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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:23 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:23 -0700 |
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diff --git a/620-h/620-h.htm b/620-h/620-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..245e422 --- /dev/null +++ b/620-h/620-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10587 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Sylvie and Bruno, by Lewis Carroll + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sylvie and Bruno, by Lewis Carroll + + +<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> +<tr> +<td> +THIS EBOOK WAS ONE OF PROJECT GUTENBERG'S EARLY FILES PRODUCED AT A +TIME WHEN PROOFING METHODS AND TOOLS WERE NOT WELL DEVELOPED. THERE IS +AN IMPROVED ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF THIS TITLE WHICH MAY VIEWED AT EBOOK <big><b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/48630/48630-h/48630-h.htm"> +[ #48630 ]</a></b></big> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +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: Sylvie and Bruno + +Author: Lewis Carroll + + +Released August, 1996 [Etext #620] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE AND BRUNO *** + + + + +Text file produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + SYLVIE and BRUNO + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Lewis Carroll + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Is all our Life, then but a dream + Seen faintly in the goldern gleam + Athwart Time's dark resistless stream? + + Bowed to the earth with bitter woe + Or laughing at some raree-show + We flutter idly to and fro. + + Man's little Day in haste we spend, + And, from its merry noontide, send + No glance to meet the silent end. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>SYLVIE AND BRUNO</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER 1. LESS BREAD! MORE TAXES! </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER 2. L'AMIE INCONNUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER 3. BIRTHDAY-PRESENTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER 4. A CUNNING CONSPIRACY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER 5. A BEGGAR'S PALACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER 6. THE MAGIC LOCKET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER 7. THE BARONS EMBASSY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER 8. A RIDE ON A LION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER 9. A JESTER AND A BEAR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER 10. THE OTHER PROFESSOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER 11. PETER AND PAUL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER 12. A MUSICAL GARDENER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER 13. A VISIT TO DOGLAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER 14. FAIRY-SYLVIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER 15. BRUNO'S REVENGE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER 16. A CHANGED CROCODILE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER 17. THE THREE BADGERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER 18. QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER 19. HOW TO MAKE A PHLIZZ. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER 20. LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER 21. THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER 22. CROSSING THE LINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER 23. AN OUTLANDISH WATCH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER 24. THE FROGS' BIRTHDAY-TREAT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER 25. LOOKING EASTWARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + SYLVIE AND BRUNO + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1. LESS BREAD! MORE TAXES! + </h2> + <p> + —and then all the people cheered again, and one man, who was more + excited than the rest, flung his hat high into the air, and shouted (as + well as I could make out) “Who roar for the Sub-Warden?” Everybody roared, + but whether it was for the Sub-Warden, or not, did not clearly appear: + some were shouting “Bread!” and some “Taxes!”, but no one seemed to know + what it was they really wanted. + </p> + <p> + All this I saw from the open window of the Warden's breakfast-saloon, + looking across the shoulder of the Lord Chancellor, who had sprung to his + feet the moment the shouting began, almost as if he had been expecting it, + and had rushed to the window which commanded the best view of the + market-place. + </p> + <p> + “What can it all mean?” he kept repeating to himself, as, with his hands + clasped behind him, and his gown floating in the air, he paced rapidly up + and down the room. “I never heard such shouting before—and at this + time of the morning, too! And with such unanimity! Doesn't it strike you + as very remarkable?” + </p> + <p> + I represented, modestly, that to my ears it appeared that they were + shouting for different things, but the Chancellor would not listen to my + suggestion for a moment. “They all shout the same words, I assure you!” he + said: then, leaning well out of the window, he whispered to a man who was + standing close underneath, “Keep'em together, ca'n't you? The Warden will + be here directly. Give'em the signal for the march up!” All this was + evidently not meant for my ears, but I could scarcely help hearing it, + considering that my chin was almost on the Chancellor's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + The 'march up' was a very curious sight: + </p> + <p> + {Image...The march-up} + </p> + <p> + a straggling procession of men, marching two and two, began from the other + side of the market-place, and advanced in an irregular zig-zag fashion + towards the Palace, wildly tacking from side to side, like a sailing + vessel making way against an unfavourable wind so that the head of the + procession was often further from us at the end of one tack than it had + been at the end of the previous one. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was evident that all was being done under orders, for I noticed + that all eyes were fixed on the man who stood just under the window, and + to whom the Chancellor was continually whispering. This man held his hat + in one hand and a little green flag in the other: whenever he waved the + flag the procession advanced a little nearer, when he dipped it they + sidled a little farther off, and whenever he waved his hat they all raised + a hoarse cheer. “Hoo-roah!” they cried, carefully keeping time with the + hat as it bobbed up and down. “Hoo-roah! Noo! Consti! Tooshun! Less! + Bread! More! Taxes!” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do, that'll do!” the Chancellor whispered. “Let 'em rest a bit + till I give you the word. He's not here yet!” But at this moment the great + folding-doors of the saloon were flung open, and he turned with a guilty + start to receive His High Excellency. However it was only Bruno, and the + Chancellor gave a little gasp of relieved anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Morning!” said the little fellow, addressing the remark, in a general + sort of way, to the Chancellor and the waiters. “Doos oo know where Sylvie + is? I's looking for Sylvie!” + </p> + <p> + “She's with the Warden, I believe, y'reince!” the Chancellor replied with + a low bow. There was, no doubt, a certain amount of absurdity in applying + this title (which, as of course you see without my telling you, was + nothing but 'your Royal Highness' condensed into one syllable) to a small + creature whose father was merely the Warden of Outland: still, large + excuse must be made for a man who had passed several years at the Court of + Fairyland, and had there acquired the almost impossible art of pronouncing + five syllables as one. + </p> + <p> + But the bow was lost upon Bruno, who had run out of the room, even while + the great feat of The Unpronounceable Monosyllable was being triumphantly + performed. + </p> + <p> + Just then, a single voice in the distance was understood to shout “A + speech from the Chancellor!” “Certainly, my friends!” the Chancellor + replied with extraordinary promptitude. “You shall have a speech!” Here + one of the waiters, who had been for some minutes busy making a + queer-looking mixture of egg and sherry, respectfully presented it on a + large silver salver. The Chancellor took it haughtily, drank it off + thoughtfully, smiled benevolently on the happy waiter as he set down the + empty glass, and began. To the best of my recollection this is what he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Ahem! Ahem! Ahem! Fellow-sufferers, or rather suffering fellows—” + (“Don't call 'em names!” muttered the man under the window. “I didn't say + felons!” the Chancellor explained.) “You may be sure that I always sympa—” + (“'Ear, 'ear!” shouted the crowd, so loudly as quite to drown the orator's + thin squeaky voice) “—that I always sympa—” he repeated. + (“Don't simper quite so much!” said the man under the window. “It makes + yer look a hidiot!” And, all this time, “'Ear, 'ear!” went rumbling round + the market-place, like a peal of thunder.) “That I always sympathise!” + yelled the Chancellor, the first moment there was silence. “But your true + friend is the Sub-Warden! Day and night he is brooding on your wrongs—I + should say your rights—that is to say your wrongs—no, I mean + your rights—” (“Don't talk no more!” growled the man under the + window. “You're making a mess of it!”) At this moment the Sub-Warden + entered the saloon. He was a thin man, with a mean and crafty face, and a + greenish-yellow complexion; and he crossed the room very slowly, looking + suspiciously about him as if he thought there might be a savage dog hidden + somewhere. “Bravo!” he cried, patting the Chancellor on the back. “You did + that speech very well indeed. Why, you're a born orator, man!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's nothing!” the Chancellor replied, modestly, with downcast + eyes. “Most orators are born, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The Sub-Warden thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Why, so they are!” he + admitted. “I never considered it in that light. Still, you did it very + well. A word in your ear!” + </p> + <p> + The rest of their conversation was all in whispers: so, as I could hear no + more, I thought I would go and find Bruno. + </p> + <p> + I found the little fellow standing in the passage, and being addressed by + one of the men in livery, who stood before him, nearly bent double from + extreme respectfulness, with his hands hanging in front of him like the + fins of a fish. “His High Excellency,” this respectful man was saying, “is + in his Study, y'reince!” (He didn't pronounce this quite so well as the + Chancellor.) Thither Bruno trotted, and I thought it well to follow him. + </p> + <p> + The Warden, a tall dignified man with a grave but very pleasant face, was + seated before a writing-table, which was covered with papers, and holding + on his knee one of the sweetest and loveliest little maidens it has ever + been my lot to