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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34230-8.txt b/34230-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4ba258 --- /dev/null +++ b/34230-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6891 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sweethearts at Home, by S. R. Crockett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sweethearts at Home + +Author: S. R. Crockett + +Release Date: November 7, 2010 [EBook #34230] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWEETHEARTS AT HOME *** + + + + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + SWEETHEARTS AT HOME + + BY S. R. CROCKETT + + AUTHOR OF "SWEETHEART TRAVELLERS," ETC. + +ASSISTED BY SWEETHEART HERSELF, AND WITH ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS BY +HUGH JOHN, SIR TOADY LION, MAID MARGARET, AND MISS ELIZABETH FORTINBRAS + + + NEW YORK + FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + +[Illustration: "WHEN I TURNED ABOUT--WHY, IT NEARLY TOOK MY BREATH +AWAY"] + + + + +List of Illustrations + + +"WHEN I TURNED ABOUT--WHY, IT NEARLY TOOK MY BREATH AWAY" + +"DOING KOW-TOW TO THIS FALSE GOD" + +"HELP HER! ME, BUTCHER DONNAN!" + +"I USED TO SWOP CURRANTS AND SUGAR FOR NUTS AND LOVELY SPICY FRUITS" + + + + +THE EDITOR'S CHAPTERS + +HE TELLS HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT + + + + +I + + +_A sleepy Sunday morning--and no need for any one to go to church._ + + +It was at Neuchâtel, under the trees by the lake, that I first became +conscious of what wonderful assistance Sweetheart might be to me in my +literary work. She corrected me as to the date upon which we had made +our pilgrimage to Chaumont, as to the color of the hair of the pretty +daughter of the innkeeper whom we had seen there--in her way quite a +Swiss Elizabeth Fortinbras. In a word, I became aware that she had kept +a diary. Sweetheart, like her nearest literary relative, began with +"poetry." That was what we called it then. We have both revised our +judgments since. Only Sweetheart has been more wise than I should have +been at her age. She has resisted temptation, and rigorously ruled out +all verse from the Diary as at present published! This is wonderful. I +published mine. + +Since then, she and I have been preparing the present volume, just as +eagerly as if we had "yielded to the solicitations of numerous friends," +as the privately-printed books say. + +No, it was quite the contrary with us. Nobody, except one nice +publisher, knows anything about it. He asked us to let him print it, and +even he has not seen the very least little scrap. All he knows is that +Sweetheart has a good many thousand friends scattered up and down two +hemispheres, and he believes (as we also are vain enough to believe) +that they will not let _Sweetheart's Diary_ go a-begging to be bought. + + * * * * * + +There is something curiously dreamy about the Lake of Neuchâtel. I knew +it and the school down by the pier long ago, when the little town still +preserved distinct traces of the hundred and fifty years of Prussian +drill-sergeants. Here and there the arms of Brandenburg were to be seen +curiously mixed, and almost entwined, with the strong red cross of the +Swiss Confederation. + +Specially interesting is the opposite side of the lake, for there the +Cantons push forward their narrow necks of territory to the very lake +shore--possibly as the price of their support against the Eagles of the +North, whose claws have never let go their hold but this once. There, +within a day's easy walk, you can pass from Canton Vaud into Canton +Friburg and back again into Vaud. Then, Morat-way, you come on a little +inset square of Canton Berne, whose emblematic bears also have their +claws in every pie thereabout. And all the way, never a hotel for the +fleecing of the foreigner! Here and there, indeed, one passes a country +inn with sanded floor. More often it is only a rather superior house +with a bush hung out French-fashion over the threshold. + +It is best, as Sweetheart and I found, to make for one of these. +Generally I had known them of old, and though since then the years had +done some stiff route-marching, most of their hosts and hostesses +remembered me. + +How do you get there? Well, you cross the lake almost at its narrowest +part. A little stream drains into it, slowly and in Dutch fashion, as if +it were smoking a peaceful pipe by the way. Indeed, for a little while +you might fancy yourself actually in Holland, so thickly are the flowers +set. Only--only (and oh! the difference!) they are all wild. For I +cannot help my heart beating faster when I set foot on any of the +untrodden places of the earth, when I know that the next person I meet +will be different from anybody I have ever met before--that he will be +as frankly interested and very likely amused by me as I am by the moldy +and the quaint about him--things that nobody in his senses has ever +thought of looking at in that countryside for a hundred years! Privately +there is often a quiet, widespread, wholly unspoken doubt of my entire +sanity. That dry smile hovering about the mouth of the courteous mayor +of the commune says as much. Just the same with the quick, intelligent +glance that shoots betwixt husband and wife when you ask to see their +barn--once the chapel of a long-destroyed monastery (Carthusians from +the Italian valleys driven out by the religious wars). To them it is a +barn, commodious--only a little damp. But it is nothing more. A new +model one, now--all burnt brick, floor of concrete, with iron roof +pillars--now _that_ would be something worth crossing the lake to look +at. Hold--there is one at Estavayer! The farmer there would be glad to +show it, if only Monsieur and the young lady...? No! Well, there is no +accounting for tastes, and that shrug from Master Pierre said quite +plainly that he had the poorest opinion of our mental capacity. But all +the same Master Pierre is kind to the infirm--to those (as the Catechism +says) "of weaker understanding." + +Yes, there is the key. We can take our own time, and when we have done +we can hang it up where we got it. + +But good Master Pierre is curious too. Where might we be going? If it is +a fair question--or, indeed, whether or not! "To Madame Marie Brigue's!" +"Yes, but certainly!" "Had we known Madame Marie long?" The Elder of us +had known her for some twenty years or more. + +"When she was with old Monsieur Alexander--yes, at the Upper Riffel +House, and everything in her charge?" Sanity was returned to us like a +passport examined doubtfully. We should not this time be committed to a +House of Retreat for the mentally infirm--no, not if fifty doctors, all +specialists, had so certified. _We knew Madame Marie!_ Master Pierre +would lay aside everything and come with us. It was not possible that we +could know the way. + +I thanked Master Pierre, but for my own reasons preferred to go +alone--that is to say, alone with Sweetheart, which is the best kind of +loneliness. + +"There is going to be a storm!" I said to my Maid, as we paced along +side by side. Sweetheart looked at the cloudless September sky, at the +boldly-designed splashes of the leaf-shadows making Japanese patterns on +the narrow path through the wood. Then she regarded me inquiringly. Of a +storm in the heaven above or on the earth beneath there was certainly no +visible sign. + +Then I explained that the tempest was a moral one, and would certainly +break when we met in with Madame Marie. And I set her this riddle to +read, for she is fond of such. + +I had always been first favorite with Madame Marie. She had spoiled me +as a wandering boy. She has assisted me as a callow youth to the +sweetmeats under her control. In my earlier manhood she had taken me to +see her brother, who was a _curé_ of a great parish in the Valais. + +Yes, boy and man, she had always scolded me, railed upon me, declared to +my face that I was of a surety "the Last of the Last," and that, +altogether apart from my being a heretic, my misdeeds would inevitably +render my future far from enviable! According to Madame Marie I was +certainly bound for an ice-free port! + +"And what had you done to her, father, to make her so angry with you--or +at least scold you so much?" + +"Only come in late for my meals!" I said. Sweetheart took one look at +me, as one who would say, "Pray remember that I am no more a simple +child!" But what she said aloud was, "Did all this happen before I was +born?" + +And I knew instantly that I was underlying an unjust suspicion, from +which the very first glimpse of Madame Marie would instantly free me. +For even when I knew her Madame had long passed the canonical age, and +must now be verging on the three-score years and ten. + +It was, however, quiet unlikely that she would ever refrain from +scolding me, even in the presence of my eldest daughter. + +By and by we came in sight of a little white house, and upon the path +which passed beneath it. Over the door, half hidden by the yellow +splashes of _Canariensis_, was the sign, "_Madame Marie Brigue ... +Restaurant_." There was a great quiet everywhere about the place. Some +pigeons were coo-cooing in the Basse Cour. A cat regarded us with the +sleepy dispassion of its race. However, there was certainly a stirring +among earthenware somewhere towards the entrance of the cellar. We could +make out the grating of carrots, or, as it might be, the scraping of +potatoes. I motioned Sweetheart to get behind me--which she did, eager +to take a hand in one of "father's ploys." + +Then I went to the front door, and in the loud, confident voice of one +who, after a short absence, has come back at the proper hour, to find +his dinner not ready, I called out, "Marie, are those chops not done +yet?" + +A dish clattered on the floor. We could hear the splash of the fragments +on the cool flagstones of the inner kitchen. + +"Marie, old Lazybones! Here have I been twelve hours on the mountains, +and not even an omelette ready!" + +"It is the Herr-with-the-Long-Legs--the Herr who kept my good dinner +waiting while he ran about the '_bergen_'! And now--oh, the +Good-for-Nothing, the _Vaurien_, he come back to old Marie crying +hunger--just as he used to do more than a score of years ago up in the +Riffel House!" + +And before I knew it I was embraced and kissed on both cheeks by this +tall, gaunt old woman--greatly, of course, to the joy of Sweetheart. But +her turn was yet to come. Madame Marie continued scolding me even in the +utmost expansion of her greeting. She held me at arm's length and +scolded. She scolded because I had come without warning, and because I +had not come sooner. Scolded because I had let the years slip past till +her hair was white like the snow on the mountains, on which I had so +often tarried till my dinner was burnt to a cinder! While mine--but +there--who was this with me? Was I married? "Your daughter!" A daughter +like that, and old Marie getting so blind that she had called me bad +names--the names of the old time--in her hearing. But Mademoiselle would +understand! She would pardon a poor old woman who had known her father, +and been a mother to him, years and years before the young lady was +born, or even thought of! + +So, indeed, Mademoiselle understood very well. No forgiveness was +necessary. She was all too happy. And while the dinner was preparing, +she set down all these facts in her notebook, so that when Madame Marie +came to the door to say that the omelette was ready to be put before us +on the table, she called to Sweetheart that she was indeed her father's +own daughter. For that in the old days at the Riffel House he had always +been like that, sitting down on the very glacier to scribble in his +notebook all about nothing, and so letting good food spoil because of +his foolishness! + +And so it happened that on our way back from Madame Marie's, Sweetheart +let me see the first pages of her Diary. I found them so interesting +that we arranged on the spot how they were to be published. And so here +they are, ready (if you be simple) to please you as well as they pleased +me. + + + + +II + +_When the Roads Were Sweet, Safe and Silent._ + + +So, preliminaries being settled, the elder of the _Sweetheart Travelers_ +was entrusted with the editing of this book, on the express condition +that he must _not_ edit it! Strange but true! It is just sixteen years +since, with the assistance of Mr. Gordon Browne's pencil, he began the +preparation of the first series of _Sweetheart_. Ever since which, for +him, fortunate day, he has been under promise to supply a second volume +having for title _Sweethearts at Home_. From all over the world children +keep writing to ask him for more adventures with his little companion on +the front basket-seat of his tricycle. Gladly would he respond to this +wish of unseen baby lips, generally expressed on ruled paper in straggly +lines of doubtful spelling. But, alas! Sweetheart is nineteen and tall. +She would be the death of her poor father (and of the machine) at the +very first hill. Now she rides a "free-wheel" of her own, and saddest +of all to relate, prefers Hugh John or other younger company to her +ancientest of comrades. That is, on cycling trips. But she makes up to +him in other ways, and hardly anything gives her greater pleasure than +to "revisit the roads and ridges" where, sixteen years ago, her baby +fingers, vigilant on the cycle bell, called the preceding wayfarer to +attention. + +Then we had the world to ourselves, save for a red farm cart or so. Then +there were no motor-cars, no motor-buses, no clappering insolent +monocycles! It was in some wise the rider's age of gold. The country +still lay waste and sweet and silent about him. The ignoble "toot-toot" +and rhinoceros snort of the pursuing monster was unknown--unknown, too, +the odors which leave the wayfarer fretful and angry behind them. + +"_Get out of the way, all you mean little people!_" was not yet the +commonest of highway sounds. The green hedgerows were not hidden under a +gray dust veil. The Trossachs, the Highlands, the English lakes, and our +own fair Galloway roads were not splashed with the iridescent fragrance +of petrol. Ah, we took Time by the forelock, Sweetheart, you and I, in +those old days when the hawthorn was untainted and the wayside +honeysuckles still gave forth a good smell. True, Sweetheart (as above +stated) sounded a bell. But even she did it with relish, and the trill +carried tenderly on the ear, like the mass-bell rung in some great +cathedral as the service culminates, each time more thrilling and +insistent. And it was good to see the smile of the folk as they stood +aside, and the nod which red-cloaked Sweetheart gave them as we glided +noiselessly past! + +Ah, a good time! Neither of us are in the least likely to see a better! +For during these fifteen years there has come upon our land a strange +thing, a kind of plague of heartlessness; the return, perhaps, of +mechanically civilized man to the brute, or (if that be too strong) at +least to the ruling-out of all gracious consideration for the rights of +wayfarers. + +I am sure that the "motoring-habit" is more poisonous and more injurious +to the nations in this Year of Grace, 1911, than all the poisons that +ever were "listed." It is the Indian hemp of the soul, which makes even +good men mad. The earth may still belong to the Lord, though, standing +afar off, I have sometimes my doubts. But of a certainty the roads +between city and city, the creeper-hung village street where, +generation after generation, children played, the quiet lanes where the +old folk walked arm in arm, are now given over to the Minotaur whose +name is "My Lord Teuf-Teuf." + +Every day in all lands (called civilized) the journals are filled with a +lengthening tale of victims--of the little child going to school, bag on +back; the bairn playing with his soldiers in the dust; the deaf old lady +walking along the lanes, so safe and quiet a few years ago. I can see +her pattering about, looking for a few roses to grace her room--roses to +dream over, roses to call back the good days now past for ever. + +"HRRUMPH! HRRUMPH!" It is the trump of doom--behind her, unseen, to her +unheard. And in the next number of the local paper there will be the +briefest of paragraphs: "No blame attaches to the proprietor or to his +excellent and competent chauffeur." + +Sometimes, if one has the honor to be run over by the Highest of the +High Born, they do inquire for you at the hospital, or even send a +wreath for the coffin. For this one should even be content to die. And +the paragraphs in the papers recording the gift quite make up to the +mourners for their loss. + +But even so, this is on the heights of motoring generosity. For at least +_noblesse_ does sometimes oblige. But the more recently and the more +ignobly the Over-Slaughterman has been enriched, the more ignorant of +all knowledge he is, the less he has seen of other lands, the fewer +incursions he has made into the world of books and art, the less he +possesses of that kindly natural consideration which the King-Gentleman +shares with the Working-Gentleman--the more cruel and selfish he is when +he gets himself upon the road, rushing along, disguised to the eyes, +fakir-mad in a kind of devilish Juggernaut joy, to the holocaust of +innumerable innocent victims. + +"_The police failed to obtain the number of the car which caused the +accident._" + +Naturally! Excellent Under-Slaughterman, vulgarly called Chauffeur! +Knows his business! He will ask for a rise next week and he will get it. +That paragraph about the little girl trailed along for fifty yards under +the rear wheels, with--Hold your tongue, you understand, Higgins--the +details would not look well posted up in my club! Brave +Under-Slaughterman! He winks an eye, as he has a right to do when he +puts his latest-earned gratuity in his pocket. + +But, halt there! I will do no man an injustice if I can help it. There +are motorists and drivers of motor-cars who are noways "motor-fiends," +who conduct a car as safely and carefully as in other times they would a +pair of horses. I have friends among such. God keep them in life and the +practice of "Unto others as I would that others should do unto me!" + +But I grow old, at least in experience, and I fear for these my friends. +Motoring as practiced in Great Britain to-day (and the northern +continent is little better) is the direct and intentional abrogation of +the Golden Rule. More, it is the only way in which a man, +light-heartedly, taking no thought for the morrow, may kill his neighbor +with impunity. In old times it was the pursuit of cent.-per-cent. which +damned a man, and delivered him bound body and soul to Satan. We have +changed all that. Now it is the pursuit of the mile-a-minute which sucks +men's hearts empty of a generous feeling, which is the great open-air +school for making iron-bound materialists out of human men--or rather +animals fitted with deadly mechanical appliances worse than those of +Mr. Wells's Martians. + +I love my friends who are tied to these chariot wheels. But I fear for +them. Temptation is great. Easy is the descent of Avernus, aided by a +smart chauffeur, who wants to give you "the value of your money" in +speed and the survival of the fittest: _id est_, of himself and you! + +Better, far better, to take pack on back, pilgrim staff in hand, and +then--to the woods and the hills with Sweetheart and me, where never +"teuf-teuf" can be heard, nor petrol perfume the land. + +But at least in Sweetheart's new book you will only find the old sweet +things, the pleasures that do but gladden, the record of things at once +simple and gracious and tender--such as, if you have been fortunate, +must have happened to yourself. She does not once mention any car except +that pulled along by honest "gees," or that still more favorite sort of +all engineering achievements--the fortifications that the next tide will +sweep away. + +Sweetheart, little Sweetheart, and that "dear diary" of yours--for this +relief, much thanks! God keep you ever of the humble, of the +wayside-goers, of those who think--first, second and always--of the +comfort of their fellow-men, especially of the weak, the friendless, and +the poor who foot it along life's way. In brief, may you stay what you +have always been, Sweet of heart--and _my Heart_! + +_Ainsi soit-il!_ + +S. R. CROCKETT. + + + + +SWEETHEART'S DIARY + + + + +I + +SWEETHEART OBJECTS + + +_In June--Some Day, 3 o'clock. Cool under the Trees._ + +Some while ago a book was written about me, called _Sweetheart +Travelers_. It was father who wrote it, and I think he did his best, +saying a lot of nice things. But, of course, how could he really +understand little girls? + +At first I thought I would write a book contradicting the mistakes. But +Mr. Dignus, who is a friend of mine and knows about such things, said +that would not be very kind to father, and might do him harm in his +business. But that if I would write about everything just as it seemed +to me as I grew up, he would see to it that it was printed and +published. + +So when father sees it, won't he just get a surprise? Perhaps he will go +into a shop and buy _Sweetheart's Diary_, thinking that somebody is +poaching on his preserves. I can see him tugging at his big mustache, +and walking very solid and determined, same as he does when he says to +the boys, "You, sir, come into the study along o' me!" Which makes all +the rest of us go sort of cold and trembly all over, like a rabbit +smelling fresh lettuce. + +But it is for what we are NOT going to get that _we_ are sincerely +thankful. + +Only, after a dreadful lecture the boys are generally let off--"for this +time only, mind you!"--whereas the rabbit always ends up by eating the +lettuce. [Moral somewhere about, but I can't just make it out.] + +And that reminds me. I will tell you the dreadful history of the Blue +Delhi Vase. It is one of the first things I can remember and the one +that frightened me the most. It used to sit on our brown, carved-oak +table in the little drawing-room. It was pale blue like the color of the +beady stones you can't see into--oh, yes--thank you very +much--_turquoise_. And somehow I thought that it had come from a +fearfully rich uncle in India, who was Prime Minister to a Begum, and +would come home one day with an elephant in a huge cattle truck, like +what I had seen on the railway. He would then have a scarlet carpet +laid to keep his embroidered slippers clean--there is always mud before +our station--and he would ride up to our front door on the Begum's state +elephant. And the first question he would ask was always, "Is my Blue +Delhi Vase in good repair?" + +And if it wasn't, then he would demand the name of the miscreant who had +done it, and bid the elephant, whose name was quite distinctly Ram +Punch, t-r-r-rample him to pieces. + +I suppose when I was very young I must have dreamed this, or heard folk +talking, without understanding. At any rate I got things pretty mixed in +my mind. You see I was _very_ little then, so little that I don't +remember there being any boys. Though I suppose Hugh John was a little +trundler in a "pram," looking up at the sky with wide solemn eyes and +never saying a word. I suppose so, but I don't remember. + +All I know is that I wore little red caps, one for Sunday and one for +week-days. The Sunday one was put away during the week, and so mostly I +had only one. + +Now, on this great day I happened to be in the garden, and Somebody sent +me in for my cap. Because my hair flew all about and got just fearfully +"tuggy"--enough to make any one cry, even Hugh John, who never cries at +all. But, then, _he_ has hair short like a door-mat and rough as if made +of teased string. He has also a head so hard that he will bounce it +right through the panel of a door for a penny--that was, of course, +afterwards, not when he used to lie in his "prim-pram." But he got +whipped, for the doors had to be mended. So he stopped. + +I was in a great hurry. Indeed I flew. I never remember walking in those +days. So in I banged as hard as I could, and coming out of the hot sun, +the rooms felt all very still and cool. The parlor smelt of old rose +leaves, which I sometimes stirred with my finger. They were in a big +bowl, all powdery, and smelt nice--especially on hot days. Then I used +to think that the poor old dead things were stirring in their sleep, and +trying to "blossom in the dust." I don't know where I got those +words--in a hymn, most likely. But I used to say them over and over to +myself--yes, till I cried. Because I was sorry for the old roses that +tried to live and couldn't. Silly, wasn't it? Well, it seems so now. But +then, of course, it was different. + +Now, when I had got over the queer little catch in my throat that +finding myself alone always gave me, I started looking round under all +the sofas and chairs to see that there were no lurking Day Ghosts about. +They are the worst kind, and I began to wonder where my cap was. + +I had come for it specially, you see. So I could not go out without it. +Also there were awfully nice things going on in the garden; the picking +of white raspberries, mainly; each shaped like a thimble; the cap coming +easily off, and leaving a small dead white spear-point, and with a +taste--oh, to make your mouth water for quite a week! + +Anyway, mine does now. + +For a while I could not see my red cap. Then, all in a minute, I caught +sight of it on the top of the Delhi Blue Vase. It was dreadfully high, +and as for me, I was dreadfully little. More than that, the table was +slippery. + +But I _had_ to get the cap, because all the time I was missing the white +raspberries out in the garden. I could hear them pattering into the tin +pails with a rustle of waving stems and a _whish_ of nice green leaves +when you let them go. + +So I got up on tiptoe. I was still ever so much too short. Then I took a +buffet--the one on which I listened to stories being told. And I +mounted on that. I had very nearly got the cap off when the buffet +slipped sideways, and--oh, it was dreadful--there on the carpet lay the +Delhi Blue Vase all in shreds--no, "shards" is the proper word. + +I couldn't think. I couldn't cry. I could not even pray. I forgot how. I +grew ice-cold. For I had heard it said that of all the valuable things +in the house that was the rarest. I knew it could never be put together +again, and it was I who had done it. + +For a moment I thought of running away altogether. It was not fear of +being punished. No, if it had only been that, I should not have minded. +At least not much. Punishments don't last long up at our house. But now +I should never see the uncle from India, nor the elephant being unpacked +end-foremost out of the cattle truck, nor the crimson carpet, nor the +howdah, nor any of these fine things. Or even if I did I might be +stamped to death by the elephant, after all. Oh, I _was_ unhappy. I +looked in the glass and, I declare, I hardly knew the white, frightened, +peeky face I saw there for my own. + +You see, I usually see my own face when my hair is being done, or when +the soap is just washed off. Then it is shiny and red; but now, in the +dusk of the room, it looked very small and pale, and my eyes very big +and black, with rims round them. + +Now our cat was there, and the thought came of itself that everything +might be blamed on her. She was our only _not-nice_ pussy, and if I said +it was Mir-row who did it, nobody would be the worse. She was always +knocking things down anyway. She would only get chased out, and she was +always being chased out. So one extra time would not matter to Mir-row. + +Well, I suppose that is what the ministers and grown-up people call +temptation--when you think you can do a thing so as not to be found out. +When you do a thing and don't care whether you are found out or +not--that is different. That's like Sir Toady (he's my brother, as you +shall hear) when he goes bird-nesting and has to watch out for the +keeper. But he doesn't really care if he _is_ catched. + +But the Delhi Vase! Oh, it seemed as if I never could be happy again in +this world! + +I knew--I mean at the time--that I should have prayed. I had been often +and often told that I ought. Still, you can't just always pray when you +ought to. However, I did manage to kneel down and grab hold of Mir-row. + +I knew that Mir-row was a bad cat, and did all sorts of things she ought +not to do. So I took her to the place where the Delhi Vase had been +broken, and asked her if she minded. And she said as plain as possible +that she did not care a bit. I should get whipped, that was all, and she +would be glad. + +She was a hard-hearted Thing. For I was in dreadful trouble. But for all +that Mir-row would not take a bit of the blame. And she might just as +easily, seeing the number of tit-bits I had brought out for her. But +cats have no gratitude--at least Mir-row had none. However, I think she +must have been a foreign cat, because she could not even pronounce +"_Mee-ow_" properly. And that is the reason why her name was "Mir-row." +She said so herself. + +So I said to her, "You, Mir-row, will you come up-stairs and 'fess'?" + +And Mir-row said just "_Fsssst-Mir-row!_" to show that she was cross. + +Then I said, "Mir-row, you are a horrid nasty cat, and you don't deserve +that you should get off breaking that Delhi Vase. But I will take the +blame on myself--yes, I will--just to show you what it is to be noble. +_I_ will go up-stairs and 'fess.'" + +So I said, "Get thee behind me, Mir-row!" as I ought to have done at +first. Because Mir-row had always been so naughty that she tempted me to +blame her for breaking it. If she had been a good cat, then such a thing +would never have entered my head. But her character was against her. + +You see, I knew that I had only to say, "Mir-row did it," to get +believed. Because she was always doing wicked things like that. + +Then I went up-stairs, running as hard as I could to get away from the +wicked Mir-row, who was tempting me to tell a story. I ran to find +Somebody to 'fess' to. And I found Somebody. And Somebody listened, and +then rose up looking quite grave, but very kind. Oh, I was shaking ever +so, till Somebody took me in such nice strong arms, and said that as I +had come at once, and had not even thought of trying to escape the blame +or to put it on anybody else, I should not be punished--though it +certainly _was_ a great, great pity. + +But I never told about Mir-row, or how nearly it had happened otherwise. + +And as for Mir-row, she said nothing either. She just curled herself up +on the carpet among the broken pieces of the vase, and when we went down +was peacefully dreaming of catching mice. I knew she was by the way she +had of thrusting out her claws and pulling them in again. + +No, Mir-row did not deserve all that I had done for her. + +But, after all, honesty is a better policy than blaming things on +Mir-row. + +This is the story of my first temptation, and how I was saved from the +wickedness of Mir-row. + + + + +II + +PURPLE "THINKS" + + +_June again. Aged ten. Afternoon of the Day when the first Strawberry +was Half-ripe._ + +It will never be whole-ripe, owing to an accident which happened to it. +However, none of the Grown-ups knew except Sandy the gardener, and he +only tells us not to. But we don't really mind. + +Which makes me wonder sometimes if Grown-ups have a world of their own, +same as us Children. I don't think so. If they had, they wouldn't always +be writing and reading, or paying calls and sitting on chairs, and +looking Nim-Pim-Pimmany! They can't really have good times all by +themselves, same as us. What do you think? I suppose it is +account-books, and postmen, and having to understand the sermon that +makes them look like that. + +But at any rate they have not an idea that children really are +thinking--nor how much they know. Perhaps that is just as well. For, as +they say about the monkeys, if they only knew how we talk among +ourselves, they might set us to work. At least they would not be so +ready to believe in us when next they saw us with our "behaving faces" +on. + +Now I will tell you about our house. It is a nice one, and I have a +bedroom with greeny paper, and out of the window you can see the +Pentland hills and the flagstaff in front of them. The flagstaff is on +the drying green, but the hills are a good deal farther away. Maid +Margaret and I live there--that is, at nights, and I tell her stories if +she will lie on her right side and not kick. + +Sometimes we have fights, but not such ones as the boys have up above. +Often we can hear them stamping and thumping, and then coming down with +a huge "bang" that you would think would shake down the house. That is +when they clutch and wrestle. Outside there is just the Low Garden and +the High Garden, a road between big old yew-trees, and then you are at +the library, which is made of wood. And mostly there is a ticking sound +inside, which is the typewriter--_tick-a-tack--tick-a-tack_! Then a +pause, a few growls, and then the noise of a book being pulled out, +rustling leaves, more stamps, more growls, and again--_tick-a-tack_! + +It goes on like that most of the time, except when the Animal inside +must be fed, or on fine afternoons, when he comes out to play. + +_Then_ we have quite lovely times in the woods and hunting for things, +or picnicking. And it is nice to see the white tablecloth, which +Somebody has arranged on the green grass or under the shade, all covered +with nice things for you to eat. + +Then all about there are woods--oh! miles and miles of them. There is +the Low Park, where there are lots of apples--rather crabby, but not +much the worse for that when you are really hungry. + +The Low Park is pretty big, and has a stream running through it, quite +slowly and steadily. Then down below is the river-bed, all rocks and +pools. Because the water is drawn off for the mills below. We can play +there in the summer-time, and keep fish as safe as in an aquarium. + +Of course there are nice places higher up--where Esk goes along lipping +over the pebbles, tugging at the overhanging branches of trees, or +opening out to make a mirror for the purple heather on the slopes above. +But of all these you shall hear before I have done. Oh, yes, I mean that +you shall. + +And in the evening all is lovely dark purple except the hills, which are +light purple and green in patches, the shape of cloud-shadows. + +I wonder if ever you got to love words, colors, and things till they +grew to be part of yourself? What do I mean? Well, I will try and +explain. + +When I was little, the word "purple" somehow nearly made me cry. Oh, +no--I did not like dresses that color, nor even ribbons--much. Only just +the word. Sometimes funnily, as in the line-- + + "A pleasant purple Porpoise, + From the Waters of Chili." + +Sometimes seriously, as in two lines which have always brought the tears +to my eyes--I do not know why. I think I must have put them together +myself when I was thinking in sermon-time (which is a very good time to +think in). Because the first is the line of a Scottish psalm, and the +rest is--I know not what--some jingle that ran in my head, I suppose. +But they made me cry--they do still, I confess, and it is the color-word +that does it!--that, and the feeling that it is years and years ago +since first I began to say them over to myself. It seems as if there +would never again be such hues on the mountains, never such richness on +the heather, never sunsets so arrogant (yes, I got the word that time) +as those when I was little. + +But what, you ask, are the lines? Well, you won't think anything of +them. I _know_ you will laugh. + +They are just--but oh! I am ashamed to put them down to be printed. For +they are just altogether mine--all little girls who have been lonely +little girls will know what I mean. Boys are pigs and will laugh--except +Hugh John. + +However, I can't put off any longer, can I? Oh, yes, I could, but--it is +better to be over and done with it. + + +MY POEM. + +Made up when I was (about) Four. + + "I to the hills will lift mine eyes-- + The purple hills of Paradise." + +That's all! Now laugh! And if you do, I shan't ever love you again. +Father smiles and says that very likely I did put them together, but +that the last line is in a book of poems by a man named Trowbridge. + +Well, what if it is? Can't _I_ think it and Mr. Trowbridge too? I never +saw his old book. Why, I could not read then, and _he_ couldn't know +what a little girl was thinking, sitting down by Esk-waterside and +watching the purple hills--till I was told to come in and haste-me-fast, +because the dew was falling. + +But of course I don't tell this to everybody. They would call it +sentiment. But I pity the little lonely girl who doesn't have "thinks" +like that all to herself, which she would die sooner than tell to +anybody except to her Dear Diary. + +After the boys got bigger and could romp, I didn't have nearly so many +thinks--not time enough, I suppose. Boys need a heap of watching. At +first they have no soul--only a mouth to be silly with, teeth to eat +with, and a Little Imp inside each to make them pesterful and like boys. + +Well, little by little, I made a collection of things that were of my +color--all in my head, of course. + + "League upon rolling league of imperial purple!" + +I think it was father who wrote that, and I believe his heart was pretty +big and proud within him, seeing his own heathery country spread out +before him when he did it. I wonder if something went _cluck-cluck_ +(like a hen) at the bottom of his throat? It does in mine sometimes. + +Then there is "the Purple Wine of the Balkans," and "the wine-hearted +sea"--but that last I only heard of at school. + +And I liked a story about an Irish patriot who, when they brought him an +address of honor with a green cover, told them to take it away and bind +it in purple, the color of the heather. + +Also I loved to read about heroines with "eyes like the purple +twilight," though just at present these are scarce in our part of the +country. One of our forbears (funny word--for _we_ are the Four Bears, +the little ones! Somebody I know is the Big Big Growly--only don't tell +him!) well, one of our ancestors--immediate ancestors, I mean--left us +blue eyes, but as we grew older they all turned gray, which I think +unfair. + +Later on, I loved to be told about the "purple Codex"--that is, the +Gospels written out on purple vellum in letters all gold. That must be +lovely. I tried to stain a sheet with Amethystine ink, and print on it +in gold paint. But it only looked blotchy and stupid--you never saw such +a mess. So I thought it was better just to dream about the Codex. + +I wasn't born in the purple myself, but I resolved early never to marry +anybody that wasn't. And I should have a purple nursery, and purple +bibs, and a purple "prim-pram," and a nurse with purple strings to her +caps, and baby should live exclusively on preserved violets (candied) +and beautiful purple jelly. + +Then wouldn't she be a happy child? Not commonplace like me, and +compelled to wear a clean white pinafore. They don't half know how to +bring up children now-a-days. + +Oh, how I do wish that I had been "born in the purple!" + +But I wasn't, and white soils so easily. You see, if the purple were +only dark enough, you wouldn't get scolded half so much, and they +wouldn't all the time be telling you that milk food is "so wholesome"! +Oh, how tired I am of being told that! + +Still, after all, chocolate isn't bad, and you can easily make believe +that it is purple instead of brown. + +At least _I_ can. And it tastes just the same. + +Good-by, Dear, my Diary. There's Nurse calling. + + + + +III + +PRESENTS + + +_Still the Same Age. But no Date._ + +I wish we could choose our own presents, don't you? + +People give you surprises, or think they do. For mostly you can tell +pretty well by keeping an eye on the parcels and things as they come in. +Or one of the servants tells you, or you hear the Grown-ups whispering +when they think you are not attending. Attending! Why, you are always +attending. How could you learn else? _They_ did just the same +themselves, only they forget. + +Of all presents, I hate most "useful" ones--"to teach you how to keep +your things tidy," and what "you will be sure to need by and by, you +know, dear!" + +For when the time comes you've had it so long that you don't care a +button about it. I suppose there are some Miss Polly Prinks who like +things to put on. But I haven't got to _that_ yet. Nor yet money that +you are told you mustn't spend. There ought to be a "Misfit Presents' +Emporium," where you could take all the presents you don't care about +and get them exchanged for what you do. + +"Please, sir, can I have a nice lot of the newest books with the +prettiest pictures for four Jack-in-the-boxes, eight dolls (three +dressed), a windmill and a Noah's Ark, that only wants Noah and one of +his son's wives' legs?" + +"Let me see them, miss, please!" + +"Can I look at the books on that shelf?" + +"Oh, these are the adventure books for Grown-ups," says the man; +"children don't read such thing now-a-days--something in the +picture-book way, Miss--_Little Sambo and the Seven Pious Pigs_, or _How +many Blue Beans make Five?_" + +But _I_ would know ever so much better, and would have down half-a-dozen +Grown-up books that just make your eyes stand out of your head like +currants in a ginger-bread bunny. That's what _I_ like. No children's +books for me. And I'd have them all chosen as soon as the Presents' +Exchange man had made sure that none of the paws were knocked off the +green kangaroo, and that the elephant still owned a trunk. + +It is a good idea, isn't it? What do you think? About the Exchange, I +mean. + +Once my Uncle Tom got a birthday present from Aunt Margaret. It was a +set of fire-irons for the drawing-room grate! And when her birthday came +round Uncle Tom chose for her present--_a pipe-rack for the +smoking-room_! + +I think that was fine--and so does Hugh John. + +Now I am not complaining. August the tenth is _my_ birthday, and it is a +good time for birthdays--being sufficiently long before Christmas. I +pity the poor people who were born in early January. Also presents are +good at our house, and there are enough of us to change round among +ourselves if any mistakes do occur. But what I really want to tell you +about is what happened to Little Sarah Brown, who lives just outside our +gate. + +Sarah's people are very poor and her father makes them poorer by going +and drinking--as he says, "To drown Dull Care." My father says if he let +Dull Care alone and drowned himself it would be better for every one all +round. And that's a good deal for father to say, mind you, because he +believes dreadfully in letting people alone. + +Well, Little Sarah Brown's mother was ill most of the time. She had a +cough and couldn't do washing, so Little Sarah came to our house to run +messages and go to the post with big letters when father said so. It was +pretty nice for Sarah too, because every second Saturday she got +half-a-sovereign from father. He grabbled deep in his pocket until he +found a piece of about the size, looked if it was gold, and handed it +over to Little Sarah. + +Just fancy carrying about real-for-true gold like that! Some people are +dreadfully careless. Well, one time Little Sarah went up to the library +to get her Saturday's money. Father was mooning about among his books, +and shoved something at her, telling her gruffly to be off. He hadn't +time to be thanked then, but would see about it on Monday! + +And do you know--it was a whole big sovereign he had given her! Now of +course _he_ never knew. He wouldn't have found out in twenty centuries, +and Little Sarah knew it. She did not notice till she was nearly home, +and then she stopped under a lamp-post that was early lighted to look at +what was in her hand. + +Yes, it was a sovereign. Nothing less! + +And, do you know, a bad, _bad_ boy named Pete Bolton came behind Little +Sarah and gave her hand a good knock up. + +She would have lost it in about two ticks, because Pete Bolton was a +perfectly horrid boy, and would have stolen it like nothing at all. Only +Little Sarah was upon him with a bound like a tiger, and bit his hand +(yes, it _was_ nasty, being very dirty). Only she bit Pete's hand from a +sense of duty, and made him let go. She had her face rubbed in the mud, +her hair tugged, and all, but she never let go the sovereign--half of +which wasn't hers. + +There was a girl for you, and yet boys will say that only they are +brave! Well, don't you think it was pretty hard for Sarah--harder, I +think, after fighting for it than before? You see, she thought of all +the nice things she could get for her mother with the extra ten +shillings, besides new boots for herself that didn't let in the water, +and--oh! a lot of things like that. + +Worst of all, she knew that if she did take it back to father he would +only shove it in his pocket without noticing. But she said over and +over: "Honesty is the best! Honesty is the best!" You see, she could +not remember the word "policy," which does not improve the sentiment +anyway--to my mind, at least. + +So back she went. Father was still mooning about among his books, and +just as she expected he took the golden sovereign and shoved it back +into his pocket right among pennies and pocket-knives and so on. But he +quite forgot to give Sarah her own real half-sovereign. I believe he +thought she had picked the coin up off the floor. For he just said, +"Thank you," and went on with his work. + +And Little Sarah stood there fit to cry. + +By and by he noticed the girl and asked what she was waiting for--not +unkindly, you know. But, as usual, he was busy and wanted to be left +alone. + +"Please, sir," said Little Sarah Brown, "my half-sovereign!" + +"But I paid you your wages, did I not?" + +"Oh, yes, sir; but--" + +"Oh, you would like an advance on next week--very well, then." And he +pulled out of his pocket the very identical piece of gold that had been +Little Sarah's temptation--like mine about the Blue Vase and Mir-row, +you remember. + +"There!" he said; "now go away! I'm busy!" + +"But, _please_, sir----!" + +"WHAT?" + +Then Little Sarah burst into tears, and father stared. But after a while +he got at the truth--how he had given a whole sovereign in place of a +half---- + +"Very likely--very likely!" said he. + +And how Sarah had brought it back--all of her own accord. + +"Very unlikely!" he muttered. + +And how he had shoved it back into his pocket without noticing---- + +"_Very_ likely!" he said--to himself this time. + +So what did he do, when he had heard all about it, but promise to whack +Pete Bolton with his stick the first time he got him. And Sarah began to +cry all over again, saying that Pete had no mother and couldn't be +expected to know any better. + +"Well," said he, "that's as may be! But anyway, I'll be a father to Pete +the next time I catch him. I'll teach him to let little girls alone. +I've dealt with heaps of Pete Boltons before! Oh, often! Don't you +trouble, little girl!" + +And he actually got his hat and walked home with Little Sarah, growling +all the time. I don't know what he gave her. But, anyway, what he said +to her mother made the poor woman so happy that she nearly forgot to be +ill. And on Monday I noticed that Little Sarah had new whole shoes and +so had her brother Billy. So something must have happened, and though +nothing was said, I can pretty well guess what. + +So can Hugh John--and you too, my dear Diary. Only we won't tell. But +the "Compulsory Man," who makes boys attend school, descended on wicked +Pete Bolton, and then the schoolmaster fell on him, so that Pete became +a reformed character--this is, so long as he was sore. Then, of course, +he forgot, and began playing truant again. + +Only after that he let Little Sarah alone. Because, you see, he never +knew when, in a narrow lane, he might meet a big man, pulling at a big +mustache, and carrying a very big stick. Because the sermons that big +man preached with his stick were powerful, and Pete Bolton did not +forget them easily. + +The End--moral included free of charge, as Hugh John says. + + + + +IV + +MISS POLLY PRETEND + + +_End of June._ + +Of course there ought to be a story in all this--the story of my life. I +have a Relative who can spin you the story of anybody's life if you only +tell him what number of shoe he wears. Only I am just a little girl, and +have neither been murdered nor married--as yet. So in my life there are +no--what is the word?--ingredients for the pudding. Yes, that is it. + +So it must just come anyhow, like things tumbling out of your pocket +when you hang head down from a tree or haystack which you are climbing. + +All the same I will try always to put one story or one subject into a +chapter, though these won't be called "Printed in Gore," or "The House +of Crime," or anything like that. + +For, you see, the stories the boys read are just stuffed with such +things. So it will be rather a change to write about "The Dirty Piece +of Embroidery" and "The Colored-Silk Work-basket." + +And that reminds me. Often Grown-ups "give it" to their children for the +very identical things they used to do themselves when young. There is a +friend of father's down at Dumfries whom he calls Mr. Massa. And once we +bribed Mr. Massa to tell us all about when father was young--he was his +earliest and dearest friend--though, by his telling, father pounded him +shamefully and unmercifully for nothing at all, even after they had +vowed eternal friendship. And do you know, the things that father did +when he was a boy--well, he would thrash Hugh John and Sir Toady for +_now_! + +But I expect that all fathers and most mothers were like that. When _I_ +am a mother, I shan't be. Because, having kept a Diary, I shall only +have to take it out and see how I felt. Don't you think that is a +first-rate idea? + +Besides, if it is printed, as Mr. Dignus says that it will be, it is +bound to be true, and I shall have to believe it. Oh, just won't my +children have a good time! Also Hugh John's. But Sir Toady Lion says he +isn't going to have any--being married is ever such a swot, and children +are all little pigs. + +Well, _he_ ought to know. + +Oh, about this Mr. Massa? He told us some splendid things about +father--how he stood on the top of Thrieve Castle with a stone in one +hand and his watch in the other to measure the altitude, having just +learned how. Only he forgot, and let go the wrong hand. + +_Smack_--went the watch on the grass about seventy feet below! And there +was he left standing with the stone in his hand. But the watch was +ticking cheerfully away when they picked it up, and it is that very same +old nursery watch that is hung up there now, and tells us when it is +time _not_ to get up. + +I don't think I ever knew what it was to have a true friend with a good +memory till that moment. And as for the boys and me, we never thought we +should like any of father's friends so much. But Mr. Massa told us more +things that we can cast up to him in time of need than we would ever +have wormed out of father himself in a century. Funny how close people +get about some things when they get older. Oh, I wish I had been born +my own little girl. Then I _should_ have been properly brought up! + +However, that is not my fault. + +Hugh John says that being naughty is just according as you look at it. +Big Folks' job is to make us behave, so that we are as little of a +nuisance to them as possible. _Our_ business to get as much fun as we +can out of life without getting in the way of the Grown-ups. All their +"Don't do this's" and "You mustn't do that's" are just warnings not to +give them trouble. Moral (according to Hugh John), "Give as little +trouble as possible to Grown-ups. And they will let you do pretty much +as you want to." + +He says that acts first-rate at school. Toe the line with the masters, +and then if you _do_ "whale" your fellow-pupil, no questions are asked. +The only way to be a bad little boy in peace and quiet is to be a good +little boy so far as work is concerned! + +And as Hugh John does it, this is not hypocritical. He couldn't be that +if he tried. He has just thought it out, and now makes it work with the +greatest coolness in the world. It is his system. And he says every boy +is a fool who gives the masters trouble. He means Grown-ups generally. +You do certain things _as_ they say, work out your sums, and keep your +drawers tidy. Then you can live in your own world and they in theirs. +They won't bother about you. + +But, of course, Hugh John is pretty safe anyway. He has a reason for +everything, and is always ready to give it if asked. If not, he keeps it +to himself, wraps it about him like an inky cloak--and is triply armed +because he has his quarrel just--and knows it. + +But, you see, we are really pretty well off at our house, though we do +grumble sometimes. When I was a little girl I rode many hundreds of +miles with father on his cycle, and now Hugh John and he spend days over +glasses of all descriptions, telescopes and binoculars, while Sir Toady +talks about birds' eggs for hours, and has succeeded to father's +collection. + +In the library there are the loveliest books on flowers--both editions +of _Curtis_, the _Botanical Magazine_, two _Sowerby's English Botanies_, +and lots more in foreign languages. Maid Margaret thinks she will go in +for botany so as to get these. But I like best just reading books--or +browsing among them, rather. For of course you can't really _read_ +forty thousand volumes, even if you knew all the languages they are +written in. + +There are sets of all the magazines that ever were: _Annual Registers_, +_Scots Magazines_, _Gentleman's_, _Blackwood's_, _Chamber's_, _Leisure +Hour_, _Cassell's_, _Magazine of Art_--oh, everything! And the library, +being about eighty feet long altogether, is the loveliest place for wet +Saturdays--so "mousey," and window-seaty, with big logs burning on a +brass fireplace, and the storm pattering above and all about. It has a +zinc roof, only nicely painted and covered with creepers. There is room +enough for everybody to lie about, and read, and draw, all the time +keeping out of Big Growly's way if he is working. + +Even if he does see us, he only says, "Get out, Imps! I can't be +bothered with you just now!" + +Only if you are careful and have the kitchen key, you can tell by the +growling and the "tick-tack" whereabouts the Ogre of Castle Bookworm is, +and slip into another part. Best of all is the Old Observatory, where +there is a bed in a little cabin, and windows all about, and a big brass +telescope high overhead, with shelves and all sorts of fittings as in a +ship. + +It is first-rate, I tell you. Only you have to put the books you have +been using back again exactly, or you will get Ursa Major after you, and +he will fetch you out of your bed to do it, storming at you all the +time. Then maybe he will forget, and show you the first edition of some +book that there are only three or four of in all the world! + +You don't really need to be afraid of Big Growly. It makes rather a +noise while It lasts, but once It is finished, there is no more about +it. It is like a thunderstorm which you hear sleepily among the hills in +the night. All you have to do is just to pull the bed-clothes over your +head and put your fingers in your ears. There is not the least danger, +not really. + +Altogether we are about as well off for Grown-ups as it is possible to +be, and though lessons are seen to sharply enough--that is all in the +day's work. While for the rest, we live less of the Double Life than +other children have to do--that is, we don't have to "_pretend_ good," +and that makes all the difference. + +And this brings me to the tale of Polly Pretend. That was what we called +her. And by and by other people found her out, and did so too. And it +is an awful thing to be going through the world with a name like that. + +Yet Polly Pretend wasn't half a bad girl either. Indeed, if she had been +left alone, she would have been quite nice. It wasn't her fault. Only +this tale is a "terrible example" for parents and guardians. _They_ put +such things, like nasty medicine, in the books we have to read, and why +shouldn't I hit back, when it is only my poor old Dear Diary that sees +it? Till Mr. Dignus gets ready to print it, that is. + +Polly Pretend had a father and mother, but worse than most. If ever they +had been young, they had forgotten all about it. Polly mustn't run or +romp, nor speak above her breath, nor climb a tree, nor do anything that +makes life happy and really worth living. + +And when we went to see her, it was ever so much worse than going to +church four times a Sunday. _We_ only go once, except on special +occasions, because our folks believe in making Sunday an extra happy +day. And, after all, church is church, and there is always the music, +which is nice, and the organist's back hair, which isn't--and the sermon +is never very long and sometimes interesting. Then for the boys there +are the bees booming in the tall windows, and the flies that will +persist in crawling stickily over the old gentlemen's bald heads--really +quite pious flies they are. For the old gentlemen would be sure to go to +sleep if it were not for the excitement of watching out and moving those +flies on! + +But at Polly Pretend's house it was ever so much worse. You couldn't +believe it if you had not been there. And, do my best, I really can't +give you an idea. + +All the toys locked up, of course, all the drawing things, and every +book except two--one of which was that everlasting _Josephus_, and the +other the _Pilgrim's Progress_. As we knew these by heart, you may guess +how cheerful it was. And you had to learn chapters till you hated the +sight of an Oxford Bible, and hymns till you wanted to throw the book +behind the fire. + +Hugh John stuck to it and did pretty well, though he is not a quick +study. But Sir Toady boldly asserted that he was a true Mahometan, and +made a green turban out of an old green baize school-bag to prove that +he was a "haji and a holy man"! + +He had the cheek to brazen it out even when Polly's people threatened +to inform his parents and have him sent home to-morrow! + +Bless you, Toadums wished for nothing better. He missed his fox-terrier, +Boss, worse than words can tell, and his eggs and his paint-box and +everything. + +But of course we soon saw how Polly Pretend managed. She pretended. She +did not really read the books. She moved back the marker, and, if asked +questions, knew all about the chapter. Even if they ticked it in pencil, +there was india-rubber in Polly's pocket to rub it out. She played with +beads in church--in her muff or under her cloak. And when one rolled on +the floor, she said it was her collection money. She got another given +her too, which was always a halfpenny saved. + +At least so thought Polly Pretend. And Hugh John could not make her see +it was not the square thing--to buy sweets and thus defraud the Church. +He is awfully armor-plated on what is "the Square Thing," my brother +Hugh John. + +But Polly Pretend could not or would not see it. I think _could_ not. +For what could be expected of any girl who had such people for parents? +Then I saw clearly how well _we_ were off--whacked sometimes, of course, +or Big Growly called upon to erupt (which he does very fierce for five +minutes). But not expected to do anything except tell the truth and keep +on telling it--not behave like reptiles--and if caught, own up prompt. +Say your prayers when you feel like it. But don't do it just when you +know parents and guardians will be coming into your bedroom, as Polly +does--so that father or mother will say, "See how sweet and devotional +our little girl is!" + +And Polly's father and mother thought how good she was, and told all +round the countryside what little heathens we were. Not that _we_ cared +for that. + +But Sir Toady went up-stairs to the lumber-room and got an image of some +Chinese dragon which had been stowed away there ever since Uncle Peter +had been home the last time. And when Polly Pretend's father and mother +came to complain of us, he was down on his knees worshiping this false +image on the front lawn! Awful, wasn't it? But all the same it would +have made you laugh till you cried if you had seen him doing kow-tow to +this false god--it was only an old cardboard dragon anyway, like what +you see on the Shanghai stamps--and smelling the whole neighborhood by +burning brown paper joss-sticks before it, with a penny fire-cracker at +every finger-length. + +[Illustration: "DOING KOW-TOW TO THIS FALSE GOD"] + +He was had up into the study for that, though, because father said he +would have no "mockery" about such things. But I don't think he got it +very bad, because we all knew by the noise he made that Big Growly +wasn't really very mad. + +When he is, he goes off and you see no more of him for a long time. He +only stops in his den and doesn't growl. That is a good time to keep +away and say nothing, till he has done chewing his paws. Only Maid +Margaret dare go in then, and even she is wearing out of it--getting too +old, I mean. + +But about Polly Pretend. Of course she did not pretend to us. First of +all, she could not--she knew that it was quite in vain. Children don't +try on things with one another. They know they will be seen through. +Generally they can see through Grown-ups too, though, bless you, _They_ +never know it. + +Oh, poor Polly! I was sorry for Polly. Because she could never be +natural, but all the time had got to--what is it the book +says?--"assume a virtue when she had it not." + +At school she knew wads of Scripture and all the Kings of Israel and +Judah, but never did a French exercise without copying. Then, because +her people were rich, and she so good, she got lots of money sent +her--so much for telling what her place in class was. She told lies +about that, and got money for being first when really most of the time +she was first at the wrong end. + +Now at our school every fortnight the class was turned upside down, the +top girl being put at the bottom and the wooden spoon at the top, so +that the clever ones could work their way up again. And so each +alternate Monday Polly Pretend was really top girl for about five +minutes. It was on that day she wrote to her parents, and often got a +golden sovereign or a Post Office Order sent to her for her wonderful +cleverness. So, after all, in a way it was true. + +But there was trouble at the end of term--after the examinations, when +Polly Pretend always came out the very last. + +Because, you see, she had to save money to buy her own prizes, get one +of the charwomen to steal the school tickets that they stick in +prize-books, and print in her own name in capital letters as "first +prize" to show her parents. + +Then she had to watch for the School Report, which comes a day or two +after, and get it safely from the postman. She burned it, after trying +to alter the figures, but, of course, was anxious all the holidays. Also +she warned me to say nothing about it when I came to see her. + +As if I would! I knew Polly Pretend too well. So I never said a thing +about school, for fear Polly had been telling some lie about it, and I +should be giving her away. The visit was an unhappy time for all of +us--except, that is, for Sir Toady, who invented new and horrible forms +of idolatry every other day, and scared the immortal soul out of Polly +Pretend by putting on his day-shirt (the spare one) over his clothes, +and letting on to be an Evil Spirit which haunted the gooseberry-bushes. + +And I will say he did growl most fearfully--especially when he found a +good ripe bush. But we knew that was only to keep the rest of us off. So +Hugh John chased the Evil Spirit by the sound, and growled too. Because +the bush really was a good one--thin-skinned "silver-grays," and quite +ripe. I had some. + +But you should have seen poor Polly. She was frightened till she nearly +told the truth. I can't say more than that. Almost--but not quite. I do +believe that she would have gone and confessed the most innocent of her +lies to her parents, if it had not been for that young Imp, Sir Toady, +who laughed out loud, and jumped up and down in the shirt like a white +Jack-in-the-Box. + +But perhaps it was as well that she did not. For they were just the sort +of people not to understand that Polly's lies had mostly been their own +fault. But of course, as you may imagine, it was only putting off the +day of reckoning. + +It was in holiday-time--midsummer--when school-mistresses are just like +other folk; only, if anything, a trifle nicer. + +Now the head of our school, Miss Gray, came to Romano, which is the name +of the town where Polly Pretend lived. And Miss Gray thought it would be +a nice thing to call upon the mother of her pupil. Perhaps she might be +able to give Mrs. Pretend a hint or two which would keep Polly from +entirely wasting her time next term at Olympia. + +Oh, Miss Gray meant it just as kindly as she could, and that's saying a +good deal. She is a nice chicky-biddy, fussy, motherly sort of thing, +and wears the nicest satiny gowns at dinner-parties. It was the last +thing in the world she would have thought of, to give Polly Pretend +away--even to her parents. + +But it happened that on this day the Pretends had gone for a motor-ride. +And as it was hot, Miss Gray said that she would be glad to wait a few +minutes in the drawing-room. Because, you see, Mrs. Pretend was expected +in every minute. The maid knew her business, of course; there was no +"pretend" about her. She brought a cup of tea, and left Miss Gray to +do--what do you think?--look over the books on the table. + +At first Miss Gray thought that something had suddenly gone wrong with +her eyes. She opened a fine Macaulay, and saw "First Prize for History, +Presented to Miss P. Pretend." Next came "Special Prize for Good +Conduct--Miss P. Pretend." + +There was a whole table covered with them, laid out in the center of the +room, and more stuck in decorative oaken shelves, of fine old oak, made +by the village handy-man. + +Then Miss Gray understood, and her feelings were too much for her. But +even then she did not give Polly away. You see, Miss Gray was a pretty +good sort--that is, a good sort, and a pretty one too--which is the best +sort of all, Hugh John says. + +So she just rang the bell, and told the maid that she could not wait any +longer to see Mrs. Pretend, but that she would write. + +And she did. It was a little letter just saying that circumstances over +which she had no control, etc., had caused such a pressure upon Olympia +College that she was sorry there would not be a vacancy for Polly that +year. + +Well, you can fancy--Polly's mother and father were very angry. So much +so that they determined to start off at once to call on the heads of the +college and complain. + +But Polly herself, as soon as she had heard from Ellen, the housemaid, +what had happened, and how Miss Gray had been twenty minutes in the +drawing-room, and gone away leaving her tea hardly "sipped," knew at +once what was the matter. + +So she dissuaded her father and mother from going to Olympia College. + +She was not appreciated, she said. She had always known it. Even Miss +Gray was jealous of her. And her mother said to her father, "I do not +wonder at it, dear. It is all the effect of our too careful bringing up +of Polly. Truly we may say with the Psalmist-- + + "'Than all her teachers now she has + More understanding far!'" + +And in a way, do you know, she had. And it was the training that did it. + +But later on, Dear Diary, I shall write more about Polly Pretend, when +she got a governess. For then she pretended and the governess pretended, +and instead of getting out of the habit, as Hugh John says, seven +Pretending Devils worse than the first entered into her. + +But of that another time. + + + + +V + +PRINCIPIA + + +_June continued, but nearer the end, and hotter._ + +Polly Pretend's governess, after she could not be received at Olympia, +was Miss Principia Crow. She had more than three miles of testimonials, +if all had been written out in a line in text hand and measured. + +The only curious thing was that the dates of all these were old, and +Miss Principia was still fairly young. Also, she admitted having changed +her name "for family reasons." + +But she seemed just the sort of person for Polly Pretend. She did not +know much arithmetic--just enough to cheat at tennis. She had +certificates that reached as far as "trig"--the wonderful science which +makes the boys stamp and throw their books about the room when they have +to study it. + +Now Pa and Ma Pretend had taken a great deal of trouble in providing a +suitable companion for Polly, and in a way they had managed all right. +Miss Crow pretended to teach, and Polly pretended to learn, and one knew +as much about the matter as the other. + +Miss Crow passed the time in telling Polly how many people had been in +love with her, and the hopes she had of as many more. Polly begged the +loan of a pier-glass from her mother, and thought, as she pretended +before it, smiling at herself and sweeping imaginary trains, how soon +her turn would come to have scores of lovers all willing and anxious to +drown themselves for her sake, like Miss Principia Crow. + +Fragments of conversation were sometimes caught by Mamma Pretend, and +she thought to herself, "What strange authors they do set young people +to study now-a-days! When I was a girl we had _Magnall's Questions_ and +_Little Arthur's History of England_!" + +It was Miss Crow's voice, however. No mistake about that. + +"Yes, and he said to me, 'I adore you with all the fervor of a free and +untrammeled genius, with the noble indignation of a spirit on fire +against wrong and oppression. It is true that in the meantime, though +of an exalted race, I am poor, receiving only twelve shillings a week in +one of the institutions of trust vulgarly called a pawn-broker's. But +next year and every succeeding year I shall have my salary raised by the +sum of two shillings--per fortnight. Oh, Principia, my Principia----'" + +At this moment, overcome by her own pardonable curiosity, Mrs. Pretend +entered hurriedly to see what they were doing. + +She found them busily employed, with head bent over an exercise in +dictation.... "From Milton's Essay on Macaulay!" Miss Polly Pretend +explained in answer to her mother's question. + +"Dear me," said Mrs. Pretend, as she went out, "and I always thought +that Milton wrote poetry. It's true I never could make out how they +could say that blank verse was really poetry--not, I mean, like 'How +doth the little busy' and 'Twinkle, twinkle'! But he wrote a long time +ago, and perhaps then they had not learned to make the words at the end +rhyme!" + +But now I must tell how Polly Pretend corrupted the whole house. At +first we had only called Polly's father and mother "the Pretends" +because they belonged to Polly, and so that we might know who was meant. + +But to begin with, Mrs. Pretend had to make up a lot of things to +explain why, after all these prizes, Polly had not gone back to Olympia +School. She had to think up something that people would believe. You +see, Polly's inventions were really too daring--as that after a year +abroad she and Miss Crow were going to set up a college of their own, a +far better one than Olympia. And then she would show Miss Gray! + +Now you will hardly believe me, but old Pretend, who was on the County +Council and fussed about roads and drainage--"an innocent enough old +duck," Sir Toady calls him--took to magnifying Miss Polly Pretend and +her governess. I think he actually began to count up his dollars to see +if he had really enough money to start Polly Pretend in a school of her +own. But one fine day he met old Lovell, of Castle Lovell, at some joint +business meeting about a Combination Poorhouse, or something like that. + +Now old Lovell is a fearful big-wig, and looked up to by everybody +because he is too stupid ever to pretend the least little bit. He would +get found out in a moment if he did. But solid as the Bank of England, +and as conceited as Mir-row with a rosette tied to her tail last King's +birthday! + +And old Lovell said, "I hear you have a Miss Crow to be governess to +your little child! I think I ought to know her!" + +"Ye-es!" said Father Pretend slowly. He did not like to hear a young +lady who was going to set up a school next year to rival Olympia itself +called "your little child." + +But he could not afford to fall out with old Lovell, who always seemed +as wise as a bench of judges and as rich-looking as a jeweler's shop +which can afford to keep its blinds down. So he only said, "My daughter +is not _quite_ a child!" + +"Oh," said old Lovell, "then it can't be Lizzie you have for governess!" + +"Certainly not!" said Mr. Pretend, much relieved; "her name is +Principia!" + +"I thought that was a Latin Grammar or something like that!" said old +Lovell, scratching his head like a bald old parrot. + +"Well, perhaps," said Papa Pretend, "it is very likely. Miss Crow has +been educated in all the languages that are--from her youth up!" + +Now all would have gone well if only it had not happened that at that +moment Polly and her governess came out of Parkins the pastry-cook's, +where they had been stuffing fruit-cakes. + +"Why, Lizzie!" cried old Lovell, shaking Miss Principia heartily by the +hand, "now I am pleased to see you have got on so well. This is my +butler's daughter," he explained, turning to Mr. Pretend, whose mouth +was the shape of a capital O; "it does Lizzie much credit. Because, you +see, she never got any regular schooling, being kept at home to help her +mother in the still-room and with the jams. Good-by, Lizzie! I shall not +forget to inform your father and mother that I have seen you--also John +the gardener, with whom, I understand, you are keeping company, as they +call it. Ah, ha! young people will be young people! Good-by, Pretend! +Good-by! Congratulate you on having the daughter of a respectable man in +your house. She will teach your little girl to make jams, and her +gooseberry-fool will be a marvel, if she is a bit like her mother. +Sensible man, Pretend! Far better to teach your daughter to brew and +bake than all the modern 'ologies' and fiddle-faddle in the world! Keeps +their husbands in better temper. Ah, clever fellow, Pretend! But you +couldn't take an old fellow in, eh, Pretend? I knew all that about +learning Latin grammar was stuff and nonsense. Good-by, good-by! So +long, Lizzie! Don't forget about that gooseberry-fool!" + +So off he went, like the rough timber-sided old bargee he was, and left +Mr. Pretend muttering angrily, "Gooseberry-fool! Gooseberry-fool!" As if +he knew very well who the "Gooseberry Fool" was--knew, that is, but had +promised not to tell. + +But poor Principia went as white as a sheet and shook like a fly caught +in a spider's web. I'm afraid in her heart she called old Lovell names. + +How did it turn out? Oh, the best way in the world. You would hardly +believe. At first, of course, old Pretend was all for packing off +Principia for teaching his child deceit! But he calmed down when he +thought of the lot of money he owed to old Lovell of Castle Lovell, and +of the use that his influence would be to him. Besides, he had boasted +so much about her. So had his wife. + +So he not only let Principia stay on, but actually set her to teach +Polly Pretend all she really knew. And she did know about cookery. That +was the real college she had been at, and her mother was a better +professor than all the ladies who gave lessons there. And Polly was +obliged to learn, too, because her father ate all the things she cooked, +and if he had indigestion, why, Polly heard about it, that's all. So she +stopped pretending and really did learn. + +And after a while they set up their college with old Pretend's +money--old Lovell's too, and it was called + + THE SCHOOL OF PRACTICAL COOKERY + + _Classes Afternoon and Evening_ + + Household Cookery, Preserving, and the + Management of Families a Speciality + +And that sentence was the last little bit of "Pretend." For neither +Polly nor Miss Crow has any family. Nor, between ourselves, are they +likely to have. + + + + +VI + +TORRES VEDRAS + + +_July the first in the year when I was eleven on August tenth._ + +Father has seen the real place, and, of course, knows all about it. He +says that it is just a lot of rough mountains, with bits of wall built +into the open places to connect them and make them strong. + +But _we_ know that there are not one, but two Torres Vedrases--all on +one bend of a river. The first one is quite near the Low Park, between +the Weir and Jackson's Pool. It is a pebbly bar with a kind of green +tufty island. From one side of it there is a rippling ford crossing +slantwise, by which you can lose yourself barefooted in the woods on the +other side. + +The water only takes you to about the knee, even if you are pretty +little. It is always one of the nicest places in the world. The water +makes a soft tinkling over the ford. The grasses and bluebells wave, +and the wind goes _sough_ through the big solid walls of pine on either +side. + +Yes, it is first-rate to play there with your oldest things on, +especially on a warm day about this time of the year. The river is +pretty dry, and there is a great deal of pebbly bar, also the little +green island with rough grass on it has grown to about twice the size. + +You can fortify this island, and it is fine to dig channels through the +bar for the water, with all sorts of lovely harbors and pleasure-lakes. +Once the boys and I made a channel right from one end of the bar to the +other, and father helped--and got wet too! + +Yes, he did. We always encouraged him to get wet, by saying, "Oh, here +is a place we can't reach!" Because if _he_ got wet, we knew very well +there would be nothing said to us. Fathers are fearful nice and +useful--sometimes. Ours particularly when he helps us to play, and +forgets he isn't a boy. Oh, I can see quite well when he says to +himself, "I ought to be working--_but_--oh, bother, how much nicer it is +to dig in the sand with the other children!" + +And then he took pictures of us--photographs, I mean--working at our +engineering, and building and paddling--oh, whole albums full. They +began when we were quite little tots. The best are of Maid Margaret and +Sir Toady. For I was too old, I suppose, to look nice stuck among trees, +and Hugh John hated so being photographed. When told to, he stood up +stiff like a stork on one leg. But Sir Toady was usually as nice as pie, +being made that way, and as for the Maid, she always looks natural +whatever she is doing. + +Father has a whole set called the History of a Biscuit. It is only the +Maid eating one. But it is funny to see it getting smaller and smaller +till it is all gone. They are flashed on quickly by our magic lantern, +and we children go wild when it comes to the funny ones. The grand +exhibitions are for winter nights. Then we are well wrapped up in gray +Harris cloaks and come up, closely marshaled by Somebody to see that we +don't snowball too much. They are quite lovely, these nights, with the +snow crisping under our feet, and Somebody carrying a swig-swagging +lantern before us--everybody's shadow swaying tipsily about, and the sky +so near and so thick with stars that it seems as if you had only to put +up your hand to catch a whole cluster. + +There are usually many pictures of this first Torres, because we were +younger, and it is a prettier place. We wore little red coats with big +white buttons then, and marched regularly like soldiers. Hugh John beat +us on the legs if we did not. He had a switch for the purpose, and he +said that was the way the father of Frederick the Great did to make his +son turn out a good soldier. + +But we didn't care about such very practical history, and it made our +legs sore--especially us girls, who wore thinner stockings. So there was +a regular mutiny, and the whole army was degraded. You see, we were all +generals--except Boss, our fox-terrier, who was named Inspector-General +of Communications, because he ran from side to side of the road +sniffing, and nothing or nobody could stop him. So, as Boss did not join +the mutiny--not knowing how--he was promoted next in rank after the +Commander-in-Chief, who was Hugh John. _He_ was permanent Commander, +because, you see, he could lick the whole standing army even if it +attacked him on all sides at once. + +Sir Toady and Bobby Coates were the ring-leaders of the revolt, and they +called out, "Hem him in! Hem him in!" But, you see, that was the very +thing Hugh John wanted, and the more they "hemmed," the harder he laid +into them till Bobby said he would tell his father, which he did. But +Mr. Coates was a sensible man, and only said that he was all the better +for a "hiding," and that if he came bothering him any more, he would +give him another on his own account! So after that Bobby Coates became a +good soldier, and lived long as an ornament to the service. + +Yes, the nursery army was good fun while it lasted, before we all split +up and went to different schools. We tried it once after in the first +vacation. But somehow it wasn't the same, and ended in a fight. You see, +the boys especially had learned a good deal between them, and though it +made no difference to Hugh John, the others kept squabbling all the +time, and saying how much better they did things at their school than at +any other--which was not at all the way they talked about their school +in private. + +_Then_ "school was a beastly hole." The masters were "Old Buster," +"Plummy," "Sick Cat," and "The Dishlicker"! + +But to hear them talking to one another you would have thought that at +least half what was said on the prospectus was Gospel Truth. Yes, and +ever so much more. And it was "The Doctor," and "Mr. Traynor, the Head +of our House, who made a double century in the ''Varsity' match, and is +the best bowler in the whole world!" + +Going down by Torres there is a darkish place, all yew-trees, very +ancient, and there sometimes we would see one of the maids walking +arm-in-arm with a young man. Of course, though we thought it very silly, +we never told the Grown-ups. We knew by instinct that we must not. Then +after a month or two the cook or the housemaid or the under-nurse would +come and say she was "leaving to get married." + +Of course we never let on that we knew it all before. But we thought her +very silly to leave a place where she could have stayed for ever at good +wages (ever so much better than our weekly ones) just to go and do +housework for somebody who never paid her any wages at all! + +All this comes into the history of the First Torres Vedras, and of +course I ought to have done it properly, like in a school history, all +in order, with dates at the sides and notes at the bottom of each page. +But being only a little girl, it has got to be written just so, or not +at all. I am so afraid that I shall forget these things as I grow up--so +I put them down as I remember them in my Dear Diary. + + + + +VII + +TORRES THE SECOND + + +_Written in the fourteenth year of my age._ + +[The date is July the Second--or Third. I am not sure which, for Mary +Housemaid has burned yesterday's paper lighting the fire.] + + +We went to Torres Vedras the Second to-day. I don't quite know why--only +there are bigger stones there, and the river rushes more rapidly. We +often try to dam it altogether, but we have never quite succeeded. You +see, just when we are getting to the last bit, the water always rises +and sweeps it all away. But Hugh John said to-day he knew a way, and +that was to make the dam like a very blunt capital V with its nose +pointing up stream! The book on engineering he had been digging into +said this was the proper right way, and it acted very well till the +moment came when the very point of the V was put in. Hugh John was to do +that, of course. He would yield the honor to no one else, and as for +me, I did not want that kind of honor. + +And, do you know, when he dropped in the big stone and stood on it to +make it all safe by plugging up the "interstices" with smaller stones +and rubble, as the book said--lo! the river rose again and swept away +the whole work from side to side, all except the big bowlder Hugh John +was standing on! + +You never saw such a thing. Horatius, with the bridge going down behind +him, was at least on dry land. But there stood Hugh John waving his arms +to keep his balance, and crying out, "Oh--I don't care--I don't +care--I'll dam it yet!" + +It was very ignoble, he said afterwards, of any river to behave that +way. Why couldn't it have stopped where it was put and done what it was +told? Anyway, while we tried to get him a plank to crawl ashore on, the +big bowlder swerved, and toppled him right in, and he was wet up to his +watch-pocket. + +He had to go to the top of the Feudal Tower all by himself, and play at +being the Lady Godiva riding through Coventry, while his things dried +over the ramparts. But he took good care that nobody saw him. He dared +Toady Lion to come within half-a-mile. While he was away, we made great +excavations and navigable channels. One of these was so huge that Sir +Toady says that the ruins will remain even when we are Grown-ups +ourselves. But that is a long time yet, and I don't see how Sir Toady +can possibly know. + +He also says that, just as there are the ruins of Memphis, Nineveh, +Rome, the Calton Hill, and the Portobello Brickworks, so there will be +the ruins of the First and Second Torres Vedras. Digging people in +future generations will wonder who made them, and so on each of the big +stones he has placed an inscription in the Abracadabrian language to +tell the explorers all about it. + +Now I will tell you about the Abracadabrian language. We made it up +ourselves, and we four in the nursery all speak it fluently. Only the +curious thing about it is that none of us has the least idea what the +others are talking about! This must be owing, says Hugh John, to "some +variation of dialect, such as creeps into all languages sooner or +later." + +The Abracadabrian language has suffered _sooner_ than most, that is all. +In fact, it was born suffering. But it is the writing of it that is +most difficult. It is founded on always putting a Z for an A, and so +back through the alphabet. And so difficult to read is it that not even +the writer of any sentence in that language has ever been able to make +out what he meant, twenty-four hours after! + +Hugh John and I really labored at it hard, and might have made progress +if we had not squabbled about the grammatical rules. But Sir Toady said +brazenly, "_Hinky-chinky-pin!_" And stuck to it that it meant, "The +enemy of the Nursery Commonwealth has arrived at Leith, burnt his ships, +and is now marching on Peebles!" As for Maid Margaret, she said it was +so, and would Sir Toady please come with her and fish for minnows with a +tin can tied to a string? + +This they did. They had no souls for true philology. They don't even +know what the word means. (_I_ have just looked it up.) After he was +dried up all right alone in the Feudal Tower, Hugh John dressed himself, +and signaled to me by waving his handkerchief three times, once with his +right hand, once with his bare toes, and once holding it between his +teeth--pretty intricate when you are not used to it. + +This, when you can see it, is our fiery cross--that is, Hugh John's and +mine. As I say, it takes a good deal of trouble, but it is a worthy +summons--and the copy-book says that nothing truly noble is achieved +without difficulty. + +Well, when I got to him, he said that he would take me to his Cave of +Mysteries. This was a great favor, for not even Sir Toady had ever been +there before. + +"Not a gamekeeper knows it," he said, "and Fuz says I can use his +scouting-glass if I take good care not to drop it." + +There was a steep wood to climb, all among the fir-trees, some grass +fields, then above and quite suddenly we came out on the side of a +rugged mountain. + +The cave was about half-way up, under a slanting rock. You turned +quickly to the side, grabbed a little pine-root and swung yourself in. +Then you saw the cave. It was not much of a place for size, not like the +self-contained villas they have in story-books. Only you could not be +seen. The rain did not come in unless it was driving quite level along +from the north, which did not happen often. + +But when I turned about--why, it nearly took my breath away. We could +see half-a-dozen counties--Edinburgh dusting the little lion of Arthur's +Seat with her smoke, the blue firth beyond, little and narrow, the toy +towers of the Big Bridge to the left, and the green country all between +dotted with towers and towns innumerable. + +Oh, it was so unexpected and so fine that I nearly cried. And Hugh John +lay watching me, his chin among the heather. But, more than all, he was +pleased that his cave had taken me so much by storm. + +Then he showed me with his glasses he could "spot exactly where each of +the gamekeepers was, also the wood-foresters, and Sir Bulleigh Bunny +himself, if he were at home." + +And indeed it was quite true. He could pick them all out one by one. +Never once did he make a mistake. Then he would show me them, but often +all I could see was no more than a little trembling among the green +leaves of some far-distant wood. + +It was not long till I found the secret of Hugh John's complete security +in this his chosen Crusoe's Cave. Chesnay the gamekeeper was passing far +below, a gun over his shoulder, and as the wind was blowing off the +hill into the valley, it was almost certain that his dogs would scent +us. + +But Hugh John had thought all this out. Trust him for that. He took a +gnawed bone out of an inner pocket, removed the wrapping of newspaper, +leaned far over, and threw it with the long, sweeping curve of a +boomerang upon the path in front of the dog's nose. + +John Chesnay's retriever made a rush, a snap, and then sidled sidelong +into the thick copse-wood. The rest of the dogs were after him in a +moment. I had seen him glancing from side to side as if to watch for the +fall of the bone. He knew it would come, and that even if the devil took +the hindmost, the foremost would be sure of the bone. Therefore he, John +Chesnay's big black retriever, would be that foremost. + +He was far too wise a dog to argue, or bother about where +the bone arrived from. His business was to find it, and +then--_crunch_--_crunch_--get it stowed away out of harm's way as +quickly as possible. + +Caesar Augustus (that was the dog's name) knew very well that though you +may hunt out the causes of bad luck, it is better to leave good luck +alone. So at least Hugh John said, and if anybody knew all about such +things, _he_ did. There was hardly anything he could not tell you the +true explanation of, or, if in doubt, you had only to wait a moment and +he would make you up one on the spot quite as good, every bit, as the +real one. Furthermore, he would prove to you (and very likely to +himself) that it might be, must be, _was_, the only true and proper +reason and explanation. + +Anyway, reason or no reason, it was just as nice as ninepence in the +Cave. Away down to the left where the sun was bright on the river we +could see Sir Toady and the Maid, little black dots moving to and fro +along the green edge of the river. Hugh John had the glass on them in a +minute, and behold--they were squabbling! Sir Toady had tossed some of +the Maid's fish out, and the Maid had promptly thrown the pail of water +in his face. + +He stood dripping and laughing. The Maid had gone for a fresh supply of +ammunition. But war was over. Sir Toady had laughed. After that there +was no more to be said. + +It is different with Hugh John, when he sucks in his cheeks, clenches +his fists, and laughs--well, look out for what you are going to get. + +I asked Hugh John why he had never taken Sir Toady up to his Cave of the +Winds, and he said, "Oh, Toady--he would be getting out boxes to stuff +with beetles, and skirmishing for birds' eggs. He's all right in a wood, +that Toadums--better than me--but no good on the hillside, and too larky +all round in places where you can be seen miles off." + +"And what do you do up here yourself?" I said. + +"I am _by_ myself," he answered. "I think--I read!" + +"But you have a room _to_ yourself in the house. You can go there!" + +For I thought he was exceedingly well off. Because I have to share mine +with the Maid, who kicks like a young colt in her sleep. But Hugh John +gave me a look of utmost contempt. + +"Did you never hear of Obermann?" he said, "--the man who made a cave on +the Pic de Jaman. I showed it to you when we stopped at Glion on the way +to Lausanne." + +"It was a cow-châlet then," I reminded him. But he swept on without the +least heed of details. + +"Yes, and Mr. Arnold has a lovely poem all about him, and 'the wild +bees' hum,' and 'his sad tranquil lore.' This isn't quite the Pic de +Jaman, of course, but it is just as lonely, if you don't tell anybody, +that is, and I've only told you, Sis! Never mind!" + +So I swore never to reveal his hiding-place, and he showed me all he had +written about his observations. He had a shelf covered in with wood and +a lot of copy-books. Here was written all he had seen through the +glasses he had borrowed and the three-draw telescope of his own which he +carried constantly in his pocket. + +Oh, it was wonderful what he had observed--all about the changing +seasons, the country people, the moor-birds, the gamekeepers, and the +comings and goings of Sir Bulleigh Bunny. + +"Anybody can hide in a wood," he said, "but it takes Obermann and me to +do it on a bare hill!" + +Then he smiled a little and confessed. + +"I don't really know much about him," he said, "except that his name was +Senancour. I got his book out of the library, all marked with father's +scribblings, but I really couldn't understand much of it. Only this that +I translated--you could do it better, of course. It is about himself +when he was as old as we are, and felt just the same. + +"'I loved all manner of glades, valleys where it was always dusk--and +thick woods. I loved heathery hills, ruined pleasaunces, and tumbled +rocks fallen in avalanche. Still more I loved vast and shifting sands +which never plowshare had furrowed nor human foot crossed--plains +abandoned to the mountain doe or the frightened scouring hare. I never +liked to sit amid the storming of cataracts, nor on a little hill +overlooking a boundless plain. Rather I chose a hiding-place well +sheltered, a block of stone wetted lip deep with the brook which glided +through the silence of the valley, or better still, a mossy trunk, prone +in the deeps of the forest, with the dry rustle of beech-leaves above me +which the wind is getting ready to blow down when the time is ripe. +Silently I march, my feet deep in last year's fallen leaves--the little +worn footpath full of them from side to side.' + +"Oh, and this is finest of all," said Hugh John, hurrying on, "but don't +tell any one. I make you a partner of my solitude. It lasts just a +little while. It is selfish, if you like, but sometimes it is good to +live alone! Do you know what Senancour says love is?" + +"No!" I gasped, "how should I know?" + +And in truth I was more surprised that already Hugh John should be +thinking of such things. But when I told father, he just said to let him +alone--that the boy was finding his soul. + +Perhaps it might be in this old, sad, hundred-year-old book that he was +to find it. For the soul, father says, is just the capacity a man has of +thinking for himself. + +But Hugh John went on joyously, with his firm, pale, clean-cut face +looking out of the Cave's mouth towards the distant sapphire band of the +Firth, with the three Lomonds in a paler row of blue mounds behind. + +"'Often on the breast of some mountain, when the winds, sweeping down +from their wild "hopes" and gorges, ruffle the little high-lying +solitary lakes, the eternal clatter of the waves, heard only by myself, +makes me feel the instability of things, and the eternal reconstruction +of the earth out of her own _débris_. + +"'Thus giving myself up to the influence of all about me, bending to the +stoop of the bird which passes above me, thrilled by the falling stone, +conferring only with the moaning of the wind, watching the oncoming +mist, I become a part of the Peace of Things which is God. All reposes, +yet all is in motion, and I become part of it--calm as that higher +serenity, cool as that shadow--the hum of an insect or the scent of a +trampled herb making my communion with Nature. I also am of the great +sweet earth. I live its life, and in time I shall die its death.'" + +Now, for myself, I did not think that this was the sort of thing a boy +ought to be thinking of at Hugh John's age. But, since father said he +too had "passed that way," and since Hugh John could eat, sleep, run, +and play as well as anybody, I did not say anything. + +But I foresaw a day of reckoning--yes, I--because I am older, and a +girl. And in the world there are other girls. One day Hugh John (or I am +greatly mistaken) will turn the leaves of another book, and then +Senancour the austere will be forgotten, passed by on his shelf like a +chance acquaintance whose very name has become strange. + +Perhaps I wrong him. But this is what I think. At any rate I resolved to +try and guide his thoughts into more cheerful paths (it is a pity we +have not Senancour's pretty word '_sentier_'; I have always loved it). + +"Do you never observe _people_?" I asked him. + +He stared at me in amazement. + +"Why, of course I do," he answered, and he got down two more thick +copy-books. Everything Hugh John did about this time was original and +unexpected. + +"People!" he said, holding up the two manuscript books; "why, these are +stuffed full of people. Enough to make a real book!" + +Then I confided to Hugh John the great secret that _I_ was making a +book. + +A look of joy flashed over his face. + +"Let's make one together!" he said, "and not tell anybody!" + +"Let's!" I answered. + +Because I felt that I really owed Hugh John something for showing me the +Cave. + +And it was arranged that he was to tell me about his People and Things, +and I was to write everything down with my thoughts planted in here and +there. + + + + +VIII + +HUGH JOHN'S PEOPLE + + +_Through a glass clearly. July, and hot._ + +If you put your eye to the glass (said Hugh John) you will see where one +of my greatest friends lives--Mr. Butcher Donnan. Or rather he used to +be a butcher. For now he has given up his trade to his son Nipper, and +regrets it every minute of his waking day. + +Yes, that two-storied cottage with the garden in front, ablaze with +flowers, with creepers clambering as high as the roof, that is "New Erin +Villa," and the home of the most discontented man in Edam. Butcher +Donnan has nothing to do. He hangs over his gate, and almost prays stray +passers-by to stop and gossip. He has nothing to say to them or they to +him. But when they are gone, he will pull out his big gold watch with a +cluck like the cork drawn from a bottle, and say, "Thank God! Five +minutes gone!" + +Then he will stroll down the lanes towards Nipper's shop, making +butcher's eyes at all the cows which look at him over the hedges. He is +secretly calculating how they will cut up--jealous of Nipper, who has it +to do really every day. + +He lounges into his son's shop--where not long ago he ruled supreme. +Nipper, serving a customer, nods cheerfully to his father, and the +Butcher, whose fingers itch for the apron and the swinging steel, +clutches the gold head of his cane more tightly to keep him from +applying the supple part of it to "every lazy man-Jack" in the +establishment. Ah, things are not as they were in his time. The floor is +not so clean and cool, in spite of the black and white marble squares on +which Nipper had insisted. The eye of "Mister" Donnan could detect signs +of wasteful cutting-up in the dismembered animals a-swing on the hooks. +But Nipper was now "Butcher" Donnan, while he is no more than proprietor +of "New Erin Villa," with nothing to do, and too much time and too much +money to do it on. + +Sadly he goes out again. His place is not there. He could not stay in +that shop ten minutes without breaking the head of one of these stupid +"assistants." Even Nipper might not get off scot-free. But Butcher +Donnan knows that his son Nipper is of his own temper, a true Donnan, +and, young as he is, will be master within his own gates. + +So he says sadly, "So long, Nipper!" And, what is the greatest proof of +his changed condition, goes out without offering any criticism. Then he +"troddles" round the village on the look-out for little jobs, which he +considers as his specialities, or even perquisites--though he takes no +money for doing them. He can graft rose-trees better than any gardener +in the parish. At least he _says_ he can, and by reason of his repeating +it often enough and offering to fight anybody who thinks otherwise, +people have got to say so too. You believe an old middle-weight champion +when he tells you a thing like that, his little eyes twinkling out +suspiciously at you, and a fist the size of a mutton ham thrust under +your nose. + +Just now--"Watch him, Sis!" he is on the look-out for wasp nests. Edam +is the most wasp-free parish for miles, all owing to him. He marks them +down in the daytime, and then in the evening he will come with his +utensils and a dark lantern to make an end. With hung nests under eaves, +or attached to branches of trees, he deals by drenching them with +petroleum and setting a match to them. Sometimes he will drop a big one +into a pail of water and stand ready to clap on the lid. The swarming +deep-sunk nests in dry banks he attacks more warily. He brings a little +apparatus for heating pitch, and pours it, liquid and sinuous, into the +hole till the startled hum sinks into silence. Since an accident which +happened last year (owing to the wasp-nest operated upon having a +back-door) Butcher Donnan has always taken a quick-sighted boy or two to +spy out the land. I suspect our Sir Toady has acted as scout pretty +often. Do you remember when he came home all bulgy about the eyes and +with one of his ears swelled up double? _He_ said he thought he must +have taken cold, and I saw from the twinkle in Fuz's eye that he thought +he had been fighting. But _I_ took my magnifying glass and got out two +of the wasp-stings. Sir Toady had been doing "scout" for Butcher Donnan. +He had not "scouted" quite quick enough--that was all. + +Butcher Donnan, born Irish, had spent some time in America. So he +started politics here, and as he hoists the green flag with a harp, and +hauls down the Union Jack on the occasion of every Irish debate in +Parliament, you may be sure that he gets his windows broken. + +He does not object. He likes putting the panes in again himself, because +it is something for him to do. Sometimes he catches some local Unionist +patriot and (what he calls) "lathers" him! Afterwards he supports him +liberally during a prolonged convalescence. It is counted rather a good +thing to be loyal and get battered by that furious Irish Revolutionary, +Butcher Donnan. He has illuminations, too, and has stood for the School +Board and County Council on purely Fenian lines. He said nothing, +however, when young Nipper was elected instead of him, on that most +popular of all municipal tickets which consists in "keeping down the +rates." + +In despair of other employment Butcher Donnan has married a second time, +and his wife is a buxom woman, overcome with the glory of living in a +villa. But she makes regular first-class custards, I tell you. And for +toffee and shortcake there is not the like of her in the whole village +of Edam. If it were not for Butcher Donnan's (senior's) dignity, he +might be a happy man. For Mrs. Donnan could conduct the finest +confectioner's shop that ever was, and if the Butcher could be kept +from cutting up a mince-pie with a cleaver, and sharpening a jelly-spoon +on a "steel," he might be the best of salesmen and the happiest of men. + +Meanwhile, he has found the big wasp-nest behind the Mains entrance +gate, and he will be off to get his pitch-kettle ready, the mask for his +face, and the gloves for his hands. He does not mean to suffer if he can +help it. + +His wife, who cannot be all the time in the kitchen, is miserable +because she has to do fancy work and receive callers (or at least sit +waiting for them) in the fruit season, which is a clear waste of time. +She has been so long making a green Berlin wool cushion for a +bazaar--the "Sons of Clan-na-Gael Mutual Assistance Sale"--that it is +just chock-full of moths, and in time will pollute the entire household +into which it is "raffled." It is wrong to raffle, anyway, says the +chief of police, so it will serve them quite right--_I_ shall not take a +ticket. Now (said Hugh John, shaking his wise head) if they would only +listen to me and start a confectioner's shop, they would both be chirpy +as the day is long, and in the winter time long after dark--she over her +dishes and patty-pans in the kitchen, and he in a white cap and apron +behind the counter, talking to everybody, busy as honey-bees in +clover-time, radiating sweetness and coining money. + +And underneath the white apron Donnan could wear the butcher's "steel" +if he liked, just to make him feel like himself. + +Oh, I could arrange for people to be happy if they would only let me! + +"And why don't you tell him?" I said to Hugh John, a little impatiently. + +"Oh," said Hugh John, "you see, I have fought Nipper so long that there +is a kind of hereditary household enmity." + +"Nonsense," I said; "why, I saw Fuz talking to the old fellow for an +hour the other day, the two of them sitting and smoking as thick as +thieves. Besides, there's Toady!" + +"Yes," said Hugh John. "Father has no sense of the dignity of the house +or of what a 'vendetta' means. He always says that if he has a chance of +getting to heaven on that clause about forgiving your enemies, he does +not care a dump. Or words that mean just the same. And as for Sir +Toady--well, give him liberty to go into the woods at night--only an +excuse, mind you, and there is no sin that he will not commit--short, +that is, of mutiny. Neither of them knows how to conduct a family +quarrel on proper lines. I--you and I, I mean, have to sustain the honor +of the house, eh, Sis?" + +"Oh, nonsense, Hugh John," I said; "you know you have always been good +friends with Nipper. And it was you that brought the whole of them here +to listen to the Scott Redcap Tales at the Feudal Tower!" + +"_That_ was quite another matter," said Hugh John, hard pushed for an +explanation. "It was a sort of Ossianic gathering where all the chiefs +came to Morven, and made truce to listen to the tales and songs of the +minstrel!" + +"Oh, very likely," I said; "but why not put father or Sir Toady on to +advise Butcher Donnan? There is need of such a shop as that in Edam. I +have often felt the want myself." + +Hugh John agreed, and added that he had too. But he said that Sir Toady +could not be expected to act, seeing that he had already "sucked up" to +the maker of the strawberry shortcake, not to mention the maple-sugar +toffee. He could therefore get as much as he wanted for himself without +paying, owing to Mrs. Donnan's weakness! + +"And do you think that a young dev--imp like Sir Toady does not know +when he is well off?" concluded Hugh John. "As for father, he has too +much to do to bother his head about things like that--at least I shan't +ask him; no, Sis, if anybody, it is you who ought to suggest to Butcher +Donnan, or better, to Mrs. Donnan----" + +"But," said I, "he is a violent man, and would not listen to a word his +wife says. You know that very well!" + +Hugh John considered, throwing his chin into the air with a gesture +which, if he had not worn his hair of military shortness, would have +cast it back elegantly and poetically. But he disdained such things. + +"Oh, yes," he said, "Donnan makes a lot of noise, I know. He pretends to +authority, but--don't tell anybody--he has it not. _His wife can wear +him down!_ She seems to submit. His authority at home is undisputed. So +he tires of it, and finishes by letting her have her own way. That is +the secret. Of course at the least word of objection it would be, 'What +ho! my highest of high horses!' And crying aloud he would mount and +ride. But Mrs. Donnan never gives him a chance. She knows better. And as +he is really a good-hearted man--if he does bully, she just waits till +he is sorry for it! It does not take long." + +Thus in the depths of the cave, his chin on his hands and his eye glued +to the telescope, spake the Philosopher of Esk Water Side. + +I could not but admit that in the main he was right. Hugh John follows a +truth with a certain slow, patient, tireless, sleuth-hound trot, which +never puts him out of breath. But in the end he finishes by getting +there. And now without ever moving he extorted from me the promise that, +when I could (and as soon as I could) I should take in hand the task of +restoring the married happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Donnan--retired from +business, and fallen into the practice of idleness as a profession, and +unhappiness as the wages thereof. + + + + +IX + +THE NEW SHOP + + +_Aged about Fifteen. The Cave, in July._ + +It wasn't a job I liked. Nor would almost anybody. Still people can't +_say_ very much to a girl, and I had been at school and so had lost +my--what shall I call it?--"sensitiveness." + +As Sir Toady says, the golden rule is a first-rate thing--when you leave +school. Even with a little addition, it flourishes there too. But you +don't want to set up as a Christian martyr at school, I can tell you. It +was very noble in the time of St. Francis, and Dr. Livingstone, and +these people, and now-a-days there are people to whom we have to send +our sixpences--people we never see. Perhaps I shall be one when I am +older, but at school--these are Sir Toady's words--you find out what boy +has a down on you _and down him first_! It saves trouble. + +Afterwards you can be as sweet and child-like as possible, and go about +the world taking people in with blue Madonna eyes all your life. But at +school, if you don't want to have the life of a dog, it has got to be +different. + +Hugh John, of course, says that the principle of school life is for +everybody to obey one person. But, you see, that person is Hugh John. If +they don't, most likely he will hammer them. And afterwards he will +prove how they were wrong. He will do it at length, and at breadth, and +at depth, and unto the fourth dimension, till even fellows who can stand +up to his fists give in to him so as not to get lectured--or "jawed" as +they ignorantly call it. For really what Hugh John says could be taken +down and printed right off in a book. + +And you have got to believe it, too. For he is always ready to support +his opinion, in the same manner as the Highland chief in _Kidnapped_. +"If any gentleman is not preceesely satisfied, I shall be proud to step +outside with him." + +Joined to this faculty for laying down the law, he possesses an +admirable barbaric power of enforcing it, which would have been +invaluable in feudal times, and is not without its uses even now. + +Well, three days after I went and called on Mrs. Donnan. It came about +quite naturally. She is a first-class person to call upon. No fuss or +anything--only you have to catch her on the hop. This time I saw her in +the garden gathering gooseberries, and in a moment she had her sunbonnet +half off her head, and the basket dropped in the furrow, but I was upon +her before she could get away. + +"Oh, Mrs. Donnan, do let me help you!" I said. + +"But, Miss----" she began, not knowing how to go on. + +"I should love it," I added quickly, "and I promise not to eat a single +one. In fact I shall whistle all the time!" + +"Oh, miss," she said, all in a flurry, "you know it is not that! You or +any of your family are only too welcome to come, and take as many as +they like." + +"If you want to keep any for the preserving pot," I said, smiling at +her, "I should advise you not to say that to my entire family. There are +certain members of it who are capable of cleaning up the branches as +your dog Toby there would clean a bone!" + +"Oh, you mean Master Toady," she said, all dimples in a moment at the +recollection. "He comes here often. But the garden is large, and bless +him! even he can't eat more than he can. More than that, he often leaves +a rabbit, or even a brace--and my man havin' been a butcher, is +remarkable fond of a bit o' game." + +"Yes," I said, "my brother's shootings are like your garden, extensive. +Still, it is a wonder how he can keep them up on a shilling a day, and +all but twopence of it deferred pay!" + +"It is a wonder, now I come to think of it!" said the good lady +meditatively. "He must be a careful lad with his money!" + +"What I wonder at,"--I went on talking as soon as I had got her settled +back again at the picking of the gooseberries--"is that you never +thought of making the prettiest little shop-window in the world of your +cakes and pasties and jams and candies. You know nobody can make them in +the least like you. Besides, I have spoken to my father and others who +know lots more about it, and every one is sure that such a thing would +be a great boon to Edam, and that you are the very person to take it in +hand. It would not be like an ordinary shop. For every one knows that +your husband has made his fortune and retired. But it would give you +something to do. Shall I speak to Mr. Donnan about it?" + +The poor woman flushed with pleasure at the very idea. So much I could +see. Yet she hesitated. + +"HE would never consent--his position--his politics--Oh, no!" Mrs. +Donnan considered that I had better not speak to the master--at least +not then. + +However, I thought differently, and it was after the good lady had asked +me to stay to tea that my chance came. + +Donnan came in, fanning himself with his broad-brimmed Panama. Things +had not been going well that afternoon. Nipper had been busy on account +of a rush of trade, and had not welcomed his father's criticisms too +gratefully. You see, the old man was accustomed to find fault with +Nipper's management, and that day there had been a shortage of ice in +the shop and a corresponding shortage in Nipper's temper. + +Also, Mr. Donnan's more general perambulation had not turned out well. +Some rude and vagrant boys had dug out the pet wasp-nest he had been +saving up for the next dark night, and there were green flies all over +his best Lasalle rose-tree. Two of his best Dorkings had "laid away." + +"I don't want any tea to-day, Cynthia!" he grumbled crossly. And without +looking at me he went to the sofa and threw himself down with a heavy +creaking of furniture. + +"My dear," said his wife, "surely you have not seen this young lady who +has come to do you the honor of taking tea with you?" + +"Nonsense," said I, "as long as there are such cakes to be had at New +Erin Villa, the honor is all on my side." + +But the polite Irishman was already on his feet. + +"Miss Sweetheart--Miss Sweetheart!" he said, "what a blind old +hedge-carpenter ye must have thought me! And you your own folks' +daughter, and your father treating me like a long-lost brother, _and_ +instructin' me on hist'ry and the use of the globes!" + +So we had tea, the prettiest little tea imaginable, with Mrs. Donnan +going about as soft-footed as a pussy cat, and purring like one too. + +Butcher Donnan looked after her with a kind of sudden bitterness. "It's +all very well for _her_," he said; "she makes her life out of such +things, but what is there for me to do? I'm about at the end of my +tether!" + +"Why, _help her_!" said I. + +"Help her!" he muttered, not understanding. "Me, Butcher Donnan--why, +the girl is mazed! I can't do housework!" + +[Illustration: "HELP HER! ME, BUTCHER DONNAN!"] + +But I soon showed him I was not so mazed as he thought. He was tired of +doing nothing. He wanted a change. Very well then; here was this little +house right at the top of Edam Common, with the railway station +opposite, and everybody's business taking him that way two or three +times a day. What Edam wanted was a confectioner's shop. His wife was +dying to have one. He would look a fine figure of a man in a white +overall and cap! Hugh John had said it! + +He whistled softly, and his little, deep-set eyes twinkled. + +"I might ha' known," he said, "when I saw that long-legged brother of +yours looking at me as if to calculate what I was good for. He's the +fellow to make plans. Now the other----" + +Here he laughed as he remembered Sir Toady Lion. + +"More like me when I was his age!" he said. "But about the pastry-cook +foolishness. What put that into his head?" + +"It isn't foolishness," I answered, "and nobody that I know of ever puts +anything into Hugh John's head!" + +"He certainly is a wonder!" ("Corker" was what he _said_.) + +Then I explained. One side of the villa was certainly expressly designed +for a shop, the drawing-room and back drawing-room having side +connections with the kitchen, only needed to be fitted with shelves and +counters. The other side of the house and all above stairs might remain +intact. + +To my surprise Mr. Donnan never said a word concerning his position, his +political aspirations, his illuminations, and disporting of the green +harp of Ireland. + +"But what are we to do with Cynthia's parlor furniture?" he asked +instead. I could see a look of joy flash across his wife's face. + +"Donnan," she said, "we will make the empty room above into a parlor. +It's a perfect god-send. That boy should be paid by Government to make +plans for people!" + +Butcher Donnan bent his brows a moment on his wife. "Oh, you are in it, +are you, Cynthia? Then I suppose I may as well go and order my white +apron and cap?" + +"Think how well they will become you!" said his wife, who also must have +kissed the Blarney stone--the old one, not the new. + +I agreed heartily. Butcher Donnan heaved a sigh. "And me, that never was +seen but in decent blue," he said, "me to put on white like a mere +bun-baker--and at my time of life!" + +I said that it was certainly scandalous, but seeing that he would have +nothing to do with the work except to sell, and arrange the windows for +market-days, it would not matter so much. + +"I shall need a small oven!" said his wife, "and a new set of French +'casserole molds' (which is to say patty-pans) _and_ some smaller brass +pans, also----" + +"Perhaps I was wrong," I interposed cunningly, "to lead Mr. Donnan into +so much expense." + +I knew that, if anything, this would fetch him, and it did. + +"Expense, is it? Expense, Miss Sweetheart! Ha, Ha!" He slapped his +pocket. "Ask your friend Mr. Anderson down at the Bank (not that he will +tell you!) whether Butcher Donnan is a warm man or not? _He_ did not +retire on four bare walls and a pocket-handkerchief of front-garden like +some I could tell you of. Cynthia, you shall have all the brass pans you +want, and as for the front shop--well, there won't be the like of it, +not as far as Dumfries! We shall have a van too, gold and blue!" + +Butcher Donnan was all on fire now, and when Nipper came in he clapped +him on the shoulder, crying that he had better look sharp. He, Butcher +Donnan, was going to set up such a shop as never was seen in Edam, and +people would never be wanting "fresh meat" any more, but live on pies +and shortcake and sweets for ever and ever. + +At this Nipper looked no little relieved, and even listened to the +details with a secret satisfaction. + +"Father," he said, "the shop down town can run itself the first day of +the opening of yours. I'm coming up to see you face the public in your +new nursing togs!" + +"You're an impudent young jackanapes," said his father, clenching his +fists, "and if it were not that you have to stick to business and pay me +the money you owe me, I would thrash you on the spot, old as you are!" + +"Oh, let Nipper alone," said I, as cheerfully as I could, "he has the +sweet tooth. I know it well, and I will wager he will yet be one of your +best customers!" + +"He will bring his money along with him then every time," growled his +father. "And now I am off to see Mr. Hetherington, the architect. We +must get things ship-shape!" + +"But," cried his wife, "you have never tasted your tea!" + +"Oh, bother my tea!" said Butcher Donnan, flouncing out, having fallen a +victim to Hugh John's dangerous imagination. But he looked in again, his +topper hat of Do-Nothing Pride already exchanged for the cap of Edam +Commerce. + +"Tell that young gentleman of yours," he said, "that, if things turn out +well, he is always welcome at our shop, eh, Cynthia? And nothing to pay! +And you, Miss Sweetheart, I hope to live long enough to bake your +bride's-cake!" + +"There he goes!" murmured his wife, "in a week Donnan will think that he +has made every single thing in the shop, from the brass weights on the +counter to the specimen birthday-cake in the window!" + + + + +X + +NIPPER NEGLECTS HIS BUSINESS + + +_August eighth. Aged Fifteen._ + +It is only a month since the Donnans opened their new shop up on the +open square facing the market hill, and not far from the railway +station. It was one of a row of villas, mostly tenanted by men who had +returned from the "pack"--that is, who had made a neat little fortune in +the business which calls itself Credit Drapery, but which, perhaps +undeservedly, is called much harder names by its clients, especially +when its back is turned. + +These, being the aristocracy of a Shilling-a-Week and Cent.-per-Cent., +objected exceedingly to a mere confectioner's shop thrusting its nose +into the midst of their blue-stone walls, picked out by window-sills and +lintels of raw-beef Locharbriggs freestone. But they could not help it, +and after the chief of them all, Oliphant McGill, had smelt the now +floury fist of the Reformed Idler, and been informed what would happen +if he "heard a wurrrd out of the heads av wan o' them"--there fell a +great peace on Whinstone Villas. + +Some even became customers, and the new business increased with +wonderous rapidity. Butcher Donnan became Sweet-Cake Donnan, but that +made no difference to his force of arm, or to the respect in which he +was universally held. + +As he had prophesied, it was not long till he had a pale-blue-and-gold +covered van on the road, dandily hooded in case of rain, and with two +spy-holes so that the driver could see for himself what was coming up +behind him. + +From the Cave of Mystery high up on Hugh John's hill we could see it +crawling along the roads (really it was going quite fast), like a lumpy +cerulean beetle, the like of which for brilliance is not to be found in +_Curtis_. + +And the driver was Butcher Donnan himself. He knew all the farmers, and +as he had made one fortune already, as fortunes went in Edam, the people +were the readier to deal with him. Sometimes even the poorest would save +up a penny for one of Mrs. Donnan's sponge-cakes. It was soon called +the "Watering Cart," because in hot weather you could tell when it had +gone along the road by the drip from the ice underneath, by means of +which the jellies and confections were kept cool, while in winter the +blue-and-gold beetle steamed like a volcano with hot mince-pies. Oh, +Butcher Donnan believed in delivering his goods to the customer in the +finest possible condition! + +But this same Butcher Donnan being now driver and salesman-out-of-doors, +and Mrs. Donnan equally busy in the kitchen, it was obvious that some +one must be found for the shop. How _I_ should have loved the job! But a +certain Eben Dickson, apprentice with Nipper at the down town business, +was called in, and so thoroughly proved his liking for the place in the +course of a single afternoon that a more permanent and less appreciative +successor was sought for. + +Eben was laid up for several days, owing to an accident which happened +to him when Butcher Donnan returned from his journeyings afield. It is +understood that Nipper also remonstrated with him, without, however, the +use of many words. + +The van had therefore to be put out of commission for several days till +another arrangement was possible. And again it was Hugh John who, with +his eyelids half closed and looking at the bright landscape through the +long three-draw telescope, cut the knot with a carelessly breathed +suggestion. + +"_Why not ask Elizabeth Fortinbras?