. + Perks on the back. + </p> + <p> + She stopped crying as suddenly as she had begun. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, don't you mind me. I'M all right!” she said. “Like it? Why, + it's a birthday such as Perks never 'ad, not even when 'e was a boy and + stayed with his uncle, who was a corn chandler in his own account. He + failed afterwards. Like it? Oh—” and then she went on and said all + sorts of things that I won't write down, because I am sure that Peter and + Bobbie and Phyllis would not like me to. Their ears got hotter and hotter, + and their faces redder and redder, at the kind things Mrs. Perks said. + They felt they had done nothing to deserve all this praise. + </p> + <p> + At last Peter said: “Look here, we're glad you're pleased. But if you go + on saying things like that, we must go home. And we did want to stay and + see if Mr. Perks is pleased, too. But we can't stand this.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't say another single word,” said Mrs. Perks, with a beaming face, + “but that needn't stop me thinking, need it? For if ever—” + </p> + <p> + “Can we have a plate for the buns?” Bobbie asked abruptly. And then Mrs. + Perks hastily laid the table for tea, and the buns and the honey and the + gooseberries were displayed on plates, and the roses were put in two glass + jam jars, and the tea-table looked, as Mrs. Perks said, “fit for a + Prince.” + </p> + <p> + “To think!” she said, “me getting the place tidy early, and the little + 'uns getting the wild-flowers and all—when never did I think there'd + be anything more for him except the ounce of his pet particular that I got + o' Saturday and been saving up for 'im ever since. Bless us! 'e IS early!” + </p> + <p> + Perks had indeed unlatched the latch of the little front gate. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” whispered Bobbie, “let's hide in the back kitchen, and YOU tell him + about it. But give him the tobacco first, because you got it for him. And + when you've told him, we'll all come in and shout, 'Many happy returns!'” + </p> + <p> + It was a very nice plan, but it did not quite come off. To begin with, + there was only just time for Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis to rush into the + wash-house, pushing the young and open-mouthed Perks children in front of + them. There was not time to shut the door, so that, without at all meaning + it, they had to listen to what went on in the kitchen. The wash-house was + a tight fit for the Perks children and the Three Chimneys children, as + well as all the wash-house's proper furniture, including the mangle and + the copper. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, old woman!” they heard Mr. Perks's voice say; “here's a pretty + set-out!” + </p> + <p> + “It's your birthday tea, Bert,” said Mrs. Perks, “and here's a ounce of + your extry particular. I got it o' Saturday along o' your happening to + remember it was your birthday to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Good old girl!” said Mr. Perks, and there was a sound of a kiss. + </p> + <p> + “But what's that pram doing here? And what's all these bundles? And where + did you get the sweetstuff, and—” + </p> + <p> + The children did not hear what Mrs. Perks replied, because just then + Bobbie gave a start, put her hand in her pocket, and all her body grew + stiff with horror. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she whispered to the others, “whatever shall we do? I forgot to put + the labels on any of the things! He won't know what's from who. He'll + think it's all US, and that we're trying to be grand or charitable or + something horrid.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + And then they heard the voice of Mr. Perks, loud and rather angry. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” he said; “I won't stand it, and so I tell you straight.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Mrs. Perks, “it's them children you make such a fuss about—the + children from the Three Chimneys.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” said Perks, firmly, “not if it was a angel from Heaven. + We've got on all right all these years and no favours asked. I'm not going + to begin these sort of charity goings-on at my time of life, so don't you + think it, Nell.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hush!” said poor Mrs Perks; “Bert, shut your silly tongue, for + goodness' sake. The all three of 'ems in the wash-house a-listening to + every word you speaks.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll give them something to listen to,” said the angry Perks; “I've + spoke my mind to them afore now, and I'll do it again,” he added, and he + took two strides to the wash-house door, and flung it wide open—as + wide, that is, as it would go, with the tightly packed children behind it. + </p> + <p> + “Come out,” said Perks, “come out and tell me what you mean by it. 'Ave I + ever complained to you of being short, as you comes this charity lay over + me?” + </p> + <p> + “OH!” said Phyllis, “I thought you'd be so pleased; I'll never try to be + kind to anyone else as long as I live. No, I won't, not never.” + </p> + <p> + She burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “We didn't mean any harm,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't what you means so much as what you does,” said Perks. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DON'T!” cried Bobbie, trying hard to be braver than Phyllis, and to + find more words than Peter had done for explaining in. “We thought you'd + love it. We always have things on our birthdays.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Perks, “your own relations; that's different.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” Bobbie answered. “NOT our own relations. All the servants always + gave us things at home, and us to them when it was their birthdays. And + when it was mine, and Mother gave me the brooch like a buttercup, Mrs. + Viney gave me two lovely glass pots, and nobody thought she was coming the + charity lay over us.” + </p> + <p> + “If it had been glass pots here,” said Perks, “I wouldn't ha' said so + much. It's there being all this heaps and heaps of things I can't stand. + No—nor won't, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “But they're not all from us—” said Peter, “only we forgot to put + the labels on. They're from all sorts of people in the village.” + </p> + <p> + “Who put 'em up to it, I'd like to know?” asked Perks. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we did,” sniffed Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + Perks sat down heavily in the elbow-chair and looked at them with what + Bobbie afterwards described as withering glances of gloomy despair. + </p> + <p> + “So you've been round telling the neighbours we can't make both ends meet? + Well, now you've disgraced us as deep as you can in the neighbourhood, you + can just take the whole bag of tricks back w'ere it come from. Very much + obliged, I'm sure. I don't doubt but what you meant it kind, but I'd + rather not be acquainted with you any longer if it's all the same to you.” + He deliberately turned the chair round so that his back was turned to the + children. The legs of the chair grated on the brick floor, and that was + the only sound that broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly Bobbie spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” she said, “this is most awful.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I says,” said Perks, not turning round. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Bobbie, desperately, “we'll go if you like—and you + needn't be friends with us any more if you don't want, but—” + </p> + <p> + “WE shall always be friends with YOU, however nasty you are to us,” + sniffed Phyllis, wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet,” said Peter, in a fierce aside. + </p> + <p> + “But before we go,” Bobbie went on desperately, “do let us show you the + labels we wrote to put on the things.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to see no labels,” said Perks, “except proper luggage ones + in my own walk of life. Do you think I've kept respectable and outer debt + on what I gets, and her having to take in washing, to be give away for a + laughing-stock to all the neighbours?” + </p> + <p> + “Laughing?” said Peter; “you don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a very hasty gentleman,” whined Phyllis; “you know you were wrong + once before, about us not telling you the secret about the Russian. Do let + Bobbie tell you about the labels!” + </p> + <p> + “Well. Go ahead!” said Perks, grudgingly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Bobbie, fumbling miserably, yet not without hope, in + her tightly stuffed pocket, “we wrote down all the things everybody said + when they gave us the things, with the people's names, because Mother said + we ought to be careful—because—but I wrote down what she said—and + you'll see.” + </p> + <p> + But Bobbie could not read the labels just at once. She had to swallow once + or twice before she could begin. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Perks had been crying steadily ever since her husband had opened the + wash-house door. Now she caught her breath, choked, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Don't you upset yourself, Missy. <i>I</i> know you meant it kind if he + doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + “May I read the labels?” said Bobbie, crying on to the slips as she tried + to sort them. “Mother's first. It says:— + </p> + <p> + “'Little Clothes for Mrs. Perks's children.' Mother said, 'I'll find some + of Phyllis's things that she's grown out of if you're quite sure Mr. Perks + wouldn't be offended and think it's meant for charity. I'd like to do some + little thing for him, because he's so kind to you. I can't do much because + we're poor ourselves.'” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie paused. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said Perks, “your Ma's a born lady. We'll keep the + little frocks, and what not, Nell.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there's the perambulator and the gooseberries, and the sweets,” said + Bobbie, “they're from Mrs. Ransome. She said: 'I dare say Mr. Perks's + children would like the sweets. And the perambulator was got for my + Emmie's first—it didn't live but six months, and she's never had but + that one. I'd like Mrs. Perks to have it. It would be a help with her fine + boy. I'd have given it before if I'd been sure she'd accept of it from + me.' She told me to tell you,” Bobbie added, “that it was her Emmie's + little one's pram.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't send that pram back, Bert,” said Mrs Perks, firmly, “and I won't. + So don't you ask me—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a-asking anything,” said Perks, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “Then the shovel,” said Bobbie. “Mr. James made it for you himself. And he + said—where is it? Oh, yes, here! He said, 'You tell Mr. Perks it's a + pleasure to make a little trifle for a man as is so much respected,' and + then he said he wished he could shoe your children and his own children, + like they do the horses, because, well, he knew what shoe leather was.” + </p> + <p> + “James is a good enough chap,” said Perks. + </p> + <p> + “Then the honey,” said Bobbie, in haste, “and the boot-laces. HE said he + respected a man that paid his way—and the butcher said the same. And + the old turnpike woman said many was the time you'd lent her a hand with + her garden when you were a lad—and things like that came home to + roost—I don't know what she meant. And everybody who gave anything + said they liked you, and it was a very good idea of ours; and nobody said + anything about charity or anything horrid like that. And the old gentleman + gave Peter a gold pound for you, and said you were a man who knew your + work. And I thought you'd LOVE to know how fond people are of you, and I + never was so unhappy in my life. Good-bye. I hope you'll forgive us some + day—” + </p> + <p> + She could say no more, and she turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” said Perks, still with his back to them; “I take back every word + I've said contrary to what you'd wish. Nell, set on the kettle.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll take the things away if you're unhappy about them,” said Peter; + “but I think everybody'll be most awfully disappointed, as well as us.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not unhappy about them,” said Perks; “I don't know,” he added, + suddenly wheeling the chair round and showing a very odd-looking + screwed-up face, “I don't know as ever I was better pleased. Not so much + with the presents—though they're an A1 collection—but the kind + respect of our neighbours. That's worth having, eh, Nell?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it's all worth having,” said Mrs. Perks, “and you've made a most + ridiculous fuss about nothing, Bert, if you ask me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I ain't,” said Perks, firmly; “if a man didn't respect hisself, no + one wouldn't do it for him.” + </p> + <p> + “But everyone respects you,” said Bobbie; “they all said so.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you'd like it when you really understood,” said Phyllis, brightly. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! You'll stay to tea?” said Mr. Perks. + </p> + <p> + Later on Peter proposed Mr. Perks's health. And Mr. Perks proposed a + toast, also honoured in tea, and the toast was, “May the garland of + friendship be ever green,” which was much more poetical than anyone had + expected from him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + “Jolly good little kids, those,” said Mr. Perks to his wife as they went + to bed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they're all right, bless their hearts,” said his wife; “it's you + that's the aggravatingest old thing that ever was. I was ashamed of you—I + tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't need to be, old gal. I climbed down handsome soon as I + understood it wasn't charity. But charity's what I never did abide, and + won't neither.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + All sorts of people were made happy by that birthday party. Mr. Perks and + Mrs. Perks and the little Perkses by all the nice things and by the kind + thoughts of their neighbours; the Three Chimneys children by the success, + undoubted though unexpectedly delayed, of their plan; and Mrs. Ransome + every time she saw the fat Perks baby in the perambulator. Mrs. Perks made + quite a round of visits to thank people for their kind birthday presents, + and after each visit felt that she had a better friend than she had + thought. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Perks, reflectively, “it's not so much what you does as what + you means; that's what I say. Now if it had been charity—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, drat charity,” said Mrs. Perks; “nobody won't offer you charity, + Bert, however much you was to want it, I lay. That was just friendliness, + that was.” + </p> + <p> + When the clergyman called on Mrs. Perks, she told him all about it. “It + WAS friendliness, wasn't it, Sir?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the clergyman, “it was what is sometimes called + loving-kindness.” + </p> + <p> + So you see it was all right in the end. But if one does that sort of + thing, one has to be careful to do it in the right way. For, as Mr. Perks + said, when he had time to think it over, it's not so much what you do, as + what you mean. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter X. The terrible secret. + </h2> + <p> + When they first went to live at Three Chimneys, the children had talked a + great deal about their Father, and had asked a great many questions about + him, and what he was doing and where he was and when he would come home. + Mother always answered their questions as well as she could. But as the + time went on they grew to speak less of him. Bobbie had felt almost from + the first that for some strange miserable reason these questions hurt + Mother and made her sad. And little by little the others came to have this + feeling, too, though they could not have put it into words. + </p> + <p> + One day, when Mother was working so hard that she could not leave off even + for ten minutes, Bobbie carried up her tea to the big bare room that they + called Mother's workshop. It had hardly any furniture. Just a table and a + chair and a rug. But always big pots of flowers on the window-sills and on + the mantelpiece. The children saw to that. And from the three long + uncurtained windows the beautiful stretch of meadow and moorland, the far + violet of the hills, and the unchanging changefulness of cloud and sky. + </p> + <p> + “Here's your tea, Mother-love,” said Bobbie; “do drink it while it's hot.” + </p> + <p> + Mother laid down her pen among the pages that were scattered all over the + table, pages covered with her writing, which was almost as plain as print, + and much prettier. She ran her hands into her hair, as if she were going + to pull it out by handfuls. + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear head,” said Bobbie, “does it ache?” + </p> + <p> + “No—yes—not much,” said Mother. “Bobbie, do you think Peter + and Phil are FORGETTING Father?” + </p> + <p> + “NO,” said Bobbie, indignantly. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “You none of you ever speak of him now.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie stood first on one leg and then on the other. + </p> + <p> + “We often talk about him when we're by ourselves,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But not to me,” said Mother. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie did not find it easy to say why. + </p> + <p> + “I—you—” she said and stopped. She went over to the window and + looked out. + </p> + <p> + “Bobbie, come here,” said her Mother, and Bobbie came. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Mother, putting her arm round Bobbie and laying her ruffled + head against Bobbie's shoulder, “try to tell me, dear.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie fidgeted. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Bobbie, “I thought you were so unhappy about Daddy not + being here, it made you worse when I talked about him. So I stopped doing + it.” + </p> + <p> + “And the others?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know about the others,” said Bobbie. “I never said anything about + THAT to them. But I expect they felt the same about it as me.” + </p> + <p> + “Bobbie dear,” said Mother, still leaning her head against her, “I'll tell + you. Besides parting from Father, he and I have had a great sorrow—oh, + terrible—worse than anything you can think of, and at first it did + hurt to hear you all talking of him as if everything were just the same. + But it would be much more terrible if you were to forget him. That would + be worse than anything.” + </p> + <p> + “The trouble,” said Bobbie, in a very little voice—“I promised I + would never ask you any questions, and I never have, have I? But—the + trouble—it won't last always?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mother, “the worst will be over when Father comes home to us.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could comfort you,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, do you suppose you don't? Do you think I haven't noticed how + good you've all been, not quarrelling nearly as much as you used to—and + all the little kind things you do for me—the flowers, and cleaning + my shoes, and tearing up to make my bed before I get time to do it + myself?” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie HAD sometimes wondered whether Mother noticed these things. + </p> + <p> + “That's nothing,” she said, “to what—” + </p> + <p> + “I MUST get on with my work,” said Mother, giving Bobbie one last squeeze. + “Don't say anything to the others.” + </p> + <p> + That evening in the hour before bed-time instead of reading to the + children Mother told them stories of the games she and Father used to have + when they were children and lived near each other in the country—tales + of the adventures of Father with Mother's brothers when they were all boys + together. Very funny stories they were, and the children laughed as they + listened. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Edward died before he was grown up, didn't he?” said Phyllis, as + Mother lighted the bedroom candles. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” said Mother, “you would have loved him. He was such a brave + boy, and so adventurous. Always in mischief, and yet friends with + everybody in spite of it. And your Uncle Reggie's in Ceylon—yes, and + Father's away, too. But I think they'd all like to think we'd enjoyed + talking about the things they used to do. Don't you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Not Uncle Edward,” said Phyllis, in a shocked tone; “he's in Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't suppose he's forgotten us and all the old times, because God + has taken him, any more than I forget him. Oh, no, he remembers. He's only + away for a little time. We shall see him some day.” + </p> + <p> + “And Uncle Reggie—and Father, too?” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mother. “Uncle Reggie and Father, too. Good night, my + darlings.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” said everyone. Bobbie hugged her mother more closely even + than usual, and whispered in her ear, “Oh, I do love you so, Mummy—I + do—I do—” + </p> + <p> + When Bobbie came to think it all over, she tried not to wonder what the + great trouble was. But she could not always help it. Father was not dead—like + poor Uncle Edward—Mother had said so. And he was not ill, or Mother + would have been with him. Being poor wasn't the trouble. Bobbie knew it + was something nearer the heart than money could be. + </p> + <p> + “I mustn't try to think what it is,” she told herself; “no, I mustn't. I + AM glad Mother noticed about us not quarrelling so much. We'll keep that + up.” + </p> + <p> + And alas, that very afternoon she and Peter had what Peter called a + first-class shindy. + </p> + <p> + They had not been a week at Three Chimneys before they had asked Mother to + let them have a piece of garden each for their very own, and she had + agreed, and the south border under the peach trees had been divided into + three pieces and they were allowed to plant whatever they liked there. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis had planted mignonette and nasturtium and Virginia Stock in hers. + The seeds came up, and though they looked just like weeds, Phyllis + believed that they would bear flowers some day. The Virginia Stock + justified her faith quite soon, and her garden was gay with a band of + bright little flowers, pink and white and red and mauve. + </p> + <p> + “I can't weed for fear I pull up the wrong things,” she used to say + comfortably; “it saves such a lot of work.” + </p> + <p> + Peter sowed vegetable seeds in his—carrots and onions and turnips. + The seed was given to him by the farmer who lived in the nice + black-and-white, wood-and-plaster house just beyond the bridge. He kept + turkeys and guinea fowls, and was a most amiable man. But Peter's + vegetables never had much of a chance, because he liked to use the earth + of his garden for digging canals, and making forts and earthworks for his + toy soldiers. And the seeds of vegetables rarely come to much in a soil + that is constantly disturbed for the purposes of war and irrigation. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie planted rose-bushes in her garden, but all the little new leaves of + the rose-bushes shrivelled and withered, perhaps because she moved them + from the other part of the garden in May, which is not at all the right + time of year for moving roses. But she would not own that they were dead, + and hoped on against hope, until the day when Perks came up to see the + garden, and told her quite plainly that all her roses were as dead as + doornails. + </p> + <p> + “Only good for bonfires, Miss,” he said. “You just dig 'em up and burn + 'em, and I'll give you some nice fresh roots outer my garden; pansies, and + stocks, and sweet willies, and forget-me-nots. I'll bring 'em along + to-morrow if you get the ground ready.” + </p> + <p> + So next day she set to work, and that happened to be the day when Mother + had praised her and the others about not quarrelling. She moved the + rose-bushes and carried them to the other end of the garden, where the + rubbish heap was that they meant to make a bonfire of when Guy Fawkes' Day + came. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Peter had decided to flatten out all his forts and earthworks, + with a view to making a model of the railway-tunnel, cutting, embankment, + canal, aqueduct, bridges, and all. + </p> + <p> + So when Bobbie came back from her last thorny journey with the dead + rose-bushes, he had got the rake and was using it busily. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> was using the rake,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm using it now,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “But I had it first,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Then it's my turn now,” said Peter. And that was how the quarrel began. + </p> + <p> + “You're always being disagreeable about nothing,” said Peter, after some + heated argument. + </p> + <p> + “I had the rake first,” said Bobbie, flushed and defiant, holding on to + its handle. + </p> + <p> + “Don't—I tell you I said this morning I meant to have it. Didn't I, + Phil?” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis said she didn't want to be mixed up in their rows. And instantly, + of course, she was. + </p> + <p> + “If you remember, you ought to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course she doesn't remember—but she might say so.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I'd had a brother instead of two whiny little kiddy sisters,” said + Peter. This was always recognised as indicating the high-water mark of + Peter's rage. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie made the reply she always made to it. + </p> + <p> + “I can't think why little boys were ever invented,” and just as she said + it she looked up, and saw the three long windows of Mother's workshop + flashing in the red rays of the sun. The sight brought back those words of + praise:— + </p> + <p> + “You don't quarrel like you used to do.” + </p> + <p> + “OH!” cried Bobbie, just as if she had been hit, or had caught her finger + in a door, or had felt the hideous sharp beginnings of toothache. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie wanted to say: “Don't let's quarrel. Mother hates it so,” but + though she tried hard, she couldn't. Peter was looking too disagreeable + and insulting. + </p> + <p> + “Take the horrid rake, then,” was the best she could manage. And she + suddenly let go her hold on the handle. Peter had been holding on to it + too firmly and pullingly, and now that the pull the other way was suddenly + stopped, he staggered and fell over backward, the teeth of the rake + between his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Serve you right,” said Bobbie, before she could stop herself. + </p> + <p> + Peter lay still for half a moment—long enough to frighten Bobbie a + little. Then he frightened her a little more, for he sat up—screamed + once—turned rather pale, and then lay back and began to shriek, + faintly but steadily. It sounded exactly like a pig being killed a quarter + of a mile off. + </p> + <p> + Mother put her head out of the window, and it wasn't half a minute after + that she was in the garden kneeling by the side of Peter, who never for an + instant ceased to squeal. + </p> + <p> + “What happened, Bobbie?” Mother asked. + </p> + <p> + “It was the rake,” said Phyllis. “Peter was pulling at it, so was Bobbie, + and she let go and he went over.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that noise, Peter,” said Mother. “Come. Stop at once.” + </p> + <p> + Peter used up what breath he had left in a last squeal and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Mother, “are you hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “If he was really hurt, he wouldn't make such a fuss,” said Bobbie, still + trembling with fury; “he's not a coward!” + </p> + <p> + “I think my foot's broken off, that's all,” said Peter, huffily, and sat + up. Then he turned quite white. Mother put her arm round him. + </p> + <p> + “He IS hurt,” she said; “he's fainted. Here, Bobbie, sit down and take his + head on your lap.” + </p> + <p> + Then Mother undid Peter's boots. As she took the right one off, something + dripped from his foot on to the ground. It was red blood. And when the + stocking came off there were three red wounds in Peter's foot and ankle, + where the teeth of the rake had bitten him, and his foot was covered with + red smears. + </p> + <p> + “Run for water—a basinful,” said Mother, and Phyllis ran. She upset + most of the water out of the basin in her haste, and had to fetch more in + a jug. + </p> + <p> + Peter did not open his eyes again till Mother had tied her handkerchief + round his foot, and she and Bobbie had carried him in and laid him on the + brown wooden settle in the dining-room. By this time Phyllis was halfway + to the Doctor's. + </p> + <p> + Mother sat by Peter and bathed his foot and talked to him, and Bobbie went + out and got tea ready, and put on the kettle. + </p> + <p> + “It's all I can do,” she told herself. “Oh, suppose Peter should die, or + be a helpless cripple for life, or have to walk with crutches, or wear a + boot with a sole like a log of wood!” + </p> + <p> + She stood by the back door reflecting on these gloomy possibilities, her + eyes fixed on the water-butt. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I'd never been born,” she said, and she said it out loud. + </p> + <p> + “Why, lawk a mercy, what's that for?” asked a voice, and Perks stood + before her with a wooden trug basket full of green-leaved things and soft, + loose earth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's you,” she said. “Peter's hurt his foot with a rake—three + great gaping wounds, like soldiers get. And it was partly my fault.” + </p> + <p> + “That it wasn't, I'll go bail,” said Perks. “Doctor seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “Phyllis has gone for the Doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be all right; you see if he isn't,” said Perks. “Why, my father's + second cousin had a hay-fork run into him, right into his inside, and he + was right as ever in a few weeks, all except his being a bit weak in the + head afterwards, and they did say that it was along of his getting a touch + of the sun in the hay-field, and not the fork at all. I remember him well. + A kind-'earted chap, but soft, as you might say.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie tried to let herself be cheered by this heartening reminiscence. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Perks, “you won't want to be bothered with gardening just + this minute, I dare say. You show me where your garden is, and I'll pop + the bits of stuff in for you. And I'll hang about, if I may make so free, + to see the Doctor as he comes out and hear what he says. You cheer up, + Missie. I lay a pound he ain't hurt, not to speak of.” + </p> + <p> + But he was. The Doctor came and looked at the foot and bandaged it + beautifully, and said that Peter must not put it to the ground for at + least a week. + </p> + <p> + “He won't be lame, or have to wear crutches or a lump on his foot, will + he?” whispered Bobbie, breathlessly, at the door. + </p> + <p> + “My aunt! No!” said Dr. Forrest; “he'll be as nimble as ever on his pins + in a fortnight. Don't you worry, little Mother Goose.” + </p> + <p> + It was when Mother had gone to the gate with the Doctor to take his last + instructions and Phyllis was filling the kettle for tea, that Peter and + Bobbie found themselves alone. + </p> + <p> + “He says you won't be lame or anything,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, course I shan't, silly,” said Peter, very much relieved all the same. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter, I AM so sorry,” said Bobbie, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said Peter, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “It was ALL my fault,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Rot,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “If we hadn't quarrelled, it wouldn't have happened. I knew it was wrong + to quarrel. I wanted to say so, but somehow I couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't drivel,” said Peter. “I shouldn't have stopped if you HAD said it. + Not likely. And besides, us rowing hadn't anything to do with it. I might + have caught my foot in the hoe, or taken off my fingers in the + chaff-cutting machine or blown my nose off with fireworks. It would have + been hurt just the same whether we'd been rowing or not.” + </p> + <p> + “But I knew it was wrong to quarrel,” said Bobbie, in tears, “and now + you're hurt and—” + </p> + <p> + “Now look here,” said Peter, firmly, “you just dry up. If you're not + careful, you'll turn into a beastly little Sunday-school prig, so I tell + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean to be a prig. But it's so hard not to be when you're really + trying to be good.” + </p> + <p> + (The Gentle Reader may perhaps have suffered from this difficulty.) + </p> + <p> + “Not it,” said Peter; “it's a jolly good thing it wasn't you was hurt. I'm + glad it was ME. There! If it had been you, you'd have been lying on the + sofa looking like a suffering angel and being the light of the anxious + household and all that. And I couldn't have stood it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I shouldn't,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you would,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I shouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you you would.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, children,” said Mother's voice at the door. “Quarrelling again? + Already?” + </p> + <p> + “We aren't quarrelling—not really,” said Peter. “I wish you wouldn't + think it's rows every time we don't agree!” When Mother had gone out + again, Bobbie broke out:— + </p> + <p> + “Peter, I AM sorry you're hurt. But you ARE a beast to say I'm a prig.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Peter unexpectedly, “perhaps I am. You did say I wasn't a + coward, even when you were in such a wax. The only thing is—don't + you be a prig, that's all. You keep your eyes open and if you feel + priggishness coming on just stop in time. See?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bobbie, “I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let's call it Pax,” said Peter, magnanimously: “bury the hatchet in + the fathoms of the past. Shake hands on it. I say, Bobbie, old chap, I am + tired.” + </p> + <p> + He was tired for many days after that, and the settle seemed hard and + uncomfortable in spite of all the pillows and bolsters and soft folded + rugs. It was terrible not to be able to go out. They moved the settle to + the window, and from there Peter could see the smoke of the trains winding + along the valley. But he could not see the trains. + </p> + <p> + At first Bobbie found it quite hard to be as nice to him as she wanted to + be, for fear he should think her priggish. But that soon wore off, and + both she and Phyllis were, as he observed, jolly good sorts. Mother sat + with him when his sisters were out. And the words, “he's not a coward,” + made Peter determined not to make any fuss about the pain in his foot, + though it was rather bad, especially at night. + </p> + <p> + Praise helps people very much, sometimes. + </p> + <p> + There were visitors, too. Mrs. Perks came up to ask how he was, and so did + the Station Master, and several of the village people. But the time went + slowly, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish there was something to read,” said Peter. “I've read all our + books fifty times over.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go to the Doctor's,” said Phyllis; “he's sure to have some.” + </p> + <p> + “Only about how to be ill, and about people's nasty insides, I expect,” + said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Perks has a whole heap of Magazines that came out of trains when people + are tired of them,” said Bobbie. “I'll run down and ask him.” + </p> + <p> + So the girls went their two ways. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie found Perks busy cleaning lamps. + </p> + <p> + “And how's the young gent?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Better, thanks,” said Bobbie, “but he's most frightfully bored. I came to + ask if you'd got any Magazines you could lend him.” + </p> + <p> + “There, now,” said Perks, regretfully, rubbing his ear with a black and + oily lump of cotton waste, “why didn't I think of that, now? I was trying + to think of something as 'ud amuse him only this morning, and I couldn't + think of anything better than a guinea-pig. And a young chap I know's + going to fetch that over for him this tea-time.” + </p> + <p> + “How lovely! A real live guinea! He will be pleased. But he'd like the + Magazines as well.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it,” said Perks. “I've just sent the pick of 'em to Snigson's + boy—him what's just getting over the pewmonia. But I've lots of + illustrated papers left.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the pile of papers in the corner and took up a heap six + inches thick. + </p> + <p> + “There!” he said. “I'll just slip a bit of string and a bit of paper round + 'em.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled an old newspaper from the pile and spread it on the table, and + made a neat parcel of it. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said he, “there's lots of pictures, and if he likes to mess 'em + about with his paint-box, or coloured chalks or what not, why, let him. <i>I</i> + don't want 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a dear,” said Bobbie, took the parcel, and started. The papers + were heavy, and when she had to wait at the level-crossing while a train + went by, she rested the parcel on the top of the gate. And idly she looked + at the printing on the paper that the parcel was wrapped in. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she clutched the parcel tighter and bent her head over it. It + seemed like some horrible dream. She read on—the bottom of the + column was torn off—she could read no farther. + </p> + <p> + She never remembered how she got home. But she went on tiptoe to her room + and locked the door. Then she undid the parcel and read that printed + column again, sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands and feet icy cold + and her face burning. When she had read all there was, she drew a long, + uneven breath. + </p> + <p> + “So now I know,” she said. + </p> + <p> + What she had read was headed, 'End of the Trial. Verdict. Sentence.' + </p> + <p> + The name of the man who had been tried was the name of her Father. The + verdict was 'Guilty.' And the sentence was 'Five years' Penal Servitude.' + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Daddy,” she whispered, crushing the paper hard, “it's not true—I + don't believe it. You never did it! Never, never, never!” + </p> + <p> + There was a hammering on the door. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “It's me,” said the voice of Phyllis; “tea's ready, and a boy's brought + Peter a guinea-pig. Come along down.” + </p> + <p> + And Bobbie had to. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XI. The hound in the red jersey. + </h2> + <p> + Bobbie knew the secret now. A sheet of old newspaper wrapped round a + parcel—just a little chance like that—had given the secret to + her. And she had to go down to tea and pretend that there was nothing the + matter. The pretence was bravely made, but it wasn't very successful. + </p> + <p> + For when she came in, everyone looked up from tea and saw her pink-lidded + eyes and her pale face with red tear-blotches on it. + </p> + <p> + “My darling,” cried Mother, jumping up from the tea-tray, “whatever IS the + matter?” + </p> + <p> + “My head aches, rather,” said Bobbie. And indeed it did. + </p> + <p> + “Has anything gone wrong?” Mother asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm all right, really,” said Bobbie, and she telegraphed to her Mother + from her swollen eyes this brief, imploring message—“NOT before the + others!” + </p> + <p> + Tea was not a cheerful meal. Peter was so distressed by the obvious fact + that something horrid had happened to Bobbie that he limited his speech to + repeating, “More bread and butter, please,” at startlingly short + intervals. Phyllis stroked her sister's hand under the table to express + sympathy, and knocked her cup over as she did it. Fetching a cloth and + wiping up the spilt milk helped Bobbie a little. But she thought that tea + would never end. Yet at last it did end, as all things do at last, and + when Mother took out the tray, Bobbie followed her. + </p> + <p> + “She's gone to own up,” said Phyllis to Peter; “I wonder what she's done.” + </p> + <p> + “Broken something, I suppose,” said Peter, “but she needn't be so silly + over it. Mother never rows for accidents. Listen! Yes, they're going + upstairs. She's taking Mother up to show her—the water-jug with + storks on it, I expect it is.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie, in the kitchen, had caught hold of Mother's hand as she set down + the tea-things. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” Mother asked. + </p> + <p> + But Bobbie only said, “Come upstairs, come up where nobody can hear us.” + </p> + <p> + When she had got Mother alone in her room she locked the door and then + stood quite still, and quite without words. + </p> + <p> + All through tea she had been thinking of what to say; she had decided that + “I know all,” or “All is known to me,” or “The terrible secret is a secret + no longer,” would be the proper thing. But now that she and her Mother and + that awful sheet of newspaper were alone in the room together, she found + that she could say nothing. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she went to Mother and put her arms round her and began to cry + again. And still she could find no words, only, “Oh, Mammy, oh, Mammy, oh, + Mammy,” over and over again. + </p> + <p> + Mother held her very close and waited. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Bobbie broke away from her and went to her bed. From under her + mattress she pulled out the paper she had hidden there, and held it out, + pointing to her Father's name with a finger that shook. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bobbie,” Mother cried, when one little quick look had shown her what + it was, “you don't BELIEVE it? You don't believe Daddy did it?” + </p> + <p> + “NO,” Bobbie almost shouted. She had stopped crying. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said Mother. “It's not true. And they've shut him up + in prison, but he's done nothing wrong. He's good and noble and + honourable, and he belongs to us. We have to think of that, and be proud + of him, and wait.” + </p> + <p> + Again Bobbie clung to her Mother, and again only one word came to her, but + now that word was “Daddy,” and “Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy!” again + and again. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you tell me, Mammy?” she asked presently. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to tell the others?” Mother asked. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Mother; “so you understand why I didn't tell you. We two + must help each other to be brave.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bobbie; “Mother, will it make you more unhappy if you tell me + all about it? I want to understand.” + </p> + <p> + So then, sitting cuddled up close to her Mother, Bobbie heard “all about + it.” She heard how those men, who had asked to see Father on that + remembered last night when the Engine was being mended, had come to arrest + him, charging him with selling State secrets to the Russians—with + being, in fact, a spy and a traitor. She heard about the trial, and about + the evidence—letters, found in Father's desk at the office, letters + that convinced the jury that Father was guilty. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how could they look at him and believe it!” cried Bobbie; “and how + could ANY one do such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “SOMEONE did it,” said Mother, “and all the evidence was against Father. + Those letters—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How did the letters get into his desk?” + </p> + <p> + “Someone put them there. And the person who put them there was the person + who was really guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “HE must be feeling pretty awful all this time,” said Bobbie, + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe he had any feelings,” Mother said hotly; “he couldn't + have done a thing like that if he had.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he just shoved the letters into the desk to hide them when he + thought he was going to be found out. Why don't you tell the lawyers, or + someone, that it must have been that person? There wasn't anyone that + would have hurt Father on purpose, was there?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I don't know. The man under him who got Daddy's place + when he—when the awful thing happened—he was always jealous of + your Father because Daddy was so clever and everyone thought such a lot of + him. And Daddy never quite trusted that man.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't we explain all that to someone?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody will listen,” said Mother, very bitterly, “nobody at all. Do you + suppose I've not tried everything? No, my dearest, there's nothing to be + done. All we can do, you and I and Daddy, is to be brave, and patient, and—” + she spoke very softly—“to pray, Bobbie, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, you've got very thin,” said Bobbie, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “A little, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “And oh,” said Bobbie, “I do think you're the bravest person in the world + as well as the nicest!” + </p> + <p> + “We won't talk of all this any more, will we, dear?” said Mother; “we must + bear it and be brave. And, darling, try not to think of it. Try to be + cheerful, and to amuse yourself and the others. It's much easier for me if + you can be a little bit happy and enjoy things. Wash your poor little + round face, and let's go out into the garden for a bit.” + </p> + <p> + The other two were very gentle and kind to Bobbie. And they did not ask + her what was the matter. This was Peter's idea, and he had drilled + Phyllis, who would have asked a hundred questions if she had been left to + herself. + </p> + <p> + A week later Bobbie managed to get away alone. And once more she wrote a + letter. And once more it was to the old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Friend,” she said, “you see what is in this paper. It is not + true. Father never did it. Mother says someone put the papers in Father's + desk, and she says the man under him that got Father's place afterwards + was jealous of Father, and Father suspected him a long time. But nobody + listens to a word she says, but you are so good and clever, and you found + out about the Russian gentleman's wife directly. Can't you find out who + did the treason because he wasn't Father upon my honour; he is an + Englishman and uncapable to do such things, and then they would let Father + out of prison. It is dreadful, and Mother is getting so thin. She told us + once to pray for all prisoners and captives. I see now. Oh, do help me—there + is only just Mother and me know, and we can't do anything. Peter and Phil + don't know. I'll pray for you twice every day as long as I live if you'll + only try—just try to find out. Think if it was YOUR Daddy, what you + would feel. Oh, do, do, DO help me. With love + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“I remain Your affectionately little friend + +“Roberta. +</pre> + <p> + P.S. Mother would send her kind regards if she knew I am writing—but + it is no use telling her I am, in case you can't do anything. But I know + you will. Bobbie with best love.” + </p> + <p> + She cut the account of her Father's trial out of the newspaper with + Mother's big cutting-out scissors, and put it in the envelope with her + letter. + </p> + <p> + Then she took it down to the station, going out the back way and round by + the road, so that the others should not see her and offer to come with + her, and she gave the letter to the Station Master to give to the old + gentleman next morning. + </p> + <p> + “Where HAVE you been?” shouted Peter, from the top of the yard wall where + he and Phyllis were. + </p> + <p> + “To the station, of course,” said Bobbie; “give us a hand, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + She set her foot on the lock of the yard door. Peter reached down a hand. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth?” she asked as she reached the wall-top—for Phyllis + and Peter were very muddy. A lump of wet clay lay between them on the + wall, they had each a slip of slate in a very dirty hand, and behind + Peter, out of the reach of accidents, were several strange rounded objects + rather like very fat sausages, hollow, but closed up at one end. + </p> + <p> + “It's nests,” said Peter, “swallows' nests. We're going to dry them in the + oven and hang them up with string under the eaves of the coach-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phyllis; “and then we're going to save up all the wool and + hair we can get, and in the spring we'll line them, and then how pleased + the swallows will be!” + </p> + <p> + “I've often thought people don't do nearly enough for dumb animals,” said + Peter with an air of virtue. “I do think people might have thought of + making nests for poor little swallows before this.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Bobbie, vaguely, “if everybody thought of everything, there'd + be nothing left for anybody else to think about.” + </p> + <p> + “Look at the nests—aren't they pretty?” said Phyllis, reaching + across Peter to grasp a nest. + </p> + <p> + “Look out, Phil, you goat,” said her brother. But it was too late; her + strong little fingers had crushed the nest. + </p> + <p> + “There now,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “It IS one of my own,” said Phyllis, “so you needn't jaw, Peter. Yes, + we've put our initial names on the ones we've done, so that the swallows + will know who they've got to be so grateful to and fond of.” + </p> + <p> + “Swallows can't read, silly,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Silly yourself,” retorted Phyllis; “how do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Who thought of making the nests, anyhow?” shouted Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I did,” screamed Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Nya,” rejoined Peter, “you only thought of making hay ones and sticking + them in the ivy for the sparrows, and they'd have been sopping LONG before + egg-laying time. It was me said clay and swallows.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care what you said.” + </p> + <p> + “Look,” said Bobbie, “I've made the nest all right again. Give me the bit + of stick to mark your initial name on it. But how can you? Your letter and + Peter's are the same. P. for Peter, P. for Phyllis.” + </p> + <p> + “I put F. for Phyllis,” said the child of that name. “That's how it + sounds. The swallows wouldn't spell Phyllis with a P., I'm certain-sure.” + </p> + <p> + “They can't spell at all,” Peter was still insisting. + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you see them always on Christmas cards and valentines with + letters round their necks? How would they know where to go if they + couldn't read?” + </p> + <p> + “That's only in pictures. You never saw one really with letters round its + neck.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have a pigeon, then; at least Daddy told me they did. Only it was + under their wings and not round their necks, but it comes to the same + thing, and—” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” interrupted Bobbie, “there's to be a paperchase to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” Peter asked. + </p> + <p> + “Grammar School. Perks thinks the hare will go along by the line at first. + We might go along the cutting. You can see a long way from there.” + </p> + <p> + The paperchase was found to be a more amusing subject of conversation than + the reading powers of swallows. Bobbie had hoped it might be. And next + morning Mother let them take their lunch and go out for the day to see the + paperchase. + </p> + <p> + “If we go to the cutting,” said Peter, “we shall see the workmen, even if + we miss the paperchase.” + </p> + <p> + Of course it had taken some time to get the line clear from the rocks and + earth and trees that had fallen on it when the great landslip happened. + That was the occasion, you will remember, when the three children saved + the train from being wrecked by waving six little red-flannel-petticoat + flags. It is always interesting to watch people working, especially when + they work with such interesting things as spades and picks and shovels and + planks and barrows, when they have cindery red fires in iron pots with + round holes in them, and red lamps hanging near the works at night. Of + course the children were never out at night; but once, at dusk, when Peter + had got out of his bedroom skylight on to the roof, he had seen the red + lamp shining far away at the edge of the cutting. The children had often + been down to watch the work, and this day the interest of picks and + spades, and barrows being wheeled along planks, completely put the + paperchase out of their heads, so that they quite jumped when a voice just + behind them panted, “Let me pass, please.” It was the hare—a + big-boned, loose-limbed boy, with dark hair lying flat on a very damp + forehead. The bag of torn paper under his arm was fastened across one + shoulder by a strap. The children stood back. The hare ran along the line, + and the workmen leaned on their picks to watch him. He ran on steadily and + disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel. + </p> + <p> + “That's against the by-laws,” said the foreman. + </p> + <p> + “Why worry?” said the oldest workman; “live and let live's what I always + say. Ain't you never been young yourself, Mr. Bates?” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to report him,” said the foreman. + </p> + <p> + “Why spoil sport's what I always say.” + </p> + <p> + “Passengers are forbidden to cross the line on any pretence,” murmured the + foreman, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “He ain't no passenger,” said one of the workmen. + </p> + <p> + “Nor 'e ain't crossed the line, not where we could see 'im do it,” said + another. + </p> + <p> + “Nor yet 'e ain't made no pretences,” said a third. + </p> + <p> + “And,” said the oldest workman, “'e's outer sight now. What the eye don't + see the 'art needn't take no notice of's what I always say.” + </p> + <p> + And now, following the track of the hare by the little white blots of + scattered paper, came the hounds. There were thirty of them, and they all + came down the steep, ladder-like steps by ones and twos and threes and + sixes and sevens. Bobbie and Phyllis and Peter counted them as they + passed. The foremost ones hesitated a moment at the foot of the ladder, + then their eyes caught the gleam of scattered whiteness along the line and + they turned towards the tunnel, and, by ones and twos and threes and sixes + and sevens, disappeared in the dark mouth of it. The last one, in a red + jersey, seemed to be extinguished by the darkness like a candle that is + blown out. + </p> + <p> + “They don't know what they're in for,” said the foreman; “it isn't so easy + running in the dark. The tunnel takes two or three turns.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll take a long time to get through, you think?” Peter asked. + </p> + <p> + “An hour or more, I shouldn't wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let's cut across the top and see them come out at the other end,” + said Peter; “we shall get there long before they do.” + </p> + <p> + The counsel seemed good, and they went. + </p> + <p> + They climbed the steep steps from which they had picked the wild cherry + blossom for the grave of the little wild rabbit, and reaching the top of + the cutting, set their faces towards the hill through which the tunnel was + cut. It was stiff work. + </p> + <p> + “It's like Alps,” said Bobbie, breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Or Andes,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “It's like Himmy what's its names?” gasped Phyllis. “Mount Everlasting. Do + let's stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Stick to it,” panted Peter; “you'll get your second wind in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis consented to stick to it—and on they went, running when the + turf was smooth and the slope easy, climbing over stones, helping + themselves up rocks by the branches of trees, creeping through narrow + openings between tree trunks and rocks, and so on and on, up and up, till + at last they stood on the very top of the hill where they had so often + wished to be. + </p> + <p> + “Halt!” cried Peter, and threw himself flat on the grass. For the very top + of the hill was a smooth, turfed table-land, dotted with mossy rocks and + little mountain-ash trees. + </p> + <p> + The girls also threw themselves down flat. + </p> + <p> + “Plenty of time,” Peter panted; “the rest's all down hill.” + </p> + <p> + When they were rested enough to sit up and look round them, Bobbie cried:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look!” + </p> + <p> + “What at?” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “The view,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “I hate views,” said Phyllis, “don't you, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “Let's get on,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “But this isn't like a view they take you to in carriages when you're at + the seaside, all sea and sand and bare hills. It's like the 'coloured + counties' in one of Mother's poetry books.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not so dusty,” said Peter; “look at the Aqueduct straddling slap + across the valley like a giant centipede, and then the towns sticking + their church spires up out of the trees like pens out of an inkstand. <i>I</i> + think it's more like + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There could he see the banners + Of twelve fair cities shine.” + </pre> + <p> + “I love it,” said Bobbie; “it's worth the climb.” + </p> + <p> + “The paperchase is worth the climb,” said Phyllis, “if we don't lose it. + Let's get on. It's all down hill now.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> said that ten minutes ago,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'VE said it now,” said Phyllis; “come on.” + </p> + <p> + “Loads of time,” said Peter. And there was. For when they had got down to + a level with the top of the tunnel's mouth—they were a couple of + hundred yards out of their reckoning and had to creep along the face of + the hill—there was no sign of the hare or the hounds. + </p> + <p> + “They've gone long ago, of course,” said Phyllis, as they leaned on the + brick parapet above the tunnel. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think so,” said Bobbie, “but even if they had, it's ripping here, + and we shall see the trains come out of the tunnel like dragons out of + lairs. We've never seen that from the top side before.” + </p> + <p> + “No more we have,” said Phyllis, partially appeased. + </p> + <p> + It was really a most exciting place to be in. The top of the tunnel seemed + ever so much farther from the line than they had expected, and it was like + being on a bridge, but a bridge overgrown with bushes and creepers and + grass and wild-flowers. + </p> + <p> + “I KNOW the paperchase has gone long ago,” said Phyllis every two minutes, + and she hardly knew whether she was pleased or disappointed when Peter, + leaning over the parapet, suddenly cried:— + </p> + <p> + “Look out. Here he comes!” + </p> + <p> + They all leaned over the sun-warmed brick wall in time to see the hare, + going very slowly, come out from the shadow of the tunnel. + </p> + <p> + “There, now,” said Peter, “what did I tell you? Now for the hounds!” + </p> + <p> + Very soon came the hounds—by ones and twos and threes and sixes and + sevens—and they also were going slowly and seemed very tired. Two or + three who lagged far behind came out long after the others. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Bobbie, “that's all—now what shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “Go along into the tulgy wood over there and have lunch,” said Phyllis; + “we can see them for miles from up here.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said Peter. “That's not the last. There's the one in the red + jersey to come yet. Let's see the last of them come out.” + </p> + <p> + But though they waited and waited and waited, the boy in the red jersey + did not appear. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let's have lunch,” said Phyllis; “I've got a pain in my front with + being so hungry. You must have missed seeing the red-jerseyed one when he + came out with the others—” + </p> + <p> + But Bobbie and Peter agreed that he had not come out with the others. + </p> + <p> + “Let's get down to the tunnel mouth,” said Peter; “then perhaps we shall + see him coming along from the inside. I expect he felt spun-chuck, and + rested in one of the manholes. You stay up here and watch, Bob, and when I + signal from below, you come down. We might miss seeing him on the way + down, with all these trees.” + </p> + <p> + So the others climbed down and Bobbie waited till they signalled to her + from the line below. And then she, too, scrambled down the roundabout + slippery path among roots and moss till she stepped out between two + dogwood trees and joined the others on the line. And still there was no + sign of the hound with the red jersey. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do, DO let's have something to eat,” wailed Phyllis. “I shall die if + you don't, and then you'll be sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her the sandwiches, for goodness' sake, and stop her silly mouth,” + said Peter, not quite unkindly. “Look here,” he added, turning to Bobbie, + “perhaps we'd better have one each, too. We may need all our strength. Not + more than one, though. There's no time.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Bobbie, her mouth already full, for she was just as hungry + as Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you see,” replied Peter, impressively, “that red-jerseyed hound has + had an accident—that's what it is. Perhaps even as we speak he's + lying with his head on the metals, an unresisting prey to any passing + express—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't try to talk like a book,” cried Bobbie, bolting what was left + of her sandwich; “come on. Phil, keep close behind me, and if a train + comes, stand flat against the tunnel wall and hold your petticoats close + to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me one more sandwich,” pleaded Phyllis, “and I will.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going first,” said Peter; “it was my idea,” and he went. + </p> + <p> + Of course you know what going into a tunnel is like? The engine gives a + scream and then suddenly the noise of the running, rattling train changes + and grows different and much louder. Grown-up people pull up the windows + and hold them by the strap. The railway carriage suddenly grows like night—with + lamps, of course, unless you are in a slow local train, in which case + lamps are not always provided. Then by and by the darkness outside the + carriage window is touched by puffs of cloudy whiteness, then you see a + blue light on the walls of the tunnel, then the sound of the moving train + changes once more, and you are out in the good open air again, and + grown-ups let the straps go. The windows, all dim with the yellow breath + of the tunnel, rattle down into their places, and you see once more the + dip and catch of the telegraph wires beside the line, and the straight-cut + hawthorn hedges with the tiny baby trees growing up out of them every + thirty yards. + </p> + <p> + All this, of course, is what a tunnel means when you are in a train. But + everything is quite different when you walk into a tunnel on your own + feet, and tread on shifting, sliding stones and gravel on a path that + curves downwards from the shining metals to the wall. Then you see slimy, + oozy trickles of water running down the inside of the tunnel, and you + notice that the bricks are not red or brown, as they are at the tunnel's + mouth, but dull, sticky, sickly green. Your voice, when you speak, is + quite changed from what it was out in the sunshine, and it is a long time + before the tunnel is quite dark. + </p> + <p> + It was not yet quite dark in the tunnel when Phyllis caught at Bobbie's + skirt, ripping out half a yard of gathers, but no one noticed this at the + time. + </p> + <p> + “I want to go back,” she said, “I don't like it. It'll be pitch dark in a + minute. I WON'T go on in the dark. I don't care what you say, I WON'T.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a silly cuckoo,” said Peter; “I've got a candle end and matches, + and—what's that?” + </p> + <p> + “That” was a low, humming sound on the railway line, a trembling of the + wires beside it, a buzzing, humming sound that grew louder and louder as + they listened. + </p> + <p> + “It's a train,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Which line?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go back,” cried Phyllis, struggling to get away from the hand by + which Bobbie held her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a coward,” said Bobbie; “it's quite safe. Stand back.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” shouted Peter, who was a few yards ahead. “Quick! Manhole!” + </p> + <p> + The roar of the advancing train was now louder than the noise you hear + when your head is under water in the bath and both taps are running, and + you are kicking with your heels against the bath's tin sides. But Peter + had shouted for all he was worth, and Bobbie heard him. She dragged + Phyllis along to the manhole. Phyllis, of course, stumbled over the wires + and grazed both her legs. But they dragged her in, and all three stood in + the dark, damp, arched recess while the train roared louder and louder. It + seemed as if it would deafen them. And, in the distance, they could see + its eyes of fire growing bigger and brighter every instant. + </p> + <p> + “It IS a dragon—I always knew it was—it takes its own shape in + here, in the dark,” shouted Phyllis. But nobody heard her. You see the + train was shouting, too, and its voice was bigger than hers. + </p> + <p> + And now, with a rush and a roar and a rattle and a long dazzling flash of + lighted carriage windows, a smell of smoke, and blast of hot air, the + train hurtled by, clanging and jangling and echoing in the vaulted roof of + the tunnel. Phyllis and Bobbie clung to each other. Even Peter caught hold + of Bobbie's arm, “in case she should be frightened,” as he explained + afterwards. + </p> + <p> + And now, slowly and gradually, the tail-lights grew smaller and smaller, + and so did the noise, till with one last WHIZ the train got itself out of + the tunnel, and silence settled again on its damp walls and dripping roof. + </p> + <p> + “OH!” said the children, all together in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + Peter was lighting the candle end with a hand that trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” he said; but he had to clear his throat before he could speak + in his natural voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Phyllis, “if the red-jerseyed one was in the way of the train!” + </p> + <p> + “We've got to go and see,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't we go and send someone from the station?” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Would you rather wait here for us?” asked Bobbie, severely, and of course + that settled the question. + </p> + <p> + So the three went on into the deeper darkness of the tunnel. Peter led, + holding his candle end high to light the way. The grease ran down his + fingers, and some of it right up his sleeve. He found a long streak from + wrist to elbow when he went to bed that night. + </p> + <p> + It was not more than a hundred and fifty yards from the spot where they + had stood while the train went by that Peter stood still, shouted “Hullo,” + and then went on much quicker than before. When the others caught him up, + he stopped. And he stopped within a yard of what they had come into the + tunnel to look for. Phyllis saw a gleam of red, and shut her eyes tight. + There, by the curved, pebbly down line, was the red-jerseyed hound. His + back was against the wall, his arms hung limply by his sides, and his eyes + were shut. + </p> + <p> + “Was the red, blood? Is he all killed?” asked Phyllis, screwing her + eyelids more tightly together. + </p> + <p> + “Killed? Nonsense!” said Peter. “There's nothing red about him except his + jersey. He's only fainted. What on earth are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Can we move him?” asked Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; he's a big chap.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we bathe his forehead with water. No, I know we haven't any, but + milk's just as wet. There's a whole bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter, “and they rub people's hands, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “They burn feathers, I know,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of saying that when we haven't any feathers?” + </p> + <p> + “As it happens,” said Phyllis, in a tone of exasperated triumph, “I've got + a shuttlecock in my pocket. So there!” + </p> + <p> + And now Peter rubbed the hands of the red-jerseyed one. Bobbie burned the + feathers of the shuttlecock one by one under his nose, Phyllis splashed + warmish milk on his forehead, and all three kept on saying as fast and as + earnestly as they could:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look up, speak to me! For my sake, speak!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XII. What Bobbie brought home. + </h2> + <p> + “Oh, look up! Speak to me! For MY sake, speak!” The children said the + words over and over again to the unconscious hound in a red jersey, who + sat with closed eyes and pale face against the side of the tunnel. + </p> + <p> + “Wet his ears with milk,” said Bobbie. “I know they do it to people that + faint—with eau-de-Cologne. But I expect milk's just as good.” + </p> + <p> + So they wetted his ears, and some of the milk ran down his neck under the + red jersey. It was very dark in the tunnel. The candle end Peter had + carried, and which now burned on a flat stone, gave hardly any light at + all. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DO look up,” said Phyllis. “For MY sake! I believe he's dead.” + </p> + <p> + “For MY sake,” repeated Bobbie. “No, he isn't.” + </p> + <p> + “For ANY sake,” said Peter; “come out of it.” And he shook the sufferer by + the arm. + </p> + <p> + And then the boy in the red jersey sighed, and opened his eyes, and shut + them again and said in a very small voice, “Chuck it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's NOT dead,” said Phyllis. “I KNEW he wasn't,” and she began to + cry. + </p> + <p> + “What's up? I'm all right,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Drink this,” said Peter, firmly, thrusting the nose of the milk bottle + into the boy's mouth. The boy struggled, and some of the milk was upset + before he could get his mouth free to say:— + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's milk,” said Peter. “Fear not, you are in the hands of friends. Phil, + you stop bleating this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Do drink it,” said Bobbie, gently; “it'll do you good.” + </p> + <p> + So he drank. And the three stood by without speaking to him. + </p> + <p> + “Let him be a minute,” Peter whispered; “he'll be all right as soon as the + milk begins to run like fire through his veins.” + </p> + <p> + He was. + </p> + <p> + “I'm better now,” he announced. “I remember all about it.” He tried to + move, but the movement ended in a groan. “Bother! I believe I've broken my + leg,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Did you tumble down?” asked Phyllis, sniffing. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not—I'm not a kiddie,” said the boy, indignantly; “it was + one of those beastly wires tripped me up, and when I tried to get up again + I couldn't stand, so I sat down. Gee whillikins! it does hurt, though. How + did YOU get here?” + </p> + <p> + “We saw you all go into the tunnel and then we went across the hill to see + you all come out. And the others did—all but you, and you didn't. So + we are a rescue party,” said Peter, with pride. + </p> + <p> + “You've got some pluck, I will say,” remarked the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's nothing,” said Peter, with modesty. “Do you think you could + walk if we helped you?” + </p> + <p> + “I could try,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + He did try. But he could only stand on one foot; the other dragged in a + very nasty way. + </p> + <p> + “Here, let me sit down. I feel like dying,” said the boy. “Let go of me—let + go, quick—” He lay down and closed his eyes. The others looked at + each other by the dim light of the little candle. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth!” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Bobbie, quickly, “you must go and get help. Go to the + nearest house.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's the only thing,” said Peter. “Come on.” + </p> + <p> + “If you take his feet and Phil and I take his head, we could carry him to + the manhole.” + </p> + <p> + They did it. It was perhaps as well for the sufferer that he had fainted + again. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Bobbie, “I'll stay with him. You take the longest bit of + candle, and, oh—be quick, for this bit won't burn long.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think Mother would like me leaving you,” said Peter, doubtfully. + “Let me stay, and you and Phil go.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Bobbie, “you and Phil go—and lend me your knife. I'll + try to get his boot off before he wakes up again.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it's all right what we're doing,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it's right,” said Bobbie, impatiently. “What else WOULD you do? + Leave him here all alone because it's dark? Nonsense. Hurry up, that's + all.” + </p> + <p> + So they hurried up. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie watched their dark figures and the little light of the little + candle with an odd feeling of having come to the end of everything. She + knew now, she thought, what nuns who were bricked up alive in convent + walls felt like. Suddenly she gave herself a little shake. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a silly little girl,” she said. She was always very angry when + anyone else called her a little girl, even if the adjective that went + first was not “silly” but “nice” or “good” or “clever.” And it was only + when she was very angry with herself that she allowed Roberta to use that + expression to Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + She fixed the little candle end on a broken brick near the red-jerseyed + boy's feet. Then she opened Peter's knife. It was always hard to manage—a + halfpenny was generally needed to get it open at all. This time Bobbie + somehow got it open with her thumbnail. She broke the nail, and it hurt + horribly. Then she cut the boy's bootlace, and got the boot off. She tried + to pull off his stocking, but his leg was dreadfully swollen, and it did + not seem to be the proper shape. So she cut the stocking down, very slowly + and carefully. It was a brown, knitted stocking, and she wondered who had + knitted it, and whether it was the boy's mother, and whether she was + feeling anxious about him, and how she would feel when he was brought home + with his leg broken. When Bobbie had got the stocking off and saw the poor + leg, she felt as though the tunnel was growing darker, and the ground felt + unsteady, and nothing seemed quite real. + </p> + <p> + “SILLY little girl!” said Roberta to Bobbie, and felt better. + </p> + <p> + “The poor leg,” she told herself; “it ought to have a cushion—ah!” + </p> + <p> + She remembered the day when she and Phyllis had torn up their red flannel + petticoats to make danger signals to stop the train and prevent an + accident. Her flannel petticoat to-day was white, but it would be quite as + soft as a red one. She took it off. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what useful things flannel petticoats are!” she said; “the man who + invented them ought to have a statue directed to him.” And she said it + aloud, because it seemed that any voice, even her own, would be a comfort + in that darkness. + </p> + <p> + “WHAT ought to be directed? Who to?” asked the boy, suddenly and very + feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Bobbie, “now you're better! Hold your teeth and don't let it + hurt too much. Now!” + </p> + <p> + She had folded the petticoat, and lifting his leg laid it on the cushion + of folded flannel. + </p> + <p> + “Don't faint again, PLEASE don't,” said Bobbie, as he groaned. She hastily + wetted her handkerchief with milk and spread it over the poor leg. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that hurts,” cried the boy, shrinking. “Oh—no, it doesn't—it's + nice, really.” + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Jim.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine's Bobbie.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're a girl, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my long name's Roberta.” + </p> + <p> + “I say—Bobbie.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't there some more of you just now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Peter and Phil—that's my brother and sister. They've gone to + get someone to carry you out.” + </p> + <p> + “What rum names. All boys'.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I wish I was a boy, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you're all right as you are.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean that—I meant don't you wish YOU were a boy, but of + course you are without wishing.” + </p> + <p> + “You're just as brave as a boy. Why didn't you go with the others?” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody had to stay with you,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Tell you what, Bobbie,” said Jim, “you're a brick. Shake.” He reached out + a red-jerseyed arm and Bobbie squeezed his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I won't shake it,” she explained, “because it would shake YOU, and that + would shake your poor leg, and that would hurt. Have you got a hanky?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't expect I have.” He felt in his pocket. “Yes, I have. What for?” + </p> + <p> + She took it and wetted it with milk and put it on his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “That's jolly,” he said; “what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Milk,” said Bobbie. “We haven't any water—” + </p> + <p> + “You're a jolly good little nurse,” said Jim. + </p> + <p> + “I do it for Mother sometimes,” said Bobbie—“not milk, of course, + but scent, or vinegar and water. I say, I must put the candle out now, + because there mayn't be enough of the other one to get you out by.” + </p> + <p> + “By George,” said he, “you think of everything.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie blew. Out went the candle. You have no idea how black-velvety the + darkness was. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Bobbie,” said a voice through the blackness, “aren't you afraid of + the dark?” + </p> + <p> + “Not—not very, that is—” + </p> + <p> + “Let's hold hands,” said the boy, and it was really rather good of him, + because he was like most boys of his age and hated all material tokens of + affection, such as kissing and holding of hands. He called all such things + “pawings,” and detested them. + </p> + <p> + The darkness was more bearable to Bobbie now that her hand was held in the + large rough hand of the red-jerseyed sufferer; and he, holding her little + smooth hot paw, was surprised to find that he did not mind it so much as + he expected. She tried to talk, to amuse him, and “take his mind off” his + sufferings, but it is very difficult to go on talking in the dark, and + presently they found themselves in a silence, only broken now and then by + a— + </p> + <p> + “You all right, Bobbie?” + </p> + <p> + or an— + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it's hurting you most awfully, Jim. I AM so sorry.” + </p> + <p> + And it was very cold. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Peter and Phyllis tramped down the long way of the tunnel towards + daylight, the candle-grease dripping over Peter's fingers. There were no + accidents unless you count Phyllis's catching her frock on a wire, and + tearing a long, jagged slit in it, and tripping over her bootlace when it + came undone, or going down on her hands and knees, all four of which were + grazed. + </p> + <p> + “There's no end to this tunnel,” said Phyllis—and indeed it did seem + very very long. + </p> + <p> + “Stick to it,” said Peter; “everything has an end, and you get to it if + you only keep all on.” + </p> + <p> + Which is quite true, if you come to think of it, and a useful thing to + remember in seasons of trouble—such as measles, arithmetic, + impositions, and those times when you are in disgrace, and feel as though + no one would ever love you again, and you could never—never again—love + anybody. + </p> + <p> + “Hurray,” said Peter, suddenly, “there's the end of the tunnel—looks + just like a pin-hole in a bit of black paper, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The pin-hole got larger—blue lights lay along the sides of the + tunnel. The children could see the gravel way that lay in front of them; + the air grew warmer and sweeter. Another twenty steps and they were out in + the good glad sunshine with the green trees on both sides. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “I'll never go into a tunnel again as long as ever I live,” said she, “not + if there are twenty hundred thousand millions hounds inside with red + jerseys and their legs broken.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a silly cuckoo,” said Peter, as usual. “You'd HAVE to.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it was very brave and good of me,” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Not it,” said Peter; “you didn't go because you were brave, but because + Bobbie and I aren't skunks. Now where's the nearest house, I wonder? You + can't see anything here for the trees.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a roof over there,” said Phyllis, pointing down the line. + </p> + <p> + “That's the signal-box,” said Peter, “and you know you're not allowed to + speak to signalmen on duty. It's wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not near so afraid of doing wrong as I was of going into that + tunnel,” said Phyllis. “Come on,” and she started to run along the line. + So Peter ran, too. + </p> + <p> + It was very hot in the sunshine, and both children were hot and breathless + by the time they stopped, and bending their heads back to look up at the + open windows of the signal-box, shouted “Hi!” as loud as their breathless + state allowed. But no one answered. The signal-box stood quiet as an empty + nursery, and the handrail of its steps was hot to the hands of the + children as they climbed softly up. They peeped in at the open door. The + signalman was sitting on a chair tilted back against the wall. His head + leaned sideways, and his mouth was open. He was fast asleep. + </p> + <p> + “My hat!” cried Peter; “wake up!” And he cried it in a terrible voice, for + he knew that if a signalman sleeps on duty, he risks losing his situation, + let alone all the other dreadful risks to trains which expect him to tell + them when it is safe for them to go their ways. + </p> + <p> + The signalman never moved. Then Peter sprang to him and shook him. And + slowly, yawning and stretching, the man awoke. But the moment he WAS awake + he leapt to his feet, put his hands to his head “like a mad maniac,” as + Phyllis said afterwards, and shouted:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my heavens—what's o'clock?” + </p> + <p> + “Twelve thirteen,” said Peter, and indeed it was by the white-faced, + round-faced clock on the wall of the signal-box. + </p> + <p> + The man looked at the clock, sprang to the levers, and wrenched them this + way and that. An electric bell tingled—the wires and cranks creaked, + and the man threw himself into a chair. He was very pale, and the sweat + stood on his forehead “like large dewdrops on a white cabbage,” as Phyllis + remarked later. He was trembling, too; the children could see his big + hairy hands shake from side to side, “with quite extra-sized trembles,” to + use the subsequent words of Peter. He drew long breaths. Then suddenly he + cried, “Thank God, thank God you come in when you did—oh, thank + God!” and his shoulders began to heave and his face grew red again, and he + hid it in those large hairy hands of his. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't cry—don't,” said Phyllis, “it's all right now,” and she + patted him on one big, broad shoulder, while Peter conscientiously thumped + the other. + </p> + <p> + But the signalman seemed quite broken down, and the children had to pat + him and thump him for quite a long time before he found his handkerchief—a + red one with mauve and white horseshoes on it—and mopped his face + and spoke. During this patting and thumping interval a train thundered by. + </p> + <p> + “I'm downright shamed, that I am,” were the words of the big signalman + when he had stopped crying; “snivelling like a kid.” Then suddenly he + seemed to get cross. “And what was you doing up here, anyway?” he said; + “you know it ain't allowed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phyllis, “we knew it was wrong—but I wasn't afraid of + doing wrong, and so it turned out right. You aren't sorry we came.” + </p> + <p> + “Lor' love you—if you hadn't 'a' come—” he stopped and then + went on. “It's a disgrace, so it is, sleeping on duty. If it was to come + to be known—even as it is, when no harm's come of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It won't come to be known,” said Peter; “we aren't sneaks. All the same, + you oughtn't to sleep on duty—it's dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me something I don't know,” said the man, “but I can't help it. I + know'd well enough just how it 'ud be. But I couldn't get off. They + couldn't get no one to take on my duty. I tell you I ain't had ten + minutes' sleep this last five days. My little chap's ill—pewmonia, + the Doctor says—and there's no one but me and 'is little sister to + do for him. That's where it is. The gell must 'ave her sleep. Dangerous? + Yes, I believe you. Now go and split on me if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we won't,” said Peter, indignantly, but Phyllis ignored the + whole of the signalman's speech, except the first six words. + </p> + <p> + “You asked us,” she said, “to tell you something you don't know. Well, I + will. There's a boy in the tunnel over there with a red jersey and his leg + broken.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he want to go into the blooming tunnel for, then?” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you be so cross,” said Phyllis, kindly. “WE haven't done anything + wrong except coming and waking you up, and that was right, as it happens.” + </p> + <p> + Then Peter told how the boy came to be in the tunnel. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the man, “I don't see as I can do anything. I can't leave the + box.” + </p> + <p> + “You might tell us where to go after someone who isn't in a box, though,” + said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “There's Brigden's farm over yonder—where you see the smoke a-coming + up through the trees,” said the man, more and more grumpy, as Phyllis + noticed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye, then,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + But the man said, “Wait a minute.” He put his hand in his pocket and + brought out some money—a lot of pennies and one or two shillings and + sixpences and half-a-crown. He picked out two shillings and held them out. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said. “I'll give you this to hold your tongues about what's + taken place to-day.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short, unpleasant pause. Then:— + </p> + <p> + “You ARE a nasty man, though, aren't you?” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + Peter took a step forward and knocked the man's hand up, so that the + shillings leapt out of it and rolled on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “If anything COULD make me sneak, THAT would!” he said. “Come, Phil,” and + marched out of the signal-box with flaming cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Phyllis hesitated. Then she took the hand, still held out stupidly, that + the shillings had been in. + </p> + <p> + “I forgive you,” she said, “even if Peter doesn't. You're not in your + proper senses, or you'd never have done that. I know want of sleep sends + people mad. Mother told me. I hope your little boy will soon be better, + and—” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Phil,” cried Peter, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I give you my sacred honour-word we'll never tell anyone. Kiss and be + friends,” said Phyllis, feeling how noble it was of her to try to make up + a quarrel in which she was not to blame. + </p> + <p> + The signalman stooped and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “I do believe I'm a bit off my head, Sissy,” he said. “Now run along home + to Mother. I didn't mean to put you about—there.” + </p> + <p> + So Phil left the hot signal-box and followed Peter across the fields to + the farm. + </p> + <p> + When the farm men, led by Peter and Phyllis and carrying a hurdle covered + with horse-cloths, reached the manhole in the tunnel, Bobbie was fast + asleep and so was Jim. Worn out with the pain, the Doctor said afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “Where does he live?” the bailiff from the farm asked, when Jim had been + lifted on to the hurdle. + </p> + <p> + “In Northumberland,” answered Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “I'm at school at Maidbridge,” said Jim. “I suppose I've got to get back + there, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me the Doctor ought to have a look in first,” said the bailiff. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bring him up to our house,” said Bobbie. “It's only a little way by + the road. I'm sure Mother would say we ought to.” + </p> + <p> + “Will your Ma like you bringing home strangers with broken legs?” + </p> + <p> + “She took the poor Russian home herself,” said Bobbie. “I know she'd say + we ought.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said the bailiff, “you ought to know what your Ma 'ud like. I + wouldn't take it upon me to fetch him up to our place without I asked the + Missus first, and they call me the Master, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure your Mother won't mind?” whispered Jim. + </p> + <p> + “Certain,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “Then we're to take him up to Three Chimneys?” said the bailiff. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Then my lad shall nip up to Doctor's on his bike, and tell him to come + down there. Now, lads, lift him quiet and steady. One, two, three!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Thus it happened that Mother, writing away for dear life at a story about + a Duchess, a designing villain, a secret passage, and a missing will, + dropped her pen as her work-room door burst open, and turned to see Bobbie + hatless and red with running. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mother,” she cried, “do come down. We found a hound in a red jersey + in the tunnel, and he's broken his leg and they're bringing him home.” + </p> + <p> + “They ought to take him to the vet,” said Mother, with a worried frown; “I + really CAN'T have a lame dog here.” + </p> + <p> + “He's not a dog, really—he's a boy,” said Bobbie, between laughing + and choking. + </p> + <p> + “Then he ought to be taken home to his mother.” + </p> + <p> + “His mother's dead,” said Bobbie, “and his father's in Northumberland. Oh, + Mother, you will be nice to him? I told him I was sure you'd want us to + bring him home. You always want to help everybody.” + </p> + <p> + Mother smiled, but she sighed, too. It is nice that your children should + believe you willing to open house and heart to any and every one who needs + help. But it is rather embarrassing sometimes, too, when they act on their + belief. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” said Mother, “we must make the best of it.” + </p> + <p> + When Jim was carried in, dreadfully white and with set lips whose red had + faded to a horrid bluey violet colour, Mother said:— + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you brought him here. Now, Jim, let's get you comfortable in + bed before the Doctor comes!” + </p> + <p> + And Jim, looking at her kind eyes, felt a little, warm, comforting flush + of new courage. + </p> + <p> + “It'll hurt rather, won't it?” he said. “I don't mean to be a coward. You + won't think I'm a coward if I faint again, will you? I really and truly + don't do it on purpose. And I do hate to give you all this trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry,” said Mother; “it's you that have the trouble, you poor + dear—not us.” + </p> + <p> + And she kissed him just as if he had been Peter. “We love to have you here—don't + we, Bobbie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bobbie—and she saw by her Mother's face how right she + had been to bring home the wounded hound in the red jersey. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XIII. The hound's grandfather. + </h2> + <p> + Mother did not get back to her writing all that day, for the red-jerseyed + hound whom the children had brought to Three Chimneys had to be put to + bed. And then the Doctor came, and hurt him most horribly. Mother was with + him all through it, and that made it a little better than it would have + been, but “bad was the best,” as Mrs. Viney said. + </p> + <p> + The children sat in the parlour downstairs and heard the sound of the + Doctor's boots going backwards and forwards over the bedroom floor. And + once or twice there was a groan. + </p> + <p> + “It's horrible,” said Bobbie. “Oh, I wish Dr. Forrest would make haste. + Oh, poor Jim!” + </p> + <p> + “It IS horrible,” said Peter, “but it's very exciting. I wish Doctors + weren't so stuck-up about who they'll have in the room when they're doing + things. I should most awfully like to see a leg set. I believe the bones + crunch like anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” said the two girls at once. + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish!” said Peter. “How are you going to be Red Cross Nurses, like you + were talking of coming home, if you can't even stand hearing me say about + bones crunching? You'd have to HEAR them crunch on the field of battle—and + be steeped in gore up to the elbows as likely as not, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop it!” cried Bobbie, with a white face; “you don't know how funny + you're making me feel.” + </p> + <p> + “Me, too,” said Phyllis, whose face was pink. + </p> + <p> + “Cowards!” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not,” said Bobbie. “I helped Mother with your rake-wounded foot, and + so did Phil—you know we did.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then!” said Peter. “Now look here. It would be a jolly good thing + for you if I were to talk to you every day for half an hour about broken + bones and people's insides, so as to get you used to it.” + </p> + <p> + A chair was moved above. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” said Peter, “that's the bone crunching.” + </p> + <p> + “I do wish you wouldn't,” said Phyllis. “Bobbie doesn't like it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what they do,” said Peter. I can't think what made him so + horrid. Perhaps it was because he had been so very nice and kind all the + earlier part of the day, and now he had to have a change. This is called + reaction. One notices it now and then in oneself. Sometimes when one has + been extra good for a longer time than usual, one is suddenly attacked by + a violent fit of not being good at all. “I'll tell you what they do,” said + Peter; “they strap the broken man down so that he can't resist or + interfere with their doctorish designs, and then someone holds his head, + and someone holds his leg—the broken one, and pulls it till the + bones fit in—with a crunch, mind you! Then they strap it up and—let's + play at bone-setting!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + But Bobbie said suddenly: “All right—LET'S! I'll be the doctor, and + Phil can be the nurse. You can be the broken boner; we can get at your + legs more easily, because you don't wear petticoats.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll get the splints and bandages,” said Peter; “you get the couch of + suffering ready.” + </p> + <p> + The ropes that had tied up the boxes that had come from home were all in a + wooden packing-case in the cellar. When Peter brought in a trailing tangle + of them, and two boards for splints, Phyllis was excitedly giggling. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then,” he said, and lay down on the settle, groaning most + grievously. + </p> + <p> + “Not so loud!” said Bobbie, beginning to wind the rope round him and the + settle. “You pull, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so tight,” moaned Peter. “You'll break my other leg.” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie worked on in silence, winding more and more rope round him. + </p> + <p> + “That's enough,” said Peter. “I can't move at all. Oh, my poor leg!” He + groaned again. + </p> + <p> + “SURE you can't move?” asked Bobbie, in a rather strange tone. + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure,” replied Peter. “Shall we play it's bleeding freely or not?” + he asked cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “YOU can play what you like,” said Bobbie, sternly, folding her arms and + looking down at him where he lay all wound round and round with cord. + “Phil and I are going away. And we shan't untie you till you promise + never, never to talk to us about blood and wounds unless we say you may. + Come, Phil!” + </p> + <p> + “You beast!” said Peter, writhing. “I'll never promise, never. I'll yell, + and Mother will come.” + </p> + <p> + “Do,” said Bobbie, “and tell her why we tied you up! Come on, Phil. No, + I'm not a beast, Peter. But you wouldn't stop when we asked you and—” + </p> + <p> + “Yah,” said Peter, “it wasn't even your own idea. You got it out of + Stalky!” