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diff --git a/old/theyi10.txt b/old/theyi10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..05343d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/theyi10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7682 @@ +*The Project Gutenberg Etext of They and I, by Jerome K. Jerome* +#23 in our series by Jerome K. Jerome + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +They and I + +by Jerome K. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk +from the 1909 Bernhard Tauchnitz edition. + + + + + +THEY AND I + +by Jerome K. Jerome + + + +CHAPTER I + + + +"It is not a large house," I said. "We don't want a large house. +Two spare bedrooms, and the little three-cornered place you see +marked there on the plan, next to the bathroom, and which will just +do for a bachelor, will be all we shall require--at all events, for +the present. Later on, if I ever get rich, we can throw out a wing. +The kitchen I shall have to break to your mother gently. Whatever +the original architect could have been thinking of--" + +"Never mind the kitchen," said Dick: "what about the billiard-room?" + +The way children nowadays will interrupt a parent is nothing short of +a national disgrace. I also wish Dick would not sit on the table, +swinging his legs. It is not respectful. "Why, when I was a boy," +as I said to him, "I should as soon have thought of sitting on a +table, interrupting my father--" + +"What's this thing in the middle of the hall, that looks like a +grating?" demanded Robina. + +"She means the stairs," explained Dick. + +"Then why don't they look like stairs?" commented Robina. + +"They do," replied Dick, "to people with sense." + +"They don't," persisted Robina, "they look like a grating." Robina, +with the plan spread out across her knee, was sitting balanced on the +arm of an easy-chair. Really, I hardly see the use of buying chairs +for these people. Nobody seems to know what they are for--except it +be one or another of the dogs. Perches are all they want. + +"If we threw the drawing-room into the hall and could do away with +the stairs," thought Robina, "we should be able to give a dance now +and then." + +"Perhaps," I suggested, "you would like to clear out the house +altogether, leaving nothing but the four bare walls. That would give +us still more room, that would. For just living in, we could fix up +a shed in the garden; or--" + +"I'm talking seriously," said Robina: "what's the good of a drawing- +room? One only wants it to show the sort of people into that one +wishes hadn't come. They'd sit about, looking miserable, just as +well anywhere else. If we could only get rid of the stairs--" + +"Oh, of course! we could get rid of the stairs," I agreed. "It would +be a bit awkward at first, when we wanted to go to bed. But I +daresay we should get used to it. We could have a ladder and climb +up to our rooms through the windows. Or we might adopt the Norwegian +method and have the stairs outside." + +"I wish you would be sensible," said Robin. + +"I am trying to be," I explained; "and I am also trying to put a +little sense into you. At present you are crazy about dancing. If +you had your way, you would turn the house into a dancing-saloon with +primitive sleeping-accommodation attached. It will last six months, +your dancing craze. Then you will want the house transformed into a +swimming-bath, or a skating-rink, or cleared out for hockey. My idea +may be conventional. I don't expect you to sympathise with it. My +notion is just an ordinary Christian house, not a gymnasium. There +are going to be bedrooms in this house, and there's going to be a +staircase leading to them. It may strike you as sordid, but there is +also going to be a kitchen: though why when building the house they +should have put the kitchen - + +"Don't forget the billiard-room," said Dick. + +"If you thought more of your future career and less about billiards," +Robin pointed out to him, "perhaps you'd get through your Little-go +in the course of the next few years. If Pa only had sense--I mean if +he wasn't so absurdly indulgent wherever you are concerned, he would +not have a billiard-table in the house." + +"You talk like that," retorted Dick, "merely because you can't play." + +"I can beat you, anyhow," retorted Robin. + +"Once," admitted Dick--"once in six weeks." + +"Twice," corrected Robin. + +"You don't play," Dick explained to her; "you just whack round and +trust to Providence." + +"I don't whack round," said Robin; "I always aim at something. When +you try and it doesn't come off, you say it's 'hard luck;' and when I +try and it does come off, you say it's fluking. So like a man." + +"You both of you," I said, "attach too much importance to the score. +When you try for a cannon off the white and hit it on the wrong side +and send it into a pocket, and your own ball travels on and makes a +losing hazard off the red, instead of being vexed with yourselves--" + +"If you get a really good table, governor," said Dick, "I'll teach +you billiards." + +I do believe Dick really thinks he can play. It is the same with +golf. Beginners are invariably lucky. "I think I shall like it," +they tell you; "I seem to have the game in me, if you understand." + +'There is a friend of mine, an old sea-captain. He is the sort of +man that when the three balls are lying in a straight line, tucked up +under the cushion, looks pleased; because then he knows he can make a +cannon and leave the red just where he wants it. An Irish youngster +named Malooney, a college chum of Dick's, was staying with us; and +the afternoon being wet, the Captain said he would explain it to +Malooney, how a young man might practise billiards without any danger +of cutting the cloth. He taught him how to hold the cue, and he told +him how to make a bridge. Malooney was grateful, and worked for +about an hour. He did not show much promise. He is a powerfully +built young man, and he didn't seem able to get it into his head that +he wasn't playing cricket. Whenever he hit a little low the result +was generally lost ball. To save time--and damage to furniture--Dick +and I fielded for him. Dick stood at long-stop, and I was short +slip. It was dangerous work, however, and when Dick had caught him +out twice running, we agreed that we had won, and took him in to tea. +In the evening--none of the rest of us being keen to try our luck a +second time--the Captain said, that just for the joke of the thing he +would give Malooney eighty-five and play him a hundred up. To +confess the truth, I find no particular fun myself in playing +billiards with the Captain. The game consists, as far as I am +concerned, in walking round the table, throwing him back the balls, +and saying "Good!" By the time my turn comes I don't seem to care +what happens: everything seems against me. He is a kind old +gentleman and he means well, but the tone in which he says "Hard +lines!" whenever I miss an easy stroke irritates me. I feel I'd like +to throw the balls at his head and fling the table out of window. I +suppose it is that I am in a fretful state of mind, but the mere way +in which he chalks his cue aggravates me. He carries his own chalk +in his waistcoat pocket--as if our chalk wasn't good enough for him-- +and when he has finished chalking, he smooths the tip round with his +finger and thumb and taps the cue against the table. "Oh! go on with +the game," I want to say to him; "don't be so full of tricks." + + +The Captain led off with a miss in baulk. Malooney gripped his cue, +drew in a deep breath, and let fly. The result was ten: a cannon +and all three balls in the same pocket. As a matter of fact he made +the cannon twice; but the second time, as we explained to him, of +course did not count. + +"Good beginning!" said the Captain. + +Malooney seemed pleased with himself, and took off his coat. + +Malooney's ball missed the red on its first journey up the table by +about a foot, but found it later on and sent it into a pocket. + +"Ninety-nine plays nothing," said Dick, who was marking. "Better +make it a hundred and fifty, hadn't we, Captain?" + +"Well, I'd like to get in a shot," said the Captain, "before the game +is over. Perhaps we had better make it a hundred and fifty, if Mr. +Malooney has no objection." + +"Whatever you think right, sir," said Rory Malooney. + +Malooney finished his break for twenty-two, leaving himself hanging +over the middle pocket and the red tucked up in baulk. + +"Nothing plays a hundred and eight," said Dick. + +"When I want the score," said the Captain, "I'll ask for it." + +"Beg pardon, sir," said Dick. + +"I hate a noisy game," said the Captain. + +The Captain, making up his mind without much waste of time, sent his +ball under the cushion, six inches outside baulk. + +"What will I do here?" asked Malooney. + +"I don't know what you will do," said the Captain; "I'm waiting to +see." + +Owing to the position of the ball, Malooney was unable to employ his +whole strength. All he did that turn was to pocket the Captain's +ball and leave himself under the bottom cushion, four inches from the +red. The Captain said a nautical word, and gave another miss. +Malooney squared up to the balls for the third time. They flew +before him, panic-stricken. They banged against one another, came +back and hit one another again for no reason whatever. The red, in +particular, Malooney had succeeded apparently in frightening out of +its wits. It is a stupid ball, generally speaking, our red--its one +idea to get under a cushion and watch the game. With Malooney it +soon found it was safe nowhere on the table. Its only hope was +pockets. I may have been mistaken, my eye may have been deceived by +the rapidity of the play, but it seemed to me that the red never +waited to be hit. When it saw Malooney's ball coming for it at the +rate of forty miles an hour, it just made for the nearest pocket. It +rushed round the table looking for pockets. If in its excitement, it +passed an empty pocket, it turned back and crawled in. There were +times when in its terror it jumped the table and took shelter under +the sofa or behind the sideboard. One began to feel sorry for the +red. + +The Captain had scored a legitimate thirty-eight, and Malooney had +given him twenty-four, when it really seemed as if the Captain's +chance had come. I could have scored myself as the balls were then. + +"Sixty-two plays one hundred and twenty-eight. Now then, Captain, +game in your hands," said Dick. + +We gathered round. The children left their play. It was a pretty +picture: the bright young faces, eager with expectation, the old +worn veteran squinting down his cue, as if afraid that watching +Malooney's play might have given it the squirms. + +"Now follow this," I whispered to Malooney. "Don't notice merely +what he does, but try and understand why he does it. Any fool--after +a little practice, that is--can hit a ball. But why do you hit it? +What happens after you've hit it? What--" + +"Hush," said Dick. + +The Captain drew his cue back and gently pushed it forward. + +"Pretty stroke," I whispered to Malooney; "now, that's the sort--" + +I offer, by way of explanation, that the Captain by this time was +probably too full of bottled-up language to be master of his nerves. +The ball travelled slowly past the red. Dick said afterwards that +you couldn't have put so much as a sheet of paper between them. It +comforts a man, sometimes, when you tell him this; and at other times +it only makes him madder. It travelled on and passed the white--you +could have put quite a lot of paper between it and the white--and +dropped with a contented thud into the top left-hand pocket. + +"Why does he do that?" Malooney whispered. Malooney has a singularly +hearty whisper. + +Dick and I got the women and children out of the room as quickly as +we could, but of course Veronica managed to tumble over something on +the way--Veronica would find something to tumble over in the desert +of Sahara; and a few days later I overheard expressions, scorching +their way through the nursery door, that made my hair rise up. I +entered, and found Veronica standing on the table. Jumbo was sitting +upon the music-stool. The poor dog himself was looking scared, +though he must have heard a bit of language in his time, one way and +another. + +"Veronica," I said, "are you not ashamed of yourself? You wicked +child, how dare you--" + +"It's all right," said Veronica. "I don't really mean any harm. +He's a sailor, and I have to talk to him like that, else he don't +know he's being talked to." + +I pay hard-working, conscientious ladies to teach this child things +right and proper for her to know. They tell her clever things that +Julius Caesar said; observations made by Marcus Aurelius that, +pondered over, might help her to become a beautiful character. She +complains that it produces a strange buzzy feeling in her head; and +her mother argues that perhaps her brain is of the creative order, +not intended to remember much--thinks that perhaps she is going to be +something. A good round-dozen oaths the Captain must have let fly +before Dick and I succeeded in rolling her out of the room. She had +only heard them once, yet, so far as I could judge, she had got them +letter perfect. + +The Captain, now no longer under the necessity of employing all his +energies to suppress his natural instincts, gradually recovered form, +and eventually the game stood at one hundred and forty-nine all, +Malooney to play. The Captain had left the balls in a position that +would have disheartened any other opponent than Malooney. To any +other opponent than Malooney the Captain would have offered +irritating sympathy. "Afraid the balls are not rolling well for you +to-night," the Captain would have said; or, "Sorry, sir, I don't seem +to have left you very much." To-night the Captain wasn't feeling +playful. + +"Well, if he scores off that!" said Dick. + +"Short of locking up the balls and turning out the lights, I don't +myself see how one is going to stop him," sighed the Captain. + +The Captain's ball was in hand. Malooney went for the red and hit-- +perhaps it would be more correct to say, frightened--it into a +pocket. Malooney's ball, with the table to itself, then gave a solo +performance, and ended up by breaking a window. It was what the +lawyers call a nice point. What was the effect upon the score? + +Malooney argued that, seeing he had pocketed the red before his own +ball left the table, his three should be counted first, and that +therefore he had won. Dick maintained that a ball that had ended up +in a flower-bed couldn't be deemed to have scored anything. The +Captain declined to assist. He said that, although he had been +playing billiards for upwards of forty years, the incident was new to +him. My own feeling was that of thankfulness that we had got through +the game without anybody being really injured. We agreed that the +person to decide the point would be the editor of The Field. + +It remains still undecided. The Captain came into my study the next +morning. He said: "If you haven't written that letter to The Field, +don't mention my name. They know me on The Field. I would rather it +did not get about that I have been playing with a man who cannot keep +his ball within the four walls of a billiard-room." + +"Well," I answered, "I know most of the fellows on The Field myself. +They don't often get hold of anything novel in the way of a story. +When they do, they are apt to harp upon it. My idea was to keep my +own name out of it altogether." + +"It is not a point likely to crop up often," said the Captain. "I'd +let it rest if I were you." + +I should like to have had it settled. In the end, I wrote the editor +a careful letter, in a disguised hand, giving a false name and +address. But if any answer ever appeared I must have missed it. + +Myself I have a sort of consciousness that somewhere inside me there +is quite a good player, if only I could persuade him to come out. He +is shy, that is all. He does not seem able to play when people are +looking on. The shots he misses when people are looking on would +give you a wrong idea of him. When nobody is about, a prettier game +you do not often see. If some folks who fancy themselves could see +me when there is nobody about, it might take the conceit out of them. +Only once I played up to what I feel is my real form, and then it led +to argument. I was staying at an hotel in Switzerland, and the +second evening a pleasant-spoken young fellow, who said he had read +all my books--later, he appeared surprised on learning I had written +more than two--asked me if I would care to play a hundred up. We +played even, and I paid for the table. The next evening he said he +thought it would make a better game if he gave me forty and I broke. +It was a fairly close finish, and afterwards he suggested that I +should put down my name for the handicap they were arranging. + +"I am afraid," I answered, "that I hardly play well enough. Just a +quiet game with you is one thing; but in a handicap with a crowd +looking on--" + +"I should not let that trouble you," he said; "there are some here +who play worse than you--just one or two. It passes the evening." + +It was merely a friendly affair. I paid my twenty marks, and was +given plus a hundred. I drew for my first game a chatty type of man, +who started minus twenty. We neither of us did much for the first +five minutes, and then I made a break of forty-four. + +There was not a fluke in it from beginning to end. I was never more +astonished in my life. It seemed to me it was the cue was doing it. + +Minus Twenty was even more astonished. I heard him as I passed: + +"Who handicapped this man?" he asked. + +"I did," said the pleasant-spoken youngster. + +"Oh," said Minus Twenty--"friend of yours, I presume?" + +There are evenings that seem to belong to you. We finished that two +hundred and fifty under the three-quarters of an hour. I explained +to Minus Twenty--he was plus sixty-three at the end--that my play +that night had been exceptional. He said that he had heard of cases +similar. I left him talking volubly to the committee. He was not a +nice man at all. + +After that I did not care to win; and that of course was fatal. The +less I tried, the more impossible it seemed for me to do wrong. I +was left in at the last with a man from another hotel. But for that +I am convinced I should have carried off the handicap. Our hotel +didn't, anyhow, want the other hotel to win. So they gathered round +me, and offered me sound advice, and begged me to be careful; with +the natural result that I went back to my usual form quite suddenly. + +Never before or since have I played as I played that week. But it +showed me what I could do. I shall get a new table, with proper +pockets this time. There is something wrong about our pockets. The +balls go into them and then come out again. You would think they had +seen something there to frighten them. They come out trembling and +hold on to the cushion. + +I shall also get a new red ball. I fancy it must be a very old ball, +our red. It seems to me to be always tired. + +"The billiard-room," I said to Dick, "I see my way to easily enough. +Adding another ten feet to what is now the dairy will give us twenty- +eight by twenty. I am hopeful that will be sufficient even for your +friend Malooney. The drawing-room is too small to be of any use. I +may decide--as Robina has suggested--to 'throw it into the hall.' +But the stairs will remain. For dancing, private theatricals--things +to keep you children out of mischief--I have an idea I will explain +to you later on. The kitchen--" + +"Can I have a room to myself?" asked Veronica. + +Veronica was sitting on the floor, staring into the fire, her chin +supported by her hand. Veronica, in those rare moments when she is +resting from her troubles, wears a holy, far-away expression apt to +mislead the stranger. Governesses, new to her, have their doubts +whether on these occasions they are justified in dragging her back to +discuss mere dates and tables. Poets who are friends of mine, coming +unexpectedly upon Veronica standing by the window, gazing upward at +the evening star, have thought it was a vision, until they got closer +and found that she was sucking peppermints. + +"I should so like to have a room all to myself," added Veronica. + +"It would be a room!" commented Robin. + +"It wouldn't have your hairpins sticking up all over the bed, +anyhow," murmured Veronica dreamily. + +"I like that!" said Robin; "why--" + +"You're harder than I am," said Veronica. + +"I should wish you to have a room, Veronica," I said. "My fear is +that in place of one untidy bedroom in the house--a room that makes +me shudder every time I see it through the open door; and the door, +in spite of all I can say, generally is wide open--" + +"I'm not untidy," said Robin, "not really. I know where everything +is in the dark--if people would only leave them alone." + +"You are. You're about the most untidy girl I know," said Dick. + +"I'm not," said Robin; "you don't see other girls' rooms. Look at +yours at Cambridge. Malooney told us you'd had a fire, and we all +believed him at first." + +"When a man's working--" said Dick. + +"He must have an orderly place to work in," suggested Robin. + +Dick sighed. "It's never any good talking to you," said Dick. "You +don't even see your own faults." + +"I can," said Robin; "I see them more than anyone. All I claim is +justice." + +"Show me, Veronica," I said, "that you are worthy to possess a room. +At present you appear to regard the whole house as your room. I find +your gaiters on the croquet lawn. A portion of your costume--an +article that anyone possessed of the true feelings of a lady would +desire to keep hidden from the world--is discovered waving from the +staircase window." + +"I put it out to be mended," explained Veronica. + +"You opened the door and flung it out. I told you of it at the +time," said Robin. "You do the same with your boots." + +"You are too high-spirited for your size," explained Dick to her. +"Try to be less dashing." + +"I could also wish, Veronica," I continued, "that you shed your back +comb less easily, or at least that you knew when you had shed it. As +for your gloves--well, hunting your gloves has come to be our leading +winter sport." + +"People look in such funny places for them," said Veronica. + +"Granted. But be just, Veronica," I pleaded. "Admit that it is in +funny places we occasionally find them. When looking for your things +one learns, Veronica, never to despair. So long as there remains a +corner unexplored inside or outside the house, within the half-mile +radius, hope need not be abandoned." + +Veronica was still gazing dreamily into the fire. + +"I suppose," said Veronica, "it's reditty." + +"It's what?" I said. + +"She means heredity," suggested Dick--"cheeky young beggar! I wonder +you let her talk to you the way she does." + +"Besides," added Robin, "as I am always explaining to you, Pa is a +literary man. With him it is part of his temperament." + +"It's hard on us children," said Veronica. + +We were all agreed--with the exception of Veronica--that it was time +Veronica went to bed. As chairman I took it upon myself to closure +the debate. + + + +CHAPTER II + + + +"Do you mean, Governor, that you have actually bought the house?" +demanded Dick, "or are we only talking about it?" + +"This time, Dick," I answered, "I have done it." + +Dick looked serious. "Is it what you wanted?" he asked. + +"No, Dick," I replied, "it is not what I wanted. I wanted an old- +fashioned, picturesque, rambling sort of a place, all gables and ivy +and oriel windows." + +"You are mixing things up," Dick interrupted, "gables and oriel +windows don't go together." + +"I beg your pardon, Dick," I corrected him, "in the house I wanted, +they do. It is the style of house you find in the Christmas number. +I have never seen it anywhere else, but I took a fancy to it from the +first. It is not too far from the church, and it lights up well at +night. 'One of these days,' I used to say to myself when a boy, +'I'll be a clever man and live in a house just like that.' It was my +dream." + +"And what is this place like?" demanded Robin, "this place you have +bought." + +"The agent," I explained, "claims for it that it is capable of +improvement. I asked him to what school of architecture he would say +it belonged; he said he thought that it must have been a local +school, and pointed out--what seems to be the truth--that nowadays +they do not build such houses." + +"Near to the river?" demanded Dick. + +"Well, by the road," I answered, "I daresay it may be a couple of +miles." + +"And by the shortest way?" questioned Dick. + +"That is the shortest way," I explained; "there's a prettier way +through the woods, but that is about three miles and a half." + +"But we had decided it was to be near the river," said Robin. + +"We also decided," I replied, "that it was to be on sandy soil, with +a south-west aspect. Only one thing in this house has a south-west +aspect, and that's the back door. I asked the agent about the sand. +He advised me, if I wanted it in any quantity, to get an estimate +from the Railway Company. I wanted it on a hill. It is on a hill, +with a bigger hill in front of it. I didn't want that other hill. I +wanted an uninterrupted view of the southern half of England. I +wanted to take people out on the step, and cram them with stories +about our being able on clear days to see the Bristol Channel. They +might not have believed me, but without that hill I could have stuck +to it, and they could not have been certain--not dead certain--I was +lying. + +"Personally, I should have liked a house where something had +happened. I should have liked, myself, a blood-stain--not a fussy +blood-stain, a neat unobtrusive blood-stain that would have been +content, most of its time, to remain hidden under the mat, shown only +occasionally as a treat to visitors. I had hopes even of a ghost. I +don't mean one of those noisy ghosts that doesn't seem to know it is +dead. A lady ghost would have been my fancy, a gentle ghost with +quiet, pretty ways. This house--well, it is such a sensible-looking +house, that is my chief objection to it. It has got an echo. If you +go to the end of the garden and shout at it very loudly, it answers +you back. This is the only bit of fun you can have with it. Even +then it answers you in such a tone you feel it thinks the whole thing +silly--is doing it merely to humour you. It is one of those houses +that always seems to be thinking of its rates and taxes." + +"Any reason at all for your having bought it?" asked Dick. + +"Yes, Dick," I answered. "We are all of us tired of this suburb. We +want to live in the country and be good. To live in the country with +any comfort it is necessary to have a house there. This being +admitted, it follows we must either build a house or buy one. I +would rather not build a house. Talboys built himself a house. You +know Talboys. When I first met him, before he started building, he +was a cheerful soul with a kindly word for everyone. The builder +assures him that in another twenty years, when the colour has had +time to tone down, his house will be a picture. At present it makes +him bilious, the mere sight of it. Year by year, they tell him, as +the dampness wears itself away, he will suffer less and less from +rheumatism, ague, and lumbago. He has a hedge round the garden; it +is eighteen inches high. To keep the boys out he has put up barbed- +wire fencing. But wire fencing affords no real privacy. When the +Talboys are taking coffee on the lawn, there is generally a crowd +from the village watching them. There are trees in the garden; you +know they are trees--there is a label tied to each one telling you +what sort of tree it is. For the moment there is a similarity about +them. Thirty years hence, Talboys estimates, they will afford him +shade and comfort; but by that time he hopes to be dead. I want a +house that has got over all its troubles; I don't want to spend the +rest of my life bringing up a young and inexperienced house." + +"But why this particular house?" urged Robin, "if, as you say, it is +not the house you wanted." + +"Because, my dear girl," I answered, "it is less unlike the house I +wanted than other houses I have seen. When we are young we make up +our minds to try and get what we want; when we have arrived at years +of discretion we decide to try and want what we can get. It saves +time. During the last two years I have seen about sixty houses, and +out of the lot there was only one that was really the house I wanted. +Hitherto I have kept the story to myself. Even now, thinking about +it irritates me. It was not an agent who told me of it. I met a man +by chance in a railway carriage. He had a black eye. If ever I meet +him again I'll give him another. He accounted for it by explaining +that he had had trouble with a golf ball, and at the time I believed +him. I mentioned to him in conversation I was looking for a house. +He described this place to me, and it seemed to me hours before the +train stopped at a station. When it did I got out and took the next +train back. I did not even wait for lunch. I had my bicycle with +me, and I went straight there. It was--well, it was the house I +wanted. If it had vanished suddenly, and I had found myself in bed, +the whole thing would have seemed more reasonable. The proprietor +opened the door to me himself. He had the bearing of a retired +military man. It was afterwards I learnt he was the proprietor. + +"I said, 'Good afternoon; if it is not troubling you, I would like to +look over the house.' We were standing in the oak-panelled hall. I +noticed the carved staircase about which the man in the train had +told me, also the Tudor fireplaces. That is all I had time to +notice. The next moment I was lying on my back in the middle of the +gravel with the door shut. I looked up. I saw the old maniac's head +sticking out of a little window. It was an evil face. He had a gun +in his hand. + +"'I'm going to count twenty,' he said. 'If you are not the other +side of the gate by then, I shoot.' + +"I ran over the figures myself on my way to the gate. I made it +eighteen. + +"I had an hour to wait for the train. I talked the matter over with +the station-master. + +"'Yes,' he said, 'there'll be trouble up there one of these days.' + +"I said, 'It seems to me to have begun.' + +"He said, 'It's the Indian sun. It gets into their heads. We have +one or two in the neighbourhood. They are quiet enough till +something happens.' + +"'If I'd been two seconds longer,' I said, 'I believe he'd have done +it.' + +"'It's a taking house,' said the station-master; 'not too big and not +too little. It's the sort of house people seem to be looking for.' + +"'I don't envy,' I said, 'the next person that finds it.' + +"'He settled himself down here,' said the station-master, 'about ten +years ago. Since then, if one person has offered to take the house +off his hands, I suppose a thousand have. At first he would laugh at +them good-temperedly--explain to them that his idea was to live there +himself, in peace and quietness, till he died. Two out of every +three of them would express their willingness to wait for that, and +suggest some arrangement by which they might enter into possession, +say, a week after the funeral. The last few months it has been worse +than ever. I reckon you're about the eighth that has been up there +this week, and to-day only Thursday. There's something to be said, +you know, for the old man.'" + +"And did he," asked Dick--"did he shoot the next party that came +along?" + +"Don't be so silly, Dick," said Robin; "it's a story. Tell us +another, Pa." + +"I don't know what you mean, Robina, by a story," I said. "If you +mean to imply--" + +Robina said she didn't; but I know quite well she did. Because I am +an author, and have to tell stories for my living, people think I +don't know any truth. It is vexing enough to be doubted when one is +exaggerating; to have sneers flung at one by one's own kith and kin +when one is struggling to confine oneself to bald, bare narrative-- +well, where is the inducement to be truthful? There are times when I +almost say to myself that I will never tell the truth again. + +"As it happens," I said, "the story is true, in many places. I pass +over your indifference to the risk I ran; though a nice girl at the +point where the gun was mentioned would have expressed alarm. +Anyhow, at the end you might have said something more sympathetic +than merely, 'Tell us another.' He did not shoot the next party that +arrived, for the reason that the very next day his wife, alarmed at +what had happened, went up to London and consulted an expert--none +too soon, as it turned out. The poor old fellow died six months +later in a private lunatic asylum; I had it from the station-master +on passing through the junction again this spring. The house fell +into the possession of his nephew, who is living in it now. He is a +youngish man with a large family, and people have learnt that the +place is not for sale. It seems to me rather a sad story. The +Indian sun, as the station-master thinks, may have started the +trouble; but the end was undoubtedly hastened by the annoyance to +which the unfortunate gentleman had been subjected; and I myself +might have been shot. The only thing that comforts me is thinking of +that fool's black eye--the fool that sent me there." + +"And none of the other houses," suggested Dick, "were any good at +all?" + +"There were drawbacks, Dick," I explained. "There was a house in +Essex; it was one of the first your mother and I inspected. I nearly +shed tears of joy when I read the advertisement. It had once been a +priory. Queen Elizabeth had slept there on her way to Greenwich. A +photograph of the house accompanied the advertisement. I should not +have believed the thing had it been a picture. It was under twelve +miles from Charing Cross. The owner, it was stated, was open to +offers." + +"All humbug, I suppose," suggested Dick. + +"The advertisement, if anything," I replied, "had under-estimated the +attractiveness of that house. All I blame the advertisement for is +that it did not mention other things. It did not mention, for +instance, that since Queen Elizabeth's time the neighbourhood had +changed. It did not mention that the entrance was between a public- +house one side of the gate and a fried-fish shop on the other; that +the Great Eastern Railway-Company had established a goods depot at +the bottom of the garden; that the drawing-room windows looked out on +extensive chemical works, and the dining-room windows, which were +round the corner, on a stonemason's yard. The house itself was a +dream." + +"But what is the sense of it?" demanded Dick. "What do house agents +think is the good of it? Do they think people likely to take a house +after reading the advertisement without ever going to see it?" + +"I asked an agent once that very question," I replied. "He said they +did it first and foremost to keep up the spirits of the owner--the +man who wanted to sell the house. He said that when a man was trying +to part with a house he had to listen to so much abuse of it from +people who came to see it that if somebody did not stick up for the +house--say all that could be said for it, and gloss over its defects- +-he would end by becoming so ashamed of it he would want to give it +away, or blow it up with dynamite. He said that reading the +advertisement in the agent's catalogue was the only thing that +reconciled him to being the owner of the house. He said one client +of his had been trying to sell his house for years--until one day in +the office he read by chance the agent's description of it. Upon +which he went straight home, took down the board, and has lived there +contentedly ever since. From that point of view there is reason in +the system; but for the house-hunter it works badly. + +"One agent sent me a day's journey to see a house standing in the +middle of a brickfield, with a view of the Grand Junction Canal. I +asked him where was the river he had mentioned. He explained it was +the other side of the canal, but on a lower level; that was the only +reason why from the house you couldn't see it. I asked him for his +picturesque scenery. He explained it was farther on, round the bend. +He seemed to think me unreasonable, expecting to find everything I +wanted just outside the front-door. He suggested my shutting out the +brickfield--if I didn't like the brickfield--with trees. He +suggested the eucalyptus-tree. He said it was a rapid grower. He +also told me that it yielded gum. + +"Another house I travelled down into Dorsetshire to see. It +contained, according to the advertisement, 'perhaps the most perfect +specimen of Norman arch extant in Southern England.' It was to be +found mentioned in Dugdale, and dated from the thirteenth century. I +don't quite know what I expected. I argued to myself that there must +have been ruffians of only moderate means even in those days. Here +and there some robber baron who had struck a poor line of country +would have had to be content with a homely little castle. A few +such, hidden away in unfrequented districts, had escaped destruction. +More civilised descendants had adapted them to later requirements. I +had in my mind, before the train reached Dorchester, something +between a miniature Tower of London and a mediaeval edition of Ann +Hathaway's cottage at Stratford. I pictured dungeons and a +drawbridge, perhaps a secret passage. Lamchick has a secret passage, +leading from behind a sort of portrait in the dining-room to the back +of the kitchen chimney. They use it for a linen closet. It seems to +me a pity. Of course originally it went on farther. The vicar, who +is a bit of an antiquarian, believes it comes out somewhere in the +churchyard. I tell Lamchick he ought to have it opened up, but his +wife doesn't want it touched. She seems to think it just right as it +is. I have always had a fancy for a secret passage. I decided I +would have the drawbridge repaired and made practicable. Flanked on +each side with flowers in tubs, it would have been a novel and +picturesque approach." + +"Was there a drawbridge?" asked Dick. + +"There was no drawbridge," I explained. "The entrance to the house +was through what the caretaker called the conservatory. It was not +the sort of house that goes with a drawbridge." + +"Then what about the Norman arches?" argued Dick. + +"Not arches," I corrected him; "Arch. The Norman arch was downstairs +in the kitchen. It was the kitchen, that had been built in the +thirteenth century--and had not had much done to it since, +apparently. Originally, I should say, it had been the torture +chamber; it gave you that idea. I think your mother would have +raised objections to the kitchen--anyhow, when she came to think of +the cook. It would have been necessary to put it to the woman before +engaging her:- + +"'You don't mind cooking in a dungeon in the dark, do you?' + +"Some cooks would. The rest of the house was what I should describe +as present-day mixed style. The last tenant but one had thrown out a +bathroom in corrugated iron." + +"Then there was a house in Berkshire that I took your mother to see, +with a trout stream running through the grounds. I imagined myself +going out after lunch, catching trout for dinner; inviting swagger +friends down to 'my little place in Berkshire' for a few days' trout- +fishing. There is a man I once knew who is now a baronet. He used +to be keen on fishing. I thought maybe I'd get him. It would have +looked well in the Literary Gossip column: 'Among the other +distinguished guests'--you know the sort of thing. I had the +paragraph already in my mind. The wonder is I didn't buy a rod." + +"Wasn't there any trout stream?" questioned Robin. + +"There was a stream," I answered; "if anything, too much stream. The +stream was the first thing your mother noticed. She noticed it a +quarter of an hour before we came to it--before we knew it was the +stream. We drove back to the town, and she bought a smelling-bottle, +the larger size. + +"It gave your mother a headache, that stream, and made me mad. The +agent's office was opposite the station. I allowed myself half an +hour on my way back to tell him what I thought of him, and then I +missed the train. I could have got it in if he had let me talk all +the time, but he would interrupt. He said it was the people at the +paper-mill--that he had spoken to them about it more than once; he +seemed to think sympathy was all I wanted. He assured me, on his +word as a house-agent, that it had once been a trout stream. The +fact was historical. Isaac Walton had fished there--that was prior +to the paper-mill. He thought a collection of trout, male and +female, might be bought and placed in it; preference being given to +some hardy breed of trout, accustomed to roughing it. I told him I +wasn't looking for a place where I could play at being Noah; and left +him, as I explained to him, with the intention of going straight to +my solicitors and instituting proceedings against him for talking +like a fool; and he put on his hat and went across to his solicitors +to commence proceedings against me for libel. + +"I suppose that, with myself, he thought better of it in the end. +But I'm tired of having my life turned into one perpetual first of +April. This house that I have bought is not my heart's desire, but +about it there are possibilities. We will put in lattice windows, +and fuss-up the chimneys. Maybe we will let in a tablet over the +front-door, with a date--always looks well: it is a picturesque +figure, the old-fashioned five. By the time we have done with it-- +for all practical purposes--it will be a Tudor manor-house. I have +always wanted an old Tudor manor-house. There is no reason, so far +as I can see, why there should not be stories connected with this +house. Why should not we have a room in which Somebody once slept? +We won't have Queen Elizabeth. I'm tired of Queen Elizabeth. +Besides, I don't believe she'd have been nice. Why not Queen Anne? +A quiet, gentle old lady, from all accounts, who would not have given +trouble. Or, better still, Shakespeare. He was constantly to and +fro between London and Stratford. It would not have been so very +much out of his way. 