_" + +"They would never dare!" said I. "Old Fortinbras thinks himself no end +of a swell!" + +"Yes," said Hugh John, with tranquil irony, "he has failed in at least +four businesses--last of all in a stamp-shop at East Dene, while the +Donnans have only succeeded in one--and are on the point of making +another fortune in the second. But let them ask Elizabeth. She will not +say 'no'!" + +"What of her mother?" I said--"her father?" + +"Her mother cannot support her--her father won't. In six months she will +have to support them both!" said the philosophic Hugh John. "You ask +Lizzie. Lizzie is a sensible girl." + +I asked Hugh John how he knew. + +"Oh, just--I know!" he answered shortly. And in another than Hugh John I +should have suspected something. Because, you know, Elizabeth Fortinbras +is a very pretty girl--not beautiful, but with a freshness and charm +that does far better, a laugh that is hung on a hair-trigger; not much +education, of course, because her stupid old frump of a mother--yes, I +can say it, though Lizzie would not--has never permitted her to be long +away from her, but must be served like a duchess in her room on pretext +of headaches and megrims. + +Being without a servant, she leaves Elizabeth to do all the housework, +and all that she knows she has learned from the books I have lent +her--and, as I now begin to suspect, Hugh John also. + +"And where _is_ Elizabeth?" I said, for I saw the three-draw glass +hovering in the neighborhood of the Fortinbras Cottage. + +"Why, where should she be?" cried Hugh John. "At this hour of Monday +morning she will certainly be hanging out the week's wash! There, put +your eye down, don't stir the telescope, and you will see her. Also her +sister Matilda sitting under a tree doing nothing but reading the latest +story her mother has got out of the library!" + +Hugh John's grasp of detail was something marvelous. + +And, indeed, as I looked, through the tremble of the heat-mist the +slender figure of Elizabeth Fortinbras jigged into view. She was +standing on tiptoe, like the girl in the old illustrated nursery +Caldecott, when + + "By came a blackbird and snapped off her nose." + +Which would certainly have been a pity in Elizabeth's case, for the nose +was a very pretty saucy one, and worthy of a better fate. She had on a +short skirt. Her feet were thrust into sandals, and her white working +blouse, open at the neck, had red peas on it. Concerning all which +points Hugh John had nothing to learn. + +Now I had always liked Elizabeth. There was something wild-wood and gay +as a bird about her. She wore the simplest dresses, made by herself, and +when she played in our woods there was a good deal of tomboy about her. +She was older than any of us, and had often been our leader in high-spy +or at running through the wood. + +I could run faster, but (as Hugh John said) I ran like a boy, with my +hands clasped and my elbows in. As for the way that Elizabeth ran, that +was quite different. She ran--just like Elizabeth. + +But the way she tossed about the youngsters was a sight. She romped with +them among the hay. She thought nothing of bringing back Maid Margaret +on her back for miles and miles, with a hop and a skip at every second +pace, as if only to show how lightly her burden sat astride her +shoulders, and how entirely impossible it was for Elizabeth herself to +walk along in a sedate and ladylike way. Like a questing collie, she +constantly left the highway. You could see her mount a bank as if she +had wings. She was wayward, uncertain as a bird, fitful as a butterfly, +changing her purpose with the whim of the children. Indeed, there was no +one, in the opinion of all of us when we were little, like Elizabeth +Fortinbras. + +It was like spying out some shy fleeing wood-nymph to see her, with a +few long, easy movements, springing and bounding across the +stepping-stones of the upper river--or, the petticoat held daintily +high, all in a faint flurry of white spray and whiter feet, negotiating +the shallow ford at the first Torres Vedras when we were paddling there +in the hot days. + +Yet, when once across, she never seemed to have "shipped a drop," as +Sir Toady Lion asserted in his best naval manner. + +Rather, be it said, she gave herself a shake like a scudding swallow +that has dipped its wing a little too deep in the pond, and lo! our +Elizabeth was dry again. She never had so much as to preen a feather. + +They always tell me that I am a little in love with Elizabeth myself, +and I am not ashamed of it. Once, from his hiding-place, Hugh John +showed me a young dainty fawn come stepping lightly through the wood. I +saw it skip airily across the Esk below the second Torres Vedras, ascend +the bank in three bounds, walk demurely across the road like a maiden +coming out of church, look about her as if gathering her skirts for +something daring, and then, with one sidelong bound, swift and light, +lo, she was over the high paling and lost in the wood! + +Elizabeth Fortinbras would have done it just like that, as gracefully +and as unconsciously. But to think of her taking a place in the Donnan's +Confectionery shop--surely his good angel had for once forsaken Hugh +John--plan-maker to the world in general, and private domestic Solomon! + +"Go and _ask_ Elizabeth Fortinbras!" said Hugh John--and he said it as +if he had good reason to know that Elizabeth would accept. Though that +might only be his usual accent of quiet certainty. You see, Hugh John +compels belief. Confidence accrues to his lightest guess, which is not +accorded to Sir Toady on his oath. It is a shame that any one should be +so favored by nature in the matter of his word. I, being a girl, am +suspected of inaccuracy, Sir Toady of "monkeying," and Maid Margaret of +knowing nothing about the matter. + +But Hugh John may be inaccurate. He may be "monkeying" in secret, and he +may know less than any one else about any matter. Nevertheless he is +accredited like a plenipotentiary. He moves like Diogenes, his tub +unseen about him. A calm certainty accompanies him. He inspires +confidence, blind as that of a bank cashier in the multiplication table. +All, too, without break, without insistence. To look at, he is just a +tall lad, with singularly quiet manners, who looks at you fixedly out of +gray eyes very wide apart. Only--you believe him. + +But that is the reason why, in my secretest heart, as soon as Hugh John +said, "Ask Elizabeth Fortinbras!" I knew that Elizabeth Fortinbras +would accept. + +I had to ask her myself. Or rather I took Mrs. Donnan with me, who did +as she was told, smiling and stammering apologies in the proper places. +As for me, I said what Hugh John had advised me to say, in our last long +talk together up in the Cave. + +Of course it was no use in the world consulting Elizabeth's parents. Her +father was lost in dreams of making another fortune by a new and +original butter-cooler which would put all others out of the market. Her +mother, fretful and fine-ladyish, would declare that she could not do +without her. But I knew that it would be an exceedingly good thing for +her younger sister to get her nose taken out of the _Penny Novelette_. +If Elizabeth went, she would have to do the housework, and so might yet +save her soul--though as yet she had shown no signs of possessing any. + +We talked to Elizabeth, however, or at least I did, without any mention +of this. There were many knick-knacks about, on the mantelpiece, on the +tables, on brackets set in corners--all the work of that ingenious, +useless man, Mr. Robert Fortinbras. As we talked, Elizabeth moved +gracefully about among these, her duster never hurried, never idle. + +I never saw any one who could "play at work" as Elizabeth could. Any one +else would have sat down and received her guests. Not so Elizabeth. If +we chose to come at eleven o'clock in the morning--well, we must take +her as we found her. In another quarter of an hour, if we stayed, we +would be asked to come into her kitchen, and watch her peeling potatoes. +And that would have seemed quite natural--not only to Elizabeth, but to +us. + +Elizabeth did not reply hastily. She heard me out without sign either of +consent or of refusal. Mrs. Donnan, stout and motherly, purred +acquiescence. Yes, they would give her the warmest welcome--if she cared +to stay, the happiest home. But no doubt she would prefer to return to +her own home at nights. + +The next words which reached our ears were Elizabeth all over. "If I +come, I shall stay," she said, "because if I went home, the work of the +house would simply be left till I got back!" + +The reason was clear, and almost the consent. + +"Had you not better consult your father and mother?" I said, a little +breathlessly, having been brought up in the faith of obedience to +parents. + +But in this matter Elizabeth, taught by long experience, had evolved +other methods. + +"I will _tell_ them," she said simply. "When do you want me to begin? +Monday? Very well!" + +And it was on Tuesday that Nipper Donnan began to neglect his business. + + + + +XI + +ELIZABETH + + +_September 11 of the same year. Going Sixteen now._ + +Now I suppose you think this is going to be a love-story. But it +isn't--at least not so far. And I am sure the hero won't be either of +the two _you_ think--not, that is, Hugh John or Nipper Donnan. + +But I am going to tell the story of the strangest, the delicatest +friendship I have ever seen--that of Hugh John, my brother, and +Elizabeth Fortinbras. + +He is the youngest hero you can imagine, but somehow is much more like a +young man who has shaved himself very close than the schoolboy he is. + +Nothing puts Hugh John out. When he has some big festival to attend +along with father, he sits quiet and self-possessed, doing his part +without a quiver on his face. As far as looks go, he could easily be +the chairman. The clean-cut outlines of his face do not denote hardness. +Only he is of the Twentieth Century, and an adept at concealing his +sensations--even from his parents, with whom he is great friends. + +But, for all that modernity, there is something essentially knightly, +and even knight-errant, about our Hugh John. An elder time has touched +him. Ideas growing, alas! extinct--are natural to him. A chivalrous +Cromwellian is perhaps the nearest I can come in the way of definition. +For years he was the only one in the house (except Fuz, of course) who +sustained Roundhead as against Cavalier. Yet all his outer man (surely a +boy has an "outer man" when he is six feet high) is that of the +Collegians who rallied about the King at Oxford, and swept away the +train-bands with Rupert the Prince at Marston Moor. But Hugh John agrees +with Mr. Prynne as to the Unloveliness of Love-Locks, and no +Sergeant-Major could carry a closer cropped head of hair. + +Also the mind within him is one that abhors restraint. That is, in +thinking. In acting, he obeys as a principle all justly constituted +authorities. Also, if _he_ is in authority, he will insist upon +obedience even unto the shedding of blood. + +Only the mind is free and untrammeled. Obedience includes only acts. +Thought with him is free, liberal, critical, large. + +But Hugh John is generally shy with the girls who come to our house. He +retires to one of his fastnesses, a lonely David in some unknown Engedi. +He blots himself out. Simply, _he is not_--so far, that is, as the rest +of the house is concerned. But he has the most sharply defined and +sudden affinities. He will see a girl for the first time--the most +reserved, unlikely girl, shy as himself. He will go up to her, and lo! +as like as not, five minutes afterwards they will pair off like two +schoolboys arm in arm. + +Grown-up People, after a certain while, forget how their own friendships +were formed--how much was chance, how little intention, and they judge +_us_ in the light of what they now _think_ they were. They are "out" +every time with Hugh John. + +For instance, I know Somebody who was afraid he was going to fall in +love with Elizabeth Fortinbras. No such good luck! _I_ knew. The first +time I surprised them having a good talk together I saw that Elizabeth +would take advice from that gray-eyed boy with a man's thoughts which +she would scorn from any one else. + +It was the day after we had been to see the Donnans. When I got home, +Hugh John had merely said, "When does Elizabeth begin?" + +"Monday," said I; "but how in the world did you know?" + +"I did not know _that_!" he answered gravely, as usual. + +You simply can't surprise Hugh John. A momentary glitter in a pair of +rather close-lidded gray eyes--that is the most you can expect from him. + +It was at the stile at the entrance into the High Wood that I found +them. Elizabeth Fortinbras was seated on the top spar nursing her knees, +and sucking the sorrel stems which Hugh John handed up one by one. They +never looked at one another, but I saw in a moment (trust a girl!) that +I would interrupt their talk. Just fancy _me_ playing gooseberry! No, +thank you, kind sir, she said! Besides, I knew very well that Elizabeth +did not consult her father--and her mother was not worth consulting. +There remained only Hugh John. Of course she could have asked me, but +what girl would have taken my advice when she could get Hugh John's? + +I don't know what they said--of course not. I did not ask. But what I +_do_ know is that Elizabeth and Hugh John talked just as he and I would +have done when taking counsel together up in the Cave or at the Feudal +Tower. + +Sir Toady was better advised than to attempt to make fun, and though the +Grown-ups might lift their eyebrows, even they had confidence in Hugh +John. Sometimes they asked his advice themselves--though I never heard +of their going so far as to take it. Grown-ups, to my thinking, get +narrow-minded. Perhaps Hugh John will too some day. But now at least he +always just sees the one thing to do, and does it--the one thing another +ought to do, and tells him of it. + +Well, he never went to the new confectionery shop. He would pass it +without lifting an eyelid--though I will wager that each time he did so +Elizabeth Fortinbras saw him--and Hugh John knew that she did. And each +was the happier for the knowledge. + +To me Elizabeth's determination seemed to brighten all that part of +Edam. It was quite near our house, only just outside the gates. Behind +the counter Elizabeth made a slender figure in black and white. Black +dress well fitting, a present from Mrs. Donnan, large turn-back cuffs, +and a broad Eton collar. It was no wonder that the business throve--I +mean the business which was under the charge of Elizabeth Fortinbras. +The other "down town" suffered exceedingly. + +You see, Nipper Donnan could not be in two places at the one time. And +he found he had innumerable occasions to consult his father, or to have +something mended by his mother. He could not possibly obtain the +information or the reparations down town. Hence he spent much of his +time hanging about the new confectionery shop opposite the Market hill. +He became learned in the semophore signaling of the trains on the two +little railways which diverged at Edam Junction. These he explained to +Elizabeth. + +His step-mother secretly encouraged him. Nothing would have pleased her +better than for Nipper to "settle down" with such a daughter-in-law. But +she knew, perhaps better than his own mother would have done, that this +strong, incult, fighting Nipper had little chance with a girl like +Elizabeth Fortinbras, whose chief friend and confidant was a certain +gray-eyed lad with a perpendicular frown of thought between his brows. + +But Nipper kept on. He thrashed one Hector McLean for blowing a kiss +towards the shop-window from the far side of the Market dyke. All day +long he thought what high and noble thing he could do for Elizabeth's +sake--such as having marble slabs, and water running all the time +between double plate-glass, or dressing all his assistants in blue, +fresh and fresh every day! You see, Nipper's imagination was limited. + +But once or twice his father came in and surprised him leaning over the +counter. He regarded his son for a moment with dull, murky eyes; and +then, quite abruptly, ordered him out. The third time this happened he +followed Nipper outside and explained to him the consequences of this +malingering--_imprimis_, he would get his head broken. _Item_, he would +be "backward with his term installment"! _Tertio_, if he were, he need +expect no mercy from his father; and in conclusion, he had better "get +out of that, and stay out!" He, Butcher Donnan, was not a fool. He knew +all about what he was after, if the womenfolk did not! And he was not +going to have it! There! Nipper was warned! + +His comings and goings did not, indeed, make much difference to +Elizabeth. Often he was a nuisance, "lounging and suffering"--looking, +as she said afterwards, "like a blue undertaker attached to a +steel-yard." His expression spoiled sales. He looked acid drops. His +jealousies poisoned the very strawberry shortcake on which Mrs. Donnan's +heart prided itself. + +On the other hand, he was useful when there were heavy weights to be +lifted, boxes of materials for the little store-room at the back. +Elizabeth could not move these, so she had either to unpack them on the +street, or wait till Butcher Donnan drove his blue-and-gold wagon into +the yard. + +But Nipper delighted to show his strength, and would pick up a huge +case, swing it on his shoulder, and deposit it wherever told. These were +his moments of great joy, and almost repaid him for not being able to +eat. + +For Nipper's appetite had suffered. He indulged himself in startling +neckties, and, as his girth shrank, the waistcoats which contained it +became more and more gorgeous. + +Poor Nipper! He could only gaze and wonder--that is, when there was no +lifting to be done. His tongue forsook him when called upon to answer +the simplest remark. When Elizabeth, taking pity upon him, asked about +his week's receipts, he answered vaguely that he did not know. + +Hearing this, she turned about, bearing a tray full of almond-cake fresh +from Mrs. Donnan's hand, and said, "Nipper, do you mean to say you do +not keep track of your sales? Why, you will get cheated right and left. +Bring the books up to-night and I will go over them for you!" + +To Nipper this seemed an opportunity too good to be lost. He imagined +their two heads bent over the records of the down town shop, and perhaps +also in time a corresponding approachment of ideas. + +Beautiful dream! Foredoomed to failure, however. For Elizabeth, after a +few questions, took up the books to her own room, and on the morrow +furnished the disappointed Nipper with a few startling statistics as to +receipts and expenditure. + +"And what would you advise me to do?" said Nipper humbly. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Elizabeth. "Ask Hugh John from the House in the +Wood. He will tell you, if anybody can. He advised me to come to help +your mother. If it had not been for him, I should not have been here +now!" + +The gleam of jealousy (which is yellow, and not green) in his eyes +altered Nipper's countenance completely. + +"Ah, Hugh John indeed!" he thought. That, then, was the explanation, was +it? This coldness was owing to Hugh John--a boy, little more than a +boy--while he, Nipper, was a man, a Councillor, with a shop and income +of his own! + +Yet he remembered, when he was already well-nigh Hugh John's present +age, and the cock of all Edam, tying a pale-faced, determined little boy +to a ring in a wall down in the dungeon of an ancient castle. He had +determined then to make the cub give in, and there had been some sick +work with string-twisting and wire-pincers. He did not care to think +about that. But even then the cub had beaten them all. They had been +good friends since--that is, in a way. But was it written in the Book of +Fate (in which Nipper believed) that they should fight for the mastery +on another and far more dangerous arena? It seemed preposterous, but +still--well, he would see Hugh John and put the case to him, as +Elizabeth had said. + +Then, so Nipper told himself, he would know! Well--_he might_--supposing +that Hugh John had been even as the young butcher, blushing half-a-mile +away when a lissom, upright form and gait as of wind-blown corn told the +world the important news (for Nipper Donnan) that Elizabeth Fortinbras +was coming up the street in a hurry. + +Hugh John listened quietly. Bygones were long bygones between him and +Nipper. The "smoutchies" smoutched no more, but were (most of them) good +servants of the King or honorable citizens of Edam. Already one wore the +V. C., and for his sake and in the general interests of peace Hugh John +tolerated those who remained. He even liked Nipper Donnan, and had no +idea of the gusts of angry fury that were tearing his poor ignorant +heart to pieces. + +"Advise you--well, I don't know much about it," said Hugh John. "If it +is a matter of your books, you had better show them to your father. No? +You don't want to do that. Very well, then, tell me what Elizabeth +Fortinbras said--exactly, I mean." + +"Said I was to come to you--tell you about the week's deficit, and ask +your advice." + +"Then you must tell me _all_ about it!" said Hugh John, calmly +impartial. Nipper gave some figures of entrances and exits, marts and +sales, gross, retail, and monthly book-debts. + +"Hum!" said Hugh John, after a minute's thought, "if I were you I should +get rid of the whole indoor crowd, and work the business myself for a +month or two, with a couple of 'prentices _and_ the toe of my boot!" + +Hugh John's eyes were distant, grave, thoughtful--Nipper's little, +black, and virulent with suppressed anger. But the Thinker had grown man +of action also, and Nipper felt no security that he could win a victory +against Hugh John even with his fists. As to the mind, he felt +instinctively the grip of his master. _That_ was not to be gainsaid. + +"Yes," he said, jerking out his words like leaden pellets on a table, "I +suppose that _is_ the plan. I will fire the whole lot this very night!" +Hugh John nodded quietly. + +"It will be best!" he said, and the advice once given, his mind would +have passed to another question had not Nipper recalled him +suspiciously. + +"Has my father not been speaking to you?" he growled ungraciously. + +"Your father? No, not that I remember!" said Hugh John, staring in +wonder. + +"Nor my--Mrs. Donnan, I mean?" + +"Never spoke to her in my life, I believe--Sis has, though!" + +"_Nor Elizabeth?_" + +Nipper's eyes were like gimlets now, but the calm serenity in those of +Hugh John baffled them. + +"Elizabeth Fortinbras? Oh, yes," said Hugh John tranquilly, "when she +wants to ask me about anything--as you are doing now--then she speaks to +me." + +"_Is that all?_" Nipper's face worked. His lips were bitten so close +that the words had almost to force themselves between the clenched +teeth. Hugh John regarded him a moment gravely, as he did all things, +with gaze unhurried, undismayed. Then he put his hands in his pockets +and turned his back on Nipper with only the words, "Enough for you to +know, anyway!" + +And if ever Nipper came near striking any one a dastardly blow from +behind, it was Hugh John who was in danger and at that moment. + + + + +XII + +FIGS AND FIG-LEAVES + + +_September 23. And my Age still going Sixteen._ + +It was the week before Hugh John went to college that what I am going to +tell took place. September is almost always nice about Edam--with the +corn standing white in stooks all down the valley, waving blonde +half-way up the sides of the wide glen, and looking over into it from +the heights of Kingside still as green as grass. Yes, in our part +September is wonderfully quiet and windless--generally, that is. Yet +withal, there is the stir of harvest about the farm-town, the merry +whirr of the "reaper" over the hedge, and always the clatter of voices +as the workers go homeward in the twilight. The big scythe is now only +used about our house for "opening up" a field. After that the horses +pull the red-and-blue "McCormick" round as neatly as a toy. The squares +get less and the yellow stooks rise, as it were, out of the very +ground. + +This year it was a specially gay time for us all. Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan +had more customers. His wife had taken a laboratory assistant in the +shape of an apple-cheeked lass, Meg Linwood, the daughter of the +station-master at Bridge of Edam--honest as the day, but at first +incapable in the kitchen as a crossing-sweeper of goldsmith work. + +Mrs. Donnan told me of Meg's iniquities in her frank impulsive Irish +way. + +"There's not a thing breakable the craitur has not broke, or at least +tried her best to break. And what she can't knock to flinders with one +skelp, she will fall over like an applelaunche (avalanche?) and rowl out +flat like so much sheet lead. I dare not show the master the tenth of +her breakages, or there would be bloodshed and wounds. And yet she is +the honest, well-meaning craitur too, and would not hurt a fly. Only it +is the heaven's pity she has no power of her feet! Hear to that now!" + +Poor Mrs. Donnan ought, of course, to have remained unmoved where she +was and entertained me with a stomach-aching smile so long as I chose to +stay. But, being an Irishwoman and natural, she sprang up and ran +forthwith into the kitchen. + +She came out with tears in her eyes. + +"It's the épergne," she said, "I might have known it. The green figs is +just come in, and as they are a new thing in Edam I thought to make a +kind of trophy out of them. And now----!" + +Mrs. Donnan's motherly eyes overflowed, good, kindly soul, without very +much anger at the breaker, but with real grief for the loss of the +"trophy" she had counted upon to display in her plate-glass shop window. + +I patted her on one plump shoulder, and she murmured my undeserved +praises--undeserved, I mean, at that moment. But I had remembered that +there was in our china-closet at home a huge épergne of many storys, +which Somebody had taken a prejudice against, because when loaded it +shut off the entire view of the people at table, and they played at +"Bo-peep" all the time around it and about--all right for us little ones +who, unseen, could convey extra fruits and comfits to our plates, but +abhorred by Somebody who was thus prevented from keeping a kindly, +governing eye upon us. So the tall épergne was banished--a life sentence +firmly expressed. + +I went quickly home and excavated it from a general ruck of odd plates +and cupless saucers. In triumph I carried it to the good mistress of +New Erin Villa. + +"Oh, Miss Sweetheart," she said, "I cannot--I cannot indeed----" + +"Suppose that your--that 'Somebody' were to come along and see that +épergne in my window--sure they might have in the police!" + +Finally I satisfied Mrs. Donnan that though I had not asked special +permission, it was only because there was no need, and that Somebody, if +duly approached, would be the first of her customers, and the most +helpful of her friends. _I_ said so because I knew. + +"It _would_ look like all Dublin Castle and Sackville Street!" said Mrs. +Donnan, visibly flinching as her own inner eye built up the green figs, +and decorated the épergne with the leaves that had proved so useful +early in the history of the world. + +"Well," I answered, taking my leave, "Hugh John and I will be round +about four to see if it is as fine as you say." + +"It will be finer," cried Mrs. Donnan eagerly; "I have got another idea +entirely since I set eyes on it." + +But after all it was the deft hands of Elizabeth Fortinbras which +decorated our long-condemned and dusty épergne. She polished it, she set +it on foot again as good as new, mingling the tawny-red-bitten +oak-leaves and acorns with the deep green figs, and making the thing a +joy, if not for ever, at least for as long as it remained in Mrs. +Donnan's window. + +This, however, was not for long. + +For Fuz--yes, the very old Fuz as ever was--coming home from a tramp +with his eyes apparently mooning, but really registering everything as +remorselessly as a calculating machine marshals figures, spied the green +figs in Mrs. Donnan's window. Hardly in Edam was there any one else, at +that date, who so much as knew what they were. He saw. He admired. There +was a little dinner at our house that night to which just a couple of +neighbors were coming. The idea of a surprise germinated in the mind of +Fuz, and he came home the happy possessor of his own épergne, with the +green and yellow leaves cinturing it round! + +Poor Mrs. Donnan dared not say a word, and as for Elizabeth, it was not +her business. Moreover, she had far too great a sense of the ridiculous. +You see, Fuz carried his own parcel off, with his invariable remark +that "it is a proud horse that will not carry his own corn!" + +Nothing like Fuz's pride that night! Nothing more knowing than the +smiles of the initiated! Only Hugh John did not consider it "quite the +square thing," and obstinately refused to attend the banquet, which, +however, passed off very well without him. Fuz became quite poetic over +his new acquisition. To find such a thing in Edam! These cherubs' heads +now! Just look at them. They reminded him of--I think, something in the +Cathedral at Florence which you had to strike matches to see--little +cublets squirming about a font or something. He had quite forgotten +having ordered the identical thing into the ignominy of a dungeon for +obscuring the prospect. Now it was the finest piece of "Dresden" he had +ever set eyes upon. + +And he promised--if I were a good girl--to give it to me as a wedding +present. + +That is Fuz all over. He says he is Scotch, but his part of Scotland is +so near Ireland that (according to the best authorities) Saint Patrick +swam across with his head between his teeth. Perhaps Fuz did too. But +don't tell Hugh John that I said so. + +Well, when Hugh John would not dress and come for dinner on account of +us letting Fuz be taken in about the épergne, he went off on one of his +long rides. Or so at least he thought. For really he got no farther than +the Gypsies' Wood, and then that took place which was bound to take +place sooner or later. + +For, you see, Elizabeth Fortinbras owned a cycle also, and she used it +to run home to see her people--even during her short half-hour in the +afternoon she would go, no matter how hot it was. And she was teaching +her sister Matilda to house-keep. She had had a row the first time or +two, of course. But that was to be expected. Once she had gone back +between two or three of the afternoon--which was slack time at the +confectionery shop opposite the Market Hill, and when she arrived, lo! +her mother was deep in one ragged volume, Matilda sat crouched in a +corner of the sofa with another, and from the garret came the sound of +hammering, where Mr. Fortinbras the unfortunate was working out another +epoch-making invention. + +Flies buzzed about the greasy, unwashed plates and dishes where +breakfast had been pushed aside to make way for early dinner. + +Elizabeth thrust her head into a bedroom. The clothes trailed on the +floor, and the very windows had not been opened. The air of night, +warmed through blindless windows by an autumn sun, had produced an +atmosphere which might have been cut with a knife. Elizabeth shuddered. +She demanded the reason why the house had not been "done up." + +"Well," said Matilda, lifting her head languidly, "you had hidden the +knife-board when you went away, and as to the beds, I knew you were +coming home to-day, and you might just as well help me as not." + +Elizabeth helped her by going out without a word, and not returning till +her father, who at least could not be called idle, had intimated to her +that Matilda was beginning to take her household duties seriously. + +From the first Elizabeth had given half her wages to her father, on the +distinct understanding that the money was to be used for housekeeping, +and not for perfecting any new invention which was to alter the center +of gravity of the earth, and give back equal rights in sunshine and +moisture to all the world. + +Well, it chanced that this evening of the September dinner Elizabeth +Fortinbras was returning from her daily visit of inspection. She was in +a happier mood than usual. For Matilda had really made a start, and at +home she had discovered less to find fault with than usual. She was +reckoning up her wages, which the Donnans, generous in all things, were +freely advancing--perhaps even too frequently to suit Elizabeth's spirit +of independence. Some day she might manage to let her people have a +servant! + +From the first the two old folk of Erin Villa--old only in the number of +their years--had looked upon Elizabeth Fortinbras as doing honor to +their business, almost, indeed, as a daughter born to their old age. + +Hugh John had leaned his bicycle against a tree at the corner of the +Gypsies' Wood. Far above, his keen gray eye caught the slight purple +stain among the rocks of the hillside which marked the mouth of his Cave +of Mystery. For a moment he had an idea of climbing up there and +watching the twilight sinking into dark, as he had done so many times +before. But the instinctive respect of a good rider for his cycle +restrained him. He knew of one or two hiding-places safe enough, it was +true. But on such a night, immediately before the Edam September fair, +who might not be abroad? All the gypsies of three counties were +converging on Edam, and so, with a sigh, Hugh John abode where he was. + +Now of course anybody who did not know both Hugh John and Elizabeth +Fortinbras would have come to a wrong conclusion. For Elizabeth, after a +day in the shop followed by an evening visit of inspection and +assistance to Matilda, took it into her head that a spin round by the +Gypsies' Wood would freshen her up, and so put her in trim for a good +day's work on the morrow. + +That is why she encountered Hugh John, stretched long and lazy by the +side of the stream. He rose as soon as he saw Elizabeth. They did not +shake hands. They did not say, "How-d'ye-do--Very-well-thank-_you_!" +which is the correct Edam fashion for all concerned. + +But Hugh John indicated the most comfortable portion of an old +half-submerged trunk, and Elizabeth sat down without dispute. Hugh John +disposed himself where he could see her profile without looking at her. +It was only when he was making up his mind about you that Hugh John +regarded you fixedly. He had long made up his mind about Elizabeth. + +"Well, Elizabeth?" said Hugh John (I will tell you afterwards how I +know). + +"Well, Hugh John?" + +Then ensued a long pause. The water sang its lucid continual song. How +many had sat and watched it, thus singing, glide on and on? Well, as +Hugh John says, that did not matter. He was only occupied in finding +"_soorocks_" for Elizabeth Fortinbras, and Elizabeth busied herself in +eating them. + +"About Nipper?" said Elizabeth softly. "I can't have it, you know." + +"No, of course not!" said Hugh John. + +Having known _him_, it was impossible that Elizabeth could decline upon +Nipper Donnan. Hugh John did not, as you may well imagine, put it that +way. The thing was simply unthinkable, that was all. He could no more +let it happen than he would to his sister. He turned ever so little, and +saw Elizabeth Fortinbras' face pale against the sunset. + +Elizabeth looked at the boy, and her lips quivered a little. Hugh John +became a shade more rigid. + +"Let _me_ speak to Nipper Donnan!" said Hugh John in a level tone. + +"No," said the girl, "I do not wish to go back home again--to _that_!" + +She meant to slatternly makeshift and lightly disguised lying. + +"_No need!_" said a fierce voice immediately behind them, and Nipper +Donnan leaped the stone wall from behind which he had been watching +Elizabeth and Hugh John. + +"Ah, Nipper!" said Hugh John lazily, handing up another sorrel stem to +Elizabeth; "glad to see you, Nipper. Sit down and help to look for fat +ones!" + +"You are mocking me, both of you!" cried poor Nipper blackly. His face +was hot and angry, his eyes injected like his father's when in wrath, +and his hands were clinched tight. + +"You came here to talk about me," he said hoarsely, bending forward +towards them like a beast ready for the spring. + +"Nonsense!" said Hugh John; "we met by pure accident. I did not want any +dinner, and Elizabeth wanted a breath of fresh air." + +"You lie! I do not believe you!" cried Nipper. + +"You will have to, Nipper," said Hugh John, who had not moved an inch. + +"_And_ why?" + +"Because _I_ say it!" said Hugh John quietly. "I do not tell lies!" + +"A likely story!" growled Nipper. "You were talking about me! I heard +you. You will have to fight me--Hugh John Picton Smith!" + +"That we shall see," said Hugh John coolly. "What must be, must be. But +there is a word or two to say first." + +"Talk!" cried Nipper. "Oh, that does no good to a fellow like me. You +shall fight me, I tell you!" + +"Not before Elizabeth Fortinbras!" said Hugh John, taking off his cap +with a quick, instinctive gesture of respect. "You and I can't behave +like two angry dogs before her!" + +"You're afraid!" + +"Possibly," said Hugh John, "but not in any way _you_ would understand." + +Then Elizabeth Fortinbras took up speech. + +"Nipper Donnan," she said, "I won't pretend I don't know what you mean. +You are driving me from the single happy place of refuge I have on +earth. I cannot stay with your father and mother unless you stop +pestering me. And then you talk about fighting. Why, Hugh John is nearly +five years younger than you are----" + +"He is as tall!" growled Nipper. + +"Taller!" corrected Elizabeth coolly. "But if you behave like a whole +menagerie of brutes, that won't make me care more about you. Hugh John +is my brother; I have no other!" + +"_Umph!_" snorted Nipper, "he doesn't come and sit out by Esk-waterside +with his sisters." + +I know that at that moment Hugh John's eye sought the deep purple stain +of the Cave of Mystery, where he and I so often sat together. But he +said nothing at all to his adversary. It might have been mistaken. It +was to Elizabeth he spoke. + +"I have something to say to Nipper which you had better not hear," he +remarked quietly. "Here is a special handful of sorrel to take home with +you. Let me see you as far as the first lamp-post on my cycle. Then I +will come back and speak with Nipper." + +They went, and Nipper sat on the empty log, gloomily cursing fate--but, +educated by the experience of many years, never for a moment doubting +that Hugh John would keep his word. + +He even timed him. He knew to within half-a-minute when the bright +bull's-eye of his acetylene lantern would turn the corner of the +Gypsies' Tryst. He saw it come. He stood up on his feet, and jerked his +clenched hands once or twice forward into the gloaming. + +Then Hugh John leaped from his cycle by the wall. + +"Sit down, Nipper," he said. "I have something to say to you." + +"Oh, I dare say," said Nipper; "you want to get out of fighting." + +"Very well--you think so. I shall show you!" said Hugh John. "But first +you have got to listen. You are troubling Elizabeth Fortinbras. She does +not mean to be troubled. She will go away if you do not stop going into +the shop. She told me so. She has always been my friend, and my sister's +friend. Her father and mother are no use to such a girl. That is why I +have tried to be a brother to her----" + +"Brother, is it?" shouted Nipper, clenching his fists. "I will show you +what it is to take a girl from Nipper Donnan. You were making love to +her." + +"I am her brother. She is my sister," Hugh John repeated, with his usual +quiet persistency. "She is not yours in any way. Therefore I cannot take +from you what you never possessed." + +"I love her, and I will kill you, Hugh John Picton Smith!" moaned poor +Nipper, his whole body shaking with impotent anger. + +"Very well, you can try, though you are older," said Hugh John; "only, +if I win, you will let Elizabeth Fortinbras alone." + +"All right," said Nipper, "I agree. And if I lick you, you will stop +prejudicing her against me!" + +"You won't win!" prophesied Hugh John still more quietly. + + * * * * * + +And that is why Elizabeth Fortinbras' afternoons and evenings at New +Erin Villa were thenceforward full of peace. Also why no young butcher +hung any more over the counter, and why Mr. Nipper Donnan spent his +evenings in the kitchen with Meg Linwood. It explains also why, when he +came to say good-by to Elizabeth Fortinbras, Hugh John had a split lip. + +Yet the girl asked no questions of her champion. She did not appear to +notice the slight wound, and she sent away Hugh John with a single token +of (sisterly) gratitude, and the curious reflection that a split lip +does not spoil kissing nearly so much as a fellow might think. + + + + +XIII + +"UNTO US AS A DAUGHTER" + + +_November 2. The same Age._ + +[It is really the first of the month, but I date it the second, because +the first is a Sunday, you see.] + + +After the fine weather of July came a horrid rainy spell. Now I don't +mind so much when the days are short, the trees bare, and the time for +winter lamps and winter fires is come. Then you can just shut yourself +up, get some books you have been promising yourself for a long time to +look at--and there you are. + +But deluged park, dripping shrubbery, Esk-water growling turbidly at the +foot of the Low Park, all the noble marine architecture of the two +Torres Vedrases deep under swirling froth--that is what I hate, and +especially with light to see it by--oh, good fourteen to sixteen hours +of it. Pitter, patter on the roof, a sprinkle of broad drops on the +window-panes from the trees swishing in the wind outside. After the +first three days it grows unbearable. + +It was a weary time, and a mockery for any one to call "holidays," +especially after such a noble summer and autumn. But it cleared after +Hugh John had been a week or two at college. During the wet weather I +often went into the shop to see Elizabeth Fortinbras. I could now, you +see, because Nipper Donnan was not always there. + +More than once, however, I encountered his father, Butcher Donnan, who +went about smiling and rubbing his hands--as if _he_ had stopped the +whole business. Of course I let him think so. For it is no good setting +Grown-ups right. They always know better. + +Well, and do you know, every time I went Elizabeth asked all about Hugh +John, and if I had heard from him. At first I thought, as, of course, +any girl would, that Elizabeth was only foxing to take me in. But +afterwards I found out that they really did not write to one another. +She owned, though, to having kissed him good-by. But that was only on +account of his split lip and what he had done about Nipper. + +Hugh John's explanation of his silence, given later, was that there +were no sorrel stalks near the college, and that if Elizabeth really +wanted anything, he knew that she would write and ask him. + +Now, on the face of it, you would never believe this. It simply could +not be, you would say. Yet it was. Even Nipper, who held out longest, +ended by believing it. I, who had a sneaking liking for a love-story, of +any sort, was secretly disappointed. Mrs. Donnan could not move in her +kitchen for Nipper, who came home early now to talk to Meg Linwood. + +Have you ever noticed that when any one has got a back-set in love, or +what they think is love, they are quite apt to fly off at a tangent, and +marry the least likely person in the world? + +To the common eye, no one could have been less likely to engage Nipper's +attention--with his lost love still in the front shop--than Meg Linwood +in the back. + +She was plump, rotund, rosy, where Elizabeth Fortinbras was slender, +willowy, like Diana in the pictures and statues of her in the old _Art +Journals_ and _Illustrated London News_ of the Exhibition year--I mean +1851. (As a child I always liked those volumes. There were such a lot of +pictures in them, and so little reading.) + +But it was lost labor advising Nipper Donnan. He would show Elizabeth +Fortinbras what she had missed. He would have the finest shop, the best +meat, the most regularly paid monthly accounts, the biggest, squarest +stone house with stables for the smartest trap to drive out his wife in. +And then Elizabeth would awake to her folly. But too late! Too late! +Elizabeth's goose was cooked. + +Nipper avoided the first outbreak of parental wrath by running off with +Meg Linwood, and Mrs. Donnan consoled her husband by her usual +reflection that all was for the best. There are, indeed, very few things +breakable about a butcher's shop, and if Meg had stayed at New Erin +Villa, a complete set of crockery would have been required at an early +date. + +From Dumfries and Glasgow, Nipper sent very brief letters expressive of +a desire to come to terms with his father. He was married. That could +not be altered or amended. Meg came of a respectable family, and (save +the breakages) no fault could be found with her. + +True, Mrs. Donnan sighed. She would rather have seen Nipper going +proudly down the aisle with another than Meg Linwood on his arm. As for +Butcher Donnan himself, as soon as he got over dwelling upon the +thrashing he meant to give Nipper when he caught him, the outlines of a +broader, farther reaching, less arbitrary settlement began to form +themselves in his mind. + +He saw his lawyer, Mr. John Liddesdale, and what they said to one +another bore fruit afterwards. But it was a busy ten days for Butcher +Donnan. He had to spend the early morning of every day in the down town +shop. He had the rooms above it cleaned out, new furniture +installed--and he abused his son as he went. + +"The young fool!" was the best word for Nipper, forgetting that he +himself had married at eighteen. Each afternoon he was out in the blue +and gold van with the collapsible rain-hood. In the evenings he looked +into the ashes of the kitchen fire and thought. It was then that +Elizabeth proved herself above rubies to the old folks of New Erin. + +"Faith, didn't I tell ye, from the first," cried Butcher Donnan, +slapping his thigh mightily, "that's the girl, Cynthia! Nothing she will +not turn her hand to--as smart as a jay, and all as sweet and natural +as the Queen of Sheba coming it over Solomon!" + +"It strikes me, Butcher Donnan," said his wife, "that for an old man you +are getting wonderfully fond o' the lass!" + +She was smiling also, a loving, caressing, motherly smile, showing +mostly about the eyes, as she spoke of Elizabeth Fortinbras, which was +very good to see. + +"Fond of her, is it?" cried Donnan. "I declare, I'm as fond of her as I +wad ha' been o' my own daughter, if it had pleased Mary an' the saints +to give us one!" + +"_And why not?_" said Mrs. Donnan, bending suddenly towards her husband, +and startling him with the earnestness of her regard. + +"Why not--Cynthia, woman? You have been talking to Mr. Liddesdale?" + +"Not I," said his wife, smiling. "_You_ should not talk in your sleep, +that's all, Butcher Donnan, if you want to keep your little secrets." + +"Ah, wife, wife, it's you that are the wonderful woman," cried the +Butcher-Pastry-Cook; "but if that be so, faith, it's just as well I +don't sleep with that Thief-o'-the-Wurrld Kemp, our sugar merchant. But +what say you, wife?" + +"I say what you say, Butcher Donnan!" + +"Do you think she would accept? Would she come to us and be our +daughter?" + +"By this and that," said his wife, "mind, I take it for granted that you +have done what is right by Nipper, and that he and Meg may come home +when they like?" + +"Not before Saturday!" said the Butcher; "furniture and all won't be in. +And if I saw Nipper for the first time on any other day than the blessed +Sabbath, I might be tempted even then to break his silly head!" + +This from Butcher Donnan was equal to a stage benediction from another. +But his wife looked for more light, and in answer to the question in her +eyes he told her all. + +"Oh, Nipper is all right. He gets more than he deserves, the rascal. I +will let him off what he still owes me on the business. The shop and +dwelling-house shall be put in his name, and that's a deal more than +ever I dreamed of having at his age. As for the dollars--well, we will +see about those, when you and I have done with them!" + +"What do you think about asking Elizabeth?" said his wife. + +It was at this moment that I chanced to come in, and had the whole story +told me by Mrs. Donnan. Elizabeth had cycled down to her father's house, +and so was safely out of the way. Only our conference was interrupted by +the various calls upon Mr. Donnan to answer the sharp "_cling_" of the +bell in the outer shop. + +One after the other I heard them in silence, and at last I gave my +opinion--which was that they might make their own arrangements, with the +help of Mr. John Liddesdale, but that they would do well to wait the +return of that long-legged, Minerva-eyed brother of mine, at present +engaged in colleging it as hard as need be, to obtain the means of +passing with credit through the world. + +"He may very well be taken in the same way as Nipper!" said the father +of the latter grimly. "She's a mighty fine girl, this Elizabeth." + +"He might, indeed, very well," I answered. "I am sure _I_ should, if I +were a man. Only, he isn't, and he won't. I can promise you that. He +will advise Elizabeth for the best, with less thought for himself than +if _I_ were concerned." + +"Then he is a most unusual young man!" said Butcher Donnan. + +"Hugh John _is_ somewhat unusual," I said. "He does not let many people +understand him." + +"No," said Butcher Donnan; "that other young gent now--him with the +uniform! Why, he is up to more tricks than a prize monkey with an Irish +mother. As I said before, he is more in my own style about his age. Any +one can see what _he_ is driving at. If he does not break his neck off +somebody else's apple-tree, or get shot in a poaching accident, no doubt +he may live to be a great and good Admiral of the Fleet. But this here +Hugh John--he is always as quiet as pussy, and as polite as a +parliamentary candidate come last night from London. Yet he licked my +Nipper, licked him good and square--_and_ said nothing about it. Nipper +told me, though. And now he can be a real safe brother to the prettiest +girl in Edam--beggin' your pardon, young lady, but _you_ live out o' the +town!" + +Mrs. Donnan reminded her husband that it was owing to Master Hugh John +that Elizabeth Fortinbras had come to them first. Also that it was +certainly the least they could do to give him the chance of putting the +matter to Elizabeth in his own way. + +Thus, pending the Christmas holidays, Elizabeth Fortinbras became a +child of adoption without knowing it. + +Curiously enough, no one seemed to take into consideration any rights of +pre-emption which her own father and mother might be supposed to possess +upon her. + + + + +XIV + +THE HARVEST FAIR + + +_Written at the Age of Sixteen._ + +Of all the local events which upheaved the world of children in Edam, +undoubtedly the greatest was the Harvest Fair. This happened somewhat +late in the year. For Edam lay high on the mountain slopes. Only the +herds and the sheep went higher. The harvesting lands were mostly in the +valley crofts, in the hidden "hopes" and broad waterside "holms." But +here and there a few hundred acres of oats lay angled up against the +steep side of a mountain, and in late October afforded a scanty, stocky +harvest, "_bleached_" rather than ripened by the slant, chill sun and +sweeping winds of the uplands. + +In brief, then, the Harvest Fair was late in Edam. We were near enough +to the Borders, however, to be overstocked with gypsies. And it was +after them that the Gypsies' Wood and Tryst had been named. + +A fine sight was Edam Fair. Far and wide it spread over the green, right +down to the verges of Esk-water. Ours was a Fair of the old-fashioned +kind. Rustics still stood about unhired with a straw in their +mouths--plowmen and "orra" men they! Maidens wore their breast kerchiefs +unknotted, and as soon as the bargain for six months was struck, and the +silver shilling of "arles" had passed, they knotted it firmly about +their throats. They were no longer "mavericks"--masterless cattle. They +had the seal of a place and an occupation upon their necks. + +It was "Bell, the Byre Lass at Caldons"--"Jess Broon, indoor lass at the +Nuik"--"Jeannie Sandilands, '_dairy_' at the Boareland of Parton." These +were the proud titles of the "engaged" ones who wore the knotted +neckerchiefs. + +But the "shows" were, after all, the most taking and permanent feature. +There was the continual joy of "Pepper's Ghost," where (as Fuz has +related) on a certain occasion the hero, new to his part, first of all +transfixed the ghost, and then threw down his clattering sword, with the +noble words, "Cold Fire is Useless!" + +There was "Johnston's Temple of Terpsichore," on entering which you +always looked over your shoulder to see if the minister or any of the +elders were in sight. But how the girls danced, and how difficult it was +to stop watching those who danced on their hands with their feet in the +air, in order to observe those who danced on their feet with only their +hands in the air! Thus we lost distinction in our joys. + +However, both sorts were applauded, and when the people in tights leaped +up and stood on each others' feet in order to form a pyramid, the +general feeling was that if indeed we were selling our souls to Satan, +at least we were getting the worth of our money! + +We did not care much, after this, for the legitimate drama--though it +was funny, certainly, to see Othello's "livery of the burnished sun" +grow patchy, and the grease trickle down from the left corner of +Desdemona's nose--which, being naturally rubicund, had been worked up +for the occasion. + +I was, of course, too much of a young lady to be allowed to visit the +Fair under any available escort. In the evening I might possibly, in +company with Somebody, be permitted to peruse the outsides of the +booths. But the real delights were for the children. Strong in the +possession of a half-crown apiece (to be spent as you please without +accounting), Sir Toady and the Maid made havoc among the Aunt Sallies +and the Cocoa-nut shysters. + +A plan of campaign was evolved, simple but effective. Sir Toady, who was +a good shot, took over the Maid's half-crown, and bound himself by a +great oath to deliver up half the proceeds. + +As for me, I caught glimpses of His Majesty's uniform darting from stall +to stall, from range to range, followed by a butterfly figure in skimp +white. This was the Maid, keeping track of profit and loss. She had good +cause. Was she not involved to the extent of two-and-sixpence, her +maiden mite? + +Sir Toady appeared to be reckless, and put wholesale propositions before +the Cocoa-nut shysters, as thus--"Suppose I give you two shillings cash, +how many throws can I have for it, and can I pick my own nuts if I win?" + +Some refused and some accepted. Those who refused were, commercially +speaking, the lucky merchants. Sir Toady's aim was deadly. He did not +mind throwing at an Aunt Sally, though this he considered rather +old-fashioned play. A bull's-eye trap-door, which opened at the smack +of the ball, was his favorite. And he cleaned up one merchant from whom +he had secured the easy terms of forty throws for half-a-crown. So +completely did he do it that the fellow, who saw his pile of nuts +rapidly wasting away, brazenly repudiated his bargain, and would even +have tried to lay hands on the pile already in the bag over the Maid's +shoulder. + +But the shyster reckoned without a knowledge of his Toady. You see, +there was not in Edam man, woman, or child who did not know Sir Toady. +And though at one time or another most had had their private +disagreements with that youth, he was still an Edamite of the Edamites. +Stained with early (orchard) crime, he yet retained the sympathy of +gentle and simple. The very "smoutchies" of a younger time rallied at +his call, and if the nuts had not instantly been paid over, the +overturned "gallery" would have been sacked on the instant by +promiscuous brigandage, the very police looking on with broad, benignant +smiles. + +"Such a young codger as he were!" grumbled the man afterwards, half in +anger, half in admiration. "I had made a bad bargain. I see _that_ at +once. 'Give me back them nuts. You've 'ad 'em on false pretenses!' sez +I. + +"'Sorry! So I have!' says he, smooth as butter. And with that he outs of +his breast-pocket with his lanyard and blows a whistle like a bo'sum's +mate! Then they ran from every quarter. My poor ole stall were on its +back in half a jerk, and if it hadn't been for my young gent, so should +I--_and_ mauled into the bargain! + +"Served me right, you say, for shovin' of my head into such a wasp's +nest! But how was I to know?--I puts it to ye, mates. How was _I_ to +know?--_me fresh from London_!" + +I had gone up to the Cave of Mystery, armed with the three-draw +telescopes, which Hugh John had left behind him as too precious to be +risked in the give-and-take of school--though, according to information +received, it was mostly "give" with Hugh John. + +I saw a procession detach itself from the dense flow of the crowd, led +by the white-frocked Maid and a dark blue Sir Toady, both laden down by +sackloads of cocoa-nuts. It was impossible for them to carry them all +the way home to the House in the Wood. Equally impossible to trust the +youth of Edam, satisfactory enough when fighting was on hand, but +unreliable when it came to division of the spoils. + +The Imps staggered across the road, pursued by a riotous tail of +infantry of no known line. Arrived at the shop door of New Erin Villa, +they were met by Mrs. Donnan--who, on such a busy day, had come out for +a breath of fresh air. + +"What in the world have you got there, children?" cried the Dame, +holding up astonished hands to heaven. + +"Cocoa-nuts! Wads and lashings of cocoa-nuts!" cried Sir Toady. "I shot +for them all. I threw for them. I won them. And when the man would have +cheated me, I whistled the whole Fair Green down on him. _Then_ I saved +his life! But I don't know what to do with them now I have them! They +won't hatch out, and if they would, I haven't got a big enough hen! +Here, you!" + +And opening one of the bags, he bowled half-a-dozen of the nuts among +the crowd of smoutchies, who instantly became a swarming, fighting +anthill on the plainstones of the street. + +"Stop, Master Toady," said Mrs. Donnan, "do stop! I will show you what +to make of them. Some of them will be good----" + +"All are good," asserted Sir Toady; "_I_ picked them! At college they +teach us, over at the canteen, how to know the good ones from the bad!" + +By this time I was down at the shop door, having struck the main road +near the Station Bridge. I fled to meet them, passing on the way Butcher +Donnan, who for the day had turned the blue and gold van into a fine +selling booth on the Market Hill, where he presided over half-a-dozen +temporary assistants, keeping a wary eye on all, both buyers and +sellers. + +The children were tired, and stood panting. Sir Toady was unexpectedly +pessimistic. Maid Margaret looked rather world-weary. Both had begun to +think that, after all, there were better ways of spending five shillings +than shooting for cocoa-nuts. + +"What rot!" said Sir Toady, shaking one disgustedly close to his ear. +"Can't eat them all--make us ever so sick, and I have to join on Friday! +No time to get better! Bah!" + +"It was all your fault, Toady," moaned the Maid, "_and_ I want my +half-crown back!" + +"Nonsense!" cried Toady. "I never will go into partnership with a girl +again. They always are sorry afterwards, whatever a chap does for them! +There is your bag full of nuts, good and sound. What more do you want?" + +Maid Margaret wanted much more. She began to express her wants in terms +of candies and chocolates. + +"Candies!" cried Mrs. Donnan; "why, if I weren't so busy, I would make +you two candy to dream about--and of those very cocoa-nuts too!" + +"Do--oh, do make us some!" + +"Well, come into the bakehouse, and we shall see!" + +They went, Elizabeth Fortinbras and I smilingly assisting with the bags +of nuts. Elizabeth could not be spared out of the front shop, but I +stopped to watch, and of course Sir Toady and Maid Margaret pushed and +elbowed for good front seats. + +Mrs. Donnan, quietly smiling as ever, seized a skewer, and with several +skillful taps made a hole in the end of the nut through which she let +the milk drop into a basin. Then with a heavy hammer she smashed the +shell into pieces. + +It was a good nut, even as Sir Toady had prophesied. He had been well +taught at the canteen. + +"Now," said the _cordon bleu_ of Edam, "who wants to do a bit of grating +for me?" + +"_I_"--"_I_," shouted the children, and though I did not shout, I was +really as ready as any one. The white inside was dealt out to us, and +while the Maid and Sir Toady went at it (sometimes scraping their +fingers by way of variety), a respectable pile of soft flaky nut, +cream-colored and nice, began to appear. + +When we were finished, Mrs. Donnan went to a bag, and measured out two +tablespoonfuls of white sugar to each one of the nut-flake, dropped the +whole into a sizeable patty pan, and poured the milk of the cocoa-nut +over it. + +With Mrs. Donnan stirring hard, the whole was soon bubbling away +cheerfully--indeed, boiling like what lava does in a volcano (_ought +to_, at any rate), the bubbles bursting, and the nice smell making your +teeth water, so that it did not seem that you could ever wait for it to +cool. + +Then, just when the bubbles began to burst with a warning "pop," Mrs. +Donnan turned everything into a well-buttered shallow dish. It made a +cake about as thick as your finger, and oh, but the smell was good! But +she laid the dish away in the ice-house--as she said, to cool. Really, +I think, to keep us from temptation, and prevent too early experimenting +upon the result. + +Elizabeth Fortinbras would have none of us (not even me) in the front +shop that day. She was too busy. So, after one question put and answered +(it was about Hugh John), the three of us went out and walked in the +garden till the ice-house had done its work. + +Well, do you know, that candy was famous. Just you try it, with the +explanations I have given you! It goes all right, you will find, and no +mistake. + +Indeed, so well did it go that a bargain was soon struck, and +Elizabeth's clever fingers were busy printing out a placard: + + FOR THIS DAY ONLY + CANARY ISLANDS COCOA-NUT + CANDY + A SPECIALTY. + +Cut into cubes, the result was certainly fascinating. Even Fuz was +tempted to try. He came to scoff, but he remained to suck. + +"_Now_, didn't I tell you!" said Sir Toady, when on the morrow he +received twelve silver shillings as his share of the venture from the +careful hands of Mrs. Donnan. "Never you grumble about your Admiral +Tuppens again. There you are! More cocoa-nut candy than we can eat +before next Friday, warranted wholesome by Fuz, and six bob apiece to do +what we like with! How about your old half-a-crown now?" + +And the Maid was properly subdued, as, indeed, she ought to have been. +Sir Toady did not mention that without Mrs. Donnan he would have been a +very sorrowful investor indeed. + +But then, male things love to take all the credit to themselves. Bless +you, they can't help it! It's born in them, like polywogs in ponds. + + + + +XV + +QUIET DAYS + + +_November 23._ + +We have had our first frost early this year--four days' skating on the +High Pond before the middle of November! But it was sad to see the poor +folks' corn still out, the stalks, stiffly frozen, piercing the couple +of inches of frozen sleet that covers the ground. + +They have had harvest festivals down in the town churches. But Fuz said +that if they had taken up collections to help pay the farmers' rents, +_that_ would have been the best sort of festival, and he would have +attended. As it was he stopped away, so as to let in somebody who was +grateful for a late harvest and spoilt crops! + +Fuz says that it is no use sending the _Monthly Visitor_ to people who +don't have a daily dinner, and that anything he has to spare will go +towards the dinners. But then, Fuz does not mean all he says. For though +he growls at the Tract Distributors, he always finishes by giving +something so that they will not go sorry away. + +Elizabeth Fortinbras goes to the shop opposite the Market Hill every +day. She has a nice gray dress now which she made herself, a water-proof +cloak, and a pretty canoeing hat. She is quite ignorant of all that the +good people are getting ready to offer her. Will she accept? Possibly +Hugh John could tell. Certainly _I_ can't. + +The young couple down town have come home--Meg Linwood and her husband +Nipper, I mean. His father has explained the situation very sharply to +him--that is, in so far as the business is concerned. I think he is +waiting about the house and furniture till Elizabeth has said "yes" or +"no." + +It is a good time to tell about our churches. Ours is the nicest. For +though we are not compelled to go to any particular one, yet Somebody +thinks it is a kind of point of honor to attend the one in which we were +born and brought up. There are all sorts of things going on, too, and +young people who don't have parties and dances get to know each other at +_soirées_ and social meetings. It acts just the same--even quicker, I +have noticed. They get married to each other all the same. + +Hugh John, who has studied the subject, says he can stand all sorts of +"flirts," except the one who asks you about your soul before she knows +whether _she_ has got one herself! + +Now there is Thomasina Morton, the doctor's daughter, and a smart girl +too. Only she never could get away from two or three catchwords, caught +up from all sorts of people. She got fearfully anxious about the souls +of all the good-looking young men, and made them come into her father's +consulting-room so that she could "plead with them." Of course it was +all very good and, I dare say, most necessary, but I _don't_ think it +was fair on Dr. Morton. You see, he is a good man, but much exposure to +all sorts of weather has told on his temper, and really I can't blame +him for what he said when he stumbled upon one of these reunions in the +dusk of a November afternoon. It was Billy Jackson's legs he fell over, +and they say Billy has had to walk with a stick ever since. + +But Thomasina declared that her father was hard-hearted, and even went +to consult her minister about it. But Mr. Taylor is a sensible man, and +said that thirty years of Dr. Morton's life would weigh against a good +deal of strongish language in the archangel's scales! He also asked +Thomasina where her father had been that day, and she said, "Out seeing +his country patients, since eight in the morning!" Then Mr. Taylor asked +who they were, and Thomasina told him. + +"The Doctor knows as well as I do," he said, "that he will never see a +penny of fees from any of them. Don't you trouble, my young lady, about +the hardness of your father's heart. And tell Mr. William Jackson that +it will be more suitable for him to come and see _me_ about his soul. I +am at his service from eight till ten every evening--except Wednesday +and Saturday!" + +I don't know if Billy Jackson felt that this was not quite the same +thing, or whether the minister's hours did not suit him. At all events +he never went. + +Thomasina Morton, however, was not pleased with Mr. Taylor, and left his +church. She joined the Salvation Army, but soon left it, because she +found the costume unbecoming. She did better as a nurse, and had +splendid chances there. Because, you see, the dress was all right, and +her patients could not get up and run when she had them good and safe +within the four walls of an hospital! + +I dare say, however, it helped to pass the time for the poor fellows. +For, you see, Thomasina was pretty, and knew it. She would sing sad, +faint, die-away hymns in the twilight, till she made these bad young men +just lie down and cry. They were generally pretty weak, anyway, +especially when Thomasina used to talk to them about their mothers. +(When they were well, you might have talked those mothers' heads off +without reforming their sons the value of a row of pins.) But Thomasina +talked to them in a dreamy voice, till they all were willing to go out +as missionaries to the most cannibal-haunted regions--that is, if only +Thomasina would come along with them. + +But when they asked her, as they mostly did, Thomasina said she was very +sorry, but she had never meant it that way. She was "vowed to a +vocation," and mere commonplace marriage would be sinful. Besides +(mostly), the young men had nothing to keep themselves on--much less a +wife. + +Oh, Thomasina made the winter very cheerful at Edam, especially after +the Cottage Hospital was opened, and the cutting of the new railway +brought a good many into the accident ward. + +To listen to Thomasina (and believe her), all these, though mere +"_navvies_" now, were Oxford or Cambridge men, and either the sons of +purple Indian colonels, very peppery, or (which she preferred) of +white-haired old clergymen, who were never known to smile again after +their only sons had left the family roof-tree. + +Surely there was a lack of imagination in that accident ward. Hugh John +would have made cartloads of plans, and as for Sir Toady--well, he could +have evolved something fresh each journey, and never charged a penny +extra. He would have been ashamed of so many colonels and white-haired +clergymen. + +But Thomasina was quite content, and read all manner of nice +uninteresting books to the poor storm-stayed ones, who sometimes looked +at the angelic expression on her face, and sometimes had quite a decent +little sleep on the quiet. Her voice was naturally soothing. + +Thus time passed none so evilly in the Cottage Hospital accident ward, +and Thomasina came and got nice jellies from Mrs. Donnan, very +sustaining, and "let on," as Sir Toady asserted, that she had made them +all herself! But there is more--oh, ever so much more about Thomasina +Morton. I hope you are not tired hearing about her--I am not of telling. + +But you will see the funny thing that happened. Among all the imaginary +sons of purple colonels and sad, saintly clergymen whom Thomasina had +corralled into her hospital ward, there happened to be a real one. His +name, he said, was Henry Smith--which is just one of those names that +people take, like Jones and Wood and Robinson in England, and Dubois, +Durand, Duval in France, thinking to be unknown, and lo! every +hotel-keeper and policeman immediately is on the qui vive to find out +what bank they have robbed. + +Well, this young fellow's real name did not matter to anybody. Thomasina +called him "dear Harry," and had him to sit beside her in the +dining-room of the convalescent home (one of her pet hunting-grounds). +And one day after he had been in training to be good for quite a while, +he came in to dinner as usual, and, just as he was sitting down at the +table, up jumps Master Harry Smith and bolts out of the room! Naturally +enough, Nurse Webb thought there was something wrong with him, and would +have gone to see, but Thomasina restrained her with a motion of the +hand--very solemn, impressive, and "I-know-all-about-it-if-_you_-don't!" + +"He has forgotten to say his prayers!" she whispered. "He promised me!" + +And Nurse Webb sank back appalled, wondering what they would have said +at "King's." But Thomasina was quite calm, and laid her hand soothingly +on that of "dear Harry" when he returned from his (very short) +devotions. + +And do you know, all the time he was what Sir Toady calls "a regular +rip." Only he was a real colonel's son, and had been tried +everywhere--only no one would have him about on any account. + +But old Dr. Morton did what Thomasina said, and got this young fellow +dressed out in new clothes, till he looked as smart as a paper of new +pins. Then who so proud as Thomasina! She was so glad that Harry had +turned out so well that she said she would marry him. Then he was +fearfully noble, and said that he wasn't worthy of her, but that he +would wait for the day when he would lay the world at her feet. Oh, he +said ever such a heap of what the boys call, with a certain rude +correctness, "tommy-rot." + +And old Papa Morton got him a place in a ginger-beer factory, to manage +the accounts, where Mr. Harry Smith behaved pretty well for three +months. But on the eve of his marriage with Thomasina he disappeared, +taking with him a whole fortnight's wages of the ginger-beer factory +workmen. + +Instead, he left a letter full of consolatory texts for Thomasina, which +I would quote, but Fuz says I must not. Only he concluded by saying that +his dear Tommy was not half a bad little thing, only her company and +conversation were wearing for a man of his tastes and antecedents. If +she had only seen her way to giving him a "let up" every ten days or so, +he might have stayed on. But as it was, there was nothing left for him +but to borrow her father's fur-lined overcoat, and bid Thomasina a long, +last farewell through floods of burning tears. She was to remember, +however, that, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, he was ever +her own Harry. Also that the next time he needed nursing and advice, +both of superior quality, he would not fail to think of the happy days +in the convalescent ward of Edam Borough Hospital. + +"Harry Smith" was seen no more on Esk waterside, and by last accounts +Dr. Morton is still awaiting the return of his fur-lined overcoat. + + + + +XVI + +HUGH JOHN, AMBASSADOR PLENIPOTENTIARY + + +I don't think that Dr. Morton ever really got over the loss of his +fur-lined overcoat. You see, it gave him a tone, making many a suffering +household feel quite chirpy and consoled only to see him getting +carefully out of his gig, and laying back the lapels so as to show the +best pieces of fur. But he was never the same man in plain tweed, even +when he took to a high velvet collar. People had not the old confidence. +He had two favorite methods of treatment--leeches and fly-blisters--and +when he began to leech the blister people and blister the leech people, +all felt that the end was near. + +So Mr. Liddesdale persuaded him to sell his practice while he had one to +sell--the stock of leeches and Spanish flies being taken at a valuation. +So there came a young doctor to Edam, and his name was Dr. Weir Douglas. +At first it was feared that he would not be a success, because he went +about in gray tweeds and a straw hat. Worse than all, he made 84 in the +cricket match against Lockermaben. This showed how little serious he +could be, and how little he had to do in his profession. Dr. Morton was +often called out of church twice on the same Sunday, and though +everybody knew that he kept a boy for the purpose, yet, after all, the +summons might be real. No one could tell. At any rate it waked up a +sleepy congregation better than peppermint drops, and people whispered +that it must be Sandy Paterson's wife, or that loon of Jock Malcolm's +who was always climbing and coming to grief. + +However, when Jock Malcolm did fall from the scaffolding of the +Established Church (then being repaired parsimoniously by reluctant +heritors) Dr. Weir Douglas saved the boy's life by carrying him to his +own house across the way, and, after setting the shoulder, sent to ask +Miss Thomasina Morton to come over and nurse Master Jock Malcolm. + +Then the whole village of Edam began to respect Dr. Morton, calling him +"cunning old rascal," and other terms of admiration. Indeed, they +respected him for the first time in their lives. Had he not got a good +price for his practice, and would not Thomasina do the rest? Indeed, the +marriage of Thomasina and Dr. Weir Douglas was regarded on all hands as +a settled thing. Any one else in Edam (except perhaps our Hugh John) +would have been considered fair game for jest, and congratulated fifty +times in a day. But somehow Dr. Weir Douglas did not look the kind of +man to be too familiar with, even in a straw hat and gray tweeds--just +as no one would take a liberty with our Hugh John in a clown's dress at +a fancy ball, if the mind of man can conceive such a thing. Even there, +he would probably be found in a retired corner with the prettiest girl +(if she were tall and pale and willowy), instructing her on the chances +of Siam becoming a second Japan, the resurrection of the Further East, +the probability of a Russian Anarchist Republic, and other topics +especially adapted for a ball-room. Whereas Sir Toady--but perhaps the +less said about that the better. If he had not told at least five girls +that they were the prettiest in the room, the young man would have felt +that he had thrown away his chances, an accident against which he +carefully guarded himself. + +But to return to the nursing of Master Jock Malcolm--now become so +important and necessary a link in the chain of events. Edam gave +Thomasina twenty-four hours to bring the young doctor to his knees. But +Dr. Weir Douglas spoiled all calculations by charging his coachman's +wife to look after the comfort of Miss Morton, and taking up his own +quarters for the time being at the Edam Arms, opposite! + +The entire village agreed that this was not playing the game, and as for +Thomasina, she felt that never in the world had there been such a +reprobate. She placed tracts in his way. She scattered them all about +the house, and neglected her patient to think out plans for wrestling +with this stiff-necked and rebellious young man. + +In the meantime, however, Dr. Weir Douglas began to gain on Edam. +Certainly he made a wonderful cure of Jock Malcolm, junior--a young +rascal who deserved no such spoiling as he was receiving. He even asked +the advice and assistance of his distinguished colleague Dr. Morton, +making it a favor that in the meantime he should return to the house +which had been his own for so many years. It was really much too large +for a bachelor, and Dr. Weir Douglas would consider it a favor to have +it taken care of. He himself was perfectly comfortable at the Edam +Arms. This, however, could not last for ever. + +The whole village was more certain than ever that Thomasina and he were +"going to make a match of it." It was just at this critical time that +Hugh John came home on holiday for Christmas and New Year. + +I was exceedingly interested to see how these two would get on--the +Doctor and Hugh John, I mean. Because my brother is by no means +universally amiable, and the new arrival, for all his generosity, +carried a good deal of "side"--or at least what seemed so to the Edam +people. They did not understand his "antiseptics," the boiling of his +medical scissors, his multipled sprayings, and _minima_ of medicines. A +whacking black draught, and a fly-blister the size of the _Scotsman_ +newspaper, were the popular idea of what a real doctor ought to +prescribe. Who would pay a man just to come and look at them? Certainly +not the people of Edam. + +I was present when Hugh John and Dr. Weir Douglas met for the first +time. In fact, I made the introduction. I was interested to see what Dr. +Douglas would make of Hugh John. For if he treated him like a schoolboy, +all was over. + +It was in our drawing-room. Somebody had had his little afternoon nap +over Froude's _History of England_--volume eight. Now if you ask +Somebody how long Somebody has slept, Somebody will answer that Somebody +_may_ just have dropped off for five minutes. The Doctor had come in to +call socially. You see, I had met him at the Tennis Club. Well, Somebody +was quite pleased with him because he had read "Froude," and for a while +he did not notice the big, gray-eyed boy on the window-seat who had +risen at his entrance and then as quietly sat down again. + +But I said, "Doctor--my brother Hugh John!" + +Then Hugh John loomed up, with that quiet gravity which deceives +strangers sometimes, his finger still keeping the place in William's +_Middle Kingdom_, and his eyes meeting those of the Doctor level as the +metals on a straight run of the railway line. + +The Doctor was ready to pass the lad in order to talk with +Somebody--who, as usual, lay back looking amused. But that arresting +something in Hugh John's eyes, a mixture of equality and authority, +halted him, as it has done so many others. + +"You are reading?" said the Doctor civilly. + +"Oh, no," said Hugh John, "just picking out favorite bits. Do you know +_The Middle Kingdom_?" + +Now _The Middle Kingdom_ is an exceedingly fine book, highly technical +in parts, and has to do with China. So it is no wonder that it was not +so familiar to a man who for years has had to specialize on surgery as +it was to the omnivorous Hugh John. + +Dr. Weir Douglas shook his head as he glanced over the volume. + +"It looks very stiff," he remarked; "are you getting it up for an +exam.?" + +Hugh John looked at him curiously. He did not approve of jests on such +subjects. "I read it first when I was about ten," he said. "I only wish +exams were as easy." + +"Is it 'math'?" the Doctor inquired sympathetically. + +"Yes," said Hugh John, "that--and the idiocies of English spelling!" + +All this as from man to man, unsmiling, unwinking, each taking the +measure of the other. + +It came to an end in a mutual self-respect, neither yielding an inch. +But the boy knew how to make himself respected as well as the man of +thirty. That night they took a long walk together in the crisp black +frost, while Dr. Weir Douglas talked of "microbes," and Hugh John +expounded Chinese transcendental medicine. But the real respect did not +arrive till, passing the darkened library as they returned, the Doctor +said, "I hear you do something with the gloves. What do you say to a +turn?" + +"Step in!" said Hugh John. + +What passed I do not know, but when he went away the Doctor said, "I +really think those gloves of yours are two or three ounces too light!" + + * * * * * + +It was the next day that Hugh John, summoned into solemn council by +Butcher Donnan and his wife, was informed what was expected of him in +the matter of Elizabeth Fortinbras. Luckily I was again present, and so +can tell all about it. + +Hugh John was not surprised. He was the Red Indian of the family. He +took it as quite natural that he should be called in, quite natural that +such good luck should befall Elizabeth Fortinbras, and entirely +reasonable that he should be chosen as plenipotentiary. + +Now and then he asked a question, unexpectedly acute, as to Nipper's +financial position, and how the proposed arrangement with Elizabeth +would affect him. You would have thought it was Nipper's case he was +advocating. Only I know that he was anxious to keep clear of all +injustice before taking the matter in hand. + +"_And suppose Elizabeth gets married?_" + +I saw the two Donnans look one at the other. I don't think either had +yet considered the matter in this light. To adopt Elizabeth meant to +adopt any possible husband Elizabeth might take to herself. I could tell +from Butcher Donnan's twinkle that he was envisaging the possibility of +having Hugh John as a son-in-law--by adoption. Hugh John was still an +unknown quantity to the good pastry-cook. He would never understand the +delicate detachment of the friendship of Elizabeth Fortinbras and my +brother. + +"We hope," said Butcher Donnan cunningly, "that you will let us keep +Elizabeth for a long time, Mr. Hugh John?" + +The boy took the words perfectly seriously and with no personal bearing. + +"Elizabeth," he answered, "is a very pretty girl, but I shall do my +best. At any rate she is sure to consult me before doing anything +rash--like getting married, I mean!" + +There was something about Hugh John which kept any one from laughing at +him, and accordingly Butcher Donnan refrained. + +"You are a confident young man," he said; "at your age I might have had +an eye a little wider open for my own good fortune." + +"Elizabeth trusts me, and I am her friend!" said Hugh John, as if that +settled the whole matter. + +"Well, may I be ... blessed!" cried Butcher Donnan. "Off with you, and +let us hear what Elizabeth says." + +"No," said Hugh John, "it must _happen_, not be dragged in by the +collar. To-night, after shop-shutting, Elizabeth will go home to see +that all is right with her people. I shall walk with her, and tell you +what she says in the morning." + +"We would rather hear to-night," cried Butcher Donnan, hotly impatient +after the manner of his kind. + +"No--to-morrow!" pronounced Hugh John. "She ought to have the night to +think it over. It wouldn't be fair unless!" + +"No more it would, young fellow!" cried Butcher Donnan, clapping Hugh +John on the shoulder. "You found us a new business. You are finding us a +daughter--perhaps some day----" + +"Hush now, Butcher," said his wife, anxious as to what he should say +next. + +But Hugh John, already deep in his mission, took no offense at Butcher +Donnan's _innuendoes_. Elizabeth Fortinbras and he were the best of good +friends. And when the time came he would stand by the right hand of the +bridegroom of her choice and witness his joy. + +So at least he thought at that moment. + + + + +XVII + +THE LITTLE GREEN MAN + + +_Written the Summer we went abroad for the first time._ + +It was about then that Hugh John suddenly grew up. He had been +threatening it for a long time, but had always put it off. This time, +however, it was for keeps. We noticed it first when we made Father tell +us stories. Hugh John had grown tired of the "Little Green Man"! Now +this was a thing so terrible to us that we hardly dared to face it. For, +you see, we had been, as it were, brought up on the Little Green Man, +and this was like being false to the very salt we had eaten. And the +crime was specially bad on Hugh John's part. For, you see, he ate such a +lot of salt that the Doctor told him it was bad for his health. However, +because there is no chance of Hugh John reading this book, I will try to +tell the tale just as Father tells it even yet to Margaret the Maid--and +the rest of us who have not grown too old to like such stories. + + THE TALE OF THE LITTLE GREEN MAN. + +"Of _course_ it is true," Father always began, "because you know +yourselves that you have seen the very place and the Bogle Thorn and +all. No doubt everything has shrunk a good deal since the time the story +tells about. But that is only because you have grown out of all +knowledge, and so everything seems smaller to you." + +"I know," cried the Maid, "last year when we came back from the seaside, +the Edam Water looked quite small and shallow, even at the first Torres +Vedras!" + +But Sir Toady nipped her good to make her "shut up"--yes, he had grown +so rude in the use of words that that was what he said. But then, most +boys are like that. It is school that does it, and, do you know, when +they come back they even pervert us girls. That this is true was +immediately proved by Maid Margaret giving a fierce kick under the table +to Sir Toady, and whispering back, "Shut up yourself!" + +But Father went on, never heeding in the least. A father who can be +conveniently deaf at times is the best kind. Be sure and take no other! +The only genuine has a twinkle in his eye, and a dimple instead of +smiling. You will know by that. + +"Well, the Little Green Man," Father went on, "lived in the Bogle Thorn +on the road between Laurieston and the Duchrae. I used to go that way to +school long ago, and at first I was frightened of the Little Green Man. +I used to climb the dyke and go right up by the loch on the moor where +the curlers played in winter, so as not to be compelled to pass that +way. But after a while I got not to mind him a bit. For, you see, he was +a good little man, all clad in green velvet tights, and with a broad +green bonnet on his head like a peaky toadstool. Once or twice when I +caught sight of him up among the branches, he popped into his little +house just as quickly as a rabbit into its hole when you say "Scat!" +And, you see, when once I was sure that he was frightened of _me_, I +used not to mind him a bit. Then by and by I used to sit down and swop +currants and sugar which I had "found" at home for some of the nuts and +lovely spicy fruits that the Little Green Man had stored away. He had +the loveliest little parlor and bedrooms all in the inside of the tree, +everything finished neat as cabinet-making, and the floor carpeted--you +never saw the like--and there were little windows, too, with glass in +them, and shutters that shut with the bark outside, so that you never +could tell there was a window there at all." + +[Illustration: "I USED TO SWOP CURRANTS AND SUGAR FOR NUTS AND LOVELY +SPICY FRUITS"] + +"And how could you see all that, Father?" asked the Maid, who, as usual, +was immensely interested, not having heard it above a thousand times +before. So it stayed quite new to her. + +"Oh," said Father, "the Little Green Man touched a spring, and let me +look through the windows. Of course I was too big to get bodily into the +inside of the rooms, or run up and down the stairs. But when the Little +Green Man got married, he made a beautiful pleasure-ground at the top of +his house, with a clipped-hedge parapet all round to keep the Little +Green Children from falling over." + +"Whom did he marry, Father?" said the Maid though, of course, she knew. + +"Why, he married the Little Green Woman," said Father in a tone of +surprise mixed with reproof. + +He had been asked the same question at least a hundred times before, but +he always answered in the same tone of grieved astonishment, which +showed how clever he was. For he could not have been astonished--not +really, of course. Then he went on with the story of the Little Green +Man. The Little Green Man (said he) had a lot of children. There were +Toppy, Leafy, Branchy, Twiggy, Flowery, Fruity, and Rooty. That made +seven in all, and as they grew up, the Little Green Man made the +playground on the top of the Bogle Thorn ever so much bigger. And he +built the retaining walls higher, so as to keep them from falling over. +Not that that was a very serious matter. For, you see, they could all of +them hang on like monkeys. The only two who really ran some risk of +danger were Toppy and Rooty. For Toppy, of course, had to stay on top, +where he was safest, and knew his way about; and as for Rooty, there was +something in his blood that made him want all the time to worm his way +down into the hidden places under the earth where nobody but he ever +went, and where the corkscrew staircases got perfectly breakneck with +steepness. Then, when he found out this, the Little Green Man took +Rooty, and gave him regular sound lectures about his "habits"--you know +the kind of lecture--you have all got some on your own account. He said +that away off on the face of the wild moor, a good bit back from the +Bogle Thorn, was the cave of the Ugly Gray Dwarf--so called because that +was what he was. He was ugly as a gnarled bit of oak-trunk that they dug +up out of the moss. He was gray because he hid among the stones and +rocks of the moorland, and, worst of all, he lived on what he could +catch to eat--for choice, Little Green Children who had fallen out of +tree-tops, or missed their hold of branches, or been naughty and +wandered out when a root came to the surface. He had a horrid den where +he used to take his prey, and would either roast them before a slow +fire, basting them all the time, or else put them into a cauldron of +cold water, hung on three sticks, and _boil them alive_! (Here the Maid +always grew very pale, and edged as thickly as she could among the crowd +of us, while the boys fingered their (unloaded) revolvers.) + +So you can well imagine that it was not always the greatest fun to +wander over the face of that moorland, while this cruel monster, dry as +a chip, still as one of the bowlders among the heather, and invisible as +Will-o'-the-Wisp by day, lay watching the Bogle Thorn and the Little +Green Man's Well, to which some one had to go at least once a day for +water. Several times already the Little Green Man had had to +fight for his life. But he was a good shot with the little fairy +bow-and-arrows--the ones tipped with chips of flint--_you_ know? ("We +know!" came from all the children in a breath.) Besides, Father Green +Man was so tough when you had him that the Ugly Gray Dwarf thought +twice, and even three times, before tackling him. For although he had no +heart to pierce, but only a cold, cold stone out of the bottom of a well +instead, the heads of the tiny chip arrows came off where they hit him +and annoyed him fearfully, wandering about his system and tickling up +unexpected organs. So that at long and last he got to know that he had +better give the Little Green Man a wide berth. + +But when he got married, and children began to patter up and down the +dainty little turning staircase of the Bogle Thorn, the Gray Dwarf +rubbed his knotted clawy hands together, and grumbled over and over to +himself--"Fresh Meat! Fresh Meat!! Fresh Meat!!!" And if he did not +laugh, it is certainly reported that he chuckled to himself, like +thunder among the hills very far away. + +But of all who went about the passages and ups-and-downs of the Bogle +Thorn, there was none so reckless as Little Rooty. He was just as +rambling, rampageous a boy as any I know! (Here Father looked at us, and +Hugh John nodded at Sir Toady, who nodded back, to show that both +considered the other as "catching it.") More than once the Little Green +Man had even taken a little green switch, and--well, it just happened +the same, so there is no use entering into _that_. But, in spite of all, +Rooty would go off foraging where he had no business to, and that came +quite near to being the end of Little Rooty, who would not "take a +telling," and forgot all about the little green switch as soon as he had +stopped smarting--where he frequently smarted. + +But one dreamy afternoon, when even the bumble-bees fell asleep and only +gurgled in the deep fox-glove bells, when his father was lying on the +green couch in the parlor, and his mother was telling the others tales +about "humans" in a shady green place on the tree-top, Little Rooty +slipped away off down-stairs, twenty-five flights to the cellar door +where they took in the winter's fuel--that is, fir-cones chopped small, +which make the best fires in the world, especially in Green Tree-top +Land where fuel is a scarcity, and one has to be careful not to overheat +the chimney, because of the insurance people. Well, Little Rooty found +the door all right, and after having touched the spring, he went out on +the face of the moor. The loch was shining beneath him, but sleepily +too. And it looked so warm and bright that Little Rooty forgot all about +what he had been told--the Ugly Gray Dwarf, the big black pot swinging +on three poles in front of the Grisly Den, with the water just coming to +the boil within it. And Rooty ran as hard as ever he could, without ever +taking a minute to shut the cellar door. He jumped and shouted, and +almost tumbled into Woodhall Loch just as he was, which would have +spoiled his clean new suit of gossamer green velvet that his mother had +finished that morning, and given him because it was just six months to +Christmas, when he got his thicker winter one. + +However, he did manage to get them off, and was just getting ready to +plunge into the nice cool water, when the stranded log, on which he had +been sitting taking off his stockings, sat up in its turn and stretched +out a kind of wizened claw that caught Little Rooty by the middle and +held him in the air, kicking and screaming. Then two horny warty lids +winked up, and two eyes like cold gravy looked at him--oh, so coldly and +hatefully! It was the Ugly Gray Dwarf, and he had been lying waiting for +Little Rooty all the afternoon. Then Rooty thought of everything his +father had told him, and wished it had never felt so hot and stuffy and +bumble-bee-y inside the house, and he resolved that if he got off this +time, nothing would ever induce him to disobey his parents again. He +even wished he was back in the wood-cellar, with his father getting the +little green switch down off the shelf. Positively he thought he could +have enjoyed it. Of course Rooty was the first little boy who ever felt +like that, but he did not have a very long time in which to repent, and, +indeed, it mattered very little to the Gray Dwarf whether he did or not. +That hideous brute just pinched him all over to see how fat he was, +gurgling approbation all the time of Little Rooty's "ribs" and "chines" +and "cuts off the joint"--all of which Rooty had always liked very much, +but had never before thought of in so intimate a connection with +himself. + +Meanwhile, in the little house of the Bogle Thorn, its walls wainscoted +with green silk from a fairy Liberty's, its ceilings done in Grass of +Parnassus with sprigs and tassels of larch, the afternoon world slept +on. But the Little Green Woman paused in her long drowsy tale-telling to +the children in the shady corner of the Roof Garden. She thought she +heard a cry, so faint and far away that it might have been the squeak of +a field-mouse scuttling away from a weasel among the grass roots. + +Then a sudden thought struck her like a knife. + +"Where is Rooty? Who saw Rooty last? Toppy, you run and look over the +pricklements and see if you see Rooty. I thought I heard him cry." + +Toppy ran to the green wall of thorn, and was just in time to see the +Gray Dwarf toss poor Little Rooty over his shoulder (or at least the +knotted crotch of a tree which served him as a shoulder), and away with +him to his Grisly Den on the face of the moorland. Toppy just managed to +scream, and then his mother ran and caught him, or it might very well +have been all over with Little Toppy. By the time the Little Green Man +was wakened off the green sofa, and had understood what they were saying +(for the entire family talked at once, as is mostly the case with +united families), he ran hastily up to the Roof Garden, and saw the +Gray Dwarf, very little and flat on the face of the heath, just like a +splotch of mildew. And on his shoulder there was a spot of green, hardly +visible, which the father knew at once for his Little Rooty. But he did +not scold--at least not then. He went for his fairy bow, made tiny like +a catapult--not hurrying, you know, but going so fast that it felt as if +the wind was rising all over the house of the Bogle Thorn. The Little +Green Man dipped each arrow-point--that is, the flint part of it--into a +kind of green stuff like porridge, made from hemlock and the berries of +deadly nightshade, with other pleasant and effective things only known +to the Little Green People. He took great care not to let any drip +about, and looked closely to see if there were any scratches on his +hands. For it was quite unusual stuff, and precious. So he did not want +to waste any of it. He needed it all for that mildewy spot crawling over +the moorland towards the Grisly Cave with the green dot on its shoulder +which was his own Rooty. + +Perhaps, being exceptionally good children, _you_ are not sorry for +naughty Rooty. ("Oh, yes, we are! We are!") But, anyway, his father was +sorry for him, though all the time he was promising him the best +"hiding" he had ever had in his life when he got him safe back again. +("Bet he never got a whack!" said Sir Toady, who is an authority on the +subject.) So, locking the children in and putting the key in his pocket, +the Little Green Man and his wife went away over the moorland to look +for the Ugly Gray Dwarf. The man did not want the woman to come. But she +begged of him, weeping, saying that she would go "human" if she were +left (and among the Green People that is a terrible word, and a yet more +terrible thing[1]). So in the end the Little Green Man let her come. + +[Footnote 1: It is as we say "fey."] + +Then she wanted to go direct to the cave, but her husband, who had had a +lot of experience, showed her how impossible and foolish that was. For +the Gray Dwarf would just lie down behind a big bowlder and wait for +them. Then he would stun them with a log or strangle them with his long +twisty fingers as they went by. + +So instead they went all the way round by John Knox's Pulpit and the +Folds Firs, that they might turn the flank of the enemy, and so come at +his cave by a way he would never expect. It was a narrow cleft between +two rocks up which they had to come--the Little Green Man and his woman. +They crawled and crawled, noiseless as earth-worms on a plowed field. +All the while the eyes of the Little Green Man shot out small sparkles +of fire, though the lids of them were closed so that they showed like +slits in a drying plaster wall. + +After a long climb they looked over a ridge of many bowlders and much +heather--the Little Green Man and his woman close behind him. And at the +sight they saw there the wife would have screamed out and run forward. +For she was a real woman, you see, though little and green. Only her +husband was prepared for her, knowing, after so many years, exactly what +she would do. So he first put the palm of his hand across her mouth to +keep in the scream, and next gave her the pouch of arrow-heads to hold. +Then with a pair of tweezers made of bent wood he lifted the little +poisoned flakelets of flint and dropped each into a split in the +arrow-head. Then his wife deftly bound each of them about with green +cord--for that was _her_ part of the business. She forgot about +screaming when she had anything to do. + +Then the Little Green Man peered cautiously from behind a rock, first +giving his wife a good push with his foot as a warning--but, of course, +you know, kindly. + +He found himself looking down into a dell surrounded by many high +granite rocks, which made access difficult to the Grisly Cave. The Dwarf +was busy about the great black iron pot in which he was getting ready to +boil Little Rooty. The Green Man saw his boy stripped of his suit of +velvet, and trussed up neck and knee ready for cooking, while every time +the Ugly Gray Dwarf approached he gave him a kick in passing to make him +more tender, grinning and whetting a carving-knife all the time on a +monster "steel" that hung by his side. + +So you may believe that in a moment the Green Man had his bow strung +taut, and his heart beat as the dull glitter of the arrow-point, from +which the green stuff was still dripping, came into line with the hairy +throat of the wicked Dwarf. + +"_CLIP!_" + +That was the smacking sound of the bow-string going back to the +straight. + +"_IZZ--IK!_" + +That was the sound of the little elf arrow, dropping green juice from +its willow-leaf-shaped head, every drop of which was death. + +The "_IK!_" was when the elf shaft struck the Gray Dwarf and the point +broke off in his throat. He said nothing for a moment, but the knife +that was in his hand to cut up Little Rooty with clattered on the +stones, while he himself fell with a "squelch" like a big heap of wet +clothes thrown down on the laundry floor on washing-day morning. + +Then they cut Little Rooty's bonds, and took him home on his father's +back, his mother carrying the bow and the precious bag of arrow-heads. +But instead of the sound beating his father had promised him, they gave +Rooty (and all the other children) corn-cake and bramble jam, nut paste, +raspberry short-bread, and heather honey made into toffee. They danced +on the tree-tops all the night long, and illuminated all the windows of +the Bogle Thorn with glow-worms--who, in consideration of the +circumstances, gave their services _gratis_. As for the Gray Dwarf, they +never bothered any more about him, and I dare say if you care to go up +by the Grisly Cave at the end of Deep Dooms Wood on the right, as you +turn to the Falls of Drumbledowndreary, you may find his bones unto +this day. + + * * * * * + +The end of the story of the Little Green Man, as Father told it for +Fifteen Years, anyway. + + + + +XVIII + +THE BEAD CURTAIN + + +Hugh John set about his task of seeing Elizabeth Fortinbras in his own +way. He chose his own time--a pleasant blowy afternoon when in all the +vale of Edam there was nothing much doing. A sleepy place, Edam, on such +a day--the morning calm, the forenoon disturbed only by a rattling red +farm cart or two come in to bring meal and take back guano, then the +afternoon drowned in the Lethe of a Scottish village in full +summer-time. Hugh John looked in at the shop to inquire about the wasps. +They had bothered Elizabeth a good deal at first, but Hugh John had +devised traps with great ingenuity, though little success, before he +thought of a hanging curtain of blue and green beads in the doorway +which his father had brought back from Spain. It had lain in the garret +ever since, and Hugh John simply appropriated it for the use of +Elizabeth Fortinbras. + +But Butcher Donnan, returning to a waspless shop, was brought up +standing on the threshold--his mouth agape, his eyes stocky in his head, +and his hand mutely demanding explanations from "Mary-and-the-Saints." + +I think in her heart Elizabeth Fortinbras was a little afraid. Not only +had no such article ever been seen in Edam, but it was out of the power +of Edam and the Edamites to conceive such a thing as a door made of +large blue and green beads, which they had to lift up and let down +behind them, with the clashing of castanets before a play-acting booth. + +Happily Hugh John was there, sitting calmly in the back kitchen watching +Mrs. Donnan making currant short-bread. + +"Hugh John!" Elizabeth Fortinbras called out, with, it must be owned, a +little trouble in her voice. + +"Certainly; come in, Mr. Donnan!" said Hugh John courteously, running to +hold the trickling, clicking curtain aside for the ex-butcher to pass. +"A little curious till you get used to it, don't you think, Mr. Donnan? +But it will stir Edam. It will draw custom, and--what I put it up +for--keep out the wasps and bluebottles! Oh, yes, my father brought it +from Spain. It is quite an ordinary thing there. Indeed, I got the idea +from him." + +"But," said Butcher Donnan, slowly recovering his speech, "I must see +your father about the price of it to-morrow--if I am to keep it." + +"My father--sell _that_?" said Hugh John, coldly surprised. "He would as +soon eat it!" + +"But I can't take it from you, young master. It may be a valuable +article." + +"Take it--who asked you to take it?" demanded Hugh John. "I gave it to +Elizabeth Fortinbras myself as a present on the occasion of her +adoption, and if you want her as a permanence, I am afraid you must take +the bead curtain along with her!" + +"What, she has consented?" cried Butcher Donnan, forgetting everything. + +But Mrs. Donnan, who was listening, put the short-bread into the oven +quickly, and came out. She had begun to learn the tones of Hugh John's +voice. She understood at once. + +"My daughter!" she cried, and, opening wide her arms, kissed her. +Butcher Donnan paused a moment, uncertain, and then, nudging his wife: +"I ought to, I know," he said, "but just you do it for me--the first +time." So Mrs. Donnan kissed Elizabeth again, and the Butcher wiped his +mouth with the back of his hand, as if he had just had something good to +drink. Then they looked about for Hugh John to make him share in the +family joy, but that young gentleman, guessing ahead something of their +intention, had disappeared with his usual thoroughness and absence of +fuss. Some recognition from Elizabeth, privately bestowed, he was in no +way averse to, the time being dusky and the place far from the haunts of +men. But at mid-afternoon, opposite the railway station, and behind a +green and blue bead curtain to which Edam had not yet awakened--on the +whole, it is small wonder that Hugh John decided upon the better part of +valor. + +Safe in his cave on the hillside, he wiped his heated brow and +congratulated himself on his escape. Perhaps he would not have rejoiced +quite so much had he known that Sir Toady, entering at that moment in +quest of gratuitous toffee scrapings, found himself at once heir to all +the affection which was really his brother's due. Sir Toady accepted +such things as they came in his way, much as a cat drinks from stray +cream-jugs, but without giving particular thanks for them. His motto, +slightly changed from the rhyming proverb, was ever-- + + "He that will not when he can, + He's not at all my sort of man!" + + + + +XIX + +THE DISCONTENT OF MRS. NIPPER DONNAN + + +When Mr. Robert Fortinbras heard of his daughter's determination, he +declared that he renounced her for ever. But after thinking the matter +over, and especially on being reminded by Hugh John that one day she +would become heiress of no mean part of the Donnan wealth, he consented +to a limited forgiveness, on condition that in the meantime she should +do something for her father and mother. But her sister Matilda openly +revolted, saying that _she_ always knew Elizabeth meant to shove the +housework off on her, and that she did not care if not a dish was ever +washed in that house again. Elizabeth reminded her that, far from idling +at New Erin Villa, she was on foot from morning till night. Also that +nine times out of ten when she came home she found Matilda asleep on the +sofa, with a penny novelette flung on the floor beside her. There was a +feeling of strain for a moment, but Elizabeth presented her sister with +a striped blouse and half-a-dozen stand-up collars, which promptly +brought forth the declaration, "Oh, Elizabeth, you mustn't mind what I +_say_. It is only mother's nagging that does it, but I do love you!" +Which may or may not have had to do with the striped blouse and the +half-dozen collars. On the whole, there was a certain feeling of +satisfaction in the house of Mr. Robert Fortinbras that Elizabeth was so +well provided for, and that in a day of trouble she might even assist +the brilliant adventurer with some of the gold of that unimaginative +citizen, Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan. + +But Miss Elizabeth Fortinbras, though the best daughter in the +world--with only one exception that I know of personally--had no idea of +encouraging the busy idleness of her father, or the foolishness of the +rest of the family. She had found a business that suited her, and she +would in nowise interest herself less in it now that she was, so to +speak, the present partner and future heiress in the concern. + +There was but one person discontented, Mrs. Nipper Donnan. She was +jealous of the white-curtained cottage, the trim garden, which began to +blossom where she had hung out her clothes. Chiefly, however, she hated +Elizabeth Fortinbras and "that Hugh John Picton Smith," who, strangely +enough, was her abhorrence--though it was not his habit to ignore any +one, but only to pass on his way with a grave bow. + +Hugh John was an uncomfortable person to quarrel with. His great bodily +strength and long practice in the art of boxing rendered him a man of +peace whose very presence made for reconciliation. In the neighborhood +of Edam he was President Roosevelt's "moral policeman with a big stick." +Even at home he held over the head of an offender a baton of honor and +"the right thing to do." + +At school, it is to be feared that his discipline was sterner. There he +argued but seldom. He was the centurion who said, "Do this!" and the +other fellow did it. But then, it was a good thing to do, and the head +master generally considered him as his best ally. + +He was father's constant companion on his walks, and to hear them debate +in that precious half-hour in the dining-room after dinner was to escape +suddenly from the smallness of the world about, and find oneself on the +high Alps of thought where the sun shone early and late, where the +winds blew clean and cold, and thought was free exceedingly. Neither +counted anything as to be accepted merely because they had been told it +upon authority. They searched and compared, the man and the boy, Hugh +John's finely analytic mind steadied and gripped by the elder +experience. Their talk was not the talk of father and son, but rather of +two seekers--Hugh John declaiming high, direct, often fierce, while +through the smoke of a contemplative cigarette father went on smiling +gently, now waving a hand in gentle deprecation, dropping a word of +moderation here, qualifying a statement there--the son holding strictly +for law and justice, of the firmest and most inexorable, the father +dropping counsels of mercy and that understanding which is the +forgiveness of God, being, as always, a Tolerant of the Tolerants. + +I know that those who have read the two books called after Sir Toady +Lion may fail a little to recognize my elder brother. But nevertheless +this is the same who in his time wept because as a little child with a +wooden sword he had been saluted by the Scots Grays, the same also who +fought the "smoutchies"; and if I have said nothing about a certain +notable Cissy Carter, it is only because, though I know, in the +meantime I have promised not to tell. + +It will easily be understood that with such an adversary Mrs. Nipper +Donnan, ex-kitchen-maid at Erin Villa, stood little chance. Hugh John +listened patiently and gravely, his head slightly bent in the pensive +and contemplative way which was then his principal charm. He heard that +he had interfered where he had no business, that Mrs. Nipper Donnan knew +that he had always hated her husband, that, while as good as engaged to +Colonel Carter's daughter, he was walking the lanes with Elizabeth +Fortinbras--yes, and plotting and planning to get a fortune for her--a +fortune which would make beggars of her husband and herself, and strip +an only son of his inheritance. + +To the angry woman Hugh John made no reply. He only kept silence, with +that gentle irony which is his present manner with those who grow +quarrelsome--that is, if they are not of his own sex and (approximately) +age. + +He only called Nipper--and by a series of questions ascertained from him +that he knew how Hugh John had been the means of obtaining better terms +for him than he had ever hoped for, since his marriage had so offended +his father. Hugh John Picton Smith could speak no lie. He, Nipper +Donnan, would uphold this against all comers. Even in the days of the +smoutchies and the prison vault at the old Castle in the Edam Water he +had known it. Even his very enemies had known it, and had taken Hugh +John's word before the sworn oath of any one of themselves. He would +take it now, and as to his wife, if she said another word--out of the +shop she should go! She did go, slamming the door behind her. Nipper +stepped across and shot a bar with a jarring sound heard all over the +house. Then from behind the counter he thrust forth a hand, hard and +massive, towards Hugh John, who took it in his strong grip. They looked +at each other in the face, eye to eye. There was a slight shrug of +Nipper's shoulders and a toss of his head in the direction of the barred +door, which said that a man could not be responsible for his womankind, +but as for themselves, had they not fought far too often and too fairly +ever to go behind backs to do each other an injury? + + + + +XX + +TREACHERY! + + +To-day Hugh John let me see a letter which he had received from Cissy +Carter in Paris. As no one will see my diary, and also because there is +nothing very private in the letter, I have jotted down as much as I can +remember in my locked book. It was written from number twenty of the +Avenue d'Argenson, and the date was the day before yesterday. It began +without any greetings (as was their custom). + + "HUGH JOHN--People have written to me about you and Elizabeth + Fortinbras--not nice people like you, me, and the Rat" (this + was their unkind and meaningless name for--me, Miss Priscilla + Picton Smith). "I don't much care what any one writes, of + course. For I know that if ever you change your mind, you will + do as you said, and send back _your_ half of the crooked + sixpence. You need not put in a word along with it. Only just + send the half of the sixpence by the registered letter post, + and I shall understand. I promise to do the same by + you.--CISSY." + +Now it must long have been clear that my brother Hugh John is as +careless about his own concerns as he is careful for other people. He +naturally took Cissy at her word, and having a conscience quite void of +reproach with regard to Elizabeth Fortinbras or any other, very +naturally thought no more about the matter. + +But he should have been cautious how he disposed of the letter--in the +fire, for choice. Only, you see, that was not Hugh John's way. He stuck +it in his pocket-book, and pulled it out with his handkerchief just in +time for Mrs. Nipper Donnan, on her way home with her groceries, to find +it. In the little skin-covered book (which had once been "imitation +shark"), wrapped in a piece of tissue-paper, was also the half of a +crooked sixpence. + +Next morning but two, in far-away Paris, in front of a tall plastered +house with big barren windows, Miss Cecilia Carter, walking to and fro +with two of her companions, had an odd-looking, ill-addressed packet put +into her hand. She opened it with a little glow of expectation--and +there in her hand lay the other half of the crooked sixpence! + +Cissy Carter did not faint. She did not cry out. There is no record, +even, that she went pale. At any rate the school registers bear out the +fact that a quarter of an hour after she took her lesson in "theory" +from the music-master, Herr Rohrs. She only felt that something had +broken within her--something not to be mended or ever set right, +something she could not even have the relief of speaking about as the +French girls did, rhapsodizing eternally about the officers who rode +past the gate, slacking the speed of their horses a little that they +might stare up the avenue along which the young girls walked +two-and-two, also on the look-out for them. + +She had told Hugh John often just what had happened. She had cast it in +his face, when the pretty spite of her temper got the better of her, +that, some day or other, it would come to this. But in her heart of +hearts she had never really thought so for a moment. + +Hugh John untrue! Oh, no! _That_ was impossible! It did not enter into +the scheme of things. + +Yes, certainly, twice, in a fit of "the pet," she had sent hers back to +Hugh John. But this was different--oh, so different! How different, only +those who knew Hugh John could understand. When _he_ did such a thing, +he meant something by it. Hugh John had no silly flashes of temper--like +a girl--like her, Cissy Carter. + +So she thought to herself as she went about her work, the rodent which +we children call the "Sorrow Rat" gnawing all day at her heart, the +noise of the class-rooms, ordinarily so deafening, dull and distant in +her ear. + +All over! Yes, it was all over. Hugh John had wished it so, and from +that, she well knew, there was no appeal! And there was (I know it well) +one sad little heart the more in that great city of Paris, where (if one +must believe the books) there are too many already. + +But Cissy did not take offense, and I had my weekly letter as usual. +Perhaps it was a little more staid, a little less "newsy," and her +interest in Herr Rohrs not quite so profound. But really I put all that +down to the cold and headache of which Cissy complained in a +postscript--and, not even there, was there a hint as to the other half +of the crooked sixpence! Which is a record for one woman--girl, I +mean--writing to another. + +Hugh John was anything but sentimental, and it was not his habit to take +out the relic wrapped in the tissue-paper oftener than the rearrangement +of his scanty finances compelled. He would just give his pocket a slap, +and if he felt a lump--why, he thought no more about the matter. He was +preparing for college, and, knowing no reason why he should be uneasy, +he had immersed himself in his books. He had not the smallest idea that +the sharkskin purse, empty, lay in Mrs. Nipper Donnan's drawer, or that +the two pieces of the crooked sixpence were wrapped together in the same +tissue-paper in far-away Paris. + + + + +XXI + +ADA WINTER AND "YOUNG MRS. WINTER" + + +While these things were pending, I went one day to the north side of +Edam Water to call upon Ada Winter. I had known Ada at school--not in +the same class or term, of course, but just because we came from the +same place we nodded, if we were not in too great a hurry, when we +crossed each other in the playground. + +It was not much, but I have noticed that you get more fond of school +after you have left it a while. Before, it was "the beastly hole," +"Treadmill House," and other pretty little innocent names. Immediately +after leaving school, however, it became "the dear old place," a little +walled Paradise; and we used to go regularly to the station to see the +girls who were still there going off "with smiling faces veiling sad +hearts," as Hugh John said--and, of course, as I know now, wishing us +all at Jericho. + +At any rate I called upon Ada Winter, and among other things we talked +about the choir practice at our church, and I asked Ada why she did not +go. You see, she had been with me in the school choir, where, as in most +choirs, they put the pretty girls in front. (No, I shan't tell where I +sat, not I!) + +"Why," said Ada, with an inflection which would have been bitter but for +its sadness, "why I can't go to choir practice is not because I have +lost my voice, as mother tells everybody. But because mother wants to go +herself! Some one has got to stay at home." + +"But Mrs. Winter--but your mother," I began, "she does not----" + +"I know--I know--you need not repeat it," cried Ada, feeling for her +handkerchief in a quick, nervous way she always had. "Mother cannot sing +a note, and every one there makes fun of the way she dresses! Oh, don't +I know!" + +And she dabbed at her eyes, while I tried to think of something to +say--something that obstinately kept away. I wanted to comfort her, you +see, but you have no idea till you have tried how difficult it is to +comfort (or even to answer) a girl who talks about her mother like that. + +Of course I knew very well that it was all true. Mrs. Winter's youthful +toilettes and girlish airs were the talk of the "visiting" good wives of +Edam--and very respectable and noticing women these were, even beyond +the average of a Scottish "neighborhood"--half village, half town--which +is, they say, the highest in the world. + +The men thought Mrs. Winter merely "nice looking." A few found her even +"nice," and mentioned the fact at home! (Poor ignorant wretches, they +deserved what they got!) Was it not evident to every woman (with eyes) +in the congregation that Mrs. Winter was obviously, and with malice +aforethought, setting her cap at the Reverend Cosmo Huntly, the +newly-elected minister of the parish kirk in Edam? + +No matter! I had been brought up in the ancient way, and (at least +knowingly) I had not forsaken it. + +I thought of the "Honor thy father and thy mother," and during the rest +of my visit the words lay uncomfortably in the background of my mind. + +But for the moment old comradeship prevailed. Even a queer little +shamefaced tenderness somehow came over me. + +"Poor Ada," I said, "it _is_ a shame. You never get anywhere! We have +all the fun, and you have to stop on here in this pokey place!" + +"Oh, no," said Ada, dry-eyed, "you forget. There are the hens. When any +one calls, mother sends me out to the back to feed the hens!" + +We were speaking quietly on the doorstep of a quiet old house in the +little main street. The lobby was dusky behind, and the settled smell of +ancient furniture, perfectly kept for generations, came through the open +door to mingle with the sharp sting of tar, and boats, and the sea which +breathed up from the tidal river as through a funnel. + +As we stood together silent for a moment, both a little moved and +strange, even with one another, we heard a quick, decided tread. And +round the corner came Ada's mother, "Young Mrs. Winter" as she was +called, to distinguish her from Ada's grandmother, "Old Mrs. Winter," +who lived in the little cottage by the Ryecroft Bridge at the other end +of the town. + +"Come, Ada," said her mother, "take Prissy in if you want to speak to +her. I thought I had told you how much I dislike your standing gossiping +on doorsteps like servant maids." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Winter," I said very quietly. "I must go home. Father +will want me to pour out his tea." + +And Ada Winter did not press me to stay, but only shut the door, with a +glance at me, and a sigh as her mother rustled up-stairs to "change for +the evening." + + + + +XXII + +AN EVENING CALL + + +Now of course it is true that the people of Edam gossip about Young Mrs. +Winter. But, to make things quite equal all round, Young Mrs. Winter can +give any one of them points at their own game! And she has her own way +of doing it too. She is never nasty about it, never spiteful. She looks +far too plump for that. She is rather like those people in the Bible who +make broad their phylacteries, and thank God in their prayers that they +are not as other men are. It says "men" in the text (I looked it up), +but I think it must have been women who were really meant. For, about +Edam at least, it is mostly _they_ who give thanks that they are not as +other women are! + +Well, at any rate, Young Mrs. Winter was that kind of gossip--oh, far +too good-natured ever to say an ill word about any one! But, on the +other hand, always "so very sorry" for the people she did not like that +she left everybody with the impression that she was in possession of the +darkest and deadliest secrets concerning them. Only she was _so_ good +and _so_ kind that she only sympathized with these naughty people, +instead of (as no doubt she could) putting them altogether outside the +pale of society. She did this most often at afternoon teas. Then her +sighs could be heard all over the room. They quenched conversation. They +aroused curiosity, and in five minutes half tea-sipping Edam knew to how +much original sin Miss So-and-so had recently added so many new and +unedited actual transgressions. But for the unfortunate impression thus +unwittingly given of course poor Young Mrs. Winter was by no means +responsible. Indeed, she gently sighed as she went away. "It is _such_ a +pity!" she said feelingly, as her hostess accompanied her to the door. + +Mrs. Winter the Younger dealt at Nipper Donnan's--both on account of the +superior quality of the meat, and, still more, because there she +encountered a kindred spirit--no, not the Reverend Cosmo Huntly, but +Mrs. Nipper Donnan herself. It was not long before Young Mrs. Winter +knew all about the abominable devices of Elizabeth Fortinbras, the +terrible loss to the legitimate heir, Nipper, brought about by the +cunning of a certain Hugh John, the weakness (if no worse) of the elder +Donnans--in fact, all, and a great deal more, than Mrs. Nipper knew +herself! + +One evening, going into the shop during Nipper's absence on his +"cattle-buying business" among the farms, Young Mrs. Winter found still +younger Mrs. Donnan in a state of great excitement. She had just been +wrapping up a parcel, and was aching for a confidant. + +No, of course Young Mrs. Winter would never, never betray a secret. Was +she not known and noted for that one thing? Had she not suffered +grievously and been much spoken against for that very fault, if fault, +indeed, it were? Mrs. Nipper might ask all Edam. + +There was not, of course, time for that, because Mrs. Nipper was so keen +on the track of a confidant. + +It had to come out. The dam burst suddenly. There was now no means of +holding it back. Meg Linwood's private sense of injustice was increased +a thousandfold by the purring sympathy of Young Mrs. Winter. + +No, indeed, she would not sit down under it. She was not now a "slavey" +to be treated like that. She had had quite enough! And so on and so on. +Young Mrs. Winter incautiously suggested an appeal to Mrs. Nipper's +husband, and so very nearly cut off the whole book of the revelation in +mid-gush. + +"Oh, no!" cried Mrs. Nipper, "above all things Nipper must know nothing +about it! _He_ would not understand!" + +Young Mrs. Winter threw up her hands with a little gesture of despair, +as much as to say, "I do not quite see, in that case, what is to be done +in the matter!" + +Then came the dread secret. + +"I have paid them off myself. But oh--it is a great secret! Nipper would +never forgive me--he thinks so much of that Hugh John Picton Smith!" + +"Tell me all about it," purred Young Mrs. Winter. "You know I never +speak again of things which have been told me in confidence!" + +And, indeed, there was more of truth in the statement than the lady +herself was aware of. For there were but few people in Edam so foolish +as to tell Young Mrs. Winter even what their chickens had had for +dinner! + +"Oh, they shall not mock at me any more," said Mrs. Nipper, half crying +with anger, half trembling at her own temerity. + +The Meg Linwood of the back kitchen had not got over her former +wholesome dread of correction. And in her secret heart she always feared +(and perhaps also a little hoped) that one day Nipper, put out of +patience by her tricks, would snatch up a stick and give her the same +sort of moral lesson by which the late Mr. Linwood had recalled his +family to a sense of their duty. "They shall not mock at me--yes, I know +they do--because I was once a servant." (How little she knew either Hugh +John or Elizabeth, if the accusation were made seriously!) "But I have +shown them that they cannot tamper with me!" + +"But how--tell me how you did it?" said Young Mrs. Winter, sinking her +voice to a whisper. + +"I found a letter," said Meg in a solemn whisper, and putting her mouth +close to the ear of her listener, "yes, a letter--from that Carter girl +in Paris to Hugh John Picton Smith." + +"Never!" cried Young Mrs. Winter, clasping her hands together in a kind +of ecstasy. Then, fearing she had gone too far, she said, "I should like +to see it, but I suppose you sent it back immediately." + +"I did nothing of the kind," Meg Linwood giggled. "I would not be so +soft, though I have only been a servant--a common slavey, washing pans +in the scullery, while my lady, all dressed up fine, sold candy in the +front shop, and talked to _that Hugh John_!" + +Thus innocently did poor Meg Linwood lay bare to the experienced eyes of +Young Mrs. Winter the secret springs of her jealousy. + +"It _is_ a shame," murmured that lady sympathetically but vaguely. + +And so, with a little persuasion, Meg Linwood told the whole story of +the twin halves of the crooked sixpence as related in the letter found +in the sharkskin purse. + +Young Mrs. Winter felt that perhaps never had virtue been more its own +reward. She was in sole possession of a secret that would assuredly set +all Edam by the ears. + +Presently she made her excuses to Mrs. Nipper Donnan, all simmering with +sympathy till she was round the corner. And then she actually picked up +her skirts and ran. + +She had so many calls to make, so much to tell, and so little time to do +it in. No wonder that Young Mrs. Winter was almost crushed by the weight +of her own responsibilities. Suppose that she were to fall sick, or get +run over, dying untimely "with all her music in her," as the poet says. + +Unfortunately nothing of the kind occurred. The people she called on +were at home. Nay, more, they had friends. These friends, as soon as +they had heard, jostled each other in the lobbies. Nay, so great was +their haste to be gone that they made the rudest snatches at each +other's umbrellas! + +Thus quickly was the tale of the crooked sixpence spread about in Edam. +You see, the Davenant Carters were the greatest people in the parish, +all the more so for not living in the town. And as for Hugh John, he +also, though less known, was a citizen of no mean city. + + * * * * * + +I think it must have been about eight o'clock of a summer night--it was +after dinner, anyway--when a ring came to the door bell, and Cairns +went in the dining-room where Hugh John was rearranging the universe +with father while he smoked. I was at the organ looking over some music, +and trying over little bits very, very softly. Because at that time it +is not allowed to interrupt the talk. + +"A young lady on a bicycle to speak to Mr. Hugh John!" said Cairns. + +Luckily I had turned a little on the music-stool, so I did not lose a +faintest detail of what followed. I saw the single mischievous dimple +come and go at the corner of father's cheek, but, as is his silent way, +he only flicked the ash off his cigarette with his little finger, and +said nothing. + +"Will you excuse me for a moment, father?" said Hugh John, always master +of himself, and consequently, nine times out of ten, of the other person +as well. Father nodded gravely, and Hugh John went out. + +I would have given all I possessed--not usually much at most--to have +accompanied my brother. But a look from father checked me. As you can +see from his books, it is not so very long since he was young himself. +Though, of course, he seems fearfully old to us, I know he does not feel +that way himself. + +So perforce I had to wait patiently, turning over that dreary music till +somebody came into the room, and then I was released. I knew it was +Elizabeth Fortinbras who was outside, but for all that I did not even go +to the door to see. + +After what seemed a very long while Hugh John came in. He was looking +rather pale. + +"Can I go to the Edam Post Office?" he asked. "I shall not be long." + +But though he asked politely, he was gone almost before permission could +be given. + +He told me all about it when he came back. I had been at the window, and +had seen Hugh John and Elizabeth Fortinbras ride off together. For any +one who saw them there was but one thing to think. They looked so +handsome that any other explanation seemed inadmissible. Only we at home +knew different. + +"Sis," he said, when at last we got out to the gun-room, which father +uses occasionally for smoking in, "there never was a girl like Elizabeth +Fortinbras!" + +At this I whistled softly--a habit for which I am always being checked, +and as often forgetting. + +"_And what about Cissy Carter?_" I asked. + +He looked at me once with a kind of "If-you-have-any-shame-in-thee, +girl, prepare-to-shed-it-now" manner, before which I quailed. Then he +told me how Elizabeth had ridden out to tell him of the treachery of Meg +Linwood. Together they had made out an urgency telegram, had found the +post-master, and had dispatched it to Paris that very night. + +It said: "_Half silver token lost. If sent you by mischievous persons, +please return immediately to its owner, Hugh John Picton Smith._" + +"And that, I think, covers the case--she will understand!" said +Elizabeth Fortinbras. + +But low in her own heart, as she rode up the long steep street to New +Erin Villa, she added the rider, "That is, if she is not a goose!" + + + + +XXIII + +HONOR THY DAUGHTER! + + +But, alas! Cissy Carter _was_ a goose! In the well-meant telegram she +saw only a new machination of the enemy--perhaps even of Elizabeth +Fortinbras. And the heart in the Boulevard d'Argenson became, for the +moment, sadder than ever. Also Madame asked for an explanation in a tone +to which the proud little daughter of Colonel Davenant Carter had been +quite unaccustomed. She resented Madame Rolly's interference rather more +sharply than wisely. Whereupon she was told that her father would be +requested to remove her, if, on the morrow, she was not ready with an +explanation, in addition to the apology which Madame, perhaps correctly, +considered her due. + +Now it chanced that Colonel Carter, finding himself with a week-end to +spare in London, had crossed the Channel to give himself the treat (and +his daughter the surprise) of dropping in upon her unexpectedly. He +could not have come more to the purpose so far as that daughter was +concerned. Or more malapropos from the point of view of Madame Rolly. + +As many people know, the good Colonel, once the devoted slave of Sir +Toady Lion, was occasionally exceedingly peppery. And when he arrived +with his pockets bulging with good things, only to find "his little +girl" in tears--and, indeed, brought hastily down from the room in which +she had been locked--his military ardor exploded. + +"If, Madame," he is reported to have said, "I am to understand +that you cannot keep discipline without having resort to methods +more suitable to a boy of eight than to a young lady of eighteen, +it is time that I undertook the responsibility myself! Cecilia, go +up to your room. I will settle with Madame. And by the time that +is done--the--ah--baggage-cart will be at the door--as sure +as my name is G-rrrrrumph--G-rrrumph--G-rrrummph!" + +And, indeed, the "baggage-cart" (in the shape of a small omnibus) was at +the door. Although really, you know, the Colonel's name was not as he +himself affirmed. + +"And now, Missy," growled the Colonel in his finest +Full-Bench-of-Justices manner, "kindly tell me what you have been +doing!" + +For, very characteristically, the Colonel, though entirely declining to +listen to a word of accusation against his daughter from Madame Rolly, +reserved to himself the right of distributing an even-handed justice +afterwards. His method on such occasions is just the reverse of +father's, as we have all learned to our cost. Our father would have +listened gravely to all that Madame had to recount of our misdeeds. Then +he would have nodded, remarked, "You did perfectly right, Madame! In +anything that you may propose, I will support you--so long, that is, as +I judge it best that my child shall remain at your school!" For father's +first principle in all such matters is, "Support authority--receive or +make no complaints--and, above all, work out your own salvation, my +young friend!" + +And though it sometimes looks a bit hard at the time, as Hugh John says, +"It prepares a fellow for taking his own part in the world, as you soon +find you have jolly well to do if you mean to get on." + +But Cissy knew her father, and promptly set herself to cry as +heartbrokenly as she could manage on such short notice. Colonel +Davenant Carter gazed at her a moment with a haughty and defiant +expression. But as Toady Lion had once said of him, "I teached him to +come the High Horsicle wif ME!" So now, as the rickety omnibus jogged +and swayed over the Parisian cobbles, Cissy wept ever more bitterly, +till the old soldier had to entreat her to stop. They would, so it +appeared, soon be at his hotel. Even now they were passing his club, and +"that old gossiping beast, Repton Reeves," was at the window. If it got +about that he, Colonel Davenant Carter, had been seen driving down the +Rue de Rivoli with a damsel drowned in floods of tears--why, by all the +bugles of Balaclava, he would never hear the end of it. He might as well +resign at the club. All which, as Cissy sobbed out in the French +language, was "exceedingly equal" to her! But it was very far indeed +from being "égal" to the peppery Colonel. And at last, as the sobs +increased in carry and volume, he was reduced to the ignominious +expedient of personal bribery. + +"Look here, Cissy," he said in tremulous tones, "we absolutely _can't_ +go into the courtyard of the Grand Hotel like this! Now, if you will be +a good girl, and will stop this instant, I will drive you up the Rue de +la Paix, and there I will buy----!" + +"_What?_" said Cissy, looking up with eyes that still brimmed ready for +action. + +"A gold bracelet!" said her father tentatively, but still quite +uncertain of his effect. + +"Boohoo!" said Cissy Carter, dropping her face once more between her +hands. + +"Goodness gracious," cried the Colonel, invoking his favorite divinity, +"what can the girl want? A gold watch, then?" + +"Real gold this time, then!" said Cissy, who had been "had" once before, +and, even with an aching heart, was properly cautious. + +"You shall do the choosing yourself!" said her father, thinking that he +had conquered. But Cissy knew her opportunity--and the relative whom +fate had given her. The tears welled again. Her bosom was shaken by +timely sobs. + +"Well, what then, Celia--really, this becomes past bearing! Why, we are +nearly at the hotel!" + +Cissy glanced up quickly. "A gold bracelet _with_ a gold watch, then!" +she sighed gently. + +And this is the truth, and the whole truth, as to why Colonel Davenant +Carter gave his arm to a radiant and beautiful daughter in the courtyard +of the Grand Hotel--a daughter, also, who lifted up a prettily-gloved +hand (twelve buttons), and at every fourth step _looked at the time_! + + + + +XXIV + +CISSY'S MEANNESS + + +Miss Cecilia Davenant Carter had been at home a good many weeks before +she came to see me. Of course Hugh John was now at college, and +doubtless that made a difference. But she had never stayed away so long +before, and whatever reason Cissy might have to be angry with Master +Hugh John, she had not the least right to take it out on ME! + +However, she came at last--chiefly, I think, to show me the gold watch +on her wrist. This she wanted so badly to do that it must have hurt her +dreadfully to stay away as long as she did. So she sat fingering it, but +not running to ask me to admire it, as a girl naturally does. Of course +I took no notice, though it made me feel mean. We talked about the woods +and the autumn tints (schoolgirls always like these two words--they +remind them that it is the season for blackberries and jam), till at +last I was thoroughly ashamed of myself. So I went over to Cissy, and +said, "I think that's the prettiest bracelet I ever saw in all my life!" + +And she said, "Do you?" looking up at me funnily. "Do you really?" she +repeated the words, looking straight at me. + +"Yes, I do indeed!" I answered. And--what do you think?--the next moment +she was crying on my shoulder! Of course I understood. Every girl will, +without needing to be told. And as for men (and "Old Cats"), it is no +use attempting to explain to them. They never could know just how we two +felt. + +But Cissy had really nothing in the least "catty" about her. "Quite the +reverse, I assure _you_!" as the East Country folk say. She even took it +off and let me try it on without ever warning me to be careful with it. +And that, you know, is a good deal for a girl who is "not friends" with +your own brother, and has only had a new "real-gold" watch-bracelet for +three or four weeks. + +But then, Cissy could never be calm and restful like Elizabeth +Fortinbras. Cissy did everything in a rush, and so, I suppose, got +somehow closer to the heart of our impassive Hugh John just on that +account. Elizabeth Fortinbras was too like my brother to touch him +"where he lived," as Sir Toady would say. + +Well, after a while Cissy stopped crying, and took my handkerchief +without a word and quite as a matter of course (which showed as clearly +as anything how things stood between us). + +Then she said, "Priss, do you know, I did an awfully mean thing, and I +want you to help me to make it all right again!" + +In a book, of course (a proper book, I mean), I ought to have asked Ciss +all sorts of questions, and said that in everything which did not affect +the honor of the house of Picton Smith I was at her service. And so on. + +But of course ordinary girls don't talk like that now-a-days. If you +have what our sweet Maid calls a "snarl" against anybody--why, mostly +every one plays hockey now, and it is the simplest thing in the world to +"take a drive at her shins, and say how sorry you are afterwards"! So at +least (the Maid informs me) some girls, who shall be nameless, have been +known to do at her school. + +I waited for Cissy to tell me of the dreadfully mean thing she had done. +But of course I assured her first that, whatever it was--yes, +_whatever_--I should do just what she wanted done to help her. For I +knew she would do the same for me. + +Then she told me that in her first anger about the telegram--for she had +been far more angry about that than about the sending back the other +half of the crooked sixpence--a thing which really mattered a thousand +times more (but of course that was exactly like a girl!)--she had put +the telegram, and both parts of the crooked sixpence, and all of Hugh +John's letters she could find--chiefly the short and simple annals of a +Rugby "forward"--in a lozenge-box--and (here Cissy dropped her voice) +_sent them all, registered, to Elizabeth Fortinbras_! + + + + +XXV + +"NOT EVEN HUGH JOHN!" + + +"To Elizabeth--Elizabeth Fortinbras!" I cried. Here was a new +difficulty. If only people would not do things in a hurry, as Hugh John +says, they would mostly end by not doing them at all! + +"What sort of a girl is this Elizabeth Fortinbras?" Cissy Carter asked. +"She is only a shop-girl after all, isn't she?" + +I set Cissy right on this head. There were shop-girls _and_ shop-girls. +And this one not only came of a respectable ancestry, but had been well +educated, was the heiress of Erin Villa, and would succeed to one of the +best businesses in Edam! + +"Is she pretty?" + +Oh, of course I had foreseen the question. It was quite inevitable, and +there was but one thing to say-- + +"Come to the shop and see for yourself!" + +But Cissy hung back. You see, she had done a perfectly mad thing, +and yet was not quite ready to make it up with the person +concerned--especially when Cissy was Colonel Davenant Carter's only +daughter just home from Paris, and when, in spite of my explanations, +Elizabeth was little more to her than a "girl behind a counter"! + +You may be sure that I put her duty before her--yes, plainly and with +point. But Cissy had in her all the pride of the Davenant Carters, and +go she would not, till I told her plump and plain that she was afraid! + +My, how that made her jump! She turned a little pale, rose quietly, +adjusted her hat at the mirror, took off her watch-bracelet and gave it +to me to keep for her. + +"I will go and see this Elizabeth Fortinbras now--and alone!" she said, +with that nice quiet dignity which became her so well. I would greatly +have liked to have gone along with her. But, first of all, she had not +asked me, and, secondly, I knew that I had better not. + +Cissy Carter had to see Elizabeth alone. Only they could arrange +matters. Still, of course, both of them told me all about it afterwards, +and it is from these two narratives that the following short account is +written out. + +Elizabeth was in the front shop, busy as a bee among the sweet things, +white-aproned, and wearing dainty white armlets of linen which came from +the wrist to above the elbow. Then these two looked at each other as +only girls do--or perhaps more exactly, attractive young women of about +the same age. Boys are different--they behave just like strange dogs on +being introduced, sulky and ready to snarl. A young man seems to be +wondering how such a contemptible fellow as that other fellow could +possibly have gained admittance to a respectable house. Only experienced +women can manage the business properly, putting just the proper amount +of cordiality into the bow and handshake. Grown men--most of them, that +is--allow their natural feeling of boredom to appear too obviously. + +At any rate Cissy and Elizabeth took in each other at a glance, far more +searching and exhaustive as to "points" than ever any man's could be. +Then they bowed to each other very coldly. + +"Will you come this way?" said Elizabeth, instantly discerning that +Cissy had not come to New Erin Villa as a customer. Accordingly she led +the way into the little sitting-room, all in pale creamy _cretonne_ with +old-fashioned roses scattered upon it, which her own taste and the full +purse of Ex-Butcher Donnan had provided for her. + +"Be good enough to take a seat," said Elizabeth Fortinbras. But she +herself remained standing. + +Now you never can tell by which end a girl--or a woman, for that +matter--will tackle anything. All that you can be sure of is that it +will not be the obvious and natural one--the one nearest her hand. So +Cissy, instead of coming right out with her confession and having done +with it, began by asking Elizabeth if she knew a Mr. Hugh John Picton +Smith. + +"He is my friend!" said Elizabeth, very quiet and grave, standing with +one hand in the pocket of her apron and the other hanging easily by her +side. + +"And nothing more?" said Cissy, looking up at her very straight. + +"I must first know by what right you ask me that question!" said +Elizabeth. And then, her lips quivering (I know exactly how) a long +minute between pride and pitifulness, Cissy did the best thing in the +world she could have done to soften Elizabeth Fortinbras. She struggled +an instant with herself. Her pride gave way exactly as it had with me, +and she began to sob quietly and continuously. + +Elizabeth took one step towards her. Presently her cool, strong arms +were about Cissy's neck, who struggled a second or two like a captive +bird, and then the next Elizabeth was soothing her like an elder sister. + +"Yes, dear, I know--I know! You did a foolish thing. But then it was to +me. I understood! I understand! It does not matter! No one else need +know!" + +Then, in a voice quiet as the falling of summer rain among the misty +isles of the West, Elizabeth added, "_Not even Hugh John!_" + + + + +XXVI + +HAUNTS REVISITED + + +I think we were all a bit unstrung after this. It was a good many weeks +before Cissy could bring herself to speak about Elizabeth Fortinbras, +and then it was in a rush, as, indeed, she did everything. It was one +afternoon, over at Young Mrs. Winter's. Mrs. Christopher Camsteary (who +always was as superior as a pussy-cat with a new blue ribbon about her +neck, all because her husband kept three gardeners, one of whom blacked +the Camsteary boots) happened to remark that there was "a rather +ladylike girl" in those butcher-people's sweet-shop opposite the +station. + +"She _is_ a lady!" said Cissy Carter, lifting up her proud little chin +with an air of finality. + +And, indeed, there was, in Edam at least, no discussing with Miss +Davenant Carter on such a matter. Mrs. Christopher Camsteary, whose +husband, greatly to his credit, had made a large fortune in +cattle-feeding oilcake ("in the wholesale, of course, you know, my +dear!"), could not, even if she had wished, contradict the daughter of +ten generations of Davenant Carters as to who was a lady and who not! So +it was settled that, whenever Cissy Carter was in the room, Elizabeth +Fortinbras was a lady. Which must have been a great comfort to her! + +Well, the following summer-time when the good days came--perhaps because +everybody, including even Hugh John, was a little tired and +"edgy"--father took us all off to his own country. + +I was the one who had seen the most of it before, as you may see if ever +you have read the book called _Sweetheart Travelers_ that father wrote +about our gypsyings and goings-on. Of course (all our family say "of +course"--and it all fills up first-rate when the man comes to count the +pages up for printing)--well, of course I had forgotten a good deal +about it, only I read over the book on the sly, and so was posted for +everything as it came along. + +This time we did not go on "The-Old-Homestead-on-Wheels," as we called +the historic tricycle, but in the nicest and biggest of all wagonettes, +with two lovely horses driven by a friend of ours with a cleverness +which did one's heart good to see. His name was "Jim." We called him so +from the first, and he was dreadfully nice to all of us, because he had +been at school with father. This made us think for a good while that it +was because of his superior goodness and cleverness there that so many +people were glad to remember that they had been at school with father. +Jim, when we asked him, said that it was so, but Hugh John immediately +smelt a rat. So he asked another and yet older friend of father's, named +Massa--because, I think, he sang negro melodies so beautifully. (Who +would have thought that they sang "coon" songs so long ago?--but I +suppose it was really just a kind of "boot-room music," or the sort of +thing they play on board trip-steamers, when the trombone is away taking +up a collection, and everybody is moving to the other side of the deck!) +Well, Massa came along with us and Jim one lovely Saturday to see the +place where my great-grandmother had kept sheep "on the bonny banks of +the Cluden" a full hundred years ago. + +Somehow I always liked that. It means more to a girl than even father's +misdeeds, the hearing about which amuses the boys so. + +However, it really was about those that I began. So, reluctantly, I must +leave the little hundred-year-old girl keeping her sheep on the green +holms of Cluden, and tell about father and his wonderful influence. +Massa said that we were not to tell on him, and of course we promised. +This is not _telling_, but only writing all about it down in my +Diary--quite a different thing. Well, Massa said that when "Mac" and he +had "done anything," they used to climb up different trees as quickly as +they could, and then, when father came after them (he was not our father +then, of course, but only Roman Dictator and Tyrant of Syracuse), he +could only get one of them. For while he was climbing the tree occupied +by one, the other could drop out of the branches and cut and run. It was +a good way, especially for Number Two, who got away--not quite so fine, +though, for Number One, who was caught. Whenever a new boy visited the +town and the Dictator was seen coming along, they ran the stranger up a +tree and introduced him from there, as it were, lest, by mistake, a +worse thing should befall him! Really it is difficult to believe all +this, even when Massa swears it. Because father, if you let his pet +books alone and don't make too big a row outside the _châlet_ when he is +working, hardly minds at all what you do. We don't really recognize him +in the Roaring Lion, going about seeking whom he might devour, of Mr. +Massa's legends. + +So Sir Toady, in the interests of public information, asked Mr. Massa if +the boys of that time were not pretty bad. And Mr. Massa said that they +were, but that "they were not a patch on your----" He stopped just at +the word "your," for father was coming round the corner. And, do you +know, I don't believe he has quite lost his influence with Mr. Massa +even now. It is a fine thing, Hugh John says, to be such a power for +good among your fellows. He had that sort of power himself at school, +and he managed to keep it, even though fellows ever so much bigger came +while he was there. + +Well, no matter; what I keep really in my heart, or maybe like an amulet +about my neck, is the memory of the little hundred-year-old girl (that +is, she _would_ be if she were alive now) tending sheep and twining +daisy-chains on the meadows by the Water of Cluden, with the Kirk of +Iron-gray glinting through the trees, and Helen Walker (which is to say +Jeanie Deans) calling in the cows to be milked at the farm across the +burn. + +Now I don't know how _you_ feel, but the story of this great-grandmother +of mine always seems sort of kind and warm and sacred to me, a mixture +of the stillness of an old-fashioned Sabbath and the first awakening +hush when you remember that it is your birthday--a sort of religious +fairyland, if you know what I mean--like "playing house" (oh, such a +long time ago!) with Puck and Ariel and the Queen of the Fairies, while +several of the very nicest people out of the Bible stories sat in the +shade and watched--perhaps Ruth and, of course, her mother-in-law, and +David when he was very young, and kept sheep also. He would certainly +come to see our play--his shepherd's crook in his hand, and his eye +occasionally taking a survey of great-grandmother's flocks and herds to +see that there were no lions or bears about! + +Yes, I know it's fearfully silly. Of course it is. But, all the same, I +have oftener put myself happily to sleep thinking about that, and with +the music of the Cluden Water low in my ear, than with all the wisdom +that ever I learned at school! So there! + +Of course you mustn't suppose that at the time I said a word of all this +even to the Maid, much less to the others. Though I do think that +father, who knows a lot of things without being told, partly guessed +what I was thinking of. For once when we had all got down to gather +flowers, he led me down to the water's edge, and, pointing across the +clear purl of the stream to the opposite bank (where is a little green +level, with, in the midst, a still greener Fairy Ring), he took my hand +and, standing behind me, pointed with it. "It was there!" he whispered. + +He did not say a word more. But that was enough. I understood, and he +knew that I understood. It was like the old days when we made our +travels together, he and I, with the Things of the Wide World running +back past us, all beautiful and all sweet as dreaming of plucking +flowers in the kindly shade of woods. + +Soon after this, on our journey through father's country, we came to a +little village--the cleanest and dearest that ever was seen. It was the +one after which father had called one of his early books of +verse--"Dulce Cor." Here we were very happy, for there was a lovely old +Abbey, roofless, of course, but all blooming like one great rose when +the sun shone on it at evening and morning. The colors of the stones +were so rich with age and mellowing that from the little walk on the +other side of the valley it seemed as if the whole had been dipped for a +thousand years in a bath of sunset clouds, and then left out among the +cornstooks to dry! Even more beautiful and kindly was a certain nice +Doctor--only he wasn't the sort that come to see you when you are ill, +to tap you on the back and write prescriptions. He took me to see the +Abbey, and told me about the Last of all the Abbots, who was so kind +that the people would not let him be sent away, but kept him always +hidden here and there among them. And about how he died at long and +last, "much respected and deeply regretted," as the papers say, even by +those who did not go to his church--which, indeed, very few in these +parts did. + +And though it was, of course, foolish, and I would never have said it to +the Doctor himself for worlds, I could not help thinking that this Last +of all the Abbots (Gilbert Brown, I think his name was) must have been a +good deal like this friend of mine, with his beautiful silvery head, and +maybe the same gentle break in his voice when he gave out such a text as +"I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." + +We went through the cornfields very early next morning, father and I. It +was Sunday, at dawn or a little after. The dew was still on all the +little fairy cobwebs, but the sun had been before us in getting out of +bed, and now was busy as he could be, drinking up the dew. We had to +cross the churchyard under the big eastern side of the Abbey, all +drowned in level sunshine, yellow as primrose-beds. We crossed a stile, +and there, pacing slowly, his hands behind his back, saffron cornstooks +on his one side and five centuries of well-peopled holy ground on the +other, was the minister. He did not see us--lost in high thoughts, his +lips moving with the unspoken prayer. + +"Come away," whispered father, hurrying me along. "He speaks with his +Master! A stranger intermeddleth not therewith!" + +Then I did not know very well what he meant, nor did I ask. Only the +two of us slipped down where, beyond the cornfields, a little road, all +fern-grown, saunters half hidden; and where, a bit farther on, there is +a bridge and a burn in which, in the daytime, children play and women +wash their linen. But this morning all was still and quiet--as father +said, "with the Peace of Jubilee, when all the land had rest!" I like to +hear things like that--things I only half understand, but can think over +afterwards. They make me feel all nice and thrilly, like after a +shower-bath--only it is a mind-bath, and not a body-bath! Perhaps a +soul-bath, if I knew what that was. + +We came back another way by a higher path, and through a lane of tall +old trees. When we got to our inn, the door was closed just as we had +left it, and not a soul astir. We had seen no one at all that Sabbath +morn except the silver-haired minister, his hands behind his +back--perhaps, as the Psalm says, looking to the hills from which cometh +his aid. Going up-stairs, I opened my grandmother's Bible at the +metrical Psalms, and the first words that met my eyes were these: "In +Salem is his tabernacle--in Sion is his seat!" Now I will confess again +that I always like texts and poems out of which I can take my own +meaning, without being bothered with notes and explanations. And so I +thought how that morning I had surely gone out by Salem His Tabernacle +and come back by Sion His Holy Seat! + + + + +XXVII + +SIR TOADY RELAPSES + + +Ever such a lot of children whom I don't know have written to me to say +how glad they were that I made father take me with him on his cycle such +splendid long journeys. Because, you see, _their_ fathers read the book, +and had a little seat fitted for them! On the other hand, I suppose +parents write and abuse my father for putting such ideas into their +little girls' heads. In fact, I know they do. Here is a true story. One +irate old fellow wrote to say that "Sir Toady" was quite unfit to +associate with clean and properly brought up children! And he put down +the references, too, where Toadums had misbehaved, like you find them on +the margin of a Bible! How he had sat down in the dusty road at page +some-number-or-other, where he had omitted to blow his nose, how he had +fought, and thrown mud, and generally broken every law laid down for the +good conduct of little boys in the olden times--just exactly what Sir +Toady used to do! As if father was responsible for all that! Well, he +_was_, in the old gentleman's opinion. For he ended with: "If only your +little rascal of a hero were _my_ son, sir----!" + +This amused my brother Toadums for quite a long time, and one day he +sneaked the letter, and wrote himself to the old gentleman to say how +that he had reformed, and now always went about with two +pocket-handkerchiefs; also how, at school, he had founded the "Admiral +Benbow Toilet Club," to which the annual subscription was five +shillings. + +Further, he expressed a willingness to propose the old gentleman's name +at the next meeting, and in the meantime he suggested sending on the +money! Yes--and would you believe it?--he actually got the five +shillings, along with a very nice letter from the old gentleman, couched +in a sort of Better-Late-than-Never strain. So Toady Lion, who can be +honest when he tries very hard, wrote and asked the old chap whether he +would prefer to have the brilliantine supplied by the club in bottle, or +like paint in a squeezable tube. But the old gentleman replied that, +being completely bald, Sir Toady had better consider himself as a new +returned prodigal, and use the five shillings "to kill the fatted +calf"! So we killed him, and the noise we made on the top of Low-Hill +was spread abroad over three counties. A "gamey" came to tell us that we +were trespassing. But we feasted him on the old man's five shillings, +while Hugh John explained that there was no such thing as trespass, and +Sir Toady, getting hold of the keeper's double-barrel, practiced on +bowlders till he nearly slew a stray pointer dog! Then, after braying +ourselves hoarse, we had fights, rebellions, revolutions, cabals, which +always ended in pushing each other into pitfalls and peat-bogs. We +tripped in knotted heather as we chased downhill, skirmishing and +yelling. Even Hugh John forgot himself, and all returned home, sated +with the slaughter of the old gentleman's fatted calf, tired to death, +not a shout left in any of us, but, as it were, stained with mud and +crime! + +Ordinarily now Sir Toady has grown too old for the "sins and faults of +youth" already set down against him. But sometimes he relapses--and then +he has it bad. He does not say "roo" for "you" any more, but sometimes +the house is afflicted for days with an exhibition of what Hugh John +calls "Royal Naval Manners." Usually this occurs at table when father +is absent, because Toady has a quite real respect for the Fifth +Commandment, a respect gained at an early age, and ever since retained. +But on this journey there were a good many opportunities. You see, we +did not go to bed at the usual time. We got up when we liked, and I +often had to say the prayers for the entire family. Because the boys +shirked most shamefully, and the Maid was so sleepy with driving in the +open air all day that she often would be found sound asleep on her knees +when not carefully looked after. + +"The spirit was willing, though the flesh was weak!" said our good old +Doctor of the parish of "Dulce Cor." "I wish all my own prayers had as +good a chance of being heard as this little sleeping child's!" After +this Toady Lion declared that he would always say his prayers in the +same way--_asleep_! + +Well, of course you could not imagine--nobody could--the new and +peculiar wickedness devised by Sir Toady. It was simply _bound_ to be a +success. Besides which, it was perfectly safe; after what Mr. Massa had +told up at the Communion Stones of Iron-gray, The Powers-That-Be could +not say a word. Oh, the beautiful thing it is to have a friend of your +youth with a good memory, and, above all, communicative and frank with +your own children! Oh, I know that there are people who will say, with +some outside show of reason, "Well, just be perfectly good when you are +young, and then you don't need to fear the frankest of your intimate +friends!" + +This, of course, is rank nonsense, and nothing but! For that kind of +very immaculate young person does not make the best sort of father or +mother when the time comes. They don't know anything. They are not up to +things, and get "taken the loan of," as the boys say in that rude but +expressive speech of theirs. But it is not accounted healthy to "monkey" +with ours, who generally can tell beforehand when you are going to do a +thing, and after it is done (if you get the chance) will tell you--what +very likely you didn't know before--_why_ you did it. If, in spite of +all, you get into scrapes, The Powers-That-Be usually sympathize. But +(and this is the awkward part) they remember the remedy that proved +effectual in former and more personal cases. That remedy is applied, +and, generally speaking, the same result follows. With this experience +we shall all make excellent heads of families, and shall hire ourselves +out--if we do not happen to have any of our own! Only, we are glad that +we came into the world too early to be part of Hugh John's family. His +methods are altogether too Spartan. And we tell him that the plain +English for the name of his favorite hero, Brutus (the one who cut his +children's heads off), was just simply Brute! + +To return to Sir Toady, we were at the time at the little seaside +village of the Scaur. Mark Hill is behind it, and Rough Island in front. +Nothing could possibly be more delightful. At every low tide, for two or +three hours we could walk on a long pebbly trail which led seaward, the +wash of the tides coming from two directions round the pleasant green +shoulders of the Isle, epauletted with purple heather, and buttoned down +the front with white sheep. What dainty coves! What pleasing, +friendly-featured lambs with shiny black noses and goggle eyes! How tame +the very gulls had become from never being shot at! There never was such +a place as Rough Island for us, or, indeed, any children. Away to the +right you could see Isle Rathan, certainly more famous in romance. But +to go there you had to get kind Captain Cassidy to take you in his +boat. And generally it ended (because the Captain is a busy man) in your +staying with his wife, and seeing--and being the better for seeing--how +the threatening of blindness at once sweetens and strengthens the life +of a delicate woman. But to Rough Island we could go by ourselves, so be +that we returned with the first flowing of the tide. There is a certain +Black Skerry to the south which, when covered, announces to all +concerned that haste of the hastiest kind had better be made. Of course +we called it Signal Rock. But one fine September forenoon, when the +light was mellow and gracious even on the rough slopes of the Island of +our choice, Sir Toady set us all (that is, all the children) searching +in sheltered coves and little pebbly bays for "leg-o'-mutton" +shells--just, he said, what father used to do. It was the bottom of the +"neaps," when the water does not go very far out--which, of course, +every shore child would have known by instinct. But we were landward +bred, and such distinctions as to the ebbing and flowing of salt water +were too fine for us! But Sir Toady had had converse with the +instructed. He had profited thereby. And so no one will be surprised +that, by dint of keeping our backs to the Signal Rock, our noses +pointing down, and our eyes well employed in the search for +"legs-o'-mutton," we did not discover the treachery of Sir Toady till +the Rock was covered, and there was no hope of return! None, that is, +for most of us. But Sir Toady, already singing his song of triumph, had +reckoned without his Hugh John! + +That austere stickler for "The Proper-Thing-To-Do-You-Know" made one +dash for the rapidly covering causeway, over which the tawny Solway +water was already lapping and curling in little oozy whorls, like a very +soap-suddy pot coming to the boil. He had only time to shout, "You, Sis, +stay where you are! Take care of the Maid. I will make it all right with +The-Folk-Over-There!" + +And at first Toady Lion had laughed, thinking that for once the +immaculate Hugh John would be caught along with the rest of us. He did +not laugh, however, at all when he saw his elder brother take his watch +out of his pocket and place it in his cap. He shouted out, "It's all +right, Hugh John; Mr. Massa told me at Iron-gray that he and father +often did it--spent ''Tween-Tides' on the Island. He will know all +about it. Come back, you fool, you'll be drowned!" + +But our Old Ironsides only shouted back over his shoulder that father +and Mr. Massa had not passed their words to be in for lunch, and that +_he_ had! + +"If the People are anxious Over-Yonder, they can come and fetch us off +in a boat. We can say that we forgot!" + +But by this time Hugh John had made his first dash into the wimpling +line of creamy chocolate, like a steamer's wake, which marked the +causeway to the land. His last will and testimony came to us in the +command to "Stay where we were!" And in the final far-heard rider that, +"when he got him," he would quicken Sir Toady's uncertain memory by one +of the most complete fraternal "hidings" on record. + +All the same, as we watched him plod along, the tides sweeping in from +both sides upon him, and the struggle swaying him now to one side and +now to the other in the effort to keep his feet, Sir Toady burst into a +kind of roar (which he now says is a "way they have in the Navy" for +long-distance signaling, but which sounded to us very much like a +howl). "Come back, Hugh John," he cried, "and I'll take the best +'whaling' you can give me _now_!" + +But out in the brown pother the struggle went on. Hugh John never so +much as turned his head. We stood white and gasping, all pretty close +together, I can tell you. And once when we saw him swept from his feet +and only recovered his balance with an effort--though my heart was in my +throat, I said out loud to comfort the others, "Well, anyway, he has +taken the school medal for swimming. He has it on him now!" + +Then Sir Toady turned on me a face of scorn and anger. He pointed to the +gush and swirl of the currents of Solway over the bank of pebbles. "Swim +in that!" he cried, "no, he can't! No, nor nobody can. I tell you one of +the best swimmers in Scotland was drowned over there in Balcary, within +sight of his own house, and a man in a boat within stonethrow!" + +But for all that, Toady himself pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and +made him ready to go to the rescue (oh, how vainly!). So that in the +long run the Maid and I had to hold him down on the beach, half weeping, +half desperate, calling on Hugh John, his Hugh John, to come back and +slay him upon the spot. As if he was _his_ Hugh John, any more than +anybody else's Hugh John--and the two of them fighting like cat and dog +nine-tenths of the time! But at times, when his elder brother is in +danger or ill, Sir Toady is like that. Janet Sheepshanks speaks yet +about his face when he came back from Crusoeing-it with Dinky and Saucy +Easedale--all drawn and haggard and white it was. Well, it was like that +now. I declare, he turned and struck at us every time that Hugh John +stumbled, or looked like being carried away. + +"See here, Sis," he gasped, "you let a fellow go, or I'll kill you. I +will, mind--if anything happens to My Hugh John--I'll kill you for +holding me back like this." + +But at this very moment we began to see the lank figure of Hugh John +rising higher out of the swirling scum. Presently he scrambled out on +the steep beach of pebbles, all dripping. Then he gave himself a shake +like a retriever dog, shook his fist at the distant Sir Toady, now +sparsely equipped in fluttering linen: "Wait till I get you, you young +beast! Just you wait!" + +That was what he was saying as plain as print. But Sir Toady, completely +reassured, only heaved a long sigh, murmuring, "That's all right!" And +went on calmly putting on his clothes, and laughing at the Maid and me +for having been frightened. He actually had the cheek to ask us what we +had been crying about! + + + + +XXVIII + +TWICE-TRAVELED PATHS + + +Then we went to Kirkcudbright, where there is an old castle, very dirty, +but where we stayed in the loveliest old inn. It was so "comfy" and +home-like at the "Selkirk" that it seemed as if the hostelry had +wandered out into the country one fine day and--forgot the way to come +back again! We liked it so much because it was kept by a nice jolly man, +whose mother had been good to father once when he was ill, and who made +the nicest cakes. We were in clover there, I can tell you. Specially +because "Mac" (the painter whom, when I was very little, I once named +"The Little Brown Bear") came for walks with us, and made us laugh at +dinner till we youngsters nearly got sent from the table. Yet it wasn't +a bit our fault. He told us a lot of things, and I could see father +listening with all his ears, and not even checking Sir Toady when he +stole the sugar, though he saw him. I was sure that something would +come out of that. You see, I know father's ways. And so it comes about +that I don't need to write any of the funny things that we heard that +night, or the nights that followed. You have only to read them in the +chapters of _Little Esson_, the part all about Ladas II, and the trip in +the caravan. I think that father ought really to have sent some of the +money he got to "The Little Brown Bear"--but I don't believe he ever +did. + +"Mac owes me more than that!" he said, when I asked him about it. "I +brought him up by hand!" + +I presume he meant the way Hugh John, my brother, brings up Sir +Toady--though that is with both hands, sometimes feet too. + +There was one Sunday that I remember very well; at Newton Stewart it +was. There had been (or was going to be) a kind of circus in the town. +Or maybe they were only resting, as even circus folk must do sometimes. + +Anyway I looked out at the window in the early morning, and if I had +seen a ghost I could not have been more surprised. And so would you--for +there, calmly grazing on the field just under my window, as quietly as +if it had been a cow, was a huge elephant! I did not see any circus +vans, nor the tents, nor anything--save and except this great Indian +elephant in the middle of the green field! You may imagine I thought +that I was still dreaming. I watched it pad-padding softly about, taking +the greatest pleasure in rolling like a donkey when the harness is taken +off. It also rubbed the big soft spreads of its feet on the softer +grass. I suppose its poor soles were sore with traveling over our hard +cycling roads, and now it was keeping Sunday after its kind, doing its +best to obey the commandment. And, as father says, what more can any of +us do than be fully persuaded in our own minds? One thing I noticed +which astonished me, and I think it will most people. The big beast must +have weighed a ton, I should think, at the least. And yet, as it went +here and there over the field of nice Galloway grass, it walked so +softly that the grass "rose elastic from its airy tread." Yes, it +actually did. Even Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself could hardly have found a +footmark in a quarter of an hour. Why, even the Maid, not to speak of +myself, could not get so lightly over the ground as that. We watched the +elephant all that day, whenever we could, that is--and thought of him in +church, though the minister was a nice man, nice-looking too, and did +not preach too long. It was, of course, frightfully wicked of us. +Because it was in one of the old "Kirks of the Martyrs" that the service +was held. But when the minister came to see us in the evening, we showed +him the elephant still grazing away, wig-wagging its long trunk like a +supple pendulum, and switching away quite imaginary flies with its tiny +tail! The minister was such a very good sort that we thought we ought to +own up why we had been restless in church. (He might have seen us, you +know.) So I said we were ashamed that we had not attended better to his +sermon. And do you know what he answered back, after seeing the elephant +take a double donkey roll, with its great sausagey legs in the air? "I'm +glad," he said, "that I did not see the elephant do that _before_ +sermon. For if I had, I don't believe that I could have preached!" + +"A pretty nice sort of a minister, that!" said Hugh John afterwards. + +"I should go to his church myself," cried Toady Lion, and then, checking +himself suddenly under the gaze of Hugh John, he added, "I mean, when I +had to!" + +There--that is quite enough to put in my Diary about a circus elephant, +though I will admit that it was about the very queerest thing that ever +happened to me in all my life--I mean the most unexpected, of course, +for when explained it was all perfectly simple. + +But I must get on with my Diary of this Galloway journey, and the +"Sweethearty" things we saw there. Dear me, I had meant to tell about +Gatehouse too (which happened before Newton Stewart, only I forgot). +There was a nice minister there too, who went about without his hat, and +smoked, and called out nice things across the street to Tom and Dick and +Harry. Altogether we were fortunate in the ministers we met all through +the trip. And I think the children of Gatehouse must have benefited too, +owing to the nice bareheaded minister. For certainly they are not nearly +so rude and pesterful as I remember them when father and I stopped +there--oh, how many years ago? Ten, at least, or maybe more. Then they +rang the bell of the tricycle and said horrid things when father was in +the baker's shop. They made me so angry--I can remember it yet--I said I +would tell father. I nearly cried. But this time there was no one who +was not quite nice to us--except, Oh, yes, one person who wouldn't let +us any rooms. But that did not matter. Indeed, it was a blessing. For we +went farther down the street till we came to a delightful hotel or inn +or something, where Miss Blackett, who kept it, was just as good to us +as she could be, and gave us nice things to eat on the sly. Also the +"Little Brown Bear" came again, and told us more stories in the +evenings. Then, at ten or eleven at night, he got on his cycle and +wheeled away into the dark. It was so nice and romantic that I wished I +could have gone too. It is splendid in the summer to wheel on and on +through the archway of the green and sleeping woods. It is best when you +are sure of the policemen, and can ride without a light, which does no +good, but makes everything dark as pitch, and as uninteresting as the +Queensferry Road. + +Then I saw the two boys at Creetown who once on a time were brought in +from playing on the street, and tidied up so that they might be ready to +kiss me. They both howled at the thought. For which I don't in the least +blame them. But all the same they had high collars on, and I don't think +that they would have minded nearly as much now. + +This, of course, came before the elephant, but then, you see, if things +don't go into my Dear Diary just when I think of them, the probability +is that they won't go at all. + +One long lovesome day, that I won't forget in a hurry, we spent driving +through Borgue--sunny, sweet, hawthorny Borgue, where the clover is, and +the green honey made by the bees that have never so much as sniffed a +heather bloom. It is not Galloway, of course. It has not the qualities +of Galloway, I mean. But there is something about it that makes the +heart grow fonder the longer one stays there--a kind of green "den" such +as the bairns have when playing at "soldiers-and-outlaws" in the wood--a +sheltered sanctuary, a Peace on Earth among men of good-will. At least +all we saw were that sort, and I hope the others were, just as much. +Here, I know, Hugh John would shrug his shoulders. But that does not +matter. + +We did not linger in Borgue, however, which, with its still and pensive +beauty, was like a kirk-yard on Sunday morning. Indeed, there are many +of these along the shores--hidden nooks with tombstones, and beneath +wave-washed bights of clean sand. For assuredly it was not the right +Galloway. Rather it was like a bit of Devonshire that had floated away +and got joined on here, wooded and wind-swept, a carpet of flowers all +the summer long, one great bee-swarm booming all over it, from Kirk +Andrews, which is its Dan, to the Tower of Plunton, which is its +Beersheba. At any rate there is nothing like Borgue anywhere else in +Scotland. Which its natives declare, perhaps with truth, is the same as +to say in the world! + +Well, we drove out of Newton Stewart past Palnure, turned sharply up the +hill road towards the Loch of the Lilies, past Clatteringshaws--where +not a shaw clattered, though in the wagonette there were many "she's" +who did--as a very clever lady, a friend of father's, once remarked when +her daughters proposed an excursion thither from Kenbank. "Deaved"[2] +with their tongues, she broke out at last with "Not Clatteringshaws, but +'Clatteringshe's'!" However, on this occasion not a dog barked. We +lunched in the midst of the solitude, and then father wandered away to +watch his dear hills through his glasses, while the rest of us washed +and cleaned up! + +[Footnote 2: Deafened] + +But the best of all days was that on the moors about the little house +where father was born. I had not been there for more than ten years, +and the ground was littered with memories. Father and I got off a little +south of the Raider's Bridge. We skirted the water meadows, and looked +back to the bulk of Bennan, still rugged and purple with heather, seeing +to the right of it Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, a double molehill of palest +blue paint. Then came the "Roman Camp," which, however, father told us +had been made by the "Levelers" in the early half of the eighteenth +century. But the other story of the farm bull which fell into the ditch, +was heard roaring for days, and, when found, had eaten every green thing +within reach of its hungry mouth--trees, leaves, branches and +all--pleased me most. + +Then there was the well where once I had drunk from father's palms, and +of which there is such a very pretty picture in _Sweetheart +Travelers_--a picture which always used to puzzle me dreadfully. For I +knew that there were only father and I there. Besides which, there was +not nearly light enough for Mr. Gordon Browne to "take" us, even +supposing that he had been hid behind the bushes! At any rate we had a +drink at the ancient spring, just for old sake's sake. Some kind person +had cleaned it out not long before, and the water in the shade of the +woods of the Duchrae Bank was as cool and sweet as ever. Then across the +cropped meadows, again ankle-deep in aftermath, to the old +stepping-stones! Father carried me on his back to the big central +bowlder, which perhaps has been brought down by some forgotten flood, +and at any rate had long served for the keystone of the arrangement in +stepping-stones--which, even in father's day (so he told me), had been +variously named "Davie's Ford," "Auld Miss," "Rab's," and "Elphie's," +according to the names of the various dwellers in the pretty cottage in +the wood above. + + + + +XXIX + +HOME-COMING + + +We brushed our way down through the meadows, and father went straight to +the place where the Grass of Parnassus had been growing when he was a +boy. It was growing there still--and thriving too. We called on a big +bumble-bee, of the kind that has its stinging end very blunt and red. It +was not at home, but the hole in the bank which it had occupied thirty +years ago was now let to a Rabbit family, the younger members of which +scuttled away at our approach, though without too much alarm. We could +see their tails bobbing among the ferns and undergrowth. And then we +came to the Stepping-Stones. It was ten years since I had seen them, and +then I was quite a little girl. But I remembered everything at once, +even to the small starry green plants that grew beneath the water, and +the sharp stones that get between your toes when you wade too far out. +The woods were as green and as solitary as ever--cool too, and all the +opposite ground elastic with pine-needles that were not nearly so +uncomfortable for the bare feet as you would suppose. We waded for quite +a long time, and then sat and ate our lunch on the big middle bowlder, +alternately dabbling our feet in the clear olive-green water and drying +them in the sunshine. Father told stories. No, I don't mean that he made +them up--only that, as is usual at such times, all sorts of funny +memories went and came in his head--all of the people about whom he told +them as completely passed away as the orange-trousered bee we had gone +so vainly out of our way to seek. + +Then we went to the little farmhouse up the loaning, where they took us +for ordinary tourists, and pointed out to us the sights. More than once +I glanced at father, but he had so grave a face that the kind and pretty +girl who showed us over evidently took him for a very severe critic of +his own books, an enemy of dialect in any form. So, ceasing her legends, +she offered us refreshments instead. After that we tramped away over the +"Craigs" and the heather by the very little path along which father used +to go his three-and-a-half miles along the lochside to school. I saw the +Truant's Bathing-Place, the Far-Away-Turn, the Silver Mine (where once +on a time father had found half-a-crown, and dreamed of it for years), +and the Bogle Thorn, now sadly worn away since the days of the "Little +Green Man." After that I kept on asking questions till we got to +Laurieston, when I stopped, not because I had finished, but because tea +was waiting for us. They called us names, and said that they had eaten +up all the good things. But father answered, laughing, that it was +written that man should not live by bread alone, and that what he had +seen that day ought to suffice any one. But really I did not see that it +made any difference to his appetite, and, for all they said, there were +plenty of nice things left for us. + +Then we came to Castle Douglas, and what I remember best is the big +courtyard of the hotel, the noise and rattle of horses' hoofs passing +through the narrow entry on to the street, the kind people who welcomed +us, and the home-like air of everything about the "Douglas Arms," which +I never have seen about an hotel before, though I had been in many. + +Our journey was done. So it was quite proper that things should begin to +look a bit home-like. We had quite a nice homecoming. Cissy Carter met +us at the station in a pretty dark-blue dress, smartly belted in at the +waist, but with some flour on her right shoulder. And when I asked her +what she had been doing to herself, she answered in a matter-of-course +tone, "Oh, only helping Elizabeth!" + +"What Elizabeth?" I had the strength to gasp. + +"Why, Elizabeth Fortinbras, of course," she answered, quite sharply for +her; "whom else?" And this proved to me that the world had not been +standing still in Edam while we were whirling through Father's Country +at the tails of Jim's spanking chestnuts! I asked how about the pride of +all the Davenant Carters, and if her father knew that his only daughter +was assisting in a sweet-shop. Cissy held up her rounded chin with a +pout that made me at least almost forget our noble family motto: "WE DO +NOT KISS AT STATIONS!" + +"I did not say that I was in the _shop_," said Cissy. "I am learning how +to make pastry rise till it is flake-light. And even you, Miss Priscilla +Picton Smith, could not do that without getting flour on your shoulder!" + + * * * * * + +Now I would quite well like to stop here, and, indeed, I could easily +do so. For a Diary, however dear, is not like any other book. When you +finish one year's doings, you just get another ruled book and start with +January First again. Only it is explained to me that I must not quite do +that. At any rate I must absolutely tell what became of my characters! +Now this is awfully funny. For, quite different from all the other +story-books I ever read--nothing at all happened to any of them. Cissy +is not married. No more is Elizabeth Fortinbras. No more, thank +goodness, am I. Hugh John can't be--not for a long time yet. As for +Toady Lion, he upholds the honor of his country (and of the Benbow +Dormitory) by not being sick on the stormiest seas--a thing which none +of the rest of the family would even attempt. + +But there is one thing that I must tell. It is just as well that I wrote +down all about Torres Vedras, and the woods, and everything. For--sad it +is to tell it--strange children dig and play there now. All our old +beloved names for places and things and people would soon have been lost +if they had not been written down in this book. We have set up a new +home on the other side of the Edam Valley, and in some ways it is nicer. +But in others it can never have the charm of the "Wampage," the +"Scrubbery," the Low Park where the three bridges are, the Feudal Tower, +and Picnicville, up among the Sentinel Pines! They make one's heart +warm--only just the names of them said low in the heart, but now never +spoken out loud by the tongue! + +Our new house is on a hill, and not in the howe of a valley. From the +front door (and almost from every window) we can see woods and fields, +and far-away cows that are no bigger than ants. Then on the hills beyond +are sheep that you cannot see at all without one of father's big +glasses, such as only the boys can use. Beyond those, again, there are +the mountains that run right away down into England in wave after purple +wave, each bending over a tiny bit as if it were real water just on the +point of breaking. Eastward and southward there are "Pens" and "Muirs" +and "Cairns" without number, and out of the window on clear mornings, as +I lie in bed, I can watch the tasseled larch and white-stemmed birch +sending scaling-parties up every ravine and watercourse, while the big +white clouds, hump-backed ones, sail majestically over all. + + + + +XXX + +SOME DISCLAIMERS + + +LETTER NO. 1. HUGH JOHN'S LETTER. + + DEAR MR. PUBLISHER--You won't remember me, though once I came + to your office with father to see you. You may recall the + circumstance, because it was the first day your son went to + college. I was quite a little chap then, and did not know what + it was to be the son of an author with the habit of making + people believe that he is writing about his own family, when + half the time he is just making up. Or, as like as not, it was + his own very self that did the things he blames on us. Anyway, + a fellow has to be pretty stiff on his pins and pretty handy + with his knuckles to be a good author's son in a big school. I + came through right-side-up, however, but sometimes it must come + hard on the little chaps. + + You see, the fellows want to know all the time if you really + said or did some fool thing or other that father has stuffed + into the books, and of which you are as innocent as Abel was of + the murder of Cain. (He was. It's all right--only sounds rum!) + + But of course a fellow does not go back on his father at + school. He can't afford to let anything like that pass. So of + course there's a row--sometimes bigger, sometimes shorter, + according to the length of time it takes the other fellow to + decide about crying, "Hold, enough!" as they do in plays. Or, + as we call it at school, "backing down." + + Well, I put my time through at school, and by and by the + fellows got to know--that is, after several little difficulties + had been adjusted. Not that I like having to fight. It is right + to be patient just as long as ever you can. And then, when you + can't--why, the best way and the quickest is to let her rip. + Finish it good, once and for all. As father says, "Keep the + peace, my boy! But if the other fellow won't, why, make him! + First have your quarrel just, and then remember to open with + your left!" + + Yes, of course, at school I back up what father has written, + every word. It is what I am there for, and I mean to do it. + That's playing the game. But what I did not bargain for was the + whole family chipping in, and making a kind of lop-sided, + ice-cream-freezer hero of a chap. Sis had no business with what + is _my_ business--about Cissy Carter, I mean. At any rate she + knows nothing about it really. Girls imagine all sorts of + nonsense, of course. You can't stop them imagining, and if you + think you can, why, you're a fool. That's all in the day's + work, and I am not whining. But with regard to anything or + person not "girlie-girl," I, Hugh John Picton Smith, give due + notice that the first chap who turns up to me anything that Sis + has imagined about Miss Cissy Carter, and especially about Miss + Elizabeth Fortinbras, is going to get a calm and peaceful + surprise--that may or may not confine him to his room for a day + or two, but which, in any case, will afford him matter for + reflection. + + Oh, I don't in the least want to queer Sis, or to say that she + has put down anything not quite true, as far as _she_ + understands it. It isn't that I did not _do_ these things. But + Sis being a girl, and the safety-valves of her + imagination-boiler shut tight, and "Full Steam Ahead" + ordered--why, I would rather have father on the job any day. He + at least only puts things down (or invents them). He does not + try to explain what's going on in a chap's inside. Besides, I + don't see that it is anybody's business--and after this, on the + whole, it had better not be. That "glacial reserve" (wasn't + it?) which Sis yarned about might break up, and somebody who + wasn't insured get hurt with the pieces. Please put this at the + end, Mr. Publisher, to prevent mistakes. And if ever I write a + book you shall publish it, and then at last the world will know + the right and the wrong of things. Excuse bad writing. Our + chaps played Smasherhampton on Saturday. It was pretty thick in + the second half. The Smashers got me down and rolled me about a + bit on the hardish ground. My arm is still in a sling, but it + will be all right for Saturday fortnight, when we play a return + on our own ground. _I_ am going to play a return match too, for + I know the fellow that did it. + + (Signed) HUGH JOHN PICTON SMITH. + + +LETTER NO. 2. FROM CADET GEORGE PERCIVAL PICTON SMITH, R. N., ROYAL +NAVAL COLL., DARTBOURNE. + + DEAR MR. PUBLISHER--You can print any ...[3] thing you like + about me--true or not, it does not matter. Only in the latter + case it will come a little dearer. I am called Toady Lion, and + I have stood this sort of thing ever since I can remember. + Though I must say father has been awfully decent about it, and + I got a Rudge-Whitworth "free-wheel" out of him two years + running on the strength of what you sent him. But there's no + hope of coming that with Sis, who is always "stony," anyway, + and won't believe what an awfully expensive place the Coll. is. + My "bike" is going to be awfully dangerous this year--that is, + if I don't get a new one somehow. It is only my second best, + and much too small for me. I might get killed, very likely, and + then you couldn't publish any more books about me! _I suppose + you don't feel as if you could_ ... No? That means "Yes," but + don't let on to father. For, you see, last summer, when I had + measles or something, I sold my best machine to a poor boy who + hadn't any. Just think of that--the cruelty of it! But as I + have never let my left hand know what my right hand does, I + don't want father to do so either. So you won't give me away. + + (Signed) G. P. PICTON SMITH, R. N. + + P. S.--I might get a pretty good one for a tenner, but if it + _could_ possibly run to fifteen, I know where I could pick up + an awfully swell "two-speed-gear" like what some of the masters + have at our Coll. But, dear Mr. Publisher, this is only a + suggestion.--T. Lion. + + P. S. No. 2.--If _you_ did see your way to the 2-Speed, I tell + you what--you could make up any old thing you liked about + me--such as that I killed my grand-aunt Jane, and hid the + remains in my Black Sea Chest. I've got one, honor bright. Only + no grand-aunt Jane. So the crime could never, never be + discovered; and I would never deny it a bit, but back you up + like fun. Of course it is understood between gentlemen that + this last is on the two-speed-basis, as above. + + T. LION, + Now Cadet G. P. Picton Smith, R. N. + (Postal Notes Preferred.) + +[Footnote 3: The word "blooming" is scored out here, as being too +nautical for present publication.--Ed.] + + +LETTER NO. 3. FROM MAID MARGARET. + + DEAR SIR--(I would put "Publisher," but am not sure whether it + is spelt with a B or a P--in the middle, I mean.) The boys want + me to join in their protest, but you will excuse me, dear Sir. + And the reason is that I sleep in the same room with the + authoress. If you have any little girls, they will understand. + + Yours Afftly, + MAID MARGARET. + + +Letter No. 4 Elizabeth Fortinbras's Letter. + + + DEAR SIR--There has been a good deal said about me in these + pages, perhaps more than I should have liked if the Editor had + given my real name. Of course Miss Sweetheart is far too loving + to set down anything untrue or unkind. Indeed, she has made me + out far better than I deserve, and has very kindly altered + relationships, so that nobody's feelings will be hurt. For they + will not know that it is they who are meant--I mean, not in my + own family. + + Now, the Editor tells me that all the people who read the book + will be anxious to know what became of me--if I married, and + whom! I should be very glad indeed to satisfy the curiosity of + these good folk. I know what it is myself to glance over to the + last page of a book and see "if it happened all right." + + But you see that I am still very happy at New Erin Villa, which + is no longer a "villa," but a proper shop, with a house at the + back big enough for us all to live happily in. We have a good + maid for the inside work, and I have added a special "icing" + department, where people can have their own home-made cakes + iced and fired. Besides, I give cookery lessons twice a week in + the evenings to all the mill-girls, and Polly Pretend comes + over to help me sometimes. Sweetheart, too, and Miss Davenant + Carter come when they can, and are a great encouragement. + + I don't mean to say, like most girls, that I never will get + married. Perhaps I may, but it will be a very long time yet. I + am quite content as things are, and, most important of all, I + have yet to see the man I would freely marry darken the doors + of Erin Villa! All I want to say is that Sweetheart has seen me + and my doings through the sunlight of her own loving eyes--just + as Hugh John and I have often looked at the long lines of + cornstooks in the last rays of a September sun, and thought how + much the common hills and holms and cornlands of Edam gained by + the warm glow which caressed them. But how much the more I, who + sign myself + + THE GIRL BEHIND THE COUNTER. + + +NO. 5. CERTIFICATE. + + This is to guarantee that the above letters are whole and exact + copies of the originals, without alteration, suppression, or + amendment. + + THE EDITOR. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sweethearts at Home, by S. R. Crockett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWEETHEARTS AT HOME *** + +***** This file should be named 34230-8.txt or 34230-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/2/3/34230/ + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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R. Crockett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sweethearts at Home + +Author: S. R. Crockett + +Release Date: November 7, 2010 [EBook #34230] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWEETHEARTS AT HOME *** + + + + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h1>SWEETHEARTS AT HOME</h1> + +<h2>BY S. R. CROCKETT</h2> + + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "SWEETHEART TRAVELLERS," ETC.</h3> + +<h3>ASSISTED BY SWEETHEART HERSELF, AND WITH ADDITIONS +AND CORRECTIONS BY HUGH JOHN, SIR TOADY +LION, MAID MARGARET, AND MISS +ELIZABETH FORTINBRAS</h3> + +<h3>NEW YORK<br /> +FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY<br /> +PUBLISHERS</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="front" id="front"></a> +<img src="images/front.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">When I Turned About—Why, it Nearly Took My Breath Away</span>"</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#THE_EDITORS_CHAPTERS">THE EDITOR'S CHAPTERS</a><br /> +<a href="#IA">I</a><br /> +<a href="#IIA">II</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#SWEETHEARTS_DIARY">SWEETHEART'S DIARY</a><br /> +<a href="#I">I. SWEETHEART OBJECTS</a><br /> +<a href="#II">II. PURPLE "THINKS"</a><br /> +<a href="#III">III. PRESENTS</a><br /> +<a href="#IV">IV. MISS POLLY PRETEND</a><br /> +<a href="#V">V. PRINCIPIA</a><br /> +<a href="#VI">VI. TORRES VEDRAS</a><br /> +<a href="#VII">VII. TORRES THE SECOND</a><br /> +<a href="#VIII">VIII. HUGH JOHN'S PEOPLE</a><br /> +<a href="#IX">IX. THE NEW SHOP</a><br /> +<a href="#X">X. NIPPER NEGLECTS HIS BUSINESS</a><br /> +<a href="#XI">XI. ELIZABETH</a><br /> +<a href="#XII">XII. FIGS AND FIG-LEAVES</a><br /> +<a href="#XIII">XIII. "UNTO US AS A DAUGHTER"</a><br /> +<a href="#XIV">XIV. THE HARVEST FAIR</a><br /> +<a href="#XV">XV. QUIET DAYS</a><br /> +<a href="#XVI">XVI. HUGH JOHN, AMBASSADOR PLENIPOTENTIARY</a><br /> +<a href="#XVII">XVII. THE LITTLE GREEN MAN</a><br /> +<a href="#XVIII">XVIII. THE BEAD CURTAIN</a><br /> +<a href="#XIX">XIX. THE DISCONTENT OF MRS. NIPPER DONNAN</a><br /> +<a href="#XX">XX. TREACHERY!</a><br /> +<a href="#XXI">XXI. ADA WINTER AND "YOUNG MRS. WINTER"</a><br /> +<a href="#XXII">XXII. AN EVENING CALL</a><br /> +<a href="#XXIII">XXIII. HONOR THY DAUGHTER!</a><br /> +<a href="#XXIV">XXIV. CISSY'S MEANNESS</a><br /> +<a href="#XXV">XXV. "NOT EVEN HUGH JOHN!"</a><br /> +<a href="#XXVI">XXVI. HAUNTS REVISITED</a><br /> +<a href="#XXVII">XXVII. SIR TOADY RELAPSES</a><br /> +<a href="#XXVIII">XXVIII. TWICE-TRAVELED PATHS</a><br /> +<a href="#XXIX">XXIX. HOME-COMING</a><br /> +<a href="#XXX">XXX. SOME DISCLAIMERS</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>List of Illustrations</h2> + + +<p><a href="#front">"<span class="smcap">When I Turned About—Why, it Nearly Took My Breath Away</span>"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus1">"<span class="smcap">Doing Kow-Tow to This False God</span>"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus2">"<span class="smcap">Help Her! Me, Butcher Donnan!</span>"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus3">"<span class="smcap">I Used to Swop Currants and Sugar for Nuts and Lovely Spicy Fruits</span>"</a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_EDITORS_CHAPTERS" id="THE_EDITORS_CHAPTERS"></a>THE EDITOR'S CHAPTERS</h2> + +<h3>HE TELLS HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IA" id="IA"></a>I</h2> + + +<p><i>A sleepy Sunday morning—and no need for any one to go to church.</i></p> + + +<p>It was at Neuchâtel, under the trees by the lake, that I first became +conscious of what wonderful assistance Sweetheart might be to me in my +literary work. She corrected me as to the date upon which we had made +our pilgrimage to Chaumont, as to the color of the hair of the pretty +daughter of the innkeeper whom we had seen there—in her way quite a +Swiss Elizabeth Fortinbras. In a word, I became aware that she had kept +a diary. Sweetheart, like her nearest literary relative, began with +"poetry." That was what we called it then. We have both revised our +judgments since. Only Sweetheart has been more wise than I should have +been at her age. She has resisted temptation, and rigorously ruled out +all verse from the Diary as at present published! This is wonderful. I +published mine.</p> + +<p>Since then, she and I have been preparing the present volume, just as +eagerly as if we had "yielded to the solicitations of numerous friends," +as the privately-printed books say.</p> + +<p>No, it was quite the contrary with us. Nobody, except one nice +publisher, knows anything about it. He asked us to let him print it, and +even he has not seen the very least little scrap. All he knows is that +Sweetheart has a good many thousand friends scattered up and down two +hemispheres, and he believes (as we also are vain enough to believe) +that they will not let <i>Sweetheart's Diary</i> go a-begging to be bought.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There is something curiously dreamy about the Lake of Neuchâtel. I knew +it and the school down by the pier long ago, when the little town still +preserved distinct traces of the hundred and fifty years of Prussian +drill-sergeants. Here and there the arms of Brandenburg were to be seen +curiously mixed, and almost entwined, with the strong red cross of the +Swiss Confederation.</p> + +<p>Specially interesting is the opposite side of the lake, for there the +Cantons push forward their narrow necks of territory to the very lake +shore—possibly as the price of their support against the Eagles of the +North, whose claws have never let go their hold but this once. There, +within a day's easy walk, you can pass from Canton Vaud into Canton +Friburg and back again into Vaud. Then, Morat-way, you come on a little +inset square of Canton Berne, whose emblematic bears also have their +claws in every pie thereabout. And all the way, never a hotel for the +fleecing of the foreigner! Here and there, indeed, one passes a country +inn with sanded floor. More often it is only a rather superior house +with a bush hung out French-fashion over the threshold.</p> + +<p>It is best, as Sweetheart and I found, to make for one of these. +Generally I had known them of old, and though since then the years had +done some stiff route-marching, most of their hosts and hostesses +remembered me.</p> + +<p>How do you get there? Well, you cross the lake almost at its narrowest +part. A little stream drains into it, slowly and in Dutch fashion, as if +it were smoking a peaceful pipe by the way. Indeed, for a little while +you might fancy yourself actually in Holland, so thickly are the flowers +set. Only—only (and oh! the difference!) they are all wild. For I +cannot help my heart beating faster when I set foot on any of the +untrodden places of the earth, when I know that the next person I meet +will be different from anybody I have ever met before—that he will be +as frankly interested and very likely amused by me as I am by the moldy +and the quaint about him—things that nobody in his senses has ever +thought of looking at in that countryside for a hundred years! Privately +there is often a quiet, widespread, wholly unspoken doubt of my entire +sanity. That dry smile hovering about the mouth of the courteous mayor +of the commune says as much. Just the same with the quick, intelligent +glance that shoots betwixt husband and wife when you ask to see their +barn—once the chapel of a long-destroyed monastery (Carthusians from +the Italian valleys driven out by the religious wars). To them it is a +barn, commodious—only a little damp. But it is nothing more. A new +model one, now—all burnt brick, floor of concrete, with iron roof +pillars—now <i>that</i> would be something worth crossing the lake to look +at. Hold—there is one at Estavayer! The farmer there would be glad to +show it, if only Monsieur and the young lady...? No! Well, there is no +accounting for tastes, and that shrug from Master Pierre said quite +plainly that he had the poorest opinion of our mental capacity. But all +the same Master Pierre is kind to the infirm—to those (as the Catechism +says) "of weaker understanding."</p> + +<p>Yes, there is the key. We can take our own time, and when we have done +we can hang it up where we got it.</p> + +<p>But good Master Pierre is curious too. Where might we be going? If it is +a fair question—or, indeed, whether or not! "To Madame Marie Brigue's!" +"Yes, but certainly!" "Had we known Madame Marie long?" The Elder of us +had known her for some twenty years or more.</p> + +<p>"When she was with old Monsieur Alexander—yes, at the Upper Riffel +House, and everything in her charge?" Sanity was returned to us like a +passport examined doubtfully. We should not this time be committed to a +House of Retreat for the mentally infirm—no, not if fifty doctors, all +specialists, had so certified. <i>We knew Madame Marie!</i> Master Pierre +would lay aside everything and come with us. It was not possible that we +could know the way.</p> + +<p>I thanked Master Pierre, but for my own reasons preferred to go +alone—that is to say, alone with Sweetheart, which is the best kind of +loneliness.</p> + +<p>"There is going to be a storm!" I said to my Maid, as we paced along +side by side. Sweetheart looked at the cloudless September sky, at the +boldly-designed splashes of the leaf-shadows making Japanese patterns on +the narrow path through the wood. Then she regarded me inquiringly. Of a +storm in the heaven above or on the earth beneath there was certainly no +visible sign.</p> + +<p>Then I explained that the tempest was a moral one, and would certainly +break when we met in with Madame Marie. And I set her this riddle to +read, for she is fond of such.</p> + +<p>I had always been first favorite with Madame Marie. She had spoiled me +as a wandering boy. She has assisted me as a callow youth to the +sweetmeats under her control. In my earlier manhood she had taken me to +see her brother, who was a <i>curé</i> of a great parish in the Valais.</p> + +<p>Yes, boy and man, she had always scolded me, railed upon me, declared to +my face that I was of a surety "the Last of the Last," and that, +altogether apart from my being a heretic, my misdeeds would inevitably +render my future far from enviable! According to Madame Marie I was +certainly bound for an ice-free port!</p> + +<p>"And what had you done to her, father, to make her so angry with you—or +at least scold you so much?"</p> + +<p>"Only come in late for my meals!" I said. Sweetheart took one look at +me, as one who would say, "Pray remember that I am no more a simple +child!" But what she said aloud was, "Did all this happen before I was +born?"</p> + +<p>And I knew instantly that I was underlying an unjust suspicion, from +which the very first glimpse of Madame Marie would instantly free me. +For even when I knew her Madame had long passed the canonical age, and +must now be verging on the three-score years and ten.</p> + +<p>It was, however, quiet unlikely that she would ever refrain from +scolding me, even in the presence of my eldest daughter.</p> + +<p>By and by we came in sight of a little white house, and upon the path +which passed beneath it. Over the door, half hidden by the yellow +splashes of <i>Canariensis</i>, was the sign, "<i>Madame Marie Brigue ... +Restaurant</i>." There was a great quiet everywhere about the place. Some +pigeons were coo-cooing in the Basse Cour. A cat regarded us with the +sleepy dispassion of its race. However, there was certainly a stirring +among earthenware somewhere towards the entrance of the cellar. We could +make out the grating of carrots, or, as it might be, the scraping of +potatoes. I motioned Sweetheart to get behind me—which she did, eager +to take a hand in one of "father's ploys."</p> + +<p>Then I went to the front door, and in the loud, confident voice of one +who, after a short absence, has come back at the proper hour, to find +his dinner not ready, I called out, "Marie, are those chops not done +yet?"</p> + +<p>A dish clattered on the floor. We could hear the splash of the fragments +on the cool flagstones of the inner kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Marie, old Lazybones! Here have I been twelve hours on the mountains, +and not even an omelette ready!"</p> + +<p>"It is the Herr-with-the-Long-Legs—the Herr who kept my good dinner +waiting while he ran about the '<i>bergen</i>'! And now—oh, the +Good-for-Nothing, the <i>Vaurien</i>, he come back to old Marie crying +hunger—just as he used to do more than a score of years ago up in the +Riffel House!"</p> + +<p>And before I knew it I was embraced and kissed on both cheeks by this +tall, gaunt old woman—greatly, of course, to the joy of Sweetheart. But +her turn was yet to come. Madame Marie continued scolding me even in the +utmost expansion of her greeting. She held me at arm's length and +scolded. She scolded because I had come without warning, and because I +had not come sooner. Scolded because I had let the years slip past till +her hair was white like the snow on the mountains, on which I had so +often tarried till my dinner was burnt to a cinder! While mine—but +there—who was this with me? Was I married? "Your daughter!" A daughter +like that, and old Marie getting so blind that she had called me bad +names—the names of the old time—in her hearing. But Mademoiselle would +understand! She would pardon a poor old woman who had known her father, +and been a mother to him, years and years before the young lady was +born, or even thought of!</p> + +<p>So, indeed, Mademoiselle understood very well. No forgiveness was +necessary. She was all too happy. And while the dinner was preparing, +she set down all these facts in her notebook, so that when Madame Marie +came to the door to say that the omelette was ready to be put before us +on the table, she called to Sweetheart that she was indeed her father's +own daughter. For that in the old days at the Riffel House he had always +been like that, sitting down on the very glacier to scribble in his +notebook all about nothing, and so letting good food spoil because of +his foolishness!</p> + +<p>And so it happened that on our way back from Madame Marie's, Sweetheart +let me see the first pages of her Diary. I found them so interesting +that we arranged on the spot how they were to be published. And so here +they are, ready (if you be simple) to please you as well as they pleased +me.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IIA" id="IIA"></a>II</h2> + +<p><i>When the Roads Were Sweet, Safe and Silent.</i></p> + + +<p>So, preliminaries being settled, the elder of the <i>Sweetheart Travelers</i> +was entrusted with the editing of this book, on the express condition +that he must <i>not</i> edit it! Strange but true! It is just sixteen years +since, with the assistance of Mr. Gordon Browne's pencil, he began the +preparation of the first series of <i>Sweetheart</i>. Ever since which, for +him, fortunate day, he has been under promise to supply a second volume +having for title <i>Sweethearts at Home</i>. From all over the world children +keep writing to ask him for more adventures with his little companion on +the front basket-seat of his tricycle. Gladly would he respond to this +wish of unseen baby lips, generally expressed on ruled paper in straggly +lines of doubtful spelling. But, alas! Sweetheart is nineteen and tall. +She would be the death of her poor father (and of the machine) at the +very first hill. Now she rides a "free-wheel" of her own, and saddest +of all to relate, prefers Hugh John or other younger company to her +ancientest of comrades. That is, on cycling trips. But she makes up to +him in other ways, and hardly anything gives her greater pleasure than +to "revisit the roads and ridges" where, sixteen years ago, her baby +fingers, vigilant on the cycle bell, called the preceding wayfarer to +attention.</p> + +<p>Then we had the world to ourselves, save for a red farm cart or so. Then +there were no motor-cars, no motor-buses, no clappering insolent +monocycles! It was in some wise the rider's age of gold. The country +still lay waste and sweet and silent about him. The ignoble "toot-toot" +and rhinoceros snort of the pursuing monster was unknown—unknown, too, +the odors which leave the wayfarer fretful and angry behind them.</p> + +<p>"<i>Get out of the way, all you mean little people!</i>" was not yet the +commonest of highway sounds. The green hedgerows were not hidden under a +gray dust veil. The Trossachs, the Highlands, the English lakes, and our +own fair Galloway roads were not splashed with the iridescent fragrance +of petrol. Ah, we took Time by the forelock, Sweetheart, you and I, in +those old days when the hawthorn was untainted and the wayside +honeysuckles still gave forth a good smell. True, Sweetheart (as above +stated) sounded a bell. But even she did it with relish, and the trill +carried tenderly on the ear, like the mass-bell rung in some great +cathedral as the service culminates, each time more thrilling and +insistent. And it was good to see the smile of the folk as they stood +aside, and the nod which red-cloaked Sweetheart gave them as we glided +noiselessly past!</p> + +<p>Ah, a good time! Neither of us are in the least likely to see a better! +For during these fifteen years there has come upon our land a strange +thing, a kind of plague of heartlessness; the return, perhaps, of +mechanically civilized man to the brute, or (if that be too strong) at +least to the ruling-out of all gracious consideration for the rights of +wayfarers.</p> + +<p>I am sure that the "motoring-habit" is more poisonous and more injurious +to the nations in this Year of Grace, 1911, than all the poisons that +ever were "listed." It is the Indian hemp of the soul, which makes even +good men mad. The earth may still belong to the Lord, though, standing +afar off, I have sometimes my doubts. But of a certainty the roads +between city and city, the creeper-hung village street where, +generation after generation, children played, the quiet lanes where the +old folk walked arm in arm, are now given over to the Minotaur whose +name is "My Lord Teuf-Teuf."</p> + +<p>Every day in all lands (called civilized) the journals are filled with a +lengthening tale of victims—of the little child going to school, bag on +back; the bairn playing with his soldiers in the dust; the deaf old lady +walking along the lanes, so safe and quiet a few years ago. I can see +her pattering about, looking for a few roses to grace her room—roses to +dream over, roses to call back the good days now past for ever.</p> + +<p>"HRRUMPH! HRRUMPH!" It is the trump of doom—behind her, unseen, to her +unheard. And in the next number of the local paper there will be the +briefest of paragraphs: "No blame attaches to the proprietor or to his +excellent and competent chauffeur."</p> + +<p>Sometimes, if one has the honor to be run over by the Highest of the +High Born, they do inquire for you at the hospital, or even send a +wreath for the coffin. For this one should even be content to die. And +the paragraphs in the papers recording the gift quite make up to the +mourners for their loss.</p> + +<p>But even so, this is on the heights of motoring generosity. For at least +<i>noblesse</i> does sometimes oblige. But the more recently and the more +ignobly the Over-Slaughterman has been enriched, the more ignorant of +all knowledge he is, the less he has seen of other lands, the fewer +incursions he has made into the world of books and art, the less he +possesses of that kindly natural consideration which the King-Gentleman +shares with the Working-Gentleman—the more cruel and selfish he is when +he gets himself upon the road, rushing along, disguised to the eyes, +fakir-mad in a kind of devilish Juggernaut joy, to the holocaust of +innumerable innocent victims.</p> + +<p>"<i>The police failed to obtain the number of the car which caused the +accident.</i>"</p> + +<p>Naturally! Excellent Under-Slaughterman, vulgarly called Chauffeur! +Knows his business! He will ask for a rise next week and he will get it. +That paragraph about the little girl trailed along for fifty yards under +the rear wheels, with—Hold your tongue, you understand, Higgins—the +details would not look well posted up in my club! Brave +Under-Slaughterman! He winks an eye, as he has a right to do when he +puts his latest-earned gratuity in his pocket.</p> + +<p>But, halt there! I will do no man an injustice if I can help it. There +are motorists and drivers of motor-cars who are noways "motor-fiends," +who conduct a car as safely and carefully as in other times they would a +pair of horses. I have friends among such. God keep them in life and the +practice of "Unto others as I would that others should do unto me!"</p> + +<p>But I grow old, at least in experience, and I fear for these my friends. +Motoring as practiced in Great Britain to-day (and the northern +continent is little better) is the direct and intentional abrogation of +the Golden Rule. More, it is the only way in which a man, +light-heartedly, taking no thought for the morrow, may kill his neighbor +with impunity. In old times it was the pursuit of cent.-per-cent. which +damned a man, and delivered him bound body and soul to Satan. We have +changed all that. Now it is the pursuit of the mile-a-minute which sucks +men's hearts empty of a generous feeling, which is the great open-air +school for making iron-bound materialists out of human men—or rather +animals fitted with deadly mechanical appliances worse than those of +Mr. Wells's Martians.</p> + +<p>I love my friends who are tied to these chariot wheels. But I fear for +them. Temptation is great. Easy is the descent of Avernus, aided by a +smart chauffeur, who wants to give you "the value of your money" in +speed and the survival of the fittest: <i>id est</i>, of himself and you!</p> + +<p>Better, far better, to take pack on back, pilgrim staff in hand, and +then—to the woods and the hills with Sweetheart and me, where never +"teuf-teuf" can be heard, nor petrol perfume the land.</p> + +<p>But at least in Sweetheart's new book you will only find the old sweet +things, the pleasures that do but gladden, the record of things at once +simple and gracious and tender—such as, if you have been fortunate, +must have happened to yourself. She does not once mention any car except +that pulled along by honest "gees," or that still more favorite sort of +all engineering achievements—the fortifications that the next tide will +sweep away.</p> + +<p>Sweetheart, little Sweetheart, and that "dear diary" of yours—for this +relief, much thanks! God keep you ever of the humble, of the +wayside-goers, of those who think—first, second and always—of the +comfort of their fellow-men, especially of the weak, the friendless, and +the poor who foot it along life's way. In brief, may you stay what you +have always been, Sweet of heart—and <i>my Heart</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Ainsi soit-il!</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">S. R. Crockett.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SWEETHEARTS_DIARY" id="SWEETHEARTS_DIARY"></a>SWEETHEART'S DIARY</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h3>SWEETHEART OBJECTS</h3> + + +<p><i>In June—Some Day, 3 o'clock. Cool under the Trees.</i></p> + +<p>Some while ago a book was written about me, called <i>Sweetheart +Travelers</i>. It was father who wrote it, and I think he did his best, +saying a lot of nice things. But, of course, how could he really +understand little girls?</p> + +<p>At first I thought I would write a book contradicting the mistakes. But +Mr. Dignus, who is a friend of mine and knows about such things, said +that would not be very kind to father, and might do him harm in his +business. But that if I would write about everything just as it seemed +to me as I grew up, he would see to it that it was printed and +published.</p> + +<p>So when father sees it, won't he just get a surprise? Perhaps he will go +into a shop and buy <i>Sweetheart's Diary</i>, thinking that somebody is +poaching on his preserves. I can see him tugging at his big mustache, +and walking very solid and determined, same as he does when he says to +the boys, "You, sir, come into the study along o' me!" Which makes all +the rest of us go sort of cold and trembly all over, like a rabbit +smelling fresh lettuce.</p> + +<p>But it is for what we are NOT going to get that <i>we</i> are sincerely +thankful.</p> + +<p>Only, after a dreadful lecture the boys are generally let off—"for this +time only, mind you!"—whereas the rabbit always ends up by eating the +lettuce. [Moral somewhere about, but I can't just make it out.]</p> + +<p>And that reminds me. I will tell you the dreadful history of the Blue +Delhi Vase. It is one of the first things I can remember and the one +that frightened me the most. It used to sit on our brown, carved-oak +table in the little drawing-room. It was pale blue like the color of the +beady stones you can't see into—oh, yes—thank you very +much—<i>turquoise</i>. And somehow I thought that it had come from a +fearfully rich uncle in India, who was Prime Minister to a Begum, and +would come home one day with an elephant in a huge cattle truck, like +what I had seen on the railway. He would then have a scarlet carpet +laid to keep his embroidered slippers clean—there is always mud before +our station—and he would ride up to our front door on the Begum's state +elephant. And the first question he would ask was always, "Is my Blue +Delhi Vase in good repair?"</p> + +<p>And if it wasn't, then he would demand the name of the miscreant who had +done it, and bid the elephant, whose name was quite distinctly Ram +Punch, t-r-r-rample him to pieces.</p> + +<p>I suppose when I was very young I must have dreamed this, or heard folk +talking, without understanding. At any rate I got things pretty mixed in +my mind. You see I was <i>very</i> little then, so little that I don't +remember there being any boys. Though I suppose Hugh John was a little +trundler in a "pram," looking up at the sky with wide solemn eyes and +never saying a word. I suppose so, but I don't remember.</p> + +<p>All I know is that I wore little red caps, one for Sunday and one for +week-days. The Sunday one was put away during the week, and so mostly I +had only one.</p> + +<p>Now, on this great day I happened to be in the garden, and Somebody sent +me in for my cap. Because my hair flew all about and got just fearfully +"tuggy"—enough to make any one cry, even Hugh John, who never cries at +all. But, then, <i>he</i> has hair short like a door-mat and rough as if made +of teased string. He has also a head so hard that he will bounce it +right through the panel of a door for a penny—that was, of course, +afterwards, not when he used to lie in his "prim-pram." But he got +whipped, for the doors had to be mended. So he stopped.</p> + +<p>I was in a great hurry. Indeed I flew. I never remember walking in those +days. So in I banged as hard as I could, and coming out of the hot sun, +the rooms felt all very still and cool. The parlor smelt of old rose +leaves, which I sometimes stirred with my finger. They were in a big +bowl, all powdery, and smelt nice—especially on hot days. Then I used +to think that the poor old dead things were stirring in their sleep, and +trying to "blossom in the dust." I don't know where I got those +words—in a hymn, most likely. But I used to say them over and over to +myself—yes, till I cried. Because I was sorry for the old roses that +tried to live and couldn't. Silly, wasn't it? Well, it seems so now. But +then, of course, it was different.</p> + +<p>Now, when I had got over the queer little catch in my throat that +finding myself alone always gave me, I started looking round under all +the sofas and chairs to see that there were no lurking Day Ghosts about. +They are the worst kind, and I began to wonder where my cap was.</p> + +<p>I had come for it specially, you see. So I could not go out without it. +Also there were awfully nice things going on in the garden; the picking +of white raspberries, mainly; each shaped like a thimble; the cap coming +easily off, and leaving a small dead white spear-point, and with a +taste—oh, to make your mouth water for quite a week!</p> + +<p>Anyway, mine does now.</p> + +<p>For a while I could not see my red cap. Then, all in a minute, I caught +sight of it on the top of the Delhi Blue Vase. It was dreadfully high, +and as for me, I was dreadfully little. More than that, the table was +slippery.</p> + +<p>But I <i>had</i> to get the cap, because all the time I was missing the white +raspberries out in the garden. I could hear them pattering into the tin +pails with a rustle of waving stems and a <i>whish</i> of nice green leaves +when you let them go.</p> + +<p>So I got up on tiptoe. I was still ever so much too short. Then I took a +buffet—the one on which I listened to stories being told. And I +mounted on that. I had very nearly got the cap off when the buffet +slipped sideways, and—oh, it was dreadful—there on the carpet lay the +Delhi Blue Vase all in shreds—no, "shards" is the proper word.</p> + +<p>I couldn't think. I couldn't cry. I could not even pray. I forgot how. I +grew ice-cold. For I had heard it said that of all the valuable things +in the house that was the rarest. I knew it could never be put together +again, and it was I who had done it.</p> + +<p>For a moment I thought of running away altogether. It was not fear of +being punished. No, if it had only been that, I should not have minded. +At least not much. Punishments don't last long up at our house. But now +I should never see the uncle from India, nor the elephant being unpacked +end-foremost out of the cattle truck, nor the crimson carpet, nor the +howdah, nor any of these fine things. Or even if I did I might be +stamped to death by the elephant, after all. Oh, I <i>was</i> unhappy. I +looked in the glass and, I declare, I hardly knew the white, frightened, +peeky face I saw there for my own.</p> + +<p>You see, I usually see my own face when my hair is being done, or when +the soap is just washed off. Then it is shiny and red; but now, in the +dusk of the room, it looked very small and pale, and my eyes very big +and black, with rims round them.</p> + +<p>Now our cat was there, and the thought came of itself that everything +might be blamed on her. She was our only <i>not-nice</i> pussy, and if I said +it was Mir-row who did it, nobody would be the worse. She was always +knocking things down anyway. She would only get chased out, and she was +always being chased out. So one extra time would not matter to Mir-row.</p> + +<p>Well, I suppose that is what the ministers and grown-up people call +temptation—when you think you can do a thing so as not to be found out. +When you do a thing and don't care whether you are found out or +not—that is different. That's like Sir Toady (he's my brother, as you +shall hear) when he goes bird-nesting and has to watch out for the +keeper. But he doesn't really care if he <i>is</i> catched.</p> + +<p>But the Delhi Vase! Oh, it seemed as if I never could be happy again in +this world!</p> + +<p>I knew—I mean at the time—that I should have prayed. I had been often +and often told that I ought. Still, you can't just always pray when you +ought to. However, I did manage to kneel down and grab hold of Mir-row.</p> + +<p>I knew that Mir-row was a bad cat, and did all sorts of things she ought +not to do. So I took her to the place where the Delhi Vase had been +broken, and asked her if she minded. And she said as plain as possible +that she did not care a bit. I should get whipped, that was all, and she +would be glad.</p> + +<p>She was a hard-hearted Thing. For I was in dreadful trouble. But for all +that Mir-row would not take a bit of the blame. And she might just as +easily, seeing the number of tit-bits I had brought out for her. But +cats have no gratitude—at least Mir-row had none. However, I think she +must have been a foreign cat, because she could not even pronounce +"<i>Mee-ow</i>" properly. And that is the reason why her name was "Mir-row." +She said so herself.</p> + +<p>So I said to her, "You, Mir-row, will you come up-stairs and 'fess'?"</p> + +<p>And Mir-row said just "<i>Fsssst-Mir-row!</i>" to show that she was cross.</p> + +<p>Then I said, "Mir-row, you are a horrid nasty cat, and you don't deserve +that you should get off breaking that Delhi Vase. But I will take the +blame on myself—yes, I will—just to show you what it is to be noble. +<i>I</i> will go up-stairs and 'fess.'"</p> + +<p>So I said, "Get thee behind me, Mir-row!" as I ought to have done at +first. Because Mir-row had always been so naughty that she tempted me to +blame her for breaking it. If she had been a good cat, then such a thing +would never have entered my head. But her character was against her.</p> + +<p>You see, I knew that I had only to say, "Mir-row did it," to get +believed. Because she was always doing wicked things like that.</p> + +<p>Then I went up-stairs, running as hard as I could to get away from the +wicked Mir-row, who was tempting me to tell a story. I ran to find +Somebody to 'fess' to. And I found Somebody. And Somebody listened, and +then rose up looking quite grave, but very kind. Oh, I was shaking ever +so, till Somebody took me in such nice strong arms, and said that as I +had come at once, and had not even thought of trying to escape the blame +or to put it on anybody else, I should not be punished—though it +certainly <i>was</i> a great, great pity.</p> + +<p>But I never told about Mir-row, or how nearly it had happened otherwise.</p> + +<p>And as for Mir-row, she said nothing either. She just curled herself up +on the carpet among the broken pieces of the vase, and when we went down +was peacefully dreaming of catching mice. I knew she was by the way she +had of thrusting out her claws and pulling them in again.</p> + +<p>No, Mir-row did not deserve all that I had done for her.</p> + +<p>But, after all, honesty is a better policy than blaming things on +Mir-row.</p> + +<p>This is the story of my first temptation, and how I was saved from the +wickedness of Mir-row.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h3>PURPLE "THINKS"</h3> + + +<p><i>June again. Aged ten. Afternoon of the Day when the first Strawberry +was Half-ripe.</i></p> + +<p>It will never be whole-ripe, owing to an accident which happened to it. +However, none of the Grown-ups knew except Sandy the gardener, and he +only tells us not to. But we don't really mind.</p> + +<p>Which makes me wonder sometimes if Grown-ups have a world of their own, +same as us Children. I don't think so. If they had, they wouldn't always +be writing and reading, or paying calls and sitting on chairs, and +looking Nim-Pim-Pimmany! They can't really have good times all by +themselves, same as us. What do you think? I suppose it is +account-books, and postmen, and having to understand the sermon that +makes them look like that.</p> + +<p>But at any rate they have not an idea that children really are +thinking—nor how much they know. Perhaps that is just as well. For, as +they say about the monkeys, if they only knew how we talk among +ourselves, they might set us to work. At least they would not be so +ready to believe in us when next they saw us with our "behaving faces" +on.</p> + +<p>Now I will tell you about our house. It is a nice one, and I have a +bedroom with greeny paper, and out of the window you can see the +Pentland hills and the flagstaff in front of them. The flagstaff is on +the drying green, but the hills are a good deal farther away. Maid +Margaret and I live there—that is, at nights, and I tell her stories if +she will lie on her right side and not kick.</p> + +<p>Sometimes we have fights, but not such ones as the boys have up above. +Often we can hear them stamping and thumping, and then coming down with +a huge "bang" that you would think would shake down the house. That is +when they clutch and wrestle. Outside there is just the Low Garden and +the High Garden, a road between big old yew-trees, and then you are at +the library, which is made of wood. And mostly there is a ticking sound +inside, which is the typewriter—<i>tick-a-tack—tick-a-tack</i>! Then a +pause, a few growls, and then the noise of a book being pulled out, +rustling leaves, more stamps, more growls, and again—<i>tick-a-tack</i>!</p> + +<p>It goes on like that most of the time, except when the Animal inside +must be fed, or on fine afternoons, when he comes out to play.</p> + +<p><i>Then</i> we have quite lovely times in the woods and hunting for things, +or picnicking. And it is nice to see the white tablecloth, which +Somebody has arranged on the green grass or under the shade, all covered +with nice things for you to eat.</p> + +<p>Then all about there are woods—oh! miles and miles of them. There is +the Low Park, where there are lots of apples—rather crabby, but not +much the worse for that when you are really hungry.</p> + +<p>The Low Park is pretty big, and has a stream running through it, quite +slowly and steadily. Then down below is the river-bed, all rocks and +pools. Because the water is drawn off for the mills below. We can play +there in the summer-time, and keep fish as safe as in an aquarium.</p> + +<p>Of course there are nice places higher up—where Esk goes along lipping +over the pebbles, tugging at the overhanging branches of trees, or +opening out to make a mirror for the purple heather on the slopes above. +But of all these you shall hear before I have done. Oh, yes, I mean that +you shall.</p> + +<p>And in the evening all is lovely dark purple except the hills, which are +light purple and green in patches, the shape of cloud-shadows.</p> + +<p>I wonder if ever you got to love words, colors, and things till they +grew to be part of yourself? What do I mean? Well, I will try and +explain.</p> + +<p>When I was little, the word "purple" somehow nearly made me cry. Oh, +no—I did not like dresses that color, nor even ribbons—much. Only just +the word. Sometimes funnily, as in the line—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A pleasant purple Porpoise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the Waters of Chili."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Sometimes seriously, as in two lines which have always brought the tears +to my eyes—I do not know why. I think I must have put them together +myself when I was thinking in sermon-time (which is a very good time to +think in). Because the first is the line of a Scottish psalm, and the +rest is—I know not what—some jingle that ran in my head, I suppose. +But they made me cry—they do still, I confess, and it is the color-word +that does it!—that, and the feeling that it is years and years ago +since first I began to say them over to myself. It seems as if there +would never again be such hues on the mountains, never such richness on +the heather, never sunsets so arrogant (yes, I got the word that time) +as those when I was little.</p> + +<p>But what, you ask, are the lines? Well, you won't think anything of +them. I <i>know</i> you will laugh.</p> + +<p>They are just—but oh! I am ashamed to put them down to be printed. For +they are just altogether mine—all little girls who have been lonely +little girls will know what I mean. Boys are pigs and will laugh—except +Hugh John.</p> + +<p>However, I can't put off any longer, can I? Oh, yes, I could, but—it is +better to be over and done with it.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">MY POEM.<br /></span></div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Made up when I was (about) Four.<br /></span></div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I to the hills will lift mine eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The purple hills of Paradise."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That's all! Now laugh! And if you do, I shan't ever love you again. +Father smiles and says that very likely I did put them together, but +that the last line is in a book of poems by a man named Trowbridge.</p> + +<p>Well, what if it is? Can't <i>I</i> think it and Mr. Trowbridge too? I never +saw his old book. Why, I could not read then, and <i>he</i> couldn't know +what a little girl was thinking, sitting down by Esk-waterside and +watching the purple hills—till I was told to come in and haste-me-fast, +because the dew was falling.</p> + +<p>But of course I don't tell this to everybody. They would call it +sentiment. But I pity the little lonely girl who doesn't have "thinks" +like that all to herself, which she would die sooner than tell to +anybody except to her Dear Diary.</p> + +<p>After the boys got bigger and could romp, I didn't have nearly so many +thinks—not time enough, I suppose. Boys need a heap of watching. At +first they have no soul—only a mouth to be silly with, teeth to eat +with, and a Little Imp inside each to make them pesterful and like boys.</p> + +<p>Well, little by little, I made a collection of things that were of my +color—all in my head, of course.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"League upon rolling league of imperial purple!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I think it was father who wrote that, and I believe his heart was pretty +big and proud within him, seeing his own heathery country spread out +before him when he did it. I wonder if something went <i>cluck-cluck</i> +(like a hen) at the bottom of his throat? It does in mine sometimes.</p> + +<p>Then there is "the Purple Wine of the Balkans," and "the wine-hearted +sea"—but that last I only heard of at school.</p> + +<p>And I liked a story about an Irish patriot who, when they brought him an +address of honor with a green cover, told them to take it away and bind +it in purple, the color of the heather.</p> + +<p>Also I loved to read about heroines with "eyes like the purple +twilight," though just at present these are scarce in our part of the +country. One of our forbears (funny word—for <i>we</i> are the Four Bears, +the little ones! Somebody I know is the Big Big Growly—only don't tell +him!) well, one of our ancestors—immediate ancestors, I mean—left us +blue eyes, but as we grew older they all turned gray, which I think +unfair.</p> + +<p>Later on, I loved to be told about the "purple Codex"—that is, the +Gospels written out on purple vellum in letters all gold. That must be +lovely. I tried to stain a sheet with Amethystine ink, and print on it +in gold paint. But it only looked blotchy and stupid—you never saw such +a mess. So I thought it was better just to dream about the Codex.</p> + +<p>I wasn't born in the purple myself, but I resolved early never to marry +anybody that wasn't. And I should have a purple nursery, and purple +bibs, and a purple "prim-pram," and a nurse with purple strings to her +caps, and baby should live exclusively on preserved violets (candied) +and beautiful purple jelly.</p> + +<p>Then wouldn't she be a happy child? Not commonplace like me, and +compelled to wear a clean white pinafore. They don't half know how to +bring up children now-a-days.</p> + +<p>Oh, how I do wish that I had been "born in the purple!"</p> + +<p>But I wasn't, and white soils so easily. You see, if the purple were +only dark enough, you wouldn't get scolded half so much, and they +wouldn't all the time be telling you that milk food is "so wholesome"! +Oh, how tired I am of being told that!</p> + +<p>Still, after all, chocolate isn't bad, and you can easily make believe +that it is purple instead of brown.</p> + +<p>At least <i>I</i> can. And it tastes just the same.</p> + +<p>Good-by, Dear, my Diary. There's Nurse calling.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h3>PRESENTS</h3> + + +<p><i>Still the Same Age. But no Date.</i></p> + +<p>I wish we could choose our own presents, don't you?</p> + +<p>People give you surprises, or think they do. For mostly you can tell +pretty well by keeping an eye on the parcels and things as they come in. +Or one of the servants tells you, or you hear the Grown-ups whispering +when they think you are not attending. Attending! Why, you are always +attending. How could you learn else? <i>They</i> did just the same +themselves, only they forget.</p> + +<p>Of all presents, I hate most "useful" ones—"to teach you how to keep +your things tidy," and what "you will be sure to need by and by, you +know, dear!"</p> + +<p>For when the time comes you've had it so long that you don't care a +button about it. I suppose there are some Miss Polly Prinks who like +things to put on. But I haven't got to <i>that</i> yet. Nor yet money that +you are told you mustn't spend. There ought to be a "Misfit Presents' +Emporium," where you could take all the presents you don't care about +and get them exchanged for what you do.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, can I have a nice lot of the newest books with the +prettiest pictures for four Jack-in-the-boxes, eight dolls (three +dressed), a windmill and a Noah's Ark, that only wants Noah and one of +his son's wives' legs?"</p> + +<p>"Let me see them, miss, please!"</p> + +<p>"Can I look at the books on that shelf?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, these are the adventure books for Grown-ups," says the man; +"children don't read such thing now-a-days—something in the +picture-book way, Miss—<i>Little Sambo and the Seven Pious Pigs</i>, or <i>How +many Blue Beans make Five?</i>"</p> + +<p>But <i>I</i> would know ever so much better, and would have down half-a-dozen +Grown-up books that just make your eyes stand out of your head like +currants in a ginger-bread bunny. That's what <i>I</i> like. No children's +books for me. And I'd have them all chosen as soon as the Presents' +Exchange man had made sure that none of the paws were knocked off the +green kangaroo, and that the elephant still owned a trunk.</p> + +<p>It is a good idea, isn't it? What do you think? About the Exchange, I +mean.</p> + +<p>Once my Uncle Tom got a birthday present from Aunt Margaret. It was a +set of fire-irons for the drawing-room grate! And when her birthday came +round Uncle Tom chose for her present—<i>a pipe-rack for the +smoking-room</i>!</p> + +<p>I think that was fine—and so does Hugh John.</p> + +<p>Now I am not complaining. August the tenth is <i>my</i> birthday, and it is a +good time for birthdays—being sufficiently long before Christmas. I +pity the poor people who were born in early January. Also presents are +good at our house, and there are enough of us to change round among +ourselves if any mistakes do occur. But what I really want to tell you +about is what happened to Little Sarah Brown, who lives just outside our +gate.</p> + +<p>Sarah's people are very poor and her father makes them poorer by going +and drinking—as he says, "To drown Dull Care." My father says if he let +Dull Care alone and drowned himself it would be better for every one all +round. And that's a good deal for father to say, mind you, because he +believes dreadfully in letting people alone.</p> + +<p>Well, Little Sarah Brown's mother was ill most of the time. She had a +cough and couldn't do washing, so Little Sarah came to our house to run +messages and go to the post with big letters when father said so. It was +pretty nice for Sarah too, because every second Saturday she got +half-a-sovereign from father. He grabbled deep in his pocket until he +found a piece of about the size, looked if it was gold, and handed it +over to Little Sarah.