see. She looked four or five years older than Bruno, but + she had the same rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, and the same wealth of + curly brown hair. Her eager smiling face was turned upwards towards her + father's, and it was a pretty sight to see the mutual love with which the + two faces—one in the Spring of Life, the other in its late Autumn—were + gazing on each other. + </p> + <p> + “No, you've never seen him,” the old man was saying: “you couldn't, you + know, he's been away so long—traveling from land to land, and + seeking for health, more years than you've been alive, little Sylvie!” + Here Bruno climbed upon his other knee, and a good deal of kissing, on a + rather complicated system, was the result. + </p> + <p> + “He only came back last night,” said the Warden, when the kissing was + over: “he's been traveling post-haste, for the last thousand miles or so, + in order to be here on Sylvie's birthday. But he's a very early riser, and + I dare say he's in the Library already. Come with me and see him. He's + always kind to children. You'll be sure to like him.” + </p> + <p> + “Has the Other Professor come too?” Bruno asked in an awe-struck voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they arrived together. The Other Professor is—well, you won't + like him quite so much, perhaps. He's a little more dreamy, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I wiss Sylvie was a little more dreamy,” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Bruno?” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + Bruno went on addressing his father. “She says she ca'n't, oo know. But I + thinks it isn't ca'n't, it's wo'n't.” + </p> + <p> + “Says she ca'n't dream!” the puzzled Warden repeated. + </p> + <p> + “She do say it,” Bruno persisted. “When I says to her 'Let's stop + lessons!', she says 'Oh, I ca'n't dream of letting oo stop yet!'” + </p> + <p> + “He always wants to stop lessons,” Sylvie explained, “five minutes after + we begin!” + </p> + <p> + “Five minutes' lessons a day!” said the Warden. “You won't learn much at + that rate, little man!” + </p> + <p> + “That's just what Sylvie says,” Bruno rejoined. “She says I wo'n't learn + my lessons. And I tells her, over and over, I ca'n't learn 'em. And what + doos oo think she says? She says 'It isn't ca'n't, it's wo'n't!'” + </p> + <p> + “Let's go and see the Professor,” the Warden said, wisely avoiding further + discussion. The children got down off his knees, each secured a hand, and + the happy trio set off for the Library—followed by me. I had come to + the conclusion by this time that none of the party (except, for a few + moments, the Lord Chancellor) was in the least able to see me. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with him?” Sylvie asked, walking with a little extra + sedateness, by way of example to Bruno at the other side, who never ceased + jumping up and down. + </p> + <p> + {Image...Visiting the profesor} + </p> + <p> + “What was the matter—but I hope he's all right now—was + lumbago, and rheumatism, and that kind of thing. He's been curing himself, + you know: he's a very learned doctor. Why, he's actually invented three + new diseases, besides a new way of breaking your collar-bone!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a nice way?” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “Well, hum, not very,” the Warden said, as we entered the Library. “And + here is the Professor. Good morning, Professor! Hope you're quite rested + after your journey!” + </p> + <p> + A jolly-looking, fat little man, in a flowery dressing-gown, with a large + book under each arm, came trotting in at the other end of the room, and + was going straight across without taking any notice of the children. “I'm + looking for Vol. Three,” he said. “Do you happen to have seen it?” + </p> + <p> + “You don't see my children, Professor!” the Warden exclaimed, taking him + by the shoulders and turning him round to face them. + </p> + <p> + The Professor laughed violently: then he gazed at them through his great + spectacles, for a minute or two, without speaking. + </p> + <p> + At last he addressed Bruno. “I hope you have had a good night, my child?” + Bruno looked puzzled. “I's had the same night oo've had,” he replied. + “There's only been one night since yesterday!” + </p> + <p> + It was the Professor's turn to look puzzled now. He took off his + spectacles, and rubbed them with his handkerchief. Then he gazed at them + again. Then he turned to the Warden. “Are they bound?” he enquired. + </p> + <p> + “No, we aren't,” said Bruno, who thought himself quite able to answer this + question. + </p> + <p> + The Professor shook his head sadly. “Not even half-bound?” + </p> + <p> + “Why would we be half-bound?” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “We're not prisoners!” + </p> + <p> + But the Professor had forgotten all about them by this time, and was + speaking to the Warden again. “You'll be glad to hear,” he was saying, + “that the Barometer's beginning to move—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, which way?” said the Warden—adding, to the children, “Not + that I care, you know. Only he thinks it affects the weather. He's a + wonderfully clever man, you know. Sometimes he says things that only the + Other Professor can understand. Sometimes he says things that nobody can + understand! Which way is it, Professor? Up or down?” + </p> + <p> + “Neither!” said the Professor, gently clapping his hands. “It's going + sideways—if I may so express myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And what kind of weather does that produce?” said the Warden. “Listen, + children! Now you'll hear something worth knowing!” + </p> + <p> + “Horizontal weather,” said the Professor, and made straight for the door, + very nearly trampling on Bruno, who had only just time to get out of his + way. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he learned?” the Warden said, looking after him with admiring eyes. + “Positively he runs over with learning!” + </p> + <p> + “But he needn't run over me!” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + The Professor was back in a moment: he had changed his dressing-gown for a + frock-coat, and had put on a pair of very strange-looking boots, the tops + of which were open umbrellas. “I thought you'd like to see them,” he said. + “These are the boots for horizontal weather!” + </p> + <p> + {Image...Boots for horizontal weather} + </p> + <p> + “But what's the use of wearing umbrellas round one's knees?” + </p> + <p> + “In ordinary rain,” the Professor admitted, “they would not be of much + use. But if ever it rained horizontally, you know, they would be + invaluable—simply invaluable!” + </p> + <p> + “Take the Professor to the breakfast-saloon, children,” said the Warden. + “And tell them not to wait for me. I had breakfast early, as I've some + business to attend to.” The children seized the Professor's hands, as + familiarly as if they had known him for years, and hurried him away. I + followed respectfully behind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2. L'AMIE INCONNUE. + </h2> + <p> + As we entered the breakfast-saloon, the Professor was saying “—and + he had breakfast by himself, early: so he begged you wouldn't wait for + him, my Lady. This way, my Lady,” he added, “this way!” And then, with (as + it seemed to me) most superfluous politeness, he flung open the door of my + compartment, and ushered in “—a young and lovely lady!” I muttered + to myself with some bitterness. “And this is, of course, the opening scene + of Vol. I. She is the Heroine. And I am one of those subordinate + characters that only turn up when needed for the development of her + destiny, and whose final appearance is outside the church, waiting to + greet the Happy Pair!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Lady, change at Fayfield,” were the next words I heard (oh that + too obsequious Guard!), “next station but one.” And the door closed, and + the lady settled down into her corner, and the monotonous throb of the + engine (making one feel as if the train were some gigantic monster, whose + very circulation we could feel) proclaimed that we were once more speeding + on our way. “The lady had a perfectly formed nose,” I caught myself saying + to myself, “hazel eyes, and lips—” and here it occurred to me that + to see, for myself, what “the lady” was really like, would be more + satisfactory than much speculation. + </p> + <p> + I looked round cautiously, and—was entirely disappointed of my hope. + The veil, which shrouded her whole face, was too thick for me to see more + than the glitter of bright eyes and the hazy outline of what might be a + lovely oval face, but might also, unfortunately, be an equally unlovely + one. I closed my eyes again, saying to myself “—couldn't have a + better chance for an experiment in Telepathy! I'll think out her face, and + afterwards test the portrait with the original.” + </p> + <p> + At first, no result at all crowned my efforts, though I 'divided my swift + mind,' now hither, now thither, in a way that I felt sure would have made + AEneas green with envy: but the dimly-seen oval remained as provokingly + blank as ever—a mere Ellipse, as if in some mathematical diagram, + without even the Foci that might be made to do duty as a nose and a mouth. + Gradually, however, the conviction came upon me that I could, by a certain + concentration of thought, think the veil away, and so get a glimpse of the + mysterious face—as to which the two questions, “is she pretty?” and + “is she plain?”, still hung suspended, in my mind, in beautiful equipoise. + </p> + <p> + Success was partial—and fitful—still there was a result: ever + and anon, the veil seemed to vanish, in a sudden flash of light: but, + before I could fully realise the face, all was dark again. In each such + glimpse, the face seemed to grow more childish and more innocent: and, + when I had at last thought the veil entirely away, it was, unmistakeably, + the sweet face of little Sylvie! + </p> + <p> + “So, either I've been dreaming about Sylvie,” I said to myself, “and this + is the reality. Or else I've really been with Sylvie, and this is a dream! + Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + To occupy the time, I got out the letter, which had caused me to take this + sudden railway-journey from my London home down to a strange fishing-town + on the North coast, and read it over again:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “DEAR OLD FRIEND, + + “I'm sure it will be as great a pleasure to me, as it can possibly + be to you, to meet once more after so many years: and of course I + shall be ready to give you all the benefit of such medical skill as + I have: only, you know, one mustn't violate professional etiquette! + And you are already in the hands of a first-rate London doctor, + with whom it would be utter affectation for me to pretend to compete. + (I make no doubt he is right in saying the heart is affected: + all your symptoms point that way.) One thing, at any rate, I have + already done in my doctorial capacity—secured you a bedroom on the + ground-floor, so that you will not need to ascend the stairs at all. + + “I shalt expect