'The room where Shakespeare slept!' Why, it's +a new idea. Nobody ever seems to have thought of Shakespeare. There +is the four-post bedstead. Your mother never liked it. She will +insist, it harbours things. We might hang the wall with scenes from +his plays, and have a bust of the old gentleman himself over the +door. If I'm left alone and not worried, I'll probably end by +believing that he really did sleep there." + +"What about cupboards?" suggested Dick. "The Little Mother will +clamour for cupboards." + +It is unexplainable, the average woman's passion for cupboards. In +heaven, her first request, I am sure, is always, "Can I have a +cupboard?" She would keep her husband and children in cupboards if +she had her way: that would be her idea of the perfect home, +everybody wrapped up with a piece of camphor in his or her own proper +cupboard. I knew a woman once who was happy--for a woman. She lived +in a house with twenty-nine cupboards: I think it must have been +built by a woman. They were spacious cupboards, many of them, with +doors in no way different from other doors. Visitors would wish each +other good-night and disappear with their candles into cupboards, +staggering out backwards the next moment, looking scared. One poor +gentleman, this woman's husband told me, having to go downstairs +again for something he had forgotten, and unable on his return to +strike anything else but cupboards, lost heart and finished up the +night in a cupboard. At breakfast-time guests would hurry down, and +burst open cupboard doors with a cheery "Good-morning." When that +woman was out, nobody in that house ever knew where anything was; and +when she came home she herself only knew where it ought to have been. +Yet once, when one of those twenty-nine cupboards had to be cleared +out temporarily for repairs, she never smiled, her husband told me, +for more than three weeks--not till the workmen were out of the +house, and that cupboard in working order again. She said it was so +confusing, having nowhere to put her things. + +The average woman does not want a house, in the ordinary sense of the +word. What she wants is something made by a genii. You have found, +as you think, the ideal house. You show her the Adams fireplace in +the drawing-room. You tap the wainscoting of the hall with your +umbrella: "Oak," you impress upon her, "all oak." You draw her +attention to the view: you tell her the local legend. By fixing her +head against the window-pane she can see the tree on which the man +was hanged. You dwell upon the sundial; you mention for a second +time the Adams fireplace. + +"It's all very nice," she answers, "but where are the children going +to sleep?" + +It is so disheartening. + +If it isn't the children, it's the water. She wants water--wants to +know where it comes from. You show her where it comes from. + +"What, out of that nasty place!" she exclaims. + +She is equally dissatisfied whether it be drawn from a well, or +whether it be water that has fallen from heaven and been stored in +tanks. She has no faith in Nature's water. A woman never believes +that water can be good that does not come from a water-works. Her +idea appears to be that the Company makes it fresh every morning from +some old family recipe. + +If you do succeed in reconciling her to the water, then she feels +sure that the chimneys smoke; they look as if they smoked. Why--as +you tell her--the chimneys are the best part of the house. You take +her outside and make her look at them. They are genuine sixteenth- +century chimneys, with carving on them. They couldn't smoke. They +wouldn't do anything so inartistic. She says she only hopes you are +right, and suggests cowls, if they do. + +After that she wants to see the kitchen--where's the kitchen? You +don't know where it is. You didn't bother about the kitchen. There +must be a kitchen, of course. You proceed to search for the kitchen. +When you find it she is worried because it is the opposite end of the +house to the dining-room. You point out to her the advantage of +being away from the smell of the cooking. At that she gets personal: +tells you that you are the first to grumble when the dinner is cold; +and in her madness accuses the whole male sex of being impractical. +The mere sight of an empty house makes a woman fretful. + +Of course the stove is wrong. The kitchen stove always is wrong. +You promise she shall have a new one. Six months later she will want +the old one back again: but it would be cruel to tell her this. The +promise of that new stove comforts her. The woman never loses hope +that one day it will come--the all-satisfying kitchen stove, the +stove of her girlish dreams. + +The question of the stove settled, you imagine you have silenced all +opposition. At once she begins to talk about things that nobody but +a woman or a sanitary inspector can talk about without blushing. + +It calls for tact, getting a woman into a new house. She is nervous, +suspicious. + +"I am glad, my dear Dick," I answered; "that you have mentioned +cupboards. It is with cupboards that I am hoping to lure your +mother. The cupboards, from her point of view, will be the one +bright spot; there are fourteen of them. I am trusting to cupboards +to tide me over many things. I shall want you to come with me, Dick. +Whenever your mother begins a sentence with: 'But now to be +practical, dear,' I want you to murmur something about cupboards--not +irritatingly as if it had been prearranged: have a little gumption." + +"Will there be room for a tennis court?" demanded Dick. + +"An excellent tennis court already exists," I informed him. "I have +also purchased the adjoining paddock. We shall be able to keep our +own cow. Maybe we'll breed horses." + +"We might have a croquet lawn," suggested Robin. + +"We might easily have a croquet lawn," I agreed. "On a full-sized +lawn I believe Veronica might be taught to play. There are natures +that demand space. On a full-sized lawn, protected by a stout iron +border, less time might be wasted exploring the surrounding scenery +for Veronica's lost ball." + +"No chance of a golf links anywhere in the neighbourhood?" feared +Dick. + +"I am not so sure," I answered. "Barely a mile away there is a +pretty piece of gorse land that appears to be no good to anyone. I +daresay for a reasonable offer--" + +"I say, when will this show be ready?" interrupted Dick. + +"I propose beginning the alterations at once," I explained. "By luck +there happens to be a gamekeeper's cottage vacant and within +distance. The agent is going to get me the use of it for a year--a +primitive little place, but charmingly situate on the edge of a wood. +I shall furnish a couple of rooms; and for part of every week I shall +make a point of being down there, superintending. I have always been +considered good at superintending. My poor father used to say it was +the only work I seemed to take an interest in. By being on the spot +to hurry everybody on I hope to have the 'show,' as you term it, +ready by the spring." + +"I shall never marry," said Robin. + +"Don't be so easily discouraged," advised Dick; "you are still +young." + +"I don't ever want to get married," continued Robin. "I should only +quarrel with my husband, if I did. And Dick will never do anything-- +not with his head." + +"Forgive me if I am dull," I pleaded, "but what is the connection +between this house, your quarrels with your husband if you ever get +one, and Dick's head?" + +By way of explanation, Robin sprang to the ground, and before he +could stop her had flung her arms around Dick's neck. + +"We can't help it, Dick dear," she told him. "Clever parents always +have duffing children. But we'll be of some use in the world after +all, you and I." + +The idea was that Dick, when he had finished failing in examinations, +should go out to Canada and start a farm, taking Robin with him. +They would breed cattle, and gallop over the prairies, and camp out +in the primeval forest, and slide about on snow-shoes, and carry +canoes on their backs, and shoot rapids, and stalk things--so far as +I could gather, have a sort of everlasting Buffalo-Bill's show all to +themselves. How and when the farm work was to get itself done was +not at all clear. The Little Mother and myself were to end our days +with them. We were to sit about in the sun for a time, and then pass +peacefully away. Robin shed a few tears at this point, but regained +her spirits, thinking of Veronica, who was to be lured out on a visit +and married to some true-hearted yeoman: which is not at present +Veronica's ambition. Veronica's conviction is that she would look +well in a coronet: her own idea is something in the ducal line. +Robina talked for about ten minutes. By the time she had done she +had persuaded Dick that life in the backwoods of Canada had been his +dream from infancy. She is that sort of girl. + +I tried talking reason, but talking to Robin when she has got a +notion in her head is like trying to fix a halter on a two-year-old +colt. This tumble-down, six-roomed cottage was to be the saving of +the family. An ecstatic look transfigured Robina's face even as she +spoke of it. You might have fancied it a shrine. Robina would do +the cooking. Robina would rise early and milk the cow, and gather +the morning egg. We would lead the simple life, learn to fend for +ourselves. It would be so good for Veronica. The higher education +could wait; let the higher ideals have a chance. Veronica would make +the beds, dust the rooms. In the evening Veronica, her little basket +by her side, would sit and sew while I talked, telling them things, +and Robina moved softly to and fro about her work, the household +fairy. The Little Mother, whenever strong enough, would come to us. +We would hover round her, tending her with loving hands. The English +farmer must know something, in spite of all that is said. Dick could +arrange for lessons in practical farming. She did not say it +crudely; but hinted that, surrounded by example, even I might come to +take an interest in honest labour, might end by learning to do +something useful. + +Robina talked, I should say, for a quarter of an hour. By the time +she had done, it appeared to me rather a beautiful idea. Dick's +vacation had just commenced. For the next three months there would +be nothing else for him to do but--to employ his own expressive +phrase--"rot round." In any event, it would be keeping him out of +mischief. Veronica's governess was leaving. Veronica's governess +generally does leave at the end of about a year. I think sometimes +of advertising for a lady without a conscience. At the end of a +year, they explain to me that their conscience will not allow them to +remain longer; they do not feel they are earning their salary. It is +not that the child is not a dear child, it is not that she is stupid. +Simply it is--as a German lady to whom Dick had been giving what he +called finishing lessons in English, once put it--that she does not +seem to be "taking any." Her mother's idea is that it is "sinking +in." Perhaps if we allowed Veronica to lie fallow for awhile, +something might show itself. Robina, speaking for herself, held that +a period of quiet usefulness, away from the society of other silly +girls and sillier boys, would result in her becoming a sensible +woman. It is not often that Robina's yearnings take this direction: +to thwart them, when they did, seemed wrong. + +We had some difficulty with the Little Mother. That these three +babies of hers will ever be men and women capable of running a six- +roomed cottage appears to the Little Mother in the light of a +fantastic dream. I explained to her that I should be there, at all +events for two or three days in every week, to give an eye to things. +Even that did not content her. She gave way eventually on Robina's +solemn undertaking that she should be telegraphed for the first time +Veronica coughed. + +On Monday we packed a one-horse van with what we deemed essential. +Dick and Robina rode their bicycles. Veronica, supported by assorted +bedding, made herself comfortable upon the tailboard. I followed +down by train on the Wednesday afternoon. + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +It was the cow that woke me the first morning. I did not know it was +our cow--not at the time. I didn't know we had a cow. I looked at +my watch; it was half-past two. I thought maybe she would go to +sleep again, but her idea was that the day had begun. I went to the +window, the moon was at the full. She was standing by the gate, her +head inside the garden; I took it her anxiety was lest we might miss +any of it. Her neck was stretched out straight, her eyes towards the +sky; which gave to her the appearance of a long-eared alligator. I +have never had much to do with cows. I don't know how you talk to +them. I told her to "be quiet," and to "lie down"; and made pretence +to throw a boot at her. It seemed to cheer her, having an audience; +she added half a dozen extra notes. I never knew before a cow had so +much in her. There is a thing one sometimes meets with in the +suburbs--or one used to; I do not know whether it is still extant, +but when I was a boy it was quite common. It has a hurdy-gurdy fixed +to its waist and a drum strapped on behind, a row of pipes hanging +from its face, and bells and clappers from most of its other joints. +It plays them all at once, and smiles. This cow reminded me of it-- +with organ effects added. She didn't smile; there was that to be +said in her favour. + +I hoped that if I made believe to be asleep she would get +discouraged. So I closed the window ostentatiously, and went back to +bed. But it only had the effect of putting her on her mettle. "He +did not care for that last," I imagined her saying to herself, "I +wasn't at my best. There wasn't feeling enough in it." She kept it +up for about half an hour, and then the gate against which, I +suppose, she had been leaning, gave way with a crash. That +frightened her, and I heard her gallop off across the field. I was +on the point of dozing off again when a pair of pigeons settled on +the window-sill and began to coo. It is a pretty sound when you are +in the mood for it. I wrote a poem once--a simple thing, but +instinct with longing--while sitting under a tree and listening to +the cooing of a pigeon. But that was in the afternoon. My only +longing now was for a gun. Three times I got out of bed and "shoo'd" +them away. The third time I remained by the window till I had got it +firmly into their heads that I really did not want them. My +behaviour on the former two occasions they had evidently judged to be +mere playfulness. I had just got back to bed again when an owl began +to screech. That is another sound I used to think attractive--so +weird, so mysterious. It is Swinburne, I think, who says that you +never get the desired one and the time and the place all right +together. If the beloved one is with you, it is the wrong place or +at the wrong time; and if the time and the place happen to be right, +then it is the party that is wrong. The owl was all right: I like +owls. The place was all right. He had struck the wrong time, that +was all. Eleven o'clock at night, when you can't see him, and +naturally feel that you want to, is the proper time for an owl. +Perched on the roof of a cow-shed in the early dawn he looks silly. +He clung there, flapping his wings and screeching at the top of his +voice. What it was he wanted I am sure I don't know; and anyhow it +didn't seem the way to get it. He came to this conclusion himself at +the end of twenty minutes, and shut himself up and went home. I +thought I was going to have at last some peace, when a corncrake--a +creature upon whom Nature has bestowed a song like to the tearing of +calico-sheets mingled with the sharpening of saws--settled somewhere +in the garden and set to work to praise its Maker according to its +lights. I have a friend, a poet, who lives just off the Strand, and +spends his evenings at the Garrick Club. He writes occasional verse +for the evening papers, and talks about the "silent country, drowsy +with the weight of languors." One of these times I'll lure him down +for a Saturday to Monday and let him find out what the country really +is--let him hear it. He is becoming too much of a dreamer: it will +do him good, wake him up a bit. The corncrake after awhile stopped +quite suddenly with a jerk, and for quite five minutes there was +silence. + +"If this continues for another five," I said to myself, "I'll be +asleep." I felt it coming over me. I had hardly murmured the words +when the cow turned up again. I should say she had been somewhere +and had had a drink. She was in better voice than ever. + +It occurred to me that this would be an opportunity to make a few +notes on the sunrise. The literary man is looked to for occasional +description of the sunrise. The earnest reader who has heard about +this sunrise thirsts for full particulars. Myself, for purposes of +observation, I have generally chosen December or the early part of +January. But one never knows. Maybe one of these days I'll want a +summer sunrise, with birds and dew-besprinkled flowers: it goes well +with the rustic heroine, the miller's daughter, or the girl who +brings up chickens and has dreams. I met a brother author once at +seven o'clock in the morning in Kensington Gardens. He looked half +asleep and so disagreeable that I hesitated for awhile to speak to +him: he is a man that as a rule breakfasts at eleven. But I +summoned my courage and accosted him. + +"This is early for you," I said. + +"It's early for anyone but a born fool," he answered. + +"What's the matter?" I asked. "Can't you sleep?" + +"Can't I sleep?" he retorted indignantly. "Why, I daren't sit down +upon a seat, I daren't lean up against a tree. If I did I'd be +asleep in half a second." + +"What's the idea?" I persisted. "Been reading Smiles's 'Self Help +and the Secret of Success'? Don't be absurd," I advised him. +"You'll be going to Sunday school next and keeping a diary. You have +left it too late: we don't reform at forty. Go home and go to bed." +I could see he was doing himself no good. + +"I'm going to bed," he answered, "I'm going to bed for a month when +I've finished this confounded novel that I'm on. Take my advice," he +said--he laid his hand upon my shoulder--"Never choose a colonial +girl for your heroine. At our age it is simple madness." + +"She's a fine girl," he continued, "and good. Has a heart of gold. +She's wearing me to a shadow. I wanted something fresh and +unconventional. I didn't grasp what it was going to do. She's the +girl that gets up early in the morning and rides bare-back--the +horse, I mean, of course; don't be so silly. Over in New South Wales +it didn't matter. I threw in the usual local colour--the eucalyptus- +tree and the kangaroo--and let her ride. It is now that she is over +here in London that I wish I had never thought of her. She gets up +at five and wanders about the silent city. That means, of course, +that I have to get up at five in order to record her impressions. I +have walked six miles this morning. First to St. Paul's Cathedral; +she likes it when there's nobody about. You'd think it wasn't big +enough for her to see if anybody else was in the street. She thinks +of it as of a mother watching over her sleeping children; she's full +of all that sort of thing. And from there to Westminster Bridge. +She sits on the parapet and reads Wordsworth, till the policeman +turns her off. This is another of her favourite spots." He +indicated with a look of concentrated disgust the avenue where we +were standing. "This is where she likes to finish up. She comes +here to listen to a blackbird." + +"Well, you are through with it now," I said to console him. "You've +done it; and it's over." + +"Through with it!" he laughed bitterly. "I'm just beginning it. +There's the entire East End to be done yet: she's got to meet a +fellow there as big a crank as herself. And walking isn't the worst. +She's going to have a horse; you can guess what that means.--Hyde +Park will be no good to her. She'll find out Richmond and Ham +Common. I've got to describe the scenery and the mad joy of the +thing." + +"Can't you imagine it?" I suggested. + +"I'm going to imagine all the enjoyable part of it," he answered. "I +must have a groundwork to go upon. She's got to have feelings come +to her upon this horse. You can't enter into a rider's feelings when +you've almost forgotten which side of the horse you get up." + +I walked with him to the Serpentine. I had been wondering how it was +he had grown stout so suddenly. He had a bath towel round him +underneath his coat. + +"It'll give me my death of cold, I know it will," he chattered while +unlacing his boots. + +"Can't you leave it till the summer-time," I suggested, "and take her +to Ostend?" + +"It wouldn't be unconventional," he growled. "She wouldn't take an +interest in it." + +"But do they allow ladies to bathe in the Serpentine?" I persisted. + +"It won't be the Serpentine," he explained. "It's going to be the +Thames at Greenwich. But it must be the same sort of feeling. She's +got to tell them all about it during a lunch in Queen's Gate, and +shock them all. That's all she does it for, in my opinion." + +He emerged a mottled blue. I helped him into his clothes, and he was +fortunate enough to find an early cab. The book appeared at +Christmas. The critics agreed that the heroine was a delightful +creation. Some of them said they would like to have known her. + +Remembering my poor friend, it occurred to me that by going out now +and making a few notes about the morning, I might be saving myself +trouble later on. I slipped on a few things--nothing elaborate--put +a notebook in my pocket, opened the door and went down. + +Perhaps it would be more correct to say "opened the door and was +down." It was my own fault, I admit. We had talked this thing over +before going to bed, and I myself had impressed upon Veronica the +need for caution. The architect of the country cottage does not +waste space. He dispenses with landings; the bedroom door opens on +to the top stair. It does not do to walk out of your bedroom, for +the reason there is nothing outside to walk on. I had said to +Veronica, pointing out this fact to her: + +"Now don't, in the morning, come bursting out of the room in your +usual volcanic style, because if you do there will be trouble. As +you perceive, there is no landing. The stairs commence at once; they +are steep, and they lead down to a brick floor. Open the door +quietly, look where you are going, and step carefully." + +Dick had added his advice to mine. "I did that myself the first +morning," Dick had said. "I stepped straight out of the bedroom into +the kitchen; and I can tell you, it hurts. You be careful, young +'un. This cottage doesn't lend itself to dash." + +Robina had fallen down with a tray in her hand. She said that never +should she forget the horror of that moment, when, sitting on the +kitchen floor, she had cried to Dick--her own voice sounding to her +as if it came from somewhere quite far off: "Is it broken? Tell me +the truth. Is it broken anywhere?" and Dick had replied: "Broken! +why, it's smashed to atoms. What did you expect?" Robina had asked +the question with reference to her head, while Dick had thought she +was alluding to the teapot. In that moment, had said Robina, her +whole life had passed before her. She let Veronica feel the bump. + +Veronica was disappointed with the bump, having expected something +bigger, but had promised to be careful. We had all agreed that if in +spite of our warnings she forgot, and came blundering down in the +morning, it would serve her right. It was thinking of all this that, +as I lay upon the floor, made me feel angry with everybody. I hate +people who can sleep through noises that wake me up. Why was I the +only person in the house to be disturbed? Dick's room was round the +corner; there was some excuse for him. But Robina and Veronica's +window looked straight down upon the cow. If Robina and Veronica +were not a couple of logs, the cow would have aroused them. We +should have discussed the matter with the door ajar. Robina would +have said, "Whatever you do, be careful of the stairs, Pa," and I +should have remembered. The modern child appears to me to have no +feeling for its parent. + +I picked myself up and started for the door. The cow continued +bellowing steadily. My whole anxiety was to get to her quickly and +to hit her. But the door took more finding than I could have +believed possible. The shutters were closed and the whole place was +in pitch darkness. The idea had been to furnish this cottage only +with things that were absolutely necessary, but the room appeared to +me to be overcrowded. There was a milking-stool, which is a thing +made purposely heavy so that it may not be easily upset. If I +tumbled over it once I tumbled over it a dozen times. I got hold of +it at last and carried it about with me. I thought I would use it to +hit the cow--that is, when I had found the front-door. I knew it led +out of the parlour, but could not recollect its exact position. I +argued that if I kept along the wall I should be bound to come to it. +I found the wall, and set off full of hope. I suppose the +explanation was that, without knowing it, I must have started with +the door, not the front-door, the other door, leading into the +kitchen. I crept along, carefully feeling my way, and struck quite +new things altogether--things I had no recollection of and that hit +me in fresh places. I climbed over what I presumed to be a beer- +barrel and landed among bottles; there were dozens upon dozens of +them. To get away from these bottles I had to leave the wall; but I +found it again, as I thought, and I felt along it for another half a +dozen yards or so and then came again upon bottles: the room +appeared to be paved with bottles. A little farther on I rolled over +another beer-barrel: as a matter of fact it was the same beer- +barrel, but I did not know this. At the time it seemed to me that +Robina had made up her mind to run a public-house. I found the +milking-stool again and started afresh, and before I had gone a dozen +steps was in among bottles again. Later on, in the broad daylight, +it was easy enough to understand what had happened. I had been +carefully feeling my way round and round a screen. I got so sick of +these bottles and so tired of rolling over these everlasting beer- +barrels, that I abandoned the wall and plunged boldly into space. + +I had barely started, when, looking up, I saw the sky above me: a +star was twinkling just above my head. Had I been wide awake, and +had the cow stopped bellowing for just one minute, I should have +guessed that somehow or another I had got into a chimney. But as +things were, the wonder and the mystery of it all appalled me. +"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" would have appeared to me, at that +moment, in the nature of a guide to travellers. Had a rocking-horse +or a lobster suddenly appeared to me I should have sat and talked to +it; and if it had not answered me I should have thought it sulky and +been hurt. I took a step forward and the star disappeared, just as +if somebody had blown it out. I was not surprised in the least. I +was expecting anything to happen. + +I found a door and it opened quite easily. A wood was in front of +me. I couldn't see any cow anywhere, but I still heard her. It all +seemed quite natural. I would wander into the wood; most likely I +should meet her there, and she would be smoking a pipe. In all +probability she would know some poetry. + +With the fresh air my senses gradually came back to me, and I began +to understand why it was I could not see the cow. The reason was +that the house was between us. By some mysterious process I had been +discharged into the back garden. I still had the milking-stool in my +hand, but the cow no longer troubled me. Let her see if she could +wake Veronica by merely bellowing outside the door; it was more than +I had ever been able to do. + +I sat down on the stool and opened my note-book. I headed the page: +"Sunrise in July: observations and emotions," and I wrote down at +once, lest I should forget it, that towards three o'clock a faint +light is discernible, and added that this light gets stronger as the +time goes on. + +It sounded footling even to myself, but I had been reading a novel of +the realistic school that had been greatly praised for its actuality. +There is a demand in some quarters for this class of observation. I +likewise made a note that the pigeon and the corncrake appear to be +among the earliest of Nature's children to welcome the coming day; +and added that the screech-owl may be heard, perhaps at its best, by +anyone caring to rise for the purpose, some quarter of an hour before +the dawn. That was all I could think of just then. As regards +emotions, I did not seem to have any. + +I lit a pipe and waited for the sun. The sky in front of me was +tinged with a faint pink. Every moment it flushed a deeper red. I +maintain that anyone, not an expert, would have said that was the +portion of the horizon on which to keep one's eye. I kept my eye +upon it, but no sun appeared. I lit another pipe. The sky in front +of me was now a blaze of glory. I scribbled a few lines, likening +the scattered clouds to brides blushing at the approach of the +bridegroom. That would have been all right if later on they hadn't +begun to turn green: it seemed the wrong colour for a bride. Later +on still they went yellow, and that spoilt the simile past hope. One +cannot wax poetical about a bride who at the approach of the +bridegroom turns first green and then yellow: you can only feel +sorry for her. I waited some more. The sky in front of me grew +paler every moment. I began to fear that something had happened to +that sun. If I hadn't known so much astronomy I should have said +that he had changed his mind and had gone back again. I rose with +the idea of seeing into things. He had been up apparently for hours: +he had got up at the back of me. It seemed to be nobody's fault. I +put my pipe into my pocket and strolled round to the front. The cow +was still there; she was pleased to see me, and started bellowing +again. + +I heard a sound of whistling. It proceeded from a farmer's boy. I +hailed him, and he climbed a gate and came to me across the field. +He was a cheerful youth. He nodded to the cow and hoped she had had +a good night: he pronounced it "nihet." + +"You know the cow?" I said. + +"Well," he explained, "we don't precisely move in the sime set. Sort +o' business relytionship more like--if you understand me?" + +Something about this boy was worrying me. He did not seem like a +real farmer's boy. But then nothing seemed quite real this morning. +My feeling was to let things go. + +"Whose cow is it?" I asked. + +He stared at me. + +"I want to know to whom it belongs," I said. "I want to restore it +to him." + +"Excuse me," said the boy, "but where do you live?" + +He was making me cross. "Where do I live?" I retorted. "Why, in +this cottage. You don't think I've got up early and come from a +distance to listen to this cow? Don't talk so much. Do you know +whose cow it is, or don't you?" + +"It's your cow," said the boy. + +It was my turn to stare. + +"But I haven't got a cow," I told him. + +"Yus you have," he persisted; "you've got that cow." + +She had stopped bellowing for a moment. She was not the cow I felt I +could ever take a pride in. At some time or another, quite recently, +she must have sat down in some mud. + +"How did I get her?" I demanded. + +"The young lydy," explained the boy, "she came rahnd to our plice on +Tuesday--" + +I began to see light. "An excitable young lady--talks very fast-- +never waits for the answer?" + +"With jolly fine eyes," added the boy approvingly. + +"And she ordered a cow?" + +"Didn't seem to 'ave strength enough to live another dy withaht it." + +"Any stipulation made concerning the price of the cow?" + +"Any what?" + +"The young lady with the eyes--did she think to ask the price of the +cow?" + +"No sordid details was entered into, so far as I could 'ear," replied +the boy. + +They would not have been--by Robina. + +"Any hint let fall as to what the cow was wanted for?" + +"The lydy gives us to understand," said the boy, "that fresh milk was +'er idea." + +That surprised me: that was thoughtful of Robina. "And this is the +cow?" + +"I towed her rahnd last night. I didn't knock at the door and tell +yer abaht 'er, cos, to be quite frank with yer, there wasn't anybody +in." + +"What is she bellowing for?" I asked. + +"Well," said the boy, "it's only a theory, o' course, but I should +sy, from the look of 'er, that she wanted to be milked." + +"But it started bellowing at half-past two," I argued. "It doesn't +expect to be milked at half-past two, does it?" + +"Meself," said the boy, "I've given up looking for sense in cows." + +In some unaccountable way this boy was hypnotising me. Everything +had suddenly become out of place. + +The cow had suddenly become absurd: she ought to have been a milk- +can. The wood struck me as neglected: there ought to have been +notice-boards about, "Keep off the Grass," "Smoking Strictly +Prohibited": there wasn't a seat to be seen. The cottage had surely +got itself there by accident: where was the street? The birds were +all out of their cages; everything was upside down. + +"Are you a real farmer's boy?" I asked him. + +"O' course I am," he answered. "What do yer tike me for--a hartist +in disguise?" + +It came to me. "What is your name?" + +"'Enery--'Enery 'Opkins." + +"Where were you born?" + +"Camden Tahn." + +Here was a nice beginning to a rural life! What place could be the +country while this boy Hopkins was about? He would have given to the +Garden of Eden the atmosphere of an outlying suburb. + +"Do you want to earn an occasional shilling?" I put it to him. + +"I'd rather it come reggler," said Hopkins. "Better for me +kerrickter." + +"You drop that Cockney accent and learn Berkshire, and I'll give you +half a sovereign when you can talk it," I promised him. "Don't, for +instance, say 'ain't,'" I explained to him. "Say 'bain't.' Don't +say 'The young lydy, she came rahnd to our plice;' say 'The missy, +'er coomed down; 'er coomed, and 'er ses to the maister, 'er ses . . +. ' That's the sort of thing I want to surround myself with here. +When you informed me that the cow was mine, you should have said: +'Whoi, 'er be your cow, surelie 'er be.'" + +"Sure it's Berkshire?" demanded Hopkins. "You're confident about +it?" There is a type that is by nature suspicious. + +"It may not be Berkshire pure and undefiled," I admitted. "It is +what in literature we term 'dialect.' It does for most places +outside the twelve-mile radius. The object is to convey a feeling of +rustic simplicity. Anyhow, it isn't Camden Town." + +I started him with a shilling then and there to encourage him. He +promised to come round in the evening for one or two books, written +by friends of mine, that I reckoned would be of help to him; and I +returned to the cottage and set to work to rouse Robina. Her tone +was apologetic. She had got the notion into her head that I had been +calling her for quite a long time. I explained that this was not the +case. + +"How funny!" she answered. "I said to Veronica more than an hour +ago: 'I'm sure that's Pa calling us.' I suppose I must have been +dreaming." + +"Well, don't dream any more," I suggested. "Come down and see to +this confounded cow of yours." + +"Oh," said Veronica, "has it come?" + +"It has come," I told her. "As a matter of fact, it has been here +some time. It ought to have been milked four hours ago, according to +its own idea." + +Robina said she would be down in a minute. + +She was down in twenty-five, which was sooner than I had expected. +She brought Veronica with her. She said she would have been down +sooner if she had not waited for Veronica. It appeared that this was +just precisely what Veronica had been telling her. I was feeling +irritable. I had been up half a day, and hadn't had my breakfast. + +"Don't stand there arguing," I told them. "For goodness' sake let's +get to work and milk this cow. We shall have the poor creature dying +on our hands if we're not careful." + +Robina was wandering round the room. + +"You haven't come across a milking-stool anywhere, have you, Pa?" +asked Robina. + +"I have come across your milking-stool, I estimate, some thirteen +times," I told her. I fetched it from where I had left it, and gave +it to her; and we filed out in procession; Veronica with a galvanised +iron bucket bringing up the rear. + +The problem that was forcing itself upon my mind was: did Robina +know how to milk a cow? Robina, I argued, the idea once in her mind, +would immediately have ordered a cow, clamouring for it--as Hopkins +had picturesquely expressed it--as though she had not strength to +live another day without a cow. Her next proceeding would have been +to buy a milking-stool. It was a tasteful milking-stool, this one +she had selected, ornamented with the rough drawing of a cow in poker +work: a little too solid for my taste, but one that I should say +would wear well. The pail she had not as yet had time to see about. +This galvanised bucket we were using was, I took it, a temporary +makeshift. When Robina had leisure she would go into the town and +purchase something at an art stores. That, to complete the scheme, +she would have done well to have taken a few practical lessons in +milking would come to her, as an inspiration, with the arrival of the +cow. I noticed that Robina's steps as we approached the cow were +less elastic. Just outside the cow Robina halted. + +"I suppose," said Robina, "there's only one way of milking a cow?" + +"There may be fancy ways," I answered, "necessary to you if later on +you think of entering a competition. This morning, seeing we are +late, I shouldn't worry too much about style. If I were you, this +morning I should adopt the ordinary unimaginative method, and aim +only at results." + +Robina sat down and placed her bucket underneath the cow. + +"I suppose," said Robina, "it doesn't matter which--which one I begin +with?" + +It was perfectly plain she hadn't the least notion how to milk a cow. +I told her so, adding comments. Now and then a little fatherly talk +does good. As a rule I have to work myself up for these occasions. +This morning I was feeling fairly fit: things had conspired to this +end. I put before Robina the aims and privileges of the household +fairy as they appeared, not to her, but to me. I also confided to +Veronica the result of many weeks' reflections concerning her and her +behaviour. I also told them both what I thought about Dick. I do +this sort of thing once every six months: it has an excellent effect +for about three days. + +Robina wiped away her tears, and seized the first one that came to +her hand. The cow, without saying a word, kicked over the empty +bucket, and walked away, disgust expressed in every hair of her body. +Robina, crying quietly, followed her. By patting her on her neck, +and letting her wipe her nose upon my coat--which seemed to comfort +her--I persuaded her to keep still while Robina worked for ten +minutes at high pressure. The result was about a glassful and a +half, the cow's capacity, to all appearance, being by this time some +five or six gallons. + +Robina broke down, and acknowledged she had been a wicked girl. If +the cow died, so she said, she should never forgive herself. +Veronica at this burst into tears also; and the cow, whether moved +afresh by her own troubles or by theirs, commenced again to bellow. +I was fortunately able to find an elderly labourer smoking a pipe and +eating bacon underneath a tree; and with him I bargained that for a +shilling a day he should milk the cow till further notice. + +We left him busy, and returned to the cottage. Dick met us at the +door with a cheery "Good morning." He wanted to know if we had heard +the storm. He also wanted to know when breakfast would be ready. +Robina thought that happy event would be shortly after he had boiled +the kettle and made the tea and fried the bacon, while Veronica was +laying the table. + +"But I thought--" + +Robina said that if he dared to mention the word "household-fairy" +she would box his ears, and go straight up to bed, and leave +everybody to do everything. She said she meant it. + +Dick has one virtue: it is philosophy. "Come on, young 'un," said +Dick to Veronica. "Trouble is good for us all." + +"Some of us," said Veronica, "it makes bitter." + +We sat down to breakfast at eight-thirty. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +Our architect arrived on Friday afternoon, or rather, his assistant. + +I felt from the first I was going to like him. He is shy, and that, +of course, makes him appear awkward. But, as I explained to Robina, +it is the shy young men who, generally speaking, turn out best: few +men could have been more painfully shy up to twenty-five than myself. + +Robina said that was different: in the case of an author it did not +matter. Robina's attitude towards the literary profession would not +annoy me so much were it not typical. To be a literary man is, in +Robina's opinion, to be a licensed idiot. It was only a week or two +ago that I overheard from my study window a conversation between +Veronica and Robina upon this very point. Veronica's eye had caught +something lying on the grass. I could not myself see what it was, in +consequence of an intervening laurel bush. Veronica stooped down and +examined it with care. The next instant, uttering a piercing whoop, +she leapt into the air; then, clapping her hands, began to dance. +Her face was radiant with a holy joy. Robina, passing near, stopped +and demanded explanation. + +"Pa's tennis racket!" shouted Veronica--Veronica never sees the use +of talking in an ordinary tone of voice when shouting will do just as +well. She continued clapping her hands and taking little bounds into +the air. + +"Well, what are you going on like that for?" asked Robina. "It +hasn't bit you, has it?" + +"It's been out all night in the wet," shouted Veronica. "He forgot +to bring it in." + +"You wicked child!" said Robina severely. "It's nothing to be +pleased about." + +"Yes, it is," explained Veronica. "I thought at first it was mine. +Oh, wouldn't there have been a talk about it, if it had been! Oh my! +wouldn't there have been a row!" She settled down to a steady +rhythmic dance, suggestive of a Greek chorus expressing satisfaction +with the gods. + +Robina seized her by the shoulders and shook her back into herself. +"If it had been yours," said Robina, "you would deserve to have been +sent to bed." + +"Well, then, why don't he go to bed?" argued Veronica. + +Robina took her by the arm and walked her up and down just underneath +my window. I listened, because the conversation interested me. + +"Pa, as I am always explaining to you," said Robina, "is a literary +man. He cannot help forgetting things." + +"Well, I can't help forgetting things," insisted Veronica. + +"You find it hard," explained Robina kindly; "but if you keep on +trying you will succeed. You will get more thoughtful. I used to be +forgetful and do foolish things once, when I was a little girl." + +"Good thing for us if we was all literary," suggested Veronica. + +"If we 'were' all literary," Robina corrected her. "But you see we +are not. You and I and Dick, we are just ordinary mortals. We must +try and think, and be sensible. In the same way, when Pa gets +excited and raves--I mean, seems to rave--it's the literary +temperament. He can't help it." + +"Can't you help doing anything when you are literary?" asked +Veronica. + +"There's a good deal you can't help," answered Robina. "It isn't +fair to judge them by the ordinary standard." + +They drifted towards the kitchen garden--it was the time of +strawberries--and the remainder of the talk I lost. I noticed that +for some days afterwards Veronica displayed a tendency to shutting +herself up in the schoolroom with a copybook, and that lead pencils +had a way of disappearing from my desk. One in particular that had +suited me I determined if possible to recover. A subtle instinct +guided me to Veronica's sanctum. I found her thoughtfully sucking +it. She explained to me that she was writing a little play. + +"You get things from your father, don't you?" she enquired of me. + +"You do," I admitted; "but you ought not to take them without asking. +I am always telling you of it. That pencil is the only one I can +write with." + +"I didn't mean the pencil," explained Veronica. "I was wondering if +I had got your literary temper." + +It is puzzling, when you come to think of it, this estimate accorded +by the general public to the litterateur. It stands to reason that +the man who writes books, explaining everything and putting everybody +right, must be himself an exceptionally clever man; else how could he +do it! The thing is pure logic. Yet to listen to Robina and her +like you might think we had not sense enough to run ourselves, as the +saying is--let alone running the universe. If I would let her, +Robina would sit and give me information by the hour. + +"The ordinary girl . . . " Robina will begin, with the air of a +University Extension Lecturer. + +It is so exasperating. As if I did not know all there is to be known +about girls! Why, it is my business. I point this out to Robina. + +"Yes, I know," Robina will answer sweetly. "But I was meaning the +real girl." + +It would make not the slightest difference were I even quite a high- +class literary man--Robina thinks I am: she is a dear child. Were I +Shakespeare himself, and could I in consequence say to her: +"Methinks, child, the creator of Ophelia and Juliet, and Rosamund and +Beatrice, must surely know something about girls," Robina would still +make answer: + +"Of course, Pa dear. Everybody knows how clever you are. But I was +thinking for the moment of real girls." + +I wonder to myself sometimes, Is literature to the general reader +ever anything more than a fairy-tale? We write with our heart's +blood, as we put it. We ask our conscience, Is it right thus to lay +bare the secrets of our souls? The general reader does not grasp +that we are writing with our heart's blood: to him it is just ink. +He does not believe we are laying bare the secrets of our souls: he +takes it we are just pretending. "Once upon a time there lived a +girl named Angelina who loved a party by the name of Edwin." He +imagines--he, the general reader--when we tell him all the wonderful +thoughts that were inside Angelina, that it was we who put them +there. He does not know, he will not try to understand, that +Angelina is in reality more real than is Miss Jones, who rides up +every morning in the 'bus with him, and has a pretty knack of +rendering conversation about the weather novel and suggestive. As a +boy I won some popularity among my schoolmates as a teller of +stories. One afternoon, to a small collection with whom I was homing +across Regent's Park, I told the story of a beautiful Princess. But +she was not the ordinary Princess. She would not behave as a +Princess should. I could not help it. The others heard only my +voice, but I was listening to the wind. She thought she loved the +Prince--until he had wounded the Dragon unto death and had carried +her away into the wood. Then, while the Prince lay sleeping, she +heard the Dragon calling to her in its pain, and crept back to where +it lay bleeding, and put her arms about its scaly neck and kissed it; +and that healed it. I was hoping myself that at this point it would +turn into a prince itself, but it didn't; it just remained a dragon-- +so the wind said. Yet the Princess loved it: it wasn't half a bad +dragon, when you knew it. I could not tell them what became of the +Prince: the wind didn't seem to care a hang about the Prince. + +Myself, I liked the story, but Hocker, who was a Fifth Form boy, +voicing our little public, said it was rot, so far, and that I had +got to hurry up and finish things rightly. + +"But that is all," I told them. + +"No, it isn't," said Hocker. "She's got to marry the Prince in the +end. He'll have to kill the Dragon again; and mind he does it +properly this time. Whoever heard of a Princess leaving a Prince for +a Dragon!" + +"But she wasn't the ordinary sort of Princess," I argued. + +"Then she's got to be," criticised Hocker. "Don't you give yourself +so many airs. You make her marry the Prince, and be slippy about it. +I've got to catch the four-fifteen from Chalk Farm station." + +"But she didn't," I persisted obstinately. "She married the Dragon +and lived happy ever afterwards." + +Hocker adopted sterner measures. He seized my arm and twisted it +behind me. + +"She married who?" demanded Hocker: grammar was not Hocker's strong +point. + +"The Dragon," I growled. + +"She married who?" repeated Hocker. + +"The Dragon," I whined. + +"She married who?" for the third time urged Hocker. + +Hocker was strong, and the tears were forcing themselves into my eyes +in spite of me. So the Princess in return for healing the Dragon +made it promise to reform. It went back with her to the Prince, and +made itself generally useful to both of them for the rest of the +tour. And the Prince took the Princess home with him and married +her; and the Dragon died and was buried. The others liked the story +better, but I hated it; and the wind sighed and died away. + +The little crowd becomes the reading public, and Hocker grows into an +editor; he twists my arm in other ways. Some are brave, so the crowd +kicks them and scurries off to catch the four-fifteen. But most of +us, I fear, are slaves to Hocker. Then, after awhile, the wind grows +sulky and will not tell us stories any more, and we have to make them +up out of our own heads. Perhaps it is just as well. What were +doors and windows made for but to keep out the wind. + +He is a dangerous fellow, this wandering Wind; he leads me astray. I +was talking about our architect. + +He made a bad start, so far as Robina was concerned, by coming in at +the back-door. Robina, in a big apron, was washing up. He +apologised for having blundered into the kitchen, and offered to go +out again and work round to the front. Robina replied, with +unnecessary severity as I thought, that an architect, if anyone, +might have known the difference between the right side of a house and +the wrong; but presumed that youth and inexperience could always be +pleaded as excuse for stupidity. I cannot myself see why Robina +should have been so much annoyed. Labour, as Robina had been +explaining to Veronica only a few hours before, exalts a woman. In +olden days, ladies--the highest in the land--were proud, not ashamed, +of their ability to perform domestic duties. This, later on, I +pointed out to Robina. Her answer was that in olden days you didn't +have chits of boys going about, calling themselves architects, and +opening back-doors without knocking; or if they did knock, knocking +so that nobody on earth could hear them. + +Robina wiped her hands on the towel behind the door, and brought him +into the front-room, where she announced him, coldly, as "The young +man from the architect's office." He explained--but quite modestly-- +that he was not exactly Messrs. Spreight's young man, but an +architect himself, a junior member of the firm. To make it clear he +produced his card, which was that of Mr. Archibald T. Bute, +F.R.I.B.A. Practically speaking, all this was unnecessary. Through +the open door I had, of course, heard every word; and old Spreight +had told me of his intention to send me one of his most promising +assistants, who would be able to devote himself entirely to my work. +I put matters right by introducing him formally to Robina. They +bowed to one another rather stiffly. Robina said that if he would +excuse her she would return to her work; and he answered "Charmed," +and also that he didn't mean it. As I have tried to get it into +Robina's head, the young fellow was confused. He had meant--it was +self-evident--that he was charmed at being introduced to her, not at +her desire to return to the kitchen. But Robina appears to have +taken a dislike to him. + +I gave him a cigar, and we started for the house. It lies just a +mile from this cottage, the other side of the wood. One excellent +trait in him I soon discovered--he is intelligent without knowing +everything. + +I confess it to my shame, but the young man who knows everything has +come to pall upon me. According to Emerson, this is a proof of my +own intellectual feebleness. The strong man, intellectually, +cultivates the society of his superiors. He wants to get on, he +wants to learn things. If I loved knowledge as one should, I would +have no one but young men about me. There was a friend of Dick's, a +gentleman from Rugby. At one time he had hopes of me; I felt he had. +But he was too impatient. He tried to bring me on too quickly. You +must take into consideration natural capacity. After listening to +him for an hour or two my mind would wander. I could not help it. +The careless laughter of uninformed middle-aged gentlemen and ladies +would creep to me from the croquet lawn or from the billiard-room. I +longed to be among them. Sometimes I