</p> + +<p>Just fancy carrying about real-for-true gold like that! Some people are +dreadfully careless. Well, one time Little Sarah went up to the library +to get her Saturday's money. Father was mooning about among his books, +and shoved something at her, telling her gruffly to be off. He hadn't +time to be thanked then, but would see about it on Monday!</p> + +<p>And do you know—it was a whole big sovereign he had given her! Now of +course <i>he</i> never knew. He wouldn't have found out in twenty centuries, +and Little Sarah knew it. She did not notice till she was nearly home, +and then she stopped under a lamp-post that was early lighted to look at +what was in her hand.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was a sovereign. Nothing less!</p> + +<p>And, do you know, a bad, <i>bad</i> boy named Pete Bolton came behind Little +Sarah and gave her hand a good knock up.</p> + +<p>She would have lost it in about two ticks, because Pete Bolton was a +perfectly horrid boy, and would have stolen it like nothing at all. Only +Little Sarah was upon him with a bound like a tiger, and bit his hand +(yes, it <i>was</i> nasty, being very dirty). Only she bit Pete's hand from a +sense of duty, and made him let go. She had her face rubbed in the mud, +her hair tugged, and all, but she never let go the sovereign—half of +which wasn't hers.</p> + +<p>There was a girl for you, and yet boys will say that only they are +brave! Well, don't you think it was pretty hard for Sarah—harder, I +think, after fighting for it than before? You see, she thought of all +the nice things she could get for her mother with the extra ten +shillings, besides new boots for herself that didn't let in the water, +and—oh! a lot of things like that.</p> + +<p>Worst of all, she knew that if she did take it back to father he would +only shove it in his pocket without noticing. But she said over and +over: "Honesty is the best! Honesty is the best!" You see, she could +not remember the word "policy," which does not improve the sentiment +anyway—to my mind, at least.</p> + +<p>So back she went. Father was still mooning about among his books, and +just as she expected he took the golden sovereign and shoved it back +into his pocket right among pennies and pocket-knives and so on. But he +quite forgot to give Sarah her own real half-sovereign. I believe he +thought she had picked the coin up off the floor. For he just said, +"Thank you," and went on with his work.</p> + +<p>And Little Sarah stood there fit to cry.</p> + +<p>By and by he noticed the girl and asked what she was waiting for—not +unkindly, you know. But, as usual, he was busy and wanted to be left +alone.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir," said Little Sarah Brown, "my half-sovereign!"</p> + +<p>"But I paid you your wages, did I not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir; but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you would like an advance on next week—very well, then." And he +pulled out of his pocket the very identical piece of gold that had been +Little Sarah's temptation—like mine about the Blue Vase and Mir-row, +you remember.</p> + +<p>"There!" he said; "now go away! I'm busy!"</p> + +<p>"But, <i>please</i>, sir——!"</p> + +<p>"WHAT?"</p> + +<p>Then Little Sarah burst into tears, and father stared. But after a while +he got at the truth—how he had given a whole sovereign in place of a +half——</p> + +<p>"Very likely—very likely!" said he.</p> + +<p>And how Sarah had brought it back—all of her own accord.</p> + +<p>"Very unlikely!" he muttered.</p> + +<p>And how he had shoved it back into his pocket without noticing——</p> + +<p>"<i>Very</i> likely!" he said—to himself this time.</p> + +<p>So what did he do, when he had heard all about it, but promise to whack +Pete Bolton with his stick the first time he got him. And Sarah began to +cry all over again, saying that Pete had no mother and couldn't be +expected to know any better.</p> + +<p>"Well," said he, "that's as may be! But anyway, I'll be a father to Pete +the next time I catch him. I'll teach him to let little girls alone. +I've dealt with heaps of Pete Boltons before! Oh, often! Don't you +trouble, little girl!"</p> + +<p>And he actually got his hat and walked home with Little Sarah, growling +all the time. I don't know what he gave her. But, anyway, what he said +to her mother made the poor woman so happy that she nearly forgot to be +ill. And on Monday I noticed that Little Sarah had new whole shoes and +so had her brother Billy. So something must have happened, and though +nothing was said, I can pretty well guess what.</p> + +<p>So can Hugh John—and you too, my dear Diary. Only we won't tell. But +the "Compulsory Man," who makes boys attend school, descended on wicked +Pete Bolton, and then the schoolmaster fell on him, so that Pete became +a reformed character—this is, so long as he was sore. Then, of course, +he forgot, and began playing truant again.</p> + +<p>Only after that he let Little Sarah alone. Because, you see, he never +knew when, in a narrow lane, he might meet a big man, pulling at a big +mustache, and carrying a very big stick. Because the sermons that big +man preached with his stick were powerful, and Pete Bolton did not +forget them easily.</p> + +<p>The End—moral included free of charge, as Hugh John says.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h3>MISS POLLY PRETEND</h3> + + +<p><i>End of June.</i></p> + +<p>Of course there ought to be a story in all this—the story of my life. I +have a Relative who can spin you the story of anybody's life if you only +tell him what number of shoe he wears. Only I am just a little girl, and +have neither been murdered nor married—as yet. So in my life there are +no—what is the word?—ingredients for the pudding. Yes, that is it.</p> + +<p>So it must just come anyhow, like things tumbling out of your pocket +when you hang head down from a tree or haystack which you are climbing.</p> + +<p>All the same I will try always to put one story or one subject into a +chapter, though these won't be called "Printed in Gore," or "The House +of Crime," or anything like that.</p> + +<p>For, you see, the stories the boys read are just stuffed with such +things. So it will be rather a change to write about "The Dirty Piece +of Embroidery" and "The Colored-Silk Work-basket."</p> + +<p>And that reminds me. Often Grown-ups "give it" to their children for the +very identical things they used to do themselves when young. There is a +friend of father's down at Dumfries whom he calls Mr. Massa. And once we +bribed Mr. Massa to tell us all about when father was young—he was his +earliest and dearest friend—though, by his telling, father pounded him +shamefully and unmercifully for nothing at all, even after they had +vowed eternal friendship. And do you know, the things that father did +when he was a boy—well, he would thrash Hugh John and Sir Toady for +<i>now</i>!</p> + +<p>But I expect that all fathers and most mothers were like that. When <i>I</i> +am a mother, I shan't be. Because, having kept a Diary, I shall only +have to take it out and see how I felt. Don't you think that is a +first-rate idea?</p> + +<p>Besides, if it is printed, as Mr. Dignus says that it will be, it is +bound to be true, and I shall have to believe it. Oh, just won't my +children have a good time! Also Hugh John's. But Sir Toady Lion says he +isn't going to have any—being married is ever such a swot, and children +are all little pigs.</p> + +<p>Well, <i>he</i> ought to know.</p> + +<p>Oh, about this Mr. Massa? He told us some splendid things about +father—how he stood on the top of Thrieve Castle with a stone in one +hand and his watch in the other to measure the altitude, having just +learned how. Only he forgot, and let go the wrong hand.</p> + +<p><i>Smack</i>—went the watch on the grass about seventy feet below! And there +was he left standing with the stone in his hand. But the watch was +ticking cheerfully away when they picked it up, and it is that very same +old nursery watch that is hung up there now, and tells us when it is +time <i>not</i> to get up.</p> + +<p>I don't think I ever knew what it was to have a true friend with a good +memory till that moment. And as for the boys and me, we never thought we +should like any of father's friends so much. But Mr. Massa told us more +things that we can cast up to him in time of need than we would ever +have wormed out of father himself in a century. Funny how close people +get about some things when they get older. Oh, I wish I had been born +my own little girl. Then I <i>should</i> have been properly brought up!</p> + +<p>However, that is not my fault.</p> + +<p>Hugh John says that being naughty is just according as you look at it. +Big Folks' job is to make us behave, so that we are as little of a +nuisance to them as possible. <i>Our</i> business to get as much fun as we +can out of life without getting in the way of the Grown-ups. All their +"Don't do this's" and "You mustn't do that's" are just warnings not to +give them trouble. Moral (according to Hugh John), "Give as little +trouble as possible to Grown-ups. And they will let you do pretty much +as you want to."</p> + +<p>He says that acts first-rate at school. Toe the line with the masters, +and then if you <i>do</i> "whale" your fellow-pupil, no questions are asked. +The only way to be a bad little boy in peace and quiet is to be a good +little boy so far as work is concerned!</p> + +<p>And as Hugh John does it, this is not hypocritical. He couldn't be that +if he tried. He has just thought it out, and now makes it work with the +greatest coolness in the world. It is his system. And he says every boy +is a fool who gives the masters trouble. He means Grown-ups generally. +You do certain things <i>as</i> they say, work out your sums, and keep your +drawers tidy. Then you can live in your own world and they in theirs. +They won't bother about you.</p> + +<p>But, of course, Hugh John is pretty safe anyway. He has a reason for +everything, and is always ready to give it if asked. If not, he keeps it +to himself, wraps it about him like an inky cloak—and is triply armed +because he has his quarrel just—and knows it.</p> + +<p>But, you see, we are really pretty well off at our house, though we do +grumble sometimes. When I was a little girl I rode many hundreds of +miles with father on his cycle, and now Hugh John and he spend days over +glasses of all descriptions, telescopes and binoculars, while Sir Toady +talks about birds' eggs for hours, and has succeeded to father's +collection.</p> + +<p>In the library there are the loveliest books on flowers—both editions +of <i>Curtis</i>, the <i>Botanical Magazine</i>, two <i>Sowerby's English Botanies</i>, +and lots more in foreign languages. Maid Margaret thinks she will go in +for botany so as to get these. But I like best just reading books—or +browsing among them, rather. For of course you can't really <i>read</i> +forty thousand volumes, even if you knew all the languages they are +written in.</p> + +<p>There are sets of all the magazines that ever were: <i>Annual Registers</i>, +<i>Scots Magazines</i>, <i>Gentleman's</i>, <i>Blackwood's</i>, <i>Chamber's</i>, <i>Leisure +Hour</i>, <i>Cassell's</i>, <i>Magazine of Art</i>—oh, everything! And the library, +being about eighty feet long altogether, is the loveliest place for wet +Saturdays—so "mousey," and window-seaty, with big logs burning on a +brass fireplace, and the storm pattering above and all about. It has a +zinc roof, only nicely painted and covered with creepers. There is room +enough for everybody to lie about, and read, and draw, all the time +keeping out of Big Growly's way if he is working.</p> + +<p>Even if he does see us, he only says, "Get out, Imps! I can't be +bothered with you just now!"</p> + +<p>Only if you are careful and have the kitchen key, you can tell by the +growling and the "tick-tack" whereabouts the Ogre of Castle Bookworm is, +and slip into another part. Best of all is the Old Observatory, where +there is a bed in a little cabin, and windows all about, and a big brass +telescope high overhead, with shelves and all sorts of fittings as in a +ship.</p> + +<p>It is first-rate, I tell you. Only you have to put the books you have +been using back again exactly, or you will get Ursa Major after you, and +he will fetch you out of your bed to do it, storming at you all the +time. Then maybe he will forget, and show you the first edition of some +book that there are only three or four of in all the world!</p> + +<p>You don't really need to be afraid of Big Growly. It makes rather a +noise while It lasts, but once It is finished, there is no more about +it. It is like a thunderstorm which you hear sleepily among the hills in +the night. All you have to do is just to pull the bed-clothes over your +head and put your fingers in your ears. There is not the least danger, +not really.</p> + +<p>Altogether we are about as well off for Grown-ups as it is possible to +be, and though lessons are seen to sharply enough—that is all in the +day's work. While for the rest, we live less of the Double Life than +other children have to do—that is, we don't have to "<i>pretend</i> good," +and that makes all the difference.</p> + +<p>And this brings me to the tale of Polly Pretend. That was what we called +her. And by and by other people found her out, and did so too. And it +is an awful thing to be going through the world with a name like that.</p> + +<p>Yet Polly Pretend wasn't half a bad girl either. Indeed, if she had been +left alone, she would have been quite nice. It wasn't her fault. Only +this tale is a "terrible example" for parents and guardians. <i>They</i> put +such things, like nasty medicine, in the books we have to read, and why +shouldn't I hit back, when it is only my poor old Dear Diary that sees +it? Till Mr. Dignus gets ready to print it, that is.</p> + +<p>Polly Pretend had a father and mother, but worse than most. If ever they +had been young, they had forgotten all about it. Polly mustn't run or +romp, nor speak above her breath, nor climb a tree, nor do anything that +makes life happy and really worth living.</p> + +<p>And when we went to see her, it was ever so much worse than going to +church four times a Sunday. <i>We</i> only go once, except on special +occasions, because our folks believe in making Sunday an extra happy +day. And, after all, church is church, and there is always the music, +which is nice, and the organist's back hair, which isn't—and the sermon +is never very long and sometimes interesting. Then for the boys there +are the bees booming in the tall windows, and the flies that will +persist in crawling stickily over the old gentlemen's bald heads—really +quite pious flies they are. For the old gentlemen would be sure to go to +sleep if it were not for the excitement of watching out and moving those +flies on!</p> + +<p>But at Polly Pretend's house it was ever so much worse. You couldn't +believe it if you had not been there. And, do my best, I really can't +give you an idea.</p> + +<p>All the toys locked up, of course, all the drawing things, and every +book except two—one of which was that everlasting <i>Josephus</i>, and the +other the <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>. As we knew these by heart, you may guess +how cheerful it was. And you had to learn chapters till you hated the +sight of an Oxford Bible, and hymns till you wanted to throw the book +behind the fire.</p> + +<p>Hugh John stuck to it and did pretty well, though he is not a quick +study. But Sir Toady boldly asserted that he was a true Mahometan, and +made a green turban out of an old green baize school-bag to prove that +he was a "haji and a holy man"!</p> + +<p>He had the cheek to brazen it out even when Polly's people threatened +to inform his parents and have him sent home to-morrow!</p> + +<p>Bless you, Toadums wished for nothing better. He missed his fox-terrier, +Boss, worse than words can tell, and his eggs and his paint-box and +everything.</p> + +<p>But of course we soon saw how Polly Pretend managed. She pretended. She +did not really read the books. She moved back the marker, and, if asked +questions, knew all about the chapter. Even if they ticked it in pencil, +there was india-rubber in Polly's pocket to rub it out. She played with +beads in church—in her muff or under her cloak. And when one rolled on +the floor, she said it was her collection money. She got another given +her too, which was always a halfpenny saved.</p> + +<p>At least so thought Polly Pretend. And Hugh John could not make her see +it was not the square thing—to buy sweets and thus defraud the Church. +He is awfully armor-plated on what is "the Square Thing," my brother +Hugh John.</p> + +<p>But Polly Pretend could not or would not see it. I think <i>could</i> not. +For what could be expected of any girl who had such people for parents? +Then I saw clearly how well <i>we</i> were off—whacked sometimes, of course, +or Big Growly called upon to erupt (which he does very fierce for five +minutes). But not expected to do anything except tell the truth and keep +on telling it—not behave like reptiles—and if caught, own up prompt. +Say your prayers when you feel like it. But don't do it just when you +know parents and guardians will be coming into your bedroom, as Polly +does—so that father or mother will say, "See how sweet and devotional +our little girl is!"</p> + +<p>And Polly's father and mother thought how good she was, and told all +round the countryside what little heathens we were. Not that <i>we</i> cared +for that.</p> + +<p>But Sir Toady went up-stairs to the lumber-room and got an image of some +Chinese dragon which had been stowed away there ever since Uncle Peter +had been home the last time. And when Polly Pretend's father and mother +came to complain of us, he was down on his knees worshiping this false +image on the front lawn! Awful, wasn't it? But all the same it would +have made you laugh till you cried if you had seen him doing kow-tow to +this false god—it was only an old cardboard dragon anyway, like what +you see on the Shanghai stamps—and smelling the whole neighborhood by +burning brown paper joss-sticks before it, with a penny fire-cracker at +every finger-length.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus1" id="illus1"></a> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">Doing Kow-Tow to This False God</span>"</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>He was had up into the study for that, though, because father said he +would have no "mockery" about such things. But I don't think he got it +very bad, because we all knew by the noise he made that Big Growly +wasn't really very mad.</p> + +<p>When he is, he goes off and you see no more of him for a long time. He +only stops in his den and doesn't growl. That is a good time to keep +away and say nothing, till he has done chewing his paws. Only Maid +Margaret dare go in then, and even she is wearing out of it—getting too +old, I mean.</p> + +<p>But about Polly Pretend. Of course she did not pretend to us. First of +all, she could not—she knew that it was quite in vain. Children don't +try on things with one another. They know they will be seen through. +Generally they can see through Grown-ups too, though, bless you, <i>They</i> +never know it.</p> + +<p>Oh, poor Polly! I was sorry for Polly. Because she could never be +natural, but all the time had got to—what is it the book +says?—"assume a virtue when she had it not."</p> + +<p>At school she knew wads of Scripture and all the Kings of Israel and +Judah, but never did a French exercise without copying. Then, because +her people were rich, and she so good, she got lots of money sent +her—so much for telling what her place in class was. She told lies +about that, and got money for being first when really most of the time +she was first at the wrong end.</p> + +<p>Now at our school every fortnight the class was turned upside down, the +top girl being put at the bottom and the wooden spoon at the top, so +that the clever ones could work their way up again. And so each +alternate Monday Polly Pretend was really top girl for about five +minutes. It was on that day she wrote to her parents, and often got a +golden sovereign or a Post Office Order sent to her for her wonderful +cleverness. So, after all, in a way it was true.</p> + +<p>But there was trouble at the end of term—after the examinations, when +Polly Pretend always came out the very last.</p> + +<p>Because, you see, she had to save money to buy her own prizes, get one +of the charwomen to steal the school tickets that they stick in +prize-books, and print in her own name in capital letters as "first +prize" to show her parents.</p> + +<p>Then she had to watch for the School Report, which comes a day or two +after, and get it safely from the postman. She burned it, after trying +to alter the figures, but, of course, was anxious all the holidays. Also +she warned me to say nothing about it when I came to see her.</p> + +<p>As if I would! I knew Polly Pretend too well. So I never said a thing +about school, for fear Polly had been telling some lie about it, and I +should be giving her away. The visit was an unhappy time for all of +us—except, that is, for Sir Toady, who invented new and horrible forms +of idolatry every other day, and scared the immortal soul out of Polly +Pretend by putting on his day-shirt (the spare one) over his clothes, +and letting on to be an Evil Spirit which haunted the gooseberry-bushes.</p> + +<p>And I will say he did growl most fearfully—especially when he found a +good ripe bush. But we knew that was only to keep the rest of us off. So +Hugh John chased the Evil Spirit by the sound, and growled too. Because +the bush really was a good one—thin-skinned "silver-grays," and quite +ripe. I had some.</p> + +<p>But you should have seen poor Polly. She was frightened till she nearly +told the truth. I can't say more than that. Almost—but not quite. I do +believe that she would have gone and confessed the most innocent of her +lies to her parents, if it had not been for that young Imp, Sir Toady, +who laughed out loud, and jumped up and down in the shirt like a white +Jack-in-the-Box.</p> + +<p>But perhaps it was as well that she did not. For they were just the sort +of people not to understand that Polly's lies had mostly been their own +fault. But of course, as you may imagine, it was only putting off the +day of reckoning.</p> + +<p>It was in holiday-time—midsummer—when school-mistresses are just like +other folk; only, if anything, a trifle nicer.</p> + +<p>Now the head of our school, Miss Gray, came to Romano, which is the name +of the town where Polly Pretend lived. And Miss Gray thought it would be +a nice thing to call upon the mother of her pupil. Perhaps she might be +able to give Mrs. Pretend a hint or two which would keep Polly from +entirely wasting her time next term at Olympia.</p> + +<p>Oh, Miss Gray meant it just as kindly as she could, and that's saying a +good deal. She is a nice chicky-biddy, fussy, motherly sort of thing, +and wears the nicest satiny gowns at dinner-parties. It was the last +thing in the world she would have thought of, to give Polly Pretend +away—even to her parents.</p> + +<p>But it happened that on this day the Pretends had gone for a motor-ride. +And as it was hot, Miss Gray said that she would be glad to wait a few +minutes in the drawing-room. Because, you see, Mrs. Pretend was expected +in every minute. The maid knew her business, of course; there was no +"pretend" about her. She brought a cup of tea, and left Miss Gray to +do—what do you think?—look over the books on the table.</p> + +<p>At first Miss Gray thought that something had suddenly gone wrong with +her eyes. She opened a fine Macaulay, and saw "First Prize for History, +Presented to Miss P. Pretend." Next came "Special Prize for Good +Conduct—Miss P. Pretend."</p> + +<p>There was a whole table covered with them, laid out in the center of the +room, and more stuck in decorative oaken shelves, of fine old oak, made +by the village handy-man.</p> + +<p>Then Miss Gray understood, and her feelings were too much for her. But +even then she did not give Polly away. You see, Miss Gray was a pretty +good sort—that is, a good sort, and a pretty one too—which is the best +sort of all, Hugh John says.</p> + +<p>So she just rang the bell, and told the maid that she could not wait any +longer to see Mrs. Pretend, but that she would write.</p> + +<p>And she did. It was a little letter just saying that circumstances over +which she had no control, etc., had caused such a pressure upon Olympia +College that she was sorry there would not be a vacancy for Polly that +year.</p> + +<p>Well, you can fancy—Polly's mother and father were very angry. So much +so that they determined to start off at once to call on the heads of the +college and complain.</p> + +<p>But Polly herself, as soon as she had heard from Ellen, the housemaid, +what had happened, and how Miss Gray had been twenty minutes in the +drawing-room, and gone away leaving her tea hardly "sipped," knew at +once what was the matter.</p> + +<p>So she dissuaded her father and mother from going to Olympia College.</p> + +<p>She was not appreciated, she said. She had always known it. Even Miss +Gray was jealous of her. And her mother said to her father, "I do not +wonder at it, dear. It is all the effect of our too careful bringing up +of Polly. Truly we may say with the Psalmist—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Than all her teachers now she has<br /></span> +<span class="i4">More understanding far!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And in a way, do you know, she had. And it was the training that did it.</p> + +<p>But later on, Dear Diary, I shall write more about Polly Pretend, when +she got a governess. For then she pretended and the governess pretended, +and instead of getting out of the habit, as Hugh John says, seven +Pretending Devils worse than the first entered into her.</p> + +<p>But of that another time.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h3>PRINCIPIA</h3> + + +<p><i>June continued, but nearer the end, and hotter.</i></p> + +<p>Polly Pretend's governess, after she could not be received at Olympia, +was Miss Principia Crow. She had more than three miles of testimonials, +if all had been written out in a line in text hand and measured.</p> + +<p>The only curious thing was that the dates of all these were old, and +Miss Principia was still fairly young. Also, she admitted having changed +her name "for family reasons."</p> + +<p>But she seemed just the sort of person for Polly Pretend. She did not +know much arithmetic—just enough to cheat at tennis. She had +certificates that reached as far as "trig"—the wonderful science which +makes the boys stamp and throw their books about the room when they have +to study it.</p> + +<p>Now Pa and Ma Pretend had taken a great deal of trouble in providing a +suitable companion for Polly, and in a way they had managed all right. +Miss Crow pretended to teach, and Polly pretended to learn, and one knew +as much about the matter as the other.</p> + +<p>Miss Crow passed the time in telling Polly how many people had been in +love with her, and the hopes she had of as many more. Polly begged the +loan of a pier-glass from her mother, and thought, as she pretended +before it, smiling at herself and sweeping imaginary trains, how soon +her turn would come to have scores of lovers all willing and anxious to +drown themselves for her sake, like Miss Principia Crow.</p> + +<p>Fragments of conversation were sometimes caught by Mamma Pretend, and +she thought to herself, "What strange authors they do set young people +to study now-a-days! When I was a girl we had <i>Magnall's Questions</i> and +<i>Little Arthur's History of England</i>!"</p> + +<p>It was Miss Crow's voice, however. No mistake about that.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and he said to me, 'I adore you with all the fervor of a free and +untrammeled genius, with the noble indignation of a spirit on fire +against wrong and oppression. It is true that in the meantime, though +of an exalted race, I am poor, receiving only twelve shillings a week in +one of the institutions of trust vulgarly called a pawn-broker's. But +next year and every succeeding year I shall have my salary raised by the +sum of two shillings—per fortnight. Oh, Principia, my Principia——'"</p> + +<p>At this moment, overcome by her own pardonable curiosity, Mrs. Pretend +entered hurriedly to see what they were doing.</p> + +<p>She found them busily employed, with head bent over an exercise in +dictation.... "From Milton's Essay on Macaulay!" Miss Polly Pretend +explained in answer to her mother's question.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Mrs. Pretend, as she went out, "and I always thought +that Milton wrote poetry. It's true I never could make out how they +could say that blank verse was really poetry—not, I mean, like 'How +doth the little busy' and 'Twinkle, twinkle'! But he wrote a long time +ago, and perhaps then they had not learned to make the words at the end +rhyme!"</p> + +<p>But now I must tell how Polly Pretend corrupted the whole house. At +first we had only called Polly's father and mother "the Pretends" +because they belonged to Polly, and so that we might know who was meant.</p> + +<p>But to begin with, Mrs. Pretend had to make up a lot of things to +explain why, after all these prizes, Polly had not gone back to Olympia +School. She had to think up something that people would believe. You +see, Polly's inventions were really too daring—as that after a year +abroad she and Miss Crow were going to set up a college of their own, a +far better one than Olympia. And then she would show Miss Gray!</p> + +<p>Now you will hardly believe me, but old Pretend, who was on the County +Council and fussed about roads and drainage—"an innocent enough old +duck," Sir Toady calls him—took to magnifying Miss Polly Pretend and +her governess. I think he actually began to count up his dollars to see +if he had really enough money to start Polly Pretend in a school of her +own. But one fine day he met old Lovell, of Castle Lovell, at some joint +business meeting about a Combination Poorhouse, or something like that.</p> + +<p>Now old Lovell is a fearful big-wig, and looked up to by everybody +because he is too stupid ever to pretend the least little bit. He would +get found out in a moment if he did. But solid as the Bank of England, +and as conceited as Mir-row with a rosette tied to her tail last King's +birthday!</p> + +<p>And old Lovell said, "I hear you have a Miss Crow to be governess to +your little child! I think I ought to know her!"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es!" said Father Pretend slowly. He did not like to hear a young +lady who was going to set up a school next year to rival Olympia itself +called "your little child."</p> + +<p>But he could not afford to fall out with old Lovell, who always seemed +as wise as a bench of judges and as rich-looking as a jeweler's shop +which can afford to keep its blinds down. So he only said, "My daughter +is not <i>quite</i> a child!"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said old Lovell, "then it can't be Lizzie you have for governess!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not!" said Mr. Pretend, much relieved; "her name is +Principia!"</p> + +<p>"I thought that was a Latin Grammar or something like that!" said old +Lovell, scratching his head like a bald old parrot.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps," said Papa Pretend, "it is very likely. Miss Crow has +been educated in all the languages that are—from her youth up!"</p> + +<p>Now all would have gone well if only it had not happened that at that +moment Polly and her governess came out of Parkins the pastry-cook's, +where they had been stuffing fruit-cakes.</p> + +<p>"Why, Lizzie!" cried old Lovell, shaking Miss Principia heartily by the +hand, "now I am pleased to see you have got on so well. This is my +butler's daughter," he explained, turning to Mr. Pretend, whose mouth +was the shape of a capital O; "it does Lizzie much credit. Because, you +see, she never got any regular schooling, being kept at home to help her +mother in the still-room and with the jams. Good-by, Lizzie! I shall not +forget to inform your father and mother that I have seen you—also John +the gardener, with whom, I understand, you are keeping company, as they +call it. Ah, ha! young people will be young people! Good-by, Pretend! +Good-by! Congratulate you on having the daughter of a respectable man in +your house. She will teach your little girl to make jams, and her +gooseberry-fool will be a marvel, if she is a bit like her mother. +Sensible man, Pretend! Far better to teach your daughter to brew and +bake than all the modern 'ologies' and fiddle-faddle in the world! Keeps +their husbands in better temper. Ah, clever fellow, Pretend! But you +couldn't take an old fellow in, eh, Pretend? I knew all that about +learning Latin grammar was stuff and nonsense. Good-by, good-by! So +long, Lizzie! Don't forget about that gooseberry-fool!"</p> + +<p>So off he went, like the rough timber-sided old bargee he was, and left +Mr. Pretend muttering angrily, "Gooseberry-fool! Gooseberry-fool!" As if +he knew very well who the "Gooseberry Fool" was—knew, that is, but had +promised not to tell.</p> + +<p>But poor Principia went as white as a sheet and shook like a fly caught +in a spider's web. I'm afraid in her heart she called old Lovell names.</p> + +<p>How did it turn out? Oh, the best way in the world. You would hardly +believe. At first, of course, old Pretend was all for packing off +Principia for teaching his child deceit! But he calmed down when he +thought of the lot of money he owed to old Lovell of Castle Lovell, and +of the use that his influence would be to him. Besides, he had boasted +so much about her. So had his wife.</p> + +<p>So he not only let Principia stay on, but actually set her to teach +Polly Pretend all she really knew. And she did know about cookery. That +was the real college she had been at, and her mother was a better +professor than all the ladies who gave lessons there. And Polly was +obliged to learn, too, because her father ate all the things she cooked, +and if he had indigestion, why, Polly heard about it, that's all. So she +stopped pretending and really did learn.</p> + +<p>And after a while they set up their college with old Pretend's +money—old Lovell's too, and it was called</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">THE SCHOOL OF PRACTICAL<br /></span> +<span class="i4">COOKERY<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Classes Afternoon and Evening</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Household Cookery, Preserving, and the<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Management of Families a Speciality<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And that sentence was the last little bit of "Pretend." For neither +Polly nor Miss Crow has any family. Nor, between ourselves, are they +likely to have.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h3>TORRES VEDRAS</h3> + + +<p><i>July the first in the year when I was eleven on August tenth.</i></p> + +<p>Father has seen the real place, and, of course, knows all about it. He +says that it is just a lot of rough mountains, with bits of wall built +into the open places to connect them and make them strong.</p> + +<p>But <i>we</i> know that there are not one, but two Torres Vedrases—all on +one bend of a river. The first one is quite near the Low Park, between +the Weir and Jackson's Pool. It is a pebbly bar with a kind of green +tufty island. From one side of it there is a rippling ford crossing +slantwise, by which you can lose yourself barefooted in the woods on the +other side.</p> + +<p>The water only takes you to about the knee, even if you are pretty +little. It is always one of the nicest places in the world. The water +makes a soft tinkling over the ford. The grasses and bluebells wave, +and the wind goes <i>sough</i> through the big solid walls of pine on either +side.</p> + +<p>Yes, it is first-rate to play there with your oldest things on, +especially on a warm day about this time of the year. The river is +pretty dry, and there is a great deal of pebbly bar, also the little +green island with rough grass on it has grown to about twice the size.</p> + +<p>You can fortify this island, and it is fine to dig channels through the +bar for the water, with all sorts of lovely harbors and pleasure-lakes. +Once the boys and I made a channel right from one end of the bar to the +other, and father helped—and got wet too!</p> + +<p>Yes, he did. We always encouraged him to get wet, by saying, "Oh, here +is a place we can't reach!" Because if <i>he</i> got wet, we knew very well +there would be nothing said to us. Fathers are fearful nice and +useful—sometimes. Ours particularly when he helps us to play, and +forgets he isn't a boy. Oh, I can see quite well when he says to +himself, "I ought to be working—<i>but</i>—oh, bother, how much nicer it is +to dig in the sand with the other children!"</p> + +<p>And then he took pictures of us—photographs, I mean—working at our +engineering, and building and paddling—oh, whole albums full. They +began when we were quite little tots. The best are of Maid Margaret and +Sir Toady. For I was too old, I suppose, to look nice stuck among trees, +and Hugh John hated so being photographed. When told to, he stood up +stiff like a stork on one leg. But Sir Toady was usually as nice as pie, +being made that way, and as for the Maid, she always looks natural +whatever she is doing.</p> + +<p>Father has a whole set called the History of a Biscuit. It is only the +Maid eating one. But it is funny to see it getting smaller and smaller +till it is all gone. They are flashed on quickly by our magic lantern, +and we children go wild when it comes to the funny ones. The grand +exhibitions are for winter nights. Then we are well wrapped up in gray +Harris cloaks and come up, closely marshaled by Somebody to see that we +don't snowball too much. They are quite lovely, these nights, with the +snow crisping under our feet, and Somebody carrying a swig-swagging +lantern before us—everybody's shadow swaying tipsily about, and the sky +so near and so thick with stars that it seems as if you had only to put +up your hand to catch a whole cluster.</p> + +<p>There are usually many pictures of this first Torres, because we were +younger, and it is a prettier place. We wore little red coats with big +white buttons then, and marched regularly like soldiers. Hugh John beat +us on the legs if we did not. He had a switch for the purpose, and he +said that was the way the father of Frederick the Great did to make his +son turn out a good soldier.</p> + +<p>But we didn't care about such very practical history, and it made our +legs sore—especially us girls, who wore thinner stockings. So there was +a regular mutiny, and the whole army was degraded. You see, we were all +generals—except Boss, our fox-terrier, who was named Inspector-General +of Communications, because he ran from side to side of the road +sniffing, and nothing or nobody could stop him. So, as Boss did not join +the mutiny—not knowing how—he was promoted next in rank after the +Commander-in-Chief, who was Hugh John. <i>He</i> was permanent Commander, +because, you see, he could lick the whole standing army even if it +attacked him on all sides at once.</p> + +<p>Sir Toady and Bobby Coates were the ring-leaders of the revolt, and they +called out, "Hem him in! Hem him in!" But, you see, that was the very +thing Hugh John wanted, and the more they "hemmed," the harder he laid +into them till Bobby said he would tell his father, which he did. But +Mr. Coates was a sensible man, and only said that he was all the better +for a "hiding," and that if he came bothering him any more, he would +give him another on his own account! So after that Bobby Coates became a +good soldier, and lived long as an ornament to the service.</p> + +<p>Yes, the nursery army was good fun while it lasted, before we all split +up and went to different schools. We tried it once after in the first +vacation. But somehow it wasn't the same, and ended in a fight. You see, +the boys especially had learned a good deal between them, and though it +made no difference to Hugh John, the others kept squabbling all the +time, and saying how much better they did things at their school than at +any other—which was not at all the way they talked about their school +in private.</p> + +<p><i>Then</i> "school was a beastly hole." The masters were "Old Buster," +"Plummy," "Sick Cat," and "The Dishlicker"!</p> + +<p>But to hear them talking to one another you would have thought that at +least half what was said on the prospectus was Gospel Truth. Yes, and +ever so much more. And it was "The Doctor," and "Mr. Traynor, the Head +of our House, who made a double century in the ''Varsity' match, and is +the best bowler in the whole world!"</p> + +<p>Going down by Torres there is a darkish place, all yew-trees, very +ancient, and there sometimes we would see one of the maids walking +arm-in-arm with a young man. Of course, though we thought it very silly, +we never told the Grown-ups. We knew by instinct that we must not. Then +after a month or two the cook or the housemaid or the under-nurse would +come and say she was "leaving to get married."</p> + +<p>Of course we never let on that we knew it all before. But we thought her +very silly to leave a place where she could have stayed for ever at good +wages (ever so much better than our weekly ones) just to go and do +housework for somebody who never paid her any wages at all!</p> + +<p>All this comes into the history of the First Torres Vedras, and of +course I ought to have done it properly, like in a school history, all +in order, with dates at the sides and notes at the bottom of each page. +But being only a little girl, it has got to be written just so, or not +at all. I am so afraid that I shall forget these things as I grow up—so +I put them down as I remember them in my Dear Diary.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h3>TORRES THE SECOND</h3> + + +<p><i>Written in the fourteenth year of my age.</i></p> + +<p>[The date is July the Second—or Third. I am not sure which, for Mary +Housemaid has burned yesterday's paper lighting the fire.]</p> + + +<p>We went to Torres Vedras the Second to-day. I don't quite know why—only +there are bigger stones there, and the river rushes more rapidly. We +often try to dam it altogether, but we have never quite succeeded. You +see, just when we are getting to the last bit, the water always rises +and sweeps it all away. But Hugh John said to-day he knew a way, and +that was to make the dam like a very blunt capital V with its nose +pointing up stream! The book on engineering he had been digging into +said this was the proper right way, and it acted very well till the +moment came when the very point of the V was put in. Hugh John was to do +that, of course. He would yield the honor to no one else, and as for +me, I did not want that kind of honor.</p> + +<p>And, do you know, when he dropped in the big stone and stood on it to +make it all safe by plugging up the "interstices" with smaller stones +and rubble, as the book said—lo! the river rose again and swept away +the whole work from side to side, all except the big bowlder Hugh John +was standing on!</p> + +<p>You never saw such a thing. Horatius, with the bridge going down behind +him, was at least on dry land. But there stood Hugh John waving his arms +to keep his balance, and crying out, "Oh—I don't care—I don't +care—I'll dam it yet!"</p> + +<p>It was very ignoble, he said afterwards, of any river to behave that +way. Why couldn't it have stopped where it was put and done what it was +told? Anyway, while we tried to get him a plank to crawl ashore on, the +big bowlder swerved, and toppled him right in, and he was wet up to his +watch-pocket.</p> + +<p>He had to go to the top of the Feudal Tower all by himself, and play at +being the Lady Godiva riding through Coventry, while his things dried +over the ramparts. But he took good care that nobody saw him. He dared +Toady Lion to come within half-a-mile. While he was away, we made great +excavations and navigable channels. One of these was so huge that Sir +Toady says that the ruins will remain even when we are Grown-ups +ourselves. But that is a long time yet, and I don't see how Sir Toady +can possibly know.</p> + +<p>He also says that, just as there are the ruins of Memphis, Nineveh, +Rome, the Calton Hill, and the Portobello Brickworks, so there will be +the ruins of the First and Second Torres Vedras. Digging people in +future generations will wonder who made them, and so on each of the big +stones he has placed an inscription in the Abracadabrian language to +tell the explorers all about it.</p> + +<p>Now I will tell you about the Abracadabrian language. We made it up +ourselves, and we four in the nursery all speak it fluently. Only the +curious thing about it is that none of us has the least idea what the +others are talking about! This must be owing, says Hugh John, to "some +variation of dialect, such as creeps into all languages sooner or +later."</p> + +<p>The Abracadabrian language has suffered <i>sooner</i> than most, that is all. +In fact, it was born suffering. But it is the writing of it that is +most difficult. It is founded on always putting a Z for an A, and so +back through the alphabet. And so difficult to read is it that not even +the writer of any sentence in that language has ever been able to make +out what he meant, twenty-four hours after!</p> + +<p>Hugh John and I really labored at it hard, and might have made progress +if we had not squabbled about the grammatical rules. But Sir Toady said +brazenly, "<i>Hinky-chinky-pin!</i>" And stuck to it that it meant, "The +enemy of the Nursery Commonwealth has arrived at Leith, burnt his ships, +and is now marching on Peebles!" As for Maid Margaret, she said it was +so, and would Sir Toady please come with her and fish for minnows with a +tin can tied to a string?</p> + +<p>This they did. They had no souls for true philology. They don't even +know what the word means. (<i>I</i> have just looked it up.) After he was +dried up all right alone in the Feudal Tower, Hugh John dressed himself, +and signaled to me by waving his handkerchief three times, once with his +right hand, once with his bare toes, and once holding it between his +teeth—pretty intricate when you are not used to it.</p> + +<p>This, when you can see it, is our fiery cross—that is, Hugh John's and +mine. As I say, it takes a good deal of trouble, but it is a worthy +summons—and the copy-book says that nothing truly noble is achieved +without difficulty.</p> + +<p>Well, when I got to him, he said that he would take me to his Cave of +Mysteries. This was a great favor, for not even Sir Toady had ever been +there before.</p> + +<p>"Not a gamekeeper knows it," he said, "and Fuz says I can use his +scouting-glass if I take good care not to drop it."</p> + +<p>There was a steep wood to climb, all among the fir-trees, some grass +fields, then above and quite suddenly we came out on the side of a +rugged mountain.</p> + +<p>The cave was about half-way up, under a slanting rock. You turned +quickly to the side, grabbed a little pine-root and swung yourself in. +Then you saw the cave. It was not much of a place for size, not like the +self-contained villas they have in story-books. Only you could not be +seen. The rain did not come in unless it was driving quite level along +from the north, which did not happen often.</p> + +<p>But when I turned about—why, it nearly took my breath away. We could +see half-a-dozen counties—Edinburgh dusting the little lion of Arthur's +Seat with her smoke, the blue firth beyond, little and narrow, the toy +towers of the Big Bridge to the left, and the green country all between +dotted with towers and towns innumerable.</p> + +<p>Oh, it was so unexpected and so fine that I nearly cried. And Hugh John +lay watching me, his chin among the heather. But, more than all, he was +pleased that his cave had taken me so much by storm.</p> + +<p>Then he showed me with his glasses he could "spot exactly where each of +the gamekeepers was, also the wood-foresters, and Sir Bulleigh Bunny +himself, if he were at home."</p> + +<p>And indeed it was quite true. He could pick them all out one by one. +Never once did he make a mistake. Then he would show me them, but often +all I could see was no more than a little trembling among the green +leaves of some far-distant wood.</p> + +<p>It was not long till I found the secret of Hugh John's complete security +in this his chosen Crusoe's Cave. Chesnay the gamekeeper was passing far +below, a gun over his shoulder, and as the wind was blowing off the +hill into the valley, it was almost certain that his dogs would scent +us.</p> + +<p>But Hugh John had thought all this out. Trust him for that. He took a +gnawed bone out of an inner pocket, removed the wrapping of newspaper, +leaned far over, and threw it with the long, sweeping curve of a +boomerang upon the path in front of the dog's nose.</p> + +<p>John Chesnay's retriever made a rush, a snap, and then sidled sidelong +into the thick copse-wood. The rest of the dogs were after him in a +moment. I had seen him glancing from side to side as if to watch for the +fall of the bone. He knew it would come, and that even if the devil took +the hindmost, the foremost would be sure of the bone. Therefore he, John +Chesnay's big black retriever, would be that foremost.</p> + +<p>He was far too wise a dog to argue, or bother about where +the bone arrived from. His business was to find it, and +then—<i>crunch</i>—<i>crunch</i>—get it stowed away out of harm's way as +quickly as possible.</p> + +<p>Caesar Augustus (that was the dog's name) knew very well that though you +may hunt out the causes of bad luck, it is better to leave good luck +alone. So at least Hugh John said, and if anybody knew all about such +things, <i>he</i> did. There was hardly anything he could not tell you the +true explanation of, or, if in doubt, you had only to wait a moment and +he would make you up one on the spot quite as good, every bit, as the +real one. Furthermore, he would prove to you (and very likely to +himself) that it might be, must be, <i>was</i>, the only true and proper +reason and explanation.</p> + +<p>Anyway, reason or no reason, it was just as nice as ninepence in the +Cave. Away down to the left where the sun was bright on the river we +could see Sir Toady and the Maid, little black dots moving to and fro +along the green edge of the river. Hugh John had the glass on them in a +minute, and behold—they were squabbling! Sir Toady had tossed some of +the Maid's fish out, and the Maid had promptly thrown the pail of water +in his face.</p> + +<p>He stood dripping and laughing. The Maid had gone for a fresh supply of +ammunition. But war was over. Sir Toady had laughed. After that there +was no more to be said.</p> + +<p>It is different with Hugh John, when he sucks in his cheeks, clenches +his fists, and laughs—well, look out for what you are going to get.</p> + +<p>I asked Hugh John why he had never taken Sir Toady up to his Cave of the +Winds, and he said, "Oh, Toady—he would be getting out boxes to stuff +with beetles, and skirmishing for birds' eggs. He's all right in a wood, +that Toadums—better than me—but no good on the hillside, and too larky +all round in places where you can be seen miles off."</p> + +<p>"And what do you do up here yourself?" I said.</p> + +<p>"I am <i>by</i> myself," he answered. "I think—I read!"</p> + +<p>"But you have a room <i>to</i> yourself in the house. You can go there!"</p> + +<p>For I thought he was exceedingly well off. Because I have to share mine +with the Maid, who kicks like a young colt in her sleep. But Hugh John +gave me a look of utmost contempt.</p> + +<p>"Did you never hear of Obermann?" he said, "—the man who made a cave on +the Pic de Jaman. I showed it to you when we stopped at Glion on the way +to Lausanne."</p> + +<p>"It was a cow-châlet then," I reminded him. But he swept on without the +least heed of details.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and Mr. Arnold has a lovely poem all about him, and 'the wild +bees' hum,' and 'his sad tranquil lore.' This isn't quite the Pic de +Jaman, of course, but it is just as lonely, if you don't tell anybody, +that is, and I've only told you, Sis! Never mind!"</p> + +<p>So I swore never to reveal his hiding-place, and he showed me all he had +written about his observations. He had a shelf covered in with wood and +a lot of copy-books. Here was written all he had seen through the +glasses he had borrowed and the three-draw telescope of his own which he +carried constantly in his pocket.</p> + +<p>Oh, it was wonderful what he had observed—all about the changing +seasons, the country people, the moor-birds, the gamekeepers, and the +comings and goings of Sir Bulleigh Bunny.</p> + +<p>"Anybody can hide in a wood," he said, "but it takes Obermann and me to +do it on a bare hill!"</p> + +<p>Then he smiled a little and confessed.</p> + +<p>"I don't really know much about him," he said, "except that his name was +Senancour. I got his book out of the library, all marked with father's +scribblings, but I really couldn't understand much of it. Only this that +I translated—you could do it better, of course. It is about himself +when he was as old as we are, and felt just the same.</p> + +<p>"'I loved all manner of glades, valleys where it was always dusk—and +thick woods. I loved heathery hills, ruined pleasaunces, and tumbled +rocks fallen in avalanche. Still more I loved vast and shifting sands +which never plowshare had furrowed nor human foot crossed—plains +abandoned to the mountain doe or the frightened scouring hare. I never +liked to sit amid the storming of cataracts, nor on a little hill +overlooking a boundless plain. Rather I chose a hiding-place well +sheltered, a block of stone wetted lip deep with the brook which glided +through the silence of the valley, or better still, a mossy trunk, prone +in the deeps of the forest, with the dry rustle of beech-leaves above me +which the wind is getting ready to blow down when the time is ripe. +Silently I march, my feet deep in last year's fallen leaves—the little +worn footpath full of them from side to side.'</p> + +<p>"Oh, and this is finest of all," said Hugh John, hurrying on, "but don't +tell any one. I make you a partner of my solitude. It lasts just a +little while. It is selfish, if you like, but sometimes it is good to +live alone! Do you know what Senancour says love is?"</p> + +<p>"No!" I gasped, "how should I know?"</p> + +<p>And in truth I was more surprised that already Hugh John should be +thinking of such things. But when I told father, he just said to let him +alone—that the boy was finding his soul.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it might be in this old, sad, hundred-year-old book that he was +to find it. For the soul, father says, is just the capacity a man has of +thinking for himself.</p> + +<p>But Hugh John went on joyously, with his firm, pale, clean-cut face +looking out of the Cave's mouth towards the distant sapphire band of the +Firth, with the three Lomonds in a paler row of blue mounds behind.</p> + +<p>"'Often on the breast of some mountain, when the winds, sweeping down +from their wild "hopes" and gorges, ruffle the little high-lying +solitary lakes, the eternal clatter of the waves, heard only by myself, +makes me feel the instability of things, and the eternal reconstruction +of the earth out of her own <i>débris</i>.</p> + +<p>"'Thus giving myself up to the influence of all about me, bending to the +stoop of the bird which passes above me, thrilled by the falling stone, +conferring only with the moaning of the wind, watching the oncoming +mist, I become a part of the Peace of Things which is God. All reposes, +yet all is in motion, and I become part of it—calm as that higher +serenity, cool as that shadow—the hum of an insect or the scent of a +trampled herb making my communion with Nature. I also am of the great +sweet earth. I live its life, and in time I shall die its death.'"</p> + +<p>Now, for myself, I did not think that this was the sort of thing a boy +ought to be thinking of at Hugh John's age. But, since father said he +too had "passed that way," and since Hugh John could eat, sleep, run, +and play as well as anybody, I did not say anything.</p> + +<p>But I foresaw a day of reckoning—yes, I—because I am older, and a +girl. And in the world there are other girls. One day Hugh John (or I am +greatly mistaken) will turn the leaves of another book, and then +Senancour the austere will be forgotten, passed by on his shelf like a +chance acquaintance whose very name has become strange.</p> + +<p>Perhaps I wrong him. But this is what I think. At any rate I resolved to +try and guide his thoughts into more cheerful paths (it is a pity we +have not Senancour's pretty word '<i>sentier</i>'; I have always loved it).</p> + +<p>"Do you never observe <i>people</i>?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>He stared at me in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course I do," he answered, and he got down two more thick +copy-books. Everything Hugh John did about this time was original and +unexpected.</p> + +<p>"People!" he said, holding up the two manuscript books; "why, these are +stuffed full of people. Enough to make a real book!"</p> + +<p>Then I confided to Hugh John the great secret that <i>I</i> was making a +book.</p> + +<p>A look of joy flashed over his face.</p> + +<p>"Let's make one together!" he said, "and not tell anybody!"</p> + +<p>"Let's!" I answered.</p> + +<p>Because I felt that I really owed Hugh John something for showing me the +Cave.</p> + +<p>And it was arranged that he was to tell me about his People and Things, +and I was to write everything down with my thoughts planted in here and +there.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h3>HUGH JOHN'S PEOPLE</h3> + + +<p><i>Through a glass clearly. July, and hot.</i></p> + +<p>If you put your eye to the glass (said Hugh John) you will see where one +of my greatest friends lives—Mr. Butcher Donnan. Or rather he used to +be a butcher. For now he has given up his trade to his son Nipper, and +regrets it every minute of his waking day.</p> + +<p>Yes, that two-storied cottage with the garden in front, ablaze with +flowers, with creepers clambering as high as the roof, that is "New Erin +Villa," and the home of the most discontented man in Edam. Butcher +Donnan has nothing to do. He hangs over his gate, and almost prays stray +passers-by to stop and gossip. He has nothing to say to them or they to +him. But when they are gone, he will pull out his big gold watch with a +cluck like the cork drawn from a bottle, and say, "Thank God! Five +minutes gone!"</p> + +<p>Then he will stroll down the lanes towards Nipper's shop, making +butcher's eyes at all the cows which look at him over the hedges. He is +secretly calculating how they will cut up—jealous of Nipper, who has it +to do really every day.</p> + +<p>He lounges into his son's shop—where not long ago he ruled supreme. +Nipper, serving a customer, nods cheerfully to his father, and the +Butcher, whose fingers itch for the apron and the swinging steel, +clutches the gold head of his cane more tightly to keep him from +applying the supple part of it to "every lazy man-Jack" in the +establishment. Ah, things are not as they were in his time. The floor is +not so clean and cool, in spite of the black and white marble squares on +which Nipper had insisted. The eye of "Mister" Donnan could detect signs +of wasteful cutting-up in the dismembered animals a-swing on the hooks. +But Nipper was now "Butcher" Donnan, while he is no more than proprietor +of "New Erin Villa," with nothing to do, and too much time and too much +money to do it on.</p> + +<p>Sadly he goes out again. His place is not there. He could not stay in +that shop ten minutes without breaking the head of one of these stupid +"assistants." Even Nipper might not get off scot-free. But Butcher +Donnan knows that his son Nipper is of his own temper, a true Donnan, +and, young as he is, will be master within his own gates.</p> + +<p>So he says sadly, "So long, Nipper!" And, what is the greatest proof of +his changed condition, goes out without offering any criticism. Then he +"troddles" round the village on the look-out for little jobs, which he +considers as his specialities, or even perquisites—though he takes no +money for doing them. He can graft rose-trees better than any gardener +in the parish. At least he <i>says</i> he can, and by reason of his repeating +it often enough and offering to fight anybody who thinks otherwise, +people have got to say so too. You believe an old middle-weight champion +when he tells you a thing like that, his little eyes twinkling out +suspiciously at you, and a fist the size of a mutton ham thrust under +your nose.</p> + +<p>Just now—"Watch him, Sis!" he is on the look-out for wasp nests. Edam +is the most wasp-free parish for miles, all owing to him. He marks them +down in the daytime, and then in the evening he will come with his +utensils and a dark lantern to make an end. With hung nests under eaves, +or attached to branches of trees, he deals by drenching them with +petroleum and setting a match to them. Sometimes he will drop a big one +into a pail of water and stand ready to clap on the lid. The swarming +deep-sunk nests in dry banks he attacks more warily. He brings a little +apparatus for heating pitch, and pours it, liquid and sinuous, into the +hole till the startled hum sinks into silence. Since an accident which +happened last year (owing to the wasp-nest operated upon having a +back-door) Butcher Donnan has always taken a quick-sighted boy or two to +spy out the land. I suspect our Sir Toady has acted as scout pretty +often. Do you remember when he came home all bulgy about the eyes and +with one of his ears swelled up double? <i>He</i> said he thought he must +have taken cold, and I saw from the twinkle in Fuz's eye that he thought +he had been fighting. But <i>I</i> took my magnifying glass and got out two +of the wasp-stings. Sir Toady had been doing "scout" for Butcher Donnan. +He had not "scouted" quite quick enough—that was all.</p> + +<p>Butcher Donnan, born Irish, had spent some time in America. So he +started politics here, and as he hoists the green flag with a harp, and +hauls down the Union Jack on the occasion of every Irish debate in +Parliament, you may be sure that he gets his windows broken.</p> + +<p>He does not object. He likes putting the panes in again himself, because +it is something for him to do. Sometimes he catches some local Unionist +patriot and (what he calls) "lathers" him! Afterwards he supports him +liberally during a prolonged convalescence. It is counted rather a good +thing to be loyal and get battered by that furious Irish Revolutionary, +Butcher Donnan. He has illuminations, too, and has stood for the School +Board and County Council on purely Fenian lines. He said nothing, +however, when young Nipper was elected instead of him, on that most +popular of all municipal tickets which consists in "keeping down the +rates."</p> + +<p>In despair of other employment Butcher Donnan has married a second time, +and his wife is a buxom woman, overcome with the glory of living in a +villa. But she makes regular first-class custards, I tell you. And for +toffee and shortcake there is not the like of her in the whole village +of Edam. If it were not for Butcher Donnan's (senior's) dignity, he +might be a happy man. For Mrs. Donnan could conduct the finest +confectioner's shop that ever was, and if the Butcher could be kept +from cutting up a mince-pie with a cleaver, and sharpening a jelly-spoon +on a "steel," he might be the best of salesmen and the happiest of men.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, he has found the big wasp-nest behind the Mains entrance +gate, and he will be off to get his pitch-kettle ready, the mask for his +face, and the gloves for his hands. He does not mean to suffer if he can +help it.</p> + +<p>His wife, who cannot be all the time in the kitchen, is miserable +because she has to do fancy work and receive callers (or at least sit +waiting for them) in the fruit season, which is a clear waste of time. +She has been so long making a green Berlin wool cushion for a +bazaar—the "Sons of Clan-na-Gael Mutual Assistance Sale"—that it is +just chock-full of moths, and in time will pollute the entire household +into which it is "raffled." It is wrong to raffle, anyway, says the +chief of police, so it will serve them quite right—<i>I</i> shall not take a +ticket. Now (said Hugh John, shaking his wise head) if they would only +listen to me and start a confectioner's shop, they would both be chirpy +as the day is long, and in the winter time long after dark—she over her +dishes and patty-pans in the kitchen, and he in a white cap and apron +behind the counter, talking to everybody, busy as honey-bees in +clover-time, radiating sweetness and coining money.</p> + +<p>And underneath the white apron Donnan could wear the butcher's "steel" +if he liked, just to make him feel like himself.</p> + +<p>Oh, I could arrange for people to be happy if they would only let me!</p> + +<p>"And why don't you tell him?" I said to Hugh John, a little impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Hugh John, "you see, I have fought Nipper so long that there +is a kind of hereditary household enmity."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," I said; "why, I saw Fuz talking to the old fellow for an +hour the other day, the two of them sitting and smoking as thick as +thieves. Besides, there's Toady!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hugh John. "Father has no sense of the dignity of the house +or of what a 'vendetta' means. He always says that if he has a chance of +getting to heaven on that clause about forgiving your enemies, he does +not care a dump. Or words that mean just the same. And as for Sir +Toady—well, give him liberty to go into the woods at night—only an +excuse, mind you, and there is no sin that he will not commit—short, +that is, of mutiny. Neither of them knows how to conduct a family +quarrel on proper lines. I—you and I, I mean, have to sustain the honor +of the house, eh, Sis?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense, Hugh John," I said; "you know you have always been good +friends with Nipper. And it was you that brought the whole of them here +to listen to the Scott Redcap Tales at the Feudal Tower!"</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> was quite another matter," said Hugh John, hard pushed for an +explanation. "It was a sort of Ossianic gathering where all the chiefs +came to Morven, and made truce to listen to the tales and songs of the +minstrel!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very likely," I said; "but why not put father or Sir Toady on to +advise Butcher Donnan? There is need of such a shop as that in Edam. I +have often felt the want myself."</p> + +<p>Hugh John agreed, and added that he had too. But he said that Sir Toady +could not be expected to act, seeing that he had already "sucked up" to +the maker of the strawberry shortcake, not to mention the maple-sugar +toffee. He could therefore get as much as he wanted for himself without +paying, owing to Mrs. Donnan's weakness!</p> + +<p>"And do you think that a young dev—imp like Sir Toady does not know +when he is well off?" concluded Hugh John. "As for father, he has too +much to do to bother his head about things like that—at least I shan't +ask him; no, Sis, if anybody, it is you who ought to suggest to Butcher +Donnan, or better, to Mrs. Donnan——"</p> + +<p>"But," said I, "he is a violent man, and would not listen to a word his +wife says. You know that very well!"</p> + +<p>Hugh John considered, throwing his chin into the air with a gesture +which, if he had not worn his hair of military shortness, would have +cast it back elegantly and poetically. But he disdained such things.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," he said, "Donnan makes a lot of noise, I know. He pretends to +authority, but—don't tell anybody—he has it not. <i>His wife can wear +him down!</i> She seems to submit. His authority at home is undisputed. So +he tires of it, and finishes by letting her have her own way. That is +the secret. Of course at the least word of objection it would be, 'What +ho! my highest of high horses!' And crying aloud he would mount and +ride. But Mrs. Donnan never gives him a chance. She knows better. And as +he is really a good-hearted man—if he does bully, she just waits till +he is sorry for it! It does not take long."</p> + +<p>Thus in the depths of the cave, his chin on his hands and his eye glued +to the telescope, spake the Philosopher of Esk Water Side.</p> + +<p>I could not but admit that in the main he was right. Hugh John follows a +truth with a certain slow, patient, tireless, sleuth-hound trot, which +never puts him out of breath. But in the end he finishes by getting +there. And now without ever moving he extorted from me the promise that, +when I could (and as soon as I could) I should take in hand the task of +restoring the married happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Donnan—retired from +business, and fallen into the practice of idleness as a profession, and +unhappiness as the wages thereof.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW SHOP</h3> + + +<p><i>Aged about Fifteen. The Cave, in July.</i></p> + +<p>It wasn't a job I liked. Nor would almost anybody. Still people can't +<i>say</i> very much to a girl, and I had been at school and so had lost +my—what shall I call it?—"sensitiveness."</p> + +<p>As Sir Toady says, the golden rule is a first-rate thing—when you leave +school. Even with a little addition, it flourishes there too. But you +don't want to set up as a Christian martyr at school, I can tell you. It +was very noble in the time of St. Francis, and Dr. Livingstone, and +these people, and now-a-days there are people to whom we have to send +our sixpences—people we never see. Perhaps I shall be one when I am +older, but at school—these are Sir Toady's words—you find out what boy +has a down on you <i>and down him first</i>! It saves trouble.</p> + +<p>Afterwards you can be as sweet and child-like as possible, and go about +the world taking people in with blue Madonna eyes all your life. But at +school, if you don't want to have the life of a dog, it has got to be +different.</p> + +<p>Hugh John, of course, says that the principle of school life is for +everybody to obey one person. But, you see, that person is Hugh John. If +they don't, most likely he will hammer them. And afterwards he will +prove how they were wrong. He will do it at length, and at breadth, and +at depth, and unto the fourth dimension, till even fellows who can stand +up to his fists give in to him so as not to get lectured—or "jawed" as +they ignorantly call it. For really what Hugh John says could be taken +down and printed right off in a book.</p> + +<p>And you have got to believe it, too. For he is always ready to support +his opinion, in the same manner as the Highland chief in <i>Kidnapped</i>. +"If any gentleman is not preceesely satisfied, I shall be proud to step +outside with him."</p> + +<p>Joined to this faculty for laying down the law, he possesses an +admirable barbaric power of enforcing it, which would have been +invaluable in feudal times, and is not without its uses even now.</p> + +<p>Well, three days after I went and called on Mrs. Donnan. It came about +quite naturally. She is a first-class person to call upon. No fuss or +anything—only you have to catch her on the hop. This time I saw her in +the garden gathering gooseberries, and in a moment she had her sunbonnet +half off her head, and the basket dropped in the furrow, but I was upon +her before she could get away.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Donnan, do let me help you!" I said.</p> + +<p>"But, Miss——" she began, not knowing how to go on.</p> + +<p>"I should love it," I added quickly, "and I promise not to eat a single +one. In fact I shall whistle all the time!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, miss," she said, all in a flurry, "you know it is not that! You or +any of your family are only too welcome to come, and take as many as +they like."</p> + +<p>"If you want to keep any for the preserving pot," I said, smiling at +her, "I should advise you not to say that to my entire family. There are +certain members of it who are capable of cleaning up the branches as +your dog Toby there would clean a bone!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you mean Master Toady," she said, all dimples in a moment at the +recollection. "He comes here often. But the garden is large, and bless +him! even he can't eat more than he can. More than that, he often leaves +a rabbit, or even a brace—and my man havin' been a butcher, is +remarkable fond of a bit o' game."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, "my brother's shootings are like your garden, extensive. +Still, it is a wonder how he can keep them up on a shilling a day, and +all but twopence of it deferred pay!"</p> + +<p>"It is a wonder, now I come to think of it!" said the good lady +meditatively. "He must be a careful lad with his money!"</p> + +<p>"What I wonder at,"—I went on talking as soon as I had got her settled +back again at the picking of the gooseberries—"is that you never +thought of making the prettiest little shop-window in the world of your +cakes and pasties and jams and candies. You know nobody can make them in +the least like you. Besides, I have spoken to my father and others who +know lots more about it, and every one is sure that such a thing would +be a great boon to Edam, and that you are the very person to take it in +hand. It would not be like an ordinary shop. For every one knows that +your husband has made his fortune and retired. But it would give you +something to do. Shall I speak to Mr. Donnan about it?"</p> + +<p>The poor woman flushed with pleasure at the very idea. So much I could +see. Yet she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"HE would never consent—his position—his politics—Oh, no!" Mrs. +Donnan considered that I had better not speak to the master—at least +not then.</p> + +<p>However, I thought differently, and it was after the good lady had asked +me to stay to tea that my chance came.</p> + +<p>Donnan came in, fanning himself with his broad-brimmed Panama. Things +had not been going well that afternoon. Nipper had been busy on account +of a rush of trade, and had not welcomed his father's criticisms too +gratefully. You see, the old man was accustomed to find fault with +Nipper's management, and that day there had been a shortage of ice in +the shop and a corresponding shortage in Nipper's temper.</p> + +<p>Also, Mr. Donnan's more general perambulation had not turned out well. +Some rude and vagrant boys had dug out the pet wasp-nest he had been +saving up for the next dark night, and there were green flies all over +his best Lasalle rose-tree. Two of his best Dorkings had "laid away."</p> + +<p>"I don't want any tea to-day, Cynthia!" he grumbled crossly. And without +looking at me he went to the sofa and threw himself down with a heavy +creaking of furniture.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said his wife, "surely you have not seen this young lady who +has come to do you the honor of taking tea with you?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said I, "as long as there are such cakes to be had at New +Erin Villa, the honor is all on my side."</p> + +<p>But the polite Irishman was already on his feet.</p> + +<p>"Miss Sweetheart—Miss Sweetheart!" he said, "what a blind old +hedge-carpenter ye must have thought me! And you your own folks' +daughter, and your father treating me like a long-lost brother, <i>and</i> +instructin' me on hist'ry and the use of the globes!"</p> + +<p>So we had tea, the prettiest little tea imaginable, with Mrs. Donnan +going about as soft-footed as a pussy cat, and purring like one too.</p> + +<p>Butcher Donnan looked after her with a kind of sudden bitterness. "It's +all very well for <i>her</i>," he said; "she makes her life out of such +things, but what is there for me to do? I'm about at the end of my +tether!"</p> + +<p>"Why, <i>help her</i>!" said I.</p> + +<p>"Help her!" he muttered, not understanding. "Me, Butcher Donnan—why, +the girl is mazed! I can't do housework!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus2" id="illus2"></a> +<img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">Help Her! Me, Butcher Donnan!</span>"</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>But I soon showed him I was not so mazed as he thought. He was tired of +doing nothing. He wanted a change. Very well then; here was this little +house right at the top of Edam Common, with the railway station +opposite, and everybody's business taking him that way two or three +times a day. What Edam wanted was a confectioner's shop. His wife was +dying to have one. He would look a fine figure of a man in a white +overall and cap! Hugh John had said it!</p> + +<p>He whistled softly, and his little, deep-set eyes twinkled.</p> + +<p>"I might ha' known," he said, "when I saw that long-legged brother of +yours looking at me as if to calculate what I was good for. He's the +fellow to make plans. Now the other——"</p> + +<p>Here he laughed as he remembered Sir Toady Lion.</p> + +<p>"More like me when I was his age!" he said. "But about the pastry-cook +foolishness. What put that into his head?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't foolishness," I answered, "and nobody that I know of ever puts +anything into Hugh John's head!"</p> + +<p>"He certainly is a wonder!" ("Corker" was what he <i>said</i>.)</p> + +<p>Then I explained. One side of the villa was certainly expressly designed +for a shop, the drawing-room and back drawing-room having side +connections with the kitchen, only needed to be fitted with shelves and +counters. The other side of the house and all above stairs might remain +intact.</p> + +<p>To my surprise Mr. Donnan never said a word concerning his position, his +political aspirations, his illuminations, and disporting of the green +harp of Ireland.</p> + +<p>"But what are we to do with Cynthia's parlor furniture?" he asked +instead. I could see a look of joy flash across his wife's face.</p> + +<p>"Donnan," she said, "we will make the empty room above into a parlor. +It's a perfect god-send. That boy should be paid by Government to make +plans for people!"</p> + +<p>Butcher Donnan bent his brows a moment on his wife. "Oh, you are in it, +are you, Cynthia? Then I suppose I may as well go and order my white +apron and cap?"</p> + +<p>"Think how well they will become you!" said his wife, who also must have +kissed the Blarney stone—the old one, not the new.</p> + +<p>I agreed heartily. Butcher Donnan heaved a sigh. "And me, that never was +seen but in decent blue," he said, "me to put on white like a mere +bun-baker—and at my time of life!"</p> + +<p>I said that it was certainly scandalous, but seeing that he would have +nothing to do with the work except to sell, and arrange the windows for +market-days, it would not matter so much.</p> + +<p>"I shall need a small oven!" said his wife, "and a new set of French +'casserole molds' (which is to say patty-pans) <i>and</i> some smaller brass +pans, also——"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I was wrong," I interposed cunningly, "to lead Mr. Donnan into +so much expense."</p> + +<p>I knew that, if anything, this would fetch him, and it did.</p> + +<p>"Expense, is it? Expense, Miss Sweetheart! Ha, Ha!" He slapped his +pocket. "Ask your friend Mr. Anderson down at the Bank (not that he will +tell you!) whether Butcher Donnan is a warm man or not? <i>He</i> did not +retire on four bare walls and a pocket-handkerchief of front-garden like +some I could tell you of. Cynthia, you shall have all the brass pans you +want, and as for the front shop—well, there won't be the like of it, +not as far as Dumfries! We shall have a van too, gold and blue!"</p> + +<p>Butcher Donnan was all on fire now, and when Nipper came in he clapped +him on the shoulder, crying that he had better look sharp. He, Butcher +Donnan, was going to set up such a shop as never was seen in Edam, and +people would never be wanting "fresh meat" any more, but live on pies +and shortcake and sweets for ever and ever.</p> + +<p>At this Nipper looked no little relieved, and even listened to the +details with a secret satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Father," he said, "the shop down town can run itself the first day of +the opening of yours. I'm coming up to see you face the public in your +new nursing togs!"</p> + +<p>"You're an impudent young jackanapes," said his father, clenching his +fists, "and if it were not that you have to stick to business and pay me +the money you owe me, I would thrash you on the spot, old as you are!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, let Nipper alone," said I, as cheerfully as I could, "he has the +sweet tooth. I know it well, and I will wager he will yet be one of your +best customers!"</p> + +<p>"He will bring his money along with him then every time," growled his +father. "And now I am off to see Mr. Hetherington, the architect. We +must get things ship-shape!"</p> + +<p>"But," cried his wife, "you have never tasted your tea!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother my tea!" said Butcher Donnan, flouncing out, having fallen a +victim to Hugh John's dangerous imagination. But he looked in again, his +topper hat of Do-Nothing Pride already exchanged for the cap of Edam +Commerce.</p> + +<p>"Tell that young gentleman of yours," he said, "that, if things turn out +well, he is always welcome at our shop, eh, Cynthia? And nothing to pay! +And you, Miss Sweetheart, I hope to live long enough to bake your +bride's-cake!"</p> + +<p>"There he goes!" murmured his wife, "in a week Donnan will think that he +has made every single thing in the shop, from the brass weights on the +counter to the specimen birthday-cake in the window!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h3>NIPPER NEGLECTS HIS BUSINESS</h3> + + +<p><i>August eighth. Aged Fifteen.</i></p> + +<p>It is only a month since the Donnans opened their new shop up on the +open square facing the market hill, and not far from the railway +station. It was one of a row of villas, mostly tenanted by men who had +returned from the "pack"—that is, who had made a neat little fortune in +the business which calls itself Credit Drapery, but which, perhaps +undeservedly, is called much harder names by its clients, especially +when its back is turned.</p> + +<p>These, being the aristocracy of a Shilling-a-Week and Cent.-per-Cent., +objected exceedingly to a mere confectioner's shop thrusting its nose +into the midst of their blue-stone walls, picked out by window-sills and +lintels of raw-beef Locharbriggs freestone. But they could not help it, +and after the chief of them all, Oliphant McGill, had smelt the now +floury fist of the Reformed Idler, and been informed what would happen +if he "heard a wurrrd out of the heads av wan o' them"—there fell a +great peace on Whinstone Villas.</p> + +<p>Some even became customers, and the new business increased with +wonderous rapidity. Butcher Donnan became Sweet-Cake Donnan, but that +made no difference to his force of arm, or to the respect in which he +was universally held.</p> + +<p>As he had prophesied, it was not long till he had a pale-blue-and-gold +covered van on the road, dandily hooded in case of rain, and with two +spy-holes so that the driver could see for himself what was coming up +behind him.</p> + +<p>From the Cave of Mystery high up on Hugh John's hill we could see it +crawling along the roads (really it was going quite fast), like a lumpy +cerulean beetle, the like of which for brilliance is not to be found in +<i>Curtis</i>.</p> + +<p>And the driver was Butcher Donnan himself. He knew all the farmers, and +as he had made one fortune already, as fortunes went in Edam, the people +were the readier to deal with him. Sometimes even the poorest would save +up a penny for one of Mrs. Donnan's sponge-cakes. It was soon called +the "Watering Cart," because in hot weather you could tell when it had +gone along the road by the drip from the ice underneath, by means of +which the jellies and confections were kept cool, while in winter the +blue-and-gold beetle steamed like a volcano with hot mince-pies. Oh, +Butcher Donnan believed in delivering his goods to the customer in the +finest possible condition!</p> + +<p>But this same Butcher Donnan being now driver and salesman-out-of-doors, +and Mrs. Donnan equally busy in the kitchen, it was obvious that some +one must be found for the shop. How <i>I</i> should have loved the job! But a +certain Eben Dickson, apprentice with Nipper at the down town business, +was called in, and so thoroughly proved his liking for the place in the +course of a single afternoon that a more permanent and less appreciative +successor was sought for.</p> + +<p>Eben was laid up for several days, owing to an accident which happened +to him when Butcher Donnan returned from his journeyings afield. It is +understood that Nipper also remonstrated with him, without, however, the +use of many words.</p> + +<p>The van had therefore to be put out of commission for several days till +another arrangement was possible. And again it was Hugh John who, with +his eyelids half closed and looking at the bright landscape through the +long three-draw telescope, cut the knot with a carelessly breathed +suggestion.</p> + +<p>"<i>Why not ask Elizabeth Fortinbras?</i>"</p> + +<p>"They would never dare!" said I. "Old Fortinbras thinks himself no end +of a swell!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hugh John, with tranquil irony, "he has failed in at least +four businesses—last of all in a stamp-shop at East Dene, while the +Donnans have only succeeded in one—and are on the point of making +another fortune in the second. But let them ask Elizabeth. She will not +say 'no'!"</p> + +<p>"What of her mother?" I said—"her father?"</p> + +<p>"Her mother cannot support her—her father won't. In six months she will +have to support them both!" said the philosophic Hugh John. "You ask +Lizzie. Lizzie is a sensible girl."</p> + +<p>I asked Hugh John how he knew.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just—I know!" he answered shortly. And in another than Hugh John I +should have suspected something. Because, you know, Elizabeth Fortinbras +is a very pretty girl—not beautiful, but with a freshness and charm +that does far better, a laugh that is hung on a hair-trigger; not much +education, of course, because her stupid old frump of a mother—yes, I +can say it, though Lizzie would not—has never permitted her to be long +away from her, but must be served like a duchess in her room on pretext +of headaches and megrims.</p> + +<p>Being without a servant, she leaves Elizabeth to do all the housework, +and all that she knows she has learned from the books I have lent +her—and, as I now begin to suspect, Hugh John also.</p> + +<p>"And where <i>is</i> Elizabeth?" I said, for I saw the three-draw glass +hovering in the neighborhood of the Fortinbras Cottage.</p> + +<p>"Why, where should she be?" cried Hugh John. "At this hour of Monday +morning she will certainly be hanging out the week's wash! There, put +your eye down, don't stir the telescope, and you will see her. Also her +sister Matilda sitting under a tree doing nothing but reading the latest +story her mother has got out of the library!"</p> + +<p>Hugh John's grasp of detail was something marvelous.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, as I looked, through the tremble of the heat-mist the +slender figure of Elizabeth Fortinbras jigged into view. She was +standing on tiptoe, like the girl in the old illustrated nursery +Caldecott, when</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"By came a blackbird and snapped off her nose."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Which would certainly have been a pity in Elizabeth's case, for the nose +was a very pretty saucy one, and worthy of a better fate. She had on a +short skirt. Her feet were thrust into sandals, and her white working +blouse, open at the neck, had red peas on it. Concerning all which +points Hugh John had nothing to learn.</p> + +<p>Now I had always liked Elizabeth. There was something wild-wood and gay +as a bird about her. She wore the simplest dresses, made by herself, and +when she played in our woods there was a good deal of tomboy about her. +She was older than any of us, and had often been our leader in high-spy +or at running through the wood.</p> + +<p>I could run faster, but (as Hugh John said) I ran like a boy, with my +hands clasped and my elbows in. As for the way that Elizabeth ran, that +was quite different. She ran—just like Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>But the way she tossed about the youngsters was a sight. She romped with +them among the hay. She thought nothing of bringing back Maid Margaret +on her back for miles and miles, with a hop and a skip at every second +pace, as if only to show how lightly her burden sat astride her +shoulders, and how entirely impossible it was for Elizabeth herself to +walk along in a sedate and ladylike way. Like a questing collie, she +constantly left the highway. You could see her mount a bank as if she +had wings. She was wayward, uncertain as a bird, fitful as a butterfly, +changing her purpose with the whim of the children. Indeed, there was no +one, in the opinion of all of us when we were little, like Elizabeth +Fortinbras.</p> + +<p>It was like spying out some shy fleeing wood-nymph to see her, with a +few long, easy movements, springing and bounding across the +stepping-stones of the upper river—or, the petticoat held daintily +high, all in a faint flurry of white spray and whiter feet, negotiating +the shallow ford at the first Torres Vedras when we were paddling there +in the hot days.</p> + +<p>Yet, when once across, she never seemed to have "shipped a drop," as +Sir Toady Lion asserted in his best naval manner.</p> + +<p>Rather, be it said, she gave herself a shake like a scudding swallow +that has dipped its wing a little too deep in the pond, and lo! our +Elizabeth was dry again. She never had so much as to preen a feather.</p> + +<p>They always tell me that I am a little in love with Elizabeth myself, +and I am not ashamed of it. Once, from his hiding-place, Hugh John +showed me a young dainty fawn come stepping lightly through the wood. I +saw it skip airily across the Esk below the second Torres Vedras, ascend +the bank in three bounds, walk demurely across the road like a maiden +coming out of church, look about her as if gathering her skirts for +something daring, and then, with one sidelong bound, swift and light, +lo, she was over the high paling and lost in the wood!</p> + +<p>Elizabeth Fortinbras would have done it just like that, as gracefully +and as unconsciously. But to think of her taking a place in the Donnan's +Confectionery shop—surely his good angel had for once forsaken Hugh +John—plan-maker to the world in general, and private domestic Solomon!</p> + +<p>"Go and <i>ask</i> Elizabeth Fortinbras!" said Hugh John—and he said it as +if he had good reason to know that Elizabeth would accept. Though that +might only be his usual accent of quiet certainty. You see, Hugh John +compels belief. Confidence accrues to his lightest guess, which is not +accorded to Sir Toady on his oath. It is a shame that any one should be +so favored by nature in the matter of his word. I, being a girl, am +suspected of inaccuracy, Sir Toady of "monkeying," and Maid Margaret of +knowing nothing about the matter.</p> + +<p>But Hugh John may be inaccurate. He may be "monkeying" in secret, and he +may know less than any one else about any matter. Nevertheless he is +accredited like a plenipotentiary. He moves like Diogenes, his tub +unseen about him. A calm certainty accompanies him. He inspires +confidence, blind as that of a bank cashier in the multiplication table. +All, too, without break, without insistence. To look at, he is just a +tall lad, with singularly quiet manners, who looks at you fixedly out of +gray eyes very wide apart. Only—you believe him.</p> + +<p>But that is the reason why, in my secretest heart, as soon as Hugh John +said, "Ask Elizabeth Fortinbras!" I knew that Elizabeth Fortinbras +would accept.</p> + +<p>I had to ask her myself. Or rather I took Mrs. Donnan with me, who did +as she was told, smiling and stammering apologies in the proper places. +As for me, I said what Hugh John had advised me to say, in our last long +talk together up in the Cave.</p> + +<p>Of course it was no use in the world consulting Elizabeth's parents. Her +father was lost in dreams of making another fortune by a new and +original butter-cooler which would put all others out of the market. Her +mother, fretful and fine-ladyish, would declare that she could not do +without her. But I knew that it would be an exceedingly good thing for +her younger sister to get her nose taken out of the <i>Penny Novelette</i>. +If Elizabeth went, she would have to do the housework, and so might yet +save her soul—though as yet she had shown no signs of possessing any.</p> + +<p>We talked to Elizabeth, however, or at least I did, without any mention +of this. There were many knick-knacks about, on the mantelpiece, on the +tables, on brackets set in corners—all the work of that ingenious, +useless man, Mr. Robert Fortinbras. As we talked, Elizabeth moved +gracefully about among these, her duster never hurried, never idle.</p> + +<p>I never saw any one who could "play at work" as Elizabeth could. Any one +else would have sat down and received her guests. Not so Elizabeth. If +we chose to come at eleven o'clock in the morning—well, we must take +her as we found her. In another quarter of an hour, if we stayed, we +would be asked to come into her kitchen, and watch her peeling potatoes. +And that would have seemed quite natural—not only to Elizabeth, but to +us.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth did not reply hastily. She heard me out without sign either of +consent or of refusal. Mrs. Donnan, stout and motherly, purred +acquiescence. Yes, they would give her the warmest welcome—if she cared +to stay, the happiest home. But no doubt she would prefer to return to +her own home at nights.</p> + +<p>The next words which reached our ears were Elizabeth all over. "If I +come, I shall stay," she said, "because if I went home, the work of the +house would simply be left till I got back!"</p> + +<p>The reason was clear, and almost the consent.</p> + +<p>"Had you not better consult your father and mother?" I said, a little +breathlessly, having been brought up in the faith of obedience to +parents.</p> + +<p>But in this matter Elizabeth, taught by long experience, had evolved +other methods.</p> + +<p>"I will <i>tell</i> them," she said simply. "When do you want me to begin? +Monday? Very well!"</p> + +<p>And it was on Tuesday that Nipper Donnan began to neglect his business.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<h3>ELIZABETH</h3> + + +<p><i>September 11 of the same year. Going Sixteen now.</i></p> + +<p>Now I suppose you think this is going to be a love-story. But it +isn't—at least not so far. And I am sure the hero won't be either of +the two <i>you</i> think—not, that is, Hugh John or Nipper Donnan.</p> + +<p>But I am going to tell the story of the strangest, the delicatest +friendship I have ever seen—that of Hugh John, my brother, and +Elizabeth Fortinbras.</p> + +<p>He is the youngest hero you can imagine, but somehow is much more like a +young man who has shaved himself very close than the schoolboy he is.</p> + +<p>Nothing puts Hugh John out. When he has some big festival to attend +along with father, he sits quiet and self-possessed, doing his part +without a quiver on his face. As far as looks go, he could easily be +the chairman. The clean-cut outlines of his face do not denote hardness. +Only he is of the Twentieth Century, and an adept at concealing his +sensations—even from his parents, with whom he is great friends.</p> + +<p>But, for all that modernity, there is something essentially knightly, +and even knight-errant, about our Hugh John. An elder time has touched +him. Ideas growing, alas! extinct—are natural to him. A chivalrous +Cromwellian is perhaps the nearest I can come in the way of definition. +For years he was the only one in the house (except Fuz, of course) who +sustained Roundhead as against Cavalier. Yet all his outer man (surely a +boy has an "outer man" when he is six feet high) is that of the +Collegians who rallied about the King at Oxford, and swept away the +train-bands with Rupert the Prince at Marston Moor. But Hugh John agrees +with Mr. Prynne as to the Unloveliness of Love-Locks, and no +Sergeant-Major could carry a closer cropped head of hair.</p> + +<p>Also the mind within him is one that abhors restraint. That is, in +thinking. In acting, he obeys as a principle all justly constituted +authorities. Also, if <i>he</i> is in authority, he will insist upon +obedience even unto the shedding of blood.</p> + +<p>Only the mind is free and untrammeled. Obedience includes only acts. +Thought with him is free, liberal, critical, large.</p> + +<p>But Hugh John is generally shy with the girls who come to our house. He +retires to one of his fastnesses, a lonely David in some unknown Engedi. +He blots himself out. Simply, <i>he is not</i>—so far, that is, as the rest +of the house is concerned. But he has the most sharply defined and +sudden affinities. He will see a girl for the first time—the most +reserved, unlikely girl, shy as himself. He will go up to her, and lo! +as like as not, five minutes afterwards they will pair off like two +schoolboys arm in arm.</p> + +<p>Grown-up People, after a certain while, forget how their own friendships +were formed—how much was chance, how little intention, and they judge +<i>us</i> in the light of what they now <i>think</i> they were. They are "out" +every time with Hugh John.</p> + +<p>For instance, I know Somebody who was afraid he was going to fall in +love with Elizabeth Fortinbras. No such good luck! <i>I</i> knew. The first +time I surprised them having a good talk together I saw that Elizabeth +would take advice from that gray-eyed boy with a man's thoughts which +she would scorn from any one else.</p> + +<p>It was the day after we had been to see the Donnans. When I got home, +Hugh John had merely said, "When does Elizabeth begin?"</p> + +<p>"Monday," said I; "but how in the world did you know?"</p> + +<p>"I did not know <i>that</i>!" he answered gravely, as usual.</p> + +<p>You simply can't surprise Hugh John. A momentary glitter in a pair of +rather close-lidded gray eyes—that is the most you can expect from him.</p> + +<p>It was at the stile at the entrance into the High Wood that I found +them. Elizabeth Fortinbras was seated on the top spar nursing her knees, +and sucking the sorrel stems which Hugh John handed up one by one. They +never looked at one another, but I saw in a moment (trust a girl!) that +I would interrupt their talk. Just fancy <i>me</i> playing gooseberry! No, +thank you, kind sir, she said! Besides, I knew very well that Elizabeth +did not consult her father—and her mother was not worth consulting. +There remained only Hugh John. Of course she could have asked me, but +what girl would have taken my advice when she could get Hugh John's?</p> + +<p>I don't know what they said—of course not. I did not ask. But what I +<i>do</i> know is that Elizabeth and Hugh John talked just as he and I would +have done when taking counsel together up in the Cave or at the Feudal +Tower.</p> + +<p>Sir Toady was better advised than to attempt to make fun, and though the +Grown-ups might lift their eyebrows, even they had confidence in Hugh +John. Sometimes they asked his advice themselves—though I never heard +of their going so far as to take it. Grown-ups, to my thinking, get +narrow-minded. Perhaps Hugh John will too some day. But now at least he +always just sees the one thing to do, and does it—the one thing another +ought to do, and tells him of it.</p> + +<p>Well, he never went to the new confectionery shop. He would pass it +without lifting an eyelid—though I will wager that each time he did so +Elizabeth Fortinbras saw him—and Hugh John knew that she did. And each +was the happier for the knowledge.</p> + +<p>To me Elizabeth's determination seemed to brighten all that part of +Edam. It was quite near our house, only just outside the gates. Behind +the counter Elizabeth made a slender figure in black and white. Black +dress well fitting, a present from Mrs. Donnan, large turn-back cuffs, +and a broad Eton collar. It was no wonder that the business throve—I +mean the business which was under the charge of Elizabeth Fortinbras. +The other "down town" suffered exceedingly.</p> + +<p>You see, Nipper Donnan could not be in two places at the one time. And +he found he had innumerable occasions to consult his father, or to have +something mended by his mother. He could not possibly obtain the +information or the reparations down town. Hence he spent much of his +time hanging about the new confectionery shop opposite the Market hill. +He became learned in the semophore signaling of the trains on the two +little railways which diverged at Edam Junction. These he explained to +Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>His step-mother secretly encouraged him. Nothing would have pleased her +better than for Nipper to "settle down" with such a daughter-in-law. But +she knew, perhaps better than his own mother would have done, that this +strong, incult, fighting Nipper had little chance with a girl like +Elizabeth Fortinbras, whose chief friend and confidant was a certain +gray-eyed lad with a perpendicular frown of thought between his brows.</p> + +<p>But Nipper kept on. He thrashed one Hector McLean for blowing a kiss +towards the shop-window from the far side of the Market dyke. All day +long he thought what high and noble thing he could do for Elizabeth's +sake—such as having marble slabs, and water running all the time +between double plate-glass, or dressing all his assistants in blue, +fresh and fresh every day! You see, Nipper's imagination was limited.</p> + +<p>But once or twice his father came in and surprised him leaning over the +counter. He regarded his son for a moment with dull, murky eyes; and +then, quite abruptly, ordered him out. The third time this happened he +followed Nipper outside and explained to him the consequences of this +malingering—<i>imprimis</i>, he would get his head broken. <i>Item</i>, he would +be "backward with his term installment"! <i>Tertio</i>, if he were, he need +expect no mercy from his father; and in conclusion, he had better "get +out of that, and stay out!" He, Butcher Donnan, was not a fool. He knew +all about what he was after, if the womenfolk did not! And he was not +going to have it! There! Nipper was warned!</p> + +<p>His comings and goings did not, indeed, make much difference to +Elizabeth. Often he was a nuisance, "lounging and suffering"—looking, +as she said afterwards, "like a blue undertaker attached to a +steel-yard." His expression spoiled sales. He looked acid drops. His +jealousies poisoned the very strawberry shortcake on which Mrs. Donnan's +heart prided itself.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, he was useful when there were heavy weights to be +lifted, boxes of materials for the little store-room at the back. +Elizabeth could not move these, so she had either to unpack them on the +street, or wait till Butcher Donnan drove his blue-and-gold wagon into +the yard.</p> + +<p>But Nipper delighted to show his strength, and would pick up a huge +case, swing it on his shoulder, and deposit it wherever told. These were +his moments of great joy, and almost repaid him for not being able to +eat.</p> + +<p>For Nipper's appetite had suffered. He indulged himself in startling +neckties, and, as his girth shrank, the waistcoats which contained it +became more and more gorgeous.</p> + +<p>Poor Nipper! He could only gaze and wonder—that is, when there was no +lifting to be done. His tongue forsook him when called upon to answer +the simplest remark. When Elizabeth, taking pity upon him, asked about +his week's receipts, he answered vaguely that he did not know.</p> + +<p>Hearing this, she turned about, bearing a tray full of almond-cake fresh +from Mrs. Donnan's hand, and said, "Nipper, do you mean to say you do +not keep track of your sales? Why, you will get cheated right and left. +Bring the books up to-night and I will go over them for you!"</p> + +<p>To Nipper this seemed an opportunity too good to be lost. He imagined +their two heads bent over the records of the down town shop, and perhaps +also in time a corresponding approachment of ideas.</p> + +<p>Beautiful dream! Foredoomed to failure, however. For Elizabeth, after a +few questions, took up the books to her own room, and on the morrow +furnished the disappointed Nipper with a few startling statistics as to +receipts and expenditure.</p> + +<p>"And what would you advise me to do?" said Nipper humbly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," said Elizabeth. "Ask Hugh John from the House in the +Wood. He will tell you, if anybody can. He advised me to come to help +your mother. If it had not been for him, I should not have been here +now!"</p> + +<p>The gleam of jealousy (which is yellow, and not green) in his eyes +altered Nipper's countenance completely.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Hugh John indeed!" he thought. That, then, was the explanation, was +it? This coldness was owing to Hugh John—a boy, little more than a +boy—while he, Nipper, was a man, a Councillor, with a shop and income +of his own!</p> + +<p>Yet he remembered, when he was already well-nigh Hugh John's present +age, and the cock of all Edam, tying a pale-faced, determined little boy +to a ring in a wall down in the dungeon of an ancient castle. He had +determined then to make the cub give in, and there had been some sick +work with string-twisting and wire-pincers. He did not care to think +about that. But even then the cub had beaten them all. They had been +good friends since—that is, in a way. But was it written in the Book of +Fate (in which Nipper believed) that they should fight for the mastery +on another and far more dangerous arena? It seemed preposterous, but +still—well, he would see Hugh John and put the case to him, as +Elizabeth had said.</p> + +<p>Then, so Nipper told himself, he would know! Well—<i>he might</i>—supposing +that Hugh John had been even as the young butcher, blushing half-a-mile +away when a lissom, upright form and gait as of wind-blown corn told the +world the important news (for Nipper Donnan) that Elizabeth Fortinbras +was coming up the street in a hurry.</p> + +<p>Hugh John listened quietly. Bygones were long bygones between him and +Nipper. The "smoutchies" smoutched no more, but were (most of them) good +servants of the King or honorable citizens of Edam. Already one wore the +V. C., and for his sake and in the general interests of peace Hugh John +tolerated those who remained. He even liked Nipper Donnan, and had no +idea of the gusts of angry fury that were tearing his poor ignorant +heart to pieces.</p> + +<p>"Advise you—well, I don't know much about it," said Hugh John. "If it +is a matter of your books, you had better show them to your father. No? +You don't want to do that. Very well, then, tell me what Elizabeth +Fortinbras said—exactly, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Said I was to come to you—tell you about the week's deficit, and ask +your advice."</p> + +<p>"Then you must tell me <i>all</i> about it!" said Hugh John, calmly +impartial. Nipper gave some figures of entrances and exits, marts and +sales, gross, retail, and monthly book-debts.</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Hugh John, after a minute's thought, "if I were you I should +get rid of the whole indoor crowd, and work the business myself for a +month or two, with a couple of 'prentices <i>and</i> the toe of my boot!"</p> + +<p>Hugh John's eyes were distant, grave, thoughtful—Nipper's little, +black, and virulent with suppressed anger. But the Thinker had grown man +of action also, and Nipper felt no security that he could win a victory +against Hugh John even with his fists. As to the mind, he felt +instinctively the grip of his master. <i>That</i> was not to be gainsaid.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, jerking out his words like leaden pellets on a table, "I +suppose that <i>is</i> the plan. I will fire the whole lot this very night!" +Hugh John nodded quietly.</p> + +<p>"It will be best!" he said, and the advice once given, his mind would +have passed to another question had not Nipper recalled him +suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Has my father not been speaking to you?" he growled ungraciously.</p> + +<p>"Your father? No, not that I remember!" said Hugh John, staring in +wonder.</p> + +<p>"Nor my—Mrs. Donnan, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Never spoke to her in my life, I believe—Sis has, though!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Nor Elizabeth?</i>"</p> + +<p>Nipper's eyes were like gimlets now, but the calm serenity in those of +Hugh John baffled them.</p> + +<p>"Elizabeth Fortinbras? Oh, yes," said Hugh John tranquilly, "when she +wants to ask me about anything—as you are doing now—then she speaks to +me."</p> + +<p>"<i>Is that all?</i>" Nipper's face worked. His lips were bitten so close +that the words had almost to force themselves between the clenched +teeth. Hugh John regarded him a moment gravely, as he did all things, +with gaze unhurried, undismayed. Then he put his hands in his pockets +and turned his back on Nipper with only the words, "Enough for you to +know, anyway!"</p> + +<p>And if ever Nipper came near striking any one a dastardly blow from +behind, it was Hugh John who was in danger and at that moment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<h3>FIGS AND FIG-LEAVES</h3> + + +<p><i>September 23. And my Age still going Sixteen.</i></p> + +<p>It was the week before Hugh John went to college that what I am going to +tell took place. September is almost always nice about Edam—with the +corn standing white in stooks all down the valley, waving blonde +half-way up the sides of the wide glen, and looking over into it from +the heights of Kingside still as green as grass. Yes, in our part +September is wonderfully quiet and windless—generally, that is. Yet +withal, there is the stir of harvest about the farm-town, the merry +whirr of the "reaper" over the hedge, and always the clatter of voices +as the workers go homeward in the twilight. The big scythe is now only +used about our house for "opening up" a field. After that the horses +pull the red-and-blue "McCormick" round as neatly as a toy. The squares +get less and the yellow stooks rise, as it were, out of the very +ground.</p> + +<p>This year it was a specially gay time for us all. Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan +had more customers. His wife had taken a laboratory assistant in the +shape of an apple-cheeked lass, Meg Linwood, the daughter of the +station-master at Bridge of Edam—honest as the day, but at first +incapable in the kitchen as a crossing-sweeper of goldsmith work.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Donnan told me of Meg's iniquities in her frank impulsive Irish +way.</p> + +<p>"There's not a thing breakable the craitur has not broke, or at least +tried her best to break. And what she can't knock to flinders with one +skelp, she will fall over like an applelaunche (avalanche?) and rowl out +flat like so much sheet lead. I dare not show the master the tenth of +her breakages, or there would be bloodshed and wounds. And yet she is +the honest, well-meaning craitur too, and would not hurt a fly. Only it +is the heaven's pity she has no power of her feet! Hear to that now!"</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Donnan ought, of course, to have remained unmoved where she +was and entertained me with a stomach-aching smile so long as I chose to +stay. But, being an Irishwoman and natural, she sprang up and ran +forthwith into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>She came out with tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"It's the épergne," she said, "I might have known it. The green figs is +just come in, and as they are a new thing in Edam I thought to make a +kind of trophy out of them. And now——!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Donnan's motherly eyes overflowed, good, kindly soul, without very +much anger at the breaker, but with real grief for the loss of the +"trophy" she had counted upon to display in her plate-glass shop window.</p> + +<p>I patted her on one plump shoulder, and she murmured my undeserved +praises—undeserved, I mean, at that moment. But I had remembered that +there was in our china-closet at home a huge épergne of many storys, +which Somebody had taken a prejudice against, because when loaded it +shut off the entire view of the people at table, and they played at +"Bo-peep" all the time around it and about—all right for us little ones +who, unseen, could convey extra fruits and comfits to our plates, but +abhorred by Somebody who was thus prevented from keeping a kindly, +governing eye upon us. So the tall épergne was banished—a life sentence +firmly expressed.</p> + +<p>I went quickly home and excavated it from a general ruck of odd plates +and cupless saucers. In triumph I carried it to the good mistress of +New Erin Villa.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Sweetheart," she said, "I cannot—I cannot indeed——"</p> + +<p>"Suppose that your—that 'Somebody' were to come along and see that +épergne in my window—sure they might have in the police!"</p> + +<p>Finally I satisfied Mrs. Donnan that though I had not asked special +permission, it was only because there was no need, and that Somebody, if +duly approached, would be the first of her customers, and the most +helpful of her friends. <i>I</i> said so because I knew.</p> + +<p>"It <i>would</i> look like all Dublin Castle and Sackville Street!" said Mrs. +Donnan, visibly flinching as her own inner eye built up the green figs, +and decorated the épergne with the leaves that had proved so useful +early in the history of the world.</p> + +<p>"Well," I answered, taking my leave, "Hugh John and I will be round +about four to see if it is as fine as you say."</p> + +<p>"It will be finer," cried Mrs. Donnan eagerly; "I have got another idea +entirely since I set eyes on it."</p> + +<p>But after all it was the deft hands of Elizabeth Fortinbras which +decorated our long-condemned and dusty épergne. She polished it, she set +it on foot again as good as new, mingling the tawny-red-bitten +oak-leaves and acorns with the deep green figs, and making the thing a +joy, if not for ever, at least for as long as it remained in Mrs. +Donnan's window.</p> + +<p>This, however, was not for long.</p> + +<p>For Fuz—yes, the very old Fuz as ever was—coming home from a tramp +with his eyes apparently mooning, but really registering everything as +remorselessly as a calculating machine marshals figures, spied the green +figs in Mrs. Donnan's window. Hardly in Edam was there any one else, at +that date, who so much as knew what they were. He saw. He admired. There +was a little dinner at our house that night to which just a couple of +neighbors were coming. The idea of a surprise germinated in the mind of +Fuz, and he came home the happy possessor of his own épergne, with the +green and yellow leaves cinturing it round!</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Donnan dared not say a word, and as for Elizabeth, it was not +her business. Moreover, she had far too great a sense of the ridiculous. +You see, Fuz carried his own parcel off, with his invariable remark +that "it is a proud horse that will not carry his own corn!"</p> + +<p>Nothing like Fuz's pride that night! Nothing more knowing than the +smiles of the initiated! Only Hugh John did not consider it "quite the +square thing," and obstinately refused to attend the banquet, which, +however, passed off very well without him. Fuz became quite poetic over +his new acquisition. To find such a thing in Edam! These cherubs' heads +now! Just look at them. They reminded him of—I think, something in the +Cathedral at Florence which you had to strike matches to see—little +cublets squirming about a font or something. He had quite forgotten +having ordered the identical thing into the ignominy of a dungeon for +obscuring the prospect. Now it was the finest piece of "Dresden" he had +ever set eyes upon.</p> + +<p>And he promised—if I were a good girl—to give it to me as a wedding +present.</p> + +<p>That is Fuz all over. He says he is Scotch, but his part of Scotland is +so near Ireland that (according to the best authorities) Saint Patrick +swam across with his head between his teeth. Perhaps Fuz did too. But +don't tell Hugh John that I said so.</p> + +<p>Well, when Hugh John would not dress and come for dinner on account of +us letting Fuz be taken in about the épergne, he went off on one of his +long rides. Or so at least he thought. For really he got no farther than +the Gypsies' Wood, and then that took place which was bound to take +place sooner or later.</p> + +<p>For, you see, Elizabeth Fortinbras owned a cycle also, and she used it +to run home to see her people—even during her short half-hour in the +afternoon she would go, no matter how hot it was. And she was teaching +her sister Matilda to house-keep. She had had a row the first time or +two, of course. But that was to be expected. Once she had gone back +between two or three of the afternoon—which was slack time at the +confectionery shop opposite the Market Hill, and when she arrived, lo! +her mother was deep in one ragged volume, Matilda sat crouched in a +corner of the sofa with another, and from the garret came the sound of +hammering, where Mr. Fortinbras the unfortunate was working out another +epoch-making invention.</p> + +<p>Flies buzzed about the greasy, unwashed plates and dishes where +breakfast had been pushed aside to make way for early dinner.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth thrust her head into a bedroom. The clothes trailed on the +floor, and the very windows had not been opened. The air of night, +warmed through blindless windows by an autumn sun, had produced an +atmosphere which might have been cut with a knife. Elizabeth shuddered. +She demanded the reason why the house had not been "done up."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Matilda, lifting her head languidly, "you had hidden the +knife-board when you went away, and as to the beds, I knew you were +coming home to-day, and you might just as well help me as not."</p> + +<p>Elizabeth helped her by going out without a word, and not returning till +her father, who at least could not be called idle, had intimated to her +that Matilda was beginning to take her household duties seriously.</p> + +<p>From the first Elizabeth had given half her wages to her father, on the +distinct understanding that the money was to be used for housekeeping, +and not for perfecting any new invention which was to alter the center +of gravity of the earth, and give back equal rights in sunshine and +moisture to all the world.</p> + +<p>Well, it chanced that this evening of the September dinner Elizabeth +Fortinbras was returning from her daily visit of inspection. She was in +a happier mood than usual. For Matilda had really made a start, and at +home she had discovered less to find fault with than usual. She was +reckoning up her wages, which the Donnans, generous in all things, were +freely advancing—perhaps even too frequently to suit Elizabeth's spirit +of independence. Some day she might manage to let her people have a +servant!</p> + +<p>From the first the two old folk of Erin Villa—old only in the number of +their years—had looked upon Elizabeth Fortinbras as doing honor to +their business, almost, indeed, as a daughter born to their old age.</p> + +<p>Hugh John had leaned his bicycle against a tree at the corner of the +Gypsies' Wood. Far above, his keen gray eye caught the slight purple +stain among the rocks of the hillside which marked the mouth of his Cave +of Mystery. For a moment he had an idea of climbing up there and +watching the twilight sinking into dark, as he had done so many times +before. But the instinctive respect of a good rider for his cycle +restrained him. He knew of one or two hiding-places safe enough, it was +true. But on such a night, immediately before the Edam September fair, +who might not be abroad? All the gypsies of three counties were +converging on Edam, and so, with a sigh, Hugh John abode where he was.</p> + +<p>Now of course anybody who did not know both Hugh John and Elizabeth +Fortinbras would have come to a wrong conclusion. For Elizabeth, after a +day in the shop followed by an evening visit of inspection and +assistance to Matilda, took it into her head that a spin round by the +Gypsies' Wood would freshen her up, and so put her in trim for a good +day's work on the morrow.</p> + +<p>That is why she encountered Hugh John, stretched long and lazy by the +side of the stream. He rose as soon as he saw Elizabeth. They did not +shake hands. They did not say, "How-d'ye-do—Very-well-thank-<i>you</i>!" +which is the correct Edam fashion for all concerned.</p> + +<p>But Hugh John indicated the most comfortable portion of an old +half-submerged trunk, and Elizabeth sat down without dispute. Hugh John +disposed himself where he could see her profile without looking at her. +It was only when he was making up his mind about you that Hugh John +regarded you fixedly. He had long made up his mind about Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>"Well, Elizabeth?" said Hugh John (I will tell you afterwards how I +know).</p> + +<p>"Well, Hugh John?"</p> + +<p>Then ensued a long pause. The water sang its lucid continual song. How +many had sat and watched it, thus singing, glide on and on? Well, as +Hugh John says, that did not matter. He was only occupied in finding +"<i>soorocks</i>" for Elizabeth Fortinbras, and Elizabeth busied herself in +eating them.</p> + +<p>"About Nipper?" said Elizabeth softly. "I can't have it, you know."</p> + +<p>"No, of course not!" said Hugh John.</p> + +<p>Having known <i>him</i>, it was impossible that Elizabeth could decline upon +Nipper Donnan. Hugh John did not, as you may well imagine, put it that +way. The thing was simply unthinkable, that was all. He could no more +let it happen than he would to his sister. He turned ever so little, and +saw Elizabeth Fortinbras' face pale against the sunset.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth looked at the boy, and her lips quivered a little. Hugh John +became a shade more rigid.</p> + +<p>"Let <i>me</i> speak to Nipper Donnan!" said Hugh John in a level tone.</p> + +<p>"No," said the girl, "I do not wish to go back home again—to <i>that</i>!"</p> + +<p>She meant to slatternly makeshift and lightly disguised lying.</p> + +<p>"<i>No need!</i>" said a fierce voice immediately behind them, and Nipper +Donnan leaped the stone wall from behind which he had been watching +Elizabeth and Hugh John.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Nipper!" said Hugh John lazily, handing up another sorrel stem to +Elizabeth; "glad to see you, Nipper. Sit down and help to look for fat +ones!"</p> + +<p>"You are mocking me, both of you!" cried poor Nipper blackly. His face +was hot and angry, his eyes injected like his father's when in wrath, +and his hands were clinched tight.</p> + +<p>"You came here to talk about me," he said hoarsely, bending forward +towards them like a beast ready for the spring.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" said Hugh John; "we met by pure accident. I did not want any +dinner, and Elizabeth wanted a breath of fresh air."