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie and Phil, retiring in silent dignity, were met at the door by the + Doctor. He came in rubbing his hands and looking pleased with himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “THAT job's done. It's a nice clean fracture, and it'll + go on all right, I've no doubt. Plucky young chap, too—hullo! what's + all this?” + </p> + <p> + His eye had fallen on Peter who lay mousy-still in his bonds on the + settle. + </p> + <p> + “Playing at prisoners, eh?” he said; but his eyebrows had gone up a + little. Somehow he had not thought that Bobbie would be playing while in + the room above someone was having a broken bone set. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Bobbie, “not at PRISONERS. We were playing at setting + bones. Peter's the broken boner, and I was the doctor.” + </p> + <p> + The Doctor frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Then I must say,” he said, and he said it rather sternly, “that's it's a + very heartless game. Haven't you enough imagination even to faintly + picture what's been going on upstairs? That poor chap, with the drops of + sweat on his forehead, and biting his lips so as not to cry out, and every + touch on his leg agony and—” + </p> + <p> + “YOU ought to be tied up,” said Phyllis; “you're as bad as—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” said Bobbie; “I'm sorry, but we weren't heartless, really.” + </p> + <p> + “I was, I suppose,” said Peter, crossly. “All right, Bobbie, don't you go + on being noble and screening me, because I jolly well won't have it. It + was only that I kept on talking about blood and wounds. I wanted to train + them for Red Cross Nurses. And I wouldn't stop when they asked me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Dr. Forrest, sitting down. + </p> + <p> + “Well—then I said, 'Let's play at setting bones.' It was all rot. I + knew Bobbie wouldn't. I only said it to tease her. And then when she said + 'yes,' of course I had to go through with it. And they tied me up. They + got it out of Stalky. And I think it's a beastly shame.” + </p> + <p> + He managed to writhe over and hide his face against the wooden back of the + settle. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think that anyone would know but us,” said Bobbie, indignantly + answering Peter's unspoken reproach. “I never thought of your coming in. + And hearing about blood and wounds does really make me feel most awfully + funny. It was only a joke our tying him up. Let me untie you, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care if you never untie me,” said Peter; “and if that's your idea + of a joke—” + </p> + <p> + “If I were you,” said the Doctor, though really he did not quite know what + to say, “I should be untied before your Mother comes down. You don't want + to worry her just now, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't promise anything about not saying about wounds, mind,” said + Peter, in very surly tones, as Bobbie and Phyllis began to untie the + knots. + </p> + <p> + “I'm very sorry, Pete,” Bobbie whispered, leaning close to him as she + fumbled with the big knot under the settle; “but if you only knew how sick + you made me feel.” + </p> + <p> + “You've made ME feel pretty sick, I can tell you,” Peter rejoined. Then he + shook off the loose cords, and stood up. + </p> + <p> + “I looked in,” said Dr. Forrest, “to see if one of you would come along to + the surgery. There are some things that your Mother will want at once, and + I've given my man a day off to go and see the circus; will you come, + Peter?” + </p> + <p> + Peter went without a word or a look to his sisters. + </p> + <p> + The two walked in silence up to the gate that led from the Three Chimneys + field to the road. Then Peter said:— + </p> + <p> + “Let me carry your bag. I say, it is heavy—what's in it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, knives and lancets and different instruments for hurting people. And + the ether bottle. I had to give him ether, you know—the agony was so + intense.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all about how you found that chap,” said Dr. Forrest. + </p> + <p> + Peter told. And then Dr. Forrest told him stories of brave rescues; he was + a most interesting man to talk to, as Peter had often remarked. + </p> + <p> + Then in the surgery Peter had a better chance than he had ever had of + examining the Doctor's balance, and his microscope, and his scales and + measuring glasses. When all the things were ready that Peter was to take + back, the Doctor said suddenly:— + </p> + <p> + “You'll excuse my shoving my oar in, won't you? But I should like to say + something to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Now for a rowing,” thought Peter, who had been wondering how it was that + he had escaped one. + </p> + <p> + “Something scientific,” added the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter, fiddling with the fossil ammonite that the Doctor used + for a paper-weight. + </p> + <p> + “Well then, you see. Boys and girls are only little men and women. And WE + are much harder and hardier than they are—” (Peter liked the “we.” + Perhaps the Doctor had known he would.)—“and much stronger, and + things that hurt THEM don't hurt US. You know you mustn't hit a girl—” + </p> + <p> + “I should think not, indeed,” muttered Peter, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Not even if she's your own sister. That's because girls are so much + softer and weaker than we are; they have to be, you know,” he added, + “because if they weren't, it wouldn't be nice for the babies. And that's + why all the animals are so good to the mother animals. They never fight + them, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Peter, interested; “two buck rabbits will fight all day if + you let them, but they won't hurt a doe.” + </p> + <p> + “No; and quite wild beasts—lions and elephants—they're + immensely gentle with the female beasts. And we've got to be, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “And their hearts are soft, too,” the Doctor went on, “and things that we + shouldn't think anything of hurt them dreadfully. So that a man has to be + very careful, not only of his fists, but of his words. They're awfully + brave, you know,” he went on. “Think of Bobbie waiting alone in the tunnel + with that poor chap. It's an odd thing—the softer and more easily + hurt a woman is the better she can screw herself up to do what HAS to be + done. I've seen some brave women—your Mother's one,” he ended + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's all. Excuse my mentioning it. But nobody knows everything + without being told. And you see what I mean, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter. “I'm sorry. There!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are! People always are—directly they understand. + Everyone ought to be taught these scientific facts. So long!” + </p> + <p> + They shook hands heartily. When Peter came home, his sisters looked at him + doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “It's Pax,” said Peter, dumping down the basket on the table. “Dr. Forrest + has been talking scientific to me. No, it's no use my telling you what he + said; you wouldn't understand. But it all comes to you girls being poor, + soft, weak, frightened things like rabbits, so us men have just got to put + up with them. He said you were female beasts. Shall I take this up to + Mother, or will you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know what BOYS are,” said Phyllis, with flaming cheeks; “they're just + the nastiest, rudest—” + </p> + <p> + “They're very brave,” said Bobbie, “sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you mean the chap upstairs? I see. Go ahead, Phil—I shall put + up with you whatever you say because you're a poor, weak, frightened, soft—” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I pull your hair you won't,” said Phyllis, springing at him. + </p> + <p> + “He said 'Pax,'” said Bobbie, pulling her away. “Don't you see,” she + whispered as Peter picked up the basket and stalked out with it, “he's + sorry, really, only he won't say so? Let's say we're sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “It's so goody goody,” said Phyllis, doubtfully; “he said we were female + beasts, and soft and frightened—” + </p> + <p> + “Then let's show him we're not frightened of him thinking us goody goody,” + said Bobbie; “and we're not any more beasts than he is.” + </p> + <p> + And when Peter came back, still with his chin in the air, Bobbie said:— + </p> + <p> + “We're sorry we tied you up, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would be,” said Peter, very stiff and superior. + </p> + <p> + This was hard to bear. But— + </p> + <p> + “Well, so we are,” said Bobbie. “Now let honour be satisfied on both + sides.” + </p> + <p> + “I did call it Pax,” said Peter, in an injured tone. + </p> + <p> + “Then let it BE Pax,” said Bobbie. “Come on, Phil, let's get the tea. + Pete, you might lay the cloth.” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said Phyllis, when peace was really restored, which was not till + they were washing up the cups after tea, “Dr. Forrest didn't REALLY say we + were female beasts, did he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Peter, firmly, “but I think he meant we men were wild beasts, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “How funny of him!” said Phyllis, breaking a cup. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + “May I come in, Mother?” Peter was at the door of Mother's writing room, + where Mother sat at her table with two candles in front of her. Their + flames looked orange and violet against the clear grey blue of the sky + where already a few stars were twinkling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” said Mother, absently, “anything wrong?” She wrote a few more + words and then laid down her pen and began to fold up what she had + written. “I was just writing to Jim's grandfather. He lives near here, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you said so at tea. That's what I want to say. Must you write to + him, Mother? Couldn't we keep Jim, and not say anything to his people till + he's well? It would be such a surprise for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes,” said Mother, laughing, “I think it would.” + </p> + <p> + “You see,” Peter went on, “of course the girls are all right and all that—I'm + not saying anything against THEM. But I should like it if I had another + chap to talk to sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mother, “I know it's dull for you, dear. But I can't help it. + Next year perhaps I can send you to school—you'd like that, wouldn't + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do miss the other chaps, rather,” Peter confessed; “but if Jim could + stay after his leg was well, we could have awful larks.” + </p> + <p> + “I've no doubt of it,” said Mother. “Well—perhaps he could, but you + know, dear, we're not rich. I can't afford to get him everything he'll + want. And he must have a nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you nurse him, Mother? You do nurse people so beautifully.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a pretty compliment, Pete—but I can't do nursing and my + writing as well. That's the worst of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you MUST send the letter to his grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—and to his schoolmaster, too. We telegraphed to them + both, but I must write as well. They'll be most dreadfully anxious.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, Mother, why can't his grandfather pay for a nurse?” Peter + suggested. “That would be ripping. I expect the old boy's rolling in + money. Grandfathers in books always are.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this one isn't in a book,” said Mother, “so we mustn't expect him + to roll much.” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said Peter, musingly, “wouldn't it be jolly if we all WERE in a + book, and you were writing it? Then you could make all sorts of jolly + things happen, and make Jim's legs get well at once and be all right + to-morrow, and Father come home soon and—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you miss your Father very much?” Mother asked, rather coldly, Peter + thought. + </p> + <p> + “Awfully,” said Peter, briefly. + </p> + <p> + Mother was enveloping and addressing the second letter. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” Peter went on slowly, “you see, it's not only him BEING Father, + but now he's away there's no other man in the house but me—that's + why I want Jim to stay so frightfully much. Wouldn't you like to be + writing that book with us all in it, Mother, and make Daddy come home + soon?” + </p> + <p> + Peter's Mother put her arm round him suddenly, and hugged him in silence + for a minute. Then she said:— + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think it's rather nice to think that we're in a book that God's + writing? If I were writing the book, I might make mistakes. But God knows + how to make the story end just right—in the way that's best for us.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really believe that, Mother?” Peter asked quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I do believe it—almost always—except when + I'm so sad that I can't believe anything. But even when I can't believe + it, I know it's true—and I try to believe. You don't know how I try, + Peter. Now take the letters to the post, and don't let's be sad any more. + Courage, courage! That's the finest of all the virtues! I dare say Jim + will be here for two or three weeks yet.” + </p> + <p> + For what was left of the evening Peter was so angelic that Bobbie feared + he was going to be ill. She was quite relieved in the morning to find him + plaiting Phyllis's hair on to the back of her chair in quite his old + manner. + </p> + <p> + It was soon after breakfast that a knock came at the door. The children + were hard at work cleaning the brass candlesticks in honour of Jim's + visit. + </p> + <p> + “That'll be the Doctor,” said Mother; “I'll go. Shut the kitchen door—you're + not fit to be seen.” + </p> + <p> + But it wasn't the Doctor. They knew that by the voice and by the sound of + the boots that went upstairs. They did not recognise the sound of the + boots, but everyone was certain that they had heard the voice before. + </p> + <p> + There was a longish interval. The boots and the voice did not come down + again. + </p> + <p> + “Who can it possibly be?” they kept on asking themselves and each other. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Peter at last, “Dr. Forrest has been attacked by + highwaymen and left for dead, and this is the man he's telegraphed for to + take his place. Mrs. Viney said he had a local tenant to do his work when + he went for a holiday, didn't you, Mrs. Viney?” + </p> + <p> + “I did so, my dear,” said Mrs. Viney from the back kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “He's fallen down in a fit, more likely,” said Phyllis, “all human aid + despaired of. And this is his man come to break the news to Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Peter, briskly; “Mother wouldn't have taken the man up + into Jim's bedroom. Why should she? Listen—the door's opening. Now + they'll come down. I'll open the door a crack.” + </p> + <p> + He did. + </p> + <p> + “It's not listening,” he replied indignantly to Bobbie's scandalised + remarks; “nobody in their senses would talk secrets on the stairs. And + Mother can't have secrets to talk with Dr. Forrest's stable-man—and + you said it was him.” + </p> + <p> + “Bobbie,” called Mother's voice. + </p> + <p> + They opened the kitchen door, and Mother leaned over the stair railing. + </p> + <p> + “Jim's grandfather has come,” she said; “wash your hands and faces and + then you can see him. He wants to see you!” The bedroom door shut again. + </p> + <p> + “There now!” said Peter; “fancy us not even thinking of that! Let's have + some hot water, Mrs. Viney. I'm as black as your hat.” + </p> + <p> + The three were indeed dirty, for the stuff you clean brass candlesticks + with is very far from cleaning to the cleaner. + </p> + <p> + They were still busy with soap and flannel when they heard the boots and + the voice come down the stairs and go into the dining-room. And when they + were clean, though still damp—because it takes such a long time to + dry your hands properly, and they were very impatient to see the + grandfather—they filed into the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + Mother was sitting in the window-seat, and in the leather-covered armchair + that Father always used to sit in at the other house sat— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THEIR OWN OLD GENTLEMAN! +</pre> + <p> + “Well, I never did,” said Peter, even before he said, “How do you do?” He + was, as he explained afterwards, too surprised even to remember that there + was such a thing as politeness—much less to practise it. + </p> + <p> + “It's our own old gentleman!” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's you!” said Bobbie. And then they remembered themselves and their + manners and said, “How do you do?” very nicely. + </p> + <p> + “This is Jim's grandfather, Mr. ——” said Mother, naming the + old gentleman's name. + </p> + <p> + “How splendid!” said Peter; “that's just exactly like a book, isn't it, + Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, rather,” said Mother, smiling; “things do happen in real life that + are rather like books, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so awfully glad it IS you,” said Phyllis; “when you think of the + tons of old gentlemen there are in the world—it might have been + almost anyone.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, though,” said Peter, “you're not going to take Jim away, though, + are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at present,” said the old gentleman. “Your Mother has most kindly + consented to let him stay here. I thought of sending a nurse, but your + Mother is good enough to say that she will nurse him herself.” + </p> + <p> + “But what about her writing?” said Peter, before anyone could stop him. + “There won't be anything for him to eat if Mother doesn't write.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said Mother, hastily. + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman looked very kindly at Mother. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he said, “you trust your children, and confide in them.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Mother. + </p> + <p> + “Then I may tell them of our little arrangement,” he said. “Your Mother, + my dears, has consented to give up writing for a little while and to + become a Matron of my Hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Phyllis, blankly; “and shall we have to go away from Three + Chimneys and the Railway and everything?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, darling,” said Mother, hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “The Hospital is called Three Chimneys Hospital,” said the old gentleman, + “and my unlucky Jim's the only patient, and I hope he'll continue to be + so. Your Mother will be Matron, and there'll be a hospital staff of a + housemaid and a cook—till Jim's well.” + </p> + <p> + “And then will Mother go on writing again?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “We shall see,” said the old gentleman, with a slight, swift glance at + Bobbie; “perhaps something nice may happen and she won't have to.” + </p> + <p> + “I love my writing,” said Mother, very quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the old gentleman; “don't be afraid that I'm going to try + to interfere. But one never knows. Very wonderful and beautiful things do + happen, don't they? And we live most of our lives in the hope of them. I + may come again to see the boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said Mother, “and I don't know how to thank you for making it + possible for me to nurse him. Dear boy!” + </p> + <p> + “He kept calling Mother, Mother, in the night,” said Phyllis. “I woke up + twice and heard him.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't mean me,” said Mother, in a low voice to the old gentleman; + “that's why I wanted so much to keep him.” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman rose. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad,” said Peter, “that you're going to keep him, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care of your Mother, my dears,” said the old gentleman. “She's a + woman in a million.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, isn't she?” whispered Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “God bless her,” said the old gentleman, taking both Mother's hands, “God + bless her! Ay, and she shall be blessed. Dear me, where's my hat? Will + Bobbie come with me to the gate?” + </p> + <p> + At the gate he stopped and said:— + </p> + <p> + “You're a good child, my dear—I got your letter. But it wasn't + needed. When I read about your Father's case in the papers at the time, I + had my doubts. And ever since I've known who you were, I've been trying to + find out things. I haven't done very much yet. But I have hopes, my dear—I + have hopes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Bobbie, choking a little. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I may say great hopes. But keep your secret a little longer. + Wouldn't do to upset your Mother with a false hope, would it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it isn't false!” said Bobbie; “I KNOW you can do it. I knew you + could when I wrote. It isn't a false hope, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “I don't think it's a false hope, or I wouldn't have told + you. And I think you deserve to be told that there IS a hope.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't think Father did it, do you? Oh, say you don't think he + did.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” he said, “I'm perfectly CERTAIN he didn't.” + </p> + <p> + If it was a false hope, it was none the less a very radiant one that lay + warm at Bobbie's heart, and through the days that followed lighted her + little face as a Japanese lantern is lighted by the candle within. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter XIV. The End. + </h2> + <p> + Life at the Three Chimneys was never quite the same again after the old + gentleman came to see his grandson. Although they now knew his name, the + children never spoke of him by it—at any rate, when they were by + themselves. To them he was always the old gentleman, and I think he had + better be the old gentleman to us, too. It wouldn't make him seem any more + real to you, would it, if I were to tell you that his name was Snooks or + Jenkins (which it wasn't)?—and, after all, I must be allowed to keep + one secret. It's the only one; I have told you everything else, except + what I am going to tell you in this chapter, which is the last. At least, + of course, I haven't told you EVERYTHING. If I were to do that, the book + would never come to an end, and that would be a pity, wouldn't it? + </p> + <p> + Well, as I was saying, life at Three Chimneys was never quite the same + again. The cook and the housemaid were very nice (I don't mind telling you + their names—they were Clara and Ethelwyn), but they told Mother they + did not seem to want Mrs. Viney, and that she was an old muddler. So Mrs. + Viney came only two days a week to do washing and ironing. Then Clara and + Ethelwyn said they could do the work all right if they weren't interfered + with, and that meant that the children no longer got the tea and cleared + it away and washed up the tea-things and dusted the rooms. + </p> + <p> + This would have left quite a blank in their lives, although they had often + pretended to themselves and to each other that they hated housework. But + now that Mother had no writing and no housework to do, she had time for + lessons. And lessons the children had to do. However nice the person who + is teaching you may be, lessons are lessons all the world over, and at + their best are worse fun than peeling potatoes or lighting a fire. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, if Mother now had time for lessons, she also had time + for play, and to make up little rhymes for the children as she used to do. + She had not had much time for rhymes since she came to Three Chimneys. + </p> + <p> + There was one very odd thing about these lessons. Whatever the children + were doing, they always wanted to be doing something else. When Peter was + doing his Latin, he thought it would be nice to be learning History like + Bobbie. Bobbie would have preferred Arithmetic, which was what Phyllis + happened to be doing, and Phyllis of course thought Latin much the most + interesting kind of lesson. And so on. + </p> + <p> + So, one day, when they sat down to lessons, each of them found a little + rhyme at its place. I put the rhymes in to show you that their Mother + really did understand a little how children feel about things, and also + the kind of words they use, which is the case with very few grown-up + people. I suppose most grown-ups have very bad memories, and have + forgotten how they felt when they were little. Of course, the verses are + supposed to be spoken by the children. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PETER + + I once thought Caesar easy pap— + How very soft I must have been! + When they start Caesar with a chap + He little know what that will mean. + Oh, verbs are silly stupid things. + I'd rather learn the dates of kings! + + BOBBIE + + The worst of all my lesson things + Is learning who succeeded who + In all the rows of queens and kings, + With dates to everything they do: + With dates enough to make you sick;— + I wish it was Arithmetic! + + PHYLLIS + + Such pounds and pounds of apples fill + My slate—what is the price you'd spend? + You scratch the figures out until + You cry upon the dividend. + I'd break the slate and scream for joy + If I did Latin like a boy! +</pre> + <p> + This kind of thing, of course, made lessons much jollier. It is something + to know that the person who is teaching you sees that it is not all plain + sailing for you, and does not think that it is just your stupidness that + makes you not know your lessons till you've learned them! + </p> + <p> + Then as Jim's leg got better it was very pleasant to go up and sit with + him and hear tales about his school life and the other boys. There was one + boy, named Parr, of whom Jim seemed to have formed the lowest possible + opinion, and another boy named Wigsby Minor, for whose views Jim had a + great respect. Also there were three brothers named Paley, and the + youngest was called Paley Terts, and was much given to fighting. + </p> + <p> + Peter drank in all this with deep joy, and Mother seemed to have listened + with some interest, for one day she gave Jim a sheet of paper on which she + had written a rhyme about Parr, bringing in Paley and Wigsby by name in a + most wonderful way, as well as all the reasons Jim had for not liking + Parr, and Wigsby's wise opinion on the matter. Jim was immensely pleased. + He had never had a rhyme written expressly for him before. He read it till + he knew it by heart and then he sent it to Wigsby, who liked it almost as + much as Jim did. Perhaps you may like it, too. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE NEW BOY + + His name is Parr: he says that he + Is given bread and milk for tea. + He says his father killed a bear. + He says his mother cuts his hair. + + He wears goloshes when it's wet. + I've heard his people call him “Pet”! + He has no proper sense of shame; + He told the chaps his Christian name. + + He cannot wicket-keep at all, + He's frightened of a cricket ball. + He reads indoors for hours and hours. + He knows the names of beastly flowers. + + He says his French just like Mossoo— + A beastly stuck-up thing to do— + He won't keep <i>cave</i>, shirks his turn + And says he came to school to learn! + + He won't play football, says it hurts; + He wouldn't fight with Paley Terts; + He couldn't whistle if he tried, + And when we laughed at him he cried! + + Now Wigsby Minor says that Parr + Is only like all new boys are. + I know when <i>I</i> first came to school + I wasn't such a jolly fool! +</pre> + <p> + Jim could never understand how Mother could have been clever enough to do + it. To the others it seemed nice, but natural. You see they had always + been used to having a mother who could write verses just like the way + people talk, even to the shocking expression at the end of the rhyme, + which was Jim's very own. + </p> + <p> + Jim taught Peter to play chess and draughts and dominoes, and altogether + it was a nice quiet time. + </p> + <p> + Only Jim's leg got better and better, and a general feeling began to + spring up among Bobbie, Peter, and Phyllis that something ought to be done + to amuse him; not just games, but something really handsome. But it was + extraordinarily difficult to think of anything. + </p> + <p> + “It's no good,” said Peter, when all of them had thought and thought till + their heads felt quite heavy and swollen; “if we can't think of anything + to amuse him, we just can't, and there's an end of it. Perhaps something + will just happen of its own accord that he'll like.” + </p> + <p> + “Things DO happen by themselves sometimes, without your making them,” said + Phyllis, rather as though, usually, everything that happened in the world + was her doing. + </p> + <p> + “I wish something would happen,” said Bobbie, dreamily, “something + wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + And something wonderful did happen exactly four days after she had said + this. I wish I could say it was three days after, because in fairy tales + it is always three days after that things happen. But this is not a fairy + story, and besides, it really was four and not three, and I am nothing if + not strictly truthful. + </p> + <p> + They seemed to be hardly Railway children at all in those days, and as the + days went on each had an uneasy feeling about this which Phyllis expressed + one day. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if the Railway misses us,” she said, plaintively. “We never go + to see it now.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems ungrateful,” said Bobbie; “we loved it so when we hadn't anyone + else to play with.” + </p> + <p> + “Perks is always coming up to ask after Jim,” said Peter, “and the + signalman's little boy is better. He told me so.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean the people,” explained Phyllis; “I meant the dear Railway + itself.” + </p> + <p> + “The thing I don't like,” said Bobbie, on this fourth day, which was a + Tuesday, “is our having stopped waving to the 9.15 and sending our love to + Father by it.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's begin again,” said Phyllis. And they did. + </p> + <p> + Somehow the change of everything that was made by having servants in the + house and Mother not doing any writing, made the time seem extremely long + since that strange morning at the beginning of things, when they had got + up so early and burnt the bottom out of the kettle and had apple pie for + breakfast and first seen the Railway. + </p> + <p> + It was September now, and the turf on the slope to the Railway was dry and + crisp. Little long grass spikes stood up like bits of gold wire, frail + blue harebells trembled on their tough, slender stalks, Gipsy roses opened + wide and flat their lilac-coloured discs, and the golden stars of St. + John's Wort shone at the edges of the pool that lay halfway to the + Railway. Bobbie gathered a generous handful of the flowers and thought how + pretty they would look lying on the green-and-pink blanket of silk-waste + that now covered Jim's poor broken leg. + </p> + <p> + “Hurry up,” said Peter, “or we shall miss the 9.15!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't hurry more than I am doing,” said Phyllis. “Oh, bother it! My + bootlace has come undone AGAIN!” + </p> + <p> + “When you're married,” said Peter, “your bootlace will come undone going + up the church aisle, and your man that you're going to get married to will + tumble over it and smash his nose in on the ornamented pavement; and then + you'll say you won't marry him, and you'll have to be an old maid.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan't,” said Phyllis. “I'd much rather marry a man with his nose + smashed in than not marry anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be horrid to marry a man with a smashed nose, all the same,” + went on Bobbie. “He wouldn't be able to smell the flowers at the wedding. + Wouldn't that be awful!” + </p> + <p> + “Bother the flowers at the wedding!” cried Peter. “Look! the signal's + down. We must run!” + </p> + <p> + They ran. And once more they waved their handkerchiefs, without at all + minding whether the handkerchiefs were clean or not, to the 9.15. + </p> + <p> + “Take our love to Father!” cried Bobbie. And the others, too, shouted:— + </p> + <p> + “Take our love to Father!” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman waved from his first-class carriage window. Quite + violently he waved. And there was nothing odd in that, for he always had + waved. But what was really remarkable was that from every window + handkerchiefs fluttered, newspapers signalled, hands waved wildly. The + train swept by with a rustle and roar, the little pebbles jumped and + danced under it as it passed, and the children were left looking at each + other. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “WELL!” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + “<i>WELL!</i>” said Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever on earth does that mean?” asked Peter, but he did not expect any + answer. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> don't know,” said Bobbie. “Perhaps the old gentleman told the + people at his station to look out for us and wave. He knew we should like + it!” + </p> + <p> + Now, curiously enough, this was just what had happened. The old gentleman, + who was very well known and respected at his particular station, had got + there early that morning, and he had waited at the door where the young + man stands holding the interesting machine that clips the tickets, and he + had said something to every single passenger who passed through that door. + And after nodding to what the old gentleman had said—and the nods + expressed every shade of surprise, interest, doubt, cheerful pleasure, and + grumpy agreement—each passenger had gone on to the platform and read + one certain part of his newspaper. And when the passengers got into the + train, they had told the other passengers who were already there what the + old gentleman had said, and then the other passengers had also looked at + their newspapers and seemed very astonished and, mostly, pleased. Then, + when the train passed the fence where the three children were, newspapers + and hands and handkerchiefs were waved madly, till all that side of the + train was fluttery with white like the pictures of the King's Coronation + in the biograph at Maskelyne and Cook's. To the children it almost seemed + as though the train itself was alive, and was at last responding to the + love that they had given it so freely and so long. + </p> + <p> + “It is most extraordinarily rum!” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Most stronery!” echoed Phyllis. + </p> + <p> + But Bobbie said, “Don't you think the old gentleman's waves seemed more + significating than usual?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the others. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Bobbie. “I thought he was trying to explain something to us + with his newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain what?” asked Peter, not unnaturally. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> don't know,” Bobbie answered, “but I do feel most awfully funny. + I feel just exactly as if something was going to happen.” + </p> + <p> + “What is going to happen,” said Peter, “is that Phyllis's stocking is + going to come down.” + </p> + <p> + This was but too true. The suspender had given way in the agitation of the + waves to the 9.15. Bobbie's handkerchief served as first aid to the + injured, and they all went home. + </p> + <p> + Lessons were more than usually difficult to Bobbie that day. Indeed, she + disgraced herself so deeply over a quite simple sum about the division of + 48 pounds of meat and 36 pounds of bread among 144 hungry children that + Mother looked at her anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you feel quite well, dear?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” was Bobbie's unexpected answer. “I don't know how I feel. + It isn't that I'm lazy. Mother, will you let me off lessons to-day? I feel + as if I wanted to be quite alone by myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course I'll let you off,” said Mother; “but—” + </p> + <p> + Bobbie dropped her slate. It cracked just across the little green mark + that is so useful for drawing patterns round, and it was never the same + slate again. Without waiting to pick it up she bolted. Mother caught her + in the hall feeling blindly among the waterproofs and umbrellas for her + garden hat. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, my sweetheart?” said Mother. “You don't feel ill, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I DON'T know,” Bobbie answered, a little breathlessly, “but I want to be + by myself and see if my head really IS all silly and my inside all + squirmy-twisty.” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't you better lie down?” Mother said, stroking her hair back from her + forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I'd be more alive in the garden, I think,” said Bobbie. + </p> + <p> + But she could not stay in the garden. The hollyhocks and the asters and + the late roses all seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It was + one of those still, shiny autumn days, when everything does seem to be + waiting. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie could not wait. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go down to the station,” she said, “and talk to Perks and ask about + the signalman's little boy.” + </p> + <p> + So she went down. On the way she passed the old lady from the Post-office, + who gave her a kiss and a hug, but, rather to Bobbie's surprise, no words + except:— + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, love—” and, after a pause, “run along—do.” + </p> + <p> + The draper's boy, who had sometimes been a little less than civil and a + little more than contemptuous, now touched his cap, and uttered the + remarkable words:— + </p> + <p> + “'Morning, Miss, I'm sure—” + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith, coming along with an open newspaper in his hand, was even + more strange in his manner. He grinned broadly, though, as a rule, he was + a man not given to smiles, and waved the newspaper long before he came up + to her. And as he passed her, he said, in answer to her “Good morning”:— + </p> + <p> + “Good morning to you, Missie, and many of them! I wish you joy, that I + do!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Bobbie to herself, and her heart quickened its beats, + “something IS going to happen! I know it is—everyone is so odd, like + people are in dreams.” + </p> + <p> + The Station Master wrung her hand warmly. In fact he worked it up and down + like a pump-handle. But he gave her no reason for this unusually + enthusiastic greeting. He only said:— + </p> + <p> + “The 11.54's a bit late, Miss—the extra luggage this holiday time,” + and went away very quickly into that inner Temple of his into which even + Bobbie dared not follow him. + </p> + <p> + Perks was not to be seen, and Bobbie shared the solitude of the platform + with the Station Cat. This tortoiseshell lady, usually of a retiring + disposition, came to-day to rub herself against the brown stockings of + Bobbie with arched back, waving tail, and reverberating purrs. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” said Bobbie, stooping to stroke her, “how very kind everybody + is to-day—even you, Pussy!” + </p> + <p> + Perks did not appear until the 11.54 was signalled, and then he, like + everybody else that morning, had a newspaper in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he said, “'ere you are. Well, if THIS is the train, it'll be + smart work! Well, God bless you, my dear! I see it in the paper, and I + don't think I was ever so glad of anything in all my born days!” He looked + at Bobbie a moment, then said, “One I must have, Miss, and no offence, I + know, on a day like this 'ere!” and with that he kissed her, first on one + cheek and then on the other. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't offended, are you?” he asked anxiously. “I ain't took too great + a liberty? On a day like this, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Bobbie, “of course it's not a liberty, dear Mr. Perks; we + love you quite as much as if you were an uncle of ours—but—on + a day like WHAT?” + </p> + <p> + “Like this 'ere!” said Perks. “Don't I tell you I see it in the paper?” + </p> + <p> + “Saw WHAT in the paper?” asked Bobbie, but already the 11.54 was steaming + into the station and the Station Master was looking at all the places + where Perks was not and ought to have been. + </p> + <p> + Bobbie was left standing alone, the Station Cat watching her from under + the bench with friendly golden eyes. + </p> + <p> + Of course you know already exactly what was going to happen. Bobbie was + not so clever. She had the vague, confused, expectant feeling that comes + to one's heart in dreams. What her heart expected I can't tell—perhaps + the very thing that you and I know was going to happen—but her mind + expected nothing; it was almost blank, and felt nothing but tiredness and + stupidness and an empty feeling, like your body has when you have been a + long walk and it is very far indeed past your proper dinner-time. + </p> + <p> + Only three people got out of the 11.54. The first was a countryman with + two baskety boxes full of live chickens who stuck their russet heads out + anxiously through the wicker bars; the second was Miss Peckitt, the + grocer's wife's cousin, with a tin box and three brown-paper parcels; and + the third— + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my Daddy, my Daddy!” That scream went like a knife into the heart of + everyone in the train, and people put their heads out of the windows to + see a tall pale man with lips set in a thin close line, and a little girl + clinging to him with arms and legs, while his arms went tightly round her. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + “I knew something wonderful was going to happen,” said Bobbie, as they + went up the road, “but I didn't think it was going to be this. Oh, my + Daddy, my Daddy!” + </p> + <p> + “Then didn't Mother get my letter?” Father asked. + </p> + <p> + “There weren't any letters this morning. Oh! Daddy! it IS really you, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The clasp of a hand she had not forgotten assured her that it was. “You + must go in by yourself, Bobbie, and tell Mother quite quietly that it's + all right. They've caught the man who did it. Everyone knows now that it + wasn't your Daddy.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> always knew it wasn't,” said Bobbie. “Me and Mother and our old + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “it's all his doing. Mother wrote and told me you had + found out. And she told me what you'd been to her. My own little girl!” + They stopped a minute then. + </p> + <p> + And now I see them crossing the field. Bobbie goes into the house, trying + to keep her eyes from speaking before her lips have found the right words + to “tell Mother quite quietly” that the sorrow and the struggle and the + parting are over and done, and that Father has come home. + </p> + <p> + I see Father walking in the garden, waiting—waiting. He is looking + at the flowers, and each flower is a miracle to eyes that all these months + of Spring and Summer have seen only flagstones and gravel and a little + grudging grass. But his eyes keep turning towards the house. And presently + he leaves the garden and goes to stand outside the nearest door. It is the + back door, and across the yard the swallows are circling. They are getting + ready to fly away from cold winds and keen frost to the land where it is + always summer. They are the same swallows that the children built the + little clay nests for. + </p> + <p> + Now the house door opens. Bobbie's voice calls:— + </p> + <p> + “Come in, Daddy; come in!” + </p> + <p> + He goes in and the door is shut. I think we will not open the door or + follow him. I think that just now we are not wanted there. I think it will + be best for us to go quickly and quietly away. At the end of the field, + among the thin gold spikes of grass and the harebells and Gipsy roses and + St. John's Wort, we may just take one last look, over our shoulders, at + the white house where neither we nor anyone else is wanted now. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Railway Children, by E. 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Nesbit + +Posting Date: November 6, 2008 [EBook #1874] +Release Date: August, 1999 +[Last updated: August 6, 2012] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAILWAY CHILDREN *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler + + + + + +THE RAILWAY CHILDREN + +By E. Nesbit + + + To my dear son Paul Bland, + behind whose knowledge of railways + my ignorance confidently shelters. + + +Contents. + + I. The beginning of things. + II. Peter's coal-mine. + III. The old gentleman. + IV. The engine-burglar. + V. Prisoners and captives. + VI. Saviours of the train. + VII. For valour. + VIII. The amateur fireman. + IX. The pride of Perks. + X. The terrible secret. + XI. The hound in the red jersey. + XII. What Bobbie brought home. + XIII. The hound's grandfather. + XIV. The End. + + + + +Chapter I. The beginning of things. + + +They were not railway children to begin with. I don't suppose they had +ever thought about railways except as a means of getting to Maskelyne +and Cook's, the Pantomime, Zoological Gardens, and Madame Tussaud's. +They were just ordinary suburban children, and they lived with their +Father and Mother in an ordinary red-brick-fronted villa, with coloured +glass in the front door, a tiled passage that was called a hall, a +bath-room with hot and cold water, electric bells, French windows, and +a good deal of white paint, and 'every modern convenience', as the +house-agents say. + +There were three of them. Roberta was the eldest. Of course, Mothers +never have favourites, but if their Mother HAD had a favourite, it might +have been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wished to be an Engineer when he +grew up; and the youngest was Phyllis, who meant extremely well. + +Mother did not spend all her time in paying dull calls to dull ladies, +and sitting dully at home waiting for dull ladies to pay calls to her. +She was almost always there, ready to play with the children, and read +to them, and help them to do their home-lessons. Besides this she used +to write stories for them while they were at school, and read them +aloud after tea, and she always made up funny pieces of poetry for their +birthdays and for other great occasions, such as the christening of the +new kittens, or the refurnishing of the doll's house, or the time when +they were getting over the mumps. + +These three lucky children always had everything they needed: pretty +clothes, good fires, a lovely nursery with heaps of toys, and a Mother +Goose wall-paper. They had a kind and merry nursemaid, and a dog who was +called James, and who was their very own. They also had a Father who was +just perfect--never cross, never unjust, and always ready for a game--at +least, if at any time he was NOT ready, he always had an excellent +reason for it, and explained the reason to the children so interestingly +and funnily that they felt sure he couldn't help himself. + +You will think that they ought to have been very happy. And so they +were, but they did not know HOW happy till the pretty life in the Red +Villa was over and done with, and they had to live a very different life +indeed. + +The dreadful change came quite suddenly. + +Peter had a birthday--his tenth. Among his other presents was a model +engine more perfect than you could ever have dreamed of. The other +presents were full of charm, but the Engine was fuller of charm than any +of the others were. + +Its charm lasted in its full perfection for exactly three days. Then, +owing either to Peter's inexperience or Phyllis's good intentions, which +had been rather pressing, or to some other cause, the Engine suddenly +went off with a bang. James was so frightened that he went out and did +not come back all day. All the Noah's Ark people who were in the tender +were broken to bits, but nothing else was hurt except the poor little +engine and the feelings of Peter. The others said he cried over it--but +of course boys of ten do not cry, however terrible the tragedies may be +which darken their lot. He said that his eyes were red because he had a +cold. This turned out to be true, though Peter did not know it was when +he said it, the next day he had to go to bed and stay there. Mother +began to be afraid that he might be sickening for measles, when suddenly +he sat up in bed and said: + +"I hate gruel--I hate barley water--I hate bread and milk. I want to get +up and have something REAL to eat." + +"What would you like?" Mother asked. + +"A pigeon-pie," said Peter, eagerly, "a large pigeon-pie. A very large +one." + +So Mother asked the Cook to make a large pigeon-pie. The pie was made. +And when the pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was cooked, Peter +ate some of it. After that his cold was better. Mother made a piece of +poetry to amuse him while the pie was being made. It began by saying +what an unfortunate but worthy boy Peter was, then it went on: + + He had an engine that he loved + With all his heart and soul, + And if he had a wish on earth + It was to keep it whole. + + One day--my friends, prepare your minds; + I'm coming to the worst-- + Quite suddenly a screw went mad, + And then the boiler burst! + + With gloomy face he picked it up + And took it to his Mother, + Though even he could not suppose + That she could make another; + + For those who perished on the line + He did not seem to care, + His engine being more to him + Than all the people there. + + And now you see the reason why + Our Peter has been ill: + He soothes his soul with pigeon-pie + His gnawing grief to kill. + + He wraps himself in blankets warm + And sleeps in bed till late, + Determined thus to overcome + His miserable fate. + + And if his eyes are rather red, + His cold must just excuse it: + Offer him pie; you may be sure + He never will refuse it. + +Father had been away in the country for three or four days. All Peter's +hopes for the curing of his afflicted Engine were now fixed on his +Father, for Father was most wonderfully clever with his fingers. He +could mend all sorts of things. He had often acted as veterinary surgeon +to the wooden rocking-horse; once he had saved its life when all human +aid was despaired of, and the poor creature was given up for lost, and +even the carpenter said he didn't see his way to do anything. And it was +Father who mended the doll's cradle when no one else could; and with a +little glue and some bits of wood and a pen-knife made all the Noah's +Ark beasts as strong on their pins as ever they were, if not stronger. + +Peter, with heroic unselfishness, did not say anything about his Engine +till after Father had had his dinner and his after-dinner cigar. The +unselfishness was Mother's idea--but it was Peter who carried it out. +And needed a good deal of patience, too. + +At last Mother said to Father, "Now, dear, if you're quite rested, and +quite comfy, we want to tell you about the great railway accident, and +ask your advice." + +"All right," said Father, "fire away!" + +So then Peter told the sad tale, and fetched what was left of the +Engine. + +"Hum," said Father, when he had looked the Engine over very carefully. + +The children held their breaths. + +"Is there NO hope?" said Peter, in a low, unsteady voice. + +"Hope? Rather! Tons of it," said Father, cheerfully; "but it'll want +something besides hope--a bit of brazing say, or some solder, and a new +valve. I think we'd better keep it for a rainy day. In other words, I'll +give up Saturday afternoon to it, and you shall all help me." + +"CAN girls help to mend engines?" Peter asked doubtfully. + +"Of course they can. Girls are just as clever as boys, and don't you +forget it! How would you like to be an engine-driver, Phil?" + +"My face would be always dirty, wouldn't it?" said Phyllis, in +unenthusiastic tones, "and I expect I should break something." + +"I should just love it," said Roberta--"do you think I could when I'm +grown up, Daddy? Or even a stoker?" + +"You mean a fireman," said Daddy, pulling and twisting at the engine. +"Well, if you still wish it, when you're grown up, we'll see about +making you a fire-woman. I remember when I was a boy--" + +Just then there was a knock at the front door. + +"Who on earth!" said Father. "An Englishman's house is his castle, of +course, but I do wish they built semi-detached villas with moats and +drawbridges." + +Ruth--she was the parlour-maid and had red hair--came in and said that +two gentlemen wanted to see the master. + +"I've shown them into the Library, Sir," said she. + +"I expect it's the subscription to the Vicar's testimonial," said +Mother, "or else it's the choir holiday fund. Get rid of them quickly, +dear. It does break up an evening so, and it's nearly the children's +bedtime." + +But Father did not seem to be able to get rid of the gentlemen at all +quickly. + +"I wish we HAD got a moat and drawbridge," said Roberta; "then, when we +didn't want people, we could just pull up the drawbridge and no one else +could get in. I expect Father will have forgotten about when he was a +boy if they stay much longer." + +Mother tried to make the time pass by telling them a new fairy story +about a Princess with green eyes, but it was difficult because they +could hear the voices of Father and the gentlemen in the Library, and +Father's voice sounded louder and different to the voice he generally +used to people who came about testimonials and holiday funds. + +Then the Library bell rang, and everyone heaved a breath of relief. + +"They're going now," said Phyllis; "he's rung to have them shown out." + +But instead of showing anybody out, Ruth showed herself in, and she +looked queer, the children thought. + +"Please'm," she said, "the Master wants you to just step into the study. +He looks like the dead, mum; I think he's had bad news. You'd best +prepare yourself for the worst, 'm--p'raps it's a death in the family or +a bank busted or--" + +"That'll do, Ruth," said Mother gently; "you can go." + +Then Mother went into the Library. There was more talking. Then the bell +rang again, and Ruth fetched a cab. The children heard boots go out and +down the steps. The cab drove away, and the front door shut. Then Mother +came in. Her dear face was as white as her lace collar, and her eyes +looked very big and shining. Her mouth looked like just a line of pale +red--her lips were thin and not their proper shape at all. + +"It's bedtime," she said. "Ruth will put you to bed." + +"But you promised we should sit up late tonight because Father's come +home," said Phyllis. + +"Father's been called away--on business," said Mother. "Come, darlings, +go at once." + +They kissed her and went. Roberta lingered to give Mother an extra hug +and to whisper: + +"It wasn't bad news, Mammy, was it? Is anyone dead--or--" + +"Nobody's dead--no," said Mother, and she almost seemed to push Roberta +away. "I can't tell you anything tonight, my pet. Go, dear, go NOW." + +So Roberta went. + +Ruth brushed the girls' hair and helped them to undress. (Mother almost +always did this herself.) When she had turned down the gas and left them +she found Peter, still dressed, waiting on the stairs. + +"I say, Ruth, what's up?" he asked. + +"Don't ask me no questions and I won't tell you no lies," the red-headed +Ruth replied. "You'll know soon enough." + +Late that night Mother came up and kissed all three children as they +lay asleep. But Roberta was the only one whom the kiss woke, and she lay +mousey-still, and said nothing. + +"If Mother doesn't want us to know she's been crying," she said to +herself as she heard through the dark the catching of her Mother's +breath, "we WON'T know it. That's all." + +When they came down to breakfast the next morning, Mother had already +gone out. + +"To London," Ruth said, and left them to their breakfast. + +"There's something awful the matter," said Peter, breaking his egg. +"Ruth told me last night we should know soon enough." + +"Did you ASK her?" said Roberta, with scorn. + +"Yes, I did!" said Peter, angrily. "If you could go to bed without +caring whether Mother was worried or not, I couldn't. So there." + +"I don't think we ought to ask the servants things Mother doesn't tell +us," said Roberta. + +"That's right, Miss Goody-goody," said Peter, "preach away." + +"I'M not goody," said Phyllis, "but I think Bobbie's right this time." + +"Of course. She always is. In her own opinion," said Peter. + +"Oh, DON'T!" cried Roberta, putting down her egg-spoon; "don't let's be +horrid to each other. I'm sure some dire calamity is happening. Don't +let's make it worse!" + +"Who began, I should like to know?" said Peter. + +Roberta made an effort, and answered:-- + +"I did, I suppose, but--" + +"Well, then," said Peter, triumphantly. But before he went to school he +thumped his sister between the shoulders and told her to cheer up. + +The children came home to one o'clock dinner, but Mother was not there. +And she was not there at tea-time. + +It was nearly seven before she came in, looking so ill and tired that +the children felt they could not ask her any questions. She sank into an +arm-chair. Phyllis took the long pins out of her hat, while Roberta took +off her gloves, and Peter unfastened her walking-shoes and fetched her +soft velvety slippers for her. + +When she had had a cup of tea, and Roberta had put eau-de-Cologne on her +poor head that ached, Mother said:-- + +"Now, my darlings, I want to tell you something. Those men last night +did bring very bad news, and Father will be away for some time. I am +very worried about it, and I want you all to help me, and not to make +things harder for me." + +"As if we would!" said Roberta, holding Mother's hand against her face. + +"You can help me very much," said Mother, "by being good and happy +and not quarrelling when I'm away"--Roberta and Peter exchanged guilty +glances--"for I shall have to be away a good deal." + +"We won't quarrel. Indeed we won't," said everybody. And meant it, too. + +"Then," Mother went on, "I want you not to ask me any questions about +this trouble; and not to ask anybody else any questions." + +Peter cringed and shuffled his boots on the carpet. + +"You'll promise this, too, won't you?" said Mother. + +"I did ask Ruth," said Peter, suddenly. "I'm very sorry, but I did." + +"And what did she say?" + +"She said I should know soon enough." + +"It isn't necessary for you to know anything about it," said Mother; +"it's about business, and you never do understand business, do you?" + +"No," said Roberta; "is it something to do with Government?" For Father +was in a Government Office. + +"Yes," said Mother. "Now it's bed-time, my darlings. And don't YOU +worry. It'll all come right in the end." + +"Then don't YOU worry either, Mother," said Phyllis, "and we'll all be +as good as gold." + +Mother sighed and kissed them. + +"We'll begin being good the first thing tomorrow morning," said Peter, +as they went upstairs. + +"Why not NOW?" said Roberta. + +"There's nothing to be good ABOUT now, silly," said Peter. + +"We might begin to try to FEEL good," said Phyllis, "and not call +names." + +"Who's calling names?" said Peter. "Bobbie knows right enough that when +I say 'silly', it's just the same as if I said Bobbie." + +"WELL," said Roberta. + +"No, I don't mean what you mean. I mean it's just a--what is it Father +calls it?--a germ of endearment! Good night." + +The girls folded up their clothes with more than usual neatness--which +was the only way of being good that they could think of. + +"I say," said Phyllis, smoothing out her pinafore, "you used to say +it was so dull--nothing happening, like in books. Now something HAS +happened." + +"I never wanted things to happen to make Mother unhappy," said Roberta. +"Everything's perfectly horrid." + +Everything continued to be perfectly horrid for some weeks. + +Mother was nearly always out. Meals were dull and dirty. The +between-maid was sent away, and Aunt Emma came on a visit. Aunt Emma was +much older than Mother. She was going abroad to be a governess. She +was very busy getting her clothes ready, and they were very ugly, dingy +clothes, and she had them always littering about, and the sewing-machine +seemed to whir--on and on all day and most of the night. Aunt Emma +believed in keeping children in their proper places. And they more than +returned the compliment. Their idea of Aunt Emma's proper place was +anywhere where they were not. So they saw very little of her. They +preferred the company of the servants, who were more amusing. Cook, +if in a good temper, could sing comic songs, and the housemaid, if she +happened not to be offended with you, could imitate a hen that has laid +an egg, a bottle of champagne being opened, and could mew like two cats +fighting. The servants never told the children what the bad news was +that the gentlemen had brought to Father. But they kept hinting +that they could tell a great deal if they chose--and this was not +comfortable. + +One day when Peter had made a booby trap over the bath-room door, and +it had acted beautifully as Ruth passed through, that red-haired +parlour-maid caught him and boxed his ears. + +"You'll come to a bad end," she said furiously, "you nasty little limb, +you! If you don't mend your ways, you'll go where your precious Father's +gone, so I tell you straight!" + +Roberta repeated this to her Mother, and next day Ruth was sent away. + +Then came the time when Mother came home and went to bed and stayed +there two days and the Doctor came, and the children crept wretchedly +about the house and wondered if the world was coming to an end. + +Mother came down one morning to breakfast, very pale and with lines +on her face that used not to be there. And she smiled, as well as she +could, and said:-- + +"Now, my pets, everything is settled. We're going to leave this house, +and go and live in the country. Such a ducky dear little white house. I +know you'll love it." + +A whirling week of packing followed--not just packing clothes, like when +you go to the seaside, but packing chairs and tables, covering their +tops with sacking and their legs with straw. + +All sorts of things were packed that you don't pack when you go to +the seaside. Crockery, blankets, candlesticks, carpets, bedsteads, +saucepans, and even fenders and fire-irons. + +The house was like a furniture warehouse. I think the children enjoyed +it very much. Mother was very busy, but not too busy now to talk to +them, and read to them, and even to make a bit of poetry for Phyllis to +cheer her up when she fell down with a screwdriver and ran it into her +hand. + +"Aren't you going to pack this, Mother?" Roberta asked, pointing to the +beautiful cabinet inlaid with red turtleshell and brass. + +"We can't take everything," said Mother. + +"But we seem to be taking all the ugly things," said Roberta. + +"We're taking the useful ones," said Mother; "we've got to play at being +Poor for a bit, my chickabiddy." + +When all the ugly useful things had been packed up and taken away in a +van by men in green-baize aprons, the two girls and Mother and Aunt Emma +slept in the two spare rooms where the furniture was all pretty. All +their beds had gone. A bed was made up for Peter on the drawing-room +sofa. + +"I say, this is larks," he said, wriggling joyously, as Mother tucked +him up. "I do like moving! I wish we moved once a month." + +Mother laughed. + +"I don't!" she said. "Good night, Peterkin." + +As she turned away Roberta saw her face. She never forgot it. + +"Oh, Mother," she whispered all to herself as she got into bed, "how +brave you are! How I love you! Fancy being brave enough to laugh when +you're feeling like THAT!" + +Next day boxes were filled, and boxes and more boxes; and then late in +the afternoon a cab came to take them to the station. + +Aunt Emma saw them off. They felt that THEY were seeing HER off, and +they were glad of it. + +"But, oh, those poor little foreign children that she's going to +governess!" whispered Phyllis. "I wouldn't be them for anything!" + +At first they enjoyed looking out of the window, but when it grew dusk +they grew sleepier and sleepier, and no one knew how long they had been +in the train when they were roused by Mother's shaking them gently and +saying:-- + +"Wake up, dears. We're there." + +They woke up, cold and melancholy, and stood shivering on the draughty +platform while the baggage was taken out of the train. Then the engine, +puffing and blowing, set to work again, and dragged the train away. The +children watched the tail-lights of the guard's van disappear into the +darkness. + +This was the first train the children saw on that railway which was in +time to become so very dear to them. They did not guess then how they +would grow to love the railway, and how soon it would become the centre +of their new life, nor what wonders and changes it would bring to them. +They only shivered and sneezed and hoped the walk to the new house would +not be long. Peter's nose was colder than he ever remembered it to have +been before. Roberta's hat was crooked, and the elastic seemed tighter +than usual. Phyllis's shoe-laces had come undone. + +"Come," said Mother, "we've got to walk. There aren't any cabs here." + +The walk was dark and muddy. The children stumbled a little on the rough +road, and once Phyllis absently fell into a puddle, and was picked up +damp and unhappy. There were no gas-lamps on the road, and the road was +uphill. The cart went at a foot's pace, and they followed the gritty +crunch of its wheels. As their eyes got used to the darkness, they could +see the mound of boxes swaying dimly in front of them. + +A long gate had to be opened for the cart to pass through, and after +that the road seemed to go across fields--and now it went down hill. +Presently a great dark lumpish thing showed over to the right. + +"There's the house," said Mother. "I wonder why she's shut the +shutters." + +"Who's SHE?" asked Roberta. + +"The woman I engaged to clean the place, and put the furniture straight +and get supper." + +There was a low wall, and trees inside. + +"That's the garden," said Mother. + +"It looks more like a dripping-pan full of black cabbages," said Peter. + +The cart went on along by the garden wall, and round to the back of the +house, and here it clattered into a cobble-stoned yard and stopped at +the back door. + +There was no light in any of the windows. + +Everyone hammered at the door, but no one came. + +The man who drove the cart said he expected Mrs. Viney had gone home. + +"You see your train was that late," said he. + +"But she's got the key," said Mother. "What are we to do?" + +"Oh, she'll have left that under the doorstep," said the cart man; +"folks do hereabouts." He took the lantern off his cart and stooped. + +"Ay, here it is, right enough," he said. + +He unlocked the door and went in and set his lantern on the table. + +"Got e'er a candle?" said he. + +"I don't know where anything is." Mother spoke rather less cheerfully +than usual. + +He struck a match. There was a candle on the table, and he lighted it. +By its thin little glimmer the children saw a large bare kitchen with +a stone floor. There were no curtains, no hearth-rug. The kitchen +table from home stood in the middle of the room. The chairs were in one +corner, and the pots, pans, brooms, and crockery in another. There was +no fire, and the black grate showed cold, dead ashes. + +As the cart man turned to go out after he had brought in the boxes, +there was a rustling, scampering sound that seemed to come from inside +the walls of the house. + +"Oh, what's that?" cried the girls. + +"It's only the rats," said the cart man. And he went away and shut the +door, and the sudden draught of it blew out the candle. + +"Oh, dear," said Phyllis, "I wish we hadn't come!" and she knocked a +chair over. + +"ONLY the rats!" said Peter, in the dark. + + + +Chapter II. Peter's coal-mine. + + +"What fun!" said Mother, in the dark, feeling for the matches on the +table. "How frightened the poor mice were--I don't believe they were +rats at all." + +She struck a match and relighted the candle and everyone looked at each +other by its winky, blinky light. + +"Well," she said, "you've often wanted something to happen and now it +has. This is quite an adventure, isn't it? I told Mrs. Viney to get us +some bread and butter, and meat and things, and to have supper ready. I +suppose she's laid it in the dining-room. So let's go and see." + +The dining-room opened out of the kitchen. It looked much darker than +the kitchen when they went in with the one candle. Because the kitchen +was whitewashed, but the dining-room was dark wood from floor to +ceiling, and across the ceiling there were heavy black beams. There was +a muddled maze of dusty furniture--the breakfast-room furniture from +the old home where they had lived all their lives. It seemed a very long +time ago, and a very long way off. + +There was the table certainly, and there were chairs, but there was no +supper. + +"Let's look in the other rooms," said Mother; and they looked. And in +each room was the same kind of blundering half-arrangement of furniture, +and fire-irons and crockery, and all sorts of odd things on the floor, +but there was nothing to eat; even in the pantry there were only a rusty +cake-tin and a broken plate with whitening mixed in it. + +"What a horrid old woman!" said Mother; "she's just walked off with the +money and not got us anything to eat at all." + +"Then shan't we have any supper at all?" asked Phyllis, dismayed, +stepping back on to a soap-dish that cracked responsively. + +"Oh, yes," said Mother, "only it'll mean unpacking one of those big +cases that we put in the cellar. Phil, do mind where you're walking to, +there's a dear. Peter, hold the light." + +The cellar door opened out of the kitchen. There were five wooden steps +leading down. It wasn't a proper cellar at all, the children thought, +because its ceiling went up as high as the kitchen's. A bacon-rack hung +under its ceiling. There was wood in it, and coal. Also the big cases. + +Peter held the candle, all on one side, while Mother tried to open the +great packing-case. It was very securely nailed down. + +"Where's the hammer?" asked Peter. + +"That's just it," said Mother. "I'm afraid it's inside the box. But +there's a coal-shovel--and there's the kitchen poker." + +And with these she tried to get the case open. + +"Let me do it," said Peter, thinking he could do it better himself. +Everyone thinks this when he sees another person stirring a fire, or +opening a box, or untying a knot in a bit of string. + +"You'll hurt your hands, Mammy," said Roberta; "let me." + +"I wish Father was here," said Phyllis; "he'd get it open in two shakes. +What are you kicking me for, Bobbie?" + +"I wasn't," said Roberta. + +Just then the first of the long nails in the packing-case began to come +out with a scrunch. Then a lath was raised and then another, till all +four stood up with the long nails in them shining fiercely like iron +teeth in the candle-light. + +"Hooray!" said Mother; "here are some candles--the very first thing! You +girls go and light them. You'll find some saucers and things. Just drop +a little candle-grease in the saucer and stick the candle upright in +it." + +"How many shall we light?" + +"As many as ever you like," said Mother, gaily. "The great thing is +to be cheerful. Nobody can be cheerful in the dark except owls and +dormice." + +So the girls lighted candles. The head of the first match flew off and +stuck to Phyllis's finger; but, as Roberta said, it was only a little +burn, and she might have had to be a Roman martyr and be burned whole if +she had happened to live in the days when those things were fashionable. + +Then, when the dining-room was lighted by fourteen candles, Roberta +fetched coal and wood and lighted a fire. + +"It's very cold for May," she said, feeling what a grown-up thing it was +to say. + +The fire-light and the candle-light made the dining-room look very +different, for now you could see that the dark walls were of wood, +carved here and there into little wreaths and loops. + +The girls hastily 'tidied' the room, which meant putting the chairs +against the wall, and piling all the odds and ends into a corner and +partly hiding them with the big leather arm-chair that Father used to +sit in after dinner. + +"Bravo!" cried Mother, coming in with a tray full of things. "This is +something like! I'll just get a tablecloth and then--" + +The tablecloth was in a box with a proper lock that was opened with a +key and not with a shovel, and when the cloth was spread on the table, a +real feast was laid out on it. + +Everyone was very, very tired, but everyone cheered up at the sight of +the funny and delightful supper. There were biscuits, the Marie and the +plain kind, sardines, preserved ginger, cooking raisins, and candied +peel and marmalade. + +"What a good thing Aunt Emma packed up all the odds and ends out of the +Store cupboard," said Mother. "Now, Phil, DON'T put the marmalade spoon +in among the sardines." + +"No, I won't, Mother," said Phyllis, and put it down among the Marie +biscuits. + +"Let's drink Aunt Emma's health," said Roberta, suddenly; "what should +we have done if she hadn't packed up these things? Here's to Aunt Emma!" + +And the toast was drunk in ginger wine and water, out of +willow-patterned tea-cups, because the glasses couldn't be found. + +They all felt that they had been a little hard on Aunt Emma. She wasn't +a nice cuddly person like Mother, but after all it was she who had +thought of packing up the odds and ends of things to eat. + +It was Aunt Emma, too, who had aired all the sheets ready; and the men +who had moved the furniture had put the bedsteads together, so the beds +were soon made. + +"Good night, chickies," said Mother. "I'm sure there aren't any rats. +But I'll leave my door open, and then if a mouse comes, you need only +scream, and I'll come and tell it exactly what I think of it." + +Then she went to her own room. Roberta woke to hear the little +travelling clock chime two. It sounded like a church clock ever so far +away, she always thought. And she heard, too, Mother still moving about +in her room. + +Next morning Roberta woke Phyllis by pulling her hair gently, but quite +enough for her purpose. + +"Wassermarrer?" asked Phyllis, still almost wholly asleep. + +"Wake up! wake up!" said Roberta. "We're in the new house--don't you +remember? No servants or anything. Let's get up and begin to be useful. +We'll just creep down mouse-quietly, and have everything beautiful +before Mother gets up. I've woke Peter. He'll be dressed as soon as we +are." + +So they dressed quietly and quickly. Of course, there was no water in +their room, so when they got down they washed as much as they thought +was necessary under the spout of the pump in the yard. One pumped and +the other washed. It was splashy but interesting. + +"It's much more fun than basin washing," said Roberta. "How sparkly +the weeds are between the stones, and the moss on the roof--oh, and the +flowers!" + +The roof of the back kitchen sloped down quite low. It was made +of thatch and it had moss on it, and house-leeks and stonecrop and +wallflowers, and even a clump of purple flag-flowers, at the far corner. + +"This is far, far, far and away prettier than Edgecombe Villa," said +Phyllis. "I wonder what the garden's like." + +"We mustn't think of the garden yet," said Roberta, with earnest energy. +"Let's go in and begin to work." + +They lighted the fire and put the kettle on, and they arranged the +crockery for breakfast; they could not find all the right things, but +a glass ash-tray made an excellent salt-cellar, and a newish baking-tin +seemed as if it would do to put bread on, if they had any. + +When there seemed to be nothing more that they could do, they went out +again into the fresh bright morning. + +"We'll go into the garden now," said Peter. But somehow they couldn't +find the garden. They went round the house and round the house. The yard +occupied the back, and across it were stables and outbuildings. On the +other three sides the house stood simply in a field, without a yard +of garden to divide it from the short smooth turf. And yet they had +certainly seen the garden wall the night before. + +It was a hilly country. Down below they could see the line of the +railway, and the black yawning mouth of a tunnel. The station was out of +sight. There was a great bridge with tall arches running across one end +of the valley. + +"Never mind the garden," said Peter; "let's go down and look at the +railway. There might be trains passing." + +"We can see them from here," said Roberta, slowly; "let's sit down a +bit." + +So they all sat down on a great flat grey stone that had pushed itself +up out of the grass; it was one of many that lay about on the hillside, +and when Mother came out to look for them at eight o'clock, she found +them deeply asleep in a contented, sun-warmed bunch. + +They had made an excellent fire, and had set the kettle on it at about +half-past five. So that by eight the fire had been out for some time, +the water had all boiled away, and the bottom was burned out of the +kettle. Also they had not thought of washing the crockery before they +set the table. + +"But it doesn't matter--the cups and saucers, I mean," said Mother. +"Because I've found another room--I'd quite forgotten there was one. And +it's magic! And I've boiled the water for tea in a saucepan." + +The forgotten room opened out of the kitchen. In the agitation and half +darkness the night before its door had been mistaken for a cupboard's. +It was a little square room, and on its table, all nicely set out, was a +joint of cold roast beef, with bread, butter, cheese, and a pie. + +"Pie for breakfast!" cried Peter; "how perfectly ripping!" + +"It isn't pigeon-pie," said Mother; "it's only apple. Well, this is the +supper we ought to have had last night. And there was a note from Mrs. +Viney. Her son-in-law has broken his arm, and she had to get home early. +She's coming this morning at ten." + +That was a wonderful breakfast. It is unusual to begin the day with +cold apple pie, but the children all said they would rather have it than +meat. + +"You see it's more like dinner than breakfast to us," said Peter, +passing his plate for more, "because we were up so early." + +The day passed in helping Mother to unpack and arrange things. Six small +legs quite ached with running about while their owners carried clothes +and crockery and all sorts of things to their proper places. It was not +till quite late in the afternoon that Mother said:-- + +"There! That'll do for to-day. I'll lie down for an hour, so as to be as +fresh as a lark by supper-time." + +Then they all looked at each other. Each of the three expressive +countenances expressed the same thought. That thought was double, +and consisted, like the bits of information in the Child's Guide to +Knowledge, of a question and an answer. + +Q. Where shall we go? + +A. To the railway. + +So to the railway they went, and as soon as they started for the railway +they saw where the garden had hidden itself. It was right behind the +stables, and it had a high wall all round. + +"Oh, never mind about the garden now!" cried Peter. "Mother told me +this morning where it was. It'll keep till to-morrow. Let's get to the +railway." + +The way to the railway was all down hill over smooth, short turf with +here and there furze bushes and grey and yellow rocks sticking out like +candied peel from the top of a cake. + +The way ended in a steep run and a wooden fence--and there was the +railway with the shining metals and the telegraph wires and posts and +signals. + +They all climbed on to the top of the fence, and then suddenly there was +a rumbling sound that made them look along the line to the right, where +the dark mouth of a tunnel opened itself in the face of a rocky cliff; +next moment a train had rushed out of the tunnel with a shriek and +a snort, and had slid noisily past them. They felt the rush of its +passing, and the pebbles on the line jumped and rattled under it as it +went by. + +"Oh!" said Roberta, drawing a long breath; "it was like a great dragon +tearing by. Did you feel it fan us with its hot wings?" + +"I suppose a dragon's lair might look very like that tunnel from the +outside," said Phyllis. + +But Peter said:-- + +"I never thought we should ever get as near to a train as this. It's the +most ripping sport!" + +"Better than toy-engines, isn't it?" said Roberta. + +(I am tired of calling Roberta by her name. I don't see why I should. +No one else did. Everyone else called her Bobbie, and I don't see why I +shouldn't.) + +"I don't know; it's different," said Peter. "It seems so odd to see ALL +of a train. It's awfully tall, isn't it?" + +"We've always seen them cut in half by platforms," said Phyllis. + +"I wonder if that train was going to London," Bobbie said. "London's +where Father is." + +"Let's go down to the station and find out," said Peter. + +So they went. + +They walked along the edge of the line, and heard the telegraph wires +humming over their heads. When you are in the train, it seems such a +little way between post and post, and one after another the posts seem +to catch up the wires almost more quickly than you can count them. But +when you have to walk, the posts seem few and far between. + +But the children got to the station at last. + +Never before had any of them been at a station, except for the purpose +of catching trains--or perhaps waiting for them--and always with +grown-ups in attendance, grown-ups who were not themselves interested in +stations, except as places from which they wished to get away. + +Never before had they passed close enough to a signal-box to be able to +notice the wires, and to hear the mysterious 'ping, ping,' followed by +the strong, firm clicking of machinery. + +The very sleepers on which the rails lay were a delightful path to +travel by--just far enough apart to serve as the stepping-stones in a +game of foaming torrents hastily organised by Bobbie. + +Then to arrive at the station, not through the booking office, but in +a freebooting sort of way by the sloping end of the platform. This in +itself was joy. + +Joy, too, it was to peep into the porters' room, where the lamps are, +and the Railway almanac on the wall, and one porter half asleep behind a +paper. + +There were a great many crossing lines at the station; some of them just +ran into a yard and stopped short, as though they were tired of business +and meant to retire for good. Trucks stood on the rails here, and on one +side was a great heap of coal--not a loose heap, such as you see in your +coal cellar, but a sort of solid building of coals with large square +blocks of coal outside used just as though they were bricks, and built +up till the heap looked like the picture of the Cities of the Plain in +'Bible Stories for Infants.' There was a line of whitewash near the top +of the coaly wall. + +When presently the Porter lounged out of his room at the twice-repeated +tingling thrill of a gong over the station door, Peter said, "How do you +do?" in his best manner, and hastened to ask what the white mark was on +the coal for. + +"To mark how much coal there be," said the Porter, "so as we'll know if +anyone nicks it. So don't you go off with none in your pockets, young +gentleman!" + +This seemed, at the time but a merry jest, and Peter felt at once that +the Porter was a friendly sort with no nonsense about him. But later the +words came back to Peter with a new meaning. + +Have you ever gone into a farmhouse kitchen on a baking day, and seen +the great crock of dough set by the fire to rise? If you have, and if +you were at that time still young enough to be interested in everything +you saw, you will remember that you found yourself quite unable to +resist the temptation to poke your finger into the soft round of dough +that curved inside the pan like a giant mushroom. And you will remember +that your finger made a dent in the dough, and that slowly, but quite +surely, the dent disappeared, and the dough looked quite the same as it +did before you touched it. Unless, of course, your hand was extra dirty, +in which case, naturally, there would be a little black mark. + +Well, it was just like that with the sorrow the children had felt at +Father's going away, and at Mother's being so unhappy. It made a deep +impression, but the impression did not last long. + +They soon got used to being without Father, though they did not forget +him; and they got used to not going to school, and to seeing very little +of Mother, who was now almost all day shut up in her upstairs room +writing, writing, writing. She used to come down at tea-time and read +aloud the stories she had written. They were lovely stories. + +The rocks and hills and valleys and trees, the canal, and above all, the +railway, were so new and so perfectly pleasing that the remembrance of +the old life in the villa grew to seem almost like a dream. + +Mother had told them more than once that they were 'quite poor now,' but +this did not seem to be anything but a way of speaking. Grown-up people, +even Mothers, often make remarks that don't seem to mean anything in +particular, just for the sake of saying something, seemingly. There was +always enough to eat, and they wore the same kind of nice clothes they +had always worn. + +But in June came three wet days; the rain came down, straight as lances, +and it was very, very cold. Nobody could go out, and everybody shivered. +They all went up to the door of Mother's room and knocked. + +"Well, what is it?" asked Mother from inside. + +"Mother," said Bobbie, "mayn't I light a fire? I do know how." + +And Mother said: "No, my ducky-love. We mustn't have fires in June--coal +is so dear. If you're cold, go and have a good romp in the attic. +That'll warm you." + +"But, Mother, it only takes such a very little coal to make a fire." + +"It's more than we can afford, chickeny-love," said Mother, cheerfully. +"Now run away, there's darlings--I'm madly busy!" + +"Mother's always busy now," said Phyllis, in a whisper to Peter. Peter +did not answer. He shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking. + +Thought, however, could not long keep itself from the suitable +furnishing of a bandit's lair in the attic. Peter was the bandit, of +course. Bobbie was his lieutenant, his band of trusty robbers, and, in +due course, the parent of Phyllis, who was the captured maiden for whom +a magnificent ransom--in horse-beans--was unhesitatingly paid. + +They all went down to tea flushed and joyous as any mountain brigands. + +But when Phyllis was going to add jam to her bread and butter, Mother +said:-- + +"Jam OR butter, dear--not jam AND butter. We can't afford that sort of +reckless luxury nowadays." + +Phyllis finished the slice of bread and butter in silence, and followed +it up by bread and jam. Peter mingled thought and weak tea. + +After tea they went back to the attic and he said to his sisters:-- + +"I have an idea." + +"What's that?" they asked politely. + +"I shan't tell you," was Peter's unexpected rejoinder. + +"Oh, very well," said Bobbie; and Phil said, "Don't, then." + +"Girls," said Peter, "are always so hasty tempered." + +"I should like to know what boys are?" said Bobbie, with fine disdain. +"I don't want to know about your silly ideas." + +"You'll know some day," said Peter, keeping his own temper by what +looked exactly like a miracle; "if you hadn't been so keen on a row, I +might have told you about it being only noble-heartedness that made me +not tell you my idea. But now I shan't tell you anything at all about +it--so there!" + +And it was, indeed, some time before he could be induced to say +anything, and when he did it wasn't much. He said:-- + +"The only reason why I won't tell you my idea that I'm going to do is +because it MAY be wrong, and I don't want to drag you into it." + +"Don't you do it if it's wrong, Peter," said Bobbie; "let me do it." But +Phyllis said:-- + +"_I_ should like to do wrong if YOU'RE going to!" + +"No," said Peter, rather touched by this devotion; "it's a forlorn hope, +and I'm going to lead it. All I ask is that if Mother asks where I am, +you won't blab." + +"We haven't got anything TO blab," said Bobbie, indignantly. + +"Oh, yes, you have!" said Peter, dropping horse-beans through his +fingers. "I've trusted you to the death. You know I'm going to do a lone +adventure--and some people might think it wrong--I don't. And if Mother +asks where I am, say I'm playing at mines." + +"What sort of mines?" + +"You just say mines." + +"You might tell US, Pete." + +"Well, then, COAL-mines. But don't you let the word pass your lips on +pain of torture." + +"You needn't threaten," said Bobbie, "and I do think you might let us +help." + +"If I find a coal-mine, you shall help cart the coal," Peter +condescended to promise. + +"Keep your secret if you like," said Phyllis. + +"Keep it if you CAN," said Bobbie. + +"I'll keep it, right enough," said Peter. + +Between tea and supper there is an interval even in the most greedily +regulated families. At this time Mother was usually writing, and Mrs. +Viney had gone home. + +Two nights after the dawning of Peter's idea he beckoned the girls +mysteriously at the twilight hour. + +"Come hither with me," he said, "and bring the Roman Chariot." + +The Roman Chariot was a very old perambulator that had spent years of +retirement in the loft over the coach-house. The children had oiled its +works till it glided noiseless as a pneumatic bicycle, and answered to +the helm as it had probably done in its best days. + +"Follow your dauntless leader," said Peter, and led the way down the +hill towards the station. + +Just above the station many rocks have pushed their heads out through +the turf as though they, like the children, were interested in the +railway. + +In a little hollow between three rocks lay a heap of dried brambles and +heather. + +Peter halted, turned over the brushwood with a well-scarred boot, and +said:-- + +"Here's the first coal from the St. Peter's Mine. We'll take it home in +the chariot. Punctuality and despatch. All orders carefully attended to. +Any shaped lump cut to suit regular customers." + +The chariot was packed full of coal. And when it was packed it had to +be unpacked again because it was so heavy that it couldn't be got up the +hill by the three children, not even when Peter harnessed himself to the +handle with his braces, and firmly grasping his waistband in one hand +pulled while the girls pushed behind. + +Three journeys had to be made before the coal from Peter's mine was +added to the heap of Mother's coal in the cellar. + +Afterwards Peter went out alone, and came back very black and +mysterious. + +"I've been to my coal-mine," he said; "to-morrow evening we'll bring +home the black diamonds in the chariot." + +It was a week later that Mrs. Viney remarked to Mother how well this +last lot of coal was holding out. + +The children hugged themselves and each other in complicated wriggles of +silent laughter as they listened on the stairs. They had all forgotten +by now that there had ever been any doubt in Peter's mind as to whether +coal-mining was wrong. + +But there came a dreadful night when the Station Master put on a pair +of old sand shoes that he had worn at the seaside in his summer holiday, +and crept out very quietly to the yard where the Sodom and Gomorrah heap +of coal was, with the whitewashed line round it. He crept out there, and +he waited like a cat by a mousehole. On the top of the heap something +small and dark was scrabbling and rattling furtively among the coal. + +The Station Master concealed himself in the shadow of a brake-van that +had a little tin chimney and was labelled:-- + + G. N. and S. R. + 34576 + Return at once to + White Heather Sidings + +and in this concealment he lurked till the small thing on the top of +the heap ceased to scrabble and rattle, came to the edge of the heap, +cautiously let itself down, and lifted something after it. Then the arm +of the Station Master was raised, the hand of the Station Master fell +on a collar, and there was Peter firmly held by the jacket, with an old +carpenter's bag full of coal in his trembling clutch. + +"So I've caught you at last, have I, you young thief?" said the Station +Master. + +"I'm not a thief," said Peter, as firmly as he could. "I'm a +coal-miner." + +"Tell that to the Marines," said the Station Master. + +"It would be just as true whoever I told it to," said Peter. + +"You're right there," said the man, who held him. "Stow your jaw, you +young rip, and come along to the station." + +"Oh, no," cried in the darkness an agonised voice that was not Peter's. + +"Not the POLICE station!" said another voice from the darkness. + +"Not yet," said the Station Master. "The Railway Station first. Why, +it's a regular gang. Any more of you?" + +"Only us," said Bobbie and Phyllis, coming out of the shadow of another +truck labelled Staveley Colliery, and bearing on it the legend in white +chalk: 'Wanted in No. 1 Road.' + +"What do you mean by spying on a fellow like this?" said Peter, angrily. + +"Time someone did spy on you, _I_ think," said the Station Master. "Come +along to the station." + +"Oh, DON'T!" said Bobbie. "Can't you decide NOW what you'll do to us? +It's our fault just as much as Peter's. We helped to carry the coal +away--and we knew where he got it." + +"No, you didn't," said Peter. + +"Yes, we did," said Bobbie. "We knew all the time. We only pretended we +didn't just to humour you." + +Peter's cup was full. He had mined for coal, he had struck coal, he had +been caught, and now he learned that his sisters had 'humoured' him. + +"Don't hold me!" he said. "I won't run away." + +The Station Master loosed Peter's collar, struck a match and looked at +them by its flickering light. + +"Why," said he, "you're the children from the Three Chimneys up yonder. +So nicely dressed, too. Tell me now, what made you do such a thing? +Haven't you ever been to church or learned your catechism or anything, +not to know it's wicked to steal?" He spoke much more gently now, and +Peter said:-- + +"I didn't think it was stealing. I was almost sure it wasn't. I thought +if I took it from the outside part of the heap, perhaps it would be. But +in the middle I thought I could fairly count it only mining. It'll +take thousands of years for you to burn up all that coal and get to the +middle parts." + +"Not quite. But did you do it for a lark or what?" + +"Not much lark carting that beastly heavy stuff up the hill," said +Peter, indignantly. + +"Then why did you?" The Station Master's voice was so much kinder now +that Peter replied:-- + +"You know that wet day? Well, Mother said we were too poor to have a +fire. We always had fires when it was cold at our other house, and--" + +"DON'T!" interrupted Bobbie, in a whisper. + +"Well," said the Station Master, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "I'll +tell you what I'll do. I'll look over it this once. But you remember, +young gentleman, stealing is stealing, and what's mine isn't yours, +whether you call it mining or whether you don't. Run along home." + +"Do you mean you aren't going to do anything to us? Well, you are a +brick," said Peter, with enthusiasm. + +"You're a dear," said Bobbie. + +"You're a darling," said Phyllis. + +"That's all right," said the Station Master. + +And on this they parted. + +"Don't speak to me," said Peter, as the three went up the hill. "You're +spies and traitors--that's what you are." + +But the girls were too glad to have Peter between them, safe and free, +and on the way to Three Chimneys and not to the Police Station, to mind +much what he said. + +"We DID say it was us as much as you," said Bobbie, gently. + +"Well--and it wasn't." + +"It would have come to the same thing in Courts with judges," said +Phyllis. "Don't be snarky, Peter. It isn't our fault your secrets are so +jolly easy to find out." She took his arm, and he let her. + +"There's an awful lot of coal in the cellar, anyhow," he went on. + +"Oh, don't!" said Bobbie. "I don't think we ought to be glad about +THAT." + +"I don't know," said Peter, plucking up a spirit. "I'm not at all sure, +even now, that mining is a crime." + +But the girls were quite sure. And they were also quite sure that he was +quite sure, however little he cared to own it. + + + +Chapter III. The old gentleman. + + +After the adventure of Peter's Coal-mine, it seemed well to the children +to keep away from the station--but they did not, they could not, keep +away from the railway. They had lived all their lives in a street where +cabs and omnibuses rumbled by at all hours, and the carts of butchers +and bakers and candlestick makers (I never saw a candlestick-maker's +cart; did you?) might occur at any moment. Here in the deep silence of +the sleeping country the only things that went by were the trains. They +seemed to be all that was left to link the children to the old life that +had once been theirs. Straight down the hill in front of Three Chimneys +the daily passage of their six feet began to mark a path across the +crisp, short turf. They began to know the hours when certain trains +passed, and they gave names to them. The 9.15 up was called the Green +Dragon. The 10.7 down was the Worm of Wantley. The midnight town +express, whose shrieking rush they sometimes woke from their dreams +to hear, was the Fearsome Fly-by-night. Peter got up once, in chill +starshine, and, peeping at it through his curtains, named it on the +spot. + +It was by the Green Dragon that the old gentleman travelled. He was a +very nice-looking old gentleman, and he looked as if he were nice, +too, which is not at all the same thing. He had a fresh-coloured, +clean-shaven face and white hair, and he wore rather odd-shaped collars +and a top-hat that wasn't exactly the same kind as other people's. Of +course the children didn't see all this at first. In fact the first +thing they noticed about the old gentleman was his hand. + +It was one morning as they sat on the fence waiting for the Green +Dragon, which was three and a quarter minutes late by Peter's Waterbury +watch that he had had given him on his last birthday. + +"The Green Dragon's going where Father is," said Phyllis; "if it were +a really real dragon, we could stop it and ask it to take our love to +Father." + +"Dragons don't carry people's love," said Peter; "they'd be above it." + +"Yes, they do, if you tame them thoroughly first. They fetch and carry +like pet spaniels," said Phyllis, "and feed out of your hand. I wonder +why Father never writes to us." + +"Mother says he's been too busy," said Bobbie; "but he'll write soon, +she says." + +"I say," Phyllis suggested, "let's all wave to the Green Dragon as it +goes by. If it's a magic dragon, it'll understand and take our loves to +Father. And if it isn't, three waves aren't much. We shall never miss +them." + +So when the Green Dragon tore shrieking out of the mouth of its dark +lair, which was the tunnel, all three children stood on the railing and +waved their pocket-handkerchiefs without stopping to think