would battle with my lower +nature. What did they know? What could they tell me? More often I +would succumb. There were occasions when I used to get up and go +away from him, quite suddenly. + +I talked with young Bute during our walk about domestic architecture +in general. He said he should describe the present tendency in +domestic architecture as towards corners. The desire of the British +public was to go into a corner and live. A lady for whose husband +his firm had lately built a house in Surrey had propounded to him a +problem in connection with this point. She agreed it was a charming +house; no house in Surrey had more corners, and that was saying much. +But she could not see how for the future she was going to bring up +her children. She was a humanely minded lady. Hitherto she had +punished them, when needful, by putting them in the corner; the shame +of it had always exercised upon them a salutary effect. But in the +new house corners are reckoned the prime parts of every room. It is +the honoured guest who is sent into the corner. The father has a +corner sacred to himself, with high up above his head a complicated +cupboard, wherein with the help of a step-ladder, he may keep his +pipes and his tobacco, and thus by slow degrees cure himself of the +habit of smoking. The mother likewise has her corner, where stands +her spinning-wheel, in case the idea comes to her to weave sheets and +underclothing. It also has a book-shelf supporting thirteen volumes, +arranged in a sloping position to look natural; the last one +maintained at its angle of forty-five degrees by a ginger-jar in old +blue Nankin. You are not supposed to touch them, because that would +disarrange them. Besides which, fooling about, you might upset the +ginger-jar. The consequence of all this is the corner is no longer +disgraceful. The parent can no more say to the erring child: + +"You wicked boy! Go into the cosy corner this very minute!" + +In the house of the future the place of punishment will have to be +the middle of the room. The angry mother will exclaim: + +"Don't you answer me, you saucy minx! You go straight into the +middle of the room, and don't you dare to come out of it till I tell +you!" + +The difficulty with the artistic house is finding the right people to +put into it. In the picture the artistic room never has anybody in +it. There is a strip of art embroidery upon the table, together with +a bowl of roses. Upon the ancient high-backed settee lies an item of +fancy work, unfinished--just as she left it. In the "study" an open +book, face downwards, has been left on a chair. It is the last book +he was reading--it has never been disturbed. A pipe of quaint design +is cold upon the lintel of the lattice window. No one will ever +smoke that pipe again: it must have been difficult to smoke at any +time. The sight of the artistic room, as depicted in the furniture +catalogue, always brings tears to my eyes. People once inhabited +these rooms, read there those old volumes bound in vellum, smoked--or +tried to smoke--these impracticable pipes; white hands, that someone +maybe had loved to kiss, once fluttered among the folds of these +unfinished antimacassars, or Berlin wool-work slippers, and went +away, leaving the things about. + +One takes it that the people who once occupied these artistic rooms +are now all dead. This was their "Dining-Room." They sat on those +artistic chairs. They could hardly have used the dinner service set +out upon the Elizabethan dresser, because that would have left the +dresser bare: one assumes they had an extra service for use, or else +that they took their meals in the kitchen. The "Entrance Hall" is a +singularly chaste apartment. There is no necessity for a door-mat: +people with muddy boots, it is to be presumed, were sent round to the +back. A riding-cloak, the relic apparently of a highwayman, hangs +behind the door. It is the sort of cloak you would expect to find +there--a decorative cloak. An umbrella or a waterproof cape would be +fatal to the whole effect. + +Now and again the illustrator of the artistic room will permit a +young girl to come and sit there. But she has to be a very carefully +selected girl. To begin with, she has got to look and dress as +though she had been born at least three hundred years ago. She has +got to have that sort of clothes, and she has got to have her hair +done just that way. + +She has got to look sad; a cheerful girl in the artistic room would +jar one's artistic sense. One imagines the artist consulting with +the proud possessor of the house. + +"You haven't got such a thing as a miserable daughter, have you? +Some fairly good-looking girl who has been crossed in love, or is +misunderstood. Because if so, you might dress her up in something +out of the local museum and send her along. A little thing like that +gives verisimilitude to a design." + +She must not touch anything. All she may do is to read a book--not +really read it, that would suggest too much life and movement: she +sits with the book in her lap and gazes into the fire, if it happens +to be the dining-room: or out of the window if it happens to be a +morning-room, and the architect wishes to call attention to the +window-seat. Nothing of the male species, as far as I have been able +to ascertain, has ever entered these rooms. I once thought I had +found a man who had been allowed into his own "Smoking-Den," but on +closer examination it turned out he was only a portrait. + +Sometimes one is given "Vistas." Doors stand open, and you can see +right away through "The Nook" into the garden. There is never a +living soul about the place. The whole family has been sent out for +a walk or locked up in the cellars. This strikes you as odd until +you come to think the matter out. The modern man and woman is not +artistic. I am not artistic--not what I call really artistic. I +don't go well with Gobelin tapestry and warming-pans. I feel I +don't. Robina is not artistic, not in that sense. I tried her once +with a harpsichord I picked up cheap in Wardour Street, and a +reproduction of a Roman stool. The thing was an utter failure. A +cottage piano, with a photo-frame and a fern upon, it is what the +soul cries out for in connection with Robina. Dick is not artistic. +Dick does not go with peacocks' feathers and guitars. I can see Dick +with a single peacock's feather at St. Giles's Fair, when the +bulldogs are not looking; but the decorative panel of peacock's +feathers is too much for him. I can imagine him with a banjo--but a +guitar decorated with pink ribbons! To begin with he is not dressed +for it. Unless a family be prepared to make themselves up as +troubadours or cavaliers and to talk blank verse, I don't see how +they can expect to be happy living in these fifteenth-century houses. +The modern family--the old man in baggy trousers and a frock-coat he +could not button if he tried to; the mother of figure distinctly +Victorian; the boys in flannel suits and collars up to their ears; +the girls in motor caps--are as incongruous in these mediaeval +dwellings as a party of Cook's tourists drinking bottled beer in the +streets of Pompeii. + +The designer of "The Artistic Home" is right in keeping to still +life. In the artistic home--to paraphrase Dr. Watts--every prospect +pleases and only man is inartistic. In the picture, the artistic +bedroom, "in apple green, the bedstead of cherry-wood, with a touch +of turkey-red throughout the draperies," is charming. It need hardly +be said the bed is empty. Put a man or woman in that cherry-wood +bed--I don't care how artistic they may think themselves--the charm +would be gone. The really artistic party, one supposes, has a little +room behind, where he sleeps and dresses himself. He peeps in at the +door of this artistic bedroom, maybe occasionally enters to change +the roses. + +Imagine the artistic nursery five minutes after the real child had +been let loose in it. I know a lady who once spent hundreds of +pounds on an artistic nursery. She showed it to her friends with +pride. The children were allowed in there on Sunday afternoons. I +did an equally silly thing myself not long ago. Lured by a furniture +catalogue, I started Robina in a boudoir. I gave it to her as a +birthday-present. We have both regretted it ever since. Robina +reckons she could have had a bicycle, a diamond bracelet, and a +mandoline, and I should have saved money. I did the thing well. I +told the furniture people I wanted it just as it stood in the +picture: "Design for bedroom and boudoir combined, suitable for +young girl, in teak, with sparrow blue hangings." We had everything: +the antique fire arrangements that a vestal virgin might possibly +have understood; the candlesticks, that were pictures in themselves, +until we tried to put candles in them; the book-case and writing-desk +combined, that wasn't big enough to write on, and out of which it was +impossible to get a book until you had abandoned the idea of writing +and had closed the cover; the enclosed washstand, that shut down and +looked like an old bureau, with the inevitable bowl of flowers upon +it that had to be taken off and put on the floor whenever you wanted +to use the thing as a washstand; the toilet-table, with its cunning +little glass, just big enough to see your nose in; the bedstead, +hidden away behind the "thinking corner," where the girl couldn't get +at it to make it. A prettier room you could not have imagined, till +Robina started sleeping in it. I think she tried. Girl friends of +hers, to whom she had bragged about it, would drop in and ask to be +allowed to see it. Robina would say, "Wait a minute," and would run +up and slam the door; and we would hear her for the next half-hour or +so rushing round opening and shutting drawers and dragging things +about. By the time it was a boudoir again she was exhausted and +irritable. She wants now to give it up to Veronica, but Veronica +objects to the position, which is between the bathroom and my study. +Her idea is a room more removed, where she would be able to shut +herself in and do her work, as she explains, without fear of +interruption. + +Young Bute told me that a friend of his, a well-to-do young fellow, +who lived in Piccadilly, had had the whim to make his flat the +reproduction of a Roman villa. There were of course no fires, the +rooms were warmed by hot air from the kitchen. They had a cheerless +aspect on a November afternoon, and nobody knew exactly where to sit. +Light was obtained in the evening from Grecian lamps, which made it +easy to understand why the ancient Athenians, as a rule, went to bed +early. You dined sprawling on a couch. This was no doubt +practicable when you took your plate into your hand and fed yourself +with your fingers; but with a knife and fork the meal had all the +advantages of a hot picnic. You did not feel luxurious or even +wicked: you only felt nervous about your clothes. The thing lacked +completeness. He could not expect his friends to come to him in +Roman togas, and even his own man declined firmly to wear the costume +of a Roman slave. The compromise was unsatisfactory, even from the +purely pictorial point of view. You cannot be a Roman patrician of +the time of Antoninus when you happen to live in Piccadilly at the +opening of the twentieth century. All you can do is to make your +friends uncomfortable and spoil their dinner for them. Young Bute +said that, so far as he was concerned, he would always rather have +spent the evening with his little nephews and nieces, playing at +horses; it seemed to him a more sensible game. + +Young Bute said that, speaking as an architect, he of course admired +the ancient masterpieces of his art. He admired the Erechtheum at +Athens; but Spurgeon's Tabernacle in the Old Kent Road built upon the +same model would have irritated him. For a Grecian temple you wanted +Grecian skies and Grecian girls. He said that, even as it was, +Westminster Abbey in the season was an eyesore to him. The Dean and +Choir in their white surplices passed muster, but the congregation in +its black frock-coats and Paris hats gave him the same sense of +incongruity as would a banquet of barefooted friars in the dining- +hall of the Cannon Street Hotel. + +It struck me there was sense in what he said. I decided not to +mention my idea of carving 1553 above the front-door. + +He said he could not understand this passion of the modern house- +builder for playing at being a Crusader or a Canterbury Pilgrim. A +retired Berlin boot-maker of his acquaintance had built himself a +miniature Roman Castle near Heidelberg. They played billiards in the +dungeon, and let off fireworks on the Kaiser's birthday from the roof +of the watch-tower. + +Another acquaintance of his, a draper at Holloway, had built himself +a moated grange. The moat was supplied from the water-works under +special arrangement, and all the electric lights were imitation +candles. He had done the thing thoroughly. He had even designed a +haunted chamber in blue, and a miniature chapel, which he used as a +telephone closet. Young Bute had been invited down there for the +shooting in the autumn. He said he could not be sure whether he was +doing right or wrong, but his intention was to provide himself with a +bow and arrows. + +A change was coming over this young man. We had talked on other +subjects and he had been shy and deferential. On this matter of +bricks and mortar he spoke as one explaining things. + +I ventured to say a few words in favour of the Tudor house. The +Tudor house, he argued, was a fit and proper residence for the Tudor +citizen--for the man whose wife rode behind him on a pack-saddle, who +conducted his correspondence by the help of a moss-trooper. The +Tudor fireplace was designed for folks to whom coal was unknown, and +who left their smoking to their chimneys. A house that looked +ridiculous with a motor-car before the door, where the electric bell +jarred upon one's sense of fitness every time one heard it, was out +of date, he maintained. + +"For you, sir," he continued, "a twentieth-century writer, to build +yourself a Tudor House would be as absurd as for Ben Jonson to have +planned himself a Norman Castle with a torture-chamber underneath the +wine-cellar, and the fireplace in the middle of the dining-hall. His +fellow cronies of the Mermaid would have thought him stark, staring +mad." + +There was reason in what he was saying. I decided not to mention my +idea of altering the chimneys and fixing up imitation gables, +especially as young Bute seemed pleased with the house, which by this +time we had reached. + +"Now, that is a good house," said young Bute. "That is a house where +a man in a frock-coat and trousers can sit down and not feel himself +a stranger from another age. It was built for a man who wore a +frock-coat and trousers--on weekdays, maybe, gaiters and a shooting- +coat. You can enjoy a game of billiards in that house without the +feeling that comes to you when playing tennis in the shadow of the +Pyramids." + +We entered, and I put before him my notions--such of them as I felt +he would approve. We were some time about the business, and when we +looked at our watches young Bute's last train to town had gone. +There still remained much to talk about, and I suggested he should +return with me to the cottage and take his luck. I could sleep with +Dick and he could have my room. I told him about the cow, but he +said he was a practised sleeper and would be delighted, if I could +lend him a night-shirt, and if I thought Miss Robina would not be put +out. I assured him that it would be a good thing for Robina; the +unexpected guest would be a useful lesson to her in housekeeping. +Besides, as I pointed out to him, it didn't really matter even if +Robina were put out. + +"Not to you, sir, perhaps," he answered, with a smile. "It is not +with you that she will be indignant." + +"That will be all right, my boy," I told him; "I take all +responsibility." + +"And I shall get all the blame," he laughed. + +But, as I pointed out to him, it really didn't matter whom Robina +blamed. We talked about women generally on our way back. I told +him--impressing upon him there was no need for it to go farther--that +I personally had come to the conclusion that the best way to deal +with women was to treat them all as children. He agreed it might be +a good method, but wanted to know what you did when they treated you +as a child. + +I know a most delightful couple: they have been married nearly +twenty years, and both will assure you that an angry word has never +passed between them. He calls her his "Little One," although she +must be quite six inches taller than himself, and is never tired of +patting her hand or pinching her ear. They asked her once in the +drawing-room--so the Little Mother tells me--her recipe for domestic +bliss. She said the mistake most women made was taking men too +seriously. + +"They are just overgrown children, that's all they are, poor dears," +she laughed. + +There are two kinds of love: there is the love that kneels and looks +upward, and the love that looks down and pats. For durability I am +prepared to back the latter. + +The architect had died out of young Bute; he was again a shy young +man during our walk back to the cottage. My hand was on the latch +when he stayed me. + +"Isn't this the back-door again, sir?" he enquired. + +It was the back-door; I had not noticed it. + +"Hadn't we better go round to the front, sir, don't you think?" he +said. + +"It doesn't matter--" I began. + +But he had disappeared. So I followed him, and we entered by the +front. Robina was standing by the table, peeling potatoes. + +"I have brought Mr. Bute back with me," I explained. "He is going to +stop the night." + +Robina said: "If ever I go to live in a cottage again it will have +one door." She took her potatoes with her and went upstairs. + +"I do hope she isn't put out," said young Bute. + +"Don't worry yourself," I comforted him. "Of course she isn't put +out. Besides, I don't care if she is. She's got to get used to +being put out; it's part of the lesson of life." + +I took him upstairs, meaning to show him his bedroom and take my own +things out of it. The doors of the two bedrooms were opposite one +another. I made a mistake and opened the wrong door. Robina, still +peeling potatoes, was sitting on the bed. + +I explained we had made a mistake. Robina said it was of no +consequence whatever, and, taking the potatoes with her, went +downstairs again. Looking out of the window, I saw her making +towards the wood. She was taking the potatoes with her. + +"I do wish we hadn't opened the door of the wrong room," groaned +young Bute. + +"What a worrying chap you are!" I said to him. "Look at the thing +from the humorous point of view. It's funny when you come to think +of it. Wherever the poor girl goes, trying to peel her potatoes in +peace and quietness, we burst in upon her. What we ought to do now +is to take a walk in the wood. It is a pretty wood. We might say we +had come to pick wild flowers." + +But I could not persuade him. He said he had letters to write, and, +if I would allow him, would remain in his room till dinner was ready. + +Dick and Veronica came in a little later. Dick had been to see Mr. +St. Leonard to arrange about lessons in farming. He said he thought +I should like the old man, who wasn't a bit like a farmer. He had +brought Veronica back in one of her good moods, she having met there +and fallen in love with a donkey. Dick confided to me that, without +committing himself, he had hinted to Veronica that if she would +remain good for quite a long while I might be induced to buy it for +her. It was a sturdy little animal, and could be made useful. +Anyhow, it would give Veronica an object in life--something to strive +for--which was just what she wanted. He is a thoughtful lad at +times, is Dick. + +The dinner was more successful than I had hoped for. Robina gave us +melon as a hors d'oeuvre, followed by sardines and a fowl, with +potatoes and vegetable marrow. Her cooking surprised me. I had +warned young Bute that it might be necessary to regard this dinner +rather as a joke than as an evening meal, and was prepared myself to +extract amusement from it rather than nourishment. My disappointment +was agreeable. One can always imagine a comic dinner. + +I dined once with a newly married couple who had just returned from +their honeymoon. We ought to have sat down at eight o'clock; we sat +down instead at half-past ten. The cook had started drinking in the +morning; by seven o'clock she was speechless. The wife, giving up +hope at a quarter to eight, had cooked the dinner herself. The other +guests were sympathised with, but all I got was congratulation. + +"He'll write something so funny about this dinner," they said. + +You might have thought the cook had got drunk on purpose to oblige +me. I have never been able to write anything funny about that +dinner; it depresses me to this day, merely thinking of it. + +We finished up with a cold trifle and some excellent coffee that +Robina brewed over a lamp on the table while Dick and Veronica +cleared away. It was one of the jolliest little dinners I have ever +eaten; and, if Robina's figures are to be trusted, cost exactly six- +and-fourpence for the five of us. There being no servants about, we +talked freely and enjoyed ourselves. I began once at a dinner to +tell a good story about a Scotchman, when my host silenced me with a +look. He is a kindly man, and had heard the story before. He +explained to me afterwards, over the walnuts, that his parlourmaid +was Scotch and rather touchy. The talk fell into the discussion of +Home Rule, and again our host silenced us. It seemed his butler was +an Irishman and a violent Parnellite. Some people can talk as though +servants were mere machines, but to me they are human beings, and +their presence hampers me. I know my guests have not heard the story +before, and from one's own flesh and blood one expects a certain +amount of sacrifice. But I feel so sorry for the housemaid who is +waiting; she must have heard it a dozen times. I really cannot +inflict it upon her again. + +After dinner we pushed the table into a corner, and Dick extracted a +sort of waltz from Robina's mandoline. It is years since I danced; +but Veronica said she would rather dance with me any day than with +some of the "lumps" you were given to drag round by the dancing- +mistress. I have half a mind to take it up again. After all, a man +is only as old as he feels. + +Young Bute, it turned out, was a capital dancer, and could even +reverse, which in a room fourteen feet square is of advantage. +Robina confided to me after he was gone that while he was dancing she +could just tolerate him. I cannot myself see rhyme or reason in +Robina's objection to him. He is not handsome, but he is good- +looking, as boys go, and has a pleasant smile. Robina says it is his +smile that maddens her. Dick agrees with me that there is sense in +him; and Veronica, not given to loose praise, considers his +performance of a Red Indian, both dead and alive, the finest piece of +acting she has ever encountered. We wound up the evening with a +little singing. The extent of Dick's repertoire surprised me; +evidently he has not been so idle at Cambridge as it seemed. Young +Bute has a baritone voice of some richness. We remembered at +quarter-past eleven that Veronica ought to have gone to bed at eight. +We were all of us surprised at the lateness of the hour. + +"Why can't we always live in a cottage and do just as we like? I'm +sure it's much jollier," Veronica put it to me as I kissed her good +night. + +"Because we are idiots, most of us, Veronica," I answered. + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +I started the next morning to call upon St. Leonard. Near to the +house I encountered young Hopkins on a horse. He was waving a +pitchfork over his head and reciting "The Charge of the Light +Brigade." The horse looked amused. He told me I should find "the +gov'nor" up by the stables. St. Leonard is not an "old man." Dick +must have seen him in a bad light. I should describe him as about +the prime of life, a little older than myself, but nothing to speak +of. Dick was right, however, in saying he was not like a farmer. To +begin with, "Hubert St. Leonard" does not sound like a farmer. One +can imagine a man with a name like that writing a book about farming, +having theories on this subject. But in the ordinary course of +nature things would not grow for him. He does not look like a +farmer. One cannot say precisely what it is, but there is that about +a farmer that tells you he is a farmer. The farmer has a way of +leaning over a gate. There are not many ways of leaning over a gate. +I have tried all I could think of, but it was never quite the right +way. It has to be in the blood. A farmer has a way of standing on +one leg and looking at a thing that isn't there. It sounds simple, +but there is knack in it. The farmer is not surprised it is not +there. He never expected it to be there. It is one of those things +that ought to be, and is not. The farmer's life is full of such. +Suffering reduced to a science is what the farmer stands for. All +his life he is the good man struggling against adversity. Nothing +his way comes right. This does not seem to be his planet. +Providence means well, but she does not understand farming. She is +doing her best, he supposes; that she is a born muddler is not her +fault. If Providence could only step down for a month or two and +take a few lessons in practical farming, things might be better; but +this being out of the question there is nothing more to be said. +From conversation with farmers one conjures up a picture of +Providence as a well-intentioned amateur, put into a position for +which she is utterly unsuited. + +"Rain," says Providence, "they are wanting rain. What did I do with +that rain?" + +She finds the rain and starts it, and is pleased with herself until +some Wandering Spirit pauses on his way and asks her sarcastically +what she thinks she's doing. + +"Raining," explains Providence. "They wanted rain--farmers, you +know, that sort of people." + +"They won't want anything for long," retorts the Spirit. "They'll be +drowned in their beds before you've done with them." + +"Don't say that!" says Providence. + +"Well, have a look for yourself if you won't believe me," says the +Spirit. "You've spoilt that harvest again, you've ruined all the +fruit, and you are rotting even the turnips. Don't you ever learn by +experience?" + +"It is so difficult," says Providence, "to regulate these things just +right." + +"So it seems--for you," retorts the Spirit. "Anyhow, I should not +rain any more, if I were you. If you must, at least give them time +to build another ark." And the Wandering Spirit continues on his +way. + +"The place does look a bit wet, now I come to notice it," says +Providence, peeping down over the edge of her star. "Better turn on +the fine weather, I suppose." + +She starts with she calls "set fair," and feeling now that she is +something like a Providence, composes herself for a doze. She is +startled out of her sleep by the return of the Wandering Spirit. + +"Been down there again?" she asks him pleasantly. + +"Just come back," explains the Wandering Spirit. + +"Pretty spot, isn't it?" says Providence. "Things nice and dry down +there now, aren't they?" + +"You've hit it," he answers. "Dry is the word. The rivers are dried +up, the wells are dried up, the cattle are dying, the grass is all +withered. As for the harvest, there won't be any harvest for the +next two years! Oh, yes, things are dry enough." + +One imagines Providence bursting into tears. "But you suggested +yourself a little fine weather." + +"I know I did," answers the Spirit. "I didn't suggest a six months' +drought with the thermometer at a hundred and twenty in the shade. +Doesn't seem to me that you've got any sense at all." + +"I do wish this job had been given to someone else," says Providence. + +"Yes, and you are not the only one to wish it," retorts the Spirit +unfeelingly. + +"I do my best," urges Providence, wiping her eyes with her wings. "I +am not fitted for it." + +"A truer word you never uttered," retorts the Spirit. + +"I try--nobody could try harder," wails Providence. "Everything I do +seems to be wrong." + +"What you want," says the Spirit, "is less enthusiasm and a little +commonsense in place of it. You get excited, and then you lose your +head. When you do send rain, ten to one you send it when it isn't +wanted. You keep back your sunshine--just as a duffer at whist keeps +back his trumps--until it is no good, and then you deal it out all at +once." + +"I'll try again," said Providence. "I'll try quite hard this time." + +"You've been trying again," retorts the Spirit unsympathetically, +"ever since I have known you. It is not that you do not try. It is +that you have not got the hang of things. Why don't you get yourself +an almanack?" + +The Wandering Spirit takes his leave. Providence tells herself she +really must get that almanack. She ties a knot in her handkerchief. +It is not her fault: she was made like it. She forgets altogether +for what reason she tied that knot. Thinks it was to remind her to +send frosts in May, or Scotch mists in August. She is not sure +which, so sends both. The farmer has ceased even to be angry with +her--recognises that affliction and sorrow are good for his immortal +soul, and pursues his way in calmness to the Bankruptcy Court. + +Hubert St. Leonard, of Windrush Bottom Farm, I found to be a worried- +looking gentleman. He taps his weather-glass, and hopes and fears, +not knowing as yet that all things have been ordered for his ill. It +will be years before his spirit is attuned to that attitude of +tranquil despair essential to the farmer: one feels it. He is tall +and thin, with a sensitive, mobile face, and a curious trick of +taking his head every now and again between his hands, as if to be +sure it is still there. When I met him he was on the point of +starting for his round, so I walked with him. He told me that he had +not always been a farmer. Till a few years ago he had been a +stockbroker. But he had always hated his office; and having saved a +little, had determined when he came to forty to enjoy the rare luxury +of living his own life. I asked him if he found that farming paid. +He said: + +"As in everything else, it depends upon the price you put upon +yourself. Now, as a casual observer, what wage per annum would you +say I was worth?" + +It was an awkward question. + +"You are afraid that if you spoke candidly you would offend me," he +suggested. "Very well. For the purpose of explaining my theory let +us take, instead, your own case. I have read all your books, and I +like them. Speaking as an admirer, I should estimate you at five +hundred a year. You, perhaps, make two thousand, and consider +yourself worth five." + +The whimsical smile with which he accompanied the speech disarmed me. + +"What we most of us do," he continued, "is to over-capitalise +ourselves. John Smith, honestly worth a hundred a year, claims to be +worth two. Result: difficulty of earning dividend, over-work, over- +worry, constant fear of being wound up. Now, there is that about +your work that suggests to me you would be happier earning five +hundred a year than you ever will be earning two thousand. To pay +your dividend--to earn your two thousand--you have to do work that +brings you no pleasure in the doing. Content with five hundred, you +could afford to do only that work that does give you pleasure. This +is not a perfect world, we must remember. In the perfect world the +thinker would be worth more than the mere jester. In the perfect +world the farmer would be worth more than the stockbroker. In making +the exchange I had to write myself down. I earn less money, but get +more enjoyment out of life. I used to be able to afford champagne, +but my liver was always wrong, and I dared not drink it. Now I +cannot afford champagne, but I enjoy my beer. That is my theory, +that we are all of us entitled to payment according to our market +value, neither more nor less. You can take it all in cash. I used +to. Or you can take less cash and more fun: that is what I am +getting now." + +"It is delightful," I said, "to meet with a philosopher. One hears +about them, of course; but I had got it into my mind they were all +dead." + +"People laugh at philosophy," he said. "I never could understand +why. It is the science of living a free, peaceful, happy existence. +I would give half my remaining years to be a philosopher." + +"I am not laughing at philosophy," I said. "I honestly thought you +were a philosopher. I judged so from the way you talked." + +"Talked!" he retorted. "Anybody can talk. As you have just said, I +talk like a philosopher." + +"But you not only talk," I insisted, "you behave like a philosopher. +Sacrificing your income to the joy of living your own life! It is +the act of a philosopher." + +I wanted to keep him in good humour. I had three things to talk to +him about: the cow, the donkey, and Dick. + +"No, it wasn't," he answered. "A philosopher would have remained a +stockbroker and been just as happy. Philosophy does not depend upon +environment. You put the philosopher down anywhere. It is all the +same to him, he takes his philosophy with him. You can suddenly tell +him he is an emperor, or give him penal servitude for life. He goes +on being a philosopher just as if nothing had happened. We have an +old tom-cat. The children lead it an awful life. It does not seem +to matter to the cat. They shut it up in the piano: their idea is +that it will make a noise and frighten someone. It doesn't make a +noise; it goes to sleep. When an hour later someone opens the piano, +the poor thing is lying there stretched out upon the keyboard purring +to itself. They dress it up in the baby's clothes and take it out in +the perambulator: it lies there perfectly contented looking round at +the scenery--takes in the fresh air. They haul it about by its tail. +You would think, to watch it swinging gently to and fro head +downwards, that it was grateful to them for giving it a new +sensation. Apparently it looks on everything that comes its way as +helpful experience. It lost a leg last winter in a trap: it goes +about quite cheerfully on three. Seems to be rather pleased, if +anything, at having lost the fourth--saves washing. Now, he is your +true philosopher, that cat; never minds what happens to him, and is +equally contented if it doesn't." + +I found myself becoming fretful. I know a man with whom it is +impossible to disagree. Men at the Club--new-comers--have been lured +into taking bets that they could on any topic under the sun find +themselves out of sympathy with him. They have denounced Mr. Lloyd +George as a traitor to his country. This man has risen and shaken +them by the hand, words being too weak to express his admiration of +their outspoken fearlessness. You might have thought them Nihilists +denouncing the Russian Government from the steps of the Kremlin at +Moscow. They have, in the next breath, abused Mr. Balfour in terms +transgressing the law of slander. He has almost fallen on their +necks. It has transpired that the one dream of his life was to hear +Mr. Balfour abused. I have talked to him myself for a quarter of an +hour, and gathered that at heart he was a peace-at-any-price man, +strongly in favour of Conscription, a vehement Republican, with a +deep-rooted contempt for the working classes. It is not bad sport to +collect half a dozen and talk round him. At such times he suggests +the family dog that six people from different parts of the house are +calling to at the same time. He wants to go to them all at once. + +I felt I had got to understand this man, or he would worry me. + +"We are going to be neighbours," I said, "and I am inclined to think +I shall like you. That is, if I can get to know you. You commence +by enthusing on philosophy: I hasten to agree with you. It is a +noble science. When my youngest daughter has grown up, when the +other one has learnt a little sense, when Dick is off my hands, and +the British public has come to appreciate good literature, I am +hoping to be a bit of a philosopher myself. But before I can explain +to you my views you have already changed your own, and are likening +the philosopher to an old tom-cat that seems to be weak in his head. +Soberly now, what are you?" + +"A fool," he answered promptly; "a most unfortunate fool. I have the +mind of a philosopher coupled to an intensely irritable temperament. +My philosophy teaches me to be ashamed of my irritability, and my +irritability makes my philosophy appear to be arrant nonsense to +myself. The philosopher in me tells me it does not matter when the +twins fall down the wishing-well. It is not a deep well. It is not +the first time they have fallen into it: it will not be the last. +Such things pass: the philosopher only smiles. The man in me calls +the philosopher a blithering idiot for saying it does not matter when +it does matter. Men have to be called away from their work to haul +them out. We all of us get wet. I get wet and excited, and that +always starts my liver. The children's clothes are utterly spoilt. +Confound them,"--the blood was mounting to his head--"they never care +to go near the well except they are dressed in their best clothes. +On other days they will stop indoors and read Foxe's 'Book of +Martyrs.' There is something uncanny about twins. What is it? Why +should twins be worse than other children? The ordinary child is not +an angel, Heaven knows. Take these boots of mine. Look at them; I +have had them for over two years. I tramp ten miles a day in them; +they have been soaked through a hundred times. You buy a boy a pair +of boots--" + +"Why don't you cover over the well?" I suggested. + +"There you are again," he replied. "The philosopher in me--the +sensible man--says, 'What is the good of the well? It is nothing but +mud and rubbish. Something is always falling into it--if it isn't +the children it's the pigs. Why not do away with it?'" + +"Seems to be sound advice," I commented. + +"It is," he agreed. "No man alive has more sound commonsense than I +have, if only I were capable of listening to myself. Do you know why +I don't brick in that well? Because my wife told me I would have to. +It was the first thing she said when she saw it. She says it again +every time anything does fall into it. 'If only you would take my +advice'--you know the sort of thing. Nobody irritates me more than +the person who says, 'I told you so.' It's a picturesque old ruin: +it used to be haunted. That's all been knocked on the head since we +came. What self-respecting nymph can haunt a well into which +children and pigs are for ever flopping?" + +He laughed; but before I could join him he was angry again. "Why +should I block up an historic well, that is an ornament to the +garden, because a pack of fools can't keep a gate shut? As for the +children, what they want is a thorough good whipping, and one of +these days--" + +A voice crying to us to stop interrupted him. + +"Am on my round. Can't come," he shouted. + +"But you must," explained the voice. + +He turned so quickly that he almost knocked me over. "Bother and +confound them all!" he said. "Why don't they keep to the time-table? +There's no system in this place. That is what ruins farming--want of +system." + +He went on grumbling as he walked. I followed him. Halfway across +the field we met the owner of the voice. She was a pleasant-looking +lass, not exactly pretty--not the sort of girl one turns to look at +in a crowd--yet, having seen her, it was agreeable to continue +looking at her. St. Leonard introduced me to her as his eldest +daughter, Janie, and explained to her that behind the study door, if +only she would take the trouble to look, she would find a time-table +- + +"According to which," replied Miss Janie, with a smile, "you ought at +the present moment to be in the rick-yard, which is just where I want +you." + +"What time is it?" he asked, feeling his waistcoat for a watch that +appeared not to be there. + +"Quarter to eleven," I told him. + +He took his head between his hands. "Good God!" he cried, "you don't +say that!" + +The new binder, Miss Janie told us, had just arrived. She was +anxious her father should see it was in working order before the men +went back. "Otherwise," so she argued, "old Wilkins will persist it +was all right when he delivered it, and we shall have no remedy." + +We turned towards the house. + +"Speaking of the practical," I said, "there were three things I came +to talk to you about. First and foremost, that cow." + +"Ah, yes, the cow," said St. Leonard. He turned to his daughter. +"It was Maud, was it not?" + +"No," she answered, "it was Susie." + +"It is the one," I said, "that bellows most all night and three parts +of the day. Your boy Hopkins thinks maybe she's fretting." + +"Poor soul!" said St. Leonard. "We only took her calf away from her- +-when did we take her calf away from her?" he asked of Janie. + +"On Thursday morning," returned Janie; "the day we sent her over." + +"They feel it so at first," said St. Leonard sympathetically. + +"It sounds a brutal sentiment," I said, "but I was wondering if by +any chance you happened to have by you one that didn't feel it quite +so much. I suppose among cows there is no class that corresponds to +what we term our 'Smart Set'--cows that don't really care for their +calves, that are glad to get away from them?" + +Miss Janie smiled. When she smiled, you felt you would do much to +see her smile again. + +"But why not keep it up at your house, in the paddock," she +suggested, "and have the milk brought down? There is an excellent +cowshed, and it is only a mile away." + +It struck me there was sense in this idea. I had not thought of +that. I asked St. Leonard what I owed him for the cow. He asked +Miss Janie, and she said sixteen pounds. I had been warned that in +doing business with farmers it would be necessary always to bargain; +but there was that about Miss Janie's tone telling me that when she +said sixteen pounds she meant sixteen pounds. I began to see a +brighter side to Hubert St. Leonard's career as a farmer. + +"Very well," I said; "we will regard the cow as settled." + +I made a note: "Cow, sixteen pounds. Have the cowshed got ready, +and buy one of those big cans on wheels." + +"You don't happen to want milk?" I put it to Miss Janie. "Susie +seems to be good for about five gallons a day. I'm afraid if we +drink it all ourselves we'll get too fat." + +"At twopence halfpenny a quart, delivered at the house, as much as +you like," replied Miss Janie. + +I made a note of that also. "Happen to know a useful boy?" I asked +Miss Janie. + +"What about young Hopkins," suggested her father. + +"The only male thing on this farm--with the exception of yourself, of +course, father dear--that has got any sense," said Miss Janie. "He +can't have Hopkins." + +"The only fault I have to find with Hopkins," said St. Leonard, "is +that he talks too much." + +"Personally," I said, "I should prefer a country lad. I have come +down here to be in the country. With Hopkins around, I don't somehow +feel it is the country. I might imagine it a garden city: that is +as near as Hopkins would allow me to get. I should like myself +something more suggestive of rural simplicity." + +"I think I know the sort of thing you mean," smiled Miss Janie. "Are +you fairly good-tempered?" + +"I can generally," I answered, "confine myself to sarcasm. It +pleases me, and as far as I have been able to notice, does neither +harm nor good to anyone else." + +"I'll send you up a boy," promised Miss Janie. + +I thanked her. "And now we come to the donkey." + +"Nathaniel," explained Miss Janie, in answer to her father's look of +enquiry. "We don't really want it." + +"Janie," said Mr. St. Leonard in a tone of authority, "I insist upon +being honest." + +"I was going to be honest," retorted Miss Janie, offended. + +"My daughter Veronica has given me to understand," I said, "that if I +buy her this donkey it will be, for her, the commencement of a new +and better life. I do not attach undue importance to the bargain, +but one never knows. The influences that make for reformation in +human character are subtle and unexpected. Anyhow, it doesn't seem +right to throw a chance away. Added to which, it has occurred to me +that a donkey might be useful in the garden." + +"He has lived at my expense for upwards of two years," replied St. +Leonard. "I cannot myself see any moral improvement he has brought +into my family. What effect he may have upon your children, I cannot +say. But when you talk about his being useful in a garden--" + +"He draws a cart," interrupted Miss Janie. + +"So long as someone walks beside him feeding him with carrots. We +tried fixing the carrot on a pole six inches beyond his reach. That +works all right in the picture: it starts this donkey kicking." + +"You know yourself," he continued with growing indignation, "the very +last time your mother took him out she used up all her carrots +getting there, with the result that he and the cart had to be hauled +home behind a trolley." + +We had reached the yard. Nathaniel was standing with his head +stretched out above the closed half of his stable door. I noticed +points of resemblance between him and Veronica herself: there was +about him a like suggestion of resignation, of suffering virtue +misunderstood; his eye had the same wistful, yearning expression with +which Veronica will stand before the window gazing out upon the +purple sunset, while people are calling to her from distant parts of +the house to come and put her things away. Miss Janie, bending over +him, asked him to kiss her. He complied, but with a gentle, +reproachful look that seemed to say, "Why call me back again to +earth?" + +It made me mad with him. I was wrong in thinking Miss Janie not a +pretty girl. Hers is that type of beauty that escapes attention by +its own perfection. It is the eccentric, the discordant, that +arrests the roving eye. To harmony one has to attune oneself. + +"I believe," said Miss Janie, as she drew away, wiping her cheek, +"one could teach that donkey anything." + +Apparently she regarded willingness to kiss her as indication of +exceptional amiability. + +"Except to work," commented her father. "I'll tell you what I'll +do," he said. "If you take that donkey off my hands and promise not +to send it back again, why, you can have it." + +"For nothing?" demanded Janie woefully. + +"For nothing," insisted her father. "And if I have any argument, +I'll throw in the cart." + +Miss Janie sighed and shrugged her shoulders. It was arranged that +Hopkins should deliver Nathaniel into my keeping some time the next +day. Hopkins, it appeared, was the only person on the farm who could +make the donkey go. + +"I don't know what it is," said St. Leonard, "but he has a way with +him." + +"And now," I said, "there remains but Dick." + +"The lad I saw yesterday?" suggested St. Leonard. "Good-looking +young fellow." + +"He is a nice boy," I said. "I don't really think I know a nicer boy +than Dick; and clever, when you come to understand him. There is +only one fault I have to find with Dick: I don't seem able to get +him to work." + +Miss Janie was smiling. I asked her why. + +"I was thinking," she answered, "how close the resemblance appears to +be between him and Nathaniel." + +It was true. I had not thought of it. + +"The mistake," said St. Leonard, "is with ourselves. We assume every +boy to have the soul of a professor, and every girl a genius for +music. We pack off our sons to cram themselves with Greek and Latin, +and put our daughters down to strum at the piano. Nine times out of +ten it is sheer waste of time. They sent me to Cambridge, and said I +was lazy. I was not lazy. I was not intended by nature for a Senior +Wrangler. I did not see the good of being a Senior Wrangler. Who +wants a world of Senior Wranglers? Then why start every young man +trying? I wanted to be a farmer. If intelligent lads were taught +farming as a business, farming would pay. In the name of common- +sense--" + +"I am inclined to agree with you," I interrupted him. "I would +rather see Dick a good farmer than a third-rate barrister, anyhow. +He thinks he could take an interest in farming. There are ten weeks +before he need go back to Cambridge, sufficient time for the +experiment. Will you take him as a pupil?" + +St. Leonard grasped his head between his hands and held it firmly. +"If I consent," he said, "I must insist on being honest" + +I saw the woefulness again in Janie's eyes. + +"I think," I said, "it is my turn to be honest. I have got the +donkey for nothing; I insist on paying for Dick. They are waiting +for you in the rick-yard. I will settle the terms with Miss Janie." + +He regarded us both suspiciously. + +"I will promise to be honest," laughed Miss Janie. + +"If it's more than I'm worth," he said, "I'll send him home again. +My theory is--" + +He stumbled over a pig which, according to the time-table, ought not +to have been there. They went off hurriedly together, the pig +leading, both screaming. + +Miss Janie said she would show me the short cut across the fields; we +could talk as we went. We walked in silence for awhile. + +"You must not think," she said, "I like being the one to do all the +haggling. I feel a little sore about it very often. But somebody, +of course, must do it; and as for father, poor dear--" + +I looked at her. Her's is the beauty to which a touch of sadness +adds a charm. + +"How old are you?" I asked her. + +"Twenty," she answered, "next birthday." + +"I judged you to be older," I said. + +"Most people do," she answered. + +"My daughter Robina," I said, "is just the same age--according to +years; and Dick is twenty-one. I hope you will be friends with them. +They have got sense, both of them. It comes out every now and again +and surprises you. Veronica, I think, is nine. I am not sure how +Veronica is going to turn out. Sometimes things happen that make us +think she has a beautiful character, and then for quite long periods +she seems to lose it altogether. The Little Mother--I don't know why +we always call her Little Mother--will not join us till things are +more ship-shape. She does not like to be thought an invalid, and if +we have her about anywhere near work that has to be done, and are not +always watching her, she gets at it and tires herself." + +"I am glad we are going to be neighbours," said Miss Janie. "There +are ten of us altogether. Father, I am sure, you will like; clever +men always like father. Mother's day is Friday. As a rule it is the +only day no one ever calls." She laughed. The cloud had vanished. +"They come on other days and find us all in our old clothes. On +Friday afternoon we sit in state and nobody comes near us, and we +have to eat the cakes ourselves. It makes her so cross. You will +try and remember Fridays, won't you?" + +I made a note of it then and there. + +"I am the eldest," she continued, "as I think father told you. Harry +and Jack came next; but Jack is in Canada and Harry died, so there is +somewhat of a gap between me and the rest. Bertie is twelve and Ted +eleven; they are home just now for the holidays. Sally is eight, and +then there come the twins. People don't half believe the tales that +are told about twins, but I am sure there is no need to exaggerate. +They are only six, but they have a sense of humour you would hardly +credit. One is a boy, and the other a girl. They are always +changing clothes, and we are never quite sure which is which. +Wilfrid gets sent to bed because Winnie has not practised her scales, +and Winnie is given syrup of squills because Wilfried has been eating +green gooseberries. Last spring Winnie had the measles. When the +doctor came on the fifth day he was as pleased as punch; he said it +was the quickest cure he had ever known, and that really there was no +reason why she might not get up. We had our suspicions, and they +were right. Winnie was hiding in the cupboard, wrapped up in a +blanket. They don't seem to mind what trouble they get into, +provided it isn't their own. The only safe plan, unless you happen +to catch them red-handed, is to divide the punishment between them, +and leave them to settle accounts between themselves afterwards. +Algy is four; till last year he was always called the baby. Now, of +course, there is no excuse; but the name still clings to him in spite +of his indignant protestations. Father called upstairs to him the +other day: 'Baby, bring me down my gaiters.' He walked straight up +to the cradle and woke up the baby. 