</p> + +<p>"You lie! I do not believe you!" cried Nipper.</p> + +<p>"You will have to, Nipper," said Hugh John, who had not moved an inch.</p> + +<p>"<i>And</i> why?"</p> + +<p>"Because <i>I</i> say it!" said Hugh John quietly. "I do not tell lies!"</p> + +<p>"A likely story!" growled Nipper. "You were talking about me! I heard +you. You will have to fight me—Hugh John Picton Smith!"</p> + +<p>"That we shall see," said Hugh John coolly. "What must be, must be. But +there is a word or two to say first."</p> + +<p>"Talk!" cried Nipper. "Oh, that does no good to a fellow like me. You +shall fight me, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>"Not before Elizabeth Fortinbras!" said Hugh John, taking off his cap +with a quick, instinctive gesture of respect. "You and I can't behave +like two angry dogs before her!"</p> + +<p>"You're afraid!"</p> + +<p>"Possibly," said Hugh John, "but not in any way <i>you</i> would understand."</p> + +<p>Then Elizabeth Fortinbras took up speech.</p> + +<p>"Nipper Donnan," she said, "I won't pretend I don't know what you mean. +You are driving me from the single happy place of refuge I have on +earth. I cannot stay with your father and mother unless you stop +pestering me. And then you talk about fighting. Why, Hugh John is nearly +five years younger than you are——"</p> + +<p>"He is as tall!" growled Nipper.</p> + +<p>"Taller!" corrected Elizabeth coolly. "But if you behave like a whole +menagerie of brutes, that won't make me care more about you. Hugh John +is my brother; I have no other!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Umph!</i>" snorted Nipper, "he doesn't come and sit out by Esk-waterside +with his sisters."</p> + +<p>I know that at that moment Hugh John's eye sought the deep purple stain +of the Cave of Mystery, where he and I so often sat together. But he +said nothing at all to his adversary. It might have been mistaken. It +was to Elizabeth he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I have something to say to Nipper which you had better not hear," he +remarked quietly. "Here is a special handful of sorrel to take home with +you. Let me see you as far as the first lamp-post on my cycle. Then I +will come back and speak with Nipper."</p> + +<p>They went, and Nipper sat on the empty log, gloomily cursing fate—but, +educated by the experience of many years, never for a moment doubting +that Hugh John would keep his word.</p> + +<p>He even timed him. He knew to within half-a-minute when the bright +bull's-eye of his acetylene lantern would turn the corner of the +Gypsies' Tryst. He saw it come. He stood up on his feet, and jerked his +clenched hands once or twice forward into the gloaming.</p> + +<p>Then Hugh John leaped from his cycle by the wall.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Nipper," he said. "I have something to say to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say," said Nipper; "you want to get out of fighting."</p> + +<p>"Very well—you think so. I shall show you!" said Hugh John. "But first +you have got to listen. You are troubling Elizabeth Fortinbras. She does +not mean to be troubled. She will go away if you do not stop going into +the shop. She told me so. She has always been my friend, and my sister's +friend. Her father and mother are no use to such a girl. That is why I +have tried to be a brother to her——"</p> + +<p>"Brother, is it?" shouted Nipper, clenching his fists. "I will show you +what it is to take a girl from Nipper Donnan. You were making love to +her."</p> + +<p>"I am her brother. She is my sister," Hugh John repeated, with his usual +quiet persistency. "She is not yours in any way. Therefore I cannot take +from you what you never possessed."</p> + +<p>"I love her, and I will kill you, Hugh John Picton Smith!" moaned poor +Nipper, his whole body shaking with impotent anger.</p> + +<p>"Very well, you can try, though you are older," said Hugh John; "only, +if I win, you will let Elizabeth Fortinbras alone."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Nipper, "I agree. And if I lick you, you will stop +prejudicing her against me!"</p> + +<p>"You won't win!" prophesied Hugh John still more quietly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And that is why Elizabeth Fortinbras' afternoons and evenings at New +Erin Villa were thenceforward full of peace. Also why no young butcher +hung any more over the counter, and why Mr. Nipper Donnan spent his +evenings in the kitchen with Meg Linwood. It explains also why, when he +came to say good-by to Elizabeth Fortinbras, Hugh John had a split lip.</p> + +<p>Yet the girl asked no questions of her champion. She did not appear to +notice the slight wound, and she sent away Hugh John with a single token +of (sisterly) gratitude, and the curious reflection that a split lip +does not spoil kissing nearly so much as a fellow might think.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<h3>"UNTO US AS A DAUGHTER"</h3> + + +<p><i>November 2. The same Age.</i></p> + +<p>[It is really the first of the month, but I date it the second, because +the first is a Sunday, you see.]</p> + + +<p>After the fine weather of July came a horrid rainy spell. Now I don't +mind so much when the days are short, the trees bare, and the time for +winter lamps and winter fires is come. Then you can just shut yourself +up, get some books you have been promising yourself for a long time to +look at—and there you are.</p> + +<p>But deluged park, dripping shrubbery, Esk-water growling turbidly at the +foot of the Low Park, all the noble marine architecture of the two +Torres Vedrases deep under swirling froth—that is what I hate, and +especially with light to see it by—oh, good fourteen to sixteen hours +of it. Pitter, patter on the roof, a sprinkle of broad drops on the +window-panes from the trees swishing in the wind outside. After the +first three days it grows unbearable.</p> + +<p>It was a weary time, and a mockery for any one to call "holidays," +especially after such a noble summer and autumn. But it cleared after +Hugh John had been a week or two at college. During the wet weather I +often went into the shop to see Elizabeth Fortinbras. I could now, you +see, because Nipper Donnan was not always there.</p> + +<p>More than once, however, I encountered his father, Butcher Donnan, who +went about smiling and rubbing his hands—as if <i>he</i> had stopped the +whole business. Of course I let him think so. For it is no good setting +Grown-ups right. They always know better.</p> + +<p>Well, and do you know, every time I went Elizabeth asked all about Hugh +John, and if I had heard from him. At first I thought, as, of course, +any girl would, that Elizabeth was only foxing to take me in. But +afterwards I found out that they really did not write to one another. +She owned, though, to having kissed him good-by. But that was only on +account of his split lip and what he had done about Nipper.</p> + +<p>Hugh John's explanation of his silence, given later, was that there +were no sorrel stalks near the college, and that if Elizabeth really +wanted anything, he knew that she would write and ask him.</p> + +<p>Now, on the face of it, you would never believe this. It simply could +not be, you would say. Yet it was. Even Nipper, who held out longest, +ended by believing it. I, who had a sneaking liking for a love-story, of +any sort, was secretly disappointed. Mrs. Donnan could not move in her +kitchen for Nipper, who came home early now to talk to Meg Linwood.</p> + +<p>Have you ever noticed that when any one has got a back-set in love, or +what they think is love, they are quite apt to fly off at a tangent, and +marry the least likely person in the world?</p> + +<p>To the common eye, no one could have been less likely to engage Nipper's +attention—with his lost love still in the front shop—than Meg Linwood +in the back.</p> + +<p>She was plump, rotund, rosy, where Elizabeth Fortinbras was slender, +willowy, like Diana in the pictures and statues of her in the old <i>Art +Journals</i> and <i>Illustrated London News</i> of the Exhibition year—I mean +1851. (As a child I always liked those volumes. There were such a lot of +pictures in them, and so little reading.)</p> + +<p>But it was lost labor advising Nipper Donnan. He would show Elizabeth +Fortinbras what she had missed. He would have the finest shop, the best +meat, the most regularly paid monthly accounts, the biggest, squarest +stone house with stables for the smartest trap to drive out his wife in. +And then Elizabeth would awake to her folly. But too late! Too late! +Elizabeth's goose was cooked.</p> + +<p>Nipper avoided the first outbreak of parental wrath by running off with +Meg Linwood, and Mrs. Donnan consoled her husband by her usual +reflection that all was for the best. There are, indeed, very few things +breakable about a butcher's shop, and if Meg had stayed at New Erin +Villa, a complete set of crockery would have been required at an early +date.</p> + +<p>From Dumfries and Glasgow, Nipper sent very brief letters expressive of +a desire to come to terms with his father. He was married. That could +not be altered or amended. Meg came of a respectable family, and (save +the breakages) no fault could be found with her.</p> + +<p>True, Mrs. Donnan sighed. She would rather have seen Nipper going +proudly down the aisle with another than Meg Linwood on his arm. As for +Butcher Donnan himself, as soon as he got over dwelling upon the +thrashing he meant to give Nipper when he caught him, the outlines of a +broader, farther reaching, less arbitrary settlement began to form +themselves in his mind.</p> + +<p>He saw his lawyer, Mr. John Liddesdale, and what they said to one +another bore fruit afterwards. But it was a busy ten days for Butcher +Donnan. He had to spend the early morning of every day in the down town +shop. He had the rooms above it cleaned out, new furniture +installed—and he abused his son as he went.</p> + +<p>"The young fool!" was the best word for Nipper, forgetting that he +himself had married at eighteen. Each afternoon he was out in the blue +and gold van with the collapsible rain-hood. In the evenings he looked +into the ashes of the kitchen fire and thought. It was then that +Elizabeth proved herself above rubies to the old folks of New Erin.</p> + +<p>"Faith, didn't I tell ye, from the first," cried Butcher Donnan, +slapping his thigh mightily, "that's the girl, Cynthia! Nothing she will +not turn her hand to—as smart as a jay, and all as sweet and natural +as the Queen of Sheba coming it over Solomon!"</p> + +<p>"It strikes me, Butcher Donnan," said his wife, "that for an old man you +are getting wonderfully fond o' the lass!"</p> + +<p>She was smiling also, a loving, caressing, motherly smile, showing +mostly about the eyes, as she spoke of Elizabeth Fortinbras, which was +very good to see.</p> + +<p>"Fond of her, is it?" cried Donnan. "I declare, I'm as fond of her as I +wad ha' been o' my own daughter, if it had pleased Mary an' the saints +to give us one!"</p> + +<p>"<i>And why not?</i>" said Mrs. Donnan, bending suddenly towards her husband, +and startling him with the earnestness of her regard.</p> + +<p>"Why not—Cynthia, woman? You have been talking to Mr. Liddesdale?"</p> + +<p>"Not I," said his wife, smiling. "<i>You</i> should not talk in your sleep, +that's all, Butcher Donnan, if you want to keep your little secrets."</p> + +<p>"Ah, wife, wife, it's you that are the wonderful woman," cried the +Butcher-Pastry-Cook; "but if that be so, faith, it's just as well I +don't sleep with that Thief-o'-the-Wurrld Kemp, our sugar merchant. But +what say you, wife?"</p> + +<p>"I say what you say, Butcher Donnan!"</p> + +<p>"Do you think she would accept? Would she come to us and be our +daughter?"</p> + +<p>"By this and that," said his wife, "mind, I take it for granted that you +have done what is right by Nipper, and that he and Meg may come home +when they like?"</p> + +<p>"Not before Saturday!" said the Butcher; "furniture and all won't be in. +And if I saw Nipper for the first time on any other day than the blessed +Sabbath, I might be tempted even then to break his silly head!"</p> + +<p>This from Butcher Donnan was equal to a stage benediction from another. +But his wife looked for more light, and in answer to the question in her +eyes he told her all.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Nipper is all right. He gets more than he deserves, the rascal. I +will let him off what he still owes me on the business. The shop and +dwelling-house shall be put in his name, and that's a deal more than +ever I dreamed of having at his age. As for the dollars—well, we will +see about those, when you and I have done with them!"</p> + +<p>"What do you think about asking Elizabeth?" said his wife.</p> + +<p>It was at this moment that I chanced to come in, and had the whole story +told me by Mrs. Donnan. Elizabeth had cycled down to her father's house, +and so was safely out of the way. Only our conference was interrupted by +the various calls upon Mr. Donnan to answer the sharp "<i>cling</i>" of the +bell in the outer shop.</p> + +<p>One after the other I heard them in silence, and at last I gave my +opinion—which was that they might make their own arrangements, with the +help of Mr. John Liddesdale, but that they would do well to wait the +return of that long-legged, Minerva-eyed brother of mine, at present +engaged in colleging it as hard as need be, to obtain the means of +passing with credit through the world.</p> + +<p>"He may very well be taken in the same way as Nipper!" said the father +of the latter grimly. "She's a mighty fine girl, this Elizabeth."</p> + +<p>"He might, indeed, very well," I answered. "I am sure <i>I</i> should, if I +were a man. Only, he isn't, and he won't. I can promise you that. He +will advise Elizabeth for the best, with less thought for himself than +if <i>I</i> were concerned."</p> + +<p>"Then he is a most unusual young man!" said Butcher Donnan.</p> + +<p>"Hugh John <i>is</i> somewhat unusual," I said. "He does not let many people +understand him."</p> + +<p>"No," said Butcher Donnan; "that other young gent now—him with the +uniform! Why, he is up to more tricks than a prize monkey with an Irish +mother. As I said before, he is more in my own style about his age. Any +one can see what <i>he</i> is driving at. If he does not break his neck off +somebody else's apple-tree, or get shot in a poaching accident, no doubt +he may live to be a great and good Admiral of the Fleet. But this here +Hugh John—he is always as quiet as pussy, and as polite as a +parliamentary candidate come last night from London. Yet he licked my +Nipper, licked him good and square—<i>and</i> said nothing about it. Nipper +told me, though. And now he can be a real safe brother to the prettiest +girl in Edam—beggin' your pardon, young lady, but <i>you</i> live out o' the +town!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Donnan reminded her husband that it was owing to Master Hugh John +that Elizabeth Fortinbras had come to them first. Also that it was +certainly the least they could do to give him the chance of putting the +matter to Elizabeth in his own way.</p> + +<p>Thus, pending the Christmas holidays, Elizabeth Fortinbras became a +child of adoption without knowing it.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough, no one seemed to take into consideration any rights of +pre-emption which her own father and mother might be supposed to possess +upon her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE HARVEST FAIR</h3> + + +<p><i>Written at the Age of Sixteen.</i></p> + +<p>Of all the local events which upheaved the world of children in Edam, +undoubtedly the greatest was the Harvest Fair. This happened somewhat +late in the year. For Edam lay high on the mountain slopes. Only the +herds and the sheep went higher. The harvesting lands were mostly in the +valley crofts, in the hidden "hopes" and broad waterside "holms." But +here and there a few hundred acres of oats lay angled up against the +steep side of a mountain, and in late October afforded a scanty, stocky +harvest, "<i>bleached</i>" rather than ripened by the slant, chill sun and +sweeping winds of the uplands.</p> + +<p>In brief, then, the Harvest Fair was late in Edam. We were near enough +to the Borders, however, to be overstocked with gypsies. And it was +after them that the Gypsies' Wood and Tryst had been named.</p> + +<p>A fine sight was Edam Fair. Far and wide it spread over the green, right +down to the verges of Esk-water. Ours was a Fair of the old-fashioned +kind. Rustics still stood about unhired with a straw in their +mouths—plowmen and "orra" men they! Maidens wore their breast kerchiefs +unknotted, and as soon as the bargain for six months was struck, and the +silver shilling of "arles" had passed, they knotted it firmly about +their throats. They were no longer "mavericks"—masterless cattle. They +had the seal of a place and an occupation upon their necks.</p> + +<p>It was "Bell, the Byre Lass at Caldons"—"Jess Broon, indoor lass at the +Nuik"—"Jeannie Sandilands, '<i>dairy</i>' at the Boareland of Parton." These +were the proud titles of the "engaged" ones who wore the knotted +neckerchiefs.</p> + +<p>But the "shows" were, after all, the most taking and permanent feature. +There was the continual joy of "Pepper's Ghost," where (as Fuz has +related) on a certain occasion the hero, new to his part, first of all +transfixed the ghost, and then threw down his clattering sword, with the +noble words, "Cold Fire is Useless!"</p> + +<p>There was "Johnston's Temple of Terpsichore," on entering which you +always looked over your shoulder to see if the minister or any of the +elders were in sight. But how the girls danced, and how difficult it was +to stop watching those who danced on their hands with their feet in the +air, in order to observe those who danced on their feet with only their +hands in the air! Thus we lost distinction in our joys.</p> + +<p>However, both sorts were applauded, and when the people in tights leaped +up and stood on each others' feet in order to form a pyramid, the +general feeling was that if indeed we were selling our souls to Satan, +at least we were getting the worth of our money!</p> + +<p>We did not care much, after this, for the legitimate drama—though it +was funny, certainly, to see Othello's "livery of the burnished sun" +grow patchy, and the grease trickle down from the left corner of +Desdemona's nose—which, being naturally rubicund, had been worked up +for the occasion.</p> + +<p>I was, of course, too much of a young lady to be allowed to visit the +Fair under any available escort. In the evening I might possibly, in +company with Somebody, be permitted to peruse the outsides of the +booths. But the real delights were for the children. Strong in the +possession of a half-crown apiece (to be spent as you please without +accounting), Sir Toady and the Maid made havoc among the Aunt Sallies +and the Cocoa-nut shysters.</p> + +<p>A plan of campaign was evolved, simple but effective. Sir Toady, who was +a good shot, took over the Maid's half-crown, and bound himself by a +great oath to deliver up half the proceeds.</p> + +<p>As for me, I caught glimpses of His Majesty's uniform darting from stall +to stall, from range to range, followed by a butterfly figure in skimp +white. This was the Maid, keeping track of profit and loss. She had good +cause. Was she not involved to the extent of two-and-sixpence, her +maiden mite?</p> + +<p>Sir Toady appeared to be reckless, and put wholesale propositions before +the Cocoa-nut shysters, as thus—"Suppose I give you two shillings cash, +how many throws can I have for it, and can I pick my own nuts if I win?"</p> + +<p>Some refused and some accepted. Those who refused were, commercially +speaking, the lucky merchants. Sir Toady's aim was deadly. He did not +mind throwing at an Aunt Sally, though this he considered rather +old-fashioned play. A bull's-eye trap-door, which opened at the smack +of the ball, was his favorite. And he cleaned up one merchant from whom +he had secured the easy terms of forty throws for half-a-crown. So +completely did he do it that the fellow, who saw his pile of nuts +rapidly wasting away, brazenly repudiated his bargain, and would even +have tried to lay hands on the pile already in the bag over the Maid's +shoulder.</p> + +<p>But the shyster reckoned without a knowledge of his Toady. You see, +there was not in Edam man, woman, or child who did not know Sir Toady. +And though at one time or another most had had their private +disagreements with that youth, he was still an Edamite of the Edamites. +Stained with early (orchard) crime, he yet retained the sympathy of +gentle and simple. The very "smoutchies" of a younger time rallied at +his call, and if the nuts had not instantly been paid over, the +overturned "gallery" would have been sacked on the instant by +promiscuous brigandage, the very police looking on with broad, benignant +smiles.</p> + +<p>"Such a young codger as he were!" grumbled the man afterwards, half in +anger, half in admiration. "I had made a bad bargain. I see <i>that</i> at +once. 'Give me back them nuts. You've 'ad 'em on false pretenses!' sez +I.</p> + +<p>"'Sorry! So I have!' says he, smooth as butter. And with that he outs of +his breast-pocket with his lanyard and blows a whistle like a bo'sum's +mate! Then they ran from every quarter. My poor ole stall were on its +back in half a jerk, and if it hadn't been for my young gent, so should +I—<i>and</i> mauled into the bargain!</p> + +<p>"Served me right, you say, for shovin' of my head into such a wasp's +nest! But how was I to know?—I puts it to ye, mates. How was <i>I</i> to +know?—<i>me fresh from London</i>!"</p> + +<p>I had gone up to the Cave of Mystery, armed with the three-draw +telescopes, which Hugh John had left behind him as too precious to be +risked in the give-and-take of school—though, according to information +received, it was mostly "give" with Hugh John.</p> + +<p>I saw a procession detach itself from the dense flow of the crowd, led +by the white-frocked Maid and a dark blue Sir Toady, both laden down by +sackloads of cocoa-nuts. It was impossible for them to carry them all +the way home to the House in the Wood. Equally impossible to trust the +youth of Edam, satisfactory enough when fighting was on hand, but +unreliable when it came to division of the spoils.</p> + +<p>The Imps staggered across the road, pursued by a riotous tail of +infantry of no known line. Arrived at the shop door of New Erin Villa, +they were met by Mrs. Donnan—who, on such a busy day, had come out for +a breath of fresh air.</p> + +<p>"What in the world have you got there, children?" cried the Dame, +holding up astonished hands to heaven.</p> + +<p>"Cocoa-nuts! Wads and lashings of cocoa-nuts!" cried Sir Toady. "I shot +for them all. I threw for them. I won them. And when the man would have +cheated me, I whistled the whole Fair Green down on him. <i>Then</i> I saved +his life! But I don't know what to do with them now I have them! They +won't hatch out, and if they would, I haven't got a big enough hen! +Here, you!"</p> + +<p>And opening one of the bags, he bowled half-a-dozen of the nuts among +the crowd of smoutchies, who instantly became a swarming, fighting +anthill on the plainstones of the street.</p> + +<p>"Stop, Master Toady," said Mrs. Donnan, "do stop! I will show you what +to make of them. Some of them will be good——"</p> + +<p>"All are good," asserted Sir Toady; "<i>I</i> picked them! At college they +teach us, over at the canteen, how to know the good ones from the bad!"</p> + +<p>By this time I was down at the shop door, having struck the main road +near the Station Bridge. I fled to meet them, passing on the way Butcher +Donnan, who for the day had turned the blue and gold van into a fine +selling booth on the Market Hill, where he presided over half-a-dozen +temporary assistants, keeping a wary eye on all, both buyers and +sellers.</p> + +<p>The children were tired, and stood panting. Sir Toady was unexpectedly +pessimistic. Maid Margaret looked rather world-weary. Both had begun to +think that, after all, there were better ways of spending five shillings +than shooting for cocoa-nuts.</p> + +<p>"What rot!" said Sir Toady, shaking one disgustedly close to his ear. +"Can't eat them all—make us ever so sick, and I have to join on Friday! +No time to get better! Bah!"</p> + +<p>"It was all your fault, Toady," moaned the Maid, "<i>and</i> I want my +half-crown back!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" cried Toady. "I never will go into partnership with a girl +again. They always are sorry afterwards, whatever a chap does for them! +There is your bag full of nuts, good and sound. What more do you want?"</p> + +<p>Maid Margaret wanted much more. She began to express her wants in terms +of candies and chocolates.</p> + +<p>"Candies!" cried Mrs. Donnan; "why, if I weren't so busy, I would make +you two candy to dream about—and of those very cocoa-nuts too!"</p> + +<p>"Do—oh, do make us some!"</p> + +<p>"Well, come into the bakehouse, and we shall see!"</p> + +<p>They went, Elizabeth Fortinbras and I smilingly assisting with the bags +of nuts. Elizabeth could not be spared out of the front shop, but I +stopped to watch, and of course Sir Toady and Maid Margaret pushed and +elbowed for good front seats.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Donnan, quietly smiling as ever, seized a skewer, and with several +skillful taps made a hole in the end of the nut through which she let +the milk drop into a basin. Then with a heavy hammer she smashed the +shell into pieces.</p> + +<p>It was a good nut, even as Sir Toady had prophesied. He had been well +taught at the canteen.</p> + +<p>"Now," said the <i>cordon bleu</i> of Edam, "who wants to do a bit of grating +for me?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i>"—"<i>I</i>," shouted the children, and though I did not shout, I was +really as ready as any one. The white inside was dealt out to us, and +while the Maid and Sir Toady went at it (sometimes scraping their +fingers by way of variety), a respectable pile of soft flaky nut, +cream-colored and nice, began to appear.</p> + +<p>When we were finished, Mrs. Donnan went to a bag, and measured out two +tablespoonfuls of white sugar to each one of the nut-flake, dropped the +whole into a sizeable patty pan, and poured the milk of the cocoa-nut +over it.</p> + +<p>With Mrs. Donnan stirring hard, the whole was soon bubbling away +cheerfully—indeed, boiling like what lava does in a volcano (<i>ought +to</i>, at any rate), the bubbles bursting, and the nice smell making your +teeth water, so that it did not seem that you could ever wait for it to +cool.</p> + +<p>Then, just when the bubbles began to burst with a warning "pop," Mrs. +Donnan turned everything into a well-buttered shallow dish. It made a +cake about as thick as your finger, and oh, but the smell was good! But +she laid the dish away in the ice-house—as she said, to cool. Really, +I think, to keep us from temptation, and prevent too early experimenting +upon the result.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth Fortinbras would have none of us (not even me) in the front +shop that day. She was too busy. So, after one question put and answered +(it was about Hugh John), the three of us went out and walked in the +garden till the ice-house had done its work.</p> + +<p>Well, do you know, that candy was famous. Just you try it, with the +explanations I have given you! It goes all right, you will find, and no +mistake.</p> + +<p>Indeed, so well did it go that a bargain was soon struck, and +Elizabeth's clever fingers were busy printing out a placard:</p> + +<h4>FOR THIS DAY ONLY<br /> +CANARY ISLANDS COCOA-NUT<br /> +CANDY<br /> +A SPECIALTY.</h4> + + +<p>Cut into cubes, the result was certainly fascinating. Even Fuz was +tempted to try. He came to scoff, but he remained to suck.</p> + +<p>"<i>Now</i>, didn't I tell you!" said Sir Toady, when on the morrow he +received twelve silver shillings as his share of the venture from the +careful hands of Mrs. Donnan. "Never you grumble about your Admiral +Tuppens again. There you are! More cocoa-nut candy than we can eat +before next Friday, warranted wholesome by Fuz, and six bob apiece to do +what we like with! How about your old half-a-crown now?"</p> + +<p>And the Maid was properly subdued, as, indeed, she ought to have been. +Sir Toady did not mention that without Mrs. Donnan he would have been a +very sorrowful investor indeed.</p> + +<p>But then, male things love to take all the credit to themselves. Bless +you, they can't help it! It's born in them, like polywogs in ponds.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<h3>QUIET DAYS</h3> + + +<p><i>November 23.</i></p> + +<p>We have had our first frost early this year—four days' skating on the +High Pond before the middle of November! But it was sad to see the poor +folks' corn still out, the stalks, stiffly frozen, piercing the couple +of inches of frozen sleet that covers the ground.</p> + +<p>They have had harvest festivals down in the town churches. But Fuz said +that if they had taken up collections to help pay the farmers' rents, +<i>that</i> would have been the best sort of festival, and he would have +attended. As it was he stopped away, so as to let in somebody who was +grateful for a late harvest and spoilt crops!</p> + +<p>Fuz says that it is no use sending the <i>Monthly Visitor</i> to people who +don't have a daily dinner, and that anything he has to spare will go +towards the dinners. But then, Fuz does not mean all he says. For though +he growls at the Tract Distributors, he always finishes by giving +something so that they will not go sorry away.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth Fortinbras goes to the shop opposite the Market Hill every +day. She has a nice gray dress now which she made herself, a water-proof +cloak, and a pretty canoeing hat. She is quite ignorant of all that the +good people are getting ready to offer her. Will she accept? Possibly +Hugh John could tell. Certainly <i>I</i> can't.</p> + +<p>The young couple down town have come home—Meg Linwood and her husband +Nipper, I mean. His father has explained the situation very sharply to +him—that is, in so far as the business is concerned. I think he is +waiting about the house and furniture till Elizabeth has said "yes" or +"no."</p> + +<p>It is a good time to tell about our churches. Ours is the nicest. For +though we are not compelled to go to any particular one, yet Somebody +thinks it is a kind of point of honor to attend the one in which we were +born and brought up. There are all sorts of things going on, too, and +young people who don't have parties and dances get to know each other at +<i>soirées</i> and social meetings. It acts just the same—even quicker, I +have noticed. They get married to each other all the same.</p> + +<p>Hugh John, who has studied the subject, says he can stand all sorts of +"flirts," except the one who asks you about your soul before she knows +whether <i>she</i> has got one herself!</p> + +<p>Now there is Thomasina Morton, the doctor's daughter, and a smart girl +too. Only she never could get away from two or three catchwords, caught +up from all sorts of people. She got fearfully anxious about the souls +of all the good-looking young men, and made them come into her father's +consulting-room so that she could "plead with them." Of course it was +all very good and, I dare say, most necessary, but I <i>don't</i> think it +was fair on Dr. Morton. You see, he is a good man, but much exposure to +all sorts of weather has told on his temper, and really I can't blame +him for what he said when he stumbled upon one of these reunions in the +dusk of a November afternoon. It was Billy Jackson's legs he fell over, +and they say Billy has had to walk with a stick ever since.</p> + +<p>But Thomasina declared that her father was hard-hearted, and even went +to consult her minister about it. But Mr. Taylor is a sensible man, and +said that thirty years of Dr. Morton's life would weigh against a good +deal of strongish language in the archangel's scales! He also asked +Thomasina where her father had been that day, and she said, "Out seeing +his country patients, since eight in the morning!" Then Mr. Taylor asked +who they were, and Thomasina told him.</p> + +<p>"The Doctor knows as well as I do," he said, "that he will never see a +penny of fees from any of them. Don't you trouble, my young lady, about +the hardness of your father's heart. And tell Mr. William Jackson that +it will be more suitable for him to come and see <i>me</i> about his soul. I +am at his service from eight till ten every evening—except Wednesday +and Saturday!"</p> + +<p>I don't know if Billy Jackson felt that this was not quite the same +thing, or whether the minister's hours did not suit him. At all events +he never went.</p> + +<p>Thomasina Morton, however, was not pleased with Mr. Taylor, and left his +church. She joined the Salvation Army, but soon left it, because she +found the costume unbecoming. She did better as a nurse, and had +splendid chances there. Because, you see, the dress was all right, and +her patients could not get up and run when she had them good and safe +within the four walls of an hospital!</p> + +<p>I dare say, however, it helped to pass the time for the poor fellows. +For, you see, Thomasina was pretty, and knew it. She would sing sad, +faint, die-away hymns in the twilight, till she made these bad young men +just lie down and cry. They were generally pretty weak, anyway, +especially when Thomasina used to talk to them about their mothers. +(When they were well, you might have talked those mothers' heads off +without reforming their sons the value of a row of pins.) But Thomasina +talked to them in a dreamy voice, till they all were willing to go out +as missionaries to the most cannibal-haunted regions—that is, if only +Thomasina would come along with them.</p> + +<p>But when they asked her, as they mostly did, Thomasina said she was very +sorry, but she had never meant it that way. She was "vowed to a +vocation," and mere commonplace marriage would be sinful. Besides +(mostly), the young men had nothing to keep themselves on—much less a +wife.</p> + +<p>Oh, Thomasina made the winter very cheerful at Edam, especially after +the Cottage Hospital was opened, and the cutting of the new railway +brought a good many into the accident ward.</p> + +<p>To listen to Thomasina (and believe her), all these, though mere +"<i>navvies</i>" now, were Oxford or Cambridge men, and either the sons of +purple Indian colonels, very peppery, or (which she preferred) of +white-haired old clergymen, who were never known to smile again after +their only sons had left the family roof-tree.</p> + +<p>Surely there was a lack of imagination in that accident ward. Hugh John +would have made cartloads of plans, and as for Sir Toady—well, he could +have evolved something fresh each journey, and never charged a penny +extra. He would have been ashamed of so many colonels and white-haired +clergymen.</p> + +<p>But Thomasina was quite content, and read all manner of nice +uninteresting books to the poor storm-stayed ones, who sometimes looked +at the angelic expression on her face, and sometimes had quite a decent +little sleep on the quiet. Her voice was naturally soothing.</p> + +<p>Thus time passed none so evilly in the Cottage Hospital accident ward, +and Thomasina came and got nice jellies from Mrs. Donnan, very +sustaining, and "let on," as Sir Toady asserted, that she had made them +all herself! But there is more—oh, ever so much more about Thomasina +Morton. I hope you are not tired hearing about her—I am not of telling.</p> + +<p>But you will see the funny thing that happened. Among all the imaginary +sons of purple colonels and sad, saintly clergymen whom Thomasina had +corralled into her hospital ward, there happened to be a real one. His +name, he said, was Henry Smith—which is just one of those names that +people take, like Jones and Wood and Robinson in England, and Dubois, +Durand, Duval in France, thinking to be unknown, and lo! every +hotel-keeper and policeman immediately is on the qui vive to find out +what bank they have robbed.</p> + +<p>Well, this young fellow's real name did not matter to anybody. Thomasina +called him "dear Harry," and had him to sit beside her in the +dining-room of the convalescent home (one of her pet hunting-grounds). +And one day after he had been in training to be good for quite a while, +he came in to dinner as usual, and, just as he was sitting down at the +table, up jumps Master Harry Smith and bolts out of the room! Naturally +enough, Nurse Webb thought there was something wrong with him, and would +have gone to see, but Thomasina restrained her with a motion of the +hand—very solemn, impressive, and "I-know-all-about-it-if-<i>you</i>-don't!"</p> + +<p>"He has forgotten to say his prayers!" she whispered. "He promised me!"</p> + +<p>And Nurse Webb sank back appalled, wondering what they would have said +at "King's." But Thomasina was quite calm, and laid her hand soothingly +on that of "dear Harry" when he returned from his (very short) +devotions.</p> + +<p>And do you know, all the time he was what Sir Toady calls "a regular +rip." Only he was a real colonel's son, and had been tried +everywhere—only no one would have him about on any account.</p> + +<p>But old Dr. Morton did what Thomasina said, and got this young fellow +dressed out in new clothes, till he looked as smart as a paper of new +pins. Then who so proud as Thomasina! She was so glad that Harry had +turned out so well that she said she would marry him. Then he was +fearfully noble, and said that he wasn't worthy of her, but that he +would wait for the day when he would lay the world at her feet. Oh, he +said ever such a heap of what the boys call, with a certain rude +correctness, "tommy-rot."</p> + +<p>And old Papa Morton got him a place in a ginger-beer factory, to manage +the accounts, where Mr. Harry Smith behaved pretty well for three +months. But on the eve of his marriage with Thomasina he disappeared, +taking with him a whole fortnight's wages of the ginger-beer factory +workmen.</p> + +<p>Instead, he left a letter full of consolatory texts for Thomasina, which +I would quote, but Fuz says I must not. Only he concluded by saying that +his dear Tommy was not half a bad little thing, only her company and +conversation were wearing for a man of his tastes and antecedents. If +she had only seen her way to giving him a "let up" every ten days or so, +he might have stayed on. But as it was, there was nothing left for him +but to borrow her father's fur-lined overcoat, and bid Thomasina a long, +last farewell through floods of burning tears. She was to remember, +however, that, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, he was ever +her own Harry. Also that the next time he needed nursing and advice, +both of superior quality, he would not fail to think of the happy days +in the convalescent ward of Edam Borough Hospital.</p> + +<p>"Harry Smith" was seen no more on Esk waterside, and by last accounts +Dr. Morton is still awaiting the return of his fur-lined overcoat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<h3>HUGH JOHN, AMBASSADOR PLENIPOTENTIARY</h3> + + +<p>I don't think that Dr. Morton ever really got over the loss of his +fur-lined overcoat. You see, it gave him a tone, making many a suffering +household feel quite chirpy and consoled only to see him getting +carefully out of his gig, and laying back the lapels so as to show the +best pieces of fur. But he was never the same man in plain tweed, even +when he took to a high velvet collar. People had not the old confidence. +He had two favorite methods of treatment—leeches and fly-blisters—and +when he began to leech the blister people and blister the leech people, +all felt that the end was near.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Liddesdale persuaded him to sell his practice while he had one to +sell—the stock of leeches and Spanish flies being taken at a valuation. +So there came a young doctor to Edam, and his name was Dr. Weir Douglas. +At first it was feared that he would not be a success, because he went +about in gray tweeds and a straw hat. Worse than all, he made 84 in the +cricket match against Lockermaben. This showed how little serious he +could be, and how little he had to do in his profession. Dr. Morton was +often called out of church twice on the same Sunday, and though +everybody knew that he kept a boy for the purpose, yet, after all, the +summons might be real. No one could tell. At any rate it waked up a +sleepy congregation better than peppermint drops, and people whispered +that it must be Sandy Paterson's wife, or that loon of Jock Malcolm's +who was always climbing and coming to grief.</p> + +<p>However, when Jock Malcolm did fall from the scaffolding of the +Established Church (then being repaired parsimoniously by reluctant +heritors) Dr. Weir Douglas saved the boy's life by carrying him to his +own house across the way, and, after setting the shoulder, sent to ask +Miss Thomasina Morton to come over and nurse Master Jock Malcolm.</p> + +<p>Then the whole village of Edam began to respect Dr. Morton, calling him +"cunning old rascal," and other terms of admiration. Indeed, they +respected him for the first time in their lives. Had he not got a good +price for his practice, and would not Thomasina do the rest? Indeed, the +marriage of Thomasina and Dr. Weir Douglas was regarded on all hands as +a settled thing. Any one else in Edam (except perhaps our Hugh John) +would have been considered fair game for jest, and congratulated fifty +times in a day. But somehow Dr. Weir Douglas did not look the kind of +man to be too familiar with, even in a straw hat and gray tweeds—just +as no one would take a liberty with our Hugh John in a clown's dress at +a fancy ball, if the mind of man can conceive such a thing. Even there, +he would probably be found in a retired corner with the prettiest girl +(if she were tall and pale and willowy), instructing her on the chances +of Siam becoming a second Japan, the resurrection of the Further East, +the probability of a Russian Anarchist Republic, and other topics +especially adapted for a ball-room. Whereas Sir Toady—but perhaps the +less said about that the better. If he had not told at least five girls +that they were the prettiest in the room, the young man would have felt +that he had thrown away his chances, an accident against which he +carefully guarded himself.</p> + +<p>But to return to the nursing of Master Jock Malcolm—now become so +important and necessary a link in the chain of events. Edam gave +Thomasina twenty-four hours to bring the young doctor to his knees. But +Dr. Weir Douglas spoiled all calculations by charging his coachman's +wife to look after the comfort of Miss Morton, and taking up his own +quarters for the time being at the Edam Arms, opposite!</p> + +<p>The entire village agreed that this was not playing the game, and as for +Thomasina, she felt that never in the world had there been such a +reprobate. She placed tracts in his way. She scattered them all about +the house, and neglected her patient to think out plans for wrestling +with this stiff-necked and rebellious young man.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, however, Dr. Weir Douglas began to gain on Edam. +Certainly he made a wonderful cure of Jock Malcolm, junior—a young +rascal who deserved no such spoiling as he was receiving. He even asked +the advice and assistance of his distinguished colleague Dr. Morton, +making it a favor that in the meantime he should return to the house +which had been his own for so many years. It was really much too large +for a bachelor, and Dr. Weir Douglas would consider it a favor to have +it taken care of. He himself was perfectly comfortable at the Edam +Arms. This, however, could not last for ever.</p> + +<p>The whole village was more certain than ever that Thomasina and he were +"going to make a match of it." It was just at this critical time that +Hugh John came home on holiday for Christmas and New Year.</p> + +<p>I was exceedingly interested to see how these two would get on—the +Doctor and Hugh John, I mean. Because my brother is by no means +universally amiable, and the new arrival, for all his generosity, +carried a good deal of "side"—or at least what seemed so to the Edam +people. They did not understand his "antiseptics," the boiling of his +medical scissors, his multipled sprayings, and <i>minima</i> of medicines. A +whacking black draught, and a fly-blister the size of the <i>Scotsman</i> +newspaper, were the popular idea of what a real doctor ought to +prescribe. Who would pay a man just to come and look at them? Certainly +not the people of Edam.</p> + +<p>I was present when Hugh John and Dr. Weir Douglas met for the first +time. In fact, I made the introduction. I was interested to see what Dr. +Douglas would make of Hugh John. For if he treated him like a schoolboy, +all was over.</p> + +<p>It was in our drawing-room. Somebody had had his little afternoon nap +over Froude's <i>History of England</i>—volume eight. Now if you ask +Somebody how long Somebody has slept, Somebody will answer that Somebody +<i>may</i> just have dropped off for five minutes. The Doctor had come in to +call socially. You see, I had met him at the Tennis Club. Well, Somebody +was quite pleased with him because he had read "Froude," and for a while +he did not notice the big, gray-eyed boy on the window-seat who had +risen at his entrance and then as quietly sat down again.</p> + +<p>But I said, "Doctor—my brother Hugh John!"</p> + +<p>Then Hugh John loomed up, with that quiet gravity which deceives +strangers sometimes, his finger still keeping the place in William's +<i>Middle Kingdom</i>, and his eyes meeting those of the Doctor level as the +metals on a straight run of the railway line.</p> + +<p>The Doctor was ready to pass the lad in order to talk with +Somebody—who, as usual, lay back looking amused. But that arresting +something in Hugh John's eyes, a mixture of equality and authority, +halted him, as it has done so many others.</p> + +<p>"You are reading?" said the Doctor civilly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Hugh John, "just picking out favorite bits. Do you know +<i>The Middle Kingdom</i>?"</p> + +<p>Now <i>The Middle Kingdom</i> is an exceedingly fine book, highly technical +in parts, and has to do with China. So it is no wonder that it was not +so familiar to a man who for years has had to specialize on surgery as +it was to the omnivorous Hugh John.</p> + +<p>Dr. Weir Douglas shook his head as he glanced over the volume.</p> + +<p>"It looks very stiff," he remarked; "are you getting it up for an +exam.?"</p> + +<p>Hugh John looked at him curiously. He did not approve of jests on such +subjects. "I read it first when I was about ten," he said. "I only wish +exams were as easy."</p> + +<p>"Is it 'math'?" the Doctor inquired sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hugh John, "that—and the idiocies of English spelling!"</p> + +<p>All this as from man to man, unsmiling, unwinking, each taking the +measure of the other.</p> + +<p>It came to an end in a mutual self-respect, neither yielding an inch. +But the boy knew how to make himself respected as well as the man of +thirty. That night they took a long walk together in the crisp black +frost, while Dr. Weir Douglas talked of "microbes," and Hugh John +expounded Chinese transcendental medicine. But the real respect did not +arrive till, passing the darkened library as they returned, the Doctor +said, "I hear you do something with the gloves. What do you say to a +turn?"</p> + +<p>"Step in!" said Hugh John.</p> + +<p>What passed I do not know, but when he went away the Doctor said, "I +really think those gloves of yours are two or three ounces too light!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was the next day that Hugh John, summoned into solemn council by +Butcher Donnan and his wife, was informed what was expected of him in +the matter of Elizabeth Fortinbras. Luckily I was again present, and so +can tell all about it.</p> + +<p>Hugh John was not surprised. He was the Red Indian of the family. He +took it as quite natural that he should be called in, quite natural that +such good luck should befall Elizabeth Fortinbras, and entirely +reasonable that he should be chosen as plenipotentiary.</p> + +<p>Now and then he asked a question, unexpectedly acute, as to Nipper's +financial position, and how the proposed arrangement with Elizabeth +would affect him. You would have thought it was Nipper's case he was +advocating. Only I know that he was anxious to keep clear of all +injustice before taking the matter in hand.</p> + +<p>"<i>And suppose Elizabeth gets married?</i>"</p> + +<p>I saw the two Donnans look one at the other. I don't think either had +yet considered the matter in this light. To adopt Elizabeth meant to +adopt any possible husband Elizabeth might take to herself. I could tell +from Butcher Donnan's twinkle that he was envisaging the possibility of +having Hugh John as a son-in-law—by adoption. Hugh John was still an +unknown quantity to the good pastry-cook. He would never understand the +delicate detachment of the friendship of Elizabeth Fortinbras and my +brother.</p> + +<p>"We hope," said Butcher Donnan cunningly, "that you will let us keep +Elizabeth for a long time, Mr. Hugh John?"</p> + +<p>The boy took the words perfectly seriously and with no personal bearing.</p> + +<p>"Elizabeth," he answered, "is a very pretty girl, but I shall do my +best. At any rate she is sure to consult me before doing anything +rash—like getting married, I mean!"</p> + +<p>There was something about Hugh John which kept any one from laughing at +him, and accordingly Butcher Donnan refrained.</p> + +<p>"You are a confident young man," he said; "at your age I might have had +an eye a little wider open for my own good fortune."</p> + +<p>"Elizabeth trusts me, and I am her friend!" said Hugh John, as if that +settled the whole matter.</p> + +<p>"Well, may I be ... blessed!" cried Butcher Donnan. "Off with you, and +let us hear what Elizabeth says."</p> + +<p>"No," said Hugh John, "it must <i>happen</i>, not be dragged in by the +collar. To-night, after shop-shutting, Elizabeth will go home to see +that all is right with her people. I shall walk with her, and tell you +what she says in the morning."</p> + +<p>"We would rather hear to-night," cried Butcher Donnan, hotly impatient +after the manner of his kind.</p> + +<p>"No—to-morrow!" pronounced Hugh John. "She ought to have the night to +think it over. It wouldn't be fair unless!"</p> + +<p>"No more it would, young fellow!" cried Butcher Donnan, clapping Hugh +John on the shoulder. "You found us a new business. You are finding us a +daughter—perhaps some day——"</p> + +<p>"Hush now, Butcher," said his wife, anxious as to what he should say +next.</p> + +<p>But Hugh John, already deep in his mission, took no offense at Butcher +Donnan's <i>innuendoes</i>. Elizabeth Fortinbras and he were the best of good +friends. And when the time came he would stand by the right hand of the +bridegroom of her choice and witness his joy.</p> + +<p>So at least he thought at that moment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<h3>THE LITTLE GREEN MAN</h3> + + +<p><i>Written the Summer we went abroad for the first time.</i></p> + +<p>It was about then that Hugh John suddenly grew up. He had been +threatening it for a long time, but had always put it off. This time, +however, it was for keeps. We noticed it first when we made Father tell +us stories. Hugh John had grown tired of the "Little Green Man"! Now +this was a thing so terrible to us that we hardly dared to face it. For, +you see, we had been, as it were, brought up on the Little Green Man, +and this was like being false to the very salt we had eaten. And the +crime was specially bad on Hugh John's part. For, you see, he ate such a +lot of salt that the Doctor told him it was bad for his health. However, +because there is no chance of Hugh John reading this book, I will try to +tell the tale just as Father tells it even yet to Margaret the Maid—and +the rest of us who have not grown too old to like such stories.</p> + +<h4>THE TALE OF THE LITTLE GREEN MAN.</h4> + + +<p>"Of <i>course</i> it is true," Father always began, "because you know +yourselves that you have seen the very place and the Bogle Thorn and +all. No doubt everything has shrunk a good deal since the time the story +tells about. But that is only because you have grown out of all +knowledge, and so everything seems smaller to you."</p> + +<p>"I know," cried the Maid, "last year when we came back from the seaside, +the Edam Water looked quite small and shallow, even at the first Torres +Vedras!"</p> + +<p>But Sir Toady nipped her good to make her "shut up"—yes, he had grown +so rude in the use of words that that was what he said. But then, most +boys are like that. It is school that does it, and, do you know, when +they come back they even pervert us girls. That this is true was +immediately proved by Maid Margaret giving a fierce kick under the table +to Sir Toady, and whispering back, "Shut up yourself!"</p> + +<p>But Father went on, never heeding in the least. A father who can be +conveniently deaf at times is the best kind. Be sure and take no other! +The only genuine has a twinkle in his eye, and a dimple instead of +smiling. You will know by that.</p> + +<p>"Well, the Little Green Man," Father went on, "lived in the Bogle Thorn +on the road between Laurieston and the Duchrae. I used to go that way to +school long ago, and at first I was frightened of the Little Green Man. +I used to climb the dyke and go right up by the loch on the moor where +the curlers played in winter, so as not to be compelled to pass that +way. But after a while I got not to mind him a bit. For, you see, he was +a good little man, all clad in green velvet tights, and with a broad +green bonnet on his head like a peaky toadstool. Once or twice when I +caught sight of him up among the branches, he popped into his little +house just as quickly as a rabbit into its hole when you say "Scat!" +And, you see, when once I was sure that he was frightened of <i>me</i>, I +used not to mind him a bit. Then by and by I used to sit down and swop +currants and sugar which I had "found" at home for some of the nuts and +lovely spicy fruits that the Little Green Man had stored away. He had +the loveliest little parlor and bedrooms all in the inside of the tree, +everything finished neat as cabinet-making, and the floor carpeted—you +never saw the like—and there were little windows, too, with glass in +them, and shutters that shut with the bark outside, so that you never +could tell there was a window there at all."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus3" id="illus3"></a> +<img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">I Used to Swop Currants and Sugar for Nuts and Lovely +Spicy Fruits</span>"</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>"And how could you see all that, Father?" asked the Maid, who, as usual, +was immensely interested, not having heard it above a thousand times +before. So it stayed quite new to her.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Father, "the Little Green Man touched a spring, and let me +look through the windows. Of course I was too big to get bodily into the +inside of the rooms, or run up and down the stairs. But when the Little +Green Man got married, he made a beautiful pleasure-ground at the top of +his house, with a clipped-hedge parapet all round to keep the Little +Green Children from falling over."</p> + +<p>"Whom did he marry, Father?" said the Maid though, of course, she knew.</p> + +<p>"Why, he married the Little Green Woman," said Father in a tone of +surprise mixed with reproof.</p> + +<p>He had been asked the same question at least a hundred times before, but +he always answered in the same tone of grieved astonishment, which +showed how clever he was. For he could not have been astonished—not +really, of course. Then he went on with the story of the Little Green +Man. The Little Green Man (said he) had a lot of children. There were +Toppy, Leafy, Branchy, Twiggy, Flowery, Fruity, and Rooty. That made +seven in all, and as they grew up, the Little Green Man made the +playground on the top of the Bogle Thorn ever so much bigger. And he +built the retaining walls higher, so as to keep them from falling over. +Not that that was a very serious matter. For, you see, they could all of +them hang on like monkeys. The only two who really ran some risk of +danger were Toppy and Rooty. For Toppy, of course, had to stay on top, +where he was safest, and knew his way about; and as for Rooty, there was +something in his blood that made him want all the time to worm his way +down into the hidden places under the earth where nobody but he ever +went, and where the corkscrew staircases got perfectly breakneck with +steepness. Then, when he found out this, the Little Green Man took +Rooty, and gave him regular sound lectures about his "habits"—you know +the kind of lecture—you have all got some on your own account. He said +that away off on the face of the wild moor, a good bit back from the +Bogle Thorn, was the cave of the Ugly Gray Dwarf—so called because that +was what he was. He was ugly as a gnarled bit of oak-trunk that they dug +up out of the moss. He was gray because he hid among the stones and +rocks of the moorland, and, worst of all, he lived on what he could +catch to eat—for choice, Little Green Children who had fallen out of +tree-tops, or missed their hold of branches, or been naughty and +wandered out when a root came to the surface. He had a horrid den where +he used to take his prey, and would either roast them before a slow +fire, basting them all the time, or else put them into a cauldron of +cold water, hung on three sticks, and <i>boil them alive</i>! (Here the Maid +always grew very pale, and edged as thickly as she could among the crowd +of us, while the boys fingered their (unloaded) revolvers.)</p> + +<p>So you can well imagine that it was not always the greatest fun to +wander over the face of that moorland, while this cruel monster, dry as +a chip, still as one of the bowlders among the heather, and invisible as +Will-o'-the-Wisp by day, lay watching the Bogle Thorn and the Little +Green Man's Well, to which some one had to go at least once a day for +water. Several times already the Little Green Man had had to +fight for his life. But he was a good shot with the little fairy +bow-and-arrows—the ones tipped with chips of flint—<i>you</i> know? ("We +know!" came from all the children in a breath.) Besides, Father Green +Man was so tough when you had him that the Ugly Gray Dwarf thought +twice, and even three times, before tackling him. For although he had no +heart to pierce, but only a cold, cold stone out of the bottom of a well +instead, the heads of the tiny chip arrows came off where they hit him +and annoyed him fearfully, wandering about his system and tickling up +unexpected organs. So that at long and last he got to know that he had +better give the Little Green Man a wide berth.</p> + +<p>But when he got married, and children began to patter up and down the +dainty little turning staircase of the Bogle Thorn, the Gray Dwarf +rubbed his knotted clawy hands together, and grumbled over and over to +himself—"Fresh Meat! Fresh Meat!! Fresh Meat!!!" And if he did not +laugh, it is certainly reported that he chuckled to himself, like +thunder among the hills very far away.</p> + +<p>But of all who went about the passages and ups-and-downs of the Bogle +Thorn, there was none so reckless as Little Rooty. He was just as +rambling, rampageous a boy as any I know! (Here Father looked at us, and +Hugh John nodded at Sir Toady, who nodded back, to show that both +considered the other as "catching it.") More than once the Little Green +Man had even taken a little green switch, and—well, it just happened +the same, so there is no use entering into <i>that</i>. But, in spite of all, +Rooty would go off foraging where he had no business to, and that came +quite near to being the end of Little Rooty, who would not "take a +telling," and forgot all about the little green switch as soon as he had +stopped smarting—where he frequently smarted.</p> + +<p>But one dreamy afternoon, when even the bumble-bees fell asleep and only +gurgled in the deep fox-glove bells, when his father was lying on the +green couch in the parlor, and his mother was telling the others tales +about "humans" in a shady green place on the tree-top, Little Rooty +slipped away off down-stairs, twenty-five flights to the cellar door +where they took in the winter's fuel—that is, fir-cones chopped small, +which make the best fires in the world, especially in Green Tree-top +Land where fuel is a scarcity, and one has to be careful not to overheat +the chimney, because of the insurance people. Well, Little Rooty found +the door all right, and after having touched the spring, he went out on +the face of the moor. The loch was shining beneath him, but sleepily +too. And it looked so warm and bright that Little Rooty forgot all about +what he had been told—the Ugly Gray Dwarf, the big black pot swinging +on three poles in front of the Grisly Den, with the water just coming to +the boil within it. And Rooty ran as hard as ever he could, without ever +taking a minute to shut the cellar door. He jumped and shouted, and +almost tumbled into Woodhall Loch just as he was, which would have +spoiled his clean new suit of gossamer green velvet that his mother had +finished that morning, and given him because it was just six months to +Christmas, when he got his thicker winter one.</p> + +<p>However, he did manage to get them off, and was just getting ready to +plunge into the nice cool water, when the stranded log, on which he had +been sitting taking off his stockings, sat up in its turn and stretched +out a kind of wizened claw that caught Little Rooty by the middle and +held him in the air, kicking and screaming. Then two horny warty lids +winked up, and two eyes like cold gravy looked at him—oh, so coldly and +hatefully! It was the Ugly Gray Dwarf, and he had been lying waiting for +Little Rooty all the afternoon. Then Rooty thought of everything his +father had told him, and wished it had never felt so hot and stuffy and +bumble-bee-y inside the house, and he resolved that if he got off this +time, nothing would ever induce him to disobey his parents again. He +even wished he was back in the wood-cellar, with his father getting the +little green switch down off the shelf. Positively he thought he could +have enjoyed it. Of course Rooty was the first little boy who ever felt +like that, but he did not have a very long time in which to repent, and, +indeed, it mattered very little to the Gray Dwarf whether he did or not. +That hideous brute just pinched him all over to see how fat he was, +gurgling approbation all the time of Little Rooty's "ribs" and "chines" +and "cuts off the joint"—all of which Rooty had always liked very much, +but had never before thought of in so intimate a connection with +himself.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, in the little house of the Bogle Thorn, its walls wainscoted +with green silk from a fairy Liberty's, its ceilings done in Grass of +Parnassus with sprigs and tassels of larch, the afternoon world slept +on. But the Little Green Woman paused in her long drowsy tale-telling to +the children in the shady corner of the Roof Garden. She thought she +heard a cry, so faint and far away that it might have been the squeak of +a field-mouse scuttling away from a weasel among the grass roots.</p> + +<p>Then a sudden thought struck her like a knife.</p> + +<p>"Where is Rooty? Who saw Rooty last? Toppy, you run and look over the +pricklements and see if you see Rooty. I thought I heard him cry."</p> + +<p>Toppy ran to the green wall of thorn, and was just in time to see the +Gray Dwarf toss poor Little Rooty over his shoulder (or at least the +knotted crotch of a tree which served him as a shoulder), and away with +him to his Grisly Den on the face of the moorland. Toppy just managed to +scream, and then his mother ran and caught him, or it might very well +have been all over with Little Toppy. By the time the Little Green Man +was wakened off the green sofa, and had understood what they were saying +(for the entire family talked at once, as is mostly the case with +united families), he ran hastily up to the Roof Garden, and saw the +Gray Dwarf, very little and flat on the face of the heath, just like a +splotch of mildew. And on his shoulder there was a spot of green, hardly +visible, which the father knew at once for his Little Rooty. But he did +not scold—at least not then. He went for his fairy bow, made tiny like +a catapult—not hurrying, you know, but going so fast that it felt as if +the wind was rising all over the house of the Bogle Thorn. The Little +Green Man dipped each arrow-point—that is, the flint part of it—into a +kind of green stuff like porridge, made from hemlock and the berries of +deadly nightshade, with other pleasant and effective things only known +to the Little Green People. He took great care not to let any drip +about, and looked closely to see if there were any scratches on his +hands. For it was quite unusual stuff, and precious. So he did not want +to waste any of it. He needed it all for that mildewy spot crawling over +the moorland towards the Grisly Cave with the green dot on its shoulder +which was his own Rooty.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, being exceptionally good children, <i>you</i> are not sorry for +naughty Rooty. ("Oh, yes, we are! We are!") But, anyway, his father was +sorry for him, though all the time he was promising him the best +"hiding" he had ever had in his life when he got him safe back again. +("Bet he never got a whack!" said Sir Toady, who is an authority on the +subject.) So, locking the children in and putting the key in his pocket, +the Little Green Man and his wife went away over the moorland to look +for the Ugly Gray Dwarf. The man did not want the woman to come. But she +begged of him, weeping, saying that she would go "human" if she were +left (and among the Green People that is a terrible word, and a yet more +terrible thing<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>). So in the end the Little Green Man let her come.</p> + +<p>Then she wanted to go direct to the cave, but her husband, who had had a +lot of experience, showed her how impossible and foolish that was. For +the Gray Dwarf would just lie down behind a big bowlder and wait for +them. Then he would stun them with a log or strangle them with his long +twisty fingers as they went by.</p> + +<p>So instead they went all the way round by John Knox's Pulpit and the +Folds Firs, that they might turn the flank of the enemy, and so come at +his cave by a way he would never expect. It was a narrow cleft between +two rocks up which they had to come—the Little Green Man and his woman. +They crawled and crawled, noiseless as earth-worms on a plowed field. +All the while the eyes of the Little Green Man shot out small sparkles +of fire, though the lids of them were closed so that they showed like +slits in a drying plaster wall.</p> + +<p>After a long climb they looked over a ridge of many bowlders and much +heather—the Little Green Man and his woman close behind him. And at the +sight they saw there the wife would have screamed out and run forward. +For she was a real woman, you see, though little and green. Only her +husband was prepared for her, knowing, after so many years, exactly what +she would do. So he first put the palm of his hand across her mouth to +keep in the scream, and next gave her the pouch of arrow-heads to hold. +Then with a pair of tweezers made of bent wood he lifted the little +poisoned flakelets of flint and dropped each into a split in the +arrow-head. Then his wife deftly bound each of them about with green +cord—for that was <i>her</i> part of the business. She forgot about +screaming when she had anything to do.</p> + +<p>Then the Little Green Man peered cautiously from behind a rock, first +giving his wife a good push with his foot as a warning—but, of course, +you know, kindly.</p> + +<p>He found himself looking down into a dell surrounded by many high +granite rocks, which made access difficult to the Grisly Cave. The Dwarf +was busy about the great black iron pot in which he was getting ready to +boil Little Rooty. The Green Man saw his boy stripped of his suit of +velvet, and trussed up neck and knee ready for cooking, while every time +the Ugly Gray Dwarf approached he gave him a kick in passing to make him +more tender, grinning and whetting a carving-knife all the time on a +monster "steel" that hung by his side.</p> + +<p>So you may believe that in a moment the Green Man had his bow strung +taut, and his heart beat as the dull glitter of the arrow-point, from +which the green stuff was still dripping, came into line with the hairy +throat of the wicked Dwarf.</p> + +<p>"<i>CLIP!</i>"</p> + +<p>That was the smacking sound of the bow-string going back to the +straight.</p> + +<p>"<i>IZZ—IK!</i>"</p> + +<p>That was the sound of the little elf arrow, dropping green juice from +its willow-leaf-shaped head, every drop of which was death.</p> + +<p>The "<i>IK!</i>" was when the elf shaft struck the Gray Dwarf and the point +broke off in his throat. He said nothing for a moment, but the knife +that was in his hand to cut up Little Rooty with clattered on the +stones, while he himself fell with a "squelch" like a big heap of wet +clothes thrown down on the laundry floor on washing-day morning.</p> + +<p>Then they cut Little Rooty's bonds, and took him home on his father's +back, his mother carrying the bow and the precious bag of arrow-heads. +But instead of the sound beating his father had promised him, they gave +Rooty (and all the other children) corn-cake and bramble jam, nut paste, +raspberry short-bread, and heather honey made into toffee. They danced +on the tree-tops all the night long, and illuminated all the windows of +the Bogle Thorn with glow-worms—who, in consideration of the +circumstances, gave their services <i>gratis</i>. As for the Gray Dwarf, they +never bothered any more about him, and I dare say if you care to go up +by the Grisly Cave at the end of Deep Dooms Wood on the right, as you +turn to the Falls of Drumbledowndreary, you may find his bones unto +this day.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The end of the story of the Little Green Man, as Father told it for +Fifteen Years, anyway.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE BEAD CURTAIN</h3> + + +<p>Hugh John set about his task of seeing Elizabeth Fortinbras in his own +way. He chose his own time—a pleasant blowy afternoon when in all the +vale of Edam there was nothing much doing. A sleepy place, Edam, on such +a day—the morning calm, the forenoon disturbed only by a rattling red +farm cart or two come in to bring meal and take back guano, then the +afternoon drowned in the Lethe of a Scottish village in full +summer-time. Hugh John looked in at the shop to inquire about the wasps. +They had bothered Elizabeth a good deal at first, but Hugh John had +devised traps with great ingenuity, though little success, before he +thought of a hanging curtain of blue and green beads in the doorway +which his father had brought back from Spain. It had lain in the garret +ever since, and Hugh John simply appropriated it for the use of +Elizabeth Fortinbras.</p> + +<p>But Butcher Donnan, returning to a waspless shop, was brought up +standing on the threshold—his mouth agape, his eyes stocky in his head, +and his hand mutely demanding explanations from "Mary-and-the-Saints."</p> + +<p>I think in her heart Elizabeth Fortinbras was a little afraid. Not only +had no such article ever been seen in Edam, but it was out of the power +of Edam and the Edamites to conceive such a thing as a door made of +large blue and green beads, which they had to lift up and let down +behind them, with the clashing of castanets before a play-acting booth.</p> + +<p>Happily Hugh John was there, sitting calmly in the back kitchen watching +Mrs. Donnan making currant short-bread.</p> + +<p>"Hugh John!" Elizabeth Fortinbras called out, with, it must be owned, a +little trouble in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Certainly; come in, Mr. Donnan!" said Hugh John courteously, running to +hold the trickling, clicking curtain aside for the ex-butcher to pass. +"A little curious till you get used to it, don't you think, Mr. Donnan? +But it will stir Edam. It will draw custom, and—what I put it up +for—keep out the wasps and bluebottles! Oh, yes, my father brought it +from Spain. It is quite an ordinary thing there. Indeed, I got the idea +from him."</p> + +<p>"But," said Butcher Donnan, slowly recovering his speech, "I must see +your father about the price of it to-morrow—if I am to keep it."</p> + +<p>"My father—sell <i>that</i>?" said Hugh John, coldly surprised. "He would as +soon eat it!"</p> + +<p>"But I can't take it from you, young master. It may be a valuable +article."</p> + +<p>"Take it—who asked you to take it?" demanded Hugh John. "I gave it to +Elizabeth Fortinbras myself as a present on the occasion of her +adoption, and if you want her as a permanence, I am afraid you must take +the bead curtain along with her!"</p> + +<p>"What, she has consented?" cried Butcher Donnan, forgetting everything.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Donnan, who was listening, put the short-bread into the oven +quickly, and came out. She had begun to learn the tones of Hugh John's +voice. She understood at once.</p> + +<p>"My daughter!" she cried, and, opening wide her arms, kissed her. +Butcher Donnan paused a moment, uncertain, and then, nudging his wife: +"I ought to, I know," he said, "but just you do it for me—the first +time." So Mrs. Donnan kissed Elizabeth again, and the Butcher wiped his +mouth with the back of his hand, as if he had just had something good to +drink. Then they looked about for Hugh John to make him share in the +family joy, but that young gentleman, guessing ahead something of their +intention, had disappeared with his usual thoroughness and absence of +fuss. Some recognition from Elizabeth, privately bestowed, he was in no +way averse to, the time being dusky and the place far from the haunts of +men. But at mid-afternoon, opposite the railway station, and behind a +green and blue bead curtain to which Edam had not yet awakened—on the +whole, it is small wonder that Hugh John decided upon the better part of +valor.</p> + +<p>Safe in his cave on the hillside, he wiped his heated brow and +congratulated himself on his escape. Perhaps he would not have rejoiced +quite so much had he known that Sir Toady, entering at that moment in +quest of gratuitous toffee scrapings, found himself at once heir to all +the affection which was really his brother's due. Sir Toady accepted +such things as they came in his way, much as a cat drinks from stray +cream-jugs, but without giving particular thanks for them. His motto, +slightly changed from the rhyming proverb, was ever—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He that will not when he can,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's not at all my sort of man!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<h3>THE DISCONTENT OF MRS. NIPPER DONNAN</h3> + + +<p>When Mr. Robert Fortinbras heard of his daughter's determination, he +declared that he renounced her for ever. But after thinking the matter +over, and especially on being reminded by Hugh John that one day she +would become heiress of no mean part of the Donnan wealth, he consented +to a limited forgiveness, on condition that in the meantime she should +do something for her father and mother. But her sister Matilda openly +revolted, saying that <i>she</i> always knew Elizabeth meant to shove the +housework off on her, and that she did not care if not a dish was ever +washed in that house again. Elizabeth reminded her that, far from idling +at New Erin Villa, she was on foot from morning till night. Also that +nine times out of ten when she came home she found Matilda asleep on the +sofa, with a penny novelette flung on the floor beside her. There was a +feeling of strain for a moment, but Elizabeth presented her sister with +a striped blouse and half-a-dozen stand-up collars, which promptly +brought forth the declaration, "Oh, Elizabeth, you mustn't mind what I +<i>say</i>. It is only mother's nagging that does it, but I do love you!" +Which may or may not have had to do with the striped blouse and the +half-dozen collars. On the whole, there was a certain feeling of +satisfaction in the house of Mr. Robert Fortinbras that Elizabeth was so +well provided for, and that in a day of trouble she might even assist +the brilliant adventurer with some of the gold of that unimaginative +citizen, Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan.</p> + +<p>But Miss Elizabeth Fortinbras, though the best daughter in the +world—with only one exception that I know of personally—had no idea of +encouraging the busy idleness of her father, or the foolishness of the +rest of the family. She had found a business that suited her, and she +would in nowise interest herself less in it now that she was, so to +speak, the present partner and future heiress in the concern.</p> + +<p>There was but one person discontented, Mrs. Nipper Donnan. She was +jealous of the white-curtained cottage, the trim garden, which began to +blossom where she had hung out her clothes. Chiefly, however, she hated +Elizabeth Fortinbras and "that Hugh John Picton Smith," who, strangely +enough, was her abhorrence—though it was not his habit to ignore any +one, but only to pass on his way with a grave bow.</p> + +<p>Hugh John was an uncomfortable person to quarrel with. His great bodily +strength and long practice in the art of boxing rendered him a man of +peace whose very presence made for reconciliation. In the neighborhood +of Edam he was President Roosevelt's "moral policeman with a big stick." +Even at home he held over the head of an offender a baton of honor and +"the right thing to do."</p> + +<p>At school, it is to be feared that his discipline was sterner. There he +argued but seldom. He was the centurion who said, "Do this!" and the +other fellow did it. But then, it was a good thing to do, and the head +master generally considered him as his best ally.</p> + +<p>He was father's constant companion on his walks, and to hear them debate +in that precious half-hour in the dining-room after dinner was to escape +suddenly from the smallness of the world about, and find oneself on the +high Alps of thought where the sun shone early and late, where the +winds blew clean and cold, and thought was free exceedingly. Neither +counted anything as to be accepted merely because they had been told it +upon authority. They searched and compared, the man and the boy, Hugh +John's finely analytic mind steadied and gripped by the elder +experience. Their talk was not the talk of father and son, but rather of +two seekers—Hugh John declaiming high, direct, often fierce, while +through the smoke of a contemplative cigarette father went on smiling +gently, now waving a hand in gentle deprecation, dropping a word of +moderation here, qualifying a statement there—the son holding strictly +for law and justice, of the firmest and most inexorable, the father +dropping counsels of mercy and that understanding which is the +forgiveness of God, being, as always, a Tolerant of the Tolerants.</p> + +<p>I know that those who have read the two books called after Sir Toady +Lion may fail a little to recognize my elder brother. But nevertheless +this is the same who in his time wept because as a little child with a +wooden sword he had been saluted by the Scots Grays, the same also who +fought the "smoutchies"; and if I have said nothing about a certain +notable Cissy Carter, it is only because, though I know, in the +meantime I have promised not to tell.</p> + +<p>It will easily be understood that with such an adversary Mrs. Nipper +Donnan, ex-kitchen-maid at Erin Villa, stood little chance. Hugh John +listened patiently and gravely, his head slightly bent in the pensive +and contemplative way which was then his principal charm. He heard that +he had interfered where he had no business, that Mrs. Nipper Donnan knew +that he had always hated her husband, that, while as good as engaged to +Colonel Carter's daughter, he was walking the lanes with Elizabeth +Fortinbras—yes, and plotting and planning to get a fortune for her—a +fortune which would make beggars of her husband and herself, and strip +an only son of his inheritance.</p> + +<p>To the angry woman Hugh John made no reply. He only kept silence, with +that gentle irony which is his present manner with those who grow +quarrelsome—that is, if they are not of his own sex and (approximately) +age.</p> + +<p>He only called Nipper—and by a series of questions ascertained from him +that he knew how Hugh John had been the means of obtaining better terms +for him than he had ever hoped for, since his marriage had so offended +his father. Hugh John Picton Smith could speak no lie. He, Nipper +Donnan, would uphold this against all comers. Even in the days of the +smoutchies and the prison vault at the old Castle in the Edam Water he +had known it. Even his very enemies had known it, and had taken Hugh +John's word before the sworn oath of any one of themselves. He would +take it now, and as to his wife, if she said another word—out of the +shop she should go! She did go, slamming the door behind her. Nipper +stepped across and shot a bar with a jarring sound heard all over the +house. Then from behind the counter he thrust forth a hand, hard and +massive, towards Hugh John, who took it in his strong grip. They looked +at each other in the face, eye to eye. There was a slight shrug of +Nipper's shoulders and a toss of his head in the direction of the barred +door, which said that a man could not be responsible for his womankind, +but as for themselves, had they not fought far too often and too fairly +ever to go behind backs to do each other an injury?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h2> + +<h3>TREACHERY!</h3> + + +<p>To-day Hugh John let me see a letter which he had received from Cissy +Carter in Paris. As no one will see my diary, and also because there is +nothing very private in the letter, I have jotted down as much as I can +remember in my locked book. It was written from number twenty of the +Avenue d'Argenson, and the date was the day before yesterday. It began +without any greetings (as was their custom).</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Hugh John</span>—People have written to me about you and Elizabeth +Fortinbras—not nice people like you, me, and the Rat" (this +was their unkind and meaningless name for—me, Miss Priscilla +Picton Smith). "I don't much care what any one writes, of +course. For I know that if ever you change your mind, you will +do as you said, and send back <i>your</i> half of the crooked +sixpence. You need not put in a word along with it. Only just +send the half of the sixpence by the registered letter post, +and I shall understand. I promise to do the same by +you.—<span class="smcap">Cissy.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Now it must long have been clear that my brother Hugh John is as +careless about his own concerns as he is careful for other people. He +naturally took Cissy at her word, and having a conscience quite void of +reproach with regard to Elizabeth Fortinbras or any other, very +naturally thought no more about the matter.</p> + +<p>But he should have been cautious how he disposed of the letter—in the +fire, for choice. Only, you see, that was not Hugh John's way. He stuck +it in his pocket-book, and pulled it out with his handkerchief just in +time for Mrs. Nipper Donnan, on her way home with her groceries, to find +it. In the little skin-covered book (which had once been "imitation +shark"), wrapped in a piece of tissue-paper, was also the half of a +crooked sixpence.</p> + +<p>Next morning but two, in far-away Paris, in front of a tall plastered +house with big barren windows, Miss Cecilia Carter, walking to and fro +with two of her companions, had an odd-looking, ill-addressed packet put +into her hand. She opened it with a little glow of expectation—and +there in her hand lay the other half of the crooked sixpence!</p> + +<p>Cissy Carter did not faint. She did not cry out. There is no record, +even, that she went pale. At any rate the school registers bear out the +fact that a quarter of an hour after she took her lesson in "theory" +from the music-master, Herr Rohrs. She only felt that something had +broken within her—something not to be mended or ever set right, +something she could not even have the relief of speaking about as the +French girls did, rhapsodizing eternally about the officers who rode +past the gate, slacking the speed of their horses a little that they +might stare up the avenue along which the young girls walked +two-and-two, also on the look-out for them.</p> + +<p>She had told Hugh John often just what had happened. She had cast it in +his face, when the pretty spite of her temper got the better of her, +that, some day or other, it would come to this. But in her heart of +hearts she had never really thought so for a moment.</p> + +<p>Hugh John untrue! Oh, no! <i>That</i> was impossible! It did not enter into +the scheme of things.</p> + +<p>Yes, certainly, twice, in a fit of "the pet," she had sent hers back to +Hugh John. But this was different—oh, so different! How different, only +those who knew Hugh John could understand. When <i>he</i> did such a thing, +he meant something by it. Hugh John had no silly flashes of temper—like +a girl—like her, Cissy Carter.</p> + +<p>So she thought to herself as she went about her work, the rodent which +we children call the "Sorrow Rat" gnawing all day at her heart, the +noise of the class-rooms, ordinarily so deafening, dull and distant in +her ear.</p> + +<p>All over! Yes, it was all over. Hugh John had wished it so, and from +that, she well knew, there was no appeal! And there was (I know it well) +one sad little heart the more in that great city of Paris, where (if one +must believe the books) there are too many already.</p> + +<p>But Cissy did not take offense, and I had my weekly letter as usual. +Perhaps it was a little more staid, a little less "newsy," and her +interest in Herr Rohrs not quite so profound. But really I put all that +down to the cold and headache of which Cissy complained in a +postscript—and, not even there, was there a hint as to the other half +of the crooked sixpence! Which is a record for one woman—girl, I +mean—writing to another.</p> + +<p>Hugh John was anything but sentimental, and it was not his habit to take +out the relic wrapped in the tissue-paper oftener than the rearrangement +of his scanty finances compelled. He would just give his pocket a slap, +and if he felt a lump—why, he thought no more about the matter. He was +preparing for college, and, knowing no reason why he should be uneasy, +he had immersed himself in his books. He had not the smallest idea that +the sharkskin purse, empty, lay in Mrs. Nipper Donnan's drawer, or that +the two pieces of the crooked sixpence were wrapped together in the same +tissue-paper in far-away Paris.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h2> + +<h3>ADA WINTER AND "YOUNG MRS. WINTER"</h3> + + +<p>While these things were pending, I went one day to the north side of +Edam Water to call upon Ada Winter. I had known Ada at school—not in +the same class or term, of course, but just because we came from the +same place we nodded, if we were not in too great a hurry, when we +crossed each other in the playground.</p> + +<p>It was not much, but I have noticed that you get more fond of school +after you have left it a while. Before, it was "the beastly hole," +"Treadmill House," and other pretty little innocent names. Immediately +after leaving school, however, it became "the dear old place," a little +walled Paradise; and we used to go regularly to the station to see the +girls who were still there going off "with smiling faces veiling sad +hearts," as Hugh John said—and, of course, as I know now, wishing us +all at Jericho.</p> + +<p>At any rate I called upon Ada Winter, and among other things we talked +about the choir practice at our church, and I asked Ada why she did not +go. You see, she had been with me in the school choir, where, as in most +choirs, they put the pretty girls in front. (No, I shan't tell where I +sat, not I!)</p> + +<p>"Why," said Ada, with an inflection which would have been bitter but for +its sadness, "why I can't go to choir practice is not because I have +lost my voice, as mother tells everybody. But because mother wants to go +herself! Some one has got to stay at home."</p> + +<p>"But Mrs. Winter—but your mother," I began, "she does not——"</p> + +<p>"I know—I know—you need not repeat it," cried Ada, feeling for her +handkerchief in a quick, nervous way she always had. "Mother cannot sing +a note, and every one there makes fun of the way she dresses! Oh, don't +I know!"</p> + +<p>And she dabbed at her eyes, while I tried to think of something to +say—something that obstinately kept away. I wanted to comfort her, you +see, but you have no idea till you have tried how difficult it is to +comfort (or even to answer) a girl who talks about her mother like that.</p> + +<p>Of course I knew very well that it was all true. Mrs. Winter's youthful +toilettes and girlish airs were the talk of the "visiting" good wives of +Edam—and very respectable and noticing women these were, even beyond +the average of a Scottish "neighborhood"—half village, half town—which +is, they say, the highest in the world.</p> + +<p>The men thought Mrs. Winter merely "nice looking." A few found her even +"nice," and mentioned the fact at home! (Poor ignorant wretches, they +deserved what they got!) Was it not evident to every woman (with eyes) +in the congregation that Mrs. Winter was obviously, and with malice +aforethought, setting her cap at the Reverend Cosmo Huntly, the +newly-elected minister of the parish kirk in Edam?</p> + +<p>No matter! I had been brought up in the ancient way, and (at least +knowingly) I had not forsaken it.</p> + +<p>I thought of the "Honor thy father and thy mother," and during the rest +of my visit the words lay uncomfortably in the background of my mind.</p> + +<p>But for the moment old comradeship prevailed. Even a queer little +shamefaced tenderness somehow came over me.</p> + +<p>"Poor Ada," I said, "it <i>is</i> a shame. You never get anywhere! We have +all the fun, and you have to stop on here in this pokey place!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Ada, dry-eyed, "you forget. There are the hens. When any +one calls, mother sends me out to the back to feed the hens!"</p> + +<p>We were speaking quietly on the doorstep of a quiet old house in the +little main street. The lobby was dusky behind, and the settled smell of +ancient furniture, perfectly kept for generations, came through the open +door to mingle with the sharp sting of tar, and boats, and the sea which +breathed up from the tidal river as through a funnel.</p> + +<p>As we stood together silent for a moment, both a little moved and +strange, even with one another, we heard a quick, decided tread. And +round the corner came Ada's mother, "Young Mrs. Winter" as she was +called, to distinguish her from Ada's grandmother, "Old Mrs. Winter," +who lived in the little cottage by the Ryecroft Bridge at the other end +of the town.</p> + +<p>"Come, Ada," said her mother, "take Prissy in if you want to speak to +her. I thought I had told you how much I dislike your standing gossiping +on doorsteps like servant maids."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Winter," I said very quietly. "I must go home. Father +will want me to pour out his tea."</p> + +<p>And Ada Winter did not press me to stay, but only shut the door, with a +glance at me, and a sigh as her mother rustled up-stairs to "change for +the evening."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII</h2> + +<h3>AN EVENING CALL</h3> + + +<p>Now of course it is true that the people of Edam gossip about Young Mrs. +Winter. But, to make things quite equal all round, Young Mrs. Winter can +give any one of them points at their own game! And she has her own way +of doing it too. She is never nasty about it, never spiteful. She looks +far too plump for that. She is rather like those people in the Bible who +make broad their phylacteries, and thank God in their prayers that they +are not as other men are. It says "men" in the text (I looked it up), +but I think it must have been women who were really meant. For, about +Edam at least, it is mostly <i>they</i> who give thanks that they are not as +other women are!</p> + +<p>Well, at any rate, Young Mrs. Winter was that kind of gossip—oh, far +too good-natured ever to say an ill word about any one! But, on the +other hand, always "so very sorry" for the people she did not like that +she left everybody with the impression that she was in possession of the +darkest and deadliest secrets concerning them. Only she was <i>so</i> good +and <i>so</i> kind that she only sympathized with these naughty people, +instead of (as no doubt she could) putting them altogether outside the +pale of society. She did this most often at afternoon teas. Then her +sighs could be heard all over the room. They quenched conversation. They +aroused curiosity, and in five minutes half tea-sipping Edam knew to how +much original sin Miss So-and-so had recently added so many new and +unedited actual transgressions. But for the unfortunate impression thus +unwittingly given of course poor Young Mrs. Winter was by no means +responsible. Indeed, she gently sighed as she went away. "It is <i>such</i> a +pity!" she said feelingly, as her hostess accompanied her to the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Winter the Younger dealt at Nipper Donnan's—both on account of the +superior quality of the meat, and, still more, because there she +encountered a kindred spirit—no, not the Reverend Cosmo Huntly, but +Mrs. Nipper Donnan herself. It was not long before Young Mrs. Winter +knew all about the abominable devices of Elizabeth Fortinbras, the +terrible loss to the legitimate heir, Nipper, brought about by the +cunning of a certain Hugh John, the weakness (if no worse) of the elder +Donnans—in fact, all, and a great deal more, than Mrs. Nipper knew +herself!</p> + +<p>One evening, going into the shop during Nipper's absence on his +"cattle-buying business" among the farms, Young Mrs. Winter found still +younger Mrs. Donnan in a state of great excitement. She had just been +wrapping up a parcel, and was aching for a confidant.</p> + +<p>No, of course Young Mrs. Winter would never, never betray a secret. Was +she not known and noted for that one thing? Had she not suffered +grievously and been much spoken against for that very fault, if fault, +indeed, it were? Mrs. Nipper might ask all Edam.</p> + +<p>There was not, of course, time for that, because Mrs. Nipper was so keen +on the track of a confidant.</p> + +<p>It had to come out. The dam burst suddenly. There was now no means of +holding it back. Meg Linwood's private sense of injustice was increased +a thousandfold by the purring sympathy of Young Mrs. Winter.</p> + +<p>No, indeed, she would not sit down under it. She was not now a "slavey" +to be treated like that. She had had quite enough! And so on and so on. +Young Mrs. Winter incautiously suggested an appeal to Mrs. Nipper's +husband, and so very nearly cut off the whole book of the revelation in +mid-gush.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" cried Mrs. Nipper, "above all things Nipper must know nothing +about it! <i>He</i> would not understand!"</p> + +<p>Young Mrs. Winter threw up her hands with a little gesture of despair, +as much as to say, "I do not quite see, in that case, what is to be done +in the matter!"</p> + +<p>Then came the dread secret.</p> + +<p>"I have paid them off myself. But oh—it is a great secret! Nipper would +never forgive me—he thinks so much of that Hugh John Picton Smith!"</p> + +<p>"Tell me all about it," purred Young Mrs. Winter. "You know I never +speak again of things which have been told me in confidence!"</p> + +<p>And, indeed, there was more of truth in the statement than the lady +herself was aware of. For there were but few people in Edam so foolish +as to tell Young Mrs. Winter even what their chickens had had for +dinner!</p> + +<p>"Oh, they shall not mock at me any more," said Mrs. Nipper, half crying +with anger, half trembling at her own temerity.</p> + +<p>The Meg Linwood of the back kitchen had not got over her former +wholesome dread of correction. And in her secret heart she always feared +(and perhaps also a little hoped) that one day Nipper, put out of +patience by her tricks, would snatch up a stick and give her the same +sort of moral lesson by which the late Mr. Linwood had recalled his +family to a sense of their duty. "They shall not mock at me—yes, I know +they do—because I was once a servant." (How little she knew either Hugh +John or Elizabeth, if the accusation were made seriously!) "But I have +shown them that they cannot tamper with me!"</p> + +<p>"But how—tell me how you did it?" said Young Mrs. Winter, sinking her +voice to a whisper.</p> + +<p>"I found a letter," said Meg in a solemn whisper, and putting her mouth +close to the ear of her listener, "yes, a letter—from that Carter girl +in Paris to Hugh John Picton Smith."</p> + +<p>"Never!" cried Young Mrs. Winter, clasping her hands together in a kind +of ecstasy. Then, fearing she had gone too far, she said, "I should like +to see it, but I suppose you sent it back immediately."</p> + +<p>"I did nothing of the kind," Meg Linwood giggled. "I would not be so +soft, though I have only been a servant—a common slavey, washing pans +in the scullery, while my lady, all dressed up fine, sold candy in the +front shop, and talked to <i>that Hugh John</i>!"</p> + +<p>Thus innocently did poor Meg Linwood lay bare to the experienced eyes of +Young Mrs. Winter the secret springs of her jealousy.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> a shame," murmured that lady sympathetically but vaguely.</p> + +<p>And so, with a little persuasion, Meg Linwood told the whole story of +the twin halves of the crooked sixpence as related in the letter found +in the sharkskin purse.</p> + +<p>Young Mrs. Winter felt that perhaps never had virtue been more its own +reward. She was in sole possession of a secret that would assuredly set +all Edam by the ears.</p> + +<p>Presently she made her excuses to Mrs. Nipper Donnan, all simmering with +sympathy till she was round the corner. And then she actually picked up +her skirts and ran.</p> + +<p>She had so many calls to make, so much to tell, and so little time to do +it in. No wonder that Young Mrs. Winter was almost crushed by the weight +of her own responsibilities. Suppose that she were to fall sick, or get +run over, dying untimely "with all her music in her," as the poet says.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately nothing of the kind occurred. The people she called on +were at home. Nay, more, they had friends. These friends, as soon as +they had heard, jostled each other in the lobbies. Nay, so great was +their haste to be gone that they made the rudest snatches at each +other's umbrellas!</p> + +<p>Thus quickly was the tale of the crooked sixpence spread about in Edam. +You see, the Davenant Carters were the greatest people in the parish, +all the more so for not living in the town. And as for Hugh John, he +also, though less known, was a citizen of no mean city.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I think it must have been about eight o'clock of a summer night—it was +after dinner, anyway—when a ring came to the door bell, and Cairns +went in the dining-room where Hugh John was rearranging the universe +with father while he smoked. I was at the organ looking over some music, +and trying over little bits very, very softly. Because at that time it +is not allowed to interrupt the talk.</p> + +<p>"A young lady on a bicycle to speak to Mr. Hugh John!" said Cairns.</p> + +<p>Luckily I had turned a little on the music-stool, so I did not lose a +faintest detail of what followed. I saw the single mischievous dimple +come and go at the corner of father's cheek, but, as is his silent way, +he only flicked the ash off his cigarette with his little finger, and +said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Will you excuse me for a moment, father?" said Hugh John, always master +of himself, and consequently, nine times out of ten, of the other person +as well. Father nodded gravely, and Hugh John went out.</p> + +<p>I would have given all I possessed—not usually much at most—to have +accompanied my brother. But a look from father checked me. As you can +see from his books, it is not so very long since he was young himself. +Though, of course, he seems fearfully old to us, I know he does not feel +that way himself.</p> + +<p>So perforce I had to wait patiently, turning over that dreary music till +somebody came into the room, and then I was released. I knew it was +Elizabeth Fortinbras who was outside, but for all that I did not even go +to the door to see.</p> + +<p>After what seemed a very long while Hugh John came in. He was looking +rather pale.</p> + +<p>"Can I go to the Edam Post Office?" he asked. "I shall not be long."</p> + +<p>But though he asked politely, he was gone almost before permission could +be given.</p> + +<p>He told me all about it when he came back. I had been at the window, and +had seen Hugh John and Elizabeth Fortinbras ride off together. For any +one who saw them there was but one thing to think. They looked so +handsome that any other explanation seemed inadmissible. Only we at home +knew different.</p> + +<p>"Sis," he said, when at last we got out to the gun-room, which father +uses occasionally for smoking in, "there never was a girl like Elizabeth +Fortinbras!"</p> + +<p>At this I whistled softly—a habit for which I am always being checked, +and as often forgetting.</p> + +<p>"<i>And what about Cissy Carter?</i>" I asked.</p> + +<p>He looked at me once with a kind of "If-you-have-any-shame-in-thee, +girl, prepare-to-shed-it-now" manner, before which I quailed. Then he +told me how Elizabeth had ridden out to tell him of the treachery of Meg +Linwood. Together they had made out an urgency telegram, had found the +post-master, and had dispatched it to Paris that very night.</p> + +<p>It said: "<i>Half silver token lost. If sent you by mischievous persons, +please return immediately to its owner, Hugh John Picton Smith.</i>"</p> + +<p>"And that, I think, covers the case—she will understand!" said +Elizabeth Fortinbras.</p> + +<p>But low in her own heart, as she rode up the long steep street to New +Erin Villa, she added the rider, "That is, if she is not a goose!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>XXIII</h2> + +<h3>HONOR THY DAUGHTER!</h3> + + +<p>But, alas! Cissy Carter <i>was</i> a goose! In the well-meant telegram she +saw only a new machination of the enemy—perhaps even of Elizabeth +Fortinbras. And the heart in the Boulevard d'Argenson became, for the +moment, sadder than ever. Also Madame asked for an explanation in a tone +to which the proud little daughter of Colonel Davenant Carter had been +quite unaccustomed. She resented Madame Rolly's interference rather more +sharply than wisely. Whereupon she was told that her father would be +requested to remove her, if, on the morrow, she was not ready with an +explanation, in addition to the apology which Madame, perhaps correctly, +considered her due.</p> + +<p>Now it chanced that Colonel Carter, finding himself with a week-end to +spare in London, had crossed the Channel to give himself the treat (and +his daughter the surprise) of dropping in upon her unexpectedly. He +could not have come more to the purpose so far as that daughter was +concerned. Or more malapropos from the point of view of Madame Rolly.</p> + +<p>As many people know, the good Colonel, once the devoted slave of Sir +Toady Lion, was occasionally exceedingly peppery. And when he arrived +with his pockets bulging with good things, only to find "his little +girl" in tears—and, indeed, brought hastily down from the room in which +she had been locked—his military ardor exploded.</p> + +<p>"If, Madame," he is reported to have said, "I am to understand +that you cannot keep discipline without having resort to methods +more suitable to a boy of eight than to a young lady of eighteen, +it is time that I undertook the responsibility myself! Cecilia, go +up to your room. I will settle with Madame. And by the time that +is done—the—ah—baggage-cart will be at the door—as sure +as my name is G-rrrrrumph—G-rrrumph—G-rrrummph!"</p> + +<p>And, indeed, the "baggage-cart" (in the shape of a small omnibus) was at +the door. Although really, you know, the Colonel's name was not as he +himself affirmed.</p> + +<p>"And now, Missy," growled the Colonel in his finest +Full-Bench-of-Justices manner, "kindly tell me what you have been +doing!"</p> + +<p>For, very characteristically, the Colonel, though entirely declining to +listen to a word of accusation against his daughter from Madame Rolly, +reserved to himself the right of distributing an even-handed justice +afterwards. His method on such occasions is just the reverse of +father's, as we have all learned to our cost. Our father would have +listened gravely to all that Madame had to recount of our misdeeds. Then +he would have nodded, remarked, "You did perfectly right, Madame! In +anything that you may propose, I will support you—so long, that is, as +I judge it best that my child shall remain at your school!" For father's +first principle in all such matters is, "Support authority—receive or +make no complaints—and, above all, work out your own salvation, my +young friend!"</p> + +<p>And though it sometimes looks a bit hard at the time, as Hugh John says, +"It prepares a fellow for taking his own part in the world, as you soon +find you have jolly well to do if you mean to get on."</p> + +<p>But Cissy knew her father, and promptly set herself to cry as +heartbrokenly as she could manage on such short notice. Colonel +Davenant Carter gazed at her a moment with a haughty and defiant +expression. But as Toady Lion had once said of him, "I teached him to +come the High Horsicle wif ME!" So now, as the rickety omnibus jogged +and swayed over the Parisian cobbles, Cissy wept ever more bitterly, +till the old soldier had to entreat her to stop. They would, so it +appeared, soon be at his hotel. Even now they were passing his club, and +"that old gossiping beast, Repton Reeves," was at the window. If it got +about that he, Colonel Davenant Carter, had been seen driving down the +Rue de Rivoli with a damsel drowned in floods of tears—why, by all the +bugles of Balaclava, he would never hear the end of it. He might as well +resign at the club. All which, as Cissy sobbed out in the French +language, was "exceedingly equal" to her! But it was very far indeed +from being "égal" to the peppery Colonel. And at last, as the sobs +increased in carry and volume, he was reduced to the ignominious +expedient of personal bribery.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Cissy," he said in tremulous tones, "we absolutely <i>can't</i> +go into the courtyard of the Grand Hotel like this! Now, if you will be +a good girl, and will stop this instant, I will drive you up the Rue de +la Paix, and there I will buy——!"</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>" said Cissy, looking up with eyes that still brimmed ready for +action.</p> + +<p>"A gold bracelet!" said her father tentatively, but still quite +uncertain of his effect.</p> + +<p>"Boohoo!" said Cissy Carter, dropping her face once more between her +hands.</p> + +<p>"Goodness gracious," cried the Colonel, invoking his favorite divinity, +"what can the girl want? A gold watch, then?"</p> + +<p>"Real gold this time, then!" said Cissy, who had been "had" once before, +and, even with an aching heart, was properly cautious.</p> + +<p>"You shall do the choosing yourself!" said her father, thinking that he +had conquered. But Cissy knew her opportunity—and the relative whom +fate had given her. The tears welled again. Her bosom was shaken by +timely sobs.</p> + +<p>"Well, what then, Celia—really, this becomes past bearing! Why, we are +nearly at the hotel!"</p> + +<p>Cissy glanced up quickly. "A gold bracelet <i>with</i> a gold watch, then!" +she sighed gently.</p> + +<p>And this is the truth, and the whole truth, as to why Colonel Davenant +Carter gave his arm to a radiant and beautiful daughter in the courtyard +of the Grand Hotel—a daughter, also, who lifted up a prettily-gloved +hand (twelve buttons), and at every fourth step <i>looked at the time</i>!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>XXIV</h2> + +<h3>CISSY'S MEANNESS</h3> + + +<p>Miss Cecilia Davenant Carter had been at home a good many weeks before +she came to see me. Of course Hugh John was now at college, and +doubtless that made a difference. But she had never stayed away so long +before, and whatever reason Cissy might have to be angry with Master +Hugh John, she had not the least right to take it out on ME!</p> + +<p>However, she came at last—chiefly, I think, to show me the gold watch +on her wrist. This she wanted so badly to do that it must have hurt her +dreadfully to stay away as long as she did. So she sat fingering it, but +not running to ask me to admire it, as a girl naturally does. Of course +I took no notice, though it made me feel mean. We talked about the woods +and the autumn tints (schoolgirls always like these two words—they +remind them that it is the season for blackberries and jam), till at +last I was thoroughly ashamed of myself. So I went over to Cissy, and +said, "I think that's the prettiest bracelet I ever saw in all my life!"</p> + +<p>And she said, "Do you?" looking up at me funnily. "Do you really?" she +repeated the words, looking straight at me.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do indeed!" I answered. And—what do you think?—the next moment +she was crying on my shoulder! Of course I understood. Every girl will, +without needing to be told. And as for men (and "Old Cats"), it is no +use attempting to explain to them. They never could know just how we two +felt.</p> + +<p>But Cissy had really nothing in the least "catty" about her. "Quite the +reverse, I assure <i>you</i>!" as the East Country folk say. She even took it +off and let me try it on without ever warning me to be careful with it. +And that, you know, is a good deal for a girl who is "not friends" with +your own brother, and has only had a new "real-gold" watch-bracelet for +three or four weeks.</p> + +<p>But then, Cissy could never be calm and restful like Elizabeth +Fortinbras. Cissy did everything in a rush, and so, I suppose, got +somehow closer to the heart of our impassive Hugh John just on that +account. Elizabeth Fortinbras was too like my brother to touch him +"where he lived," as Sir Toady would say.</p> + +<p>Well, after a while Cissy stopped crying, and took my handkerchief +without a word and quite as a matter of course (which showed as clearly +as anything how things stood between us).</p> + +<p>Then she said, "Priss, do you know, I did an awfully mean thing, and I +want you to help me to make it all right again!"</p> + +<p>In a book, of course (a proper book, I mean), I ought to have asked Ciss +all sorts of questions, and said that in everything which did not affect +the honor of the house of Picton Smith I was at her service. And so on.</p> + +<p>But of course ordinary girls don't talk like that now-a-days. If you +have what our sweet Maid calls a "snarl" against anybody—why, mostly +every one plays hockey now, and it is the simplest thing in the world to +"take a drive at her shins, and say how sorry you are afterwards"! So at +least (the Maid informs me) some girls, who shall be nameless, have been +known to do at her school.</p> + +<p>I waited for Cissy to tell me of the dreadfully mean thing she had done. +But of course I assured her first that, whatever it was—yes, +<i>whatever</i>—I should do just what she wanted done to help her. For I +knew she would do the same for me.</p> + +<p>Then she told me that in her first anger about the telegram—for she had +been far more angry about that than about the sending back the other +half of the crooked sixpence—a thing which really mattered a thousand +times more (but of course that was exactly like a girl!)—she had put +the telegram, and both parts of the crooked sixpence, and all of Hugh +John's letters she could find—chiefly the short and simple annals of a +Rugby "forward"—in a lozenge-box—and (here Cissy dropped her voice) +<i>sent them all, registered, to Elizabeth Fortinbras</i>!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>XXV</h2> + +<h3>"NOT EVEN HUGH JOHN!"</h3> + + +<p>"To Elizabeth—Elizabeth Fortinbras!" I cried. Here was a new +difficulty. If only people would not do things in a hurry, as Hugh John +says, they would mostly end by not doing them at all!</p> + +<p>"What sort of a girl is this Elizabeth Fortinbras?" Cissy Carter asked. +"She is only a shop-girl after all, isn't she?"</p> + +<p>I set Cissy right on this head. There were shop-girls <i>and</i> shop-girls. +And this one not only came of a respectable ancestry, but had been well +educated, was the heiress of Erin Villa, and would succeed to one of the +best businesses in Edam!</p> + +<p>"Is she pretty?"</p> + +<p>Oh, of course I had foreseen the question. It was quite inevitable, and +there was but one thing to say—</p> + +<p>"Come to the shop and see for yourself!"</p> + +<p>But Cissy hung back. You see, she had done a perfectly mad thing, +and yet was not quite ready to make it up with the person +concerned—especially when Cissy was Colonel Davenant Carter's only +daughter just home from Paris, and when, in spite of my explanations, +Elizabeth was little more to her than a "girl behind a counter"!</p> + +<p>You may be sure that I put her duty before her—yes, plainly and with +point. But Cissy had in her all the pride of the Davenant Carters, and +go she would not, till I told her plump and plain that she was afraid!</p> + +<p>My, how that made her jump! She turned a little pale, rose quietly, +adjusted her hat at the mirror, took off her watch-bracelet and gave it +to me to keep for her.</p> + +<p>"I will go and see this Elizabeth Fortinbras now—and alone!" she said, +with that nice quiet dignity which became her so well. I would greatly +have liked to have gone along with her. But, first of all, she had not +asked me, and, secondly, I knew that I had better not.</p> + +<p>Cissy Carter had to see Elizabeth alone. Only they could arrange +matters. Still, of course, both of them told me all about it afterwards, +and it is from these two narratives that the following short account is +written out.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth was in the front shop, busy as a bee among the sweet things, +white-aproned, and wearing dainty white armlets of linen which came from +the wrist to above the elbow. Then these two looked at each other as +only girls do—or perhaps more exactly, attractive young women of about +the same age. Boys are different—they behave just like strange dogs on +being introduced, sulky and ready to snarl. A young man seems to be +wondering how such a contemptible fellow as that other fellow could +possibly have gained admittance to a respectable house. Only experienced +women can manage the business properly, putting just the proper amount +of cordiality into the bow and handshake. Grown men—most of them, that +is—allow their natural feeling of boredom to appear too obviously.</p> + +<p>At any rate Cissy and Elizabeth took in each other at a glance, far more +searching and exhaustive as to "points" than ever any man's could be. +Then they bowed to each other very coldly.</p> + +<p>"Will you come this way?" said Elizabeth, instantly discerning that +Cissy had not come to New Erin Villa as a customer. Accordingly she led +the way into the little sitting-room, all in pale creamy <i>cretonne</i> with +old-fashioned roses scattered upon it, which her own taste and the full +purse of Ex-Butcher Donnan had provided for her.</p> + +<p>"Be good enough to take a seat," said Elizabeth Fortinbras. But she +herself remained standing.</p> + +<p>Now you never can tell by which end a girl—or a woman, for that +matter—will tackle anything. All that you can be sure of is that it +will not be the obvious and natural one—the one nearest her hand. So +Cissy, instead of coming right out with her confession and having done +with it, began by asking Elizabeth if she knew a Mr. Hugh John Picton +Smith.</p> + +<p>"He is my friend!" said Elizabeth, very quiet and grave, standing with +one hand in the pocket of her apron and the other hanging easily by her +side.</p> + +<p>"And nothing more?" said Cissy, looking up at her very straight.</p> + +<p>"I must first know by what right you ask me that question!" said +Elizabeth. And then, her lips quivering (I know exactly how) a long +minute between pride and pitifulness, Cissy did the best thing in the +world she could have done to soften Elizabeth Fortinbras. She struggled +an instant with herself. Her pride gave way exactly as it had with me, +and she began to sob quietly and continuously.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth took one step towards her. Presently her cool, strong arms +were about Cissy's neck, who struggled a second or two like a captive +bird, and then the next Elizabeth was soothing her like an elder sister.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, I know—I know! You did a foolish thing. But then it was to +me. I understood! I understand! It does not matter! No one else need +know!"</p> + +<p>Then, in a voice quiet as the falling of summer rain among the misty +isles of the West, Elizabeth added, "<i>Not even Hugh John!</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>XXVI</h2> + +<h3>HAUNTS REVISITED</h3> + + +<p>I think we were all a bit unstrung after this. It was a good many weeks +before Cissy could bring herself to speak about Elizabeth Fortinbras, +and then it was in a rush, as, indeed, she did everything. It was one +afternoon, over at Young Mrs. Winter's. Mrs. Christopher Camsteary (who +always was as superior as a pussy-cat with a new blue ribbon about her +neck, all because her husband kept three gardeners, one of whom blacked +the Camsteary boots) happened to remark that there was "a rather +ladylike girl" in those butcher-people's sweet-shop opposite the +station.</p> + +<p>"She <i>is</i> a lady!" said Cissy Carter, lifting up her proud little chin +with an air of finality.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, there was, in Edam at least, no discussing with Miss +Davenant Carter on such a matter. Mrs. Christopher Camsteary, whose +husband, greatly to his credit, had made a large fortune in +cattle-feeding oilcake ("in the wholesale, of course, you know, my +dear!"), could not, even if she had wished, contradict the daughter of +ten generations of Davenant Carters as to who was a lady and who not! So +it was settled that, whenever Cissy Carter was in the room, Elizabeth +Fortinbras was a lady. Which must have been a great comfort to her!</p> + +<p>Well, the following summer-time when the good days came—perhaps because +everybody, including even Hugh John, was a little tired and +"edgy"—father took us all off to his own country.</p> + +<p>I was the one who had seen the most of it before, as you may see if ever +you have read the book called <i>Sweetheart Travelers</i> that father wrote +about our gypsyings and goings-on. Of course (all our family say "of +course"—and it all fills up first-rate when the man comes to count the +pages up for printing)—well, of course I had forgotten a good deal +about it, only I read over the book on the sly, and so was posted for +everything as it came along.</p> + +<p>This time we did not go on "The-Old-Homestead-on-Wheels," as we called +the historic tricycle, but in the nicest and biggest of all wagonettes, +with two lovely horses driven by a friend of ours with a cleverness +which did one's heart good to see. His name was "Jim." We called him so +from the first, and he was dreadfully nice to all of us, because he had +been at school with father. This made us think for a good while that it +was because of his superior goodness and cleverness there that so many +people were glad to remember that they had been at school with father. +Jim, when we asked him, said that it was so, but Hugh John immediately +smelt a rat. So he asked another and yet older friend of father's, named +Massa—because, I think, he sang negro melodies so beautifully. (Who +would have thought that they sang "coon" songs so long ago?—but I +suppose it was really just a kind of "boot-room music," or the sort of +thing they play on board trip-steamers, when the trombone is away taking +up a collection, and everybody is moving to the other side of the deck!) +Well, Massa came along with us and Jim one lovely Saturday to see the +place where my great-grandmother had kept sheep "on the bonny banks of +the Cluden" a full hundred years ago.</p> + +<p>Somehow I always liked that. It means more to a girl than even father's +misdeeds, the hearing about which amuses the boys so.</p> + +<p>However, it really was about those that I began. So, reluctantly, I must +leave the little hundred-year-old girl keeping her sheep on the green +holms of Cluden, and tell about father and his wonderful influence. +Massa said that we were not to tell on him, and of course we promised. +This is not <i>telling</i>, but only writing all about it down in my +Diary—quite a different thing. Well, Massa said that when "Mac" and he +had "done anything," they used to climb up different trees as quickly as +they could, and then, when father came after them (he was not our father +then, of course, but only Roman Dictator and Tyrant of Syracuse), he +could only get one of them. For while he was climbing the tree occupied +by one, the other could drop out of the branches and cut and run. It was +a good way, especially for Number Two, who got away—not quite so fine, +though, for Number One, who was caught. Whenever a new boy visited the +town and the Dictator was seen coming along, they ran the stranger up a +tree and introduced him from there, as it were, lest, by mistake, a +worse thing should befall him! Really it is difficult to believe all +this, even when Massa swears it. Because father, if you let his pet +books alone and don't make too big a row outside the <i>châlet</i> when he is +working, hardly minds at all what you do. We don't really recognize him +in the Roaring Lion, going about seeking whom he might devour, of Mr. +Massa's legends.</p> + +<p>So Sir Toady, in the interests of public information, asked Mr. Massa if +the boys of that time were not pretty bad. And Mr. Massa said that they +were, but that "they were not a patch on your——" He stopped just at +the word "your," for father was coming round the corner. And, do you +know, I don't believe he has quite lost his influence with Mr. Massa +even now. It is a fine thing, Hugh John says, to be such a power for +good among your fellows. He had that sort of power himself at school, +and he managed to keep it, even though fellows ever so much bigger came +while he was there.</p> + +<p>Well, no matter; what I keep really in my heart, or maybe like an amulet +about my neck, is the memory of the little hundred-year-old girl (that +is, she <i>would</i> be if she were alive now) tending sheep and twining +daisy-chains on the meadows by the Water of Cluden, with the Kirk of +Iron-gray glinting through the trees, and Helen Walker (which is to say +Jeanie Deans) calling in the cows to be milked at the farm across the +burn.