whether they +were clean handkerchiefs or the reverse. They were, as a matter of fact, +very much the reverse. + +And out of a first-class carriage a hand waved back. A quite clean hand. +It held a newspaper. It was the old gentleman's hand. + +After this it became the custom for waves to be exchanged between the +children and the 9.15. + +And the children, especially the girls, liked to think that perhaps the +old gentleman knew Father, and would meet him 'in business,' wherever +that shady retreat might be, and tell him how his three children stood +on a rail far away in the green country and waved their love to him +every morning, wet or fine. + +For they were now able to go out in all sorts of weather such as they +would never have been allowed to go out in when they lived in their +villa house. This was Aunt Emma's doing, and the children felt more and +more that they had not been quite fair to this unattractive aunt, when +they found how useful were the long gaiters and waterproof coats that +they had laughed at her for buying for them. + +Mother, all this time, was very busy with her writing. She used to send +off a good many long blue envelopes with stories in them--and large +envelopes of different sizes and colours used to come to her. Sometimes +she would sigh when she opened them and say:-- + +"Another story come home to roost. Oh, dear, Oh, dear!" and then the +children would be very sorry. + +But sometimes she would wave the envelope in the air and say:--"Hooray, +hooray. Here's a sensible Editor. He's taken my story and this is the +proof of it." + +At first the children thought 'the Proof' meant the letter the sensible +Editor had written, but they presently got to know that the proof was +long slips of paper with the story printed on them. + +Whenever an Editor was sensible there were buns for tea. + +One day Peter was going down to the village to get buns to celebrate +the sensibleness of the Editor of the Children's Globe, when he met the +Station Master. + +Peter felt very uncomfortable, for he had now had time to think over the +affair of the coal-mine. He did not like to say "Good morning" to the +Station Master, as you usually do to anyone you meet on a lonely road, +because he had a hot feeling, which spread even to his ears, that the +Station Master might not care to speak to a person who had stolen coals. +'Stolen' is a nasty word, but Peter felt it was the right one. So he +looked down, and said Nothing. + +It was the Station Master who said "Good morning" as he passed by. And +Peter answered, "Good morning." Then he thought:-- + +"Perhaps he doesn't know who I am by daylight, or he wouldn't be so +polite." + +And he did not like the feeling which thinking this gave him. And then +before he knew what he was going to do he ran after the Station Master, +who stopped when he heard Peter's hasty boots crunching the road, +and coming up with him very breathless and with his ears now quite +magenta-coloured, he said:-- + +"I don't want you to be polite to me if you don't know me when you see +me." + +"Eh?" said the Station Master. + +"I thought perhaps you didn't know it was me that took the coals," +Peter went on, "when you said 'Good morning.' But it was, and I'm sorry. +There." + +"Why," said the Station Master, "I wasn't thinking anything at all about +the precious coals. Let bygones be bygones. And where were you off to in +such a hurry?" + +"I'm going to buy buns for tea," said Peter. + +"I thought you were all so poor," said the Station Master. + +"So we are," said Peter, confidentially, "but we always have three +pennyworth of halfpennies for tea whenever Mother sells a story or a +poem or anything." + +"Oh," said the Station Master, "so your Mother writes stories, does +she?" + +"The beautifulest you ever read," said Peter. + +"You ought to be very proud to have such a clever Mother." + +"Yes," said Peter, "but she used to play with us more before she had to +be so clever." + +"Well," said the Station Master, "I must be getting along. You give us +a look in at the Station whenever you feel so inclined. And as to coals, +it's a word that--well--oh, no, we never mention it, eh?" + +"Thank you," said Peter. "I'm very glad it's all straightened out +between us." And he went on across the canal bridge to the village to +get the buns, feeling more comfortable in his mind than he had felt +since the hand of the Station Master had fastened on his collar that +night among the coals. + +Next day when they had sent the threefold wave of greeting to Father by +the Green Dragon, and the old gentleman had waved back as usual, Peter +proudly led the way to the station. + +"But ought we?" said Bobbie. + +"After the coals, she means," Phyllis explained. + +"I met the Station Master yesterday," said Peter, in an offhand way, +and he pretended not to hear what Phyllis had said; "he expresspecially +invited us to go down any time we liked." + +"After the coals?" repeated Phyllis. "Stop a minute--my bootlace is +undone again." + +"It always IS undone again," said Peter, "and the Station Master was +more of a gentleman than you'll ever be, Phil--throwing coal at a chap's +head like that." + +Phyllis did up her bootlace and went on in silence, but her shoulders +shook, and presently a fat tear fell off her nose and splashed on the +metal of the railway line. Bobbie saw it. + +"Why, what's the matter, darling?" she said, stopping short and putting +her arm round the heaving shoulders. + +"He called me un-un-ungentlemanly," sobbed Phyllis. "I didn't never call +him unladylike, not even when he tied my Clorinda to the firewood bundle +and burned her at the stake for a martyr." + +Peter had indeed perpetrated this outrage a year or two before. + +"Well, you began, you know," said Bobbie, honestly, "about coals and all +that. Don't you think you'd better both unsay everything since the wave, +and let honour be satisfied?" + +"I will if Peter will," said Phyllis, sniffling. + +"All right," said Peter; "honour is satisfied. Here, use my hankie, +Phil, for goodness' sake, if you've lost yours as usual. I wonder what +you do with them." + +"You had my last one," said Phyllis, indignantly, "to tie up the +rabbit-hutch door with. But you're very ungrateful. It's quite right +what it says in the poetry book about sharper than a serpent it is to +have a toothless child--but it means ungrateful when it says toothless. +Miss Lowe told me so." + +"All right," said Peter, impatiently, "I'm sorry. THERE! Now will you +come on?" + +They reached the station and spent a joyous two hours with the Porter. +He was a worthy man and seemed never tired of answering the questions +that begin with "Why--" which many people in higher ranks of life often +seem weary of. + +He told them many things that they had not known before--as, for +instance, that the things that hook carriages together are called +couplings, and that the pipes like great serpents that hang over the +couplings are meant to stop the train with. + +"If you could get a holt of one o' them when the train is going and pull +'em apart," said he, "she'd stop dead off with a jerk." + +"Who's she?" said Phyllis. + +"The train, of course," said the Porter. After that the train was never +again 'It' to the children. + +"And you know the thing in the carriages where it says on it, 'Five +pounds' fine for improper use.' If you was to improperly use that, the +train 'ud stop." + +"And if you used it properly?" said Roberta. + +"It 'ud stop just the same, I suppose," said he, "but it isn't proper +use unless you're being murdered. There was an old lady once--someone +kidded her on it was a refreshment-room bell, and she used it improper, +not being in danger of her life, though hungry, and when the train +stopped and the guard came along expecting to find someone weltering in +their last moments, she says, 'Oh, please, Mister, I'll take a glass of +stout and a bath bun,' she says. And the train was seven minutes behind +her time as it was." + +"What did the guard say to the old lady?" + +"_I_ dunno," replied the Porter, "but I lay she didn't forget it in a +hurry, whatever it was." + +In such delightful conversation the time went by all too quickly. + +The Station Master came out once or twice from that sacred inner temple +behind the place where the hole is that they sell you tickets through, +and was most jolly with them all. + +"Just as if coal had never been discovered," Phyllis whispered to her +sister. + +He gave them each an orange, and promised to take them up into the +signal-box one of these days, when he wasn't so busy. + +Several trains went through the station, and Peter noticed for the first +time that engines have numbers on them, like cabs. + +"Yes," said the Porter, "I knowed a young gent as used to take down the +numbers of every single one he seed; in a green note-book with silver +corners it was, owing to his father being very well-to-do in the +wholesale stationery." + +Peter felt that he could take down numbers, too, even if he was not +the son of a wholesale stationer. As he did not happen to have a green +leather note-book with silver corners, the Porter gave him a yellow +envelope and on it he noted:-- + + 379 + 663 + +and felt that this was the beginning of what would be a most interesting +collection. + +That night at tea he asked Mother if she had a green leather note-book +with silver corners. She had not; but when she heard what he wanted it +for she gave him a little black one. + +"It has a few pages torn out," said she; "but it will hold quite a lot +of numbers, and when it's full I'll give you another. I'm so glad you +like the railway. Only, please, you mustn't walk on the line." + +"Not if we face the way the train's coming?" asked Peter, after a gloomy +pause, in which glances of despair were exchanged. + +"No--really not," said Mother. + +Then Phyllis said, "Mother, didn't YOU ever walk on the railway lines +when you were little?" + +Mother was an honest and honourable Mother, so she had to say, "Yes." + +"Well, then," said Phyllis. + +"But, darlings, you don't know how fond I am of you. What should I do if +you got hurt?" + +"Are you fonder of us than Granny was of you when you were little?" +Phyllis asked. Bobbie made signs to her to stop, but Phyllis never did +see signs, no matter how plain they might be. + +Mother did not answer for a minute. She got up to put more water in the +teapot. + +"No one," she said at last, "ever loved anyone more than my mother loved +me." + +Then she was quiet again, and Bobbie kicked Phyllis hard under the +table, because Bobbie understood a little bit the thoughts that were +making Mother so quiet--the thoughts of the time when Mother was a +little girl and was all the world to HER mother. It seems so easy and +natural to run to Mother when one is in trouble. Bobbie understood a +little how people do not leave off running to their mothers when they +are in trouble even when they are grown up, and she thought she knew a +little what it must be to be sad, and have no mother to run to any more. + +So she kicked Phyllis, who said:-- + +"What are you kicking me like that for, Bob?" + +And then Mother laughed a little and sighed and said:-- + +"Very well, then. Only let me be sure you do know which way the trains +come--and don't walk on the line near the tunnel or near corners." + +"Trains keep to the left like carriages," said Peter, "so if we keep to +the right, we're bound to see them coming." + +"Very well," said Mother, and I dare say you think that she ought not +to have said it. But she remembered about when she was a little girl +herself, and she did say it--and neither her own children nor you nor +any other children in the world could ever understand exactly what it +cost her to do it. Only some few of you, like Bobbie, may understand a +very little bit. + +It was the very next day that Mother had to stay in bed because her head +ached so. Her hands were burning hot, and she would not eat anything, +and her throat was very sore. + +"If I was you, Mum," said Mrs. Viney, "I should take and send for the +doctor. There's a lot of catchy complaints a-going about just now. My +sister's eldest--she took a chill and it went to her inside, two years +ago come Christmas, and she's never been the same gell since." + +Mother wouldn't at first, but in the evening she felt so much worse that +Peter was sent to the house in the village that had three laburnum trees +by the gate, and on the gate a brass plate with W. W. Forrest, M.D., on +it. + +W. W. Forrest, M.D., came at once. He talked to Peter on the way back. +He seemed a most charming and sensible man, interested in railways, and +rabbits, and really important things. + +When he had seen Mother, he said it was influenza. + +"Now, Lady Grave-airs," he said in the hall to Bobbie, "I suppose you'll +want to be head-nurse." + +"Of course," said she. + +"Well, then, I'll send down some medicine. Keep up a good fire. Have +some strong beef tea made ready to give her as soon as the fever goes +down. She can have grapes now, and beef essence--and soda-water and +milk, and you'd better get in a bottle of brandy. The best brandy. Cheap +brandy is worse than poison." + +She asked him to write it all down, and he did. + +When Bobbie showed Mother the list he had written, Mother laughed. It +WAS a laugh, Bobbie decided, though it was rather odd and feeble. + +"Nonsense," said Mother, laying in bed with eyes as bright as beads. +"I can't afford all that rubbish. Tell Mrs. Viney to boil two pounds of +scrag-end of the neck for your dinners to-morrow, and I can have some +of the broth. Yes, I should like some more water now, love. And will you +get a basin and sponge my hands?" + +Roberta obeyed. When she had done everything she could to make Mother +less uncomfortable, she went down to the others. Her cheeks were very +red, her lips set tight, and her eyes almost as bright as Mother's. + +She told them what the Doctor had said, and what Mother had said. + +"And now," said she, when she had told all, "there's no one but us to do +anything, and we've got to do it. I've got the shilling for the mutton." + +"We can do without the beastly mutton," said Peter; "bread and butter +will support life. People have lived on less on desert islands many a +time." + +"Of course," said his sister. And Mrs. Viney was sent to the village to +get as much brandy and soda-water and beef tea as she could buy for a +shilling. + +"But even if we never have anything to eat at all," said Phyllis, "you +can't get all those other things with our dinner money." + +"No," said Bobbie, frowning, "we must find out some other way. Now +THINK, everybody, just as hard as ever you can." + +They did think. And presently they talked. And later, when Bobbie had +gone up to sit with Mother in case she wanted anything, the other two +were very busy with scissors and a white sheet, and a paint brush, and +the pot of Brunswick black that Mrs. Viney used for grates and fenders. +They did not manage to do what they wished, exactly, with the first +sheet, so they took another out of the linen cupboard. It did not occur +to them that they were spoiling good sheets which cost good money. They +only knew that they were making a good--but what they were making comes +later. + +Bobbie's bed had been moved into Mother's room, and several times in +the night she got up to mend the fire, and to give her mother milk and +soda-water. Mother talked to herself a good deal, but it did not seem +to mean anything. And once she woke up suddenly and called out: "Mamma, +mamma!" and Bobbie knew she was calling for Granny, and that she had +forgotten that it was no use calling, because Granny was dead. + +In the early morning Bobbie heard her name and jumped out of bed and ran +to Mother's bedside. + +"Oh--ah, yes--I think I was asleep," said Mother. "My poor little duck, +how tired you'll be--I do hate to give you all this trouble." + +"Trouble!" said Bobbie. + +"Ah, don't cry, sweet," Mother said; "I shall be all right in a day or +two." + +And Bobbie said, "Yes," and tried to smile. + +When you are used to ten hours of solid sleep, to get up three or four +times in your sleep-time makes you feel as though you had been up all +night. Bobbie felt quite stupid and her eyes were sore and stiff, but +she tidied the room, and arranged everything neatly before the Doctor +came. + +This was at half-past eight. + +"Everything going on all right, little Nurse?" he said at the front +door. "Did you get the brandy?" + +"I've got the brandy," said Bobbie, "in a little flat bottle." + +"I didn't see the grapes or the beef tea, though," said he. + +"No," said Bobbie, firmly, "but you will to-morrow. And there's some +beef stewing in the oven for beef tea." + +"Who told you to do that?" he asked. + +"I noticed what Mother did when Phil had mumps." + +"Right," said the Doctor. "Now you get your old woman to sit with your +mother, and then you eat a good breakfast, and go straight to bed and +sleep till dinner-time. We can't afford to have the head-nurse ill." + +He was really quite a nice doctor. + +When the 9.15 came out of the tunnel that morning the old gentleman in +the first-class carriage put down his newspaper, and got ready to wave +his hand to the three children on the fence. But this morning there were +not three. There was only one. And that was Peter. + +Peter was not on the railings either, as usual. He was standing in front +of them in an attitude like that of a show-man showing off the animals +in a menagerie, or of the kind clergyman when he points with a wand at +the 'Scenes from Palestine,' when there is a magic-lantern and he is +explaining it. + +Peter was pointing, too. And what he was pointing at was a large white +sheet nailed against the fence. On the sheet there were thick black +letters more than a foot long. + +Some of them had run a little, because of Phyllis having put the +Brunswick black on too eagerly, but the words were quite easy to read. + +And this what the old gentleman and several other people in the train +read in the large black letters on the white sheet:-- + + LOOK OUT AT THE STATION. + +A good many people did look out at the station and were disappointed, +for they saw nothing unusual. The old gentleman looked out, too, and at +first he too saw nothing more unusual than the gravelled platform and +the sunshine and the wallflowers and forget-me-nots in the station +borders. It was only just as the train was beginning to puff and pull +itself together to start again that he saw Phyllis. She was quite out of +breath with running. + +"Oh," she said, "I thought I'd missed you. My bootlaces would keep +coming down and I fell over them twice. Here, take it." + +She thrust a warm, dampish letter into his hand as the train moved. + +He leaned back in his corner and opened the letter. This is what he +read:-- + +"Dear Mr. We do not know your name. + +Mother is ill and the doctor says to give her the things at the end of +the letter, but she says she can't aford it, and to get mutton for +us and she will have the broth. We do not know anybody here but you, +because Father is away and we do not know the address. Father will pay +you, or if he has lost all his money, or anything, Peter will pay you +when he is a man. We promise it on our honer. I.O.U. for all the things +Mother wants. + + "sined Peter. + +"Will you give the parsel to the Station Master, because of us not +knowing what train you come down by? Say it is for Peter that was sorry +about the coals and he will know all right. + + "Roberta. + "Phyllis. + "Peter." + +Then came the list of things the Doctor had ordered. + +The old gentleman read it through once, and his eyebrows went up. He +read it twice and smiled a little. When he had read it thrice, he put it +in his pocket and went on reading The Times. + +At about six that evening there was a knock at the back door. The three +children rushed to open it, and there stood the friendly Porter, who had +told them so many interesting things about railways. He dumped down a +big hamper on the kitchen flags. + +"Old gent," he said; "he asked me to fetch it up straight away." + +"Thank you very much," said Peter, and then, as the Porter lingered, he +added:-- + +"I'm most awfully sorry I haven't got twopence to give you like Father +does, but--" + +"You drop it if you please," said the Porter, indignantly. "I wasn't +thinking about no tuppences. I only wanted to say I was sorry your Mamma +wasn't so well, and to ask how she finds herself this evening--and +I've fetched her along a bit of sweetbrier, very sweet to smell it is. +Twopence indeed," said he, and produced a bunch of sweetbrier from his +hat, "just like a conjurer," as Phyllis remarked afterwards. + +"Thank you very much," said Peter, "and I beg your pardon about the +twopence." + +"No offence," said the Porter, untruly but politely, and went. + +Then the children undid the hamper. First there was straw, and then +there were fine shavings, and then came all the things they had asked +for, and plenty of them, and then a good many things they had not asked +for; among others peaches and port wine and two chickens, a cardboard +box of big red roses with long stalks, and a tall thin green bottle +of lavender water, and three smaller fatter bottles of eau-de-Cologne. +There was a letter, too. + +"Dear Roberta and Phyllis and Peter," it said; "here are the things you +want. Your mother will want to know where they came from. Tell her they +were sent by a friend who heard she was ill. When she is well again you +must tell her all about it, of course. And if she says you ought not to +have asked for the things, tell her that I say you were quite right, +and that I hope she will forgive me for taking the liberty of allowing +myself a very great pleasure." + +The letter was signed G. P. something that the children couldn't read. + +"I think we WERE right," said Phyllis. + +"Right? Of course we were right," said Bobbie. + +"All the same," said Peter, with his hands in his pockets, "I don't +exactly look forward to telling Mother the whole truth about it." + +"We're not to do it till she's well," said Bobbie, "and when she's well +we shall be so happy we shan't mind a little fuss like that. Oh, just +look at the roses! I must take them up to her." + +"And the sweetbrier," said Phyllis, sniffing it loudly; "don't forget +the sweetbrier." + +"As if I should!" said Roberta. "Mother told me the other day there was +a thick hedge of it at her mother's house when she was a little girl." + + + +Chapter IV. The engine-burglar. + + +What was left of the second sheet and the Brunswick black came in very +nicely to make a banner bearing the legend + + SHE IS NEARLY WELL THANK YOU + +and this was displayed to the Green Dragon about a fortnight after the +arrival of the wonderful hamper. The old gentleman saw it, and waved +a cheerful response from the train. And when this had been done the +children saw that now was the time when they must tell Mother what they +had done when she was ill. And it did not seem nearly so easy as they +had thought it would be. But it had to be done. And it was done. Mother +was extremely angry. She was seldom angry, and now she was angrier than +they had ever known her. This was horrible. But it was much worse when +she suddenly began to cry. Crying is catching, I believe, like measles +and whooping-cough. At any rate, everyone at once found itself taking +part in a crying-party. + +Mother stopped first. She dried her eyes and then she said:-- + +"I'm sorry I was so angry, darlings, because I know you didn't +understand." + +"We didn't mean to be naughty, Mammy," sobbed Bobbie, and Peter and +Phyllis sniffed. + +"Now, listen," said Mother; "it's quite true that we're poor, but +we have enough to live on. You mustn't go telling everyone about our +affairs--it's not right. And you must never, never, never ask strangers +to give you things. Now always remember that--won't you?" + +They all hugged her and rubbed their damp cheeks against hers and +promised that they would. + +"And I'll write a letter to your old gentleman, and I shall tell him +that I didn't approve--oh, of course I shall thank him, too, for +his kindness. It's YOU I don't approve of, my darlings, not the old +gentleman. He was as kind as ever he could be. And you can give the +letter to the Station Master to give him--and we won't say any more +about it." + +Afterwards, when the children were alone, Bobbie said:-- + +"Isn't Mother splendid? You catch any other grown-up saying they were +sorry they had been angry." + +"Yes," said Peter, "she IS splendid; but it's rather awful when she's +angry." + +"She's like Avenging and Bright in the song," said Phyllis. "I should +like to look at her if it wasn't so awful. She looks so beautiful when +she's really downright furious." + +They took the letter down to the Station Master. + +"I thought you said you hadn't got any friends except in London," said +he. + +"We've made him since," said Peter. + +"But he doesn't live hereabouts?" + +"No--we just know him on the railway." + +Then the Station Master retired to that sacred inner temple behind the +little window where the tickets are sold, and the children went down +to the Porters' room and talked to the Porter. They learned several +interesting things from him--among others that his name was Perks, +that he was married and had three children, that the lamps in front of +engines are called head-lights and the ones at the back tail-lights. + +"And that just shows," whispered Phyllis, "that trains really ARE +dragons in disguise, with proper heads and tails." + +It was on this day that the children first noticed that all engines are +not alike. + +"Alike?" said the Porter, whose name was Perks, "lor, love you, no, +Miss. No more alike nor what you an' me are. That little 'un without +a tender as went by just now all on her own, that was a tank, that +was--she's off to do some shunting t'other side o' Maidbridge. That's as +it might be you, Miss. Then there's goods engines, great, strong things +with three wheels each side--joined with rods to strengthen 'em--as it +might be me. Then there's main-line engines as it might be this +'ere young gentleman when he grows up and wins all the races at 'is +school--so he will. The main-line engine she's built for speed as well +as power. That's one to the 9.15 up." + +"The Green Dragon," said Phyllis. + +"We calls her the Snail, Miss, among ourselves," said the Porter. "She's +oftener be'ind'and nor any train on the line." + +"But the engine's green," said Phyllis. + +"Yes, Miss," said Perks, "so's a snail some seasons o' the year." + +The children agreed as they went home to dinner that the Porter was most +delightful company. + +Next day was Roberta's birthday. In the afternoon she was politely but +firmly requested to get out of the way and keep there till tea-time. + +"You aren't to see what we're going to do till it's done; it's a +glorious surprise," said Phyllis. + +And Roberta went out into the garden all alone. She tried to be +grateful, but she felt she would much rather have helped in whatever it +was than have to spend her birthday afternoon by herself, no matter how +glorious the surprise might be. + +Now that she was alone, she had time to think, and one of the things she +thought of most was what mother had said in one of those feverish nights +when her hands were so hot and her eyes so bright. + +The words were: "Oh, what a doctor's bill there'll be for this!" + +She walked round and round the garden among the rose-bushes that hadn't +any roses yet, only buds, and the lilac bushes and syringas and American +currants, and the more she thought of the doctor's bill, the less she +liked the thought of it. + +And presently she made up her mind. She went out through the side door +of the garden and climbed up the steep field to where the road runs +along by the canal. She walked along until she came to the bridge that +crosses the canal and leads to the village, and here she waited. It was +very pleasant in the sunshine to lean one's elbows on the warm stone +of the bridge and look down at the blue water of the canal. Bobbie had +never seen any other canal, except the Regent's Canal, and the water of +that is not at all a pretty colour. And she had never seen any river at +all except the Thames, which also would be all the better if its face +was washed. + +Perhaps the children would have loved the canal as much as the railway, +but for two things. One was that they had found the railway FIRST--on +that first, wonderful morning when the house and the country and the +moors and rocks and great hills were all new to them. They had not found +the canal till some days later. The other reason was that everyone on +the railway had been kind to them--the Station Master, the Porter, and +the old gentleman who waved. And the people on the canal were anything +but kind. + +The people on the canal were, of course, the bargees, who steered the +slow barges up and down, or walked beside the old horses that trampled +up the mud of the towing-path, and strained at the long tow-ropes. + +Peter had once asked one of the bargees the time, and had been told +to "get out of that," in a tone so fierce that he did not stop to say +anything about his having just as much right on the towing-path as the +man himself. Indeed, he did not even think of saying it till some time +later. + +Then another day when the children thought they would like to fish in +the canal, a boy in a barge threw lumps of coal at them, and one of +these hit Phyllis on the back of the neck. She was just stooping down to +tie up her bootlace--and though the coal hardly hurt at all it made her +not care very much about going on fishing. + +On the bridge, however, Roberta felt quite safe, because she could look +down on the canal, and if any boy showed signs of meaning to throw coal, +she could duck behind the parapet. + +Presently there was a sound of wheels, which was just what she expected. + +The wheels were the wheels of the Doctor's dogcart, and in the cart, of +course, was the Doctor. + +He pulled up, and called out:-- + +"Hullo, head nurse! Want a lift?" + +"I wanted to see you," said Bobbie. + +"Your mother's not worse, I hope?" said the Doctor. + +"No--but--" + +"Well, skip in, then, and we'll go for a drive." + +Roberta climbed in and the brown horse was made to turn round--which it +did not like at all, for it was looking forward to its tea--I mean its +oats. + +"This IS jolly," said Bobbie, as the dogcart flew along the road by the +canal. + +"We could throw a stone down any one of your three chimneys," said the +Doctor, as they passed the house. + +"Yes," said Bobbie, "but you'd have to be a jolly good shot." + +"How do you know I'm not?" said the Doctor. "Now, then, what's the +trouble?" + +Bobbie fidgeted with the hook of the driving apron. + +"Come, out with it," said the Doctor. + +"It's rather hard, you see," said Bobbie, "to out with it; because of +what Mother said." + +"What DID Mother say?" + +"She said I wasn't to go telling everyone that we're poor. But you +aren't everyone, are you?" + +"Not at all," said the Doctor, cheerfully. "Well?" + +"Well, I know doctors are very extravagant--I mean expensive, and Mrs. +Viney told me that her doctoring only cost her twopence a week because +she belonged to a Club." + +"Yes?" + +"You see she told me what a good doctor you were, and I asked her how +she could afford you, because she's much poorer than we are. I've been +in her house and I know. And then she told me about the Club, and I +thought I'd ask you--and--oh, I don't want Mother to be worried! Can't +we be in the Club, too, the same as Mrs. Viney?" + +The Doctor was silent. He was rather poor himself, and he had been +pleased at getting a new family to attend. So I think his feelings at +that minute were rather mixed. + +"You aren't cross with me, are you?" said Bobbie, in a very small voice. + +The Doctor roused himself. + +"Cross? How could I be? You're a very sensible little woman. Now look +here, don't you worry. I'll make it all right with your Mother, even if +I have to make a special brand-new Club all for her. Look here, this is +where the Aqueduct begins." + +"What's an Aque--what's its name?" asked Bobbie. + +"A water bridge," said the Doctor. "Look." + +The road rose to a bridge over the canal. To the left was a steep rocky +cliff with trees and shrubs growing in the cracks of the rock. And the +canal here left off running along the top of the hill and started to run +on a bridge of its own--a great bridge with tall arches that went right +across the valley. + +Bobbie drew a long breath. + +"It IS grand, isn't it?" she said. "It's like pictures in the History of +Rome." + +"Right!" said the Doctor, "that's just exactly what it IS like. +The Romans were dead nuts on aqueducts. It's a splendid piece of +engineering." + +"I thought engineering was making engines." + +"Ah, there are different sorts of engineering--making road and bridges +and tunnels is one kind. And making fortifications is another. Well, we +must be turning back. And, remember, you aren't to worry about doctor's +bills or you'll be ill yourself, and then I'll send you in a bill as +long as the aqueduct." + +When Bobbie had parted from the Doctor at the top of the field that ran +down from the road to Three Chimneys, she could not feel that she had +done wrong. She knew that Mother would perhaps think differently. +But Bobbie felt that for once she was the one who was right, and she +scrambled down the rocky slope with a really happy feeling. + +Phyllis and Peter met her at the back door. They were unnaturally clean +and neat, and Phyllis had a red bow in her hair. There was only just +time for Bobbie to make herself tidy and tie up her hair with a blue bow +before a little bell rang. + +"There!" said Phyllis, "that's to show the surprise is ready. Now +you wait till the bell rings again and then you may come into the +dining-room." + +So Bobbie waited. + +"Tinkle, tinkle," said the little bell, and Bobbie went into the +dining-room, feeling rather shy. Directly she opened the door she found +herself, as it seemed, in a new world of light and flowers and singing. +Mother and Peter and Phyllis were standing in a row at the end of the +table. The shutters were shut and there were twelve candles on the +table, one for each of Roberta's years. The table was covered with a +sort of pattern of flowers, and at Roberta's place was a thick wreath of +forget-me-nots and several most interesting little packages. And Mother +and Phyllis and Peter were singing--to the first part of the tune of St. +Patrick's Day. Roberta knew that Mother had written the words on purpose +for her birthday. It was a little way of Mother's on birthdays. It +had begun on Bobbie's fourth birthday when Phyllis was a baby. Bobbie +remembered learning the verses to say to Father 'for a surprise.' She +wondered if Mother had remembered, too. The four-year-old verse had +been:-- + + Daddy dear, I'm only four + And I'd rather not be more. + Four's the nicest age to be, + Two and two and one and three. + What I love is two and two, + Mother, Peter, Phil, and you. + What you love is one and three, + Mother, Peter, Phil, and me. + Give your little girl a kiss + Because she learned and told you this. + +The song the others were singing now went like this:-- + + Our darling Roberta, + No sorrow shall hurt her + If we can prevent it + Her whole life long. + Her birthday's our fete day, + We'll make it our great day, + And give her our presents + And sing her our song. + May pleasures attend her + And may the Fates send her + The happiest journey + Along her life's way. + With skies bright above her + And dear ones to love her! + Dear Bob! Many happy + Returns of the day! + +When they had finished singing they cried, "Three cheers for our +Bobbie!" and gave them very loudly. Bobbie felt exactly as though she +were going to cry--you know that odd feeling in the bridge of your nose +and the pricking in your eyelids? But before she had time to begin they +were all kissing and hugging her. + +"Now," said Mother, "look at your presents." + +They were very nice presents. There was a green and red needle-book that +Phyllis had made herself in secret moments. There was a darling little +silver brooch of Mother's shaped like a buttercup, which Bobbie had +known and loved for years, but which she had never, never thought would +come to be her very own. There was also a pair of blue glass vases from +Mrs. Viney. Roberta had seen and admired them in the village shop. And +there were three birthday cards with pretty pictures and wishes. + +Mother fitted the forget-me-not crown on Bobbie's brown head. + +"And now look at the table," she said. + +There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with 'Dear +Bobbie' on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but +the nicest thing was that the big table was almost covered with +flowers--wallflowers were laid all round the tea-tray--there was a ring +of forget-me-nots round each plate. The cake had a wreath of white lilac +round it, and in the middle was something that looked like a pattern all +done with single blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum. + +"It's a map--a map of the railway!" cried Peter. "Look--those lilac +lines are the metals--and there's the station done in brown wallflowers. +The laburnum is the train, and there are the signal-boxes, and the road +up to here--and those fat red daisies are us three waving to the old +gentleman--that's him, the pansy in the laburnum train." + +"And there's 'Three Chimneys' done in the purple primroses," said +Phyllis. "And that little tiny rose-bud is Mother looking out for us +when we're late for tea. Peter invented it all, and we got all the +flowers from the station. We thought you'd like it better." + +"That's my present," said Peter, suddenly dumping down his adored +steam-engine on the table in front of her. Its tender had been lined +with fresh white paper, and was full of sweets. + +"Oh, Peter!" cried Bobbie, quite overcome by this munificence, "not your +own dear little engine that you're so fond of?" + +"Oh, no," said Peter, very promptly, "not the engine. Only the sweets." + +Bobbie couldn't help her face changing a little--not so much because she +was disappointed at not getting the engine, as because she had thought +it so very noble of Peter, and now she felt she had been silly to think +it. Also she felt she must have seemed greedy to expect the engine as +well as the sweets. So her face changed. Peter saw it. He hesitated a +minute; then his face changed, too, and he said: "I mean not ALL the +engine. I'll let you go halves if you like." + +"You're a brick," cried Bobbie; "it's a splendid present." She said no +more aloud, but to herself she said:-- + +"That was awfully jolly decent of Peter because I know he didn't mean +to. Well, the broken half shall be my half of the engine, and I'll get +it mended and give it back to Peter for his birthday."--"Yes, Mother +dear, I should like to cut the cake," she added, and tea began. + +It was a delightful birthday. After tea Mother played games with +them--any game they liked--and of course their first choice was +blindman's-buff, in the course of which Bobbie's forget-me-not wreath +twisted itself crookedly over one of her ears and stayed there. Then, +when it was near bed-time and time to calm down, Mother had a lovely new +story to read to them. + +"You won't sit up late working, will you, Mother?" Bobbie asked as they +said good night. + +And Mother said no, she wouldn't--she would only just write to Father +and then go to bed. + +But when Bobbie crept down later to bring up her presents--for she felt +she really could not be separated from them all night--Mother was not +writing, but leaning her head on her arms and her arms on the table. I +think it was rather good of Bobbie to slip quietly away, saying over and +over, "She doesn't want me to know she's unhappy, and I won't know; I +won't know." But it made a sad end to the birthday. + + * * * * * * + +The very next morning Bobbie began to watch her opportunity to get +Peter's engine mended secretly. And the opportunity came the very next +afternoon. + +Mother went by train to the nearest town to do shopping. When she went +there, she always went to the Post-office. Perhaps to post her letters +to Father, for she never gave them to the children or Mrs. Viney to +post, and she never went to the village herself. Peter and Phyllis went +with her. Bobbie wanted an excuse not to go, but try as she would she +couldn't think of a good one. And just when she felt that all was lost, +her frock caught on a big nail by the kitchen door and there was a great +criss-cross tear all along the front of the skirt. I assure you this was +really an accident. So the others pitied her and went without her, +for there was no time for her to change, because they were rather late +already and had to hurry to the station to catch the train. + +When they had gone, Bobbie put on her everyday frock, and went down to +the railway. She did not go into the station, but she went along the +line to the end of the platform where the engine is when the down train +is alongside the platform--the place where there are a water tank and +a long, limp, leather hose, like an elephant's trunk. She hid behind a +bush on the other side of the railway. She had the toy engine done up in +brown paper, and she waited patiently with it under her arm. + +Then when the next train came in and stopped, Bobbie went across the +metals of the up-line and stood beside the engine. She had never been so +close to an engine before. It looked much larger and harder than she +had expected, and it made her feel very small indeed, and, somehow, very +soft--as if she could very, very easily be hurt rather badly. + +"I know what silk-worms feel like now," said Bobbie to herself. + +The engine-driver and fireman did not see her. They were leaning out +on the other side, telling the Porter a tale about a dog and a leg of +mutton. + +"If you please," said Roberta--but the engine was blowing off steam and +no one heard her. + +"If you please, Mr. Engineer," she spoke a little louder, but the Engine +happened to speak at the same moment, and of course Roberta's soft +little voice hadn't a chance. + +It seemed to her that the only way would be to climb on to the engine +and pull at their coats. The step was high, but she got her knee on it, +and clambered into the cab; she stumbled and fell on hands and knees on +the base of the great heap of coals that led up to the square opening in +the tender. The engine was not above the weaknesses of its fellows; it +was making a great deal more noise than there was the slightest need +for. And just as Roberta fell on the coals, the engine-driver, who +had turned without seeing her, started the engine, and when Bobbie had +picked herself up, the train was moving--not fast, but much too fast for +her to get off. + +All sorts of dreadful thoughts came to her all together in one horrible +flash. There were such things as express trains that went on, she +supposed, for hundreds of miles without stopping. Suppose this should be +one of them? How would she get home again? She had no money to pay for +the return journey. + +"And I've no business here. I'm an engine-burglar--that's what I am," +she thought. "I shouldn't wonder if they could lock me up for this." And +the train was going faster and faster. + +There was something in her throat that made it impossible for her to +speak. She tried twice. The men had their backs to her. They were doing +something to things that looked like taps. + +Suddenly she put out her hand and caught hold of the nearest sleeve. The +man turned with a start, and he and Roberta stood for a minute looking +at each other in silence. Then the silence was broken by them both. + +The man said, "Here's a bloomin' go!" and Roberta burst into tears. + +The other man said he was blooming well blest--or something like it--but +though naturally surprised they were not exactly unkind. + +"You're a naughty little gell, that's what you are," said the fireman, +and the engine-driver said:-- + +"Daring little piece, I call her," but they made her sit down on an iron +seat in the cab and told her to stop crying and tell them what she meant +by it. + +She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing that helped her was the +thought that Peter would give almost his ears to be in her place--on a +real engine--really going. The children had often wondered whether any +engine-driver could be found noble enough to take them for a ride on an +engine--and now there she was. She dried her eyes and sniffed earnestly. + +"Now, then," said the fireman, "out with it. What do you mean by it, +eh?" + +"Oh, please," sniffed Bobbie. + +"Try again," said the engine-driver, encouragingly. + +Bobbie tried again. + +"Please, Mr. Engineer," she said, "I did call out to you from the +line, but you didn't hear me--and I just climbed up to touch you on the +arm--quite gently I meant to do it--and then I fell into the coals--and +I am so sorry if I frightened you. Oh, don't be cross--oh, please +don't!" She sniffed again. + +"We ain't so much CROSS," said the fireman, "as interested like. It +ain't every day a little gell tumbles into our coal bunker outer the +sky, is it, Bill? What did you DO it for--eh?" + +"That's the point," agreed the engine-driver; "what did you do it FOR?" + +Bobbie found that she had not quite stopped crying. The engine-driver +patted her on the back and said: "Here, cheer up, Mate. It ain't so bad +as all that 'ere, I'll be bound." + +"I wanted," said Bobbie, much cheered to find herself addressed as +'Mate'--"I only wanted to ask you if you'd be so kind as to mend this." +She picked up the brown-paper parcel from among the coals and undid the +string with hot, red fingers that trembled. + +Her feet and legs felt the scorch of the engine fire, but her shoulders +felt the wild chill rush of the air. The engine lurched and shook and +rattled, and as they shot under a bridge the engine seemed to shout in +her ears. + +The fireman shovelled on coals. + +Bobbie unrolled the brown paper and disclosed the toy engine. + +"I thought," she said wistfully, "that perhaps you'd mend this for +me--because you're an engineer, you know." + +The engine-driver said he was blowed if he wasn't blest. + +"I'm blest if I ain't blowed," remarked the fireman. + +But the engine-driver took the little engine and looked at it--and the +fireman ceased for an instant to shovel coal, and looked, too. + +"It's like your precious cheek," said the engine-driver--"whatever made +you think we'd be bothered tinkering penny toys?" + +"I didn't mean it for precious cheek," said Bobbie; "only everybody that +has anything to do with railways is so kind and good, I didn't think +you'd mind. You don't really--do you?" she added, for she had seen a not +unkindly wink pass between the two. + +"My trade's driving of an engine, not mending her, especially such a +hout-size in engines as this 'ere," said Bill. "An' 'ow are we a-goin' +to get you back to your sorrowing friends and relations, and all be +forgiven and forgotten?" + +"If you'll put me down next time you stop," said Bobbie, firmly, though +her heart beat fiercely against her arm as she clasped her hands, "and +lend me the money for a third-class ticket, I'll pay you back--honour +bright. I'm not a confidence trick like in the newspapers--really, I'm +not." + +"You're a little lady, every inch," said Bill, relenting suddenly +and completely. "We'll see you gets home safe. An' about this +engine--Jim--ain't you got ne'er a pal as can use a soldering iron? +Seems to me that's about all the little bounder wants doing to it." + +"That's what Father said," Bobbie explained eagerly. "What's that for?" + +She pointed to a little brass wheel that he had turned as he spoke. + +"That's the injector." + +"In--what?" + +"Injector to fill up the boiler." + +"Oh," said Bobbie, mentally registering the fact to tell the others; +"that IS interesting." + +"This 'ere's the automatic brake," Bill went on, flattered by her +enthusiasm. "You just move this 'ere little handle--do it with one +finger, you can--and the train jolly soon stops. That's what they call +the Power of Science in the newspapers." + +He showed her two little dials, like clock faces, and told her how one +showed how much steam was going, and the other showed if the brake was +working properly. + +By the time she had seen him shut off steam with a big shining steel +handle, Bobbie knew more about the inside working of an engine than she +had ever thought there was to know, and Jim had promised that his second +cousin's wife's brother should solder the toy engine, or Jim would know +the reason why. Besides all the knowledge she had gained Bobbie felt +that she and Bill and Jim were now friends for life, and that they had +wholly and forever forgiven her for stumbling uninvited among the sacred +coals of their tender. + +At Stacklepoole Junction she parted from them with warm expressions of +mutual regard. They handed her over to the guard of a returning train--a +friend of theirs--and she had the joy of knowing what guards do in their +secret fastnesses, and understood how, when you pull the communication +cord in railway carriages, a wheel goes round under the guard's nose and +a loud bell rings in his ears. She asked the guard why his van smelt +so fishy, and learned that he had to carry a lot of fish every day, and +that the wetness in the hollows of the corrugated floor had all drained +out of boxes full of plaice and cod and mackerel and soles and smelts. + +Bobbie got home in time for tea, and she felt as though her mind would +burst with all that had been put into it since she parted from the +others. How she blessed the nail that had torn her frock! + +"Where have you been?" asked the others. + +"To the station, of course," said Roberta. But she would not tell a word +of her adventures till the day appointed, when she mysteriously led them +to the station at the hour of the 3.19's transit, and proudly introduced +them to her friends, Bill and Jim. Jim's second cousin's wife's brother +had not been unworthy of the sacred trust reposed in him. The toy engine +was, literally, as good as new. + +"Good-bye--oh, good-bye," said Bobbie, just before the engine screamed +ITS good-bye. "I shall always, always love you--and Jim's second +cousin's wife's brother as well!" + +And as the three children went home up the hill, Peter hugging the +engine, now quite its own self again, Bobbie told, with joyous leaps of +the heart, the story of how she had been an Engine-burglar. + + + +Chapter V. Prisoners and captives. + + +It was one day when Mother had gone to Maidbridge. She had gone alone, +but the children were to go to the station to meet her. And, loving the +station as they did, it was only natural that they should be there a +good hour before there was any chance of Mother's train arriving, even +if the train were punctual, which was most unlikely. No doubt they would +have been just as early, even if it had been a fine day, and all the +delights of woods and fields and rocks and rivers had been open to them. +But it happened to be a very wet day and, for July, very cold. There was +a wild wind that drove flocks of dark purple clouds across the sky "like +herds of dream-elephants," as Phyllis said. And the rain stung sharply, +so that the way to the station was finished at a run. Then the rain fell +faster and harder, and beat slantwise against the windows of the booking +office and of the chill place that had General Waiting Room on its door. + +"It's like being in a besieged castle," Phyllis said; "look at the +arrows of the foe striking against the battlements!" + +"It's much more like a great garden-squirt," said Peter. + +They decided to wait on the up side, for the down platform looked very +wet indeed, and the rain was driving right into the little bleak shelter +where down-passengers have to wait for their trains. + +The hour would be full of incident and of interest, for there would be +two up trains and one down to look at before the one that should bring +Mother back. + +"Perhaps it'll have stopped raining by then," said Bobbie; "anyhow, I'm +glad I brought Mother's waterproof and umbrella." + +They went into the desert spot labelled General Waiting Room, and the +time passed pleasantly enough in a game of advertisements. You know the +game, of course? It is something like dumb Crambo. The players take +it in turns to go out, and then come back and look as like some +advertisement as they can, and the others have to guess what +advertisement it is meant to be. Bobbie came in and sat down under +Mother's umbrella and made a sharp face, and everyone knew she was the +fox who sits under the umbrella in the advertisement. Phyllis tried to +make a Magic Carpet of Mother's waterproof, but it would not stand out +stiff and raft-like as a Magic Carpet should, and nobody could guess +it. Everyone thought Peter was carrying things a little too far when he +blacked his face all over with coal-dust and struck a spidery attitude +and said he was the blot that advertises somebody's Blue Black Writing +Fluid. + +It was Phyllis's turn again, and she was trying to look like the Sphinx +that advertises What's-his-name's Personally Conducted Tours up the Nile +when the sharp ting of the signal announced the up train. The children +rushed out to see it pass. On its engine were the particular driver +and fireman who were now numbered among the children's dearest friends. +Courtesies passed between them. Jim asked after the toy engine, and +Bobbie pressed on his acceptance a moist, greasy package of toffee that +she had made herself. + +Charmed by this attention, the engine-driver consented to consider her +request that some day he would take Peter for a ride on the engine. + +"Stand back, Mates," cried the engine-driver, suddenly, "and horf she +goes." + +And sure enough, off the train went. The children watched the +tail-lights of the train till it disappeared round the curve of the +line, and then turned to go back to the dusty freedom of the General +Waiting Room and the joys of the advertisement game. + +They expected to see just one or two people, the end of the procession +of passengers who had given up their tickets and gone away. Instead, the +platform round the door of the station had a dark blot round it, and the +dark blot was a crowd of people. + +"Oh!" cried Peter, with a thrill of joyous excitement, "something's +happened! Come on!" + +They ran down the platform. When they got to the crowd, they could, of +course, see nothing but the damp backs and elbows of the people on the +crowd's outside. Everybody was talking at once. It was evident that +something had happened. + +"It's my belief he's nothing worse than a natural," said a +farmerish-looking person. Peter saw his red, clean-shaven face as he +spoke. + +"If you ask me, I should say it was a Police Court case," said a young +man with a black bag. + +"Not it; the Infirmary more like--" + +Then the voice of the Station Master was heard, firm and official:-- + +"Now, then--move along there. I'll attend to this, if YOU please." + +But the crowd did not move. And then came a voice that thrilled the +children through and through. For it spoke in a foreign language. And, +what is more, it was a language that they had never heard. They had +heard French spoken and German. Aunt Emma knew German, and used to sing +a song about bedeuten and zeiten and bin and sin. Nor was it Latin. +Peter had been in Latin for four terms. + +It was some comfort, anyhow, to find that none of the crowd understood +the foreign language any better than the children did. + +"What's that he's saying?" asked the farmer, heavily. + +"Sounds like French to me," said the Station Master, who had once been +to Boulogne for the day. + +"It isn't French!" cried Peter. + +"What is it, then?" asked more than one voice. The crowd fell back a +little to see who had spoken, and Peter pressed forward, so that when +the crowd closed up again he was in the front rank. + +"I don't know what it is," said Peter, "but it isn't French. I know +that." Then he saw what it was that the crowd had for its centre. It +was a man--the man, Peter did not doubt, who had spoken in that strange +tongue. A man with long hair and wild eyes, with shabby clothes of a cut +Peter had not seen before--a man whose hands and lips trembled, and who +spoke again as his eyes fell on Peter. + +"No, it's not French," said Peter. + +"Try him with French if you know so much about it," said the farmer-man. + +"Parlay voo Frongsay?" began Peter, boldly, and the next moment the +crowd recoiled again, for the man with the wild eyes had left leaning +against the wall, and had sprung forward and caught Peter's hands, +and begun to pour forth a flood of words which, though he could not +understand a word of them, Peter knew the sound of. + +"There!" said he, and turned, his hands still clasped in the hands of +the strange shabby figure, to throw a glance of triumph at the crowd; +"there; THAT'S French." + +"What does he say?" + +"I don't know." Peter was obliged to own it. + +"Here," said the Station Master again; "you move on if you please. I'LL +deal with this case." + +A few of the more timid or less inquisitive travellers moved slowly and +reluctantly away. And Phyllis and Bobbie got near to Peter. All three +had been TAUGHT French at school. How deeply they now wished that they +had LEARNED it! Peter shook his head at the stranger, but he also shook +his hands as warmly and looked at him as kindly as he could. A person +in the crowd, after some hesitation, said suddenly, "No comprenny!" and +then, blushing deeply, backed out of the press and went away. + +"Take him into your room," whispered Bobbie to the Station Master. +"Mother can talk French. She'll be here by the next train from +Maidbridge." + +The Station Master took the arm of the stranger, suddenly but not +unkindly. But the man wrenched his arm away, and cowered back coughing +and trembling and trying to push the Station Master away. + +"Oh, don't!" said Bobbie; "don't you see how frightened he is? He thinks +you're going to shut him up. I know he does--look at his eyes!" + +"They're like a fox's eyes when the beast's in a trap," said the farmer. + +"Oh, let me try!" Bobbie went on; "I do really know one or two French +words if I could only think of them." + +Sometimes, in moments of great need, we can do wonderful things--things +that in ordinary life we could hardly even dream of doing. Bobbie had +never been anywhere near the top of her French class, but she must have +learned something without knowing it, for now, looking at those wild, +hunted eyes, she actually remembered and, what is more, spoke, some +French words. She said:-- + +"Vous attendre. Ma mere parlez Francais. Nous--what's the French for +'being kind'?" + +Nobody knew. + +"Bong is 'good,'" said Phyllis. + +"Nous etre bong pour vous." + +I do not know whether the man understood her words, but he understood +the touch of the hand she thrust into his, and the kindness of the other +hand that stroked his shabby sleeve. + +She pulled him gently towards the inmost sanctuary of the Station +Master. The other children followed, and the Station Master shut the +door in the face of the crowd, which stood a little while in the booking +office talking and looking at the fast closed yellow door, and then by +ones and twos went its way, grumbling. + +Inside the Station Master's room Bobbie still held the stranger's hand +and stroked his sleeve. + +"Here's a go," said the Station Master; "no ticket--doesn't even know +where he wants to go. I'm not sure now but what I ought to send for the +police." + +"Oh, DON'T!" all the children pleaded at once. And suddenly Bobbie +got between the others and the stranger, for she had seen that he was +crying. + +By a most unusual piece of good fortune she had a handkerchief in +her pocket. By a still more uncommon accident the handkerchief was +moderately clean. Standing in front of the stranger, she got out the +handkerchief and passed it to him so that the others did not see. + +"Wait till Mother comes," Phyllis was saying; "she does speak French +beautifully. You'd just love to hear her." + +"I'm sure he hasn't done anything like you're sent to prison for," said +Peter. + +"Looks like without visible means to me," said the Station Master. +"Well, I don't mind giving him the benefit of the doubt till your Mamma +comes. I SHOULD like to know what nation's got the credit of HIM, that I +should." + +Then Peter had an idea. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and +showed that it was half full of foreign stamps. + +"Look here," he said, "let's show him these--" + +Bobbie looked and saw that the stranger had dried his eyes with her +handkerchief. So she said: "All right." + +They showed him an Italian stamp, and pointed from him to it and back +again, and made signs of question with their eyebrows. He shook his +head. Then they showed him a Norwegian stamp--the common blue kind it +was--and again he signed No. Then they showed him a Spanish one, and +at that he took the envelope from Peter's hand and searched among the +stamps with a hand that trembled. The hand that he reached out at last, +with a gesture as of one answering a question, contained a RUSSIAN +stamp. + +"He's Russian," cried Peter, "or else he's like 'the man who was'--in +Kipling, you know." + +The train from Maidbridge was signalled. + +"I'll stay with him till you bring Mother in," said Bobbie. + +"You're not afraid, Missie?" + +"Oh, no," said Bobbie, looking at the stranger, as she might have looked +at a strange dog of doubtful temper. "You wouldn't hurt me, would you?" + +She smiled at him, and he smiled back, a queer crooked smile. And then +he coughed again. And the heavy rattling swish of the incoming train +swept past, and the Station Master and Peter and Phyllis went out to +meet it. Bobbie was still holding the stranger's hand when they came +back with Mother. + +The Russian rose and bowed very ceremoniously. + +Then Mother spoke in French, and he replied, haltingly at first, but +presently in longer and longer sentences. + +The children, watching his face and Mother's, knew that he was telling +her things that made her angry and pitying, and sorry and indignant all +at once. + +"Well, Mum, what's it all about?" The Station Master could not restrain +his curiosity any longer. + +"Oh," said Mother, "it's all right. He's a Russian, and he's lost his +ticket. And I'm afraid he's very ill. If you don't mind, I'll take him +home with me now. He's really quite worn out. I'll run down and tell you +all about him to-morrow." + +"I hope you won't find you're taking home a frozen viper," said the +Station Master, doubtfully. + +"Oh, no," Mother said brightly, and she smiled; "I'm quite sure I'm +not. Why, he's a great man in his own country, writes books--beautiful +books--I've read some of them; but I'll tell you all about it +to-morrow." + +She spoke again in French to the Russian, and everyone could see the +surprise and pleasure and gratitude in his eyes. He got up and politely +bowed to the Station Master, and offered his arm most ceremoniously to +Mother. She took it, but anybody could have seen that she was helping +him along, and not he her. + +"You girls run home and light a fire in the sitting-room," Mother said, +"and Peter had better go for the Doctor." + +But it was Bobbie who went for the Doctor. + +"I hate to tell you," she said breathlessly when she came upon him +in his shirt sleeves, weeding his pansy-bed, "but Mother's got a very +shabby Russian, and I'm sure he'll have to belong to your Club. I'm +certain he hasn't got any money. We found him at the station." + +"Found him! Was he lost, then?" asked the Doctor, reaching for his coat. + +"Yes," said Bobbie, unexpectedly, "that's just what he was. He's been +telling Mother the sad, sweet story of his life in French; and she said +would you be kind enough to come directly if you were at home. He has a +dreadful cough, and he's been crying." + +The Doctor smiled. + +"Oh, don't," said Bobbie; "please don't. You wouldn't if you'd seen him. +I never saw a man cry before. You don't know what it's like." + +Dr. Forrest wished then that he hadn't smiled. + +When Bobbie and the Doctor got to Three Chimneys, the Russian was +sitting in the arm-chair that had been Father's, stretching his feet +to the blaze of a bright wood fire, and sipping the tea Mother had made +him. + +"The man seems worn out, mind and body," was what the Doctor said; "the +cough's bad, but there's nothing that can't be cured. He ought to go +straight to bed, though--and let him have a fire at night." + +"I'll make one in my room; it's the only one with a fireplace," said +Mother. She did, and presently the Doctor helped the stranger to bed. + +There was a big black trunk in Mother's room that none of the children +had ever seen unlocked. Now, when she had lighted the fire, she unlocked +it and took some clothes out--men's clothes--and set them to air by the +newly lighted fire. Bobbie, coming in with more wood for the fire, saw +the mark on the night-shirt, and looked over to the open trunk. All +the things she could see were men's clothes. And the name marked on the +shirt was Father's name. Then Father hadn't taken his clothes with him. +And that night-shirt was one of Father's new ones. Bobbie remembered its +being made, just before Peter's birthday. Why hadn't Father taken his +clothes? Bobbie slipped from the room. As she went she heard the key +turned in the lock of the trunk. Her heart was beating horribly. WHY +hadn't Father taken his clothes? When Mother came out of the room, +Bobbie flung tightly clasping arms round her waist, and whispered:-- + +"Mother--Daddy isn't--isn't DEAD, is he?" + +"My darling, no! What made you think of anything so horrible?" + +"I--I don't know," said Bobbie, angry with herself, but still clinging +to that resolution of hers, not to see anything that Mother didn't mean +her to see. + +Mother gave her a hurried hug. "Daddy was quite, QUITE well when I heard +from him last," she said, "and he'll come back to us some day. Don't +fancy such horrible things, darling!" + +Later on, when the Russian stranger had been made comfortable for the +night, Mother came into the girls' room. She was to sleep there in +Phyllis's bed, and Phyllis was to have a mattress on the floor, a +most amusing adventure for Phyllis. Directly Mother came in, two white +figures started up, and two eager voices called:-- + +"Now, Mother, tell us all about the Russian gentleman." + +A white shape hopped into the room. It was Peter, dragging his quilt +behind him like the tail of a white peacock. + +"We have been patient," he said, "and I had to bite my tongue not to +go to sleep, and I just nearly went to sleep and I bit too hard, and it +hurts ever so. DO tell us. Make a nice long story of it." + +"I can't make a long story of it to-night," said Mother; "I'm very +tired." + +Bobbie knew by her voice that Mother had been crying, but the others +didn't know. + +"Well, make it as long as you can," said Phil, and Bobbie got her arms +round Mother's waist and snuggled close to her. + +"Well, it's a story long enough to make a whole book of. He's a writer; +he's written beautiful books. In Russia at the time of the Czar one +dared not say anything about the rich people doing wrong, or about the +things that ought to be done to make poor people better and happier. If +one did one was sent to prison." + +"But they CAN'T," said Peter; "people only go to prison when they've +done wrong." + +"Or when the Judges THINK they've done wrong," said Mother. "Yes, that's +so in England. But in Russia it was different. And he wrote a beautiful +book about poor people and how to help them. I've read it. There's +nothing in it but goodness and kindness. And they sent him to prison for +it. He was three years in a horrible dungeon, with hardly any light, and +all damp and dreadful. In prison all alone for three years." + +Mother's voice trembled a little and stopped suddenly. + +"But, Mother," said Peter, "that can't be true NOW. It sounds like +something out of a history book--the Inquisition, or something." + +"It WAS true," said Mother; "it's all horribly true. Well, then they +took him out and sent him to Siberia, a convict chained to other +convicts--wicked men who'd done all sorts of crimes--a long chain of +them, and they walked, and walked, and walked, for days and weeks, till +he thought they'd never stop walking. And overseers went behind them +with whips--yes, whips--to beat them if they got tired. And some of them +went lame, and some fell down, and when they couldn't get up and go on, +they beat them, and then left them to die. Oh, it's all too terrible! +And at last he got to the mines, and he was condemned to stay there for +life--for life, just for writing a good, noble, splendid book." + +"How did he get away?" + +"When the war came, some of the Russian prisoners were allowed to +volunteer as soldiers. And he volunteered. But he deserted at the first +chance he got and--" + +"But that's very cowardly, isn't it"--said Peter--"to desert? Especially +when it's war." + +"Do you think he owed anything to a country that had done THAT to him? +If he did, he owed more to his wife and children. He didn't know what +had become of them." + +"Oh," cried Bobbie, "he had THEM to think about and be miserable about +TOO, then, all the time he was in prison?" + +"Yes, he had them to think about and be miserable about all the time he +was in prison. For anything he knew they might have been sent to prison, +too. They did those things in Russia. But while he was in the mines some +friends managed to get a message to him that his wife and children had +escaped and come to England. So when he deserted he came here to look +for them." + +"Had he got their address?" said practical Peter. + +"No; just England. He was going to London, and he thought he had to +change at our station, and then he found he'd lost his ticket and his +purse." + +"Oh, DO you think he'll find them?--I mean his wife and children, not +the ticket and things." + +"I hope so. Oh, I hope and pray that he'll find his wife and children +again." + +Even Phyllis now perceived that mother's voice was very unsteady. + +"Why, Mother," she said, "how very sorry you seem to be for him!" + +Mother didn't answer for a minute. Then she just said, "Yes," and then +she seemed to be thinking. The children were quiet. + +Presently she said, "Dears, when you say your prayers, I think you might +ask God to show His pity upon all prisoners and captives." + +"To show His pity," Bobbie repeated slowly, "upon all prisoners and +captives. Is that right, Mother?" + +"Yes," said Mother, "upon all prisoners and captives. All prisoners and +captives." + + + +Chapter VI. Saviours of the train. + + +The Russian gentleman was better the next day, and the day after that +better still, and on the third day he was well enough to come into the +garden. A basket chair was put for him and he sat there, dressed in +clothes of Father's which were too big for him. But when Mother had +hemmed up the ends of the sleeves and the trousers, the clothes did +well enough. His was a kind face now that it was no longer tired and +frightened, and he smiled at the children whenever he saw them. They +wished very much that he could speak English. Mother wrote several +letters to people she thought might know whereabouts in England a +Russian gentleman's wife and family might possibly be; not to the people +she used to know before she came to live at Three Chimneys--she never +wrote to any of them--but strange people--Members of Parliament and +Editors of papers, and Secretaries of Societies. + +And she did not do much of her story-writing, only corrected proofs as +she sat in the sun near the Russian, and talked to him every now and +then. + +The children wanted very much to show how kindly they felt to this man +who had been sent to prison and to Siberia just for writing a beautiful +book about poor people. They could smile at him, of course; they could +and they did. But if you smile too constantly, the smile is apt to +get fixed like the smile of the hyaena. And then it no longer looks +friendly, but simply silly. So they tried other ways, and brought him +flowers till the place where he sat was surrounded by little fading +bunches of clover and roses and Canterbury bells. + +And then Phyllis had an idea. She beckoned mysteriously to the others +and drew them into the back yard, and there, in a concealed spot, +between the pump and the water-butt, she said:-- + +"You remember Perks promising me the very first strawberries out of his +own garden?" Perks, you will recollect, was the Porter. "Well, I should +think they're ripe now. Let's go down and see." + +Mother had been down as she had promised to tell the Station Master the +story of the Russian Prisoner. But even the charms of the railway had +been unable to tear the children away from the neighbourhood of the +interesting stranger. So they had not been to the station for three +days. + +They went now. + +And, to their surprise and distress, were very coldly received by Perks. + +"'Ighly honoured, I'm sure," he said when they peeped in at the door of +the Porters' room. And he went on reading his newspaper. + +There was an uncomfortable silence. + +"Oh, dear," said Bobbie, with a sigh, "I do believe you're CROSS." + +"What, me? Not me!" said Perks loftily; "it ain't nothing to me." + +"What AIN'T nothing to you?" said Peter, too anxious and alarmed to +change the form of words. + +"Nothing ain't nothing. What 'appens either 'ere or elsewhere," said +Perks; "if you likes to 'ave your secrets, 'ave 'em and welcome. That's +what I say." + +The secret-chamber of each heart was rapidly examined during the pause +that followed. Three heads were shaken. + +"We haven't got any secrets from YOU," said Bobbie at last. + +"Maybe you 'ave, and maybe you 'aven't," said Perks; "it ain't nothing +to me. And I wish you all a very good afternoon." He held up the paper +between him and them and went on reading. + +"Oh, DON'T!" said Phyllis, in despair; "this is truly dreadful! Whatever +it is, do tell us." + +"We didn't mean to do it whatever it was." + +No answer. The paper was refolded and Perks began on another column. + +"Look here," said Peter, suddenly, "it's not fair. Even people who do +crimes aren't punished without being told what it's for--as once they +were in Russia." + +"I don't know nothing about Russia." + +"Oh, yes, you do, when Mother came down on purpose to tell you and Mr. +Gills all about OUR Russian." + +"Can't you fancy it?" said Perks, indignantly; "don't you see 'im +a-asking of me to step into 'is room and take a chair and listen to what +'er Ladyship 'as to say?" + +"Do you mean to say you've not heard?" + +"Not so much as a breath. I did go so far as to put a question. And he +shuts me up like a rat-trap. 'Affairs of State, Perks,' says he. But I +did think one o' you would 'a' nipped down to tell me--you're here sharp +enough when you want to get anything out of old Perks"--Phyllis +flushed purple as she thought of the strawberries--"information about +locomotives or signals or the likes," said Perks. + +"We didn't know you didn't know." + +"We thought Mother had told you." + +"Wewantedtotellyouonlywethoughtitwouldbestalenews." + +The three spoke all at once. + +Perks said it was all very well, and still held up the paper. Then +Phyllis suddenly snatched it away, and threw her arms round his neck. + +"Oh, let's kiss and be friends," she said; "we'll say we're sorry first, +if you like, but we didn't really know that you didn't know." + +"We are so sorry," said the others. + +And Perks at last consented to accept their apologies. + +Then they got him to come out and sit in the sun on the green Railway +Bank, where the grass was quite hot to touch, and there, sometimes +speaking one at a time, and sometimes all together, they told the Porter +the story of the Russian Prisoner. + +"Well, I must say," said Perks; but he did not say it--whatever it was. + +"Yes, it is pretty awful, isn't it?" said Peter, "and I don't wonder you +were curious about who the Russian was." + +"I wasn't curious, not so much as interested," said the Porter. + +"Well, I do think Mr. Gills might have told you about it. It was horrid +of him." + +"I don't keep no down on 'im for that, Missie," said the Porter; "cos +why? I see 'is reasons. 'E wouldn't want to give away 'is own side with +a tale like that 'ere. It ain't human nature. A man's got to stand +up for his own side whatever they does. That's what it means by Party +Politics. I should 'a' done the same myself if that long-'aired chap 'ad +'a' been a Jap." + +"But the Japs didn't do cruel, wicked things like that," said Bobbie. + +"P'r'aps not," said Perks, cautiously; "still you can't be sure with +foreigners. My own belief is they're all tarred with the same brush." + +"Then why were you on the side of the Japs?" Peter asked. + +"Well, you see, you must take one side or the other. Same as with +Liberals and Conservatives. The great thing is to take your side and +then stick to it, whatever happens." + +A signal sounded. + +"There's the 3.14 up," said Perks. "You lie low till she's through, +and then we'll go up along to my place, and see if there's any of them +strawberries ripe what I told you about." + +"If there are any ripe, and you DO give them to me," said Phyllis, "you +won't mind if I give them to the poor Russian, will you?" + +Perks narrowed his eyes and then raised his eyebrows. + +"So it was them strawberries you come down for this afternoon, eh?" said +he. + +This was an awkward moment for Phyllis. To say "yes" would seem rude and +greedy, and unkind to Perks. But she knew if she said "no," she would +not be pleased with herself afterwards. So-- + +"Yes," she said, "it was." + +"Well done!" said the Porter; "speak the truth and shame the--" + +"But we'd have come down the very next day if we'd known you hadn't +heard the story," Phyllis added hastily. + +"I believe you, Missie," said Perks, and sprang across the line six feet +in front of the advancing train. + +The girls hated to see him do this, but Peter liked it. It was so +exciting. + +The Russian gentleman was so delighted with the strawberries that the +three racked their brains to find some other surprise for him. But all +the racking did not bring out any idea more novel than wild cherries. +And this idea occurred to them next morning. They had seen the blossom +on the trees in the spring, and they knew where to look for wild +cherries now that cherry time was here. The trees grew all up and along +the rocky face of the cliff out of which the mouth of the tunnel opened. +There were all sorts of trees there, birches and beeches and baby oaks +and hazels, and among them the cherry blossom had shone like snow and +silver. + +The mouth of the tunnel was some way from Three Chimneys, so Mother let +them take their lunch with them in a basket. And the basket would do +to bring the cherries back in if they found any. She also lent them her +silver watch so that they should not be late for tea. Peter's Waterbury +had taken it into its head not to go since the day when Peter dropped it +into the water-butt. And they started. When they got to the top of the +cutting, they leaned over the fence and looked down to where the railway +lines lay at the bottom of what, as Phyllis said, was exactly like a +mountain gorge. + +"If it wasn't for the railway at the bottom, it would be as though the +foot of man had never been there, wouldn't it?" + +The sides of the cutting were of grey stone, very roughly hewn. Indeed, +the top part of the cutting had been a little natural glen that had been +cut deeper to bring it down to the level of the tunnel's mouth. Among +the rocks, grass and flowers grew, and seeds dropped by birds in the +crannies of the stone had taken root and grown into bushes and trees +that overhung the cutting. Near the tunnel was a flight of steps leading +down to the line--just wooden bars roughly fixed into the earth--a very +steep and narrow way, more like a ladder than a stair. + +"We'd better get down," said Peter; "I'm sure the cherries would be +quite easy to get at from the side of the steps. You remember it was +there we picked the cherry blossoms that we put on the rabbit's grave." + +So they went along the fence towards the little swing gate that is at +the top of these steps. And they were almost at the gate when Bobbie +said:-- + +"Hush. Stop! What's that?" + +"That" was a very odd noise indeed--a soft noise, but quite plainly to +be heard through the sound of the wind in tree branches, and the hum +and whir of the telegraph wires. It was a sort of rustling, whispering +sound. As they listened it stopped, and then it began again. + +And this time it did not stop, but it grew louder and more rustling and +rumbling. + +"Look"--cried Peter, suddenly--"the tree over there!" + +The tree he pointed at was one of those that have rough grey leaves and +white flowers. The berries, when they come, are bright scarlet, but if +you pick them, they disappoint you by turning black before you get them +home. And, as Peter pointed, the tree was moving--not just the way trees +ought to move when the wind blows through them, but all in one piece, +as though it were a live creature and were walking down the side of the +cutting. + +"It's moving!" cried Bobbie. "Oh, look! and so are the others. It's like +the woods in Macbeth." + +"It's magic," said Phyllis, breathlessly. "I always knew this railway +was enchanted." + +It really did seem a little like magic. For all the trees for about +twenty yards of the opposite bank seemed to be slowly walking down +towards the railway line, the tree with the grey leaves bringing up the +rear like some old shepherd driving a flock of green sheep. + +"What is it? Oh, what is it?" said Phyllis; "it's much too magic for me. +I don't like it. Let's go home." + +But Bobbie and Peter clung fast to the rail and watched breathlessly. +And Phyllis made no movement towards going home by herself. + +The trees moved on and on. Some stones and loose earth fell down and +rattled on the railway metals far below. + +"It's ALL coming down," Peter tried to say, but he found there was +hardly any voice to say it with. And, indeed, just as he spoke, the +great rock, on the top of which the walking trees were, leaned slowly +forward. The trees, ceasing to walk, stood still and shivered. Leaning +with the rock, they seemed to hesitate a moment, and then rock and trees +and grass and bushes, with a rushing sound, slipped right away from the +face of the cutting and fell on the line with a blundering crash that +could have been heard half a mile off. A cloud of dust rose up. + +"Oh," said Peter, in awestruck tones, "isn't it exactly like when coals +come in?--if there wasn't any roof to the cellar and you could see +down." + +"Look what a great mound it's made!" said Bobbie. + +"Yes," said Peter, slowly. He was still leaning on the fence. "Yes," he +said again, still more slowly. + +Then he stood upright. + +"The 11.29 down hasn't gone by yet. We must let them know at the +station, or there'll be a most frightful accident." + +"Let's run," said Bobbie, and began. + +But Peter cried, "Come back!" and looked at Mother's watch. He was very +prompt and businesslike, and his face looked whiter than they had ever +seen it. + +"No time," he said; "it's two miles away, and it's past eleven." + +"Couldn't we," suggested Phyllis, breathlessly, "couldn't we climb up a +telegraph post and do something to the wires?" + +"We don't know how," said Peter. + +"They do it in war," said Phyllis; "I know I've heard of it." + +"They only CUT them, silly," said Peter, "and that doesn't do any good. +And we couldn't cut them even if we got up, and we couldn't get up. If +we had anything red, we could get down on the line and wave it." + +"But the train wouldn't see us till it got round the corner, and then it +could see the mound just as well as us," said Phyllis; "better, because +it's much bigger than us." + +"If we only had something red," Peter repeated, "we could go round the +corner and wave to the train." + +"We might wave, anyway." + +"They'd only think it was just US, as usual. We've waved so often +before. Anyway, let's get down." + +They got down the steep stairs. Bobbie was pale and shivering. Peter's +face looked thinner than usual. Phyllis was red-faced and damp with +anxiety. + +"Oh, how hot I am!" she said; "and I thought it was going to be cold; I +wish we hadn't put on our--" she stopped short, and then ended in quite +a different tone--"our flannel petticoats." + +Bobbie turned at the bottom of the stairs. + +"Oh, yes," she cried; "THEY'RE red! Let's take them off." + +They did, and with the petticoats rolled up under their arms, ran along +the railway, skirting the newly fallen mound of stones and rock and +earth, and bent, crushed, twisted trees. They ran at their best pace. +Peter led, but the girls were not far behind. They reached the corner +that hid the mound from the straight line of railway that ran half a +mile without curve or corner. + +"Now," said Peter, taking hold of the largest flannel petticoat. + +"You're not"--Phyllis faltered--"you're not going to TEAR them?" + +"Shut up," said Peter, with brief sternness. + +"Oh, yes," said Bobbie, "tear them into little bits if you like. Don't +you see, Phil, if we can't stop the train, there'll be a real live +accident, with people KILLED. Oh, horrible! Here, Peter, you'll never +tear it through the band!" + +She took the red flannel petticoat from him and tore it off an inch from +the band. Then she tore the other in the same way. + +"There!" said Peter, tearing in his turn. He divided each petticoat into +three pieces. "Now, we've got six flags." He looked at the watch again. +"And we've got seven minutes. We must have flagstaffs." + +The knives given to boys are, for some odd reason, seldom of the kind +of steel that keeps sharp. The young saplings had to be broken off. Two +came up by the roots. The leaves were stripped from them. + +"We must cut holes in the flags, and run the sticks through the holes," +said Peter. And the holes were cut. The knife was sharp enough to cut +flannel with. Two of the flags were set up in heaps of loose stones +between the sleepers of the down line. Then Phyllis and Roberta took +each a flag, and stood ready to wave it as soon as the train came in +sight. + +"I shall have the other two myself," said Peter, "because it was my idea +to wave something red." + +"They're our petticoats, though," Phyllis was beginning, but Bobbie +interrupted-- + +"Oh, what does it matter who waves what, if we can only save the train?" + +Perhaps Peter had not rightly calculated the number of minutes it would +take the 11.29 to get from the station to the place where they were, or +perhaps the train was late. Anyway, it seemed a very long time that they +waited. + +Phyllis grew impatient. "I expect the watch is wrong, and the train's +gone by," said she. + +Peter relaxed the heroic attitude he had chosen to show off his two +flags. And Bobbie began to feel sick with suspense. + +It seemed to her that they had been standing there for hours and hours, +holding those silly little red flannel flags that no one would ever +notice. The train wouldn't care. It would go rushing by them and tear +round the corner and go crashing into that awful mound. And everyone +would be killed. Her hands grew very cold and trembled so that she could +hardly hold the flag. And then came the distant rumble and hum of the +metals, and a puff of white steam showed far away along the stretch of +line. + +"Stand firm," said Peter, "and wave like mad! When it gets to that +big furze bush step back, but go on waving! Don't stand ON the line, +Bobbie!" + +The train came rattling along very, very fast. + +"They don't see us! They won't see us! It's all no good!" cried Bobbie. + +The two little flags on the line swayed as the nearing train shook and +loosened the heaps of loose stones that held them up. One of them slowly +leaned over and fell on the line. Bobbie jumped forward and caught it +up, and waved it; her hands did not tremble now. + +It seemed that the train came on as fast as ever. It was very near now. + +"Keep off the line, you silly cuckoo!" said Peter, fiercely. + +"It's no good," Bobbie said again. + +"Stand back!" cried Peter, suddenly, and he dragged Phyllis back by the +arm. + +But Bobbie cried, "Not yet, not yet!" and waved her two flags right over +the line. The front of the engine looked black and enormous. Its voice +was loud and harsh. + +"Oh, stop, stop, stop!" cried Bobbie. No one heard her. At least Peter +and Phyllis didn't, for the oncoming rush of the train covered the sound +of her voice with a mountain of sound. But afterwards she used to wonder +whether the engine itself had not heard her. It seemed almost as though +it had--for it slackened swiftly, slackened and stopped, not twenty +yards from the place where Bobbie's two flags waved over the line. She +saw the great black engine stop dead, but somehow she could not stop +waving the flags. And when the driver and the fireman had got off the +engine and Peter and Phyllis had gone to meet them and pour out their +excited tale of the awful mound just round the corner, Bobbie still +waved the flags but more and more feebly and jerkily. + +When the others turned towards her she was lying across the line with +her hands flung forward and still gripping the sticks of the little red +flannel flags. + +The engine-driver picked her up, carried her to the train, and laid her +on the cushions of a first-class carriage. + +"Gone right off in a faint," he said, "poor little woman. And no wonder. +I'll just 'ave a look at this 'ere mound of yours, and then we'll run +you back to the station and get her seen to." + +It was horrible to see Bobbie lying so white and quiet, with her lips +blue, and parted. + +"I believe that's what people look like when they're dead," whispered +Phyllis. + +"DON'T!" said Peter, sharply. + +They sat by Bobbie on the blue cushions, and the train ran back. Before +it reached their station Bobbie had sighed and opened her eyes, +and rolled herself over and begun to cry. This cheered the others +wonderfully. They had seen her cry before, but they had never seen her +faint, nor anyone else, for the matter of that. They had not known what +to do when she was fainting, but now she was only crying they could +thump her on the back and tell her not to, just as they always did. And +presently, when she stopped crying, they were able to laugh at her for +being such a coward as to faint. + +When the station was reached, the three were the heroes of an agitated +meeting on the platform. + +The praises they got for their "prompt action," their "common sense," +their "ingenuity," were enough to have turned anybody's head. Phyllis +enjoyed herself thoroughly. She had never been a real heroine before, +and the feeling was delicious. Peter's ears got very red. Yet he, too, +enjoyed himself. Only Bobbie wished they all wouldn't. She wanted to get +away. + +"You'll hear from the Company about this, I expect," said the Station +Master. + +Bobbie wished she might never hear of it again. She pulled at Peter's +jacket. + +"Oh, come away, come away! I want to go home," she said. + +So they went. And as they went Station Master and Porter and guards and +driver and fireman and passengers sent up a cheer. + +"Oh, listen," cried Phyllis; "that's for US!" + +"Yes," said Peter. "I say, I am glad I thought about something red, and +waving it." + +"How lucky we DID put on our red flannel petticoats!" said Phyllis. + +Bobbie said nothing. She was thinking of the horrible mound, and the +trustful train rushing towards it. + +"And it was US that saved them," said Peter. + +"How dreadful if they had all been killed!" said Phyllis; "wouldn't it, +Bobbie?" + +"We never got any cherries, after all," said Bobbie. + +The others thought her rather heartless. + + + +Chapter VII. For valour. + + +I hope you don't mind my telling you a good deal about Roberta. The fact +is I am growing very fond of her. The more I observe her the more I love +her. And I notice all sorts of things about her that I like. + +For instance, she was quite oddly anxious to make other people happy. +And she could keep a secret, a tolerably rare accomplishment. Also she +had the power of silent sympathy. That sounds rather dull, I know, but +it's not so dull as it sounds. It just means that a person is able +to know that you are unhappy, and to love you extra on that account, +without bothering you by telling you all the time how sorry she is +for you. That was what Bobbie was like. She knew that Mother was +unhappy--and that Mother had not told her the reason. So she just loved +Mother more and never said a single word that could let Mother know how +earnestly her little girl wondered what Mother was unhappy about. This +needs practice. It is not so easy as you might think. + +Whatever happened--and all sorts of nice, pleasant ordinary things +happened--such as picnics, games, and buns for tea, Bobbie always had +these thoughts at the back of her mind. "Mother's unhappy. Why? I don't +know. She doesn't want me to know. I won't try to find out. But she +IS unhappy. Why? I don't know. She doesn't--" and so on, repeating and +repeating like a tune that you don't know the stopping part of. + +The Russian gentleman still took up a good deal of everybody's thoughts. +All the editors and secretaries of Societies and Members of Parliament +had answered Mother's letters as politely as they knew how; but none of +them could tell where the wife and children of Mr. Szezcpansky would be +likely to be. (Did I tell you that the Russian's very Russian name was +that?) + +Bobbie had another quality which you will hear differently described +by different people. Some of them call it interfering in other people's +business--and some call it "helping lame dogs over stiles," and some +call it "loving-kindness." It just means trying to help people. + +She racked her brains to think of some way of helping the Russian +gentleman to find his wife and children. He had learned a few words +of English now. He could say "Good morning," and "Good night," and +"Please," and "Thank you," and "Pretty," when the children brought him +flowers, and "Ver' good," when they asked him how he had slept. + +The way he smiled when he "said his English," was, Bobbie felt, "just +too sweet for anything." She used to think of his face because she +fancied it would help her to some way of helping him. But it did not. +Yet his being there cheered her because she saw that it made Mother +happier. + +"She likes to have someone to be good to, even beside us," said Bobbie. +"And I know she hated to let him have Father's clothes. But I suppose it +'hurt nice,' or she wouldn't have." + +For many and many a night after the day when she and Peter and Phyllis +had saved the train from wreck by waving their little red flannel flags, +Bobbie used to wake screaming and shivering, seeing again that horrible +mound, and the poor, dear trustful engine rushing on towards it--just +thinking that it was doing its swift duty, and that everything was clear +and safe. And then a warm thrill of pleasure used to run through her +at the remembrance of how she and Peter and Phyllis and the red flannel +petticoats had really saved everybody. + +One morning a letter came. It was addressed to Peter and Bobbie and +Phyllis. They opened it with enthusiastic curiosity, for they did not +often get letters. + +The letter said:-- + +"Dear Sir, and Ladies,--It is proposed to make a small presentation to +you, in commemoration of your prompt and courageous action in warning +the train on the --- inst., and thus averting what must, humanly +speaking, have been a terrible accident. The presentation will take +place at the --- Station at three o'clock on the 30th inst., if this +time and place will be convenient to you. + + "Yours faithfully, + + "Jabez Inglewood. +"Secretary, Great Northern and Southern Railway Co." + +There never had been a prouder moment in the lives of the three +children. They rushed to Mother with the letter, and she also felt proud +and said so, and this made the children happier than ever. + +"But if the presentation is money, you must say, 'Thank you, but we'd +rather not take it,'" said Mother. "I'll wash your Indian muslins at +once," she added. "You must look tidy on an occasion like this." + +"Phil and I can wash them," said Bobbie, "if you'll iron them, Mother." + +Washing is rather fun. I wonder whether you've ever done it? This +particular washing took place in the back kitchen, which had a stone +floor and a very big stone sink under its window. + +"Let's put the bath on the sink," said Phyllis; "then we can pretend +we're out-of-doors washerwomen like Mother saw in France." + +"But they were washing in the cold river," said Peter, his hands in his +pockets, "not in hot water." + +"This is a HOT river, then," said Phyllis; "lend a hand with the bath, +there's a dear." + +"I should like to see a deer lending a hand," said Peter, but he lent +his. + +"Now to rub and scrub and scrub and rub," said Phyllis, hopping joyously +about as Bobbie carefully carried the heavy kettle from the kitchen +fire. + +"Oh, no!" said Bobbie, greatly shocked; "you don't rub muslin. You put +the boiled soap in the hot water and make it all frothy-lathery--and +then you shake the muslin and squeeze it, ever so gently, and all the +dirt comes out. It's only clumsy things like tablecloths and sheets that +have to be rubbed." + +The lilac and the Gloire de Dijon roses outside the window swayed in the +soft breeze. + +"It's a nice drying day--that's one thing," said Bobbie, feeling very +grown up. "Oh, I do wonder what wonderful feelings we shall have when we +WEAR the Indian muslin dresses!" + +"Yes, so do I," said Phyllis, shaking and squeezing the muslin in quite +a professional manner. + +"NOW we squeeze out the soapy water. NO--we mustn't twist them--and then +rinse them. I'll hold them while you and Peter empty the bath and get +clean water." + +"A presentation! That means presents," said Peter, as his sisters, +having duly washed the pegs and wiped the line, hung up the dresses to +dry. "Whatever will it be?" + +"It might be anything," said Phyllis; "what I've always wanted is a Baby +elephant--but I suppose they wouldn't know that." + +"Suppose it was gold models of steam-engines?" said Bobbie. + +"Or a big model of the scene of the prevented accident," suggested +Peter, "with a little model train, and dolls dressed like us and the +engine-driver and fireman and passengers." + +"Do you LIKE," said Bobbie, doubtfully, drying her hands on the rough +towel that hung on a roller at the back of the scullery door, "do you +LIKE us being rewarded for saving a train?" + +"Yes, I do," said Peter, downrightly; "and don't you try to come it over +us that you don't like it, too. Because I know you do." + +"Yes," said Bobbie, doubtfully, "I know I do. But oughtn't we to be +satisfied with just having done it, and not ask for anything more?" + +"Who did ask for anything more, silly?" said her brother; "Victoria +Cross soldiers don't ASK for it; but they're glad enough to get it all +the same. Perhaps it'll be medals. Then, when I'm very old indeed, I +shall show them to my grandchildren and say, 'We only did our duty,' and +they'll be awfully proud of me." + +"You have to be married," warned Phyllis, "or you don't have any +grandchildren." + +"I suppose I shall HAVE to be married some day," said Peter, "but it +will be an awful bother having her round all the time. I'd like to marry +a lady who had trances, and only woke up once or twice a year." + +"Just to say you were the light of her life and then go to sleep again. +Yes. That wouldn't be bad," said Bobbie. + +"When _I_ get married," said Phyllis, "I shall want him to want me to be +awake all the time, so that I can hear him say how nice I am." + +"I think it would be nice," said Bobbie, "to marry someone very poor, +and then you'd do all the work and he'd love you most frightfully, and +see the blue wood smoke curling up among the trees from the domestic +hearth as he came home from work every night. I say--we've got to answer +that letter and say that the time and place WILL be convenient to us. +There's the soap, Peter. WE'RE both as clean as clean. That pink box of +writing paper you had on your birthday, Phil." + +It took some time to arrange what should be said. Mother had gone back +to her writing, and several sheets of pink paper with scalloped gilt +edges and green four-leaved shamrocks in the corner were spoiled before +the three had decided what to say. Then each made a copy and signed it +with its own name. + +The threefold letter ran:-- + +"Dear Mr. Jabez Inglewood,--Thank you very much. We did not want to be +rewarded but only to save the train, but we are glad you think