you by last train on Friday, in accordance with your + letter: and, till then, I shalt say, in the words of the old song, + 'Oh for Friday nicht! Friday's lang a-coming!' + + “Yours always, + + “ARTHUR FORESTER. + + “P.S. Do you believe in Fate?” + </pre> + <p> + This Postscript puzzled me sorely. “He is far too sensible a man,” I + thought, “to have become a Fatalist. And yet what else can he mean by it?” + And, as I folded up the letter and put it away, I inadvertently repeated + the words aloud. “Do you believe in Fate?” + </p> + <p> + The fair 'Incognita' turned her head quickly at the sudden question. “No, + I don't!” she said with a smile. “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I didn't mean to ask the question!” I stammered, a little taken + aback at having begun a conversation in so unconventional a fashion. + </p> + <p> + The lady's smile became a laugh—not a mocking laugh, but the laugh + of a happy child who is perfectly at her ease. “Didn't you?” she said. + “Then it was a case of what you Doctors call 'unconscious cerebration'?” + </p> + <p> + “I am no Doctor,” I replied. “Do I look so like one? Or what makes you + think it?” + </p> + <p> + She pointed to the book I had been reading, which was so lying that its + title, “Diseases of the Heart,” was plainly visible. + </p> + <p> + “One needn't be a Doctor,” I said, “to take an interest in medical books. + There's another class of readers, who are yet more deeply interested—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean the Patients?” she interrupted, while a look of tender pity gave + new sweetness to her face. “But,” with an evident wish to avoid a possibly + painful topic, “one needn't be either, to take an interest in books of + Science. Which contain the greatest amount of Science, do you think, the + books, or the minds?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather a profound question for a lady!” I said to myself, holding, with + the conceit so natural to Man, that Woman's intellect is essentially + shallow. And I considered a minute before replying. “If you mean living + minds, I don't think it's possible to decide. There is so much written + Science that no living person has ever read: and there is so much + thought-out Science that hasn't yet been written. But, if you mean the + whole human race, then I think the minds have it: everything, recorded in + books, must have once been in some mind, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that rather like one of the Rules in Algebra?” my Lady enquired. + (“Algebra too!” I thought with increasing wonder.) “I mean, if we consider + thoughts as factors, may we not say that the Least Common Multiple of all + the minds contains that of all the books; but not the other way?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly we may!” I replied, delighted with the illustration. “And what + a grand thing it would be,” I went on dreamily, thinking aloud rather than + talking, “if we could only apply that Rule to books! You know, in finding + the Least Common Multiple, we strike out a quantity wherever it occurs, + except in the term where it is raised to its highest power. So we should + have to erase every recorded thought, except in the sentence where it is + expressed with the greatest intensity.” + </p> + <p> + My Lady laughed merrily. “Some books would be reduced to blank paper, I'm + afraid!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “They would. Most libraries would be terribly diminished in bulk. But just + think what they would gain in quality!” + </p> + <p> + “When will it be done?” she eagerly asked. “If there's any chance of it in + my time, I think I'll leave off reading, and wait for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps in another thousand years or so—” + </p> + <p> + “Then there's no use waiting!”, said my Lady. “Let's sit down. Uggug, my + pet, come and sit by me!” + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere but by me!” growled the Sub-warden. “The little wretch always + manages to upset his coffee!” + </p> + <p> + I guessed at once (as perhaps the reader will also have guessed, if, like + myself, he is very clever at drawing conclusions) that my Lady was the + Sub-Warden's wife, and that Uggug (a hideous fat boy, about the same age + as Sylvie, with the expression of a prize-pig) was their son. Sylvie and + Bruno, with the Lord Chancellor, made up a party of seven. + </p> + <p> + {Image...A portable plunge-bath} + </p> + <p> + “And you actually got a plunge-bath every morning?” said the Sub-Warden, + seemingly in continuation of a conversation with the Professor. “Even at + the little roadside-inns?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly, certainly!” the Professor replied with a smile on his + jolly face. “Allow me to explain. It is, in fact, a very simple problem in + Hydrodynamics. (That means a combination of Water and Strength.) If we + take a plunge-bath, and a man of great strength (such as myself) about to + plunge into it, we have a perfect example of this science. I am bound to + admit,” the Professor continued, in a lower tone and with downcast eyes, + “that we need a man of remarkable strength. He must be able to spring from + the floor to about twice his own height, gradually turning over as he + rises, so as to come down again head first.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you need a flea, not a man!” exclaimed the Sub-Warden. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said the Professor. “This particular kind of bath is not + adapted for a flea. Let us suppose,” he continued, folding his + table-napkin into a graceful festoon, “that this represents what is + perhaps the necessity of this Age—the Active Tourist's Portable + Bath. You may describe it briefly, if you like,” looking at the + Chancellor, “by the letters A.T.P.B.” + </p> + <p> + The Chancellor, much disconcerted at finding everybody looking at him, + could only murmur, in a shy whisper, “Precisely so!” + </p> + <p> + “One great advantage of this plunge-bath,” continued the Professor, “is + that it requires only half-a-gallon of water—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't call it a plunge-bath,” His Sub-Excellency remarked, “unless your + Active Tourist goes right under!” + </p> + <p> + “But he does go right under,” the old man gently replied. “The A.T. hangs + up the P. B. on a nail—thus. He then empties the water-jug into it—places + the empty jug below the bag—leaps into the air—descends + head-first into the bag—the water rises round him to the top of the + bag—and there you are!” he triumphantly concluded. “The A.T. is as + much under water as if he'd gone a mile or two down into the Atlantic!” + </p> + <p> + “And he's drowned, let us say, in about four minutes—” + </p> + <p> + “By no means!” the Professor answered with a proud smile. “After about a + minute, he quietly turns a tap at the lower end of the P. B.—all the + water runs back into the jug and there you are again!” + </p> + <p> + “But how in the world is he to get out of the bag again?” + </p> + <p> + “That, I take it,” said the Professor, “is the most beautiful part of the + whole invention. All the way up the P.B., inside, are loops for the + thumbs; so it's something like going up-stairs, only perhaps less + comfortable; and, by the time the A. T. has risen out of the bag, all but + his head, he's sure to topple over, one way or the other—the Law of + Gravity secures that. And there he is on the floor again!” + </p> + <p> + “A little bruised, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, a little bruised; but having had his plunge-bath: that's the + great thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful! It's almost beyond belief!” murmured the Sub-Warden. The + Professor took it as a compliment, and bowed with a gratified smile. + </p> + <p> + “Quite beyond belief!” my Lady added—meaning, no doubt, to be more + complimentary still. The Professor bowed, but he didn't smile this time. + “I can assure you,” he said earnestly, “that, provided the bath was made, + I used it every morning. I certainly ordered it—that I am clear + about—my only doubt is, whether the man ever finished making it. + It's difficult to remember, after so many years—” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door, very slowly and creakingly, began to open, and + Sylvie and Bruno jumped up, and ran to meet the well-known footstep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3. BIRTHDAY-PRESENTS. + </h2> + <p> + “It's my brother!” the Sub-warden exclaimed, in a warning whisper. “Speak + out, and be quick about it!” + </p> + <p> + The appeal was evidently addressed to the Lord Chancellor, who instantly + replied, in a shrill monotone, like a little boy repeating the alphabet, + “As I was remarking, your Sub-Excellency, this portentous movement—” + </p> + <p> + “You began too soon!” the other interrupted, scarcely able to restrain + himself to a whisper, so great was his excitement. “He couldn't have heard + you. Begin again!” “As I was remarking,” chanted the obedient Lord + Chancellor, “this portentous movement has already assumed the dimensions + of a Revolution!” + </p> + <p> + “And what are the dimensions of a Revolution?” The voice was genial and + mellow, and the face of the tall dignified old man, who had just entered + the room, leading Sylvie by the hand, and with Bruno riding triumphantly + on his shoulder, was too noble and gentle to have scared a less guilty + man: but the Lord Chancellor turned pale instantly, and could hardly + articulate the words “The dimensions your—your High Excellency? I—I—scarcely + comprehend!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the length, breadth, and thickness, if you like it better!” And the + old man smiled, half-contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + The Lord Chancellor recovered himself with a great effort, and pointed to + the open window. “If your High Excellency will listen for a moment to the + shouts of the exasperated populace—” (“of the exasperated populace!” + the Sub-Warden repeated in a louder tone, as the Lord Chancellor, being in + a state of abject terror, had dropped almost into a whisper) “—you + will understand what it is they want.” + </p> + <p> + And at that moment there surged into the room a hoarse confused cry, in + which the only clearly audible words were “Less—bread—More—taxes!” + The old man laughed heartily. “What in the world—” he was beginning: + but the Chancellor heard him not. “Some mistake!” he muttered, hurrying to + the window, from which he shortly returned with an air of relief. “Now + listen!” he exclaimed, holding up his hand impressively. And now the words + came quite distinctly, and with the regularity of the ticking of a clock, + “More—bread—Less taxes!'” + </p> + <p> + “More bread!” the Warden repeated in astonishment. “Why, the new + Government Bakery was opened only last week, and I gave orders to sell the + bread at cost-price during the present scarcity! What can they expect + more?” + </p> + <p> + “The Bakery's closed, y'reince!” the Chancellor said, more loudly and + clearly than he had spoken yet. He was emboldened by the consciousness + that here, at least, he had evidence to produce: and he placed in the + Warden's hands a few printed notices, that were lying ready, with some + open ledgers, on a side-table. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I see!” the Warden muttered, glancing carelessly through them. + “Order countermanded by my brother, and supposed to be my doing! Rather + sharp practice! It's all right!” he added in a louder tone. “My name is + signed to it: so I take it on myself. But what do they mean by 'Less + Taxes'? How can they be less? I abolished the last of them a month ago!” + </p> + <p> + “It's been put on again, y'reince, and by y'reince's own orders!”, and + other printed notices were submitted for inspection. + </p> + <p> + The Warden, whilst looking them over, glanced once or twice at the + Sub-Warden, who had seated himself before one of the open ledgers, and was + quite absorbed in adding it up; but he merely repeated “It's all right. I + accept it as my doing.” + </p> + <p> + “And they do say,” the Chancellor went on sheepishly—looking much + more like a convicted thief than an Officer of State, “that a change of + Government, by the abolition of the Sub-Warden—-I mean,” he hastily + added, on seeing the Warden's look of astonishment, “the abolition of the + office of Sub-Warden, and giving the present holder the right to act as + Vice-Warden whenever the Warden is absent—would appease all this + seedling discontent I mean,” he added, glancing at a paper he held in his + hand, “all this seething discontent!” + </p> + <p> + “For fifteen years,” put in a deep but very harsh voice, “my husband has + been acting as Sub-Warden. It is too long! It is much too long!” My Lady + was a vast creature at all times: but, when she frowned and folded her + arms, as now, she looked more gigantic than ever, and made one try to + fancy what a haystack would look like, if out of temper. + </p> + <p> + “He would distinguish himself as a Vice!” my Lady proceeded, being far too + stupid to see the double meaning of her words. “There has been no such + Vice in Outland for many a long year, as he would be!” + </p> + <p> + “What course would you suggest, Sister?” the Warden mildly enquired. + </p> + <p> + My Lady stamped, which was undignified: and snorted, which was ungraceful. + “This is no jesting matter!” she bellowed. + </p> + <p> + “I will consult my brother,” said the Warden. “Brother!” + </p> + <p> + “—and seven makes a hundred and ninety-four, which is sixteen and + two-pence,” the Sub-Warden replied. “Put down two and carry sixteen.” + </p> + <p> + The Chancellor raised his hands and eyebrows, lost in admiration. “Such a + man of business!” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Brother, could I have a word with you in my Study?” the Warden said in a + louder tone. The Sub-Warden rose with alacrity, and the two left the room + together. + </p> + <p> + My Lady turned to the Professor, who had uncovered the urn, and was taking + its temperature with his pocket-thermometer. “Professor!” she began, so + loudly and suddenly that even Uggug, who had gone to sleep in his chair, + left off snoring and opened one eye. The Professor pocketed his + thermometer in a moment, clasped his hands, and put his head on one side + with a meek smile. + </p> + <p> + “You were teaching my son before breakfast, I believe?” my Lady loftily + remarked. “I hope he strikes you as having talent?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very much so indeed, my Lady!” the Professor hastily replied, + unconsciously rubbing his ear, while some painful recollection seemed to + cross his mind. “I was very forcibly struck by His Magnificence, I assure + you!” + </p> + <p> + “He is a charming boy!” my Lady exclaimed. “Even his snores are more + musical than those of other boys!” + </p> + <p> + If that were so, the Professor seemed to think, the snores of other boys + must be something too awful to be endured: but he was a cautious man, and + he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “And he's so clever!” my Lady continued. “No one will enjoy your Lecture + more by the way, have you fixed the time for it yet? You've never given + one, you know: and it was promised years ago, before you— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, my Lady, I know! Perhaps next Tuesday or Tuesday week—” + </p> + <p> + “That will do very well,” said my Lady, graciously. “Of course you will + let the Other Professor lecture as well?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not, my Lady?” the Professor said with some hesitation. “You see, + he always stands with his back to the audience. It does very well for + reciting; but for lecturing—” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right,” said my Lady. “And, now I come to think of it, + there would hardly be time for more than one Lecture. And it will go off + all the better, if we begin with a Banquet, and a Fancy-dress Ball—” + </p> + <p> + “It will indeed!” the Professor cried, with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “I shall come as a Grass-hopper,” my Lady calmly proceeded. “What shall + you come as, Professor?” + </p> + <p> + The Professor smiled feebly. “I shall come as—as early as I can, my + Lady!” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't come in before the doors are opened,” said my Lady. + </p> + <p> + “I ca'n't,” said the Professor. “Excuse me a moment. As this is Lady + Sylvie's birthday, I would like to—” and he rushed away. + </p> + <p> + Bruno began feeling in his pockets, looking more and more melancholy as he + did so: then he put his thumb in his mouth, and considered for a minute: + then he quietly left the room. + </p> + <p> + He had hardly done so before the Professor was back again, quite out of + breath. “Wishing you many happy returns of the day, my dear child!” he + went on, addressing the smiling little girl, who had run to meet him. + “Allow me to give you a birthday-present. It's a second-hand pincushion, + my dear. And it only cost fourpence-halfpenny!