'Get up,' I heard him say--I was +just outside the door--'and take your father down his gaiters. Don't +you hear him calling you?' He is a droll little fellow. Father took +him to Oxford last Saturday. He is small for his age. The ticket- +collector, quite contented, threw him a glance, and merely as a +matter of form asked if he was under three. 'No,' he shouted before +father could reply; 'I 'sists on being honest. I'se four.' It is +father's pet phrase." + +"What view do you take of the exchange," I asked her, "from +stockbroking with its larger income to farming with its smaller?" + +"Perhaps it was selfish," she answered, "but I am afraid I rather +encouraged father. It seems to me mean, making your living out of +work that does no good to anyone. I hate the bargaining, but the +farming itself I love. Of course, it means having only one evening +dress a year and making that myself. But even when I had a lot I +always preferred wearing the one that I thought suited me the best. +As for the children, they are as healthy as young savages, and +everything they want to make them happy is just outside the door. +The boys won't go to college; but seeing they will have to earn their +own living, that, perhaps, is just as well. It is mother, poor dear, +that worries so." She laughed again. "Her favourite walk is to the +workhouse. She came back quite excited the other day because she had +heard the Guardians intend to try the experiment of building separate +houses for old married couples. She is convinced she and father are +going to end their days there." + +"You, as the business partner," I asked her, "are hopeful that the +farm will pay?" + +"Oh, yes," she answered, "it will pay all right--it does pay, for the +matter of that. We live on it and live comfortably. But, of course, +I can see mother's point of view, with seven young children to bring +up. And it is not only that." She stopped herself abruptly. "Oh, +well," she continued with a laugh, "you have got to know us. Father +is trying. He loves experiments, and a woman hates experiments. +Last year it was bare feet. I daresay it is healthier. But children +who have been about in bare feet all the morning--well, it isn't +pleasant when they sit down to lunch; I don't care what you say. You +can't be always washing. He is so unpractical. He was quite angry +with mother and myself because we wouldn't. And a man in bare feet +looks so ridiculous. This summer it is short hair and no hats; and +Sally had such pretty hair. Next year it will be sabots or turbans-- +something or other suggesting the idea that we've lately escaped from +a fair. On Mondays and Thursdays we talk French. We have got a +French nurse; and those are the only days in the week on which she +doesn't understand a word that's said to her. We can none of us +understand father, and that makes him furious. He won't say it in +English; he makes a note of it, meaning to tell us on Tuesday or +Friday, and then, of course, he forgets, and wonders why we haven't +done it. He's the dearest fellow alive. When I think of him as a +big boy, then he is charming, and if he really were only a big boy +there are times when I would shake him and feel better for it." + +She laughed again. I wanted her to go on talking, because her laugh +was so delightful. But we had reached the road, and she said she +must go back: there were so many things she had to do. + +"We have not settled about Dick," I reminded her. + +"Mother took rather a liking to him," she murmured. + +"If Dick could make a living," I said, "by getting people to like +him, I should not be so anxious about his future--lazy young devil!" + +"He has promised to work hard if you let him take up farming," said +Miss Janie. + +"He has been talking to you?" I said. + +She admitted it. + +"He will begin well," I said. "I know him. In a month he will have +tired of it, and be clamouring to do something else." + +"I shall be very disappointed in him if he does," she said. + +"I will tell him that," I said, "it may help. People don't like +other people to be disappointed in them." + +"I would rather you didn't," she said. "You could say that father +will be disappointed in him. Father formed rather a good opinion of +him, I know." + +"I will tell him," I suggested, "that we shall all be disappointed in +him." + +She agreed to that, and we parted. I remembered, when she was gone, +that after all we had not settled terms. + +Dick overtook me a little way from home. + +"I have settled your business," I told him. + +"It's awfully good of you," said Dick. + +"Mind," I continued, "it's on the understanding that you throw +yourself into the thing and work hard. If you don't, I shall be +disappointed in you, I tell you so frankly." + +"That's all right, governor," he answered cheerfully. "Don't you +worry." + +"Mr. St. Leonard will also be disappointed in you, Dick," I informed +him. "He has formed a very high opinion of you. Don't give him +cause to change it." + +"I'll get on all right with him," answered Dick. "Jolly old duffer, +ain't he?" + +"Miss Janie will also be disappointed in you," I added. + +"Did she say that?" he asked. + +"She mentioned it casually," I explained: "though now I come to +think of it she asked me not to say so. What she wanted me to +impress upon you was that her father would be disappointed in you." + +Dick walked beside me in silence for awhile. + +"Sorry I've been a worry to you, dad," he said at last + +"Glad to hear you say so," I replied. + +"I'm going to turn over a new leaf, dad," he said. "I'm going to +work hard." + +"About time," I said. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +We had cold bacon for lunch that day. There was not much of it. I +took it to be the bacon we had not eaten for breakfast. But on a +clean dish with parsley it looked rather neat. It did not suggest, +however, a lunch for four people, two of whom had been out all the +morning in the open air. There was some excuse for Dick. + +"I never heard before," said Dick, "of cold fried bacon as a hors +d'oeuvre." + +"It is not a hors d'oeuvre," explained Robina. "It is all there is +for lunch." She spoke in the quiet, passionless voice of one who has +done with all human emotion. She added that she should not be +requiring any herself, she having lunched already. + +Veronica, conveying by her tone and bearing the impression of +something midway between a perfect lady and a Christian martyr, +observed that she also had lunched. + +"Wish I had," growled Dick. + +I gave him a warning kick. I could see he was on the way to getting +himself into trouble. As I explained to him afterwards, a woman is +most dangerous when at her meekest. A man, when he feels his temper +rising, takes every opportunity of letting it escape. Trouble at +such times he welcomes. A broken boot-lace, or a shirt without a +button, is to him then as water in the desert. An only collar-stud +that will disappear as if by magic from between his thumb and finger +and vanish apparently into thin air is a piece of good fortune sent +on these occasions only to those whom the gods love. By the time he +has waddled on his hands and knees twice round the room, broken the +boot-jack raking with it underneath the wardrobe, been bumped and +slapped and kicked by every piece of furniture that the room +contains, and ended up by stepping on that stud and treading it flat, +he has not a bitter or an angry thought left in him. All that +remains of him is sweet and peaceful. He fastens his collar with a +safety-pin, humming an old song the while. + +Failing the gifts of Providence, the children--if in health--can +generally be depended upon to afford him an opening. Sooner or later +one or another of them will do something that no child, when he was a +boy, would have dared--or dreamed of daring--to even so much as think +of doing. The child, conveying by expression that the world, it is +glad to say, is slowly but steadily growing in sense, and pity it is +that old-fashioned folks can't bustle up and keep abreast of it, +points out that firstly it has not done this thing, that for various +reasons--a few only of which need be dwelt upon--it is impossible it +could have done this thing; that secondly it has been expressly +requested to do this thing, that wishful always to give satisfaction, +it has--at sacrifice of all its own ideas--gone out of its way to do +this thing; that thirdly it can't help doing this thing, strive +against fate as it will. + +He says he does not want to hear what the child has got to say on the +subject--nor on any other subject, neither then nor at any other +time. He says there's going to be a new departure in this house, and +that things all round are going to be very different. He suddenly +remembers every rule and regulation he has made during the past ten +years for the guidance of everybody, and that everybody, himself +included, has forgotten. He tries to talk about them all at once, in +haste lest he should forget them again. By the time he has succeeded +in getting himself, if nobody else, to understand himself, the +children are swarming round his knees extracting from him promises +that in his sober moments he will be sorry that he made. + +I knew a woman--a wise and good woman she was--who when she noticed +that her husband's temper was causing him annoyance, took pains to +help him to get rid of it. To relieve his sufferings I have known +her search the house for a last month's morning paper and, ironing it +smooth, lay it warm and neatly folded on his breakfast plate. + +"One thing in this world to be thankful for, at all events, and that +is that we don't live in Ditchley-in-the-Marsh," he would growl ten +minutes later from the other side of it. + +"Sounds a bit damp," the good woman would reply. + +"Damp!" he would grunt, "who minds a bit of damp! Good for you. +Makes us Englishmen what we are. Being murdered in one's bed about +once a week is what I should object to." + +"Do they do much of that sort of thing down there?" the good woman +would enquire. + +"Seems to be the chief industry of the place. Do you mean to say you +don't remember that old maiden lady being murdered by her own +gardener and buried in the fowl-run? You women! you take no interest +in public affairs." + +"I do remember something about it, now you mention it, dear," the +good woman would confess. "Always seems such an innocent type of +man, a gardener." + +"Seems to be a special breed of them at Ditchley-in-the-Marsh," he +answers. "Here again last Monday," he continues, reading with +growing interest. "Almost the same case--even to the pruning knife. +Yes, hanged if he doesn't!--buries her in the fowl-run. This is most +extraordinary." + +"It must be the imitative instinct asserting itself," suggests the +good woman. "As you, dear, have so often pointed out, one crime +makes another." + +"I have always said so," he agrees; "it has always been a theory of +mine." + +He folds the paper over. "Dull dogs, these political chaps!" he +says. "Here's the Duke of Devonshire, speaking last night at +Hackney, begins by telling a funny story he says he has just heard +about a parrot. Why, it's the same story somebody told a month ago; +I remember reading it. Yes--upon my soul--word for word, I'd swear +to it. Shows you the sort of men we're governed by." + +"You can't expect everyone, dear, to possess your repertoire," the +good woman remarks. + +"Needn't say he's just heard it that afternoon, anyhow," responds the +good man. + +He turns to another column. "What the devil! Am I going off my +head?" He pounces on the eldest boy. "When was the Oxford and +Cambridge Boat-race?" he fiercely demands. + +"The Oxford and Cambridge Boat-race!" repeats the astonished youth. +"Why, it's over. You took us all to see it, last month. The +Saturday before--" + +The conversation for the next ten minutes he conducts himself, +unaided. At the end he is tired, maybe a trifle hoarse. But all his +bad temper is gone. His sorrow is there was not sufficient of it. +He could have done with more. + +Woman knows nothing of simple mechanics. A woman thinks you can get +rid of steam by boxing it up and sitting on the safety-valve. + +"Feeling as I do this morning, that I'd like to wring everybody's +neck for them," the average woman argues to herself; "my proper +course--I see it clearly--is to creep about the house, asking of +everyone that has the time to spare to trample on me." + +She coaxes you to tell her of her faults. When you have finished she +asks for more--reminds you of one or two you had missed out. She +wonders why it is that she is always wrong. There must be a reason +for it; if only she could discover it. She wonders how it is that +people can put up with her--thinks it so good of them. + +At last, of course, the explosion happens. The awkward thing is that +neither she herself nor anyone else knows when it is coming. A +husband cornered me one evening in the club. It evidently did him +good to talk. He told me that, finding his wife that morning in one +of her rare listening moods, he had seized the opportunity to mention +one or two matters in connection with the house he would like to have +altered; that was, if she had no objection. She had--quite +pleasantly--reminded him the house was his, that he was master there. +She added that any wish of his of course was law to her. + +He was a young and inexperienced husband; it seemed to him a hopeful +opening. He spoke of quite a lot of things--things about which he +felt that he was right and she was wrong. She went and fetched a +quire of paper, and borrowed his pencil and wrote them down. + +Later on, going through his letters in the study, he found an +unexpected cheque; and ran upstairs and asked her if she would not +like to come out with him and get herself a new hat. + +"I could have understood it," he moaned, "if she had dropped on me +while I was--well, I suppose, you might say lecturing her. She had +listened to it like a lamb--hadn't opened her mouth except to say +'yes, dear,' or 'no, dear.' Then, when I only asked her if she'd +like a new hat, she goes suddenly raving mad. I never saw a woman go +so mad." + +I doubt if there be anything in nature quite as unexpected as a +woman's temper, unless it be tumbling into a hole. I told all this +to Dick. I have told it him before. One of these days he will know +it. + +"You are right to be angry with me," Robina replied meekly; "there is +no excuse for me. The whole thing is the result of my own folly." + +Her pathetic humility should have appealed to him. He can be +sympathetic, when he isn't hungry. Just then he happened to be +hungry. + +"I left you making a pie," he said. "It looked to me a fair-sized +pie. There was a duck on the table, with a cauliflower and potatoes; +Veronica was up to her elbows in peas. It made me hungry merely +passing through the kitchen. I wouldn't have anything to eat in the +town for fear of spoiling my appetite. Where is it all? You don't +mean to say that you and Veronica have eaten the whole blessed lot!" + +There is one thing--she admits it herself--that exhausts Veronica's +patience: it is unjust suspicion. + +"Do I look as if I'd eaten anything for hours and hours?" Veronica +demanded. "You can feel my waistband if you don't believe me." + +"You said just now you had had your lunch," Dick argued. + +"I know I did," Veronica admitted. "One minute you are told that it +is wicked to tell lies; the next--" + +"Veronica!" Robina interrupted threateningly. + +"It's easy for you," retorted Veronica. "You are not a growing +child. You don't feel it." + +"The least you can do," said Robina, "is to keep silence." + +"What's the good," said Veronica--not without reason. "You'll tell +them when I've gone to bed, and can't put in a word for myself. +Everything is always my fault. I wish sometimes that I was dead." + +"That I were dead," I corrected her. "The verb 'to wish,' implying +uncertainty, should always be followed by the conditional mood." + +"You ought," said Robina, "to be thankful to Providence that you're +not dead." + +"People are sorry when you're dead," said Veronica. + +"I suppose there's some bread-and-cheese in the house," suggested +Dick. + +"The baker, for some reason or another, has not called this morning," +Robina answered sweetly. "Neither unfortunately has the grocer. +Everything there is to eat in the house you see upon the table." + +"Accidents will happen," I said. "The philosopher--as our friend St. +Leonard would tell us--only smiles." + +"I could smile," said Dick, "if it were his lunch." + +"Cultivate," I said, "a sense of humour. From a humorous point of +view this lunch is rather good." + +"Did you have anything to eat at the St. Leonards'?" he asked. + +"Just a glass or so of beer and a sandwich or two," I admitted. +"They brought it out to us while we were talking in the yard. To +tell the truth, I was feeling rather peckish." + +Dick made no answer, but continued to chew bacon-rind. Nothing I +could say seemed to cheer him. I thought I would try religion. + +"A dinner of herbs--the sentiment applies equally to lunch--and +contentment therewith is better," I said, "than a stalled ox." + +"Don't talk about oxen," he interrupted fretfully. "I feel I could +just eat one--a plump one." + +There is a man I know. I confess he irritates me. His argument is +that you should always rise from a meal feeling hungry. As I once +explained to him, you cannot rise from a meal feeling hungry without +sitting down to a meal feeling hungry; which means, of course, that +you are always hungry. He agreed with me. He said that was the +idea--always ready. + +"Most people," he said, "rise from a meal feeling no more interest in +their food. That was a mental attitude injurious to digestion. Keep +it always interested; that was the proper way to treat it." + +"By 'it' you mean . . . ?" I said. + +"Of course," he answered; "I'm talking about it." + +"Now I myself;" he explained--"I rise from breakfast feeling eager +for my lunch. I get up from my lunch looking forward to my dinner. +I go to bed just ready for my breakfast." + +Cheerful expectancy, he said, was a wonderful aid to digestion. "I +call myself;" he said, "a cheerful feeder." + +"You don't seem to me," I said, "to be anything else. You talk like +a tadpole. Haven't you any other interest in life? What about home, +and patriotism, and Shakespeare--all those sort of things? Why not +give it a square meal, and silence it for an hour or two; leave +yourself free to think of something else." + +"How can you think of anything," he argued, "when your stomach's out +of order?" + +"How can you think of anything," I argued, "when it takes you all +your time to keep it in order? You are not a man; you are a nurse to +your own stomach." We were growing excited, both of us, forgetting +our natural refinement. "You don't get even your one afternoon a +week. You are healthy enough, I admit it. So are the convicts at +Portland. They never suffer from indigestion. I knew a doctor once +who prescribed for a patient two years' penal servitude as the only +thing likely to do him permanent good. Your stomach won't let you +smoke. It won't let you drink--not when you are thirsty. It allows +you a glass of Apenta water at times when you don't want it, assuming +there could ever be a time when you did want it. You are deprived of +your natural victuals, and made to live upon prepared food, as though +you were some sort of a prize chicken. You are sent to bed at +eleven, and dressed in hygienic clothing that makes no pretence to +fit you. Talk of being hen-pecked! Why, the mildest husband living +would run away or drown himself, rather than remain tied for the rest +of his existence to your stomach." + +"It is easy to sneer," he said. + +"I am not sneering," I said; "I am sympathising with you." + +He said he did not want any sympathy. He said if only I would give +up over-eating and drinking myself, it would surprise me how bright +and intelligent I should become. + +I thought this man might be of use to us on the present occasion. +Accordingly I spoke of him and of his theory. Dick seemed impressed. + +"Nice sort of man?" he asked. + +"An earnest man," I replied. "He practises what he preaches, and +whether because, or in spite of it, the fact remains that a chirpier +soul I am sure does not exist." + +"Married?" demanded Dick. + +"A single man," I answered. "In all things an idealist. He has told +me he will never marry until he can find his ideal woman." + +"What about Robina here!" suggested Dick. "Seem to have been made +for one another." + +Robina smiled. It was a wan, pathetic smile. + +"Even he," thought Robina, "would want his beans cooked to time, and +to feel that a reasonable supply of nuts was always in the house. We +incompetent women never ought to marry." + +We had finished the bacon. Dick said he would take a stroll into the +town. Robina suggested he might take Veronica with him, that perhaps +a bun and a glass of milk would do the child no harm. + +Veronica for a wonder seemed to know where all her things were. +Before Dick had filled his pipe she was ready dressed and waiting for +him. Robina said she would give them a list of things they might +bring back with them. She also asked Dick to get together a plumber, +a carpenter, a bricklayer, a glazier, and a civil engineer, and to +see to it that they started off at once. She thought that among them +they might be able to do all that was temporarily necessary, but the +great thing was that the work should be commenced without delay. + +"Why, what on earth's the matter, old girl?" asked Dick. "Have you +had an accident?" + +Then it was that Robina exploded. I had been wondering when it would +happen. To Dick's astonishment it happened then. + +Yes, she answered, there had been an accident. Did he suppose that +seven scrimpy scraps of bacon was her notion of a lunch between four +hungry persons? Did he, judging from himself, imagine that our +family yielded only lunatics? Was it kind--was it courteous to his +parents, to the mother he pretended to love, to the father whose grey +hairs he was by his general behaviour bringing down in sorrow to the +grave--to assume without further enquiry that their eldest daughter +was an imbecile? (My hair, by-the-bye, is not grey. There may be a +suggestion of greyness here and there, the natural result of deep +thinking. To describe it in the lump as grey is to show lack of +observation. And at forty-eight--or a trifle over--one is not going +down into the grave, not straight down. Robina when excited uses +exaggerated language. I did not, however, interrupt her; she meant +well. Added to which, interrupting Robina, when--to use her own +expression--she is tired of being a worm, is like trying to stop a +cyclone with an umbrella.) Had his attention been less concentrated +on the guzzling of cold bacon (he had only had four mouthfuls, poor +fellow)--had he noticed the sweet patient child starving before his +very eyes (this referred to Veronica)--his poor elder sister, worn +out with work and worry, pining for nourishment herself, it might +have occurred to even his intelligence that there had been an +accident. The selfishness, the egotism of men it was that staggered, +overwhelmed Robina, when she came to think of it. + +Robina paused. Not for want of material, I judged, so much as want +of breath. Veronica performed a useful service by seizing the moment +to express a hope that it was not early-closing day. Robina felt a +conviction that it was: it would be just like Dick to stand there +dawdling in a corner till it was too late to do anything. + +"I have been trying to get out of this corner for the last five +minutes," explained Dick, with that angelic smile of his that I +confess is irritating. "If you have done talking, and will give me +an opening, I will go." + +Robina told him that she had done talking. She gave him her reasons +for having done talking. If talking to him would be of any use she +would often have felt it her duty to talk to him, not only with +regard to his stupidity and selfishness and general aggravatingness, +but with reference to his character as a whole. Her excuse for not +talking to him was the crushing conviction of the hopelessness of +ever effecting any improvement in him. Were it otherwise - + +"Seriously speaking," said Dick, now escaped from his corner, +"something, I take it, has gone wrong with the stove, and you want a +sort of general smith." + +He opened the kitchen door and looked in. + +"Great Scott!" he said. "What was it--an earthquake?" + +I looked in over his shoulder. + +"But it could not have been an earthquake," I said. "We should have +felt it." + +"It is not an earthquake," explained Robina. "It is your youngest +daughter's notion of making herself useful." + +Robina spoke severely. I felt for the moment as if I had done it all +myself. I had an uncle who used to talk like that. "Your aunt," he +would say, regarding me with a reproachful eye, "your aunt can be, +when she likes, the most trying woman to live with I have ever +known." It would depress me for days. I would wonder whether I +ought to speak to her about it, or whether I should be doing only +harm. + +"But how did she do it?" I demanded. "It is impossible that a mere +child--where is the child?" + +The parlour contained but Robina. I hurried to the door; Dick was +already half across the field. Veronica I could not see. + +"We are making haste," Dick shouted back, "in case it is early- +closing day." + +"I want Veronica!" I shouted. + +"What?" shouted Dick. + +"Veronica!" I shouted with my hands to my mouth. + +"Yes!" shouted Dick. "She's on ahead." + +It was useless screaming any more. He was now climbing the stile. + +"They always take each other's part, those two," sighed Robina. + +"Yes, and you are just as bad," I told her; "if he doesn't, you do. +And then if it's you they take your part. And you take his part. +And he takes both your parts. And between you all I am just getting +tired of bringing any of you up." (Which is the truth.) "How did +this thing happen?" + +"I had got everything finished," answered Robina. "The duck was in +the oven with the pie; the peas and potatoes were boiling nicely. I +was feeling hot, and I thought I could trust Veronica to watch the +things for awhile. She promised not to play King Alfred." + +"What's that?" I asked. + +"You know," said Robina--"King Alfred and the cakes. I left her one +afternoon last year when we were on the houseboat to watch some buns. +When I came back she was sitting in front of the fire, wrapped up in +the table-cloth, with Dick's banjo on her knees and a cardboard crown +upon her head. The buns were all burnt to a cinder. As I told her, +if I had known what she wanted to be up to I could have given her +some extra bits of dough to make believe with. But oh, no! if you +please, that would not have suited her at all. It was their being +real buns, and my being real mad, that was the best part of the game. +She is an uncanny child." + +"What was the game this time?" I asked. + +"I don't think it was intended for a game--not at first," answered +Robina. "I went into the wood to pick some flowers for the table. I +was on my way back, still at some distance from the house, when I +heard quite a loud report. I took it for a gun, and wondered what +anyone would be shooting in July. It must be rabbits, I thought. +Rabbits never seem to have any time at all to themselves, poor +things. And in consequence I did not hurry myself. It must have +been about twenty minutes later when I came in sight of the house. +Veronica was in the garden deep in confabulation with an awful- +looking boy, dressed in nothing but rags. His face and hands were +almost black. You never saw such an object. They both seemed very +excited. Veronica came to meet me; and with a face as serious as +mine is now, stood there and told me the most barefaced pack of lies +you ever heard. She said that a few minutes after I had gone, +robbers had come out of the wood--she talked about them as though +there had been hundreds--and had with the most awful threats demanded +to be admitted into the house. Why they had not lifted the latch and +walked in, she did not explain. It appeared this cottage was their +secret rendezvous, where all their treasure lies hidden. Veronica +would not let them in, but shouted for help: and immediately this +awful-looking boy, to whom she introduced me as 'Sir Robert' +something or another, had appeared upon the scene; and then there had +followed--well, I have not the patience to tell you the whole of the +rigmarole they had concocted. The upshot of it was that the robbers, +defeated in their attempt to get into the house, had fired a secret +mine, which had exploded in the kitchen. If I did not believe them I +could go into the kitchen and see for myself. Say what I would, that +is the story they both stuck to. It was not till I had talked to +Veronica for a quarter of an hour, and had told her that you would +most certainly communicate with the police, and that she would have +to convince a judge and jury of the truth of her story, that I got +any sense at all out of her." + +"What was the sense you did get out of her?" I asked. + +"Well, I am not sure even now that it is the truth," said Robina-- +"the child does not seem to possess a proper conscience. What she +will grow up like, if something does not happen to change her, it is +awful to think." + +"I don't want to appear a hustler," I said, "and maybe I am mistaken +in the actual time, but it feels to me like hours since I asked you +how the catastrophe really occurred." + +"I am telling you," explained Robina, hurt. "She was in the kitchen +yesterday when I mentioned to Harry's mother, who had looked in to +help me wash up, that the kitchen chimney smoked: and then she said- +-" + +"Who said?" I asked. + +"Why, she did," answered Robina, "Harry's mother. She said that very +often a pennyworth of gunpowder--" + +"Now at last we have begun," I said. "From this point I may be able +to help you, and we will get on. At the word 'gunpowder' Veronica +pricked up her ears. The thing by its very nature would appeal to +Veronica's sympathies. She went to bed dreaming of gunpowder. Left +in solitude before the kitchen fire, other maidens might have seen +pictured in the glowing coals, princes, carriages, and balls. +Veronica saw visions of gunpowder. Who knows?--perhaps even she one +day will have gunpowder of her own! She looks up from her reverie: +a fairy godmamma in the disguise of a small boy--it was a small boy, +was it not?" + +"Rather a nice little boy, he gave me the idea of having been, +originally," answered Robina; "the child, I should say, of well-to-do +parents. He was dressed in a little Lord Fauntleroy suit--or rather, +he had been." + +"Did Veronica know how he was--anything about him?" I asked. + +"Nothing that I could get out of her," replied Robina; "you know her +way--how she chums on with anybody and everybody. As I told her, if +she had been attending to her duties instead of staring out of the +window, she would not have seen him. He happened to be crossing the +field just at the time." + +"A boy born to ill-luck, evidently," I observed. "To Veronica of +course he seemed like the answer to a prayer. A boy would surely +know where gunpowder could be culled." + +"They must have got a pound of it from somewhere," said Robina, +"judging from the result." + +"Any notion where they got it from?" I asked. + +"No," explained Robina. "All Veronica can say is that he told her he +knew where he could get some, and was gone about ten minutes. Of +course they must have stolen it--even that did not seem to trouble +her." + +"It came to her as a gift from the gods, Robina," I explained. "I +remember how I myself used to feel about these things, at ten. To +have enquired further would have seemed to her impious. How was it +they were not both killed?" + +"Providence," was Robina's suggestion: it seemed to be the only one +possible. "They lifted off one of the saucepans and just dropped the +thing in--fortunately wrapped up in a brown paper parcel, which gave +them both time to get out of the house. At least Veronica got clear +off. For a change it was not she who fell over the mat, it was the +boy." + +I looked again into the kitchen; then I returned and put my hands on +Robina's shoulders. "It is a most amusing incident--as it has turned +out," I said. + +"It might have turned out rather seriously," thought Robina. + +"It might," I agreed: "she might be lying upstairs." + +"She is a wicked, heartless child," said Robina; "she ought to be +punished." + +I lent Robina my handkerchief; she never has one of her own. + +"She is going to be punished," I said; "I will think of something." + +"And so ought I," said Robina; "it was my fault, leaving her, knowing +what she's like. I might have murdered her. She doesn't care. +She's stuffing herself with cakes at this very moment." + +"They will probably give her indigestion," I said. "I hope they do." + +"Why didn't you have better children?" sobbed Robina; "we are none of +us any good to you." + +"You are not the children I wanted, I confess," I answered. + +"That's a nice kind thing to say!" retorted Robina indignantly. + +"I wanted such charming children," I explained--"my idea of charming +children: the children I had imagined for myself. Even as babies +you disappointed me." + +Robina looked astonished. + +"You, Robina, were the most disappointing," I complained. "Dick was +a boy. One does not calculate upon boy angels; and by the time +Veronica arrived I had got more used to things. But I was so excited +when you came. The Little Mother and I would steal at night into the +nursery. 'Isn't it wonderful,' the Little Mother would whisper, 'to +think it all lies hidden there: the little tiresome child, the +sweetheart they will one day take away from us, the wife, the +mother?' 'I am glad it is a girl,' I would whisper; 'I shall be able +to watch her grow into womanhood. Most of the girls one comes across +in books strike one as not perhaps quite true to life. It will give +me such an advantage having a girl of my own. I shall keep a note- +book, with a lock and key, devoted to her.'" + +"Did you?" asked Robina. + +"I put it away," I answered; "there were but a few pages written on. +It came to me quite early in your life that you were not going to be +the model heroine. I was looking for the picture baby, the clean, +thoughtful baby, with its magical, mystical smile. I wrote poetry +about you, Robina, but you would slobber and howl. Your little nose +was always having to be wiped, and somehow the poetry did not seem to +fit you. You were at your best when you were asleep, but you would +not even sleep when it was expected of you. I think, Robina, that +the fellows who draw the pictures for the comic journals of the man +in his night-shirt with the squalling baby in his arms must all be +single men. The married man sees only sadness in the design. It is +not the mere discomfort. If the little creature were ill or in pain +we should not think of that. It is the reflection that we, who meant +so well, have brought into the world just an ordinary fretful human +creature with a nasty temper of its own: that is the tragedy, +Robina. And then you grew into a little girl. I wanted the soulful +little girl with the fathomless eyes, who would steal to me at +twilight and question me concerning life's conundrums. + +"But I used to ask you questions," grumbled Robina, "and you would +tell me not to be silly." + +"Don't you understand, Robina?" I answered. "I am not blaming you, I +am blaming myself. We are like children who plant seeds in a garden, +and then are angry with the flowers because they are not what we +expected. You were a dear little girl; I see that now, looking back. +But not the little girl I had in my mind. So I missed you, thinking +of the little girl you were not. We do that all our lives, Robina. +We are always looking for the flowers that do not grow, passing by, +trampling underfoot, the blossoms round about us. It was the same +with Dick. I wanted a naughty boy. Well, Dick was naughty, no one +can say that he was not. But it was not my naughtiness. I was +prepared for his robbing orchards. I rather hoped he would rob +orchards. All the high-spirited boys in books rob orchards, and +become great men. But there were not any orchards handy. We +happened to be living in Chelsea at the time he ought to have been +robbing orchards: that, of course, was my fault. I did not think of +that. He stole a bicycle that a lady had left outside the tea-room +in Battersea Park, he and another boy, the son of a common barber, +who shaved people for three-halfpence. I am a Republican in theory, +but it grieved me that a son of mine could be drawn to such +companionship. They contrived to keep it for a week--till the police +found it one night, artfully hidden behind bushes. Logically, I do +not see why stealing apples should be noble and stealing bicycles +should be mean, but it struck me that way at the time. It was not +the particular steal I had been hoping for. + +"I wanted him wild; the hero of the book was ever in his college days +a wild young man. Well, he was wild. It cost me three hundred +pounds to keep that breach of promise case out of Court; I had never +imagined a breach of promise case. Then he got drunk, and bonneted a +bishop in mistake for a 'bull-dog.' I didn't mind the bishop. That +by itself would have been wholesome fun. But to think that a son of +mine should have been drunk!" + +"He has never been drunk since," pleaded Robina. "He had only three +glasses of champagne and a liqueur: it was the liqueur--he was not +used to it. He got into the wrong set. You cannot in college belong +to the wild set without getting drunk occasionally." + +"Perhaps not," I admitted. "In the book the wild young man drinks +without ever getting drunk. Maybe there is a difference between life +and the book. In the book you enjoy your fun, but contrive somehow +to escape the licking: in life the licking is the only thing sure. +It was the wild young man of fiction I was looking for, who, a +fortnight before the exam., ties a wet towel round his head, drinks +strong tea, and passes easily with honours. He tried the wet towel, +he tells me. It never would keep in its place. Added to which it +gave him neuralgia; while the strong tea gave him indigestion. I +used to picture myself the proud, indulgent father lecturing him for +his wildness--turning away at some point in the middle of my tirade +to hide a smile. There was never any smile to hide. I feel that he +has behaved disgracefully, wasting his time and my money." + +"He is going to turn over a new leaf;" said Robina: "I am sure he +will make an excellent farmer." + +"I did not want a farmer," I explained; "I wanted a Prime Minister. +Children, Robina, are very disappointing. Veronica is all wrong. I +like a mischievous child. I like reading stories of mischievous +children: they amuse me. But not the child who puts a pound of +gunpowder into a red-hot fire, and escapes with her life by a +miracle." + +"And yet, I daresay," suggested Robina, "that if one put it into a +book--I mean that if you put it into a book, it would read +amusingly." + +"Likely enough," I agreed. "Other people's troubles can always be +amusing. As it is, I shall be in a state of anxiety for the next six +months, wondering, every moment that she is out of my sight, what new +devilment she is up to. The Little Mother will be worried out of her +life, unless we can keep it from her." + +"Children will be children," murmured Robina, meaning to be +comforting. + +"That is what I am complaining of, Robina. We are always hoping that +ours won't be. She is full of faults, Veronica, and they are not +always nice faults. She is lazy--lazy is not the word for it." + +"She is lazy," Robina was compelled to admit. + +"There are other faults she might have had and welcome," I pointed +out; "faults I could have taken an interest in and liked her all the +better for. You children are so obstinate. You will choose your own +faults. Veronica is not truthful always. I wanted a family of +little George Washingtons, who could not tell a lie. Veronica can. +To get herself out of trouble--and provided there is any hope of +anybody believing her--she does." + +"We all of us used to when we were young," Robina maintained; "Dick +used to, I used to. It is a common fault with children." + +"I know it is," I answered. "I did not want a child with common +faults. I wanted something all my own. I wanted you, Robina, to be +my ideal daughter. I had a girl in my mind that I am sure would have +been charming. You are not a bit like her. I don't say she was +perfect, she had her failings, but they were such delightful +failings--much better than yours, Robina. She had a temper--a woman +without a temper is insipid; but it was that kind of temper that made +you love her all the more. Yours doesn't, Robina. I wish you had +not been in such a hurry, and had left me to arrange your temper for +you. We should all of us have preferred mine. It had all the +attractions of temper without the drawbacks of the ordinary temper." + +"Couldn't use it up, I suppose, for yourself, Pa?" suggested Robina. + +"It was a lady's temper," I explained. "Besides," as I asked her, +"what is wrong with the one I have?" + +"Nothing," answered Robina. Yet her tone conveyed doubt. "It seems +to me sometimes that an older temper would suit you better, that was +all." + +"You have hinted as much before, Robina," I remarked, "not only with +reference to my temper, but with reference to things generally. One +would think that you were dissatisfied with me because I am too +young." + +"Not in years perhaps," replied Robina, "but--well, you know what I +mean. One wants one's father to be always great and dignified." + +"We cannot change our ego," I explained to her. "Some daughters +would appreciate a father youthful enough in temperament to +sympathise with and to indulge them. The solemn old fogey you have +in your mind would have brought you up very differently. Let me tell +you that, my girl. You would not have liked him, if you had had +him." + +"Perhaps not," Robina agreed. "You are awfully good in some ways." + +"What we have got to do in this world, Robina," I said, "is to take +people as they are, and make the best of them. We cannot expect +everybody to be just as we would have them, and maybe we should not +like them any better if they were. Don't bother yourself about how +much nicer they might be; think how nice they are." + +Robina said she would try. I have hopes of making Robina a sensible +woman. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +Dick and Veronica returned laden with parcels. They explained that +"Daddy Slee," as it appeared he was generally called, a local builder +of renown, was following in his pony-cart, and was kindly bringing +the bulkier things with him. + +"I tried to hustle him," said Dick, "but coming up after he had +washed himself and had his tea seemed to be his idea of hustling. He +has got the reputation of being an honest old Johnny, slow but sure; +the others, they tell me, are slower. I thought you might care, +later on, to talk to him about the house." + +Veronica took off her things and put them away, each one in its +proper place. She said, if no one wanted her, she would read a +chapter of "The Vicar of Wakefield," and retired upstairs. Robina +and I had an egg with our tea; Mr. Slee arrived as we had finished, +and I took him straight into the kitchen. He was a large man, with a +dreamy expression and a habit of sighing. He sighed when he saw our +kitchen. + +"There's four days' work for three men here," he said, "and you'll +want a new stove. Lord! what trouble children can be!" + +Robina agreed with him. + +"Meanwhile," she demanded, "how am I to cook?" + +"Myself, missie," sighed Mr. Slee, "I don't see how you are going to +cook." + +"We'll all have to tramp home again," thought Dick. + +"And tell Little Mother the reason, and frighten her out of her +life!" retorted Robina indignantly. + +Robina had other ideas. Mr. Slee departed, promising that work +should be commenced at seven o'clock on Monday morning. Robina, the +door closed, began to talk. + +"Let Pa have a sandwich," said Robina, "and catch the six-fifteen." + +"We might all have a sandwich," suggested Dick; "I could do with one +myself." + +"Pa can explain," said Robina, "that he has been called back to town +on business. That will account for everything, and Little Mother +will not be alarmed." + +"She won't believe that business has brought him back at nine o'clock +on a Saturday night," argued Dick; "you think that Little Mother +hasn't any sense. She'll see there's something up, and ask a hundred +questions. You know what she is." + +"Pa," said Robina, "will have time while in the train to think out +something plausible; that's where Pa is clever. With Pa off my hands +I sha'n't mind. We three can live on cold ham and things like that. +By Thursday we will be all right, and then he can come down again." + +I pointed out to Robina, kindly but firmly, the utter absurdity of +her idea. How could I leave them, three helpless children, with no +one to look after them? What would the Little Mother say? What +might not Veronica be up to in my absence? There were other things +to be considered. The donkey might arrive at any moment--no +responsible person there to receive him--to see to it that his simple +wants would be provided for. I should have to interview Mr. St. +Leonard again to fix up final details as regarded Dick. Who was +going to look after the cow, about to be separated from us? Young +Bute would be down again with plans. Who was going to take him over +the house, explain things to him intelligibly? The new boy might +turn up--this simple son of the soil Miss Janie had promised to dig +out and send along. He would talk Berkshire. Who would there be to +understand him--to reply to him in dialect? What was the use of her +being impetuous and talking nonsense? + +She went on cutting sandwiches. She said they were not helpless +children. She said if she and Dick at forty-two hadn't grit enough +to run a six-roomed cottage it was time they learned. + +"Who's forty-two?" I demanded. + +"We are," explained Robina, "Dick and I--between us. We shall be +forty-two next birthday. Nearly your own age." + +"Veronica," she continued, "for the next few days won't be a child at +all. She knows nothing of the happy medium. She is either herself +or she goes to the opposite extreme, and tries to be an angel. Till +about the end of the week it will be like living with a vision. As +for the donkey, we'll try and make him feel as much at home as if you +were here." + +"I don't mean to be rude, Pa," Robina explained, "but from the way +you put it you evidently regard yourself as the only one among us +capable of interesting him. I take it he won't mind for a night or +two sharing the shed with the cow. If he looks shocked at the +suggestion, Dick can knock up a partition. I'd rather for the +present, till you come down again, the cow stopped where she was. +She helps to wake me in the morning. You may reckon you have settled +everything as far as Dick is concerned. If you talk to St. Leonard +again for an hour it will be about the future of the Yellow Races or +the possibility of life in Jupiter. If you mention terms he will be +insulted, and if he won't let you then you will be insulted, and the +whole thing will be off. Let me talk to Janie. We've both of us got +sense. As for Mr. Bute, I know all your ideas about the house, and I +sha'n't listen to any of his silly arguments. What that young man +wants is someone to tell him what he's got to do, and then let there +be an end of it. And the sooner that handy boy turns up the better. +I don't mind what he talks. All I want him to do is to clean knives +and fetch water and chop wood. At the worst I'll get that home to +him by pantomime. For conversation he can wait till you come down." + +That is the gist of what she said. It didn't run exactly as I have +put it down. There were points at which I interrupted, but Robina +never listens; she just talks on, and at the end she assumes that, as +a matter of course, you have come round to her point of view, and +persuading her that you haven't means beginning the whole thing over +again. + +She said I hadn't time to talk, and that she would write and tell me +everything. Dick also said he would write and tell me everything; +and that if I felt moved to send them down a hamper--the sort of +thing that, left to themselves, Fortnum & Mason would put together +for a good-class picnic, say, for six persons--I might rely upon it +that nothing would be wasted. + +Veronica, by my desire, walked with me to the end of the lane. I +talked to her very seriously. Her difficulty was that she had not +been blown up. Had she been blown up, then she would have known +herself she had done wrong. In the book it is the disobedient child +that is tossed by the bull. The child that has been sent with the +little basket to visit the sick aunt may be right in the bull's way. +That is a bit of bad luck for the bull. The poor bull is compelled +to waste valuable time working round carefully, so as not to upset +the basket. If the wicked child had sense (which in the book does +not happen), it would, while the bull was dodging to get past the +good child, seize the opportunity to move itself quickly. The wicked +child never looks round, but pegs along steadily; and when the bull +arrives it is sure to be in the most convenient position for +receiving moral lessons. The good child, whatever its weight, +crosses the ice in safety. The bad child may turn the scale at two +stone lighter; the ice will have none of him. "Don't you talk to me +about relative pressure to the square inch," says the indignant ice. +"You were unkind to your little baby brother the week before last: +in you go." Veronica's argument, temperately and courteously +expressed, I admit, came practically to this: + +"I may have acted without sufficient knowledge to guide me. My +education has not, perhaps, on the whole, been ordered wisely. +Subjects that I feel will never be of the slightest interest or +consequence to me have been insisted upon with almost tiresome +reiteration. Matters that should be useful and helpful to me-- +gunpowder, to take but one example--I have been left in ignorance +concerning. About all that I say nothing; people have done their +best according to their lights, no doubt. When, however, we come to +purity of motives, singleness of intention, then, I maintain, I am +above reproach. The proof of this is that Providence has bestowed +upon me the seal of its approval: I was not blown up. Had my +conduct been open to censure--as in certain quarters has been +suggested--should I be walking besides you now, undamaged--not a hair +turned, as the saying is? No. Discriminating Fate--that is, if any +reliance at all is to be placed on literature for the young--would +have made it her business that at least I was included in the debris. +Instead, what do we notice!--a shattered chimney, a ruined stove, +broken windows, a wreckage of household utensils; I, alone of all +things, miraculously preserved. I do not wish to press the point +offensively, but really it would almost seem that it must be you +three--you, my dear parent, upon whom will fall the bill for repairs; +Dick, apt to attach too much importance, maybe, to his victuals, and +who for the next few days will be compelled to exist chiefly upon +tinned goods; Robina, by nature of a worrying disposition, certain +till things get straight again to be next door to off her head--who +must, by reason of conduct into which I do not enquire, have merited +chastisement at the hands of Providence. The moral lesson would +certainly appear to be between you three. I--it grows clear to me-- +have been throughout but the innocent instrument." + +Admit the premise that to be virtuous is to escape whipping, the +argument is logical. I felt that left uncombated it might lead us +into yet further trouble. + +"Veronica," I said, "the time has come to reveal to you a secret: +literature is not always a safe guide to life." + +"You mean--" said Veronica. + +"I mean," I said, "that the writer of books is, generally speaking, +an exceptionally moral man. That is what leads him astray: he is +too good. This world does not come up to his ideas. It is not the +world as he would have made it himself. To satisfy his craving for +morality he sets to work to make a world of his own. It is not this +world. It is not a bit like this world. In a world as it should be, +Veronica, you would undoubtedly have been blown up--if not +altogether, at all events partially. What you have to do, Veronica, +is, with a full heart, to praise Heaven that this is not a perfect +world. If it were I doubt very much, Veronica, your being here. +That you are here happy and thriving proves that all is not as it +should be. The bull of this world, feeling he wants to toss +somebody, does not sit upon himself, so to speak, till the wicked +child comes by. He takes the first child that turns up, and thanks +God for it. A hundred to one it is the best child for miles around. +The bull does not care. He spoils that pattern child. He'd spoil a +bishop, feeling as he does that morning. Your little friend in the +velvet suit who did get himself blown up, at all events as regards +the suit-- Which of you was it that thought of that gunpowder, you or +he?" + +Veronica claimed that the inspiration had been hers. + +"I can easily believe it. And was he anxious to steal the gunpowder +and put it on the fire, or did he have to be persuaded?" + +Veronica admitted that in the qualities of a first-class hero he was +wanting. Not till it had been suggested to him that he must at heart +be a cowardy cowardy custard had he been moved to take a hand in the +enterprise. + +"A lad, clearly," I continued, "that left to himself would be a +comfort to his friends. And the story of the robbers--your invention +or his?" + +Veronica was generously of opinion that he might have thought of it +had he not been chiefly concerned at the moment with the idea of +getting home to his mother. As it was, the clothing with romance of +incidents otherwise bald and uninteresting had fallen upon her. + +"The good child of the story. The fact stands out at every point. +His one failing an amiable weakness. Do you not see it for yourself; +Veronica? In the book, you, not he, would have tumbled over the mat. +In this wicked world it is the wicked who prosper. He, the innocent, +the virtuous, is torn into rags. You, the villain of the story, +escape." + +"I see," said Veronica; "then whenever nothing happens to you that +means that you're a wrong 'un." + +"I don't go so far as to say that, Veronica. And I wish you wouldn't +use slang. Dick is a man, and a man--well, never mind about a man. +You, Veronica, must never forget that you're a lady. Justice must +not be looked for in this world. Sometimes the wicked get what they +deserve. More often they don't. There seems to be no rule. Follow +the dictates of your conscience, Veronica, and blow--I mean be +indifferent to the consequences. Sometimes you'll come out all +right, and sometimes you won't. But the beautiful sensation will +always be with you: I did right. Things have turned out +unfortunately: but that's not my fault. Nobody can blame me." + +"But they do," said Veronica, "they blame you just as if you'd meant +to go and do it." + +"It does not matter, Veronica," I pointed out, "the opinion of the +world. The good man disregards it." + +"But they send you to bed," persisted Veronica. + +"Let them," I said. "What is bed so long as the voice of the inward +Monitor consoles us with the reflection--" + +"But it don't," interrupted Veronica; "it makes you feel all the +madder. It does really." + +"It oughtn't to," I told her. + +"Then why does it?" argued Veronica. "Why don't it do what it ought +to?" + +The trouble about arguing with children is that they will argue too. + +"Life's a difficult problem, Veronica," I allowed. "Things are not +as they ought to be, I admit it. But one must not despair. +Something's got to be done." + +"It's jolly hard on some of us," said Veronica. "Strive as you may, +you can't please everyone. And if you just as much as stand up for +yourself, oh, crikey!" + +"The duty of the grown-up person, Veronica," I said, "is to bring up +the child in the way that it should go. It isn't easy work, and +occasionally irritability may creep in." + +"There's such a lot of 'em at it," grumbled Veronica. "There are +times, between 'em all, when you don't know whether you're standing +on your head or your heels." + +"They mean well, Veronica," I said. "When I was a little boy I used +to think just as you do. But now--" + +"Did you ever get into rows?" interrupted Veronica. + +"Did I ever?--was never out of them, so far as I can recollect. If +it wasn't one thing, then it was another." + +"And didn't it make you wild?" enquired Veronica, "when first of all +they'd ask what you'd got to say and why you'd done it, and then, +when you tried to explain things to them, wouldn't listen to you?" + +"What used to irritate me most, Veronica," I replied--"I can remember +it so well--was when they talked steadily for half an hour +themselves, and then, when I would attempt with one sentence to put +them right about the thing, turn round and bully-rag me for being +argumentative." + +"If they would only listen," agreed Veronica, "you might get them to +grasp things. But no, they talk and talk, till at the end they don't +know what they are talking about themselves, and then they pretend +it's your fault for having made them tired." + +"I know," I said, "they always end up like that. 'I am tired of +talking to you,' they say--as if we were not tired of listening to +them!" + +"And then when you think," said Veronica, "they say you oughtn't to +think. And if you don't think, and let it out by accident, then they +say 'why don't you think?' It don't seem as though we could do +right. It makes one almost despair." + +"And it isn't even as if they were always right themselves," I +pointed out to her. "When they knock over a glass it is, 'Who put +that glass there?' You'd think that somebody had put it there on +purpose and made it invisible. They are not expected to see a glass +six inches in front of their nose, in the place where the glass ought +to be. The way they talk you'd suppose that a glass had no business +on a table. If I broke it, then it was always, 'Clumsy little devil! +ought to have his dinner in the nursery.' If they mislay their +things and can't find them, it's, 'Who's been interfering with my +things? Who's been in here rummaging about?' Then when they find it +they want to know indignantly who put it there. If I could not find +a thing, for the simple reason that somebody had taken it away and +put it somewhere else, then wherever they had put it was the right +place for it, and I was a little idiot for not knowing it." + +"And of course you mustn't say anything," commented Veronica. "Oh, +no! If they do something silly and you just point it out to them, +then there is always a reason for it that you wouldn't understand. +Oh, yes! And if you make just the slightest mistake, like what is +natural to all of us, that is because you are wicked and unfeeling +and don't want to be anything else." + +"I will tell you what we will do, Veronica," I said; "we will write a +book. You shall help me. And in it the children shall be the wise +and good people who never make mistakes, and they shall boss the +show--you know what I mean--look after the grown-up people and bring +them up properly. And everything the grown-up people do, or don't +do, will be wrong." + +Veronica clapped her hands. "No, will you really?" she said. "Oh, +do." + +"I will really," I answered. "We will call it a moral tale for +parents; and all the children will buy it and give it to their +fathers and mothers and such-like folk for their birthdays, with +writing on the title-page, 'From Johnny, or Jenny, to dear Papa, or +to dear Aunty, with every good wish for his or her improvement!'" + +"Do you think they will read it?" doubted Veronica. + +"We will put in it something shocking," I suggested, "and get some +paper to denounce it as a disgrace to English literature. And if +that won't do it we will say it is a translation from the Russian. +The children shall stop at home and arrange what to have for dinner, +and the grown-up people shall be sent to school. We will start them +off each morning with a little satchel. They shall be made to read +'Grimm's Fairy Tales' in the original German, with notes; and learn +'Old Mother Hubbard' by heart and explain the grammar." + +"And go to bed early," suggested Veronica. + +"We will have them all in bed by eight o'clock, Veronica, and they +will go cheerfully, as if they liked it, or we will know the reason +why. We will make them say their prayers. Between ourselves, +Veronica, I don't believe they always do. And no reading in bed, and +no final glass of whisky toddy, or any nonsense of that sort. An +Abernethy biscuit and perhaps if they are good a jujube, and then +'Good night,' and down with their head on the pillow. And no calling +out, and no pretending they have got a pain in their tummy and +creeping downstairs in their night-shirts and clamouring for brandy. +We will be up to all their tricks." + +"And they'll have to take their medicine," Veronica remembered. + +"The slightest suggestion of sulkiness, the first intimation that +they are not enjoying themselves, will mean cod liver oil in a +tablespoon, Veronica." + +"And we will ask them why they never use their commonsense," chirped +Veronica. + +"That will be our trouble, Veronica; that they won't have any sense +of any sort--not what we shall deem sense. But, nevertheless, we +will be just. We will always give them a reason why they have got to +do everything they don't want to do, and nothing that they want to +do. They won't understand it and they won't agree that it is a +reason; but they will keep that to themselves, if they are wise." + +"And of course they must not argue," Veronica insisted. + +"If they answer back, Veronica, that will show they are cursed with +an argumentative temperament which must be rooted out at any cost," I +agreed; "and if they don't say anything, that will prove them +possessed of a surly disposition which must be checked at once, +before it develops into a vice." + +"And whatever we do to them we will tell them it's for their own +good," Veronica chortled. + +"Of course it will be for their own good," I answered. "That will be +our chief pleasure--making them good and happy. It won't be their +pleasure, but that will be owing to their ignorance." + +"They will be grateful to us later on," gurgled Veronica. + +"With that assurance we will comfort them from time to time," I +answered. "We will be good to them in all ways. We will let them +play games--not stupid games, golf and croquet, that do you no good +and lead only to language and dispute--but bears and wolves and +whales; educational sort of games that will aid them in acquiring +knowledge of natural history. We will show them how to play Pirates +and Red Indians and Ogres--sensible play that will help them to +develop their imaginative faculties. That is why grown-up people are +so dull; they are never made to think. But now and then," I +continued, "we will let them play their own games, say on Wednesday +and Saturday afternoons. We will invite other grown-ups to come to +tea with them, and let them flirt in the garden, or if wet make love +in the dining-room, till nurse comes for them. But we, of course, +must choose their friends for them--nice, well-behaved ladies and +gentlemen, the parents of respectable children; because left to +themselves--well, you know what they are! They would just as likely +fall in love with quite undesirable people--men and women we could +not think of having about the house. We will select for them +companions we feel sure will be the most suitable for them; and if +they don't like them--if Uncle William says he can't bear the girl we +have invited up to love him--that he positively hates her, we till +tell him that it is only his wilful temper, and that he's got to like +her because she's good for him; and don't let us have any of his +fretfulness. And if Grandmamma pouts and says she won't love old man +Jones merely because he's got a red nose, or a glass eye, or some +silly reason of that sort, we will say to her: 'All right, my lady, +you will play with Mr. Jones and be nice to him, or you will spend +the afternoon putting your room tidy; make up your mind.' We will +let them marry (on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons), and play at +keeping house. And if they quarrel we will shake them and take the +babies away from them, and lock them up in drawers, and tell them +they sha'n't have them again till they are good." + +"And the more they try to be good, the more it will turn out that +they ain't been good," Veronica reflected. + +"Their goodness and their badness will depend upon us in more senses +than one, Veronica," I explained. "When Consols are down, when the +east wind has touched up our liver, they will be surprised how bad +they are." + +"And they mustn't ever forget what they've ever been once told," +crowed Veronica. "We mustn't have to tell 'em the same thing over +and over again, like we was talking to brick walls." + +"And if we meant to tell them and forgot to tell them," I added, "we +will tell them that they ought not to want us to tell them a simple +thing like that, as if they were mere babies. We must remember all +these points." + +"And if they grumble we'll tell them that's 'cos they don't know how +happy they are. And we'll tell them how good we used to be when--I +say, don't you miss your train, or I shall get into a row." + +"Great Scott! I'd forgotten all about that train, Veronica," I +admitted. + +"Better run," suggested Veronica. + +It sounded good advice. + +"Keep on thinking about that book," shouted Veronica. + +"Make a note of things as they occur to you," I shouted back. + +"What shall we call it?" Veronica screamed. + +"'Why the Man in the Moon looks sat upon,'" I shrieked. + +When I turned again she was sitting on the top rail of the stile +conducting an imaginary orchestra with one of her own shoes. The +six-fifteen was fortunately twenty minutes late. + + +I thought it best to tell Ethelbertha the truth; that things had gone +wrong with the kitchen stove. + +"Let me know the worst," she said. "Is Veronica hurt?" + +"The worst," I said, "is that I shall have to pay for a new range. +Why, when anything goes amiss, poor Veronica should be assumed as a +matter of course to be in it, appears to me unjust." + +"You are sure she's all right?" persisted Ethelbertha. + +"Honest Injun--confound those children and their slang--I mean +positively," I answered. The Little Mother looked relieved. + +I told her all the trouble we had had in connection with the cow. +Her sympathies were chiefly with the cow. I told her I had hopes of +Robina's developing into a sensible woman. We talked quite a deal +about Robina. We agreed that between us we had accomplished +something rather clever. + +"I must get back as soon as I can," I said. "I don't want young Bute +getting wrong ideas into his head." + +"Who is young Bute?" she asked. + +"The architect," I explained. + +"I thought he was an old man," said Ethelbertha. + +"Old Spreight is old enough," I said. "Young Bute is one of his +young men; but he understands his work, and seems intelligent." + +"What's he like?" she asked. + +"Personally, an exceedingly nice young fellow. There's a good deal +of sense in him. I like a boy who listens." + +"Good-looking?" she asked. + +"Not objectionably so," I replied. "A pleasant face--particularly +when he smiles." + +"Is he married?" she asked. + +"Really, it did not occur to me to ask him," I admitted. "How +curious you women are! No, I don't think so. I should say not." + +"Why don't you think so?" she demanded. + +"Oh, I don't know. He doesn't give you the idea of a married man. +You'll like him. Seems so fond of his sister." + +"Shall we be seeing much of him?" she asked. + +"A goodish deal," I answered. "I expect he will be going down on +Monday. Very annoying, this stove business." + +"What is the use of his being there without you?" Ethelbertha wanted +to know. + +"Oh, he'll potter round," I suggested, "and take measurements. Dick +will be about to explain things to him. Or, if he isn't, there's +Robina--awkward thing is, Robina seems to have taken a dislike to +him." + +"Why has she taken a dislike to him?" asked Ethelbertha. + +"Oh, because he mistook the back of the house for the front, or the +front of the house for the back," I explained; "I forget which now. +Says it's his smile that irritates her. She owns herself there's no +real reason." + +"When will you be going down again?" Ethelbertha asked. + +"On Thursday next," I told her; "stove or no stove." + +She said she would come with me. She felt the change would do her +good, and promised not to do anything when she got there. And then I +told her all that I had done for Dick. + +"The ordinary farmer," I pointed out to her, "is so often a haphazard +type of man with no ideas. If successful, it is by reason of a +natural instinct which cannot be taught. St. Leonard has studied the +theory of the thing. From him Dick will learn all that can be learnt +about farming. The selection, I felt, demanded careful judgment." + +"But will Dick stick to it?" Ethelbertha wondered. + +"There, again," I pointed out to her, "the choice was one calling for +exceptional foresight. The old man--as a matter of fact, he isn't +old at all; can't be very much older than myself; I don't know why +they all call him the old man--has formed a high opinion of Dick. +His daughter told me so, and I have taken care to let Dick know it. +The boy will not care to disappoint him. Her mother--" + +"Whose mother?" interrupted Ethelbertha. + +"Janie's mother, Mrs. St. Leonard," I explained. "She also has +formed a good opinion of him. The children like him. Janie told me +so." + +"She seems to do a goodish deal of talking, this Miss Janie," +remarked Ethelbertha. + +"You will like her," I said. "She is a charming girl--so sensible, +and good, and unselfish, and--" + +"Who told you all this about her?" interrupted Ethelbertha. + +"You can see it for yourself," I answered. "The mother appears to be +a nonentity, and St. Leonard himself--well, he is not a business man. +It is Janie who manages everything--keeps everything going." + +"What is she like?" asked Ethelbertha. + +"I am telling you," I said. "She is so practical, and yet at the +same time--" + +"In appearance, I mean," explained Ethelbertha. + +"How you women," I said, "do worry about mere looks! What does it +matter? If you want to know, it is that sort of face that grows upon +you. At first you do not notice how beautiful it is, but when you +come to look into it--" + +"And has she also formed a high opinion of Dick?" interrupted +Ethelbertha. + +"She will be disappointed in him," I said, "if he does not work hard +and stick to it. They will all be disappointed in him." + +"What's it got to do with them?" demanded Ethelbertha. + +"I'm not thinking about them," I said. "What I look at is--" + +"I don't like her," said Ethelbertha. "I don't like any of them." + +"But--" She didn't seem to be listening. + +"I know that class of man," she said; "and the wife appears, if +anything, to be worse. As for the girl--" + +"When you come to know them--" I said. + +She said she didn't want to know them. She wanted to go down on +Monday, early. + +I got her to see--it took some little time--the disadvantages of +this. We should only be adding to Robina's troubles; and change of +plan now would unsettle Dick's mind. + +"He has promised to write me," I said, "and tell me the result of his +first day's experience. Let us wait and hear what he says." + +She said that whatever could have possessed her to let me take those +poor unfortunate children away from her, and muddle up everything +without her, was a mystery to herself. She hoped that, at least, I +had done nothing irrevocable in the case of Veronica. + +"Veronica," I said, "is really wishful, I think, to improve. I have +bought her a donkey." + +"A what?" exclaimed Ethelbertha. + +"A donkey," I repeated. "The child took a fancy to it, and we all +agreed it might help to steady her--give her a sense of +responsibility." + +"I somehow felt you hadn't overlooked Veronica," said Ethelbertha. + +I thought it best to change the conversation. She seemed in a +fretful mood. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + +Robina's letter was dated Monday evening, and reached us Tuesday +morning. + +"I hope you caught your train," she wrote. "Veronica did not get +back till half-past six. She informed me that you and she had found +a good deal to talk about, and that 'one thing had led to another.' +She is a quaint young imp, but I think your lecture must have done +her good. Her present attitude is that of gentle forbearance to all +around her--not without its dignity. She has not snorted once, and +at times is really helpful. I have given her an empty scribbling +diary we found in your desk, and most of her spare time she remains +shut up with it in the bedroom. She tells me you and she are writing +a book together. I asked her what about. She waved me aside with +the assurance that I would know 'all in good time,' and that it was +going to do good. I caught sight of just the title-page last night. +It was lying open on the dressing-table: 'Why the Man in the Moon +looks sat upon.' It sounds like a title of yours. But I would not +look further, though tempted. She has drawn a picture underneath. +It is really not bad. The old gentleman really does look sat upon, +and intensely disgusted. + +"'Sir Robert'--his name being Theodore, which doesn't seem to suit +him--turns out to be the only son of a widow, a Mrs. Foy, our next- +door neighbour to the south. We met her coming out of church on +Sunday morning. She was still crying. Dick took Veronica on ahead, +and I walked part of the way home with them. Her grandfather, it +appears, was killed many years ago by the bursting of a boiler; and +she is haunted, poor lady, by the conviction that Theodore is the +inheritor of an hereditary tendency to getting himself blown up. She +attaches no blame to us, seeing in Saturday's catastrophe only the +hand of the Family Curse. I tried to comfort her with the idea that +the Curse having spent itself upon a futile effort, nothing further +need now be feared from it; but she persists in taking the gloomier +view that in wrecking our kitchen, Theodore's 'Doom,' as she calls +it, was merely indulging in a sort of dress rehearsal; the finishing +performance may be relied upon to follow. It sounds ridiculous, but +the poor woman was so desperately in earnest that when an unlucky +urchin, coming out of a cottage we were passing, tripped on the +doorstep and let fall a jug, we both screamed at the same time, and +were equally surprised to find 'Sir Robert' still between us and all +in one piece. I thought it foolish to discuss all this before the +child himself; but did not like to stop her. As a result, he regards +himself evidently as the chosen foe of Heaven, and is not, +unnaturally, proud of himself. She called here this (Monday) +afternoon to leave cards; and, at her request, I showed her the +kitchen and the mat over which he had stumbled. She seemed surprised +that the 'Doom' had let slip so favourable a chance of accomplishing +its business, and gathered from the fact added cause for anxiety. +Evidently something much more thorough is in store for Master +Theodore. It was only half a pound of gunpowder, she told me. +Doctor Smallboy's gardener had bought it for the purpose of raising +the stump of an old elm-tree, and had left it for a moment on the +grass while he had returned to the house for more brown paper. She +seemed pleased with the gardener, who, as she said, might, if +dishonestly inclined, have charged her for a pound. I wanted to pay +for--at all events--our share, but she would not take a penny. Her +late lamented grandfather she regards as the person responsible for +the entire incident, and perhaps it may be as well not to disturb her +view. Had I suggested it, I feel sure she would have seen the +justice of her providing us with a new kitchen range. + +"Wildly exaggerated accounts of the affair are flying round the +neighbourhood; and my chief fear is that Veronica may discover she is +a local celebrity. Your sudden disappearance is supposed to have +been heavenward. An old farm labourer who saw you pass on your way +to the station speaks of you as 'the ghost of the poor gentleman +himself;' and fragments of clothing found anywhere within a radius of +two miles are being preserved, I am told, as specimens of your +remains. Boots would appear to have been your chief apparel. Seven +pairs have already been collected from the surrounding ditches. +Among the more public-spirited there is talk of using you to start a +local museum." + + +These first three paragraphs I did not read to Ethelbertha. +Fortunately they just filled the first sheet, which I took an +opportunity of slipping into my pocket unobserved. + + +"The new boy arrived on Sunday morning," she continued. "His name-- +if I have got it right--is William. Anyhow, that is the nearest I +can get to it. His other name, if any, I must leave you to extract +from him yourself. It may be Berkshire that he talks, but it sounds +more like barking. Please excuse the pun; but I have just been +talking to him for half an hour, trying to make him understand that I +want him to go home, and maybe, as a result, I am feeling a little +hysterical. Anything more rural I cannot imagine. But he is anxious +to learn, and a fairly wide field is in front of him. I caught him +after our breakfast on Sunday calmly throwing everything left over +onto the dust-heap. I pointed out to him the wickedness of wasting +nourishing food, and impressed upon him that the proper place for +victuals was inside us. He never answers. He stands stock still, +with his mouth as wide open as it will go--which is saying a good +deal--and one trusts that one's words are entering into him. All +Sunday afternoon he was struggling valiantly against an almost +supernatural sleepiness. After tea he got worse, and I began to +think he would be no use to me. We none of us ate much supper; and +Dick, who appears able to understand him, helped him to carry the +things out. I heard them talking, and then Dick came back and closed +the door behind him. 'He wants to know,' said Dick, 'if he can leave +the corned beef over till tomorrow. Because, if he eats it all to- +night, he doesn't think he will be able to walk home.' + +"Veronica takes great interest in him. She has evidently a motherly +side to her character, for which we none of us have given her credit. +She says she is sure there is good in him. She sits beside him while +he chops wood, and tells him carefully selected stories, calculated, +she argues, to develop his intelligence. She is careful, moreover, +not to hurt his feelings by any display of superiority. 'Of course, +anyone leading a useful life, such as yours,' I overheard her saying +to him this morning, 'don't naturally get much time for reading. +I've nothing else to do, you see, 'cept to improve myself.' + +"The donkey arrived this afternoon while I was out--galloping, I am +given to understand, with 'Opkins on his back. There seems to be +some secret between those two. We have tried him with hay, and we +have tried him with thistles; but he seems to prefer bread-and- +butter. I have not been able as yet to find out whether he takes tea +or coffee in the morning. But he is an animal that evidently knows +his own mind, and fortunately both are in the house. We are putting +him up for to-night with the cow, who greeted him at first with +enthusiasm and wanted to adopt him, but has grown cold to him since +on discovering that he is not a calf. I have been trying to make +friends with her, but she is so very unresponsive. She doesn't seem +to want anything but grass, and prefers to get that for herself. She +doesn't seem to want to be happy ever again. + +"A funny thing happened in church. I was forgetting to tell you. +The St. Leonards occupy two pews at the opposite end from the door. +They were all there when we arrived, with the exception of the old +gentleman himself. He came in just before the 'Dearly Beloved,' when +everybody was standing up. A running fire of suppressed titters +followed him up the aisle, and some of the people laughed outright. +I could see no reason why. He looked a dignified old gentleman in +his grey hair and tightly buttoned frock coat, which gives him a +somewhat military appearance. But when he came level with our pew I +understood. Hurrying back from his morning round, and with no one +there to superintend him, the dear old absent-minded thing had +forgotten to change his breeches. From a little above the knee +upward he was a perfect Christian; but his legs were just those of a +disreputable sinner. + +"'What's the joke?' he whispered to me as he passed--I was in the +corner seat. 'Have I missed it?' + +"We called round on them after lunch, and at once I was appealed to +for my decision. + +"'Now, here's a plain sensible girl,' exclaimed the old gentleman the +moment I entered the room.' (You will notice I put no comma after +'plain.' I am taking it he did not intend one. You can employ one +adjective to qualify another, can't you?) 'And I will put it to her, +What difference can it make to the Almighty whether I go to church in +trousers or in breeches?' + +"'I do not see,' retorted Mrs. St. Leonard somewhat coldly, 'that +Miss Robina is in any better position than myself to speak with +authority on the views of the Almighty'--which I felt was true. 'If +it makes no difference to the Almighty, then why not, for my sake, +trousers?' + +"'The essential thing,' he persisted, 'is a contrite heart.' He was +getting very cross. + +"'It may just as well be dressed respectably,' was his wife's +opinion. He left the room, slamming the door. + +"I do like Janie the more and more I see of her. I do hope she will +let me get real chums with her. She does me so much good. (I read +that bit twice over to Ethelbertha, pretending I had lost the place.) +I suppose it is having rather a silly mother and an unpractical +father that has made her so capable. If you and Little Mother had +been proper sort of parents I might have been quite a decent sort of +girl. But it's too late finding fault with you now. I suppose I +must put up with you. She works so hard, and is so unselfish. But +she is not like some good people, who make you feel it is hopeless +your trying to be good. She gets cross and impatient; and then she +laughs at herself, and gets right again that way. Poor Mrs. St. +Leonard! I cannot help feeling sorry for her. She would have been +so happy as the wife of a really respectable City man, who would have +gone off every morning with a flower in his buttonhole and have worn +a white waistcoat on Sundays. I don't believe what they say: that +husbands and wives should be the opposite of one another. Mr. St. +Leonard ought to have married a brainy woman, who would have +discussed philosophy with him, and have been just as happy drinking +beer out of a tea-cup: you know the sort I mean. If ever I marry it +will be a short-tempered man who loves music and is a good dancer; +and if I find out too late that he's clever I'll run away from him. + +"Dick has not yet come home--nearly eight o'clock. Veronica is +supposed to be in bed, but I can hear things falling. Poor boy! I +expect he'll be tired; but today is an exception. Three hundred +sheep have had to be brought all the way from Ilsley, and must be +'herded'--I fancy it is called--before anybody can think of supper. +I saw to it that he had a good dinner. + +"And now to come to business. Young Bute has been here all day, and +has only just left. He is coming down again on Friday--which, by the +way, don't forget is Mrs. St. Leonard's 'At Home' day. She hopes she +may then have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, and thinks +that possibly there may be present one or two people we may like to +know. From which I gather that half the neighbourhood has been +specially invited to meet you. So mind you bring a frock-coat; and +if Little Mother can put her hand easily on my pink muslin with the +spots--it is either in my wardrobe or else in the bottom drawer in +Veronica's room, if it isn't in the cardboard box underneath mother's +bed--you might slip it into your bag. But whatever you do don't +crush it. The sash I feel sure mother put away somewhere herself. +He sees no reason--I'm talking now about young Bute,--if you approve +his plans, why work should not be commenced immediately. Shall I +write old Slee to meet you at the house on Friday? From all accounts +I don't think you'll do better. He is on the spot, and they say he +is most reasonable. But you have to get estimates, don't you? He +suggests--Mr. Bute, I mean--throwing what used to be the dairy into +the passage, which will make a hall big enough for anything. We +might even give a dance in it, he thinks. But all this you will be +able to discuss with him on Friday. He has evidently taken a great +deal of pains, and some of his suggestions sound sensible. But of +course he must fully understand that it is what we want, not what he +thinks, that is important. I told him you said I could have my room +exactly as I liked it myself; and I have explained to him my ideas. +He seemed at first to be under the impression that I didn't know what +I was talking about, so I made it quite clear to him that I did, with +the result that he has consented to carry out my instructions, on +condition that I put them down in black and white--which I think just +as well, as then there can be no excuse afterwards for argument. I +like him better than I did the first time. About everything else he +can be fairly amiable. It is when he talks about 'frontal +elevations' and 'ground plans' that he irritates me. Tell Little +Mother that I'll write her to-morrow. Couldn't she come down with +you on Friday? Everything will be ship-shape by then; and--" + +The remainder was of a nature more private. She concluded with a +postscript, which also I did not read to Ethelbertha. + +"Thought I had finished telling you everything, when quite a stylish +rat-tat sounded on the door. I placed an old straw hat of Dick's in +a prominent position, called loudly to an imaginary 'John' not to go +without the letters, and then opened it. He turned out to be the +local reporter. I need not have been alarmed. He was much the more +nervous of the two, and was so full of excuses that had I not come to +his rescue I believe he would have gone away forgetting what he'd +come for. Nothing save an overwhelming sense of duty to the Public +(with a capital P) could have induced him to inflict himself upon me. +Could I give him a few details which would enable him to set rumour +right? I immediately saw visions of headlines: 'Domestic Tragedy!' +'Eminent Author blown up by his own Daughter!' 'Once Happy Home now +a Mere Wreck!' It seemed to me our only plan was to enlist this +amiable young man upon our side; I hope I did not overdo it. My idea +was to convey the impression that one glance at him had convinced me +he was the best and noblest of mankind; that I felt I could rely upon +his wit and courage to save us from a notoriety that, so far as I was +concerned, would sadden my whole life; and that if he did so eternal +gratitude and admiration would be the least I could lay at his feet. +I can be nice when I try. People have said so. We parted with only +a pressure of the hand, and I hope he won't get into trouble, but I +see The Berkshire Courier is going to be deprived of its prey. Dick +has just come in. He promises to talk when he has finished eating." + + +Dick's letter, for which Ethelbertha seemed to be strangely +impatient, reached us on Wednesday morning. + +"If ever you want to find out, Dad, what hard work really means, you +try farming," wrote Dick; "and yet I believe you would like it. +Hasn't some old Johnny somewhere described it as the poetry of the +ploughshare? Why did we ever take to bothering about anything else-- +shutting ourselves up in stuffy offices, worrying ourselves to death +about a lot of rubbish that isn't any good to anybody? I wish I +could put it properly, Dad; you would see just what I mean. Why +don't we live in simply-built houses and get most everything we want +out of the land: which we easily could? You take a dozen poor +devils away from walking behind the plough and put them down into +coal-mines, and set them running about half-naked among a lot of +roaring furnaces, and between them they turn out a machine that does +the ploughing for them. What is the sense of it? Of course some +things are useful. I would like a motor-car, and railways and +steamboats are all right; but it seems to me that half the fiddle- +faddles we fancy we want we'd be just as well, if not better, +without, and there would be all that time and energy to spare for the +sort of things that everybody ought to have. It's everywhere just +like it was at school. They kept us so hard at it, studying Greek +roots, we hadn't time to learn English grammar. Look at young Dennis +Yewbury. He's got two thousand acres up in Scotland. He could lead +a jolly life turning the place into some real use. Instead of which +he lets it all run to waste for nothing but to breed a few hundred +birds that wouldn't keep a single family alive; while he works from +morning till night at humbugging people in a beastly hole in the +City, just to fill his house with a host of silly gim-cracks and +dress up himself and his women-folk like peacocks. Of course we +would always want clever chaps like you to tell us stories; and +doctors we couldn't do without, though I guess if we were leading +sensible lives we'd be able to get along with about half of them. It +seems to me that what we want is a comfortable home, enough to eat +and drink, and a few fal-lal sort of things to make the girls look +pretty; and that all the rest is rot. We would all of us have time +then to think and play a bit, and if we were all working fairly at +something really useful and were contented with our own share, +there'd be enough for everybody. + +"I suppose this is all nonsense, but I wish it wasn't. Anyway, it's +what I mean to do myself; and I'm awfully much obliged to you, Dad, +for giving me this chance. You've hit the right nail on the head +this time. Farming was what I was meant for; I feel it. I would +have hated being a barrister, setting people by the ears and making +my living out of other people's troubles. Being a farmer you feel +that in doing good to yourself you are doing good all round. Miss +Janie agrees with all I say. I think she is one of the most sensible +girls I have ever come across, and Robin likes her awfully. So is +the old man: he's a brick. I think he has taken a liking to me, and +I know I have to him. He's the dearest old fellow imaginable. The +very turnips he seems to think of as though they were so many rows of +little children. And he makes you see the inside of things. Take +fields now, for instance. I used to think a field was just a field. +You scraped it about and planted it with seeds, and everything else +depended on the weather. Why, Dad, it's alive! There are good +fields that want to get on--that are grateful for everything you do +for them, and take a pride in themselves. And there are brutes of +fields that you feel you want to kick. You can waste a hundred +pounds' worth of manure on them, and it only makes them more stupid +than they were before. One of our fields--a wizened-looking eleven- +acre strip bordering the Fyfield road--he has christened Mrs. +Gummidge: it seems to feel everything more than any other field. +From whatever point of the compass the wind blows that field gets the +most harm from it. You would think to look at it after a storm that +there hadn't been any rain in any other field--that that 'particular +field must have got it all; while two days' sunshine has the effect +upon it that a six weeks' drought would on any other field. His +theory (he must have a theory to account for everything; it comforts +him. He has just hit upon a theory that explains why twins are born +with twice as much original sin as other children, and doesn't seem +to mind now what they do) is that each odd corner of the earth has +gained a character of its own from the spirits of the countless dead +men buried in its bosom. 