so and +thank you very much. The time and place you say will be quite convenient +to us. Thank you very much. + + "Your affecate little friend," + +Then came the name, and after it:-- + +"P.S. Thank you very much." + +"Washing is much easier than ironing," said Bobbie, taking the clean dry +dresses off the line. "I do love to see things come clean. Oh--I don't +know how we shall wait till it's time to know what presentation they're +going to present!" + +When at last--it seemed a very long time after--it was THE day, +the three children went down to the station at the proper time. And +everything that happened was so odd that it seemed like a dream. The +Station Master came out to meet them--in his best clothes, as Peter +noticed at once--and led them into the waiting room where once they had +played the advertisement game. It looked quite different now. A carpet +had been put down--and there were pots of roses on the mantelpiece and +on the window ledges--green branches stuck up, like holly and laurel +are at Christmas, over the framed advertisement of Cook's Tours and the +Beauties of Devon and the Paris Lyons Railway. There were quite a +number of people there besides the Porter--two or three ladies in +smart dresses, and quite a crowd of gentlemen in high hats and frock +coats--besides everybody who belonged to the station. They recognized +several people who had been in the train on the red-flannel-petticoat +day. Best of all their own old gentleman was there, and his coat and hat +and collar seemed more than ever different from anyone else's. He shook +hands with them and then everybody sat down on chairs, and a gentleman +in spectacles--they found out afterwards that he was the District +Superintendent--began quite a long speech--very clever indeed. I am not +going to write the speech down. First, because you would think it dull; +and secondly, because it made all the children blush so, and get so hot +about the ears that I am quite anxious to get away from this part of the +subject; and thirdly, because the gentleman took so many words to say +what he had to say that I really haven't time to write them down. He +said all sorts of nice things about the children's bravery and presence +of mind, and when he had done he sat down, and everyone who was there +clapped and said, "Hear, hear." + +And then the old gentleman got up and said things, too. It was very like +a prize-giving. And then he called the children one by one, by their +names, and gave each of them a beautiful gold watch and chain. And +inside the watches were engraved after the name of the watch's new +owner:-- + +"From the Directors of the Northern and Southern Railway in grateful +recognition of the courageous and prompt action which averted an +accident on --- 1905." + +The watches were the most beautiful you can possibly imagine, and each +one had a blue leather case to live in when it was at home. + +"You must make a speech now and thank everyone for their kindness," +whispered the Station Master in Peter's ear and pushed him forward. +"Begin 'Ladies and Gentlemen,'" he added. + +Each of the children had already said "Thank you," quite properly. + +"Oh, dear," said Peter, but he did not resist the push. + +"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said in a rather husky voice. Then there +was a pause, and he heard his heart beating in his throat. "Ladies and +Gentlemen," he went on with a rush, "it's most awfully good of you, and +we shall treasure the watches all our lives--but really we don't deserve +it because what we did wasn't anything, really. At least, I mean it +was awfully exciting, and what I mean to say--thank you all very, very +much." + +The people clapped Peter more than they had done the District +Superintendent, and then everybody shook hands with them, and as soon as +politeness would let them, they got away, and tore up the hill to Three +Chimneys with their watches in their hands. + +It was a wonderful day--the kind of day that very seldom happens to +anybody and to most of us not at all. + +"I did want to talk to the old gentleman about something else," said +Bobbie, "but it was so public--like being in church." + +"What did you want to say?" asked Phyllis. + +"I'll tell you when I've thought about it more," said Bobbie. + +So when she had thought a little more she wrote a letter. + +"My dearest old gentleman," it said; "I want most awfully to ask you +something. If you could get out of the train and go by the next, it +would do. I do not want you to give me anything. Mother says we ought +not to. And besides, we do not want any THINGS. Only to talk to you +about a Prisoner and Captive. Your loving little friend, + + "Bobbie." + +She got the Station Master to give the letter to the old gentleman, and +next day she asked Peter and Phyllis to come down to the station with +her at the time when the train that brought the old gentleman from town +would be passing through. + +She explained her idea to them--and they approved thoroughly. + +They had all washed their hands and faces, and brushed their hair, and +were looking as tidy as they knew how. But Phyllis, always unlucky, had +upset a jug of lemonade down the front of her dress. There was no time +to change--and the wind happening to blow from the coal yard, her frock +was soon powdered with grey, which stuck to the sticky lemonade stains +and made her look, as Peter said, "like any little gutter child." + +It was decided that she should keep behind the others as much as +possible. + +"Perhaps the old gentleman won't notice," said Bobbie. "The aged are +often weak in the eyes." + +There was no sign of weakness, however, in the eyes, or in any other +part of the old gentleman, as he stepped from the train and looked up +and down the platform. + +The three children, now that it came to the point, suddenly felt that +rush of deep shyness which makes your ears red and hot, your hands warm +and wet, and the tip of your nose pink and shiny. + +"Oh," said Phyllis, "my heart's thumping like a steam-engine--right +under my sash, too." + +"Nonsense," said Peter, "people's hearts aren't under their sashes." + +"I don't care--mine is," said Phyllis. + +"If you're going to talk like a poetry-book," said Peter, "my heart's in +my mouth." + +"My heart's in my boots--if you come to that," said Roberta; "but do +come on--he'll think we're idiots." + +"He won't be far wrong," said Peter, gloomily. And they went forward to +meet the old gentleman. + +"Hullo," he said, shaking hands with them all in turn. "This is a very +great pleasure." + +"It WAS good of you to get out," Bobbie said, perspiring and polite. + +He took her arm and drew her into the waiting room where she and the +others had played the advertisement game the day they found the Russian. +Phyllis and Peter followed. "Well?" said the old gentleman, giving +Bobbie's arm a kind little shake before he let it go. "Well? What is +it?" + +"Oh, please!" said Bobbie. + +"Yes?" said the old gentleman. + +"What I mean to say--" said Bobbie. + +"Well?" said the old gentleman. + +"It's all very nice and kind," said she. + +"But?" he said. + +"I wish I might say something," she said. + +"Say it," said he. + +"Well, then," said Bobbie--and out came the story of the Russian who +had written the beautiful book about poor people, and had been sent to +prison and to Siberia for just that. + +"And what we want more than anything in the world is to find his wife +and children for him," said Bobbie, "but we don't know how. But you must +be most horribly clever, or you wouldn't be a Direction of the Railway. +And if YOU knew how--and would? We'd rather have that than anything else +in the world. We'd go without the watches, even, if you could sell them +and find his wife with the money." + +And the others said so, too, though not with so much enthusiasm. + +"Hum," said the old gentleman, pulling down the white waistcoat that +had the big gilt buttons on it, "what did you say the name +was--Fryingpansky?" + +"No, no," said Bobbie earnestly. "I'll write it down for you. It doesn't +really look at all like that except when you say it. Have you a bit of +pencil and the back of an envelope?" she asked. + +The old gentleman got out a gold pencil-case and a beautiful, +sweet-smelling, green Russian leather note-book and opened it at a new +page. + +"Here," he said, "write here." + +She wrote down "Szezcpansky," and said:-- + +"That's how you write it. You CALL it Shepansky." + +The old gentleman took out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and fitted +them on his nose. When he had read the name, he looked quite different. + +"THAT man? Bless my soul!" he said. "Why, I've read his book! It's +translated into every European language. A fine book--a noble book. And +so your mother took him in--like the good Samaritan. Well, well. I'll +tell you what, youngsters--your mother must be a very good woman." + +"Of course she is," said Phyllis, in astonishment. + +"And you're a very good man," said Bobbie, very shy, but firmly resolved +to be polite. + +"You flatter me," said the old gentleman, taking off his hat with a +flourish. "And now am I to tell you what I think of you?" + +"Oh, please don't," said Bobbie, hastily. + +"Why?" asked the old gentleman. + +"I don't exactly know," said Bobbie. "Only--if it's horrid, I don't want +you to; and if it's nice, I'd rather you didn't." + +The old gentleman laughed. + +"Well, then," he said, "I'll only just say that I'm very glad you came +to me about this--very glad, indeed. And I shouldn't be surprised if I +found out something very soon. I know a great many Russians in London, +and every Russian knows HIS name. Now tell me all about yourselves." + +He turned to the others, but there was only one other, and that was +Peter. Phyllis had disappeared. + +"Tell me all about yourself," said the old gentleman again. And, quite +naturally, Peter was stricken dumb. + +"All right, we'll have an examination," said the old gentleman; "you two +sit on the table, and I'll sit on the bench and ask questions." + +He did, and out came their names and ages--their Father's name and +business--how long they had lived at Three Chimneys and a great deal +more. + +The questions were beginning to turn on a herring and a half for three +halfpence, and a pound of lead and a pound of feathers, when the door of +the waiting room was kicked open by a boot; as the boot entered everyone +could see that its lace was coming undone--and in came Phyllis, very +slowly and carefully. + +In one hand she carried a large tin can, and in the other a thick slice +of bread and butter. + +"Afternoon tea," she announced proudly, and held the can and the bread +and butter out to the old gentleman, who took them and said:-- + +"Bless my soul!" + +"Yes," said Phyllis. + +"It's very thoughtful of you," said the old gentleman, "very." + +"But you might have got a cup," said Bobbie, "and a plate." + +"Perks always drinks out of the can," said Phyllis, flushing red. "I +think it was very nice of him to give it me at all--let alone cups and +plates," she added. + +"So do I," said the old gentleman, and he drank some of the tea and +tasted the bread and butter. + +And then it was time for the next train, and he got into it with many +good-byes and kind last words. + +"Well," said Peter, when they were left on the platform, and the +tail-lights of the train disappeared round the corner, "it's my belief +that we've lighted a candle to-day--like Latimer, you know, when he was +being burned--and there'll be fireworks for our Russian before long." + +And so there were. + +It wasn't ten days after the interview in the waiting room that the +three children were sitting on the top of the biggest rock in the field +below their house watching the 5.15 steam away from the station along +the bottom of the valley. They saw, too, the few people who had got out +at the station straggling up the road towards the village--and they saw +one person leave the road and open the gate that led across the fields +to Three Chimneys and to nowhere else. + +"Who on earth!" said Peter, scrambling down. + +"Let's go and see," said Phyllis. + +So they did. And when they got near enough to see who the person was, +they saw it was their old gentleman himself, his brass buttons winking +in the afternoon sunshine, and his white waistcoat looking whiter than +ever against the green of the field. + +"Hullo!" shouted the children, waving their hands. + +"Hullo!" shouted the old gentleman, waving his hat. + +Then the three started to run--and when they got to him they hardly had +breath left to say:-- + +"How do you do?" + +"Good news," said he. "I've found your Russian friend's wife and +child--and I couldn't resist the temptation of giving myself the +pleasure of telling him." + +But as he looked at Bobbie's face he felt that he COULD resist that +temptation. + +"Here," he said to her, "you run on and tell him. The other two will +show me the way." + +Bobbie ran. But when she had breathlessly panted out the news to the +Russian and Mother sitting in the quiet garden--when Mother's face had +lighted up so beautifully, and she had said half a dozen quick French +words to the Exile--Bobbie wished that she had NOT carried the news. For +the Russian sprang up with a cry that made Bobbie's heart leap and then +tremble--a cry of love and longing such as she had never heard. Then he +took Mother's hand and kissed it gently and reverently--and then he sank +down in his chair and covered his face with his hands and sobbed. Bobbie +crept away. She did not want to see the others just then. + +But she was as gay as anybody when the endless French talking was over, +when Peter had torn down to the village for buns and cakes, and the +girls had got tea ready and taken it out into the garden. + +The old gentleman was most merry and delightful. He seemed to be able +to talk in French and English almost at the same moment, and Mother did +nearly as well. It was a delightful time. Mother seemed as if she could +not make enough fuss about the old gentleman, and she said yes at once +when he asked if he might present some "goodies" to his little friends. + +The word was new to the children--but they guessed that it meant sweets, +for the three large pink and green boxes, tied with green ribbon, which +he took out of his bag, held unheard-of layers of beautiful chocolates. + +The Russian's few belongings were packed, and they all saw him off at +the station. + +Then Mother turned to the old gentleman and said:-- + +"I don't know how to thank you for EVERYTHING. It has been a real +pleasure to me to see you. But we live very quietly. I am so sorry that +I can't ask you to come and see us again." + +The children thought this very hard. When they HAD made a friend--and +such a friend--they would dearly have liked him to come and see them +again. + +What the old gentleman thought they couldn't tell. He only said:-- + +"I consider myself very fortunate, Madam, to have been received once at +your house." + +"Ah," said Mother, "I know I must seem surly and ungrateful--but--" + +"You could never seem anything but a most charming and gracious lady," +said the old gentleman, with another of his bows. + +And as they turned to go up the hill, Bobbie saw her Mother's face. + +"How tired you look, Mammy," she said; "lean on me." + +"It's my place to give Mother my arm," said Peter. "I'm the head man of +the family when Father's away." + +Mother took an arm of each. + +"How awfully nice," said Phyllis, skipping joyfully, "to think of the +dear Russian embracing his long-lost wife. The baby must have grown a +lot since he saw it." + +"Yes," said Mother. + +"I wonder whether Father will think I'VE grown," Phyllis went on, +skipping still more gaily. "I have grown already, haven't I, Mother?" + +"Yes," said Mother, "oh, yes," and Bobbie and Peter felt her hands +tighten on their arms. + +"Poor old Mammy, you ARE tired," said Peter. + +Bobbie said, "Come on, Phil; I'll race you to the gate." + +And she started the race, though she hated doing it. YOU know why Bobbie +did that. Mother only thought that Bobbie was tired of walking slowly. +Even Mothers, who love you better than anyone else ever will, don't +always understand. + + + +Chapter VIII. The amateur firemen. + + +"That's a likely little brooch you've got on, Miss," said Perks the +Porter; "I don't know as ever I see a thing more like a buttercup +without it WAS a buttercup." + +"Yes," said Bobbie, glad and flushed by this approval. "I always thought +it was more like a buttercup almost than even a real one--and I NEVER +thought it would come to be mine, my very own--and then Mother gave it +to me for my birthday." + +"Oh, have you had a birthday?" said Perks; and he seemed quite +surprised, as though a birthday were a thing only granted to a favoured +few. + +"Yes," said Bobbie; "when's your birthday, Mr. Perks?" The children were +taking tea with Mr. Perks in the Porters' room among the lamps and +the railway almanacs. They had brought their own cups and some jam +turnovers. Mr. Perks made tea in a beer can, as usual, and everyone felt +very happy and confidential. + +"My birthday?" said Perks, tipping some more dark brown tea out of the +can into Peter's cup. "I give up keeping of my birthday afore you was +born." + +"But you must have been born SOMETIME, you know," said Phyllis, +thoughtfully, "even if it was twenty years ago--or thirty or sixty or +seventy." + +"Not so long as that, Missie," Perks grinned as he answered. "If you +really want to know, it was thirty-two years ago, come the fifteenth of +this month." + +"Then why don't you keep it?" asked Phyllis. + +"I've got something else to keep besides birthdays," said Perks, +briefly. + +"Oh! What?" asked Phyllis, eagerly. "Not secrets?" + +"No," said Perks, "the kids and the Missus." + +It was this talk that set the children thinking, and, presently, +talking. Perks was, on the whole, the dearest friend they had made. Not +so grand as the Station Master, but more approachable--less powerful +than the old gentleman, but more confidential. + +"It seems horrid that nobody keeps his birthday," said Bobbie. "Couldn't +WE do something?" + +"Let's go up to the Canal bridge and talk it over," said Peter. "I got a +new gut line from the postman this morning. He gave it me for a bunch of +roses that I gave him for his sweetheart. She's ill." + +"Then I do think you might have given her the roses for nothing," said +Bobbie, indignantly. + +"Nyang, nyang!" said Peter, disagreeably, and put his hands in his +pockets. + +"He did, of course," said Phyllis, in haste; "directly we heard she was +ill we got the roses ready and waited by the gate. It was when you were +making the brekker-toast. And when he'd said 'Thank you' for the roses +so many times--much more than he need have--he pulled out the line and +gave it to Peter. It wasn't exchange. It was the grateful heart." + +"Oh, I BEG your pardon, Peter," said Bobbie, "I AM so sorry." + +"Don't mention it," said Peter, grandly, "I knew you would be." + +So then they all went up to the Canal bridge. The idea was to fish from +the bridge, but the line was not quite long enough. + +"Never mind," said Bobbie. "Let's just stay here and look at things. +Everything's so beautiful." + +It was. The sun was setting in red splendour over the grey and purple +hills, and the canal lay smooth and shiny in the shadow--no ripple broke +its surface. It was like a grey satin ribbon between the dusky green +silk of the meadows that were on each side of its banks. + +"It's all right," said Peter, "but somehow I can always see how pretty +things are much better when I've something to do. Let's get down on to +the towpath and fish from there." + +Phyllis and Bobbie remembered how the boys on the canal-boats had thrown +coal at them, and they said so. + +"Oh, nonsense," said Peter. "There aren't any boys here now. If there +were, I'd fight them." + +Peter's sisters were kind enough not to remind him how he had NOT fought +the boys when coal had last been thrown. Instead they said, "All right, +then," and cautiously climbed down the steep bank to the towing-path. +The line was carefully baited, and for half an hour they fished +patiently and in vain. Not a single nibble came to nourish hope in their +hearts. + +All eyes were intent on the sluggish waters that earnestly pretended +they had never harboured a single minnow when a loud rough shout made +them start. + +"Hi!" said the shout, in most disagreeable tones, "get out of that, +can't you?" + +An old white horse coming along the towing-path was within half a dozen +yards of them. They sprang to their feet and hastily climbed up the +bank. + +"We'll slip down again when they've gone by," said Bobbie. + +But, alas, the barge, after the manner of barges, stopped under the +bridge. + +"She's going to anchor," said Peter; "just our luck!" + +The barge did not anchor, because an anchor is not part of a +canal-boat's furniture, but she was moored with ropes fore and aft--and +the ropes were made fast to the palings and to crowbars driven into the +ground. + +"What you staring at?" growled the Bargee, crossly. + +"We weren't staring," said Bobbie; "we wouldn't be so rude." + +"Rude be blessed," said the man; "get along with you!" + +"Get along yourself," said Peter. He remembered what he had said about +fighting boys, and, besides, he felt safe halfway up the bank. "We've as +much right here as anyone else." + +"Oh, 'AVE you, indeed!" said the man. "We'll soon see about that." And +he came across his deck and began to climb down the side of his barge. + +"Oh, come away, Peter, come away!" said Bobbie and Phyllis, in agonised +unison. + +"Not me," said Peter, "but YOU'D better." + +The girls climbed to the top of the bank and stood ready to bolt for +home as soon as they saw their brother out of danger. The way home lay +all down hill. They knew that they all ran well. The Bargee did not look +as if HE did. He was red-faced, heavy, and beefy. + +But as soon as his foot was on the towing-path the children saw that +they had misjudged him. + +He made one spring up the bank and caught Peter by the leg, dragged him +down--set him on his feet with a shake--took him by the ear--and said +sternly:-- + +"Now, then, what do you mean by it? Don't you know these 'ere waters is +preserved? You ain't no right catching fish 'ere--not to say nothing of +your precious cheek." + +Peter was always proud afterwards when he remembered that, with the +Bargee's furious fingers tightening on his ear, the Bargee's crimson +countenance close to his own, the Bargee's hot breath on his neck, he +had the courage to speak the truth. + +"I WASN'T catching fish," said Peter. + +"That's not YOUR fault, I'll be bound," said the man, giving Peter's ear +a twist--not a hard one--but still a twist. + +Peter could not say that it was. Bobbie and Phyllis had been holding +on to the railings above and skipping with anxiety. Now suddenly Bobbie +slipped through the railings and rushed down the bank towards Peter, so +impetuously that Phyllis, following more temperately, felt certain that +her sister's descent would end in the waters of the canal. And so it +would have done if the Bargee hadn't let go of Peter's ear--and caught +her in his jerseyed arm. + +"Who are you a-shoving of?" he said, setting her on her feet. + +"Oh," said Bobbie, breathless, "I'm not shoving anybody. At least, not +on purpose. Please don't be cross with Peter. Of course, if it's your +canal, we're sorry and we won't any more. But we didn't know it was +yours." + +"Go along with you," said the Bargee. + +"Yes, we will; indeed we will," said Bobbie, earnestly; "but we do beg +your pardon--and really we haven't caught a single fish. I'd tell you +directly if we had, honour bright I would." + +She held out her hands and Phyllis turned out her little empty pocket to +show that really they hadn't any fish concealed about them. + +"Well," said the Bargee, more gently, "cut along, then, and don't you do +it again, that's all." + +The children hurried up the bank. + +"Chuck us a coat, M'ria," shouted the man. And a red-haired woman in a +green plaid shawl came out from the cabin door with a baby in her arms +and threw a coat to him. He put it on, climbed the bank, and slouched +along across the bridge towards the village. + +"You'll find me up at the 'Rose and Crown' when you've got the kid to +sleep," he called to her from the bridge. + +When he was out of sight the children slowly returned. Peter insisted on +this. + +"The canal may belong to him," he said, "though I don't believe it +does. But the bridge is everybody's. Doctor Forrest told me it's public +property. I'm not going to be bounced off the bridge by him or anyone +else, so I tell you." + +Peter's ear was still sore and so were his feelings. + +The girls followed him as gallant soldiers might follow the leader of a +forlorn hope. + +"I do wish you wouldn't," was all they said. + +"Go home if you're afraid," said Peter; "leave me alone. I'M not +afraid." + +The sound of the man's footsteps died away along the quiet road. The +peace of the evening was not broken by the notes of the sedge-warblers +or by the voice of the woman in the barge, singing her baby to sleep. It +was a sad song she sang. Something about Bill Bailey and how she wanted +him to come home. + +The children stood leaning their arms on the parapet of the bridge; they +were glad to be quiet for a few minutes because all three hearts were +beating much more quickly. + +"I'm not going to be driven away by any old bargeman, I'm not," said +Peter, thickly. + +"Of course not," Phyllis said soothingly; "you didn't give in to him! So +now we might go home, don't you think?" + +"NO," said Peter. + +Nothing more was said till the woman got off the barge, climbed the +bank, and came across the bridge. + +She hesitated, looking at the three backs of the children, then she +said, "Ahem." + +Peter stayed as he was, but the girls looked round. + +"You mustn't take no notice of my Bill," said the woman; "'is bark's +worse'n 'is bite. Some of the kids down Farley way is fair terrors. It +was them put 'is back up calling out about who ate the puppy-pie under +Marlow bridge." + +"Who DID?" asked Phyllis. + +"_I_ dunno," said the woman. "Nobody don't know! But somehow, and I +don't know the why nor the wherefore of it, them words is p'ison to a +barge-master. Don't you take no notice. 'E won't be back for two hours +good. You might catch a power o' fish afore that. The light's good an' +all," she added. + +"Thank you," said Bobbie. "You're very kind. Where's your baby?" + +"Asleep in the cabin," said the woman. "'E's all right. Never wakes +afore twelve. Reg'lar as a church clock, 'e is." + +"I'm sorry," said Bobbie; "I would have liked to see him, close to." + +"And a finer you never did see, Miss, though I says it." The woman's +face brightened as she spoke. + +"Aren't you afraid to leave it?" said Peter. + +"Lor' love you, no," said the woman; "who'd hurt a little thing like +'im? Besides, Spot's there. So long!" + +The woman went away. + +"Shall we go home?" said Phyllis. + +"You can. I'm going to fish," said Peter briefly. + +"I thought we came up here to talk about Perks's birthday," said +Phyllis. + +"Perks's birthday'll keep." + +So they got down on the towing-path again and Peter fished. He did not +catch anything. + +It was almost quite dark, the girls were getting tired, and as Bobbie +said, it was past bedtime, when suddenly Phyllis cried, "What's that?" + +And she pointed to the canal boat. Smoke was coming from the chimney of +the cabin, had indeed been curling softly into the soft evening air all +the time--but now other wreaths of smoke were rising, and these were +from the cabin door. + +"It's on fire--that's all," said Peter, calmly. "Serve him right." + +"Oh--how CAN you?" cried Phyllis. "Think of the poor dear dog." + +"The BABY!" screamed Bobbie. + +In an instant all three made for the barge. + +Her mooring ropes were slack, and the little breeze, hardly strong +enough to be felt, had yet been strong enough to drift her stern against +the bank. Bobbie was first--then came Peter, and it was Peter who +slipped and fell. He went into the canal up to his neck, and his feet +could not feel the bottom, but his arm was on the edge of the barge. +Phyllis caught at his hair. It hurt, but it helped him to get out. Next +minute he had leaped on to the barge, Phyllis following. + +"Not you!" he shouted to Bobbie; "ME, because I'm wet." + +He caught up with Bobbie at the cabin door, and flung her aside very +roughly indeed; if they had been playing, such roughness would have made +Bobbie weep with tears of rage and pain. Now, though he flung her on +to the edge of the hold, so that her knee and her elbow were grazed and +bruised, she only cried:-- + +"No--not you--ME," and struggled up again. But not quickly enough. + +Peter had already gone down two of the cabin steps into the cloud of +thick smoke. He stopped, remembered all he had ever heard of fires, +pulled his soaked handkerchief out of his breast pocket and tied it over +his mouth. As he pulled it out he said:-- + +"It's all right, hardly any fire at all." + +And this, though he thought it was a lie, was rather good of Peter. It +was meant to keep Bobbie from rushing after him into danger. Of course +it didn't. + +The cabin glowed red. A paraffin lamp was burning calmly in an orange +mist. + +"Hi," said Peter, lifting the handkerchief from his mouth for a moment. +"Hi, Baby--where are you?" He choked. + +"Oh, let ME go," cried Bobbie, close behind him. Peter pushed her back +more roughly than before, and went on. + +Now what would have happened if the baby hadn't cried I don't know--but +just at that moment it DID cry. Peter felt his way through the dark +smoke, found something small and soft and warm and alive, picked it up +and backed out, nearly tumbling over Bobbie who was close behind. A dog +snapped at his leg--tried to bark, choked. + +"I've got the kid," said Peter, tearing off the handkerchief and +staggering on to the deck. + +Bobbie caught at the place where the bark came from, and her hands met +on the fat back of a smooth-haired dog. It turned and fastened its teeth +on her hand, but very gently, as much as to say:-- + +"I'm bound to bark and bite if strangers come into my master's cabin, +but I know you mean well, so I won't REALLY bite." + +Bobbie dropped the dog. + +"All right, old man. Good dog," said she. "Here--give me the baby, +Peter; you're so wet you'll give it cold." + +Peter was only too glad to hand over the strange little bundle that +squirmed and whimpered in his arms. + +"Now," said Bobbie, quickly, "you run straight to the 'Rose and Crown' +and tell them. Phil and I will stay here with the precious. Hush, then, +a dear, a duck, a darling! Go NOW, Peter! Run!" + +"I can't run in these things," said Peter, firmly; "they're as heavy as +lead. I'll walk." + +"Then I'LL run," said Bobbie. "Get on the bank, Phil, and I'll hand you +the dear." + +The baby was carefully handed. Phyllis sat down on the bank and tried to +hush the baby. Peter wrung the water from his sleeves and knickerbocker +legs as well as he could, and it was Bobbie who ran like the wind across +the bridge and up the long white quiet twilight road towards the 'Rose +and Crown.' + +There is a nice old-fashioned room at the 'Rose and Crown; where Bargees +and their wives sit of an evening drinking their supper beer, and +toasting their supper cheese at a glowing basketful of coals that +sticks out into the room under a great hooded chimney and is warmer and +prettier and more comforting than any other fireplace _I_ ever saw. + +There was a pleasant party of barge people round the fire. You might +not have thought it pleasant, but they did; for they were all friends +or acquaintances, and they liked the same sort of things, and talked +the same sort of talk. This is the real secret of pleasant society. The +Bargee Bill, whom the children had found so disagreeable, was considered +excellent company by his mates. He was telling a tale of his own +wrongs--always a thrilling subject. It was his barge he was speaking +about. + +"And 'e sent down word 'paint her inside hout,' not namin' no colour, +d'ye see? So I gets a lotter green paint and I paints her stem to stern, +and I tell yer she looked A1. Then 'E comes along and 'e says, 'Wot yer +paint 'er all one colour for?' 'e says. And I says, says I, 'Cause I +thought she'd look fust-rate,' says I, 'and I think so still.' An' he +says, 'DEW yer? Then ye can just pay for the bloomin' paint yerself,' +says he. An' I 'ad to, too." A murmur of sympathy ran round the +room. Breaking noisily in on it came Bobbie. She burst open the swing +door--crying breathlessly:-- + +"Bill! I want Bill the Bargeman." + +There was a stupefied silence. Pots of beer were held in mid-air, +paralysed on their way to thirsty mouths. + +"Oh," said Bobbie, seeing the bargewoman and making for her. "Your barge +cabin's on fire. Go quickly." + +The woman started to her feet, and put a big red hand to her waist, on +the left side, where your heart seems to be when you are frightened or +miserable. + +"Reginald Horace!" she cried in a terrible voice; "my Reginald Horace!" + +"All right," said Bobbie, "if you mean the baby; got him out safe. Dog, +too." She had no breath for more, except, "Go on--it's all alight." + +Then she sank on the ale-house bench and tried to get that breath of +relief after running which people call the 'second wind.' But she felt +as though she would never breathe again. + +Bill the Bargee rose slowly and heavily. But his wife was a hundred +yards up the road before he had quite understood what was the matter. + +Phyllis, shivering by the canal side, had hardly heard the quick +approaching feet before the woman had flung herself on the railing, +rolled down the bank, and snatched the baby from her. + +"Don't," said Phyllis, reproachfully; "I'd just got him to sleep." + + * * * * * * + +Bill came up later talking in a language with which the children were +wholly unfamiliar. He leaped on to the barge and dipped up pails +of water. Peter helped him and they put out the fire. Phyllis, the +bargewoman, and the baby--and presently Bobbie, too--cuddled together in +a heap on the bank. + +"Lord help me, if it was me left anything as could catch alight," said +the woman again and again. + +But it wasn't she. It was Bill the Bargeman, who had knocked his pipe +out and the red ash had fallen on the hearth-rug and smouldered there +and at last broken into flame. Though a stern man he was just. He did +not blame his wife for what was his own fault, as many bargemen, and +other men, too, would have done. + + * * * * * * + +Mother was half wild with anxiety when at last the three children turned +up at Three Chimneys, all very wet by now, for Peter seemed to have come +off on the others. But when she had disentangled the truth of what had +happened from their mixed and incoherent narrative, she owned that they +had done quite right, and could not possibly have done otherwise. Nor +did she put any obstacles in the way of their accepting the cordial +invitation with which the bargeman had parted from them. + +"Ye be here at seven to-morrow," he had said, "and I'll take you the +entire trip to Farley and back, so I will, and not a penny to pay. +Nineteen locks!" + +They did not know what locks were; but they were at the bridge at seven, +with bread and cheese and half a soda cake, and quite a quarter of a leg +of mutton in a basket. + +It was a glorious day. The old white horse strained at the ropes, the +barge glided smoothly and steadily through the still water. The sky was +blue overhead. Mr. Bill was as nice as anyone could possibly be. No one +would have thought that he could be the same man who had held Peter by +the ear. As for Mrs. Bill, she had always been nice, as Bobbie said, and +so had the baby, and even Spot, who might have bitten them quite badly +if he had liked. + +"It was simply ripping, Mother," said Peter, when they reached home very +happy, very tired, and very dirty, "right over that glorious aqueduct. +And locks--you don't know what they're like. You sink into the ground +and then, when you feel you're never going to stop going down, two great +black gates open slowly, slowly--you go out, and there you are on the +canal just like you were before." + +"I know," said Mother, "there are locks on the Thames. Father and I used +to go on the river at Marlow before we were married." + +"And the dear, darling, ducky baby," said Bobbie; "it let me nurse it +for ages and ages--and it WAS so good. Mother, I wish we had a baby to +play with." + +"And everybody was so nice to us," said Phyllis, "everybody we met. And +they say we may fish whenever we like. And Bill is going to show us the +way next time he's in these parts. He says we don't know really." + +"He said YOU didn't know," said Peter; "but, Mother, he said he'd tell +all the bargees up and down the canal that we were the real, right sort, +and they were to treat us like good pals, as we were." + +"So then I said," Phyllis interrupted, "we'd always each wear a red +ribbon when we went fishing by the canal, so they'd know it was US, and +we were the real, right sort, and be nice to us!" + +"So you've made another lot of friends," said Mother; "first the railway +and then the canal!" + +"Oh, yes," said Bobbie; "I think everyone in the world is friends if you +can only get them to see you don't want to be UN-friends." + +"Perhaps you're right," said Mother; and she sighed. "Come, Chicks. It's +bedtime." + +"Yes," said Phyllis. "Oh dear--and we went up there to talk about what +we'd do for Perks's birthday. And we haven't talked a single thing about +it!" + +"No more we have," said Bobbie; "but Peter's saved Reginald Horace's +life. I think that's about good enough for one evening." + +"Bobbie would have saved him if I hadn't knocked her down; twice I did," +said Peter, loyally. + +"So would I," said Phyllis, "if I'd known what to do." + +"Yes," said Mother, "you've saved a little child's life. I do think +that's enough for one evening. Oh, my darlings, thank God YOU'RE all +safe!" + + + +Chapter IX. The pride of Perks. + + +It was breakfast-time. Mother's face was very bright as she poured the +milk and ladled out the porridge. + +"I've sold another story, Chickies," she said; "the one about the King +of the Mussels, so there'll be buns for tea. You can go and get them as +soon as they're baked. About eleven, isn't it?" + +Peter, Phyllis, and Bobbie exchanged glances with each other, six +glances in all. Then Bobbie said:-- + +"Mother, would you mind if we didn't have the buns for tea to-night, but +on the fifteenth? That's next Thursday." + +"_I_ don't mind when you have them, dear," said Mother, "but why?" + +"Because it's Perks's birthday," said Bobbie; "he's thirty-two, and +he says he doesn't keep his birthday any more, because he's got other +things to keep--not rabbits or secrets--but the kids and the missus." + +"You mean his wife and children," said Mother. + +"Yes," said Phyllis; "it's the same thing, isn't it?" + +"And we thought we'd make a nice birthday for him. He's been so awfully +jolly decent to us, you know, Mother," said Peter, "and we agreed that +next bun-day we'd ask you if we could." + +"But suppose there hadn't been a bun-day before the fifteenth?" said +Mother. + +"Oh, then, we meant to ask you to let us anti--antipate it, and go +without when the bun-day came." + +"Anticipate," said Mother. "I see. Certainly. It would be nice to put +his name on the buns with pink sugar, wouldn't it?" + +"Perks," said Peter, "it's not a pretty name." + +"His other name's Albert," said Phyllis; "I asked him once." + +"We might put A. P.," said Mother; "I'll show you how when the day +comes." + +This was all very well as far as it went. But even fourteen halfpenny +buns with A. P. on them in pink sugar do not of themselves make a very +grand celebration. + +"There are always flowers, of course," said Bobbie, later, when a really +earnest council was being held on the subject in the hay-loft where +the broken chaff-cutting machine was, and the row of holes to drop hay +through into the hay-racks over the mangers of the stables below. + +"He's got lots of flowers of his own," said Peter. + +"But it's always nice to have them given you," said Bobbie, "however +many you've got of your own. We can use flowers for trimmings to the +birthday. But there must be something to trim besides buns." + +"Let's all be quiet and think," said Phyllis; "no one's to speak until +it's thought of something." + +So they were all quiet and so very still that a brown rat thought that +there was no one in the loft and came out very boldly. When Bobbie +sneezed, the rat was quite shocked and hurried away, for he saw that a +hay-loft where such things could happen was no place for a respectable +middle-aged rat that liked a quiet life. + +"Hooray!" cried Peter, suddenly, "I've got it." He jumped up and kicked +at the loose hay. + +"What?" said the others, eagerly. + +"Why, Perks is so nice to everybody. There must be lots of people in the +village who'd like to help to make him a birthday. Let's go round and +ask everybody." + +"Mother said we weren't to ask people for things," said Bobbie, +doubtfully. + +"For ourselves, she meant, silly, not for other people. I'll ask the old +gentleman too. You see if I don't," said Peter. + +"Let's ask Mother first," said Bobbie. + +"Oh, what's the use of bothering Mother about every little thing?" +said Peter, "especially when she's busy. Come on. Let's go down to the +village now and begin." + +So they went. The old lady at the Post-office said she didn't see why +Perks should have a birthday any more than anyone else. + +"No," said Bobbie, "I should like everyone to have one. Only we know +when his is." + +"Mine's to-morrow," said the old lady, "and much notice anyone will take +of it. Go along with you." + +So they went. + +And some people were kind, and some were crusty. And some would give and +some would not. It is rather difficult work asking for things, even for +other people, as you have no doubt found if you have ever tried it. + +When the children got home and counted up what had been given and what +had been promised, they felt that for the first day it was not so bad. +Peter wrote down the lists of the things in the little pocket-book where +he kept the numbers of his engines. These were the lists:-- + + GIVEN. + A tobacco pipe from the sweet shop. + Half a pound of tea from the grocer's. + A woollen scarf slightly faded from the draper's, which was the + other side of the grocer's. + A stuffed squirrel from the Doctor. + + PROMISED. + A piece of meat from the butcher. + Six fresh eggs from the woman who lived in the old turnpike cottage. + A piece of honeycomb and six bootlaces from the cobbler, and an + iron shovel from the blacksmith's. + +Very early next morning Bobbie got up and woke Phyllis. This had been +agreed on between them. They had not told Peter because they thought he +would think it silly. But they told him afterwards, when it had turned +out all right. + +They cut a big bunch of roses, and put it in a basket with the +needle-book that Phyllis had made for Bobbie on her birthday, and a very +pretty blue necktie of Phyllis's. Then they wrote on a paper: 'For Mrs. +Ransome, with our best love, because it is her birthday,' and they put +the paper in the basket, and they took it to the Post-office, and went +in and put it on the counter and ran away before the old woman at the +Post-office had time to get into her shop. + +When they got home Peter had grown confidential over helping Mother to +get the breakfast and had told her their plans. + +"There's no harm in it," said Mother, "but it depends HOW you do it. I +only hope he won't be offended and think it's CHARITY. Poor people are +very proud, you know." + +"It isn't because he's poor," said Phyllis; "it's because we're fond of +him." + +"I'll find some things that Phyllis has outgrown," said Mother, "if +you're quite sure you can give them to him without his being offended. I +should like to do some little thing for him because he's been so kind to +you. I can't do much because we're poor ourselves. What are you writing, +Bobbie?" + +"Nothing particular," said Bobbie, who had suddenly begun to scribble. +"I'm sure he'd like the things, Mother." + +The morning of the fifteenth was spent very happily in getting the buns +and watching Mother make A. P. on them with pink sugar. You know how +it's done, of course? You beat up whites of eggs and mix powdered sugar +with them, and put in a few drops of cochineal. And then you make a cone +of clean, white paper with a little hole at the pointed end, and put the +pink egg-sugar in at the big end. It runs slowly out at the pointed end, +and you write the letters with it just as though it were a great fat pen +full of pink sugar-ink. + +The buns looked beautiful with A. P. on every one, and, when they were +put in a cool oven to set the sugar, the children went up to the village +to collect the honey and the shovel and the other promised things. + +The old lady at the Post-office was standing on her doorstep. The +children said "Good morning," politely, as they passed. + +"Here, stop a bit," she said. + +So they stopped. + +"Those roses," said she. + +"Did you like them?" said Phyllis; "they were as fresh as fresh. _I_ +made the needle-book, but it was Bobbie's present." She skipped joyously +as she spoke. + +"Here's your basket," said the Post-office woman. She went in and +brought out the basket. It was full of fat, red gooseberries. + +"I dare say Perks's children would like them," said she. + +"You ARE an old dear," said Phyllis, throwing her arms around the old +lady's fat waist. "Perks WILL be pleased." + +"He won't be half so pleased as I was with your needle-book and the tie +and the pretty flowers and all," said the old lady, patting Phyllis's +shoulder. "You're good little souls, that you are. Look here. I've got a +pram round the back in the wood-lodge. It was got for my Emmie's first, +that didn't live but six months, and she never had but that one. I'd +like Mrs. Perks to have it. It 'ud be a help to her with that great boy +of hers. Will you take it along?" + +"OH!" said all the children together. + +When Mrs. Ransome had got out the perambulator and taken off the careful +papers that covered it, and dusted it all over, she said:-- + +"Well, there it is. I don't know but what I'd have given it to her +before if I'd thought of it. Only I didn't quite know if she'd accept of +it from me. You tell her it was my Emmie's little one's pram--" + +"Oh, ISN'T it nice to think there is going to be a real live baby in it +again!" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Ransome, sighing, and then laughing; "here, I'll give +you some peppermint cushions for the little ones, and then you run along +before I give you the roof off my head and the clothes off my back." + +All the things that had been collected for Perks were packed into +the perambulator, and at half-past three Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis +wheeled it down to the little yellow house where Perks lived. + +The house was very tidy. On the window ledge was a jug of wild-flowers, +big daisies, and red sorrel, and feathery, flowery grasses. + +There was a sound of splashing from the wash-house, and a partly washed +boy put his head round the door. + +"Mother's a-changing of herself," he said. + +"Down in a minute," a voice sounded down the narrow, freshly scrubbed +stairs. + +The children waited. Next moment the stairs creaked and Mrs. Perks came +down, buttoning her bodice. Her hair was brushed very smooth and tight, +and her face shone with soap and water. + +"I'm a bit late changing, Miss," she said to Bobbie, "owing to me having +had a extry clean-up to-day, along o' Perks happening to name its being +his birthday. I don't know what put it into his head to think of such +a thing. We keeps the children's birthdays, of course; but him and +me--we're too old for such like, as a general rule." + +"We knew it was his birthday," said Peter, "and we've got some presents +for him outside in the perambulator." + +As the presents were being unpacked, Mrs. Perks gasped. When they +were all unpacked, she surprised and horrified the children by sitting +suddenly down on a wooden chair and bursting into tears. + +"Oh, don't!" said everybody; "oh, please don't!" And Peter added, +perhaps a little impatiently: "What on earth is the matter? You don't +mean to say you don't like it?" + +Mrs. Perks only sobbed. The Perks children, now as shiny-faced as anyone +could wish, stood at the wash-house door, and scowled at the intruders. +There was a silence, an awkward silence. + +"DON'T you like it?" said Peter, again, while his sisters patted Mrs. +Perks on the back. + +She stopped crying as suddenly as she had begun. + +"There, there, don't you mind me. I'M all right!" she said. "Like it? +Why, it's a birthday such as Perks never 'ad, not even when 'e was a boy +and stayed with his uncle, who was a corn chandler in his own account. +He failed afterwards. Like it? Oh--" and then she went on and said all +sorts of things that I won't write down, because I am sure that Peter +and Bobbie and Phyllis would not like me to. Their ears got hotter and +hotter, and their faces redder and redder, at the kind things Mrs. Perks +said. They felt they had done nothing to deserve all this praise. + +At last Peter said: "Look here, we're glad you're pleased. But if you go +on saying things like that, we must go home. And we did want to stay and +see if Mr. Perks is pleased, too. But we can't stand this." + +"I won't say another single word," said Mrs. Perks, with a beaming face, +"but that needn't stop me thinking, need it? For if ever--" + +"Can we have a plate for the buns?" Bobbie asked abruptly. And then Mrs. +Perks hastily laid the table for tea, and the buns and the honey and +the gooseberries were displayed on plates, and the roses were put in two +glass jam jars, and the tea-table looked, as Mrs. Perks said, "fit for a +Prince." + +"To think!" she said, "me getting the place tidy early, and the little +'uns getting the wild-flowers and all--when never did I think there'd be +anything more for him except the ounce of his pet particular that I +got o' Saturday and been saving up for 'im ever since. Bless us! 'e IS +early!" + +Perks had indeed unlatched the latch of the little front gate. + +"Oh," whispered Bobbie, "let's hide in the back kitchen, and YOU tell +him about it. But give him the tobacco first, because you got it for +him. And when you've told him, we'll all come in and shout, 'Many happy +returns!'" + +It was a very nice plan, but it did not quite come off. To begin with, +there was only just time for Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis to rush into +the wash-house, pushing the young and open-mouthed Perks children in +front of them. There was not time to shut the door, so that, without at +all meaning it, they had to listen to what went on in the kitchen. The +wash-house was a tight fit for the Perks children and the Three Chimneys +children, as well as all the wash-house's proper furniture, including +the mangle and the copper. + +"Hullo, old woman!" they heard Mr. Perks's voice say; "here's a pretty +set-out!" + +"It's your birthday tea, Bert," said Mrs. Perks, "and here's a ounce of +your extry particular. I got it o' Saturday along o' your happening to +remember it was your birthday to-day." + +"Good old girl!" said Mr. Perks, and there was a sound of a kiss. + +"But what's that pram doing here? And what's all these bundles? And +where did you get the sweetstuff, and--" + +The children did not hear what Mrs. Perks replied, because just then +Bobbie gave a start, put her hand in her pocket, and all her body grew +stiff with horror. + +"Oh!" she whispered to the others, "whatever shall we do? I forgot to +put the labels on any of the things! He won't know what's from who. +He'll think it's all US, and that we're trying to be grand or charitable +or something horrid." + +"Hush!" said Peter. + +And then they heard the voice of Mr. Perks, loud and rather angry. + +"I don't care," he said; "I won't stand it, and so I tell you straight." + +"But," said Mrs. Perks, "it's them children you make such a fuss +about--the children from the Three Chimneys." + +"I don't care," said Perks, firmly, "not if it was a angel from Heaven. +We've got on all right all these years and no favours asked. I'm not +going to begin these sort of charity goings-on at my time of life, so +don't you think it, Nell." + +"Oh, hush!" said poor Mrs Perks; "Bert, shut your silly tongue, for +goodness' sake. The all three of 'ems in the wash-house a-listening to +every word you speaks." + +"Then I'll give them something to listen to," said the angry Perks; +"I've spoke my mind to them afore now, and I'll do it again," he added, +and he took two strides to the wash-house door, and flung it wide +open--as wide, that is, as it would go, with the tightly packed children +behind it. + +"Come out," said Perks, "come out and tell me what you mean by it. 'Ave +I ever complained to you of being short, as you comes this charity lay +over me?" + +"OH!" said Phyllis, "I thought you'd be so pleased; I'll never try to be +kind to anyone else as long as I live. No, I won't, not never." + +She burst into tears. + +"We didn't mean any harm," said Peter. + +"It ain't what you means so much as what you does," said Perks. + +"Oh, DON'T!" cried Bobbie, trying hard to be braver than Phyllis, and to +find more words than Peter had done for explaining in. "We thought you'd +love it. We always have things on our birthdays." + +"Oh, yes," said Perks, "your own relations; that's different." + +"Oh, no," Bobbie answered. "NOT our own relations. All the servants +always gave us things at home, and us to them when it was their +birthdays. And when it was mine, and Mother gave me the brooch like a +buttercup, Mrs. Viney gave me two lovely glass pots, and nobody thought +she was coming the charity lay over us." + +"If it had been glass pots here," said Perks, "I wouldn't ha' said so +much. It's there being all this heaps and heaps of things I can't stand. +No--nor won't, neither." + +"But they're not all from us--" said Peter, "only we forgot to put the +labels on. They're from all sorts of people in the village." + +"Who put 'em up to it, I'd like to know?" asked Perks. + +"Why, we did," sniffed Phyllis. + +Perks sat down heavily in the elbow-chair and looked at them with what +Bobbie afterwards described as withering glances of gloomy despair. + +"So you've been round telling the neighbours we can't make both +ends meet? Well, now you've disgraced us as deep as you can in the +neighbourhood, you can just take the whole bag of tricks back w'ere it +come from. Very much obliged, I'm sure. I don't doubt but what you meant +it kind, but I'd rather not be acquainted with you any longer if it's +all the same to you." He deliberately turned the chair round so that +his back was turned to the children. The legs of the chair grated on the +brick floor, and that was the only sound that broke the silence. + +Then suddenly Bobbie spoke. + +"Look here," she said, "this is most awful." + +"That's what I says," said Perks, not turning round. + +"Look here," said Bobbie, desperately, "we'll go if you like--and you +needn't be friends with us any more if you don't want, but--" + +"WE shall always be friends with YOU, however nasty you are to us," +sniffed Phyllis, wildly. + +"Be quiet," said Peter, in a fierce aside. + +"But before we go," Bobbie went on desperately, "do let us show you the +labels we wrote to put on the things." + +"I don't want to see no labels," said Perks, "except proper luggage ones +in my own walk of life. Do you think I've kept respectable and outer +debt on what I gets, and her having to take in washing, to be give away +for a laughing-stock to all the neighbours?" + +"Laughing?" said Peter; "you don't know." + +"You're a very hasty gentleman," whined Phyllis; "you know you were +wrong once before, about us not telling you the secret about the +Russian. Do let Bobbie tell you about the labels!" + +"Well. Go ahead!" said Perks, grudgingly. + +"Well, then," said Bobbie, fumbling miserably, yet not without hope, in +her tightly stuffed pocket, "we wrote down all the things everybody said +when they gave us the things, with the people's names, because Mother +said we ought to be careful--because--but I wrote down what she +said--and you'll see." + +But Bobbie could not read the labels just at once. She had to swallow +once or twice before she could begin. + +Mrs. Perks had been crying steadily ever since her husband had opened +the wash-house door. Now she caught her breath, choked, and said:-- + +"Don't you upset yourself, Missy. _I_ know you meant it kind if he +doesn't." + +"May I read the labels?" said Bobbie, crying on to the slips as she +tried to sort them. "Mother's first. It says:-- + +"'Little Clothes for Mrs. Perks's children.' Mother said, 'I'll find +some of Phyllis's things that she's grown out of if you're quite sure +Mr. Perks wouldn't be offended and think it's meant for charity. I'd +like to do some little thing for him, because he's so kind to you. I +can't do much because we're poor ourselves.'" + +Bobbie paused. + +"That's all right," said Perks, "your Ma's a born lady. We'll keep the +little frocks, and what not, Nell." + +"Then there's the perambulator and the gooseberries, and the sweets," +said Bobbie, "they're from Mrs. Ransome. She said: 'I dare say Mr. +Perks's children would like the sweets. And the perambulator was got for +my Emmie's first--it didn't live but six months, and she's never had but +that one. I'd like Mrs. Perks to have it. It would be a help with her +fine boy. I'd have given it before if I'd been sure she'd accept of +it from me.' She told me to tell you," Bobbie added, "that it was her +Emmie's little one's pram." + +"I can't send that pram back, Bert," said Mrs Perks, firmly, "and I +won't. So don't you ask me--" + +"I'm not a-asking anything," said Perks, gruffly. + +"Then the shovel," said Bobbie. "Mr. James made it for you himself. And +he said--where is it? Oh, yes, here! He said, 'You tell Mr. Perks it's a +pleasure to make a little trifle for a man as is so much respected,' and +then he said he wished he could shoe your children and his own children, +like they do the horses, because, well, he knew what shoe leather was." + +"James is a good enough chap," said Perks. + +"Then the honey," said Bobbie, in haste, "and the boot-laces. HE said +he respected a man that paid his way--and the butcher said the same. And +the old turnpike woman said many was the time you'd lent her a hand +with her garden when you were a lad--and things like that came home to +roost--I don't know what she meant. And everybody who gave anything said +they liked you, and it was a very good idea of ours; and nobody said +anything about charity or anything horrid like that. And the old +gentleman gave Peter a gold pound for you, and said you were a man who +knew your work. And I thought you'd LOVE to know how fond people are +of you, and I never was so unhappy in my life. Good-bye. I hope you'll +forgive us some day--" + +She could say no more, and she turned to go. + +"Stop," said Perks, still with his back to them; "I take back every word +I've said contrary to what you'd wish. Nell, set on the kettle." + +"We'll take the things away if you're unhappy about them," said Peter; +"but I think everybody'll be most awfully disappointed, as well as us." + +"I'm not unhappy about them," said Perks; "I don't know," he added, +suddenly wheeling the chair round and showing a very odd-looking +screwed-up face, "I don't know as ever I was better pleased. Not so much +with the presents--though they're an A1 collection--but the kind respect +of our neighbours. That's worth having, eh, Nell?" + +"I think it's all worth having," said Mrs. Perks, "and you've made a +most ridiculous fuss about nothing, Bert, if you ask me." + +"No, I ain't," said Perks, firmly; "if a man didn't respect hisself, no +one wouldn't do it for him." + +"But everyone respects you," said Bobbie; "they all said so." + +"I knew you'd like it when you really understood," said Phyllis, +brightly. + +"Humph! You'll stay to tea?" said Mr. Perks. + +Later on Peter proposed Mr. Perks's health. And Mr. Perks proposed a +toast, also honoured in tea, and the toast was, "May the garland of +friendship be ever green," which was much more poetical than anyone had +expected from him. + + * * * * * * + +"Jolly good little kids, those," said Mr. Perks to his wife as they went +to bed. + +"Oh, they're all right, bless their hearts," said his wife; "it's you +that's the aggravatingest old thing that ever was. I was ashamed of +you--I tell you--" + +"You didn't need to be, old gal. I climbed down handsome soon as I +understood it wasn't charity. But charity's what I never did abide, and +won't neither." + + * * * * * * + +All sorts of people were made happy by that birthday party. Mr. Perks +and Mrs. Perks and the little Perkses by all the nice things and by the +kind thoughts of their neighbours; the Three Chimneys children by the +success, undoubted though unexpectedly delayed, of their plan; and Mrs. +Ransome every time she saw the fat Perks baby in the perambulator. +Mrs. Perks made quite a round of visits to thank people for their kind +birthday presents, and after each visit felt that she had a better +friend than she had thought. + +"Yes," said Perks, reflectively, "it's not so much what you does as what +you means; that's what I say. Now if it had been charity--" + +"Oh, drat charity," said Mrs. Perks; "nobody won't offer you +charity, Bert, however much you was to want it, I lay. That was just +friendliness, that was." + +When the clergyman called on Mrs. Perks, she told him all about it. "It +WAS friendliness, wasn't it, Sir?" said she. + +"I think," said the clergyman, "it was what is sometimes called +loving-kindness." + +So you see it was all right in the end. But if one does that sort of +thing, one has to be careful to do it in the right way. For, as Mr. +Perks said, when he had time to think it over, it's not so much what you +do, as what you mean. + + + +Chapter X. The terrible secret. + + +When they first went to live at Three Chimneys, the children had talked +a great deal about their Father, and had asked a great many questions +about him, and what he was doing and where he was and when he would come +home. Mother always answered their questions as well as she could. But +as the time went on they grew to speak less of him. Bobbie had felt +almost from the first that for some strange miserable reason these +questions hurt Mother and made her sad. And little by little the others +came to have this feeling, too, though they could not have put it into +words. + +One day, when Mother was working so hard that she could not leave off +even for ten minutes, Bobbie carried up her tea to the big bare room +that they called Mother's workshop. It had hardly any furniture. Just +a table and a chair and a rug. But always big pots of flowers on the +window-sills and on the mantelpiece. The children saw to that. And from +the three long uncurtained windows the beautiful stretch of meadow and +moorland, the far violet of the hills, and the unchanging changefulness +of cloud and sky. + +"Here's your tea, Mother-love," said Bobbie; "do drink it while it's +hot." + +Mother laid down her pen among the pages that were scattered all over +the table, pages covered with her writing, which was almost as plain +as print, and much prettier. She ran her hands into her hair, as if she +were going to pull it out by handfuls. + +"Poor dear head," said Bobbie, "does it ache?" + +"No--yes--not much," said Mother. "Bobbie, do you think Peter and Phil +are FORGETTING Father?" + +"NO," said Bobbie, indignantly. "Why?" + +"You none of you ever speak of him now." + +Bobbie stood first on one leg and then on the other. + +"We often talk about him when we're by ourselves," she said. + +"But not to me," said Mother. "Why?" + +Bobbie did not find it easy to say why. + +"I--you--" she said and stopped. She went over to the window and looked +out. + +"Bobbie, come here," said her Mother, and Bobbie came. + +"Now," said Mother, putting her arm round Bobbie and laying her ruffled +head against Bobbie's shoulder, "try to tell me, dear." + +Bobbie fidgeted. + +"Tell Mother." + +"Well, then," said Bobbie, "I thought you were so unhappy about Daddy +not being here, it made you worse when I talked about him. So I stopped +doing it." + +"And the others?" + +"I don't know about the others," said Bobbie. "I never said anything +about THAT to them. But I expect they felt the same about it as me." + +"Bobbie dear," said Mother, still leaning her head against her, "I'll +tell you. Besides parting from Father, he and I have had a great +sorrow--oh, terrible--worse than anything you can think of, and at first +it did hurt to hear you all talking of him as if everything were just +the same. But it would be much more terrible if you were to forget him. +That would be worse than anything." + +"The trouble," said Bobbie, in a very little voice--"I promised I +would never ask you any questions, and I never have, have I? But--the +trouble--it won't last always?" + +"No," said Mother, "the worst will be over when Father comes home to +us." + +"I wish I could comfort you," said Bobbie. + +"Oh, my dear, do you suppose you don't? Do you think I haven't noticed +how good you've all been, not quarrelling nearly as much as you used +to--and all the little kind things you do for me--the flowers, and +cleaning my shoes, and tearing up to make my bed before I get time to do +it myself?" + +Bobbie HAD sometimes wondered whether Mother noticed these things. + +"That's nothing," she said, "to what--" + +"I MUST get on with my work," said Mother, giving Bobbie one last +squeeze. "Don't say anything to the others." + +That evening in the hour before bed-time instead of reading to the +children Mother told them stories of the games she and Father used +to have when they were children and lived near each other in the +country--tales of the adventures of Father with Mother's brothers when +they were all boys together. Very funny stories they were, and the +children laughed as they listened. + +"Uncle Edward died before he was grown up, didn't he?" said Phyllis, as +Mother lighted the bedroom candles. + +"Yes, dear," said Mother, "you would have loved him. He was such a +brave boy, and so adventurous. Always in mischief, and yet friends with +everybody in spite of it. And your Uncle Reggie's in Ceylon--yes, and +Father's away, too. But I think they'd all like to think we'd enjoyed +talking about the things they used to do. Don't you think so?" + +"Not Uncle Edward," said Phyllis, in a shocked tone; "he's in Heaven." + +"You don't suppose he's forgotten us and all the old times, because God +has taken him, any more than I forget him. Oh, no, he remembers. He's +only away for a little time. We shall see him some day." + +"And Uncle Reggie--and Father, too?" said Peter. + +"Yes," said Mother. "Uncle Reggie and Father, too. Good night, my +darlings." + +"Good night," said everyone. Bobbie hugged her mother more closely even +than usual, and whispered in her ear, "Oh, I do love you so, Mummy--I +do--I do--" + +When Bobbie came to think it all over, she tried not to wonder what +the great trouble was. But she could not always help it. Father was not +dead--like poor Uncle Edward--Mother had said so. And he was not ill, or +Mother would have been with him. Being poor wasn't the trouble. Bobbie +knew it was something nearer the heart than money could be. + +"I mustn't try to think what it is," she told herself; "no, I mustn't. I +AM glad Mother noticed about us not quarrelling so much. We'll keep that +up." + +And alas, that very afternoon she and Peter had what Peter called a +first-class shindy. + +They had not been a week at Three Chimneys before they had asked Mother +to let them have a piece of garden each for their very own, and she had +agreed, and the south border under the peach trees had been divided into +three pieces and they were allowed to plant whatever they liked there. + +Phyllis had planted mignonette and nasturtium and Virginia Stock in +hers. The seeds came up, and though they looked just like weeds, Phyllis +believed that they would bear flowers some day. The Virginia Stock +justified her faith quite soon, and her garden was gay with a band of +bright little flowers, pink and white and red and mauve. + +"I can't weed for fear I pull up the wrong things," she used to say +comfortably; "it saves such a lot of work." + +Peter sowed vegetable seeds in his--carrots and onions and turnips. +The seed was given to him by the farmer who lived in the nice +black-and-white, wood-and-plaster house just beyond the bridge. He +kept turkeys and guinea fowls, and was a most amiable man. But Peter's +vegetables never had much of a chance, because he liked to use the earth +of his garden for digging canals, and making forts and earthworks for +his toy soldiers. And the seeds of vegetables rarely come to much in +a soil that is constantly disturbed for the purposes of war and +irrigation. + +Bobbie planted rose-bushes in her garden, but all the little new leaves +of the rose-bushes shrivelled and withered, perhaps because she moved +them from the other part of the garden in May, which is not at all the +right time of year for moving roses. But she would not own that they +were dead, and hoped on against hope, until the day when Perks came up +to see the garden, and told her quite plainly that all her roses were as +dead as doornails. + +"Only good for bonfires, Miss," he said. "You just dig 'em up and burn +'em, and I'll give you some nice fresh roots outer my garden; pansies, +and stocks, and sweet willies, and forget-me-nots. I'll bring 'em along +to-morrow if you get the ground ready." + +So next day she set to work, and that happened to be the day when Mother +had praised her and the others about not quarrelling. She moved the +rose-bushes and carried them to the other end of the garden, where the +rubbish heap was that they meant to make a bonfire of when Guy Fawkes' +Day came. + +Meanwhile Peter had decided to flatten out all his forts and earthworks, +with a view to making a model of the railway-tunnel, cutting, +embankment, canal, aqueduct, bridges, and all. + +So when Bobbie came back from her last thorny journey with the dead +rose-bushes, he had got the rake and was using it busily. + +"_I_ was using the rake," said Bobbie. + +"Well, I'm using it now," said Peter. + +"But I had it first," said Bobbie. + +"Then it's my turn now," said Peter. And that was how the quarrel began. + +"You're always being disagreeable about nothing," said Peter, after some +heated argument. + +"I had the rake first," said Bobbie, flushed and defiant, holding on to +its handle. + +"Don't--I tell you I said this morning I meant to have it. Didn't I, +Phil?" + +Phyllis said she didn't want to be mixed up in their rows. And +instantly, of course, she was. + +"If you remember, you ought to say." + +"Of course she doesn't remember--but she might say so." + +"I wish I'd had a brother instead of two whiny little kiddy sisters," +said Peter. This was always recognised as indicating the high-water mark +of Peter's rage. + +Bobbie made the reply she always made to it. + +"I can't think why little boys were ever invented," and just as she said +it she looked up, and saw the three long windows of Mother's workshop +flashing in the red rays of the sun. The sight brought back those words +of praise:-- + +"You don't quarrel like you used to do." + +"OH!" cried Bobbie, just as if she had been hit, or had caught her +finger in a door, or had felt the hideous sharp beginnings of toothache. + +"What's the matter?" said Phyllis. + +Bobbie wanted to say: "Don't let's quarrel. Mother hates it so," but +though she tried hard, she couldn't. Peter was looking too disagreeable +and insulting. + +"Take the horrid rake, then," was the best she could manage. And she +suddenly let go her hold on the handle. Peter had been holding on to +it too firmly and pullingly, and now that the pull the other way was +suddenly stopped, he staggered and fell over backward, the teeth of the +rake between his feet. + +"Serve you right," said Bobbie, before she could stop herself. + +Peter lay still for half a moment--long enough to frighten Bobbie a +little. Then he frightened her a little more, for he sat up--screamed +once--turned rather pale, and then lay back and began to shriek, faintly +but steadily. It sounded exactly like a pig being killed a quarter of a +mile off. + +Mother put her head out of the window, and it wasn't half a minute after +that she was in the garden kneeling by the side of Peter, who never for +an instant ceased to squeal. + +"What happened, Bobbie?" Mother asked. + +"It was the rake," said Phyllis. "Peter was pulling at it, so was +Bobbie, and she let go and he went over." + +"Stop that noise, Peter," said Mother. "Come. Stop at once." + +Peter used up what breath he had left in a last squeal and stopped. + +"Now," said Mother, "are you hurt?" + +"If he was really hurt, he wouldn't make such a fuss," said Bobbie, +still trembling with fury; "he's not a coward!" + +"I think my foot's broken off, that's all," said Peter, huffily, and sat +up. Then he turned quite white. Mother put her arm round him. + +"He IS hurt," she said; "he's fainted. Here, Bobbie, sit down and take +his head on your lap." + +Then Mother undid Peter's boots. As she took the right one off, +something dripped from his foot on to the ground. It was red blood. And +when the stocking came off there were three red wounds in Peter's foot +and ankle, where the teeth of the rake had bitten him, and his foot was +covered with red smears. + +"Run for water--a basinful," said Mother, and Phyllis ran. She upset +most of the water out of the basin in her haste, and had to fetch more +in a jug. + +Peter did not open his eyes again till Mother had tied her handkerchief +round his foot, and she and Bobbie had carried him in and laid him on +the brown wooden settle in the dining-room. By this time Phyllis was +halfway to the Doctor's. + +Mother sat by Peter and bathed his foot and talked to him, and Bobbie +went out and got tea ready, and put on the kettle. + +"It's all I can do," she told herself. "Oh, suppose Peter should die, or +be a helpless cripple for life, or have to walk with crutches, or wear a +boot with a sole like a log of wood!" + +She stood by the back door reflecting on these gloomy possibilities, her +eyes fixed on the water-butt. + +"I wish I'd never been born," she said, and she said it out loud. + +"Why, lawk a mercy, what's that for?" asked a voice, and Perks stood +before her with a wooden trug basket full of green-leaved things and +soft, loose earth. + +"Oh, it's you," she said. "Peter's hurt his foot with a rake--three +great gaping wounds, like soldiers get. And it was partly my fault." + +"That it wasn't, I'll go bail," said Perks. "Doctor seen him?" + +"Phyllis has gone for the Doctor." + +"He'll be all right; you see if he isn't," said Perks. "Why, my father's +second cousin had a hay-fork run into him, right into his inside, and he +was right as ever in a few weeks, all except his being a bit weak in +the head afterwards, and they did say that it was along of his getting +a touch of the sun in the hay-field, and not the fork at all. I remember +him well. A kind-'earted chap, but soft, as you might say." + +Bobbie tried to let herself be cheered by this heartening reminiscence. + +"Well," said Perks, "you won't want to be bothered with gardening just +this minute, I dare say. You show me where your garden is, and I'll +pop the bits of stuff in for you. And I'll hang about, if I may make so +free, to see the Doctor as he comes out and hear what he says. You cheer +up, Missie. I lay a pound he ain't hurt, not to speak of." + +But he was. The Doctor came and looked at the foot and bandaged it +beautifully, and said that Peter must not put it to the ground for at +least a week. + +"He won't be lame, or have to wear crutches or a lump on his foot, will +he?" whispered Bobbie, breathlessly, at the door. + +"My aunt! No!" said Dr. Forrest; "he'll be as nimble as ever on his pins +in a fortnight. Don't you worry, little Mother Goose." + +It was when Mother had gone to the gate with the Doctor to take his last +instructions and Phyllis was filling the kettle for tea, that Peter and +Bobbie found themselves alone. + +"He says you won't be lame or anything," said Bobbie. + +"Oh, course I shan't, silly," said Peter, very much relieved all the +same. + +"Oh, Peter, I AM so sorry," said Bobbie, after a pause. + +"That's all right," said Peter, gruffly. + +"It was ALL my fault," said Bobbie. + +"Rot," said Peter. + +"If we hadn't quarrelled, it wouldn't have happened. I knew it was wrong +to quarrel. I wanted to say so, but somehow I couldn't." + +"Don't drivel," said Peter. "I shouldn't have stopped if you HAD said +it. Not likely. And besides, us rowing hadn't anything to do with it. +I might have caught my foot in the hoe, or taken off my fingers in the +chaff-cutting machine or blown my nose off with fireworks. It would have +been hurt just the same whether we'd been rowing or not." + +"But I knew it was wrong to quarrel," said Bobbie, in tears, "and now +you're hurt and--" + +"Now look here," said Peter, firmly, "you just dry up. If you're not +careful, you'll turn into a beastly little Sunday-school prig, so I tell +you." + +"I don't mean to be a prig. But it's so hard not to be when you're +really trying to be good." + +(The Gentle Reader may perhaps have suffered from this difficulty.) + +"Not it," said Peter; "it's a jolly good thing it wasn't you was hurt. +I'm glad it was ME. There! If it had been you, you'd have been lying +on the sofa looking like a suffering angel and being the light of the +anxious household and all that. And I couldn't have stood it." + +"No, I shouldn't," said Bobbie. + +"Yes, you would," said Peter. + +"I tell you I shouldn't." + +"I tell you you would." + +"Oh, children," said Mother's voice at the door. "Quarrelling again? +Already?" + +"We aren't quarrelling--not really," said Peter. "I wish you wouldn't +think it's rows every time we don't agree!" When Mother had gone out +again, Bobbie broke out:-- + +"Peter, I AM sorry you're hurt. But you ARE a beast to say I'm a prig." + +"Well," said Peter unexpectedly, "perhaps I am. You did say I wasn't a +coward, even when you were in such a wax. The only thing is--don't +you be a prig, that's all. You keep your eyes open and if you feel +priggishness coming on just stop in time. See?" + +"Yes," said Bobbie, "I see." + +"Then let's call it Pax," said Peter, magnanimously: "bury the hatchet +in the fathoms of the past. Shake hands on it. I say, Bobbie, old chap, +I am tired." + +He was tired for many days after that, and the settle seemed hard and +uncomfortable in spite of all the pillows and bolsters and soft folded +rugs. It was terrible not to be able to go out. They moved the settle +to the window, and from there Peter could see the smoke of the trains +winding along the valley. But he could not see the trains. + +At first Bobbie found it quite hard to be as nice to him as she wanted +to be, for fear he should think her priggish. But that soon wore off, +and both she and Phyllis were, as he observed, jolly good sorts. Mother +sat with him when his sisters were out. And the words, "he's not a +coward," made Peter determined not to make any fuss about the pain in +his foot, though it was rather bad, especially at night. + +Praise helps people very much, sometimes. + +There were visitors, too. Mrs. Perks came up to ask how he was, and so +did the Station Master, and several of the village people. But the time +went slowly, slowly. + +"I do wish there was something to read," said Peter. "I've read all our +books fifty times over." + +"I'll go to the Doctor's," said Phyllis; "he's sure to have some." + +"Only about how to be ill, and about people's nasty insides, I expect," +said Peter. + +"Perks has a whole heap of Magazines that came out of trains when people +are tired of them," said Bobbie. "I'll run down and ask him." + +So the girls went their two ways. + +Bobbie found Perks busy cleaning lamps. + +"And how's the young gent?" said he. + +"Better, thanks," said Bobbie, "but he's most frightfully bored. I came +to ask if you'd got any Magazines you could lend him." + +"There, now," said Perks, regretfully, rubbing his ear with a black +and oily lump of cotton waste, "why didn't I think of that, now? I was +trying to think of something as 'ud amuse him only this morning, and I +couldn't think of anything better than a guinea-pig. And a young chap I +know's going to fetch that over for him this tea-time." + +"How lovely! A real live guinea! He will be pleased. But he'd like the +Magazines as well." + +"That's just it," said Perks. "I've just sent the pick of 'em to +Snigson's boy--him what's just getting over the pewmonia. But I've lots +of illustrated papers left." + +He turned to the pile of papers in the corner and took up a heap six +inches thick. + +"There!" he said. "I'll just slip a bit of string and a bit of paper +round 'em." + +He pulled an old newspaper from the pile and spread it on the table, and +made a neat parcel of it. + +"There," said he, "there's lots of pictures, and if he likes to mess 'em +about with his paint-box, or coloured chalks or what not, why, let him. +_I_ don't want 'em." + +"You're a dear," said Bobbie, took the parcel, and started. The papers +were heavy, and when she had to wait at the level-crossing while a train +went by, she rested the parcel on the top of the gate. And idly she +looked at the printing on the paper that the parcel was wrapped in. + +Suddenly she clutched the parcel tighter and bent her head over it. It +seemed like some horrible dream. She read on--the bottom of the column +was torn off--she could read no farther. + +She never remembered how she got home. But she went on tiptoe to her +room and locked the door. Then she undid the parcel and read that +printed column again, sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands and feet +icy cold and her face burning. When she had read all there was, she drew +a long, uneven breath. + +"So now I know," she said. + +What she had read was headed, 'End of the Trial. Verdict. Sentence.' + +The name of the man who had been tried was the name of her Father. +The verdict was 'Guilty.' And the sentence was 'Five years' Penal +Servitude.' + +"Oh, Daddy," she whispered, crushing the paper hard, "it's not true--I +don't believe it. You never did it! Never, never, never!" + +There was a hammering on the door. + +"What is it?" said Bobbie. + +"It's me," said the voice of Phyllis; "tea's ready, and a boy's brought +Peter a guinea-pig. Come along down." + +And Bobbie had to. + + + +Chapter XI. The hound in the red jersey. + + +Bobbie knew the secret now. A sheet of old newspaper wrapped round a +parcel--just a little chance like that--had given the secret to her. And +she had to go down to tea and pretend that there was nothing the matter. +The pretence was bravely made, but it wasn't very successful. + +For when she came in, everyone looked up from tea and saw her +pink-lidded eyes and her pale face with red tear-blotches on it. + +"My darling," cried Mother, jumping up from the tea-tray, "whatever IS +the matter?" + +"My head aches, rather," said Bobbie. And indeed it did. + +"Has anything gone wrong?" Mother asked. + +"I'm all right, really," said Bobbie, and she telegraphed to her Mother +from her swollen eyes this brief, imploring message--"NOT before the +others!" + +Tea was not a cheerful meal. Peter was so distressed by the obvious fact +that something horrid had happened to Bobbie that he limited his speech +to repeating, "More bread and butter, please," at startlingly short +intervals. Phyllis stroked her sister's hand under the table to express +sympathy, and knocked her cup over as she did it. Fetching a cloth and +wiping up the spilt milk helped Bobbie a little. But she thought that +tea would never end. Yet at last it did end, as all things do at last, +and when Mother took out the tray, Bobbie followed her. + +"She's gone to own up," said Phyllis to Peter; "I wonder what she's +done." + +"Broken something, I suppose," said Peter, "but she needn't be so silly +over it. Mother never rows for accidents. Listen! Yes, they're going +upstairs. She's taking Mother up to show her--the water-jug with storks +on it, I expect it is." + +Bobbie, in the kitchen, had caught hold of Mother's hand as she set down +the tea-things. + +"What is it?" Mother asked. + +But Bobbie only said, "Come upstairs, come up where nobody can hear us." + +When she had got Mother alone in her room she locked the door and then +stood quite still, and quite without words. + +All through tea she had been thinking of what to say; she had decided +that "I know all," or "All is known to me," or "The terrible secret is +a secret no longer," would be the proper thing. But now that she and +her Mother and that awful sheet of newspaper were alone in the room +together, she found that she could say nothing. + +Suddenly she went to Mother and put her arms round her and began to cry +again. And still she could find no words, only, "Oh, Mammy, oh, Mammy, +oh, Mammy," over and over again. + +Mother held her very close and waited. + +Suddenly Bobbie broke away from her and went to her bed. From under her +mattress she pulled out the paper she had hidden there, and held it out, +pointing to her Father's name with a finger that shook. + +"Oh, Bobbie," Mother cried, when one little quick look had shown her +what it was, "you don't BELIEVE it? You don't believe Daddy did it?" + +"NO," Bobbie almost shouted. She had stopped crying. + +"That's all right," said Mother. "It's not true. And they've shut him +up in prison, but he's done nothing wrong. He's good and noble and +honourable, and he belongs to us. We have to think of that, and be proud +of him, and wait." + +Again Bobbie clung to her Mother, and again only one word came to her, +but now that word was "Daddy," and "Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy!" +again and again. + +"Why didn't you tell me, Mammy?" she asked presently. + +"Are you going to tell the others?" Mother asked. + +"No." + +"Why?" + +"Because--" + +"Exactly," said Mother; "so you understand why I didn't tell you. We two +must help each other to be brave." + +"Yes," said Bobbie; "Mother, will it make you more unhappy if you tell +me all about it? I want to understand." + +So then, sitting cuddled up close to her Mother, Bobbie heard "all +about it." She heard how those men, who had asked to see Father on that +remembered last night when the Engine was being mended, had come +to arrest him, charging him with selling State secrets to the +Russians--with being, in fact, a spy and a traitor. She heard about the +trial, and about the evidence--letters, found in Father's desk at the +office, letters that convinced the jury that Father was guilty. + +"Oh, how could they look at him and believe it!" cried Bobbie; "and how +could ANY one do such a thing!" + +"SOMEONE did it," said Mother, "and all the evidence was against Father. +Those letters--" + +"Yes. How did the letters get into his desk?" + +"Someone put them there. And the person who put them there was the +person who was really guilty." + +"HE must be feeling pretty awful all this time," said Bobbie, +thoughtfully. + +"I don't believe he had any feelings," Mother said hotly; "he couldn't +have done a thing like that if he had." + +"Perhaps he just shoved the letters into the desk to hide them when he +thought he was going to be found out. Why don't you tell the lawyers, +or someone, that it must have been that person? There wasn't anyone that +would have hurt Father on purpose, was there?" + +"I don't know--I don't know. The man under him who got Daddy's place +when he--when the awful thing happened--he was always jealous of your +Father because Daddy was so clever and everyone thought such a lot of +him. And Daddy never quite trusted that man." + +"Couldn't we explain all that to someone?" + +"Nobody will listen," said Mother, very bitterly, "nobody at all. Do you +suppose I've not tried everything? No, my dearest, there's nothing to be +done. All we can do, you and I and Daddy, is to be brave, and patient, +and--" she spoke very softly--"to pray, Bobbie, dear." + +"Mother, you've got very thin," said Bobbie, abruptly. + +"A little, perhaps." + +"And oh," said Bobbie, "I do think you're the bravest person in the +world as well as the nicest!" + +"We won't talk of all this any more, will we, dear?" said Mother; "we +must bear it and be brave. And, darling, try not to think of it. Try to +be cheerful, and to amuse yourself and the others. It's much easier for +me if you can be a little bit happy and enjoy things. Wash your poor +little round face, and let's go out into the garden for a bit." + +The other two were very gentle and kind to Bobbie. And they did not +ask her what was the matter. This was Peter's idea, and he had drilled +Phyllis, who would have asked a hundred questions if she had been left +to herself. + +A week later Bobbie managed to get away alone. And once more she wrote a +letter. And once more it was to the old gentleman. + +"My dear Friend," she said, "you see what is in this paper. It is +not true. Father never did it. Mother says someone put the papers in +Father's desk, and she says the man under him that got Father's place +afterwards was jealous of Father, and Father suspected him a long time. +But nobody listens to a word she says, but you are so good and clever, +and you found out about the Russian gentleman's wife directly. Can't you +find out who did the treason because he wasn't Father upon my honour; +he is an Englishman and uncapable to do such things, and then they would +let Father out of prison. It is dreadful, and Mother is getting so thin. +She told us once to pray for all prisoners and captives. I see now. +Oh, do help me--there is only just Mother and me know, and we can't do +anything. Peter and Phil don't know. I'll pray for you twice every day +as long as I live if you'll only try--just try to find out. Think if it +was YOUR Daddy, what you would feel. Oh, do, do, DO help me. With love + +"I remain Your affectionately little friend + +"Roberta. + +P.S. Mother would send her kind regards if she knew I am writing--but +it is no use telling her I am, in case you can't do anything. But I know +you will. Bobbie with best love." + +She cut the account of her Father's trial out of the newspaper with +Mother's big cutting-out scissors, and put it in the envelope with her +letter. + +Then she took it down to the station, going out the back way and round +by the road, so that the others should not see her and offer to come +with her, and she gave the letter to the Station Master to give to the +old gentleman next morning. + +"Where HAVE you been?" shouted Peter, from the top of the yard wall +where he and Phyllis were. + +"To the station, of course," said Bobbie; "give us a hand, Pete." + +She set her foot on the lock of the yard door. Peter reached down a +hand. + +"What on earth?" she asked as she reached the wall-top--for Phyllis and +Peter were very muddy. A lump of wet clay lay between them on the wall, +they had each a slip of slate in a very dirty hand, and behind Peter, +out of the reach of accidents, were several strange rounded objects +rather like very fat sausages, hollow, but closed up at one end. + +"It's nests," said Peter, "swallows' nests. We're going to dry them +in the oven and hang them up with string under the eaves of the +coach-house." + +"Yes," said Phyllis; "and then we're going to save up all the wool and +hair we can get, and in the spring we'll line them, and then how pleased +the swallows will be!" + +"I've often thought people don't do nearly enough for dumb animals," +said Peter with an air of virtue. "I do think people might have thought +of making nests for poor little swallows before this." + +"Oh," said Bobbie, vaguely, "if everybody thought of everything, there'd +be nothing left for anybody else to think about." + +"Look at the nests--aren't they pretty?" said Phyllis, reaching across +Peter to grasp a nest. + +"Look out, Phil, you goat," said her brother. But it was too late; her +strong little fingers had crushed the nest. + +"There now," said Peter. + +"Never mind," said Bobbie. + +"It IS one of my own," said Phyllis, "so you needn't jaw, Peter. Yes, +we've put our initial names on the ones we've done, so that the swallows +will know who they've got to be so grateful to and fond of." + +"Swallows can't read, silly," said Peter. + +"Silly yourself," retorted Phyllis; "how do you know?" + +"Who thought of making the nests, anyhow?" shouted Peter. + +"I did," screamed Phyllis. + +"Nya," rejoined Peter, "you only thought of making hay ones and sticking +them in the ivy for the sparrows, and they'd have been sopping LONG +before egg-laying time. It was me said clay and swallows." + +"I don't care what you said." + +"Look," said Bobbie, "I've made the nest all right again. Give me the +bit of stick to mark your initial name on it. But how can you? Your +letter and Peter's are the same. P. for Peter, P. for Phyllis." + +"I put F. for Phyllis," said the child of that name. "That's how +it sounds. The swallows wouldn't spell Phyllis with a P., I'm +certain-sure." + +"They can't spell at all," Peter was still insisting. + +"Then why do you see them always on Christmas cards and valentines +with letters round their necks? How would they know where to go if they +couldn't read?" + +"That's only in pictures. You never saw one really with letters round +its neck." + +"Well, I have a pigeon, then; at least Daddy told me they did. Only it +was under their wings and not round their necks, but it comes to the +same thing, and--" + +"I say," interrupted Bobbie, "there's to be a paperchase to-morrow." + +"Who?" Peter asked. + +"Grammar School. Perks thinks the hare will go along by the line at +first. We might go along the cutting. You can see a long way from +there." + +The paperchase was found to be a more amusing subject of conversation +than the reading powers of swallows. Bobbie had hoped it might be. And +next morning Mother let them take their lunch and go out for the day to +see the paperchase. + +"If we go to the cutting," said Peter, "we shall see the workmen, even +if we miss the paperchase." + +Of course it had taken some time to get the line clear from the rocks +and earth and trees that had fallen on it when the great landslip +happened. That was the occasion, you will remember, when the three +children saved the train from being wrecked by waving six little +red-flannel-petticoat flags. It is always interesting to watch people +working, especially when they work with such interesting things as +spades and picks and shovels and planks and barrows, when they have +cindery red fires in iron pots with round holes in them, and red lamps +hanging near the works at night. Of course the children were never +out at night; but once, at dusk, when Peter had got out of his bedroom +skylight on to the roof, he had seen the red lamp shining far away at +the edge of the cutting. The children had often been down to watch the +work, and this day the interest of picks and spades, and barrows being +wheeled along planks, completely put the paperchase out of their heads, +so that they quite jumped when a voice just behind them panted, "Let me +pass, please." It was the hare--a big-boned, loose-limbed boy, with dark +hair lying flat on a very damp forehead. The bag of torn paper under +his arm was fastened across one shoulder by a strap. The children stood +back. The hare ran along the line, and the workmen leaned on their picks +to watch him. He ran on steadily and disappeared into the mouth of the +tunnel. + +"That's against the by-laws," said the foreman. + +"Why worry?" said the oldest workman; "live and let live's what I always +say. Ain't you never been young yourself, Mr. Bates?" + +"I ought to report him," said the foreman. + +"Why spoil sport's what I always say." + +"Passengers are forbidden to cross the line on any pretence," murmured +the foreman, doubtfully. + +"He ain't no passenger," said one of the workmen. + +"Nor 'e ain't crossed the line, not where we could see 'im do it," said +another. + +"Nor yet 'e ain't made no pretences," said a third. + +"And," said the oldest workman, "'e's outer sight now. What the eye +don't see the 'art needn't take no notice of's what I always say." + +And now, following the track of the hare by the little white blots of +scattered paper, came the hounds. There were thirty of them, and they +all came down the steep, ladder-like steps by ones and twos and threes +and sixes and sevens. Bobbie and Phyllis and Peter counted them as they +passed. The foremost ones hesitated a moment at the foot of the ladder, +then their eyes caught the gleam of scattered whiteness along the line +and they turned towards the tunnel, and, by ones and twos and threes and +sixes and sevens, disappeared in the dark mouth of it. The last one, in +a red jersey, seemed to be extinguished by the darkness like a candle +that is blown out. + +"They don't know what they're in for," said the foreman; "it isn't so +easy running in the dark. The tunnel takes two or three turns." + +"They'll take a long time to get through, you think?" Peter asked. + +"An hour or more, I shouldn't wonder." + +"Then let's cut across the top and see them come out at the other end," +said Peter; "we shall get there long before they do." + +The counsel seemed good, and they went. + +They climbed the steep steps from which they had picked the wild cherry +blossom for the grave of the little wild rabbit, and reaching the top of +the cutting, set their faces towards the hill through which the tunnel +was cut. It was stiff work. + +"It's like Alps," said Bobbie, breathlessly. + +"Or Andes," said Peter. + +"It's like Himmy what's its names?" gasped Phyllis. "Mount Everlasting. +Do let's stop." + +"Stick to it," panted Peter; "you'll get your second wind in a minute." + +Phyllis consented to stick to it--and on they went, running when the +turf was smooth and the slope easy, climbing over stones, helping +themselves up rocks by the branches of trees, creeping through narrow +openings between tree trunks and rocks, and so on and on, up and up, +till at last they stood on the very top of the hill where they had so +often wished to be. + +"Halt!" cried Peter, and threw himself flat on the grass. For the very +top of the hill was a smooth, turfed table-land, dotted with mossy rocks +and little mountain-ash trees. + +The girls also threw themselves down flat. + +"Plenty of time," Peter panted; "the rest's all down hill." + +When they were rested enough to sit up and look round them, Bobbie +cried:-- + +"Oh, look!" + +"What at?" said Phyllis. + +"The view," said Bobbie. + +"I hate views," said Phyllis, "don't you, Peter?" + +"Let's get on," said Peter. + +"But this isn't like a view they take you to in carriages when you're +at the seaside, all sea and sand and bare hills. It's like the 'coloured +counties' in one of Mother's poetry books." + +"It's not so dusty," said Peter; "look at the Aqueduct straddling slap +across the valley like a giant centipede, and then the towns sticking +their church spires up out of the trees like pens out of an inkstand. +_I_ think it's more like + + "There could he see the banners + Of twelve fair cities shine." + +"I love it," said Bobbie; "it's worth the climb." + +"The paperchase is worth the climb," said Phyllis, "if we don't lose it. +Let's get on. It's all down hill now." + +"_I_ said that ten minutes ago," said Peter. + +"Well, I'VE said it now," said Phyllis; "come on." + +"Loads of time," said Peter. And there was. For when they had got down +to a level with the top of the tunnel's mouth--they were a couple of +hundred yards out of their reckoning and had to creep along the face of +the hill--there was no sign of the hare or the hounds. + +"They've gone long ago, of course," said Phyllis, as they leaned on the +brick parapet above the tunnel. + +"I don't think so," said Bobbie, "but even if they had, it's ripping +here, and we shall see the trains come out of the tunnel like dragons +out of lairs. We've never seen that from the top side before." + +"No more we have," said Phyllis, partially appeased. + +It was really a most exciting place to be in. The top of the tunnel +seemed ever so much farther from the line than they had expected, and +it was like being on a bridge, but a bridge overgrown with bushes and +creepers and grass and wild-flowers. + +"I KNOW the paperchase has gone long ago," said Phyllis every two +minutes, and she hardly knew whether she was pleased or disappointed +when Peter, leaning over the