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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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