'Robbers and thieves,' he will say, kicking +the sod of some field all stones and thistles; 'silly fighting men +who thought God built the world merely to give them the fun of +knocking it about. Look at them, the fools! stones and thistles-- +thistles and stones: that is their notion of a field.' Or, leaning +over the gate of some field of rich-smelling soil, he will stretch +out his arms as though to caress it: 'Brave lads!' he will say; +'kindly honest fellows who loved the poor peasant folk.' I fancy he +has not got much sense of humour; or if he has, it is a humour he +leaves you to find out for yourself. One does not feel one wants to +laugh, listening even to his most whimsical ideas; and anyhow it is a +fact that of two fields quite close to one another, one will be worth +ten pounds an acre and the other dear at half a crown, and there +seems to be nothing to explain it. We have a seven-acre patch just +halfway up the hill. He says he never passes it without taking off +his hat to it. Whatever you put in it does well; while other fields, +try them with what you will, it is always the very thing they did not +want. You might fancy them fractious children, always crying for the +other child's bun. There is really no reason for its being such a +good field, except its own pluck. It faces the east, and the wood +for half the day hides it from the sun; but it makes the best of +everything, and even on the greyest day it seems to be smiling at +you. 'Some happy-hearted Mother Thing--a singer of love songs the +while she toiled,' he will have it, must lie sleeping there. By-the- +bye, what a jolly field Janie would make! Don't you think so, Dad? + +"What the dickens, Dad, have you done to Veronica? She wanders about +everywhere with an exercise book in her hand, and when you say +anything to her, instead of answering you back, she sits plump down +wherever she is and writes for all she's worth. She won't say what +she's up to. She says it's a private matter between you and her, and +that later on things are going to be seen in their true light. I +told her this morning what I thought of her for forgetting to feed +the donkey. I was prepared, of course, for a hundred explanations: +First, that she had meant to feed the donkey; secondly, that it +wasn't her place to feed the donkey; thirdly, that the donkey would +have been fed if circumstances over which she had no control had not +arisen rendering it impossible for her to feed the donkey; fourthly, +that the morning wasn't the proper time to feed the donkey, and so +on. Instead of which, out she whips this ridiculous book and asks me +if I would mind saying it over again. + +"I keep forgetting to ask Janie what it is he has been accustomed to. +We have tried him with thistles, and we've tried him with hay. The +thistles he scratches himself against; but for the hay he appears to +have no use whatever. Robin thinks his idea is to save us trouble. +We are not to get in anything especially for him--whatever we may +happen to be having ourselves he will put up with. Bread-and-butter +cut thick, or a slice of cake with an apple seems to be his notion of +a light lunch; and for drink he fancies tea out of a slop-basin, with +two knobs of sugar and plenty of milk. Robin says it's waste of time +taking his meals out to him. She says she is going to train him to +come in when he hears the gong. We use the alarm clock at present +for a gong. I don't know what I shall do when the cow goes away. +She wakes me every morning punctually at half-past four, but I'm in a +blue funk that one of these days she will oversleep herself. It is +one of those clocks you read about. You wrote something rather funny +about one once yourself, but I always thought you had invented it. I +bought it because they said it was an extra loud one, and so it is. +The thing that's wrong about it is that, do what you will, you can't +get it to go off before six o'clock in the morning. I set it on +Sunday evening for half-past four--we farmers do have to work, I can +tell you. But it's worth it. I had no idea that the world was so +beautiful. There is a light you never see at any other time, and the +whole air seems to be full of fluttering song. You feel--but you +must get up and come out with me, Dad. I can't describe it. If it +hadn't been for the good old cow, Lord knows what time I'd have been +up. The clock went off at half-past four in the afternoon, just as +they were sitting down to tea, and frightened them all out of their +skins. We have fiddled about with it all we know, but there's no +getting it to do anything between six p.m. and six am. Anything you +want of it in the daytime it is quite agreeable to. But it seems to +have fixed its own working hours, and isn't going to be bustled out +of its proper rest. I got so mad with it myself I wanted to pitch it +out of the window, but Robin thought we ought to keep it till you +came, that perhaps you might be able to do something with it--writing +something about it, she means. I said I thought alarm clocks were +pretty well played out by this time; but, as she says, there is +always a new generation coming along to whom almost everything must +be fresh. Anyhow, the confounded thing cost seven and six, and seems +to be no good for anything else. + +"Whatever was it that you really did say to Robin about her room? +Young Bute came round to me on Monday quite upset about it. He says +it is going to be all windows, and will look, when finished, like an +incorrect copy of the Eddystone lighthouse. He says there will be no +place for the bed, and if there is to be a fireplace at all it will +have to be in the cupboard, and that the only way, so far as he can +see, of her getting in and out of it will be by a door through the +bathroom. She said that you said she could have it entirely to her +own idea, and that he was just to carry out her instructions; but, as +he points out, you can't have a room in a house as if the rest of the +house wasn't there, even if it is your own room. Nobody, it seems, +will be able to have a bath without first talking it over with her, +and arranging a time mutually convenient. I told him I was sure you +never meant him to do anything absurd; and that his best plan would +be to go straight back to her, explain to her that she'd been talking +like a silly goat--he could have put it politely, of course--and that +he wasn't going to pay any attention to her. You might have thought +I had suggested his walking into a den of lions and pulling all their +tails. I don't know what Robin has done to him, but he seems quite +frightened of her. I had to promise that I would talk to her. He'd +better have done it himself. I only told her just what he said, and +off she went in one of her tantrums. You know her style: If she +liked to live in a room where she could see to do her hair that was +no business of his, and if he couldn't design a plain, simple bedroom +that wasn't going to look ridiculous and make her the laughing-stock +of all the neighbourhood, then the Royal Institute of British +Architects must have strange notions of the sort of person entitled +to go about the country building houses; that if he thought the +proper place for a fire was in a cupboard, she didn't; that his duty +was to carry out the instructions of his employers, and if he +imagined for a moment she was going to consent to remain shut up in +her room till everybody in the house had finished bathing it would be +better for us to secure the services of somebody possessed of a +little commonsense; that next time she met him she would certainly +tell him what she thought of him, also that she should certainly +decline to hold any further communication with him again; that she +doesn't want a bedroom now of any sort--perhaps she may be permitted +a shakedown in the pantry, or perhaps Veronica will allow her an +occasional night's rest with her, and if not it doesn't matter. +You'll have to talk to her yourself. I'm not going to say any more. + +"Don't forget that Friday is the St. Leonards' 'At Home' day. I've +promised Janie that you shall be there in all your best clothes. +(Don't tell her I'm calling her Janie. It might offend her. But +nobody calls her Miss St. Leonard.) Everybody is coming, and all the +children are having their hair washed. You will have it all your own +way down here. There's no other celebrity till you get to Boss +Croker, the Tammany man, the other side of Ilsley Downs. Artists +they don't count. The rumour was all round the place last week that +you were here incognito in the person of a dismal-looking Johnny, +staying at the 'Fisherman's Retreat,' who used to sit all day in a +punt up the backwater drinking whisky. It made me rather mad when I +saw him. I suppose it was the whisky that suggested the idea to +them. They have got the notion in these parts that a literary man is +a sort of inspired tramp. A Mrs. Jaggerswade--or some such name-- +whom I met here on Sunday and who is coming on Friday, took me aside +and asked me 'what sort of things' you said when you talked? She +said she felt sure it would be so clever, and, herself, she was +looking forward to it; but would I--'quite between ourselves'--advise +her to bring the children. + +"I say, you will have to talk seriously to Veronica. Country life +seems to agree with her. She's taken to poaching already--she and +the twins. It was the one sin that hitherto they had never +committed, and I fancy the old man was feeling proud of this. +Luckily I caught them coming home--with ten dead rabbits strung on a +pole, the twins carrying it between them on their shoulders, +suggesting the picture of the spies returning from the promised land +with that bunch of grapes--Veronica scouting on ahead with, every ten +yards, her ear to the ground, listening for hostile footsteps. The +thing that troubled her most was that she hadn't heard me coming; she +seemed to fear that something had gone wrong with the laws of Nature. +They had found the whole collection hanging from a tree, and had +persuaded themselves that Providence must have been expecting them. +I insisted on their going back with me and showing me the tree, much +to their disgust. And fortunately the keeper wasn't about--they are +men that love making a row. I talked some fine moral sentiment to +her. But she says you have told her that it doesn't matter whether +you are good or bad, things happen to you just the same; and this +being so she feels she may as well enjoy herself. I asked her why +she never seemed able to enjoy herself being good--I believe if I'd +always had a kid to bring up I'd have been a model chap myself by +this time. Her answer was that she supposed she was born bad. I +pointed out to her that was a reflection on you and Little Mother; +and she answered she guessed she must be a 'throw-back.' Old Slee's +got a dog that ought to have been a fox-terrier, but isn't, and he +seems to have been explaining things to her. + +"A thing that will trouble you down here, Dad, is the cruelty of the +country. They catch these poor little wretches in traps, leaving +them sometimes for days suffering what must be to them nothing short +of agony--to say nothing of the terror and the hunger. I tried +putting my finger in one of the beastly things and keeping it there +for just two minutes by my watch. It seemed like twenty. The pain +grows more intense with every second, and I'm not a soft, as you +know. I've lain half an hour with a broken leg, and that wasn't as +bad. One hears the little creatures screaming, but cannot find them. +Of course when one draws near they keep silent. It makes one quite +dislike country people. They are so callous. When you speak to them +about it they only grin. Janie goes nearly mad about it. Mr. St. +Leonard tried to get the clergyman to say something on the subject, +but he answered that he thought it better 'for the Church to confine +herself to the accomplishment of her own great mission.' Ass! + +"Bring Little Mother down; we want to show her off on Friday. And +make her put on something pretty. Ask her if she's got that lilac +thing with lace she wore at Cambridge for the May Week the year +before last. Tell her not to be silly; it wasn't a bit too young. +Nash said she looked like something out of an old picture, and he's +going to be an artist. Don't let her dress herself. She doesn't +understand it. And will you get me a gun--" + +The remainder of the letter was taken up with instructions concerning +the gun. It seemed a complicated sort of gun. I wished I hadn't +read about the gun to Ethelbertha. It made her nervous for the rest +of the day. + + +Veronica's letter followed on Thursday morning. I read it going down +in the train. In transcribing I have thought it better, as regards +the spelling, to adopt the more conventional forms. + + +"You will be pleased to hear," Veronica wrote, "that we are all quite +well. Robin works very hard. But I think it does her good. And of +course I help her. All I can. I am glad she has got a boy. To do +the washing-up. I think that was too much for her. It used to make +her cross. One cannot blame her. It is trying work. And it makes +you mucky. He is a good boy. But has been neglected. So doesn't +know much. I am teaching him grammar. He says 'you was' and 'her +be.' But is getting better. He says he went to school. But they +couldn't have taken any trouble with him. Could they? The system, I +suppose, was rotten. Robina says I mustn't overdo it. Because you +want him to talk Berkshire. So I propose confining our attention to +the elementary rules. He had never heard of Robinson Crusoe. What a +life! We went to church on Sunday. I could not find my gloves. And +Robina was waxy. But Mr. St. Leonard came without his trousers. +Which was worse. We found them in the evening. The little boy that +blew up our stove was there with his mother. But I didn't speak to +her. He's got a doom. That's what made him blow it up. He couldn't +help it. So you see it wasn't my fault. After all. His grandfather +was blown up. And he's going to be blown up again. Later on. But +he is very brave. And is going to make a will. I like all the St. +Leonards very much. We went there to tea on Sunday. And Mr. St. +Leonard said I was bright. I think Miss Janie very beautiful. And +so does Dick. She makes me think of angels. So she does Dick. And +he says she is so kind to her little brothers and sisters. It is a +good sign. I think she ought to marry Dick. It would steady him. +He works very hard. But I think it does him good. We have breakfast +at seven. And I lay the table. It is very beautiful in the morning. +When you are once up. Mrs. St. Leonard has twins. They are a great +anxiety to her. But she would not part from them. She has had much +trouble. And is sometimes very sad. I like the girl best. Her name +is Winnie. She is more like a boy. His name is Wilfrid. But +sometimes they change clothes. Then you're done. They are only +nearly seven. But they know a lot. They are going to teach me +swimming. Is it not kind of them? The two older boys are at home +for their holidays. But they give themselves a lot of airs. And +they called me a flapper. I told him he'd be sorry. When he was a +man. Because perhaps I'd grow up beautiful. And then he'd fall in +love with me. But he said he wouldn't. So I let him see what I +thought of him. The little girl is very nice. She is about my own +age. Her name is Sally. We are going to write a play. But we +sha'n't let Bertie act in it. Unless he turns over a new leaf. I'm +going to be a princess that doesn't know it. But only feels it. And +she's going to be a wicked witch. What wants me to marry her son. +What's a sight. But I won't, because I'd rather die first. And am +in love with a swineherd. That is a genius. Only nobody suspects +it. I wear a crown in the last act. And everybody rejoices. Except +her. I think it will be good. We have nearly finished the first +act. She writes very well. And has a sense of atmosphere. And I +tell her what to say. Miss Janie is going to make me a dress with a +train. And gold spangles. And Robina is going to lend me her blue +necklace. Anything will do of course for the old witch. So it won't +be much trouble to anyone. Mr. Bute is going to paint us some +scenery. And we are going to invite everybody. He is very nice. +Robina says he thinks too much of himself. By a long chalk. But she +is very critical where men are concerned. She admits it. She says +she can't help it. I find him very affable. And so does Dick. We +think Robina will get over it. And he has promised not to be angry +with her. Because I have told him that she does not mean it. It is +only her way. She says she feels it is unjust of her. Because +really he is rather charming. I told him that. And he said I was a +dear little girl. He is going to get me a real crown. Robina says +he has nice eyes. I told him that. And he laughed. There is a +gentleman comes here that I think is in love with Robina. But I +shouldn't say anything to her about it. If I was you. She is very +snappy about it. He is not handsome. But he looks good. He writes +for the papers. But I don't think he is rich. And Robina is very +nice to him. Until he's gone. Then she gets mad. It all began with +the explosion. So perhaps it was fate. He is going to keep it out +of the papers. As much as he can. But of course he owes a duty to +the public. I am going to decline to see him. I think it better. +Mr. Slee says everything will be in apple-pie order to-morrow. So +you can come down. And we are going to have Irish stew. And roly- +poly pudding. It will be a change. He is very nice. And says he +was always in trouble himself when he was a little boy. It's all +experience. We are all going on Friday to a party at Mr. St. +Leonard's. And you have got to come too. Robina says I can wear my +new frock. But we can't find the sash. It is very strange. Because +I remember having seen it. You didn't take it for anything, did you? +We shall have to get a new one, I suppose. It is very annoying. My +new shoes have also not worn well. And they ought to have. Because +Robina says they were expensive. The donkey has come. And he is +sweet. He eats out of my hand. And lets me kiss him. But he won't +go. He goes a little when you shout at him. Very loud. Me and +Robina went for a drive yesterday after tea. And Dick ran beside. +And shouted. But he got hoarse. And then he wouldn't go no more. +And Robina did not like it. Because Dick shouted swear words. He +says they come naturally to you when you shout. And Robina said it +was horrible. And that people would hear him. So we got out. And +pushed him home. But he is very strong. And we were all very tired. +And Robina says she hates him. Dick is going to give Mr. 'Opkins +half a crown. To tell him how he makes him go. Because Mr. 'Opkins +makes him gallop. Robina says it must be hypnotism. But Dick thinks +it might be something simpler. I think Mr. 'Opkins very nice. He +says you promised to lend him a book. What would help him to talk +like a real country boy. So I have lent him a book about a window. +By Mr. Bane. What came to see us last year. It has a lot of funny +words in it. And he is going to learn them up. But he don't know +what they mean. No more do I. I have written a lot of the book. It +promises to be very interesting. It is all a dream. He is just the +ordinary grown-up father. Neither better nor worse. And he goes up +and up. It is a pleasant sensation. Till he reaches the moon. And +there everything is different. It is the children that know +everything. And are always right. And the grown-ups have to do all +what they tell them. They are kind but firm. It is very good for +him. And when he wakes up he is a better man. I put down everything +that occurs to me. Like you suggested. There is quite a lot of it. +And it makes you see how unjustly children are treated. They said I +was to feed the donkey. Because it was my donkey. And I fed him. +And there wasn't enough supper for Dick. And Dick said I was an +idiot. And Robina said I wasn't to feed him. And in the morning +there wasn't anything to feed him on. Because he won't eat anything +but bread-and-butter. And the baker hadn't come. And he wasn't +there. Because the man that comes to milk the cow had left the door +open. And I was distracted. And Dick asked had I fed him. And of +course I hadn't fed him. And lord how Dick talked. Never waited to +hear anything, mind you. I let him talk. But it just shows you. We +are all very happy. But shall be pleased to see you. Once again. +The peppermint creams down here are not good. And are very dear. +Compared with London prices. Isn't this a good letter? You said I +was to always write just as I thought. So I'm doing it. I think +that's all." + +I read selections from this letter aloud to Ethelbertha. She said +she was glad she had decided to come down with me. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + + +Had all things gone as ordered, our arrival at the St. Leonards' on +Friday afternoon would have been imposing. It was our entrance, so +to speak, upon the local stage; and Robina had decided it was a case +where small economies ought not to be considered. The livery stable +proprietor had suggested a brougham, but that would have necessitated +one of us riding outside. I explained to Robina that, in the +country, this was usual; and Robina had replied that much depended +upon first impressions. Dick would, in all probability, claim the +place for himself; and, the moment we were started, stick a pipe in +his mouth. She selected an open landau of quite an extraordinary +size, painted yellow. It looked to me an object more appropriate to +a Lord Mayor's show than to the requirements of a Christian family; +but Robina seemed touchy on the subject, and I said no more. It +certainly was roomy. Old Glossop had turned it out well, with a pair +of greys--seventeen hands, I judged them. The only thing that seemed +wrong was the coachman. I can't explain why, but he struck me as the +class of youth one associates with a milk-cart. + +We set out at a gentle trot. Veronica, who had been in trouble most +of the morning, sat stiffly on the extreme edge of her seat, clothed +in the attitude of one dead to the world; Dick, in lavender gloves +that Robina had thoughtfully bought for him, next to her. +Ethelbertha, Robina, and myself sat perched on the back seat; to have +leaned back would have been to lie down. Ethelbertha, having made up +her mind she was going to dislike the whole family of the St. +Leonards, seemed disinclined for conversation. Myself I had +forgotten my cigar-case. I have tried the St. Leonard cigar. He +does not smoke himself; but keeps a box for his friends. He tells me +he fancies men are smoking cigars less than formerly. I did not see +how I was going to get a smoke for the next three hours. Nothing +annoys me more than being bustled and made to forget things. Robina, +who has recently changed her views on the subject of freckles, shared +a parasol with her mother. They had to hold it almost horizontally +in front of them, and this obscured their view. I could not myself +understand why people smiled as we went by. Apart from the carriage, +which they must have seen before, we were not, I should have said, an +exhilarating spectacle. A party of cyclists laughed outright. +Robina said there was one thing we should have to be careful about, +living in the country, and that was that the strong air and the +loneliness combined didn't sap our intellect. She said she had +noticed it--the tendency of country people to become prematurely +silly. I did not share her fears, as I had by this time divined what +it was that was amusing folks. Dick had discovered behind the +cushions--remnant of some recent wedding, one supposes--a large and +tastefully bound Book of Common Prayer. He and Veronica sat holding +it between them. Looking at their faces one could almost hear the +organ pealing. + +Dick kept one eye on the parasol; and when, on passing into shade, it +was lowered, he and Veronica were watching with rapt ecstasy the +flight of swallows. Robina said she should tell Mr. Glossop of the +insults to which respectable people were subject when riding in his +carriage. She thought he ought to take steps to prevent it. She +likewise suggested that the four of us, leaving the Little Mother in +the carriage, should walk up the hill. Ethelbertha said that she +herself would like a walk. She had been balancing herself on the +edge of a cushion with her feet dangling for two miles, and was +tired. She herself would have preferred a carriage made for +ordinary-sized people. Our coachman called attention to the heat of +the afternoon and the length of the hill, and recommended our +remaining where we were; but his advice was dismissed as exhibiting +want of feeling. Robina is, perhaps, a trifle over-sympathetic where +animals are concerned. I remember, when they were children, her +banging Dick over the head with the nursery bellows because he would +not agree to talk in a whisper for fear of waking the cat. You can, +of course, overdo kindness to animals, but it is a fault on the right +side; and, as a rule, I do not discourage her. Veronica was allowed +to remain, owing to her bad knee. It is a most unfortunate +affliction. It comes on quite suddenly. There is nothing to be +seen; but the child's face while she is suffering from it would move +a heart of stone. It had been troubling her, so it appeared, all the +morning; but she had said nothing, not wishing to alarm her mother. +Ethelbertha, who thinks it may be hereditary--she herself having had +an aunt who had suffered from contracted ligament--fixed her up as +comfortably as the pain would permit with cushions in the centre of +the back seat; and the rest of us toiled after the carriage. + +I should not like to say for certain that horses have a sense of +humour, but I sometimes think they must. I had a horse years ago who +used to take delight in teasing girls. I can describe it no other +way. He would pick out a girl a quarter of a mile off; always some +haughty, well-dressed girl who was feeling pleased with herself. As +we approached he would eye her with horror and astonishment. It was +too marked to escape notice. A hundred yards off he would be walking +sideways, backing away from her; I would see the poor lady growing +scarlet with the insult and annoyance of it. Opposite to her, he +would shy the entire width of the road, and make pretence to bolt. +Looking back I would see her vainly appealing to surrounding nature +for a looking-glass to see what it was that had gone wrong with her. + +"What is the matter with me," she would be crying to herself; "that +the very beasts of the field should shun me? Do they take me for a +gollywog?" + +Halfway up the hill, the off-side grey turned his head and looked at +us. We were about a couple of hundred yards behind; it was a hot and +dusty day. He whispered to the near-side grey, and the near-side +grey turned and looked at us also. I knew what was coming. I've +been played the same trick before. I shouted to the boy, but it was +too late. They took the rest of the hill at a gallop and disappeared +over the brow. Had there been an experienced coachman behind them, I +should not have worried. Dick told his mother not to be alarmed, and +started off at fifteen miles an hour. I calculated I was doing about +ten, which for a gentleman past his first youth, in a frock suit +designed to disguise rather than give play to the figure, I consider +creditable. Robina, undecided whether to go on ahead with Dick or +remain to assist her mother, wasted vigour by running from one to the +other. Ethelbertha's one hope was that she might reach the wreckage +in time to receive Veronica's last wishes. + +It was in this order that we arrived at the St. Leonards'. Veronica, +under an awning, sipping iced sherbet, appeared to be the centre of +the party. She was recounting her experiences with a modesty that +had already won all hearts. The rest of us, she had explained, had +preferred walking, and would arrive later. She was evidently pleased +to see me, and volunteered the information that the greys, to all +seeming, had enjoyed their gallop. + +I sent Dick back to break the good news to his mother. Young Bute +said he would go too. He said he was fresher than Dick, and would +get there first. As a matter of history he did, and was immediately +sorry that he had. + +This is not a well-ordered world, or it would not be our good deeds +that would so often get us into trouble. Robina's insistence on our +walking up the hill had been prompted by tender feeling for dumb +animals: a virtuous emotion that surely the angels should have +blessed. The result had been to bring down upon her suffering and +reproach. It is not often that Ethelbertha loses her temper. When +she does she makes use of the occasion to perform what one might +describe as a mental spring-cleaning. All loose odds and ends of +temper that may be lying about in her mind--any scrap of indignation +that has been reposing peacefully, half forgotten, in a corner of her +brain, she ferrets out and brushes into the general heap. Small +annoyances of the year before last--little things she hadn't noticed +at the time--incidents in your past life that, so far as you are +concerned, present themselves as dim visions connected maybe with +some previous existence, she whisks triumphantly into her pan. The +method has its advantages. It leaves her, swept and garnished, +without a scrap of ill-feeling towards any living soul. For quite a +long period after one of these explosions it is impossible to get a +cross word out of her. One has to wait sometimes for months. But +while the clearing up is in progress the atmosphere round about is +disturbing. The element of the whole thing is its comprehensive +swiftness. Before they had reached the summit of the hill, Robina +had acquired a tolerably complete idea of all she had done wrong +since Christmas twelvemonth: the present afternoon's proceedings-- +including as they did the almost certain sacrificing of a sister to a +violent death, together with the probable destruction of a father, no +longer of an age to trifle with apoplexy--being but a fit and proper +complement to what had gone before. It would be long, as Robina +herself that evening bitterly declared, before she would again give +ear to the promptings of her better nature. + +To take next the sad case of Archibald Bute: his sole desire had +been to relieve, at the earliest moment possible, the anxieties of a +sister and a mother. Robina's new hat, not intended for sport, had +broken away from its fastenings. With it, it had brought down her +hair. There is a harmless contrivance for building up the female +hair called, I am told, a pad. It can be made of combings, and then, +of course, is literally the girl's own hair. He came upon Robina at +the moment when, retracing her steps and with her back towards him, +she was looking for it. With his usual luck, he was the first to +find it. Ethelbertha thanked him for his information concerning +Veronica, but seemed chiefly anxious to push on and convince herself +that it was true. She took Dick's arm, and left Robina to follow on +with Bute. + +As I explained to him afterwards, had he stopped to ask my advice I +should have counselled his leaving the job to Dick, who, after all, +was only thirty seconds behind him. As regarded himself, I should +have suggested his taking a walk in the opposite direction, +returning, say, in half an hour, and pretending to have just arrived. +By that time Robina, with the assistance of Janie's brush and comb, +and possibly her powder-puff, would have been feeling herself again. +He could have listened sympathetically to an account of the affair +from Robina herself--her version, in which she would have appeared to +advantage. Give her time, and she has a sense of humour. She would +have made it bright and whimsical. Without asserting it in so many +words, she would have conveyed the impression--I know her way--that +she alone, throughout the whole commotion, had remained calm and +helpful. "Dear old Dick" and "Poor dear papa"--I can hear her saying +it--would have supplied the low comedy, and Veronica, alluded to with +affection free from sentimentality, would have furnished the dramatic +interest. It is not that Robina intends to mislead, but she has the +artistic instinct. It would have made quite a charming story; Robina +always the central figure. She would have enjoyed telling it, and +would have been pleased with the person listening. All this--which +would have been the reward of subterfuge--he had missed. Virtuous +intention had gained for him nothing but a few scattered observations +from Robina concerning himself; the probable object of his Creator in +fashioning him--his relation to the scheme of things in general: +observations all of which he had felt to be unjust. + +We compared experiences over a pipe that same evening; and he told me +of a friend of his, a law student, who had shared diggings with him +in Edinburgh. A kinder-hearted young man, Bute felt sure, could +never have breathed; nor one with a tenderer, more chivalrous regard +for women; and the misery this brought him, to say nothing of the +irritation caused to quite a number of respectable people, could +hardly be imagined, so young Bute assured me, by anyone not +personally acquainted with the parties. It was the plain and snappy +girl, and the less attractive type of old maid, for whom he felt the +most sorrow. He could not help thinking of all they had missed, and +were likely to go on missing; the rapture--surely the woman's +birthright--of feeling herself adored, anyhow, once in her life; the +delight of seeing the lover's eye light up at her coming. Had he +been a Mormon he would have married them all. They too--the +neglected that none had invited to the feast of love--they also +should know the joys of home, feel the sweet comfort of a husband's +arm. Being a Christian, his power for good was limited. But at +least he could lift from them the despairing conviction that they +were outside the pale of masculine affection. Not one of them, so +far as he could help it, but should be able to say: + +"I--even I had a lover once. No, dear, we never married. It was one +of those spiritual loves; a formal engagement with a ring would have +spoiled it--coarsened it. No; it was just a beautiful thing that +came into my life and passed away again, leaving behind it a +fragrance that has sweetened all my days." + +That is how he imagined they would talk about it, years afterwards, +to the little niece or nephew, asking artless questions--how they +would feel about it themselves. Whether law circles are peculiarly +rich in unattractive spinsters, or whether it merely happened to be +an exceptional season for them, Bute could not say; but certain it +was that the number of sour-faced girls and fretful old maids in +excess of the demand seemed to be greater than usual that winter in +Edinburgh, with the result that young Hapgood had a busy time of it. +He made love to them, not obtrusively, which might have laid them +open to ridicule--many of them were old enough to have been his +mother--but more by insinuation, by subtle suggestion. His feelings, +so they gathered, were too deep for words; but the adoring eyes with +which he would follow their every movement, the rapt ecstasy with +which he would drink in their lightest remark about the weather, the +tone of almost reverential awe with which he would enquire of them +concerning their lesser ailments--all conveyed to their sympathetic +observation the message that he dared not tell. He had no +favourites. Sufficient it was that a woman should be unpleasant, for +him to pour out at her feet the simulated passion of a lifetime. He +sent them presents--nothing expensive--wrapped in pleasing pretence +of anonymity; valentines carefully selected for their compromising +character. One carroty-headed old maid with warts he had kissed upon +the brow. + +All this he did out of his great pity for them. It was a beautiful +idea, but it worked badly. They did not understand--never got the +hang of the thing: not one of them. They thought he was really gone +on them. For a time his elusiveness, his backwardness in coming to +the point, they attributed to a fit and proper fear of his fate; but +as the months went by the feeling of each one was that he was +carrying the apprehension of his own unworthiness too far. They gave +him encouragement, provided for him "openings," till the wonder grew +upon them how any woman ever did get married. At the end of their +resources, they consulted bosom friends. In several instances the +bosom friend turned out to be the bosom friend of more than one of +them. The bosom friends began to take a hand in it. Some of them +came to him with quite a little list, insisting--playfully at first-- +on his making up his mind what he was going to take and what he was +going to leave; offering, as reward for prompt decision, to make +things as easy for him as possible with the remainder of the column. + +It was then he saw that his good intentions were likely to end in +catastrophe. He would not tell the truth: that the whole scheme had +been conceived out of charity towards all ill-constructed or +dilapidated ladies; that personally he didn't care a hang for any of +them; had only taken them on, vulgarly speaking, to give them a +treat, and because nobody else would. That wasn't going to be a +golden memory, colouring their otherwise drab existence. He +explained that it was not love--not the love that alone would justify +a man's asking of a woman that she should give herself to him for +life--that he felt and always should feel for them, but merely +admiration and deep esteem; and seventeen of them thought that would +be sufficient to start with, and offered to chance the rest. + +The truth had to come out. Friends who knew his noble nature could +not sit by and hear him denounced as a heartless and eccentric +profligate. Ladies whose beauty and popularity were beyond dispute +thought it a touching and tender thing for him to have done; but +every woman to whom he had ever addressed a kind word wanted to wring +his neck. + +He did the most sensible thing he could, under all the circumstances; +changed his address to Aberdeen, where he had an aunt living. But +the story followed him. No woman would be seen speaking to him. One +admiring glance from Hapgood would send the prettiest girls home +weeping to their mothers. Later on he fell in love--hopelessly, +madly in love. But he dared not tell her--dared not let a living +soul guess it. That was the only way he could show it. It is not +sufficient, in this world, to want to do good; there's got to be a +knack about it. + +There was a man I met in Colorado, one Christmas-time. I was on a +lecturing tour. His idea was to send a loving greeting to his wife +in New York. He had been married nineteen years, and this was the +first time he had been separated from his family on Christmas Day. +He pictured them round the table in the little far-away New England +parlour; his wife, his sister-in-law, Uncle Silas, Cousin Jane, Jack +and Willy, and golden-haired Lena. They would be just sitting down +to dinner, talking about him, most likely; wishing he were among +them. They were a nice family and all fond of him. What joy it +would give them to know that he was safe and sound; to hear the very +tones of his loved voice speaking to them! Modern science has made +possible these miracles. True, the long-distance telephone would +cost him five dollars; but what is five dollars weighed against the +privilege of wafting happiness to an entire family on Christmas Day! +We had just come back from a walk. He slammed the money down, and +laughed aloud at the thought of the surprise he was about to give +them all. + +The telephone bell rang out clear and distinct at the precise moment +when his wife, with knife and fork in hand, was preparing to carve +the turkey. She was a nervous lady, and twice that week had dreamed +that she had seen her husband without being able to get to him. On +the first occasion she had seen him enter a dry-goods store in +Broadway, and hastening across the road had followed him in. He was +hardly a dozen yards in front of her, but before she could overtake +him all the young lady assistants had rushed from behind their +counters and, forming a circle round her, had refused to let her +pass, which in her dream had irritated her considerably. On the next +occasion he had boarded a Brooklyn car in which she was returning +home. She had tried to attract his attention with her umbrella, but +he did not seem to see her; and every time she rose to go across to +him the car gave a jerk and bumped her back into her seat. When she +did get over to him it was not her husband at all, but the gentleman +out of the Quaker Oats advertisement. She went to the telephone, +feeling--as she said herself afterwards--all of a tremble. + +That you could speak from Colorado to New York she would not then +have believed had you told her. The thing was in its early stages, +which may also have accounted for the voice reaching her strange and +broken. I was standing beside him while he spoke. We were in the +vestibule of the Savoy Hotel at Colorado Springs. It was five +o'clock in the afternoon, which would be about seven in New York. He +told her he was safe and well, and that she was not to fret about +him. He told her he had been that morning for a walk in the Garden +of the Gods, which is the name given to the local park; they do that +sort of thing in Colorado. Also that he had drunk from the silicial +springs abounding in that favoured land. I am not sure that +"silicial" was the correct word. He was not sure himself: added to +which he pronounced it badly. Whatever they were, he assured her +they had done him good. He sent a special message to his Cousin +Jane--a maiden lady of means--to the effect that she could rely upon +seeing him soon. She was a touchy old lady, and liked to be singled +out for special attention. He made the usual kind enquiries about +everybody, sent them all his blessing, and only wished they could be +with him in this delectable land where it seemed to be always +sunshine and balmy breezes. He could have said more, but his time +being up the telephone people switched him off; and feeling he had +done a good and thoughtful deed, he suggested a game of billiards. + +Could he have been a witness of events at the other end of the wire, +his condition would have been one of less self-complacence. Long +before the end of the first sentence his wife had come to the +conclusion that this was a message from the dead. Why through a +telephone did not greatly worry her. It seemed as reasonable a +medium as any other she had ever heard of--indeed a trifle more so. +Later, when she was able to review the matter calmly, it afforded her +some consolation to reflect that things might have been worse. That +"garden," together with the "silicial springs"--which she took to be +"celestial," there was not much difference the way he pronounced it-- +was distinctly reassuring. The "eternal sunshine" and the "balmy +breezes" likewise agreed with her knowledge of heavenly topography as +derived from the Congregational Hymn-Book. That he should have +needed to enquire concerning the health of herself and the children +had puzzled her. The only explanation was that they didn't know +everything, not even up. There--may be, not the new-comers. She had +answered as coherently as her state of distraction would permit, and +had then dropped limply to the floor. It was the sound of her +falling against the umbrella-stand and upsetting it that brought them +all trooping out from the dining-room. + +It took her some time to get the thing home to them; and when she had +finished, her brother Silas, acting on the impulse of the moment, +rang up the Exchange, with some vague idea of getting into +communication with St. Peter and obtaining further particulars, but +recollected himself in time to explain to the "hulloa girl" that he +had made a mistake. + +The eldest boy, a practical youth, pointed out, very sensibly, that +nothing could be gained by their not going on with their dinner, but +was bitterly reproached for being able to think of any form of +enjoyment at a moment when his poor dear father was in heaven. It +reminded his mother of the special message to Cousin Jane, who up to +that moment had been playing the part of comforter. With the +collapse of Cousin Jane, dramatic in its suddenness, conversation +disappeared. At nine o'clock the entire family went dinnerless to +bed. + +The eldest boy--as I have said, a practical youth--had the sense to +get up early the next morning and send a wire, which brought the glad +news back to them that their beloved one was not in heaven, but was +still in Colorado. But the only reward my friend got for all his +tender thoughtfulness was the vehement injunction never for the +remainder of his life to play such a fool's trick again. + +There were other cases I could have recited showing the ill +recompense that so often overtakes the virtuous action; but, as I +explained to Bute, it would have saddened me to dwell upon the theme. + +It was quite a large party assembled at the St. Leonards', including +one or two county people, and I should have liked, myself, to have +made a better entrance. A large lady with a very small voice seemed +to be under the impression that I had arranged the whole business on +purpose. She said it was "so dramatic." One good thing came out of +it: Janie, in her quiet, quick way, saw to it that Ethelbertha and +Robina