parapet, suddenly cried:-- + +"Look out. Here he comes!" + +They all leaned over the sun-warmed brick wall in time to see the hare, +going very slowly, come out from the shadow of the tunnel. + +"There, now," said Peter, "what did I tell you? Now for the hounds!" + +Very soon came the hounds--by ones and twos and threes and sixes and +sevens--and they also were going slowly and seemed very tired. Two or +three who lagged far behind came out long after the others. + +"There," said Bobbie, "that's all--now what shall we do?" + +"Go along into the tulgy wood over there and have lunch," said Phyllis; +"we can see them for miles from up here." + +"Not yet," said Peter. "That's not the last. There's the one in the red +jersey to come yet. Let's see the last of them come out." + +But though they waited and waited and waited, the boy in the red jersey +did not appear. + +"Oh, let's have lunch," said Phyllis; "I've got a pain in my front with +being so hungry. You must have missed seeing the red-jerseyed one when +he came out with the others--" + +But Bobbie and Peter agreed that he had not come out with the others. + +"Let's get down to the tunnel mouth," said Peter; "then perhaps we shall +see him coming along from the inside. I expect he felt spun-chuck, and +rested in one of the manholes. You stay up here and watch, Bob, and when +I signal from below, you come down. We might miss seeing him on the way +down, with all these trees." + +So the others climbed down and Bobbie waited till they signalled to her +from the line below. And then she, too, scrambled down the roundabout +slippery path among roots and moss till she stepped out between two +dogwood trees and joined the others on the line. And still there was no +sign of the hound with the red jersey. + +"Oh, do, DO let's have something to eat," wailed Phyllis. "I shall die +if you don't, and then you'll be sorry." + +"Give her the sandwiches, for goodness' sake, and stop her silly mouth," +said Peter, not quite unkindly. "Look here," he added, turning to +Bobbie, "perhaps we'd better have one each, too. We may need all our +strength. Not more than one, though. There's no time." + +"What?" asked Bobbie, her mouth already full, for she was just as hungry +as Phyllis. + +"Don't you see," replied Peter, impressively, "that red-jerseyed hound +has had an accident--that's what it is. Perhaps even as we speak he's +lying with his head on the metals, an unresisting prey to any passing +express--" + +"Oh, don't try to talk like a book," cried Bobbie, bolting what was left +of her sandwich; "come on. Phil, keep close behind me, and if a train +comes, stand flat against the tunnel wall and hold your petticoats close +to you." + +"Give me one more sandwich," pleaded Phyllis, "and I will." + +"I'm going first," said Peter; "it was my idea," and he went. + +Of course you know what going into a tunnel is like? The engine gives +a scream and then suddenly the noise of the running, rattling train +changes and grows different and much louder. Grown-up people pull up the +windows and hold them by the strap. The railway carriage suddenly grows +like night--with lamps, of course, unless you are in a slow local train, +in which case lamps are not always provided. Then by and by the darkness +outside the carriage window is touched by puffs of cloudy whiteness, +then you see a blue light on the walls of the tunnel, then the sound of +the moving train changes once more, and you are out in the good open air +again, and grown-ups let the straps go. The windows, all dim with the +yellow breath of the tunnel, rattle down into their places, and you see +once more the dip and catch of the telegraph wires beside the line, and +the straight-cut hawthorn hedges with the tiny baby trees growing up out +of them every thirty yards. + +All this, of course, is what a tunnel means when you are in a train. But +everything is quite different when you walk into a tunnel on your own +feet, and tread on shifting, sliding stones and gravel on a path that +curves downwards from the shining metals to the wall. Then you see +slimy, oozy trickles of water running down the inside of the tunnel, +and you notice that the bricks are not red or brown, as they are at the +tunnel's mouth, but dull, sticky, sickly green. Your voice, when you +speak, is quite changed from what it was out in the sunshine, and it is +a long time before the tunnel is quite dark. + +It was not yet quite dark in the tunnel when Phyllis caught at Bobbie's +skirt, ripping out half a yard of gathers, but no one noticed this at +the time. + +"I want to go back," she said, "I don't like it. It'll be pitch dark +in a minute. I WON'T go on in the dark. I don't care what you say, I +WON'T." + +"Don't be a silly cuckoo," said Peter; "I've got a candle end and +matches, and--what's that?" + +"That" was a low, humming sound on the railway line, a trembling of the +wires beside it, a buzzing, humming sound that grew louder and louder as +they listened. + +"It's a train," said Bobbie. + +"Which line?" + +"Let me go back," cried Phyllis, struggling to get away from the hand by +which Bobbie held her. + +"Don't be a coward," said Bobbie; "it's quite safe. Stand back." + +"Come on," shouted Peter, who was a few yards ahead. "Quick! Manhole!" + +The roar of the advancing train was now louder than the noise you hear +when your head is under water in the bath and both taps are running, and +you are kicking with your heels against the bath's tin sides. But Peter +had shouted for all he was worth, and Bobbie heard him. She dragged +Phyllis along to the manhole. Phyllis, of course, stumbled over the +wires and grazed both her legs. But they dragged her in, and all three +stood in the dark, damp, arched recess while the train roared louder and +louder. It seemed as if it would deafen them. And, in the distance, they +could see its eyes of fire growing bigger and brighter every instant. + +"It IS a dragon--I always knew it was--it takes its own shape in here, +in the dark," shouted Phyllis. But nobody heard her. You see the train +was shouting, too, and its voice was bigger than hers. + +And now, with a rush and a roar and a rattle and a long dazzling flash +of lighted carriage windows, a smell of smoke, and blast of hot air, the +train hurtled by, clanging and jangling and echoing in the vaulted roof +of the tunnel. Phyllis and Bobbie clung to each other. Even Peter +caught hold of Bobbie's arm, "in case she should be frightened," as he +explained afterwards. + +And now, slowly and gradually, the tail-lights grew smaller and smaller, +and so did the noise, till with one last WHIZ the train got itself out +of the tunnel, and silence settled again on its damp walls and dripping +roof. + +"OH!" said the children, all together in a whisper. + +Peter was lighting the candle end with a hand that trembled. + +"Come on," he said; but he had to clear his throat before he could speak +in his natural voice. + +"Oh," said Phyllis, "if the red-jerseyed one was in the way of the +train!" + +"We've got to go and see," said Peter. + +"Couldn't we go and send someone from the station?" said Phyllis. + +"Would you rather wait here for us?" asked Bobbie, severely, and of +course that settled the question. + +So the three went on into the deeper darkness of the tunnel. Peter led, +holding his candle end high to light the way. The grease ran down his +fingers, and some of it right up his sleeve. He found a long streak from +wrist to elbow when he went to bed that night. + +It was not more than a hundred and fifty yards from the spot where +they had stood while the train went by that Peter stood still, shouted +"Hullo," and then went on much quicker than before. When the others +caught him up, he stopped. And he stopped within a yard of what they had +come into the tunnel to look for. Phyllis saw a gleam of red, and +shut her eyes tight. There, by the curved, pebbly down line, was the +red-jerseyed hound. His back was against the wall, his arms hung limply +by his sides, and his eyes were shut. + +"Was the red, blood? Is he all killed?" asked Phyllis, screwing her +eyelids more tightly together. + +"Killed? Nonsense!" said Peter. "There's nothing red about him except +his jersey. He's only fainted. What on earth are we to do?" + +"Can we move him?" asked Bobbie. + +"I don't know; he's a big chap." + +"Suppose we bathe his forehead with water. No, I know we haven't any, +but milk's just as wet. There's a whole bottle." + +"Yes," said Peter, "and they rub people's hands, I believe." + +"They burn feathers, I know," said Phyllis. + +"What's the good of saying that when we haven't any feathers?" + +"As it happens," said Phyllis, in a tone of exasperated triumph, "I've +got a shuttlecock in my pocket. So there!" + +And now Peter rubbed the hands of the red-jerseyed one. Bobbie burned +the feathers of the shuttlecock one by one under his nose, Phyllis +splashed warmish milk on his forehead, and all three kept on saying as +fast and as earnestly as they could:-- + +"Oh, look up, speak to me! For my sake, speak!" + + + +Chapter XII. What Bobbie brought home. + + +"Oh, look up! Speak to me! For MY sake, speak!" The children said the +words over and over again to the unconscious hound in a red jersey, who +sat with closed eyes and pale face against the side of the tunnel. + +"Wet his ears with milk," said Bobbie. "I know they do it to people that +faint--with eau-de-Cologne. But I expect milk's just as good." + +So they wetted his ears, and some of the milk ran down his neck under +the red jersey. It was very dark in the tunnel. The candle end Peter had +carried, and which now burned on a flat stone, gave hardly any light at +all. + +"Oh, DO look up," said Phyllis. "For MY sake! I believe he's dead." + +"For MY sake," repeated Bobbie. "No, he isn't." + +"For ANY sake," said Peter; "come out of it." And he shook the sufferer +by the arm. + +And then the boy in the red jersey sighed, and opened his eyes, and shut +them again and said in a very small voice, "Chuck it." + +"Oh, he's NOT dead," said Phyllis. "I KNEW he wasn't," and she began to +cry. + +"What's up? I'm all right," said the boy. + +"Drink this," said Peter, firmly, thrusting the nose of the milk bottle +into the boy's mouth. The boy struggled, and some of the milk was upset +before he could get his mouth free to say:-- + +"What is it?" + +"It's milk," said Peter. "Fear not, you are in the hands of friends. +Phil, you stop bleating this minute." + +"Do drink it," said Bobbie, gently; "it'll do you good." + +So he drank. And the three stood by without speaking to him. + +"Let him be a minute," Peter whispered; "he'll be all right as soon as +the milk begins to run like fire through his veins." + +He was. + +"I'm better now," he announced. "I remember all about it." He tried to +move, but the movement ended in a groan. "Bother! I believe I've broken +my leg," he said. + +"Did you tumble down?" asked Phyllis, sniffing. + +"Of course not--I'm not a kiddie," said the boy, indignantly; "it was +one of those beastly wires tripped me up, and when I tried to get up +again I couldn't stand, so I sat down. Gee whillikins! it does hurt, +though. How did YOU get here?" + +"We saw you all go into the tunnel and then we went across the hill to +see you all come out. And the others did--all but you, and you didn't. +So we are a rescue party," said Peter, with pride. + +"You've got some pluck, I will say," remarked the boy. + +"Oh, that's nothing," said Peter, with modesty. "Do you think you could +walk if we helped you?" + +"I could try," said the boy. + +He did try. But he could only stand on one foot; the other dragged in a +very nasty way. + +"Here, let me sit down. I feel like dying," said the boy. "Let go of +me--let go, quick--" He lay down and closed his eyes. The others looked +at each other by the dim light of the little candle. + +"What on earth!" said Peter. + +"Look here," said Bobbie, quickly, "you must go and get help. Go to the +nearest house." + +"Yes, that's the only thing," said Peter. "Come on." + +"If you take his feet and Phil and I take his head, we could carry him +to the manhole." + +They did it. It was perhaps as well for the sufferer that he had fainted +again. + +"Now," said Bobbie, "I'll stay with him. You take the longest bit of +candle, and, oh--be quick, for this bit won't burn long." + +"I don't think Mother would like me leaving you," said Peter, +doubtfully. "Let me stay, and you and Phil go." + +"No, no," said Bobbie, "you and Phil go--and lend me your knife. I'll +try to get his boot off before he wakes up again." + +"I hope it's all right what we're doing," said Peter. + +"Of course it's right," said Bobbie, impatiently. "What else WOULD you +do? Leave him here all alone because it's dark? Nonsense. Hurry up, +that's all." + +So they hurried up. + +Bobbie watched their dark figures and the little light of the little +candle with an odd feeling of having come to the end of everything. She +knew now, she thought, what nuns who were bricked up alive in convent +walls felt like. Suddenly she gave herself a little shake. + +"Don't be a silly little girl," she said. She was always very angry when +anyone else called her a little girl, even if the adjective that went +first was not "silly" but "nice" or "good" or "clever." And it was only +when she was very angry with herself that she allowed Roberta to use +that expression to Bobbie. + +She fixed the little candle end on a broken brick near the red-jerseyed +boy's feet. Then she opened Peter's knife. It was always hard to +manage--a halfpenny was generally needed to get it open at all. This +time Bobbie somehow got it open with her thumbnail. She broke the nail, +and it hurt horribly. Then she cut the boy's bootlace, and got the boot +off. She tried to pull off his stocking, but his leg was dreadfully +swollen, and it did not seem to be the proper shape. So she cut the +stocking down, very slowly and carefully. It was a brown, knitted +stocking, and she wondered who had knitted it, and whether it was the +boy's mother, and whether she was feeling anxious about him, and how she +would feel when he was brought home with his leg broken. When Bobbie had +got the stocking off and saw the poor leg, she felt as though the tunnel +was growing darker, and the ground felt unsteady, and nothing seemed +quite real. + +"SILLY little girl!" said Roberta to Bobbie, and felt better. + +"The poor leg," she told herself; "it ought to have a cushion--ah!" + +She remembered the day when she and Phyllis had torn up their red +flannel petticoats to make danger signals to stop the train and prevent +an accident. Her flannel petticoat to-day was white, but it would be +quite as soft as a red one. She took it off. + +"Oh, what useful things flannel petticoats are!" she said; "the man who +invented them ought to have a statue directed to him." And she said +it aloud, because it seemed that any voice, even her own, would be a +comfort in that darkness. + +"WHAT ought to be directed? Who to?" asked the boy, suddenly and very +feebly. + +"Oh," said Bobbie, "now you're better! Hold your teeth and don't let it +hurt too much. Now!" + +She had folded the petticoat, and lifting his leg laid it on the cushion +of folded flannel. + +"Don't faint again, PLEASE don't," said Bobbie, as he groaned. She +hastily wetted her handkerchief with milk and spread it over the poor +leg. + +"Oh, that hurts," cried the boy, shrinking. "Oh--no, it doesn't--it's +nice, really." + +"What's your name?" said Bobbie. + +"Jim." + +"Mine's Bobbie." + +"But you're a girl, aren't you?" + +"Yes, my long name's Roberta." + +"I say--Bobbie." + +"Yes?" + +"Wasn't there some more of you just now?" + +"Yes, Peter and Phil--that's my brother and sister. They've gone to get +someone to carry you out." + +"What rum names. All boys'." + +"Yes--I wish I was a boy, don't you?" + +"I think you're all right as you are." + +"I didn't mean that--I meant don't you wish YOU were a boy, but of +course you are without wishing." + +"You're just as brave as a boy. Why didn't you go with the others?" + +"Somebody had to stay with you," said Bobbie. + +"Tell you what, Bobbie," said Jim, "you're a brick. Shake." He reached +out a red-jerseyed arm and Bobbie squeezed his hand. + +"I won't shake it," she explained, "because it would shake YOU, and that +would shake your poor leg, and that would hurt. Have you got a hanky?" + +"I don't expect I have." He felt in his pocket. "Yes, I have. What for?" + +She took it and wetted it with milk and put it on his forehead. + +"That's jolly," he said; "what is it?" + +"Milk," said Bobbie. "We haven't any water--" + +"You're a jolly good little nurse," said Jim. + +"I do it for Mother sometimes," said Bobbie--"not milk, of course, +but scent, or vinegar and water. I say, I must put the candle out now, +because there mayn't be enough of the other one to get you out by." + +"By George," said he, "you think of everything." + +Bobbie blew. Out went the candle. You have no idea how black-velvety the +darkness was. + +"I say, Bobbie," said a voice through the blackness, "aren't you afraid +of the dark?" + +"Not--not very, that is--" + +"Let's hold hands," said the boy, and it was really rather good of him, +because he was like most boys of his age and hated all material tokens +of affection, such as kissing and holding of hands. He called all such +things "pawings," and detested them. + +The darkness was more bearable to Bobbie now that her hand was held in +the large rough hand of the red-jerseyed sufferer; and he, holding her +little smooth hot paw, was surprised to find that he did not mind it so +much as he expected. She tried to talk, to amuse him, and "take his mind +off" his sufferings, but it is very difficult to go on talking in the +dark, and presently they found themselves in a silence, only broken now +and then by a-- + +"You all right, Bobbie?" + +or an-- + +"I'm afraid it's hurting you most awfully, Jim. I AM so sorry." + +And it was very cold. + + * * * * * * + +Peter and Phyllis tramped down the long way of the tunnel towards +daylight, the candle-grease dripping over Peter's fingers. There were no +accidents unless you count Phyllis's catching her frock on a wire, and +tearing a long, jagged slit in it, and tripping over her bootlace when +it came undone, or going down on her hands and knees, all four of which +were grazed. + +"There's no end to this tunnel," said Phyllis--and indeed it did seem +very very long. + +"Stick to it," said Peter; "everything has an end, and you get to it if +you only keep all on." + +Which is quite true, if you come to think of it, and a useful thing +to remember in seasons of trouble--such as measles, arithmetic, +impositions, and those times when you are in disgrace, and feel as +though no one would ever love you again, and you could never--never +again--love anybody. + +"Hurray," said Peter, suddenly, "there's the end of the tunnel--looks +just like a pin-hole in a bit of black paper, doesn't it?" + +The pin-hole got larger--blue lights lay along the sides of the tunnel. +The children could see the gravel way that lay in front of them; the air +grew warmer and sweeter. Another twenty steps and they were out in the +good glad sunshine with the green trees on both sides. + +Phyllis drew a long breath. + +"I'll never go into a tunnel again as long as ever I live," said she, +"not if there are twenty hundred thousand millions hounds inside with +red jerseys and their legs broken." + +"Don't be a silly cuckoo," said Peter, as usual. "You'd HAVE to." + +"I think it was very brave and good of me," said Phyllis. + +"Not it," said Peter; "you didn't go because you were brave, but because +Bobbie and I aren't skunks. Now where's the nearest house, I wonder? You +can't see anything here for the trees." + +"There's a roof over there," said Phyllis, pointing down the line. + +"That's the signal-box," said Peter, "and you know you're not allowed to +speak to signalmen on duty. It's wrong." + +"I'm not near so afraid of doing wrong as I was of going into that +tunnel," said Phyllis. "Come on," and she started to run along the line. +So Peter ran, too. + +It was very hot in the sunshine, and both children were hot and +breathless by the time they stopped, and bending their heads back to +look up at the open windows of the signal-box, shouted "Hi!" as loud +as their breathless state allowed. But no one answered. The signal-box +stood quiet as an empty nursery, and the handrail of its steps was hot +to the hands of the children as they climbed softly up. They peeped +in at the open door. The signalman was sitting on a chair tilted back +against the wall. His head leaned sideways, and his mouth was open. He +was fast asleep. + +"My hat!" cried Peter; "wake up!" And he cried it in a terrible voice, +for he knew that if a signalman sleeps on duty, he risks losing his +situation, let alone all the other dreadful risks to trains which expect +him to tell them when it is safe for them to go their ways. + +The signalman never moved. Then Peter sprang to him and shook him. And +slowly, yawning and stretching, the man awoke. But the moment he WAS +awake he leapt to his feet, put his hands to his head "like a mad +maniac," as Phyllis said afterwards, and shouted:-- + +"Oh, my heavens--what's o'clock?" + +"Twelve thirteen," said Peter, and indeed it was by the white-faced, +round-faced clock on the wall of the signal-box. + +The man looked at the clock, sprang to the levers, and wrenched them +this way and that. An electric bell tingled--the wires and cranks +creaked, and the man threw himself into a chair. He was very pale, +and the sweat stood on his forehead "like large dewdrops on a white +cabbage," as Phyllis remarked later. He was trembling, too; the children +could see his big hairy hands shake from side to side, "with quite +extra-sized trembles," to use the subsequent words of Peter. He drew +long breaths. Then suddenly he cried, "Thank God, thank God you come in +when you did--oh, thank God!" and his shoulders began to heave and his +face grew red again, and he hid it in those large hairy hands of his. + +"Oh, don't cry--don't," said Phyllis, "it's all right now," and she +patted him on one big, broad shoulder, while Peter conscientiously +thumped the other. + +But the signalman seemed quite broken down, and the children had to +pat him and thump him for quite a long time before he found his +handkerchief--a red one with mauve and white horseshoes on it--and +mopped his face and spoke. During this patting and thumping interval a +train thundered by. + +"I'm downright shamed, that I am," were the words of the big signalman +when he had stopped crying; "snivelling like a kid." Then suddenly he +seemed to get cross. "And what was you doing up here, anyway?" he said; +"you know it ain't allowed." + +"Yes," said Phyllis, "we knew it was wrong--but I wasn't afraid of doing +wrong, and so it turned out right. You aren't sorry we came." + +"Lor' love you--if you hadn't 'a' come--" he stopped and then went on. +"It's a disgrace, so it is, sleeping on duty. If it was to come to be +known--even as it is, when no harm's come of it." + +"It won't come to be known," said Peter; "we aren't sneaks. All the +same, you oughtn't to sleep on duty--it's dangerous." + +"Tell me something I don't know," said the man, "but I can't help it. +I know'd well enough just how it 'ud be. But I couldn't get off. They +couldn't get no one to take on my duty. I tell you I ain't had ten +minutes' sleep this last five days. My little chap's ill--pewmonia, the +Doctor says--and there's no one but me and 'is little sister to do for +him. That's where it is. The gell must 'ave her sleep. Dangerous? Yes, I +believe you. Now go and split on me if you like." + +"Of course we won't," said Peter, indignantly, but Phyllis ignored the +whole of the signalman's speech, except the first six words. + +"You asked us," she said, "to tell you something you don't know. Well, +I will. There's a boy in the tunnel over there with a red jersey and his +leg broken." + +"What did he want to go into the blooming tunnel for, then?" said the +man. + +"Don't you be so cross," said Phyllis, kindly. "WE haven't done anything +wrong except coming and waking you up, and that was right, as it +happens." + +Then Peter told how the boy came to be in the tunnel. + +"Well," said the man, "I don't see as I can do anything. I can't leave +the box." + +"You might tell us where to go after someone who isn't in a box, +though," said Phyllis. + +"There's Brigden's farm over yonder--where you see the smoke a-coming +up through the trees," said the man, more and more grumpy, as Phyllis +noticed. + +"Well, good-bye, then," said Peter. + +But the man said, "Wait a minute." He put his hand in his pocket and +brought out some money--a lot of pennies and one or two shillings and +sixpences and half-a-crown. He picked out two shillings and held them +out. + +"Here," he said. "I'll give you this to hold your tongues about what's +taken place to-day." + +There was a short, unpleasant pause. Then:-- + +"You ARE a nasty man, though, aren't you?" said Phyllis. + +Peter took a step forward and knocked the man's hand up, so that the +shillings leapt out of it and rolled on the floor. + +"If anything COULD make me sneak, THAT would!" he said. "Come, Phil," +and marched out of the signal-box with flaming cheeks. + +Phyllis hesitated. Then she took the hand, still held out stupidly, that +the shillings had been in. + +"I forgive you," she said, "even if Peter doesn't. You're not in your +proper senses, or you'd never have done that. I know want of sleep sends +people mad. Mother told me. I hope your little boy will soon be better, +and--" + +"Come on, Phil," cried Peter, eagerly. + +"I give you my sacred honour-word we'll never tell anyone. Kiss and be +friends," said Phyllis, feeling how noble it was of her to try to make +up a quarrel in which she was not to blame. + +The signalman stooped and kissed her. + +"I do believe I'm a bit off my head, Sissy," he said. "Now run along +home to Mother. I didn't mean to put you about--there." + +So Phil left the hot signal-box and followed Peter across the fields to +the farm. + +When the farm men, led by Peter and Phyllis and carrying a hurdle +covered with horse-cloths, reached the manhole in the tunnel, Bobbie +was fast asleep and so was Jim. Worn out with the pain, the Doctor said +afterwards. + +"Where does he live?" the bailiff from the farm asked, when Jim had been +lifted on to the hurdle. + +"In Northumberland," answered Bobbie. + +"I'm at school at Maidbridge," said Jim. "I suppose I've got to get back +there, somehow." + +"Seems to me the Doctor ought to have a look in first," said the +bailiff. + +"Oh, bring him up to our house," said Bobbie. "It's only a little way by +the road. I'm sure Mother would say we ought to." + +"Will your Ma like you bringing home strangers with broken legs?" + +"She took the poor Russian home herself," said Bobbie. "I know she'd say +we ought." + +"All right," said the bailiff, "you ought to know what your Ma 'ud like. +I wouldn't take it upon me to fetch him up to our place without I asked +the Missus first, and they call me the Master, too." + +"Are you sure your Mother won't mind?" whispered Jim. + +"Certain," said Bobbie. + +"Then we're to take him up to Three Chimneys?" said the bailiff. + +"Of course," said Peter. + +"Then my lad shall nip up to Doctor's on his bike, and tell him to come +down there. Now, lads, lift him quiet and steady. One, two, three!" + + * * * * * * + +Thus it happened that Mother, writing away for dear life at a story +about a Duchess, a designing villain, a secret passage, and a missing +will, dropped her pen as her work-room door burst open, and turned to +see Bobbie hatless and red with running. + +"Oh, Mother," she cried, "do come down. We found a hound in a red jersey +in the tunnel, and he's broken his leg and they're bringing him home." + +"They ought to take him to the vet," said Mother, with a worried frown; +"I really CAN'T have a lame dog here." + +"He's not a dog, really--he's a boy," said Bobbie, between laughing and +choking. + +"Then he ought to be taken home to his mother." + +"His mother's dead," said Bobbie, "and his father's in Northumberland. +Oh, Mother, you will be nice to him? I told him I was sure you'd want us +to bring him home. You always want to help everybody." + +Mother smiled, but she sighed, too. It is nice that your children should +believe you willing to open house and heart to any and every one who +needs help. But it is rather embarrassing sometimes, too, when they act +on their belief. + +"Oh, well," said Mother, "we must make the best of it." + +When Jim was carried in, dreadfully white and with set lips whose red +had faded to a horrid bluey violet colour, Mother said:-- + +"I am glad you brought him here. Now, Jim, let's get you comfortable in +bed before the Doctor comes!" + +And Jim, looking at her kind eyes, felt a little, warm, comforting flush +of new courage. + +"It'll hurt rather, won't it?" he said. "I don't mean to be a coward. +You won't think I'm a coward if I faint again, will you? I really +and truly don't do it on purpose. And I do hate to give you all this +trouble." + +"Don't you worry," said Mother; "it's you that have the trouble, you +poor dear--not us." + +And she kissed him just as if he had been Peter. "We love to have you +here--don't we, Bobbie?" + +"Yes," said Bobbie--and she saw by her Mother's face how right she had +been to bring home the wounded hound in the red jersey. + + + +Chapter XIII. The hound's grandfather. + + +Mother did not get back to her writing all that day, for the +red-jerseyed hound whom the children had brought to Three Chimneys had +to be put to bed. And then the Doctor came, and hurt him most horribly. +Mother was with him all through it, and that made it a little better +than it would have been, but "bad was the best," as Mrs. Viney said. + +The children sat in the parlour downstairs and heard the sound of the +Doctor's boots going backwards and forwards over the bedroom floor. And +once or twice there was a groan. + +"It's horrible," said Bobbie. "Oh, I wish Dr. Forrest would make haste. +Oh, poor Jim!" + +"It IS horrible," said Peter, "but it's very exciting. I wish Doctors +weren't so stuck-up about who they'll have in the room when they're +doing things. I should most awfully like to see a leg set. I believe the +bones crunch like anything." + +"Don't!" said the two girls at once. + +"Rubbish!" said Peter. "How are you going to be Red Cross Nurses, like +you were talking of coming home, if you can't even stand hearing me say +about bones crunching? You'd have to HEAR them crunch on the field of +battle--and be steeped in gore up to the elbows as likely as not, and--" + +"Stop it!" cried Bobbie, with a white face; "you don't know how funny +you're making me feel." + +"Me, too," said Phyllis, whose face was pink. + +"Cowards!" said Peter. + +"I'm not," said Bobbie. "I helped Mother with your rake-wounded foot, +and so did Phil--you know we did." + +"Well, then!" said Peter. "Now look here. It would be a jolly good thing +for you if I were to talk to you every day for half an hour about broken +bones and people's insides, so as to get you used to it." + +A chair was moved above. + +"Listen," said Peter, "that's the bone crunching." + +"I do wish you wouldn't," said Phyllis. "Bobbie doesn't like it." + +"I'll tell you what they do," said Peter. I can't think what made him so +horrid. Perhaps it was because he had been so very nice and kind all the +earlier part of the day, and now he had to have a change. This is called +reaction. One notices it now and then in oneself. Sometimes when one has +been extra good for a longer time than usual, one is suddenly attacked +by a violent fit of not being good at all. "I'll tell you what they do," +said Peter; "they strap the broken man down so that he can't resist or +interfere with their doctorish designs, and then someone holds his head, +and someone holds his leg--the broken one, and pulls it till the bones +fit in--with a crunch, mind you! Then they strap it up and--let's play +at bone-setting!" + +"Oh, no!" said Phyllis. + +But Bobbie said suddenly: "All right--LET'S! I'll be the doctor, and +Phil can be the nurse. You can be the broken boner; we can get at your +legs more easily, because you don't wear petticoats." + +"I'll get the splints and bandages," said Peter; "you get the couch of +suffering ready." + +The ropes that had tied up the boxes that had come from home were all +in a wooden packing-case in the cellar. When Peter brought in a trailing +tangle of them, and two boards for splints, Phyllis was excitedly +giggling. + +"Now, then," he said, and lay down on the settle, groaning most +grievously. + +"Not so loud!" said Bobbie, beginning to wind the rope round him and the +settle. "You pull, Phil." + +"Not so tight," moaned Peter. "You'll break my other leg." + +Bobbie worked on in silence, winding more and more rope round him. + +"That's enough," said Peter. "I can't move at all. Oh, my poor leg!" He +groaned again. + +"SURE you can't move?" asked Bobbie, in a rather strange tone. + +"Quite sure," replied Peter. "Shall we play it's bleeding freely or +not?" he asked cheerfully. + +"YOU can play what you like," said Bobbie, sternly, folding her arms and +looking down at him where he lay all wound round and round with cord. +"Phil and I are going away. And we shan't untie you till you promise +never, never to talk to us about blood and wounds unless we say you may. +Come, Phil!" + +"You beast!" said Peter, writhing. "I'll never promise, never. I'll +yell, and Mother will come." + +"Do," said Bobbie, "and tell her why we tied you up! Come on, Phil. No, +I'm not a beast, Peter. But you wouldn't stop when we asked you and--" + +"Yah," said Peter, "it wasn't even your own idea. You got it out of +Stalky!" + +Bobbie and Phil, retiring in silent dignity, were met at the door by the +Doctor. He came in rubbing his hands and looking pleased with himself. + +"Well," he said, "THAT job's done. It's a nice clean fracture, and it'll +go on all right, I've no doubt. Plucky young chap, too--hullo! what's +all this?" + +His eye had fallen on Peter who lay mousy-still in his bonds on the +settle. + +"Playing at prisoners, eh?" he said; but his eyebrows had gone up a +little. Somehow he had not thought that Bobbie would be playing while in +the room above someone was having a broken bone set. + +"Oh, no!" said Bobbie, "not at PRISONERS. We were playing at setting +bones. Peter's the broken boner, and I was the doctor." + +The Doctor frowned. + +"Then I must say," he said, and he said it rather sternly, "that's it's +a very heartless game. Haven't you enough imagination even to faintly +picture what's been going on upstairs? That poor chap, with the drops +of sweat on his forehead, and biting his lips so as not to cry out, and +every touch on his leg agony and--" + +"YOU ought to be tied up," said Phyllis; "you're as bad as--" + +"Hush," said Bobbie; "I'm sorry, but we weren't heartless, really." + +"I was, I suppose," said Peter, crossly. "All right, Bobbie, don't you +go on being noble and screening me, because I jolly well won't have it. +It was only that I kept on talking about blood and wounds. I wanted to +train them for Red Cross Nurses. And I wouldn't stop when they asked +me." + +"Well?" said Dr. Forrest, sitting down. + +"Well--then I said, 'Let's play at setting bones.' It was all rot. I +knew Bobbie wouldn't. I only said it to tease her. And then when she +said 'yes,' of course I had to go through with it. And they tied me up. +They got it out of Stalky. And I think it's a beastly shame." + +He managed to writhe over and hide his face against the wooden back of +the settle. + +"I didn't think that anyone would know but us," said Bobbie, indignantly +answering Peter's unspoken reproach. "I never thought of your coming in. +And hearing about blood and wounds does really make me feel most awfully +funny. It was only a joke our tying him up. Let me untie you, Pete." + +"I don't care if you never untie me," said Peter; "and if that's your +idea of a joke--" + +"If I were you," said the Doctor, though really he did not quite know +what to say, "I should be untied before your Mother comes down. You +don't want to worry her just now, do you?" + +"I don't promise anything about not saying about wounds, mind," said +Peter, in very surly tones, as Bobbie and Phyllis began to untie the +knots. + +"I'm very sorry, Pete," Bobbie whispered, leaning close to him as she +fumbled with the big knot under the settle; "but if you only knew how +sick you made me feel." + +"You've made ME feel pretty sick, I can tell you," Peter rejoined. Then +he shook off the loose cords, and stood up. + +"I looked in," said Dr. Forrest, "to see if one of you would come along +to the surgery. There are some things that your Mother will want at +once, and I've given my man a day off to go and see the circus; will you +come, Peter?" + +Peter went without a word or a look to his sisters. + +The two walked in silence up to the gate that led from the Three +Chimneys field to the road. Then Peter said:-- + +"Let me carry your bag. I say, it is heavy--what's in it?" + +"Oh, knives and lancets and different instruments for hurting people. +And the ether bottle. I had to give him ether, you know--the agony was +so intense." + +Peter was silent. + +"Tell me all about how you found that chap," said Dr. Forrest. + +Peter told. And then Dr. Forrest told him stories of brave rescues; he +was a most interesting man to talk to, as Peter had often remarked. + +Then in the surgery Peter had a better chance than he had ever had of +examining the Doctor's balance, and his microscope, and his scales and +measuring glasses. When all the things were ready that Peter was to take +back, the Doctor said suddenly:-- + +"You'll excuse my shoving my oar in, won't you? But I should like to say +something to you." + +"Now for a rowing," thought Peter, who had been wondering how it was +that he had escaped one. + +"Something scientific," added the Doctor. + +"Yes," said Peter, fiddling with the fossil ammonite that the Doctor +used for a paper-weight. + +"Well then, you see. Boys and girls are only little men and women. And +WE are much harder and hardier than they are--" (Peter liked the "we." +Perhaps the Doctor had known he would.)--"and much stronger, and things +that hurt THEM don't hurt US. You know you mustn't hit a girl--" + +"I should think not, indeed," muttered Peter, indignantly. + +"Not even if she's your own sister. That's because girls are so much +softer and weaker than we are; they have to be, you know," he added, +"because if they weren't, it wouldn't be nice for the babies. And that's +why all the animals are so good to the mother animals. They never fight +them, you know." + +"I know," said Peter, interested; "two buck rabbits will fight all day +if you let them, but they won't hurt a doe." + +"No; and quite wild beasts--lions and elephants--they're immensely +gentle with the female beasts. And we've got to be, too." + +"I see," said Peter. + +"And their hearts are soft, too," the Doctor went on, "and things that +we shouldn't think anything of hurt them dreadfully. So that a man has +to be very careful, not only of his fists, but of his words. They're +awfully brave, you know," he went on. "Think of Bobbie waiting alone in +the tunnel with that poor chap. It's an odd thing--the softer and more +easily hurt a woman is the better she can screw herself up to do what +HAS to be done. I've seen some brave women--your Mother's one," he ended +abruptly. + +"Yes," said Peter. + +"Well, that's all. Excuse my mentioning it. But nobody knows everything +without being told. And you see what I mean, don't you?" + +"Yes," said Peter. "I'm sorry. There!" + +"Of course you are! People always are--directly they understand. +Everyone ought to be taught these scientific facts. So long!" + +They shook hands heartily. When Peter came home, his sisters looked at +him doubtfully. + +"It's Pax," said Peter, dumping down the basket on the table. "Dr. +Forrest has been talking scientific to me. No, it's no use my telling +you what he said; you wouldn't understand. But it all comes to you girls +being poor, soft, weak, frightened things like rabbits, so us men have +just got to put up with them. He said you were female beasts. Shall I +take this up to Mother, or will you?" + +"I know what BOYS are," said Phyllis, with flaming cheeks; "they're just +the nastiest, rudest--" + +"They're very brave," said Bobbie, "sometimes." + +"Ah, you mean the chap upstairs? I see. Go ahead, Phil--I shall put +up with you whatever you say because you're a poor, weak, frightened, +soft--" + +"Not if I pull your hair you won't," said Phyllis, springing at him. + +"He said 'Pax,'" said Bobbie, pulling her away. "Don't you see," she +whispered as Peter picked up the basket and stalked out with it, "he's +sorry, really, only he won't say so? Let's say we're sorry." + +"It's so goody goody," said Phyllis, doubtfully; "he said we were female +beasts, and soft and frightened--" + +"Then let's show him we're not frightened of him thinking us goody +goody," said Bobbie; "and we're not any more beasts than he is." + +And when Peter came back, still with his chin in the air, Bobbie said:-- + +"We're sorry we tied you up, Pete." + +"I thought you would be," said Peter, very stiff and superior. + +This was hard to bear. But-- + +"Well, so we are," said Bobbie. "Now let honour be satisfied on both +sides." + +"I did call it Pax," said Peter, in an injured tone. + +"Then let it BE Pax," said Bobbie. "Come on, Phil, let's get the tea. +Pete, you might lay the cloth." + +"I say," said Phyllis, when peace was really restored, which was not +till they were washing up the cups after tea, "Dr. Forrest didn't REALLY +say we were female beasts, did he?" + +"Yes," said Peter, firmly, "but I think he meant we men were wild +beasts, too." + +"How funny of him!" said Phyllis, breaking a cup. + + * * * * * * + +"May I come in, Mother?" Peter was at the door of Mother's writing room, +where Mother sat at her table with two candles in front of her. Their +flames looked orange and violet against the clear grey blue of the sky +where already a few stars were twinkling. + +"Yes, dear," said Mother, absently, "anything wrong?" She wrote a few +more words and then laid down her pen and began to fold up what she had +written. "I was just writing to Jim's grandfather. He lives near here, +you know." + +"Yes, you said so at tea. That's what I want to say. Must you write to +him, Mother? Couldn't we keep Jim, and not say anything to his people +till he's well? It would be such a surprise for them." + +"Well, yes," said Mother, laughing, "I think it would." + +"You see," Peter went on, "of course the girls are all right and all +that--I'm not saying anything against THEM. But I should like it if I +had another chap to talk to sometimes." + +"Yes," said Mother, "I know it's dull for you, dear. But I can't +help it. Next year perhaps I can send you to school--you'd like that, +wouldn't you?" + +"I do miss the other chaps, rather," Peter confessed; "but if Jim could +stay after his leg was well, we could have awful larks." + +"I've no doubt of it," said Mother. "Well--perhaps he could, but you +know, dear, we're not rich. I can't afford to get him everything he'll +want. And he must have a nurse." + +"Can't you nurse him, Mother? You do nurse people so beautifully." + +"That's a pretty compliment, Pete--but I can't do nursing and my writing +as well. That's the worst of it." + +"Then you MUST send the letter to his grandfather?" + +"Of course--and to his schoolmaster, too. We telegraphed to them both, +but I must write as well. They'll be most dreadfully anxious." + +"I say, Mother, why can't his grandfather pay for a nurse?" Peter +suggested. "That would be ripping. I expect the old boy's rolling in +money. Grandfathers in books always are." + +"Well, this one isn't in a book," said Mother, "so we mustn't expect him +to roll much." + +"I say," said Peter, musingly, "wouldn't it be jolly if we all WERE in +a book, and you were writing it? Then you could make all sorts of jolly +things happen, and make Jim's legs get well at once and be all right +to-morrow, and Father come home soon and--" + +"Do you miss your Father very much?" Mother asked, rather coldly, Peter +thought. + +"Awfully," said Peter, briefly. + +Mother was enveloping and addressing the second letter. + +"You see," Peter went on slowly, "you see, it's not only him BEING +Father, but now he's away there's no other man in the house but +me--that's why I want Jim to stay so frightfully much. Wouldn't you like +to be writing that book with us all in it, Mother, and make Daddy come +home soon?" + +Peter's Mother put her arm round him suddenly, and hugged him in silence +for a minute. Then she said:-- + +"Don't you think it's rather nice to think that we're in a book that +God's writing? If I were writing the book, I might make mistakes. But +God knows how to make the story end just right--in the way that's best +for us." + +"Do you really believe that, Mother?" Peter asked quietly. + +"Yes," she said, "I do believe it--almost always--except when I'm so sad +that I can't believe anything. But even when I can't believe it, I know +it's true--and I try to believe. You don't know how I try, Peter. Now +take the letters to the post, and don't let's be sad any more. Courage, +courage! That's the finest of all the virtues! I dare say Jim will be +here for two or three weeks yet." + +For what was left of the evening Peter was so angelic that Bobbie feared +he was going to be ill. She was quite relieved in the morning to find +him plaiting Phyllis's hair on to the back of her chair in quite his old +manner. + +It was soon after breakfast that a knock came at the door. The children +were hard at work cleaning the brass candlesticks in honour of Jim's +visit. + +"That'll be the Doctor," said Mother; "I'll go. Shut the kitchen +door--you're not fit to be seen." + +But it wasn't the Doctor. They knew that by the voice and by the sound +of the boots that went upstairs. They did not recognise the sound of the +boots, but everyone was certain that they had heard the voice before. + +There was a longish interval. The boots and the voice did not come down +again. + +"Who can it possibly be?" they kept on asking themselves and each other. + +"Perhaps," said Peter at last, "Dr. Forrest has been attacked by +highwaymen and left for dead, and this is the man he's telegraphed for +to take his place. Mrs. Viney said he had a local tenant to do his work +when he went for a holiday, didn't you, Mrs. Viney?" + +"I did so, my dear," said Mrs. Viney from the back kitchen. + +"He's fallen down in a fit, more likely," said Phyllis, "all human aid +despaired of. And this is his man come to break the news to Mother." + +"Nonsense!" said Peter, briskly; "Mother wouldn't have taken the man +up into Jim's bedroom. Why should she? Listen--the door's opening. Now +they'll come down. I'll open the door a crack." + +He did. + +"It's not listening," he replied indignantly to Bobbie's scandalised +remarks; "nobody in their senses would talk secrets on the stairs. And +Mother can't have secrets to talk with Dr. Forrest's stable-man--and you +said it was him." + +"Bobbie," called Mother's voice. + +They opened the kitchen door, and Mother leaned over the stair railing. + +"Jim's grandfather has come," she said; "wash your hands and faces and +then you can see him. He wants to see you!" The bedroom door shut again. + +"There now!" said Peter; "fancy us not even thinking of that! Let's have +some hot water, Mrs. Viney. I'm as black as your hat." + +The three were indeed dirty, for the stuff you clean brass candlesticks +with is very far from cleaning to the cleaner. + +They were still busy with soap and flannel when they heard the boots +and the voice come down the stairs and go into the dining-room. And when +they were clean, though still damp--because it takes such a long time +to dry your hands properly, and they were very impatient to see the +grandfather--they filed into the dining-room. + +Mother was sitting in the window-seat, and in the leather-covered +armchair that Father always used to sit in at the other house sat-- + + THEIR OWN OLD GENTLEMAN! + +"Well, I never did," said Peter, even before he said, "How do you do?" +He was, as he explained afterwards, too surprised even to remember that +there was such a thing as politeness--much less to practise it. + +"It's our own old gentleman!" said Phyllis. + +"Oh, it's you!" said Bobbie. And then they remembered themselves and +their manners and said, "How do you do?" very nicely. + +"This is Jim's grandfather, Mr. ----" said Mother, naming the old +gentleman's name. + +"How splendid!" said Peter; "that's just exactly like a book, isn't it, +Mother?" + +"It is, rather," said Mother, smiling; "things do happen in real life +that are rather like books, sometimes." + +"I am so awfully glad it IS you," said Phyllis; "when you think of the +tons of old gentlemen there are in the world--it might have been almost +anyone." + +"I say, though," said Peter, "you're not going to take Jim away, though, +are you?" + +"Not at present," said the old gentleman. "Your Mother has most kindly +consented to let him stay here. I thought of sending a nurse, but your +Mother is good enough to say that she will nurse him herself." + +"But what about her writing?" said Peter, before anyone could stop him. +"There won't be anything for him to eat if Mother doesn't write." + +"That's all right," said Mother, hastily. + +The old gentleman looked very kindly at Mother. + +"I see," he said, "you trust your children, and confide in them." + +"Of course," said Mother. + +"Then I may tell them of our little arrangement," he said. "Your Mother, +my dears, has consented to give up writing for a little while and to +become a Matron of my Hospital." + +"Oh!" said Phyllis, blankly; "and shall we have to go away from Three +Chimneys and the Railway and everything?" + +"No, no, darling," said Mother, hurriedly. + +"The Hospital is called Three Chimneys Hospital," said the old +gentleman, "and my unlucky Jim's the only patient, and I hope he'll +continue to be so. Your Mother will be Matron, and there'll be a +hospital staff of a housemaid and a cook--till Jim's well." + +"And then will Mother go on writing again?" asked Peter. + +"We shall see," said the old gentleman, with a slight, swift glance at +Bobbie; "perhaps something nice may happen and she won't have to." + +"I love my writing," said Mother, very quickly. + +"I know," said the old gentleman; "don't be afraid that I'm going to try +to interfere. But one never knows. Very wonderful and beautiful things +do happen, don't they? And we live most of our lives in the hope of +them. I may come again to see the boy?" + +"Surely," said Mother, "and I don't know how to thank you for making it +possible for me to nurse him. Dear boy!" + +"He kept calling Mother, Mother, in the night," said Phyllis. "I woke up +twice and heard him." + +"He didn't mean me," said Mother, in a low voice to the old gentleman; +"that's why I wanted so much to keep him." + +The old gentleman rose. + +"I'm so glad," said Peter, "that you're going to keep him, Mother." + +"Take care of your Mother, my dears," said the old gentleman. "She's a +woman in a million." + +"Yes, isn't she?" whispered Bobbie. + +"God bless her," said the old gentleman, taking both Mother's hands, +"God bless her! Ay, and she shall be blessed. Dear me, where's my hat? +Will Bobbie come with me to the gate?" + +At the gate he stopped and said:-- + +"You're a good child, my dear--I got your letter. But it wasn't needed. +When I read about your Father's case in the papers at the time, I had my +doubts. And ever since I've known who you were, I've been trying to find +out things. I haven't done very much yet. But I have hopes, my dear--I +have hopes." + +"Oh!" said Bobbie, choking a little. + +"Yes--I may say great hopes. But keep your secret a little longer. +Wouldn't do to upset your Mother with a false hope, would it?" + +"Oh, but it isn't false!" said Bobbie; "I KNOW you can do it. I knew you +could when I wrote. It isn't a false hope, is it?" + +"No," he said, "I don't think it's a false hope, or I wouldn't have told +you. And I think you deserve to be told that there IS a hope." + +"And you don't think Father did it, do you? Oh, say you don't think he +did." + +"My dear," he said, "I'm perfectly CERTAIN he didn't." + +If it was a false hope, it was none the less a very radiant one that lay +warm at Bobbie's heart, and through the days that followed lighted her +little face as a Japanese lantern is lighted by the candle within. + + + +Chapter XIV. The End. + + +Life at the Three Chimneys was never quite the same again after the old +gentleman came to see his grandson. Although they now knew his name, +the children never spoke of him by it--at any rate, when they were by +themselves. To them he was always the old gentleman, and I think he had +better be the old gentleman to us, too. It wouldn't make him seem any +more real to you, would it, if I were to tell you that his name was +Snooks or Jenkins (which it wasn't)?--and, after all, I must be allowed +to keep one secret. It's the only one; I have told you everything else, +except what I am going to tell you in this chapter, which is the last. +At least, of course, I haven't told you EVERYTHING. If I were to do +that, the book would never come to an end, and that would be a pity, +wouldn't it? + +Well, as I was saying, life at Three Chimneys was never quite the same +again. The cook and the housemaid were very nice (I don't mind telling +you their names--they were Clara and Ethelwyn), but they told Mother +they did not seem to want Mrs. Viney, and that she was an old muddler. +So Mrs. Viney came only two days a week to do washing and ironing. Then +Clara and Ethelwyn said they could do the work all right if they weren't +interfered with, and that meant that the children no longer got the tea +and cleared it away and washed up the tea-things and dusted the rooms. + +This would have left quite a blank in their lives, although they +had often pretended to themselves and to each other that they hated +housework. But now that Mother had no writing and no housework to do, +she had time for lessons. And lessons the children had to do. However +nice the person who is teaching you may be, lessons are lessons all the +world over, and at their best are worse fun than peeling potatoes or +lighting a fire. + +On the other hand, if Mother now had time for lessons, she also had time +for play, and to make up little rhymes for the children as she used +to do. She had not had much time for rhymes since she came to Three +Chimneys. + +There was one very odd thing about these lessons. Whatever the children +were doing, they always wanted to be doing something else. When Peter +was doing his Latin, he thought it would be nice to be learning History +like Bobbie. Bobbie would have preferred Arithmetic, which was what +Phyllis happened to be doing, and Phyllis of course thought Latin much +the most interesting kind of lesson. And so on. + +So, one day, when they sat down to lessons, each of them found a little +rhyme at its place. I put the rhymes in to show you that their Mother +really did understand a little how children feel about things, and also +the kind of words they use, which is the case with very few grown-up +people. I suppose most grown-ups have very bad memories, and have +forgotten how they felt when they were little. Of course, the verses are +supposed to be spoken by the children. + + PETER + + I once thought Caesar easy pap-- + How very soft I must have been! + When they start Caesar with a chap + He little know what that will mean. + Oh, verbs are silly stupid things. + I'd rather learn the dates of kings! + + BOBBIE + + The worst of all my lesson things + Is learning who succeeded who + In all the rows of queens and kings, + With dates to everything they do: + With dates enough to make you sick;-- + I wish it was Arithmetic! + + PHYLLIS + + Such pounds and pounds of apples fill + My slate--what is the price you'd spend? + You scratch the figures out until + You cry upon the dividend. + I'd break the slate and scream for joy + If I did Latin like a boy! + +This kind of thing, of course, made lessons much jollier. It is +something to know that the person who is teaching you sees that it is +not all plain sailing for you, and does not think that it is just your +stupidness that makes you not know your lessons till you've learned +them! + +Then as Jim's leg got better it was very pleasant to go up and sit with +him and hear tales about his school life and the other boys. There +was one boy, named Parr, of whom Jim seemed to have formed the lowest +possible opinion, and another boy named Wigsby Minor, for whose views +Jim had a great respect. Also there were three brothers named Paley, and +the youngest was called Paley Terts, and was much given to fighting. + +Peter drank in all this with deep joy, and Mother seemed to have +listened with some interest, for one day she gave Jim a sheet of paper +on which she had written a rhyme about Parr, bringing in Paley and +Wigsby by name in a most wonderful way, as well as all the reasons Jim +had for not liking Parr, and Wigsby's wise opinion on the matter. Jim +was immensely pleased. He had never had a rhyme written expressly for +him before. He read it till he knew it by heart and then he sent it to +Wigsby, who liked it almost as much as Jim did. Perhaps you may like it, +too. + + THE NEW BOY + + His name is Parr: he says that he + Is given bread and milk for tea. + He says his father killed a bear. + He says his mother cuts his hair. + + He wears goloshes when it's wet. + I've heard his people call him "Pet"! + He has no proper sense of shame; + He told the chaps his Christian name. + + He cannot wicket-keep at all, + He's frightened of a cricket ball. + He reads indoors for hours and hours. + He knows the names of beastly flowers. + + He says his French just like Mossoo-- + A beastly stuck-up thing to do-- + He won't keep _cave_, shirks his turn + And says he came to school to learn! + + He won't play football, says it hurts; + He wouldn't fight with Paley Terts; + He couldn't whistle if he tried, + And when we laughed at him he cried! + + Now Wigsby Minor says that Parr + Is only like all new boys are. + I know when _I_ first came to school + I wasn't such a jolly fool! + +Jim could never understand how Mother could have been clever enough +to do it. To the others it seemed nice, but natural. You see they had +always been used to having a mother who could write verses just like +the way people talk, even to the shocking expression at the end of the +rhyme, which was Jim's very own. + +Jim taught Peter to play chess and draughts and dominoes, and altogether +it was a nice quiet time. + +Only Jim's leg got better and better, and a general feeling began to +spring up among Bobbie, Peter, and Phyllis that something ought to be +done to amuse him; not just games, but something really handsome. But it +was extraordinarily difficult to think of anything. + +"It's no good," said Peter, when all of them had thought and thought +till their heads felt quite heavy and swollen; "if we can't think of +anything to amuse him, we just can't, and there's an end of it. Perhaps +something will just happen of its own accord that he'll like." + +"Things DO happen by themselves sometimes, without your making them," +said Phyllis, rather as though, usually, everything that happened in the +world was her doing. + +"I wish something would happen," said Bobbie, dreamily, "something +wonderful." + +And something wonderful did happen exactly four days after she had said +this. I wish I could say it was three days after, because in fairy tales +it is always three days after that things happen. But this is not a +fairy story, and besides, it really was four and not three, and I am +nothing if not strictly truthful. + +They seemed to be hardly Railway children at all in those days, and as +the days went on each had an uneasy feeling about this which Phyllis +expressed one day. + +"I wonder if the Railway misses us," she said, plaintively. "We never go +to see it now." + +"It seems ungrateful," said Bobbie; "we loved it so when we hadn't +anyone else to play with." + +"Perks is always coming up to ask after Jim," said Peter, "and the +signalman's little boy is better. He told me so." + +"I didn't mean the people," explained Phyllis; "I meant the dear Railway +itself." + +"The thing I don't like," said Bobbie, on this fourth day, which was a +Tuesday, "is our having stopped waving to the 9.15 and sending our love +to Father by it." + +"Let's begin again," said Phyllis. And they did. + +Somehow the change of everything that was made by having servants in +the house and Mother not doing any writing, made the time seem extremely +long since that strange morning at the beginning of things, when they +had got up so early and burnt the bottom out of the kettle and had apple +pie for breakfast and first seen the Railway. + +It was September now, and the turf on the slope to the Railway was dry +and crisp. Little long grass spikes stood up like bits of gold wire, +frail blue harebells trembled on their tough, slender stalks, Gipsy +roses opened wide and flat their lilac-coloured discs, and the golden +stars of St. John's Wort shone at the edges of the pool that lay halfway +to the Railway. Bobbie gathered a generous handful of the flowers and +thought how pretty they would look lying on the green-and-pink blanket +of silk-waste that now covered Jim's poor broken leg. + +"Hurry up," said Peter, "or we shall miss the 9.15!" + +"I can't hurry more than I am doing," said Phyllis. "Oh, bother it! My +bootlace has come undone AGAIN!" + +"When you're married," said Peter, "your bootlace will come undone going +up the church aisle, and your man that you're going to get married to +will tumble over it and smash his nose in on the ornamented pavement; +and then you'll say you won't marry him, and you'll have to be an old +maid." + +"I shan't," said Phyllis. "I'd much rather marry a man with his nose +smashed in than not marry anybody." + +"It would be horrid to marry a man with a smashed nose, all the same," +went on Bobbie. "He wouldn't be able to smell the flowers at the +wedding. Wouldn't that be awful!" + +"Bother the flowers at the wedding!" cried Peter. "Look! the signal's +down. We must run!" + +They ran. And once more they waved their handkerchiefs, without at all +minding whether the handkerchiefs were clean or not, to the 9.15. + +"Take our love to Father!" cried Bobbie. And the others, too, shouted:-- + +"Take our love to Father!" + +The old gentleman waved from his first-class carriage window. Quite +violently he waved. And there was nothing odd in that, for he always +had waved. But what was really remarkable was that from every window +handkerchiefs fluttered, newspapers signalled, hands waved wildly. The +train swept by with a rustle and roar, the little pebbles jumped and +danced under it as it passed, and the children were left looking at each +other. + +"Well!" said Peter. + +"WELL!" said Bobbie. + +"_WELL!_" said Phyllis. + +"Whatever on earth does that mean?" asked Peter, but he did not expect +any answer. + +"_I_ don't know," said Bobbie. "Perhaps the old gentleman told the +people at his station to look out for us and wave. He knew we should +like it!" + +Now, curiously enough, this was just what had happened. The old +gentleman, who was very well known and respected at his particular +station, had got there early that morning, and he had waited at the door +where the young man stands holding the interesting machine that clips +the tickets, and he had said something to every single passenger who +passed through that door. And after nodding to what the old gentleman +had said--and the nods expressed every shade of surprise, interest, +doubt, cheerful pleasure, and grumpy agreement--each passenger had gone +on to the platform and read one certain part of his newspaper. And when +the passengers got into the train, they had told the other passengers +who were already there what the old gentleman had said, and then the +other passengers had also looked at their newspapers and seemed very +astonished and, mostly, pleased. Then, when the train passed the fence +where the three children were, newspapers and hands and handkerchiefs +were waved madly, till all that side of the train was fluttery with +white like the pictures of the King's Coronation in the biograph at +Maskelyne and Cook's. To the children it almost seemed as though the +train itself was alive, and was at last responding to the love that they +had given it so freely and so long. + +"It is most extraordinarily rum!" said Peter. + +"Most stronery!" echoed Phyllis. + +But Bobbie said, "Don't you think the old gentleman's waves seemed more +significating than usual?" + +"No," said the others. + +"I do," said Bobbie. "I thought he was trying to explain something to us +with his newspaper." + +"Explain what?" asked Peter, not unnaturally. + +"_I_ don't know," Bobbie answered, "but I do feel most awfully funny. I +feel just exactly as if something was going to happen." + +"What is going to happen," said Peter, "is that Phyllis's stocking is +going to come down." + +This was but too true. The suspender had given way in the agitation of +the waves to the 9.15. Bobbie's handkerchief served as first aid to the +injured, and they all went home. + +Lessons were more than usually difficult to Bobbie that day. Indeed, she +disgraced herself so deeply over a quite simple sum about the division +of 48 pounds of meat and 36 pounds of bread among 144 hungry children +that Mother looked at her anxiously. + +"Don't you feel quite well, dear?" she asked. + +"I don't know," was Bobbie's unexpected answer. "I don't know how +I feel. It isn't that I'm lazy. Mother, will you let me off lessons +to-day? I feel as if I wanted to be quite alone by myself." + +"Yes, of course I'll let you off," said Mother; "but--" + +Bobbie dropped her slate. It cracked just across the little green mark +that is so useful for drawing patterns round, and it was never the same +slate again. Without waiting to pick it up she bolted. Mother caught her +in the hall feeling blindly among the waterproofs and umbrellas for her +garden hat. + +"What is it, my sweetheart?" said Mother. "You don't feel ill, do you?" + +"I DON'T know," Bobbie answered, a little breathlessly, "but I want to +be by myself and see if my head really IS all silly and my inside all +squirmy-twisty." + +"Hadn't you better lie down?" Mother said, stroking her hair back from +her forehead. + +"I'd be more alive in the garden, I think," said Bobbie. + +But she could not stay in the garden. The hollyhocks and the asters and +the late roses all seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It was +one of those still, shiny autumn days, when everything does seem to be +waiting. + +Bobbie could not wait. + +"I'll go down to the station," she said, "and talk to Perks and ask +about the signalman's little boy." + +So she went down. On the way she passed the old lady from the +Post-office, who gave her a kiss and a hug, but, rather to Bobbie's +surprise, no words except:-- + +"God bless you, love--" and, after a pause, "run along--do." + +The draper's boy, who had sometimes been a little less than civil and +a little more than contemptuous, now touched his cap, and uttered the +remarkable words:-- + +"'Morning, Miss, I'm sure--" + +The blacksmith, coming along with an open newspaper in his hand, was +even more strange in his manner. He grinned broadly, though, as a rule, +he was a man not given to smiles, and waved the newspaper long before +he came up to her. And as he passed her, he said, in answer to her "Good +morning":-- + +"Good morning to you, Missie, and many of them! I wish you joy, that I +do!" + +"Oh!" said Bobbie to herself, and her heart quickened its beats, +"something IS going to happen! I know it is--everyone is so odd, like +people are in dreams." + +The Station Master wrung her hand warmly. In fact he worked it up and +down like a pump-handle. But he gave her no reason for this unusually +enthusiastic greeting. He only said:-- + +"The 11.54's a bit late, Miss--the extra luggage this holiday time," +and went away very quickly into that inner Temple of his into which even +Bobbie dared not follow him. + +Perks was not to be seen, and Bobbie shared the solitude of the platform +with the Station Cat. This tortoiseshell lady, usually of a retiring +disposition, came to-day to rub herself against the brown stockings of +Bobbie with arched back, waving tail, and reverberating purrs. + +"Dear me!" said Bobbie, stooping to stroke her, "how very kind everybody +is to-day--even you, Pussy!" + +Perks did not appear until the 11.54 was signalled, and then he, like +everybody else that morning, had a newspaper in his hand. + +"Hullo!" he said, "'ere you are. Well, if THIS is the train, it'll be +smart work! Well, God bless you, my dear! I see it in the paper, and +I don't think I was ever so glad of anything in all my born days!" He +looked at Bobbie a moment, then said, "One I must have, Miss, and no +offence, I know, on a day like this 'ere!" and with that he kissed her, +first on one cheek and then on the other. + +"You ain't offended, are you?" he asked anxiously. "I ain't took too +great a liberty? On a day like this, you know--" + +"No, no," said Bobbie, "of course it's not a liberty, dear Mr. Perks; +we love you quite as much as if you were an uncle of ours--but--on a day +like WHAT?" + +"Like this 'ere!" said Perks. "Don't I tell you I see it in the paper?" + +"Saw WHAT in the paper?" asked Bobbie, but already the 11.54 was +steaming into the station and the Station Master was looking at all the +places where Perks was not and ought to have been. + +Bobbie was left standing alone, the Station Cat watching her from under +the bench with friendly golden eyes. + +Of course you know already exactly what was going to happen. Bobbie was +not so clever. She had the vague, confused, expectant feeling that comes +to one's heart in dreams. What her heart expected I can't tell--perhaps +the very thing that you and I know was going to happen--but her mind +expected nothing; it was almost blank, and felt nothing but tiredness +and stupidness and an empty feeling, like your body has when you have +been a long walk and it is very far indeed past your proper dinner-time. + +Only three people got out of the 11.54. The first was a countryman with +two baskety boxes full of live chickens who stuck their russet heads +out anxiously through the wicker bars; the second was Miss Peckitt, the +grocer's wife's cousin, with a tin box and three brown-paper parcels; +and the third-- + +"Oh! my Daddy, my Daddy!" That scream went like a knife into the heart +of everyone in the train, and people put their heads out of the windows +to see a tall pale man with lips set in a thin close line, and a little +girl clinging to him with arms and legs, while his arms went tightly +round her. + + * * * * * * + +"I knew something wonderful was going to happen," said Bobbie, as they +went up the road, "but I didn't think it was going to be this. Oh, my +Daddy, my Daddy!" + +"Then didn't Mother get my letter?" Father asked. + +"There weren't any letters this morning. Oh! Daddy! it IS really you, +isn't it?" + +The clasp of a hand she had not forgotten assured her that it was. "You +must go in by yourself, Bobbie, and tell Mother quite quietly that it's +all right. They've caught the man who did it. Everyone knows now that it +wasn't your Daddy." + +"_I_ always knew it wasn't," said Bobbie. "Me and Mother and our old +gentleman." + +"Yes," he said, "it's all his doing. Mother wrote and told me you had +found out. And she told me what you'd been to her. My own little girl!" +They stopped a minute then. + +And now I see them crossing the field. Bobbie goes into the house, +trying to keep her eyes from speaking before her lips have found the +right words to "tell Mother quite quietly" that the sorrow and the +struggle and the parting are over and done, and that Father has come +home. + +I see Father walking in the garden, waiting--waiting. He is looking at +the flowers, and each flower is a miracle to eyes that all these months +of Spring and Summer have seen only flagstones and gravel and a little +grudging grass. But his eyes keep turning towards the house. And +presently he leaves the garden and goes to stand outside the nearest +door. It is the back door, and across the yard the swallows are +circling. They are getting ready to fly away from cold winds and keen +frost to the land where it is always summer. They are the same swallows +that the children built the little clay nests for. + +Now the house door opens. Bobbie's voice calls:-- + +"Come in, Daddy; come in!" + +He goes in and the door is shut. I think we will not open the door or +follow him. I think that just now we are not wanted there. I think it +will be best for us to go quickly and quietly away. At the end of the +field, among the thin gold spikes of grass and the harebells and Gipsy +roses and St. John's Wort, we may just take one last look, over our +shoulders, at the white house where neither we nor anyone else is wanted +now. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Railway Children, by E. 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The old gentleman. +IV. The engine-burglar. +V. Prisoners and captives. +VI. Saviours of the train. +VII. For valour. +VIII. The amateur fireman. +IX. The pride of Perks. +X. The terrible secret. +XI. The hound in the red jersey. +XII. What Bobbie brought home. +XIII. The hound's grandfather. +XIV. The End. + + + + +Chapter I. The beginning of things. + + +They were not railway children to begin with. I don't suppose they +had ever thought about railways except as a means of getting to +Maskelyne and Cook's, the Pantomime, Zoological Gardens, and Madame +Tussaud's. They were just ordinary suburban children, and they +lived with their Father and Mother in an ordinary red-brick-fronted +villa, with coloured glass in the front door, a tiled passage that +was called a hall, a bath-room with hot and cold water, electric +bells, French windows, and a good deal of white paint, and 'every +modern convenience', as the house-agents say. + +There were three of them. Roberta was the eldest. Of course, +Mothers never have favourites, but if their Mother HAD had a +favourite, it might have been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wished +to be an Engineer when he grew up; and the youngest was Phyllis, who +meant extremely well. + +Mother did not spend all her time in paying dull calls to dull +ladies, and sitting dully at home waiting for dull ladies to pay +calls to her. She was almost always there, ready to play with the +children, and read to them, and help them to do their home-lessons. +Besides this she used to write stories for them while they were at +school, and read them aloud after tea, and she always made up funny +pieces of poetry for their birthdays and for other great occasions, +such as the christening of the new kittens, or the refurnishing of +the doll's house, or the time when they were getting over the mumps. + +These three lucky children always had everything they needed: +pretty clothes, good fires, a lovely nursery with heaps of toys, and +a Mother Goose wall-paper. They had a kind and merry nursemaid, and +a dog who was called James, and who was their very own. They also +had a Father who was just perfect--never cross, never unjust, and +always ready for a game--at least, if at any time he was NOT ready, +he always had an excellent reason for it, and explained the reason +to the children so interestingly and funnily that they felt sure he +couldn't help himself. + +You will think that they ought to have been very happy. And so they +were, but they did not know HOW happy till the pretty life in the +Red Villa was over and done with, and they had to live a very +different life indeed. + +The dreadful change came quite suddenly. + +Peter had a birthday--his tenth. Among his other presents was a +model engine more perfect than you could ever have dreamed of. The +other presents were full of charm, but the Engine was fuller of +charm than any of the others were. + +Its charm lasted in its full perfection for exactly three days. +Then, owing either to Peter's inexperience or Phyllis's good +intentions, which had been rather pressing, or to some other cause, +the Engine suddenly went off with a bang. James was so frightened +that he went out and did not come back all day. All the Noah's Ark +people who were in the tender were broken to bits, but nothing else +was hurt except the poor little engine and the feelings of Peter. +The others said he cried over it--but of course boys of ten do not +cry, however terrible the tragedies may be which darken their lot. +He said that his eyes were red because he had a cold. This turned +out to be true, though Peter did not know it was when he said it, +the next day he had to go to bed and stay there. Mother began to be +afraid that he might be sickening for measles, when suddenly he sat +up in bed and said: + +"I hate gruel--I hate barley water--I hate bread and milk. I want to +get up and have something REAL to eat." + +"What would you like?" Mother asked. + +"A pigeon-pie," said Peter, eagerly, "a large pigeon-pie. A very +large one." + +So Mother asked the Cook to make a large pigeon-pie. The pie was +made. And when the pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was +cooked, Peter ate some of it. After that his cold was better. +Mother made a piece of poetry to amuse him while the pie was being +made. It began by saying what an unfortunate but worthy boy Peter +was, then it went on: + + He had an engine that he loved + With all his heart and soul, + And if he had a wish on earth + It was to keep it whole. + + One day--my friends, prepare your minds; + I'm coming to the worst-- + Quite suddenly a screw went mad, + And then the boiler burst! + + With gloomy face he picked it up + And took it to his Mother, + Though even he could not suppose + That she could make another; + + For those who perished on the line + He did not seem to care, + His engine being more to him + Than all the people there. + + And now you see the reason why + Our Peter has been ill: + He soothes his soul with pigeon-pie + His gnawing grief to kill. + + He wraps himself in blankets warm + And sleeps in bed till late, + Determined thus to overcome + His miserable fate. + + And if his eyes are rather red, + His cold must just excuse it: + Offer him pie; you may be sure + He never will refuse it. + +Father had been away in the country for three or four days. All +Peter's hopes for the curing of his afflicted Engine were now fixed +on his Father, for Father was most wonderfully clever with his +fingers. He could mend all sorts of things. He had often acted as +veterinary surgeon to the wooden rocking-horse; once he had saved +its life when all human aid was despaired of, and the poor creature +was given up for lost, and even the carpenter said he didn't see his +way to do anything. And it was Father who mended the doll's cradle +when no one else could; and with a little glue and some bits of wood +and a pen-knife made all the Noah's Ark beasts as strong on their +pins as ever they were, if not stronger. + +Peter, with heroic unselfishness, did not say anything about his +Engine till after Father had had his dinner and his after-dinner +cigar. The unselfishness was Mother's idea--but it was Peter who +carried it out. And needed a good deal of patience, too. + +At last Mother said to Father, "Now, dear, if you're quite rested, +and quite comfy, we want to tell you about the great railway +accident, and ask your advice." + +"All right," said Father, "fire away!" + +So then Peter told the sad tale, and fetched what was left of the +Engine. + +"Hum," said Father, when he had looked the Engine over very +carefully. + +The children held their breaths. + +"Is there NO hope?" said Peter, in a low, unsteady voice. + +"Hope? Rather! Tons of it," said Father, cheerfully; "but it'll +want something besides hope--a bit of brazing say, or some solder, +and a new valve. I think we'd better keep it for a rainy day. In +other words, I'll give up Saturday afternoon to it, and you shall +all help me." + +"CAN girls help to mend engines?" Peter asked doubtfully. + +"Of course they can. Girls are just as clever as boys, and don't +you forget it! How would you like to be an engine-driver, Phil?" + +"My face would be always dirty, wouldn't it?" said Phyllis, in +unenthusiastic tones, "and I expect I should break something." + +"I should just love it," said Roberta--"do you think I could when +I'm grown up, Daddy? Or even a stoker?" + +"You mean a fireman," said Daddy, pulling and twisting at the +engine. "Well, if you still wish it, when you're grown up, we'll +see about making you a fire-woman. I remember when I was a boy--" + +Just then there was a knock at the front door. + +"Who on earth!" said Father. "An Englishman's house is his castle, +of course, but I do wish they built semi-detached villas with moats +and drawbridges." + +Ruth--she was the parlour-maid and had red hair--came in and said +that two gentlemen wanted to see the master. + +"I've shown them into the Library, Sir," said she. + +"I expect it's the subscription to the Vicar's testimonial," said +Mother, "or else it's the choir holiday fund. Get rid of them +quickly, dear. It does break up an evening so, and it's nearly the +children's bedtime." + +But Father did not seem to be able to get rid of the gentlemen at +all quickly. + +"I wish we HAD got a moat and drawbridge," said Roberta; "then, when +we didn't want people, we could just pull up the drawbridge and no +one else could get in. I expect Father will have forgotten about +when he was a boy if they stay much longer." + +Mother tried to make the time pass by telling them a new fairy story +about a Princess with green eyes, but it was difficult because they +could hear the voices of Father and the gentlemen in the Library, +and Father's voice sounded louder and different to the voice he +generally used to people who came about testimonials and holiday +funds. + +Then the Library bell rang, and everyone heaved a breath of relief. + +"They're going now," said Phyllis; "he's rung to have them shown +out." + +But instead of showing anybody out, Ruth showed herself in, and she +looked queer, the children thought. + +"Please'm," she said, "the Master wants you to just step into the +study. He looks like the dead, mum; I think he's had bad news. +You'd best prepare yourself for the worst, 'm--p'raps it's a death +in the family or a bank busted or--" + +"That'll do, Ruth," said Mother gently; "you can go." + +Then Mother went into the Library. There was more talking. Then +the bell rang again, and Ruth fetched a cab. The children heard +boots go out and down the steps. The cab drove away, and the front +door shut. Then Mother came in. Her dear face was as white as her +lace collar, and her eyes looked very big and shining. Her mouth +looked like just a line of pale red--her lips were thin and not +their proper shape at all. + +"It's bedtime," she said. "Ruth will put you to bed." + +"But you promised we should sit up late tonight because Father's +come home," said Phyllis. + +"Father's been called away--on business," said Mother. "Come, +darlings, go at once." + +They kissed her and went. Roberta lingered to give Mother an extra +hug and to whisper: + +"It wasn't bad news, Mammy, was it? Is anyone dead--or--" + +"Nobody's dead--no," said Mother, and she almost seemed to push +Roberta away. "I can't tell you anything tonight, my pet. Go, +dear, go NOW." + +So Roberta went. + +Ruth brushed the girls' hair and helped them to undress. (Mother +almost always did this herself.) When she had turned down the gas +and left them she found Peter, still dressed, waiting on the stairs. + +"I say, Ruth, what's up?" he asked. + +"Don't ask me no questions and I won't tell you no lies," the red- +headed Ruth replied. "You'll know soon enough." + +Late that night Mother came up and kissed all three children as they +lay asleep. But Roberta was the only one whom the kiss woke, and +she lay mousey-still, and said nothing. + +"If Mother doesn't want us to know she's been crying," she said to +herself as she heard through the dark the catching of her Mother's +breath, "we WON'T know it. That's all." + +When they came down to breakfast the next morning, Mother had +already gone out. + +"To London," Ruth said, and left them to their breakfast. + +"There's something awful the matter," said Peter, breaking his egg. +"Ruth told me last night we should know soon enough." + +"Did you ASK her?" said Roberta, with scorn. + +"Yes, I did!" said Peter, angrily. "If you could go to bed without +caring whether Mother was worried or not, I couldn't. So there." + +"I don't think we ought to ask the servants things Mother doesn't +tell us," said Roberta. + +"That's right, Miss Goody-goody," said Peter, "preach away." + +"I'M not goody," said Phyllis, "but I think Bobbie's right this +time." + +"Of course. She always is. In her own opinion," said Peter. + +"Oh, DON'T!" cried Roberta, putting down her egg-spoon; "don't let's +be horrid to each other. I'm sure some dire calamity is happening. +Don't let's make it worse!" + +"Who began, I should like to know?" said Peter. + +Roberta made an effort, and answered:-- + +"I did, I suppose, but--" + +"Well, then," said Peter, triumphantly. But before he went to +school he thumped his sister between the shoulders and told her to +cheer up. + +The children came home to one o'clock dinner, but Mother was not +there. And she was not there at tea-time. + +It was nearly seven before she came in, looking so ill and tired +that the children felt they could not ask her any questions. She +sank into an arm-chair. Phyllis took the long pins out of her hat, +while Roberta took off her gloves, and Peter unfastened her walking- +shoes and fetched her soft velvety slippers for her. + +When she had had a cup of tea, and Roberta had put eau-de-Cologne on +her poor head that ached, Mother said:-- + +"Now, my darlings, I want to tell you something. Those men last +night did bring very bad news, and Father will be away for some +time. I am very worried about it, and I want you all to help me, +and not to make things harder for me." + +"As if we would!" said Roberta, holding Mother's hand against her +face. + +"You can help me very much," said Mother, "by being good and happy +and not quarrelling when I'm away"--Roberta and Peter exchanged +guilty glances--"for I shall have to be away a good deal." + +"We won't quarrel. Indeed we won't," said everybody. And meant it, +too. + +"Then," Mother went on, "I want you not to ask me any questions +about this trouble; and not to ask anybody else any questions." + +Peter cringed and shuffled his boots on the carpet. + +"You'll promise this, too, won't you?" said Mother. + +"I did ask Ruth," said Peter, suddenly. "I'm very sorry, but I +did." + +"And what did she say?" + +"She said I should know soon enough." + +"It isn't necessary for you to know anything about it," said Mother; +"it's about business, and you never do understand business, do you?" + +"No," said Roberta; "is it something to do with Government?" For +Father was in a Government Office. + +"Yes," said Mother. "Now it's bed-time, my darlings. And don't YOU +worry. It'll all come right in the end." + +"Then don't YOU worry either, Mother," said Phyllis, "and we'll all +be as good as gold." + +Mother sighed and kissed them. + +"We'll begin being good the first thing tomorrow morning," said +Peter, as they went upstairs. + +"Why not NOW?" said Roberta. + +"There's nothing to be good ABOUT now, silly," said Peter. + +"We might begin to try to FEEL good," said Phyllis, "and not call +names." + +"Who's calling names?" said Peter. "Bobbie knows right enough that +when I say 'silly', it's just the same as if I said Bobbie." + +"WELL," said Roberta. + +"No, I don't mean what you mean. I mean it's just a--what is it +Father calls it?