</p> + +<p>Now I don't know how <i>you</i> feel, but the story of this great-grandmother +of mine always seems sort of kind and warm and sacred to me, a mixture +of the stillness of an old-fashioned Sabbath and the first awakening +hush when you remember that it is your birthday—a sort of religious +fairyland, if you know what I mean—like "playing house" (oh, such a +long time ago!) with Puck and Ariel and the Queen of the Fairies, while +several of the very nicest people out of the Bible stories sat in the +shade and watched—perhaps Ruth and, of course, her mother-in-law, and +David when he was very young, and kept sheep also. He would certainly +come to see our play—his shepherd's crook in his hand, and his eye +occasionally taking a survey of great-grandmother's flocks and herds to +see that there were no lions or bears about!</p> + +<p>Yes, I know it's fearfully silly. Of course it is. But, all the same, I +have oftener put myself happily to sleep thinking about that, and with +the music of the Cluden Water low in my ear, than with all the wisdom +that ever I learned at school! So there!</p> + +<p>Of course you mustn't suppose that at the time I said a word of all this +even to the Maid, much less to the others. Though I do think that +father, who knows a lot of things without being told, partly guessed +what I was thinking of. For once when we had all got down to gather +flowers, he led me down to the water's edge, and, pointing across the +clear purl of the stream to the opposite bank (where is a little green +level, with, in the midst, a still greener Fairy Ring), he took my hand +and, standing behind me, pointed with it. "It was there!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>He did not say a word more. But that was enough. I understood, and he +knew that I understood. It was like the old days when we made our +travels together, he and I, with the Things of the Wide World running +back past us, all beautiful and all sweet as dreaming of plucking +flowers in the kindly shade of woods.</p> + +<p>Soon after this, on our journey through father's country, we came to a +little village—the cleanest and dearest that ever was seen. It was the +one after which father had called one of his early books of +verse—"Dulce Cor." Here we were very happy, for there was a lovely old +Abbey, roofless, of course, but all blooming like one great rose when +the sun shone on it at evening and morning. The colors of the stones +were so rich with age and mellowing that from the little walk on the +other side of the valley it seemed as if the whole had been dipped for a +thousand years in a bath of sunset clouds, and then left out among the +cornstooks to dry! Even more beautiful and kindly was a certain nice +Doctor—only he wasn't the sort that come to see you when you are ill, +to tap you on the back and write prescriptions. He took me to see the +Abbey, and told me about the Last of all the Abbots, who was so kind +that the people would not let him be sent away, but kept him always +hidden here and there among them. And about how he died at long and +last, "much respected and deeply regretted," as the papers say, even by +those who did not go to his church—which, indeed, very few in these +parts did.</p> + +<p>And though it was, of course, foolish, and I would never have said it to +the Doctor himself for worlds, I could not help thinking that this Last +of all the Abbots (Gilbert Brown, I think his name was) must have been a +good deal like this friend of mine, with his beautiful silvery head, and +maybe the same gentle break in his voice when he gave out such a text as +"I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance."</p> + +<p>We went through the cornfields very early next morning, father and I. It +was Sunday, at dawn or a little after. The dew was still on all the +little fairy cobwebs, but the sun had been before us in getting out of +bed, and now was busy as he could be, drinking up the dew. We had to +cross the churchyard under the big eastern side of the Abbey, all +drowned in level sunshine, yellow as primrose-beds. We crossed a stile, +and there, pacing slowly, his hands behind his back, saffron cornstooks +on his one side and five centuries of well-peopled holy ground on the +other, was the minister. He did not see us—lost in high thoughts, his +lips moving with the unspoken prayer.</p> + +<p>"Come away," whispered father, hurrying me along. "He speaks with his +Master! A stranger intermeddleth not therewith!"</p> + +<p>Then I did not know very well what he meant, nor did I ask. Only the +two of us slipped down where, beyond the cornfields, a little road, all +fern-grown, saunters half hidden; and where, a bit farther on, there is +a bridge and a burn in which, in the daytime, children play and women +wash their linen. But this morning all was still and quiet—as father +said, "with the Peace of Jubilee, when all the land had rest!" I like to +hear things like that—things I only half understand, but can think over +afterwards. They make me feel all nice and thrilly, like after a +shower-bath—only it is a mind-bath, and not a body-bath! Perhaps a +soul-bath, if I knew what that was.</p> + +<p>We came back another way by a higher path, and through a lane of tall +old trees. When we got to our inn, the door was closed just as we had +left it, and not a soul astir. We had seen no one at all that Sabbath +morn except the silver-haired minister, his hands behind his +back—perhaps, as the Psalm says, looking to the hills from which cometh +his aid. Going up-stairs, I opened my grandmother's Bible at the +metrical Psalms, and the first words that met my eyes were these: "In +Salem is his tabernacle—in Sion is his seat!" Now I will confess again +that I always like texts and poems out of which I can take my own +meaning, without being bothered with notes and explanations. And so I +thought how that morning I had surely gone out by Salem His Tabernacle +and come back by Sion His Holy Seat!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>XXVII</h2> + +<h3>SIR TOADY RELAPSES</h3> + + +<p>Ever such a lot of children whom I don't know have written to me to say +how glad they were that I made father take me with him on his cycle such +splendid long journeys. Because, you see, <i>their</i> fathers read the book, +and had a little seat fitted for them! On the other hand, I suppose +parents write and abuse my father for putting such ideas into their +little girls' heads. In fact, I know they do. Here is a true story. One +irate old fellow wrote to say that "Sir Toady" was quite unfit to +associate with clean and properly brought up children! And he put down +the references, too, where Toadums had misbehaved, like you find them on +the margin of a Bible! How he had sat down in the dusty road at page +some-number-or-other, where he had omitted to blow his nose, how he had +fought, and thrown mud, and generally broken every law laid down for the +good conduct of little boys in the olden times—just exactly what Sir +Toady used to do! As if father was responsible for all that! Well, he +<i>was</i>, in the old gentleman's opinion. For he ended with: "If only your +little rascal of a hero were <i>my</i> son, sir——!"</p> + +<p>This amused my brother Toadums for quite a long time, and one day he +sneaked the letter, and wrote himself to the old gentleman to say how +that he had reformed, and now always went about with two +pocket-handkerchiefs; also how, at school, he had founded the "Admiral +Benbow Toilet Club," to which the annual subscription was five +shillings.</p> + +<p>Further, he expressed a willingness to propose the old gentleman's name +at the next meeting, and in the meantime he suggested sending on the +money! Yes—and would you believe it?—he actually got the five +shillings, along with a very nice letter from the old gentleman, couched +in a sort of Better-Late-than-Never strain. So Toady Lion, who can be +honest when he tries very hard, wrote and asked the old chap whether he +would prefer to have the brilliantine supplied by the club in bottle, or +like paint in a squeezable tube. But the old gentleman replied that, +being completely bald, Sir Toady had better consider himself as a new +returned prodigal, and use the five shillings "to kill the fatted +calf"! So we killed him, and the noise we made on the top of Low-Hill +was spread abroad over three counties. A "gamey" came to tell us that we +were trespassing. But we feasted him on the old man's five shillings, +while Hugh John explained that there was no such thing as trespass, and +Sir Toady, getting hold of the keeper's double-barrel, practiced on +bowlders till he nearly slew a stray pointer dog! Then, after braying +ourselves hoarse, we had fights, rebellions, revolutions, cabals, which +always ended in pushing each other into pitfalls and peat-bogs. We +tripped in knotted heather as we chased downhill, skirmishing and +yelling. Even Hugh John forgot himself, and all returned home, sated +with the slaughter of the old gentleman's fatted calf, tired to death, +not a shout left in any of us, but, as it were, stained with mud and +crime!</p> + +<p>Ordinarily now Sir Toady has grown too old for the "sins and faults of +youth" already set down against him. But sometimes he relapses—and then +he has it bad. He does not say "roo" for "you" any more, but sometimes +the house is afflicted for days with an exhibition of what Hugh John +calls "Royal Naval Manners." Usually this occurs at table when father +is absent, because Toady has a quite real respect for the Fifth +Commandment, a respect gained at an early age, and ever since retained. +But on this journey there were a good many opportunities. You see, we +did not go to bed at the usual time. We got up when we liked, and I +often had to say the prayers for the entire family. Because the boys +shirked most shamefully, and the Maid was so sleepy with driving in the +open air all day that she often would be found sound asleep on her knees +when not carefully looked after.</p> + +<p>"The spirit was willing, though the flesh was weak!" said our good old +Doctor of the parish of "Dulce Cor." "I wish all my own prayers had as +good a chance of being heard as this little sleeping child's!" After +this Toady Lion declared that he would always say his prayers in the +same way—<i>asleep</i>!</p> + +<p>Well, of course you could not imagine—nobody could—the new and +peculiar wickedness devised by Sir Toady. It was simply <i>bound</i> to be a +success. Besides which, it was perfectly safe; after what Mr. Massa had +told up at the Communion Stones of Iron-gray, The Powers-That-Be could +not say a word. Oh, the beautiful thing it is to have a friend of your +youth with a good memory, and, above all, communicative and frank with +your own children! Oh, I know that there are people who will say, with +some outside show of reason, "Well, just be perfectly good when you are +young, and then you don't need to fear the frankest of your intimate +friends!"</p> + +<p>This, of course, is rank nonsense, and nothing but! For that kind of +very immaculate young person does not make the best sort of father or +mother when the time comes. They don't know anything. They are not up to +things, and get "taken the loan of," as the boys say in that rude but +expressive speech of theirs. But it is not accounted healthy to "monkey" +with ours, who generally can tell beforehand when you are going to do a +thing, and after it is done (if you get the chance) will tell you—what +very likely you didn't know before—<i>why</i> you did it. If, in spite of +all, you get into scrapes, The Powers-That-Be usually sympathize. But +(and this is the awkward part) they remember the remedy that proved +effectual in former and more personal cases. That remedy is applied, +and, generally speaking, the same result follows. With this experience +we shall all make excellent heads of families, and shall hire ourselves +out—if we do not happen to have any of our own! Only, we are glad that +we came into the world too early to be part of Hugh John's family. His +methods are altogether too Spartan. And we tell him that the plain +English for the name of his favorite hero, Brutus (the one who cut his +children's heads off), was just simply Brute!</p> + +<p>To return to Sir Toady, we were at the time at the little seaside +village of the Scaur. Mark Hill is behind it, and Rough Island in front. +Nothing could possibly be more delightful. At every low tide, for two or +three hours we could walk on a long pebbly trail which led seaward, the +wash of the tides coming from two directions round the pleasant green +shoulders of the Isle, epauletted with purple heather, and buttoned down +the front with white sheep. What dainty coves! What pleasing, +friendly-featured lambs with shiny black noses and goggle eyes! How tame +the very gulls had become from never being shot at! There never was such +a place as Rough Island for us, or, indeed, any children. Away to the +right you could see Isle Rathan, certainly more famous in romance. But +to go there you had to get kind Captain Cassidy to take you in his +boat. And generally it ended (because the Captain is a busy man) in your +staying with his wife, and seeing—and being the better for seeing—how +the threatening of blindness at once sweetens and strengthens the life +of a delicate woman. But to Rough Island we could go by ourselves, so be +that we returned with the first flowing of the tide. There is a certain +Black Skerry to the south which, when covered, announces to all +concerned that haste of the hastiest kind had better be made. Of course +we called it Signal Rock. But one fine September forenoon, when the +light was mellow and gracious even on the rough slopes of the Island of +our choice, Sir Toady set us all (that is, all the children) searching +in sheltered coves and little pebbly bays for "leg-o'-mutton" +shells—just, he said, what father used to do. It was the bottom of the +"neaps," when the water does not go very far out—which, of course, +every shore child would have known by instinct. But we were landward +bred, and such distinctions as to the ebbing and flowing of salt water +were too fine for us! But Sir Toady had had converse with the +instructed. He had profited thereby. And so no one will be surprised +that, by dint of keeping our backs to the Signal Rock, our noses +pointing down, and our eyes well employed in the search for +"legs-o'-mutton," we did not discover the treachery of Sir Toady till +the Rock was covered, and there was no hope of return! None, that is, +for most of us. But Sir Toady, already singing his song of triumph, had +reckoned without his Hugh John!</p> + +<p>That austere stickler for "The Proper-Thing-To-Do-You-Know" made one +dash for the rapidly covering causeway, over which the tawny Solway +water was already lapping and curling in little oozy whorls, like a very +soap-suddy pot coming to the boil. He had only time to shout, "You, Sis, +stay where you are! Take care of the Maid. I will make it all right with +The-Folk-Over-There!"</p> + +<p>And at first Toady Lion had laughed, thinking that for once the +immaculate Hugh John would be caught along with the rest of us. He did +not laugh, however, at all when he saw his elder brother take his watch +out of his pocket and place it in his cap. He shouted out, "It's all +right, Hugh John; Mr. Massa told me at Iron-gray that he and father +often did it—spent ''Tween-Tides' on the Island. He will know all +about it. Come back, you fool, you'll be drowned!"</p> + +<p>But our Old Ironsides only shouted back over his shoulder that father +and Mr. Massa had not passed their words to be in for lunch, and that +<i>he</i> had!</p> + +<p>"If the People are anxious Over-Yonder, they can come and fetch us off +in a boat. We can say that we forgot!"</p> + +<p>But by this time Hugh John had made his first dash into the wimpling +line of creamy chocolate, like a steamer's wake, which marked the +causeway to the land. His last will and testimony came to us in the +command to "Stay where we were!" And in the final far-heard rider that, +"when he got him," he would quicken Sir Toady's uncertain memory by one +of the most complete fraternal "hidings" on record.</p> + +<p>All the same, as we watched him plod along, the tides sweeping in from +both sides upon him, and the struggle swaying him now to one side and +now to the other in the effort to keep his feet, Sir Toady burst into a +kind of roar (which he now says is a "way they have in the Navy" for +long-distance signaling, but which sounded to us very much like a +howl). "Come back, Hugh John," he cried, "and I'll take the best +'whaling' you can give me <i>now</i>!"</p> + +<p>But out in the brown pother the struggle went on. Hugh John never so +much as turned his head. We stood white and gasping, all pretty close +together, I can tell you. And once when we saw him swept from his feet +and only recovered his balance with an effort—though my heart was in my +throat, I said out loud to comfort the others, "Well, anyway, he has +taken the school medal for swimming. He has it on him now!"</p> + +<p>Then Sir Toady turned on me a face of scorn and anger. He pointed to the +gush and swirl of the currents of Solway over the bank of pebbles. "Swim +in that!" he cried, "no, he can't! No, nor nobody can. I tell you one of +the best swimmers in Scotland was drowned over there in Balcary, within +sight of his own house, and a man in a boat within stonethrow!"</p> + +<p>But for all that, Toady himself pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and +made him ready to go to the rescue (oh, how vainly!). So that in the +long run the Maid and I had to hold him down on the beach, half weeping, +half desperate, calling on Hugh John, his Hugh John, to come back and +slay him upon the spot. As if he was <i>his</i> Hugh John, any more than +anybody else's Hugh John—and the two of them fighting like cat and dog +nine-tenths of the time! But at times, when his elder brother is in +danger or ill, Sir Toady is like that. Janet Sheepshanks speaks yet +about his face when he came back from Crusoeing-it with Dinky and Saucy +Easedale—all drawn and haggard and white it was. Well, it was like that +now. I declare, he turned and struck at us every time that Hugh John +stumbled, or looked like being carried away.</p> + +<p>"See here, Sis," he gasped, "you let a fellow go, or I'll kill you. I +will, mind—if anything happens to My Hugh John—I'll kill you for +holding me back like this."</p> + +<p>But at this very moment we began to see the lank figure of Hugh John +rising higher out of the swirling scum. Presently he scrambled out on +the steep beach of pebbles, all dripping. Then he gave himself a shake +like a retriever dog, shook his fist at the distant Sir Toady, now +sparsely equipped in fluttering linen: "Wait till I get you, you young +beast! Just you wait!"</p> + +<p>That was what he was saying as plain as print. But Sir Toady, completely +reassured, only heaved a long sigh, murmuring, "That's all right!" And +went on calmly putting on his clothes, and laughing at the Maid and me +for having been frightened. He actually had the cheek to ask us what we +had been crying about!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a>XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>TWICE-TRAVELED PATHS</h3> + + +<p>Then we went to Kirkcudbright, where there is an old castle, very dirty, +but where we stayed in the loveliest old inn. It was so "comfy" and +home-like at the "Selkirk" that it seemed as if the hostelry had +wandered out into the country one fine day and—forgot the way to come +back again! We liked it so much because it was kept by a nice jolly man, +whose mother had been good to father once when he was ill, and who made +the nicest cakes. We were in clover there, I can tell you. Specially +because "Mac" (the painter whom, when I was very little, I once named +"The Little Brown Bear") came for walks with us, and made us laugh at +dinner till we youngsters nearly got sent from the table. Yet it wasn't +a bit our fault. He told us a lot of things, and I could see father +listening with all his ears, and not even checking Sir Toady when he +stole the sugar, though he saw him. I was sure that something would +come out of that. You see, I know father's ways. And so it comes about +that I don't need to write any of the funny things that we heard that +night, or the nights that followed. You have only to read them in the +chapters of <i>Little Esson</i>, the part all about Ladas II, and the trip in +the caravan. I think that father ought really to have sent some of the +money he got to "The Little Brown Bear"—but I don't believe he ever +did.</p> + +<p>"Mac owes me more than that!" he said, when I asked him about it. "I +brought him up by hand!"</p> + +<p>I presume he meant the way Hugh John, my brother, brings up Sir +Toady—though that is with both hands, sometimes feet too.</p> + +<p>There was one Sunday that I remember very well; at Newton Stewart it +was. There had been (or was going to be) a kind of circus in the town. +Or maybe they were only resting, as even circus folk must do sometimes.</p> + +<p>Anyway I looked out at the window in the early morning, and if I had +seen a ghost I could not have been more surprised. And so would you—for +there, calmly grazing on the field just under my window, as quietly as +if it had been a cow, was a huge elephant! I did not see any circus +vans, nor the tents, nor anything—save and except this great Indian +elephant in the middle of the green field! You may imagine I thought +that I was still dreaming. I watched it pad-padding softly about, taking +the greatest pleasure in rolling like a donkey when the harness is taken +off. It also rubbed the big soft spreads of its feet on the softer +grass. I suppose its poor soles were sore with traveling over our hard +cycling roads, and now it was keeping Sunday after its kind, doing its +best to obey the commandment. And, as father says, what more can any of +us do than be fully persuaded in our own minds? One thing I noticed +which astonished me, and I think it will most people. The big beast must +have weighed a ton, I should think, at the least. And yet, as it went +here and there over the field of nice Galloway grass, it walked so +softly that the grass "rose elastic from its airy tread." Yes, it +actually did. Even Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself could hardly have found a +footmark in a quarter of an hour. Why, even the Maid, not to speak of +myself, could not get so lightly over the ground as that. We watched the +elephant all that day, whenever we could, that is—and thought of him in +church, though the minister was a nice man, nice-looking too, and did +not preach too long. It was, of course, frightfully wicked of us. +Because it was in one of the old "Kirks of the Martyrs" that the service +was held. But when the minister came to see us in the evening, we showed +him the elephant still grazing away, wig-wagging its long trunk like a +supple pendulum, and switching away quite imaginary flies with its tiny +tail! The minister was such a very good sort that we thought we ought to +own up why we had been restless in church. (He might have seen us, you +know.) So I said we were ashamed that we had not attended better to his +sermon. And do you know what he answered back, after seeing the elephant +take a double donkey roll, with its great sausagey legs in the air? "I'm +glad," he said, "that I did not see the elephant do that <i>before</i> +sermon. For if I had, I don't believe that I could have preached!"</p> + +<p>"A pretty nice sort of a minister, that!" said Hugh John afterwards.</p> + +<p>"I should go to his church myself," cried Toady Lion, and then, checking +himself suddenly under the gaze of Hugh John, he added, "I mean, when I +had to!"</p> + +<p>There—that is quite enough to put in my Diary about a circus elephant, +though I will admit that it was about the very queerest thing that ever +happened to me in all my life—I mean the most unexpected, of course, +for when explained it was all perfectly simple.</p> + +<p>But I must get on with my Diary of this Galloway journey, and the +"Sweethearty" things we saw there. Dear me, I had meant to tell about +Gatehouse too (which happened before Newton Stewart, only I forgot). +There was a nice minister there too, who went about without his hat, and +smoked, and called out nice things across the street to Tom and Dick and +Harry. Altogether we were fortunate in the ministers we met all through +the trip. And I think the children of Gatehouse must have benefited too, +owing to the nice bareheaded minister. For certainly they are not nearly +so rude and pesterful as I remember them when father and I stopped +there—oh, how many years ago? Ten, at least, or maybe more. Then they +rang the bell of the tricycle and said horrid things when father was in +the baker's shop. They made me so angry—I can remember it yet—I said I +would tell father. I nearly cried. But this time there was no one who +was not quite nice to us—except, Oh, yes, one person who wouldn't let +us any rooms. But that did not matter. Indeed, it was a blessing. For we +went farther down the street till we came to a delightful hotel or inn +or something, where Miss Blackett, who kept it, was just as good to us +as she could be, and gave us nice things to eat on the sly. Also the +"Little Brown Bear" came again, and told us more stories in the +evenings. Then, at ten or eleven at night, he got on his cycle and +wheeled away into the dark. It was so nice and romantic that I wished I +could have gone too. It is splendid in the summer to wheel on and on +through the archway of the green and sleeping woods. It is best when you +are sure of the policemen, and can ride without a light, which does no +good, but makes everything dark as pitch, and as uninteresting as the +Queensferry Road.</p> + +<p>Then I saw the two boys at Creetown who once on a time were brought in +from playing on the street, and tidied up so that they might be ready to +kiss me. They both howled at the thought. For which I don't in the least +blame them. But all the same they had high collars on, and I don't think +that they would have minded nearly as much now.</p> + +<p>This, of course, came before the elephant, but then, you see, if things +don't go into my Dear Diary just when I think of them, the probability +is that they won't go at all.</p> + +<p>One long lovesome day, that I won't forget in a hurry, we spent driving +through Borgue—sunny, sweet, hawthorny Borgue, where the clover is, and +the green honey made by the bees that have never so much as sniffed a +heather bloom. It is not Galloway, of course. It has not the qualities +of Galloway, I mean. But there is something about it that makes the +heart grow fonder the longer one stays there—a kind of green "den" such +as the bairns have when playing at "soldiers-and-outlaws" in the wood—a +sheltered sanctuary, a Peace on Earth among men of good-will. At least +all we saw were that sort, and I hope the others were, just as much. +Here, I know, Hugh John would shrug his shoulders. But that does not +matter.</p> + +<p>We did not linger in Borgue, however, which, with its still and pensive +beauty, was like a kirk-yard on Sunday morning. Indeed, there are many +of these along the shores—hidden nooks with tombstones, and beneath +wave-washed bights of clean sand. For assuredly it was not the right +Galloway. Rather it was like a bit of Devonshire that had floated away +and got joined on here, wooded and wind-swept, a carpet of flowers all +the summer long, one great bee-swarm booming all over it, from Kirk +Andrews, which is its Dan, to the Tower of Plunton, which is its +Beersheba. At any rate there is nothing like Borgue anywhere else in +Scotland. Which its natives declare, perhaps with truth, is the same as +to say in the world!</p> + +<p>Well, we drove out of Newton Stewart past Palnure, turned sharply up the +hill road towards the Loch of the Lilies, past Clatteringshaws—where +not a shaw clattered, though in the wagonette there were many "she's" +who did—as a very clever lady, a friend of father's, once remarked when +her daughters proposed an excursion thither from Kenbank. "Deaved"<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +with their tongues, she broke out at last with "Not Clatteringshaws, but +'Clatteringshe's'!" However, on this occasion not a dog barked. We +lunched in the midst of the solitude, and then father wandered away to +watch his dear hills through his glasses, while the rest of us washed +and cleaned up!</p> + +<p>But the best of all days was that on the moors about the little house +where father was born. I had not been there for more than ten years, +and the ground was littered with memories. Father and I got off a little +south of the Raider's Bridge. We skirted the water meadows, and looked +back to the bulk of Bennan, still rugged and purple with heather, seeing +to the right of it Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, a double molehill of palest +blue paint. Then came the "Roman Camp," which, however, father told us +had been made by the "Levelers" in the early half of the eighteenth +century. But the other story of the farm bull which fell into the ditch, +was heard roaring for days, and, when found, had eaten every green thing +within reach of its hungry mouth—trees, leaves, branches and +all—pleased me most.</p> + +<p>Then there was the well where once I had drunk from father's palms, and +of which there is such a very pretty picture in <i>Sweetheart +Travelers</i>—a picture which always used to puzzle me dreadfully. For I +knew that there were only father and I there. Besides which, there was +not nearly light enough for Mr. Gordon Browne to "take" us, even +supposing that he had been hid behind the bushes! At any rate we had a +drink at the ancient spring, just for old sake's sake. Some kind person +had cleaned it out not long before, and the water in the shade of the +woods of the Duchrae Bank was as cool and sweet as ever. Then across the +cropped meadows, again ankle-deep in aftermath, to the old +stepping-stones! Father carried me on his back to the big central +bowlder, which perhaps has been brought down by some forgotten flood, +and at any rate had long served for the keystone of the arrangement in +stepping-stones—which, even in father's day (so he told me), had been +variously named "Davie's Ford," "Auld Miss," "Rab's," and "Elphie's," +according to the names of the various dwellers in the pretty cottage in +the wood above.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a>XXIX</h2> + +<h3>HOME-COMING</h3> + + +<p>We brushed our way down through the meadows, and father went straight to +the place where the Grass of Parnassus had been growing when he was a +boy. It was growing there still—and thriving too. We called on a big +bumble-bee, of the kind that has its stinging end very blunt and red. It +was not at home, but the hole in the bank which it had occupied thirty +years ago was now let to a Rabbit family, the younger members of which +scuttled away at our approach, though without too much alarm. We could +see their tails bobbing among the ferns and undergrowth. And then we +came to the Stepping-Stones. It was ten years since I had seen them, and +then I was quite a little girl. But I remembered everything at once, +even to the small starry green plants that grew beneath the water, and +the sharp stones that get between your toes when you wade too far out. +The woods were as green and as solitary as ever—cool too, and all the +opposite ground elastic with pine-needles that were not nearly so +uncomfortable for the bare feet as you would suppose. We waded for quite +a long time, and then sat and ate our lunch on the big middle bowlder, +alternately dabbling our feet in the clear olive-green water and drying +them in the sunshine. Father told stories. No, I don't mean that he made +them up—only that, as is usual at such times, all sorts of funny +memories went and came in his head—all of the people about whom he told +them as completely passed away as the orange-trousered bee we had gone +so vainly out of our way to seek.</p> + +<p>Then we went to the little farmhouse up the loaning, where they took us +for ordinary tourists, and pointed out to us the sights. More than once +I glanced at father, but he had so grave a face that the kind and pretty +girl who showed us over evidently took him for a very severe critic of +his own books, an enemy of dialect in any form. So, ceasing her legends, +she offered us refreshments instead. After that we tramped away over the +"Craigs" and the heather by the very little path along which father used +to go his three-and-a-half miles along the lochside to school. I saw the +Truant's Bathing-Place, the Far-Away-Turn, the Silver Mine (where once +on a time father had found half-a-crown, and dreamed of it for years), +and the Bogle Thorn, now sadly worn away since the days of the "Little +Green Man." After that I kept on asking questions till we got to +Laurieston, when I stopped, not because I had finished, but because tea +was waiting for us. They called us names, and said that they had eaten +up all the good things. But father answered, laughing, that it was +written that man should not live by bread alone, and that what he had +seen that day ought to suffice any one. But really I did not see that it +made any difference to his appetite, and, for all they said, there were +plenty of nice things left for us.</p> + +<p>Then we came to Castle Douglas, and what I remember best is the big +courtyard of the hotel, the noise and rattle of horses' hoofs passing +through the narrow entry on to the street, the kind people who welcomed +us, and the home-like air of everything about the "Douglas Arms," which +I never have seen about an hotel before, though I had been in many.</p> + +<p>Our journey was done. So it was quite proper that things should begin to +look a bit home-like. We had quite a nice homecoming. Cissy Carter met +us at the station in a pretty dark-blue dress, smartly belted in at the +waist, but with some flour on her right shoulder. And when I asked her +what she had been doing to herself, she answered in a matter-of-course +tone, "Oh, only helping Elizabeth!"</p> + +<p>"What Elizabeth?" I had the strength to gasp.</p> + +<p>"Why, Elizabeth Fortinbras, of course," she answered, quite sharply for +her; "whom else?" And this proved to me that the world had not been +standing still in Edam while we were whirling through Father's Country +at the tails of Jim's spanking chestnuts! I asked how about the pride of +all the Davenant Carters, and if her father knew that his only daughter +was assisting in a sweet-shop. Cissy held up her rounded chin with a +pout that made me at least almost forget our noble family motto: "WE DO +NOT KISS AT STATIONS!"</p> + +<p>"I did not say that I was in the <i>shop</i>," said Cissy. "I am learning how +to make pastry rise till it is flake-light. And even you, Miss Priscilla +Picton Smith, could not do that without getting flour on your shoulder!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Now I would quite well like to stop here, and, indeed, I could easily +do so. For a Diary, however dear, is not like any other book. When you +finish one year's doings, you just get another ruled book and start with +January First again. Only it is explained to me that I must not quite do +that. At any rate I must absolutely tell what became of my characters! +Now this is awfully funny. For, quite different from all the other +story-books I ever read—nothing at all happened to any of them. Cissy +is not married. No more is Elizabeth Fortinbras. No more, thank +goodness, am I. Hugh John can't be—not for a long time yet. As for +Toady Lion, he upholds the honor of his country (and of the Benbow +Dormitory) by not being sick on the stormiest seas—a thing which none +of the rest of the family would even attempt.</p> + +<p>But there is one thing that I must tell. It is just as well that I wrote +down all about Torres Vedras, and the woods, and everything. For—sad it +is to tell it—strange children dig and play there now. All our old +beloved names for places and things and people would soon have been lost +if they had not been written down in this book. We have set up a new +home on the other side of the Edam Valley, and in some ways it is nicer. +But in others it can never have the charm of the "Wampage," the +"Scrubbery," the Low Park where the three bridges are, the Feudal Tower, +and Picnicville, up among the Sentinel Pines! They make one's heart +warm—only just the names of them said low in the heart, but now never +spoken out loud by the tongue!</p> + +<p>Our new house is on a hill, and not in the howe of a valley. From the +front door (and almost from every window) we can see woods and fields, +and far-away cows that are no bigger than ants. Then on the hills beyond +are sheep that you cannot see at all without one of father's big +glasses, such as only the boys can use. Beyond those, again, there are +the mountains that run right away down into England in wave after purple +wave, each bending over a tiny bit as if it were real water just on the +point of breaking. Eastward and southward there are "Pens" and "Muirs" +and "Cairns" without number, and out of the window on clear mornings, as +I lie in bed, I can watch the tasseled larch and white-stemmed birch +sending scaling-parties up every ravine and watercourse, while the big +white clouds, hump-backed ones, sail majestically over all.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a>XXX</h2> + +<h3>SOME DISCLAIMERS</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Letter No. 1. Hugh John's Letter.</span></p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Publisher</span>—You won't remember me, though once I came +to your office with father to see you. You may recall the +circumstance, because it was the first day your son went to +college. I was quite a little chap then, and did not know what +it was to be the son of an author with the habit of making +people believe that he is writing about his own family, when +half the time he is just making up. Or, as like as not, it was +his own very self that did the things he blames on us. Anyway, +a fellow has to be pretty stiff on his pins and pretty handy +with his knuckles to be a good author's son in a big school. I +came through right-side-up, however, but sometimes it must come +hard on the little chaps.</p> + +<p>You see, the fellows want to know all the time if you really +said or did some fool thing or other that father has stuffed +into the books, and of which you are as innocent as Abel was of +the murder of Cain. (He was. It's all right—only sounds rum!)</p> + +<p>But of course a fellow does not go back on his father at +school. He can't afford to let anything like that pass. So of +course there's a row—sometimes bigger, sometimes shorter, +according to the length of time it takes the other fellow to +decide about crying, "Hold, enough!" as they do in plays. Or, +as we call it at school, "backing down."</p> + +<p>Well, I put my time through at school, and by and by the +fellows got to know—that is, after several little difficulties +had been adjusted. Not that I like having to fight. It is right +to be patient just as long as ever you can. And then, when you +can't—why, the best way and the quickest is to let her rip. +Finish it good, once and for all. As father says, "Keep the +peace, my boy! But if the other fellow won't, why, make him! +First have your quarrel just, and then remember to open with +your left!"</p> + +<p>Yes, of course, at school I back up what father has written, +every word. It is what I am there for, and I mean to do it. +That's playing the game. But what I did not bargain for was the +whole family chipping in, and making a kind of lop-sided, +ice-cream-freezer hero of a chap. Sis had no business with what +is <i>my</i> business—about Cissy Carter, I mean. At any rate she +knows nothing about it really. Girls imagine all sorts of +nonsense, of course. You can't stop them imagining, and if you +think you can, why, you're a fool. That's all in the day's +work, and I am not whining. But with regard to anything or +person not "girlie-girl," I, Hugh John Picton Smith, give due +notice that the first chap who turns up to me anything that Sis +has imagined about Miss Cissy Carter, and especially about Miss +Elizabeth Fortinbras, is going to get a calm and peaceful +surprise—that may or may not confine him to his room for a day +or two, but which, in any case, will afford him matter for +reflection.</p> + +<p>Oh, I don't in the least want to queer Sis, or to say that she +has put down anything not quite true, as far as <i>she</i> +understands it. It isn't that I did not <i>do</i> these things. But +Sis being a girl, and the safety-valves of her +imagination-boiler shut tight, and "Full Steam Ahead" +ordered—why, I would rather have father on the job any day. He +at least only puts things down (or invents them). He does not +try to explain what's going on in a chap's inside. Besides, I +don't see that it is anybody's business—and after this, on the +whole, it had better not be. That "glacial reserve" (wasn't +it?) which Sis yarned about might break up, and somebody who +wasn't insured get hurt with the pieces. Please put this at the +end, Mr. Publisher, to prevent mistakes. And if ever I write a +book you shall publish it, and then at last the world will know +the right and the wrong of things. Excuse bad writing. Our +chaps played Smasherhampton on Saturday. It was pretty thick in +the second half. The Smashers got me down and rolled me about a +bit on the hardish ground. My arm is still in a sling, but it +will be all right for Saturday fortnight, when we play a return +on our own ground. <i>I</i> am going to play a return match too, for +I know the fellow that did it.</p> + +<p>(Signed) <span class="smcap">Hugh John Picton Smith.</span></p></blockquote> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Letter No. 2. From Cadet George Percival Picton Smith, R. N., Royal +Naval Coll., Dartbourne.</span></p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Publisher</span>—You can print any ...<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> thing you like +about me—true or not, it does not matter. Only in the latter +case it will come a little dearer. I am called Toady Lion, and +I have stood this sort of thing ever since I can remember. +Though I must say father has been awfully decent about it, and +I got a Rudge-Whitworth "free-wheel" out of him two years +running on the strength of what you sent him. But there's no +hope of coming that with Sis, who is always "stony," anyway, +and won't believe what an awfully expensive place the Coll. is. +My "bike" is going to be awfully dangerous this year—that is, +if I don't get a new one somehow. It is only my second best, +and much too small for me. I might get killed, very likely, and +then you couldn't publish any more books about me! <i>I suppose +you don't feel as if you could</i> ... No? That means "Yes," but +don't let on to father. For, you see, last summer, when I had +measles or something, I sold my best machine to a poor boy who +hadn't any. Just think of that—the cruelty of it! But as I +have never let my left hand know what my right hand does, I +don't want father to do so either. So you won't give me away.</p> + +<p>(Signed) <span class="smcap">G. P. Picton Smith, R. N.</span></p> + +<p>P. S.—I might get a pretty good one for a tenner, but if it +<i>could</i> possibly run to fifteen, I know where I could pick up +an awfully swell "two-speed-gear" like what some of the masters +have at our Coll. But, dear Mr. Publisher, this is only a +suggestion.—<span class="smcap">T. Lion.</span></p> + +<p>P. S. No. 2.—If <i>you</i> did see your way to the 2-Speed, I tell +you what—you could make up any old thing you liked about +me—such as that I killed my grand-aunt Jane, and hid the +remains in my Black Sea Chest. I've got one, honor bright. Only +no grand-aunt Jane. So the crime could never, never be +discovered; and I would never deny it a bit, but back you up +like fun. Of course it is understood between gentlemen that +this last is on the two-speed-basis, as above.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">T. Lion</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now Cadet G. P. Picton Smith, R. N.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Postal Notes Preferred.)<br /></span> +</div></div> +</blockquote> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Letter No. 3. From Maid Margaret.</span></p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>—(I would put "Publisher," but am not sure whether it +is spelt with a B or a P—in the middle, I mean.) The boys want +me to join in their protest, but you will excuse me, dear Sir. +And the reason is that I sleep in the same room with the +authoress. If you have any little girls, they will understand.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yours Afftly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Maid Margaret.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +</blockquote> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Letter No. 4 Elizabeth Fortinbras's Letter.</span></p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>—There has been a good deal said about me in these +pages, perhaps more than I should have liked if the Editor had +given my real name. Of course Miss Sweetheart is far too loving +to set down anything untrue or unkind. Indeed, she has made me +out far better than I deserve, and has very kindly altered +relationships, so that nobody's feelings will be hurt. For they +will not know that it is they who are meant—I mean, not in my +own family.</p> + +<p>Now, the Editor tells me that all the people who read the book +will be anxious to know what became of me—if I married, and +whom! I should be very glad indeed to satisfy the curiosity of +these good folk. I know what it is myself to glance over to the +last page of a book and see "if it happened all right."</p> + +<p>But you see that I am still very happy at New Erin Villa, which +is no longer a "villa," but a proper shop, with a house at the +back big enough for us all to live happily in. We have a good +maid for the inside work, and I have added a special "icing" +department, where people can have their own home-made cakes +iced and fired. Besides, I give cookery lessons twice a week in +the evenings to all the mill-girls, and Polly Pretend comes +over to help me sometimes. Sweetheart, too, and Miss Davenant +Carter come when they can, and are a great encouragement.</p> + +<p>I don't mean to say, like most girls, that I never will get +married. Perhaps I may, but it will be a very long time yet. I +am quite content as things are, and, most important of all, I +have yet to see the man I would freely marry darken the doors +of Erin Villa! All I want to say is that Sweetheart has seen me +and my doings through the sunlight of her own loving eyes—just +as Hugh John and I have often looked at the long lines of +cornstooks in the last rays of a September sun, and thought how +much the common hills and holms and cornlands of Edam gained by +the warm glow which caressed them. But how much the more I, who +sign myself</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Girl Behind the Counter.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">No. 5. Certificate.</span></p> + +<blockquote><p>This is to guarantee that the above letters are whole and exact +copies of the originals, without alteration, suppression, or +amendment.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Editor.</span></p></blockquote> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> It is as we say "fey."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Deafened</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The word "blooming" is scored out here, as being too +nautical for present publication.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sweethearts at Home, by S. R. 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R. Crockett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sweethearts at Home + +Author: S. R. Crockett + +Release Date: November 7, 2010 [EBook #34230] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWEETHEARTS AT HOME *** + + + + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + SWEETHEARTS AT HOME + + BY S. R. CROCKETT + + AUTHOR OF "SWEETHEART TRAVELLERS," ETC. + +ASSISTED BY SWEETHEART HERSELF, AND WITH ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS BY +HUGH JOHN, SIR TOADY LION, MAID MARGARET, AND MISS ELIZABETH FORTINBRAS + + + NEW YORK + FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + +[Illustration: "WHEN I TURNED ABOUT--WHY, IT NEARLY TOOK MY BREATH +AWAY"] + + + + +List of Illustrations + + +"WHEN I TURNED ABOUT--WHY, IT NEARLY TOOK MY BREATH AWAY" + +"DOING KOW-TOW TO THIS FALSE GOD" + +"HELP HER! ME, BUTCHER DONNAN!" + +"I USED TO SWOP CURRANTS AND SUGAR FOR NUTS AND LOVELY SPICY FRUITS" + + + + +THE EDITOR'S CHAPTERS + +HE TELLS HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT + + + + +I + + +_A sleepy Sunday morning--and no need for any one to go to church._ + + +It was at Neuchatel, under the trees by the lake, that I first became +conscious of what wonderful assistance Sweetheart might be to me in my +literary work. She corrected me as to the date upon which we had made +our pilgrimage to Chaumont, as to the color of the hair of the pretty +daughter of the innkeeper whom we had seen there--in her way quite a +Swiss Elizabeth Fortinbras. In a word, I became aware that she had kept +a diary. Sweetheart, like her nearest literary relative, began with +"poetry." That was what we called it then. We have both revised our +judgments since. Only Sweetheart has been more wise than I should have +been at her age. She has resisted temptation, and rigorously ruled out +all verse from the Diary as at present published! This is wonderful. I +published mine. + +Since then, she and I have been preparing the present volume, just as +eagerly as if we had "yielded to the solicitations of numerous friends," +as the privately-printed books say. + +No, it was quite the contrary with us. Nobody, except one nice +publisher, knows anything about it. He asked us to let him print it, and +even he has not seen the very least little scrap. All he knows is that +Sweetheart has a good many thousand friends scattered up and down two +hemispheres, and he believes (as we also are vain enough to believe) +that they will not let _Sweetheart's Diary_ go a-begging to be bought. + + * * * * * + +There is something curiously dreamy about the Lake of Neuchatel. I knew +it and the school down by the pier long ago, when the little town still +preserved distinct traces of the hundred and fifty years of Prussian +drill-sergeants. Here and there the arms of Brandenburg were to be seen +curiously mixed, and almost entwined, with the strong red cross of the +Swiss Confederation. + +Specially interesting is the opposite side of the lake, for there the +Cantons push forward their narrow necks of territory to the very lake +shore--possibly as the price of their support against the Eagles of the +North, whose claws have never let go their hold but this once. There, +within a day's easy walk, you can pass from Canton Vaud into Canton +Friburg and back again into Vaud. Then, Morat-way, you come on a little +inset square of Canton Berne, whose emblematic bears also have their +claws in every pie thereabout. And all the way, never a hotel for the +fleecing of the foreigner! Here and there, indeed, one passes a country +inn with sanded floor. More often it is only a rather superior house +with a bush hung out French-fashion over the threshold. + +It is best, as Sweetheart and I found, to make for one of these. +Generally I had known them of old, and though since then the years had +done some stiff route-marching, most of their hosts and hostesses +remembered me. + +How do you get there? Well, you cross the lake almost at its narrowest +part. A little stream drains into it, slowly and in Dutch fashion, as if +it were smoking a peaceful pipe by the way. Indeed, for a little while +you might fancy yourself actually in Holland, so thickly are the flowers +set. Only--only (and oh! the difference!) they are all wild. For I +cannot help my heart beating faster when I set foot on any of the +untrodden places of the earth, when I know that the next person I meet +will be different from anybody I have ever met before--that he will be +as frankly interested and very likely amused by me as I am by the moldy +and the quaint about him--things that nobody in his senses has ever +thought of looking at in that countryside for a hundred years! Privately +there is often a quiet, widespread, wholly unspoken doubt of my entire +sanity. That dry smile hovering about the mouth of the courteous mayor +of the commune says as much. Just the same with the quick, intelligent +glance that shoots betwixt husband and wife when you ask to see their +barn--once the chapel of a long-destroyed monastery (Carthusians from +the Italian valleys driven out by the religious wars). To them it is a +barn, commodious--only a little damp. But it is nothing more. A new +model one, now--all burnt brick, floor of concrete, with iron roof +pillars--now _that_ would be something worth crossing the lake to look +at. Hold--there is one at Estavayer! The farmer there would be glad to +show it, if only Monsieur and the young lady...? No! Well, there is no +accounting for tastes, and that shrug from Master Pierre said quite +plainly that he had the poorest opinion of our mental capacity. But all +the same Master Pierre is kind to the infirm--to those (as the Catechism +says) "of weaker understanding." + +Yes, there is the key. We can take our own time, and when we have done +we can hang it up where we got it. + +But good Master Pierre is curious too. Where might we be going? If it is +a fair question--or, indeed, whether or not! "To Madame Marie Brigue's!" +"Yes, but certainly!" "Had we known Madame Marie long?" The Elder of us +had known her for some twenty years or more. + +"When she was with old Monsieur Alexander--yes, at the Upper Riffel +House, and everything in her charge?" Sanity was returned to us like a +passport examined doubtfully. We should not this time be committed to a +House of Retreat for the mentally infirm--no, not if fifty doctors, all +specialists, had so certified. _We knew Madame Marie!_ Master Pierre +would lay aside everything and come with us. It was not possible that we +could know the way. + +I thanked Master Pierre, but for my own reasons preferred to go +alone--that is to say, alone with Sweetheart, which is the best kind of +loneliness. + +"There is going to be a storm!" I said to my Maid, as we paced along +side by side. Sweetheart looked at the cloudless September sky, at the +boldly-designed splashes of the leaf-shadows making Japanese patterns on +the narrow path through the wood. Then she regarded me inquiringly. Of a +storm in the heaven above or on the earth beneath there was certainly no +visible sign. + +Then I explained that the tempest was a moral one, and would certainly +break when we met in with Madame Marie. And I set her this riddle to +read, for she is fond of such. + +I had always been first favorite with Madame Marie. She had spoiled me +as a wandering boy. She has assisted me as a callow youth to the +sweetmeats under her control. In my earlier manhood she had taken me to +see her brother, who was a _cure_ of a great parish in the Valais. + +Yes, boy and man, she had always scolded me, railed upon me, declared to +my face that I was of a surety "the Last of the Last," and that, +altogether apart from my being a heretic, my misdeeds would inevitably +render my future far from enviable! According to Madame Marie I was +certainly bound for an ice-free port! + +"And what had you done to her, father, to make her so angry with you--or +at least scold you so much?" + +"Only come in late for my meals!" I said. Sweetheart took one look at +me, as one who would say, "Pray remember that I am no more a simple +child!" But what she said aloud was, "Did all this happen before I was +born?" + +And I knew instantly that I was underlying an unjust suspicion, from +which the very first glimpse of Madame Marie would instantly free me. +For even when I knew her Madame had long passed the canonical age, and +must now be verging on the three-score years and ten. + +It was, however, quiet unlikely that she would ever refrain from +scolding me, even in the presence of my eldest daughter. + +By and by we came in sight of a little white house, and upon the path +which passed beneath it. Over the door, half hidden by the yellow +splashes of _Canariensis_, was the sign, "_Madame Marie Brigue ... +Restaurant_." There was a great quiet everywhere about the place. Some +pigeons were coo-cooing in the Basse Cour. A cat regarded us with the +sleepy dispassion of its race. However, there was certainly a stirring +among earthenware somewhere towards the entrance of the cellar. We could +make out the grating of carrots, or, as it might be, the scraping of +potatoes. I motioned Sweetheart to get behind me--which she did, eager +to take a hand in one of "father's ploys." + +Then I went to the front door, and in the loud, confident voice of one +who, after a short absence, has come back at the proper hour, to find +his dinner not ready, I called out, "Marie, are those chops not done +yet?" + +A dish clattered on the floor. We could hear the splash of the fragments +on the cool flagstones of the inner kitchen. + +"Marie, old Lazybones! Here have I been twelve hours on the mountains, +and not even an omelette ready!" + +"It is the Herr-with-the-Long-Legs--the Herr who kept my good dinner +waiting while he ran about the '_bergen_'! And now--oh, the +Good-for-Nothing, the _Vaurien_, he come back to old Marie crying +hunger--just as he used to do more than a score of years ago up in the +Riffel House!" + +And before I knew it I was embraced and kissed on both cheeks by this +tall, gaunt old woman--greatly, of course, to the joy of Sweetheart. But +her turn was yet to come. Madame Marie continued scolding me even in the +utmost expansion of her greeting. She held me at arm's length and +scolded. She scolded because I had come without warning, and because I +had not come sooner. Scolded because I had let the years slip past till +her hair was white like the snow on the mountains, on which I had so +often tarried till my dinner was burnt to a cinder! While mine--but +there--who was this with me? Was I married? "Your daughter!" A daughter +like that, and old Marie getting so blind that she had called me bad +names--the names of the old time--in her hearing. But Mademoiselle would +understand! She would pardon a poor old woman who had known her father, +and been a mother to him, years and years before the young lady was +born, or even thought of! + +So, indeed, Mademoiselle understood very well. No forgiveness was +necessary. She was all too happy. And while the dinner was preparing, +she set down all these facts in her notebook, so that when Madame Marie +came to the door to say that the omelette was ready to be put before us +on the table, she called to Sweetheart that she was indeed her father's +own daughter. For that in the old days at the Riffel House he had always +been like that, sitting down on the very glacier to scribble in his +notebook all about nothing, and so letting good food spoil because of +his foolishness! + +And so it happened that on our way back from Madame Marie's, Sweetheart +let me see the first pages of her Diary. I found them so interesting +that we arranged on the spot how they were to be published. And so here +they are, ready (if you be simple) to please you as well as they pleased +me. + + + + +II + +_When the Roads Were Sweet, Safe and Silent._ + + +So, preliminaries being settled, the elder of the _Sweetheart Travelers_ +was entrusted with the editing of this book, on the express condition +that he must _not_ edit it! Strange but true! It is just sixteen years +since, with the assistance of Mr. Gordon Browne's pencil, he began the +preparation of the first series of _Sweetheart_. Ever since which, for +him, fortunate day, he has been under promise to supply a second volume +having for title _Sweethearts at Home_. From all over the world children +keep writing to ask him for more adventures with his little companion on +the front basket-seat of his tricycle. Gladly would he respond to this +wish of unseen baby lips, generally expressed on ruled paper in straggly +lines of doubtful spelling. But, alas! Sweetheart is nineteen and tall. +She would be the death of her poor father (and of the machine) at the +very first hill. Now she rides a "free-wheel" of her own, and saddest +of all to relate, prefers Hugh John or other younger company to her +ancientest of comrades. That is, on cycling trips. But she makes up to +him in other ways, and hardly anything gives her greater pleasure than +to "revisit the roads and ridges" where, sixteen years ago, her baby +fingers, vigilant on the cycle bell, called the preceding wayfarer to +attention. + +Then we had the world to ourselves, save for a red farm cart or so. Then +there were no motor-cars, no motor-buses, no clappering insolent +monocycles! It was in some wise the rider's age of gold. The country +still lay waste and sweet and silent about him. The ignoble "toot-toot" +and rhinoceros snort of the pursuing monster was unknown--unknown, too, +the odors which leave the wayfarer fretful and angry behind them. + +"_Get out of the way, all you mean little people!_" was not yet the +commonest of highway sounds. The green hedgerows were not hidden under a +gray dust veil. The Trossachs, the Highlands, the English lakes, and our +own fair Galloway roads were not splashed with the iridescent fragrance +of petrol. Ah, we took Time by the forelock, Sweetheart, you and I, in +those old days when the hawthorn was untainted and the wayside +honeysuckles still gave forth a good smell. True, Sweetheart (as above +stated) sounded a bell. But even she did it with relish, and the trill +carried tenderly on the ear, like the mass-bell rung in some great +cathedral as the service culminates, each time more thrilling and +insistent. And it was good to see the smile of the folk as they stood +aside, and the nod which red-cloaked Sweetheart gave them as we glided +noiselessly past! + +Ah, a good time! Neither of us are in the least likely to see a better! +For during these fifteen years there has come upon our land a strange +thing, a kind of plague of heartlessness; the return, perhaps, of +mechanically civilized man to the brute, or (if that be too strong) at +least to the ruling-out of all gracious consideration for the rights of +wayfarers. + +I am sure that the "motoring-habit" is more poisonous and more injurious +to the nations in this Year of Grace, 1911, than all the poisons that +ever were "listed." It is the Indian hemp of the soul, which makes even +good men mad. The earth may still belong to the Lord, though, standing +afar off, I have sometimes my doubts. But of a certainty the roads +between city and city, the creeper-hung village street where, +generation after generation, children played, the quiet lanes where the +old folk walked arm in arm, are now given over to the Minotaur whose +name is "My Lord Teuf-Teuf." + +Every day in all lands (called civilized) the journals are filled with a +lengthening tale of victims--of the little child going to school, bag on +back; the bairn playing with his soldiers in the dust; the deaf old lady +walking along the lanes, so safe and quiet a few years ago. I can see +her pattering about, looking for a few roses to grace her room--roses to +dream over, roses to call back the good days now past for ever. + +"HRRUMPH! HRRUMPH!" It is the trump of doom--behind her, unseen, to her +unheard. And in the next number of the local paper there will be the +briefest of paragraphs: "No blame attaches to the proprietor or to his +excellent and competent chauffeur." + +Sometimes, if one has the honor to be run over by the Highest of the +High Born, they do inquire for you at the hospital, or even send a +wreath for the coffin. For this one should even be content to die. And +the paragraphs in the papers recording the gift quite make up to the +mourners for their loss. + +But even so, this is on the heights of motoring generosity. For at least +_noblesse_ does sometimes oblige. But the more recently and the more +ignobly the Over-Slaughterman has been enriched, the more ignorant of +all knowledge he is, the less he has seen of other lands, the fewer +incursions he has made into the world of books and art, the less he +possesses of that kindly natural consideration which the King-Gentleman +shares with the Working-Gentleman--the more cruel and selfish he is when +he gets himself upon the road, rushing along, disguised to the eyes, +fakir-mad in a kind of devilish Juggernaut joy, to the holocaust of +innumerable innocent victims. + +"_The police failed to obtain the number of the car which caused the +accident._" + +Naturally! Excellent Under-Slaughterman, vulgarly called Chauffeur! +Knows his business! He will ask for a rise next week and he will get it. +That paragraph about the little girl trailed along for fifty yards under +the rear wheels, with--Hold your tongue, you understand, Higgins--the +details would not look well posted up in my club! Brave +Under-Slaughterman! He winks an eye, as he has a right to do when he +puts his latest-earned gratuity in his pocket. + +But, halt there! I will do no man an injustice if I can help it. There +are motorists and drivers of motor-cars who are noways "motor-fiends," +who conduct a car as safely and carefully as in other times they would a +pair of horses. I have friends among such. God keep them in life and the +practice of "Unto others as I would that others should do unto me!" + +But I grow old, at least in experience, and I fear for these my friends. +Motoring as practiced in Great Britain to-day (and the northern +continent is little better) is the direct and intentional abrogation of +the Golden Rule. More, it is the only way in which a man, +light-heartedly, taking no thought for the morrow, may kill his neighbor +with impunity. In old times it was the pursuit of cent.-per-cent. which +damned a man, and delivered him bound body and soul to Satan. We have +changed all that. Now it is the pursuit of the mile-a-minute which sucks +men's hearts empty of a generous feeling, which is the great open-air +school for making iron-bound materialists out of human men--or rather +animals fitted with deadly mechanical appliances worse than those of +Mr. Wells's Martians. + +I love my friends who are tied to these chariot wheels. But I fear for +them. Temptation is great. Easy is the descent of Avernus, aided by a +smart chauffeur, who wants to give you "the value of your money" in +speed and the survival of the fittest: _id est_, of himself and you! + +Better, far better, to take pack on back, pilgrim staff in hand, and +then--to the woods and the hills with Sweetheart and me, where never +"teuf-teuf" can be heard, nor petrol perfume the land. + +But at least in Sweetheart's new book you will only find the old sweet +things, the pleasures that do but gladden, the record of things at once +simple and gracious and tender--such as, if you have been fortunate, +must have happened to yourself. She does not once mention any car except +that pulled along by honest "gees," or that still more favorite sort of +all engineering achievements--the fortifications that the next tide will +sweep away. + +Sweetheart, little Sweetheart, and that "dear diary" of yours--for this +relief, much thanks! God keep you ever of the humble, of the +wayside-goers, of those who think--first, second and always--of the +comfort of their fellow-men, especially of the weak, the friendless, and +the poor who foot it along life's way. In brief, may you stay what you +have always been, Sweet of heart--and _my Heart_! + +_Ainsi soit-il!_ + +S. R. CROCKETT. + + + + +SWEETHEART'S DIARY + + + + +I + +SWEETHEART OBJECTS + + +_In June--Some Day, 3 o'clock. Cool under the Trees._ + +Some while ago a book was written about me, called _Sweetheart +Travelers_. It was father who wrote it, and I think he did his best, +saying a lot of nice things. But, of course, how could he really +understand little girls? + +At first I thought I would write a book contradicting the mistakes. But +Mr. Dignus, who is a friend of mine and knows about such things, said +that would not be very kind to father, and might do him harm in his +business. But that if I would write about everything just as it seemed +to me as I grew up, he would see to it that it was printed and +published. + +So when father sees it, won't he just get a surprise? Perhaps he will go +into a shop and buy _Sweetheart's Diary_, thinking that somebody is +poaching on his preserves. I can see him tugging at his big mustache, +and walking very solid and determined, same as he does when he says to +the boys, "You, sir, come into the study along o' me!" Which makes all +the rest of us go sort of cold and trembly all over, like a rabbit +smelling fresh lettuce. + +But it is for what we are NOT going to get that _we_ are sincerely +thankful. + +Only, after a dreadful lecture the boys are generally let off--"for this +time only, mind you!"--whereas the rabbit always ends up by eating the +lettuce. [Moral somewhere about, but I can't just make it out.] + +And that reminds me. I will tell you the dreadful history of the Blue +Delhi Vase. It is one of the first things I can remember and the one +that frightened me the most. It used to sit on our brown, carved-oak +table in the little drawing-room. It was pale blue like the color of the +beady stones you can't see into--oh, yes--thank you very +much--_turquoise_. And somehow I thought that it had come from a +fearfully rich uncle in India, who was Prime Minister to a Begum, and +would come home one day with an elephant in a huge cattle truck, like +what I had seen on the railway. He would then have a scarlet carpet +laid to keep his embroidered slippers clean--there is always mud before +our station--and he would ride up to our front door on the Begum's state +elephant. And the first question he would ask was always, "Is my Blue +Delhi Vase in good repair?" + +And if it wasn't, then he would demand the name of the miscreant who had +done it, and bid the elephant, whose name was quite distinctly Ram +Punch, t-r-r-rample him to pieces. + +I suppose when I was very young I must have dreamed this, or heard folk +talking, without understanding. At any rate I got things pretty mixed in +my mind. You see I was _very_ little then, so little that I don't +remember there being any boys. Though I suppose Hugh John was a little +trundler in a "pram," looking up at the sky with wide solemn eyes and +never saying a word. I suppose so, but I don't remember. + +All I know is that I wore little red caps, one for Sunday and one for +week-days. The Sunday one was put away during the week, and so mostly I +had only one. + +Now, on this great day I happened to be in the garden, and Somebody sent +me in for my cap. Because my hair flew all about and got just fearfully +"tuggy"--enough to make any one cry, even Hugh John, who never cries at +all. But, then, _he_ has hair short like a door-mat and rough as if made +of teased string. He has also a head so hard that he will bounce it +right through the panel of a door for a penny--that was, of course, +afterwards, not when he used to lie in his "prim-pram." But he got +whipped, for the doors had to be mended. So he stopped. + +I was in a great hurry. Indeed I flew. I never remember walking in those +days. So in I banged as hard as I could, and coming out of the hot sun, +the rooms felt all very still and cool. The parlor smelt of old rose +leaves, which I sometimes stirred with my finger. They were in a big +bowl, all powdery, and smelt nice--especially on hot days. Then I used +to think that the poor old dead things were stirring in their sleep, and +trying to "blossom in the dust." I don't know where I got those +words--in a hymn, most likely. But I used to say them over and over to +myself--yes, till I cried. Because I was sorry for the old roses that +tried to live and couldn't. Silly, wasn't it? Well, it seems so now. But +then, of course, it was different. + +Now, when I had got over the queer little catch in my throat that +finding myself alone always gave me, I started looking round under all +the sofas and chairs to see that there were no lurking Day Ghosts about. +They are the worst kind, and I began to wonder where my cap was. + +I had come for it specially, you see. So I could not go out without it. +Also there were awfully nice things going on in the garden; the picking +of white raspberries, mainly; each shaped like a thimble; the cap coming +easily off, and leaving a small dead white spear-point, and with a +taste--oh, to make your mouth water for quite a week! + +Anyway, mine does now. + +For a while I could not see my red cap. Then, all in a minute, I caught +sight of it on the top of the Delhi Blue Vase. It was dreadfully high, +and as for me, I was dreadfully little. More than that, the table was +slippery. + +But I _had_ to get the cap, because all the time I was missing the white +raspberries out in the garden. I could hear them pattering into the tin +pails with a rustle of waving stems and a _whish_ of nice green leaves +when you let them go. + +So I got up on tiptoe. I was still ever so much too short. Then I took a +buffet--the one on which I listened to stories being told. And I +mounted on that. I had very nearly got the cap off when the buffet +slipped sideways, and--oh, it was dreadful--there on the carpet lay the +Delhi Blue Vase all in shreds--no, "shards" is the proper word. + +I couldn't think. I couldn't cry. I could not even pray. I forgot how. I +grew ice-cold. For I had heard it said that of all the valuable things +in the house that was the rarest. I knew it could never be put together +again, and it was I who had done it. + +For a moment I thought of running away altogether. It was not fear of +being punished. No, if it had only been that, I should not have minded. +At least not much. Punishments don't last long up at our house. But now +I should never see the uncle from India, nor the elephant being unpacked +end-foremost out of the cattle truck, nor the crimson carpet, nor the +howdah, nor any of these fine things. Or even if I did I might be +stamped to death by the elephant, after all. Oh, I _was_ unhappy. I +looked in the glass and, I declare, I hardly knew the white, frightened, +peeky face I saw there for my own. + +You see, I usually see my own face when my hair is being done, or when +the soap is just washed off. Then it is shiny and red; but now, in the +dusk of the room, it looked very small and pale, and my eyes very big +and black, with rims round them. + +Now our cat was there, and the thought came of itself that everything +might be blamed on her. She was our only _not-nice_ pussy, and if I said +it was Mir-row who did it, nobody would be the worse. She was always +knocking things down anyway. She would only get chased out, and she was +always being chased out. So one extra time would not matter to Mir-row. + +Well, I suppose that is what the ministers and grown-up people call +temptation--when you think you can do a thing so as not to be found out. +When you do a thing and don't care whether you are found out or +not--that is different. That's like Sir Toady (he's my brother, as you +shall hear) when he goes bird-nesting and has to watch out for the +keeper. But he doesn't really care if he _is_ catched. + +But the Delhi Vase! Oh, it seemed as if I never could be happy again in +this world! + +I knew--I mean at the time--that I should have prayed. I had been often +and often told that I ought. Still, you can't just always pray when you +ought to. However, I did manage to kneel down and grab hold of Mir-row. + +I knew that Mir-row was a bad cat, and did all sorts of things she ought +not to do. So I took her to the place where the Delhi Vase had been +broken, and asked her if she minded. And she said as plain as possible +that she did not care a bit. I should get whipped, that was all, and she +would be glad. + +She was a hard-hearted Thing. For I was in dreadful trouble. But for all +that Mir-row would not take a bit of the blame. And she might just as +easily, seeing the number of tit-bits I had brought out for her. But +cats have no gratitude--at least Mir-row had none. However, I think she +must have been a foreign cat, because she could not even pronounce +"_Mee-ow_" properly. And that is the reason why her name was "Mir-row." +She said so herself. + +So I said to her, "You, Mir-row, will you come up-stairs and 'fess'?" + +And Mir-row said just "_Fsssst-Mir-row!_" to show that she was cross. + +Then I said, "Mir-row, you are a horrid nasty cat, and you don't deserve +that you should get off breaking that Delhi Vase. But I will take the +blame on myself--yes, I will--just to show you what it is to be noble. +_I_ will go up-stairs and 'fess.'" + +So I said, "Get thee behind me, Mir-row!" as I ought to have done at +first. Because Mir-row had always been so naughty that she tempted me to +blame her for breaking it. If she had been a good cat, then such a thing +would never have entered my head. But her character was against her. + +You see, I knew that I had only to say, "Mir-row did it," to get +believed. Because she was always doing wicked things like that. + +Then I went up-stairs, running as hard as I could to get away from the +wicked Mir-row, who was tempting me to tell a story. I ran to find +Somebody to 'fess' to. And I found Somebody. And Somebody listened, and +then rose up looking quite grave, but very kind. Oh, I was shaking ever +so, till Somebody took me in such nice strong arms, and said that as I +had come at once, and had not even thought of trying to escape the blame +or to put it on anybody else, I should not be punished--though it +certainly _was_ a great, great pity. + +But I never told about Mir-row, or how nearly it had happened otherwise. + +And as for Mir-row, she said nothing either. She just curled herself up +on the carpet among the broken pieces of the vase, and when we went down +was peacefully dreaming of catching mice. I knew she was by the way she +had of thrusting out her claws and pulling them in again. + +No, Mir-row did not deserve all that I had done for her. + +But, after all, honesty is a better policy than blaming things on +Mir-row. + +This is the story of my first temptation, and how I was saved from the +wickedness of Mir-row. + + + + +II + +PURPLE "THINKS" + + +_June again. Aged ten. Afternoon of the Day when the first Strawberry +was Half-ripe._ + +It will never be whole-ripe, owing to an accident which happened to it. +However, none of the Grown-ups knew except Sandy the gardener, and he +only tells us not to. But we don't really mind. + +Which makes me wonder sometimes if Grown-ups have a world of their own, +same as us Children. I don't think so. If they had, they wouldn't always +be writing and reading, or paying calls and sitting on chairs, and +looking Nim-Pim-Pimmany! They can't really have good times all by +themselves, same as us. What do you think? I suppose it is +account-books, and postmen, and having to understand the sermon that +makes them look like that. + +But at any rate they have not an idea that children really are +thinking--nor how much they know. Perhaps that is just as well. For, as +they say about the monkeys, if they only knew how we talk among +ourselves, they might set us to work. At least they would not be so +ready to believe in us when next they saw us with our "behaving faces" +on. + +Now I will tell you about our house. It is a nice one, and I have a +bedroom with greeny paper, and out of the window you can see the +Pentland hills and the flagstaff in front of them. The flagstaff is on +the drying green, but the hills are a good deal farther away. Maid +Margaret and I live there--that is, at nights, and I tell her stories if +she will lie on her right side and not kick. + +Sometimes we have fights, but not such ones as the boys have up above. +Often we can hear them stamping and thumping, and then coming down with +a huge "bang" that you would think would shake down the house. That is +when they clutch and wrestle. Outside there is just the Low Garden and +the High Garden, a road between big old yew-trees, and then you are at +the library, which is made of wood. And mostly there is a ticking sound +inside, which is the typewriter--_tick-a-tack--tick-a-tack_! Then a +pause, a few growls, and then the noise of a book being pulled out, +rustling leaves, more stamps, more growls, and again--_tick-a-tack_! + +It goes on like that most of the time, except when the Animal inside +must be fed, or on fine afternoons, when he comes out to play. + +_Then_ we have quite lovely times in the woods and hunting for things, +or picnicking. And it is nice to see the white tablecloth, which +Somebody has arranged on the green grass or under the shade, all covered +with nice things for you to eat. + +Then all about there are woods--oh! miles and miles of them. There is +the Low Park, where there are lots of apples--rather crabby, but not +much the worse for that when you are really hungry. + +The Low Park is pretty big, and has a stream running through it, quite +slowly and steadily. Then down below is the river-bed, all rocks and +pools. Because the water is drawn off for the mills below. We can play +there in the summer-time, and keep fish as safe as in an aquarium. + +Of course there are nice places higher up--where Esk goes along lipping +over the pebbles, tugging at the overhanging branches of trees, or +opening out to make a mirror for the purple heather on the slopes above. +But of all these you shall hear before I have done. Oh, yes, I mean that +you shall. + +And in the evening all is lovely dark purple except the hills, which are +light purple and green in patches, the shape of cloud-shadows. + +I wonder if ever you got to love words, colors, and things till they +grew to be part of yourself? What do I mean? Well, I will try and +explain. + +When I was little, the word "purple" somehow nearly made me cry. Oh, +no--I did not like dresses that color, nor even ribbons--much. Only just +the word. Sometimes funnily, as in the line-- + + "A pleasant purple Porpoise, + From the Waters of Chili." + +Sometimes seriously, as in two lines which have always brought the tears +to my eyes--I do not know why. I think I must have put them together +myself when I was thinking in sermon-time (which is a very good time to +think in). Because the first is the line of a Scottish psalm, and the +rest is--I know not what--some jingle that ran in my head, I suppose. +But they made me cry--they do still, I confess, and it is the color-word +that does it!--that, and the feeling that it is years and years ago +since first I began to say them over to myself. It seems as if there +would never again be such hues on the mountains, never such richness on +the heather, never sunsets so arrogant (yes, I got the word that time) +as those when I was little. + +But what, you ask, are the lines? Well, you won't think anything of +them. I _know_ you will laugh. + +They are just--but oh! I am ashamed to put them down to be printed. For +they are just altogether mine--all little girls who have been lonely +little girls will know what I mean. Boys are pigs and will laugh--except +Hugh John. + +However, I can't put off any longer, can I? Oh, yes, I could, but--it is +better to be over and done with it. + + +MY POEM. + +Made up when I was (about) Four. + + "I to the hills will lift mine eyes-- + The purple hills of Paradise." + +That's all! Now laugh! And if you do, I shan't ever love you again. +Father smiles and says that very likely I did put them together, but +that the last line is in a book of poems by a man named Trowbridge. + +Well, what if it is? Can't _I_ think it and Mr. Trowbridge too? I never +saw his old book. Why, I could not read then, and _he_ couldn't know +what a little girl was thinking, sitting down by Esk-waterside and +watching the purple hills--till I was told to come in and haste-me-fast, +because the dew was falling. + +But of course I don't tell this to everybody. They would call it +sentiment. But I pity the little lonely girl who doesn't have "thinks" +like that all to herself, which she would die sooner than tell to +anybody except to her Dear Diary. + +After the boys got bigger and could romp, I didn't have nearly so many +thinks--not time enough, I suppose. Boys need a heap of watching. At +first they have no soul--only a mouth to be silly with, teeth to eat +with, and a Little Imp inside each to make them pesterful and like boys. + +Well, little by little, I made a collection of things that were of my +color--all in my head, of course. + + "League upon rolling league of imperial purple!" + +I think it was father who wrote that, and I believe his heart was pretty +big and proud within him, seeing his own heathery country spread out +before him when he did it. I wonder if something went _cluck-cluck_ +(like a hen) at the bottom of his throat? It does in mine sometimes. + +Then there is "the Purple Wine of the Balkans," and "the wine-hearted +sea"--but that last I only heard of at school. + +And I liked a story about an Irish patriot who, when they brought him an +address of honor with a green cover, told them to take it away and bind +it in purple, the color of the heather. + +Also I loved to read about heroines with "eyes like the purple +twilight," though just at present these are scarce in our part of the +country. One of our forbears (funny word--for _we_ are the Four Bears, +the little ones! Somebody I know is the Big Big Growly--only don't tell +him!) well, one of our ancestors--immediate ancestors, I mean--left us +blue eyes, but as we grew older they all turned gray, which I think +unfair. + +Later on, I loved to be told about the "purple Codex"--that is, the +Gospels written out on purple vellum in letters all gold. That must be +lovely. I tried to stain a sheet with Amethystine ink, and print on it +in gold paint. But it only looked blotchy and stupid--you never saw such +a mess. So I thought it was better just to dream about the Codex. + +I wasn't born in the purple myself, but I resolved early never to marry +anybody that wasn't. And I should have a purple nursery, and purple +bibs, and a purple "prim-pram," and a nurse with purple strings to her +caps, and baby should live exclusively on preserved violets (candied) +and beautiful purple jelly. + +Then wouldn't she be a happy child? Not commonplace like me, and +compelled to wear a clean white pinafore. They don't half know how to +bring up children now-a-days. + +Oh, how I do wish that I had been "born in the purple!" + +But I wasn't, and white soils so easily. You see, if the purple were +only dark enough, you wouldn't get scolded half so much, and they +wouldn't all the time be telling you that milk food is "so wholesome"! +Oh, how tired I am of being told that! + +Still, after all, chocolate isn't bad, and you can easily make believe +that it is purple instead of brown. + +At least _I_ can. And it tastes just the same. + +Good-by, Dear, my Diary. There's Nurse calling. + + + + +III + +PRESENTS + + +_Still the Same Age. But no Date._ + +I wish we could choose our own presents, don't you? + +People give you surprises, or think they do. For mostly you can tell +pretty well by keeping an eye on the parcels and things as they come in. +Or one of the servants tells you, or you hear the Grown-ups whispering +when they think you are not attending. Attending! Why, you are always +attending. How could you learn else? _They_ did just the same +themselves, only they forget. + +Of all presents, I hate most "useful" ones--"to teach you how to keep +your things tidy," and what "you will be sure to need by and by, you +know, dear!" + +For when the time comes you've had it so long that you don't care a +button about it. I suppose there are some Miss Polly Prinks who like +things to put on. But I haven't got to _that_ yet. Nor yet money that +you are told you mustn't spend. There ought to be a "Misfit Presents' +Emporium," where you could take all the presents you don't care about +and get them exchanged for what you do. + +"Please, sir, can I have a nice lot of the newest books with the +prettiest pictures for four Jack-in-the-boxes, eight dolls (three +dressed), a windmill and a Noah's Ark, that only wants Noah and one of +his son's wives' legs?" + +"Let me see them, miss, please!" + +"Can I look at the books on that shelf?" + +"Oh, these are the adventure books for Grown-ups," says the man; +"children don't read such thing now-a-days--something in the +picture-book way, Miss--_Little Sambo and the Seven Pious Pigs_, or _How +many Blue Beans make Five?_" + +But _I_ would know ever so much better, and would have down half-a-dozen +Grown-up books that just make your eyes stand out of your head like +currants in a ginger-bread bunny. That's what _I_ like. No children's +books for me. And I'd have them all chosen as soon as the Presents' +Exchange man had made sure that none of the paws were knocked off the +green kangaroo, and that the elephant still owned a trunk. + +It is a good idea, isn't it? What do you think? About the Exchange, I +mean. + +Once my Uncle Tom got a birthday present from Aunt Margaret. It was a +set of fire-irons for the drawing-room grate! And when her birthday came +round Uncle Tom chose for her present--_a pipe-rack for the +smoking-room_! + +I think that was fine--and so does Hugh John. + +Now I am not complaining. August the tenth is _my_ birthday, and it is a +good time for birthdays--being sufficiently long before Christmas. I +pity the poor people who were born in early January. Also presents are +good at our house, and there are enough of us to change round among +ourselves if any mistakes do occur. But what I really want to tell you +about is what happened to Little Sarah Brown, who lives just outside our +gate. + +Sarah's people are very poor and her father makes them poorer by going +and drinking--as he says, "To drown Dull Care." My father says if he let +Dull Care alone and drowned himself it would be better for every one all +round. And that's a good deal for father to say, mind you, because he +believes dreadfully in letting people alone. + +Well, Little Sarah Brown's mother was ill most of the time. She had a +cough and couldn't do washing, so Little Sarah came to our house to run +messages and go to the post with big letters when father said so. It was +pretty nice for Sarah too, because every second Saturday she got +half-a-sovereign from father. He grabbled deep in his pocket until he +found a piece of about the size, looked if it was gold, and handed it +over to Little Sarah. + +Just fancy carrying about real-for-true gold like that! Some people are +dreadfully careless. Well, one time Little Sarah went up to the library +to get her Saturday's money. Father was mooning about among his books, +and shoved something at her, telling her gruffly to be off. He hadn't +time to be thanked then, but would see about it on Monday! + +And do you know--it was a whole big sovereign he had given her! Now of +course _he_ never knew. He wouldn't have found out in twenty centuries, +and Little Sarah knew it. She did not notice till she was nearly home, +and then she stopped under a lamp-post that was early lighted to look at +what was in her hand. + +Yes, it was a sovereign. Nothing less! + +And, do you know, a bad, _bad_ boy named Pete Bolton came behind Little +Sarah and gave her hand a good knock up. + +She would have lost it in about two ticks, because Pete Bolton was a +perfectly horrid boy, and would have stolen it like nothing at all. Only +Little Sarah was upon him with a bound like a tiger, and bit his hand +(yes, it _was_ nasty, being very dirty). Only she bit Pete's hand from a +sense of duty, and made him let go. She had her face rubbed in the mud, +her hair tugged, and all, but she never let go the sovereign--half of +which wasn't hers. + +There was a girl for you, and yet boys will say that only they are +brave! Well, don't you think it was pretty hard for Sarah--harder, I +think, after fighting for it than before? You see, she thought of all +the nice things she could get for her mother with the extra ten +shillings, besides new boots for herself that didn't let in the water, +and--oh! a lot of things like that. + +Worst of all, she knew that if she did take it back to father he would +only shove it in his pocket without noticing. But she said over and +over: "Honesty is the best! Honesty is the best!" You see, she could +not remember the word "policy," which does not improve the sentiment +anyway--to my mind, at least. + +So back she went. Father was still mooning about among his books, and +just as she expected he took the golden sovereign and shoved it back +into his pocket right among pennies and pocket-knives and so on. But he +quite forgot to give Sarah her own real half-sovereign. I believe he +thought she had picked the coin up off the floor. For he just said, +"Thank you," and went on with his work. + +And Little Sarah stood there fit to cry. + +By and by he noticed the girl and asked what she was waiting for--not +unkindly, you know. But, as usual, he was busy and wanted to be left +alone. + +"Please, sir," said Little Sarah Brown, "my half-sovereign!" + +"But I paid you your wages, did I not?" + +"Oh, yes, sir; but--" + +"Oh, you would like an advance on next week--very well, then." And he +pulled out of his pocket the very identical piece of gold that had been +Little Sarah's temptation--like mine about the Blue Vase and Mir-row, +you remember. + +"There!" he said; "now go away! I'm busy!" + +"But, _please_, sir----!" + +"WHAT?" + +Then Little Sarah burst into tears, and father stared. But after a while +he got at the truth--how he had given a whole sovereign in place of a +half---- + +"Very likely--very likely!" said he. + +And how Sarah had brought it back--all of her own accord. + +"Very unlikely!" he muttered. + +And how he had shoved it back into his pocket without noticing---- + +"_Very_ likely!" he said--to himself this time. + +So what did he do, when he had heard all about it, but promise to whack +Pete Bolton with his stick the first time he got him. And Sarah began to +cry all over again, saying that Pete had no mother and couldn't be +expected to know any better. + +"Well," said he, "that's as may be! But anyway, I'll be a father to Pete +the next time I catch him. I'll teach him to let little girls alone. +I've dealt with heaps of Pete Boltons before! Oh, often! Don't you +trouble, little girl!" + +And he actually got his hat and walked home with Little Sarah, growling +all the time. I don't know what he gave her. But, anyway, what he said +to her mother made the poor woman so happy that she nearly forgot to be +ill. And on Monday I noticed that Little Sarah had new whole shoes and +so had her brother Billy. So something must have happened, and though +nothing was said, I can pretty well guess what. + +So can Hugh John--and you too, my dear Diary. Only we won't tell. But +the "Compulsory Man," who makes boys attend school, descended on wicked +Pete Bolton, and then the schoolmaster fell on him, so that Pete became +a reformed character--this is, so long as he was sore. Then, of course, +he forgot, and began playing truant again. + +Only after that he let Little Sarah alone. Because, you see, he never +knew when, in a narrow lane, he might meet a big man, pulling at a big +mustache, and carrying a very big stick. Because the sermons that big +man preached with his stick were powerful, and Pete Bolton did not +forget them easily. + +The End--moral included free of charge, as Hugh John says. + + + + +IV + +MISS POLLY PRETEND + + +_End of June._ + +Of course there ought to be a story in all this--the story of my life. I +have a Relative who can spin you the story of anybody's life if you only +tell him what number of shoe he wears. Only I am just a little girl, and +have neither been murdered nor married--as yet. So in my life there are +no--what is the word?--ingredients for the pudding. Yes, that is it. + +So it must just come anyhow, like things tumbling out of your pocket +when you hang head down from a tree or haystack which you are climbing. + +All the same I will try always to put one story or one subject into a +chapter, though these won't be called "Printed in Gore," or "The House +of Crime," or anything like that. + +For, you see, the stories the boys read are just stuffed with such +things. So it will be rather a change to write about "The Dirty Piece +of Embroidery" and "The Colored-Silk Work-basket." + +And that reminds me. Often Grown-ups "give it" to their children for the +very identical things they used to do themselves when young. There is a +friend of father's down at Dumfries whom he calls Mr. Massa. And once we +bribed Mr. Massa to tell us all about when father was young--he was his +earliest and dearest friend--though, by his telling, father pounded him +shamefully and unmercifully for nothing at all, even after they had +vowed eternal friendship. And do you know, the things that father did +when he was a boy--well, he would thrash Hugh John and Sir Toady for +_now_! + +But I expect that all fathers and most mothers were like that. When _I_ +am a mother, I shan't be. Because, having kept a Diary, I shall only +have to take it out and see how I felt. Don't you think that is a +first-rate idea? + +Besides, if it is printed, as Mr. Dignus says that it will be, it is +bound to be true, and I shall have to believe it. Oh, just won't my +children have a good time! Also Hugh John's. But Sir Toady Lion says he +isn't going to have any--being married is ever such a swot, and children +are all little pigs. + +Well, _he_ ought to know. + +Oh, about this Mr. Massa? He told us some splendid things about +father--how he stood on the top of Thrieve Castle with a stone in one +hand and his watch in the other to measure the altitude, having just +learned how. Only he forgot, and let go the wrong hand. + +_Smack_--went the watch on the grass about seventy feet below! And there +was he left standing with the stone in his hand. But the watch was +ticking cheerfully away when they picked it up, and it is that very same +old nursery watch that is hung up there now, and tells us when it is +time _not_ to get up. + +I don't think I ever knew what it was to have a true friend with a good +memory till that moment. And as for the boys and me, we never thought we +should like any of father's friends so much. But Mr. Massa told us more +things that we can cast up to him in time of need than we would ever +have wormed out of father himself in a century. Funny how close people +get about some things when they get older. Oh, I wish I had been born +my own little girl. Then I _should_ have been properly brought up! + +However, that is not my fault. + +Hugh John says that being naughty is just according as you look at it. +Big Folks' job is to make us behave, so that we are as little of a +nuisance to them as possible. _Our_ business to get as much fun as we +can out of life without getting in the way of the Grown-ups. All their +"Don't do this's" and "You mustn't do that's" are just warnings not to +give them trouble. Moral (according to Hugh John), "Give as little +trouble as possible to Grown-ups. And they will let you do pretty much +as you want to." + +He says that acts first-rate at school. Toe the line with the masters, +and then if you _do_ "whale" your fellow-pupil, no questions are asked. +The only way to be a bad little boy in peace and quiet is to be a good +little boy so far as work is concerned! + +And as Hugh John does it, this is not hypocritical. He couldn't be that +if he tried. He has just thought it out, and now makes it work with the +greatest coolness in the world. It is his system. And he says every boy +is a fool who gives the masters trouble. He means Grown-ups generally. +You do certain things _as_ they say, work out your sums, and keep your +drawers tidy. Then you can live in your own world and they in theirs. +They won't bother about you. + +But, of course, Hugh John is pretty safe anyway. He has a reason for +everything, and is always ready to give it if asked. If not, he keeps it +to himself, wraps it about him like an inky cloak--and is triply armed +because he has his quarrel just--and knows it. + +But, you see, we are really pretty well off at our house, though we do +grumble sometimes. When I was a little girl I rode many hundreds of +miles with father on his cycle, and now Hugh John and he spend days over +glasses of all descriptions, telescopes and binoculars, while Sir Toady +talks about birds' eggs for hours, and has succeeded to father's +collection. + +In the library there are the loveliest books on flowers--both editions +of _Curtis_, the _Botanical Magazine_, two _Sowerby's English Botanies_, +and lots more in foreign languages. Maid Margaret thinks she will go in +for botany so as to get these. But I like best just reading books--or +browsing among them, rather. For of course you can't really _read_ +forty thousand volumes, even if you knew all the languages they are +written in. + +There are sets of all the magazines that ever were: _Annual Registers_, +_Scots Magazines_, _Gentleman's_, _Blackwood's_, _Chamber's_, _Leisure +Hour_, _Cassell's_, _Magazine of Art_--oh, everything! And the library, +being about eighty feet long altogether, is the loveliest place for wet +Saturdays--so "mousey," and window-seaty, with big logs burning on a +brass fireplace, and the storm pattering above and all about. It has a +zinc roof, only nicely painted and covered with creepers. There is room +enough for everybody to lie about, and read, and draw, all the time +keeping out of Big Growly's way if he is working. + +Even if he does see us, he only says, "Get out, Imps! I can't be +bothered with you just now!" + +Only if you are careful and have the kitchen key, you can tell by the +growling and the "tick-tack" whereabouts the Ogre of Castle Bookworm is, +and slip into another part. Best of all is the Old Observatory, where +there is a bed in a little cabin, and windows all about, and a big brass +telescope high overhead, with shelves and all sorts of fittings as in a +ship. + +It is first-rate, I tell you. Only you have to put the books you have +been using back again exactly, or you will get Ursa Major after you, and +he will fetch you out of your bed to do it, storming at you all the +time. Then maybe he will forget, and show you the first edition of some +book that there are only three or four of in all the world! + +You don't really need to be afraid of Big Growly. It makes rather a +noise while It lasts, but once It is finished, there is no more about +it. It is like a thunderstorm which you hear sleepily among the hills in +the night. All you have to do is just to pull the bed-clothes over your +head and put your fingers in your ears. There is not the least danger, +not really. + +Altogether we are about as well off for Grown-ups as it is possible to +be, and though lessons are seen to sharply enough--that is all in the +day's work. While for the rest, we live less of the Double Life than +other children have to do--that is, we don't have to "_pretend_ good," +and that makes all the difference. + +And this brings me to the tale of Polly Pretend. That was what we called +her. And by and by other people found her out, and did so too. And it +is an awful thing to be going through the world with a name like that. + +Yet Polly Pretend wasn't half a bad girl either. Indeed, if she had been +left alone, she would have been quite nice. It wasn't her fault. Only +this tale is a "terrible example" for parents and guardians. _They_ put +such things, like nasty medicine, in the books we have to read, and why +shouldn't I hit back, when it is only my poor old Dear Diary that sees +it? Till Mr. Dignus gets ready to print it, that is. + +Polly Pretend had a father and mother, but worse than most. If ever they +had been young, they had forgotten all about it. Polly mustn't run or +romp, nor speak above her breath, nor climb a tree, nor do anything that +makes life happy and really worth living. + +And when we went to see her, it was ever so much worse than going to +church four times a Sunday. _We_ only go once, except on special +occasions, because our folks believe in making Sunday an extra happy +day. And, after all, church is church, and there is always the music, +which is nice, and the organist's back hair, which isn't--and the sermon +is never very long and sometimes interesting. Then for the boys there +are the bees booming in the tall windows, and the flies that will +persist in crawling stickily over the old gentlemen's bald heads--really +quite pious flies they are. For the old gentlemen would be sure to go to +sleep if it were not for the excitement of watching out and moving those +flies on! + +But at Polly Pretend's house it was ever so much worse. You couldn't +believe it if you had not been there. And, do my best, I really can't +give you an idea. + +All the toys locked up, of course, all the drawing things, and every +book except two--one of which was that everlasting _Josephus_, and the +other the _Pilgrim's Progress_. As we knew these by heart, you may guess +how cheerful it was. And you had to learn chapters till you hated the +sight of an Oxford Bible, and hymns till you wanted to throw the book +behind the fire. + +Hugh John stuck to it and did pretty well, though he is not a quick +study. But Sir Toady boldly asserted that he was a true Mahometan, and +made a green turban out of an old green baize school-bag to prove that +he was a "haji and a holy man"! + +He had the cheek to brazen it out even when Polly's people threatened +to inform his parents and have him sent home to-morrow! + +Bless you, Toadums wished for nothing better. He missed his fox-terrier, +Boss, worse than words can tell, and his eggs and his paint-box and +everything. + +But of course we soon saw how Polly Pretend managed. She pretended. She +did not really read the books. She moved back the marker, and, if asked +questions, knew all about the chapter. Even if they ticked it in pencil, +there was india-rubber in Polly's pocket to rub it out. She played with +beads in church--in her muff or under her cloak. And when one rolled on +the floor, she said it was her collection money. She got another given +her too, which was always a halfpenny saved. + +At least so thought Polly Pretend. And Hugh John could not make her see +it was not the square thing--to buy sweets and thus defraud the Church. +He is awfully armor-plated on what is "the Square Thing," my brother +Hugh John. + +But Polly Pretend could not or would not see it. I think _could_ not. +For what could be expected of any girl who had such people for parents? +Then I saw clearly how well _we_ were off--whacked sometimes, of course, +or Big Growly called upon to erupt (which he does very fierce for five +minutes). But not expected to do anything except tell the truth and keep +on telling it--not behave like reptiles--and if caught, own up prompt. +Say your prayers when you feel like it. But don't do it just when you +know parents and guardians will be coming into your bedroom, as Polly +does--so that father or mother will say, "See how sweet and devotional +our little girl is!" + +And Polly's father and mother thought how good she was, and told all +round the countryside what little heathens we were. Not that _we_ cared +for that. + +But Sir Toady went up-stairs to the lumber-room and got an image of some +Chinese dragon which had been stowed away there ever since Uncle Peter +had been home the last time. And when Polly Pretend's father and mother +came to complain of us, he was down on his knees worshiping this false +image on the front lawn! Awful, wasn't it? But all the same it would +have made you laugh till you cried if you had seen him doing kow-tow to +this false god--it was only an old cardboard dragon anyway, like what +you see on the Shanghai stamps--and smelling the whole neighborhood by +burning brown paper joss-sticks before it, with a penny fire-cracker at +every finger-length. + +[Illustration: "DOING KOW-TOW TO THIS FALSE GOD"] + +He was had up into the study for that, though, because father said he +would have no "mockery" about such things. But I don't think he got it +very bad, because we all knew by the noise he made that Big Growly +wasn't really very mad. + +When he is, he goes off and you see no more of him for a long time. He +only stops in his den and doesn't growl. That is a good time to keep +away and say nothing, till he has done chewing his paws. Only Maid +Margaret dare go in then, and even she is wearing out of it--getting too +old, I mean. + +But about Polly Pretend. Of course she did not pretend to us. First of +all, she could not--she knew that it was quite in vain. Children don't +try on things with one another. They know they will be seen through. +Generally they can see through Grown-ups too, though, bless you, _They_ +never know it. + +Oh, poor Polly! I was sorry for Polly. Because she could never be +natural, but all the time had got to--what is it the book +says?--"assume a virtue when she had it not." + +At school she knew wads of Scripture and all the Kings of Israel and +Judah, but never did a French exercise without copying. Then, because +her people were rich, and she so good, she got lots of money sent +her--so much for telling what her place in class was. She told lies +about that, and got money for being first when really most of the time +she was first at the wrong end. + +Now at our school every fortnight the class was turned upside down, the +top girl being put at the bottom and the wooden spoon at the top, so +that the clever ones could work their way up again. And so each +alternate Monday Polly Pretend was really top girl for about five +minutes. It was on that day she wrote to her parents, and often got a +golden sovereign or a Post Office Order sent to her for her wonderful +cleverness. So, after all, in a way it was true. + +But there was trouble at the end of term--after the examinations, when +Polly Pretend always came out the very last. + +Because, you see, she had to save money to buy her own prizes, get one +of the charwomen to steal the school tickets that they stick in +prize-books, and print in her own name in capital letters as "first +prize" to show her parents. + +Then she had to watch for the School Report, which comes a day or two +after, and get it safely from the postman. She burned it, after trying +to alter the figures, but, of course, was anxious all the holidays. Also +she warned me to say nothing about it when I came to see her. + +As if I would! I knew Polly Pretend too well. So I never said a thing +about school, for fear Polly had been telling some lie about it, and I +should be giving her away. The visit was an unhappy time for all of +us--except, that is, for Sir Toady, who invented new and horrible forms +of idolatry every other day, and scared the immortal soul out of Polly +Pretend by putting on his day-shirt (the spare one) over his clothes, +and letting on to be an Evil Spirit which haunted the gooseberry-bushes. + +And I will say he did growl most fearfully--especially when he found a +good ripe bush. But we knew that was only to keep the rest of us off. So +Hugh John chased the Evil Spirit by the sound, and growled too. Because +the bush really was a good one--thin-skinned "silver-grays," and quite +ripe. I had some. + +But you should have seen poor Polly. She was frightened till she nearly +told the truth. I can't say more than that. Almost--but not quite. I do +believe that she would have gone and confessed the most innocent of her +lies to her parents, if it had not been for that young Imp, Sir Toady, +who laughed out loud, and jumped up and down in the shirt like a white +Jack-in-the-Box. + +But perhaps it was as well that she did not. For they were just the sort +of people not to understand that Polly's lies had mostly been their own +fault. But of course, as you may imagine, it was only putting off the +day of reckoning. + +It was in holiday-time--midsummer--when school-mistresses are just like +other folk; only, if anything, a trifle nicer. + +Now the head of our school, Miss Gray, came to Romano, which is the name +of the town where Polly Pretend lived. And Miss Gray thought it would be +a nice thing to call upon the mother of her pupil. Perhaps she might be +able to give Mrs. Pretend a hint or two which would keep Polly from +entirely wasting her time next term at Olympia. + +Oh, Miss Gray meant it just as kindly as she could, and that's saying a +good deal. She is a nice chicky-biddy, fussy, motherly sort of thing, +and wears the nicest satiny gowns at dinner-parties. It was the last +thing in the world she would have thought of, to give Polly Pretend +away--even to her parents. + +But it happened that on this day the Pretends had gone for a motor-ride. +And as it was hot, Miss Gray said that she would be glad to wait a few +minutes in the drawing-room. Because, you see, Mrs. Pretend was expected +in every minute. The maid knew her business, of course; there was no +"pretend" about her. She brought a cup of tea, and left Miss Gray to +do--what do you think?--look over the books on the table. + +At first Miss Gray thought that something had suddenly gone wrong with +her eyes. She opened a fine Macaulay, and saw "First Prize for History, +Presented to Miss P. Pretend." Next came "Special Prize for Good +Conduct--Miss P. Pretend." + +There was a whole table covered with them, laid out in the center of the +room, and more stuck in decorative oaken shelves, of fine old oak, made +by the village handy-man. + +Then Miss Gray understood, and her feelings were too much for her. But +even then she did not give Polly away. You see, Miss Gray was a pretty +good sort--that is, a good sort, and a pretty one too--which is the best +sort of all, Hugh John says. + +So she just rang the bell, and told the maid that she could not wait any +longer to see Mrs. Pretend, but that she would write. + +And she did. It was a little letter just saying that circumstances over +which she had no control, etc., had caused such a pressure upon Olympia +College that she was sorry there would not be a vacancy for Polly that +year. + +Well, you can fancy--Polly's mother and father were very angry. So much +so that they determined to start off at once to call on the heads of the +college and complain. + +But Polly herself, as soon as she had heard from Ellen, the housemaid, +what had happened, and how Miss Gray had been twenty minutes in the +drawing-room, and gone away leaving her tea hardly "sipped," knew at +once what was the matter. + +So she dissuaded her father and mother from going to Olympia College. + +She was not appreciated, she said. She had always known it. Even Miss +Gray was jealous of her. And her mother said to her father, "I do not +wonder at it, dear. It is all the effect of our too careful bringing up +of Polly. Truly we may say with the Psalmist-- + + "'Than all her teachers now she has + More understanding far!'" + +And in a way, do you know, she had. And it was the training that did it. + +But later on, Dear Diary, I shall write more about Polly Pretend, when +she got a governess. For then she pretended and the governess pretended, +and instead of getting out of the habit, as Hugh John says, seven +Pretending Devils worse than the first entered into her. + +But of that another time. + + + + +V + +PRINCIPIA + + +_June continued, but nearer the end, and hotter._ + +Polly Pretend's governess, after she could not be received at Olympia, +was Miss Principia Crow. She had more than three miles of testimonials, +if all had been written out in a line in text hand and measured. + +The only curious thing was that the dates of all these were old, and +Miss Principia was still fairly young. Also, she admitted having changed +her name "for family reasons." + +But she seemed just the sort of person for Polly Pretend. She did not +know much arithmetic--just enough to cheat at tennis. She had +certificates that reached as far as "trig"--the wonderful science which +makes the boys stamp and throw their books about the room when they have +to study it. + +Now Pa and Ma Pretend had taken a great deal of trouble in providing a +suitable companion for Polly, and in a way they had managed all right. +Miss Crow pretended to teach, and Polly pretended to learn, and one knew +as much about the matter as the other. + +Miss Crow passed the time in telling Polly how many people had been in +love with her, and the hopes she had of as many more. Polly begged the +loan of a pier-glass from her mother, and thought, as she pretended +before it, smiling at herself and sweeping imaginary trains, how soon +her turn would come to have scores of lovers all willing and anxious to +drown themselves for her sake, like Miss Principia Crow. + +Fragments of conversation were sometimes caught by Mamma Pretend, and +she thought to herself, "What strange authors they do set young people +to study now-a-days! When I was a girl we had _Magnall's Questions_ and +_Little Arthur's History of England_!" + +It was Miss Crow's voice, however. No mistake about that. + +"Yes, and he said to me, 'I adore you with all the fervor of a free and +untrammeled genius, with the noble indignation of a spirit on fire +against wrong and oppression. It is true that in the meantime, though +of an exalted race, I am poor, receiving only twelve shillings a week in +one of the institutions of trust vulgarly called a pawn-broker's. But +next year and every succeeding year I shall have my salary raised by the +sum of two shillings--per fortnight. Oh, Principia, my Principia----'" + +At this moment, overcome by her own pardonable curiosity, Mrs. Pretend +entered hurriedly to see what they were doing. + +She found them busily employed, with head bent over an exercise in +dictation.... "From Milton's Essay on Macaulay!" Miss Polly Pretend +explained in answer to her mother's question. + +"Dear me," said Mrs. Pretend, as she went out, "and I always thought +that Milton wrote poetry. It's true I never could make out how they +could say that blank verse was really poetry--not, I mean, like 'How +doth the little busy' and 'Twinkle, twinkle'! But he wrote a long time +ago, and perhaps then they had not learned to make the words at the end +rhyme!" + +But now I must tell how Polly Pretend corrupted the whole house. At +first we had only called Polly's father and mother "the Pretends" +because they belonged to Polly, and so that we might know who was meant. + +But to begin with, Mrs. Pretend had to make up a lot of things to +explain why, after all these prizes, Polly had not gone back to Olympia +School. She had to think up something that people would believe. You +see, Polly's inventions were really too daring--as that after a year +abroad she and Miss Crow were going to set up a college of their own, a +far better one than Olympia. And then she would show Miss Gray! + +Now you will hardly believe me, but old Pretend, who was on the County +Council and fussed about roads and drainage--"an innocent enough old +duck," Sir Toady calls him--took to magnifying Miss Polly Pretend and +her governess. I think he actually began to count up his dollars to see +if he had really enough money to start Polly Pretend in a school of her +own. But one fine day he met old Lovell, of Castle Lovell, at some joint +business meeting about a Combination Poorhouse, or something like that. + +Now old Lovell is a fearful big-wig, and looked up to by everybody +because he is too stupid ever to pretend the least little bit. He would +get found out in a moment if he did. But solid as the Bank of England, +and as conceited as Mir-row with a rosette tied to her tail last King's +birthday! + +And old Lovell said, "I hear you have a Miss Crow to be governess to +your little child! I think I ought to know her!" + +"Ye-es!" said Father Pretend slowly. He did not like to hear a young +lady who was going to set up a school next year to rival Olympia itself +called "your little child." + +But he could not afford to fall out with old Lovell, who always seemed +as wise as a bench of judges and as rich-looking as a jeweler's shop +which can afford to keep its blinds down. So he only said, "My daughter +is not _quite_ a child!" + +"Oh," said old Lovell, "then it can't be Lizzie you have for governess!" + +"Certainly not!" said Mr. Pretend, much relieved; "her name is +Principia!" + +"I thought that was a Latin Grammar or something like that!" said old +Lovell, scratching his head like a bald old parrot. + +"Well, perhaps," said Papa Pretend, "it is very likely. Miss Crow has +been educated in all the languages that are--from her youth up!" + +Now all would have gone well if only it had not happened that at that +moment Polly and her governess came out of Parkins the pastry-cook's, +where they had been stuffing fruit-cakes. + +"Why, Lizzie!" cried old Lovell, shaking Miss Principia heartily by the +hand, "now I am pleased to see you have got on so well. This is my +butler's daughter," he explained, turning to Mr. Pretend, whose mouth +was the shape of a capital O; "it does Lizzie much credit. Because, you +see, she never got any regular schooling, being kept at home to help her +mother in the still-room and with the jams. Good-by, Lizzie! I shall not +forget to inform your father and mother that I have seen you--also John +the gardener, with whom, I understand, you are keeping company, as they +call it. Ah, ha! young people will be young people! Good-by, Pretend! +Good-by! Congratulate you on having the daughter of a respectable man in +your house. She will teach your little girl to make jams, and her +gooseberry-fool will be a marvel, if she is a bit like her mother. +Sensible man, Pretend! Far better to teach your daughter to brew and +bake than all the modern 'ologies' and fiddle-faddle in the world! Keeps +their husbands in better temper. Ah, clever fellow, Pretend! But you +couldn't take an old fellow in, eh, Pretend? I knew all that about +learning Latin grammar was stuff and nonsense. Good-by, good-by! So +long, Lizzie! Don't forget about that gooseberry-fool!" + +So off he went, like the rough timber-sided old bargee he was, and left +Mr. Pretend muttering angrily, "Gooseberry-fool! Gooseberry-fool!" As if +he knew very well who the "Gooseberry Fool" was--knew, that is, but had +promised not to tell. + +But poor Principia went as white as a sheet and shook like a fly caught +in a spider's web. I'm afraid in her heart she called old Lovell names. + +How did it turn out? Oh, the best way in the world. You would hardly +believe. At first, of course, old Pretend was all for packing off +Principia for teaching his child deceit! But he calmed down when he +thought of the lot of money he owed to old Lovell of Castle Lovell, and +of the use that his influence would be to him. Besides, he had boasted +so much about her. So had his wife. + +So he not only let Principia stay on, but actually set her to teach +Polly Pretend all she really knew. And she did know about cookery. That +was the real college she had been at, and her mother was a better +professor than all the ladies who gave lessons there. And Polly was +obliged to learn, too, because her father ate all the things she cooked, +and if he had indigestion, why, Polly heard about it, that's all. So she +stopped pretending and really did learn. + +And after a while they set up their college with old Pretend's +money--old Lovell's too, and it was called + + THE SCHOOL OF PRACTICAL COOKERY + + _Classes Afternoon and Evening_ + + Household Cookery, Preserving, and the + Management of Families a Speciality + +And that sentence was the last little bit of "Pretend." For neither +Polly nor Miss Crow has any family. Nor, between ourselves, are they +likely to have. + + + + +VI + +TORRES VEDRAS + + +_July the first in the year when I was eleven on August tenth._ + +Father has seen the real place, and, of course, knows all about it. He +says that it is just a lot of rough mountains, with bits of wall built +into the open places to connect them and make them strong. + +But _we_ know that there are not one, but two Torres Vedrases--all on +one bend of a river. The first one is quite near the Low Park, between +the Weir and Jackson's Pool. It is a pebbly bar with a kind of green +tufty island. From one side of it there is a rippling ford crossing +slantwise, by which you can lose yourself barefooted in the woods on the +other side. + +The water only takes you to about the knee, even if you are pretty +little. It is always one of the nicest places in the world. The water +makes a soft tinkling over the ford. The grasses and bluebells wave, +and the wind goes _sough_ through the big solid walls of pine on either +side. + +Yes, it is first-rate to play there with your oldest things on, +especially on a warm day about this time of the year. The river is +pretty dry, and there is a great deal of pebbly bar, also the little +green island with rough grass on it has grown to about twice the size. + +You can fortify this island, and it is fine to dig channels through the +bar for the water, with all sorts of lovely harbors and pleasure-lakes. +Once the boys and I made a channel right from one end of the bar to the +other, and father helped--and got wet too! + +Yes, he did. We always encouraged him to get wet, by saying, "Oh, here +is a place we can't reach!" Because if _he_ got wet, we knew very well +there would be nothing said to us. Fathers are fearful nice and +useful--sometimes. Ours particularly when he helps us to play, and +forgets he isn't a boy. Oh, I can see quite well when he says to +himself, "I ought to be working--_but_--oh, bother, how much nicer it is +to dig in the sand with the other children!" + +And then he took pictures of us--photographs, I mean--working at our +engineering, and building and paddling--oh, whole albums full. They +began when we were quite little tots. The best are of Maid Margaret and +Sir Toady. For I was too old, I suppose, to look nice stuck among trees, +and Hugh John hated so being photographed. When told to, he stood up +stiff like a stork on one leg. But Sir Toady was usually as nice as pie, +being made that way, and as for the Maid, she always looks natural +whatever she is doing. + +Father has a whole set called the History of a Biscuit. It is only the +Maid eating one. But it is funny to see it getting smaller and smaller +till it is all gone. They are flashed on quickly by our magic lantern, +and we children go wild when it comes to the funny ones. The grand +exhibitions are for winter nights. Then we are well wrapped up in gray +Harris cloaks and come up, closely marshaled by Somebody to see that we +don't snowball too much. They are quite lovely, these nights, with the +snow crisping under our feet, and Somebody carrying a swig-swagging +lantern before us--everybody's shadow swaying tipsily about, and the sky +so near and so thick with stars that it seems as if you had only to put +up your hand to catch a whole cluster. + +There are usually many pictures of this first Torres, because we were +younger, and it is a prettier place. We wore little red coats with big +white buttons then, and marched regularly like soldiers. Hugh John beat +us on the legs if we did not. He had a switch for the purpose, and he +said that was the way the father of Frederick the Great did to make his +son turn out a good soldier. + +But we didn't care about such very practical history, and it made our +legs sore--especially us girls, who wore thinner stockings. So there was +a regular mutiny, and the whole army was degraded. You see, we were all +generals--except Boss, our fox-terrier, who was named Inspector-General +of Communications, because he ran from side to side of the road +sniffing, and nothing or nobody could stop him. So, as Boss did not join +the mutiny--not knowing how--he was promoted next in rank after the +Commander-in-Chief, who was Hugh John. _He_ was permanent Commander, +because, you see, he could lick the whole standing army even if it +attacked him on all sides at once. + +Sir Toady and Bobby Coates were the ring-leaders of the revolt, and they +called out, "Hem him in! Hem him in!" But, you see, that was the very +thing Hugh John wanted, and the more they "hemmed," the harder he laid +into them till Bobby said he would tell his father, which he did. But +Mr. Coates was a sensible man, and only said that he was all the better +for a "hiding," and that if he came bothering him any more, he would +give him another on his own account! So after that Bobby Coates became a +good soldier, and lived long as an ornament to the service. + +Yes, the nursery army was good fun while it lasted, before we all split +up and went to different schools. We tried it once after in the first +vacation. But somehow it wasn't the same, and ended in a fight. You see, +the boys especially had learned a good deal between them, and though it +made no difference to Hugh John, the others kept squabbling all the +time, and saying how much better they did things at their school than at +any other--which was not at all the way they talked about their school +in private. + +_Then_ "school was a beastly hole." The masters were "Old Buster," +"Plummy," "Sick Cat," and "The Dishlicker"! + +But to hear them talking to one another you would have thought that at +least half what was said on the prospectus was Gospel Truth. Yes, and +ever so much more. And it was "The Doctor," and "Mr. Traynor, the Head +of our House, who made a double century in the ''Varsity' match, and is +the best bowler in the whole world!" + +Going down by Torres there is a darkish place, all yew-trees, very +ancient, and there sometimes we would see one of the maids walking +arm-in-arm with a young man. Of course, though we thought it very silly, +we never told the Grown-ups. We knew by instinct that we must not. Then +after a month or two the cook or the housemaid or the under-nurse would +come and say she was "leaving to get married." + +Of course we never let on that we knew it all before. But we thought her +very silly to leave a place where she could have stayed for ever at good +wages (ever so much better than our weekly ones) just to go and do +housework for somebody who never paid her any wages at all! + +All this comes into the history of the First Torres Vedras, and of +course I ought to have done it properly, like in a school history, all +in order, with dates at the sides and notes at the bottom of each page. +But being only a little girl, it has got to be written just so, or not +at all. I am so afraid that I shall forget these things as I grow up--so +I put them down as I remember them in my Dear Diary. + + + + +VII + +TORRES THE SECOND + + +_Written in the fourteenth year of my age._ + +[The date is July the Second--or Third. I am not sure which, for Mary +Housemaid has burned yesterday's paper lighting the fire.] + + +We went to Torres Vedras the Second to-day. I don't quite know why--only +there are bigger stones there, and the river rushes more rapidly. We +often try to dam it altogether, but we have never quite succeeded. You +see, just when we are getting to the last bit, the water always rises +and sweeps it all away. But Hugh John said to-day he knew a way, and +that was to make the dam like a very blunt capital V with its nose +pointing up stream! The book on engineering he had been digging into +said this was the proper right way, and it acted very well till the +moment came when the very point of the V was put in. Hugh John was to do +that, of course. He would yield the honor to no one else, and as for +me, I did not want that kind of honor. + +And, do you know, when he dropped in the big stone and stood on it to +make it all safe by plugging up the "interstices" with smaller stones +and rubble, as the book said--lo! the river rose again and swept away +the whole work from side to side, all except the big bowlder Hugh John +was standing on! + +You never saw such a thing. Horatius, with the bridge going down behind +him, was at least on dry land. But there stood Hugh John waving his arms +to keep his balance, and crying out, "Oh--I don't care--I don't +care--I'll dam it yet!" + +It was very ignoble, he said afterwards, of any river to behave that +way. Why couldn't it have stopped where it was put and done what it was +told? Anyway, while we tried to get him a plank to crawl ashore on, the +big bowlder swerved, and toppled him right in, and he was wet up to his +watch-pocket. + +He had to go to the top of the Feudal Tower all by himself, and play at +being the Lady Godiva riding through Coventry, while his things dried +over the ramparts. But he took good care that nobody saw him. He dared +Toady Lion to come within half-a-mile. While he was away, we made great +excavations and navigable channels. One of these was so huge that Sir +Toady says that the ruins will remain even when we are Grown-ups +ourselves. But that is a long time yet, and I don't see how Sir Toady +can possibly know. + +He also says that, just as there are the ruins of Memphis, Nineveh, +Rome, the Calton Hill, and the Portobello Brickworks, so there will be +the ruins of the First and Second Torres Vedras. Digging people in +future generations will wonder who made them, and so on each of the big +stones he has placed an inscription in the Abracadabrian language to +tell the explorers all about it. + +Now I will tell you about the Abracadabrian language. We made it up +ourselves, and we four in the nursery all speak it fluently. Only the +curious thing about it is that none of us has the least idea what the +others are talking about! This must be owing, says Hugh John, to "some +variation of dialect, such as creeps into all languages sooner or +later." + +The Abracadabrian language has suffered _sooner_ than most, that is all. +In fact, it was born suffering. But it is the writing of it that is +most difficult. It is founded on always putting a Z for an A, and so +back through the alphabet. And so difficult to read is it that not even +the writer of any sentence in that language has ever been able to make +out what he meant, twenty-four hours after! + +Hugh John and I really labored at it hard, and might have made progress +if we had not squabbled about the grammatical rules. But Sir Toady said +brazenly, "_Hinky-chinky-pin!