slipped into the house unnoticed by way of the dairy. When +they joined the other guests, half an hour later, they had had a cup +of tea and a rest, and were feeling calm and cool, with their hair +nicely done; and Ethelbertha remarked to Robina on the way home what +a comfort it must be to Mrs. St. Leonard to have a daughter so +capable, one who knew just the right thing to do, and did it without +making a fuss and a disturbance. + +Everyone was very nice. Of course we made the usual mistake: they +talked to me about books and plays, and I gave them my views on +agriculture and cub-hunting. I'm not quite sure what fool it was who +described a bore as a man who talked about himself. As a matter of +fact it is the only subject the average man knows sufficiently well +to make interesting. There's a man I know; he makes a fortune out of +a patent food for infants. He began life as a dairy farmer, and hit +upon it quite by accident. When he talks about the humours of +company promoting and the tricks of the advertising agent he is +amusing. I have sat at his table, when he was a bachelor, and +listened to him by the hour with enjoyment. The mistake he made was +marrying a broad-minded, cultured woman, who ruined him-- +conversationally, I mean. He is now well-informed and tiresome on +most topics. That is why actors and actresses are always such +delightful company: they are not ashamed to talk about themselves. +I remember a dinner-party once: our host was one of the best-known +barristers in London. A famous lady novelist sat on his right, and a +scientist of world-wide reputation had the place of honour next our +hostess, who herself had written a history of the struggle for +nationality in South America that serves as an authority to all the +Foreign Offices in Europe. Among the remaining guests were a bishop, +the editor-in-chief of a London daily newspaper, a man who knew the +interior of China as well as most men know their own club, a Russian +revolutionist just escaped from Siberia, a leading dramatist, a +Cabinet Minister, and a poet whose name is a household word wherever +the English tongue is spoken. And for two hours we sat and listened +to a wicked-looking little woman who from the boards of a Bowery +music-hall had worked her way up to the position of a star in musical +comedy. Education, as she observed herself without regret, had not +been compulsory throughout the waterside district of Chicago in her +young days; and, compelled to earn her own living from the age of +thirteen, opportunity for supplying the original deficiency had been +wanting. But she knew her subject, which was Herself--her +experiences, her reminiscences: and bad sense enough to stick to it. +Until the moment when she took "the liberty of chipping in," to use +her own expression, the amount of twaddle talked had been appalling. +The bishop had told us all he had learnt about China during a visit +to San Francisco, while the man who had spent the last twenty years +of his life in the country was busy explaining his views on the +subject of the English drama. Our hostess had been endeavouring to +make the scientist feel at home by talking to him about radium. The +dramatist had explained at some length his views of the crisis in +Russia. The poet had quite spoilt his dinner trying to suggest to +the Cabinet Minister new sources of taxation. The Russian +revolutionist had told us what ought to have been a funny story about +a duck; and the lady novelist and the Cabinet Minister had discussed +Christian Science for a quarter of an hour, each under the mistaken +impression that the other one was a believer in it. The editor had +been explaining the attitude of the Church towards the New Theology; +and our host, one of the wittiest men at the Bar, had been talking +chiefly to the butler. The relief of listening to anybody talking +about something they knew was like finding a match-box to a man who +has been barking his shins in the dark. For the rest of the dinner +we clung to her. + +I could have made myself quite interesting to these good squires and +farmers talking to them about theatres and the literary celebrities I +have met; and they could have told me dog stories and given me useful +information as to the working of the Small Holdings Act. They said +some very charming things about my books--mostly to the effect that +they read and enjoyed them when feeling ill or suffering from mental +collapse. I gathered that had they always continued in a healthy +state of mind and body it would not have occurred to them to read me. +One man assured me I had saved his life. It was his brain, he told +me. He had been so upset by something that had happened to him that +he had almost lost his reason. There were times when he could not +even remember his own name; his mind seemed an absolute blank. And +then one day by chance--or Providence, or whatever you choose to call +it--he had taken up a book of mine. It was the only thing he had +been able to read for months and months! And now, whenever he felt +himself run down--his brain like a squeezed orange (that was his +simile)--he would put everything else aside and read a book of mine-- +any one: it didn't matter which. I suppose one ought to be glad +that one has saved somebody's life; but I should like to have the +choosing of them myself. + +I am not sure that Ethelbertha is going to like Mrs. St. Leonard; and +I don't think Mrs. St. Leonard will much like Ethelbertha. I have +gathered that Mrs. St. Leonard doesn't like anybody much--except, of +course, when it is her duty. She does not seem to have the time. +Man is born to trouble, and it is not bad philosophy to get oneself +accustomed to the feeling. But Mrs. St. Leonard has given herself up +to the pursuit of trouble to the exclusion of all other interests in +life. She appears to regard it as the only calling worthy a +Christian woman. I found her alone one afternoon. Her manner was +preoccupied; I asked if I could be of any assistance. + +"No," she answered, "I am merely trying to think what it can be that +has been worrying me all the morning. It has clean gone out of my +head." + +She remembered it a little later with a glad sigh. + +St. Leonard himself, Ethelbertha thinks charming. We are to go again +on Sunday for her to see the children. Three or four people we met I +fancy we shall be able to fit in with. We left at half-past six, and +took Bute back with us to supper. + + + +CHAPTER X + + + +"She's a good woman," said Robina. + +"Who's a good woman?" I asked. + +"He's trying, I expect; although he is an old dear: to live with, I +mean," continued Robina, addressing apparently the rising moon. "And +then there are all those children." + +"You are thinking of Mrs. St. Leonard," I suggested. + +"There seems no way of making her happy," explained Robina. "On +Thursday I went round early in the morning to help Janie pack the +baskets for the picnic. It was her own idea, the picnic." + +"Speaking of picnics," I said. + +"You might have thought," went on Robina, "that she was dressing for +her own funeral. She said she knew she was going to catch her death +of cold, sitting on the wet grass. Something told her. I reminded +her it hadn't rained for three weeks, and that everything was as dry +as a bone, but she said that made no difference to grass. There is +always a moisture in grass, and that cushions and all that only +helped to draw it out. Not that it mattered. The end had to come, +and so long as the others were happy--you know her style. Nobody +ever thought of her. She was to be dragged here, dragged there. She +talked about herself as if she were some sacred image. It got upon +my nerves at last, so that I persuaded Janie to let me offer to stop +at home with her. I wasn't too keen about going myself; not by that +time." + +"When our desires leave us, says Rochefoucauld," I remarked, "we +pride ourselves upon our virtue in having overcome them." + +"Well, it was her fault, anyhow," retorted Robina; "and I didn't make +a virtue of it. I told her I'd just as soon not go, and that I felt +sure the others would be all right without her, so that there was no +need for her to be dragged anywhere. And then she burst into tears." + +"She said," I suggested, "that it was hard on her to have children +who could wish to go to a picnic and leave their mother at home; that +it was little enough enjoyment she had in her life, heaven knows; +that if there was one thing she had been looking forward to it was +this day's outing; but still, of course, if everybody would be +happier without her--" + +"Something of the sort," admitted Robina; "only there was a lot of +it. We had to all fuss round her, and swear that without her it +wouldn't be worth calling a picnic. She brightened up on the way +home." + +The screech-owl in the yew-tree emitted a blood-curdling scream. He +perches there each evening on the extreme end of the longest bough. +Dimly outlined against the night, he has the appearance of a friendly +hobgoblin. But I wish he didn't fancy himself as a vocalist. It is +against his own interests, I am sure, if he only knew it. That +American college yell of his must have the effect of sending every +living thing within half a mile back into its hole. Maybe it is a +provision of nature for clearing off the very old mice who have +become stone deaf and would otherwise be a burden on their relatives. +The others, unless out for suicide, must, one thinks, be tolerably +safe. Ethelbertha is persuaded he is a sign of death; but seeing +there isn't a square quarter of a mile in this county without its +screech-owl, there can hardly by this time be a resident that an +Assurance Society would look at. Veronica likes him. She even likes +his screech. I found her under the tree the other night, wrapped up +in a shawl, trying to learn it. As if one of them were not enough! +It made me quite cross with her. Besides, it wasn't a bit like it, +as I told her. She said it was better than I could do, anyhow; and I +was idiot enough to take up the challenge. It makes me angry now, +when I think of it: a respectable, middle-aged literary man, +standing under a yew-tree trying to screech like an owl. And the +bird was silly enough to encourage us. + +"She was a charming girl," I said, "seven-and-twenty years ago, when +St. Leonard fell in love with her. She had those dark, dreamy eyes +so suggestive of veiled mysteries; and her lips must have looked +bewitching when they pouted. I expect they often did. They do so +still; but the pout of a woman of forty-six no longer fascinates. To +a pretty girl of nineteen a spice of temper, an illogical +unreasonableness, are added attractions: the scratch of a blue-eyed +kitten only tempts us to tease her the more. Young Hubert St. +Leonard--he had curly brown hair, with a pretty trick of blushing, +and was going to conquer the world--found her fretfulness, her very +selfishness adorable: and told her so, kneeling before her, gazing +into her bewildering eyes--only he called it her waywardness, her +imperiousness; begged her for his sake to be more capricious. Told +her how beautiful she looked when displeased. So, no doubt, she did- +-at nineteen." + +"He didn't tell you all that, did he?" demanded Robina. + +"Not a word," I reassured her, "except that she was acknowledged by +all authorities to have been the most beautiful girl in Tunbridge +Wells, and that her father had been ruined by a rascally solicitor. +No, I was merely, to use the phrase of the French police courts, +'reconstructing the crime.'" + +"It may be all wrong," grumbled Robina. + +"It may be," I agreed. "But why? Does it strike you as improbable?" + +We were sitting in the porch, waiting for Dick to come by the white +path across the field. + +"No," answered Robina. "It all sounds very probable. I wish it +didn't." + +"You must remember," I continued, "that I am an old playgoer. I have +sat out so many of this world's dramas. It is as easy to reconstruct +them backwards as forwards. We are witnessing the last act of the +St. Leonard drama: that unsatisfactory last act that merely fills +out time after the play is ended! The intermediate acts were +probably more exciting, containing 'passionate scenes' played with +much earnestness; chiefly for the amusement of the servants. But the +first act, with the Kentish lanes and woods for a back-cloth, must +have been charming. Here was the devout lover she had heard of, +dreamed of. It is delightful to be regarded as perfection--not +absolute perfection, for that might put a strain upon us to live up +to, but as so near perfection that to be more perfect would just +spoil it. The spots upon us, that unappreciative friends and +relations would magnify into blemishes, seen in their true light: +artistic shading relieving a faultlessness that might otherwise prove +too glaring. Dear Hubert found her excellent just as she was in +every detail. It would have been a crime against Love for her to +seek to change herself." + +"Well, then, it was his fault," argued Robina. "If he was silly +enough to like her faults, and encourage her in them--" + +"What could he have done," I asked, "even if he had seen them? A +lover does not point out his mistress's shortcomings to her." + +"Much the more sensible plan if he did," insisted Robina. "Then if +she cared for him she could set to work to cure herself." + +"You would like it?" I said; "you would appreciate it in your own +case? Can you imagine young Bute--?" + +"Why young Bute?" demanded Robina; "what's he got to do with it?" + +"Nothing," I answered; "except that he happens to be the first male +creature you have ever come across since you were six that you +haven't flirted with." + +"I don't flirt with them," said Robina; "I merely try to be nice to +them." + +"With the exception of young Bute," I persisted. + +"He irritates me," Robina explained. + +"I was reading," I said, "the other day, an account of the marriage +customs prevailing among the Lower Caucasians. The lover takes his +stand beneath his lady's window, and, having attracted her attention, +proceeds to sing. And if she seems to like it--if she listens to it +without getting mad, that means she doesn't want him. But if she +gets upset about it--slams down the window and walks away, then it's +all right. I think it's the Lower Caucasians." + +"Must be a very silly people," said Robina; "I suppose a pail of +water would be the highest proof of her affection he could hope for." + +"A complex being, man," I agreed. "We will call him X. Can you +imagine young X coming to you and saying: 'My dear Robina, you have +many excellent qualities. You can be amiable--so long as you are +having your own way in everything; but thwarted you can be just +horrid. You are very kind--to those who are willing for you to be +kind to them in your own way, which is not always their way. You can +be quite unselfish--when you happen to be in an unselfish mood, which +is far from frequent. You are capable and clever, but, like most +capable and clever people, impatient and domineering; highly +energetic when not feeling lazy; ready to forgive the moment your +temper is exhausted. You are generous and frank, but if your object +could only be gained through meanness or deceit you would not +hesitate a moment longer than was necessary to convince yourself that +the circumstances justified the means. You are sympathetic, tender- +hearted, and have a fine sense of justice; but I can see that tongue +of yours, if not carefully watched, wearing decidedly shrewish. You +have any amount of grit. A man might go tiger-hunting with you--with +no one better; but you are obstinate, conceited, and exacting. In +short, to sum you up, you have all the makings in you of an ideal +wife combined with faults sufficient to make a Socrates regret he'd +ever married you.'" + +"Yes, I would!" said Robina, springing to her feet. I could not see +her face, but I knew there was the look upon it that made Primgate +want to paint her as Joan of Arc; only it would never stop long +enough. "I'd love him for talking like that. And I'd respect him. +If he was that sort of man I'd pray God to help me to be the sort of +woman he wanted me to be. I'd try. I'd try all day long. I would!" + +"I wonder," I said. Robina had surprised me. I admit it. I thought +I knew the sex better. + +"Any girl would," said Robina. "He'd be worth it." + +"It would be a new idea," I mused. "Gott im Himmel! what a new world +might it not create!" The fancy began to take hold of me. "Love no +longer blind. Love refusing any more to be the poor blind fool-- +sport of gods and men. Love no longer passion's slave. His bonds +broken, the senseless bandage flung aside. Love helping life instead +of muddling it. Marriage, the foundation of civilisation, no longer +reared upon the sands of lies and illusions, but grappled to the rock +of truth--reality. Have you ever read 'Tom Jones?'" I said. + +"No," answered Robina; "I've always heard it wasn't a nice book." + +"It isn't," I said. "Man isn't a nice animal, not all of him. Nor +woman either. There's a deal of the beast in man. What can you +expect? Till a few paltry thousands of years ago he WAS a beast, +fighting with other beasts, his fellow denizens of the woods and +caves; watching for his prey, crouched in the long grass of the +river's bank, tearing it with claws and teeth, growling as he ate. +So he lived and died through the dim unnamed ages, transmitting his +beast's blood, his bestial instincts, to his offspring, growing ever +stronger, fiercer, from generation to generation, while the rocks +piled up their strata and the oceans shaped their beds. Moses! Why, +Lord Rothschild's great-grandfather, a few score times removed, must +have known Moses, talked with him. Babylon! It is a modern city, +fallen into disuse for the moment, owing to alteration of traffic +routes. History! it is a tale of to-day. Man was crawling about the +world on all fours, learning to be an animal for millions of years +before the secret of his birth was whispered to him. It is only +during the last few centuries that he has been trying to be a man. +Our modern morality! Why, compared with the teachings of nature, it +is but a few days old. What do you expect? That he shall forget the +lessons of the aeons at the bidding of the hours?" + +"Then you advise me to read 'Tom Jones'?" said Robina. + +"Yes," I said, "I do. I should not if I thought you were still a +child, knowing only blind trust, or blind terror. The sun is not +extinguished because occasionally obscured by mist; the scent of the +rose is not dead because of the worm in the leaf. A healthy rose can +afford a few worms--has got to, anyhow. All men are not Tom Joneses. +The standard of masculine behaviour continues to go up: many of us +make fine efforts to conform to it, and some of us succeed. But the +Tom Jones is there in all of us who are not anaemic or consumptive. +And there's no sense at all in getting cross with us about it, +because we cannot help it. We are doing our best. In another +hundred thousand years or so, provided all goes well, we shall be the +perfect man. And seeing our early training, I flatter myself that, +up to the present, we have done remarkably well." + +"Nothing like being satisfied with oneself," said Robina. + +"I'm not satisfied," I said; "I'm only hopeful. But it irritates me +when I hear people talk as though man had been born a white-souled +angel and was making supernatural efforts to become a sinner. That +seems to me the way to discourage him. What he wants is bucking up; +somebody to say to him, 'Bravo! why, this is splendid! Just think, +my boy, what you were, and that not so very long ago--an unwashed, +hairy savage; your law that of the jungle, your morals those of the +rabbit-warren. Now look at yourself--dressed in your little shiny +hat, your trousers neatly creased, walking with your wife to church +on Sunday! Keep on--that's all you've got to do. In a few more +centuries your own mother Nature won't know you. + +"You women," I continued; "why, a handful of years ago we bought and +sold you, kept you in cages, took the stick to you when you were not +spry in doing what you were told. Did you ever read the history of +Patient Griselda?" + +"Yes," said Robina, "I have." I gathered from her tone that the Joan +of Arc expression had departed. Had Primgate wanted to paint her at +that particular moment I should have suggested Katherine--during the +earlier stages--listening to a curtain lecture from Petruchio. "Are +you suggesting that all women should take her for a model?" + +"No," I said, "I'm not. Though were we living in Chaucer's time I +might; and you would not think it even silly. What I'm impressing +upon you is that the human race has yet a little way to travel before +the average man can be regarded as an up-to-date edition of King +Arthur--the King Arthur of the poetical legend, I mean. Don't be too +impatient with him." + +"Thinking what a beast he has been ought to make him impatient +himself with himself," considered Robina. "He ought to be feeling so +ashamed of himself as to be willing to do anything." + +The owl in the old yew screamed, whether with indignation or +amusement I cannot tell. + +"And woman," I said, "had the power been hers, would she have used it +to sweeter purpose? Where is your evidence? Your Cleopatras, +Pompadours, Jezebels; your Catherines of Russia, late Empresses of +China; your Faustines of all ages and all climes; your Mother +Brownriggs; your Lucretia Borgias, Salomes--I could weary you with +names. Your Roman task-mistresses; your drivers of lodging-house +slaveys; your ladies who whipped their pages to death in the Middle +Ages; your modern dames of fashion, decked with the plumage of the +tortured grove. There have been other women also--noble women, their +names like beacon-lights studding the dark waste of history. So +there have been noble men--saints, martyrs, heroes. The sex-line +divides us physically, not morally. Woman has been man's accomplice +in too many crimes to claim to be his judge. 'Male and female +created He them'--like and like, for good and evil." + +By good fortune I found a loose match. I lighted a fresh cigar. + +"Dick, I suppose, is the average man," said Robina. + +"Most of us are," I said, "when we are at home. Carlyle was the +average man in the little front parlour in Cheyne Row, though, to +hear fools talk, you might think no married couple outside literary +circles had ever been known to exchange a cross look. So was Oliver +Cromwell in his own palace with the door shut. Mrs. Cromwell must +have thought him monstrous silly, placing sticky sweetmeats for his +guests to sit on--told him so, most likely. A cheery, kindly man, +notwithstanding, though given to moods. He and Mrs. Cromwell seem to +have rubbed along, on the whole, pretty well together. Old Sam +Johnson--great, God-fearing, lovable, cantankerous old brute! Life +with him, in a small house on a limited income, must have had its ups +and downs. Milton and Frederick the Great were, one hopes, a little +below the average. Did their best, no doubt; lacked understanding. +Not so easy as it looks, living up to the standard of the average +man. Very clever people, in particular, find it tiring." + +"I shall never marry," said Robina. "At least, I hope I sha'n't." + +"Why 'hope'?" I asked. + +"Because I hope I shall never be idiot enough," she answered. "I see +it all so clearly. I wish I didn't. Love! it's only an ugly thing +with a pretty name. It will not be me that he will fall in love +with. He will not know me until it is too late. How can he? It +will be merely with the outside of me--my pink-and-white skin, my +rounded arms. I feel it sometimes when I see men looking at me, and +it makes me mad. And at other times the admiration in their eyes +pleases me. And that makes me madder still." + +The moon had slipped behind the wood. She had risen, and, leaning +against the porch, was standing with her hands clasped. I fancy she +had forgotten me. She seemed to be talking to the night. + +"It's only a trick of Nature to make fools of us," she said. "He +will tell me I am all the world to him; that his love will outlive +the stars--will believe it himself at the time, poor fellow! He will +call me a hundred pretty names, will kiss my feet and hands. And if +I'm fool enough to listen to him, it may last"--she laughed; it was +rather an ugly laugh--"six months; with luck perhaps a year, if I'm +careful not to go out in the east wind and come home with a red nose, +and never let him catch me in curl papers. It will not be me that he +will want: only my youth, and the novelty of me, and the mystery. +And when that is gone--" + +She turned to me. It was a strange face I saw then in the pale +light, quite a fierce little face. She laid her hands upon my +shoulders, and I felt them cold. "What comes when it is dead?" she +said. "What follows? You must know. Tell me. I want the truth." + +Her vehemence had arisen so suddenly. The little girl I had set out +to talk with was no longer there. To my bewilderment, it was a woman +that was questioning me. + +I drew her down beside me. But the childish face was still stern. + +"I want the truth," she said; so that I answered very gravely: + +"When the passion is passed; when the glory and the wonder of Desire- +-Nature's eternal ritual of marriage, solemnising, sanctifying it to +her commands--is ended; when, sooner or later, some grey dawn finds +you wandering bewildered in once familiar places, seeking vainly the +lost palace of youth's dreams; when Love's frenzy is faded, like the +fragrance of the blossom, like the splendour of the dawn; there will +remain to you, just what was there before--no more, no less. If +passion was all you had to give to one another, God help you. You +have had your hour of madness. It is finished. If greed of praise +and worship was your price--well, you have had your payment. The +bargain is complete. If mere hope to be made happy was your lure, +one pities you. We do not make each other happy. Happiness is the +gift of the gods, not of man. The secret lies within you, not +without. What remains to you will depend not upon what you THOUGHT, +but upon what you ARE. If behind the lover there was the man--behind +the impossible goddess of his love-sick brain some honest, human +woman, then life lies not behind you, but before you. + +"Life is giving, not getting. That is the mistake we most of us set +out with. It is the work that is the joy, not the wages; the game, +not the score. The lover's delight is to yield, not to claim. The +crown of motherhood is pain. To serve the State at cost of ease and +leisure; to spend his thought and labour upon a hundred schemes, is +the man's ambition. Life is doing, not having. It is to gain the +peak the climber strives, not to possess it. Fools marry thinking +what they are going to get out of it: good store of joys and +pleasure, opportunities for self-indulgence, eternal soft caresses-- +the wages of the wanton. The rewards of marriage are toil, duty, +responsibility--manhood, womanhood. Love's baby talk you will have +outgrown. You will no longer be his 'Goddess,' 'Angel,' 'Popsy +Wopsy,' 'Queen of his heart.' There are finer names than these: +wife, mother, priestess in the temple of humanity. Marriage is +renunciation, the sacrifice of Self upon the altar of the race. 'A +trick of Nature' you call it. Perhaps. But a trick of Nature +compelling you to surrender yourself to the purposes of God." + +I fancy we must have sat in silence for quite a long while; for the +moon, creeping upward past the wood, had flooded the fields again +with light before Robina spoke. + +"Then all love is needless," she said, "we could do better without +it, choose with more discretion. If it is only something that +worries us for a little while and then passes, what is the sense of +it?" + +"You could ask the same question of Life itself," I said; "'something +that worries us for a little while, then passes.' Perhaps the +'worry,' as you call it, has its uses. Volcanic upheavals are +necessary to the making of a world. Without them the ground would +remain rock-bound, unfitted for its purposes. That explosion of +Youth's pent-up forces that we term Love serves to the making of man +and woman. It does not die, it takes new shape. The blossom fades +as the fruit forms. The passion passes to give place to peace. The +trembling lover has become the helper, the comforter, the husband." + +"But the failures," Robina persisted; "I do not mean the silly or the +wicked people; but the people who begin by really loving one another, +only to end in disliking--almost hating one another. How do THEY get +there?" + +"Sit down," I said, "and I will tell you a story. + +"Once upon a time there was a girl, and a boy who loved her. She was +a clever, brilliant girl, and she had the face of an angel. They +lived near to one another, seeing each other almost daily. But the +boy, awed by the difference of their social position, kept his +secret, as he thought, to himself; dreaming, as youth will, of the +day when fame and wealth would bridge the gulf between them. The +kind look in her eyes, the occasional seeming pressure of her hand, +he allowed to feed his hopes; and on the morning of his departure for +London an incident occurred that changed his vague imaginings to set +resolve. He had sent on his scanty baggage by the carrier, intending +to walk the three miles to the station. It was early in the morning, +and he had not expected to meet a soul. But a mile from the village +he overtook her. She was reading a book, but she made no pretence +that the meeting was accidental, leaving him to form what conclusions +he would. She walked with him some distance, and he told her of his +plans and hopes; and she answered him quite simply that she should +always remember him, always be more glad than she could tell to hear +of his success. Near the end of the lane they parted, she wishing +him in that low sweet woman's voice of hers all things good. He +turned, a little farther on, and found that she had also turned. She +waved her hand to him, smiling. And through the long day's journey +and through many days to come there remained with him that picture of +her, bringing with it the scent of the pine-woods: her white hand +waving to him, her sweet eyes smiling wistfully. + +"But fame and fortune are not won so quickly as boys dream, nor is +life as easy to live bravely as it looks in visions. It was nearly +twenty years before they met again. Neither had married. Her people +were dead and she was living alone; and to him the world at last had +opened her doors. She was still beautiful. A gracious, gentle lady, +she had grown; clothed with that soft sweet dignity that Time bestows +upon rare women, rendering them fairer with the years. + +"To the man it seemed a miracle. The dream of those early days came +back to him. Surely there was nothing now to separate them. Nothing +had changed but the years, bringing to them both wider sympathies, +calmer, more enduring emotions. She welcomed him again with the old +kind smile, a warmer pressure of the hand; and, allowing a little +time to pass for courtesy's sake, he told her what was the truth: +that he had never ceased to love her, never ceased to keep the vision +of her fair pure face before him, his ideal of all that man could +find of help in womanhood. And her answer, until years later he read +the explanation, remained a mystery to him. She told him that she +loved him, that she had never loved any other man and never should; +that his love, for so long as he chose to give it to her, she should +always prize as the greatest gift of her life. But with that she +prayed him to remain content. + +"He thought perhaps it was a touch of woman's pride, of hurt dignity +that he had kept silent so long, not trusting her; that perhaps as +time went by she would change her mind. But she never did; and after +awhile, finding that his persistence only pained her, he accepted the +situation. She was not the type of woman about whom people talk +scandal, nor would it have troubled her much had they done so. Able +now to work where he would, he took a house in a neighbouring +village, where for the best part of the year he lived, near to her. +And to the end they remained lovers." + +"I think I understand," said Robina. "I will tell you afterwards if +I am wrong." + +"I told the story to a woman many years ago," I said, "and she also +thought she understood. But she was only half right." + +"We will see," said Robina. "Go on." + +"She left a letter, to be given to him after her death, in case he +survived her; if not, to be burned unopened. In it she told him her +reason, or rather her reasons, for having refused him. It was an odd +letter. The 'reasons' sounded so pitiably insufficient. Until one +took the pains to examine them in the cold light of experience. And +then her letter struck one, not as foolish, but as one of the +grimmest commentaries upon marriage that perhaps had ever been +penned. + +"It was because she had wished always to remain his ideal; to keep +their love for one another to the end, untarnished; to be his true +helpmeet in all things, that she had refused to marry him. + +"Had he spoken that morning she had waited for him in the lane--she +had half hoped, half feared it--she might have given her promise: +'For Youth,' so she wrote, 'always dreams it can find a new way.' +She thanked God that he had not. + +"'Sooner or later,' so ran the letter, 'you would have learned, Dear, +that I was neither saint nor angel; but just a woman--such a +tiresome, inconsistent creature; she would have exasperated you--full +of a thousand follies and irritabilities that would have marred for +you all that was good in her. I wanted you to have of me only what +was worthy, and this seemed the only way. Counting the hours to your +coming, hating the pain of your going, I could always give to you my +best. The ugly words, the whims and frets that poison speech--they +could wait; it was my lover's hour. + +"'And you, Dear, were always so tender, so gay. You brought me joy +with both your hands. Would it have been the same, had you been my +husband? How could it? There were times, even as it was, when you +vexed me. Forgive me, Dear, I mean it was my fault--ways of thought +and action that did not fit in with my ways, that I was not large- +minded enough to pass over. As my lover, they were but as spots upon +the sun. It was easy to control the momentary irritation that they +caused me. Time was too precious for even a moment of estrangement. +As my husband, the jarring note would have been continuous, would +have widened into discord. You see, Dear, I was not great enough to +love ALL of you. I remember, as a child, how indignant I always felt +with God when my nurse told me He would not love me because I was +naughty, that He only loved good children. It seemed such a poor +sort of love, that. Yet that is precisely how we men and women do +love; taking only what gives us pleasure, repaying the rest with +anger. There would have arisen the unkind words that can never be +recalled; the ugly silences; the gradual withdrawing from one +another. I dared not face it. + +"'It was not all selfishness. Truthfully I can say I thought more of +you than of myself. I wanted to keep the shadows of life away from +you. We men and women are like the flowers. It is in sunshine that +we come to our best. You were my hero. I wanted you to be great. I +wanted you to be surrounded by lovely dreams. I wanted your love to +be a thing holy, helpful to you.' + +"It was a long letter. I have given you the gist of it." + +Again there was a silence between us. + +"You think she did right?" asked Robina. + +"I cannot say," I answered; "there are no rules for Life, only for +the individual." + +"I have read it somewhere," said Robina--"where was it?--'Love +suffers all things, and rejoices.'" + +"Maybe in old Thomas Kempis. I am not sure," I said. + +"It seems to me," said Robina, "that the explanation lies in that one +sentence of hers: 'I was not great enough to love ALL of you.'" + +"It seems to me," I said, "that the whole art of marriage is the art +of getting on with the other fellow. It means patience, self- +control, forbearance. It means the laying aside of our self-conceit +and admitting to ourselves that, judged by eyes less partial than our +own, there may be much in us that is objectionable, that calls for +alteration. It means toleration for views and opinions diametrically +opposed to our most cherished convictions. It means, of necessity, +the abandonment of many habits and indulgences that however trivial +have grown to be important to us. It means the shaping of our own +desires to the needs of others; the acceptance often of surroundings +and conditions personally distasteful to us. It means affection deep +and strong enough to bear away the ugly things of life--its quarrels, +wrongs, misunderstandings--swiftly and silently into the sea of +forgetfulness. It means courage, good humour, commonsense." + +"That is what I am saying," explained Robina. "It means loving him +even when he's naughty." + +Dick came across the fields. Robina rose and slipped into the house. + +"You are looking mighty solemn, Dad," said Dick. + +"Thinking of Life, Dick," I confessed. "Of the meaning and the +explanation of it." + +"Yes, it's a problem, Life," admitted Dick. + +"A bit of a teaser," I agreed. + +We smoked in silence for awhile. + +"Loving a good woman must be a tremendous help to a man," said Dick. + +He looked very handsome, very gallant, his boyish face flashing +challenge to the Fates. + +"Tremendous, Dick," I agreed. + +Robina called to him that his supper was ready. He knocked the ashes +from his pipe, and followed her into the house. Their laughing +voices came to me broken through the half-closed doors. From the +night around me rose a strange low murmur. It seemed to me as though +above the silence I heard the far-off music of the Mills of God. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + + +I fancy Veronica is going to be an authoress. Her mother thinks this +may account for many things about her that have been troubling us. +The story never got far. It was laid aside for the more alluring +work of play-writing, and apparently forgotten. I came across the +copy-book containing her "Rough Notes" the other day. There is +decided flavour about them. I transcribe selections; the spelling, +as before, being my own. + +"The scene is laid in the Moon. But everything is just the same as +down here. With one exception. The children rule. The grown-ups do +not like it. But they cannot help it. Something has happened to +them. They don't know what. And the world is as it used to be. In +the sweet old story-books. Before sin came. There are fairies that +dance o' nights. And Witches. That lure you. And then turn you +into things. And a dragon who lives in a cave. And springs out at +people. And eats them. So that you have to be careful. And all the +animals talk. And there are giants. And lots of magic. And it is +the children who know everything. And what to do for it. And they +have to teach the grown-ups. And the grown-ups don't believe half of +it. And are far too fond of arguing. Which is a sore trial to the +children. But they have patience, and are just. + +"Of course the grown-ups have to go to school. They have much to +learn. Poor things! And they hate it. They take no interest in +fairy lore. And what would happen to them if they got wrecked on a +Desert Island they don't seem to care. And then there are languages. +What they will need when they come to be children. And have to talk +to all the animals. And magic. Which is deep. And they hate it. +And say it is rot. They are full of tricks. One catches them +reading trashy novels. Under the desk. All about love. Which is +wasting their children's money. And God knows it is hard enough to +earn. But the children are not angry with them. Remembering how +they felt themselves. When they were grown up. Only firm. + +"The children give them plenty of holidays. Because holidays are +good for everyone. They freshen you up. But the grown-ups are very +stupid. And do not care for sensible games. Such as Indians. And +Pirates. What would sharpen their faculties. And so fit them for +the future. They only care to play with a ball. Which is of no +help. To the stern realities of life. Or talk. Lord, how they +talk! + +"There is one grown-up. Who is very clever. He can talk about +everything. But it leads to nothing. And spoils the party. So they +send him to bed. And there are two grown-ups. A male and a female. +And they talk love. All the time. Even on fine days. Which is +maudlin. But the children are patient with them. Knowing it takes +all sorts. To make a world. And trusting they will grow out of it. +And of course there are grown-ups who are good. And a comfort to +their children. + +"And everything the children like is good. And wholesome. And +everything the grown-ups like is bad for them. AND THEY MUSTN'T HAVE +IT. They clamour for tea and coffee. What undermines their nervous +system. And waste their money in the tuck shop. Upon chops. And +turtle soup. And the children have to put them to bed. And give +them pills. Till they feel better. + +"There is a little girl named Prue. Who lives with a little boy +named Simon. They mean well. But haven't much sense. They have two +grown-ups. A male and a female. Named Peter and Martha. +Respectively. They are just the ordinary grown-ups. Neither better +nor worse. And much might be done with them. By kindness. But Prue +and Simon GO THE WRONG WAY TO WORK. It is blame blame all day long. +But as for praise. Oh never! + +"One summer's day Prue and Simon take Peter for a walk. In the +country. And they meet a cow. And they think this a good +opportunity. To test Peter's knowledge. Of languages. So they tell +him to talk to the cow. And he talks to the cow. And the cow don't +understand him. And he don't understand the cow. And they are mad +with him. 'What is the use,' they say. 