--a germ of endearment! Good night." + +The girls folded up their clothes with more than usual neatness-- +which was the only way of being good that they could think of. + +"I say," said Phyllis, smoothing out her pinafore, "you used to say +it was so dull--nothing happening, like in books. Now something HAS +happened." + +"I never wanted things to happen to make Mother unhappy," said +Roberta. "Everything's perfectly horrid." + +Everything continued to be perfectly horrid for some weeks. + +Mother was nearly always out. Meals were dull and dirty. The +between-maid was sent away, and Aunt Emma came on a visit. Aunt +Emma was much older than Mother. She was going abroad to be a +governess. She was very busy getting her clothes ready, and they +were very ugly, dingy clothes, and she had them always littering +about, and the sewing-machine seemed to whir--on and on all day and +most of the night. Aunt Emma believed in keeping children in their +proper places. And they more than returned the compliment. Their +idea of Aunt Emma's proper place was anywhere where they were not. +So they saw very little of her. They preferred the company of the +servants, who were more amusing. Cook, if in a good temper, could +sing comic songs, and the housemaid, if she happened not to be +offended with you, could imitate a hen that has laid an egg, a +bottle of champagne being opened, and could mew like two cats +fighting. The servants never told the children what the bad news +was that the gentlemen had brought to Father. But they kept hinting +that they could tell a great deal if they chose--and this was not +comfortable. + +One day when Peter had made a booby trap over the bath-room door, +and it had acted beautifully as Ruth passed through, that red-haired +parlour-maid caught him and boxed his ears. + +"You'll come to a bad end," she said furiously, "you nasty little +limb, you! If you don't mend your ways, you'll go where your +precious Father's gone, so I tell you straight!" + +Roberta repeated this to her Mother, and next day Ruth was sent +away. + +Then came the time when Mother came home and went to bed and stayed +there two days and the Doctor came, and the children crept +wretchedly about the house and wondered if the world was coming to +an end. + +Mother came down one morning to breakfast, very pale and with lines +on her face that used not to be there. And she smiled, as well as +she could, and said:-- + +"Now, my pets, everything is settled. We're going to leave this +house, and go and live in the country. Such a ducky dear little +white house. I know you'll love it." + +A whirling week of packing followed--not just packing clothes, like +when you go to the seaside, but packing chairs and tables, covering +their tops with sacking and their legs with straw. + +All sorts of things were packed that you don't pack when you go to +the seaside. Crockery, blankets, candlesticks, carpets, bedsteads, +saucepans, and even fenders and fire-irons. + +The house was like a furniture warehouse. I think the children +enjoyed it very much. Mother was very busy, but not too busy now to +talk to them, and read to them, and even to make a bit of poetry for +Phyllis to cheer her up when she fell down with a screwdriver and +ran it into her hand. + +"Aren't you going to pack this, Mother?" Roberta asked, pointing to +the beautiful cabinet inlaid with red turtleshell and brass. + +"We can't take everything," said Mother. + +"But we seem to be taking all the ugly things," said Roberta. + +"We're taking the useful ones," said Mother; "we've got to play at +being Poor for a bit, my chickabiddy." + +When all the ugly useful things had been packed up and taken away in +a van by men in green-baize aprons, the two girls and Mother and +Aunt Emma slept in the two spare rooms where the furniture was all +pretty. All their beds had gone. A bed was made up for Peter on +the drawing-room sofa. + +"I say, this is larks," he said, wriggling joyously, as Mother +tucked him up. "I do like moving! I wish we moved once a month." + +Mother laughed. + +"I don't!" she said. "Good night, Peterkin." + +As she turned away Roberta saw her face. She never forgot it. + +"Oh, Mother," she whispered all to herself as she got into bed, "how +brave you are! How I love you! Fancy being brave enough to laugh +when you're feeling like THAT!" + +Next day boxes were filled, and boxes and more boxes; and then late +in the afternoon a cab came to take them to the station. + +Aunt Emma saw them off. They felt that THEY were seeing HER off, +and they were glad of it. + +"But, oh, those poor little foreign children that she's going to +governess!" whispered Phyllis. "I wouldn't be them for anything!" + +At first they enjoyed looking out of the window, but when it grew +dusk they grew sleepier and sleepier, and no one knew how long they +had been in the train when they were roused by Mother's shaking them +gently and saying:-- + +"Wake up, dears. We're there." + +They woke up, cold and melancholy, and stood shivering on the +draughty platform while the baggage was taken out of the train. +Then the engine, puffing and blowing, set to work again, and dragged +the train away. The children watched the tail-lights of the guard's +van disappear into the darkness. + +This was the first train the children saw on that railway which was +in time to become so very dear to them. They did not guess then how +they would grow to love the railway, and how soon it would become +the centre of their new life, nor what wonders and changes it would +bring to them. They only shivered and sneezed and hoped the walk to +the new house would not be long. Peter's nose was colder than he +ever remembered it to have been before. Roberta's hat was crooked, +and the elastic seemed tighter than usual. Phyllis's shoe-laces had +come undone. + +"Come," said Mother, "we've got to walk. There aren't any cabs +here." + +The walk was dark and muddy. The children stumbled a little on the +rough road, and once Phyllis absently fell into a puddle, and was +picked up damp and unhappy. There were no gas-lamps on the road, +and the road was uphill. The cart went at a foot's pace, and they +followed the gritty crunch of its wheels. As their eyes got used to +the darkness, they could see the mound of boxes swaying dimly in +front of them. + +A long gate had to be opened for the cart to pass through, and after +that the road seemed to go across fields--and now it went down hill. +Presently a great dark lumpish thing showed over to the right. + +"There's the house," said Mother. "I wonder why she's shut the +shutters." + +"Who's SHE?" asked Roberta. + +"The woman I engaged to clean the place, and put the furniture +straight and get supper." + +There was a low wall, and trees inside. + +"That's the garden," said Mother. + +"It looks more like a dripping-pan full of black cabbages," said +Peter. + +The cart went on along by the garden wall, and round to the back of +the house, and here it clattered into a cobble-stoned yard and +stopped at the back door. + +There was no light in any of the windows. + +Everyone hammered at the door, but no one came. + +The man who drove the cart said he expected Mrs. Viney had gone +home. + +"You see your train was that late," said he. + +"But she's got the key," said Mother. "What are we to do?" + +"Oh, she'll have left that under the doorstep," said the cart man; +"folks do hereabouts." He took the lantern off his cart and +stooped. + +"Ay, here it is, right enough," he said. + +He unlocked the door and went in and set his lantern on the table. + +"Got e'er a candle?" said he. + +"I don't know where anything is." Mother spoke rather less +cheerfully than usual. + +He struck a match. There was a candle on the table, and he lighted +it. By its thin little glimmer the children saw a large bare +kitchen with a stone floor. There were no curtains, no hearth-rug. +The kitchen table from home stood in the middle of the room. The +chairs were in one corner, and the pots, pans, brooms, and crockery +in another. There was no fire, and the black grate showed cold, +dead ashes. + +As the cart man turned to go out after he had brought in the boxes, +there was a rustling, scampering sound that seemed to come from +inside the walls of the house. + +"Oh, what's that?" cried the girls. + +"It's only the rats," said the cart man. And he went away and shut +the door, and the sudden draught of it blew out the candle. + +"Oh, dear," said Phyllis, "I wish we hadn't come!" and she knocked a +chair over. + +"ONLY the rats!" said Peter, in the dark. + + + +Chapter II. Peter's coal-mine. + + +"What fun!" said Mother, in the dark, feeling for the matches on the +table. "How frightened the poor mice were--I don't believe they +were rats at all." + +She struck a match and relighted the candle and everyone looked at +each other by its winky, blinky light. + +"Well," she said, "you've often wanted something to happen and now +it has. This is quite an adventure, isn't it? I told Mrs. Viney to +get us some bread and butter, and meat and things, and to have +supper ready. I suppose she's laid it in the dining-room. So let's +go and see." + +The dining-room opened out of the kitchen. It looked much darker +than the kitchen when they went in with the one candle. Because the +kitchen was whitewashed, but the dining-room was dark wood from +floor to ceiling, and across the ceiling there were heavy black +beams. There was a muddled maze of dusty furniture--the breakfast- +room furniture from the old home where they had lived all their +lives. It seemed a very long time ago, and a very long way off. + +There was the table certainly, and there were chairs, but there was +no supper. + +"Let's look in the other rooms," said Mother; and they looked. And +in each room was the same kind of blundering half-arrangement of +furniture, and fire-irons and crockery, and all sorts of odd things +on the floor, but there was nothing to eat; even in the pantry there +were only a rusty cake-tin and a broken plate with whitening mixed +in it. + +"What a horrid old woman!" said Mother; "she's just walked off with +the money and not got us anything to eat at all." + +"Then shan't we have any supper at all?" asked Phyllis, dismayed, +stepping back on to a soap-dish that cracked responsively. + +"Oh, yes," said Mother, "only it'll mean unpacking one of those big +cases that we put in the cellar. Phil, do mind where you're walking +to, there's a dear. Peter, hold the light." + +The cellar door opened out of the kitchen. There were five wooden +steps leading down. It wasn't a proper cellar at all, the children +thought, because its ceiling went up as high as the kitchen's. A +bacon-rack hung under its ceiling. There was wood in it, and coal. +Also the big cases. + +Peter held the candle, all on one side, while Mother tried to open +the great packing-case. It was very securely nailed down. + +"Where's the hammer?" asked Peter. + +"That's just it," said Mother. "I'm afraid it's inside the box. +But there's a coal-shovel--and there's the kitchen poker." + +And with these she tried to get the case open. + +"Let me do it," said Peter, thinking he could do it better himself. +Everyone thinks this when he sees another person stirring a fire, or +opening a box, or untying a knot in a bit of string. + +"You'll hurt your hands, Mammy," said Roberta; "let me." + +"I wish Father was here," said Phyllis; "he'd get it open in two +shakes. What are you kicking me for, Bobbie?" + +"I wasn't," said Roberta. + +Just then the first of the long nails in the packing-case began to +come out with a scrunch. Then a lath was raised and then another, +till all four stood up with the long nails in them shining fiercely +like iron teeth in the candle-light. + +"Hooray!" said Mother; "here are some candles--the very first thing! +You girls go and light them. You'll find some saucers and things. +Just drop a little candle-grease in the saucer and stick the candle +upright in it." + +"How many shall we light?" + +"As many as ever you like," said Mother, gaily. "The great thing is +to be cheerful. Nobody can be cheerful in the dark except owls and +dormice." + +So the girls lighted candles. The head of the first match flew off +and stuck to Phyllis's finger; but, as Roberta said, it was only a +little burn, and she might have had to be a Roman martyr and be +burned whole if she had happened to live in the days when those +things were fashionable. + +Then, when the dining-room was lighted by fourteen candles, Roberta +fetched coal and wood and lighted a fire. + +"It's very cold for May," she said, feeling what a grown-up thing it +was to say. + +The fire-light and the candle-light made the dining-room look very +different, for now you could see that the dark walls were of wood, +carved here and there into little wreaths and loops. + +The girls hastily 'tidied' the room, which meant putting the chairs +against the wall, and piling all the odds and ends into a corner and +partly hiding them with the big leather arm-chair that Father used +to sit in after dinner. + +"Bravo!" cried Mother, coming in with a tray full of things. "This +is something like! I'll just get a tablecloth and then--" + +The tablecloth was in a box with a proper lock that was opened with +a key and not with a shovel, and when the cloth was spread on the +table, a real feast was laid out on it. + +Everyone was very, very tired, but everyone cheered up at the sight +of the funny and delightful supper. There were biscuits, the Marie +and the plain kind, sardines, preserved ginger, cooking raisins, and +candied peel and marmalade. + +"What a good thing Aunt Emma packed up all the odds and ends out of +the Store cupboard," said Mother. "Now, Phil, DON'T put the +marmalade spoon in among the sardines." + +"No, I won't, Mother," said Phyllis, and put it down among the Marie +biscuits. + +"Let's drink Aunt Emma's health," said Roberta, suddenly; "what +should we have done if she hadn't packed up these things? Here's to +Aunt Emma!" + +And the toast was drunk in ginger wine and water, out of willow- +patterned tea-cups, because the glasses couldn't be found. + +They all felt that they had been a little hard on Aunt Emma. She +wasn't a nice cuddly person like Mother, but after all it was she +who had thought of packing up the odds and ends of things to eat. + +It was Aunt Emma, too, who had aired all the sheets ready; and the +men who had moved the furniture had put the bedsteads together, so +the beds were soon made. + +"Good night, chickies," said Mother. "I'm sure there aren't any +rats. But I'll leave my door open, and then if a mouse comes, you +need only scream, and I'll come and tell it exactly what I think of +it." + +Then she went to her own room. Roberta woke to hear the little +travelling clock chime two. It sounded like a church clock ever so +far away, she always thought. And she heard, too, Mother still +moving about in her room. + +Next morning Roberta woke Phyllis by pulling her hair gently, but +quite enough for her purpose. + +"Wassermarrer?" asked Phyllis, still almost wholly asleep. + +"Wake up! wake up!" said Roberta. "We're in the new house--don't +you remember? No servants or anything. Let's get up and begin to +be useful. We'll just creep down mouse-quietly, and have everything +beautiful before Mother gets up. I've woke Peter. He'll be dressed +as soon as we are." + +So they dressed quietly and quickly. Of course, there was no water +in their room, so when they got down they washed as much as they +thought was necessary under the spout of the pump in the yard. One +pumped and the other washed. It was splashy but interesting. + +"It's much more fun than basin washing," said Roberta. "How sparkly +the weeds are between the stones, and the moss on the roof--oh, and +the flowers!" + +The roof of the back kitchen sloped down quite low. It was made of +thatch and it had moss on it, and house-leeks and stonecrop and +wallflowers, and even a clump of purple flag-flowers, at the far +corner. + +"This is far, far, far and away prettier than Edgecombe Villa," said +Phyllis. "I wonder what the garden's like." + +"We mustn't think of the garden yet," said Roberta, with earnest +energy. "Let's go in and begin to work." + +They lighted the fire and put the kettle on, and they arranged the +crockery for breakfast; they could not find all the right things, +but a glass ash-tray made an excellent salt-cellar, and a newish +baking-tin seemed as if it would do to put bread on, if they had +any. + +When there seemed to be nothing more that they could do, they went +out again into the fresh bright morning. + +"We'll go into the garden now," said Peter. But somehow they +couldn't find the garden. They went round the house and round the +house. The yard occupied the back, and across it were stables and +outbuildings. On the other three sides the house stood simply in a +field, without a yard of garden to divide it from the short smooth +turf. And yet they had certainly seen the garden wall the night +before. + +It was a hilly country. Down below they could see the line of the +railway, and the black yawning mouth of a tunnel. The station was +out of sight. There was a great bridge with tall arches running +across one end of the valley. + +"Never mind the garden," said Peter; "let's go down and look at the +railway. There might be trains passing." + +"We can see them from here," said Roberta, slowly; "let's sit down a +bit." + +So they all sat down on a great flat grey stone that had pushed +itself up out of the grass; it was one of many that lay about on the +hillside, and when Mother came out to look for them at eight +o'clock, she found them deeply asleep in a contented, sun-warmed +bunch. + +They had made an excellent fire, and had set the kettle on it at +about half-past five. So that by eight the fire had been out for +some time, the water had all boiled away, and the bottom was burned +out of the kettle. Also they had not thought of washing the +crockery before they set the table. + +"But it doesn't matter--the cups and saucers, I mean," said Mother. +"Because I've found another room--I'd quite forgotten there was one. +And it's magic! And I've boiled the water for tea in a saucepan." + +The forgotten room opened out of the kitchen. In the agitation and +half darkness the night before its door had been mistaken for a +cupboard's. It was a little square room, and on its table, all +nicely set out, was a joint of cold roast beef, with bread, butter, +cheese, and a pie. + +"Pie for breakfast!" cried Peter; "how perfectly ripping!" + +"It isn't pigeon-pie," said Mother; "it's only apple. Well, this is +the supper we ought to have had last night. And there was a note +from Mrs. Viney. Her son-in-law has broken his arm, and she had to +get home early. She's coming this morning at ten." + +That was a wonderful breakfast. It is unusual to begin the day with +cold apple pie, but the children all said they would rather have it +than meat. + +"You see it's more like dinner than breakfast to us," said Peter, +passing his plate for more, "because we were up so early." + +The day passed in helping Mother to unpack and arrange things. Six +small legs quite ached with running about while their owners carried +clothes and crockery and all sorts of things to their proper places. +It was not till quite late in the afternoon that Mother said:-- + +"There! That'll do for to-day. I'll lie down for an hour, so as to +be as fresh as a lark by supper-time." + +Then they all looked at each other. Each of the three expressive +countenances expressed the same thought. That thought was double, +and consisted, like the bits of information in the Child's Guide to +Knowledge, of a question and an answer. + +Q. Where shall we go? + +A. To the railway. + +So to the railway they went, and as soon as they started for the +railway they saw where the garden had hidden itself. It was right +behind the stables, and it had a high wall all round. + +"Oh, never mind about the garden now!" cried Peter. "Mother told me +this morning where it was. It'll keep till to-morrow. Let's get to +the railway." + +The way to the railway was all down hill over smooth, short turf +with here and there furze bushes and grey and yellow rocks sticking +out like candied peel from the top of a cake. + +The way ended in a steep run and a wooden fence--and there was the +railway with the shining metals and the telegraph wires and posts +and signals. + +They all climbed on to the top of the fence, and then suddenly there +was a rumbling sound that made them look along the line to the +right, where the dark mouth of a tunnel opened itself in the face of +a rocky cliff; next moment a train had rushed out of the tunnel with +a shriek and a snort, and had slid noisily past them. They felt the +rush of its passing, and the pebbles on the line jumped and rattled +under it as it went by. + +"Oh!" said Roberta, drawing a long breath; "it was like a great +dragon tearing by. Did you feel it fan us with its hot wings?" + +"I suppose a dragon's lair might look very like that tunnel from the +outside," said Phyllis. + +But Peter said:-- + +"I never thought we should ever get as near to a train as this. +It's the most ripping sport!" + +"Better than toy-engines, isn't it?" said Roberta. + +(I am tired of calling Roberta by her name. I don't see why I +should. No one else did. Everyone else called her Bobbie, and I +don't see why I shouldn't.) + +"I don't know; it's different," said Peter. "It seems so odd to see +ALL of a train. It's awfully tall, isn't it?" + +"We've always seen them cut in half by platforms," said Phyllis. + +"I wonder if that train was going to London," Bobbie said. +"London's where Father is." + +"Let's go down to the station and find out," said Peter. + +So they went. + +They walked along the edge of the line, and heard the telegraph +wires humming over their heads. When you are in the train, it seems +such a little way between post and post, and one after another the +posts seem to catch up the wires almost more quickly than you can +count them. But when you have to walk, the posts seem few and far +between. + +But the children got to the station at last. + +Never before had any of them been at a station, except for the +purpose of catching trains--or perhaps waiting for them--and always +with grown-ups in attendance, grown-ups who were not themselves +interested in stations, except as places from which they wished to +get away. + +Never before had they passed close enough to a signal-box to be able +to notice the wires, and to hear the mysterious 'ping, ping,' +followed by the strong, firm clicking of machinery. + +The very sleepers on which the rails lay were a delightful path to +travel by--just far enough apart to serve as the stepping-stones in +a game of foaming torrents hastily organised by Bobbie. + +Then to arrive at the station, not through the booking office, but +in a freebooting sort of way by the sloping end of the platform. +This in itself was joy. + +Joy, too, it was to peep into the porters' room, where the lamps +are, and the Railway almanac on the wall, and one porter half asleep +behind a paper. + +There were a great many crossing lines at the station; some of them +just ran into a yard and stopped short, as though they were tired of +business and meant to retire for good. Trucks stood on the rails +here, and on one side was a great heap of coal--not a loose heap, +such as you see in your coal cellar, but a sort of solid building of +coals with large square blocks of coal outside used just as though +they were bricks, and built up till the heap looked like the picture +of the Cities of the Plain in 'Bible Stories for Infants.' There +was a line of whitewash near the top of the coaly wall. + +When presently the Porter lounged out of his room at the twice- +repeated tingling thrill of a gong over the station door, Peter +said, "How do you do?" in his best manner, and hastened to ask what +the white mark was on the coal for. + +"To mark how much coal there be," said the Porter, "so as we'll know +if anyone nicks it. So don't you go off with none in your pockets, +young gentleman!" + +This seemed, at the time but a merry jest, and Peter felt at once +that the Porter was a friendly sort with no nonsense about him. But +later the words came back to Peter with a new meaning. + +Have you ever gone into a farmhouse kitchen on a baking day, and +seen the great crock of dough set by the fire to rise? If you have, +and if you were at that time still young enough to be interested in +everything you saw, you will remember that you found yourself quite +unable to resist the temptation to poke your finger into the soft +round of dough that curved inside the pan like a giant mushroom. +And you will remember that your finger made a dent in the dough, and +that slowly, but quite surely, the dent disappeared, and the dough +looked quite the same as it did before you touched it. Unless, of +course, your hand was extra dirty, in which case, naturally, there +would be a little black mark. + +Well, it was just like that with the sorrow the children had felt at +Father's going away, and at Mother's being so unhappy. It made a +deep impression, but the impression did not last long. + +They soon got used to being without Father, though they did not +forget him; and they got used to not going to school, and to seeing +very little of Mother, who was now almost all day shut up in her +upstairs room writing, writing, writing. She used to come down at +tea-time and read aloud the stories she had written. They were +lovely stories. + +The rocks and hills and valleys and trees, the canal, and above all, +the railway, were so new and so perfectly pleasing that the +remembrance of the old life in the villa grew to seem almost like a +dream. + +Mother had told them more than once that they were 'quite poor now,' +but this did not seem to be anything but a way of speaking. Grown- +up people, even Mothers, often make remarks that don't seem to mean +anything in particular, just for the sake of saying something, +seemingly. There was always enough to eat, and they wore the same +kind of nice clothes they had always worn. + +But in June came three wet days; the rain came down, straight as +lances, and it was very, very cold. Nobody could go out, and +everybody shivered. They all went up to the door of Mother's room +and knocked. + +"Well, what is it?" asked Mother from inside. + +"Mother," said Bobbie, "mayn't I light a fire? I do know how." + +And Mother said: "No, my ducky-love. We mustn't have fires in +June--coal is so dear. If you're cold, go and have a good romp in +the attic. That'll warm you." + +"But, Mother, it only takes such a very little coal to make a fire." + +"It's more than we can afford, chickeny-love," said Mother, +cheerfully. "Now run away, there's darlings--I'm madly busy!" + +"Mother's always busy now," said Phyllis, in a whisper to Peter. +Peter did not answer. He shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking. + +Thought, however, could not long keep itself from the suitable +furnishing of a bandit's lair in the attic. Peter was the bandit, +of course. Bobbie was his lieutenant, his band of trusty robbers, +and, in due course, the parent of Phyllis, who was the captured +maiden for whom a magnificent ransom--in horse-beans--was +unhesitatingly paid. + +They all went down to tea flushed and joyous as any mountain +brigands. + +But when Phyllis was going to add jam to her bread and butter, +Mother said:-- + +"Jam OR butter, dear--not jam AND butter. We can't afford that sort +of reckless luxury nowadays." + +Phyllis finished the slice of bread and butter in silence, and +followed it up by bread and jam. Peter mingled thought and weak +tea. + +After tea they went back to the attic and he said to his sisters:-- + +"I have an idea." + +"What's that?" they asked politely. + +"I shan't tell you," was Peter's unexpected rejoinder. + +"Oh, very well," said Bobbie; and Phil said, "Don't, then." + +"Girls," said Peter, "are always so hasty tempered." + +"I should like to know what boys are?" said Bobbie, with fine +disdain. "I don't want to know about your silly ideas." + +"You'll know some day," said Peter, keeping his own temper by what +looked exactly like a miracle; "if you hadn't been so keen on a row, +I might have told you about it being only noble-heartedness that +made me not tell you my idea. But now I shan't tell you anything at +all about it--so there!" + +And it was, indeed, some time before he could be induced to say +anything, and when he did it wasn't much. He said:-- + +"The only reason why I won't tell you my idea that I'm going to do +is because it MAY be wrong, and I don't want to drag you into it." + +"Don't you do it if it's wrong, Peter," said Bobbie; "let me do it." +But Phyllis said:-- + +"_I_ should like to do wrong if YOU'RE going to!" + +"No," said Peter, rather touched by this devotion; "it's a forlorn +hope, and I'm going to lead it. All I ask is that if Mother asks +where I am, you won't blab." + +"We haven't got anything TO blab," said Bobbie, indignantly. + +"Oh, yes, you have!" said Peter, dropping horse-beans through his +fingers. "I've trusted you to the death. You know I'm going to do +a lone adventure--and some people might think it wrong--I don't. +And if Mother asks where I am, say I'm playing at mines." + +"What sort of mines?" + +"You just say mines." + +"You might tell US, Pete." + +"Well, then, COAL-mines. But don't you let the word pass your lips +on pain of torture." + +"You needn't threaten," said Bobbie, "and I do think you might let +us help." + +"If I find a coal-mine, you shall help cart the coal," Peter +condescended to promise. + +"Keep your secret if you like," said Phyllis. + +"Keep it if you CAN," said Bobbie. + +"I'll keep it, right enough," said Peter. + +Between tea and supper there is an interval even in the most +greedily regulated families. At this time Mother was usually +writing, and Mrs. Viney had gone home. + +Two nights after the dawning of Peter's idea he beckoned the girls +mysteriously at the twilight hour. + +"Come hither with me," he said, "and bring the Roman Chariot." + +The Roman Chariot was a very old perambulator that had spent years +of retirement in the loft over the coach-house. The children had +oiled its works till it glided noiseless as a pneumatic bicycle, and +answered to the helm as it had probably done in its best days. + +"Follow your dauntless leader," said Peter, and led the way down the +hill towards the station. + +Just above the station many rocks have pushed their heads out +through the turf as though they, like the children, were interested +in the railway. + +In a little hollow between three rocks lay a heap of dried brambles +and heather. + +Peter halted, turned over the brushwood with a well-scarred boot, +and said:-- + +"Here's the first coal from the St. Peter's Mine. We'll take it +home in the chariot. Punctuality and despatch. All orders +carefully attended to. Any shaped lump cut to suit regular +customers." + +The chariot was packed full of coal. And when it was packed it had +to be unpacked again because it was so heavy that it couldn't be got +up the hill by the three children, not even when Peter harnessed +himself to the handle with his braces, and firmly grasping his +waistband in one hand pulled while the girls pushed behind. + +Three journeys had to be made before the coal from Peter's mine was +added to the heap of Mother's coal in the cellar. + +Afterwards Peter went out alone, and came back very black and +mysterious. + +"I've been to my coal-mine," he said; "to-morrow evening we'll bring +home the black diamonds in the chariot." + +It was a week later that Mrs. Viney remarked to Mother how well this +last lot of coal was holding out. + +The children hugged themselves and each other in complicated +wriggles of silent laughter as they listened on the stairs. They +had all forgotten by now that there had ever been any doubt in +Peter's mind as to whether coal-mining was wrong. + +But there came a dreadful night when the Station Master put on a +pair of old sand shoes that he had worn at the seaside in his summer +holiday, and crept out very quietly to the yard where the Sodom and +Gomorrah heap of coal was, with the whitewashed line round it. He +crept out there, and he waited like a cat by a mousehole. On the +top of the heap something small and dark was scrabbling and rattling +furtively among the coal. + +The Station Master concealed himself in the shadow of a brake-van +that had a little tin chimney and was labelled:-- + + G. N. and S. R. + 34576 + Return at once to + White Heather Sidings + +and in this concealment he lurked till the small thing on the top of +the heap ceased to scrabble and rattle, came to the edge of the +heap, cautiously let itself down, and lifted something after it. +Then the arm of the Station Master was raised, the hand of the +Station Master fell on a collar, and there was Peter firmly held by +the jacket, with an old carpenter's bag full of coal in his +trembling clutch. + +"So I've caught you at last, have I, you young thief?" said the +Station Master. + +"I'm not a thief," said Peter, as firmly as he could. "I'm a coal- +miner." + +"Tell that to the Marines," said the Station Master. + +"It would be just as true whoever I told it to," said Peter. + +"You're right there," said the man, who held him. "Stow your jaw, +you young rip, and come along to the station." + +"Oh, no," cried in the darkness an agonised voice that was not +Peter's. + +"Not the POLICE station!" said another voice from the darkness. + +"Not yet," said the Station Master. "The Railway Station first. +Why, it's a regular gang. Any more of you?" + +"Only us," said Bobbie and Phyllis, coming out of the shadow of +another truck labelled Staveley Colliery, and bearing on it the +legend in white chalk: 'Wanted in No. 1 Road.' + +"What do you mean by spying on a fellow like this?" said Peter, +angrily. + +"Time someone did spy on you, _I_ think," said the Station Master. +"Come along to the station." + +"Oh, DON'T!" said Bobbie. "Can't you decide NOW what you'll do to +us? It's our fault just as much as Peter's. We helped to carry the +coal away--and we knew where he got it." + +"No, you didn't," said Peter. + +"Yes, we did," said Bobbie. "We knew all the time. We only +pretended we didn't just to humour you." + +Peter's cup was full. He had mined for coal, he had struck coal, he +had been caught, and now he learned that his sisters had 'humoured' +him. + +"Don't hold me!" he said. "I won't run away." + +The Station Master loosed Peter's collar, struck a match and looked +at them by its flickering light. + +"Why," said he, "you're the children from the Three Chimneys up +yonder. So nicely dressed, too. Tell me now, what made you do such +a thing? Haven't you ever been to church or learned your catechism +or anything, not to know it's wicked to steal?" He spoke much more +gently now, and Peter said:-- + +"I didn't think it was stealing. I was almost sure it wasn't. I +thought if I took it from the outside part of the heap, perhaps it +would be. But in the middle I thought I could fairly count it only +mining. It'll take thousands of years for you to burn up all that +coal and get to the middle parts." + +"Not quite. But did you do it for a lark or what?" + +"Not much lark carting that beastly heavy stuff up the hill," said +Peter, indignantly. + +"Then why did you?" The Station Master's voice was so much kinder +now that Peter replied:-- + +"You know that wet day? Well, Mother said we were too poor to have +a fire. We always had fires when it was cold at our other house, +and--" + +"DON'T!" interrupted Bobbie, in a whisper. + +"Well," said the Station Master, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, +"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll look over it this once. But you +remember, young gentleman, stealing is stealing, and what's mine +isn't yours, whether you call it mining or whether you don't. Run +along home." + +"Do you mean you aren't going to do anything to us? Well, you are a +brick," said Peter, with enthusiasm. + +"You're a dear," said Bobbie. + +"You're a darling," said Phyllis. + +"That's all right," said the Station Master. + +And on this they parted. + +"Don't speak to me," said Peter, as the three went up the hill. +"You're spies and traitors--that's what you are." + +But the girls were too glad to have Peter between them, safe and +free, and on the way to Three Chimneys and not to the Police +Station, to mind much what he said. + +"We DID say it was us as much as you," said Bobbie, gently. + +"Well--and it wasn't." + +"It would have come to the same thing in Courts with judges," said +Phyllis. "Don't be snarky, Peter. It isn't our fault your secrets +are so jolly easy to find out." She took his arm, and he let her. + +"There's an awful lot of coal in the cellar, anyhow," he went on. + +"Oh, don't!" said Bobbie. "I don't think we ought to be glad about +THAT." + +"I don't know," said Peter, plucking up a spirit. "I'm not at all +sure, even now, that mining is a crime." + +But the girls were quite sure. And they were also quite sure that +he was quite sure, however little he cared to own it. + + + +Chapter III. The old gentleman. + + +After the adventure of Peter's Coal-mine, it seemed well to the +children to keep away from the station--but they did not, they could +not, keep away from the railway. They had lived all their lives in +a street where cabs and omnibuses rumbled by at all hours, and the +carts of butchers and bakers and candlestick makers (I never saw a +candlestick-maker's cart; did you?) might occur at any moment. Here +in the deep silence of the sleeping country the only things that +went by were the trains. They seemed to be all that was left to +link the children to the old life that had once been theirs. +Straight down the hill in front of Three Chimneys the daily passage +of their six feet began to mark a path across the crisp, short turf. +They began to know the hours when certain trains passed, and they +gave names to them. The 9.15 up was called the Green Dragon. The +10.7 down was the Worm of Wantley. The midnight town express, whose +shrieking rush they sometimes woke from their dreams to hear, was +the Fearsome Fly-by-night. Peter got up once, in chill starshine, +and, peeping at it through his curtains, named it on the spot. + +It was by the Green Dragon that the old gentleman travelled. He was +a very nice-looking old gentleman, and he looked as if he were nice, +too, which is not at all the same thing. He had a fresh-coloured, +clean-shaven face and white hair, and he wore rather odd-shaped +collars and a top-hat that wasn't exactly the same kind as other +people's. Of course the children didn't see all this at first. In +fact the first thing they noticed about the old gentleman was his +hand. + +It was one morning as they sat on the fence waiting for the Green +Dragon, which was three and a quarter minutes late by Peter's +Waterbury watch that he had had given him on his last birthday. + +"The Green Dragon's going where Father is," said Phyllis; "if it +were a really real dragon, we could stop it and ask it to take our +love to Father." + +"Dragons don't carry people's love," said Peter; "they'd be above +it." + +"Yes, they do, if you tame them thoroughly first. They fetch and +carry like pet spaniels," said Phyllis, "and feed out of your hand. +I wonder why Father never writes to us." + +"Mother says he's been too busy," said Bobbie; "but he'll write +soon, she says." + +"I say," Phyllis suggested, "let's all wave to the Green Dragon as +it goes by. If it's a magic dragon, it'll understand and take our +loves to Father. And if it isn't, three waves aren't much. We +shall never miss them." + +So when the Green Dragon tore shrieking out of the mouth of its dark +lair, which was the tunnel, all three children stood on the railing +and waved their pocket-handkerchiefs without stopping to think +whether they were clean handkerchiefs or the reverse. They were, as +a matter of fact, very much the reverse. + +And out of a first-class carriage a hand waved back. A quite clean +hand. It held a newspaper. It was the old gentleman's hand. + +After this it became the custom for waves to be exchanged between +the children and the 9.15. + +And the children, especially the girls, liked to think that perhaps +the old gentleman knew Father, and would meet him 'in business,' +wherever that shady retreat might be, and tell him how his three +children stood on a rail far away in the green country and waved +their love to him every morning, wet or fine. + +For they were now able to go out in all sorts of weather such as +they would never have been allowed to go out in when they lived in +their villa house. This was Aunt Emma's doing, and the children +felt more and more that they had not been quite fair to this +unattractive aunt, when they found how useful were the long gaiters +and waterproof coats that they had laughed at her for buying for +them. + +Mother, all this time, was very busy with her writing. She used to +send off a good many long blue envelopes with stories in them--and +large envelopes of different sizes and colours used to come to her. +Sometimes she would sigh when she opened them and say:-- + +"Another story come home to roost. Oh, dear, Oh, dear!" and then +the children would be very sorry. + +But sometimes she would wave the envelope in the air and say:-- +"Hooray, hooray. Here's a sensible Editor. He's taken my story and +this is the proof of it." + +At first the children thought 'the Proof' meant the letter the +sensible Editor had written, but they presently got to know that the +proof was long slips of paper with the story printed on them. + +Whenever an Editor was sensible there were buns for tea. + +One day Peter was going down to the village to get buns to celebrate +the sensibleness of the Editor of the Children's Globe, when he met +the Station Master. + +Peter felt very uncomfortable, for he had now had time to think over +the affair of the coal-mine. He did not like to say "Good morning" +to the Station Master, as you usually do to anyone you meet on a +lonely road, because he had a hot feeling, which spread even to his +ears, that the Station Master might not care to speak to a person +who had stolen coals. 'Stolen' is a nasty word, but Peter felt it +was the right one. So he looked down, and said Nothing. + +It was the Station Master who said "Good morning" as he passed by. +And Peter answered, "Good morning." Then he thought:-- + +"Perhaps he doesn't know who I am by daylight, or he wouldn't be so +polite." + +And he did not like the feeling which thinking this gave him. And +then before he knew what he was going to do he ran after the Station +Master, who stopped when he heard Peter's hasty boots crunching the +road, and coming up with him very breathless and with his ears now +quite magenta-coloured, he said:-- + +"I don't want you to be polite to me if you don't know me when you +see me." + +"Eh?" said the Station Master. + +"I thought perhaps you didn't know it was me that took the coals," +Peter went on, "when you said 'Good morning.' But it was, and I'm +sorry. There." + +"Why," said the Station Master, "I wasn't thinking anything at all +about the precious coals. Let bygones be bygones. And where were +you off to in such a hurry?" + +"I'm going to buy buns for tea," said Peter. + +"I thought you were all so poor," said the Station Master. + +"So we are," said Peter, confidentially, "but we always have three +pennyworth of halfpennies for tea whenever Mother sells a story or a +poem or anything." + +"Oh," said the Station Master, "so your Mother writes stories, does +she?" + +"The beautifulest you ever read," said Peter. + +"You ought to be very proud to have such a clever Mother." + +"Yes," said Peter, "but she used to play with us more before she had +to be so clever." + +"Well," said the Station Master, "I must be getting along. You give +us a look in at the Station whenever you feel so inclined. And as +to coals, it's a word that--well--oh, no, we never mention it, eh?" + +"Thank you," said Peter. "I'm very glad it's all straightened out +between us." And he went on across the canal bridge to the village +to get the buns, feeling more comfortable in his mind than he had +felt since the hand of the Station Master had fastened on his collar +that night among the coals. + +Next day when they had sent the threefold wave of greeting to Father +by the Green Dragon, and the old gentleman had waved back as usual, +Peter proudly led the way to the station. + +"But ought we?" said Bobbie. + +"After the coals, she means," Phyllis explained. + +"I met the Station Master yesterday," said Peter, in an offhand way, +and he pretended not to hear what Phyllis had said; "he +expresspecially invited us to go down any time we liked." + +"After the coals?" repeated Phyllis. "Stop a minute--my bootlace is +undone again." + +"It always IS undone again," said Peter, "and the Station Master was +more of a gentleman than you'll ever be, Phil--throwing coal at a +chap's head like that." + +Phyllis did up her bootlace and went on in silence, but her +shoulders shook, and presently a fat tear fell off her nose and +splashed on the metal of the railway line. Bobbie saw it. + +"Why, what's the matter, darling?" she said, stopping short and +putting her arm round the heaving shoulders. + +"He called me un-un-ungentlemanly," sobbed Phyllis. "I didn't never +call him unladylike, not even when he tied my Clorinda to the +firewood bundle and burned her at the stake for a martyr." + +Peter had indeed perpetrated this outrage a year or two before. + +"Well, you began, you know," said Bobbie, honestly, "about coals and +all that. Don't you think you'd better both unsay everything since +the wave, and let honour be satisfied?" + +"I will if Peter will," said Phyllis, sniffling. + +"All right," said Peter; "honour is satisfied. Here, use my hankie, +Phil, for goodness' sake, if you've lost yours as usual. I wonder +what you do with them." + +"You had my last one," said Phyllis, indignantly, "to tie up the +rabbit-hutch door with. But you're very ungrateful. It's quite +right what it says in the poetry book about sharper than a serpent +it is to have a toothless child--but it means ungrateful when it +says toothless. Miss Lowe told me so." + +"All right," said Peter, impatiently, "I'm sorry. THERE! Now will +you come on?" + +They reached the station and spent a joyous two hours with the +Porter. He was a worthy man and seemed never tired of answering the +questions that begin with "Why--" which many people in higher ranks +of life often seem weary of. + +He told them many things that they had not known before--as, for +instance, that the things that hook carriages together are called +couplings, and that the pipes like great serpents that hang over the +couplings are meant to stop the train with. + +"If you could get a holt of one o' them when the train is going and +pull 'em apart," said he, "she'd stop dead off with a jerk." + +"Who's she?" said Phyllis. + +"The train, of course," said the Porter. After that the train was +never again 'It' to the children. + +"And you know the thing in the carriages where it says on it, 'Five +pounds' fine for improper use.' If you was to improperly use that, +the train 'ud stop." + +"And if you used it properly?" said Roberta. + +"It 'ud stop just the same, I suppose," said he, "but it isn't +proper use unless you're being murdered. There was an old lady +once--someone kidded her on it was a refreshment-room bell, and she +used it improper, not being in danger of her life, though hungry, +and when the train stopped and the guard came along expecting to +find someone weltering in their last moments, she says, "Oh, please, +Mister, I'll take a glass of stout and a bath bun," she says. And +the train was seven minutes behind her time as it was." + +"What did the guard say to the old lady?" + +"_I_ dunno," replied the Porter, "but I lay she didn't forget it in +a hurry, whatever it was." + +In such delightful conversation the time went by all too quickly. + +The Station Master came out once or twice from that sacred inner +temple behind the place where the hole is that they sell you tickets +through, and was most jolly with them all. + +"Just as if coal had never been discovered," Phyllis whispered to +her sister. + +He gave them each an orange, and promised to take them up into the +signal-box one of these days, when he wasn't so busy. + +Several trains went through the station, and Peter noticed for the +first time that engines have numbers on them, like cabs. + +"Yes," said the Porter, "I knowed a young gent as used to take down +the numbers of every single one he seed; in a green note-book with +silver corners it was, owing to his father being very well-to-do in +the wholesale stationery." + +Peter felt that he could take down numbers, too, even if he was not +the son of a wholesale stationer. As he did not happen to have a +green leather note-book with silver corners, the Porter gave him a +yellow envelope and on it he noted:-- + + 379 + 663 + +and felt that this was the beginning of what would be a most +interesting collection. + +That night at tea he asked Mother if she had a green leather note- +book with silver corners. She had not; but when she heard what he +wanted it for she gave him a little black one. + +"It has a few pages torn out," said she; "but it will hold quite a +lot of numbers, and when it's full I'll give you another. I'm so +glad you like the railway. Only, please, you mustn't walk on the +line." + +"Not if we face the way the train's coming?" asked Peter, after a +gloomy pause, in which glances of despair were exchanged. + +"No--really not," said Mother. + +Then Phyllis said, "Mother, didn't YOU ever walk on the railway +lines when you were little?" + +Mother was an honest and honourable Mother, so she had to say, +"Yes." + +"Well, then," said Phyllis. + +"But, darlings, you don't know how fond I am of you. What should I +do if you got hurt?" + +"Are you fonder of us than Granny was of you when you were little?" +Phyllis asked. Bobbie made signs to her to stop, but Phyllis never +did see signs, no matter how plain they might be. + +Mother did not answer for a minute. She got up to put more water in +the teapot. + +"No one," she said at last, "ever loved anyone more than my mother +loved me." + +Then she was quiet again, and Bobbie kicked Phyllis hard under the +table, because Bobbie understood a little bit the thoughts that were +making Mother so quiet--the thoughts of the time when Mother was a +little girl and was all the world to HER mother. It seems so easy +and natural to run to Mother when one is in trouble. Bobbie +understood a little how people do not leave off running to their +mothers when they are in trouble even when they are grown up, and +she thought she knew a little what it must be to be sad, and have no +mother to run to any more. + +So she kicked Phyllis, who said:-- + +"What are you kicking me like that for, Bob?" + +And then Mother laughed a little and sighed and said:-- + +"Very well, then. Only let me be sure you do know which way the +trains come--and don't walk on the line near the tunnel or near +corners." + +"Trains keep to the left like carriages," said Peter, "so if we keep +to the right, we're bound to see them coming." + +"Very well," said Mother, and I dare say you think that she ought +not to have said it. But she remembered about when she was a little +girl herself, and she did say it--and neither her own children nor +you nor any other children in the world could ever understand +exactly what it cost her to do it. Only some few of you, like +Bobbie, may understand a very little bit. + +It was the very next day that Mother had to stay in bed because her +head ached so. Her hands were burning hot, and she would not eat +anything, and her throat was very sore. + +"If I was you, Mum," said Mrs. Viney, "I should take and send for +the doctor. There's a lot of catchy complaints a-going about just +now. My sister's eldest--she took a chill and it went to her +inside, two years ago come Christmas, and she's never been the same +gell since." + +Mother wouldn't at first, but in the evening she felt so much worse +that Peter was sent to the house in the village that had three +laburnum trees by the gate, and on the gate a brass plate with W. W. +Forrest, M.D., on it. + +W. W. Forrest, M.D., came at once. He talked to Peter on the way +back. He seemed a most charming and sensible man, interested in +railways, and rabbits, and really important things. + +When he had seen Mother, he said it was influenza. + +"Now, Lady Grave-airs," he said in the hall to Bobbie, "I suppose +you'll want to be head-nurse." + +"Of course," said she. + +"Well, then, I'll send down some medicine. Keep up a good fire. +Have some strong beef tea made ready to give her as soon as the +fever goes down. She can have grapes now, and beef essence--and +soda-water and milk, and you'd better get in a bottle of brandy. +The best brandy. Cheap brandy is worse than poison." + +She asked him to write it all down, and he did. + +When Bobbie showed Mother the list he had written, Mother laughed. +It WAS a laugh, Bobbie decided, though it was rather odd and feeble. + +"Nonsense," said Mother, laying in bed with eyes as bright as beads. +"I can't afford all that rubbish. Tell Mrs. Viney to boil two +pounds of scrag-end of the neck for your dinners to-morrow, and I +can have some of the broth. Yes, I should like some more water now, +love. And will you get a basin and sponge my hands?" + +Roberta obeyed. When she had done everything she could to make +Mother less uncomfortable, she went down to the others. Her cheeks +were very red, her lips set tight, and her eyes almost as bright as +Mother's. + +She told them what the Doctor had said, and what Mother had said. + +"And now," said she, when she had told all, "there's no one but us +to do anything, and we've got to do it. I've got the shilling for +the mutton." + +"We can do without the beastly mutton," said Peter; "bread and +butter will support life. People have lived on less on desert +islands many a time." + +"Of course," said his sister. And Mrs. Viney was sent to the +village to get as much brandy and soda-water and beef tea as she +could buy for a shilling. + +"But even if we never have anything to eat at all," said Phyllis, +"you can't get all those other things with our dinner money." + +"No," said Bobbie, frowning, "we must find out some other way. Now +THINK, everybody, just as hard as ever you can." + +They did think. And presently they talked. And later, when Bobbie +had gone up to sit with Mother in case she wanted anything, the +other two were very busy with scissors and a white sheet, and a +paint brush, and the pot of Brunswick black that Mrs. Viney used for +grates and fenders. They did not manage to do what they wished, +exactly, with the first sheet, so they took another out of the linen +cupboard. It did not occur to them that they were spoiling good +sheets which cost good money. They only knew that they were making +a good--but what they were making comes later. + +Bobbie's bed had been moved into Mother's room, and several times in +the night she got up to mend the fire, and to give her mother milk +and soda-water. Mother talked to herself a good deal, but it did +not seem to mean anything. And once she woke up suddenly and called +out: "Mamma, mamma!" and Bobbie knew she was calling for Granny, +and that she had forgotten that it was no use calling, because +Granny was dead. + +In the early morning Bobbie heard her name and jumped out of bed and +ran to Mother's bedside. + +"Oh--ah, yes--I think I was asleep," said Mother. "My poor little +duck, how tired you'll be--I do hate to give you all this trouble." + +"Trouble!" said Bobbie. + +"Ah, don't cry, sweet," Mother said; "I shall be all right in a day +or two." + +And Bobbie said, "Yes," and tried to smile. + +When you are used to ten hours of solid sleep, to get up three or +four times in your sleep-time makes you feel as though you had been +up all night. Bobbie felt quite stupid and her eyes were sore and +stiff, but she tidied the room, and arranged everything neatly +before the Doctor came. + +This was at half-past eight. + +"Everything going on all right, little Nurse?" he said at the front +door. "Did you get the brandy?" + +"I've got the brandy," said Bobbie, "in a little flat bottle." + +"I didn't see the grapes or the beef tea, though," said he. + +"No," said Bobbie, firmly, "but you will to-morrow. And there's +some beef stewing in the oven for beef tea." + +"Who told you to do that?" he asked. + +"I noticed what Mother did when Phil had mumps." + +"Right," said the Doctor. "Now you get your old woman to sit with +your mother, and then you eat a good breakfast, and go straight to +bed and sleep till dinner-time. We can't afford to have the head- +nurse ill." + +He was really quite a nice doctor. + +When the 9.15 came out of the tunnel that morning the old gentleman +in the first-class carriage put down his newspaper, and got ready to +wave his hand to the three children on the fence. But this morning +there were not three. There was only one. And that was Peter. + +Peter was not on the railings either, as usual. He was standing in +front of them in an attitude like that of a show-man showing off the +animals in a menagerie, or of the kind clergyman when he points with +a wand at the 'Scenes from Palestine,' when there is a magic-lantern +and he is explaining it. + +Peter was pointing, too. And what he was pointing at was a large +white sheet nailed against the fence. On the sheet there were thick +black letters more than a foot long. + +Some of them had run a little, because of Phyllis having put the +Brunswick black on too eagerly, but the words were quite easy to +read. + +And this what the old gentleman and several other people in the +train read in the large black letters on the white sheet:-- + + LOOK OUT AT THE STATION. + +A good many people did look out at the station and were +disappointed, for they saw nothing unusual. The old gentleman +looked out, too, and at first he too saw nothing more unusual than +the gravelled platform and the sunshine and the wallflowers and +forget-me-nots in the station borders. It was only just as the +train was beginning to puff and pull itself together to start again +that he saw Phyllis. She was quite out of breath with running. + +"Oh," she said, "I thought I'd missed you. My bootlaces would keep +coming down and I fell over them twice. Here, take it." + +She thrust a warm, dampish letter into his hand as the train moved. + +He leaned back in his corner and opened the letter. This is what he +read:-- + +"Dear Mr. We do not know your name. + +Mother is ill and the doctor says to give her the things at the end +of the letter, but she says she can't aford it, and to get mutton +for us and she will have the broth. We do not know anybody here but +you, because Father is away and we do not know the address. Father +will pay you, or if he has lost all his money, or anything, Peter +will pay you when he is a man. We promise it on our honer. I.O.U. +for all the things Mother wants. + + "sined Peter. + +"Will you give the parsel to the Station Master, because of us not +knowing what train you come down by? Say it is for Peter that was +sorry about the coals and he will know all right. + + "Roberta. + "Phyllis. + "Peter." + +Then came the list of things the Doctor had ordered. + +The old gentleman read it through once, and his eyebrows went up. +He read it twice and smiled a little. When he had read it thrice, +he put it in his pocket and went on reading The Times. + +At about six that evening there was a knock at the back door. The +three children rushed to open it, and there stood the friendly +Porter, who had told them so many interesting things about railways. +He dumped down a big hamper on the kitchen flags. + +"Old gent," he said; "he asked me to fetch it up straight away." + +"Thank you very much," said Peter, and then, as the Porter lingered, +he added:-- + +"I'm most awfully sorry I haven't got twopence to give you like +Father does, but--" + +"You drop it if you please," said the Porter, indignantly. "I +wasn't thinking about no tuppences. I only wanted to say I was +sorry your Mamma wasn't so well, and to ask how she finds herself +this evening--and I've fetched her along a bit of sweetbrier, very +sweet to smell it is. Twopence indeed," said he, and produced a +bunch of sweetbrier from his hat, "just like a conjurer," as Phyllis +remarked afterwards. + +"Thank you very much," said Peter, "and I beg your pardon about the +twopence." + +"No offence," said the Porter, untruly but politely, and went. + +Then the children undid the hamper. First there was straw, and then +there were fine shavings, and then came all the things they had +asked for, and plenty of them, and then a good many things they had +not asked for; among others peaches and port wine and two chickens, +a cardboard box of big red roses with long stalks, and a tall thin +green bottle of lavender water, and three smaller fatter bottles of +eau-de-Cologne. There was a letter, too. + +"Dear Roberta and Phyllis and Peter," it said; "here are the things +you want. Your mother will want to know where they came from. Tell +her they were sent by a friend who heard she was ill. When she is +well again you must tell her all about it, of course. And if she +says you ought not to have asked for the things, tell her that I say +you were quite right, and that I hope she will forgive me for taking +the liberty of allowing myself a very great pleasure." + +The letter was signed G. P. something that the children couldn't +read. + +"I think we WERE right," said Phyllis. + +"Right? Of course we were right," said Bobbie. + +"All the same," said Peter, with his hands in his pockets, "I don't +exactly look forward to telling Mother the whole truth about it." + +"We're not to do it till she's well," said Bobbie, "and when she's +well we shall be so happy we shan't mind a little fuss like that. +Oh, just look at the roses! I must take them up to her." + +"And the sweetbrier," said Phyllis, sniffing it loudly; "don't +forget the sweetbrier." + +"As if I should!" said Roberta. "Mother told me the other day there +was a thick hedge of it at her mother's house when she was a little +girl." + + + +Chapter IV. The engine-burglar. + + +What was left of the second sheet and the Brunswick black came in +very nicely to make a banner bearing the legend + + SHE IS NEARLY WELL THANK YOU + +and this was displayed to the Green Dragon about a fortnight after +the arrival of the wonderful hamper. The old gentleman saw it, and +waved a cheerful response from the train. And when this had been +done the children saw that now was the time when they must tell +Mother what they had done when she was ill. And it did not seem +nearly so easy as they had thought it would be. But it had to be +done. And it was done. Mother was extremely angry. She was seldom +angry, and now she was angrier than they had ever known her. This +was horrible. But it was much worse when she suddenly began to cry. +Crying is catching, I believe, like measles and whooping-cough. At +any rate, everyone at once found itself taking part in a crying- +party. + +Mother stopped first. She dried her eyes and then she said:-- + +"I'm sorry I was so angry, darlings, because I know you didn't +understand." + +"We didn't mean to be naughty, Mammy," sobbed Bobbie, and Peter and +Phyllis sniffed. + +"Now, listen," said Mother; "it's quite true that we're poor, but we +have enough to live on. You mustn't go telling everyone about our +affairs--it's not right. And you must never, never, never ask +strangers to give you things. Now always remember that--won't you?" + +They all hugged her and rubbed their damp cheeks against hers and +promised that they would. + +"And I'll write a letter to your old gentleman, and I shall tell him +that I didn't approve--oh, of course I shall thank him, too, for his +kindness. It's YOU I don't approve of, my darlings, not the old +gentleman. He was as kind as ever he could be. And you can give +the letter to the Station Master to give him--and we won't say any +more about it." + +Afterwards, when the children were alone, Bobbie said:-- + +"Isn't Mother splendid? You catch any other grown-up saying they +were sorry they had been angry." + +"Yes," said Peter, "she IS splendid; but it's rather awful when +she's angry." + +"She's like Avenging and Bright in the song," said Phyllis. "I +should like to look at her if it wasn't so awful. She looks so +beautiful when she's really downright furious." + +They took the letter down to the Station Master. + +"I thought you said you hadn't got any friends except in London," +said he. + +"We've made him since," said Peter. + +"But he doesn't live hereabouts?" + +"No--we just know him on the railway." + +Then the Station Master retired to that sacred inner temple behind +the little window where the tickets are sold, and the children went +down to the Porters' room and talked to the Porter. They learned +several interesting things from him--among others that his name was +Perks, that he was married and had three children, that the lamps in +front of engines are called head-lights and the ones at the back +tail-lights. + +"And that just shows," whispered Phyllis, "that trains really ARE +dragons in disguise, with proper heads and tails." + +It was on this day that the children first noticed that all engines +are not alike. + +"Alike?" said the Porter, whose name was Perks, "lor, love you, no, +Miss. No more alike nor what you an' me are. That little 'un +without a tender as went by just now all on her own, that was a +tank, that was--she's off to do some shunting t'other side o' +Maidbridge. That's as it might be you, Miss. Then there's goods +engines, great, strong things with three wheels each side--joined +with rods to strengthen 'em--as it might be me. Then there's main- +line engines as it might be this 'ere young gentleman when he grows +up and wins all the races at 'is school--so he will. The main-line +engine she's built for speed as well as power. That's one to the +9.15 up." + +"The Green Dragon," said Phyllis. + +"We calls her the Snail, Miss, among ourselves," said the Porter. +"She's oftener be'ind'and nor any train on the line." + +"But the engine's green," said Phyllis. + +"Yes, Miss," said Perks, "so's a snail some seasons o' the year." + +The children agreed as they went home to dinner that the Porter was +most delightful company. + +Next day was Roberta's birthday. In the afternoon she was politely +but firmly requested to get out of the way and keep there till tea- +time. + +"You aren't to see what we're going to do till it's done; it's a +glorious surprise," said Phyllis. + +And Roberta went out into the garden all alone. She tried to be +grateful, but she felt she would much rather have helped in whatever +it was than have to spend her birthday afternoon by herself, no +matter how glorious the surprise might be. + +Now that she was alone, she had time to think, and one of the things +she thought of most was what mother had said in one of those +feverish nights when her hands were so hot and her eyes so bright. + +The words were: "Oh, what a doctor's bill there'll be for this!" + +She walked round and round the garden among the rose-bushes that +hadn't any roses yet, only buds, and the lilac bushes and syringas +and American currants, and the more she thought of the doctor's +bill, the less she liked the thought of it. + +And presently she made up her mind. She went out through the side +door of the garden and climbed up the steep field to where the road +runs along by the canal. She walked along until she came to the +bridge that crosses the canal and leads to the village, and here she +waited. It was very pleasant in the sunshine to lean one's elbows +on the warm stone of the bridge and look down at the blue water of +the canal. Bobbie had never seen any other canal, except the +Regent's Canal, and the water of that is not at all a pretty colour. +And she had never seen any river at all except the Thames, which +also would be all the better if its face was washed. + +Perhaps the children would have loved the canal as much as the +railway, but for two things. One was that they had found the +railway FIRST--on that first, wonderful morning when the house and +the country and the moors and rocks and great hills were all new to +them. They had not found the canal till some days later. The other +reason was that everyone on the railway had been kind to them--the +Station Master, the Porter, and the old gentleman who waved. And +the people on the canal were anything but kind. + +The people on the canal were, of course, the bargees, who steered +the slow barges up and down, or walked beside the old horses that +trampled up the mud of the towing-path, and strained at the long +tow-ropes. + +Peter had once asked one of the bargees the time, and had been told +to "get out of that," in a tone so fierce that he did not stop to +say anything about his having just as much right on the towing-path +as the man himself. Indeed, he did not even think of saying it till +some time later. + +Then another day when the children thought they would like to fish +in the canal, a boy in a barge threw lumps of coal at them, and one +of these hit Phyllis on the back of the neck. She was just stooping +down to tie up her bootlace--and though the coal hardly hurt at all +it made her not care very much about going on fishing. + +On the bridge, however, Roberta felt quite safe, because she could +look down on the canal, and if any boy showed signs of meaning to +throw coal, she could duck behind the parapet. + +Presently there was a sound of wheels, which was just what she +expected. + +The wheels were the wheels of the Doctor's dogcart, and in the cart, +of course, was the Doctor. + +He pulled up, and called out:-- + +"Hullo, head nurse! Want a lift?" + +"I wanted to see you," said Bobbie. + +"Your mother's not worse, I hope?" said the Doctor. + +"No--but--" + +"Well, skip in, then, and we'll go for a drive." + +Roberta climbed in and the brown horse was made to turn round--which +it did not like at all, for it was looking forward to its tea--I +mean its oats. + +"This IS jolly," said Bobbie, as the dogcart flew along the road by +the canal. + +"We could throw a stone down any one of your three chimneys," said +the Doctor, as they passed the house. + +"Yes," said Bobbie, "but you'd have to be a jolly good shot." + +"How do you know I'm not?" said the Doctor. "Now, then, what's the +trouble?" + +Bobbie fidgeted with the hook of the driving apron. + +"Come, out with it," said the Doctor. + +"It's rather hard, you see," said Bobbie, "to out with it; because +of what Mother said." + +"What DID Mother say?" + +"She said I wasn't to go telling everyone that we're poor. But you +aren't everyone, are you?" + +"Not at all," said the Doctor, cheerfully. "Well?" + +"Well, I know doctors are very extravagant--I mean expensive, and +Mrs. Viney told me that her doctoring only cost her twopence a week +because she belonged to a Club." + +"Yes?" + +"You see she told me what a good doctor you were, and I asked her +how she could afford you, because she's much poorer than we are. +I've been in her house and I know. And then she told me about the +Club, and I thought I'd ask you--and--oh, I don't want Mother to be +worried! Can't we be in the Club, too, the same as Mrs. Viney?" + +The Doctor was silent. He was rather poor himself, and he had been +pleased at getting a new family to attend. So I think his feelings +at that minute were rather mixed. + +"You aren't cross with me, are you?" said Bobbie, in a very small +voice. + +The Doctor roused himself. + +"Cross? How could I be? You're a very sensible little woman. Now +look here, don't you worry. I'll make it all right with your +Mother, even if I have to make a special brand-new Club all for her. +Look here, this is where the Aqueduct begins." + +"What's an Aque--what's its name?" asked Bobbie. + +"A water bridge," said the Doctor. "Look." + +The road rose to a bridge over the canal. To the left was a steep +rocky cliff with trees and shrubs growing in the cracks of the rock. +And the canal here left off running along the top of the hill and +started to run on a bridge of its own--a great bridge with tall +arches that went right across the valley. + +Bobbie drew a long breath. + +"It IS grand, isn't it?" she said. "It's like pictures in the +History of Rome." + +"Right!" said the Doctor, "that's just exactly what it IS like. The +Romans were dead nuts on aqueducts. It's a splendid piece of +engineering." + +"I thought engineering was making engines." + +"Ah, there are different sorts of engineering--making road and +bridges and tunnels is one kind. And making fortifications is +another. Well, we must be turning back. And, remember, you aren't +to worry about doctor's bills or you'll be ill yourself, and then +I'll send you in a bill as long as the aqueduct." + +When Bobbie had parted from the Doctor at the top of the field that +ran down from the road to Three Chimneys, she could not feel that +she had done wrong. She knew that Mother would perhaps think +differently. But Bobbie felt that for once she was the one who was +right, and she scrambled down the rocky slope with a really happy +feeling. + +Phyllis and Peter met her at the back door. They were unnaturally +clean and neat, and Phyllis had a red bow in her hair. There was +only just time for Bobbie to make herself tidy and tie up her hair +with a blue bow before a little bell rang. + +"There!" said Phyllis, "that's to show the surprise is ready. Now +you wait till the bell rings again and then you may come into the +dining-room." + +So Bobbie waited. + +"Tinkle, tinkle," said the little bell, and Bobbie went into the +dining-room, feeling rather shy. Directly she opened the door she +found herself, as it seemed, in a new world of light and flowers and +singing. Mother and Peter and Phyllis were standing in a row at the +end of the table. The shutters were shut and there were twelve +candles on the table, one for each of Roberta's years. The table +was covered with a sort of pattern of flowers, and at Roberta's +place was a thick wreath of forget-me-nots and several most +interesting little packages. And Mother and Phyllis and Peter were +singing--to the first part of the tune of St. Patrick's Day. +Roberta knew that Mother had written the words on purpose for her +birthday. It was a little way of Mother's on birthdays. It had +begun on Bobbie's fourth birthday when Phyllis was a baby. Bobbie +remembered learning the verses to say to Father 'for a surprise.' +She wondered if Mother had remembered, too. The four-year-old verse +had been:-- + + Daddy dear, I'm only four + And I'd rather not be more. + Four's the nicest age to be, + Two and two and one and three. + What I love is two and two, + Mother, Peter, Phil, and you. + What you love is one and three, + Mother, Peter, Phil, and me. + Give your little girl a kiss + Because she learned and told you this. + +The song the others were singing now went like this:-- + + Our darling Roberta, + No sorrow shall hurt her + If we can prevent it + Her whole life long. + Her birthday's our fete day, + We'll make it our great day, + And give her our presents + And sing her our song. + May pleasures attend her + And may the Fates send her + The happiest journey + Along her life's way. + With skies bright above her + And dear ones to love her! + Dear Bob! Many happy + Returns of the day! + +When they had finished singing they cried, "Three cheers for our +Bobbie!" and gave them very loudly. Bobbie felt exactly as though +she were going to cry--you know that odd feeling in the bridge of +your nose and the pricking in your eyelids? But before she had time +to begin they were all kissing and hugging her. + +"Now," said Mother, "look at your presents." + +They were very nice presents. There was a green and red needle-book +that Phyllis had made herself in secret moments. There was a +darling little silver brooch of Mother's shaped like a buttercup, +which Bobbie had known and loved for years, but which she had never, +never thought would come to be her very own. There was also a pair +of blue glass vases from Mrs. Viney. Roberta had seen and admired +them in the village shop. And there were three birthday cards with +pretty pictures and wishes. + +Mother fitted the forget-me-not crown on Bobbie's brown head. + +"And now look at the table," she said. + +There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with 'Dear +Bobbie' on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but the +nicest thing was that the big table was almost covered with flowers- +-wallflowers were laid all round the tea-tray--there was a ring of +forget-me-nots round each plate. The cake had a wreath of white +lilac round it, and in the middle was something that looked like a +pattern all done with single blooms of lilac or wallflower or +laburnum. + +"It's a map--a map of the railway!" cried Peter. "Look--those lilac +lines are the metals--and there's the station done in brown +wallflowers. The laburnum is the train, and there are the signal- +boxes, and the road up to here--and those fat red daisies are us +three waving to the old gentleman--that's him, the pansy in the +laburnum train." + +"And there's 'Three Chimneys' done in the purple primroses," said +Phyllis. "And that little tiny rose-bud is Mother looking out for +us when we're late for tea. Peter invented it all, and we got all +the flowers from the station. We thought you'd like it better." + +"That's my present," said Peter, suddenly dumping down his adored +steam-engine on the table in front of her. Its tender had been +lined with fresh white paper, and was full of sweets. + +"Oh, Peter!" cried Bobbie, quite overcome by this munificence, "not +your own dear little engine that you're so fond of?" + +"Oh, no," said Peter, very promptly, "not the engine. Only the +sweets." + +Bobbie couldn't help her face changing a little--not so much because +she was disappointed at not getting the engine, as because she had +thought it so very noble of Peter, and now she felt she had been +silly to think it. Also she felt she must have seemed greedy to +expect the engine as well as the sweets. So her face changed. +Peter saw it. He hesitated a minute; then his face changed, too, +and he said: "I mean not ALL the engine. I'll let you go halves if +you like." + +"You're a brick," cried Bobbie; "it's a splendid present." She said +no more aloud, but to herself she said:-- + +"That was awfully jolly decent of Peter because I know he didn't +mean to. Well, the broken half shall be my half of the engine, and +I'll get it mended and give it back to Peter for his birthday."-- +"Yes, Mother dear, I should like to cut the cake," she added, and +tea began. + +It was a delightful birthday. After tea Mother played games with +them--any game they liked--and of course their first choice was +blindman's-buff, in the course of which Bobbie's forget-me-not +wreath twisted itself crookedly over one of her ears and stayed +there. Then, when it was near bed-time and time to calm down, +Mother had a lovely new story to read to them. + +"You won't sit up late working, will you, Mother?" Bobbie asked as +they said good night. + +And Mother said no, she wouldn't--she would only just write to +Father and then go to bed. + +But when Bobbie crept down later to bring up her presents--for she +felt she really could not be separated from them all night--Mother +was not writing, but leaning her head on her arms and her arms on +the table. I think it was rather good of Bobbie to slip quietly +away, saying over and over, "She doesn't want me to know she's +unhappy, and I won't know; I won't know." But it made a sad end to +the birthday. + + * * * * * * + +The very next morning Bobbie began to watch her opportunity to get +Peter's engine mended secretly. And the opportunity came the very +next afternoon. + +Mother went by train to the nearest town to do shopping. When she +went there, she always went to the Post-office. Perhaps to post her +letters to Father, for she never gave them to the children or Mrs. +Viney to post, and she never went to the village herself. Peter and +Phyllis went with her. Bobbie wanted an excuse not to go, but try +as she would she couldn't think of a good one. And just when she +felt that all was lost, her frock caught on a big nail by the +kitchen door and there was a great criss-cross tear all along the +front of the skirt. I assure you this was really an accident. So +the others pitied her and went without her, for there was no time +for her to change, because they were rather late already and had to +hurry to the station to catch the train. + +When they had gone, Bobbie put on her everyday frock, and went down +to the railway. She did not go into the station, but she went along +the line to the end of the platform where the engine is when the +down train is alongside the platform--the place where there are a +water tank and a long, limp, leather hose, like an elephant's trunk. +She hid behind a bush on the other side of the railway. She had the +toy engine done up in brown paper, and she waited patiently with it +under her arm. + +Then when the next train came in and stopped, Bobbie went across the +metals of the up-line and stood beside the engine. She had never +been so close to an engine before. It looked much larger and harder +than she had expected, and it made her feel very small indeed, and, +somehow, very soft--as if she could very, very easily be hurt rather +badly. + +"I know what silk-worms feel like now," said Bobbie to herself. + +The engine-driver and fireman did not see her. They were leaning +out on the other side, telling the Porter a tale about a dog and a +leg of mutton. + +"If you please," said Roberta--but the engine was blowing off steam +and no one heard her. + +"If you please, Mr. Engineer," she spoke a little louder, but the +Engine happened to speak at the same moment, and of course Roberta's +soft little voice hadn't a chance. + +It seemed to her that the only way would be to climb on to the +engine and pull at their coats. The step was high, but she got her +knee on it, and clambered into the cab; she stumbled and fell on +hands and knees on the base of the great heap of coals that led up +to the square opening in the tender. The engine was not above the +weaknesses of its fellows; it was making a great deal more noise +than there was the slightest need for. And just as Roberta fell on +the coals, the engine-driver, who had turned without seeing her, +started the engine, and when Bobbie had picked herself up, the train +was moving--not fast, but much too fast for her to get off. + +All sorts of dreadful thoughts came to her all together in one +horrible flash. There were such things as express trains that went +on, she supposed, for hundreds of miles without stopping. Suppose +this should be one of them? How would she get home again? She had +no money to pay for the return journey. + +"And I've no business here. I'm an engine-burglar--that's what I +am," she thought. "I shouldn't wonder if they could lock me up for +this." And the train was going faster and faster. + +There was something in her throat that made it impossible for her to +speak. She tried twice. The men had their backs to her. They were +doing something to things that looked like taps. + +Suddenly she put out her hand and caught hold of the nearest sleeve. +The man turned with a start, and he and Roberta stood for a minute +looking at each other in silence. Then the silence was broken by +them both. + +The man said, "Here's a bloomin' go!" and Roberta burst into tears. + +The other man said he was blooming well blest--or something like it- +-but though naturally surprised they were not exactly unkind. + +"You're a naughty little gell, that's what you are," said the +fireman, and the engine-driver said:-- + +"Daring little piece, I call her," but they made her sit down on an +iron seat in the cab and told her to stop crying and tell them what +she meant by it. + +She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing that helped her was +the thought that Peter would give almost his ears to be in her +place--on a real engine--really going. The children had often +wondered whether any engine-driver could be found noble enough to +take them for a ride on an engine--and now there she was. She dried +her eyes and sniffed earnestly. + +"Now, then," said the fireman, "out with it. What do you mean by +it, eh?" + +"Oh, please," sniffed Bobbie. + +"Try again," said the engine-driver, encouragingly. + +Bobbie tried again. + +"Please, Mr. Engineer," she said, "I did call out to you from the +line, but you didn't hear me--and I just climbed up to touch you on +the arm--quite gently I meant to do it--and then I fell into the +coals--and I am so sorry if I frightened you. Oh, don't be cross-- +oh, please don't!" She sniffed again. + +"We ain't so much CROSS," said the fireman, "as interested like. It +ain't every day a little gell tumbles into our coal bunker outer the +sky, is it, Bill? What did you DO it for--eh?" + +"That's the point," agreed the engine-driver; "what did you do it +FOR?" + +Bobbie found that she had not quite stopped crying. The engine- +driver patted her on the back and said: "Here, cheer up, Mate. It +ain't so bad as all that 'ere, I'll be bound." + +"I wanted," said Bobbie, much cheered to find herself addressed as +'Mate'--"I only wanted to ask you if you'd be so kind as to mend +this." She picked up the brown-paper parcel from among the coals +and undid the string with hot, red fingers that trembled. + +Her feet and legs felt the scorch of the engine fire, but her +shoulders felt the wild chill rush of the air. The engine lurched +and shook and rattled, and as they shot under a bridge the engine +seemed to shout in her ears. + +The fireman shovelled on coals. + +Bobbie unrolled the brown paper and disclosed the toy engine. + +"I thought," she said wistfully, "that perhaps you'd mend this for +me--because you're an engineer, you know." + +The engine-driver said he was blowed if he wasn't blest. + +"I'm blest if I ain't blowed," remarked the fireman. + +But the engine-driver took the little engine and looked at it--and +the fireman ceased for an instant to shovel coal, and looked, too. + +"It's like your precious cheek," said the engine-driver--"whatever +made you think we'd be bothered tinkering penny toys?" + +"I didn't mean it for precious cheek," said Bobbie; "only everybody +that has anything to do with railways is so kind and good, I didn't +think you'd mind. You don't really--do you?" she added, for she had +seen a not unkindly wink pass between the two. + +"My trade's driving of an engine, not mending her, especially such a +hout-size in engines as this 'ere," said Bill. "An' 'ow are we a- +goin' to get you back to your sorrowing friends and relations, and +all be forgiven and forgotten?" + +"If you'll put me down next time you stop," said Bobbie, firmly, +though her heart beat fiercely against her arm as she clasped her +hands, "and lend me the money for a third-class ticket, I'll pay you +back--honour bright. I'm not a confidence trick like in the +newspapers--really, I'm not." + +"You're a little lady, every inch," said Bill, relenting suddenly +and completely. "We'll see you gets home safe. An' about this +engine--Jim--ain't you got ne'er a pal as can use a soldering iron? +Seems to me that's about all the little bounder wants doing to it." + +"That's what Father said," Bobbie explained eagerly. "What's that +for?" + +She pointed to a little brass wheel that he had turned as he spoke. + +"That's the injector." + +"In--what?" + +"Injector to fill up the boiler." + +"Oh," said Bobbie, mentally registering the fact to tell the others; +"that IS interesting." + +"This 'ere's the automatic brake," Bill went on, flattered by her +enthusiasm. "You just move this 'ere little handle--do it with one +finger, you can--and the train jolly soon stops. That's what they +call the Power of Science in the newspapers." + +He showed her two little dials, like clock faces, and told her how +one showed how much steam was going, and the other showed if the +brake was working properly. + +By the time she had seen him shut off steam with a big shining steel +handle, Bobbie knew more about the inside working of an engine than +she had ever thought there was to know, and Jim had promised that +his second cousin's wife's brother should solder the toy engine, or +Jim would know the reason why. Besides all the knowledge she had +gained Bobbie felt that she and Bill and Jim were now friends for +life, and that they had wholly and forever forgiven her for +stumbling uninvited among the sacred coals of their tender. + +At Stacklepoole Junction she parted from them with warm expressions +of mutual regard. They handed her over to the guard of a returning +train--a friend of theirs--and she had the joy of knowing what +guards do in their secret fastnesses, and understood how, when you +pull the communication cord in railway carriages, a wheel goes round +under the guard's nose and a loud bell rings in his ears. She asked +the guard why his van smelt so fishy, and learned that he had to +carry a lot of fish every day, and that the wetness in the hollows +of the corrugated floor had all drained out of boxes full of plaice +and cod and mackerel and soles and smelts. + +Bobbie got home in time for tea, and she felt as though her mind +would burst with all that had been put into it since she parted from +the others. How she blessed the nail that had torn her frock! + +"Where have you been?" asked the others. + +"To the station, of course," said Roberta. But she would not tell a +word of her adventures till the day appointed, when she mysteriously +led them to the station at the hour of the 3.19's transit, and +proudly introduced them to her friends, Bill and Jim. Jim's second +cousin's wife's brother had not been unworthy of the sacred trust +reposed in him. The toy engine was, literally, as good as new. + +"Good-bye--oh, good-bye," said Bobbie, just before the engine +screamed ITS good-bye. "I shall always, always love you--and Jim's +second cousin's wife's brother as well!" + +And as the three children went home up the hill, Peter hugging the +engine, now quite its own self again, Bobbie told, with joyous leaps +of the heart, the story of how she had been an Engine-burglar. + + + +Chapter V. Prisoners and captives. + + +It was one day when Mother had gone to Maidbridge. She had gone +alone, but the children were to go to the station to meet her. And, +loving the station as they did, it was only natural that they should +be there a good hour before there was any chance of Mother's train +arriving, even if the train were punctual, which was most unlikely. +No doubt they would have been just as early, even if it had been a +fine day, and all the delights of woods and fields and rocks and +rivers had been open to them. But it happened to be a very wet day +and, for July, very cold. There was a wild wind that drove flocks +of dark purple clouds across the sky "like herds of dream- +elephants," as Phyllis said. And the rain stung sharply, so that +the way to the station was finished at a run. Then the rain fell +faster and harder, and beat slantwise against the windows of the +booking office and of the chill place that had General Waiting Room +on its door. + +"It's like being in a besieged castle," Phyllis said; "look at the +arrows of the foe striking against the battlements!" + +"It's much more like a great garden-squirt," said Peter. + +They decided to wait on the up side, for the down platform looked +very wet indeed, and the rain was driving right into the little +bleak shelter where down-passengers have to wait for their trains. + +The hour would be full of incident and of interest, for there would +be two up trains and one down to look at before the one that should +bring Mother back. + +"Perhaps it'll have stopped raining by then," said Bobbie; "anyhow, +I'm glad I brought Mother's waterproof and umbrella." + +They went into the desert spot labelled General Waiting Room, and +the time passed pleasantly enough in a game of advertisements. You +know the game, of course? It is something like dumb Crambo. The +players take it in turns to go out, and then come back and look as +like some advertisement as they can, and the others have to guess +what advertisement it is meant to be. Bobbie came in and sat down +under Mother's umbrella and made a sharp face, and everyone knew she +was the fox who sits under the umbrella in the advertisement. +Phyllis tried to make a Magic Carpet of Mother's waterproof, but it +would not stand out stiff and raft-like as a Magic Carpet should, +and nobody could guess it. Everyone thought Peter was carrying +things a little too far when he blacked his face all over with coal- +dust and struck a spidery attitude and said he was the blot that +advertises somebody's Blue Black Writing Fluid. + +It was Phyllis's turn again, and she was trying to look like the +Sphinx that advertises What's-his-name's Personally Conducted Tours +up the Nile when the sharp ting of the signal announced the up +train. The children rushed out to see it pass. On its engine were +the particular driver and fireman who were now numbered among the +children's dearest friends. Courtesies passed between them. Jim +asked after the toy engine, and Bobbie pressed on his acceptance a +moist, greasy package of toffee that she had made herself. + +Charmed by this attention, the engine-driver consented to consider +her request that some day he would take Peter for a ride on the +engine. + +"Stand back, Mates," cried the engine-driver, suddenly, "and horf +she goes." + +And sure enough, off the train went. The children watched the tail- +lights of the train till it disappeared round the curve of the line, +and then turned to go back to the dusty freedom of the General +Waiting Room and the joys of the advertisement game. + +They expected to see just one or two people, the end of the +procession of passengers who had given up their tickets and gone +away. Instead, the platform round the door of the station had a +dark blot round it, and the dark blot was a crowd of people. + +"Oh!" cried Peter, with a thrill of joyous excitement, "something's +happened! Come on!" + +They ran down the platform. When they got to the crowd, they could, +of course, see nothing but the damp backs and elbows of the people +on the crowd's outside. Everybody was talking at once. It was +evident that something had happened. + +"It's my belief he's nothing worse than a natural," said a +farmerish-looking person. Peter saw his red, clean-shaven face as +he spoke. + +"If you ask me, I should say it was a Police Court case," said a +young man with a black bag. + +"Not it; the Infirmary more like--" + +Then the voice of the Station Master was heard, firm and official:-- + +"Now, then--move along there. I'll attend to this, if YOU please." + +But the crowd did not move. And then came a voice that thrilled the +children through and through. For it spoke in a foreign language. +And, what is more, it was a language that they had never heard. +They had heard French spoken and German. Aunt Emma knew German, and +used to sing a song about bedeuten and zeiten and bin and sin. Nor +was it Latin. Peter had been in Latin for four terms. + +It was some comfort, anyhow, to find that none of the crowd +understood the foreign language any better than the children did. + +"What's that he's saying?" asked the farmer, heavily. + +"Sounds like French to me," said the Station Master, who had once +been to Boulogne for the day. + +"It isn't French!" cried Peter. + +"What is it, then?" asked more than one voice. The crowd fell back +a little to see who had spoken, and Peter pressed forward, so that +when the crowd closed up again he was in the front rank. + +"I don't know what it is," said Peter, "but it isn't French. I know +that." Then he saw what it was that the crowd had for its centre. +It was a man--the man, Peter did not doubt, who had spoken in that +strange tongue. A man with long hair and wild eyes, with shabby +clothes of a cut Peter had not seen before--a man whose hands and +lips trembled, and who spoke again as his eyes fell on Peter. + +"No, it's not French," said Peter. + +"Try him with French if you know so much about it," said the farmer- +man. + +"Parlay voo Frongsay?" began Peter, boldly, and the next moment the +crowd recoiled again, for the man with the wild eyes had left +leaning against the wall, and had sprung forward and caught Peter's +hands, and begun to pour forth a flood of words which, though he +could not understand a word of them, Peter knew the sound of. + +"There!" said he, and turned, his hands still clasped in the hands +of the strange shabby figure, to throw a glance of triumph at the +crowd; "there; THAT'S French." + +"What does he say?" + +"I don't know." Peter was obliged to own it. + +"Here," said the Station Master again; "you move on if you please. +I'LL deal with this case." + +A few of the more timid or less inquisitive travellers moved slowly +and reluctantly away. And Phyllis and Bobbie got near to Peter. +All three had been TAUGHT French at school. How deeply they now +wished that they had LEARNED it! Peter shook his head at the +stranger, but he also shook his hands as warmly and looked at him as +kindly as he could. A person in the crowd, after some hesitation, +said suddenly, "No comprenny!" and then, blushing deeply, backed out +of the press and went away. + +"Take him into your room," whispered Bobbie to the Station Master. +"Mother can talk French. She'll be here by the next train from +Maidbridge." + +The Station Master took the arm of the stranger, suddenly but not +unkindly. But the man wrenched his arm away, and cowered back +coughing and trembling and trying to push the Station Master away. + +"Oh, don't!" said Bobbie; "don't you see how frightened he is? He +thinks you're going to shut him up. I know he does--look at his +eyes!" + +"They're like a fox's eyes when the beast's in a trap," said the +farmer. + +"Oh, let me try!" Bobbie went on; "I do really know one or two +French words if I could only think of them." + +Sometimes, in moments of great need, we can do wonderful things-- +things that in ordinary life we could hardly even dream of doing. +Bobbie had never been anywhere near the top of her French class, but +she must have learned something without knowing it, for now, looking +at those wild, hunted eyes, she actually remembered and, what is +more, spoke, some French words. She said:-- + +"Vous attendre. Ma mere parlez Francais. Nous--what's the French +for 'being kind'?" + +Nobody knew. + +"Bong is 'good,'" said Phyllis. + +"Nous etre bong pour vous." + +I do not know whether the man understood her words, but he +understood the touch of the hand she thrust into his, and the +kindness of the other hand that stroked his shabby sleeve. + +She pulled him gently towards the inmost sanctuary of the Station +Master. The other children followed, and the Station Master shut +the door in the face of the crowd, which stood a little while in the +booking office talking and looking at the fast closed yellow door, +and then by ones and twos went its way, grumbling. + +Inside the Station Master's room Bobbie still held the stranger's +hand and stroked his sleeve. + +"Here's a go," said the Station Master; "no ticket--doesn't even +know where he wants to go. I'm not sure now but what I ought to +send for the police." + +"Oh, DON'T!" all the children pleaded at once. And suddenly Bobbie +got between the others and the stranger, for she had seen that he +was crying. + +By a most unusual piece of good fortune she had a handkerchief in +her pocket. By a still more uncommon accident the handkerchief was +moderately clean. Standing in front of the stranger, she got out +the handkerchief and passed it to him so that the others did not +see. + +"Wait till Mother comes," Phyllis was saying; "she does speak French +beautifully. You'd just love to hear her." + +"I'm sure he hasn't done anything like you're sent to prison for," +said Peter. + +"Looks like without visible means to me," said the Station Master. +"Well, I don't mind giving him the benefit of the doubt till your +Mamma comes. I SHOULD like to know what nation's got the credit of +HIM, that I should." + +Then Peter had an idea. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, +and showed that it was half full of foreign stamps. + +"Look here," he said, "let's show him these--" + +Bobbie looked and saw that the stranger had dried his eyes with her +handkerchief. So she said: "All right." + +They showed him an Italian stamp, and pointed from him to it and +back again, and made signs of question with their eyebrows. He +shook his head. Then they showed him a Norwegian stamp--the common +blue kind it was--and again he signed No. Then they showed him a +Spanish one, and at that he took the envelope from Peter's hand and +searched among the stamps with a hand that trembled. The hand that +he reached out at last, with a gesture as of one answering a +question, contained a RUSSIAN stamp. + +"He's Russian," cried Peter, "or else he's like 'the man who was'-- +in Kipling, you know." + +The train from Maidbridge was signalled. + +"I'll stay with him till you bring Mother in," said Bobbie. + +"You're not afraid, Missie?" + +"Oh, no," said Bobbie, looking at the stranger, as she might have +looked at a strange dog of doubtful temper. "You wouldn't hurt me, +would you?" + +She smiled at him, and he smiled back, a queer crooked smile. And +then he coughed again. And the heavy rattling swish of the incoming +train swept past, and the Station Master and Peter and Phyllis went +out to meet it. Bobbie was still holding the stranger's hand when +they came back with Mother. + +The Russian rose and bowed very ceremoniously. + +Then Mother spoke in French, and he replied, haltingly at first, but +presently in longer and longer sentences. + +The children, watching his face and Mother's, knew that he was +telling her things that made her angry and pitying, and sorry and +indignant all at once. + +"Well, Mum, what's it all about?" The Station Master could not +restrain his curiosity any longer. + +"Oh," said Mother, "it's all right. He's a Russian, and he's lost +his ticket. And I'm afraid he's very ill. If you don't mind, I'll +take him home with me now. He's really quite worn out. I'll run +down and tell you all about him to-morrow." + +"I hope you won't find you're taking home a frozen viper," said the +Station Master, doubtfully. + +"Oh, no," Mother said brightly, and she smiled; "I'm quite sure I'm +not. Why, he's a great man in his own country, writes books-- +beautiful books--I've read some of them; but I'll tell you all about +it to-morrow." + +She spoke again in French to the Russian, and everyone could see the +surprise and pleasure and gratitude in his eyes. He got up and +politely bowed to the Station Master, and offered his arm most +ceremoniously to Mother. She took it, but anybody could have seen +that she was helping him along, and not he her. + +"You girls run home and light a fire in the sitting-room," Mother +said, "and Peter had better go for the Doctor." + +But it was Bobbie who went for the Doctor. + +"I hate to tell you," she said breathlessly when she came upon him +in his shirt sleeves, weeding his pansy-bed, "but Mother's got a +very shabby Russian, and I'm sure he'll have to belong to your Club. +I'm certain he hasn't got any money. We found him at the station." + +"Found him! Was he lost, then?" asked the Doctor, reaching for his +coat. + +"Yes," said Bobbie, unexpectedly, "that's just what he was. He's +been telling Mother the sad, sweet story of his life in French; and +she said would you be kind enough to come directly if you were at +home. He has a dreadful cough, and he's been crying." + +The Doctor smiled. + +"Oh, don't," said Bobbie; "please don't. You wouldn't if you'd seen +him. I never saw a man cry before. You don't know what it's like." + +Dr. Forrest wished then that he hadn't smiled. + +When Bobbie and the Doctor got to Three Chimneys, the Russian was +sitting in the arm-chair that had been Father's, stretching his feet +to the blaze of a bright wood fire, and sipping the tea Mother had +made him. + +"The man seems worn out, mind and body," was what the Doctor said; +"the cough's bad, but there's nothing that can't be cured. He ought +to go straight to bed, though--and let him have a fire at night." + +"I'll make one in my room; it's the only one with a fireplace," said +Mother. She did, and presently the Doctor helped the stranger to +bed. + +There was a big black trunk in Mother's room that none of the +children had ever seen unlocked. Now, when she had lighted the +fire, she unlocked it and took some clothes out--men's clothes--and +set them to air by the newly lighted fire. Bobbie, coming in with +more wood for the fire, saw the mark on the night-shirt, and looked +over to the open trunk. All the things she could see were men's +clothes. And the name marked on the shirt was Father's name. Then +Father hadn't taken his clothes with him. And that night-shirt was +one of Father's new ones. Bobbie remembered its being made, just +before Peter's birthday. Why hadn't Father taken his clothes? +Bobbie slipped from the room. As she went she heard the key turned +in the lock of the trunk. Her heart was beating horribly. WHY +hadn't Father taken his clothes? When Mother came out of the room, +Bobbie flung tightly clasping arms round her waist, and whispered:-- + +"Mother--Daddy isn't--isn't DEAD, is he?" + +"My darling, no! What made you think of anything so horrible?" + +"I--I don't know," said Bobbie, angry with herself, but still +clinging to that resolution of hers, not to see anything that Mother +didn't mean her to see. + +Mother gave her a hurried hug. "Daddy was quite, QUITE well when I +heard from him last," she said, "and he'll come back to us some day. +Don't fancy such horrible things, darling!" + +Later on, when the Russian stranger had been made comfortable for +the night, Mother came into the girls' room. She was to sleep there +in Phyllis's bed, and Phyllis was to have a mattress on the floor, a +most amusing adventure for Phyllis. Directly Mother came in, two +white figures started up, and two eager voices called:-- + +"Now, Mother, tell us all about the Russian gentleman." + +A white shape hopped into the room. It was Peter, dragging his +quilt behind him like the tail of a white peacock. + +"We have been patient," he said, "and I had to bite my tongue not to +go to sleep, and I just nearly went to sleep and I bit too hard, and +it hurts ever so. DO tell us. Make a nice long story of it." + +"I can't make a long story of it to-night," said Mother; "I'm very +tired." + +Bobbie knew by her voice that Mother had been crying, but the others +didn't know. + +"Well, make it as long as you can," said Phil, and Bobbie got her +arms round Mother's waist and snuggled close to her. + +"Well, it's a story long enough to make a whole book of. He's a +writer; he's written beautiful books. In Russia at the time of the +Czar one dared not say anything about the rich people doing wrong, +or about the things that ought to be done to make poor people better +and happier. If one did one was sent to prison." + +"But they CAN'T," said Peter; "people only go to prison when they've +done wrong." + +"Or when the Judges THINK they've done wrong," said Mother. "Yes, +that's so in England. But in Russia it was different. And he wrote +a beautiful book about poor people and how to help them. I've read +it. There's nothing in it but goodness and kindness. And they sent +him to prison for it. He was three years in a horrible dungeon, +with hardly any light, and all damp and dreadful. In prison all +alone for three years." + +Mother's voice trembled a little and stopped suddenly. + +"But, Mother," said Peter, "that can't be true NOW. It sounds like +something out of a history book--the Inquisition, or something." + +"It WAS true," said Mother; "it's all horribly true. Well, then +they took him out and sent him to Siberia, a convict chained to +other convicts--wicked men who'd done all sorts of crimes--a long +chain of them, and they walked, and walked, and walked, for days and +weeks, till he thought they'd never stop walking. And overseers +went behind them with whips--yes, whips--to beat them if they got +tired. And some of them went lame, and some fell down, and when +they couldn't get up and go on, they beat them, and then left them +to die. Oh, it's all too terrible! And at last he got to the +mines, and he was condemned to stay there for life--for life, just +for writing a good, noble, splendid book." + +"How did he get away?" + +"When the war came, some of the Russian prisoners were allowed to +volunteer as soldiers. And he volunteered. But he deserted at the +first chance he got and--" + +"But that's very cowardly, isn't it"--said Peter--"to desert? +Especially when it's war." + +"Do you think he owed anything to a country that had done THAT to +him? If he did, he owed more to his wife and children. He didn't +know what had become of them." + +"Oh," cried Bobbie, "he had THEM to think about and be miserable +about TOO, then, all the time he was in prison?" + +"Yes, he had them to think about and be miserable about all the time +he was in prison. For anything he knew they might have been sent to +prison, too. They did those things in Russia. But while he was in +the mines some friends managed to get a message to him that his wife +and children had escaped and come to England. So when he deserted +he came here to look for them." + +"Had he got their address?" said practical Peter. + +"No; just England. He was going to London, and he thought he had to +change at our station, and then he found he'd lost his ticket and +his purse." + +"Oh, DO you think he'll find them?--I mean his wife and children, +not the ticket and things." + +"I hope so. Oh, I hope and pray that he'll find his wife and +children again." + +Even Phyllis now perceived that mother's voice was very unsteady. + +"Why, Mother," she said, "how very sorry you seem to be for him!" + +Mother didn't answer for a minute. Then she just said, "Yes," and +then she seemed to be thinking. The children were quiet. + +Presently she said, "Dears, when you say your prayers, I think you +might ask God to show His pity upon all prisoners and captives." + +"To show His pity," Bobbie repeated slowly, "upon all prisoners and +captives. Is that right, Mother?" + +"Yes," said Mother, "upon all prisoners and captives. All prisoners +and captives." + + + +Chapter VI. Saviours of the train. + + +The Russian gentleman was better the next day, and the day after +that better still, and on the third day he was well enough to come +into the garden. A basket chair was put for him and he sat there, +dressed in clothes of Father's which were too big for him. But when +Mother had hemmed up the ends of the sleeves and the trousers, the +clothes did well enough. His was a kind face now that it was no +longer tired and frightened, and he smiled at the children whenever +he saw them. They wished very much that he could speak English. +Mother wrote several letters to people she thought might know +whereabouts in England a Russian gentleman's wife and family might +possibly be; not to the people she used to know before she came to +live at Three Chimneys--she never wrote to any of them--but strange +people--Members of Parliament and Editors of papers, and Secretaries +of Societies. + +And she did not do much of her story-writing, only corrected proofs +as she sat in the sun near the Russian, and talked to him every now +and then. + +The children wanted very much to show how kindly they felt to this +man who had been sent to prison and to Siberia just for writing a +beautiful book about poor people. They could smile at him, of +course; they could and they did. But if you smile too constantly, +the smile is apt to get fixed like the smile of the hyaena. And +then it no longer looks friendly, but simply silly. So they tried +other ways, and brought him flowers till the place where he sat was +surrounded by little fading bunches of clover and roses and +Canterbury bells. + +And then Phyllis had an idea. She beckoned mysteriously to the +others and drew them into the back yard, and there, in a concealed +spot, between the pump and the water-butt, she said:-- + +"You remember Perks promising me the very first strawberries out of +his own garden?" Perks, you will recollect, was the Porter. "Well, +I should think they're ripe now. Let's go down and see." + +Mother had been down as she had promised to tell the Station Master +the story of the Russian Prisoner. But even the charms of the +railway had been unable to tear the children away from the +neighbourhood of the interesting stranger. So they had not been to +the station for three days. + +They went now. + +And, to their surprise and distress, were very coldly received by +Perks. + +"'Ighly honoured, I'm sure," he said when they peeped in at the door +of the Porters' room. And he went on reading his newspaper. + +There was an uncomfortable silence. + +"Oh, dear," said Bobbie, with a sigh, "I do believe you're CROSS." + +"What, me? Not me!" said Perks loftily; "it ain't nothing to me." + +"What AIN'T nothing to you?" said Peter, too anxious and alarmed to +change the form of words. + +"Nothing ain't nothing. What 'appens either 'ere or elsewhere," +said Perks; "if you likes to 'ave your secrets, 'ave 'em and +welcome. That's what I say." + +The secret-chamber of each heart was rapidly examined during the +pause that followed. Three heads were shaken. + +"We haven't got any secrets from YOU," said Bobbie at last. + +"Maybe you 'ave, and maybe you 'aven't," said Perks; "it ain't +nothing to me. And I wish you all a very good afternoon." He held +up the paper between him and them and went on reading. + +"Oh, DON'T!" said Phyllis, in despair; "this is truly dreadful! +Whatever it is, do tell us." + +"We didn't mean to do it whatever it was." + +No answer. The paper was refolded and Perks began on another +column. + +"Look here," said Peter, suddenly, "it's not fair. Even people who +do crimes aren't punished without being told what it's for--as once +they were in Russia." + +"I don't know nothing about Russia." + +"Oh, yes, you do, when Mother came down on purpose to tell you and +Mr. Gills all about OUR Russian." + +"Can't you fancy it?" said Perks, indignantly; "don't you see 'im a- +asking of me to step into 'is room and take a chair and listen to +what 'er Ladyship 'as to say?" + +"Do you mean to say you've not heard?" + +"Not so much as a breath. I did go so far as to put a question. +And he shuts me up like a rat-trap. 