_" And stuck to it that it meant, "The +enemy of the Nursery Commonwealth has arrived at Leith, burnt his ships, +and is now marching on Peebles!" As for Maid Margaret, she said it was +so, and would Sir Toady please come with her and fish for minnows with a +tin can tied to a string? + +This they did. They had no souls for true philology. They don't even +know what the word means. (_I_ have just looked it up.) After he was +dried up all right alone in the Feudal Tower, Hugh John dressed himself, +and signaled to me by waving his handkerchief three times, once with his +right hand, once with his bare toes, and once holding it between his +teeth--pretty intricate when you are not used to it. + +This, when you can see it, is our fiery cross--that is, Hugh John's and +mine. As I say, it takes a good deal of trouble, but it is a worthy +summons--and the copy-book says that nothing truly noble is achieved +without difficulty. + +Well, when I got to him, he said that he would take me to his Cave of +Mysteries. This was a great favor, for not even Sir Toady had ever been +there before. + +"Not a gamekeeper knows it," he said, "and Fuz says I can use his +scouting-glass if I take good care not to drop it." + +There was a steep wood to climb, all among the fir-trees, some grass +fields, then above and quite suddenly we came out on the side of a +rugged mountain. + +The cave was about half-way up, under a slanting rock. You turned +quickly to the side, grabbed a little pine-root and swung yourself in. +Then you saw the cave. It was not much of a place for size, not like the +self-contained villas they have in story-books. Only you could not be +seen. The rain did not come in unless it was driving quite level along +from the north, which did not happen often. + +But when I turned about--why, it nearly took my breath away. We could +see half-a-dozen counties--Edinburgh dusting the little lion of Arthur's +Seat with her smoke, the blue firth beyond, little and narrow, the toy +towers of the Big Bridge to the left, and the green country all between +dotted with towers and towns innumerable. + +Oh, it was so unexpected and so fine that I nearly cried. And Hugh John +lay watching me, his chin among the heather. But, more than all, he was +pleased that his cave had taken me so much by storm. + +Then he showed me with his glasses he could "spot exactly where each of +the gamekeepers was, also the wood-foresters, and Sir Bulleigh Bunny +himself, if he were at home." + +And indeed it was quite true. He could pick them all out one by one. +Never once did he make a mistake. Then he would show me them, but often +all I could see was no more than a little trembling among the green +leaves of some far-distant wood. + +It was not long till I found the secret of Hugh John's complete security +in this his chosen Crusoe's Cave. Chesnay the gamekeeper was passing far +below, a gun over his shoulder, and as the wind was blowing off the +hill into the valley, it was almost certain that his dogs would scent +us. + +But Hugh John had thought all this out. Trust him for that. He took a +gnawed bone out of an inner pocket, removed the wrapping of newspaper, +leaned far over, and threw it with the long, sweeping curve of a +boomerang upon the path in front of the dog's nose. + +John Chesnay's retriever made a rush, a snap, and then sidled sidelong +into the thick copse-wood. The rest of the dogs were after him in a +moment. I had seen him glancing from side to side as if to watch for the +fall of the bone. He knew it would come, and that even if the devil took +the hindmost, the foremost would be sure of the bone. Therefore he, John +Chesnay's big black retriever, would be that foremost. + +He was far too wise a dog to argue, or bother about where +the bone arrived from. His business was to find it, and +then--_crunch_--_crunch_--get it stowed away out of harm's way as +quickly as possible. + +Caesar Augustus (that was the dog's name) knew very well that though you +may hunt out the causes of bad luck, it is better to leave good luck +alone. So at least Hugh John said, and if anybody knew all about such +things, _he_ did. There was hardly anything he could not tell you the +true explanation of, or, if in doubt, you had only to wait a moment and +he would make you up one on the spot quite as good, every bit, as the +real one. Furthermore, he would prove to you (and very likely to +himself) that it might be, must be, _was_, the only true and proper +reason and explanation. + +Anyway, reason or no reason, it was just as nice as ninepence in the +Cave. Away down to the left where the sun was bright on the river we +could see Sir Toady and the Maid, little black dots moving to and fro +along the green edge of the river. Hugh John had the glass on them in a +minute, and behold--they were squabbling! Sir Toady had tossed some of +the Maid's fish out, and the Maid had promptly thrown the pail of water +in his face. + +He stood dripping and laughing. The Maid had gone for a fresh supply of +ammunition. But war was over. Sir Toady had laughed. After that there +was no more to be said. + +It is different with Hugh John, when he sucks in his cheeks, clenches +his fists, and laughs--well, look out for what you are going to get. + +I asked Hugh John why he had never taken Sir Toady up to his Cave of the +Winds, and he said, "Oh, Toady--he would be getting out boxes to stuff +with beetles, and skirmishing for birds' eggs. He's all right in a wood, +that Toadums--better than me--but no good on the hillside, and too larky +all round in places where you can be seen miles off." + +"And what do you do up here yourself?" I said. + +"I am _by_ myself," he answered. "I think--I read!" + +"But you have a room _to_ yourself in the house. You can go there!" + +For I thought he was exceedingly well off. Because I have to share mine +with the Maid, who kicks like a young colt in her sleep. But Hugh John +gave me a look of utmost contempt. + +"Did you never hear of Obermann?" he said, "--the man who made a cave on +the Pic de Jaman. I showed it to you when we stopped at Glion on the way +to Lausanne." + +"It was a cow-chalet then," I reminded him. But he swept on without the +least heed of details. + +"Yes, and Mr. Arnold has a lovely poem all about him, and 'the wild +bees' hum,' and 'his sad tranquil lore.' This isn't quite the Pic de +Jaman, of course, but it is just as lonely, if you don't tell anybody, +that is, and I've only told you, Sis! Never mind!" + +So I swore never to reveal his hiding-place, and he showed me all he had +written about his observations. He had a shelf covered in with wood and +a lot of copy-books. Here was written all he had seen through the +glasses he had borrowed and the three-draw telescope of his own which he +carried constantly in his pocket. + +Oh, it was wonderful what he had observed--all about the changing +seasons, the country people, the moor-birds, the gamekeepers, and the +comings and goings of Sir Bulleigh Bunny. + +"Anybody can hide in a wood," he said, "but it takes Obermann and me to +do it on a bare hill!" + +Then he smiled a little and confessed. + +"I don't really know much about him," he said, "except that his name was +Senancour. I got his book out of the library, all marked with father's +scribblings, but I really couldn't understand much of it. Only this that +I translated--you could do it better, of course. It is about himself +when he was as old as we are, and felt just the same. + +"'I loved all manner of glades, valleys where it was always dusk--and +thick woods. I loved heathery hills, ruined pleasaunces, and tumbled +rocks fallen in avalanche. Still more I loved vast and shifting sands +which never plowshare had furrowed nor human foot crossed--plains +abandoned to the mountain doe or the frightened scouring hare. I never +liked to sit amid the storming of cataracts, nor on a little hill +overlooking a boundless plain. Rather I chose a hiding-place well +sheltered, a block of stone wetted lip deep with the brook which glided +through the silence of the valley, or better still, a mossy trunk, prone +in the deeps of the forest, with the dry rustle of beech-leaves above me +which the wind is getting ready to blow down when the time is ripe. +Silently I march, my feet deep in last year's fallen leaves--the little +worn footpath full of them from side to side.' + +"Oh, and this is finest of all," said Hugh John, hurrying on, "but don't +tell any one. I make you a partner of my solitude. It lasts just a +little while. It is selfish, if you like, but sometimes it is good to +live alone! Do you know what Senancour says love is?" + +"No!" I gasped, "how should I know?" + +And in truth I was more surprised that already Hugh John should be +thinking of such things. But when I told father, he just said to let him +alone--that the boy was finding his soul. + +Perhaps it might be in this old, sad, hundred-year-old book that he was +to find it. For the soul, father says, is just the capacity a man has of +thinking for himself. + +But Hugh John went on joyously, with his firm, pale, clean-cut face +looking out of the Cave's mouth towards the distant sapphire band of the +Firth, with the three Lomonds in a paler row of blue mounds behind. + +"'Often on the breast of some mountain, when the winds, sweeping down +from their wild "hopes" and gorges, ruffle the little high-lying +solitary lakes, the eternal clatter of the waves, heard only by myself, +makes me feel the instability of things, and the eternal reconstruction +of the earth out of her own _debris_. + +"'Thus giving myself up to the influence of all about me, bending to the +stoop of the bird which passes above me, thrilled by the falling stone, +conferring only with the moaning of the wind, watching the oncoming +mist, I become a part of the Peace of Things which is God. All reposes, +yet all is in motion, and I become part of it--calm as that higher +serenity, cool as that shadow--the hum of an insect or the scent of a +trampled herb making my communion with Nature. I also am of the great +sweet earth. I live its life, and in time I shall die its death.'" + +Now, for myself, I did not think that this was the sort of thing a boy +ought to be thinking of at Hugh John's age. But, since father said he +too had "passed that way," and since Hugh John could eat, sleep, run, +and play as well as anybody, I did not say anything. + +But I foresaw a day of reckoning--yes, I--because I am older, and a +girl. And in the world there are other girls. One day Hugh John (or I am +greatly mistaken) will turn the leaves of another book, and then +Senancour the austere will be forgotten, passed by on his shelf like a +chance acquaintance whose very name has become strange. + +Perhaps I wrong him. But this is what I think. At any rate I resolved to +try and guide his thoughts into more cheerful paths (it is a pity we +have not Senancour's pretty word '_sentier_'; I have always loved it). + +"Do you never observe _people_?" I asked him. + +He stared at me in amazement. + +"Why, of course I do," he answered, and he got down two more thick +copy-books. Everything Hugh John did about this time was original and +unexpected. + +"People!" he said, holding up the two manuscript books; "why, these are +stuffed full of people. Enough to make a real book!" + +Then I confided to Hugh John the great secret that _I_ was making a +book. + +A look of joy flashed over his face. + +"Let's make one together!" he said, "and not tell anybody!" + +"Let's!" I answered. + +Because I felt that I really owed Hugh John something for showing me the +Cave. + +And it was arranged that he was to tell me about his People and Things, +and I was to write everything down with my thoughts planted in here and +there. + + + + +VIII + +HUGH JOHN'S PEOPLE + + +_Through a glass clearly. July, and hot._ + +If you put your eye to the glass (said Hugh John) you will see where one +of my greatest friends lives--Mr. Butcher Donnan. Or rather he used to +be a butcher. For now he has given up his trade to his son Nipper, and +regrets it every minute of his waking day. + +Yes, that two-storied cottage with the garden in front, ablaze with +flowers, with creepers clambering as high as the roof, that is "New Erin +Villa," and the home of the most discontented man in Edam. Butcher +Donnan has nothing to do. He hangs over his gate, and almost prays stray +passers-by to stop and gossip. He has nothing to say to them or they to +him. But when they are gone, he will pull out his big gold watch with a +cluck like the cork drawn from a bottle, and say, "Thank God! Five +minutes gone!" + +Then he will stroll down the lanes towards Nipper's shop, making +butcher's eyes at all the cows which look at him over the hedges. He is +secretly calculating how they will cut up--jealous of Nipper, who has it +to do really every day. + +He lounges into his son's shop--where not long ago he ruled supreme. +Nipper, serving a customer, nods cheerfully to his father, and the +Butcher, whose fingers itch for the apron and the swinging steel, +clutches the gold head of his cane more tightly to keep him from +applying the supple part of it to "every lazy man-Jack" in the +establishment. Ah, things are not as they were in his time. The floor is +not so clean and cool, in spite of the black and white marble squares on +which Nipper had insisted. The eye of "Mister" Donnan could detect signs +of wasteful cutting-up in the dismembered animals a-swing on the hooks. +But Nipper was now "Butcher" Donnan, while he is no more than proprietor +of "New Erin Villa," with nothing to do, and too much time and too much +money to do it on. + +Sadly he goes out again. His place is not there. He could not stay in +that shop ten minutes without breaking the head of one of these stupid +"assistants." Even Nipper might not get off scot-free. But Butcher +Donnan knows that his son Nipper is of his own temper, a true Donnan, +and, young as he is, will be master within his own gates. + +So he says sadly, "So long, Nipper!" And, what is the greatest proof of +his changed condition, goes out without offering any criticism. Then he +"troddles" round the village on the look-out for little jobs, which he +considers as his specialities, or even perquisites--though he takes no +money for doing them. He can graft rose-trees better than any gardener +in the parish. At least he _says_ he can, and by reason of his repeating +it often enough and offering to fight anybody who thinks otherwise, +people have got to say so too. You believe an old middle-weight champion +when he tells you a thing like that, his little eyes twinkling out +suspiciously at you, and a fist the size of a mutton ham thrust under +your nose. + +Just now--"Watch him, Sis!" he is on the look-out for wasp nests. Edam +is the most wasp-free parish for miles, all owing to him. He marks them +down in the daytime, and then in the evening he will come with his +utensils and a dark lantern to make an end. With hung nests under eaves, +or attached to branches of trees, he deals by drenching them with +petroleum and setting a match to them. Sometimes he will drop a big one +into a pail of water and stand ready to clap on the lid. The swarming +deep-sunk nests in dry banks he attacks more warily. He brings a little +apparatus for heating pitch, and pours it, liquid and sinuous, into the +hole till the startled hum sinks into silence. Since an accident which +happened last year (owing to the wasp-nest operated upon having a +back-door) Butcher Donnan has always taken a quick-sighted boy or two to +spy out the land. I suspect our Sir Toady has acted as scout pretty +often. Do you remember when he came home all bulgy about the eyes and +with one of his ears swelled up double? _He_ said he thought he must +have taken cold, and I saw from the twinkle in Fuz's eye that he thought +he had been fighting. But _I_ took my magnifying glass and got out two +of the wasp-stings. Sir Toady had been doing "scout" for Butcher Donnan. +He had not "scouted" quite quick enough--that was all. + +Butcher Donnan, born Irish, had spent some time in America. So he +started politics here, and as he hoists the green flag with a harp, and +hauls down the Union Jack on the occasion of every Irish debate in +Parliament, you may be sure that he gets his windows broken. + +He does not object. He likes putting the panes in again himself, because +it is something for him to do. Sometimes he catches some local Unionist +patriot and (what he calls) "lathers" him! Afterwards he supports him +liberally during a prolonged convalescence. It is counted rather a good +thing to be loyal and get battered by that furious Irish Revolutionary, +Butcher Donnan. He has illuminations, too, and has stood for the School +Board and County Council on purely Fenian lines. He said nothing, +however, when young Nipper was elected instead of him, on that most +popular of all municipal tickets which consists in "keeping down the +rates." + +In despair of other employment Butcher Donnan has married a second time, +and his wife is a buxom woman, overcome with the glory of living in a +villa. But she makes regular first-class custards, I tell you. And for +toffee and shortcake there is not the like of her in the whole village +of Edam. If it were not for Butcher Donnan's (senior's) dignity, he +might be a happy man. For Mrs. Donnan could conduct the finest +confectioner's shop that ever was, and if the Butcher could be kept +from cutting up a mince-pie with a cleaver, and sharpening a jelly-spoon +on a "steel," he might be the best of salesmen and the happiest of men. + +Meanwhile, he has found the big wasp-nest behind the Mains entrance +gate, and he will be off to get his pitch-kettle ready, the mask for his +face, and the gloves for his hands. He does not mean to suffer if he can +help it. + +His wife, who cannot be all the time in the kitchen, is miserable +because she has to do fancy work and receive callers (or at least sit +waiting for them) in the fruit season, which is a clear waste of time. +She has been so long making a green Berlin wool cushion for a +bazaar--the "Sons of Clan-na-Gael Mutual Assistance Sale"--that it is +just chock-full of moths, and in time will pollute the entire household +into which it is "raffled." It is wrong to raffle, anyway, says the +chief of police, so it will serve them quite right--_I_ shall not take a +ticket. Now (said Hugh John, shaking his wise head) if they would only +listen to me and start a confectioner's shop, they would both be chirpy +as the day is long, and in the winter time long after dark--she over her +dishes and patty-pans in the kitchen, and he in a white cap and apron +behind the counter, talking to everybody, busy as honey-bees in +clover-time, radiating sweetness and coining money. + +And underneath the white apron Donnan could wear the butcher's "steel" +if he liked, just to make him feel like himself. + +Oh, I could arrange for people to be happy if they would only let me! + +"And why don't you tell him?" I said to Hugh John, a little impatiently. + +"Oh," said Hugh John, "you see, I have fought Nipper so long that there +is a kind of hereditary household enmity." + +"Nonsense," I said; "why, I saw Fuz talking to the old fellow for an +hour the other day, the two of them sitting and smoking as thick as +thieves. Besides, there's Toady!" + +"Yes," said Hugh John. "Father has no sense of the dignity of the house +or of what a 'vendetta' means. He always says that if he has a chance of +getting to heaven on that clause about forgiving your enemies, he does +not care a dump. Or words that mean just the same. And as for Sir +Toady--well, give him liberty to go into the woods at night--only an +excuse, mind you, and there is no sin that he will not commit--short, +that is, of mutiny. Neither of them knows how to conduct a family +quarrel on proper lines. I--you and I, I mean, have to sustain the honor +of the house, eh, Sis?" + +"Oh, nonsense, Hugh John," I said; "you know you have always been good +friends with Nipper. And it was you that brought the whole of them here +to listen to the Scott Redcap Tales at the Feudal Tower!" + +"_That_ was quite another matter," said Hugh John, hard pushed for an +explanation. "It was a sort of Ossianic gathering where all the chiefs +came to Morven, and made truce to listen to the tales and songs of the +minstrel!" + +"Oh, very likely," I said; "but why not put father or Sir Toady on to +advise Butcher Donnan? There is need of such a shop as that in Edam. I +have often felt the want myself." + +Hugh John agreed, and added that he had too. But he said that Sir Toady +could not be expected to act, seeing that he had already "sucked up" to +the maker of the strawberry shortcake, not to mention the maple-sugar +toffee. He could therefore get as much as he wanted for himself without +paying, owing to Mrs. Donnan's weakness! + +"And do you think that a young dev--imp like Sir Toady does not know +when he is well off?" concluded Hugh John. "As for father, he has too +much to do to bother his head about things like that--at least I shan't +ask him; no, Sis, if anybody, it is you who ought to suggest to Butcher +Donnan, or better, to Mrs. Donnan----" + +"But," said I, "he is a violent man, and would not listen to a word his +wife says. You know that very well!" + +Hugh John considered, throwing his chin into the air with a gesture +which, if he had not worn his hair of military shortness, would have +cast it back elegantly and poetically. But he disdained such things. + +"Oh, yes," he said, "Donnan makes a lot of noise, I know. He pretends to +authority, but--don't tell anybody--he has it not. _His wife can wear +him down!_ She seems to submit. His authority at home is undisputed. So +he tires of it, and finishes by letting her have her own way. That is +the secret. Of course at the least word of objection it would be, 'What +ho! my highest of high horses!' And crying aloud he would mount and +ride. But Mrs. Donnan never gives him a chance. She knows better. And as +he is really a good-hearted man--if he does bully, she just waits till +he is sorry for it! It does not take long." + +Thus in the depths of the cave, his chin on his hands and his eye glued +to the telescope, spake the Philosopher of Esk Water Side. + +I could not but admit that in the main he was right. Hugh John follows a +truth with a certain slow, patient, tireless, sleuth-hound trot, which +never puts him out of breath. But in the end he finishes by getting +there. And now without ever moving he extorted from me the promise that, +when I could (and as soon as I could) I should take in hand the task of +restoring the married happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Donnan--retired from +business, and fallen into the practice of idleness as a profession, and +unhappiness as the wages thereof. + + + + +IX + +THE NEW SHOP + + +_Aged about Fifteen. The Cave, in July._ + +It wasn't a job I liked. Nor would almost anybody. Still people can't +_say_ very much to a girl, and I had been at school and so had lost +my--what shall I call it?--"sensitiveness." + +As Sir Toady says, the golden rule is a first-rate thing--when you leave +school. Even with a little addition, it flourishes there too. But you +don't want to set up as a Christian martyr at school, I can tell you. It +was very noble in the time of St. Francis, and Dr. Livingstone, and +these people, and now-a-days there are people to whom we have to send +our sixpences--people we never see. Perhaps I shall be one when I am +older, but at school--these are Sir Toady's words--you find out what boy +has a down on you _and down him first_! It saves trouble. + +Afterwards you can be as sweet and child-like as possible, and go about +the world taking people in with blue Madonna eyes all your life. But at +school, if you don't want to have the life of a dog, it has got to be +different. + +Hugh John, of course, says that the principle of school life is for +everybody to obey one person. But, you see, that person is Hugh John. If +they don't, most likely he will hammer them. And afterwards he will +prove how they were wrong. He will do it at length, and at breadth, and +at depth, and unto the fourth dimension, till even fellows who can stand +up to his fists give in to him so as not to get lectured--or "jawed" as +they ignorantly call it. For really what Hugh John says could be taken +down and printed right off in a book. + +And you have got to believe it, too. For he is always ready to support +his opinion, in the same manner as the Highland chief in _Kidnapped_. +"If any gentleman is not preceesely satisfied, I shall be proud to step +outside with him." + +Joined to this faculty for laying down the law, he possesses an +admirable barbaric power of enforcing it, which would have been +invaluable in feudal times, and is not without its uses even now. + +Well, three days after I went and called on Mrs. Donnan. It came about +quite naturally. She is a first-class person to call upon. No fuss or +anything--only you have to catch her on the hop. This time I saw her in +the garden gathering gooseberries, and in a moment she had her sunbonnet +half off her head, and the basket dropped in the furrow, but I was upon +her before she could get away. + +"Oh, Mrs. Donnan, do let me help you!" I said. + +"But, Miss----" she began, not knowing how to go on. + +"I should love it," I added quickly, "and I promise not to eat a single +one. In fact I shall whistle all the time!" + +"Oh, miss," she said, all in a flurry, "you know it is not that! You or +any of your family are only too welcome to come, and take as many as +they like." + +"If you want to keep any for the preserving pot," I said, smiling at +her, "I should advise you not to say that to my entire family. There are +certain members of it who are capable of cleaning up the branches as +your dog Toby there would clean a bone!" + +"Oh, you mean Master Toady," she said, all dimples in a moment at the +recollection. "He comes here often. But the garden is large, and bless +him! even he can't eat more than he can. More than that, he often leaves +a rabbit, or even a brace--and my man havin' been a butcher, is +remarkable fond of a bit o' game." + +"Yes," I said, "my brother's shootings are like your garden, extensive. +Still, it is a wonder how he can keep them up on a shilling a day, and +all but twopence of it deferred pay!" + +"It is a wonder, now I come to think of it!" said the good lady +meditatively. "He must be a careful lad with his money!" + +"What I wonder at,"--I went on talking as soon as I had got her settled +back again at the picking of the gooseberries--"is that you never +thought of making the prettiest little shop-window in the world of your +cakes and pasties and jams and candies. You know nobody can make them in +the least like you. Besides, I have spoken to my father and others who +know lots more about it, and every one is sure that such a thing would +be a great boon to Edam, and that you are the very person to take it in +hand. It would not be like an ordinary shop. For every one knows that +your husband has made his fortune and retired. But it would give you +something to do. Shall I speak to Mr. Donnan about it?" + +The poor woman flushed with pleasure at the very idea. So much I could +see. Yet she hesitated. + +"HE would never consent--his position--his politics--Oh, no!" Mrs. +Donnan considered that I had better not speak to the master--at least +not then. + +However, I thought differently, and it was after the good lady had asked +me to stay to tea that my chance came. + +Donnan came in, fanning himself with his broad-brimmed Panama. Things +had not been going well that afternoon. Nipper had been busy on account +of a rush of trade, and had not welcomed his father's criticisms too +gratefully. You see, the old man was accustomed to find fault with +Nipper's management, and that day there had been a shortage of ice in +the shop and a corresponding shortage in Nipper's temper. + +Also, Mr. Donnan's more general perambulation had not turned out well. +Some rude and vagrant boys had dug out the pet wasp-nest he had been +saving up for the next dark night, and there were green flies all over +his best Lasalle rose-tree. Two of his best Dorkings had "laid away." + +"I don't want any tea to-day, Cynthia!" he grumbled crossly. And without +looking at me he went to the sofa and threw himself down with a heavy +creaking of furniture. + +"My dear," said his wife, "surely you have not seen this young lady who +has come to do you the honor of taking tea with you?" + +"Nonsense," said I, "as long as there are such cakes to be had at New +Erin Villa, the honor is all on my side." + +But the polite Irishman was already on his feet. + +"Miss Sweetheart--Miss Sweetheart!" he said, "what a blind old +hedge-carpenter ye must have thought me! And you your own folks' +daughter, and your father treating me like a long-lost brother, _and_ +instructin' me on hist'ry and the use of the globes!" + +So we had tea, the prettiest little tea imaginable, with Mrs. Donnan +going about as soft-footed as a pussy cat, and purring like one too. + +Butcher Donnan looked after her with a kind of sudden bitterness. "It's +all very well for _her_," he said; "she makes her life out of such +things, but what is there for me to do? I'm about at the end of my +tether!" + +"Why, _help her_!" said I. + +"Help her!" he muttered, not understanding. "Me, Butcher Donnan--why, +the girl is mazed! I can't do housework!" + +[Illustration: "HELP HER! ME, BUTCHER DONNAN!"] + +But I soon showed him I was not so mazed as he thought. He was tired of +doing nothing. He wanted a change. Very well then; here was this little +house right at the top of Edam Common, with the railway station +opposite, and everybody's business taking him that way two or three +times a day. What Edam wanted was a confectioner's shop. His wife was +dying to have one. He would look a fine figure of a man in a white +overall and cap! Hugh John had said it! + +He whistled softly, and his little, deep-set eyes twinkled. + +"I might ha' known," he said, "when I saw that long-legged brother of +yours looking at me as if to calculate what I was good for. He's the +fellow to make plans. Now the other----" + +Here he laughed as he remembered Sir Toady Lion. + +"More like me when I was his age!" he said. "But about the pastry-cook +foolishness. What put that into his head?" + +"It isn't foolishness," I answered, "and nobody that I know of ever puts +anything into Hugh John's head!" + +"He certainly is a wonder!" ("Corker" was what he _said_.) + +Then I explained. One side of the villa was certainly expressly designed +for a shop, the drawing-room and back drawing-room having side +connections with the kitchen, only needed to be fitted with shelves and +counters. The other side of the house and all above stairs might remain +intact. + +To my surprise Mr. Donnan never said a word concerning his position, his +political aspirations, his illuminations, and disporting of the green +harp of Ireland. + +"But what are we to do with Cynthia's parlor furniture?" he asked +instead. I could see a look of joy flash across his wife's face. + +"Donnan," she said, "we will make the empty room above into a parlor. +It's a perfect god-send. That boy should be paid by Government to make +plans for people!" + +Butcher Donnan bent his brows a moment on his wife. "Oh, you are in it, +are you, Cynthia? Then I suppose I may as well go and order my white +apron and cap?" + +"Think how well they will become you!" said his wife, who also must have +kissed the Blarney stone--the old one, not the new. + +I agreed heartily. Butcher Donnan heaved a sigh. "And me, that never was +seen but in decent blue," he said, "me to put on white like a mere +bun-baker--and at my time of life!" + +I said that it was certainly scandalous, but seeing that he would have +nothing to do with the work except to sell, and arrange the windows for +market-days, it would not matter so much. + +"I shall need a small oven!" said his wife, "and a new set of French +'casserole molds' (which is to say patty-pans) _and_ some smaller brass +pans, also----" + +"Perhaps I was wrong," I interposed cunningly, "to lead Mr. Donnan into +so much expense." + +I knew that, if anything, this would fetch him, and it did. + +"Expense, is it? Expense, Miss Sweetheart! Ha, Ha!" He slapped his +pocket. "Ask your friend Mr. Anderson down at the Bank (not that he will +tell you!) whether Butcher Donnan is a warm man or not? _He_ did not +retire on four bare walls and a pocket-handkerchief of front-garden like +some I could tell you of. Cynthia, you shall have all the brass pans you +want, and as for the front shop--well, there won't be the like of it, +not as far as Dumfries! We shall have a van too, gold and blue!" + +Butcher Donnan was all on fire now, and when Nipper came in he clapped +him on the shoulder, crying that he had better look sharp. He, Butcher +Donnan, was going to set up such a shop as never was seen in Edam, and +people would never be wanting "fresh meat" any more, but live on pies +and shortcake and sweets for ever and ever. + +At this Nipper looked no little relieved, and even listened to the +details with a secret satisfaction. + +"Father," he said, "the shop down town can run itself the first day of +the opening of yours. I'm coming up to see you face the public in your +new nursing togs!" + +"You're an impudent young jackanapes," said his father, clenching his +fists, "and if it were not that you have to stick to business and pay me +the money you owe me, I would thrash you on the spot, old as you are!" + +"Oh, let Nipper alone," said I, as cheerfully as I could, "he has the +sweet tooth. I know it well, and I will wager he will yet be one of your +best customers!" + +"He will bring his money along with him then every time," growled his +father. "And now I am off to see Mr. Hetherington, the architect. We +must get things ship-shape!" + +"But," cried his wife, "you have never tasted your tea!" + +"Oh, bother my tea!" said Butcher Donnan, flouncing out, having fallen a +victim to Hugh John's dangerous imagination. But he looked in again, his +topper hat of Do-Nothing Pride already exchanged for the cap of Edam +Commerce. + +"Tell that young gentleman of yours," he said, "that, if things turn out +well, he is always welcome at our shop, eh, Cynthia? And nothing to pay! +And you, Miss Sweetheart, I hope to live long enough to bake your +bride's-cake!" + +"There he goes!" murmured his wife, "in a week Donnan will think that he +has made every single thing in the shop, from the brass weights on the +counter to the specimen birthday-cake in the window!" + + + + +X + +NIPPER NEGLECTS HIS BUSINESS + + +_August eighth. Aged Fifteen._ + +It is only a month since the Donnans opened their new shop up on the +open square facing the market hill, and not far from the railway +station. It was one of a row of villas, mostly tenanted by men who had +returned from the "pack"--that is, who had made a neat little fortune in +the business which calls itself Credit Drapery, but which, perhaps +undeservedly, is called much harder names by its clients, especially +when its back is turned. + +These, being the aristocracy of a Shilling-a-Week and Cent.-per-Cent., +objected exceedingly to a mere confectioner's shop thrusting its nose +into the midst of their blue-stone walls, picked out by window-sills and +lintels of raw-beef Locharbriggs freestone. But they could not help it, +and after the chief of them all, Oliphant McGill, had smelt the now +floury fist of the Reformed Idler, and been informed what would happen +if he "heard a wurrrd out of the heads av wan o' them"--there fell a +great peace on Whinstone Villas. + +Some even became customers, and the new business increased with +wonderous rapidity. Butcher Donnan became Sweet-Cake Donnan, but that +made no difference to his force of arm, or to the respect in which he +was universally held. + +As he had prophesied, it was not long till he had a pale-blue-and-gold +covered van on the road, dandily hooded in case of rain, and with two +spy-holes so that the driver could see for himself what was coming up +behind him. + +From the Cave of Mystery high up on Hugh John's hill we could see it +crawling along the roads (really it was going quite fast), like a lumpy +cerulean beetle, the like of which for brilliance is not to be found in +_Curtis_. + +And the driver was Butcher Donnan himself. He knew all the farmers, and +as he had made one fortune already, as fortunes went in Edam, the people +were the readier to deal with him. Sometimes even the poorest would save +up a penny for one of Mrs. Donnan's sponge-cakes. It was soon called +the "Watering Cart," because in hot weather you could tell when it had +gone along the road by the drip from the ice underneath, by means of +which the jellies and confections were kept cool, while in winter the +blue-and-gold beetle steamed like a volcano with hot mince-pies. Oh, +Butcher Donnan believed in delivering his goods to the customer in the +finest possible condition! + +But this same Butcher Donnan being now driver and salesman-out-of-doors, +and Mrs. Donnan equally busy in the kitchen, it was obvious that some +one must be found for the shop. How _I_ should have loved the job! But a +certain Eben Dickson, apprentice with Nipper at the down town business, +was called in, and so thoroughly proved his liking for the place in the +course of a single afternoon that a more permanent and less appreciative +successor was sought for. + +Eben was laid up for several days, owing to an accident which happened +to him when Butcher Donnan returned from his journeyings afield. It is +understood that Nipper also remonstrated with him, without, however, the +use of many words. + +The van had therefore to be put out of commission for several days till +another arrangement was possible. And again it was Hugh John who, with +his eyelids half closed and looking at the bright landscape through the +long three-draw telescope, cut the knot with a carelessly breathed +suggestion. + +"_Why not ask Elizabeth Fortinbras?_" + +"They would never dare!" said I. "Old Fortinbras thinks himself no end +of a swell!" + +"Yes," said Hugh John, with tranquil irony, "he has failed in at least +four businesses--last of all in a stamp-shop at East Dene, while the +Donnans have only succeeded in one--and are on the point of making +another fortune in the second. But let them ask Elizabeth. She will not +say 'no'!" + +"What of her mother?" I said--"her father?" + +"Her mother cannot support her--her father won't. In six months she will +have to support them both!" said the philosophic Hugh John. "You ask +Lizzie. Lizzie is a sensible girl." + +I asked Hugh John how he knew. + +"Oh, just--I know!" he answered shortly. And in another than Hugh John I +should have suspected something. Because, you know, Elizabeth Fortinbras +is a very pretty girl--not beautiful, but with a freshness and charm +that does far better, a laugh that is hung on a hair-trigger; not much +education, of course, because her stupid old frump of a mother--yes, I +can say it, though Lizzie would not--has never permitted her to be long +away from her, but must be served like a duchess in her room on pretext +of headaches and megrims. + +Being without a servant, she leaves Elizabeth to do all the housework, +and all that she knows she has learned from the books I have lent +her--and, as I now begin to suspect, Hugh John also. + +"And where _is_ Elizabeth?" I said, for I saw the three-draw glass +hovering in the neighborhood of the Fortinbras Cottage. + +"Why, where should she be?" cried Hugh John. "At this hour of Monday +morning she will certainly be hanging out the week's wash! There, put +your eye down, don't stir the telescope, and you will see her. Also her +sister Matilda sitting under a tree doing nothing but reading the latest +story her mother has got out of the library!" + +Hugh John's grasp of detail was something marvelous. + +And, indeed, as I looked, through the tremble of the heat-mist the +slender figure of Elizabeth Fortinbras jigged into view. She was +standing on tiptoe, like the girl in the old illustrated nursery +Caldecott, when + + "By came a blackbird and snapped off her nose." + +Which would certainly have been a pity in Elizabeth's case, for the nose +was a very pretty saucy one, and worthy of a better fate. She had on a +short skirt. Her feet were thrust into sandals, and her white working +blouse, open at the neck, had red peas on it. Concerning all which +points Hugh John had nothing to learn. + +Now I had always liked Elizabeth. There was something wild-wood and gay +as a bird about her. She wore the simplest dresses, made by herself, and +when she played in our woods there was a good deal of tomboy about her. +She was older than any of us, and had often been our leader in high-spy +or at running through the wood. + +I could run faster, but (as Hugh John said) I ran like a boy, with my +hands clasped and my elbows in. As for the way that Elizabeth ran, that +was quite different. She ran--just like Elizabeth. + +But the way she tossed about the youngsters was a sight. She romped with +them among the hay. She thought nothing of bringing back Maid Margaret +on her back for miles and miles, with a hop and a skip at every second +pace, as if only to show how lightly her burden sat astride her +shoulders, and how entirely impossible it was for Elizabeth herself to +walk along in a sedate and ladylike way. Like a questing collie, she +constantly left the highway. You could see her mount a bank as if she +had wings. She was wayward, uncertain as a bird, fitful as a butterfly, +changing her purpose with the whim of the children. Indeed, there was no +one, in the opinion of all of us when we were little, like Elizabeth +Fortinbras. + +It was like spying out some shy fleeing wood-nymph to see her, with a +few long, easy movements, springing and bounding across the +stepping-stones of the upper river--or, the petticoat held daintily +high, all in a faint flurry of white spray and whiter feet, negotiating +the shallow ford at the first Torres Vedras when we were paddling there +in the hot days. + +Yet, when once across, she never seemed to have "shipped a drop," as +Sir Toady Lion asserted in his best naval manner. + +Rather, be it said, she gave herself a shake like a scudding swallow +that has dipped its wing a little too deep in the pond, and lo! our +Elizabeth was dry again. She never had so much as to preen a feather. + +They always tell me that I am a little in love with Elizabeth myself, +and I am not ashamed of it. Once, from his hiding-place, Hugh John +showed me a young dainty fawn come stepping lightly through the wood. I +saw it skip airily across the Esk below the second Torres Vedras, ascend +the bank in three bounds, walk demurely across the road like a maiden +coming out of church, look about her as if gathering her skirts for +something daring, and then, with one sidelong bound, swift and light, +lo, she was over the high paling and lost in the wood! + +Elizabeth Fortinbras would have done it just like that, as gracefully +and as unconsciously. But to think of her taking a place in the Donnan's +Confectionery shop--surely his good angel had for once forsaken Hugh +John--plan-maker to the world in general, and private domestic Solomon! + +"Go and _ask_ Elizabeth Fortinbras!" said Hugh John--and he said it as +if he had good reason to know that Elizabeth would accept. Though that +might only be his usual accent of quiet certainty. You see, Hugh John +compels belief. Confidence accrues to his lightest guess, which is not +accorded to Sir Toady on his oath. It is a shame that any one should be +so favored by nature in the matter of his word. I, being a girl, am +suspected of inaccuracy, Sir Toady of "monkeying," and Maid Margaret of +knowing nothing about the matter. + +But Hugh John may be inaccurate. He may be "monkeying" in secret, and he +may know less than any one else about any matter. Nevertheless he is +accredited like a plenipotentiary. He moves like Diogenes, his tub +unseen about him. A calm certainty accompanies him. He inspires +confidence, blind as that of a bank cashier in the multiplication table. +All, too, without break, without insistence. To look at, he is just a +tall lad, with singularly quiet manners, who looks at you fixedly out of +gray eyes very wide apart. Only--you believe him. + +But that is the reason why, in my secretest heart, as soon as Hugh John +said, "Ask Elizabeth Fortinbras!" I knew that Elizabeth Fortinbras +would accept. + +I had to ask her myself. Or rather I took Mrs. Donnan with me, who did +as she was told, smiling and stammering apologies in the proper places. +As for me, I said what Hugh John had advised me to say, in our last long +talk together up in the Cave. + +Of course it was no use in the world consulting Elizabeth's parents. Her +father was lost in dreams of making another fortune by a new and +original butter-cooler which would put all others out of the market. Her +mother, fretful and fine-ladyish, would declare that she could not do +without her. But I knew that it would be an exceedingly good thing for +her younger sister to get her nose taken out of the _Penny Novelette_. +If Elizabeth went, she would have to do the housework, and so might yet +save her soul--though as yet she had shown no signs of possessing any. + +We talked to Elizabeth, however, or at least I did, without any mention +of this. There were many knick-knacks about, on the mantelpiece, on the +tables, on brackets set in corners--all the work of that ingenious, +useless man, Mr. Robert Fortinbras. As we talked, Elizabeth moved +gracefully about among these, her duster never hurried, never idle. + +I never saw any one who could "play at work" as Elizabeth could. Any one +else would have sat down and received her guests. Not so Elizabeth. If +we chose to come at eleven o'clock in the morning--well, we must take +her as we found her. In another quarter of an hour, if we stayed, we +would be asked to come into her kitchen, and watch her peeling potatoes. +And that would have seemed quite natural--not only to Elizabeth, but to +us. + +Elizabeth did not reply hastily. She heard me out without sign either of +consent or of refusal. Mrs. Donnan, stout and motherly, purred +acquiescence. Yes, they would give her the warmest welcome--if she cared +to stay, the happiest home. But no doubt she would prefer to return to +her own home at nights. + +The next words which reached our ears were Elizabeth all over. "If I +come, I shall stay," she said, "because if I went home, the work of the +house would simply be left till I got back!" + +The reason was clear, and almost the consent. + +"Had you not better consult your father and mother?" I said, a little +breathlessly, having been brought up in the faith of obedience to +parents. + +But in this matter Elizabeth, taught by long experience, had evolved +other methods. + +"I will _tell_ them," she said simply. "When do you want me to begin? +Monday? Very well!" + +And it was on Tuesday that Nipper Donnan began to neglect his business. + + + + +XI + +ELIZABETH + + +_September 11 of the same year. Going Sixteen now._ + +Now I suppose you think this is going to be a love-story. But it +isn't--at least not so far. And I am sure the hero won't be either of +the two _you_ think--not, that is, Hugh John or Nipper Donnan. + +But I am going to tell the story of the strangest, the delicatest +friendship I have ever seen--that of Hugh John, my brother, and +Elizabeth Fortinbras. + +He is the youngest hero you can imagine, but somehow is much more like a +young man who has shaved himself very close than the schoolboy he is. + +Nothing puts Hugh John out. When he has some big festival to attend +along with father, he sits quiet and self-possessed, doing his part +without a quiver on his face. As far as looks go, he could easily be +the chairman. The clean-cut outlines of his face do not denote hardness. +Only he is of the Twentieth Century, and an adept at concealing his +sensations--even from his parents, with whom he is great friends. + +But, for all that modernity, there is something essentially knightly, +and even knight-errant, about our Hugh John. An elder time has touched +him. Ideas growing, alas! extinct--are natural to him. A chivalrous +Cromwellian is perhaps the nearest I can come in the way of definition. +For years he was the only one in the house (except Fuz, of course) who +sustained Roundhead as against Cavalier. Yet all his outer man (surely a +boy has an "outer man" when he is six feet high) is that of the +Collegians who rallied about the King at Oxford, and swept away the +train-bands with Rupert the Prince at Marston Moor. But Hugh John agrees +with Mr. Prynne as to the Unloveliness of Love-Locks, and no +Sergeant-Major could carry a closer cropped head of hair. + +Also the mind within him is one that abhors restraint. That is, in +thinking. In acting, he obeys as a principle all justly constituted +authorities. Also, if _he_ is in authority, he will insist upon +obedience even unto the shedding of blood. + +Only the mind is free and untrammeled. Obedience includes only acts. +Thought with him is free, liberal, critical, large. + +But Hugh John is generally shy with the girls who come to our house. He +retires to one of his fastnesses, a lonely David in some unknown Engedi. +He blots himself out. Simply, _he is not_--so far, that is, as the rest +of the house is concerned. But he has the most sharply defined and +sudden affinities. He will see a girl for the first time--the most +reserved, unlikely girl, shy as himself. He will go up to her, and lo! +as like as not, five minutes afterwards they will pair off like two +schoolboys arm in arm. + +Grown-up People, after a certain while, forget how their own friendships +were formed--how much was chance, how little intention, and they judge +_us_ in the light of what they now _think_ they were. They are "out" +every time with Hugh John. + +For instance, I know Somebody who was afraid he was going to fall in +love with Elizabeth Fortinbras. No such good luck! _I_ knew. The first +time I surprised them having a good talk together I saw that Elizabeth +would take advice from that gray-eyed boy with a man's thoughts which +she would scorn from any one else. + +It was the day after we had been to see the Donnans. When I got home, +Hugh John had merely said, "When does Elizabeth begin?" + +"Monday," said I; "but how in the world did you know?" + +"I did not know _that_!" he answered gravely, as usual. + +You simply can't surprise Hugh John. A momentary glitter in a pair of +rather close-lidded gray eyes--that is the most you can expect from him. + +It was at the stile at the entrance into the High Wood that I found +them. Elizabeth Fortinbras was seated on the top spar nursing her knees, +and sucking the sorrel stems which Hugh John handed up one by one. They +never looked at one another, but I saw in a moment (trust a girl!) that +I would interrupt their talk. Just fancy _me_ playing gooseberry! No, +thank you, kind sir, she said! Besides, I knew very well that Elizabeth +did not consult her father--and her mother was not worth consulting. +There remained only Hugh John. Of course she could have asked me, but +what girl would have taken my advice when she could get Hugh John's? + +I don't know what they said--of course not. I did not ask. But what I +_do_ know is that Elizabeth and Hugh John talked just as he and I would +have done when taking counsel together up in the Cave or at the Feudal +Tower. + +Sir Toady was better advised than to attempt to make fun, and though the +Grown-ups might lift their eyebrows, even they had confidence in Hugh +John. Sometimes they asked his advice themselves--though I never heard +of their going so far as to take it. Grown-ups, to my thinking, get +narrow-minded. Perhaps Hugh John will too some day. But now at least he +always just sees the one thing to do, and does it--the one thing another +ought to do, and tells him of it. + +Well, he never went to the new confectionery shop. He would pass it +without lifting an eyelid--though I will wager that each time he did so +Elizabeth Fortinbras saw him--and Hugh John knew that she did. And each +was the happier for the knowledge. + +To me Elizabeth's determination seemed to brighten all that part of +Edam. It was quite near our house, only just outside the gates. Behind +the counter Elizabeth made a slender figure in black and white. Black +dress well fitting, a present from Mrs. Donnan, large turn-back cuffs, +and a broad Eton collar. It was no wonder that the business throve--I +mean the business which was under the charge of Elizabeth Fortinbras. +The other "down town" suffered exceedingly. + +You see, Nipper Donnan could not be in two places at the one time. And +he found he had innumerable occasions to consult his father, or to have +something mended by his mother. He could not possibly obtain the +information or the reparations down town. Hence he spent much of his +time hanging about the new confectionery shop opposite the Market hill. +He became learned in the semophore signaling of the trains on the two +little railways which diverged at Edam Junction. These he explained to +Elizabeth. + +His step-mother secretly encouraged him. Nothing would have pleased her +better than for Nipper to "settle down" with such a daughter-in-law. But +she knew, perhaps better than his own mother would have done, that this +strong, incult, fighting Nipper had little chance with a girl like +Elizabeth Fortinbras, whose chief friend and confidant was a certain +gray-eyed lad with a perpendicular frown of thought between his brows. + +But Nipper kept on. He thrashed one Hector McLean for blowing a kiss +towards the shop-window from the far side of the Market dyke. All day +long he thought what high and noble thing he could do for Elizabeth's +sake--such as having marble slabs, and water running all the time +between double plate-glass, or dressing all his assistants in blue, +fresh and fresh every day! You see, Nipper's imagination was limited. + +But once or twice his father came in and surprised him leaning over the +counter. He regarded his son for a moment with dull, murky eyes; and +then, quite abruptly, ordered him out. The third time this happened he +followed Nipper outside and explained to him the consequences of this +malingering--_imprimis_, he would get his head broken. _Item_, he would +be "backward with his term installment"! _Tertio_, if he were, he need +expect no mercy from his father; and in conclusion, he had better "get +out of that, and stay out!" He, Butcher Donnan, was not a fool. He knew +all about what he was after, if the womenfolk did not! And he was not +going to have it! There! Nipper was warned! + +His comings and goings did not, indeed, make much difference to +Elizabeth. Often he was a nuisance, "lounging and suffering"--looking, +as she said afterwards, "like a blue undertaker attached to a +steel-yard." His expression spoiled sales. He looked acid drops. His +jealousies poisoned the very strawberry shortcake on which Mrs. Donnan's +heart prided itself. + +On the other hand, he was useful when there were heavy weights to be +lifted, boxes of materials for the little store-room at the back. +Elizabeth could not move these, so she had either to unpack them on the +street, or wait till Butcher Donnan drove his blue-and-gold wagon into +the yard. + +But Nipper delighted to show his strength, and would pick up a huge +case, swing it on his shoulder, and deposit it wherever told. These were +his moments of great joy, and almost repaid him for not being able to +eat. + +For Nipper's appetite had suffered. He indulged himself in startling +neckties, and, as his girth shrank, the waistcoats which contained it +became more and more gorgeous. + +Poor Nipper! He could only gaze and wonder--that is, when there was no +lifting to be done. His tongue forsook him when called upon to answer +the simplest remark. When Elizabeth, taking pity upon him, asked about +his week's receipts, he answered vaguely that he did not know. + +Hearing this, she turned about, bearing a tray full of almond-cake fresh +from Mrs. Donnan's hand, and said, "Nipper, do you mean to say you do +not keep track of your sales? Why, you will get cheated right and left. +Bring the books up to-night and I will go over them for you!" + +To Nipper this seemed an opportunity too good to be lost. He imagined +their two heads bent over the records of the down town shop, and perhaps +also in time a corresponding approachment of ideas. + +Beautiful dream! Foredoomed to failure, however. For Elizabeth, after a +few questions, took up the books to her own room, and on the morrow +furnished the disappointed Nipper with a few startling statistics as to +receipts and expenditure. + +"And what would you advise me to do?" said Nipper humbly. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Elizabeth. "Ask Hugh John from the House in the +Wood. He will tell you, if anybody can. He advised me to come to help +your mother. If it had not been for him, I should not have been here +now!" + +The gleam of jealousy (which is yellow, and not green) in his eyes +altered Nipper's countenance completely. + +"Ah, Hugh John indeed!" he thought. That, then, was the explanation, was +it? This coldness was owing to Hugh John--a boy, little more than a +boy--while he, Nipper, was a man, a Councillor, with a shop and income +of his own! + +Yet he remembered, when he was already well-nigh Hugh John's present +age, and the cock of all Edam, tying a pale-faced, determined little boy +to a ring in a wall down in the dungeon of an ancient castle. He had +determined then to make the cub give in, and there had been some sick +work with string-twisting and wire-pincers. He did not care to think +about that. But even then the cub had beaten them all. They had been +good friends since--that is, in a way. But was it written in the Book of +Fate (in which Nipper believed) that they should fight for the mastery +on another and far more dangerous arena? It seemed preposterous, but +still--well, he would see Hugh John and put the case to him, as +Elizabeth had said. + +Then, so Nipper told himself, he would know! Well--_he might_--supposing +that Hugh John had been even as the young butcher, blushing half-a-mile +away when a lissom, upright form and gait as of wind-blown corn told the +world the important news (for Nipper Donnan) that Elizabeth Fortinbras +was coming up the street in a hurry. + +Hugh John listened quietly. Bygones were long bygones between him and +Nipper. The "smoutchies" smoutched no more, but were (most of them) good +servants of the King or honorable citizens of Edam. Already one wore the +V. C., and for his sake and in the general interests of peace Hugh John +tolerated those who remained. He even liked Nipper Donnan, and had no +idea of the gusts of angry fury that were tearing his poor ignorant +heart to pieces. + +"Advise you--well, I don't know much about it," said Hugh John. "If it +is a matter of your books, you had better show them to your father. No? +You don't want to do that. Very well, then, tell me what Elizabeth +Fortinbras said--exactly, I mean." + +"Said I was to come to you--tell you about the week's deficit, and ask +your advice." + +"Then you must tell me _all_ about it!" said Hugh John, calmly +impartial. Nipper gave some figures of entrances and exits, marts and +sales, gross, retail, and monthly book-debts. + +"Hum!" said Hugh John, after a minute's thought, "if I were you I should +get rid of the whole indoor crowd, and work the business myself for a +month or two, with a couple of 'prentices _and_ the toe of my boot!" + +Hugh John's eyes were distant, grave, thoughtful--Nipper's little, +black, and virulent with suppressed anger. But the Thinker had grown man +of action also, and Nipper felt no security that he could win a victory +against Hugh John even with his fists. As to the mind, he felt +instinctively the grip of his master. _That_ was not to be gainsaid. + +"Yes," he said, jerking out his words like leaden pellets on a table, "I +suppose that _is_ the plan. I will fire the whole lot this very night!" +Hugh John nodded quietly. + +"It will be best!" he said, and the advice once given, his mind would +have passed to another question had not Nipper recalled him +suspiciously. + +"Has my father not been speaking to you?" he growled ungraciously. + +"Your father? No, not that I remember!" said Hugh John, staring in +wonder. + +"Nor my--Mrs. Donnan, I mean?" + +"Never spoke to her in my life, I believe--Sis has, though!" + +"_Nor Elizabeth?_" + +Nipper's eyes were like gimlets now, but the calm serenity in those of +Hugh John baffled them. + +"Elizabeth Fortinbras? Oh, yes," said Hugh John tranquilly, "when she +wants to ask me about anything--as you are doing now--then she speaks to +me." + +"_Is that all?_" Nipper's face worked. His lips were bitten so close +that the words had almost to force themselves between the clenched +teeth. Hugh John regarded him a moment gravely, as he did all things, +with gaze unhurried, undismayed. Then he put his hands in his pockets +and turned his back on Nipper with only the words, "Enough for you to +know, anyway!" + +And if ever Nipper came near striking any one a dastardly blow from +behind, it was Hugh John who was in danger and at that moment. + + + + +XII + +FIGS AND FIG-LEAVES + + +_September 23. And my Age still going Sixteen._ + +It was the week before Hugh John went to college that what I am going to +tell took place. September is almost always nice about Edam--with the +corn standing white in stooks all down the valley, waving blonde +half-way up the sides of the wide glen, and looking over into it from +the heights of Kingside still as green as grass. Yes, in our part +September is wonderfully quiet and windless--generally, that is. Yet +withal, there is the stir of harvest about the farm-town, the merry +whirr of the "reaper" over the hedge, and always the clatter of voices +as the workers go homeward in the twilight. The big scythe is now only +used about our house for "opening up" a field. After that the horses +pull the red-and-blue "McCormick" round as neatly as a toy. The squares +get less and the yellow stooks rise, as it were, out of the very +ground. + +This year it was a specially gay time for us all. Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan +had more customers. His wife had taken a laboratory assistant in the +shape of an apple-cheeked lass, Meg Linwood, the daughter of the +station-master at Bridge of Edam--honest as the day, but at first +incapable in the kitchen as a crossing-sweeper of goldsmith work. + +Mrs. Donnan told me of Meg's iniquities in her frank impulsive Irish +way. + +"There's not a thing breakable the craitur has not broke, or at least +tried her best to break. And what she can't knock to flinders with one +skelp, she will fall over like an applelaunche (avalanche?) and rowl out +flat like so much sheet lead. I dare not show the master the tenth of +her breakages, or there would be bloodshed and wounds. And yet she is +the honest, well-meaning craitur too, and would not hurt a fly. Only it +is the heaven's pity she has no power of her feet! Hear to that now!" + +Poor Mrs. Donnan ought, of course, to have remained unmoved where she +was and entertained me with a stomach-aching smile so long as I chose to +stay. But, being an Irishwoman and natural, she sprang up and ran +forthwith into the kitchen. + +She came out with tears in her eyes. + +"It's the epergne," she said, "I might have known it. The green figs is +just come in, and as they are a new thing in Edam I thought to make a +kind of trophy out of them. And now----!" + +Mrs. Donnan's motherly eyes overflowed, good, kindly soul, without very +much anger at the breaker, but with real grief for the loss of the +"trophy" she had counted upon to display in her plate-glass shop window. + +I patted her on one plump shoulder, and she murmured my undeserved +praises--undeserved, I mean, at that moment. But I had remembered that +there was in our china-closet at home a huge epergne of many storys, +which Somebody had taken a prejudice against, because when loaded it +shut off the entire view of the people at table, and they played at +"Bo-peep" all the time around it and about--all right for us little ones +who, unseen, could convey extra fruits and comfits to our plates, but +abhorred by Somebody who was thus prevented from keeping a kindly, +governing eye upon us. So the tall epergne was banished--a life sentence +firmly expressed. + +I went quickly home and excavated it from a general ruck of odd plates +and cupless saucers. In triumph I carried it to the good mistress of +New Erin Villa. + +"Oh, Miss Sweetheart," she said, "I cannot--I cannot indeed----" + +"Suppose that your--that 'Somebody' were to come along and see that +epergne in my window--sure they might have in the police!" + +Finally I satisfied Mrs. Donnan that though I had not asked special +permission, it was only because there was no need, and that Somebody, if +duly approached, would be the first of her customers, and the most +helpful of her friends. _I_ said so because I knew. + +"It _would_ look like all Dublin Castle and Sackville Street!" said Mrs. +Donnan, visibly flinching as her own inner eye built up the green figs, +and decorated the epergne with the leaves that had proved so useful +early in the history of the world. + +"Well," I answered, taking my leave, "Hugh John and I will be round +about four to see if it is as fine as you say." + +"It will be finer," cried Mrs. Donnan eagerly; "I have got another idea +entirely since I set eyes on it." + +But after all it was the deft hands of Elizabeth Fortinbras which +decorated our long-condemned and dusty epergne. She polished it, she set +it on foot again as good as new, mingling the tawny-red-bitten +oak-leaves and acorns with the deep green figs, and making the thing a +joy, if not for ever, at least for as long as it remained in Mrs. +Donnan's window. + +This, however, was not for long. + +For Fuz--yes, the very old Fuz as ever was--coming home from a tramp +with his eyes apparently mooning, but really registering everything as +remorselessly as a calculating machine marshals figures, spied the green +figs in Mrs. Donnan's window. Hardly in Edam was there any one else, at +that date, who so much as knew what they were. He saw. He admired. There +was a little dinner at our house that night to which just a couple of +neighbors were coming. The idea of a surprise germinated in the mind of +Fuz, and he came home the happy possessor of his own epergne, with the +green and yellow leaves cinturing it round! + +Poor Mrs. Donnan dared not say a word, and as for Elizabeth, it was not +her business. Moreover, she had far too great a sense of the ridiculous. +You see, Fuz carried his own parcel off, with his invariable remark +that "it is a proud horse that will not carry his own corn!" + +Nothing like Fuz's pride that night! Nothing more knowing than the +smiles of the initiated! Only Hugh John did not consider it "quite the +square thing," and obstinately refused to attend the banquet, which, +however, passed off very well without him. Fuz became quite poetic over +his new acquisition. To find such a thing in Edam! These cherubs' heads +now! Just look at them. They reminded him of--I think, something in the +Cathedral at Florence which you had to strike matches to see--little +cublets squirming about a font or something. He had quite forgotten +having ordered the identical thing into the ignominy of a dungeon for +obscuring the prospect. Now it was the finest piece of "Dresden" he had +ever set eyes upon. + +And he promised--if I were a good girl--to give it to me as a wedding +present. + +That is Fuz all over. He says he is Scotch, but his part of Scotland is +so near Ireland that (according to the best authorities) Saint Patrick +swam across with his head between his teeth. Perhaps Fuz did too. But +don't tell Hugh John that I said so. + +Well, when Hugh John would not dress and come for dinner on account of +us letting Fuz be taken in about the epergne, he went off on one of his +long rides. Or so at least he thought. For really he got no farther than +the Gypsies' Wood, and then that took place which was bound to take +place sooner or later. + +For, you see, Elizabeth Fortinbras owned a cycle also, and she used it +to run home to see her people--even during her short half-hour in the +afternoon she would go, no matter how hot it was. And she was teaching +her sister Matilda to house-keep. She had had a row the first time or +two, of course. But that was to be expected. Once she had gone back +between two or three of the afternoon--which was slack time at the +confectionery shop opposite the Market Hill, and when she arrived, lo! +her mother was deep in one ragged volume, Matilda sat crouched in a +corner of the sofa with another, and from the garret came the sound of +hammering, where Mr. Fortinbras the unfortunate was working out another +epoch-making invention. + +Flies buzzed about the greasy, unwashed plates and dishes where +breakfast had been pushed aside to make way for early dinner. + +Elizabeth thrust her head into a bedroom. The clothes trailed on the +floor, and the very windows had not been opened. The air of night, +warmed through blindless windows by an autumn sun, had produced an +atmosphere which might have been cut with a knife. Elizabeth shuddered. +She demanded the reason why the house had not been "done up." + +"Well," said Matilda, lifting her head languidly, "you had hidden the +knife-board when you went away, and as to the beds, I knew you were +coming home to-day, and you might just as well help me as not." + +Elizabeth helped her by going out without a word, and not returning till +her father, who at least could not be called idle, had intimated to her +that Matilda was beginning to take her household duties seriously. + +From the first Elizabeth had given half her wages to her father, on the +distinct understanding that the money was to be used for housekeeping, +and not for perfecting any new invention which was to alter the center +of gravity of the earth, and give back equal rights in sunshine and +moisture to all the world. + +Well, it chanced that this evening of the September dinner Elizabeth +Fortinbras was returning from her daily visit of inspection. She was in +a happier mood than usual. For Matilda had really made a start, and at +home she had discovered less to find fault with than usual. She was +reckoning up her wages, which the Donnans, generous in all things, were +freely advancing--perhaps even too frequently to suit Elizabeth's spirit +of independence. Some day she might manage to let her people have a +servant! + +From the first the two old folk of Erin Villa--old only in the number of +their years--had looked upon Elizabeth Fortinbras as doing honor to +their business, almost, indeed, as a daughter born to their old age. + +Hugh John had leaned his bicycle against a tree at the corner of the +Gypsies' Wood. Far above, his keen gray eye caught the slight purple +stain among the rocks of the hillside which marked the mouth of his Cave +of Mystery. For a moment he had an idea of climbing up there and +watching the twilight sinking into dark, as he had done so many times +before. But the instinctive respect of a good rider for his cycle +restrained him. He knew of one or two hiding-places safe enough, it was +true. But on such a night, immediately before the Edam September fair, +who might not be abroad? All the gypsies of three counties were +converging on Edam, and so, with a sigh, Hugh John abode where he was. + +Now of course anybody who did not know both Hugh John and Elizabeth +Fortinbras would have come to a wrong conclusion. For Elizabeth, after a +day in the shop followed by an evening visit of inspection and +assistance to Matilda, took it into her head that a spin round by the +Gypsies' Wood would freshen her up, and so put her in trim for a good +day's work on the morrow. + +That is why she encountered Hugh John, stretched long and lazy by the +side of the stream. He rose as soon as he saw Elizabeth. They did not +shake hands. They did not say, "How-d'ye-do--Very-well-thank-_you_!" +which is the correct Edam fashion for all concerned. + +But Hugh John indicated the most comfortable portion of an old +half-submerged trunk, and Elizabeth sat down without dispute. Hugh John +disposed himself where he could see her profile without looking at her. +It was only when he was making up his mind about you that Hugh John +regarded you fixedly. He had long made up his mind about Elizabeth. + +"Well, Elizabeth?" said Hugh John (I will tell you afterwards how I +know). + +"Well, Hugh John?" + +Then ensued a long pause. The water sang its lucid continual song. How +many had sat and watched it, thus singing, glide on and on? Well, as +Hugh John says, that did not matter. He was only occupied in finding +"_soorocks_" for Elizabeth Fortinbras, and Elizabeth busied herself in +eating them. + +"About Nipper?" said Elizabeth softly. "I can't have it, you know." + +"No, of course not!" said Hugh John. + +Having known _him_, it was impossible that Elizabeth could decline upon +Nipper Donnan. Hugh John did not, as you may well imagine, put it that +way. The thing was simply unthinkable, that was all. He could no more +let it happen than he would to his sister. He turned ever so little, and +saw Elizabeth Fortinbras' face pale against the sunset. + +Elizabeth looked at the boy, and her lips quivered a little. Hugh John +became a shade more rigid. + +"Let _me_ speak to Nipper Donnan!" said Hugh John in a level tone. + +"No," said the girl, "I do not wish to go back home again--to _that_!" + +She meant to slatternly makeshift and lightly disguised lying. + +"_No need!_" said a fierce voice immediately behind them, and Nipper +Donnan leaped the stone wall from behind which he had been watching +Elizabeth and Hugh John. + +"Ah, Nipper!" said Hugh John lazily, handing up another sorrel stem to +Elizabeth; "glad to see you, Nipper. Sit down and help to look for fat +ones!" + +"You are mocking me, both of you!" cried poor Nipper blackly. His face +was hot and angry, his eyes injected like his father's when in wrath, +and his hands were clinched tight. + +"You came here to talk about me," he said hoarsely, bending forward +towards them like a beast ready for the spring. + +"Nonsense!" said Hugh John; "we met by pure accident. I did not want any +dinner, and Elizabeth wanted a breath of fresh air." + +"You lie! I do not believe you!" cried Nipper. + +"You will have to, Nipper," said Hugh John, who had not moved an inch. + +"_And_ why?" + +"Because _I_ say it!" said Hugh John quietly. "I do not tell lies!" + +"A likely story!" growled Nipper. "You were talking about me! I heard +you. You will have to fight me--Hugh John Picton Smith!" + +"That we shall see," said Hugh John coolly. "What must be, must be. But +there is a word or two to say first." + +"Talk!" cried Nipper. "Oh, that does no good to a fellow like me. You +shall fight me, I tell you!" + +"Not before Elizabeth Fortinbras!" said Hugh John, taking off his cap +with a quick, instinctive gesture of respect. "You and I can't behave +like two angry dogs before her!" + +"You're afraid!" + +"Possibly," said Hugh John, "but not in any way _you_ would understand." + +Then Elizabeth Fortinbras took up speech. + +"Nipper Donnan," she said, "I won't pretend I don't know what you mean. +You are driving me from the single happy place of refuge I have on +earth. I cannot stay with your father and mother unless you stop +pestering me. And then you talk about fighting. Why, Hugh John is nearly +five years younger than you are----" + +"He is as tall!" growled Nipper. + +"Taller!" corrected Elizabeth coolly. "But if you behave like a whole +menagerie of brutes, that won't make me care more about you. Hugh John +is my brother; I have no other!" + +"_Umph!_" snorted Nipper, "he doesn't come and sit out by Esk-waterside +with his sisters." + +I know that at that moment Hugh John's eye sought the deep purple stain +of the Cave of Mystery, where he and I so often sat together. But he +said nothing at all to his adversary. It might have been mistaken. It +was to Elizabeth he spoke. + +"I have something to say to Nipper which you had better not hear," he +remarked quietly. "Here is a special handful of sorrel to take home with +you. Let me see you as far as the first lamp-post on my cycle. Then I +will come back and speak with Nipper." + +They went, and Nipper sat on the empty log, gloomily cursing fate--but, +educated by the experience of many years, never for a moment doubting +that Hugh John would keep his word. + +He even timed him. He knew to within half-a-minute when the bright +bull's-eye of his acetylene lantern would turn the corner of the +Gypsies' Tryst. He saw it come. He stood up on his feet, and jerked his +clenched hands once or twice forward into the gloaming. + +Then Hugh John leaped from his cycle by the wall. + +"Sit down, Nipper," he said. "I have something to say to you." + +"Oh, I dare say," said Nipper; "you want to get out of fighting." + +"Very well--you think so. I shall show you!" said Hugh John. "But first +you have got to listen. You are troubling Elizabeth Fortinbras. She does +not mean to be troubled. She will go away if you do not stop going into +the shop. She told me so. She has always been my friend, and my sister's +friend. Her father and mother are no use to such a girl. That is why I +have tried to be a brother to her----" + +"Brother, is it?" shouted Nipper, clenching his fists. "I will show you +what it is to take a girl from Nipper Donnan. You were making love to +her." + +"I am her brother. She is my sister," Hugh John repeated, with his usual +quiet persistency. "She is not yours in any way. Therefore I cannot take +from you what you never possessed." + +"I love her, and I will kill you, Hugh John Picton Smith!" moaned poor +Nipper, his whole body shaking with impotent anger. + +"Very well, you can try, though you are older," said Hugh John; "only, +if I win, you will let Elizabeth Fortinbras alone." + +"All right," said Nipper, "I agree. And if I lick you, you will stop +prejudicing her against me!" + +"You won't win!" prophesied Hugh John still more quietly. + + * * * * * + +And that is why Elizabeth Fortinbras' afternoons and evenings at New +Erin Villa were thenceforward full of peace. Also why no young butcher +hung any more over the counter, and why Mr. Nipper Donnan spent his +evenings in the kitchen with Meg Linwood. It explains also why, when he +came to say good-by to Elizabeth Fortinbras, Hugh John had a split lip. + +Yet the girl asked no questions of her champion. She did not appear to +notice the slight wound, and she sent away Hugh John with a single token +of (sisterly) gratitude, and the curious reflection that a split lip +does not spoil kissing nearly so much as a fellow might think. + + + + +XIII + +"UNTO US AS A DAUGHTER" + + +_November 2. The same Age._ + +[It is really the first of the month, but I date it the second, because +the first is a Sunday, you see.] + + +After the fine weather of July came a horrid rainy spell. Now I don't +mind so much when the days are short, the trees bare, and the time for +winter lamps and winter fires is come. Then you can just shut yourself +up, get some books you have been promising yourself for a long time to +look at--and there you are. + +But deluged park, dripping shrubbery, Esk-water growling turbidly at the +foot of the Low Park, all the noble marine architecture of the two +Torres Vedrases deep under swirling froth--that is what I hate, and +especially with light to see it by--oh, good fourteen to sixteen hours +of it. Pitter, patter on the roof, a sprinkle of broad drops on the +window-panes from the trees swishing in the wind outside. After the +first three days it grows unbearable. + +It was a weary time, and a mockery for any one to call "holidays," +especially after such a noble summer and autumn. But it cleared after +Hugh John had been a week or two at college. During the wet weather I +often went into the shop to see Elizabeth Fortinbras. I could now, you +see, because Nipper Donnan was not always there. + +More than once, however, I encountered his father, Butcher Donnan, who +went about smiling and rubbing his hands--as if _he_ had stopped the +whole business. Of course I let him think so. For it is no good setting +Grown-ups right. They always know better. + +Well, and do you know, every time I went Elizabeth asked all about Hugh +John, and if I had heard from him. At first I thought, as, of course, +any girl would, that Elizabeth was only foxing to take me in. But +afterwards I found out that they really did not write to one another. +She owned, though, to having kissed him good-by. But that was only on +account of his split lip and what he had done about Nipper. + +Hugh John's explanation of his silence, given later, was that there +were no sorrel stalks near the college, and that if Elizabeth really +wanted anything, he knew that she would write and ask him. + +Now, on the face of it, you would never believe this. It simply could +not be, you would say. Yet it was. Even Nipper, who held out longest, +ended by believing it. I, who had a sneaking liking for a love-story, of +any sort, was secretly disappointed. Mrs. Donnan could not move in her +kitchen for Nipper, who came home early now to talk to Meg Linwood. + +Have you ever noticed that when any one has got a back-set in love, or +what they think is love, they are quite apt to fly off at a tangent, and +marry the least likely person in the world? + +To the common eye, no one could have been less likely to engage Nipper's +attention--with his lost love still in the front shop--than Meg Linwood +in the back. + +She was plump, rotund, rosy, where Elizabeth Fortinbras was slender, +willowy, like Diana in the pictures and statues of her in the old _Art +Journals_ and _Illustrated London News_ of the Exhibition year--I mean +1851. (As a child I always liked those volumes. There were such a lot of +pictures in them, and so little reading.) + +But it was lost labor advising Nipper Donnan. He would show Elizabeth +Fortinbras what she had missed. He would have the finest shop, the best +meat, the most regularly paid monthly accounts, the biggest, squarest +stone house with stables for the smartest trap to drive out his wife in. +And then Elizabeth would awake to her folly. But too late! Too late! +Elizabeth's goose was cooked. + +Nipper avoided the first outbreak of parental wrath by running off with +Meg Linwood, and Mrs. Donnan consoled her husband by her usual +reflection that all was for the best. There are, indeed, very few things +breakable about a butcher's shop, and if Meg had stayed at New Erin +Villa, a complete set of crockery would have been required at an early +date. + +From Dumfries and Glasgow, Nipper sent very brief letters expressive of +a desire to come to terms with his father. He was married. That could +not be altered or amended. Meg came of a respectable family, and (save +the breakages) no fault could be found with her. + +True, Mrs. Donnan sighed. She would rather have seen Nipper going +proudly down the aisle with another than Meg Linwood on his arm. As for +Butcher Donnan himself, as soon as he got over dwelling upon the +thrashing he meant to give Nipper when he caught him, the outlines of a +broader, farther reaching, less arbitrary settlement began to form +themselves in his mind. + +He saw his lawyer, Mr. John Liddesdale, and what they said to one +another bore fruit afterwards. But it was a busy ten days for Butcher +Donnan. He had to spend the early morning of every day in the down town +shop. He had the rooms above it cleaned out, new furniture +installed--and he abused his son as he went. + +"The young fool!" was the best word for Nipper, forgetting that he +himself had married at eighteen. Each afternoon he was out in the blue +and gold van with the collapsible rain-hood. In the evenings he looked +into the ashes of the kitchen fire and thought. It was then that +Elizabeth proved herself above rubies to the old folks of New Erin. + +"Faith, didn't I tell ye, from the first," cried Butcher Donnan, +slapping his thigh mightily, "that's the girl, Cynthia! Nothing she will +not turn her hand to--as smart as a jay, and all as sweet and natural +as the Queen of Sheba coming it over Solomon!" + +"It strikes me, Butcher Donnan," said his wife, "that for an old man you +are getting wonderfully fond o' the lass!" + +She was smiling also, a loving, caressing, motherly smile, showing +mostly about the eyes, as she spoke of Elizabeth Fortinbras, which was +very good to see. + +"Fond of her, is it?" cried Donnan. "I declare, I'm as fond of her as I +wad ha' been o' my own daughter, if it had pleased Mary an' the saints +to give us one!" + +"_And why not?_" said Mrs. Donnan, bending suddenly towards her husband, +and startling him with the earnestness of her regard. + +"Why not--Cynthia, woman? You have been talking to Mr. Liddesdale?" + +"Not I," said his wife, smiling. "_You_ should not talk in your sleep, +that's all, Butcher Donnan, if you want to keep your little secrets." + +"Ah, wife, wife, it's you that are the wonderful woman," cried the +Butcher-Pastry-Cook; "but if that be so, faith, it's just as well I +don't sleep with that Thief-o'-the-Wurrld Kemp, our sugar merchant. But +what say you, wife?" + +"I say what you say, Butcher Donnan!" + +"Do you think she would accept? Would she come to us and be our +daughter?" + +"By this and that," said his wife, "mind, I take it for granted that you +have done what is right by Nipper, and that he and Meg may come home +when they like?" + +"Not before Saturday!" said the Butcher; "furniture and all won't be in. +And if I saw Nipper for the first time on any other day than the blessed +Sabbath, I might be tempted even then to break his silly head!" + +This from Butcher Donnan was equal to a stage benediction from another. +But his wife looked for more light, and in answer to the question in her +eyes he told her all. + +"Oh, Nipper is all right. He gets more than he deserves, the rascal. I +will let him off what he still owes me on the business. The shop and +dwelling-house shall be put in his name, and that's a deal more than +ever I dreamed of having at his age. As for the dollars--well, we will +see about those, when you and I have done with them!" + +"What do you think about asking Elizabeth?" said his wife. + +It was at this moment that I chanced to come in, and had the whole story +told me by Mrs. Donnan. Elizabeth had cycled down to her father's house, +and so was safely out of the way. Only our conference was interrupted by +the various calls upon Mr. Donnan to answer the sharp "_cling_" of the +bell in the outer shop. + +One after the other I heard them in silence, and at last I gave my +opinion--which was that they might make their own arrangements, with the +help of Mr. John Liddesdale, but that they would do well to wait the +return of that long-legged, Minerva-eyed brother of mine, at present +engaged in colleging it as hard as need be, to obtain the means of +passing with credit through the world. + +"He may very well be taken in the same way as Nipper!" said the father +of the latter grimly. "She's a mighty fine girl, this Elizabeth." + +"He might, indeed, very well," I answered. "I am sure _I_ should, if I +were a man. Only, he isn't, and he won't. I can promise you that. He +will advise Elizabeth for the best, with less thought for himself than +if _I_ were concerned." + +"Then he is a most unusual young man!" said Butcher Donnan. + +"Hugh John _is_ somewhat unusual," I said. "He does not let many people +understand him." + +"No," said Butcher Donnan; "that other young gent now--him with the +uniform! Why, he is up to more tricks than a prize monkey with an Irish +mother. As I said before, he is more in my own style about his age. Any +one can see what _he_ is driving at. If he does not break his neck off +somebody else's apple-tree, or get shot in a poaching accident, no doubt +he may live to be a great and good Admiral of the Fleet. But this here +Hugh John--he is always as quiet as pussy, and as polite as a +parliamentary candidate come last night from London. Yet he licked my +Nipper, licked him good and square--_and_ said nothing about it. Nipper +told me, though. And now he can be a real safe brother to the prettiest +girl in Edam--beggin' your pardon, young lady, but _you_ live out o' the +town!" + +Mrs. Donnan reminded her husband that it was owing to Master Hugh John +that Elizabeth Fortinbras had come to them first. Also that it was +certainly the least they could do to give him the chance of putting the +matter to Elizabeth in his own way. + +Thus, pending the Christmas holidays, Elizabeth Fortinbras became a +child of adoption without knowing it. + +Curiously enough, no one seemed to take into consideration any rights of +pre-emption which her own father and mother might be supposed to possess +upon her. + + + + +XIV + +THE HARVEST FAIR + + +_Written at the Age of Sixteen._ + +Of all the local events which upheaved the world of children in Edam, +undoubtedly the greatest was the Harvest Fair. This happened somewhat +late in the year. For Edam lay high on the mountain slopes. Only the +herds and the sheep went higher. The harvesting lands were mostly in the +valley crofts, in the hidden "hopes" and broad waterside "holms." But +here and there a few hundred acres of oats lay angled up against the +steep side of a mountain, and in late October afforded a scanty, stocky +harvest, "_bleached_" rather than ripened by the slant, chill sun and +sweeping winds of the uplands. + +In brief, then, the Harvest Fair was late in Edam. We were near enough +to the Borders, however, to be overstocked with gypsies. And it was +after them that the Gypsies' Wood and Tryst had been named. + +A fine sight was Edam Fair. Far and wide it spread over the green, right +down to the verges of Esk-water. Ours was a Fair of the old-fashioned +kind. Rustics still stood about unhired with a straw in their +mouths--plowmen and "orra" men they! Maidens wore their breast kerchiefs +unknotted, and as soon as the bargain for six months was struck, and the +silver shilling of "arles" had passed, they knotted it firmly about +their throats. They were no longer "mavericks"--masterless cattle. They +had the seal of a place and an occupation upon their necks. + +It was "Bell, the Byre Lass at Caldons"--"Jess Broon, indoor lass at the +Nuik"--"Jeannie Sandilands, '_dairy_' at the Boareland of Parton." These +were the proud titles of the "engaged" ones who wore the knotted +neckerchiefs. + +But the "shows" were, after all, the most taking and permanent feature. +There was the continual joy of "Pepper's Ghost," where (as Fuz has +related) on a certain occasion the hero, new to his part, first of all +transfixed the ghost, and then threw down his clattering sword, with the +noble words, "Cold Fire is Useless!" + +There was "Johnston's Temple of Terpsichore," on entering which you +always looked over your shoulder to see if the minister or any of the +elders were in sight. But how the girls danced, and how difficult it was +to stop watching those who danced on their hands with their feet in the +air, in order to observe those who danced on their feet with only their +hands in the air! Thus we lost distinction in our joys. + +However, both sorts were applauded, and when the people in tights leaped +up and stood on each others' feet in order to form a pyramid, the +general feeling was that if indeed we were selling our souls to Satan, +at least we were getting the worth of our money! + +We did not care much, after this, for the legitimate drama--though it +was funny, certainly, to see Othello's "livery of the burnished sun" +grow patchy, and the grease trickle down from the left corner of +Desdemona's nose--which, being naturally rubicund, had been worked up +for the occasion. + +I was, of course, too much of a young lady to be allowed to visit the +Fair under any available escort. In the evening I might possibly, in +company with Somebody, be permitted to peruse the outsides of the +booths. But the real delights were for the children. Strong in the +possession of a half-crown apiece (to be spent as you please without +accounting), Sir Toady and the Maid made havoc among the Aunt Sallies +and the Cocoa-nut shysters. + +A plan of campaign was evolved, simple but effective. Sir Toady, who was +a good shot, took over the Maid's half-crown, and bound himself by a +great oath to deliver up half the proceeds. + +As for me, I caught glimpses of His Majesty's uniform darting from stall +to stall, from range to range, followed by a butterfly figure in skimp +white. This was the Maid, keeping track of profit and loss. She had good +cause. Was she not involved to the extent of two-and-sixpence, her +maiden mite? + +Sir Toady appeared to be reckless, and put wholesale propositions before +the Cocoa-nut shysters, as thus--"Suppose I give you two shillings cash, +how many throws can I have for it, and can I pick my own nuts if I win?" + +Some refused and some accepted. Those who refused were, commercially +speaking, the lucky merchants. Sir Toady's aim was deadly. He did not +mind throwing at an Aunt Sally, though this he considered rather +old-fashioned play. A bull's-eye trap-door, which opened at the smack +of the ball, was his favorite. And he cleaned up one merchant from whom +he had secured the easy terms of forty throws for half-a-crown. So +completely did he do it that the fellow, who saw his pile of nuts +rapidly wasting away, brazenly repudiated his bargain, and would even +have tried to lay hands on the pile already in the bag over the Maid's +shoulder. + +But the shyster reckoned without a knowledge of his Toady. You see, +there was not in Edam man, woman, or child who did not know Sir Toady. +And though at one time or another most had had their private +disagreements with that youth, he was still an Edamite of the Edamites. +Stained with early (orchard) crime, he yet retained the sympathy of +gentle and simple. The very "smoutchies" of a younger time rallied at +his call, and if the nuts had not instantly been paid over, the +overturned "gallery" would have been sacked on the instant by +promiscuous brigandage, the very police looking on with broad, benignant +smiles. + +"Such a young codger as he were!" grumbled the man afterwards, half in +anger, half in admiration. "I had made a bad bargain. I see _that_ at +once. 'Give me back them nuts. You've 'ad 'em on false pretenses!' sez +I. + +"'Sorry! So I have!' says he, smooth as butter. And with that he outs of +his breast-pocket with his lanyard and blows a whistle like a bo'sum's +mate! Then they ran from every quarter. My poor ole stall were on its +back in half a jerk, and if it hadn't been for my young gent, so should +I--_and_ mauled into the bargain! + +"Served me right, you say, for shovin' of my head into such a wasp's +nest! But how was I to know?--I puts it to ye, mates. How was _I_ to +know?--_me fresh from London_!" + +I had gone up to the Cave of Mystery, armed with the three-draw +telescopes, which Hugh John had left behind him as too precious to be +risked in the give-and-take of school--though, according to information +received, it was mostly "give" with Hugh John. + +I saw a procession detach itself from the dense flow of the crowd, led +by the white-frocked Maid and a dark blue Sir Toady, both laden down by +sackloads of cocoa-nuts. It was impossible for them to carry them all +the way home to the House in the Wood. Equally impossible to trust the +youth of Edam, satisfactory enough when fighting was on hand, but +unreliable when it came to division of the spoils. + +The Imps staggered across the road, pursued by a riotous tail of +infantry of no known line. Arrived at the shop door of New Erin Villa, +they were met by Mrs. Donnan--who, on such a busy day, had come out for +a breath of fresh air. + +"What in the world have you got there, children?" cried the Dame, +holding up astonished hands to heaven. + +"Cocoa-nuts! Wads and lashings of cocoa-nuts!" cried Sir Toady. "I shot +for them all. I threw for them. I won them. And when the man would have +cheated me, I whistled the whole Fair Green down on him. _Then_ I saved +his life! But I don't know what to do with them now I have them! They +won't hatch out, and if they would, I haven't got a big enough hen! +Here, you!" + +And opening one of the bags, he bowled half-a-dozen of the nuts among +the crowd of smoutchies, who instantly became a swarming, fighting +anthill on the plainstones of the street. + +"Stop, Master Toady," said Mrs. Donnan, "do stop! I will show you what +to make of them. Some of them will be good----" + +"All are good," asserted Sir Toady; "_I_ picked them! At college they +teach us, over at the canteen, how to know the good ones from the bad!" + +By this time I was down at the shop door, having struck the main road +near the Station Bridge. I fled to meet them, passing on the way Butcher +Donnan, who for the day had turned the blue and gold van into a fine +selling booth on the Market Hill, where he presided over half-a-dozen +temporary assistants, keeping a wary eye on all, both buyers and +sellers. + +The children were tired, and stood panting. Sir Toady was unexpectedly +pessimistic. Maid Margaret looked rather world-weary. Both had begun to +think that, after all, there were better ways of spending five shillings +than shooting for cocoa-nuts. + +"What rot!" said Sir Toady, shaking one disgustedly close to his ear. +"Can't eat them all--make us ever so sick, and I have to join on Friday! +No time to get better! Bah!" + +"It was all your fault, Toady," moaned the Maid, "_and_ I want my +half-crown back!" + +"Nonsense!" cried Toady. "I never will go into partnership with a girl +again. They always are sorry afterwards, whatever a chap does for them! +There is your bag full of nuts, good and sound. What more do you want?" + +Maid Margaret wanted much more. She began to express her wants in terms +of candies and chocolates. + +"Candies!" cried Mrs. Donnan; "why, if I weren't so busy, I would make +you two candy to dream about--and of those very cocoa-nuts too!" + +"Do--oh, do make us some!" + +"Well, come into the bakehouse, and we shall see!" + +They went, Elizabeth Fortinbras and I smilingly assisting with the bags +of nuts. Elizabeth could not be spared out of the front shop, but I +stopped to watch, and of course Sir Toady and Maid Margaret pushed and +elbowed for good front seats. + +Mrs. Donnan, quietly smiling as ever, seized a skewer, and with several +skillful taps made a hole in the end of the nut through which she let +the milk drop into a basin. Then with a heavy hammer she smashed the +shell into pieces. + +It was a good nut, even as Sir Toady had prophesied. He had been well +taught at the canteen. + +"Now," said the _cordon bleu_ of Edam, "who wants to do a bit of grating +for me?" + +"_I_"--"_I_," shouted the children, and though I did not shout, I was +really as ready as any one. The white inside was dealt out to us, and +while the Maid and Sir Toady went at it (sometimes scraping their +fingers by way of variety), a respectable pile of soft flaky nut, +cream-colored and nice, began to appear. + +When we were finished, Mrs. Donnan went to a bag, and measured out two +tablespoonfuls of white sugar to each one of the nut-flake, dropped the +whole into a sizeable patty pan, and poured the milk of the cocoa-nut +over it. + +With Mrs. Donnan stirring hard, the whole was soon bubbling away +cheerfully--indeed, boiling like what lava does in a volcano (_ought +to_, at any rate), the bubbles bursting, and the nice smell making your +teeth water, so that it did not seem that you could ever wait for it to +cool. + +Then, just when the bubbles began to burst with a warning "pop," Mrs. +Donnan turned everything into a well-buttered shallow dish. It made a +cake about as thick as your finger, and oh, but the smell was good! But +she laid the dish away in the ice-house--as she said, to cool. Really, +I think, to keep us from temptation, and prevent too early experimenting +upon the result. + +Elizabeth Fortinbras would have none of us (not even me) in the front +shop that day. She was too busy. So, after one question put and answered +(it was about Hugh John), the three of us went out and walked in the +garden till the ice-house had done its work. + +Well, do you know, that candy was famous. Just you try it, with the +explanations I have given you! It goes all right, you will find, and no +mistake. + +Indeed, so well did it go that a bargain was soon struck, and +Elizabeth's clever fingers were busy printing out a placard: + + FOR THIS DAY ONLY + CANARY ISLANDS COCOA-NUT + CANDY + A SPECIALTY. + +Cut into cubes, the result was certainly fascinating. Even Fuz was +tempted to try. He came to scoff, but he remained to suck. + +"_Now_, didn't I tell you!" said Sir Toady, when on the morrow he +received twelve silver shillings as his share of the venture from the +careful hands of Mrs. Donnan. "Never you grumble about your Admiral +Tuppens again. There you are! More cocoa-nut candy than we can eat +before next Friday, warranted wholesome by Fuz, and six bob apiece to do +what we like with! How about your old half-a-crown now?" + +And the Maid was properly subdued, as, indeed, she ought to have been. +Sir Toady did not mention that without Mrs. Donnan he would have been a +very sorrowful investor indeed. + +But then, male things love to take all the credit to themselves. Bless +you, they can't help it! It's born in them, like polywogs in ponds. + + + + +XV + +QUIET DAYS + + +_November 23._ + +We have had our first frost early this year--four days' skating on the +High Pond before the middle of November! But it was sad to see the poor +folks' corn still out, the stalks, stiffly frozen, piercing the couple +of inches of frozen sleet that covers the ground. + +They have had harvest festivals down in the town churches. But Fuz said +that if they had taken up collections to help pay the farmers' rents, +_that_ would have been the best sort of festival, and he would have +attended. As it was he stopped away, so as to let in somebody who was +grateful for a late harvest and spoilt crops! + +Fuz says that it is no use sending the _Monthly Visitor_ to people who +don't have a daily dinner, and that anything he has to spare will go +towards the dinners. But then, Fuz does not mean all he says. For though +he growls at the Tract Distributors, he always finishes by giving +something so that they will not go sorry away. + +Elizabeth Fortinbras goes to the shop opposite the Market Hill every +day. She has a nice gray dress now which she made herself, a water-proof +cloak, and a pretty canoeing hat. She is quite ignorant of all that the +good people are getting ready to offer her. Will she accept? Possibly +Hugh John could tell. Certainly _I_ can't. + +The young couple down town have come home--Meg Linwood and her husband +Nipper, I mean. His father has explained the situation very sharply to +him--that is, in so far as the business is concerned. I think he is +waiting about the house and furniture till Elizabeth has said "yes" or +"no." + +It is a good time to tell about our churches. Ours is the nicest. For +though we are not compelled to go to any particular one, yet Somebody +thinks it is a kind of point of honor to attend the one in which we were +born and brought up. There are all sorts of things going on, too, and +young people who don't have parties and dances get to know each other at +_soirees_ and social meetings. It acts just the same--even quicker, I +have noticed. They get married to each other all the same. + +Hugh John, who has studied the subject, says he can stand all sorts of +"flirts," except the one who asks you about your soul before she knows +whether _she_ has got one herself! + +Now there is Thomasina Morton, the doctor's daughter, and a smart girl +too. Only she never could get away from two or three catchwords, caught +up from all sorts of people. She got fearfully anxious about the souls +of all the good-looking young men, and made them come into her father's +consulting-room so that she could "plead with them." Of course it was +all very good and, I dare say, most necessary, but I _don't_ think it +was fair on Dr. Morton. You see, he is a good man, but much exposure to +all sorts of weather has told on his temper, and really I can't blame +him for what he said when he stumbled upon one of these reunions in the +dusk of a November afternoon. It was Billy Jackson's legs he fell over, +and they say Billy has had to walk with a stick ever since. + +But Thomasina declared that her father was hard-hearted, and even went +to consult her minister about it. But Mr. Taylor is a sensible man, and +said that thirty years of Dr. Morton's life would weigh against a good +deal of strongish language in the archangel's scales! He also asked +Thomasina where her father had been that day, and she said, "Out seeing +his country patients, since eight in the morning!" Then Mr. Taylor asked +who they were, and Thomasina told him. + +"The Doctor knows as well as I do," he said, "that he will never see a +penny of fees from any of them. Don't you trouble, my young lady, about +the hardness of your father's heart. And tell Mr. William Jackson that +it will be more suitable for him to come and see _me_ about his soul. I +am at his service from eight till ten every evening--except Wednesday +and Saturday!" + +I don't know if Billy Jackson felt that this was not quite the same +thing, or whether the minister's hours did not suit him. At all events +he never went. + +Thomasina Morton, however, was not pleased with Mr. Taylor, and left his +church. She joined the Salvation Army, but soon left it, because she +found the costume unbecoming. She did better as a nurse, and had +splendid chances there. Because, you see, the dress was all right, and +her patients could not get up and run when she had them good and safe +within the four walls of an hospital! + +I dare say, however, it helped to pass the time for the poor fellows. +For, you see, Thomasina was pretty, and knew it. She would sing sad, +faint, die-away hymns in the twilight, till she made these bad young men +just lie down and cry. They were generally pretty weak, anyway, +especially when Thomasina used to talk to them about their mothers. +(When they were well, you might have talked those mothers' heads off +without reforming their sons the value of a row of pins.) But Thomasina +talked to them in a dreamy voice, till they all were willing to go out +as missionaries to the most cannibal-haunted regions--that is, if only +Thomasina would come along with them. + +But when they asked her, as they mostly did, Thomasina said she was very +sorry, but she had never meant it that way. She was "vowed to a +vocation," and mere commonplace marriage would be sinful. Besides +(mostly), the young men had nothing to keep themselves on--much less a +wife. + +Oh, Thomasina made the winter very cheerful at Edam, especially after +the Cottage Hospital was opened, and the cutting of the new railway +brought a good many into the accident ward. + +To listen to Thomasina (and believe her), all these, though mere +"_navvies_" now, were Oxford or Cambridge men, and either the sons of +purple Indian colonels, very peppery, or (which she preferred) of +white-haired old clergymen, who were never known to smile again after +their only sons had left the family roof-tree. + +Surely there was a lack of imagination in that accident ward. Hugh John +would have made cartloads of plans, and as for Sir Toady--well, he could +have evolved something fresh each journey, and never charged a penny +extra. He would have been ashamed of so many colonels and white-haired +clergymen. + +But Thomasina was quite content, and read all manner of nice +uninteresting books to the poor storm-stayed ones, who sometimes looked +at the angelic expression on her face, and sometimes had quite a decent +little sleep on the quiet. Her voice was naturally soothing. + +Thus time passed none so evilly in the Cottage Hospital accident ward, +and Thomasina came and got nice jellies from Mrs. Donnan, very +sustaining, and "let on," as Sir Toady asserted, that she had made them +all herself! But there is more--oh, ever so much more about Thomasina +Morton. I hope you are not tired hearing about her--I am not of telling. + +But you will see the funny thing that happened. Among all the imaginary +sons of purple colonels and sad, saintly clergymen whom Thomasina had +corralled into her hospital ward, there happened to be a real one. His +name, he said, was Henry Smith--which is just one of those names that +people take, like Jones and Wood and Robinson in England, and Dubois, +Durand, Duval in France, thinking to be unknown, and lo! every +hotel-keeper and policeman immediately is on the qui vive to find out +what bank they have robbed. + +Well, this young fellow's real name did not matter to anybody. Thomasina +called him "dear Harry," and had him to sit beside her in the +dining-room of the convalescent home (one of her pet hunting-grounds). +And one day after he had been in training to be good for quite a while, +he came in to dinner as usual, and, just as he was sitting down at the +table, up jumps Master Harry Smith and bolts out of the room! Naturally +enough, Nurse Webb thought there was something wrong with him, and would +have gone to see, but Thomasina restrained her with a motion of the +hand--very solemn, impressive, and "I-know-all-about-it-if-_you_-don't!" + +"He has forgotten to say his prayers!" she whispered. "He promised me!" + +And Nurse Webb sank back appalled, wondering what they would have said +at "King's." But Thomasina was quite calm, and laid her hand soothingly +on that of "dear Harry" when he returned from his (very short) +devotions. + +And do you know, all the time he was what Sir Toady calls "a regular +rip." Only he was a real colonel's son, and had been tried +everywhere--only no one would have him about on any account. + +But old Dr. Morton did what Thomasina said, and got this young fellow +dressed out in new clothes, till he looked as smart as a paper of new +pins. Then who so proud as Thomasina! She was so glad that Harry had +turned out so well that she said she would marry him. Then he was +fearfully noble, and said that he wasn't worthy of her, but that he +would wait for the day when he would lay the world at her feet. Oh, he +said ever such a heap of what the boys call, with a certain rude +correctness, "tommy-rot." + +And old Papa Morton got him a place in a ginger-beer factory, to manage +the accounts, where Mr. Harry Smith behaved pretty well for three +months. But on the eve of his marriage with Thomasina he disappeared, +taking with him a whole fortnight's wages of the ginger-beer factory +workmen. + +Instead, he left a letter full of consolatory texts for Thomasina, which +I would quote, but Fuz says I must not. Only he concluded by saying that +his dear Tommy was not half a bad little thing, only her company and +conversation were wearing for a man of his tastes and antecedents. If +she had only seen her way to giving him a "let up" every ten days or so, +he might have stayed on. But as it was, there was nothing left for him +but to borrow her father's fur-lined overcoat, and bid Thomasina a long, +last farewell through floods of burning tears. She was to remember, +however, that, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, he was ever +her own Harry. Also that the next time he needed nursing and advice, +both of superior quality, he would not fail to think of the happy days +in the convalescent ward of Edam Borough Hospital. + +"Harry Smith" was seen no more on Esk waterside, and by last accounts +Dr. Morton is still awaiting the return of his fur-lined overcoat. + + + + +XVI + +HUGH JOHN, AMBASSADOR PLENIPOTENTIARY + + +I don't think that Dr. Morton ever really got over the loss of his +fur-lined overcoat. You see, it gave him a tone, making many a suffering +household feel quite chirpy and consoled only to see him getting +carefully out of his gig, and laying back the lapels so as to show the +best pieces of fur. But he was never the same man in plain tweed, even +when he took to a high velvet collar. People had not the old confidence. +He had two favorite methods of treatment--leeches and fly-blisters--and +when he began to leech the blister people and blister the leech people, +all felt that the end was near. + +So Mr. Liddesdale persuaded him to sell his practice while he had one to +sell--the stock of leeches and Spanish flies being taken at a valuation. +So there came a young doctor to Edam, and his name was Dr. Weir Douglas. +At first it was feared that he would not be a success, because he went +about in gray tweeds and a straw hat. Worse than all, he made 84 in the +cricket match against Lockermaben. This showed how little serious he +could be, and how little he had to do in his profession. Dr. Morton was +often called out of church twice on the same Sunday, and though +everybody knew that he kept a boy for the purpose, yet, after all, the +summons might be real. No one could tell. At any rate it waked up a +sleepy congregation better than peppermint drops, and people whispered +that it must be Sandy Paterson's wife, or that loon of Jock Malcolm's +who was always climbing and coming to grief. + +However, when Jock Malcolm did fall from the scaffolding of the +Established Church (then being repaired parsimoniously by reluctant +heritors) Dr. Weir Douglas saved the boy's life by carrying him to his +own house across the way, and, after setting the shoulder, sent to ask +Miss Thomasina Morton to come over and nurse Master Jock Malcolm. + +Then the whole village of Edam began to respect Dr. Morton, calling him +"cunning old rascal," and other terms of admiration. Indeed, they +respected him for the first time in their lives. Had he not got a good +price for his practice, and would not Thomasina do the rest? Indeed, the +marriage of Thomasina and Dr. Weir Douglas was regarded on all hands as +a settled thing. Any one else in Edam (except perhaps our Hugh John) +would have been considered fair game for jest, and congratulated fifty +times in a day. But somehow Dr. Weir Douglas did not look the kind of +man to be too familiar with, even in a straw hat and gray tweeds--just +as no one would take a liberty with our Hugh John in a clown's dress at +a fancy ball, if the mind of man can conceive such a thing. Even there, +he would probably be found in a retired corner with the prettiest girl +(if she were tall and pale and willowy), instructing her on the chances +of Siam becoming a second Japan, the resurrection of the Further East, +the probability of a Russian Anarchist Republic, and other topics +especially adapted for a ball-room. Whereas Sir Toady--but perhaps the +less said about that the better. If he had not told at least five girls +that they were the prettiest in the room, the young man would have felt +that he had thrown away his chances, an accident against which he +carefully guarded himself. + +But to return to the nursing of Master Jock Malcolm--now become so +important and necessary a link in the chain of events. Edam gave +Thomasina twenty-four hours to bring the young doctor to his knees. But +Dr. Weir Douglas spoiled all calculations by charging his coachman's +wife to look after the comfort of Miss Morton, and taking up his own +quarters for the time being at the Edam Arms, opposite! + +The entire village agreed that this was not playing the game, and as for +Thomasina, she felt that never in the world had there been such a +reprobate. She placed tracts in his way. She scattered them all about +the house, and neglected her patient to think out plans for wrestling +with this stiff-necked and rebellious young man. + +In the meantime, however, Dr. Weir Douglas began to gain on Edam. +Certainly he made a wonderful cure of Jock Malcolm, junior--a young +rascal who deserved no such spoiling as he was receiving. He even asked +the advice and assistance of his distinguished colleague Dr. Morton, +making it a favor that in the meantime he should return to the house +which had been his own for so many years. It was really much too large +for a bachelor, and Dr. Weir Douglas would consider it a favor to have +it taken care of. He himself was perfectly comfortable at the Edam +Arms. This, however, could not last for ever. + +The whole village was more certain than ever that Thomasina and he were +"going to make a match of it." It was just at this critical time that +Hugh John came home on holiday for Christmas and New Year. + +I was exceedingly interested to see how these two would get on--the +Doctor and Hugh John, I mean. Because my brother is by no means +universally amiable, and the new arrival, for all his generosity, +carried a good deal of "side"--or at least what seemed so to the Edam +people. They did not understand his "antiseptics," the boiling of his +medical scissors, his multipled sprayings, and _minima_ of medicines. A +whacking black draught, and a fly-blister the size of the _Scotsman_ +newspaper, were the popular idea of what a real doctor ought to +prescribe. Who would pay a man just to come and look at them? Certainly +not the people of Edam. + +I was present when Hugh John and Dr. Weir Douglas met for the first +time. In fact, I made the introduction. I was interested to see what Dr. +Douglas would make of Hugh John. For if he treated him like a schoolboy, +all was over. + +It was in our drawing-room. Somebody had had his little afternoon nap +over Froude's _History of England_--volume eight. Now if you ask +Somebody how long Somebody has slept, Somebody will answer that Somebody +_may_ just have dropped off for five minutes. The Doctor had come in to +call socially. You see, I had met him at the Tennis Club. Well, Somebody +was quite pleased with him because he had read "Froude," and for a while +he did not notice the big, gray-eyed boy on the window-seat who had +risen at his entrance and then as quietly sat down again. + +But I said, "Doctor--my brother Hugh John!" + +Then Hugh John loomed up, with that quiet gravity which deceives +strangers sometimes, his finger still keeping the place in William's +_Middle Kingdom_, and his eyes meeting those of the Doctor level as the +metals on a straight run of the railway line. + +The Doctor was ready to pass the lad in order to talk with +Somebody--who, as usual, lay back looking amused. But that arresting +something in Hugh John's eyes, a mixture of equality and authority, +halted him, as it has done so many others. + +"You are reading?" said the Doctor civilly. + +"Oh, no," said Hugh John, "just picking out favorite bits. Do you know +_The Middle Kingdom_?" + +Now _The Middle Kingdom_ is an exceedingly fine book, highly technical +in parts, and has to do with China. So it is no wonder that it was not +so familiar to a man who for years has had to specialize on surgery as +it was to the omnivorous Hugh John. + +Dr. Weir Douglas shook his head as he glanced over the volume. + +"It looks very stiff," he remarked; "are you getting it up for an +exam.?" + +Hugh John looked at him curiously. He did not approve of jests on such +subjects. "I read it first when I was about ten," he said. "I only wish +exams were as easy." + +"Is it 'math'?" the Doctor inquired sympathetically. + +"Yes," said Hugh John, "that--and the idiocies of English spelling!" + +All this as from man to man, unsmiling, unwinking, each taking the +measure of the other. + +It came to an end in a mutual self-respect, neither yielding an inch. +But the boy knew how to make himself respected as well as the man of +thirty. That night they took a long walk together in the crisp black +frost, while Dr. Weir Douglas talked of "microbes," and Hugh John +expounded Chinese transcendental medicine. But the real respect did not +arrive till, passing the darkened library as they returned, the Doctor +said, "I hear you do something with the gloves. What do you say to a +turn?" + +"Step in!" said Hugh John. + +What passed I do not know, but when he went away the Doctor said, "I +really think those gloves of yours are two or three ounces too light!" + + * * * * * + +It was the next day that Hugh John, summoned into solemn council by +Butcher Donnan and his wife, was informed what was expected of him in +the matter of Elizabeth Fortinbras. Luckily I was again present, and so +can tell all about it. + +Hugh John was not surprised. He was the Red Indian of the family. He +took it as quite natural that he should be called in, quite natural that +such good luck should befall Elizabeth Fortinbras, and entirely +reasonable that he should be chosen as plenipotentiary. + +Now and then he asked a question, unexpectedly acute, as to Nipper's +financial position, and how the proposed arrangement with Elizabeth +would affect him. You would have thought it was Nipper's case he was +advocating. Only I know that he was anxious to keep clear of all +injustice before taking the matter in hand. + +"_And suppose Elizabeth gets married?