'Of our paying expensive +fees. To have you taught the language. By a first-class cow. And +when you come out into the country. You can't talk it.' And he says +he did talk it. But they will not listen to him. But go on raving. +And in the end it turns out. IT WAS A JERSEY COW! What talked a +dialect. So of course he couldn't understand it. But did they +apologise? Oh dear no. + +"Another time. One morning at breakfast. Martha didn't like her +raspberry vinegar. So she didn't drink it. And Simon came into the +nursery. And he saw that Martha hadn't drunk her raspberry vinegar. +And he asked her why. And she said she didn't like it. Because it +was nasty. And he said it wasn't nasty. And that she OUGHT to like +it. And how it was shocking. The way grown-ups nowadays grumbled. +At good wholesome food. Provided for them by their too-indulgent +children. And how when HE was a grown-up. He would never have +dared. And so on. All in the usual style. And to prove it wasn't +nasty. He poured himself out a cupful. And drank it off. In a +gulp. + +And he said it was delicious. And turned pale. And left the room. + +"And Prue came into the nursery. And she saw that Martha hadn't +drunk her raspberry vinegar. And she asked her why. And Martha told +her how she didn't like it. Because it was nasty. And Prue told her +she ought to be ashamed of herself. For not liking it. Because it +was good for her. And really very nice. And anyhow she'd GOT to +like it. And not get stuffing herself up with messy tea and coffee. +Because she wouldn't have it. And there was an end of it. And so +on. And to prove it was all right. She poured herself out a cupful. +And drank it off. In a gulp. And she said there was nothing wrong +with it. Nothing whatever. And turned pale. And left the room. + +"And it wasn't raspberry vinegar. But just red ink. What had got +put into the raspberry vinegar decanter. By an oversight. And they +needn't have been ill at all. If only they had listened. To poor +old Martha. But no. That was their fixed idea. That grown-ups +hadn't any sense. At all. What is a mistake. As one perceives." + +Other characters had been sketched, some of them to be abandoned +after a few bold touches: the difficulty of avoiding too close a +portraiture to the living original having apparently proved irksome. +Against one such, evidently an attempt to help Dick see himself in +his true colours, I find this marginal, note in pencil: "Better not. +Might make him ratty." Opposite to another--obviously of Mrs. St. +Leonard, and with instinct for alliteration--is scribbled; "Too +terribly true. She'd twig it." + +Another character is that of a gent: "With a certain gift. For +telling stories. Some of them NOT BAD." A promising party, on the +whole. Indeed, one might say, judging from description, a quite +rational person: "WHEN NOT ON THE RANTAN. But inconsistent." He is +the grown-up of a little girl: "Not beautiful. But strangely +attractive. Whom we will call Enid." One gathers that if all the +children had been Enids, then surely the last word in worlds had been +said. She has only this one grown-up of her very own; but she makes +it her business to adopt and reform all the incorrigible old folk the +other children have despaired of. It is all done by kindness. "She +is EVER patient. And just." Prominent among her numerous PROTEGEES +is a military man, an elderly colonel; until she took him in hand, +the awful example of what a grown-up might easily become, left to the +care of incompetent infants. He defies his own child, a virtuous +youth, but "lacking in sympathy;" is rude to his little nephews and +nieces; a holy terror to his governess. He uses wicked words, picked +up from retired pirates. "Of course without understanding. Their +terrible significance." He steals the Indian's fire-water. "What +few can partake of. With impunity." Certainly not the Colonel. +"Can this be he! This gibbering wreck!" He hides cigars in a hollow +tree, and smokes on the sly. He plays truant. Lures other old +gentlemen away from their lessons to join him. They are discovered +in the woods, in a cave, playing whist for sixpenny points. + +Does Enid storm and bullyrag; threaten that if ever she catches him +so much as looking at a card again she will go straight out and tell +the dragon, who will in his turn be so shocked that in all +probability he will decide on coming back with her to kill and eat +the Colonel on the spot? No. "Such are not her methods." Instead +she smiles: "indulgently." She says it is only natural for grown- +ups to like playing cards. She is not angry with him. And there is +no need for him to run away and hide in a nasty damp cave. "SHE +HERSELF WILL PLAY WHIST WITH HIM." The effect upon the Colonel is +immediate: he bursts into tears. She plays whist with him in the +garden: "After school hours. When he has been GOOD." Double dummy, +one presumes. One leaves the Colonel, in the end, cured of his +passion for whist. Whether as the consequence of her play or her +influence the "Rough Notes" give no indication. + +In the play, I am inclined to think, Veronica received assistance. +The house had got itself finished early in September. Young Bute has +certainly done wonders. We performed it in the empty billiard-room, +followed by a one-act piece of my own. The occasion did duty as a +house-warming. We had quite a crowd, and ended up with a dance. +Everybody seemed to enjoy themselves, except young Bertie St. +Leonard, who played the Prince, and could not get out of his helmet +in time for supper. It was a good helmet, but had been fastened +clumsily; and inexperienced people trying to help had only succeeded +in jambing all the screws. Not only wouldn't it come off, it would +not even open for a drink. All thought it an excellent joke, with +the exception of young Herbert St. Leonard. Our Mayor, a cheerful +little man and very popular, said that it ought to be sent to PUNCH. +The local reporter reminded him that the late John Leech had already +made use of precisely the same incident for a comic illustration, +afterwards remembering that it was not Leech, but the late Phil May. +He seemed to think this ended the matter. St. Leonard and the Vicar, +who are rival authorities upon the subject, fell into an argument +upon armour in general, with special reference to the fourteenth +century. Each used the boy's head to confirm his own theory, passing +it triumphantly from one to the other. We had to send off young +Hopkins in the donkey-cart for the blacksmith. I have found out, by +the way, how it is young Hopkins makes our donkey go. Young Hopkins +argues it is far less brutal than whacking him, especially after +experience has proved that he evidently does not know why you are +whacking him. I am not at all sure the boy is not right. + +Janie played the Fairy Godmamma in a white wig and panniers. She +will make a beautiful old lady. The white hair gives her the one +thing that she lacks: distinction. I found myself glancing +apprehensively round the room, wishing we had not invited so many +eligible bachelors. Dick is making me anxious. The sense of his own +unworthiness, which has come to him quite suddenly, and apparently +with all the shock of a new discovery, has completely unnerved him. +It is a healthy sentiment, and does him good. But I do not want it +carried to the length of losing her. The thought of what he might +one day bring home has been a nightmare to me ever since he left +school. I suppose it is to most fathers. Especially if one thinks +of the women one loved oneself when in the early twenties. A large +pale-faced girl, who served in a bun-shop in the Strand, is the first +I can recollect. How I trembled when by chance her hand touched +mine! I cannot recall a single attraction about her except her size, +yet for nearly six months I lunched off pastry and mineral waters +merely to be near her. To this very day an attack of indigestion +will always recreate her image in my mind. Another was a thin, +sallow girl, but with magnificent eyes, I met one afternoon in the +South Kensington Museum. She was a brainless, vixenish girl, but the +memory of her eyes would always draw me back to her. More than two- +thirds of our time together we spent in violent quarrels; and all my +hopes of eternity I would have given to make her my companion for +life. But for Luck, in the shape of a well-to-do cab proprietor, as +great an idiot as myself I might have done it. The third was a +chorus girl: on the whole, the best of the bunch. Her father was a +coachman, and she had ten brothers and sisters, most of them doing +well in service. And she was succeeded--if I have the order correct- +-by the ex-wife of a solicitor, a sprightly lady; according to her +own account the victim of complicated injustice. I daresay there +were others, if I took the time to think; but not one of them can I +remember without returning thanks to Providence for having lost her. +What is one to do? There are days in springtime when a young man +ought not to be allowed outside the house. Thank Heaven and +Convention it is not the girls who propose! Few women, who would +choose the right moment to put their hands upon a young man's +shoulders, and, looking into his eyes, ask him to marry them next +week, would receive No for an answer. It is only our shyness that +saves us. A wise friend of mine, who has observed much, would have +all those marrying under five-and-twenty divorced by automatic +effluxion of time at forty, leaving the few who had chosen +satisfactorily to be reunited if they wished: his argument being +that to condemn grown men and women to abide by the choice of +inexperienced boys and girls is unjust and absurd. There were nice +girls I could have fallen in love with. They never occurred to me. +It would seem as if a man had to learn taste in women as in all other +things, namely, by education. Here and there may exist the born +connoisseur. But with most of us our first instincts are towards +vulgarity. It is Barrie, I think, who says that if only there were +silly women enough to go round, good women would never get a look in. +It is certainly remarkable, the number of sweet old maids one meets. +Almost as remarkable as the number of stupid, cross-grained wives. +As I tell Dick, I have no desire for a daughter-in-law of whom he +feels himself worthy. If he can't do better than that he had best +remain single. Janie and he, if I know anything of life, are just +suited for one another. Helpful people take their happiness in +helping. I knew just such another, once: a sweet, industrious, +sensible girl. She made the mistake of marrying a thoroughly good +man. There was nothing for her to do. She ended by losing all +interest in him, devoting herself to a Home in the East End for the +reformation of newsboys. It was a pitiful waste: so many women +would have been glad of him; while to the ordinary sinful man she +would have been a life-long comfort. I must have a serious talk to +Dick. I shall point out what a good thing it will be for her. I can +see Dick keeping her busy and contented for the rest of her days. + +Veronica played the Princess,--with little boy Foy--"Sir Robert of +the Curse"--as her page. Anything more dignified has, I should say, +rarely been seen upon the English stage. Among her wedding presents +were: Two Votes for Women, presented by the local Fire Brigade; a +Flying Machine of "proved stability. Might be used as a bathing +tent;" a National Theatre, "with Cold Water Douche in Basement for +reception of English Dramatists;" Recipe for building a Navy, without +paying for it, "Gift of that great Financial Expert, Sir Hocus +Pocus;" one Conscientious Income Taxpayer, "has been driven by a +Lady;" two Socialists in agreement as to what it means, "smaller one +slightly damaged;" one Contented Farmer, "Babylonian Period;" and one +extra-sized bottle, "Solution of the Servant Problem." + +Dick played the "Dragon without a Tail." We had to make him without +a tail owing to the smallness of the stage. He had once had a tail. +But that was a long story: added to which there was not time to tell +it. Little Sally St. Leonard played his wife, and Robina was his +mother-in-law. So much depends upon one's mood. What an ocean of +boredom might be saved if science could but give us a barometer +foretelling us our changes of temperament! How much more to our +comfort we could plan our lives, knowing that on Monday, say, we +should be feeling frivolous; on Saturday "dull to bad-tempered." + +I took a man once to see The Private Secretary. I began by enjoying +myself, and ended by feeling ashamed of myself and vexed with the +scheme of creation. That authors should write such plays, that +actors should be willing to degrade our common nature by appearing in +them was explainable, he supposed, by the law of supply and demand. +What he could not understand was how the public could contrive to +extract amusement from them. What was there funny in seeing a poor +gentleman shut up in a box? Why should everybody roar with laughter +when he asked for a bun? People asked for buns every day--people in +railway refreshment rooms, in aerated bread shops. Where was the +joke? A month later I found myself by chance occupying the seat just +behind him at the pantomime. The low comedian was bathing a baby, +and tears of merriment were rolling down his cheeks. To me the whole +business seemed painful and revolting. We were being asked to find +delight in the spectacle of a father--scouring down an infant of +tender years with a scrubbing-brush. How women--many of them +mothers--could remain through such an exhibition without rising in +protest appeared to me an argument against female suffrage. A lady +entered, the wife, so the programme informed me, of a Baron! All I +can say is that a more vulgar, less prepossessing female I never wish +to meet. I even doubted her sobriety. She sat down plump upon the +baby. She must have been a woman rising sixteen stone, and for one +minute fifteen seconds by my watch the whole house rocked with +laughter. That the thing was only a stage property I felt was no +excuse. The humour--heaven save the mark--lay in the supposition +that what we were witnessing was the agony and death--for no child +could have survived that woman's weight--of a real baby. Had I been +able to tap myself beforehand I should have learned that on that +particular Saturday I was going to be "set-serious." Instead of +booking a seat for the pantomime I should have gone to a lecture on +Egyptian pottery which was being given by a friend of mine at the +London Library, and have had a good time. + +Children could tap their parents, warn each other that father was +"going down;" that mother next week was likely to be "gusty." +Children themselves might hang out their little barometers. I +remember a rainy day in a country house during the Christmas +holidays. We had among us a Member of Parliament: a man of sunny +disposition, extremely fond of children. He said it was awfully hard +lines on the little beggars cooped up in a nursery; and borrowing his +host's motor-coat, pretended he was a bear. He plodded round on his +hands and knees and growled a good deal, and the children sat on the +sofa and watched him. But they didn't seem to be enjoying it, not +much; and after a quarter of an hour or so he noticed this himself. +He thought it was, maybe, that they were tired of bears, and fancied +that a whale might rouse them. He turned the table upside down and +placed the children in it on three chairs, explaining to them that +they were ship-wrecked sailors on a raft, and that they must be +careful the whale did not get underneath it and upset them. He +draped a sheet over the towel-horse to represent an iceberg, and +rolled himself up in a mackintosh and flopped about the floor on his +stomach, butting his head occasionally against the table in order to +suggest to them their danger. The attitude of the children still +remained that of polite spectators. True, the youngest boy did make +the suggestion of borrowing the kitchen toasting-fork, and employing +it as a harpoon; but even this appeared to be the outcome rather of a +desire to please than of any warmer interest; and, the whale +objecting, the idea fell through. After that he climbed up on the +dresser and announced to them that he was an ourang-outang. They +watched him break a soup-tureen, and then the eldest boy, stepping +out into the middle of the room, held up his arm, and the Member of +Parliament, somewhat surprised, sat down on the dresser and listened. + +"Please, sir," said the eldest boy, "we're awfully sorry. It's +awfully good of you, sir. But somehow we're not feeling in the mood +for wild beasts this afternoon." + +The Member of Parliament brought them down into the drawing-room, +where we had music; and the children, at their own request, were +allowed to sing hymns. The next day they came of their own accord, +and asked the Member of Parliament to play at beasts with them; but +it seemed he had letters to write. + +There are times when jokes about mothers-in-law strike me as lacking +both in taste and freshness. On this particular evening they came to +me bringing with them all the fragrance of the days that are no more. +The first play I ever saw dealt with the subject of the mother-in- +law--the "Problem" I think it was called in those days. The occasion +was an amateur performance given in aid of the local Ragged School. +A cousin of mine, lately married, played the wife; and my aunt, I +remember, got up and walked out in the middle of the second act. +Robina, in spectacles and an early Victorian bonnet, reminded me of +her. Young Bute played a comic cabman. It was at the old Haymarket, +in Buckstone's time, that I first met the cabman of art and +literature. Dear bibulous, becoated creature, with ever-wrathful +outstretched palm and husky "'Ere! Wot's this?" How good it was to +see him once again! I felt I wanted to climb over the foot-lights +and shake him by the hand. The twins played a couple of Young Turks, +much concerned about their constitutions; and made quite a hit with a +topical duet to the refrain: "And so you see The reason he Is not +the Boss for us." We all agreed it was a pun worthy of Tom Hood +himself. The Vicar thought he had heard it before, but this seemed +improbable. There was a unanimous call for Author, giving rise to +sounds of discussion behind the curtain. Eventually the whole +company appeared, with Veronica in the centre. I had noticed +throughout that the centre of the stage appeared to be Veronica's +favourite spot. I can see the makings of a leading actress in +Veronica. + +In my own piece, which followed, Robina and Bute played a young +married couple who do not know how to quarrel. It has always struck +me how much more satisfactorily people quarrel on the stage than in +real life. On the stage the man, having made up his mind--to have it +out, enters and closes the door. He lights a cigarette; if not a +teetotaller mixes himself a brandy-and-soda. His wife all this time +is careful to remain silent. Quite evident it is that he is +preparing for her benefit something unpleasant, and chatter might +disturb him. To fill up the time she toys with a novel or touches +softly the keys of the piano until he is quite comfortable and ready +to begin. He glides into his subject with the studied calm of one +with all the afternoon before him. She listens to him in rapt +attention. She does not dream of interrupting him; would scorn the +suggestion of chipping in with any little notion of her own likely to +disarrange his train of thought. All she does when he pauses, as +occasionally he has to for the purpose of taking breath, is to come +to his assistance with short encouraging remarks, such, for instance, +as: "Well." "You think that." "And if I did?" Her object seems to +be to help him on. "Go on," she says from time to time, bitterly. +And he goes on. Towards the end, when he shows signs of easing up, +she puts it to him as one sportsman to another: Is he quite +finished? Is that all? Sometimes it isn't. As often as not he has +been saving the pick of the basket for the last. + +"No," he says, "that is not all. There is something else!" + +That is quite enough for her. That is all she wanted to know. She +merely asked in case there might be. As it appears there is, she re- +settles herself in her chair and is again all ears. + +When it does come--when he is quite sure there is nothing he has +forgotten, no little point that he has overlooked, she rises. + +"I have listened patiently," she begins, "to all that you have said." +(The devil himself could not deny this. "Patience" hardly seems the +word. "Enthusiastically" she might almost have said). "Now"--with +rising inflection--"you listen to me." + +The stage husband--always the gentleman--bows;--stiffly maybe, but +quite politely; and prepares in his turn to occupy the role of dumb +but dignified defendant. To emphasise the coming change in their +positions, the lady most probably crosses over to what has hitherto +been his side of the stage; while he, starting at the same moment, +and passing her about the centre, settles himself down in what must +be regarded as the listener's end of the room. We then have the +whole story over again from her point of view; and this time it is +the gentleman who would bite off his tongue rather than make a retort +calculated to put the lady off. + +In the end it is the party who is in the right that conquers. Off +the stage this is more or less of a toss-up; on the stage, never. If +justice be with the husband, then it is his voice that, gradually +growing louder and louder, rings at last triumphant through the +house. The lady sees herself that she has been to blame, and wonders +why it did not occur to her before--is grateful for the revelation, +and asks to be forgiven. If, on the other hand, it was the husband +who was at fault, then it is the lady who will be found eventually +occupying the centre of the stage; the miserable husband who, morally +speaking, will be trying to get under the table. + +Now, in real life things don't happen quite like this. What the +quarrel in real life suffers from is want of system. There is no +order, no settled plan. There is much too much go-as-you-please +about the quarrel in real life, and the result is naturally pure +muddle. The man, turning things over in the morning while shaving, +makes up his mind to have this matter out and have done with it. He +knows exactly what he is going to say. He repeats it to himself at +intervals during the day. He will first say This, and then he will +go on to That; while he is about it he will perhaps mention the +Other. He reckons it will take him a quarter of an hour. Which will +just give him time to dress for dinner. + +After it is over, and he looks at his watch, he finds it has taken +him longer than that. Added to which he has said next to nothing-- +next to nothing, that is, of what he meant to say. It went wrong +from the very start. As a matter of fact there wasn't any start. He +entered the room and closed the door. That is as far as he got. The +cigarette he never even lighted. There ought to have been a box of +matches on the mantelpiece behind the photo-frame. And of course +there were none there. For her to fly into a temper merely because +he reminded her that he had spoken about this very matter at least a +hundred times before, and accuse him of going about his own house +"stealing" his own matches was positively laughable. They had +quarrelled for about five minutes over those wretched matches, and +then for another ten because he said that women had no sense of +humour, and she wanted to know how he knew. After that there had +cropped up the last quarter's gas-bill, and that by a process still +mysterious to him had led them into the subject of his behaviour on +the night of the Hockey Club dance. By an effort of almost +supernatural self-control he had contrived at length to introduce the +subject he had come home half an hour earlier than usual on purpose +to discuss. It didn't interest her in the least. What she was full +of by this time was a girl named Arabella Jones. She got in quite a +lot while he was vainly trying to remember where he had last seen the +damned girl. He had just succeeded in getting back to his own topic +when the Cuddiford girl from next door dashed in without a hat to +borrow a tuning-fork. It had been quite a business finding the +tuning-fork, and when she was gone they had to begin all over again. +They had quarrelled about the drawing-room carpet; about her sister +Florrie's birthday present; and the way he drove the motor-car. It +had taken them over an hour and a half, and rather than waste the +tickets for the theatre, they had gone without their dinner. The +matter of the cold chisel still remained to be thrashed out. + +It had occurred to me that through the medium of the drama I might +show how the domestic quarrel could so easily be improved. Adolphus +Goodbody, a worthy young man deeply attached to his wife, feels +nevertheless that the dinners she is inflicting upon him are +threatening with permanent damage his digestive system. He +determines, come what may, to insist upon a change. Elvira Goodbody, +a charming girl, admiring and devoted to her husband, is +notwithstanding a trifle en tete, especially when her domestic +arrangements happen to be the theme of discussion. Adolphus, his +courage screwed to the sticking-point, broaches the difficult +subject; and for the first half of the act my aim was to picture the +progress of the human quarrel, not as it should be, but as it is. +They never reach the cook. The first mention of the word "dinner" +reminds Elvira (quick to perceive that argument is brewing, and alive +to the advantage of getting in first) that twice the month before he +had dined out, not returning till the small hours of the morning. +What she wants to know is where this sort of thing is going to end? +If the purpose of Freemasonry is the ruin of the home and the +desertion of women, then all she has to say--it turns out to be quite +a good deal. Adolphus, when able to get in a word, suggests that +eleven o'clock at the latest can hardly be described as the "small +hours of the morning": the fault with women is that they never will +confine themselves to the simple truth. From that point onwards, as +can be imagined, the scene almost wrote itself. They have passed +through all the customary stages, and are planning, with exaggerated +calm, arrangements for the separation which each now feels to be +inevitable, when a knock comes to the front-door, and there enters a +mutual friend. + +Their hasty attempts to cover up the traces of mental disorder with +which the atmosphere is strewed do not deceive him. There has been, +let us say, a ripple on the waters of perfect agreement. Come! What +was it all about? + +"About!" They look from one to the other. Surely it would be +simpler to tell him what it had NOT been about. It had been about +the parrot, about her want of punctuality, about his using the +butter-knife for the marmalade, about a pair of slippers he had lost +at Christmas, about the education question, and her dressmaker's +bill, and his friend George, and the next-door dog - + +The mutual friend cuts short the catalogue. Clearly there is nothing +for it but to begin the quarrel all over again; and this time, if +they will put themselves into his hands, he feels sure he can promise +victory to whichever one is in the right. + +Elvira--she has a sweet, impulsive nature--throws her arms around +him: that is all she wants. If only Adolphus could be brought to +see! Adolphus grips him by the hand. If only Elvira would listen to +sense! + +The mutual friend--he is an old stage-manager--arranges the scene: +Elvira in easy-chair by fire with crochet. Enter Adolphus. He +lights a cigarette; flings the match on the floor; with his hands in +his pockets paces up and down the room; kicks a footstool out of his +way. + +"Tell me when I am to begin," says Elvira. + +The mutual friend promises to give her the right cue. + +Adolphus comes to a halt in the centre of the room. + +"I am sorry, my dear," he says, "but there is something I must say to +you--something that may not be altogether pleasant for you to hear." + +To which Elvira, still crocheting, replies, "Oh, indeed. And pray +what may that be?" + +This was not Elvira's own idea. Springing from her chair, she had +got as far as: "Look here. If you have come home early merely for +the purpose of making a row--" before the mutual friend could stop +her. The mutual friend was firm. Only by exacting strict obedience +could he guarantee a successful issue. What she had got to say was, +"Oh, indeed. Etcetera." The mutual friend had need of all his tact +to prevent its becoming a quarrel of three. + +Adolphus, allowed to proceed, explained that the subject about which +he wished to speak was the subject of dinner. The mutual friend this +time was beforehand. Elvira's retort to that was: "Dinner! You +complain of the dinners I provide for you?" enabling him to reply, +"Yes, madam, I do complain," and to give reasons. It seemed to +Elvira that the mutual friend had lost his senses. To tell her to +"wait"; that "her time would come"; of what use was that! Half of +what she wanted to say would be gone out of her head. Adolphus +brought to a conclusion his criticism of Elvira's kitchen; and then +Elvira, incapable of restraining herself further, rose majestically. + +The mutual friend was saved the trouble of suppressing Adolphus. +Until Elvira had finished Adolphus never got an opening. He grumbled +at their dinners. He! who can dine night after night with his +precious Freemasons. Does he think she likes them any better? She, +doomed to stay at home and eat them. What does he take her for? An +ostrich? Whose fault is it that they keep an incompetent cook too +old to learn and too obstinate to want to? Whose old family servant +was she? Not Elvira's. It has been to please Adolphus that she has +suffered the woman. And this is her reward. This! She breaks down. +Adolphus is astonished and troubled. Personally he never liked the +woman. Faithful she may have been, but a cook never. His own idea, +had he been consulted, would have been a small pension. Elvira falls +upon his neck. Why did he not say so before? Adolphus presses her +to his bosom. If only he had known! They promise the mutual friend +never to quarrel again without his assistance. + +The acting all round was quite good. Our curate, who is a bachelor, +said it taught a lesson. Veronica had tears in her eyes. She +whispered to me that she thought it beautiful. There is more in +Veronica than people think. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + + +I am sorry the house is finished. There is a proverb: "Fools build +houses for wise men to live in." It depends upon what you are after. +The fool gets the fun, and the wise men the bricks and mortar. I +remember a whimsical story I picked up at the bookstall of the Gare +de Lyon. I read it between Paris and Fontainebleau many years ago. +Three friends, youthful Bohemians, smoking their pipes after the +meagre dinner of a cheap restaurant in the Latin Quarter, fell to +thinking of their poverty, of the long and bitter struggle that lay +before them. + +"My themes are so original," sighed the Musician. "It will take me a +year of fete days to teach the public to understand them, even if +ever I do succeed. And meanwhile I shall live unknown, neglected; +watching the men without ideals passing me by in the race, splashed +with the mud from their carriage-wheels as I beat the pavements with +worn shoes. It is really a most unjust world." + +"An abominable world," agreed the Poet. "But think of me! My case +is far harder than yours. Your gift lies within you. Mine is to +translate what lies around me; and that, for so far ahead as I can +see, will always be the shadow side of life. To develop my genius to +its fullest I need the sunshine of existence. My soul is being +starved for lack of the beautiful things of life. A little of the +wealth that vulgar people waste would make a great poet for France. +It is not only of myself that I am thinking." + +The Painter laughed. "I cannot soar to your heights," he said. +"Frankly speaking, it is myself that chiefly appeals to me. Why not? +I give the world Beauty, and in return what does it give me? This +dingy restaurant, where I eat ill-flavoured food off hideous +platters, a foul garret giving on to chimney-pots. After long years +of ill-requited labour I may--as others have before me--come into my +kingdom: possess my studio in the Champs Elysees, my fine house at +Neuilly; but the prospect of the intervening period, I confess, +appals me." + +Absorbed in themselves, they had not noticed that a stranger, seated +at a neighbouring table, had been listening with attention. He rose +and, apologising with easy grace for intrusion into a conversation he +could hardly have avoided overhearing, requested permission to be of +service. The restaurant was dimly lighted; the three friends on +entering had chosen its obscurest corner. The Stranger appeared to +be well-dressed; his voice and bearing suggested the man of affairs; +his face--what feeble light there was being behind him--remained in +shadow. + +The three friends eyed him furtively: possibly some rich but +eccentric patron of the arts; not beyond the bounds of speculation +that he was acquainted with their work, had read the Poet's verses in +one of the minor magazines, had stumbled upon some sketch of the +Painter's while bargain-hunting among the dealers of the Quartier St. +Antoine, been struck by the beauty of the Composer's Nocturne in F +heard at some student's concert; having made enquiries concerning +their haunts, had chosen this method of introducing himself. The +young men made room for him with feelings of hope mingled with +curiosity. The affable Stranger called for liqueurs, and handed +round his cigar-case. And almost his first words brought them joy. + +"Before we go further," said the smiling Stranger, "it is my pleasure +to inform you that all three of you are destined to become great." + +The liqueurs to their unaccustomed palates were proving potent. The +Stranger's cigars were singularly aromatic. It seemed the most +reasonable thing in the world that the Stranger should be thus able +to foretell to them their future. + +"Fame, fortune will be yours," continued the agreeable Stranger. +"All things delightful will be to your hand: the adoration of women, +the honour of men, the incense of Society, joys spiritual and +material, beauteous surroundings, choice foods, all luxury and ease, +the world your pleasure-ground." + +The stained walls of the dingy restaurant were fading into space +before the young men's eyes. They saw themselves as gods walking in +the garden of their hearts' desires. + +"But, alas," went on the Stranger--and with the first note of his +changed voice the visions vanished, the dingy walls came back--"these +things take time. You will, all three, be well past middle-age +before you will reap the just reward of your toil and talents. +Meanwhile--" the sympathetic Stranger shrugged his shoulders--"it is +the old story: genius spending its youth battling for recognition +against indifference, ridicule, envy; the spirit crushed by its +sordid environment, the drab monotony of narrow days. There will be +winter nights when you will tramp the streets, cold, hungry, forlorn; +summer days when you will hide in your attics, ashamed of the +sunlight on your ragged garments; chill dawns when you will watch +wild-eyed the suffering of those you love, helpless by reason of your +poverty to alleviate their pain." + +The Stranger paused while the ancient waiter replenished the empty +glasses. The three friends drank in silence. + +"I propose," said the Stranger, with a pleasant laugh, "that we pass +over this customary period of probation--that we skip the intervening +years--arrive at once at our true destination." + +The Stranger, leaning back in his chair, regarded the three friends +with a smile they felt rather than saw. And something about the +Stranger--they could not have told themselves what--made all things +possible. + +"A quite simple matter," the Stranger assured them. "A little sleep +and a forgetting, and the years lie behind us. Come, gentlemen. +Have I your consent?" + +It seemed a question hardly needing answer. To escape at one stride +the long, weary struggle; to enter without fighting into victory! +The young men looked at one another. And each one, thinking of his +gain, bartered the battle for the spoil. + +It seemed to them that suddenly the lights went out; and a darkness +like a rushing wind swept past them, filled with many sounds. And +then forgetfulness. And then the coming back of light. + +They were seated at a table, glittering with silver and dainty +chinaware, to which the red wine in Venetian goblets, the varied +fruit and flowers, gave colour. The room, furnished too gorgeously +for taste, they judged to be a private cabinet in one of the great +restaurants. Of such interiors they had occasionally caught glimpses +through open windows on summer nights. It was softly illuminated by +shaded lamps. The Stranger's face was still in shadow. But what +surprised each of the three most was to observe opposite him two more +or less bald-headed gentlemen of somewhat flabby appearance, whose +features, however, in some mysterious way appeared familiar. The +Stranger had his wine-glass raised in his hand. + +"Our dear Paul," the Stranger was saying, "has declined, with his +customary modesty, any public recognition of his triumph. He will +not refuse three old friends the privilege of offering him their +heartiest congratulations. Gentlemen, I drink not only to our dear +Paul, but to the French Academy, which in honouring him has honoured +France." + +The Stranger, rising from his chair, turned his piercing eyes--the +only part of him that could be clearly seen--upon the astonished +Poet. The two elderly gentlemen opposite, evidently as bewildered as +Paul himself, taking their cue from the Stranger, drained their +glasses. Still following the Stranger's lead, leant each across the +table and shook him warmly by the hand. + +"I beg pardon," said the Poet, "but really I am afraid I must have +been asleep. Would it sound rude to you"--he addressed himself to +the Stranger: the faces of the elderly gentlemen opposite did not +suggest their being of much assistance to him--"if I asked you where +I was?" + +Again there flickered across the Stranger's face the smile that was +felt rather than seen. "You are in a private room of the Cafe +Pretali," he answered. "We are met this evening to celebrate your +recent elevation into the company of the Immortals." + +"Oh," said the Poet, "thank you." + +"The Academy," continued the Stranger, "is always a little late in +these affairs. Myself, I could have wished your election had taken +place ten years ago, when all France--all France that counts, that +is--was talking of you. At fifty-three"--the Stranger touched +lightly with his fingers the Poet's fat hand--"one does not write as +when the sap was running up, instead of down." + +Slowly, memory of the dingy cafe in the Rue St. Louis, of the strange +happening that took place there that night when he was young, crept +back into the Poet's brain. + +"Would you mind," said the Poet, "would it be troubling you too much +to tell me something of what has occurred to me?" + +"Not in the least," responded the agreeable Stranger. "Your career +has been most interesting--for the first few years chiefly to +yourself. You married Marguerite. You remember Marguerite?" + +The Poet remembered her. + +"A mad thing to do, so most people would have said," continued the +Stranger. "You had not a sou between you. But, myself, I think you +were justified. Youth comes to us but once. And at twenty-five our +business is to live. Undoubtedly the marriage helped you. You lived +an idyllic existence, for a time, in a tumble-down cottage at +Suresnes, with a garden that went down to the river. Poor, of course +you were; poor as church mice. But who fears poverty when hope and +love are singing on the bough! I really think quite your best work +was done during those years at Suresnes. Ah, the sweetness, the +tenderness of it! There has been nothing like it in French poetry. +It made no mark at the time; but ten years later the public went mad +about it. She was dead then. Poor child, it had been a hard +struggle. And, as you may remember, she was always fragile. Yet +even in her death I think she helped you. There entered a new note +into your poetry, a depth that had hitherto been wanting. It was the +best thing that ever came to you, your love for Marguerite." + +The Stranger refilled his glass, and passed the decanter. But the +Poet left the wine unheeded. + +"And then, ah, yes, then followed that excursion into politics. +Those scathing articles you wrote for La Liberte! It is hardly an +exaggeration to say that they altered the whole aspect of French +political thought. Those wonderful speeches you made during your +election campaign at Angers. How the people worshipped you! You +might have carried your portfolio had you persisted. But you poets +are such restless fellows. And after all, I daresay you have really +accomplished more by your plays. You remember--no, of course, how +could you?--the first night of La Conquette. Shall I ever forget it! +I have always reckoned that the crown of your career. Your marriage +with Madame Deschenelle--I do not think it was for the public good. +Poor Deschenelle's millions--is it not so? Poetry and millions +interfere with one another. But a thousand pardons, my dear Paul. +You have done so much. It is only right you should now be taking +your ease. Your work is finished." + +The Poet does not answer. Sits staring before him with eyes turned +inward. The Painter, the Musician: what did the years bring to +them? The Stranger tells them also of all that they have lost: of +the griefs and sorrows, of the hopes and fears they have never +tasted, of their tears that ended in laughter, of the pain that gave +sweetness to joy, of the triumphs that came to them in the days +before triumph had lost its savour, of the loves and the longings and +fervours they would never know. All was ended. The Stranger had +given them what he had promised, what they had desired: the gain +without the getting. + +Then they break out. + +"What is it to me," cries the Painter, "that I wake to find myself +wearing the gold medal of the Salon, robbed of the memory of all by +which it was earned?" + +The Stranger points out to him that he is illogical; such memories +would have included long vistas of meagre dinners in dingy +restaurants, of attic studios, of a life the chief part of which had +been passed amid ugly surroundings. It was to escape from all such +that he had clamoured. The Poet is silent. + +"I asked but for recognition," cries the Musician, "that men might +listen to me; not for my music to be taken from me in exchange for +the recompense of a successful tradesman. My inspiration is burnt +out; I feel it. The music that once filled my soul is mute." + +"It was born of the strife and anguish," the Stranger tells him, "of +the loves that died, of the hopes that faded, of the beating of +youth's wings against the bars of sorrow, of the glory and madness +and torment called Life, of the struggle you shrank from facing." + +The Poet takes up the tale. + +"You have robbed us of Life," he cries. "You tell us of dead lips +whose kisses we have never felt, of songs of victory sung to our deaf +ears. You have taken our fires, you have left us but the ashes." + +"The fires that scorch and sear," the Stranger adds, "the lips that +cried in their pain, the victory bought of wounds." + +"It is not yet too late," the Stranger tells them. "All this can be +but a troubled dream, growing fainter with each waking moment. Will +you buy back your Youth at the cost of ease? Will you buy back Life +at the price of tears?" + +They cry with one voice, "Give us back our Youth with its burdens, +and a heart to bear them! Give us back Life with its mingled bitter +and sweet!" + +Then suddenly the Stranger stands revealed before them. They see +that he is Life--Life born of battle, Life made strong by endeavour, +Life learning song from suffering. + +There follows more talk; which struck me, when I read the story, as a +mistake; for all that he tells them they have now learnt: that life +to be enjoyed must be lived; that victory to be sweet must be won. + +They awake in the dingy cafe in the Rue St. Louis. The ancient +waiter is piling up the chairs preparatory to closing the shutters. +The Poet draws forth his small handful of coins; asks what is to pay. +"Nothing," the waiter answers. A stranger who sat with them and +talked awhile before they fell asleep has paid the bill. They look +at one another, but no one speaks. + +The streets are empty. A thin rain is falling. They turn up the +collars of their coats; strike out into the night. And as their +footsteps echo on the glistening pavement it comes to each of them +that they are walking with a new, brave step. + +I feel so sorry for Dick--for the tens of thousands of happy, +healthy, cared-for lads of whom Dick is the type. There must be +millions of youngsters in the world who have never known hunger, +except as an appetiser to their dinner; who have never felt what it +was to be tired, without the knowledge that a comfortable bed was +awaiting them. + +To the well-to-do man or woman life is one perpetual nursery. They +are wakened in the morning--not too early, not till the nursery has +been swept out and made ready, and the fire lighted--awakened gently +with a cup of tea to give them strength and courage for this great +business of getting up--awakened with whispered words, lest any +sudden start should make their little heads ache--the blinds +carefully arranged to exclude the naughty sun, which otherwise might +shine into their little eyes and make them fretful. The water, with +the nasty chill off, is put ready for them; they wash their little +hands and faces, all by themselves! Then they are shaved and have +their hair done; their little hands are manicured, their little corns +cut for them. When they are neat and clean, they toddle into +breakfast; they are shown into their little chairs, their little +napkins handed to them; the nice food that is so good for them is put +upon their little plates; the drink is poured out for them into their +cups. If they want to play, there is the day nursery. They have +only to tell kind nurse what game it is they fancy. The toys are at +once brought out. The little gun is put into their hand; the little +horse is dragged forth from its corner, their little feet carefully +placed in the stirrups. The little ball and bat is taken from its +box. + +Or they will take the air, as the wise doctor has ordered. The +little carriage will be ready in five minutes; the nice warm cloak is +buttoned round them, the footstool placed beneath their feet, the +cushion at their back. + +The day is done. The games have been played; the toys have been +taken from their tired hands, put back into the cupboard. The food +that is so good for them, that makes them strong little men and +women, has all been eaten. They have been dressed for going out into +the pretty Park, undressed and dressed again for going out to tea +with the little boys and girls next door; undressed and dressed again +for the party. They have read their little book? have seen a little +play, have looked at pretty pictures. The kind gentleman with the +long hair has played the piano to them. They have danced. Their +little feet are really quite tired. The footman brings them home. +They are put into their little nighties. The candle is blown out, +the nursery door is softly closed. + +Now and again some restless little man, wearying of the smug nursery, +will run out past the garden gate, and down the long white road; will +find the North Pole or, failing that, the South Pole, or where the +Nile rises, or how it feels to fly; will climb the Mountains of the +Moon--do anything, go anywhere, to escape from Nurse Civilisation's +everlasting apron strings. + +Or some queer little woman, wondering where the people come from, +will run and run till she comes to the great town, watch in wonder +the strange folk that sweat and groan--the peaceful nursery, with the +toys, the pretty frocks never quite the same again to her. + +But to the nineteen-twentieths of the well-to-do the world beyond the +nursery is an unknown land. Terrible things occur out there to +little men and women who have no pretty nursery to live in. People +push and shove you about, will even tread on your toes if you are not +careful. Out there is no kind, strong Nurse Bank-Balance to hold +one's little hand, and see that no harm comes to one. Out there, one +has to fight one's own battles. Often one is cold and hungry, out +there. + +One has to fend for oneself, out there; earn one's dinner before one +eats it, never quite sure of the week after next. Terrible things +take place, out there: strain and contest and fierce endeavour; the +ways are full of dangers and surprises; folk go up, folk go down; you +have to set your teeth and fight. Well-to-do little men and women +shudder. Draw down the nursery blinds. + +Robina had a little dog. It led the usual dog's life: slept in a +basket on an eiderdown cushion, sheltered from any chance draught by +silk curtains; its milk warmed and sweetened; its cosy chair reserved +for it, in winter, near the fire; in summer, where the sun might +reach it; its three meals a day that a gourmet might have eaten +gladly; its very fleas taken off its hands. + +And twice a year still extra care was needed, lest it should wantonly +fling aside its days and nights of luxurious ease, claim its small +share of the passion and pain that go to the making of dogs and men. +For twice a year there came a wind, salt with the brine of earth's +ceaseless tides, whispering to it of a wondrous land whose sharpest +stones are sweeter than the silken cushions of all the world without. + +One winter's night there was great commotion. Babette was nowhere to +be found. We were living in the country, miles away from everywhere. +"Babette, Babette," cried poor frenzied Robina; and for answer came +only the laughter of the wind, pausing in his game of romps with the +snow-flakes. + +Next morning an old woman from the town four miles away brought back +Babette at the end of a string. Oh, such a soaked, bedraggled +Babette! The old woman had found her crouching in a doorway, a +bewildered little heap of palpitating femininity; and, reading the +address upon her collar, and may be scenting a not impossible reward, +had thought she might as well earn it for herself. + +Robina was shocked, disgusted. To think that Babette--dainty, +petted, spoilt Babette--should have chosen of her own accord to go +down into the mud and darkness of the vulgar town; to leave her +curtained eiderdown to tramp the streets like any drab! Robina, to +whom Babette had hitherto been the ideal dog, moved away to hide her +tears of vexation. The old dame smiled. She had borne her good man +eleven, so she told us. It had been a hard struggle, and some had +gone down, and some were dead; but some, thank God, were doing well. + +The old dame wished us good day; but as she turned to go an impulse +seized her. She crossed to where Babette, ashamed, yet half defiant, +sat a wet, woeful little image on the hearthrug, stooped and lifted +the little creature in her thin, worn arms. + +"It's trouble you've brought yourself," said the old dame. "You +couldn't help it, could you?" + +Babette's little pink tongue stole out. + +"We understand, we know--we Mothers," they seemed to be saying to one +another. + +And so the two kissed. + + +I think the terrace will be my favourite spot. Ethelbertha thinks, +too, that on sunny days she will like to sit there. From it, through +an opening I have made in the trees, I can see the cottage just a +mile away at the edge of the wood. Young Bute tells me it is the +very place he has been looking for. Most of his time, of course, he +has to pass in town, but his Fridays to Mondays he likes to spend in +the country. Maybe I shall hand it over to him. St. Leonard's +chimneys we can also see above the trees. Dick tells me he has quite +made up his mind to become a farmer. He thinks it would be a good +plan, for a beginning, to go into partnership with St. Leonard. It +is not unlikely that St. Leonard's restless temperament may prompt +him eventually to tire of farming. He has a brother in Canada doing +well in the lumber business, and St. Leonard often talks of the +advantages of the colonies to a man who is bringing up a large +family. I shall be sorry to lose him as a neighbour; though I see +the advantages, under certain possibilities, of Mrs. St. Leonard's +address being Manitoba. + +Veronica also thinks the terrace may come to be her favourite +resting-place. + +"I suppose," said Veronica, "that if anything was to happen to +Robina, everything would fall on me." + +"It would be a change, Veronica," I suggested. "Hitherto it is you +who have done most of the falling." + +"Suppose I've got to see about growing up," said Veronica. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of They and I, by Jerome K. Jerome + diff --git a/old/theyi10.zip b/old/theyi10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f729019 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/theyi10.zip |