'Affairs of State, Perks,' says +he. But I did think one o' you would 'a' nipped down to tell me-- +you're here sharp enough when you want to get anything out of old +Perks"--Phyllis flushed purple as she thought of the strawberries-- +"information about locomotives or signals or the likes," said Perks. + +"We didn't know you didn't know." + +"We thought Mother had told you." + +"Wewantedtotellyouonlywethoughtitwouldbestalenews." + +The three spoke all at once. + +Perks said it was all very well, and still held up the paper. Then +Phyllis suddenly snatched it away, and threw her arms round his +neck. + +"Oh, let's kiss and be friends," she said; "we'll say we're sorry +first, if you like, but we didn't really know that you didn't know." + +"We are so sorry," said the others. + +And Perks at last consented to accept their apologies. + +Then they got him to come out and sit in the sun on the green +Railway Bank, where the grass was quite hot to touch, and there, +sometimes speaking one at a time, and sometimes all together, they +told the Porter the story of the Russian Prisoner. + +"Well, I must say," said Perks; but he did not say it--whatever it +was. + +"Yes, it is pretty awful, isn't it?" said Peter, "and I don't wonder +you were curious about who the Russian was." + +"I wasn't curious, not so much as interested," said the Porter. + +"Well, I do think Mr. Gills might have told you about it. It was +horrid of him." + +"I don't keep no down on 'im for that, Missie," said the Porter; +"cos why? I see 'is reasons. 'E wouldn't want to give away 'is own +side with a tale like that 'ere. It ain't human nature. A man's +got to stand up for his own side whatever they does. That's what it +means by Party Politics. I should 'a' done the same myself if that +long-'aired chap 'ad 'a' been a Jap." + +"But the Japs didn't do cruel, wicked things like that," said +Bobbie. + +"P'r'aps not," said Perks, cautiously; "still you can't be sure with +foreigners. My own belief is they're all tarred with the same +brush." + +"Then why were you on the side of the Japs?" Peter asked. + +"Well, you see, you must take one side or the other. Same as with +Liberals and Conservatives. The great thing is to take your side +and then stick to it, whatever happens." + +A signal sounded. + +"There's the 3.14 up," said Perks. "You lie low till she's through, +and then we'll go up along to my place, and see if there's any of +them strawberries ripe what I told you about." + +"If there are any ripe, and you DO give them to me," said Phyllis, +"you won't mind if I give them to the poor Russian, will you?" + +Perks narrowed his eyes and then raised his eyebrows. + +"So it was them strawberries you come down for this afternoon, eh?" +said he. + +This was an awkward moment for Phyllis. To say "yes" would seem +rude and greedy, and unkind to Perks. But she knew if she said +"no," she would not be pleased with herself afterwards. So-- + +"Yes," she said, "it was." + +"Well done!" said the Porter; "speak the truth and shame the--" + +"But we'd have come down the very next day if we'd known you hadn't +heard the story," Phyllis added hastily. + +"I believe you, Missie," said Perks, and sprang across the line six +feet in front of the advancing train. + +The girls hated to see him do this, but Peter liked it. It was so +exciting. + +The Russian gentleman was so delighted with the strawberries that +the three racked their brains to find some other surprise for him. +But all the racking did not bring out any idea more novel than wild +cherries. And this idea occurred to them next morning. They had +seen the blossom on the trees in the spring, and they knew where to +look for wild cherries now that cherry time was here. The trees +grew all up and along the rocky face of the cliff out of which the +mouth of the tunnel opened. There were all sorts of trees there, +birches and beeches and baby oaks and hazels, and among them the +cherry blossom had shone like snow and silver. + +The mouth of the tunnel was some way from Three Chimneys, so Mother +let them take their lunch with them in a basket. And the basket +would do to bring the cherries back in if they found any. She also +lent them her silver watch so that they should not be late for tea. +Peter's Waterbury had taken it into its head not to go since the day +when Peter dropped it into the water-butt. And they started. When +they got to the top of the cutting, they leaned over the fence and +looked down to where the railway lines lay at the bottom of what, as +Phyllis said, was exactly like a mountain gorge. + +"If it wasn't for the railway at the bottom, it would be as though +the foot of man had never been there, wouldn't it?" + +The sides of the cutting were of grey stone, very roughly hewn. +Indeed, the top part of the cutting had been a little natural glen +that had been cut deeper to bring it down to the level of the +tunnel's mouth. Among the rocks, grass and flowers grew, and seeds +dropped by birds in the crannies of the stone had taken root and +grown into bushes and trees that overhung the cutting. Near the +tunnel was a flight of steps leading down to the line--just wooden +bars roughly fixed into the earth--a very steep and narrow way, more +like a ladder than a stair. + +"We'd better get down," said Peter; "I'm sure the cherries would be +quite easy to get at from the side of the steps. You remember it +was there we picked the cherry blossoms that we put on the rabbit's +grave." + +So they went along the fence towards the little swing gate that is +at the top of these steps. And they were almost at the gate when +Bobbie said:-- + +"Hush. Stop! What's that?" + +"That" was a very odd noise indeed--a soft noise, but quite plainly +to be heard through the sound of the wind in tree branches, and the +hum and whir of the telegraph wires. It was a sort of rustling, +whispering sound. As they listened it stopped, and then it began +again. + +And this time it did not stop, but it grew louder and more rustling +and rumbling. + +"Look"--cried Peter, suddenly--"the tree over there!" + +The tree he pointed at was one of those that have rough grey leaves +and white flowers. The berries, when they come, are bright scarlet, +but if you pick them, they disappoint you by turning black before +you get them home. And, as Peter pointed, the tree was moving--not +just the way trees ought to move when the wind blows through them, +but all in one piece, as though it were a live creature and were +walking down the side of the cutting. + +"It's moving!" cried Bobbie. "Oh, look! and so are the others. +It's like the woods in Macbeth." + +"It's magic," said Phyllis, breathlessly. "I always knew this +railway was enchanted." + +It really did seem a little like magic. For all the trees for about +twenty yards of the opposite bank seemed to be slowly walking down +towards the railway line, the tree with the grey leaves bringing up +the rear like some old shepherd driving a flock of green sheep. + +"What is it? Oh, what is it?" said Phyllis; "it's much too magic +for me. I don't like it. Let's go home." + +But Bobbie and Peter clung fast to the rail and watched +breathlessly. And Phyllis made no movement towards going home by +herself. + +The trees moved on and on. Some stones and loose earth fell down +and rattled on the railway metals far below. + +"It's ALL coming down," Peter tried to say, but he found there was +hardly any voice to say it with. And, indeed, just as he spoke, the +great rock, on the top of which the walking trees were, leaned +slowly forward. The trees, ceasing to walk, stood still and +shivered. Leaning with the rock, they seemed to hesitate a moment, +and then rock and trees and grass and bushes, with a rushing sound, +slipped right away from the face of the cutting and fell on the line +with a blundering crash that could have been heard half a mile off. +A cloud of dust rose up. + +"Oh," said Peter, in awestruck tones, "isn't it exactly like when +coals come in?--if there wasn't any roof to the cellar and you could +see down." + +"Look what a great mound it's made!" said Bobbie. + +"Yes," said Peter, slowly. He was still leaning on the fence. +"Yes," he said again, still more slowly. + +Then he stood upright. + +"The 11.29 down hasn't gone by yet. We must let them know at the +station, or there'll be a most frightful accident." + +"Let's run," said Bobbie, and began. + +But Peter cried, "Come back!" and looked at Mother's watch. He was +very prompt and businesslike, and his face looked whiter than they +had ever seen it. + +"No time," he said; "it's two miles away, and it's past eleven." + +"Couldn't we," suggested Phyllis, breathlessly, "couldn't we climb +up a telegraph post and do something to the wires?" + +"We don't know how," said Peter. + +"They do it in war," said Phyllis; "I know I've heard of it." + +"They only CUT them, silly," said Peter, "and that doesn't do any +good. And we couldn't cut them even if we got up, and we couldn't +get up. If we had anything red, we could get down on the line and +wave it." + +"But the train wouldn't see us till it got round the corner, and +then it could see the mound just as well as us," said Phyllis; +"better, because it's much bigger than us." + +"If we only had something red," Peter repeated, "we could go round +the corner and wave to the train." + +"We might wave, anyway." + +"They'd only think it was just US, as usual. We've waved so often +before. Anyway, let's get down." + +They got down the steep stairs. Bobbie was pale and shivering. +Peter's face looked thinner than usual. Phyllis was red-faced and +damp with anxiety. + +"Oh, how hot I am!" she said; "and I thought it was going to be +cold; I wish we hadn't put on our--" she stopped short, and then +ended in quite a different tone--"our flannel petticoats." + +Bobbie turned at the bottom of the stairs. + +"Oh, yes," she cried; "THEY'RE red! Let's take them off." + +They did, and with the petticoats rolled up under their arms, ran +along the railway, skirting the newly fallen mound of stones and +rock and earth, and bent, crushed, twisted trees. They ran at their +best pace. Peter led, but the girls were not far behind. They +reached the corner that hid the mound from the straight line of +railway that ran half a mile without curve or corner. + +"Now," said Peter, taking hold of the largest flannel petticoat. + +"You're not"--Phyllis faltered--"you're not going to TEAR them?" + +"Shut up," said Peter, with brief sternness. + +"Oh, yes," said Bobbie, "tear them into little bits if you like. +Don't you see, Phil, if we can't stop the train, there'll be a real +live accident, with people KILLED. Oh, horrible! Here, Peter, +you'll never tear it through the band!" + +She took the red flannel petticoat from him and tore it off an inch +from the band. Then she tore the other in the same way. + +"There!" said Peter, tearing in his turn. He divided each petticoat +into three pieces. "Now, we've got six flags." He looked at the +watch again. "And we've got seven minutes. We must have +flagstaffs." + +The knives given to boys are, for some odd reason, seldom of the +kind of steel that keeps sharp. The young saplings had to be broken +off. Two came up by the roots. The leaves were stripped from them. + +"We must cut holes in the flags, and run the sticks through the +holes," said Peter. And the holes were cut. The knife was sharp +enough to cut flannel with. Two of the flags were set up in heaps +of loose stones between the sleepers of the down line. Then Phyllis +and Roberta took each a flag, and stood ready to wave it as soon as +the train came in sight. + +"I shall have the other two myself," said Peter, "because it was my +idea to wave something red." + +"They're our petticoats, though," Phyllis was beginning, but Bobbie +interrupted-- + +"Oh, what does it matter who waves what, if we can only save the +train?" + +Perhaps Peter had not rightly calculated the number of minutes it +would take the 11.29 to get from the station to the place where they +were, or perhaps the train was late. Anyway, it seemed a very long +time that they waited. + +Phyllis grew impatient. "I expect the watch is wrong, and the +train's gone by," said she. + +Peter relaxed the heroic attitude he had chosen to show off his two +flags. And Bobbie began to feel sick with suspense. + +It seemed to her that they had been standing there for hours and +hours, holding those silly little red flannel flags that no one +would ever notice. The train wouldn't care. It would go rushing by +them and tear round the corner and go crashing into that awful +mound. And everyone would be killed. Her hands grew very cold and +trembled so that she could hardly hold the flag. And then came the +distant rumble and hum of the metals, and a puff of white steam +showed far away along the stretch of line. + +"Stand firm," said Peter, "and wave like mad! When it gets to that +big furze bush step back, but go on waving! Don't stand ON the +line, Bobbie!" + +The train came rattling along very, very fast. + +"They don't see us! They won't see us! It's all no good!" cried +Bobbie. + +The two little flags on the line swayed as the nearing train shook +and loosened the heaps of loose stones that held them up. One of +them slowly leaned over and fell on the line. Bobbie jumped forward +and caught it up, and waved it; her hands did not tremble now. + +It seemed that the train came on as fast as ever. It was very near +now. + +"Keep off the line, you silly cuckoo!" said Peter, fiercely. + +"It's no good," Bobbie said again. + +"Stand back!" cried Peter, suddenly, and he dragged Phyllis back by +the arm. + +But Bobbie cried, "Not yet, not yet!" and waved her two flags right +over the line. The front of the engine looked black and enormous. +It's voice was loud and harsh. + +"Oh, stop, stop, stop!" cried Bobbie. No one heard her. At least +Peter and Phyllis didn't, for the oncoming rush of the train covered +the sound of her voice with a mountain of sound. But afterwards she +used to wonder whether the engine itself had not heard her. It +seemed almost as though it had--for it slackened swiftly, slackened +and stopped, not twenty yards from the place where Bobbie's two +flags waved over the line. She saw the great black engine stop +dead, but somehow she could not stop waving the flags. And when the +driver and the fireman had got off the engine and Peter and Phyllis +had gone to meet them and pour out their excited tale of the awful +mound just round the corner, Bobbie still waved the flags but more +and more feebly and jerkily. + +When the others turned towards her she was lying across the line +with her hands flung forward and still gripping the sticks of the +little red flannel flags. + +The engine-driver picked her up, carried her to the train, and laid +her on the cushions of a first-class carriage. + +"Gone right off in a faint," he said, "poor little woman. And no +wonder. I'll just 'ave a look at this 'ere mound of yours, and then +we'll run you back to the station and get her seen to." + +It was horrible to see Bobbie lying so white and quiet, with her +lips blue, and parted. + +"I believe that's what people look like when they're dead," +whispered Phyllis. + +"DON'T!" said Peter, sharply. + +They sat by Bobbie on the blue cushions, and the train ran back. +Before it reached their station Bobbie had sighed and opened her +eyes, and rolled herself over and begun to cry. This cheered the +others wonderfully. They had seen her cry before, but they had +never seen her faint, nor anyone else, for the matter of that. They +had not known what to do when she was fainting, but now she was only +crying they could thump her on the back and tell her not to, just as +they always did. And presently, when she stopped crying, they were +able to laugh at her for being such a coward as to faint. + +When the station was reached, the three were the heroes of an +agitated meeting on the platform. + +The praises they got for their "prompt action," their "common +sense," their "ingenuity," were enough to have turned anybody's +head. Phyllis enjoyed herself thoroughly. She had never been a +real heroine before, and the feeling was delicious. Peter's ears +got very red. Yet he, too, enjoyed himself. Only Bobbie wished +they all wouldn't. She wanted to get away. + +"You'll hear from the Company about this, I expect," said the +Station Master. + +Bobbie wished she might never hear of it again. She pulled at +Peter's jacket. + +"Oh, come away, come away! I want to go home," she said. + +So they went. And as they went Station Master and Porter and guards +and driver and fireman and passengers sent up a cheer. + +"Oh, listen," cried Phyllis; "that's for US!" + +"Yes," said Peter. "I say, I am glad I thought about something red, +and waving it." + +"How lucky we DID put on our red flannel petticoats!" said Phyllis. + +Bobbie said nothing. She was thinking of the horrible mound, and +the trustful train rushing towards it. + +"And it was US that saved them," said Peter. + +"How dreadful if they had all been killed!" said Phyllis; "wouldn't +it, Bobbie?" + +"We never got any cherries, after all," said Bobbie. + +The others thought her rather heartless. + + + +Chapter VII. For valour. + + +I hope you don't mind my telling you a good deal about Roberta. The +fact is I am growing very fond of her. The more I observe her the +more I love her. And I notice all sorts of things about her that I +like. + +For instance, she was quite oddly anxious to make other people +happy. And she could keep a secret, a tolerably rare +accomplishment. Also she had the power of silent sympathy. That +sounds rather dull, I know, but it's not so dull as it sounds. It +just means that a person is able to know that you are unhappy, and +to love you extra on that account, without bothering you by telling +you all the time how sorry she is for you. That was what Bobbie was +like. She knew that Mother was unhappy--and that Mother had not +told her the reason. So she just loved Mother more and never said a +single word that could let Mother know how earnestly her little girl +wondered what Mother was unhappy about. This needs practice. It is +not so easy as you might think. + +Whatever happened--and all sorts of nice, pleasant ordinary things +happened--such as picnics, games, and buns for tea, Bobbie always +had these thoughts at the back of her mind. "Mother's unhappy. +Why? I don't know. She doesn't want me to know. I won't try to +find out. But she IS unhappy. Why? I don't know. She doesn't--" +and so on, repeating and repeating like a tune that you don't know +the stopping part of. + +The Russian gentleman still took up a good deal of everybody's +thoughts. All the editors and secretaries of Societies and Members +of Parliament had answered Mother's letters as politely as they knew +how; but none of them could tell where the wife and children of Mr. +Szezcpansky would be likely to be. (Did I tell you that the +Russian's very Russian name was that?) + +Bobbie had another quality which you will hear differently described +by different people. Some of them call it interfering in other +people's business--and some call it "helping lame dogs over stiles," +and some call it "loving-kindness." It just means trying to help +people. + +She racked her brains to think of some way of helping the Russian +gentleman to find his wife and children. He had learned a few words +of English now. He could say "Good morning," and "Good night," and +"Please," and "Thank you," and "Pretty," when the children brought +him flowers, and "Ver' good," when they asked him how he had slept. + +The way he smiled when he "said his English," was, Bobbie felt, +"just too sweet for anything." She used to think of his face +because she fancied it would help her to some way of helping him. +But it did not. Yet his being there cheered her because she saw +that it made Mother happier. + +"She likes to have someone to be good to, even beside us," said +Bobbie. "And I know she hated to let him have Father's clothes. +But I suppose it 'hurt nice,' or she wouldn't have." + +For many and many a night after the day when she and Peter and +Phyllis had saved the train from wreck by waving their little red +flannel flags, Bobbie used to wake screaming and shivering, seeing +again that horrible mound, and the poor, dear trustful engine +rushing on towards it--just thinking that it was doing its swift +duty, and that everything was clear and safe. And then a warm +thrill of pleasure used to run through her at the remembrance of how +she and Peter and Phyllis and the red flannel petticoats had really +saved everybody. + +One morning a letter came. It was addressed to Peter and Bobbie and +Phyllis. They opened it with enthusiastic curiosity, for they did +not often get letters. + +The letter said:-- + +"Dear Sir, and Ladies,--It is proposed to make a small presentation +to you, in commemoration of your prompt and courageous action in +warning the train on the --- inst., and thus averting what must, +humanly speaking, have been a terrible accident. The presentation +will take place at the --- Station at three o'clock on the 30th +inst., if this time and place will be convenient to you. + + "Yours faithfully, + + "Jabez Inglewood. +"Secretary, Great Northern and Southern Railway Co." + +There never had been a prouder moment in the lives of the three +children. They rushed to Mother with the letter, and she also felt +proud and said so, and this made the children happier than ever. + +"But if the presentation is money, you must say, 'Thank you, but +we'd rather not take it,'" said Mother. "I'll wash your Indian +muslins at once," she added. "You must look tidy on an occasion +like this." + +"Phil and I can wash them," said Bobbie, "if you'll iron them, +Mother." + +Washing is rather fun. I wonder whether you've ever done it? This +particular washing took place in the back kitchen, which had a stone +floor and a very big stone sink under its window. + +"Let's put the bath on the sink," said Phyllis; "then we can pretend +we're out-of-doors washerwomen like Mother saw in France." + +"But they were washing in the cold river," said Peter, his hands in +his pockets, "not in hot water." + +"This is a HOT river, then," said Phyllis; "lend a hand with the +bath, there's a dear." + +"I should like to see a deer lending a hand," said Peter, but he +lent his. + +"Now to rub and scrub and scrub and rub," said Phyllis, hopping +joyously about as Bobbie carefully carried the heavy kettle from the +kitchen fire. + +"Oh, no!" said Bobbie, greatly shocked; "you don't rub muslin. You +put the boiled soap in the hot water and make it all frothy-lathery- +-and then you shake the muslin and squeeze it, ever so gently, and +all the dirt comes out. It's only clumsy things like tablecloths +and sheets that have to be rubbed." + +The lilac and the Gloire de Dijon roses outside the window swayed in +the soft breeze. + +"It's a nice drying day--that's one thing," said Bobbie, feeling +very grown up. "Oh, I do wonder what wonderful feelings we shall +have when we WEAR the Indian muslin dresses!" + +"Yes, so do I," said Phyllis, shaking and squeezing the muslin in +quite a professional manner. + +"NOW we squeeze out the soapy water. NO--we mustn't twist them--and +then rinse them. I'll hold them while you and Peter empty the bath +and get clean water." + +"A presentation! That means presents," said Peter, as his sisters, +having duly washed the pegs and wiped the line, hung up the dresses +to dry. "Whatever will it be?" + +"It might be anything," said Phyllis; "what I've always wanted is a +Baby elephant--but I suppose they wouldn't know that." + +"Suppose it was gold models of steam-engines?" said Bobbie. + +"Or a big model of the scene of the prevented accident," suggested +Peter, "with a little model train, and dolls dressed like us and the +engine-driver and fireman and passengers." + +"Do you LIKE," said Bobbie, doubtfully, drying her hands on the +rough towel that hung on a roller at the back of the scullery door, +"do you LIKE us being rewarded for saving a train?" + +"Yes, I do," said Peter, downrightly; "and don't you try to come it +over us that you don't like it, too. Because I know you do." + +"Yes," said Bobbie, doubtfully, "I know I do. But oughtn't we to be +satisfied with just having done it, and not ask for anything more?" + +"Who did ask for anything more, silly?" said her brother; "Victoria +Cross soldiers don't ASK for it; but they're glad enough to get it +all the same. Perhaps it'll be medals. Then, when I'm very old +indeed, I shall show them to my grandchildren and say, 'We only did +our duty,' and they'll be awfully proud of me." + +"You have to be married," warned Phyllis, "or you don't have any +grandchildren." + +"I suppose I shall HAVE to be married some day," said Peter, "but it +will be an awful bother having her round all the time. I'd like to +marry a lady who had trances, and only woke up once or twice a +year." + +"Just to say you were the light of her life and then go to sleep +again. Yes. That wouldn't be bad," said Bobbie. + +"When _I_ get married," said Phyllis, "I shall want him to want me +to be awake all the time, so that I can hear him say how nice I am." + +"I think it would be nice," said Bobbie, "to marry someone very +poor, and then you'd do all the work and he'd love you most +frightfully, and see the blue wood smoke curling up among the trees +from the domestic hearth as he came home from work every night. I +say--we've got to answer that letter and say that the time and place +WILL be convenient to us. There's the soap, Peter. WE'RE both as +clean as clean. That pink box of writing paper you had on your +birthday, Phil." + +It took some time to arrange what should be said. Mother had gone +back to her writing, and several sheets of pink paper with scalloped +gilt edges and green four-leaved shamrocks in the corner were +spoiled before the three had decided what to say. Then each made a +copy and signed it with its own name. + +The threefold letter ran:-- + +"Dear Mr. Jabez Inglewood,--Thank you very much. We did not want to +be rewarded but only to save the train, but we are glad you think so +and thank you very much. The time and place you say will be quite +convenient to us. Thank you very much. + + "Your affecate little friend," + +Then came the name, and after it:-- + +"P.S. Thank you very much." + +"Washing is much easier than ironing," said Bobbie, taking the clean +dry dresses off the line. "I do love to see things come clean. Oh- +-I don't know how we shall wait till it's time to know what +presentation they're going to present!" + +When at last--it seemed a very long time after--it was THE day, the +three children went down to the station at the proper time. And +everything that happened was so odd that it seemed like a dream. +The Station Master came out to meet them--in his best clothes, as +Peter noticed at once--and led them into the waiting room where once +they had played the advertisement game. It looked quite different +now. A carpet had been put down--and there were pots of roses on +the mantelpiece and on the window ledges--green branches stuck up, +like holly and laurel are at Christmas, over the framed +advertisement of Cook's Tours and the Beauties of Devon and the +Paris Lyons Railway. There were quite a number of people there +besides the Porter--two or three ladies in smart dresses, and quite +a crowd of gentlemen in high hats and frock coats--besides everybody +who belonged to the station. They recognized several people who had +been in the train on the red-flannel-petticoat day. Best of all +their own old gentleman was there, and his coat and hat and collar +seemed more than ever different from anyone else's. He shook hands +with them and then everybody sat down on chairs, and a gentleman in +spectacles--they found out afterwards that he was the District +Superintendent--began quite a long speech--very clever indeed. I am +not going to write the speech down. First, because you would think +it dull; and secondly, because it made all the children blush so, +and get so hot about the ears that I am quite anxious to get away +from this part of the subject; and thirdly, because the gentleman +took so many words to say what he had to say that I really haven't +time to write them down. He said all sorts of nice things about the +children's bravery and presence of mind, and when he had done he sat +down, and everyone who was there clapped and said, "Hear, hear." + +And then the old gentleman got up and said things, too. It was very +like a prize-giving. And then he called the children one by one, by +their names, and gave each of them a beautiful gold watch and chain. +And inside the watches were engraved after the name of the watch's +new owner:-- + +"From the Directors of the Northern and Southern Railway in grateful +recognition of the courageous and prompt action which averted an +accident on --- 1905." + +The watches were the most beautiful you can possibly imagine, and +each one had a blue leather case to live in when it was at home. + +"You must make a speech now and thank everyone for their kindness," +whispered the Station Master in Peter's ear and pushed him forward. +"Begin 'Ladies and Gentlemen,'" he added. + +Each of the children had already said "Thank you," quite properly. + +"Oh, dear," said Peter, but he did not resist the push. + +"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said in a rather husky voice. Then there +was a pause, and he heard his heart beating in his throat. "Ladies +and Gentlemen," he went on with a rush, "it's most awfully good of +you, and we shall treasure the watches all our lives--but really we +don't deserve it because what we did wasn't anything, really. At +least, I mean it was awfully exciting, and what I mean to say--thank +you all very, very much." + +The people clapped Peter more than they had done the District +Superintendent, and then everybody shook hands with them, and as +soon as politeness would let them, they got away, and tore up the +hill to Three Chimneys with their watches in their hands. + +It was a wonderful day--the kind of day that very seldom happens to +anybody and to most of us not at all. + +"I did want to talk to the old gentleman about something else," said +Bobbie, "but it was so public--like being in church." + +"What did you want to say?" asked Phyllis. + +"I'll tell you when I've thought about it more," said Bobbie. + +So when she had thought a little more she wrote a letter. + +"My dearest old gentleman," it said; "I want most awfully to ask you +something. If you could get out of the train and go by the next, it +would do. I do not want you to give me anything. Mother says we +ought not to. And besides, we do not want any THINGS. Only to talk +to you about a Prisoner and Captive. Your loving little friend, + + "Bobbie." + +She got the Station Master to give the letter to the old gentleman, +and next day she asked Peter and Phyllis to come down to the station +with her at the time when the train that brought the old gentleman +from town would be passing through. + +She explained her idea to them--and they approved thoroughly. + +They had all washed their hands and faces, and brushed their hair, +and were looking as tidy as they knew how. But Phyllis, always +unlucky, had upset a jug of lemonade down the front of her dress. +There was no time to change--and the wind happening to blow from the +coal yard, her frock was soon powdered with grey, which stuck to the +sticky lemonade stains and made her look, as Peter said, "like any +little gutter child." + +It was decided that she should keep behind the others as much as +possible. + +"Perhaps the old gentleman won't notice," said Bobbie. "The aged +are often weak in the eyes." + +There was no sign of weakness, however, in the eyes, or in any other +part of the old gentleman, as he stepped from the train and looked +up and down the platform. + +The three children, now that it came to the point, suddenly felt +that rush of deep shyness which makes your ears red and hot, your +hands warm and wet, and the tip of your nose pink and shiny. + +"Oh," said Phyllis, "my heart's thumping like a steam-engine--right +under my sash, too." + +"Nonsense," said Peter, "people's hearts aren't under their sashes." + +"I don't care--mine is," said Phyllis. + +"If you're going to talk like a poetry-book," said Peter, "my +heart's in my mouth." + +"My heart's in my boots--if you come to that," said Roberta; "but do +come on--he'll think we're idiots." + +"He won't be far wrong," said Peter, gloomily. And they went +forward to meet the old gentleman. + +"Hullo," he said, shaking hands with them all in turn. "This is a +very great pleasure." + +"It WAS good of you to get out," Bobbie said, perspiring and polite. + +He took her arm and drew her into the waiting room where she and the +others had played the advertisement game the day they found the +Russian. Phyllis and Peter followed. "Well?" said the old +gentleman, giving Bobbie's arm a kind little shake before he let it +go. "Well? What is it?" + +"Oh, please!" said Bobbie. + +"Yes?" said the old gentleman. + +"What I mean to say--" said Bobbie. + +"Well?" said the old gentleman. + +"It's all very nice and kind," said she. + +"But?" he said. + +"I wish I might say something," she said. + +"Say it," said he. + +"Well, then," said Bobbie--and out came the story of the Russian who +had written the beautiful book about poor people, and had been sent +to prison and to Siberia for just that. + +"And what we want more than anything in the world is to find his +wife and children for him," said Bobbie, "but we don't know how. +But you must be most horribly clever, or you wouldn't be a Direction +of the Railway. And if YOU knew how--and would? We'd rather have +that than anything else in the world. We'd go without the watches, +even, if you could sell them and find his wife with the money." + +And the others said so, too, though not with so much enthusiasm. + +"Hum," said the old gentleman, pulling down the white waistcoat that +had the big gilt buttons on it, "what did you say the name was-- +Fryingpansky?" + +"No, no," said Bobbie earnestly. "I'll write it down for you. It +doesn't really look at all like that except when you say it. Have +you a bit of pencil and the back of an envelope?" she asked. + +The old gentleman got out a gold pencil-case and a beautiful, sweet- +smelling, green Russian leather note-book and opened it at a new +page. + +"Here," he said, "write here." + +She wrote down "Szezcpansky," and said:-- + +"That's how you write it. You CALL it Shepansky." + +The old gentleman took out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and +fitted them on his nose. When he had read the name, he looked quite +different. + +"THAT man? Bless my soul!" he said. "Why, I've read his book! +It's translated into every European language. A fine book--a noble +book. And so your mother took him in--like the good Samaritan. +Well, well. I'll tell you what, youngsters--your mother must be a +very good woman." + +"Of course she is," said Phyllis, in astonishment. + +"And you're a very good man," said Bobbie, very shy, but firmly +resolved to be polite. + +"You flatter me," said the old gentleman, taking off his hat with a +flourish. "And now am I to tell you what I think of you?" + +"Oh, please don't," said Bobbie, hastily. + +"Why?" asked the old gentleman. + +"I don't exactly know," said Bobbie. "Only--if it's horrid, I don't +want you to; and if it's nice, I'd rather you didn't." + +The old gentleman laughed. + +"Well, then," he said, "I'll only just say that I'm very glad you +came to me about this--very glad, indeed. And I shouldn't be +surprised if I found out something very soon. I know a great many +Russians in London, and every Russian knows HIS name. Now tell me +all about yourselves." + +He turned to the others, but there was only one other, and that was +Peter. Phyllis had disappeared. + +"Tell me all about yourself," said the old gentleman again. And, +quite naturally, Peter was stricken dumb. + +"All right, we'll have an examination," said the old gentleman; "you +two sit on the table, and I'll sit on the bench and ask questions." + +He did, and out came their names and ages--their Father's name and +business--how long they had lived at Three Chimneys and a great deal +more. + +The questions were beginning to turn on a herring and a half for +three halfpence, and a pound of lead and a pound of feathers, when +the door of the waiting room was kicked open by a boot; as the boot +entered everyone could see that its lace was coming undone--and in +came Phyllis, very slowly and carefully. + +In one hand she carried a large tin can, and in the other a thick +slice of bread and butter. + +"Afternoon tea," she announced proudly, and held the can and the +bread and butter out to the old gentleman, who took them and said:-- + +"Bless my soul!" + +"Yes," said Phyllis. + +"It's very thoughtful of you," said the old gentleman, "very." + +"But you might have got a cup," said Bobbie, "and a plate." + +"Perks always drinks out of the can," said Phyllis, flushing red. +"I think it was very nice of him to give it me at all--let alone +cups and plates," she added. + +"So do I," said the old gentleman, and he drank some of the tea and +tasted the bread and butter. + +And then it was time for the next train, and he got into it with +many good-byes and kind last words. + +"Well," said Peter, when they were left on the platform, and the +tail-lights of the train disappeared round the corner, "it's my +belief that we've lighted a candle to-day--like Latimer, you know, +when he was being burned--and there'll be fireworks for our Russian +before long." + +And so there were. + +It wasn't ten days after the interview in the waiting room that the +three children were sitting on the top of the biggest rock in the +field below their house watching the 5.15 steam away from the +station along the bottom of the valley. They saw, too, the few +people who had got out at the station straggling up the road towards +the village--and they saw one person leave the road and open the +gate that led across the fields to Three Chimneys and to nowhere +else. + +"Who on earth!" said Peter, scrambling down. + +"Let's go and see," said Phyllis. + +So they did. And when they got near enough to see who the person +was, they saw it was their old gentleman himself, his brass buttons +winking in the afternoon sunshine, and his white waistcoat looking +whiter than ever against the green of the field. + +"Hullo!" shouted the children, waving their hands. + +"Hullo!" shouted the old gentleman, waving his hat. + +Then the three started to run--and when they got to him they hardly +had breath left to say:-- + +"How do you do?" + +"Good news," said he. "I've found your Russian friend's wife and +child--and I couldn't resist the temptation of giving myself the +pleasure of telling him." + +But as he looked at Bobbie's face he felt that he COULD resist that +temptation. + +"Here," he said to her, "you run on and tell him. The other two +will show me the way." + +Bobbie ran. But when she had breathlessly panted out the news to +the Russian and Mother sitting in the quiet garden--when Mother's +face had lighted up so beautifully, and she had said half a dozen +quick French words to the Exile--Bobbie wished that she had NOT +carried the news. For the Russian sprang up with a cry that made +Bobbie's heart leap and then tremble--a cry of love and longing such +as she had never heard. Then he took Mother's hand and kissed it +gently and reverently--and then he sank down in his chair and +covered his face with his hands and sobbed. Bobbie crept away. She +did not want to see the others just then. + +But she was as gay as anybody when the endless French talking was +over, when Peter had torn down to the village for buns and cakes, +and the girls had got tea ready and taken it out into the garden. + +The old gentleman was most merry and delightful. He seemed to be +able to talk in French and English almost at the same moment, and +Mother did nearly as well. It was a delightful time. Mother seemed +as if she could not make enough fuss about the old gentleman, and +she said yes at once when he asked if he might present some +"goodies" to his little friends. + +The word was new to the children--but they guessed that it meant +sweets, for the three large pink and green boxes, tied with green +ribbon, which he took out of his bag, held unheard-of layers of +beautiful chocolates. + +The Russian's few belongings were packed, and they all saw him off +at the station. + +Then Mother turned to the old gentleman and said:-- + +"I don't know how to thank you for EVERYTHING. It has been a real +pleasure to me to see you. But we live very quietly. I am so sorry +that I can't ask you to come and see us again." + +The children thought this very hard. When they HAD made a friend-- +and such a friend--they would dearly have liked him to come and see +them again. + +What the old gentleman thought they couldn't tell. He only said:-- + +"I consider myself very fortunate, Madam, to have been received once +at your house." + +"Ah," said Mother, "I know I must seem surly and ungrateful--but--" + +"You could never seem anything but a most charming and gracious +lady," said the old gentleman, with another of his bows. + +And as they turned to go up the hill, Bobbie saw her Mother's face. + +"How tired you look, Mammy," she said; "lean on me." + +"It's my place to give Mother my arm," said Peter. "I'm the head +man of the family when Father's away." + +Mother took an arm of each. + +"How awfully nice," said Phyllis, skipping joyfully, "to think of +the dear Russian embracing his long-lost wife. The baby must have +grown a lot since he saw it." + +"Yes," said Mother. + +"I wonder whether Father will think I'VE grown," Phyllis went on, +skipping still more gaily. "I have grown already, haven't I, +Mother?" + +"Yes," said Mother, "oh, yes," and Bobbie and Peter felt her hands +tighten on their arms. + +"Poor old Mammy, you ARE tired," said Peter. + +Bobbie said, "Come on, Phil; I'll race you to the gate." + +And she started the race, though she hated doing it. YOU know why +Bobbie did that. Mother only thought that Bobbie was tired of +walking slowly. Even Mothers, who love you better than anyone else +ever will, don't always understand. + + + +Chapter VIII. The amateur firemen. + + +"That's a likely little brooch you've got on, Miss," said Perks the +Porter; "I don't know as ever I see a thing more like a buttercup +without it WAS a buttercup." + +"Yes," said Bobbie, glad and flushed by this approval. "I always +thought it was more like a buttercup almost than even a real one-- +and I NEVER thought it would come to be mine, my very own--and then +Mother gave it to me for my birthday." + +"Oh, have you had a birthday?" said Perks; and he seemed quite +surprised, as though a birthday were a thing only granted to a +favoured few. + +"Yes," said Bobbie; "when's your birthday, Mr. Perks?" The children +were taking tea with Mr. Perks in the Porters' room among the lamps +and the railway almanacs. They had brought their own cups and some +jam turnovers. Mr. Perks made tea in a beer can, as usual, and +everyone felt very happy and confidential. + +"My birthday?" said Perks, tipping some more dark brown tea out of +the can into Peter's cup. "I give up keeping of my birthday afore +you was born." + +"But you must have been born SOMETIME, you know," said Phyllis, +thoughtfully, "even if it was twenty years ago--or thirty or sixty +or seventy." + +"Not so long as that, Missie," Perks grinned as he answered. "If +you really want to know, it was thirty-two years ago, come the +fifteenth of this month." + +"Then why don't you keep it?" asked Phyllis. + +"I've got something else to keep besides birthdays," said Perks, +briefly. + +"Oh! What?" asked Phyllis, eagerly. "Not secrets?" + +"No," said Perks, "the kids and the Missus." + +It was this talk that set the children thinking, and, presently, +talking. Perks was, on the whole, the dearest friend they had made. +Not so grand as the Station Master, but more approachable--less +powerful than the old gentleman, but more confidential. + +"It seems horrid that nobody keeps his birthday," said Bobbie. +"Couldn't WE do something?" + +"Let's go up to the Canal bridge and talk it over," said Peter. "I +got a new gut line from the postman this morning. He gave it me for +a bunch of roses that I gave him for his sweetheart. She's ill." + +"Then I do think you might have given her the roses for nothing," +said Bobbie, indignantly. + +"Nyang, nyang!" said Peter, disagreeably, and put his hands in his +pockets. + +"He did, of course," said Phyllis, in haste; "directly we heard she +was ill we got the roses ready and waited by the gate. It was when +you were making the brekker-toast. And when he'd said 'Thank you' +for the roses so many times--much more than he need have--he pulled +out the line and gave it to Peter. It wasn't exchange. It was the +grateful heart." + +"Oh, I BEG your pardon, Peter," said Bobbie, "I AM so sorry." + +"Don't mention it," said Peter, grandly, "I knew you would be." + +So then they all went up to the Canal bridge. The idea was to fish +from the bridge, but the line was not quite long enough. + +"Never mind," said Bobbie. "Let's just stay here and look at +things. Everything's so beautiful." + +It was. The sun was setting in red splendour over the grey and +purple hills, and the canal lay smooth and shiny in the shadow--no +ripple broke its surface. It was like a grey satin ribbon between +the dusky green silk of the meadows that were on each side of its +banks. + +"It's all right," said Peter, "but somehow I can always see how +pretty things are much better when I've something to do. Let's get +down on to the towpath and fish from there." + +Phyllis and Bobbie remembered how the boys on the canal-boats had +thrown coal at them, and they said so. + +"Oh, nonsense," said Peter. "There aren't any boys here now. If +there were, I'd fight them." + +Peter's sisters were kind enough not to remind him how he had NOT +fought the boys when coal had last been thrown. Instead they said, +"All right, then," and cautiously climbed down the steep bank to the +towing-path. The line was carefully baited, and for half an hour +they fished patiently and in vain. Not a single nibble came to +nourish hope in their hearts. + +All eyes were intent on the sluggish waters that earnestly pretended +they had never harboured a single minnow when a loud rough shout +made them start. + +"Hi!" said the shout, in most disagreeable tones, "get out of that, +can't you?" + +An old white horse coming along the towing-path was within half a +dozen yards of them. They sprang to their feet and hastily climbed +up the bank. + +"We'll slip down again when they've gone by," said Bobbie. + +But, alas, the barge, after the manner of barges, stopped under the +bridge. + +"She's going to anchor," said Peter; "just our luck!" + +The barge did not anchor, because an anchor is not part of a canal- +boat's furniture, but she was moored with ropes fore and aft--and +the ropes were made fast to the palings and to crowbars driven into +the ground. + +"What you staring at?" growled the Bargee, crossly. + +"We weren't staring," said Bobbie; "we wouldn't be so rude." + +"Rude be blessed," said the man; "get along with you!" + +"Get along yourself," said Peter. He remembered what he had said +about fighting boys, and, besides, he felt safe halfway up the bank. +"We've as much right here as anyone else." + +"Oh, 'AVE you, indeed!" said the man. "We'll soon see about that." +And he came across his deck and began to climb down the side of his +barge. + +"Oh, come away, Peter, come away!" said Bobbie and Phyllis, in +agonised unison. + +"Not me," said Peter, "but YOU'D better." + +The girls climbed to the top of the bank and stood ready to bolt for +home as soon as they saw their brother out of danger. The way home +lay all down hill. They knew that they all ran well. The Bargee +did not look as if HE did. He was red-faced, heavy, and beefy. + +But as soon as his foot was on the towing-path the children saw that +they had misjudged him. + +He made one spring up the bank and caught Peter by the leg, dragged +him down--set him on his feet with a shake--took him by the ear--and +said sternly:-- + +"Now, then, what do you mean by it? Don't you know these 'ere +waters is preserved? You ain't no right catching fish 'ere--not to +say nothing of your precious cheek." + +Peter was always proud afterwards when he remembered that, with the +Bargee's furious fingers tightening on his ear, the Bargee's crimson +countenance close to his own, the Bargee's hot breath on his neck, +he had the courage to speak the truth. + +"I WASN'T catching fish," said Peter. + +"That's not YOUR fault, I'll be bound," said the man, giving Peter's +ear a twist--not a hard one--but still a twist. + +Peter could not say that it was. Bobbie and Phyllis had been +holding on to the railings above and skipping with anxiety. Now +suddenly Bobbie slipped through the railings and rushed down the +bank towards Peter, so impetuously that Phyllis, following more +temperately, felt certain that her sister's descent would end in the +waters of the canal. And so it would have done if the Bargee hadn't +let go of Peter's ear--and caught her in his jerseyed arm. + +"Who are you a-shoving of?" he said, setting her on her feet. + +"Oh," said Bobbie, breathless, "I'm not shoving anybody. At least, +not on purpose. Please don't be cross with Peter. Of course, if +it's your canal, we're sorry and we won't any more. But we didn't +know it was yours." + +"Go along with you," said the Bargee. + +"Yes, we will; indeed we will," said Bobbie, earnestly; "but we do +beg your pardon--and really we haven't caught a single fish. I'd +tell you directly if we had, honour bright I would." + +She held out her hands and Phyllis turned out her little empty +pocket to show that really they hadn't any fish concealed about +them. + +"Well," said the Bargee, more gently, "cut along, then, and don't +you do it again, that's all." + +The children hurried up the bank. + +"Chuck us a coat, M'ria," shouted the man. And a red-haired woman +in a green plaid shawl came out from the cabin door with a baby in +her arms and threw a coat to him. He put it on, climbed the bank, +and slouched along across the bridge towards the village. + +"You'll find me up at the 'Rose and Crown' when you've got the kid +to sleep," he called to her from the bridge. + +When he was out of sight the children slowly returned. Peter +insisted on this. + +"The canal may belong to him," he said, "though I don't believe it +does. But the bridge is everybody's. Doctor Forrest told me it's +public property. I'm not going to be bounced off the bridge by him +or anyone else, so I tell you." + +Peter's ear was still sore and so were his feelings. + +The girls followed him as gallant soldiers might follow the leader +of a forlorn hope. + +"I do wish you wouldn't," was all they said. + +"Go home if you're afraid," said Peter; "leave me alone. I'M not +afraid." + +The sound of the man's footsteps died away along the quiet road. +The peace of the evening was not broken by the notes of the sedge- +warblers or by the voice of the woman in the barge, singing her baby +to sleep. It was a sad song she sang. Something about Bill Bailey +and how she wanted him to come home. + +The children stood leaning their arms on the parapet of the bridge; +they were glad to be quiet for a few minutes because all three +hearts were beating much more quickly. + +"I'm not going to be driven away by any old bargeman, I'm not," said +Peter, thickly. + +"Of course not," Phyllis said soothingly; "you didn't give in to +him! So now we might go home, don't you think?" + +"NO," said Peter. + +Nothing more was said till the woman got off the barge, climbed the +bank, and came across the bridge. + +She hesitated, looking at the three backs of the children, then she +said, "Ahem." + +Peter stayed as he was, but the girls looked round. + +"You mustn't take no notice of my Bill," said the woman; "'is bark's +worse'n 'is bite. Some of the kids down Farley way is fair terrors. +It was them put 'is back up calling out about who ate the puppy-pie +under Marlow bridge." + +"Who DID?" asked Phyllis. + +"_I_ dunno," said the woman. "Nobody don't know! But somehow, and +I don't know the why nor the wherefore of it, them words is p'ison +to a barge-master. Don't you take no notice. 'E won't be back for +two hours good. You might catch a power o' fish afore that. The +light's good an' all," she added. + +"Thank you," said Bobbie. "You're very kind. Where's your baby?" + +"Asleep in the cabin," said the woman. "'E's all right. Never +wakes afore twelve. Reg'lar as a church clock, 'e is." + +"I'm sorry," said Bobbie; "I would have liked to see him, close to." + +"And a finer you never did see, Miss, though I says it." The +woman's face brightened as she spoke. + +"Aren't you afraid to leave it?" said Peter. + +"Lor' love you, no," said the woman; "who'd hurt a little thing like +'im? Besides, Spot's there. So long!" + +The woman went away. + +"Shall we go home?" said Phyllis. + +"You can. I'm going to fish," said Peter briefly. + +"I thought we came up here to talk about Perks's birthday," said +Phyllis. + +"Perks's birthday'll keep." + +So they got down on the towing-path again and Peter fished. He did +not catch anything. + +It was almost quite dark, the girls were getting tired, and as +Bobbie said, it was past bedtime, when suddenly Phyllis cried, +"What's that?" + +And she pointed to the canal boat. Smoke was coming from the +chimney of the cabin, had indeed been curling softly into the soft +evening air all the time--but now other wreaths of smoke were +rising, and these were from the cabin door. + +"It's on fire--that's all," said Peter, calmly. "Serve him right." + +"Oh--how CAN you?" cried Phyllis. "Think of the poor dear dog." + +"The BABY!" screamed Bobbie. + +In an instant all three made for the barge. + +Her mooring ropes were slack, and the little breeze, hardly strong +enough to be felt, had yet been strong enough to drift her stern +against the bank. Bobbie was first--then came Peter, and it was +Peter who slipped and fell. He went into the canal up to his neck, +and his feet could not feel the bottom, but his arm was on the edge +of the barge. Phyllis caught at his hair. It hurt, but it helped +him to get out. Next minute he had leaped on to the barge, Phyllis +following. + +"Not you!" he shouted to Bobbie; "ME, because I'm wet." + +He caught up with Bobbie at the cabin door, and flung her aside very +roughly indeed; if they had been playing, such roughness would have +made Bobbie weep with tears of rage and pain. Now, though he flung +her on to the edge of the hold, so that her knee and her elbow were +grazed and bruised, she only cried:-- + +"No--not you--ME," and struggled up again. But not quickly enough. + +Peter had already gone down two of the cabin steps into the cloud of +thick smoke. He stopped, remembered all he had ever heard of fires, +pulled his soaked handkerchief out of his breast pocket and tied it +over his mouth. As he pulled it out he said:-- + +"It's all right, hardly any fire at all." + +And this, though he thought it was a lie, was rather good of Peter. +It was meant to keep Bobbie from rushing after him into danger. Of +course it didn't. + +The cabin glowed red. A paraffin lamp was burning calmly in an +orange mist. + +"Hi," said Peter, lifting the handkerchief from his mouth for a +moment. "Hi, Baby--where are you?" He choked. + +"Oh, let ME go," cried Bobbie, close behind him. Peter pushed her +back more roughly than before, and went on. + +Now what would have happened if the baby hadn't cried I don't know-- +but just at that moment it DID cry. Peter felt his way through the +dark smoke, found something small and soft and warm and alive, +picked it up and backed out, nearly tumbling over Bobbie who was +close behind. A dog snapped at his leg--tried to bark, choked. + +"I've got the kid," said Peter, tearing off the handkerchief and +staggering on to the deck. + +Bobbie caught at the place where the bark came from, and her hands +met on the fat back of a smooth-haired dog. It turned and fastened +its teeth on her hand, but very gently, as much as to say:-- + +"I'm bound to bark and bite if strangers come into my master's +cabin, but I know you mean well, so I won't REALLY bite." + +Bobbie dropped the dog. + +"All right, old man. Good dog," said she. "Here--give me the baby, +Peter; you're so wet you'll give it cold." + +Peter was only too glad to hand over the strange little bundle that +squirmed and whimpered in his arms. + +"Now," said Bobbie, quickly, "you run straight to the 'Rose and +Crown' and tell them. Phil and I will stay here with the precious. +Hush, then, a dear, a duck, a darling! Go NOW, Peter! Run!" + +"I can't run in these things," said Peter, firmly; "they're as heavy +as lead. I'll walk." + +"Then I'LL run," said Bobbie. "Get on the bank, Phil, and I'll hand +you the dear." + +The baby was carefully handed. Phyllis sat down on the bank and +tried to hush the baby. Peter wrung the water from his sleeves and +knickerbocker legs as well as he could, and it was Bobbie who ran +like the wind across the bridge and up the long white quiet twilight +road towards the 'Rose and Crown.' + +There is a nice old-fashioned room at the 'Rose and Crown; where +Bargees and their wives sit of an evening drinking their supper +beer, and toasting their supper cheese at a glowing basketful of +coals that sticks out into the room under a great hooded chimney and +is warmer and prettier and more comforting than any other fireplace +_I_ ever saw. + +There was a pleasant party of barge people round the fire. You +might not have thought it pleasant, but they did; for they were all +friends or acquaintances, and they liked the same sort of things, +and talked the same sort of talk. This is the real secret of +pleasant society. The Bargee Bill, whom the children had found so +disagreeable, was considered excellent company by his mates. He was +telling a tale of his own wrongs--always a thrilling subject. It +was his barge he was speaking about. + +"And 'e sent down word 'paint her inside hout,' not namin' no +colour, d'ye see? So I gets a lotter green paint and I paints her +stem to stern, and I tell yer she looked A1. Then 'E comes along +and 'e says, 'Wot yer paint 'er all one colour for?' 'e says. And I +says, says I, 'Cause I thought she'd look fust-rate,' says I, 'and I +think so still.' An' he says, 'DEW yer? Then ye can just pay for +the bloomin' paint yerself,' says he. An' I 'ad to, too." A murmur +of sympathy ran round the room. Breaking noisily in on it came +Bobbie. She burst open the swing door--crying breathlessly:-- + +"Bill! I want Bill the Bargeman." + +There was a stupefied silence. Pots of beer were held in mid-air, +paralysed on their way to thirsty mouths. + +"Oh," said Bobbie, seeing the bargewoman and making for her. "Your +barge cabin's on fire. Go quickly." + +The woman started to her feet, and put a big red hand to her waist, +on the left side, where your heart seems to be when you are +frightened or miserable. + +"Reginald Horace!" she cried in a terrible voice; "my Reginald +Horace!" + +"All right," said Bobbie, "if you mean the baby; got him out safe. +Dog, too." She had no breath for more, except, "Go on--it's all +alight." + +Then she sank on the ale-house bench and tried to get that breath of +relief after running which people call the 'second wind.' But she +felt as though she would never breathe again. + +Bill the Bargee rose slowly and heavily. But his wife was a hundred +yards up the road before he had quite understood what was the +matter. + +Phyllis, shivering by the canal side, had hardly heard the quick +approaching feet before the woman had flung herself on the railing, +rolled down the bank, and snatched the baby from her. + +"Don't," said Phyllis, reproachfully; "I'd just got him to sleep." + + * * * * * * + +Bill came up later talking in a language with which the children +were wholly unfamiliar. He leaped on to the barge and dipped up +pails of water. Peter helped him and they put out the fire. +Phyllis, the bargewoman, and the baby--and presently Bobbie, too-- +cuddled together in a heap on the bank. + +"Lord help me, if it was me left anything as could catch alight," +said the woman again and again. + +But it wasn't she. It was Bill the Bargeman, who had knocked his +pipe out and the red ash had fallen on the hearth-rug and smouldered +there and at last broken into flame. Though a stern man he was +just. He did not blame his wife for what was his own fault, as many +bargemen, and other men, too, would have done. + + * * * * * * + +Mother was half wild with anxiety when at last the three children +turned up at Three Chimneys, all very wet by now, for Peter seemed +to have come off on the others. But when she had disentangled the +truth of what had happened from their mixed and incoherent +narrative, she owned that they had done quite right, and could not +possibly have done otherwise. Nor did she put any obstacles in the +way of their accepting the cordial invitation with which the +bargeman had parted from them. + +"Ye be here at seven to-morrow," he had said, "and I'll take you the +entire trip to Farley and back, so I will, and not a penny to pay. +Nineteen locks!" + +They did not know what locks were; but they were at the bridge at +seven, with bread and cheese and half a soda cake, and quite a +quarter of a leg of mutton in a basket. + +It was a glorious day. The old white horse strained at the ropes, +the barge glided smoothly and steadily through the still water. The +sky was blue overhead. Mr. Bill was as nice as anyone could +possibly be. No one would have thought that he could be the same +man who had held Peter by the ear. As for Mrs. Bill, she had always +been nice, as Bobbie said, and so had the baby, and even Spot, who +might have bitten them quite badly if he had liked. + +"It was simply ripping, Mother," said Peter, when they reached home +very happy, very tired, and very dirty, "right over that glorious +aqueduct. And locks--you don't know what they're like. You sink +into the ground and then, when you feel you're never going to stop +going down, two great black gates open slowly, slowly--you go out, +and there you are on the canal just like you were before." + +"I know," said Mother, "there are locks on the Thames. Father and I +used to go on the river at Marlow before we were married." + +"And the dear, darling, ducky baby," said Bobbie; "it let me nurse +it for ages and ages--and it WAS so good. Mother, I wish we had a +baby to play with." + +"And everybody was so nice to us," said Phyllis, "everybody we met. +And they say we may fish whenever we like. And Bill is going to +show us the way next time he's in these parts. He says we don't +know really." + +"He said YOU didn't know," said Peter; "but, Mother, he said he'd +tell all the bargees up and down the canal that we were the real, +right sort, and they were to treat us like good pals, as we were." + +"So then I said," Phyllis interrupted, "we'd always each wear a red +ribbon when we went fishing by the canal, so they'd know it was US, +and we were the real, right sort, and be nice to us!" + +"So you've made another lot of friends," said Mother; "first the +railway and then the canal!" + +"Oh, yes," said Bobbie; "I think everyone in the world is friends if +you can only get them to see you don't want to be UN-friends." + +"Perhaps you're right," said Mother; and she sighed. "Come, Chicks. +It's bedtime." + +"Yes," said Phyllis. "Oh dear--and we went up there to talk about +what we'd do for Perks's birthday. And we haven't talked a single +thing about it!" + +"No more we have," said Bobbie; "but Peter's saved Reginald Horace's +life. I think that's about good enough for one evening." + +"Bobbie would have saved him if I hadn't knocked her down; twice I +did," said Peter, loyally. + +"So would I," said Phyllis, "if I'd known what to do." + +"Yes," said Mother, "you've saved a little child's life. I do think +that's enough for one evening. Oh, my darlings, thank God YOU'RE +all safe!" + + + +Chapter IX. The pride of Perks. + + +It was breakfast-time. Mother's face was very bright as she poured +the milk and ladled out the porridge. + +"I've sold another story, Chickies," she said; "the one about the +King of the Mussels, so there'll be buns for tea. You can go and +get them as soon as they're baked. About eleven, isn't it?" + +Peter, Phyllis, and Bobbie exchanged glances with each other, six +glances in all. Then Bobbie said:-- + +"Mother, would you mind if we didn't have the buns for tea to-night, +but on the fifteenth? That's next Thursday." + +"_I_ don't mind when you have them, dear," said Mother, "but why?" + +"Because it's Perks's birthday," said Bobbie; "he's thirty-two, and +he says he doesn't keep his birthday any more, because he's got +other things to keep--not rabbits or secrets--but the kids and the +missus." + +"You mean his wife and children," said Mother. + +"Yes," said Phyllis; "it's the same thing, isn't it?" + +"And we thought we'd make a nice birthday for him. He's been so +awfully jolly decent to us, you know, Mother," said Peter, "and we +agreed that next bun-day we'd ask you if we could." + +"But suppose there hadn't been a bun-day before the fifteenth?" said +Mother. + +"Oh, then, we meant to ask you to let us anti--antipate it, and go +without when the bun-day came." + +"Anticipate," said Mother. "I see. Certainly. It would be nice to +put his name on the buns with pink sugar, wouldn't it?" + +"Perks," said Peter, "it's not a pretty name." + +"His other name's Albert," said Phyllis; "I asked him once." + +"We might put A. P.," said Mother; "I'll show you how when the day +comes." + +This was all very well as far as it went. But even fourteen +halfpenny buns with A. P. on them in pink sugar do not of themselves +make a very grand celebration. + +"There are always flowers, of course," said Bobbie, later, when a +really earnest council was being held on the subject in the hay-loft +where the broken chaff-cutting machine was, and the row of holes to +drop hay through into the hay-racks over the mangers of the stables +below. + +"He's got lots of flowers of his own," said Peter. + +"But it's always nice to have them given you," said Bobbie, "however +many you've got of your own. We can use flowers for trimmings to +the birthday. But there must be something to trim besides buns." + +"Let's all be quiet and think," said Phyllis; "no one's to speak +until it's thought of something." + +So they were all quiet and so very still that a brown rat thought +that there was no one in the loft and came out very boldly. When +Bobbie sneezed, the rat was quite shocked and hurried away, for he +saw that a hay-loft where such things could happen was no place for +a respectable middle-aged rat that liked a quiet life. + +"Hooray!" cried Peter, suddenly, "I've got it." He jumped up and +kicked at the loose hay. + +"What?" said the others, eagerly. + +"Why, Perks is so nice to everybody. There must be lots of people +in the village who'd like to help to make him a birthday. Let's go +round and ask everybody." + +"Mother said we weren't to ask people for things," said Bobbie, +doubtfully. + +"For ourselves, she meant, silly, not for other people. I'll ask +the old gentleman too. You see if I don't," said Peter. + +"Let's ask Mother first," said Bobbie. + +"Oh, what's the use of bothering Mother about every little thing?" +said Peter, "especially when she's busy. Come on. Let's go down to +the village now and begin." + +So they went. The old lady at the Post-office said she didn't see +why Perks should have a birthday any more than anyone else. + +"No," said Bobbie, "I should like everyone to have one. Only we +know when his is." + +"Mine's to-morrow," said the old lady, "and much notice anyone will +take of it. Go along with you." + +So they went. + +And some people were kind, and some were crusty. And some would +give and some would not. It is rather difficult work asking for +things, even for other people, as you have no doubt found if you +have ever tried it. + +When the children got home and counted up what had been given and +what had been promised, they felt that for the first day it was not +so bad. Peter wrote down the lists of the things in the little +pocket-book where he kept the numbers of his engines. These were +the lists:-- + + GIVEN. + A tobacco pipe from the sweet shop. + Half a pound of tea from the grocer's. + A woollen scarf slightly faded from the draper's, which was the +other side of the grocer's. + A stuffed squirrel from the Doctor. + + PROMISED. + A piece of meat from the butcher. + Six fresh eggs from the woman who lived in the old turnpike +cottage. + A piece of honeycomb and six bootlaces from the cobbler, and an +iron shovel from the blacksmith's. + +Very early next morning Bobbie got up and woke Phyllis. This had +been agreed on between them. They had not told Peter because they +thought he would think it silly. But they told him afterwards, when +it had turned out all right. + +They cut a big bunch of roses, and put it in a basket with the +needle-book that Phyllis had made for Bobbie on her birthday, and a +very pretty blue necktie of Phyllis's. Then they wrote on a paper: +'For Mrs. Ransome, with our best love, because it is her birthday,' +and they put the paper in the basket, and they took it to the Post- +office, and went in and put it on the counter and ran away before +the old woman at the Post-office had time to get into her shop. + +When they got home Peter had grown confidential over helping Mother +to get the breakfast and had told her their plans. + +"There's no harm in it," said Mother, "but it depends HOW you do it. +I only hope he won't be offended and think it's CHARITY. Poor +people are very proud, you know." + +"It isn't because he's poor," said Phyllis; "it's because we're fond +of him." + +"I'll find some things that Phyllis has outgrown," said Mother, "if +you're quite sure you can give them to him without his being +offended. I should like to do some little thing for him because +he's been so kind to you. I can't do much because we're poor +ourselves. What are you writing, Bobbie?" + +"Nothing particular," said Bobbie, who had suddenly begun to +scribble. "I'm sure he'd like the things, Mother." + +The morning of the fifteenth was spent very happily in getting the +buns and watching Mother make A. P. on them with pink sugar. You +know how it's done, of course? You beat up whites of eggs and mix +powdered sugar with them, and put in a few drops of cochineal. And +then you make a cone of clean, white paper with a little hole at the +pointed end, and put the pink egg-sugar in at the big end. It runs +slowly out at the pointed end, and you write the letters with it +just as though it were a great fat pen full of pink sugar-ink. + +The buns looked beautiful with A. P. on every one, and, when they +were put in a cool oven to set the sugar, the children went up to +the village to collect the honey and the shovel and the other +promised things. + +The old lady at the Post-office was standing on her doorstep. The +children said "Good morning," politely, as they passed. + +"Here, stop a bit," she said. + +So they stopped. + +"Those roses," said she. + +"Did you like them?" said Phyllis; "they were as fresh as fresh. +_I_ made the needle-book, but it was Bobbie's present." She skipped +joyously as she spoke. + +"Here's your basket," said the Post-office woman. She went in and +brought out the basket. It was full of fat, red gooseberries. + +"I dare say Perks's children would like them," said she. + +"You ARE an old dear," said Phyllis, throwing her arms around the +old lady's fat waist. "Perks WILL be pleased." + +"He won't be half so pleased as I was with your needle-book and the +tie and the pretty flowers and all," said the old lady, patting +Phyllis's shoulder. "You're good little souls, that you are. Look +here. I've got a pram round the back in the wood-lodge. It was got +for my Emmie's first, that didn't live but six months, and she never +had but that one. I'd like Mrs. Perks to have it. It 'ud be a help +to her with that great boy of hers. Will you take it along?" + +"OH!" said all the children together. + +When Mrs. Ransome had got out the perambulator and taken off the +careful papers that covered it, and dusted it all over, she said:-- + +"Well, there it is. I don't know but what I'd have given it to her +before if I'd thought of it. Only I didn't quite know if she'd +accept of it from me. You tell her it was my Emmie's little one's +pram--" + +"Oh, ISN'T it nice to think there is going to be a real live baby in +it again!" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Ransome, sighing, and then laughing; "here, I'll +give you some peppermint cushions for the little ones, and then you +run along before I give you the roof off my head and the clothes off +my back." + +All the things that had been collected for Perks were packed into +the perambulator, and at half-past three Peter and Bobbie and +Phyllis wheeled it down to the little yellow house where Perks +lived. + +The house was very tidy. On the window ledge was a jug of wild- +flowers, big daisies, and red sorrel, and feathery, flowery grasses. + +There was a sound of splashing from the wash-house, and a partly +washed boy put his head round the door. + +"Mother's a-changing of herself," he said. + +"Down in a minute," a voice sounded down the narrow, freshly +scrubbed stairs. + +The children waited. Next moment the stairs creaked and Mrs. Perks +came down, buttoning her bodice. Her hair was brushed very smooth +and tight, and her face shone with soap and water. + +"I'm a bit late changing, Miss," she said to Bobbie, "owing to me +having had a extry clean-up to-day, along o' Perks happening to name +its being his birthday. I don't know what put it into his head to +think of such a thing. We keeps the children's birthdays, of +course; but him and me--we're too old for such like, as a general +rule." + +"We knew it was his birthday," said Peter, "and we've got some +presents for him outside in the perambulator. + +As the presents were being unpacked, Mrs. Perks gasped. When they +were all unpacked, she surprised and horrified the children by +sitting suddenly down on a wooden chair and bursting into tears. + +"Oh, don't!" said everybody; "oh, please don't!" And Peter added, +perhaps a little impatiently: "What on earth is the matter? You +don't mean to say you don't like it?" + +Mrs. Perks only sobbed. The Perks children, now as shiny-faced as +anyone could wish, stood at the wash-house door, and scowled at the +intruders. There was a silence, an awkward silence. + +"DON'T you like it?" said Peter, again, while his sisters patted +Mrs. Perks on the back. + +She stopped crying as suddenly as she had begun. + +"There, there, don't you mind me. I'M all right!" she said. "Like +it? Why, it's a birthday such as Perks never 'ad, not even when 'e +was a boy and stayed with his uncle, who was a corn chandler in his +own account. He failed afterwards. Like it? Oh--" and then she +went on and said all sorts of things that I won't write down, +because I am sure that Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis would not like +me to. Their ears got hotter and hotter, and their faces redder and +redder, at the kind things Mrs. Perks said. They felt they had done +nothing to deserve all this praise. + +At last Peter said: "Look here, we're glad you're pleased. But if +you go on saying things like that, we must go home. And we did want +to stay and see if Mr. Perks is pleased, too. But we can't stand +this." + +"I won't say another single word," said Mrs. Perks, with a beaming +face, "but that needn't stop me thinking, need it? For if ever--" + +"Can we have a plate for the buns?" Bobbie asked abruptly. And then +Mrs. Perks hastily laid the table for tea, and the buns and the +honey and the gooseberries were displayed on plates, and the roses +were put in two glass jam jars, and the tea-table looked, as Mrs. +Perks said, "fit for a Prince." + +"To think!" she said, "me getting the place tidy early, and the +little 'uns getting the wild-flowers and all--when never did I think +there'd be anything more for him except the ounce of his pet +particular that I got o' Saturday and been saving up for 'im ever +since. Bless us! 'e IS early!" + +Perks had indeed unlatched the latch of the little front gate. + +"Oh," whispered Bobbie, "let's hide in the back kitchen, and YOU +tell him about it. But give him the tobacco first, because you got +it for him. And when you've told him, we'll all come in and shout, +'Many happy returns!'" + +It was a very nice plan, but it did not quite come off. To begin +with, there was only just time for Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis to +rush into the wash-house, pushing the young and open-mouthed Perks +children in front of them. There was not time to shut the door, so +that, without at all meaning it, they had to listen to what went on +in the kitchen. The wash-house was a tight fit for the Perks +children and the Three Chimneys children, as well as all the wash- +house's proper furniture, including the mangle and the copper. + +"Hullo, old woman!" they heard Mr. Perks's voice say; "here's a +pretty set-out!" + +"It's your birthday tea, Bert," said Mrs. Perks, "and here's a ounce +of your extry particular. I got it o' Saturday along o' your +happening to remember it was your birthday to-day." + +"Good old girl!" said Mr. Perks, and there was a sound of a kiss. + +"But what's that pram doing here? And what's all these bundles? +And where did you get the sweetstuff, and--" + +The children did not hear what Mrs. Perks replied, because just then +Bobbie gave a start, put her hand in her pocket, and all her body +grew stiff with horror. + +"Oh!" she whispered to the others, "whatever shall we do? I forgot +to put the labels on any of the things! He won't know what's from +who. He'll think it's all US, and that we're trying to be grand or +charitable or something horrid." + +"Hush!" said Peter. + +And then they heard the voice of Mr. Perks, loud and rather angry. + +"I don't care," he said; "I won't stand it, and so I tell you +straight." + +"But," said Mrs. Perks, "it's them children you make such a fuss +about--the children from the Three Chimneys." + +"I don't care," said Perks, firmly, "not if it was a angel from +Heaven. We've got on all right all these years and no favours +asked. I'm not going to begin these sort of charity goings-on at my +time of life, so don't you think it, Nell." + +"Oh, hush!" said poor Mrs Perks; "Bert, shut your silly tongue, for +goodness' sake. The all three of 'ems in the wash-house a-listening +to every word you speaks." + +"Then I'll give them something to listen to," said the angry Perks; +"I've spoke my mind to them afore now, and I'll do it again," he +added, and he took two strides to the wash-house door, and flung it +wide open--as wide, that is, as it would go, with the tightly packed +children behind it. + +"Come out," said Perks, "come out and tell me what you mean by it. +'Ave I ever complained to you of being short, as you comes this +charity lay over me?" + +"OH!" said Phyllis, "I thought you'd be so pleased; I'll never try +to be kind to anyone else as long as I live. No, I won't, not +never." + +She burst into tears. + +"We didn't mean any harm," said Peter. + +"It ain't what you means so much as what you does," said Perks. + +"Oh, DON'T!" cried Bobbie, trying hard to be braver than Phyllis, +and to find more words than Peter had done for explaining in. "We +thought you'd love it. We always have things on our birthdays." + +"Oh, yes," said Perks, "your own relations; that's different." + +"Oh, no," Bobbie answered. "NOT our own relations. All the +servants always gave us things at home, and us to them when it was +their birthdays. And when it was mine, and Mother gave me the +brooch like a buttercup, Mrs. Viney gave me two lovely glass pots, +and nobody thought she was coming the charity lay over us." + +"If it had been glass pots here," said Perks, "I wouldn't ha' said +so much. It's there being all this heaps and heaps of things I +can't stand. No--nor won't, neither." + +"But they're not all from us--" said Peter, "only we forgot to put +the labels on. They're from all sorts of people in the village." + +"Who put 'em up to it, I'd like to know?" asked Perks. + +"Why, we did," sniffed Phyllis. + +Perks sat down heavily in the elbow-chair and looked at them with +what Bobbie afterwards described as withering glances of gloomy +despair. + +"So you've been round telling the neighbours we can't make both ends +meet? Well, now you've disgraced us as deep as you can in the +neighbourhood, you can just take the whole bag of tricks back w'ere +it come from. Very much obliged, I'm sure. I don't doubt but what +you meant it kind, but I'd rather not be acquainted with you any +longer if it's all the same to you." He deliberately turned the +chair round so that his back was turned to the children. The legs +of the chair grated on the brick floor, and that was the only sound +that broke the silence. + +Then suddenly Bobbie spoke. + +"Look here," she said, "this is most awful." + +"That's what I says," said Perks, not turning round. + +"Look here," said Bobbie, desperately, "we'll go if you like--and +you needn't be friends with us any more if you don't want, but--" + +"WE shall always be friends with YOU, however nasty you are to us," +sniffed Phyllis, wildly. + +"Be quiet," said Peter, in a fierce aside. + +"But before we go," Bobbie went on desperately, "do let us show you +the labels we wrote to put on the things." + +"I don't want to see no labels," said Perks, "except proper luggage +ones in my own walk of life. Do you think I've kept respectable and +outer debt on what I gets, and her having to take in washing, to be +give away for a laughing-stock to all the neighbours?" + +"Laughing?" said Peter; "you don't know." + +"You're a very hasty gentleman," whined Phyllis; "you know you were +wrong once before, about us not telling you the secret about the +Russian. Do let Bobbie tell you about the labels!" + +"Well. Go ahead!" said Perks, grudgingly. + +"Well, then," said Bobbie, fumbling miserably, yet not without hope, +in her tightly stuffed pocket, "we wrote down all the things +everybody said when they gave us the things, with the people's +names, because Mother said we ought to be careful--because--but I +wrote down what she said--and you'll see." + +But Bobbie could not read the labels just at once. She had to +swallow once or twice before she could begin. + +Mrs. Perks had been crying steadily ever since her husband had +opened the wash-house door. Now she caught her breath, choked, and +said:-- + +"Don't you upset yourself, Missy. _I_ know you meant it kind if he +doesn't." + +"May I read the labels?" said Bobbie, crying on to the slips as she +tried to sort them. "Mother's first. It says:-- + +"'Little Clothes for Mrs. Perks's children.' Mother said, 'I'll +find some of Phyllis's things that she's grown out of if you're +quite sure Mr. Perks wouldn't be offended and think it's meant for +charity. I'd like to do some little thing for him, because he's so +kind to you. I can't do much because we're poor ourselves.'" + +Bobbie paused. + +"That's all right," said Perks, "your Ma's a born lady. We'll keep +the little frocks, and what not, Nell." + +"Then there's the perambulator and the gooseberries, and the +sweets," said Bobbie, "they're from Mrs. Ransome. She said: 'I dare +say Mr. Perks's children would like the sweets. And the +perambulator was got for my Emmie's first--it didn't live but six +months, and she's never had but that one. I'd like Mrs. Perks to +have it. It would be a help with her fine boy. I'd have given it +before if I'd been sure she'd accept of it from me.' She told me to +tell you," Bobbie added, "that it was her Emmie's little one's +pram." + +"I can't send that pram back, Bert," said Mrs Perks, firmly, "and I +won't. So don't you ask me--" + +"I'm not a-asking anything," said Perks, gruffly. + +"Then the shovel," said Bobbie. "Mr. James made it for you himself. +And he said--where is it? Oh, yes, here! He said, 'You tell Mr. +Perks it's a pleasure to make a little trifle for a man as is so +much respected,' and then he said he wished he could shoe your +children and his own children, like they do the horses, because, +well, he knew what shoe leather was." + +"James is a good enough chap," said Perks. + +"Then the honey," said Bobbie, in haste, "and the boot-laces. HE +said he respected a man that paid his way--and the butcher said the +same. And the old turnpike woman said many was the time you'd lent +her a hand with her garden when you were a lad--and things like that +came home to roost--I don't know what she meant. And everybody who +gave anything said they liked you, and it was a very good idea of +ours; and nobody said anything about charity or anything horrid like +that. And the old gentleman gave Peter a gold pound for you, and +said you were a man who knew your work. And I thought you'd LOVE to +know how fond people are of you, and I never was so unhappy in my +life. Good-bye. I hope you'll forgive us some day--" + +She could say no more, and she turned to go. + +"Stop," said Perks, still with his back to them; "I take back every +word I've said contrary to what you'd wish. Nell, set on the +kettle." + +"We'll take the things away if you're unhappy about them," said +Peter; "but I think everybody'll be most awfully disappointed, as +well as us." + +"I'm not unhappy about them," said Perks; "I don't know," he added, +suddenly wheeling the chair round and showing a very odd-looking +screwed-up face, "I don't know as ever I was better pleased. Not so +much with the presents--though they're an A1 collection--but the +kind respect of our neighbours. That's worth having, eh, Nell?" + +"I think it's all worth having," said Mrs. Perks, "and you've made a +most ridiculous fuss about nothing, Bert, if you ask me." + +"No, I ain't," said Perks, firmly; "if a man didn't respect hisself, +no one wouldn't do it for him." + +"But everyone respects you," said Bobbie; "they all said so." + +"I knew you'd like it when you really understood," said Phyllis, +brightly. + +"Humph! You'll stay to tea?" said Mr. Perks. + +Later on Peter proposed Mr. Perks's health. And Mr. Perks proposed +a toast, also honoured in tea, and the toast was, "May the garland +of friendship be ever green," which was much more poetical than +anyone had expected from him. + + * * * * * * + +"Jolly good little kids, those," said Mr. Perks to his wife as they +went to bed. + +"Oh, they're all right, bless their hearts," said his wife; "it's +you that's the aggravatingest old thing that ever was. I was +ashamed of you--I tell you--" + +"You didn't need to be, old gal. I climbed down handsome soon as I +understood it wasn't charity. But charity's what I never did abide, +and won't neither." + + * * * * * * + +All sorts of people were made happy by that birthday party. Mr. +Perks and Mrs. Perks and the little Perkses by all the nice things +and by the kind thoughts of their neighbours; the Three Chimneys +children by the success, undoubted though unexpectedly delayed, of +their plan; and Mrs. Ransome every time she saw the fat Perks baby +in the perambulator. Mrs. Perks made quite a round of visits to +thank people for their kind birthday presents, and after each visit +felt that she had a better friend than she had thought. + +"Yes," said Perks, reflectively, "it's not so much what you does as +what you means; that's what I say. Now if it had been charity--" + +"Oh, drat charity," said Mrs. Perks; "nobody won't offer you +charity, Bert, however much you was to want it, I lay. That was +just friendliness, that was." + +When the clergyman called on Mrs. Perks, she told him all about it. +"It WAS friendliness, wasn't it, Sir?" said she. + +"I think," said the clergyman, "it was what is sometimes called +loving-kindness." + +So you see it was all right in the end. But if one does that sort +of thing, one has to be careful to do it in the right way. For, as +Mr. Perks said, when he had time to think it over, it's not so much +what you do, as what you mean. + + + +Chapter X. The terrible secret. + + +When they first went to live at Three Chimneys, the children had +talked a great deal about their Father, and had asked a great many +questions about him, and what he was doing and where he was and when +he would come home. Mother always answered their questions as well +as she could. But as the time went on they grew to speak less of +him. Bobbie had felt almost from the first that for some strange +miserable reason these questions hurt Mother and made her sad. And +little by little the others came to have this feeling, too, though +they could not have put it into words. + +One day, when Mother was working so hard that she could not leave +off even for ten minutes, Bobbie carried up her tea to the big bare +room that they called Mother's workshop. It had hardly any +furniture. Just a table and a chair and a rug. But always big pots +of flowers on the window-sills and on the mantelpiece. The children +saw to that. And from the three long uncurtained windows the +beautiful stretch of meadow and moorland, the far violet of the +hills, and the unchanging changefulness of cloud and sky. + +"Here's your tea, Mother-love," said Bobbie; "do drink it while it's +hot." + +Mother laid down her pen among the pages that were scattered all +over the table, pages covered with her writing, which was almost as +plain as print, and much prettier. She ran her hands into her hair, +as if she were going to pull it out by handfuls. + +"Poor dear head," said Bobbie, "does it ache?" + +"No--yes--not much," said Mother. "Bobbie, do you think Peter and +Phil are FORGETTING Father?" + +"NO," said Bobbie, indignantly. "Why?" + +"You none of you ever speak of him now." + +Bobbie stood first on one leg and then on the other. + +"We often talk about him when we're by ourselves," she said. + +"But not to me," said Mother. "Why?" + +Bobbie did not find it easy to say why. + +"I--you--" she said and stopped. She went over to the window and +looked out. + +"Bobbie, come here," said her Mother, and Bobbie came. + +"Now," said Mother, putting her arm round Bobbie and laying her +ruffled head against Bobbie's shoulder, "try to tell me, dear." + +Bobbie fidgeted. + +"Tell Mother." + +"Well, then," said Bobbie, "I thought you were so unhappy about +Daddy not being here, it made you worse when I talked about him. So +I stopped doing it." + +"And the others?" + +"I don't know about the others," said Bobbie. "I never said +anything about THAT to them. But I expect they felt the same about +it as me." + +"Bobbie dear," said Mother, still leaning her head against her, +"I'll tell you. Besides parting from Father, he and I have had a +great sorrow--oh, terrible--worse than anything you can think of, +and at first it did hurt to hear you all talking of him as if +everything were just the same. But it would be much more terrible +if you were to forget him. That would be worse than anything." + +"The trouble," said Bobbie, in a very little voice--"I promised I +would never ask you any questions, and I never have, have I? But-- +the trouble--it won't last always?" + +"No," said Mother, "the worst will be over when Father comes home to +us." + +"I wish I could comfort you," said Bobbie. + +"Oh, my dear, do you suppose you don't? Do you think I haven't +noticed how good you've all been, not quarrelling nearly as much as +you used to--and all the little kind things you do for me--the +flowers, and cleaning my shoes, and tearing up to make my bed before +I get time to do it myself?" + +Bobbie HAD sometimes wondered whether Mother noticed these things. + +"That's nothing," she said, "to what--" + +"I MUST get on with my work," said Mother, giving Bobbie one last +squeeze. "Don't say anything to the others." + +That evening in the hour before bed-time instead of reading to the +children Mother told them stories of the games she and Father used +to have when they were children and lived near each other in the +country--tales of the adventures of Father with Mother's brothers +when they were all boys together. Very funny stories they were, and +the children laughed as they listened. + +"Uncle Edward died before he was grown up, didn't he?" said Phyllis, +as Mother lighted the bedroom candles. + +"Yes, dear," said Mother, "you would have loved him. He was such a +brave boy, and so adventurous. Always in mischief, and yet friends +with everybody in spite of it. And your Uncle Reggie's in Ceylon-- +yes, and Father's away, too. But I think they'd all like to think +we'd enjoyed talking about the things they used to do. Don't you +think so?" + +"Not Uncle Edward," said Phyllis, in a shocked tone; "he's in +Heaven." + +"You don't suppose he's forgotten us and all the old times, because +God has taken him, any more than I forget him. Oh, no, he +remembers. He's only away for a little time. We shall see him some +day." + +"And Uncle Reggie--and Father, too?" said Peter. + +"Yes," said Mother. "Uncle Reggie and Father, too. Good night, my +darlings." + +"Good night," said everyone. Bobbie hugged her mother more closely +even than usual, and whispered in her ear, "Oh, I do love you so, +Mummy--I do--I do--" + +When Bobbie came to think it all over, she tried not to wonder what +the great trouble was. But she could not always help it. Father +was not dead--like poor Uncle Edward--Mother had said so. And he +was not ill, or Mother would have been with him. Being poor wasn't +the trouble. Bobbie knew it was something nearer the heart than +money could be. + +"I mustn't try to think what it is," she told herself; "no, I +mustn't. I AM glad Mother noticed about us not quarrelling so much. +We'll keep that up." + +And alas, that very afternoon she and Peter had what Peter called a +first-class shindy. + +They had not been a week at Three Chimneys before they had asked +Mother to let them have a piece of garden each for their very own, +and she had agreed, and the south border under the peach trees had +been divided into three pieces and they were allowed to plant +whatever they liked there. + +Phyllis had planted mignonette and nasturtium and Virginia Stock in +hers. The seeds came up, and though they looked just like weeds, +Phyllis believed that they would bear flowers some day. The +Virginia Stock justified her faith quite soon, and her garden was +gay with a band of bright little flowers, pink and white and red and +mauve. + +"I can't weed for fear I pull up the wrong things," she used to say +comfortably; "it saves such a lot of work." + +Peter sowed vegetable seeds in his--carrots and onions and turnips. +The seed was given to him by the farmer who lived in the nice black- +and-white, wood-and-plaster house just beyond the bridge. He kept +turkeys and guinea fowls, and was a most amiable man. But Peter's +vegetables never had much of a chance, because he liked to use the +earth of his garden for digging canals, and making forts and +earthworks for his toy soldiers. And the seeds of vegetables rarely +come to much in a soil that is constantly disturbed for the purposes +of war and irrigation. + +Bobbie planted rose-bushes in her garden, but all the little new +leaves of the rose-bushes shrivelled and withered, perhaps because +she moved them from the other part of the garden in May, which is +not at all the right time of year for moving roses. But she would +not own that they were dead, and hoped on against hope, until the +day when Perks came up to see the garden, and told her quite plainly +that all her roses were as dead as doornails. + +"Only good for bonfires, Miss," he said. "You just dig 'em up and +burn 'em, and I'll give you some nice fresh roots outer my garden; +pansies, and stocks, and sweet willies, and forget-me-nots. I'll +bring 'em along to-morrow if you get the ground ready." + +So next day she set to work, and that happened to be the day when +Mother had praised her and the others about not quarrelling. She +moved the rose-bushes and carried them to the other end of the +garden, where the rubbish heap was that they meant to make a bonfire +of when Guy Fawkes' Day came. + +Meanwhile Peter had decided to flatten out all his forts and +earthworks, with a view to making a model of the railway-tunnel, +cutting, embankment, canal, aqueduct, bridges, and all. + +So when Bobbie came back from her last thorny journey with the dead +rose-bushes, he had got the rake and was using it busily. + +"_I_ was using the rake," said Bobbie. + +"Well, I'm using it now," said Peter. + +"But I had it first," said Bobbie. + +"Then it's my turn now," said Peter. And that was how the quarrel +began. + +"You're always being disagreeable about nothing," said Peter, after +some heated argument. + +"I had the rake first," said Bobbie, flushed and defiant, holding on +to its handle. + +"Don't--I tell you I said this morning I meant to have it. Didn't +I, Phil?" + +Phyllis said she didn't want to be mixed up in their rows. And +instantly, of course, she was. + +"If you remember, you ought to say." + +"Of course she doesn't remember--but she might say so." + +"I wish I'd had a brother instead of two whiny little kiddy +sisters," said Peter. This was always recognised as indicating the +high-water mark of Peter's rage. + +Bobbie made the reply she always made to it. + +"I can't think why little boys were ever invented," and just as she +said it she looked up, and saw the three long windows of Mother's +workshop flashing in the red rays of the sun. The sight brought +back those words of praise:-- + +"You don't quarrel like you used to do." + +"OH!" cried Bobbie, just as if she had been hit, or had caught her +finger in a door, or had felt the hideous sharp beginnings of +toothache. + +"What's the matter?" said Phyllis. + +Bobbie wanted to say: "Don't let's quarrel. Mother hates it so," +but though she tried hard, she couldn't. Peter was looking too +disagreeable and insulting. + +"Take the horrid rake, then," was the best she could manage. And +she suddenly let go her hold on the handle. Peter had been holding +on to it too firmly and pullingly, and now that the pull the other +way was suddenly stopped, he staggered and fell over backward, the +teeth of the rake between his feet. + +"Serve you right," said Bobbie, before she could stop herself. + +Peter lay still for half a moment--long enough to frighten Bobbie a +little. Then he frightened her a little more, for he sat up-- +screamed once--turned rather pale, and then lay back and began to +shriek, faintly but steadily. It sounded exactly like a pig being +killed a quarter of a mile off. + +Mother put her head out of the window, and it wasn't half a minute +after that she was in the garden kneeling by the side of Peter, who +never for an instant ceased to squeal. + +"What happened, Bobbie?" Mother asked. + +"It was the rake," said Phyllis. "Peter was pulling at it, so was +Bobbie, and she let go and he went over." + +"Stop that noise, Peter," said Mother. "Come. Stop at once." + +Peter used up what breath he had left in a last squeal and stopped. + +"Now," said Mother, "are you hurt?" + +"If he was really hurt, he wouldn't make such a fuss," said Bobbie, +still trembling with fury; "he's not a coward!" + +"I think my foot's broken off, that's all," said Peter, huffily, and +sat up. Then he turned quite white. Mother put her arm round him. + +"He IS hurt," she said; "he's fainted. Here, Bobbie, sit down and +take his head on your lap." + +Then Mother undid Peter's boots. As she took the right one off, +something dripped from his foot on to the ground. It was red blood. +And when the stocking