_" + +I saw the two Donnans look one at the other. I don't think either had +yet considered the matter in this light. To adopt Elizabeth meant to +adopt any possible husband Elizabeth might take to herself. I could tell +from Butcher Donnan's twinkle that he was envisaging the possibility of +having Hugh John as a son-in-law--by adoption. Hugh John was still an +unknown quantity to the good pastry-cook. He would never understand the +delicate detachment of the friendship of Elizabeth Fortinbras and my +brother. + +"We hope," said Butcher Donnan cunningly, "that you will let us keep +Elizabeth for a long time, Mr. Hugh John?" + +The boy took the words perfectly seriously and with no personal bearing. + +"Elizabeth," he answered, "is a very pretty girl, but I shall do my +best. At any rate she is sure to consult me before doing anything +rash--like getting married, I mean!" + +There was something about Hugh John which kept any one from laughing at +him, and accordingly Butcher Donnan refrained. + +"You are a confident young man," he said; "at your age I might have had +an eye a little wider open for my own good fortune." + +"Elizabeth trusts me, and I am her friend!" said Hugh John, as if that +settled the whole matter. + +"Well, may I be ... blessed!" cried Butcher Donnan. "Off with you, and +let us hear what Elizabeth says." + +"No," said Hugh John, "it must _happen_, not be dragged in by the +collar. To-night, after shop-shutting, Elizabeth will go home to see +that all is right with her people. I shall walk with her, and tell you +what she says in the morning." + +"We would rather hear to-night," cried Butcher Donnan, hotly impatient +after the manner of his kind. + +"No--to-morrow!" pronounced Hugh John. "She ought to have the night to +think it over. It wouldn't be fair unless!" + +"No more it would, young fellow!" cried Butcher Donnan, clapping Hugh +John on the shoulder. "You found us a new business. You are finding us a +daughter--perhaps some day----" + +"Hush now, Butcher," said his wife, anxious as to what he should say +next. + +But Hugh John, already deep in his mission, took no offense at Butcher +Donnan's _innuendoes_. Elizabeth Fortinbras and he were the best of good +friends. And when the time came he would stand by the right hand of the +bridegroom of her choice and witness his joy. + +So at least he thought at that moment. + + + + +XVII + +THE LITTLE GREEN MAN + + +_Written the Summer we went abroad for the first time._ + +It was about then that Hugh John suddenly grew up. He had been +threatening it for a long time, but had always put it off. This time, +however, it was for keeps. We noticed it first when we made Father tell +us stories. Hugh John had grown tired of the "Little Green Man"! Now +this was a thing so terrible to us that we hardly dared to face it. For, +you see, we had been, as it were, brought up on the Little Green Man, +and this was like being false to the very salt we had eaten. And the +crime was specially bad on Hugh John's part. For, you see, he ate such a +lot of salt that the Doctor told him it was bad for his health. However, +because there is no chance of Hugh John reading this book, I will try to +tell the tale just as Father tells it even yet to Margaret the Maid--and +the rest of us who have not grown too old to like such stories. + + THE TALE OF THE LITTLE GREEN MAN. + +"Of _course_ it is true," Father always began, "because you know +yourselves that you have seen the very place and the Bogle Thorn and +all. No doubt everything has shrunk a good deal since the time the story +tells about. But that is only because you have grown out of all +knowledge, and so everything seems smaller to you." + +"I know," cried the Maid, "last year when we came back from the seaside, +the Edam Water looked quite small and shallow, even at the first Torres +Vedras!" + +But Sir Toady nipped her good to make her "shut up"--yes, he had grown +so rude in the use of words that that was what he said. But then, most +boys are like that. It is school that does it, and, do you know, when +they come back they even pervert us girls. That this is true was +immediately proved by Maid Margaret giving a fierce kick under the table +to Sir Toady, and whispering back, "Shut up yourself!" + +But Father went on, never heeding in the least. A father who can be +conveniently deaf at times is the best kind. Be sure and take no other! +The only genuine has a twinkle in his eye, and a dimple instead of +smiling. You will know by that. + +"Well, the Little Green Man," Father went on, "lived in the Bogle Thorn +on the road between Laurieston and the Duchrae. I used to go that way to +school long ago, and at first I was frightened of the Little Green Man. +I used to climb the dyke and go right up by the loch on the moor where +the curlers played in winter, so as not to be compelled to pass that +way. But after a while I got not to mind him a bit. For, you see, he was +a good little man, all clad in green velvet tights, and with a broad +green bonnet on his head like a peaky toadstool. Once or twice when I +caught sight of him up among the branches, he popped into his little +house just as quickly as a rabbit into its hole when you say "Scat!" +And, you see, when once I was sure that he was frightened of _me_, I +used not to mind him a bit. Then by and by I used to sit down and swop +currants and sugar which I had "found" at home for some of the nuts and +lovely spicy fruits that the Little Green Man had stored away. He had +the loveliest little parlor and bedrooms all in the inside of the tree, +everything finished neat as cabinet-making, and the floor carpeted--you +never saw the like--and there were little windows, too, with glass in +them, and shutters that shut with the bark outside, so that you never +could tell there was a window there at all." + +[Illustration: "I USED TO SWOP CURRANTS AND SUGAR FOR NUTS AND LOVELY +SPICY FRUITS"] + +"And how could you see all that, Father?" asked the Maid, who, as usual, +was immensely interested, not having heard it above a thousand times +before. So it stayed quite new to her. + +"Oh," said Father, "the Little Green Man touched a spring, and let me +look through the windows. Of course I was too big to get bodily into the +inside of the rooms, or run up and down the stairs. But when the Little +Green Man got married, he made a beautiful pleasure-ground at the top of +his house, with a clipped-hedge parapet all round to keep the Little +Green Children from falling over." + +"Whom did he marry, Father?" said the Maid though, of course, she knew. + +"Why, he married the Little Green Woman," said Father in a tone of +surprise mixed with reproof. + +He had been asked the same question at least a hundred times before, but +he always answered in the same tone of grieved astonishment, which +showed how clever he was. For he could not have been astonished--not +really, of course. Then he went on with the story of the Little Green +Man. The Little Green Man (said he) had a lot of children. There were +Toppy, Leafy, Branchy, Twiggy, Flowery, Fruity, and Rooty. That made +seven in all, and as they grew up, the Little Green Man made the +playground on the top of the Bogle Thorn ever so much bigger. And he +built the retaining walls higher, so as to keep them from falling over. +Not that that was a very serious matter. For, you see, they could all of +them hang on like monkeys. The only two who really ran some risk of +danger were Toppy and Rooty. For Toppy, of course, had to stay on top, +where he was safest, and knew his way about; and as for Rooty, there was +something in his blood that made him want all the time to worm his way +down into the hidden places under the earth where nobody but he ever +went, and where the corkscrew staircases got perfectly breakneck with +steepness. Then, when he found out this, the Little Green Man took +Rooty, and gave him regular sound lectures about his "habits"--you know +the kind of lecture--you have all got some on your own account. He said +that away off on the face of the wild moor, a good bit back from the +Bogle Thorn, was the cave of the Ugly Gray Dwarf--so called because that +was what he was. He was ugly as a gnarled bit of oak-trunk that they dug +up out of the moss. He was gray because he hid among the stones and +rocks of the moorland, and, worst of all, he lived on what he could +catch to eat--for choice, Little Green Children who had fallen out of +tree-tops, or missed their hold of branches, or been naughty and +wandered out when a root came to the surface. He had a horrid den where +he used to take his prey, and would either roast them before a slow +fire, basting them all the time, or else put them into a cauldron of +cold water, hung on three sticks, and _boil them alive_! (Here the Maid +always grew very pale, and edged as thickly as she could among the crowd +of us, while the boys fingered their (unloaded) revolvers.) + +So you can well imagine that it was not always the greatest fun to +wander over the face of that moorland, while this cruel monster, dry as +a chip, still as one of the bowlders among the heather, and invisible as +Will-o'-the-Wisp by day, lay watching the Bogle Thorn and the Little +Green Man's Well, to which some one had to go at least once a day for +water. Several times already the Little Green Man had had to +fight for his life. But he was a good shot with the little fairy +bow-and-arrows--the ones tipped with chips of flint--_you_ know? ("We +know!" came from all the children in a breath.) Besides, Father Green +Man was so tough when you had him that the Ugly Gray Dwarf thought +twice, and even three times, before tackling him. For although he had no +heart to pierce, but only a cold, cold stone out of the bottom of a well +instead, the heads of the tiny chip arrows came off where they hit him +and annoyed him fearfully, wandering about his system and tickling up +unexpected organs. So that at long and last he got to know that he had +better give the Little Green Man a wide berth. + +But when he got married, and children began to patter up and down the +dainty little turning staircase of the Bogle Thorn, the Gray Dwarf +rubbed his knotted clawy hands together, and grumbled over and over to +himself--"Fresh Meat! Fresh Meat!! Fresh Meat!!!" And if he did not +laugh, it is certainly reported that he chuckled to himself, like +thunder among the hills very far away. + +But of all who went about the passages and ups-and-downs of the Bogle +Thorn, there was none so reckless as Little Rooty. He was just as +rambling, rampageous a boy as any I know! (Here Father looked at us, and +Hugh John nodded at Sir Toady, who nodded back, to show that both +considered the other as "catching it.") More than once the Little Green +Man had even taken a little green switch, and--well, it just happened +the same, so there is no use entering into _that_. But, in spite of all, +Rooty would go off foraging where he had no business to, and that came +quite near to being the end of Little Rooty, who would not "take a +telling," and forgot all about the little green switch as soon as he had +stopped smarting--where he frequently smarted. + +But one dreamy afternoon, when even the bumble-bees fell asleep and only +gurgled in the deep fox-glove bells, when his father was lying on the +green couch in the parlor, and his mother was telling the others tales +about "humans" in a shady green place on the tree-top, Little Rooty +slipped away off down-stairs, twenty-five flights to the cellar door +where they took in the winter's fuel--that is, fir-cones chopped small, +which make the best fires in the world, especially in Green Tree-top +Land where fuel is a scarcity, and one has to be careful not to overheat +the chimney, because of the insurance people. Well, Little Rooty found +the door all right, and after having touched the spring, he went out on +the face of the moor. The loch was shining beneath him, but sleepily +too. And it looked so warm and bright that Little Rooty forgot all about +what he had been told--the Ugly Gray Dwarf, the big black pot swinging +on three poles in front of the Grisly Den, with the water just coming to +the boil within it. And Rooty ran as hard as ever he could, without ever +taking a minute to shut the cellar door. He jumped and shouted, and +almost tumbled into Woodhall Loch just as he was, which would have +spoiled his clean new suit of gossamer green velvet that his mother had +finished that morning, and given him because it was just six months to +Christmas, when he got his thicker winter one. + +However, he did manage to get them off, and was just getting ready to +plunge into the nice cool water, when the stranded log, on which he had +been sitting taking off his stockings, sat up in its turn and stretched +out a kind of wizened claw that caught Little Rooty by the middle and +held him in the air, kicking and screaming. Then two horny warty lids +winked up, and two eyes like cold gravy looked at him--oh, so coldly and +hatefully! It was the Ugly Gray Dwarf, and he had been lying waiting for +Little Rooty all the afternoon. Then Rooty thought of everything his +father had told him, and wished it had never felt so hot and stuffy and +bumble-bee-y inside the house, and he resolved that if he got off this +time, nothing would ever induce him to disobey his parents again. He +even wished he was back in the wood-cellar, with his father getting the +little green switch down off the shelf. Positively he thought he could +have enjoyed it. Of course Rooty was the first little boy who ever felt +like that, but he did not have a very long time in which to repent, and, +indeed, it mattered very little to the Gray Dwarf whether he did or not. +That hideous brute just pinched him all over to see how fat he was, +gurgling approbation all the time of Little Rooty's "ribs" and "chines" +and "cuts off the joint"--all of which Rooty had always liked very much, +but had never before thought of in so intimate a connection with +himself. + +Meanwhile, in the little house of the Bogle Thorn, its walls wainscoted +with green silk from a fairy Liberty's, its ceilings done in Grass of +Parnassus with sprigs and tassels of larch, the afternoon world slept +on. But the Little Green Woman paused in her long drowsy tale-telling to +the children in the shady corner of the Roof Garden. She thought she +heard a cry, so faint and far away that it might have been the squeak of +a field-mouse scuttling away from a weasel among the grass roots. + +Then a sudden thought struck her like a knife. + +"Where is Rooty? Who saw Rooty last? Toppy, you run and look over the +pricklements and see if you see Rooty. I thought I heard him cry." + +Toppy ran to the green wall of thorn, and was just in time to see the +Gray Dwarf toss poor Little Rooty over his shoulder (or at least the +knotted crotch of a tree which served him as a shoulder), and away with +him to his Grisly Den on the face of the moorland. Toppy just managed to +scream, and then his mother ran and caught him, or it might very well +have been all over with Little Toppy. By the time the Little Green Man +was wakened off the green sofa, and had understood what they were saying +(for the entire family talked at once, as is mostly the case with +united families), he ran hastily up to the Roof Garden, and saw the +Gray Dwarf, very little and flat on the face of the heath, just like a +splotch of mildew. And on his shoulder there was a spot of green, hardly +visible, which the father knew at once for his Little Rooty. But he did +not scold--at least not then. He went for his fairy bow, made tiny like +a catapult--not hurrying, you know, but going so fast that it felt as if +the wind was rising all over the house of the Bogle Thorn. The Little +Green Man dipped each arrow-point--that is, the flint part of it--into a +kind of green stuff like porridge, made from hemlock and the berries of +deadly nightshade, with other pleasant and effective things only known +to the Little Green People. He took great care not to let any drip +about, and looked closely to see if there were any scratches on his +hands. For it was quite unusual stuff, and precious. So he did not want +to waste any of it. He needed it all for that mildewy spot crawling over +the moorland towards the Grisly Cave with the green dot on its shoulder +which was his own Rooty. + +Perhaps, being exceptionally good children, _you_ are not sorry for +naughty Rooty. ("Oh, yes, we are! We are!") But, anyway, his father was +sorry for him, though all the time he was promising him the best +"hiding" he had ever had in his life when he got him safe back again. +("Bet he never got a whack!" said Sir Toady, who is an authority on the +subject.) So, locking the children in and putting the key in his pocket, +the Little Green Man and his wife went away over the moorland to look +for the Ugly Gray Dwarf. The man did not want the woman to come. But she +begged of him, weeping, saying that she would go "human" if she were +left (and among the Green People that is a terrible word, and a yet more +terrible thing[1]). So in the end the Little Green Man let her come. + +[Footnote 1: It is as we say "fey."] + +Then she wanted to go direct to the cave, but her husband, who had had a +lot of experience, showed her how impossible and foolish that was. For +the Gray Dwarf would just lie down behind a big bowlder and wait for +them. Then he would stun them with a log or strangle them with his long +twisty fingers as they went by. + +So instead they went all the way round by John Knox's Pulpit and the +Folds Firs, that they might turn the flank of the enemy, and so come at +his cave by a way he would never expect. It was a narrow cleft between +two rocks up which they had to come--the Little Green Man and his woman. +They crawled and crawled, noiseless as earth-worms on a plowed field. +All the while the eyes of the Little Green Man shot out small sparkles +of fire, though the lids of them were closed so that they showed like +slits in a drying plaster wall. + +After a long climb they looked over a ridge of many bowlders and much +heather--the Little Green Man and his woman close behind him. And at the +sight they saw there the wife would have screamed out and run forward. +For she was a real woman, you see, though little and green. Only her +husband was prepared for her, knowing, after so many years, exactly what +she would do. So he first put the palm of his hand across her mouth to +keep in the scream, and next gave her the pouch of arrow-heads to hold. +Then with a pair of tweezers made of bent wood he lifted the little +poisoned flakelets of flint and dropped each into a split in the +arrow-head. Then his wife deftly bound each of them about with green +cord--for that was _her_ part of the business. She forgot about +screaming when she had anything to do. + +Then the Little Green Man peered cautiously from behind a rock, first +giving his wife a good push with his foot as a warning--but, of course, +you know, kindly. + +He found himself looking down into a dell surrounded by many high +granite rocks, which made access difficult to the Grisly Cave. The Dwarf +was busy about the great black iron pot in which he was getting ready to +boil Little Rooty. The Green Man saw his boy stripped of his suit of +velvet, and trussed up neck and knee ready for cooking, while every time +the Ugly Gray Dwarf approached he gave him a kick in passing to make him +more tender, grinning and whetting a carving-knife all the time on a +monster "steel" that hung by his side. + +So you may believe that in a moment the Green Man had his bow strung +taut, and his heart beat as the dull glitter of the arrow-point, from +which the green stuff was still dripping, came into line with the hairy +throat of the wicked Dwarf. + +"_CLIP!_" + +That was the smacking sound of the bow-string going back to the +straight. + +"_IZZ--IK!_" + +That was the sound of the little elf arrow, dropping green juice from +its willow-leaf-shaped head, every drop of which was death. + +The "_IK!_" was when the elf shaft struck the Gray Dwarf and the point +broke off in his throat. He said nothing for a moment, but the knife +that was in his hand to cut up Little Rooty with clattered on the +stones, while he himself fell with a "squelch" like a big heap of wet +clothes thrown down on the laundry floor on washing-day morning. + +Then they cut Little Rooty's bonds, and took him home on his father's +back, his mother carrying the bow and the precious bag of arrow-heads. +But instead of the sound beating his father had promised him, they gave +Rooty (and all the other children) corn-cake and bramble jam, nut paste, +raspberry short-bread, and heather honey made into toffee. They danced +on the tree-tops all the night long, and illuminated all the windows of +the Bogle Thorn with glow-worms--who, in consideration of the +circumstances, gave their services _gratis_. As for the Gray Dwarf, they +never bothered any more about him, and I dare say if you care to go up +by the Grisly Cave at the end of Deep Dooms Wood on the right, as you +turn to the Falls of Drumbledowndreary, you may find his bones unto +this day. + + * * * * * + +The end of the story of the Little Green Man, as Father told it for +Fifteen Years, anyway. + + + + +XVIII + +THE BEAD CURTAIN + + +Hugh John set about his task of seeing Elizabeth Fortinbras in his own +way. He chose his own time--a pleasant blowy afternoon when in all the +vale of Edam there was nothing much doing. A sleepy place, Edam, on such +a day--the morning calm, the forenoon disturbed only by a rattling red +farm cart or two come in to bring meal and take back guano, then the +afternoon drowned in the Lethe of a Scottish village in full +summer-time. Hugh John looked in at the shop to inquire about the wasps. +They had bothered Elizabeth a good deal at first, but Hugh John had +devised traps with great ingenuity, though little success, before he +thought of a hanging curtain of blue and green beads in the doorway +which his father had brought back from Spain. It had lain in the garret +ever since, and Hugh John simply appropriated it for the use of +Elizabeth Fortinbras. + +But Butcher Donnan, returning to a waspless shop, was brought up +standing on the threshold--his mouth agape, his eyes stocky in his head, +and his hand mutely demanding explanations from "Mary-and-the-Saints." + +I think in her heart Elizabeth Fortinbras was a little afraid. Not only +had no such article ever been seen in Edam, but it was out of the power +of Edam and the Edamites to conceive such a thing as a door made of +large blue and green beads, which they had to lift up and let down +behind them, with the clashing of castanets before a play-acting booth. + +Happily Hugh John was there, sitting calmly in the back kitchen watching +Mrs. Donnan making currant short-bread. + +"Hugh John!" Elizabeth Fortinbras called out, with, it must be owned, a +little trouble in her voice. + +"Certainly; come in, Mr. Donnan!" said Hugh John courteously, running to +hold the trickling, clicking curtain aside for the ex-butcher to pass. +"A little curious till you get used to it, don't you think, Mr. Donnan? +But it will stir Edam. It will draw custom, and--what I put it up +for--keep out the wasps and bluebottles! Oh, yes, my father brought it +from Spain. It is quite an ordinary thing there. Indeed, I got the idea +from him." + +"But," said Butcher Donnan, slowly recovering his speech, "I must see +your father about the price of it to-morrow--if I am to keep it." + +"My father--sell _that_?" said Hugh John, coldly surprised. "He would as +soon eat it!" + +"But I can't take it from you, young master. It may be a valuable +article." + +"Take it--who asked you to take it?" demanded Hugh John. "I gave it to +Elizabeth Fortinbras myself as a present on the occasion of her +adoption, and if you want her as a permanence, I am afraid you must take +the bead curtain along with her!" + +"What, she has consented?" cried Butcher Donnan, forgetting everything. + +But Mrs. Donnan, who was listening, put the short-bread into the oven +quickly, and came out. She had begun to learn the tones of Hugh John's +voice. She understood at once. + +"My daughter!" she cried, and, opening wide her arms, kissed her. +Butcher Donnan paused a moment, uncertain, and then, nudging his wife: +"I ought to, I know," he said, "but just you do it for me--the first +time." So Mrs. Donnan kissed Elizabeth again, and the Butcher wiped his +mouth with the back of his hand, as if he had just had something good to +drink. Then they looked about for Hugh John to make him share in the +family joy, but that young gentleman, guessing ahead something of their +intention, had disappeared with his usual thoroughness and absence of +fuss. Some recognition from Elizabeth, privately bestowed, he was in no +way averse to, the time being dusky and the place far from the haunts of +men. But at mid-afternoon, opposite the railway station, and behind a +green and blue bead curtain to which Edam had not yet awakened--on the +whole, it is small wonder that Hugh John decided upon the better part of +valor. + +Safe in his cave on the hillside, he wiped his heated brow and +congratulated himself on his escape. Perhaps he would not have rejoiced +quite so much had he known that Sir Toady, entering at that moment in +quest of gratuitous toffee scrapings, found himself at once heir to all +the affection which was really his brother's due. Sir Toady accepted +such things as they came in his way, much as a cat drinks from stray +cream-jugs, but without giving particular thanks for them. His motto, +slightly changed from the rhyming proverb, was ever-- + + "He that will not when he can, + He's not at all my sort of man!" + + + + +XIX + +THE DISCONTENT OF MRS. NIPPER DONNAN + + +When Mr. Robert Fortinbras heard of his daughter's determination, he +declared that he renounced her for ever. But after thinking the matter +over, and especially on being reminded by Hugh John that one day she +would become heiress of no mean part of the Donnan wealth, he consented +to a limited forgiveness, on condition that in the meantime she should +do something for her father and mother. But her sister Matilda openly +revolted, saying that _she_ always knew Elizabeth meant to shove the +housework off on her, and that she did not care if not a dish was ever +washed in that house again. Elizabeth reminded her that, far from idling +at New Erin Villa, she was on foot from morning till night. Also that +nine times out of ten when she came home she found Matilda asleep on the +sofa, with a penny novelette flung on the floor beside her. There was a +feeling of strain for a moment, but Elizabeth presented her sister with +a striped blouse and half-a-dozen stand-up collars, which promptly +brought forth the declaration, "Oh, Elizabeth, you mustn't mind what I +_say_. It is only mother's nagging that does it, but I do love you!" +Which may or may not have had to do with the striped blouse and the +half-dozen collars. On the whole, there was a certain feeling of +satisfaction in the house of Mr. Robert Fortinbras that Elizabeth was so +well provided for, and that in a day of trouble she might even assist +the brilliant adventurer with some of the gold of that unimaginative +citizen, Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan. + +But Miss Elizabeth Fortinbras, though the best daughter in the +world--with only one exception that I know of personally--had no idea of +encouraging the busy idleness of her father, or the foolishness of the +rest of the family. She had found a business that suited her, and she +would in nowise interest herself less in it now that she was, so to +speak, the present partner and future heiress in the concern. + +There was but one person discontented, Mrs. Nipper Donnan. She was +jealous of the white-curtained cottage, the trim garden, which began to +blossom where she had hung out her clothes. Chiefly, however, she hated +Elizabeth Fortinbras and "that Hugh John Picton Smith," who, strangely +enough, was her abhorrence--though it was not his habit to ignore any +one, but only to pass on his way with a grave bow. + +Hugh John was an uncomfortable person to quarrel with. His great bodily +strength and long practice in the art of boxing rendered him a man of +peace whose very presence made for reconciliation. In the neighborhood +of Edam he was President Roosevelt's "moral policeman with a big stick." +Even at home he held over the head of an offender a baton of honor and +"the right thing to do." + +At school, it is to be feared that his discipline was sterner. There he +argued but seldom. He was the centurion who said, "Do this!" and the +other fellow did it. But then, it was a good thing to do, and the head +master generally considered him as his best ally. + +He was father's constant companion on his walks, and to hear them debate +in that precious half-hour in the dining-room after dinner was to escape +suddenly from the smallness of the world about, and find oneself on the +high Alps of thought where the sun shone early and late, where the +winds blew clean and cold, and thought was free exceedingly. Neither +counted anything as to be accepted merely because they had been told it +upon authority. They searched and compared, the man and the boy, Hugh +John's finely analytic mind steadied and gripped by the elder +experience. Their talk was not the talk of father and son, but rather of +two seekers--Hugh John declaiming high, direct, often fierce, while +through the smoke of a contemplative cigarette father went on smiling +gently, now waving a hand in gentle deprecation, dropping a word of +moderation here, qualifying a statement there--the son holding strictly +for law and justice, of the firmest and most inexorable, the father +dropping counsels of mercy and that understanding which is the +forgiveness of God, being, as always, a Tolerant of the Tolerants. + +I know that those who have read the two books called after Sir Toady +Lion may fail a little to recognize my elder brother. But nevertheless +this is the same who in his time wept because as a little child with a +wooden sword he had been saluted by the Scots Grays, the same also who +fought the "smoutchies"; and if I have said nothing about a certain +notable Cissy Carter, it is only because, though I know, in the +meantime I have promised not to tell. + +It will easily be understood that with such an adversary Mrs. Nipper +Donnan, ex-kitchen-maid at Erin Villa, stood little chance. Hugh John +listened patiently and gravely, his head slightly bent in the pensive +and contemplative way which was then his principal charm. He heard that +he had interfered where he had no business, that Mrs. Nipper Donnan knew +that he had always hated her husband, that, while as good as engaged to +Colonel Carter's daughter, he was walking the lanes with Elizabeth +Fortinbras--yes, and plotting and planning to get a fortune for her--a +fortune which would make beggars of her husband and herself, and strip +an only son of his inheritance. + +To the angry woman Hugh John made no reply. He only kept silence, with +that gentle irony which is his present manner with those who grow +quarrelsome--that is, if they are not of his own sex and (approximately) +age. + +He only called Nipper--and by a series of questions ascertained from him +that he knew how Hugh John had been the means of obtaining better terms +for him than he had ever hoped for, since his marriage had so offended +his father. Hugh John Picton Smith could speak no lie. He, Nipper +Donnan, would uphold this against all comers. Even in the days of the +smoutchies and the prison vault at the old Castle in the Edam Water he +had known it. Even his very enemies had known it, and had taken Hugh +John's word before the sworn oath of any one of themselves. He would +take it now, and as to his wife, if she said another word--out of the +shop she should go! She did go, slamming the door behind her. Nipper +stepped across and shot a bar with a jarring sound heard all over the +house. Then from behind the counter he thrust forth a hand, hard and +massive, towards Hugh John, who took it in his strong grip. They looked +at each other in the face, eye to eye. There was a slight shrug of +Nipper's shoulders and a toss of his head in the direction of the barred +door, which said that a man could not be responsible for his womankind, +but as for themselves, had they not fought far too often and too fairly +ever to go behind backs to do each other an injury? + + + + +XX + +TREACHERY! + + +To-day Hugh John let me see a letter which he had received from Cissy +Carter in Paris. As no one will see my diary, and also because there is +nothing very private in the letter, I have jotted down as much as I can +remember in my locked book. It was written from number twenty of the +Avenue d'Argenson, and the date was the day before yesterday. It began +without any greetings (as was their custom). + + "HUGH JOHN--People have written to me about you and Elizabeth + Fortinbras--not nice people like you, me, and the Rat" (this + was their unkind and meaningless name for--me, Miss Priscilla + Picton Smith). "I don't much care what any one writes, of + course. For I know that if ever you change your mind, you will + do as you said, and send back _your_ half of the crooked + sixpence. You need not put in a word along with it. Only just + send the half of the sixpence by the registered letter post, + and I shall understand. I promise to do the same by + you.--CISSY." + +Now it must long have been clear that my brother Hugh John is as +careless about his own concerns as he is careful for other people. He +naturally took Cissy at her word, and having a conscience quite void of +reproach with regard to Elizabeth Fortinbras or any other, very +naturally thought no more about the matter. + +But he should have been cautious how he disposed of the letter--in the +fire, for choice. Only, you see, that was not Hugh John's way. He stuck +it in his pocket-book, and pulled it out with his handkerchief just in +time for Mrs. Nipper Donnan, on her way home with her groceries, to find +it. In the little skin-covered book (which had once been "imitation +shark"), wrapped in a piece of tissue-paper, was also the half of a +crooked sixpence. + +Next morning but two, in far-away Paris, in front of a tall plastered +house with big barren windows, Miss Cecilia Carter, walking to and fro +with two of her companions, had an odd-looking, ill-addressed packet put +into her hand. She opened it with a little glow of expectation--and +there in her hand lay the other half of the crooked sixpence! + +Cissy Carter did not faint. She did not cry out. There is no record, +even, that she went pale. At any rate the school registers bear out the +fact that a quarter of an hour after she took her lesson in "theory" +from the music-master, Herr Rohrs. She only felt that something had +broken within her--something not to be mended or ever set right, +something she could not even have the relief of speaking about as the +French girls did, rhapsodizing eternally about the officers who rode +past the gate, slacking the speed of their horses a little that they +might stare up the avenue along which the young girls walked +two-and-two, also on the look-out for them. + +She had told Hugh John often just what had happened. She had cast it in +his face, when the pretty spite of her temper got the better of her, +that, some day or other, it would come to this. But in her heart of +hearts she had never really thought so for a moment. + +Hugh John untrue! Oh, no! _That_ was impossible! It did not enter into +the scheme of things. + +Yes, certainly, twice, in a fit of "the pet," she had sent hers back to +Hugh John. But this was different--oh, so different! How different, only +those who knew Hugh John could understand. When _he_ did such a thing, +he meant something by it. Hugh John had no silly flashes of temper--like +a girl--like her, Cissy Carter. + +So she thought to herself as she went about her work, the rodent which +we children call the "Sorrow Rat" gnawing all day at her heart, the +noise of the class-rooms, ordinarily so deafening, dull and distant in +her ear. + +All over! Yes, it was all over. Hugh John had wished it so, and from +that, she well knew, there was no appeal! And there was (I know it well) +one sad little heart the more in that great city of Paris, where (if one +must believe the books) there are too many already. + +But Cissy did not take offense, and I had my weekly letter as usual. +Perhaps it was a little more staid, a little less "newsy," and her +interest in Herr Rohrs not quite so profound. But really I put all that +down to the cold and headache of which Cissy complained in a +postscript--and, not even there, was there a hint as to the other half +of the crooked sixpence! Which is a record for one woman--girl, I +mean--writing to another. + +Hugh John was anything but sentimental, and it was not his habit to take +out the relic wrapped in the tissue-paper oftener than the rearrangement +of his scanty finances compelled. He would just give his pocket a slap, +and if he felt a lump--why, he thought no more about the matter. He was +preparing for college, and, knowing no reason why he should be uneasy, +he had immersed himself in his books. He had not the smallest idea that +the sharkskin purse, empty, lay in Mrs. Nipper Donnan's drawer, or that +the two pieces of the crooked sixpence were wrapped together in the same +tissue-paper in far-away Paris. + + + + +XXI + +ADA WINTER AND "YOUNG MRS. WINTER" + + +While these things were pending, I went one day to the north side of +Edam Water to call upon Ada Winter. I had known Ada at school--not in +the same class or term, of course, but just because we came from the +same place we nodded, if we were not in too great a hurry, when we +crossed each other in the playground. + +It was not much, but I have noticed that you get more fond of school +after you have left it a while. Before, it was "the beastly hole," +"Treadmill House," and other pretty little innocent names. Immediately +after leaving school, however, it became "the dear old place," a little +walled Paradise; and we used to go regularly to the station to see the +girls who were still there going off "with smiling faces veiling sad +hearts," as Hugh John said--and, of course, as I know now, wishing us +all at Jericho. + +At any rate I called upon Ada Winter, and among other things we talked +about the choir practice at our church, and I asked Ada why she did not +go. You see, she had been with me in the school choir, where, as in most +choirs, they put the pretty girls in front. (No, I shan't tell where I +sat, not I!) + +"Why," said Ada, with an inflection which would have been bitter but for +its sadness, "why I can't go to choir practice is not because I have +lost my voice, as mother tells everybody. But because mother wants to go +herself! Some one has got to stay at home." + +"But Mrs. Winter--but your mother," I began, "she does not----" + +"I know--I know--you need not repeat it," cried Ada, feeling for her +handkerchief in a quick, nervous way she always had. "Mother cannot sing +a note, and every one there makes fun of the way she dresses! Oh, don't +I know!" + +And she dabbed at her eyes, while I tried to think of something to +say--something that obstinately kept away. I wanted to comfort her, you +see, but you have no idea till you have tried how difficult it is to +comfort (or even to answer) a girl who talks about her mother like that. + +Of course I knew very well that it was all true. Mrs. Winter's youthful +toilettes and girlish airs were the talk of the "visiting" good wives of +Edam--and very respectable and noticing women these were, even beyond +the average of a Scottish "neighborhood"--half village, half town--which +is, they say, the highest in the world. + +The men thought Mrs. Winter merely "nice looking." A few found her even +"nice," and mentioned the fact at home! (Poor ignorant wretches, they +deserved what they got!) Was it not evident to every woman (with eyes) +in the congregation that Mrs. Winter was obviously, and with malice +aforethought, setting her cap at the Reverend Cosmo Huntly, the +newly-elected minister of the parish kirk in Edam? + +No matter! I had been brought up in the ancient way, and (at least +knowingly) I had not forsaken it. + +I thought of the "Honor thy father and thy mother," and during the rest +of my visit the words lay uncomfortably in the background of my mind. + +But for the moment old comradeship prevailed. Even a queer little +shamefaced tenderness somehow came over me. + +"Poor Ada," I said, "it _is_ a shame. You never get anywhere! We have +all the fun, and you have to stop on here in this pokey place!" + +"Oh, no," said Ada, dry-eyed, "you forget. There are the hens. When any +one calls, mother sends me out to the back to feed the hens!" + +We were speaking quietly on the doorstep of a quiet old house in the +little main street. The lobby was dusky behind, and the settled smell of +ancient furniture, perfectly kept for generations, came through the open +door to mingle with the sharp sting of tar, and boats, and the sea which +breathed up from the tidal river as through a funnel. + +As we stood together silent for a moment, both a little moved and +strange, even with one another, we heard a quick, decided tread. And +round the corner came Ada's mother, "Young Mrs. Winter" as she was +called, to distinguish her from Ada's grandmother, "Old Mrs. Winter," +who lived in the little cottage by the Ryecroft Bridge at the other end +of the town. + +"Come, Ada," said her mother, "take Prissy in if you want to speak to +her. I thought I had told you how much I dislike your standing gossiping +on doorsteps like servant maids." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Winter," I said very quietly. "I must go home. Father +will want me to pour out his tea." + +And Ada Winter did not press me to stay, but only shut the door, with a +glance at me, and a sigh as her mother rustled up-stairs to "change for +the evening." + + + + +XXII + +AN EVENING CALL + + +Now of course it is true that the people of Edam gossip about Young Mrs. +Winter. But, to make things quite equal all round, Young Mrs. Winter can +give any one of them points at their own game! And she has her own way +of doing it too. She is never nasty about it, never spiteful. She looks +far too plump for that. She is rather like those people in the Bible who +make broad their phylacteries, and thank God in their prayers that they +are not as other men are. It says "men" in the text (I looked it up), +but I think it must have been women who were really meant. For, about +Edam at least, it is mostly _they_ who give thanks that they are not as +other women are! + +Well, at any rate, Young Mrs. Winter was that kind of gossip--oh, far +too good-natured ever to say an ill word about any one! But, on the +other hand, always "so very sorry" for the people she did not like that +she left everybody with the impression that she was in possession of the +darkest and deadliest secrets concerning them. Only she was _so_ good +and _so_ kind that she only sympathized with these naughty people, +instead of (as no doubt she could) putting them altogether outside the +pale of society. She did this most often at afternoon teas. Then her +sighs could be heard all over the room. They quenched conversation. They +aroused curiosity, and in five minutes half tea-sipping Edam knew to how +much original sin Miss So-and-so had recently added so many new and +unedited actual transgressions. But for the unfortunate impression thus +unwittingly given of course poor Young Mrs. Winter was by no means +responsible. Indeed, she gently sighed as she went away. "It is _such_ a +pity!" she said feelingly, as her hostess accompanied her to the door. + +Mrs. Winter the Younger dealt at Nipper Donnan's--both on account of the +superior quality of the meat, and, still more, because there she +encountered a kindred spirit--no, not the Reverend Cosmo Huntly, but +Mrs. Nipper Donnan herself. It was not long before Young Mrs. Winter +knew all about the abominable devices of Elizabeth Fortinbras, the +terrible loss to the legitimate heir, Nipper, brought about by the +cunning of a certain Hugh John, the weakness (if no worse) of the elder +Donnans--in fact, all, and a great deal more, than Mrs. Nipper knew +herself! + +One evening, going into the shop during Nipper's absence on his +"cattle-buying business" among the farms, Young Mrs. Winter found still +younger Mrs. Donnan in a state of great excitement. She had just been +wrapping up a parcel, and was aching for a confidant. + +No, of course Young Mrs. Winter would never, never betray a secret. Was +she not known and noted for that one thing? Had she not suffered +grievously and been much spoken against for that very fault, if fault, +indeed, it were? Mrs. Nipper might ask all Edam. + +There was not, of course, time for that, because Mrs. Nipper was so keen +on the track of a confidant. + +It had to come out. The dam burst suddenly. There was now no means of +holding it back. Meg Linwood's private sense of injustice was increased +a thousandfold by the purring sympathy of Young Mrs. Winter. + +No, indeed, she would not sit down under it. She was not now a "slavey" +to be treated like that. She had had quite enough! And so on and so on. +Young Mrs. Winter incautiously suggested an appeal to Mrs. Nipper's +husband, and so very nearly cut off the whole book of the revelation in +mid-gush. + +"Oh, no!" cried Mrs. Nipper, "above all things Nipper must know nothing +about it! _He_ would not understand!" + +Young Mrs. Winter threw up her hands with a little gesture of despair, +as much as to say, "I do not quite see, in that case, what is to be done +in the matter!" + +Then came the dread secret. + +"I have paid them off myself. But oh--it is a great secret! Nipper would +never forgive me--he thinks so much of that Hugh John Picton Smith!" + +"Tell me all about it," purred Young Mrs. Winter. "You know I never +speak again of things which have been told me in confidence!" + +And, indeed, there was more of truth in the statement than the lady +herself was aware of. For there were but few people in Edam so foolish +as to tell Young Mrs. Winter even what their chickens had had for +dinner! + +"Oh, they shall not mock at me any more," said Mrs. Nipper, half crying +with anger, half trembling at her own temerity. + +The Meg Linwood of the back kitchen had not got over her former +wholesome dread of correction. And in her secret heart she always feared +(and perhaps also a little hoped) that one day Nipper, put out of +patience by her tricks, would snatch up a stick and give her the same +sort of moral lesson by which the late Mr. Linwood had recalled his +family to a sense of their duty. "They shall not mock at me--yes, I know +they do--because I was once a servant." (How little she knew either Hugh +John or Elizabeth, if the accusation were made seriously!) "But I have +shown them that they cannot tamper with me!" + +"But how--tell me how you did it?" said Young Mrs. Winter, sinking her +voice to a whisper. + +"I found a letter," said Meg in a solemn whisper, and putting her mouth +close to the ear of her listener, "yes, a letter--from that Carter girl +in Paris to Hugh John Picton Smith." + +"Never!" cried Young Mrs. Winter, clasping her hands together in a kind +of ecstasy. Then, fearing she had gone too far, she said, "I should like +to see it, but I suppose you sent it back immediately." + +"I did nothing of the kind," Meg Linwood giggled. "I would not be so +soft, though I have only been a servant--a common slavey, washing pans +in the scullery, while my lady, all dressed up fine, sold candy in the +front shop, and talked to _that Hugh John_!" + +Thus innocently did poor Meg Linwood lay bare to the experienced eyes of +Young Mrs. Winter the secret springs of her jealousy. + +"It _is_ a shame," murmured that lady sympathetically but vaguely. + +And so, with a little persuasion, Meg Linwood told the whole story of +the twin halves of the crooked sixpence as related in the letter found +in the sharkskin purse. + +Young Mrs. Winter felt that perhaps never had virtue been more its own +reward. She was in sole possession of a secret that would assuredly set +all Edam by the ears. + +Presently she made her excuses to Mrs. Nipper Donnan, all simmering with +sympathy till she was round the corner. And then she actually picked up +her skirts and ran. + +She had so many calls to make, so much to tell, and so little time to do +it in. No wonder that Young Mrs. Winter was almost crushed by the weight +of her own responsibilities. Suppose that she were to fall sick, or get +run over, dying untimely "with all her music in her," as the poet says. + +Unfortunately nothing of the kind occurred. The people she called on +were at home. Nay, more, they had friends. These friends, as soon as +they had heard, jostled each other in the lobbies. Nay, so great was +their haste to be gone that they made the rudest snatches at each +other's umbrellas! + +Thus quickly was the tale of the crooked sixpence spread about in Edam. +You see, the Davenant Carters were the greatest people in the parish, +all the more so for not living in the town. And as for Hugh John, he +also, though less known, was a citizen of no mean city. + + * * * * * + +I think it must have been about eight o'clock of a summer night--it was +after dinner, anyway--when a ring came to the door bell, and Cairns +went in the dining-room where Hugh John was rearranging the universe +with father while he smoked. I was at the organ looking over some music, +and trying over little bits very, very softly. Because at that time it +is not allowed to interrupt the talk. + +"A young lady on a bicycle to speak to Mr. Hugh John!" said Cairns. + +Luckily I had turned a little on the music-stool, so I did not lose a +faintest detail of what followed. I saw the single mischievous dimple +come and go at the corner of father's cheek, but, as is his silent way, +he only flicked the ash off his cigarette with his little finger, and +said nothing. + +"Will you excuse me for a moment, father?" said Hugh John, always master +of himself, and consequently, nine times out of ten, of the other person +as well. Father nodded gravely, and Hugh John went out. + +I would have given all I possessed--not usually much at most--to have +accompanied my brother. But a look from father checked me. As you can +see from his books, it is not so very long since he was young himself. +Though, of course, he seems fearfully old to us, I know he does not feel +that way himself. + +So perforce I had to wait patiently, turning over that dreary music till +somebody came into the room, and then I was released. I knew it was +Elizabeth Fortinbras who was outside, but for all that I did not even go +to the door to see. + +After what seemed a very long while Hugh John came in. He was looking +rather pale. + +"Can I go to the Edam Post Office?" he asked. "I shall not be long." + +But though he asked politely, he was gone almost before permission could +be given. + +He told me all about it when he came back. I had been at the window, and +had seen Hugh John and Elizabeth Fortinbras ride off together. For any +one who saw them there was but one thing to think. They looked so +handsome that any other explanation seemed inadmissible. Only we at home +knew different. + +"Sis," he said, when at last we got out to the gun-room, which father +uses occasionally for smoking in, "there never was a girl like Elizabeth +Fortinbras!" + +At this I whistled softly--a habit for which I am always being checked, +and as often forgetting. + +"_And what about Cissy Carter?_" I asked. + +He looked at me once with a kind of "If-you-have-any-shame-in-thee, +girl, prepare-to-shed-it-now" manner, before which I quailed. Then he +told me how Elizabeth had ridden out to tell him of the treachery of Meg +Linwood. Together they had made out an urgency telegram, had found the +post-master, and had dispatched it to Paris that very night. + +It said: "_Half silver token lost. If sent you by mischievous persons, +please return immediately to its owner, Hugh John Picton Smith._" + +"And that, I think, covers the case--she will understand!" said +Elizabeth Fortinbras. + +But low in her own heart, as she rode up the long steep street to New +Erin Villa, she added the rider, "That is, if she is not a goose!" + + + + +XXIII + +HONOR THY DAUGHTER! + + +But, alas! Cissy Carter _was_ a goose! In the well-meant telegram she +saw only a new machination of the enemy--perhaps even of Elizabeth +Fortinbras. And the heart in the Boulevard d'Argenson became, for the +moment, sadder than ever. Also Madame asked for an explanation in a tone +to which the proud little daughter of Colonel Davenant Carter had been +quite unaccustomed. She resented Madame Rolly's interference rather more +sharply than wisely. Whereupon she was told that her father would be +requested to remove her, if, on the morrow, she was not ready with an +explanation, in addition to the apology which Madame, perhaps correctly, +considered her due. + +Now it chanced that Colonel Carter, finding himself with a week-end to +spare in London, had crossed the Channel to give himself the treat (and +his daughter the surprise) of dropping in upon her unexpectedly. He +could not have come more to the purpose so far as that daughter was +concerned. Or more malapropos from the point of view of Madame Rolly. + +As many people know, the good Colonel, once the devoted slave of Sir +Toady Lion, was occasionally exceedingly peppery. And when he arrived +with his pockets bulging with good things, only to find "his little +girl" in tears--and, indeed, brought hastily down from the room in which +she had been locked--his military ardor exploded. + +"If, Madame," he is reported to have said, "I am to understand +that you cannot keep discipline without having resort to methods +more suitable to a boy of eight than to a young lady of eighteen, +it is time that I undertook the responsibility myself! Cecilia, go +up to your room. I will settle with Madame. And by the time that +is done--the--ah--baggage-cart will be at the door--as sure +as my name is G-rrrrrumph--G-rrrumph--G-rrrummph!" + +And, indeed, the "baggage-cart" (in the shape of a small omnibus) was at +the door. Although really, you know, the Colonel's name was not as he +himself affirmed. + +"And now, Missy," growled the Colonel in his finest +Full-Bench-of-Justices manner, "kindly tell me what you have been +doing!" + +For, very characteristically, the Colonel, though entirely declining to +listen to a word of accusation against his daughter from Madame Rolly, +reserved to himself the right of distributing an even-handed justice +afterwards. His method on such occasions is just the reverse of +father's, as we have all learned to our cost. Our father would have +listened gravely to all that Madame had to recount of our misdeeds. Then +he would have nodded, remarked, "You did perfectly right, Madame! In +anything that you may propose, I will support you--so long, that is, as +I judge it best that my child shall remain at your school!" For father's +first principle in all such matters is, "Support authority--receive or +make no complaints--and, above all, work out your own salvation, my +young friend!" + +And though it sometimes looks a bit hard at the time, as Hugh John says, +"It prepares a fellow for taking his own part in the world, as you soon +find you have jolly well to do if you mean to get on." + +But Cissy knew her father, and promptly set herself to cry as +heartbrokenly as she could manage on such short notice. Colonel +Davenant Carter gazed at her a moment with a haughty and defiant +expression. But as Toady Lion had once said of him, "I teached him to +come the High Horsicle wif ME!" So now, as the rickety omnibus jogged +and swayed over the Parisian cobbles, Cissy wept ever more bitterly, +till the old soldier had to entreat her to stop. They would, so it +appeared, soon be at his hotel. Even now they were passing his club, and +"that old gossiping beast, Repton Reeves," was at the window. If it got +about that he, Colonel Davenant Carter, had been seen driving down the +Rue de Rivoli with a damsel drowned in floods of tears--why, by all the +bugles of Balaclava, he would never hear the end of it. He might as well +resign at the club. All which, as Cissy sobbed out in the French +language, was "exceedingly equal" to her! But it was very far indeed +from being "egal" to the peppery Colonel. And at last, as the sobs +increased in carry and volume, he was reduced to the ignominious +expedient of personal bribery. + +"Look here, Cissy," he said in tremulous tones, "we absolutely _can't_ +go into the courtyard of the Grand Hotel like this! Now, if you will be +a good girl, and will stop this instant, I will drive you up the Rue de +la Paix, and there I will buy----!" + +"_What?_" said Cissy, looking up with eyes that still brimmed ready for +action. + +"A gold bracelet!" said her father tentatively, but still quite +uncertain of his effect. + +"Boohoo!" said Cissy Carter, dropping her face once more between her +hands. + +"Goodness gracious," cried the Colonel, invoking his favorite divinity, +"what can the girl want? A gold watch, then?" + +"Real gold this time, then!" said Cissy, who had been "had" once before, +and, even with an aching heart, was properly cautious. + +"You shall do the choosing yourself!" said her father, thinking that he +had conquered. But Cissy knew her opportunity--and the relative whom +fate had given her. The tears welled again. Her bosom was shaken by +timely sobs. + +"Well, what then, Celia--really, this becomes past bearing! Why, we are +nearly at the hotel!" + +Cissy glanced up quickly. "A gold bracelet _with_ a gold watch, then!" +she sighed gently. + +And this is the truth, and the whole truth, as to why Colonel Davenant +Carter gave his arm to a radiant and beautiful daughter in the courtyard +of the Grand Hotel--a daughter, also, who lifted up a prettily-gloved +hand (twelve buttons), and at every fourth step _looked at the time_! + + + + +XXIV + +CISSY'S MEANNESS + + +Miss Cecilia Davenant Carter had been at home a good many weeks before +she came to see me. Of course Hugh John was now at college, and +doubtless that made a difference. But she had never stayed away so long +before, and whatever reason Cissy might have to be angry with Master +Hugh John, she had not the least right to take it out on ME! + +However, she came at last--chiefly, I think, to show me the gold watch +on her wrist. This she wanted so badly to do that it must have hurt her +dreadfully to stay away as long as she did. So she sat fingering it, but +not running to ask me to admire it, as a girl naturally does. Of course +I took no notice, though it made me feel mean. We talked about the woods +and the autumn tints (schoolgirls always like these two words--they +remind them that it is the season for blackberries and jam), till at +last I was thoroughly ashamed of myself. So I went over to Cissy, and +said, "I think that's the prettiest bracelet I ever saw in all my life!" + +And she said, "Do you?" looking up at me funnily. "Do you really?" she +repeated the words, looking straight at me. + +"Yes, I do indeed!" I answered. And--what do you think?--the next moment +she was crying on my shoulder! Of course I understood. Every girl will, +without needing to be told. And as for men (and "Old Cats"), it is no +use attempting to explain to them. They never could know just how we two +felt. + +But Cissy had really nothing in the least "catty" about her. "Quite the +reverse, I assure _you_!" as the East Country folk say. She even took it +off and let me try it on without ever warning me to be careful with it. +And that, you know, is a good deal for a girl who is "not friends" with +your own brother, and has only had a new "real-gold" watch-bracelet for +three or four weeks. + +But then, Cissy could never be calm and restful like Elizabeth +Fortinbras. Cissy did everything in a rush, and so, I suppose, got +somehow closer to the heart of our impassive Hugh John just on that +account. Elizabeth Fortinbras was too like my brother to touch him +"where he lived," as Sir Toady would say. + +Well, after a while Cissy stopped crying, and took my handkerchief +without a word and quite as a matter of course (which showed as clearly +as anything how things stood between us). + +Then she said, "Priss, do you know, I did an awfully mean thing, and I +want you to help me to make it all right again!" + +In a book, of course (a proper book, I mean), I ought to have asked Ciss +all sorts of questions, and said that in everything which did not affect +the honor of the house of Picton Smith I was at her service. And so on. + +But of course ordinary girls don't talk like that now-a-days. If you +have what our sweet Maid calls a "snarl" against anybody--why, mostly +every one plays hockey now, and it is the simplest thing in the world to +"take a drive at her shins, and say how sorry you are afterwards"! So at +least (the Maid informs me) some girls, who shall be nameless, have been +known to do at her school. + +I waited for Cissy to tell me of the dreadfully mean thing she had done. +But of course I assured her first that, whatever it was--yes, +_whatever_--I should do just what she wanted done to help her. For I +knew she would do the same for me. + +Then she told me that in her first anger about the telegram--for she had +been far more angry about that than about the sending back the other +half of the crooked sixpence--a thing which really mattered a thousand +times more (but of course that was exactly like a girl!)--she had put +the telegram, and both parts of the crooked sixpence, and all of Hugh +John's letters she could find--chiefly the short and simple annals of a +Rugby "forward"--in a lozenge-box--and (here Cissy dropped her voice) +_sent them all, registered, to Elizabeth Fortinbras_! + + + + +XXV + +"NOT EVEN HUGH JOHN!" + + +"To Elizabeth--Elizabeth Fortinbras!" I cried. Here was a new +difficulty. If only people would not do things in a hurry, as Hugh John +says, they would mostly end by not doing them at all! + +"What sort of a girl is this Elizabeth Fortinbras?" Cissy Carter asked. +"She is only a shop-girl after all, isn't she?" + +I set Cissy right on this head. There were shop-girls _and_ shop-girls. +And this one not only came of a respectable ancestry, but had been well +educated, was the heiress of Erin Villa, and would succeed to one of the +best businesses in Edam! + +"Is she pretty?" + +Oh, of course I had foreseen the question. It was quite inevitable, and +there was but one thing to say-- + +"Come to the shop and see for yourself!" + +But Cissy hung back. You see, she had done a perfectly mad thing, +and yet was not quite ready to make it up with the person +concerned--especially when Cissy was Colonel Davenant Carter's only +daughter just home from Paris, and when, in spite of my explanations, +Elizabeth was little more to her than a "girl behind a counter"! + +You may be sure that I put her duty before her--yes, plainly and with +point. But Cissy had in her all the pride of the Davenant Carters, and +go she would not, till I told her plump and plain that she was afraid! + +My, how that made her jump! She turned a little pale, rose quietly, +adjusted her hat at the mirror, took off her watch-bracelet and gave it +to me to keep for her. + +"I will go and see this Elizabeth Fortinbras now--and alone!" she said, +with that nice quiet dignity which became her so well. I would greatly +have liked to have gone along with her. But, first of all, she had not +asked me, and, secondly, I knew that I had better not. + +Cissy Carter had to see Elizabeth alone. Only they could arrange +matters. Still, of course, both of them told me all about it afterwards, +and it is from these two narratives that the following short account is +written out. + +Elizabeth was in the front shop, busy as a bee among the sweet things, +white-aproned, and wearing dainty white armlets of linen which came from +the wrist to above the elbow. Then these two looked at each other as +only girls do--or perhaps more exactly, attractive young women of about +the same age. Boys are different--they behave just like strange dogs on +being introduced, sulky and ready to snarl. A young man seems to be +wondering how such a contemptible fellow as that other fellow could +possibly have gained admittance to a respectable house. Only experienced +women can manage the business properly, putting just the proper amount +of cordiality into the bow and handshake. Grown men--most of them, that +is--allow their natural feeling of boredom to appear too obviously. + +At any rate Cissy and Elizabeth took in each other at a glance, far more +searching and exhaustive as to "points" than ever any man's could be. +Then they bowed to each other very coldly. + +"Will you come this way?" said Elizabeth, instantly discerning that +Cissy had not come to New Erin Villa as a customer. Accordingly she led +the way into the little sitting-room, all in pale creamy _cretonne_ with +old-fashioned roses scattered upon it, which her own taste and the full +purse of Ex-Butcher Donnan had provided for her. + +"Be good enough to take a seat," said Elizabeth Fortinbras. But she +herself remained standing. + +Now you never can tell by which end a girl--or a woman, for that +matter--will tackle anything. All that you can be sure of is that it +will not be the obvious and natural one--the one nearest her hand. So +Cissy, instead of coming right out with her confession and having done +with it, began by asking Elizabeth if she knew a Mr. Hugh John Picton +Smith. + +"He is my friend!" said Elizabeth, very quiet and grave, standing with +one hand in the pocket of her apron and the other hanging easily by her +side. + +"And nothing more?" said Cissy, looking up at her very straight. + +"I must first know by what right you ask me that question!" said +Elizabeth. And then, her lips quivering (I know exactly how) a long +minute between pride and pitifulness, Cissy did the best thing in the +world she could have done to soften Elizabeth Fortinbras. She struggled +an instant with herself. Her pride gave way exactly as it had with me, +and she began to sob quietly and continuously. + +Elizabeth took one step towards her. Presently her cool, strong arms +were about Cissy's neck, who struggled a second or two like a captive +bird, and then the next Elizabeth was soothing her like an elder sister. + +"Yes, dear, I know--I know! You did a foolish thing. But then it was to +me. I understood! I understand! It does not matter! No one else need +know!" + +Then, in a voice quiet as the falling of summer rain among the misty +isles of the West, Elizabeth added, "_Not even Hugh John!_" + + + + +XXVI + +HAUNTS REVISITED + + +I think we were all a bit unstrung after this. It was a good many weeks +before Cissy could bring herself to speak about Elizabeth Fortinbras, +and then it was in a rush, as, indeed, she did everything. It was one +afternoon, over at Young Mrs. Winter's. Mrs. Christopher Camsteary (who +always was as superior as a pussy-cat with a new blue ribbon about her +neck, all because her husband kept three gardeners, one of whom blacked +the Camsteary boots) happened to remark that there was "a rather +ladylike girl" in those butcher-people's sweet-shop opposite the +station. + +"She _is_ a lady!" said Cissy Carter, lifting up her proud little chin +with an air of finality. + +And, indeed, there was, in Edam at least, no discussing with Miss +Davenant Carter on such a matter. Mrs. Christopher Camsteary, whose +husband, greatly to his credit, had made a large fortune in +cattle-feeding oilcake ("in the wholesale, of course, you know, my +dear!"), could not, even if she had wished, contradict the daughter of +ten generations of Davenant Carters as to who was a lady and who not! So +it was settled that, whenever Cissy Carter was in the room, Elizabeth +Fortinbras was a lady. Which must have been a great comfort to her! + +Well, the following summer-time when the good days came--perhaps because +everybody, including even Hugh John, was a little tired and +"edgy"--father took us all off to his own country. + +I was the one who had seen the most of it before, as you may see if ever +you have read the book called _Sweetheart Travelers_ that father wrote +about our gypsyings and goings-on. Of course (all our family say "of +course"--and it all fills up first-rate when the man comes to count the +pages up for printing)--well, of course I had forgotten a good deal +about it, only I read over the book on the sly, and so was posted for +everything as it came along. + +This time we did not go on "The-Old-Homestead-on-Wheels," as we called +the historic tricycle, but in the nicest and biggest of all wagonettes, +with two lovely horses driven by a friend of ours with a cleverness +which did one's heart good to see. His name was "Jim." We called him so +from the first, and he was dreadfully nice to all of us, because he had +been at school with father. This made us think for a good while that it +was because of his superior goodness and cleverness there that so many +people were glad to remember that they had been at school with father. +Jim, when we asked him, said that it was so, but Hugh John immediately +smelt a rat. So he asked another and yet older friend of father's, named +Massa--because, I think, he sang negro melodies so beautifully. (Who +would have thought that they sang "coon" songs so long ago?--but I +suppose it was really just a kind of "boot-room music," or the sort of +thing they play on board trip-steamers, when the trombone is away taking +up a collection, and everybody is moving to the other side of the deck!) +Well, Massa came along with us and Jim one lovely Saturday to see the +place where my great-grandmother had kept sheep "on the bonny banks of +the Cluden" a full hundred years ago. + +Somehow I always liked that. It means more to a girl than even father's +misdeeds, the hearing about which amuses the boys so. + +However, it really was about those that I began. So, reluctantly, I must +leave the little hundred-year-old girl keeping her sheep on the green +holms of Cluden, and tell about father and his wonderful influence. +Massa said that we were not to tell on him, and of course we promised. +This is not _telling_, but only writing all about it down in my +Diary--quite a different thing. Well, Massa said that when "Mac" and he +had "done anything," they used to climb up different trees as quickly as +they could, and then, when father came after them (he was not our father +then, of course, but only Roman Dictator and Tyrant of Syracuse), he +could only get one of them. For while he was climbing the tree occupied +by one, the other could drop out of the branches and cut and run. It was +a good way, especially for Number Two, who got away--not quite so fine, +though, for Number One, who was caught. Whenever a new boy visited the +town and the Dictator was seen coming along, they ran the stranger up a +tree and introduced him from there, as it were, lest, by mistake, a +worse thing should befall him! Really it is difficult to believe all +this, even when Massa swears it. Because father, if you let his pet +books alone and don't make too big a row outside the _chalet_ when he is +working, hardly minds at all what you do. We don't really recognize him +in the Roaring Lion, going about seeking whom he might devour, of Mr. +Massa's legends. + +So Sir Toady, in the interests of public information, asked Mr. Massa if +the boys of that time were not pretty bad. And Mr. Massa said that they +were, but that "they were not a patch on your----" He stopped just at +the word "your," for father was coming round the corner. And, do you +know, I don't believe he has quite lost his influence with Mr. Massa +even now. It is a fine thing, Hugh John says, to be such a power for +good among your fellows. He had that sort of power himself at school, +and he managed to keep it, even though fellows ever so much bigger came +while he was there. + +Well, no matter; what I keep really in my heart, or maybe like an amulet +about my neck, is the memory of the little hundred-year-old girl (that +is, she _would_ be if she were alive now) tending sheep and twining +daisy-chains on the meadows by the Water of Cluden, with the Kirk of +Iron-gray glinting through the trees, and Helen Walker (which is to say +Jeanie Deans) calling in the cows to be milked at the farm across the +burn. + +Now I don't know how _you_ feel, but the story of this great-grandmother +of mine always seems sort of kind and warm and sacred to me, a mixture +of the stillness of an old-fashioned Sabbath and the first awakening +hush when you remember that it is your birthday--a sort of religious +fairyland, if you know what I mean--like "playing house" (oh, such a +long time ago!) with Puck and Ariel and the Queen of the Fairies, while +several of the very nicest people out of the Bible stories sat in the +shade and watched--perhaps Ruth and, of course, her mother-in-law, and +David when he was very young, and kept sheep also. He would certainly +come to see our play--his shepherd's crook in his hand, and his eye +occasionally taking a survey of great-grandmother's flocks and herds to +see that there were no lions or bears about! + +Yes, I know it's fearfully silly. Of course it is. But, all the same, I +have oftener put myself happily to sleep thinking about that, and with +the music of the Cluden Water low in my ear, than with all the wisdom +that ever I learned at school! So there! + +Of course you mustn't suppose that at the time I said a word of all this +even to the Maid, much less to the others. Though I do think that +father, who knows a lot of things without being told, partly guessed +what I was thinking of. For once when we had all got down to gather +flowers, he led me down to the water's edge, and, pointing across the +clear purl of the stream to the opposite bank (where is a little green +level, with, in the midst, a still greener Fairy Ring), he took my hand +and, standing behind me, pointed with it. "It was there!" he whispered. + +He did not say a word more. But that was enough. I understood, and he +knew that I understood. It was like the old days when we made our +travels together, he and I, with the Things of the Wide World running +back past us, all beautiful and all sweet as dreaming of plucking +flowers in the kindly shade of woods. + +Soon after this, on our journey through father's country, we came to a +little village--the cleanest and dearest that ever was seen. It was the +one after which father had called one of his early books of +verse--"Dulce Cor." Here we were very happy, for there was a lovely old +Abbey, roofless, of course, but all blooming like one great rose when +the sun shone on it at evening and morning. The colors of the stones +were so rich with age and mellowing that from the little walk on the +other side of the valley it seemed as if the whole had been dipped for a +thousand years in a bath of sunset clouds, and then left out among the +cornstooks to dry! Even more beautiful and kindly was a certain nice +Doctor--only he wasn't the sort that come to see you when you are ill, +to tap you on the back and write prescriptions. He took me to see the +Abbey, and told me about the Last of all the Abbots, who was so kind +that the people would not let him be sent away, but kept him always +hidden here and there among them. And about how he died at long and +last, "much respected and deeply regretted," as the papers say, even by +those who did not go to his church--which, indeed, very few in these +parts did. + +And though it was, of course, foolish, and I would never have said it to +the Doctor himself for worlds, I could not help thinking that this Last +of all the Abbots (Gilbert Brown, I think his name was) must have been a +good deal like this friend of mine, with his beautiful silvery head, and +maybe the same gentle break in his voice when he gave out such a text as +"I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." + +We went through the cornfields very early next morning, father and I. It +was Sunday, at dawn or a little after. The dew was still on all the +little fairy cobwebs, but the sun had been before us in getting out of +bed, and now was busy as he could be, drinking up the dew. We had to +cross the churchyard under the big eastern side of the Abbey, all +drowned in level sunshine, yellow as primrose-beds. We crossed a stile, +and there, pacing slowly, his hands behind his back, saffron cornstooks +on his one side and five centuries of well-peopled holy ground on the +other, was the minister. He did not see us--lost in high thoughts, his +lips moving with the unspoken prayer. + +"Come away," whispered father, hurrying me along. "He speaks with his +Master! A stranger intermeddleth not therewith!" + +Then I did not know very well what he meant, nor did I ask. Only the +two of us slipped down where, beyond the cornfields, a little road, all +fern-grown, saunters half hidden; and where, a bit farther on, there is +a bridge and a burn in which, in the daytime, children play and women +wash their linen. But this morning all was still and quiet--as father +said, "with the Peace of Jubilee, when all the land had rest!" I like to +hear things like that--things I only half understand, but can think over +afterwards. They make me feel all nice and thrilly, like after a +shower-bath--only it is a mind-bath, and not a body-bath! Perhaps a +soul-bath, if I knew what that was. + +We came back another way by a higher path, and through a lane of tall +old trees. When we got to our inn, the door was closed just as we had +left it, and not a soul astir. We had seen no one at all that Sabbath +morn except the silver-haired minister, his hands behind his +back--perhaps, as the Psalm says, looking to the hills from which cometh +his aid. Going up-stairs, I opened my grandmother's Bible at the +metrical Psalms, and the first words that met my eyes were these: "In +Salem is his tabernacle--in Sion is his seat!" Now I will confess again +that I always like texts and poems out of which I can take my own +meaning, without being bothered with notes and explanations. And so I +thought how that morning I had surely gone out by Salem His Tabernacle +and come back by Sion His Holy Seat! + + + + +XXVII + +SIR TOADY RELAPSES + + +Ever such a lot of children whom I don't know have written to me to say +how glad they were that I made father take me with him on his cycle such +splendid long journeys. Because, you see, _their_ fathers read the book, +and had a little seat fitted for them! On the other hand, I suppose +parents write and abuse my father for putting such ideas into their +little girls' heads. In fact, I know they do. Here is a true story. One +irate old fellow wrote to say that "Sir Toady" was quite unfit to +associate with clean and properly brought up children! And he put down +the references, too, where Toadums had misbehaved, like you find them on +the margin of a Bible! How he had sat down in the dusty road at page +some-number-or-other, where he had omitted to blow his nose, how he had +fought, and thrown mud, and generally broken every law laid down for the +good conduct of little boys in the olden times--just exactly what Sir +Toady used to do! As if father was responsible for all that! Well, he +_was_, in the old gentleman's opinion. For he ended with: "If only your +little rascal of a hero were _my_ son, sir----!" + +This amused my brother Toadums for quite a long time, and one day he +sneaked the letter, and wrote himself to the old gentleman to say how +that he had reformed, and now always went about with two +pocket-handkerchiefs; also how, at school, he had founded the "Admiral +Benbow Toilet Club," to which the annual subscription was five +shillings. + +Further, he expressed a willingness to propose the old gentleman's name +at the next meeting, and in the meantime he suggested sending on the +money! Yes--and would you believe it?--he actually got the five +shillings, along with a very nice letter from the old gentleman, couched +in a sort of Better-Late-than-Never strain. So Toady Lion, who can be +honest when he tries very hard, wrote and asked the old chap whether he +would prefer to have the brilliantine supplied by the club in bottle, or +like paint in a squeezable tube. But the old gentleman replied that, +being completely bald, Sir Toady had better consider himself as a new +returned prodigal, and use the five shillings "to kill the fatted +calf"! So we killed him, and the noise we made on the top of Low-Hill +was spread abroad over three counties. A "gamey" came to tell us that we +were trespassing. But we feasted him on the old man's five shillings, +while Hugh John explained that there was no such thing as trespass, and +Sir Toady, getting hold of the keeper's double-barrel, practiced on +bowlders till he nearly slew a stray pointer dog! Then, after braying +ourselves hoarse, we had fights, rebellions, revolutions, cabals, which +always ended in pushing each other into pitfalls and peat-bogs. We +tripped in knotted heather as we chased downhill, skirmishing and +yelling. Even Hugh John forgot himself, and all returned home, sated +with the slaughter of the old gentleman's fatted calf, tired to death, +not a shout left in any of us, but, as it were, stained with mud and +crime! + +Ordinarily now Sir Toady has grown too old for the "sins and faults of +youth" already set down against him. But sometimes he relapses--and then +he has it bad. He does not say "roo" for "you" any more, but sometimes +the house is afflicted for days with an exhibition of what Hugh John +calls "Royal Naval Manners." Usually this occurs at table when father +is absent, because Toady has a quite real respect for the Fifth +Commandment, a respect gained at an early age, and ever since retained. +But on this journey there were a good many opportunities. You see, we +did not go to bed at the usual time. We got up when we liked, and I +often had to say the prayers for the entire family. Because the boys +shirked most shamefully, and the Maid was so sleepy with driving in the +open air all day that she often would be found sound asleep on her knees +when not carefully looked after. + +"The spirit was willing, though the flesh was weak!" said our good old +Doctor of the parish of "Dulce Cor." "I wish all my own prayers had as +good a chance of being heard as this little sleeping child's!" After +this Toady Lion declared that he would always say his prayers in the +same way--_asleep_! + +Well, of course you could not imagine--nobody could--the new and +peculiar wickedness devised by Sir Toady. It was simply _bound_ to be a +success. Besides which, it was perfectly safe; after what Mr. Massa had +told up at the Communion Stones of Iron-gray, The Powers-That-Be could +not say a word. Oh, the beautiful thing it is to have a friend of your +youth with a good memory, and, above all, communicative and frank with +your own children! Oh, I know that there are people who will say, with +some outside show of reason, "Well, just be perfectly good when you are +young, and then you don't need to fear the frankest of your intimate +friends!" + +This, of course, is rank nonsense, and nothing but! For that kind of +very immaculate young person does not make the best sort of father or +mother when the time comes. They don't know anything. They are not up to +things, and get "taken the loan of," as the boys say in that rude but +expressive speech of theirs. But it is not accounted healthy to "monkey" +with ours, who generally can tell beforehand when you are going to do a +thing, and after it is done (if you get the chance) will tell you--what +very likely you didn't know before--_why_ you did it. If, in spite of +all, you get into scrapes, The Powers-That-Be usually sympathize. But +(and this is the awkward part) they remember the remedy that proved +effectual in former and more personal cases. That remedy is applied, +and, generally speaking, the same result follows. With this experience +we shall all make excellent heads of families, and shall hire ourselves +out--if we do not happen to have any of our own! Only, we are glad that +we came into the world too early to be part of Hugh John's family. His +methods are altogether too Spartan. And we tell him that the plain +English for the name of his favorite hero, Brutus (the one who cut his +children's heads off), was just simply Brute! + +To return to Sir Toady, we were at the time at the little seaside +village of the Scaur. Mark Hill is behind it, and Rough Island in front. +Nothing could possibly be more delightful. At every low tide, for two or +three hours we could walk on a long pebbly trail which led seaward, the +wash of the tides coming from two directions round the pleasant green +shoulders of the Isle, epauletted with purple heather, and buttoned down +the front with white sheep. What dainty coves! What pleasing, +friendly-featured lambs with shiny black noses and goggle eyes! How tame +the very gulls had become from never being shot at! There never was such +a place as Rough Island for us, or, indeed, any children. Away to the +right you could see Isle Rathan, certainly more famous in romance. But +to go there you had to get kind Captain Cassidy to take you in his +boat. And generally it ended (because the Captain is a busy man) in your +staying with his wife, and seeing--and being the better for seeing--how +the threatening of blindness at once sweetens and strengthens the life +of a delicate woman. But to Rough Island we could go by ourselves, so be +that we returned with the first flowing of the tide. There is a certain +Black Skerry to the south which, when covered, announces to all +concerned that haste of the hastiest kind had better be made. Of course +we called it Signal Rock. But one fine September forenoon, when the +light was mellow and gracious even on the rough slopes of the Island of +our choice, Sir Toady set us all (that is, all the children) searching +in sheltered coves and little pebbly bays for "leg-o'-mutton" +shells--just, he said, what father used to do. It was the bottom of the +"neaps," when the water does not go very far out--which, of course, +every shore child would have known by instinct. But we were landward +bred, and such distinctions as to the ebbing and flowing of salt water +were too fine for us! But Sir Toady had had converse with the +instructed. He had profited thereby. And so no one will be surprised +that, by dint of keeping our backs to the Signal Rock, our noses +pointing down, and our eyes well employed in the search for +"legs-o'-mutton," we did not discover the treachery of Sir Toady till +the Rock was covered, and there was no hope of return! None, that is, +for most of us. But Sir Toady, already singing his song of triumph, had +reckoned without his Hugh John! + +That austere stickler for "The Proper-Thing-To-Do-You-Know" made one +dash for the rapidly covering causeway, over which the tawny Solway +water was already lapping and curling in little oozy whorls, like a very +soap-suddy pot coming to the boil. He had only time to shout, "You, Sis, +stay where you are! Take care of the Maid. I will make it all right with +The-Folk-Over-There!" + +And at first Toady Lion had laughed, thinking that for once the +immaculate Hugh John would be caught along with the rest of us. He did +not laugh, however, at all when he saw his elder brother take his watch +out of his pocket and place it in his cap. He shouted out, "It's all +right, Hugh John; Mr. Massa told me at Iron-gray that he and father +often did it--spent ''Tween-Tides' on the Island. He will know all +about it. Come back, you fool, you'll be drowned!" + +But our Old Ironsides only shouted back over his shoulder that father +and Mr. Massa had not passed their words to be in for lunch, and that +_he_ had! + +"If the People are anxious Over-Yonder, they can come and fetch us off +in a boat. We can say that we forgot!" + +But by this time Hugh John had made his first dash into the wimpling +line of creamy chocolate, like a steamer's wake, which marked the +causeway to the land. His last will and testimony came to us in the +command to "Stay where we were!" And in the final far-heard rider that, +"when he got him," he would quicken Sir Toady's uncertain memory by one +of the most complete fraternal "hidings" on record. + +All the same, as we watched him plod along, the tides sweeping in from +both sides upon him, and the struggle swaying him now to one side and +now to the other in the effort to keep his feet, Sir Toady burst into a +kind of roar (which he now says is a "way they have in the Navy" for +long-distance signaling, but which sounded to us very much like a +howl). "Come back, Hugh John," he cried, "and I'll take the best +'whaling' you can give me _now_!" + +But out in the brown pother the struggle went on. Hugh John never so +much as turned his head. We stood white and gasping, all pretty close +together, I can tell you. And once when we saw him swept from his feet +and only recovered his balance with an effort--though my heart was in my +throat, I said out loud to comfort the others, "Well, anyway, he has +taken the school medal for swimming. He has it on him now!" + +Then Sir Toady turned on me a face of scorn and anger. He pointed to the +gush and swirl of the currents of Solway over the bank of pebbles. "Swim +in that!" he cried, "no, he can't! No, nor nobody can. I tell you one of +the best swimmers in Scotland was drowned over there in Balcary, within +sight of his own house, and a man in a boat within stonethrow!" + +But for all that, Toady himself pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and +made him ready to go to the rescue (oh, how vainly!). So that in the +long run the Maid and I had to hold him down on the beach, half weeping, +half desperate, calling on Hugh John, his Hugh John, to come back and +slay him upon the spot. As if he was _his_ Hugh John, any more than +anybody else's Hugh John--and the two of them fighting like cat and dog +nine-tenths of the time! But at times, when his elder brother is in +danger or ill, Sir Toady is like that. Janet Sheepshanks speaks yet +about his face when he came back from Crusoeing-it with Dinky and Saucy +Easedale--all drawn and haggard and white it was. Well, it was like that +now. I declare, he turned and struck at us every time that Hugh John +stumbled, or looked like being carried away. + +"See here, Sis," he gasped, "you let a fellow go, or I'll kill you. I +will, mind--if anything happens to My Hugh John--I'll kill you for +holding me back like this." + +But at this very moment we began to see the lank figure of Hugh John +rising higher out of the swirling scum. Presently he scrambled out on +the steep beach of pebbles, all dripping. Then he gave himself a shake +like a retriever dog, shook his fist at the distant Sir Toady, now +sparsely equipped in fluttering linen: "Wait till I get you, you young +beast! Just you wait!" + +That was what he was saying as plain as print. But Sir Toady, completely +reassured, only heaved a long sigh, murmuring, "That's all right!" And +went on calmly putting on his clothes, and laughing at the Maid and me +for having been frightened. He actually had the cheek to ask us what we +had been crying about! + + + + +XXVIII + +TWICE-TRAVELED PATHS + + +Then we went to Kirkcudbright, where there is an old castle, very dirty, +but where we stayed in the loveliest old inn. It was so "comfy" and +home-like at the "Selkirk" that it seemed as if the hostelry had +wandered out into the country one fine day and--forgot the way to come +back again! We liked it so much because it was kept by a nice jolly man, +whose mother had been good to father once when he was ill, and who made +the nicest cakes. We were in clover there, I can tell you. Specially +because "Mac" (the painter whom, when I was very little, I once named +"The Little Brown Bear") came for walks with us, and made us laugh at +dinner till we youngsters nearly got sent from the table. Yet it wasn't +a bit our fault. He told us a lot of things, and I could see father +listening with all his ears, and not even checking Sir Toady when he +stole the sugar, though he saw him. I was sure that something would +come out of that. You see, I know father's ways. And so it comes about +that I don't need to write any of the funny things that we heard that +night, or the nights that followed. You have only to read them in the +chapters of _Little Esson_, the part all about Ladas II, and the trip in +the caravan. I think that father ought really to have sent some of the +money he got to "The Little Brown Bear"--but I don't believe he ever +did. + +"Mac owes me more than that!" he said, when I asked him about it. "I +brought him up by hand!" + +I presume he meant the way Hugh John, my brother, brings up Sir +Toady--though that is with both hands, sometimes feet too. + +There was one Sunday that I remember very well; at Newton Stewart it +was. There had been (or was going to be) a kind of circus in the town. +Or maybe they were only resting, as even circus folk must do sometimes. + +Anyway I looked out at the window in the early morning, and if I had +seen a ghost I could not have been more surprised. And so would you--for +there, calmly grazing on the field just under my window, as quietly as +if it had been a cow, was a huge elephant! I did not see any circus +vans, nor the tents, nor anything--save and except this great Indian +elephant in the middle of the green field! You may imagine I thought +that I was still dreaming. I watched it pad-padding softly about, taking +the greatest pleasure in rolling like a donkey when the harness is taken +off. It also rubbed the big soft spreads of its feet on the softer +grass. I suppose its poor soles were sore with traveling over our hard +cycling roads, and now it was keeping Sunday after its kind, doing its +best to obey the commandment. And, as father says, what more can any of +us do than be fully persuaded in our own minds? One thing I noticed +which astonished me, and I think it will most people. The big beast must +have weighed a ton, I should think, at the least. And yet, as it went +here and there over the field of nice Galloway grass, it walked so +softly that the grass "rose elastic from its airy tread." Yes, it +actually did. Even Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself could hardly have found a +footmark in a quarter of an hour. Why, even the Maid, not to speak of +myself, could not get so lightly over the ground as that. We watched the +elephant all that day, whenever we could, that is--and thought of him in +church, though the minister was a nice man, nice-looking too, and did +not preach too long. It was, of course, frightfully wicked of us. +Because it was in one of the old "Kirks of the Martyrs" that the service +was held. But when the minister came to see us in the evening, we showed +him the elephant still grazing away, wig-wagging its long trunk like a +supple pendulum, and switching away quite imaginary flies with its tiny +tail! The minister was such a very good sort that we thought we ought to +own up why we had been restless in church. (He might have seen us, you +know.) So I said we were ashamed that we had not attended better to his +sermon. And do you know what he answered back, after seeing the elephant +take a double donkey roll, with its great sausagey legs in the air? "I'm +glad," he said, "that I did not see the elephant do that _before_ +sermon. For if I had, I don't believe that I could have preached!" + +"A pretty nice sort of a minister, that!" said Hugh John afterwards. + +"I should go to his church myself," cried Toady Lion, and then, checking +himself suddenly under the gaze of Hugh John, he added, "I mean, when I +had to!" + +There--that is quite enough to put in my Diary about a circus elephant, +though I will admit that it was about the very queerest thing that ever +happened to me in all my life--I mean the most unexpected, of course, +for when explained it was all perfectly simple. + +But I must get on with my Diary of this Galloway journey, and the +"Sweethearty" things we saw there. Dear me, I had meant to tell about +Gatehouse too (which happened before Newton Stewart, only I forgot). +There was a nice minister there too, who went about without his hat, and +smoked, and called out nice things across the street to Tom and Dick and +Harry. Altogether we were fortunate in the ministers we met all through +the trip. And I think the children of Gatehouse must have benefited too, +owing to the nice bareheaded minister. For certainly they are not nearly +so rude and pesterful as I remember them when father and I stopped +there--oh, how many years ago? Ten, at least, or maybe more. Then they +rang the bell of the tricycle and said horrid things when father was in +the baker's shop. They made me so angry--I can remember it yet--I said I +would tell father. I nearly cried. But this time there was no one who +was not quite nice to us--except, Oh, yes, one person who wouldn't let +us any rooms. But that did not matter. Indeed, it was a blessing. For we +went farther down the street till we came to a delightful hotel or inn +or something, where Miss Blackett, who kept it, was just as good to us +as she could be, and gave us nice things to eat on the sly. Also the +"Little Brown Bear" came again, and told us more stories in the +evenings. Then, at ten or eleven at night, he got on his cycle and +wheeled away into the dark. It was so nice and romantic that I wished I +could have gone too. It is splendid in the summer to wheel on and on +through the archway of the green and sleeping woods. It is best when you +are sure of the policemen, and can ride without a light, which does no +good, but makes everything dark as pitch, and as uninteresting as the +Queensferry Road. + +Then I saw the two boys at Creetown who once on a time were brought in +from playing on the street, and tidied up so that they might be ready to +kiss me. They both howled at the thought. For which I don't in the least +blame them. But all the same they had high collars on, and I don't think +that they would have minded nearly as much now. + +This, of course, came before the elephant, but then, you see, if things +don't go into my Dear Diary just when I think of them, the probability +is that they won't go at all. + +One long lovesome day, that I won't forget in a hurry, we spent driving +through Borgue--sunny, sweet, hawthorny Borgue, where the clover is, and +the green honey made by the bees that have never so much as sniffed a +heather bloom. It is not Galloway, of course. It has not the qualities +of Galloway, I mean. But there is something about it that makes the +heart grow fonder the longer one stays there--a kind of green "den" such +as the bairns have when playing at "soldiers-and-outlaws" in the wood--a +sheltered sanctuary, a Peace on Earth among men of good-will. At least +all we saw were that sort, and I hope the others were, just as much. +Here, I know, Hugh John would shrug his shoulders. But that does not +matter. + +We did not linger in Borgue, however, which, with its still and pensive +beauty, was like a kirk-yard on Sunday morning. Indeed, there are many +of these along the shores--hidden nooks with tombstones, and beneath +wave-washed bights of clean sand. For assuredly it was not the right +Galloway. Rather it was like a bit of Devonshire that had floated away +and got joined on here, wooded and wind-swept, a carpet of flowers all +the summer long, one great bee-swarm booming all over it, from Kirk +Andrews, which is its Dan, to the Tower of Plunton, which is its +Beersheba. At any rate there is nothing like Borgue anywhere else in +Scotland. Which its natives declare, perhaps with truth, is the same as +to say in the world! + +Well, we drove out of Newton Stewart past Palnure, turned sharply up the +hill road towards the Loch of the Lilies, past Clatteringshaws--where +not a shaw clattered, though in the wagonette there were many "she's" +who did--as a very clever lady, a friend of father's, once remarked when +her daughters proposed an excursion thither from Kenbank. "Deaved"[2] +with their tongues, she broke out at last with "Not Clatteringshaws, but +'Clatteringshe's'!" However, on this occasion not a dog barked. We +lunched in the midst of the solitude, and then father wandered away to +watch his dear hills through his glasses, while the rest of us washed +and cleaned up! + +[Footnote 2: Deafened] + +But the best of all days was that on the moors about the little house +where father was born. I had not been there for more than ten years, +and the ground was littered with memories. Father and I got off a little +south of the Raider's Bridge. We skirted the water meadows, and looked +back to the bulk of Bennan, still rugged and purple with heather, seeing +to the right of it Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, a double molehill of palest +blue paint. Then came the "Roman Camp," which, however, father told us +had been made by the "Levelers" in the early half of the eighteenth +century. But the other story of the farm bull which fell into the ditch, +was heard roaring for days, and, when found, had eaten every green thing +within reach of its hungry mouth--trees, leaves, branches and +all--pleased me most. + +Then there was the well where once I had drunk from father's palms, and +of which there is such a very pretty picture in _Sweetheart +Travelers_--a picture which always used to puzzle me dreadfully. For I +knew that there were only father and I there. Besides which, there was +not nearly light enough for Mr. Gordon Browne to "take" us, even +supposing that he had been hid behind the bushes! At any rate we had a +drink at the ancient spring, just for old sake's sake. Some kind person +had cleaned it out not long before, and the water in the shade of the +woods of the Duchrae Bank was as cool and sweet as ever. Then across the +cropped meadows, again ankle-deep in aftermath, to the old +stepping-stones! Father carried me on his back to the big central +bowlder, which perhaps has been brought down by some forgotten flood, +and at any rate had long served for the keystone of the arrangement in +stepping-stones--which, even in father's day (so he told me), had been +variously named "Davie's Ford," "Auld Miss," "Rab's," and "Elphie's," +according to the names of the various dwellers in the pretty cottage in +the wood above. + + + + +XXIX + +HOME-COMING + + +We brushed our way down through the meadows, and father went straight to +the place where the Grass of Parnassus had been growing when he was a +boy. It was growing there still--and thriving too. We called on a big +bumble-bee, of the kind that has its stinging end very blunt and red. It +was not at home, but the hole in the bank which it had occupied thirty +years ago was now let to a Rabbit family, the younger members of which +scuttled away at our approach, though without too much alarm. We could +see their tails bobbing among the ferns and undergrowth. And then we +came to the Stepping-Stones. It was ten years since I had seen them, and +then I was quite a little girl. But I remembered everything at once, +even to the small starry green plants that grew beneath the water, and +the sharp stones that get between your toes when you wade too far out. +The woods were as green and as solitary as ever--cool too, and all the +opposite ground elastic with pine-needles that were not nearly so +uncomfortable for the bare feet as you would suppose. We waded for quite +a long time, and then sat and ate our lunch on the big middle bowlder, +alternately dabbling our feet in the clear olive-green water and drying +them in the sunshine. Father told stories. No, I don't mean that he made +them up--only that, as is usual at such times, all sorts of funny +memories went and came in his head--all of the people about whom he told +them as completely passed away as the orange-trousered bee we had gone +so vainly out of our way to seek. + +Then we went to the little farmhouse up the loaning, where they took us +for ordinary tourists, and pointed out to us the sights. More than once +I glanced at father, but he had so grave a face that the kind and pretty +girl who showed us over evidently took him for a very severe critic of +his own books, an enemy of dialect in any form. So, ceasing her legends, +she offered us refreshments instead. After that we tramped away over the +"Craigs" and the heather by the very little path along which father used +to go his three-and-a-half miles along the lochside to school. I saw the +Truant's Bathing-Place, the Far-Away-Turn, the Silver Mine (where once +on a time father had found half-a-crown, and dreamed of it for years), +and the Bogle Thorn, now sadly worn away since the days of the "Little +Green Man." After that I kept on asking questions till we got to +Laurieston, when I stopped, not because I had finished, but because tea +was waiting for us. They called us names, and said that they had eaten +up all the good things. But father answered, laughing, that it was +written that man should not live by bread alone, and that what he had +seen that day ought to suffice any one. But really I did not see that it +made any difference to his appetite, and, for all they said, there were +plenty of nice things left for us. + +Then we came to Castle Douglas, and what I remember best is the big +courtyard of the hotel, the noise and rattle of horses' hoofs passing +through the narrow entry on to the street, the kind people who welcomed +us, and the home-like air of everything about the "Douglas Arms," which +I never have seen about an hotel before, though I had been in many. + +Our journey was done. So it was quite proper that things should begin to +look a bit home-like. We had quite a nice homecoming. Cissy Carter met +us at the station in a pretty dark-blue dress, smartly belted in at the +waist, but with some flour on her right shoulder. And when I asked her +what she had been doing to herself, she answered in a matter-of-course +tone, "Oh, only helping Elizabeth!" + +"What Elizabeth?" I had the strength to gasp. + +"Why, Elizabeth Fortinbras, of course," she answered, quite sharply for +her; "whom else?" And this proved to me that the world had not been +standing still in Edam while we were whirling through Father's Country +at the tails of Jim's spanking chestnuts! I asked how about the pride of +all the Davenant Carters, and if her father knew that his only daughter +was assisting in a sweet-shop. Cissy held up her rounded chin with a +pout that made me at least almost forget our noble family motto: "WE DO +NOT KISS AT STATIONS!" + +"I did not say that I was in the _shop_," said Cissy. "I am learning how +to make pastry rise till it is flake-light. And even you, Miss Priscilla +Picton Smith, could not do that without getting flour on your shoulder!" + + * * * * * + +Now I would quite well like to stop here, and, indeed, I could easily +do so. For a Diary, however dear, is not like any other book. When you +finish one year's doings, you just get another ruled book and start with +January First again. Only it is explained to me that I must not quite do +that. At any rate I must absolutely tell what became of my characters! +Now this is awfully funny. For, quite different from all the other +story-books I ever read--nothing at all happened to any of them. Cissy +is not married. No more is Elizabeth Fortinbras. No more, thank +goodness, am I. Hugh John can't be--not for a long time yet. As for +Toady Lion, he upholds the honor of his country (and of the Benbow +Dormitory) by not being sick on the stormiest seas--a thing which none +of the rest of the family would even attempt. + +But there is one thing that I must tell. It is just as well that I wrote +down all about Torres Vedras, and the woods, and everything. For--sad it +is to tell it--strange children dig and play there now. All our old +beloved names for places and things and people would soon have been lost +if they had not been written down in this book. We have set up a new +home on the other side of the Edam Valley, and in some ways it is nicer. +But in others it can never have the charm of the "Wampage," the +"Scrubbery," the Low Park where the three bridges are, the Feudal Tower, +and Picnicville, up among the Sentinel Pines! They make one's heart +warm--only just the names of them said low in the heart, but now never +spoken out loud by the tongue! + +Our new house is on a hill, and not in the howe of a valley. From the +front door (and almost from every window) we can see woods and fields, +and far-away cows that are no bigger than ants. Then on the hills beyond +are sheep that you cannot see at all without one of father's big +glasses, such as only the boys can use. Beyond those, again, there are +the mountains that run right away down into England in wave after purple +wave, each bending over a tiny bit as if it were real water just on the +point of breaking. Eastward and southward there are "Pens" and "Muirs" +and "Cairns" without number, and out of the window on clear mornings, as +I lie in bed, I can watch the tasseled larch and white-stemmed birch +sending scaling-parties up every ravine and watercourse, while the big +white clouds, hump-backed ones, sail majestically over all. + + + + +XXX + +SOME DISCLAIMERS + + +LETTER NO. 1. HUGH JOHN'S LETTER. + + DEAR MR. PUBLISHER--You won't remember me, though once I came + to your office with father to see you. You may recall the + circumstance, because it was the first day your son went to + college. I was quite a little chap then, and did not know what + it was to be the son of an author with the habit of making + people believe that he is writing about his own family, when + half the time he is just making up. Or, as like as not, it was + his own very self that did the things he blames on us. Anyway, + a fellow has to be pretty stiff on his pins and pretty handy + with his knuckles to be a good author's son in a big school. I + came through right-side-up, however, but sometimes it must come + hard on the little chaps. + + You see, the fellows want to know all the time if you really + said or did some fool thing or other that father has stuffed + into the books, and of which you are as innocent as Abel was of + the murder of Cain. (He was. It's all right--only sounds rum!) + + But of course a fellow does not go back on his father at + school. He can't afford to let anything like that pass. So of + course there's a row--sometimes bigger, sometimes shorter, + according to the length of time it takes the other fellow to + decide about crying, "Hold, enough!" as they do in plays. Or, + as we call it at school, "backing down." + + Well, I put my time through at school, and by and by the + fellows got to know--that is, after several little difficulties + had been adjusted. Not that I like having to fight. It is right + to be patient just as long as ever you can. And then, when you + can't--why, the best way and the quickest is to let her rip. + Finish it good, once and for all. As father says, "Keep the + peace, my boy! But if the other fellow won't, why, make him! + First have your quarrel just, and then remember to open with + your left!" + + Yes, of course, at school I back up what father has written, + every word. It is what I am there for, and I mean to do it. + That's playing the game. But what I did not bargain for was the + whole family chipping in, and making a kind of lop-sided, + ice-cream-freezer hero of a chap. Sis had no business with what + is _my_ business--about Cissy Carter, I mean. At any rate she + knows nothing about it really. Girls imagine all sorts of + nonsense, of course. You can't stop them imagining, and if you + think you can, why, you're a fool. That's all in the day's + work, and I am not whining. But with regard to anything or + person not "girlie-girl," I, Hugh John Picton Smith, give due + notice that the first chap who turns up to me anything that Sis + has imagined about Miss Cissy Carter, and especially about Miss + Elizabeth Fortinbras, is going to get a calm and peaceful + surprise--that may or may not confine him to his room for a day + or two, but which, in any case, will afford him matter for + reflection. + + Oh, I don't in the least want to queer Sis, or to say that she + has put down anything not quite true, as far as _she_ + understands it. It isn't that I did not _do_ these things. But + Sis being a girl, and the safety-valves of her + imagination-boiler shut tight, and "Full Steam Ahead" + ordered--why, I would rather have father on the job any day. He + at least only puts things down (or invents them). He does not + try to explain what's going on in a chap's inside. Besides, I + don't see that it is anybody's business--and after this, on the + whole, it had better not be. That "glacial reserve" (wasn't + it?) which Sis yarned about might break up, and somebody who + wasn't insured get hurt with the pieces. Please put this at the + end, Mr. Publisher, to prevent mistakes. And if ever I write a + book you shall publish it, and then at last the world will know + the right and the wrong of things. Excuse bad writing. Our + chaps played Smasherhampton on Saturday. It was pretty thick in + the second half. The Smashers got me down and rolled me about a + bit on the hardish ground. My arm is still in a sling, but it + will be all right for Saturday fortnight, when we play a return + on our own ground. _I_ am going to play a return match too, for + I know the fellow that did it. + + (Signed) HUGH JOHN PICTON SMITH. + + +LETTER NO. 2. FROM CADET GEORGE PERCIVAL PICTON SMITH, R. N., ROYAL +NAVAL COLL., DARTBOURNE. + + DEAR MR. PUBLISHER--You can print any ...[3] thing you like + about me--true or not, it does not matter. Only in the latter + case it will come a little dearer. I am called Toady Lion, and + I have stood this sort of thing ever since I can remember. + Though I must say father has been awfully decent about it, and + I got a Rudge-Whitworth "free-wheel" out of him two years + running on the strength of what you sent him. But there's no + hope of coming that with Sis, who is always "stony," anyway, + and won't believe what an awfully expensive place the Coll. is. + My "bike" is going to be awfully dangerous this year--that is, + if I don't get a new one somehow. It is only my second best, + and much too small for me. I might get killed, very likely, and + then you couldn't publish any more books about me! _I suppose + you don't feel as if you could_ ... No? That means "Yes," but + don't let on to father. For, you see, last summer, when I had + measles or something, I sold my best machine to a poor boy who + hadn't any. Just think of that--the cruelty of it! But as I + have never let my left hand know what my right hand does, I + don't want father to do so either. So you won't give me away. + + (Signed) G. P. PICTON SMITH, R. N. + + P. S.--I might get a pretty good one for a tenner, but if it + _could_ possibly run to fifteen, I know where I could pick up + an awfully swell "two-speed-gear" like what some of the masters + have at our Coll. But, dear Mr. Publisher, this is only a + suggestion.--T. Lion. + + P. S. No. 2.--If _you_ did see your way to the 2-Speed, I tell + you what--you could make up any old thing you liked about + me--such as that I killed my grand-aunt Jane, and hid the + remains in my Black Sea Chest. I've got one, honor bright. Only + no grand-aunt Jane. So the crime could never, never be + discovered; and I would never deny it a bit, but back you up + like fun. Of course it is understood between gentlemen that + this last is on the two-speed-basis, as above. + + T. LION, + Now Cadet G. P. Picton Smith, R. N. + (Postal Notes Preferred.) + +[Footnote 3: The word "blooming" is scored out here, as being too +nautical for present publication.--Ed.] + + +LETTER NO. 3. FROM MAID MARGARET. + + DEAR SIR--(I would put "Publisher," but am not sure whether it + is spelt with a B or a P--in the middle, I mean.) The boys want + me to join in their protest, but you will excuse me, dear Sir. + And the reason is that I sleep in the same room with the + authoress. If you have any little girls, they will understand. + + Yours Afftly, + MAID MARGARET. + + +Letter No. 4 Elizabeth Fortinbras's Letter. + + + DEAR SIR--There has been a good deal said about me in these + pages, perhaps more than I should have liked if the Editor had + given my real name. Of course Miss Sweetheart is far too loving + to set down anything untrue or unkind. Indeed, she has made me + out far better than I deserve, and has very kindly altered + relationships, so that nobody's feelings will be hurt. For they + will not know that it is they who are meant--I mean, not in my + own family. + + Now, the Editor tells me that all the people who read the book + will be anxious to know what became of me--if I married, and + whom! I should be very glad indeed to satisfy the curiosity of + these good folk. I know what it is myself to glance over to the + last page of a book and see "if it happened all right." + + But you see that I am still very happy at New Erin Villa, which + is no longer a "villa," but a proper shop, with a house at the + back big enough for us all to live happily in. We have a good + maid for the inside work, and I have added a special "icing" + department, where people can have their own home-made cakes + iced and fired. Besides, I give cookery lessons twice a week in + the evenings to all the mill-girls, and Polly Pretend comes + over to help me sometimes. Sweetheart, too, and Miss Davenant + Carter come when they can, and are a great encouragement. + + I don't mean to say, like most girls, that I never will get + married. Perhaps I may, but it will be a very long time yet. I + am quite content as things are, and, most important of all, I + have yet to see the man I would freely marry darken the doors + of Erin Villa! All I want to say is that Sweetheart has seen me + and my doings through the sunlight of her own loving eyes--just + as Hugh John and I have often looked at the long lines of + cornstooks in the last rays of a September sun, and thought how + much the common hills and holms and cornlands of Edam gained by + the warm glow which caressed them. But how much the more I, who + sign myself + + THE GIRL BEHIND THE COUNTER. + + +NO. 5. CERTIFICATE. + + This is to guarantee that the above letters are whole and exact + copies of the originals, without alteration, suppression, or + amendment. + + THE EDITOR. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sweethearts at Home, by S. R. Crockett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWEETHEARTS AT HOME *** + +***** This file should be named 34230.txt or 34230.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/2/3/34230/ + +Produced by Curtis Weyant, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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