came off there were three red wounds in +Peter's foot and ankle, where the teeth of the rake had bitten him, +and his foot was covered with red smears. + +"Run for water--a basinful," said Mother, and Phyllis ran. She +upset most of the water out of the basin in her haste, and had to +fetch more in a jug. + +Peter did not open his eyes again till Mother had tied her +handkerchief round his foot, and she and Bobbie had carried him in +and laid him on the brown wooden settle in the dining-room. By this +time Phyllis was halfway to the Doctor's. + +Mother sat by Peter and bathed his foot and talked to him, and +Bobbie went out and got tea ready, and put on the kettle. + +"It's all I can do," she told herself. "Oh, suppose Peter should +die, or be a helpless cripple for life, or have to walk with +crutches, or wear a boot with a sole like a log of wood!" + +She stood by the back door reflecting on these gloomy possibilities, +her eyes fixed on the water-butt. + +"I wish I'd never been born," she said, and she said it out loud. + +"Why, lawk a mercy, what's that for?" asked a voice, and Perks stood +before her with a wooden trug basket full of green-leaved things and +soft, loose earth. + +"Oh, it's you," she said. "Peter's hurt his foot with a rake--three +great gaping wounds, like soldiers get. And it was partly my +fault." + +"That it wasn't, I'll go bail," said Perks. "Doctor seen him?" + +"Phyllis has gone for the Doctor." + +"He'll be all right; you see if he isn't," said Perks. "Why, my +father's second cousin had a hay-fork run into him, right into his +inside, and he was right as ever in a few weeks, all except his +being a bit weak in the head afterwards, and they did say that it +was along of his getting a touch of the sun in the hay-field, and +not the fork at all. I remember him well. A kind-'earted chap, but +soft, as you might say." + +Bobbie tried to let herself be cheered by this heartening +reminiscence. + +"Well," said Perks, "you won't want to be bothered with gardening +just this minute, I dare say. You show me where your garden is, and +I'll pop the bits of stuff in for you. And I'll hang about, if I +may make so free, to see the Doctor as he comes out and hear what he +says. You cheer up, Missie. I lay a pound he ain't hurt, not to +speak of." + +But he was. The Doctor came and looked at the foot and bandaged it +beautifully, and said that Peter must not put it to the ground for +at least a week. + +"He won't be lame, or have to wear crutches or a lump on his foot, +will he?" whispered Bobbie, breathlessly, at the door. + +"My aunt! No!" said Dr. Forrest; "he'll be as nimble as ever on his +pins in a fortnight. Don't you worry, little Mother Goose." + +It was when Mother had gone to the gate with the Doctor to take his +last instructions and Phyllis was filling the kettle for tea, that +Peter and Bobbie found themselves alone. + +"He says you won't be lame or anything," said Bobbie. + +"Oh, course I shan't, silly," said Peter, very much relieved all the +same. + +"Oh, Peter, I AM so sorry," said Bobbie, after a pause. + +"That's all right," said Peter, gruffly. + +"It was ALL my fault," said Bobbie. + +"Rot," said Peter. + +"If we hadn't quarrelled, it wouldn't have happened. I knew it was +wrong to quarrel. I wanted to say so, but somehow I couldn't." + +"Don't drivel," said Peter. "I shouldn't have stopped if you HAD +said it. Not likely. And besides, us rowing hadn't anything to do +with it. I might have caught my foot in the hoe, or taken off my +fingers in the chaff-cutting machine or blown my nose off with +fireworks. It would have been hurt just the same whether we'd been +rowing or not." + +"But I knew it was wrong to quarrel," said Bobbie, in tears, "and +now you're hurt and--" + +"Now look here," said Peter, firmly, "you just dry up. If you're +not careful, you'll turn into a beastly little Sunday-school prig, +so I tell you." + +"I don't mean to be a prig. But it's so hard not to be when you're +really trying to be good." + +(The Gentle Reader may perhaps have suffered from this difficulty.) + +"Not it," said Peter; "it's a jolly good thing it wasn't you was +hurt. I'm glad it was ME. There! If it had been you, you'd have +been lying on the sofa looking like a suffering angel and being the +light of the anxious household and all that. And I couldn't have +stood it." + +"No, I shouldn't," said Bobbie. + +"Yes, you would," said Peter. + +"I tell you I shouldn't." + +"I tell you you would." + +"Oh, children," said Mother's voice at the door. "Quarrelling +again? Already?" + +"We aren't quarrelling--not really," said Peter. "I wish you +wouldn't think it's rows every time we don't agree!" When Mother +had gone out again, Bobbie broke out:-- + +"Peter, I AM sorry you're hurt. But you ARE a beast to say I'm a +prig." + +"Well," said Peter unexpectedly, "perhaps I am. You did say I +wasn't a coward, even when you were in such a wax. The only thing +is--don't you be a prig, that's all. You keep your eyes open and if +you feel priggishness coming on just stop in time. See?" + +"Yes," said Bobbie, "I see." + +"Then let's call it Pax," said Peter, magnanimously: "bury the +hatchet in the fathoms of the past. Shake hands on it. I say, +Bobbie, old chap, I am tired." + +He was tired for many days after that, and the settle seemed hard +and uncomfortable in spite of all the pillows and bolsters and soft +folded rugs. It was terrible not to be able to go out. They moved +the settle to the window, and from there Peter could see the smoke +of the trains winding along the valley. But he could not see the +trains. + +At first Bobbie found it quite hard to be as nice to him as she +wanted to be, for fear he should think her priggish. But that soon +wore off, and both she and Phyllis were, as he observed, jolly good +sorts. Mother sat with him when his sisters were out. And the +words, "he's not a coward," made Peter determined not to make any +fuss about the pain in his foot, though it was rather bad, +especially at night. + +Praise helps people very much, sometimes. + +There were visitors, too. Mrs. Perks came up to ask how he was, and +so did the Station Master, and several of the village people. But +the time went slowly, slowly. + +"I do wish there was something to read," said Peter. "I've read all +our books fifty times over." + +"I'll go to the Doctor's," said Phyllis; "he's sure to have some." + +"Only about how to be ill, and about people's nasty insides, I +expect," said Peter. + +"Perks has a whole heap of Magazines that came out of trains when +people are tired of them," said Bobbie. "I'll run down and ask +him." + +So the girls went their two ways. + +Bobbie found Perks busy cleaning lamps. + +"And how's the young gent?" said he. + +"Better, thanks," said Bobbie, "but he's most frightfully bored. I +came to ask if you'd got any Magazines you could lend him." + +"There, now," said Perks, regretfully, rubbing his ear with a black +and oily lump of cotton waste, "why didn't I think of that, now? I +was trying to think of something as 'ud amuse him only this morning, +and I couldn't think of anything better than a guinea-pig. And a +young chap I know's going to fetch that over for him this tea-time." + +"How lovely! A real live guinea! He will be pleased. But he'd +like the Magazines as well." + +"That's just it," said Perks. "I've just sent the pick of 'em to +Snigson's boy--him what's just getting over the pewmonia. But I've +lots of illustrated papers left." + +He turned to the pile of papers in the corner and took up a heap six +inches thick. + +"There!" he said. "I'll just slip a bit of string and a bit of +paper round 'em." + +He pulled an old newspaper from the pile and spread it on the table, +and made a neat parcel of it. + +"There," said he, "there's lots of pictures, and if he likes to mess +'em about with his paint-box, or coloured chalks or what not, why, +let him. _I_ don't want 'em." + +"You're a dear," said Bobbie, took the parcel, and started. The +papers were heavy, and when she had to wait at the level-crossing +while a train went by, she rested the parcel on the top of the gate. +And idly she looked at the printing on the paper that the parcel was +wrapped in. + +Suddenly she clutched the parcel tighter and bent her head over it. +It seemed like some horrible dream. She read on--the bottom of the +column was torn off--she could read no farther. + +She never remembered how she got home. But she went on tiptoe to +her room and locked the door. Then she undid the parcel and read +that printed column again, sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands +and feet icy cold and her face burning. When she had read all there +was, she drew a long, uneven breath. + +"So now I know," she said. + +What she had read was headed, 'End of the Trial. Verdict. +Sentence.' + +The name of the man who had been tried was the name of her Father. +The verdict was 'Guilty.' And the sentence was 'Five years' Penal +Servitude.' + +"Oh, Daddy," she whispered, crushing the paper hard, "it's not true- +-I don't believe it. You never did it! Never, never, never!" + +There was a hammering on the door. + +"What is it?" said Bobbie. + +"It's me," said the voice of Phyllis; "tea's ready, and a boy's +brought Peter a guinea-pig. Come along down." + +And Bobbie had to. + + + +Chapter XI. The hound in the red jersey. + + +Bobbie knew the secret now. A sheet of old newspaper wrapped round +a parcel--just a little chance like that--had given the secret to +her. And she had to go down to tea and pretend that there was +nothing the matter. The pretence was bravely made, but it wasn't +very successful. + +For when she came in, everyone looked up from tea and saw her pink- +lidded eyes and her pale face with red tear-blotches on it. + +"My darling," cried Mother, jumping up from the tea-tray, "whatever +IS the matter?" + +"My head aches, rather," said Bobbie. And indeed it did. + +"Has anything gone wrong?" Mother asked. + +"I'm all right, really," said Bobbie, and she telegraphed to her +Mother from her swollen eyes this brief, imploring message--"NOT +before the others!" + +Tea was not a cheerful meal. Peter was so distressed by the obvious +fact that something horrid had happened to Bobbie that he limited +his speech to repeating, "More bread and butter, please," at +startlingly short intervals. Phyllis stroked her sister's hand +under the table to express sympathy, and knocked her cup over as she +did it. Fetching a cloth and wiping up the spilt milk helped Bobbie +a little. But she thought that tea would never end. Yet at last it +did end, as all things do at last, and when Mother took out the +tray, Bobbie followed her. + +"She's gone to own up," said Phyllis to Peter; "I wonder what she's +done." + +"Broken something, I suppose," said Peter, "but she needn't be so +silly over it. Mother never rows for accidents. Listen! Yes, +they're going upstairs. She's taking Mother up to show her--the +water-jug with storks on it, I expect it is." + +Bobbie, in the kitchen, had caught hold of Mother's hand as she set +down the tea-things. + +"What is it?" Mother asked. + +But Bobbie only said, "Come upstairs, come up where nobody can hear +us." + +When she had got Mother alone in her room she locked the door and +then stood quite still, and quite without words. + +All through tea she had been thinking of what to say; she had +decided that "I know all," or "All is known to me," or "The terrible +secret is a secret no longer," would be the proper thing. But now +that she and her Mother and that awful sheet of newspaper were alone +in the room together, she found that she could say nothing. + +Suddenly she went to Mother and put her arms round her and began to +cry again. And still she could find no words, only, "Oh, Mammy, oh, +Mammy, oh, Mammy," over and over again. + +Mother held her very close and waited. + +Suddenly Bobbie broke away from her and went to her bed. From under +her mattress she pulled out the paper she had hidden there, and held +it out, pointing to her Father's name with a finger that shook. + +"Oh, Bobbie," Mother cried, when one little quick look had shown her +what it was, "you don't BELIEVE it? You don't believe Daddy did +it?" + +"NO," Bobbie almost shouted. She had stopped crying. + +"That's all right," said Mother. "It's not true. And they've shut +him up in prison, but he's done nothing wrong. He's good and noble +and honourable, and he belongs to us. We have to think of that, and +be proud of him, and wait." + +Again Bobbie clung to her Mother, and again only one word came to +her, but now that word was "Daddy," and "Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy, oh, +Daddy!" again and again. + +"Why didn't you tell me, Mammy?" she asked presently. + +"Are you going to tell the others?" Mother asked. + +"No." + +"Why?" + +"Because--" + +"Exactly," said Mother; "so you understand why I didn't tell you. +We two must help each other to be brave." + +"Yes," said Bobbie; "Mother, will it make you more unhappy if you +tell me all about it? I want to understand." + +So then, sitting cuddled up close to her Mother, Bobbie heard "all +about it." She heard how those men, who had asked to see Father on +that remembered last night when the Engine was being mended, had +come to arrest him, charging him with selling State secrets to the +Russians--with being, in fact, a spy and a traitor. She heard about +the trial, and about the evidence--letters, found in Father's desk +at the office, letters that convinced the jury that Father was +guilty. + +"Oh, how could they look at him and believe it!" cried Bobbie; "and +how could ANY one do such a thing!" + +"SOMEONE did it," said Mother, "and all the evidence was against +Father. Those letters--" + +"Yes. How did the letters get into his desk?" + +"Someone put them there. And the person who put them there was the +person who was really guilty." + +"HE must be feeling pretty awful all this time," said Bobbie, +thoughtfully. + +"I don't believe he had any feelings," Mother said hotly; "he +couldn't have done a thing like that if he had." + +"Perhaps he just shoved the letters into the desk to hide them when +he thought he was going to be found out. Why don't you tell the +lawyers, or someone, that it must have been that person? There +wasn't anyone that would have hurt Father on purpose, was there?" + +"I don't know--I don't know. The man under him who got Daddy's +place when he--when the awful thing happened--he was always jealous +of your Father because Daddy was so clever and everyone thought such +a lot of him. And Daddy never quite trusted that man." + +"Couldn't we explain all that to someone?" + +"Nobody will listen," said Mother, very bitterly, "nobody at all. +Do you suppose I've not tried everything? No, my dearest, there's +nothing to be done. All we can do, you and I and Daddy, is to be +brave, and patient, and--" she spoke very softly--"to pray, Bobbie, +dear." + +"Mother, you've got very thin," said Bobbie, abruptly. + +"A little, perhaps." + +"And oh," said Bobbie, "I do think you're the bravest person in the +world as well as the nicest!" + +"We won't talk of all this any more, will we, dear?" said Mother; +"we must bear it and be brave. And, darling, try not to think of +it. Try to be cheerful, and to amuse yourself and the others. It's +much easier for me if you can be a little bit happy and enjoy +things. Wash your poor little round face, and let's go out into the +garden for a bit." + +The other two were very gentle and kind to Bobbie. And they did not +ask her what was the matter. This was Peter's idea, and he had +drilled Phyllis, who would have asked a hundred questions if she had +been left to herself. + +A week later Bobbie managed to get away alone. And once more she +wrote a letter. And once more it was to the old gentleman. + +"My dear Friend," she said, "you see what is in this paper. It is +not true. Father never did it. Mother says someone put the papers +in Father's desk, and she says the man under him that got Father's +place afterwards was jealous of Father, and Father suspected him a +long time. But nobody listens to a word she says, but you are so +good and clever, and you found out about the Russian gentleman's +wife directly. Can't you find out who did the treason because he +wasn't Father upon my honour; he is an Englishman and uncapable to +do such things, and then they would let Father out of prison. It is +dreadful, and Mother is getting so thin. She told us once to pray +for all prisoners and captives. I see now. Oh, do help me--there +is only just Mother and me know, and we can't do anything. Peter +and Phil don't know. I'll pray for you twice every day as long as I +live if you'll only try--just try to find out. Think if it was YOUR +Daddy, what you would feel. Oh, do, do, DO help me. With love + "I remain Your affectionately little friend + "Roberta. + +P.S. Mother would send her kind regards if she knew I am writing-- +but it is no use telling her I am, in case you can't do anything. +But I know you will. Bobbie with best love." + +She cut the account of her Father's trial out of the newspaper with +Mother's big cutting-out scissors, and put it in the envelope with +her letter. + +Then she took it down to the station, going out the back way and +round by the road, so that the others should not see her and offer +to come with her, and she gave the letter to the Station Master to +give to the old gentleman next morning. + +"Where HAVE you been?" shouted Peter, from the top of the yard wall +where he and Phyllis were. + +"To the station, of course," said Bobbie; "give us a hand, Pete." + +She set her foot on the lock of the yard door. Peter reached down a +hand. + +"What on earth?" she asked as she reached the wall-top--for Phyllis +and Peter were very muddy. A lump of wet clay lay between them on +the wall, they had each a slip of slate in a very dirty hand, and +behind Peter, out of the reach of accidents, were several strange +rounded objects rather like very fat sausages, hollow, but closed up +at one end. + +"It's nests," said Peter, "swallows' nests. We're going to dry them +in the oven and hang them up with string under the eaves of the +coach-house." + +"Yes," said Phyllis; "and then we're going to save up all the wool +and hair we can get, and in the spring we'll line them, and then how +pleased the swallows will be!" + +"I've often thought people don't do nearly enough for dumb animals," +said Peter with an air of virtue. "I do think people might have +thought of making nests for poor little swallows before this." + +"Oh," said Bobbie, vaguely, "if everybody thought of everything, +there'd be nothing left for anybody else to think about." + +"Look at the nests--aren't they pretty?" said Phyllis, reaching +across Peter to grasp a nest. + +"Look out, Phil, you goat," said her brother. But it was too late; +her strong little fingers had crushed the nest. + +"There now," said Peter. + +"Never mind," said Bobbie. + +"It IS one of my own," said Phyllis, "so you needn't jaw, Peter. +Yes, we've put our initial names on the ones we've done, so that the +swallows will know who they've got to be so grateful to and fond +of." + +"Swallows can't read, silly," said Peter. + +"Silly yourself," retorted Phyllis; "how do you know?" + +"Who thought of making the nests, anyhow?" shouted Peter. + +"I did," screamed Phyllis. + +"Nya," rejoined Peter, "you only thought of making hay ones and +sticking them in the ivy for the sparrows, and they'd have been +sopping LONG before egg-laying time. It was me said clay and +swallows." + +"I don't care what you said." + +"Look," said Bobbie, "I've made the nest all right again. Give me +the bit of stick to mark your initial name on it. But how can you? +Your letter and Peter's are the same. P. for Peter, P. for +Phyllis." + +"I put F. for Phyllis," said the child of that name. "That's how it +sounds. The swallows wouldn't spell Phyllis with a P., I'm certain- +sure." + +"They can't spell at all," Peter was still insisting. + +"Then why do you see them always on Christmas cards and valentines +with letters round their necks? How would they know where to go if +they couldn't read?" + +"That's only in pictures. You never saw one really with letters +round its neck." + +"Well, I have a pigeon, then; at least Daddy told me they did. Only +it was under their wings and not round their necks, but it comes to +the same thing, and--" + +"I say," interrupted Bobbie, "there's to be a paperchase to-morrow." + +"Who?" Peter asked. + +"Grammar School. Perks thinks the hare will go along by the line at +first. We might go along the cutting. You can see a long way from +there." + +The paperchase was found to be a more amusing subject of +conversation than the reading powers of swallows. Bobbie had hoped +it might be. And next morning Mother let them take their lunch and +go out for the day to see the paperchase. + +"If we go to the cutting," said Peter, "we shall see the workmen, +even if we miss the paperchase." + +Of course it had taken some time to get the line clear from the +rocks and earth and trees that had fallen on it when the great +landslip happened. That was the occasion, you will remember, when +the three children saved the train from being wrecked by waving six +little red-flannel-petticoat flags. It is always interesting to +watch people working, especially when they work with such +interesting things as spades and picks and shovels and planks and +barrows, when they have cindery red fires in iron pots with round +holes in them, and red lamps hanging near the works at night. Of +course the children were never out at night; but once, at dusk, when +Peter had got out of his bedroom skylight on to the roof, he had +seen the red lamp shining far away at the edge of the cutting. The +children had often been down to watch the work, and this day the +interest of picks and spades, and barrows being wheeled along +planks, completely put the paperchase out of their heads, so that +they quite jumped when a voice just behind them panted, "Let me +pass, please." It was the hare--a big-boned, loose-limbed boy, with +dark hair lying flat on a very damp forehead. The bag of torn paper +under his arm was fastened across one shoulder by a strap. The +children stood back. The hare ran along the line, and the workmen +leaned on their picks to watch him. He ran on steadily and +disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel. + +"That's against the by-laws," said the foreman. + +"Why worry?" said the oldest workman; "live and let live's what I +always say. Ain't you never been young yourself, Mr. Bates?" + +"I ought to report him," said the foreman. + +"Why spoil sport's what I always say." + +"Passengers are forbidden to cross the line on any pretence," +murmured the foreman, doubtfully. + +"He ain't no passenger," said one of the workmen. + +"Nor 'e ain't crossed the line, not where we could see 'im do it," +said another. + +"Nor yet 'e ain't made no pretences," said a third. + +"And," said the oldest workman, "'e's outer sight now. What the eye +don't see the 'art needn't take no notice of's what I always say." + +And now, following the track of the hare by the little white blots +of scattered paper, came the hounds. There were thirty of them, and +they all came down the steep, ladder-like steps by ones and twos and +threes and sixes and sevens. Bobbie and Phyllis and Peter counted +them as they passed. The foremost ones hesitated a moment at the +foot of the ladder, then their eyes caught the gleam of scattered +whiteness along the line and they turned towards the tunnel, and, by +ones and twos and threes and sixes and sevens, disappeared in the +dark mouth of it. The last one, in a red jersey, seemed to be +extinguished by the darkness like a candle that is blown out. + +"They don't know what they're in for," said the foreman; "it isn't +so easy running in the dark. The tunnel takes two or three turns." + +"They'll take a long time to get through, you think?" Peter asked. + +"An hour or more, I shouldn't wonder." + +"Then let's cut across the top and see them come out at the other +end," said Peter; "we shall get there long before they do." + +The counsel seemed good, and they went. + +They climbed the steep steps from which they had picked the wild +cherry blossom for the grave of the little wild rabbit, and reaching +the top of the cutting, set their faces towards the hill through +which the tunnel was cut. It was stiff work. + +"It's like Alps," said Bobbie, breathlessly. + +"Or Andes," said Peter. + +"It's like Himmy what's its names?" gasped Phyllis. "Mount +Everlasting. Do let's stop." + +"Stick to it," panted Peter; "you'll get your second wind in a +minute." + +Phyllis consented to stick to it--and on they went, running when the +turf was smooth and the slope easy, climbing over stones, helping +themselves up rocks by the branches of trees, creeping through +narrow openings between tree trunks and rocks, and so on and on, up +and up, till at last they stood on the very top of the hill where +they had so often wished to be. + +"Halt!" cried Peter, and threw himself flat on the grass. For the +very top of the hill was a smooth, turfed table-land, dotted with +mossy rocks and little mountain-ash trees. + +The girls also threw themselves down flat. + +"Plenty of time," Peter panted; "the rest's all down hill." + +When they were rested enough to sit up and look round them, Bobbie +cried:-- + +"Oh, look!" + +"What at?" said Phyllis. + +"The view," said Bobbie. + +"I hate views," said Phyllis, "don't you, Peter?" + +"Let's get on," said Peter. + +"But this isn't like a view they take you to in carriages when +you're at the seaside, all sea and sand and bare hills. It's like +the 'coloured counties' in one of Mother's poetry books." + +"It's not so dusty," said Peter; "look at the Aqueduct straddling +slap across the valley like a giant centipede, and then the towns +sticking their church spires up out of the trees like pens out of an +inkstand. _I_ think it's more like + + "There could he see the banners + Of twelve fair cities shine." + +"I love it," said Bobbie; "it's worth the climb." + +"The paperchase is worth the climb," said Phyllis, "if we don't lose +it. Let's get on. It's all down hill now." + +"_I_ said that ten minutes ago," said Peter. + +"Well, I'VE said it now," said Phyllis; "come on." + +"Loads of time," said Peter. And there was. For when they had got +down to a level with the top of the tunnel's mouth--they were a +couple of hundred yards out of their reckoning and had to creep +along the face of the hill--there was no sign of the hare or the +hounds. + +"They've gone long ago, of course," said Phyllis, as they leaned on +the brick parapet above the tunnel. + +"I don't think so," said Bobbie, "but even if they had, it's ripping +here, and we shall see the trains come out of the tunnel like +dragons out of lairs. We've never seen that from the top side +before." + +"No more we have," said Phyllis, partially appeased. + +It was really a most exciting place to be in. The top of the tunnel +seemed ever so much farther from the line than they had expected, +and it was like being on a bridge, but a bridge overgrown with +bushes and creepers and grass and wild-flowers. + +"I KNOW the paperchase has gone long ago," said Phyllis every two +minutes, and she hardly knew whether she was pleased or disappointed +when Peter, leaning over the parapet, suddenly cried:-- + +"Look out. Here he comes!" + +They all leaned over the sun-warmed brick wall in time to see the +hare, going very slowly, come out from the shadow of the tunnel. + +"There, now," said Peter, "what did I tell you? Now for the +hounds!" + +Very soon came the hounds--by ones and twos and threes and sixes and +sevens--and they also were going slowly and seemed very tired. Two +or three who lagged far behind came out long after the others. + +"There," said Bobbie, "that's all--now what shall we do?" + +"Go along into the tulgy wood over there and have lunch," said +Phyllis; "we can see them for miles from up here." + +"Not yet," said Peter. "That's not the last. There's the one in +the red jersey to come yet. Let's see the last of them come out." + +But though they waited and waited and waited, the boy in the red +jersey did not appear. + +"Oh, let's have lunch," said Phyllis; "I've got a pain in my front +with being so hungry. You must have missed seeing the red-jerseyed +one when he came out with the others--" + +But Bobbie and Peter agreed that he had not come out with the +others. + +"Let's get down to the tunnel mouth," said Peter; "then perhaps we +shall see him coming along from the inside. I expect he felt spun- +chuck, and rested in one of the manholes. You stay up here and +watch, Bob, and when I signal from below, you come down. We might +miss seeing him on the way down, with all these trees." + +So the others climbed down and Bobbie waited till they signalled to +her from the line below. And then she, too, scrambled down the +roundabout slippery path among roots and moss till she stepped out +between two dogwood trees and joined the others on the line. And +still there was no sign of the hound with the red jersey. + +"Oh, do, DO let's have something to eat," wailed Phyllis. "I shall +die if you don't, and then you'll be sorry." + +"Give her the sandwiches, for goodness' sake, and stop her silly +mouth," said Peter, not quite unkindly. "Look here," he added, +turning to Bobbie, "perhaps we'd better have one each, too. We may +need all our strength. Not more than one, though. There's no +time." + +"What?" asked Bobbie, her mouth already full, for she was just as +hungry as Phyllis. + +"Don't you see," replied Peter, impressively, "that red-jerseyed +hound has had an accident--that's what it is. Perhaps even as we +speak he's lying with his head on the metals, an unresisting prey to +any passing express--" + +"Oh, don't try to talk like a book," cried Bobbie, bolting what was +left of her sandwich; "come on. Phil, keep close behind me, and if +a train comes, stand flat against the tunnel wall and hold your +petticoats close to you." + +"Give me one more sandwich," pleaded Phyllis, "and I will." + +"I'm going first," said Peter; "it was my idea," and he went. + +Of course you know what going into a tunnel is like? The engine +gives a scream and then suddenly the noise of the running, rattling +train changes and grows different and much louder. Grown-up people +pull up the windows and hold them by the strap. The railway +carriage suddenly grows like night--with lamps, of course, unless +you are in a slow local train, in which case lamps are not always +provided. Then by and by the darkness outside the carriage window +is touched by puffs of cloudy whiteness, then you see a blue light +on the walls of the tunnel, then the sound of the moving train +changes once more, and you are out in the good open air again, and +grown-ups let the straps go. The windows, all dim with the yellow +breath of the tunnel, rattle down into their places, and you see +once more the dip and catch of the telegraph wires beside the line, +and the straight-cut hawthorn hedges with the tiny baby trees +growing up out of them every thirty yards. + +All this, of course, is what a tunnel means when you are in a train. +But everything is quite different when you walk into a tunnel on +your own feet, and tread on shifting, sliding stones and gravel on a +path that curves downwards from the shining metals to the wall. +Then you see slimy, oozy trickles of water running down the inside +of the tunnel, and you notice that the bricks are not red or brown, +as they are at the tunnel's mouth, but dull, sticky, sickly green. +Your voice, when you speak, is quite changed from what it was out in +the sunshine, and it is a long time before the tunnel is quite dark. + +It was not yet quite dark in the tunnel when Phyllis caught at +Bobbie's skirt, ripping out half a yard of gathers, but no one +noticed this at the time. + +"I want to go back," she said, "I don't like it. It'll be pitch +dark in a minute. I WON'T go on in the dark. I don't care what you +say, I WON'T." + +"Don't be a silly cuckoo," said Peter; "I've got a candle end and +matches, and--what's that?" + +"That" was a low, humming sound on the railway line, a trembling of +the wires beside it, a buzzing, humming sound that grew louder and +louder as they listened. + +"It's a train," said Bobbie. + +"Which line?" + +"Let me go back," cried Phyllis, struggling to get away from the +hand by which Bobbie held her. + +"Don't be a coward," said Bobbie; "it's quite safe. Stand back." + +"Come on," shouted Peter, who was a few yards ahead. "Quick! +Manhole!" + +The roar of the advancing train was now louder than the noise you +hear when your head is under water in the bath and both taps are +running, and you are kicking with your heels against the bath's tin +sides. But Peter had shouted for all he was worth, and Bobbie heard +him. She dragged Phyllis along to the manhole. Phyllis, of course, +stumbled over the wires and grazed both her legs. But they dragged +her in, and all three stood in the dark, damp, arched recess while +the train roared louder and louder. It seemed as if it would deafen +them. And, in the distance, they could see its eyes of fire growing +bigger and brighter every instant. + +"It IS a dragon--I always knew it was--it takes its own shape in +here, in the dark," shouted Phyllis. But nobody heard her. You see +the train was shouting, too, and its voice was bigger than hers. + +And now, with a rush and a roar and a rattle and a long dazzling +flash of lighted carriage windows, a smell of smoke, and blast of +hot air, the train hurtled by, clanging and jangling and echoing in +the vaulted roof of the tunnel. Phyllis and Bobbie clung to each +other. Even Peter caught hold of Bobbie's arm, "in case she should +be frightened," as he explained afterwards. + +And now, slowly and gradually, the tail-lights grew smaller and +smaller, and so did the noise, till with one last WHIZ the train got +itself out of the tunnel, and silence settled again on its damp +walls and dripping roof. + +"OH!" said the children, all together in a whisper. + +Peter was lighting the candle end with a hand that trembled. + +"Come on," he said; but he had to clear his throat before he could +speak in his natural voice. + +"Oh," said Phyllis, "if the red-jerseyed one was in the way of the +train!" + +"We've got to go and see," said Peter. + +"Couldn't we go and send someone from the station?" said Phyllis. + +"Would you rather wait here for us?" asked Bobbie, severely, and of +course that settled the question. + +So the three went on into the deeper darkness of the tunnel. Peter +led, holding his candle end high to light the way. The grease ran +down his fingers, and some of it right up his sleeve. He found a +long streak from wrist to elbow when he went to bed that night. + +It was not more than a hundred and fifty yards from the spot where +they had stood while the train went by that Peter stood still, +shouted "Hullo," and then went on much quicker than before. When +the others caught him up, he stopped. And he stopped within a yard +of what they had come into the tunnel to look for. Phyllis saw a +gleam of red, and shut her eyes tight. There, by the curved, pebbly +down line, was the red-jerseyed hound. His back was against the +wall, his arms hung limply by his sides, and his eyes were shut. + +"Was the red, blood? Is he all killed?" asked Phyllis, screwing her +eyelids more tightly together. + +"Killed? Nonsense!" said Peter. "There's nothing red about him +except his jersey. He's only fainted. What on earth are we to do?" + +"Can we move him?" asked Bobbie. + +"I don't know; he's a big chap." + +"Suppose we bathe his forehead with water. No, I know we haven't +any, but milk's just as wet. There's a whole bottle." + +"Yes," said Peter, "and they rub people's hands, I believe." + +"They burn feathers, I know," said Phyllis. + +"What's the good of saying that when we haven't any feathers?" + +"As it happens," said Phyllis, in a tone of exasperated triumph, +"I've got a shuttlecock in my pocket. So there!" + +And now Peter rubbed the hands of the red-jerseyed one. Bobbie +burned the feathers of the shuttlecock one by one under his nose, +Phyllis splashed warmish milk on his forehead, and all three kept on +saying as fast and as earnestly as they could:-- + +"Oh, look up, speak to me! For my sake, speak!" + + + +Chapter XII. What Bobbie brought home. + + +"Oh, look up! Speak to me! For MY sake, speak!" The children said +the words over and over again to the unconscious hound in a red +jersey, who sat with closed eyes and pale face against the side of +the tunnel. + +"Wet his ears with milk," said Bobbie. "I know they do it to people +that faint--with eau-de-Cologne. But I expect milk's just as good." + +So they wetted his ears, and some of the milk ran down his neck +under the red jersey. It was very dark in the tunnel. The candle +end Peter had carried, and which now burned on a flat stone, gave +hardly any light at all. + +"Oh, DO look up," said Phyllis. "For MY sake! I believe he's +dead." + +"For MY sake," repeated Bobbie. "No, he isn't." + +"For ANY sake," said Peter; "come out of it." And he shook the +sufferer by the arm. + +And then the boy in the red jersey sighed, and opened his eyes, and +shut them again and said in a very small voice, "Chuck it." + +"Oh, he's NOT dead," said Phyllis. "I KNEW he wasn't," and she +began to cry. + +"What's up? I'm all right," said the boy. + +"Drink this," said Peter, firmly, thrusting the nose of the milk +bottle into the boy's mouth. The boy struggled, and some of the +milk was upset before he could get his mouth free to say:-- + +"What is it?" + +"It's milk," said Peter. "Fear not, you are in the hands of +friends. Phil, you stop bleating this minute." + +"Do drink it," said Bobbie, gently; "it'll do you good." + +So he drank. And the three stood by without speaking to him. + +"Let him be a minute," Peter whispered; "he'll be all right as soon +as the milk begins to run like fire through his veins." + +He was. + +"I'm better now," he announced. "I remember all about it." He +tried to move, but the movement ended in a groan. "Bother! I +believe I've broken my leg," he said. + +"Did you tumble down?" asked Phyllis, sniffing. + +"Of course not--I'm not a kiddie," said the boy, indignantly; "it +was one of those beastly wires tripped me up, and when I tried to +get up again I couldn't stand, so I sat down. Gee whillikins! it +does hurt, though. How did YOU get here?" + +"We saw you all go into the tunnel and then we went across the hill +to see you all come out. And the others did--all but you, and you +didn't. So we are a rescue party," said Peter, with pride. + +"You've got some pluck, I will say," remarked the boy. + +"Oh, that's nothing," said Peter, with modesty. "Do you think you +could walk if we helped you?" + +"I could try," said the boy. + +He did try. But he could only stand on one foot; the other dragged +in a very nasty way. + +"Here, let me sit down. I feel like dying," said the boy. "Let go +of me--let go, quick--" He lay down and closed his eyes. The +others looked at each other by the dim light of the little candle. + +"What on earth!" said Peter. + +"Look here," said Bobbie, quickly, "you must go and get help. Go to +the nearest house." + +"Yes, that's the only thing," said Peter. "Come on." + +"If you take his feet and Phil and I take his head, we could carry +him to the manhole." + +They did it. It was perhaps as well for the sufferer that he had +fainted again. + +"Now," said Bobbie, "I'll stay with him. You take the longest bit +of candle, and, oh--be quick, for this bit won't burn long." + +"I don't think Mother would like me leaving you," said Peter, +doubtfully. "Let me stay, and you and Phil go." + +"No, no," said Bobbie, "you and Phil go--and lend me your knife. +I'll try to get his boot off before he wakes up again." + +"I hope it's all right what we're doing," said Peter. + +"Of course it's right," said Bobbie, impatiently. "What else WOULD +you do? Leave him here all alone because it's dark? Nonsense. +Hurry up, that's all." + +So they hurried up. + +Bobbie watched their dark figures and the little light of the little +candle with an odd feeling of having come to the end of everything. +She knew now, she thought, what nuns who were bricked up alive in +convent walls felt like. Suddenly she gave herself a little shake. + +"Don't be a silly little girl," she said. She was always very angry +when anyone else called her a little girl, even if the adjective +that went first was not "silly" but "nice" or "good" or "clever." +And it was only when she was very angry with herself that she +allowed Roberta to use that expression to Bobbie. + +She fixed the little candle end on a broken brick near the red- +jerseyed boy's feet. Then she opened Peter's knife. It was always +hard to manage--a halfpenny was generally needed to get it open at +all. This time Bobbie somehow got it open with her thumbnail. She +broke the nail, and it hurt horribly. Then she cut the boy's +bootlace, and got the boot off. She tried to pull off his stocking, +but his leg was dreadfully swollen, and it did not seem to be the +proper shape. So she cut the stocking down, very slowly and +carefully. It was a brown, knitted stocking, and she wondered who +had knitted it, and whether it was the boy's mother, and whether she +was feeling anxious about him, and how she would feel when he was +brought home with his leg broken. When Bobbie had got the stocking +off and saw the poor leg, she felt as though the tunnel was growing +darker, and the ground felt unsteady, and nothing seemed quite real. + +"SILLY little girl!" said Roberta to Bobbie, and felt better. + +"The poor leg," she told herself; "it ought to have a cushion--ah!" + +She remembered the day when she and Phyllis had torn up their red +flannel petticoats to make danger signals to stop the train and +prevent an accident. Her flannel petticoat to-day was white, but it +would be quite as soft as a red one. She took it off. + +"Oh, what useful things flannel petticoats are!" she said; "the man +who invented them ought to have a statue directed to him." And she +said it aloud, because it seemed that any voice, even her own, would +be a comfort in that darkness. + +"WHAT ought to be directed? Who to?" asked the boy, suddenly and +very feebly. + +"Oh," said Bobbie, "now you're better! Hold your teeth and don't +let it hurt too much. Now!" + +She had folded the petticoat, and lifting his leg laid it on the +cushion of folded flannel. + +"Don't faint again, PLEASE don't," said Bobbie, as he groaned. She +hastily wetted her handkerchief with milk and spread it over the +poor leg. + +"Oh, that hurts," cried the boy, shrinking. "Oh--no, it doesn't-- +it's nice, really." + +"What's your name?" said Bobbie. + +"Jim." + +"Mine's Bobbie." + +"But you're a girl, aren't you?" + +"Yes, my long name's Roberta." + +"I say--Bobbie." + +"Yes?" + +"Wasn't there some more of you just now?" + +"Yes, Peter and Phil--that's my brother and sister. They've gone to +get someone to carry you out." + +"What rum names. All boys'." + +"Yes--I wish I was a boy, don't you?" + +"I think you're all right as you are." + +"I didn't mean that--I meant don't you wish YOU were a boy, but of +course you are without wishing." + +"You're just as brave as a boy. Why didn't you go with the others?" + +"Somebody had to stay with you," said Bobbie. + +"Tell you what, Bobbie," said Jim, "you're a brick. Shake." He +reached out a red-jerseyed arm and Bobbie squeezed his hand. + +"I won't shake it," she explained, "because it would shake YOU, and +that would shake your poor leg, and that would hurt. Have you got a +hanky?" + +"I don't expect I have." He felt in his pocket. "Yes, I have. +What for?" + +She took it and wetted it with milk and put it on his forehead. + +"That's jolly," he said; "what is it?" + +"Milk," said Bobbie. "We haven't any water--" + +"You're a jolly good little nurse," said Jim. + +"I do it for Mother sometimes," said Bobbie--"not milk, of course, +but scent, or vinegar and water. I say, I must put the candle out +now, because there mayn't be enough of the other one to get you out +by." + +"By George," said he, "you think of everything." + +Bobbie blew. Out went the candle. You have no idea how black- +velvety the darkness was. + +"I say, Bobbie," said a voice through the blackness, "aren't you +afraid of the dark?" + +"Not--not very, that is--" + +"Let's hold hands," said the boy, and it was really rather good of +him, because he was like most boys of his age and hated all material +tokens of affection, such as kissing and holding of hands. He +called all such things "pawings," and detested them. + +The darkness was more bearable to Bobbie now that her hand was held +in the large rough hand of the red-jerseyed sufferer; and he, +holding her little smooth hot paw, was surprised to find that he did +not mind it so much as he expected. She tried to talk, to amuse +him, and "take his mind off" his sufferings, but it is very +difficult to go on talking in the dark, and presently they found +themselves in a silence, only broken now and then by a-- + +"You all right, Bobbie?" + +or an-- + +"I'm afraid it's hurting you most awfully, Jim. I AM so sorry." + +And it was very cold. + + * * * * * * + +Peter and Phyllis tramped down the long way of the tunnel towards +daylight, the candle-grease dripping over Peter's fingers. There +were no accidents unless you count Phyllis's catching her frock on a +wire, and tearing a long, jagged slit in it, and tripping over her +bootlace when it came undone, or going down on her hands and knees, +all four of which were grazed. + +"There's no end to this tunnel," said Phyllis--and indeed it did +seem very very long. + +"Stick to it," said Peter; "everything has an end, and you get to it +if you only keep all on." + +Which is quite true, if you come to think of it, and a useful thing +to remember in seasons of trouble--such as measles, arithmetic, +impositions, and those times when you are in disgrace, and feel as +though no one would ever love you again, and you could never--never +again--love anybody. + +"Hurray," said Peter, suddenly, "there's the end of the tunnel-- +looks just like a pin-hole in a bit of black paper, doesn't it?" + +The pin-hole got larger--blue lights lay along the sides of the +tunnel. The children could see the gravel way that lay in front of +them; the air grew warmer and sweeter. Another twenty steps and +they were out in the good glad sunshine with the green trees on both +sides. + +Phyllis drew a long breath. + +"I'll never go into a tunnel again as long as ever I live," said +she, "not if there are twenty hundred thousand millions hounds +inside with red jerseys and their legs broken." + +"Don't be a silly cuckoo," said Peter, as usual. "You'd HAVE to." + +"I think it was very brave and good of me," said Phyllis. + +"Not it," said Peter; "you didn't go because you were brave, but +because Bobbie and I aren't skunks. Now where's the nearest house, +I wonder? You can't see anything here for the trees." + +"There's a roof over there," said Phyllis, pointing down the line. + +"That's the signal-box," said Peter, "and you know you're not +allowed to speak to signalmen on duty. It's wrong." + +"I'm not near so afraid of doing wrong as I was of going into that +tunnel," said Phyllis. "Come on," and she started to run along the +line. So Peter ran, too. + +It was very hot in the sunshine, and both children were hot and +breathless by the time they stopped, and bending their heads back to +look up at the open windows of the signal-box, shouted "Hi!" as loud +as their breathless state allowed. But no one answered. The +signal-box stood quiet as an empty nursery, and the handrail of its +steps was hot to the hands of the children as they climbed softly +up. They peeped in at the open door. The signalman was sitting on +a chair tilted back against the wall. His head leaned sideways, and +his mouth was open. He was fast asleep. + +"My hat!" cried Peter; "wake up!" And he cried it in a terrible +voice, for he knew that if a signalman sleeps on duty, he risks +losing his situation, let alone all the other dreadful risks to +trains which expect him to tell them when it is safe for them to go +their ways. + +The signalman never moved. Then Peter sprang to him and shook him. +And slowly, yawning and stretching, the man awoke. But the moment +he WAS awake he leapt to his feet, put his hands to his head "like a +mad maniac," as Phyllis said afterwards, and shouted:-- + +"Oh, my heavens--what's o'clock?" + +"Twelve thirteen," said Peter, and indeed it was by the white-faced, +round-faced clock on the wall of the signal-box. + +The man looked at the clock, sprang to the levers, and wrenched them +this way and that. An electric bell tingled--the wires and cranks +creaked, and the man threw himself into a chair. He was very pale, +and the sweat stood on his forehead "like large dewdrops on a white +cabbage," as Phyllis remarked later. He was trembling, too; the +children could see his big hairy hands shake from side to side, +"with quite extra-sized trembles," to use the subsequent words of +Peter. He drew long breaths. Then suddenly he cried, "Thank God, +thank God you come in when you did--oh, thank God!" and his +shoulders began to heave and his face grew red again, and he hid it +in those large hairy hands of his. + +"Oh, don't cry--don't," said Phyllis, "it's all right now," and she +patted him on one big, broad shoulder, while Peter conscientiously +thumped the other. + +But the signalman seemed quite broken down, and the children had to +pat him and thump him for quite a long time before he found his +handkerchief--a red one with mauve and white horseshoes on it--and +mopped his face and spoke. During this patting and thumping +interval a train thundered by. + +"I'm downright shamed, that I am," were the words of the big +signalman when he had stopped crying; "snivelling like a kid." Then +suddenly he seemed to get cross. "And what was you doing up here, +anyway?" he said; "you know it ain't allowed." + +"Yes," said Phyllis, "we knew it was wrong--but I wasn't afraid of +doing wrong, and so it turned out right. You aren't sorry we came." + +"Lor' love you--if you hadn't 'a' come--" he stopped and then went +on. "It's a disgrace, so it is, sleeping on duty. If it was to +come to be known--even as it is, when no harm's come of it." + +"It won't come to be known," said Peter; "we aren't sneaks. All the +same, you oughtn't to sleep on duty--it's dangerous." + +"Tell me something I don't know," said the man, "but I can't help +it. I know'd well enough just how it 'ud be. But I couldn't get +off. They couldn't get no one to take on my duty. I tell you I +ain't had ten minutes' sleep this last five days. My little chap's +ill--pewmonia, the Doctor says--and there's no one but me and 'is +little sister to do for him. That's where it is. The gell must +'ave her sleep. Dangerous? Yes, I believe you. Now go and split +on me if you like." + +"Of course we won't," said Peter, indignantly, but Phyllis ignored +the whole of the signalman's speech, except the first six words. + +"You asked us," she said, "to tell you something you don't know. +Well, I will. There's a boy in the tunnel over there with a red +jersey and his leg broken." + +"What did he want to go into the blooming tunnel for, then?" said +the man. + +"Don't you be so cross," said Phyllis, kindly. "WE haven't done +anything wrong except coming and waking you up, and that was right, +as it happens." + +Then Peter told how the boy came to be in the tunnel. + +"Well," said the man, "I don't see as I can do anything. I can't +leave the box." + +"You might tell us where to go after someone who isn't in a box, +though," said Phyllis. + +"There's Brigden's farm over yonder--where you see the smoke a- +coming up through the trees," said the man, more and more grumpy, as +Phyllis noticed. + +"Well, good-bye, then," said Peter. + +But the man said, "Wait a minute." He put his hand in his pocket +and brought out some money--a lot of pennies and one or two +shillings and sixpences and half-a-crown. He picked out two +shillings and held them out. + +"Here," he said. "I'll give you this to hold your tongues about +what's taken place to-day." + +There was a short, unpleasant pause. Then:-- + +"You ARE a nasty man, though, aren't you?" said Phyllis. + +Peter took a step forward and knocked the man's hand up, so that the +shillings leapt out of it and rolled on the floor. + +"If anything COULD make me sneak, THAT would!" he said. "Come, +Phil," and marched out of the signal-box with flaming cheeks. + +Phyllis hesitated. Then she took the hand, still held out stupidly, +that the shillings had been in. + +"I forgive you," she said, "even if Peter doesn't. You're not in +your proper senses, or you'd never have done that. I know want of +sleep sends people mad. Mother told me. I hope your little boy +will soon be better, and--" + +"Come on, Phil," cried Peter, eagerly. + +"I give you my sacred honour-word we'll never tell anyone. Kiss and +be friends," said Phyllis, feeling how noble it was of her to try to +make up a quarrel in which she was not to blame. + +The signalman stooped and kissed her. + +"I do believe I'm a bit off my head, Sissy," he said. "Now run +along home to Mother. I didn't mean to put you about--there." + +So Phil left the hot signal-box and followed Peter across the fields +to the farm. + +When the farm men, led by Peter and Phyllis and carrying a hurdle +covered with horse-cloths, reached the manhole in the tunnel, Bobbie +was fast asleep and so was Jim. Worn out with the pain, the Doctor +said afterwards. + +"Where does he live?" the bailiff from the farm asked, when Jim had +been lifted on to the hurdle. + +"In Northumberland," answered Bobbie. + +"I'm at school at Maidbridge," said Jim. "I suppose I've got to get +back there, somehow." + +"Seems to me the Doctor ought to have a look in first," said the +bailiff. + +"Oh, bring him up to our house," said Bobbie. "It's only a little +way by the road. I'm sure Mother would say we ought to." + +"Will your Ma like you bringing home strangers with broken legs?" + +"She took the poor Russian home herself," said Bobbie. "I know +she'd say we ought." + +"All right," said the bailiff, "you ought to know what your Ma 'ud +like. I wouldn't take it upon me to fetch him up to our place +without I asked the Missus first, and they call me the Master, too." + +"Are you sure your Mother won't mind?" whispered Jim. + +"Certain," said Bobbie. + +"Then we're to take him up to Three Chimneys?" said the bailiff. + +"Of course," said Peter. + +"Then my lad shall nip up to Doctor's on his bike, and tell him to +come down there. Now, lads, lift him quiet and steady. One, two, +three!" + + * * * * * * + +Thus it happened that Mother, writing away for dear life at a story +about a Duchess, a designing villain, a secret passage, and a +missing will, dropped her pen as her work-room door burst open, and +turned to see Bobbie hatless and red with running. + +"Oh, Mother," she cried, "do come down. We found a hound in a red +jersey in the tunnel, and he's broken his leg and they're bringing +him home." + +"They ought to take him to the vet," said Mother, with a worried +frown; "I really CAN'T have a lame dog here." + +"He's not a dog, really--he's a boy," said Bobbie, between laughing +and choking. + +"Then he ought to be taken home to his mother." + +"His mother's dead," said Bobbie, "and his father's in +Northumberland. Oh, Mother, you will be nice to him? I told him I +was sure you'd want us to bring him home. You always want to help +everybody." + +Mother smiled, but she sighed, too. It is nice that your children +should believe you willing to open house and heart to any and every +one who needs help. But it is rather embarrassing sometimes, too, +when they act on their belief. + +"Oh, well," said Mother, "we must make the best of it." + +When Jim was carried in, dreadfully white and with set lips whose +red had faded to a horrid bluey violet colour, Mother said:-- + +"I am glad you brought him here. Now, Jim, let's get you +comfortable in bed before the Doctor comes!" + +And Jim, looking at her kind eyes, felt a little, warm, comforting +flush of new courage. + +"It'll hurt rather, won't it?" he said. "I don't mean to be a +coward. You won't think I'm a coward if I faint again, will you? I +really and truly don't do it on purpose. And I do hate to give you +all this trouble." + +"Don't you worry," said Mother; "it's you that have the trouble, you +poor dear--not us." + +And she kissed him just as if he had been Peter. "We love to have +you here--don't we, Bobbie?" + +"Yes," said Bobbie--and she saw by her Mother's face how right she +had been to bring home the wounded hound in the red jersey. + + + +Chapter XIII. The hound's grandfather. + + +Mother did not get back to her writing all that day, for the red- +jerseyed hound whom the children had brought to Three Chimneys had +to be put to bed. And then the Doctor came, and hurt him most +horribly. Mother was with him all through it, and that made it a +little better than it would have been, but "bad was the best," as +Mrs. Viney said. + +The children sat in the parlour downstairs and heard the sound of +the Doctor's boots going backwards and forwards over the bedroom +floor. And once or twice there was a groan. + +"It's horrible," said Bobbie. "Oh, I wish Dr. Forrest would make +haste. Oh, poor Jim!" + +"It IS horrible," said Peter, "but it's very exciting. I wish +Doctors weren't so stuck-up about who they'll have in the room when +they're doing things. I should most awfully like to see a leg set. +I believe the bones crunch like anything." + +"Don't!" said the two girls at once. + +"Rubbish!" said Peter. "How are you going to be Red Cross Nurses, +like you were talking of coming home, if you can't even stand +hearing me say about bones crunching? You'd have to HEAR them +crunch on the field of battle--and be steeped in gore up to the +elbows as likely as not, and--" + +"Stop it!" cried Bobbie, with a white face; "you don't know how +funny you're making me feel." + +"Me, too," said Phyllis, whose face was pink. + +"Cowards!" said Peter. + +"I'm not," said Bobbie. "I helped Mother with your rake-wounded +foot, and so did Phil--you know we did." + +"Well, then!" said Peter. "Now look here. It would be a jolly good +thing for you if I were to talk to you every day for half an hour +about broken bones and people's insides, so as to get you used to +it." + +A chair was moved above. + +"Listen," said Peter, "that's the bone crunching." + +"I do wish you wouldn't," said Phyllis. "Bobbie doesn't like it." + +"I'll tell you what they do," said Peter. I can't think what made +him so horrid. Perhaps it was because he had been so very nice and +kind all the earlier part of the day, and now he had to have a +change. This is called reaction. One notices it now and then in +oneself. Sometimes when one has been extra good for a longer time +than usual, one is suddenly attacked by a violent fit of not being +good at all. "I'll tell you what they do," said Peter; "they strap +the broken man down so that he can't resist or interfere with their +doctorish designs, and then someone holds his head, and someone +holds his leg--the broken one, and pulls it till the bones fit in-- +with a crunch, mind you! Then they strap it up and--let's play at +bone-setting!" + +"Oh, no!" said Phyllis. + +But Bobbie said suddenly: "All right--LET'S! I'll be the doctor, +and Phil can be the nurse. You can be the broken boner; we can get +at your legs more easily, because you don't wear petticoats." + +"I'll get the splints and bandages," said Peter; "you get the couch +of suffering ready." + +The ropes that had tied up the boxes that had come from home were +all in a wooden packing-case in the cellar. When Peter brought in a +trailing tangle of them, and two boards for splints, Phyllis was +excitedly giggling. + +"Now, then," he said, and lay down on the settle, groaning most +grievously. + +"Not so loud!" said Bobbie, beginning to wind the rope round him and +the settle. "You pull, Phil." + +"Not so tight," moaned Peter. "You'll break my other leg." + +Bobbie worked on in silence, winding more and more rope round him. + +"That's enough," said Peter. "I can't move at all. Oh, my poor +leg!" He groaned again. + +"SURE you can't move?" asked Bobbie, in a rather strange tone. + +"Quite sure," replied Peter. "Shall we play it's bleeding freely or +not?" he asked cheerfully. + +"YOU can play what you like," said Bobbie, sternly, folding her arms +and looking down at him where he lay all wound round and round with +cord. "Phil and I are going away. And we shan't untie you till you +promise never, never to talk to us about blood and wounds unless we +say you may. Come, Phil!" + +"You beast!" said Peter, writhing. "I'll never promise, never. +I'll yell, and Mother will come." + +"Do," said Bobbie, "and tell her why we tied you up! Come on, Phil. +No, I'm not a beast, Peter. But you wouldn't stop when we asked you +and--" + +"Yah," said Peter, "it wasn't even your own idea. You got it out of +Stalky!" + +Bobbie and Phil, retiring in silent dignity, were met at the door by +the Doctor. He came in rubbing his hands and looking pleased with +himself. + +"Well," he said, "THAT job's done. It's a nice clean fracture, and +it'll go on all right, I've no doubt. Plucky young chap, too-- +hullo! what's all this?" + +His eye had fallen on Peter who lay mousy-still in his bonds on the +settle. + +"Playing at prisoners, eh?" he said; but his eyebrows had gone up a +little. Somehow he had not thought that Bobbie would be playing +while in the room above someone was having a broken bone set. + +"Oh, no!" said Bobbie, "not at PRISONERS. We were playing at +setting bones. Peter's the broken boner, and I was the doctor." + +The Doctor frowned. + +"Then I must say," he said, and he said it rather sternly, "that's +it's a very heartless game. Haven't you enough imagination even to +faintly picture what's been going on upstairs? That poor chap, with +the drops of sweat on his forehead, and biting his lips so as not to +cry out, and every touch on his leg agony and--" + +"YOU ought to be tied up," said Phyllis; "you're as bad as--" + +"Hush," said Bobbie; "I'm sorry, but we weren't heartless, really." + +"I was, I suppose," said Peter, crossly. "All right, Bobbie, don't +you go on being noble and screening me, because I jolly well won't +have it. It was only that I kept on talking about blood and wounds. +I wanted to train them for Red Cross Nurses. And I wouldn't stop +when they asked me." + +"Well?" said Dr. Forrest, sitting down. + +"Well--then I said, 'Let's play at setting bones.' It was all rot. +I knew Bobbie wouldn't. I only said it to tease her. And then when +she said 'yes,' of course I had to go through with it. And they +tied me up. They got it out of Stalky. And I think it's a beastly +shame." + +He managed to writhe over and hide his face against the wooden back +of the settle. + +"I didn't think that anyone would know but us," said Bobbie, +indignantly answering Peter's unspoken reproach. "I never thought +of your coming in. And hearing about blood and wounds does really +make me feel most awfully funny. It was only a joke our tying him +up. Let me untie you, Pete." + +"I don't care if you never untie me," said Peter; "and if that's +your idea of a joke--" + +"If I were you," said the Doctor, though really he did not quite +know what to say, "I should be untied before your Mother comes down. +You don't want to worry her just now, do you?" + +"I don't promise anything about not saying about wounds, mind," said +Peter, in very surly tones, as Bobbie and Phyllis began to untie the +knots. + +"I'm very sorry, Pete," Bobbie whispered, leaning close to him as +she fumbled with the big knot under the settle; "but if you only +knew how sick you made me feel." + +"You've made ME feel pretty sick, I can tell you," Peter rejoined. +Then he shook off the loose cords, and stood up. + +"I looked in," said Dr. Forrest, "to see if one of you would come +along to the surgery. There are some things that your Mother will +want at once, and I've given my man a day off to go and see the +circus; will you come, Peter?" + +Peter went without a word or a look to his sisters. + +The two walked in silence up to the gate that led from the Three +Chimneys field to the road. Then Peter said:-- + +"Let me carry your bag. I say, it is heavy--what's in it?" + +"Oh, knives and lancets and different instruments for hurting +people. And the ether bottle. I had to give him ether, you know-- +the agony was so intense." + +Peter was silent. + +"Tell me all about how you found that chap," said Dr. Forrest. + +Peter told. And then Dr. Forrest told him stories of brave rescues; +he was a most interesting man to talk to, as Peter had often +remarked. + +Then in the surgery Peter had a better chance than he had ever had +of examining the Doctor's balance, and his microscope, and his +scales and measuring glasses. When all the things were ready that +Peter was to take back, the Doctor said suddenly:-- + +"You'll excuse my shoving my oar in, won't you? But I should like +to say something to you." + +"Now for a rowing," thought Peter, who had been wondering how it was +that he had escaped one. + +"Something scientific," added the Doctor. + +"Yes," said Peter, fiddling with the fossil ammonite that the Doctor +used for a paper-weight. + +"Well then, you see. Boys and girls are only little men and women. +And WE are much harder and hardier than they are--" (Peter liked +the "we." Perhaps the Doctor had known he would.)--"and much +stronger, and things that hurt THEM don't hurt US. You know you +mustn't hit a girl--" + +"I should think not, indeed," muttered Peter, indignantly. + +"Not even if she's your own sister. That's because girls are so +much softer and weaker than we are; they have to be, you know," he +added, "because if they weren't, it wouldn't be nice for the babies. +And that's why all the animals are so good to the mother animals. +They never fight them, you know." + +"I know," said Peter, interested; "two buck rabbits will fight all +day if you let them, but they won't hurt a doe." + +"No; and quite wild beasts--lions and elephants--they're immensely +gentle with the female beasts. And we've got to be, too." + +"I see," said Peter. + +"And their hearts are soft, too," the Doctor went on, "and things +that we shouldn't think anything of hurt them dreadfully. So that a +man has to be very careful, not only of his fists, but of his words. +They're awfully brave, you know," he went on. "Think of Bobbie +waiting alone in the tunnel with that poor chap. It's an odd thing- +-the softer and more easily hurt a woman is the better she can screw +herself up to do what HAS to be done. I've seen some brave women-- +your Mother's one," he ended abruptly. + +"Yes," said Peter. + +"Well, that's all. Excuse my mentioning it. But nobody knows +everything without being told. And you see what I mean, don't you?" + +"Yes," said Peter. "I'm sorry. There!" + +"Of course you are! People always are--directly they understand. +Everyone ought to be taught these scientific facts. So long!" + +They shook hands heartily. When Peter came home, his sisters looked +at him doubtfully. + +"It's Pax," said Peter, dumping down the basket on the table. "Dr. +Forrest has been talking scientific to me. No, it's no use my +telling you what he said; you wouldn't understand. But it all comes +to you girls being poor, soft, weak, frightened things like rabbits, +so us men have just got to put up with them. He said you were +female beasts. Shall I take this up to Mother, or will you?" + +"I know what BOYS are," said Phyllis, with flaming cheeks; "they're +just the nastiest, rudest--" + +"They're very brave," said Bobbie, "sometimes." + +"Ah, you mean the chap upstairs? I see. Go ahead, Phil--I shall +put up with you whatever you say because you're a poor, weak, +frightened, soft--" + +"Not if I pull your hair you won't," said Phyllis, springing at him. + +"He said 'Pax,'" said Bobbie, pulling her away. "Don't you see," +she whispered as Peter picked up the basket and stalked out with it, +"he's sorry, really, only he won't say so? Let's say we're sorry." + +"It's so goody goody," said Phyllis, doubtfully; "he said we were +female beasts, and soft and frightened--" + +"Then let's show him we're not frightened of him thinking us goody +goody," said Bobbie; "and we're not any more beasts than he is." + +And when Peter came back, still with his chin in the air, Bobbie +said:-- + +"We're sorry we tied you up, Pete." + +"I thought you would be," said Peter, very stiff and superior. + +This was hard to bear. But-- + +"Well, so we are," said Bobbie. "Now let honour be satisfied on +both sides." + +"I did call it Pax," said Peter, in an injured tone. + +"Then let it BE Pax," said Bobbie. "Come on, Phil, let's get the +tea. Pete, you might lay the cloth." + +"I say," said Phyllis, when peace was really restored, which was not +till they were washing up the cups after tea, "Dr. Forrest didn't +REALLY say we were female beasts, did he?" + +"Yes," said Peter, firmly, "but I think he meant we men were wild +beasts, too." + +"How funny of him!" said Phyllis, breaking a cup. + + * * * * * * + +"May I come in, Mother?" Peter was at the door of Mother's writing +room, where Mother sat at her table with two candles in front of +her. Their flames looked orange and violet against the clear grey +blue of the sky where already a few stars were twinkling. + +"Yes, dear," said Mother, absently, "anything wrong?" She wrote a +few more words and then laid down her pen and began to fold up what +she had written. "I was just writing to Jim's grandfather. He +lives near here, you know." + +"Yes, you said so at tea. That's what I want to say. Must you +write to him, Mother? Couldn't we keep Jim, and not say anything to +his people till he's well? It would be such a surprise for them." + +"Well, yes," said Mother, laughing, "I think it would." + +"You see," Peter went on, "of course the girls are all right and all +that--I'm not saying anything against THEM. But I should like it if +I had another chap to talk to sometimes." + +"Yes," said Mother, "I know it's dull for you, dear. But I can't +help it. Next year perhaps I can send you to school--you'd like +that, wouldn't you?" + +"I do miss the other chaps, rather," Peter confessed; "but if Jim +could stay after his leg was well, we could have awful larks." + +"I've no doubt of it," said Mother. "Well--perhaps he could, but +you know, dear, we're not rich. I can't afford to get him +everything he'll want. And he must have a nurse." + +"Can't you nurse him, Mother? You do nurse people so beautifully." + +"That's a pretty compliment, Pete--but I can't do nursing and my +writing as well. That's the worst of it." + +"Then you MUST send the letter to his grandfather?" + +"Of course--and to his schoolmaster, too. We telegraphed to them +both, but I must write as well. They'll be most dreadfully +anxious." + +"I say, Mother, why can't his grandfather pay for a nurse?" Peter +suggested. "That would be ripping. I expect the old boy's rolling +in money. Grandfathers in books always are." + +"Well, this one isn't in a book," said Mother, "so we mustn't expect +him to roll much." + +"I say," said Peter, musingly, "wouldn't it be jolly if we all WERE +in a book, and you were writing it? Then you could make all sorts +of jolly things happen, and make Jim's legs get well at once and be +all right to-morrow, and Father come home soon and--" + +"Do you miss your Father very much?" Mother asked, rather coldly, +Peter thought. + +"Awfully," said Peter, briefly. + +Mother was enveloping and addressing the second letter. + +"You see," Peter went on slowly, "you see, it's not only him BEING +Father, but now he's away there's no other man in the house but me-- +that's why I want Jim to stay so frightfully much. Wouldn't you +like to be writing that book with us all in it, Mother, and make +Daddy come home soon?" + +Peter's Mother put her arm round him suddenly, and hugged him in +silence for a minute. Then she said:-- + +"Don't you think it's rather nice to think that we're in a book that +God's writing? If I were writing the book, I might make mistakes. +But God knows how to make the story end just right--in the way +that's best for us." + +"Do you really believe that, Mother?" Peter asked quietly. + +"Yes," she said, "I do believe it--almost always--except when I'm so +sad that I can't believe anything. But even when I can't believe +it, I know it's true--and I try to believe. You don't know how I +try, Peter. Now take the letters to the post, and don't let's be +sad any more. Courage, courage! That's the finest of all the +virtues! I dare say Jim will be here for two or three weeks yet." + +For what was left of the evening Peter was so angelic that Bobbie +feared he was going to be ill. She was quite relieved in the +morning to find him plaiting Phyllis's hair on to the back of her +chair in quite his old manner. + +It was soon after breakfast that a knock came at the door. The +children were hard at work cleaning the brass candlesticks in honour +of Jim's visit. + +"That'll be the Doctor," said Mother; "I'll go. Shut the kitchen +door--you're not fit to be seen." + +But it wasn't the Doctor. They knew that by the voice and by the +sound of the boots that went upstairs. They did not recognise the +sound of the boots, but everyone was certain that they had heard the +voice before. + +There was a longish interval. The boots and the voice did not come +down again. + +"Who can it possibly be?" they kept on asking themselves and each +other. + +"Perhaps," said Peter at last, "Dr. Forrest has been attacked by +highwaymen and left for dead, and this is the man he's telegraphed +for to take his place. Mrs. Viney said he had a local tenant to do +his work when he went for a holiday, didn't you, Mrs. Viney?" + +"I did so, my dear," said Mrs. Viney from the back kitchen. + +"He's fallen down in a fit, more likely, said Phyllis, "all human +aid despaired of. And this is his man come to break the news to +Mother." + +"Nonsense!" said Peter, briskly; "Mother wouldn't have taken the man +up into Jim's bedroom. Why should she? Listen--the door's opening. +Now they'll come down. I'll open the door a crack." + +He did. + +"It's not listening," he replied indignantly to Bobbie's scandalised +remarks; "nobody in their senses would talk secrets on the stairs. +And Mother can't have secrets to talk with Dr. Forrest's stable-man- +-and you said it was him." + +"Bobbie," called Mother's voice. + +They opened the kitchen door, and Mother leaned over the stair +railing. + +"Jim's grandfather has come," she said; "wash your hands and faces +and then you can see him. He wants to see you!" The bedroom door +shut again. + +"There now!" said Peter; "fancy us not even thinking of that! Let's +have some hot water, Mrs. Viney. I'm as black as your hat." + +The three were indeed dirty, for the stuff you clean brass +candlesticks with is very far from cleaning to the cleaner. + +They were still busy with soap and flannel when they heard the boots +and the voice come down the stairs and go into the dining-room. And +when they were clean, though still damp--because it takes such a +long time to dry your hands properly, and they were very impatient +to see the grandfather--they filed into the dining-room. + +Mother was sitting in the window-seat, and in the leather-covered +armchair that Father always used to sit in at the other house sat-- + + THEIR OWN OLD GENTLEMAN! + +"Well, I never did," said Peter, even before he said, "How do you +do?" He was, as he explained afterwards, too surprised even to +remember that there was such a thing as politeness--much less to +practise it. + +"It's our own old gentleman!" said Phyllis. + +"Oh, it's you!" said Bobbie. And then they remembered themselves +and their manners and said, "How do you do?" very nicely. + +"This is Jim's grandfather, Mr. --" said Mother, naming the old +gentleman's name. + +"How splendid!" said Peter; "that's just exactly like a book, isn't +it, Mother?" + +"It is, rather," said Mother, smiling; "things do happen in real +life that are rather like books, sometimes." + +"I am so awfully glad it IS you," said Phyllis; "when you think of +the tons of old gentlemen there are in the world--it might have been +almost anyone." + +"I say, though," said Peter, "you're not going to take Jim away, +though, are you?" + +"Not at present," said the old gentleman. "Your Mother has most +kindly consented to let him stay here. I thought of sending a +nurse, but your Mother is good enough to say that she will nurse him +herself." + +"But what about her writing?" said Peter, before anyone could stop +him. "There won't be anything for him to eat if Mother doesn't +write." + +"That's all right," said Mother, hastily. + +The old gentleman looked very kindly at Mother. + +"I see," he said, "you trust your children, and confide in them." + +"Of course," said Mother. + +"Then I may tell them of our little arrangement," he said. "Your +Mother, my dears, has consented to give up writing for a little +while and to become a Matron of my Hospital." + +"Oh!" said Phyllis, blankly; "and shall we have to go away from +Three Chimneys and the Railway and everything?" + +"No, no, darling," said Mother, hurriedly. + +"The Hospital is called Three Chimneys Hospital," said the old +gentleman, "and my unlucky Jim's the only patient, and I hope he'll +continue to be so. Your Mother will be Matron, and there'll be a +hospital staff of a housemaid and a cook--till Jim's well." + +"And then will Mother go on writing again?" asked Peter. + +"We shall see," said the old gentleman, with a slight, swift glance +at Bobbie; "perhaps something nice may happen and she won't have +to." + +"I love my writing," said Mother, very quickly. + +"I know," said the old gentleman; "don't be afraid that I'm going to +try to interfere. But one never knows. Very wonderful and +beautiful things do happen, don't they? And we live most of our +lives in the hope of them. I may come again to see the boy?" + +"Surely," said Mother, "and I don't know how to thank you for making +it possible for me to nurse him. Dear boy!" + +"He kept calling Mother, Mother, in the night," said Phyllis. "I +woke up twice and heard him." + +"He didn't mean me," said Mother, in a low voice to the old +gentleman; "that's why I wanted so much to keep him." + +The old gentleman rose. + +"I'm so glad," said Peter, "that you're going to keep him, Mother." + +"Take care of your Mother, my dears," said the old gentleman. +"She's a woman in a million." + +"Yes, isn't she?" whispered Bobbie. + +"God bless her," said the old gentleman, taking both Mother's hands, +"God bless her! Ay, and she shall be blessed. Dear me, where's my +hat? Will Bobbie come with me to the gate?" + +At the gate he stopped and said:-- + +"You're a good child, my dear--I got your letter. But it wasn't +needed. When I read about your Father's case in the papers at the +time, I had my doubts. And ever since I've known who you were, I've +been trying to find out things. I haven't done very much yet. But +I have hopes, my dear--I have hopes." + +"Oh!" said Bobbie, choking a little. + +"Yes--I may say great hopes. But keep your secret a little longer. +Wouldn't do to upset your Mother with a false hope, would it?" + +"Oh, but it isn't false!" said Bobbie; "I KNOW you can do it. I +knew you could when I wrote. It isn't a false hope, is it?" + +"No," he said, "I don't think it's a false hope, or I wouldn't have +told you. And I think you deserve to be told that there IS a hope." + +"And you don't think Father did it, do you? Oh, say you don't think +he did." + +"My dear," he said, "I'm perfectly CERTAIN he didn't." + +If it was a false hope, it was none the less a very radiant one that +lay warm at Bobbie's heart, and through the days that followed +lighted her little face as a Japanese lantern is lighted by the +candle within. + + + +Chapter XIV. The End. + + +Life at the Three Chimneys was never quite the same again after the +old gentleman came to see his grandson. Although they now knew his +name, the children never spoke of him by it--at any rate, when they +were by themselves. To them he was always the old gentleman, and I +think he had better be the old gentleman to us, too. It wouldn't +make him seem any more real to you, would it, if I were to tell you +that his name was Snooks or Jenkins (which it wasn't)?--and, after +all, I must be allowed to keep one secret. It's the only one; I +have told you everything else, except what I am going to tell you in +this chapter, which is the last. At least, of course, I haven't +told you EVERYTHING. If I were to do that, the book would never +come to an end, and that would be a pity, wouldn't it? + +Well, as I was saying, life at Three Chimneys was never quite the +same again. The cook and the housemaid were very nice (I don't mind +telling you their names--they were Clara and Ethelwyn), but they +told Mother they did not seem to want Mrs. Viney, and that she was +an old muddler. So Mrs. Viney came only two days a week to do +washing and ironing. Then Clara and Ethelwyn said they could do the +work all right if they weren't interfered with, and that meant that +the children no longer got the tea and cleared it away and washed up +the tea-things and dusted the rooms. + +This would have left quite a blank in their lives, although they had +often pretended to themselves and to each other that they hated +housework. But now that Mother had no writing and no housework to +do, she had time for lessons. And lessons the children had to do. +However nice the person who is teaching you may be, lessons are +lessons all the world over, and at their best are worse fun than +peeling potatoes or lighting a fire. + +On the other hand, if Mother now had time for lessons, she also had +time for play, and to make up little rhymes for the children as she +used to do. She had not had much time for rhymes since she came to +Three Chimneys. + +There was one very odd thing about these lessons. Whatever the +children were doing, they always wanted to be doing something else. +When Peter was doing his Latin, he thought it would be nice to be +learning History like Bobbie. Bobbie would have preferred +Arithmetic, which was what Phyllis happened to be doing, and Phyllis +of course thought Latin much the most interesting kind of lesson. +And so on. + +So, one day, when they sat down to lessons, each of them found a +little rhyme at its place. I put the rhymes in to show you that +their Mother really did understand a little how children feel about +things, and also the kind of words they use, which is the case with +very few grown-up people. I suppose most grown-ups have very bad +memories, and have forgotten how they felt when they were little. +Of course, the verses are supposed to be spoken by the children. + + PETER + + I once thought Caesar easy pap-- + How very soft I must have been! + When they start Caesar with a chap + He little know what that will mean. + Oh, verbs are silly stupid things. + I'd rather learn the dates of kings! + + BOBBIE + + The worst of all my lesson things + Is learning who succeeded who + In all the rows of queens and kings, + With dates to everything they do: + With dates enough to make you sick;-- + I wish it was Arithmetic! + + PHYLLIS + + Such pounds and pounds of apples fill + My slate--what is the price you'd spend? + You scratch the figures out until + You cry upon the dividend. + I'd break the slate and scream for joy + If I did Latin like a boy! + +This kind of thing, of course, made lessons much jollier. It is +something to know that the person who is teaching you sees that it +is not all plain sailing for you, and does not think that it is just +your stupidness that makes you not know your lessons till you've +learned them! + +Then as Jim's leg got better it was very pleasant to go up and sit +with him and hear tales about his school life and the other boys. +There was one boy, named Parr, of whom Jim seemed to have formed the +lowest possible opinion, and another boy named Wigsby Minor, for +whose views Jim had a great respect. Also there were three brothers +named Paley, and the youngest was called Paley Terts, and was much +given to fighting. + +Peter drank in all this with deep joy, and Mother seemed to have +listened with some interest, for one day she gave Jim a sheet of +paper on which she had written a rhyme about Parr, bringing in Paley +and Wigsby by name in a most wonderful way, as well as all the +reasons Jim had for not liking Parr, and Wigsby's wise opinion on +the matter. Jim was immensely pleased. He had never had a rhyme +written expressly for him before. He read it till he knew it by +heart and then he sent it to Wigsby, who liked it almost as much as +Jim did. Perhaps you may like it, too. + + THE NEW BOY + + His name is Parr: he says that he + Is given bread and milk for tea. + He says his father killed a bear. + He says his mother cuts his hair. + + He wears goloshes when it's wet. + I've heard his people call him "Pet"! + He has no proper sense of shame; + He told the chaps his Christian name. + + He cannot wicket-keep at all, + He's frightened of a cricket ball. + He reads indoors for hours and hours. + He knows the names of beastly flowers. + + He says his French just like Mossoo-- + A beastly stuck-up thing to do-- + He won't keep _cave_, shirks his turn + And says he came to school to learn! + + He won't play football, says it hurts; + He wouldn't fight with Paley Terts; + He couldn't whistle if he tried, + And when we laughed at him he cried! + + Now Wigsby Minor says that Parr + Is only like all new boys are. + I know when _I_ first came to school + I wasn't such a jolly fool! + +Jim could never understand how Mother could have been clever enough +to do it. To the others it seemed nice, but natural. You see they +had always been used to having a mother who could write verses just +like the way people talk, even to the shocking expression at the end +of the rhyme, which was Jim's very own. + +Jim taught Peter to play chess and draughts and dominoes, and +altogether it was a nice quiet time. + +Only Jim's leg got better and better, and a general feeling began to +spring up among Bobbie, Peter, and Phyllis that something ought to +be done to amuse him; not just games, but something really handsome. +But it was extraordinarily difficult to think of anything. + +"It's no good," said Peter, when all of them had thought and thought +till their heads felt quite heavy and swollen; "if we can't think of +anything to amuse him, we just can't, and there's an end of it. +Perhaps something will just happen of its own accord that he'll +like." + +"Things DO happen by themselves sometimes, without your making +them," said Phyllis, rather as though, usually, everything that +happened in the world was her doing. + +"I wish something would happen," said Bobbie, dreamily, "something +wonderful." + +And something wonderful did happen exactly four days after she had +said this. I wish I could say it was three days after, because in +fairy tales it is always three days after that things happen. But +this is not a fairy story, and besides, it really was four and not +three, and I am nothing if not strictly truthful. + +They seemed to be hardly Railway children at all in those days, and +as the days went on each had an uneasy feeling about this which +Phyllis expressed one day. + +"I wonder if the Railway misses us," she said, plaintively. "We +never go to see it now." + +"It seems ungrateful," said Bobbie; "we loved it so when we hadn't +anyone else to play with." + +"Perks is always coming up to ask after Jim," said Peter, "and the +signalman's little boy is better. He told me so." + +"I didn't mean the people," explained Phyllis; "I meant the dear +Railway itself." + +"The thing I don't like," said Bobbie, on this fourth day, which was +a Tuesday, "is our having stopped waving to the 9.15 and sending our +love to Father by it." + +"Let's begin again," said Phyllis. And they did. + +Somehow the change of everything that was made by having servants in +the house and Mother not doing any writing, made the time seem +extremely long since that strange morning at the beginning of +things, when they had got up so early and burnt the bottom out of +the kettle and had apple pie for breakfast and first seen the +Railway. + +It was September now, and the turf on the slope to the Railway was +dry and crisp. Little long grass spikes stood up like bits of gold +wire, frail blue harebells trembled on their tough, slender stalks, +Gipsy roses opened wide and flat their lilac-coloured discs, and the +golden stars of St. John's Wort shone at the edges of the pool that +lay halfway to the Railway. Bobbie gathered a generous handful of +the flowers and thought how pretty they would look lying on the +green-and-pink blanket of silk-waste that now covered Jim's poor +broken leg. + +"Hurry up," said Peter, "or we shall miss the 9.15!" + +"I can't hurry more than I am doing," said Phyllis. "Oh, bother it! +My bootlace has come undone AGAIN!" + +"When you're married," said Peter, "your bootlace will come undone +going up the church aisle, and your man that you're going to get +married to will tumble over it and smash his nose in on the +ornamented pavement; and then you'll say you won't marry him, and +you'll have to be an old maid." + +"I shan't," said Phyllis. "I'd much rather marry a man with his +nose smashed in than not marry anybody." + +"It would be horrid to marry a man with a smashed nose, all the +same," went on Bobbie. "He wouldn't be able to smell the flowers at +the wedding. Wouldn't that be awful!" + +"Bother the flowers at the wedding!" cried Peter. "Look! the +signal's down. We must run!" + +They ran. And once more they waved their handkerchiefs, without at +all minding whether the handkerchiefs were clean or not, to the +9.15. + +"Take our love to Father!" cried Bobbie. And the others, too, +shouted:-- + +"Take our love to Father!" + +The old gentleman waved from his first-class carriage window. Quite +violently he waved. And there was nothing odd in that, for he +always had waved. But what was really remarkable was that from +every window handkerchiefs fluttered, newspapers signalled, hands +waved wildly. The train swept by with a rustle and roar, the little +pebbles jumped and danced under it as it passed, and the children +were left looking at each other. + +"Well!" said Peter. + +"WELL!" said Bobbie. + +"_WELL!_" said Phyllis. + +"Whatever on earth does that mean?" asked Peter, but he did not +expect any answer. + +"_I_ don't know," said Bobbie. "Perhaps the old gentleman told the +people at his station to look out for us and wave. He knew we +should like it!" + +Now, curiously enough, this was just what had happened. The old +gentleman, who was very well known and respected at his particular +station, had got there early that morning, and he had waited at the +door where the young man stands holding the interesting machine that +clips the tickets, and he had said something to every single +passenger who passed through that door. And after nodding to what +the old gentleman had said--and the nods expressed every shade of +surprise, interest, doubt, cheerful pleasure, and grumpy agreement-- +each passenger had gone on to the platform and read one certain part +of his newspaper. And when the passengers got into the train, they +had told the other passengers who were already there what the old +gentleman had said, and then the other passengers had also looked at +their newspapers and seemed very astonished and, mostly, pleased. +Then, when the train passed the fence where the three children were, +newspapers and hands and handkerchiefs were waved madly, till all +that side of the train was fluttery with white like the pictures of +the King's Coronation in the biograph at Maskelyne and Cook's. To +the children it almost seemed as though the train itself was alive, +and was at last responding to the love that they had given it so +freely and so long. + +"It is most extraordinarily rum!" said Peter. + +"Most stronery!" echoed Phyllis. + +But Bobbie said, "Don't you think the old gentleman's waves seemed +more significating than usual?" + +"No," said the others. + +"I do," said Bobbie. "I thought he was trying to explain something +to us with his newspaper." + +"Explain what?" asked Peter, not unnaturally. + +"_I_ don't know," Bobbie answered, "but I do feel most awfully +funny. I feel just exactly as if something was going to happen." + +"What is going to happen," said Peter, "is that Phyllis's stocking +is going to come down." + +This was but too true. The suspender had given way in the agitation +of the waves to the 9.15. Bobbie's handkerchief served as first aid +to the injured, and they all went home. + +Lessons were more than usually difficult to Bobbie that day. +Indeed, she disgraced herself so deeply over a quite simple sum +about the division of 48 pounds of meat and 36 pounds of bread among +144 hungry children that Mother looked at her anxiously. + +"Don't you feel quite well, dear?" she asked. + +"I don't know," was Bobbie's unexpected answer. "I don't know how I +feel. It isn't that I'm lazy. Mother, will you let me off lessons +to-day? I feel as if I wanted to be quite alone by myself." + +"Yes, of course I'll let you off," said Mother; "but--" + +Bobbie dropped her slate. It cracked just across the little green +mark that is so useful for drawing patterns round, and it was never +the same slate again. Without waiting to pick it up she bolted. +Mother caught her in the hall feeling blindly among the waterproofs +and umbrellas for her garden hat. + +"What is it, my sweetheart?" said Mother. "You don't feel ill, do +you?" + +"I DON'T know," Bobbie answered, a little breathlessly, "but I want +to be by myself and see if my head really IS all silly and my inside +all squirmy-twisty." + +"Hadn't you better lie down?" Mother said, stroking her hair back +from her forehead. + +"I'd be more alive in the garden, I think," said Bobbie. + +But she could not stay in the garden. The hollyhocks and the asters +and the late roses all seemed to be waiting for something to happen. +It was one of those still, shiny autumn days, when everything does +seem to be waiting. + +Bobbie could not wait. + +"I'll go down to the station," she said, "and talk to Perks and ask +about the signalman's little boy." + +So she went down. On the way she passed the old lady from the Post- +office, who gave her a kiss and a hug, but, rather to Bobbie's +surprise, no words except:-- + +"God bless you, love--" and, after a pause, "run along--do." + +The draper's boy, who had sometimes been a little less than civil +and a little more than contemptuous, now touched his cap, and +uttered the remarkable words:-- + +"'Morning, Miss, I'm sure--" + +The blacksmith, coming along with an open newspaper in his hand, was +even more strange in his manner. He grinned broadly, though, as a +rule, he was a man not given to smiles, and waved the newspaper long +before he came up to her. And as he passed her, he said, in answer +to her "Good morning":-- + +"Good morning to you, Missie, and many of them! I wish you joy, +that I do!" + +"Oh!" said Bobbie to herself, and her heart quickened its beats, +"something IS going to happen! I know it is--everyone is so odd, +like people are in dreams." + +The Station Master wrung her hand warmly. In fact he worked it up +and down like a pump-handle. But he gave her no reason for this +unusually enthusiastic greeting. He only said:-- + +"The 11.54's a bit late, Miss--the extra luggage this holiday time," +and went away very quickly into that inner Temple of his into which +even Bobbie dared not follow him. + +Perks was not to be seen, and Bobbie shared the solitude of the +platform with the Station Cat. This tortoiseshell lady, usually of +a retiring disposition, came to-day to rub herself against the brown +stockings of Bobbie with arched back, waving tail, and reverberating +purrs. + +"Dear me!" said Bobbie, stooping to stroke her, "how very kind +everybody is to-day--even you, Pussy!" + +Perks did not appear until the 11.54 was signalled, and then he, +like everybody else that morning, had a newspaper in his hand. + +"Hullo!" he said, "'ere you are. Well, if THIS is the train, it'll +be smart work! Well, God bless you, my dear! I see it in the +paper, and I don't think I was ever so glad of anything in all my +born days!" He looked at Bobbie a moment, then said, "One I must +have, Miss, and no offence, I know, on a day like this 'ere!" and +with that he kissed her, first on one cheek and then on the other. + +"You ain't offended, are you?" he asked anxiously. "I ain't took +too great a liberty? On a day like this, you know--" + +"No, no," said Bobbie, "of course it's not a liberty, dear Mr. +Perks; we love you quite as much as if you were an uncle of ours-- +but--on a day like WHAT?" + +"Like this 'ere!" said Perks. "Don't I tell you I see it in the +paper?" + +"Saw WHAT in the paper?" asked Bobbie, but already the 11.54 was +steaming into the station and the Station Master was looking at all +the places where Perks was not and ought to have been. + +Bobbie was left standing alone, the Station Cat watching her from +under the bench with friendly golden eyes. + +Of course you know already exactly what was going to happen. Bobbie +was not so clever. She had the vague, confused, expectant feeling +that comes to one's heart in dreams. What her heart expected I +can't tell--perhaps the very thing that you and I know was going to +happen--but her mind expected nothing; it was almost blank, and felt +nothing but tiredness and stupidness and an empty feeling, like your +body has when you have been a long walk and it is very far indeed +past your proper dinner-time. + +Only three people got out of the 11.54. The first was a countryman +with two baskety boxes full of live chickens who stuck their russet +heads out anxiously through the wicker bars; the second was Miss +Peckitt, the grocer's wife's cousin, with a tin box and three brown- +paper parcels; and the third-- + +"Oh! my Daddy, my Daddy!" That scream went like a knife into the +heart of everyone in the train, and people put their heads out of +the windows to see a tall pale man with lips set in a thin close +line, and a little girl clinging to him with arms and legs, while +his arms went tightly round her. + + * * * * * * + +"I knew something wonderful was going to happen," said Bobbie, as +they went up the road, "but I didn't think it was going to be this. +Oh, my Daddy, my Daddy!" + +"Then didn't Mother get my letter?" Father asked. + +"There weren't any letters this morning. Oh! Daddy! it IS really +you, isn't it?" + +The clasp of a hand she had not forgotten assured her that it was. +"You must go in by yourself, Bobbie, and tell Mother quite quietly +that it's all right. They've caught the man who did it. Everyone +knows now that it wasn't your Daddy." + +"_I_ always knew it wasn't," said Bobbie. "Me and Mother and our +old gentleman." + +"Yes," he said, "it's all his doing. Mother wrote and told me you +had found out. And she told me what you'd been to her. My own +little girl!" They stopped a minute then. + +And now I see them crossing the field. Bobbie goes into the house, +trying to keep her eyes from speaking before her lips have found the +right words to "tell Mother quite quietly" that the sorrow and the +struggle and the parting are over and done, and that Father has come +home. + +I see Father walking in the garden, waiting--waiting. He is looking +at the flowers, and each flower is a miracle to eyes that all these +months of Spring and Summer have seen only flagstones and gravel and +a little grudging grass. But his eyes keep turning towards the +house. And presently he leaves the garden and goes to stand outside +the nearest door. It is the back door, and across the yard the +swallows are circling. They are getting ready to fly away from cold +winds and keen frost to the land where it is always summer. They +are the same swallows that the children built the little clay nests +for. + +Now the house door opens. Bobbie's voice calls:-- + +"Come in, Daddy; come in!" + +He goes in and the door is shut. I think we will not open the door +or follow him. I think that just now we are not wanted there. I +think it will be best for us to go quickly and quietly away. At the +end of the field, among the thin gold spikes of grass and the +harebells and Gipsy roses and St. John's Wort, we may just take one +last look, over our shoulders, at the white house where neither we +nor anyone else is wanted now. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext The Railway Children, by E. Nesbit + diff --git a/old/rlwyc10.zip b/old/rlwyc10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d41039 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rlwyc10.zip |