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, it's very pretty!” And Sylvie rewarded the old man with a + hearty kiss. + </p> + <p> + “And the pins they gave me for nothing!” the Professor added in high glee. + “Fifteen of 'em, and only one bent!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll make the bent one into a hook!” said Sylvie. “To catch Bruno with, + when he runs away from his lessons!” + </p> + <p> + “You ca'n't guess what my present is!” said Uggug, who had taken the + butter-dish from the table, and was standing behind her, with a wicked + leer on his face. + </p> + <p> + “No, I ca'n't guess,” Sylvie said without looking up. She was still + examining the Professor's pincushion. + </p> + <p> + “It's this!” cried the bad boy, exultingly, as he emptied the dish over + her, and then, with a grin of delight at his own cleverness, looked round + for applause. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie coloured crimson, as she shook off the butter from her frock: but + she kept her lips tight shut, and walked away to the window, where she + stood looking out and trying to recover her temper. + </p> + <p> + Uggug's triumph was a very short one: the Sub-Warden had returned, just in + time to be a witness of his dear child's playfulness, and in another + moment a skilfully-applied box on the ear had changed the grin of delight + into a howl of pain. + </p> + <p> + “My darling!” cried his mother, enfolding him in her fat arms. “Did they + box his ears for nothing? A precious pet!” + </p> + <p> + “It's not for nothing!” growled the angry father. “Are you aware, Madam, + that I pay the house-bills, out of a fixed annual sum? The loss of all + that wasted butter falls on me! Do you hear, Madam!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, Sir!” My Lady spoke very quietly—almost in a + whisper. But there was something in her look which silenced him. “Don't + you see it was only a joke? And a very clever one, too! He only meant that + he loved nobody but her! And, instead of being pleased with the + compliment, the spiteful little thing has gone away in a huff!” + </p> + <p> + The Sub-Warden was a very good hand at changing a subject. He walked + across to the window. “My dear,” he said, “is that a pig that I see down + below, rooting about among your flower-beds?” + </p> + <p> + “A pig!” shrieked my Lady, rushing madly to the window, and almost pushing + her husband out, in her anxiety to see for herself. “Whose pig is it? How + did it get in? Where's that crazy Gardener gone?” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Bruno re-entered the room, and passing Uggug (who was + blubbering his loudest, in the hope of attracting notice) as if he was + quite used to that sort of thing, he ran up to Sylvie and threw his arms + round her. “I went to my toy-cupboard,” he said with a very sorrowful + face, “to see if there were somefin fit for a present for oo! And there + isn't nuffin! They's all broken, every one! And I haven't got no money + left, to buy oo a birthday-present! And I ca'n't give oo nuffin but this!” + (“This” was a very earnest hug and a kiss.) + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you, darling!” cried Sylvie. “I like your present best of all!” + (But if so, why did she give it back so quickly?) + </p> + <p> + His Sub-Excellency turned and patted the two children on the head with his + long lean hands. “Go away, dears!” he said. “There's business to talk + over.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie and Bruno went away hand in hand: but, on reaching the door, Sylvie + came back again and went up to Uggug timidly. “I don't mind about the + butter,” she said, “and I—I'm sorry he hurt you!” And she tried to + shake hands with the little ruffian: but Uggug only blubbered louder, and + wouldn't make friends. Sylvie left the room with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + The Sub-Warden glared angrily at his weeping son. “Leave the room, + Sirrah!” he said, as loud as he dared. His wife was still leaning out of + the window, and kept repeating “I ca'n't see that pig! Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's moved to the right now it's gone a little to the left,” said the + Sub-Warden: but he had his back to the window, and was making signals to + the Lord Chancellor, pointing to Uggug and the door, with many a cunning + nod and wink. + </p> + <p> + {Image...Removal of Uggug} + </p> + <p> + The Chancellor caught his meaning at last, and, crossing the room, took + that interesting child by the ear the next moment he and Uggug were out of + the room, and the door shut behind them: but not before one piercing yell + had rung through the room, and reached the ears of the fond mother. + </p> + <p> + “What is that hideous noise?” she fiercely asked, turning upon her + startled husband. + </p> + <p> + “It's some hyaena—or other,” replied the Sub-Warden, looking vaguely + up to the ceiling, as if that was where they usually were to be found. + “Let us to business, my dear. Here comes the Warden.” And he picked up + from the floor a wandering scrap of manuscript, on which I just caught the + words 'after which Election duly holden the said Sibimet and Tabikat his + wife may at their pleasure assume Imperial—' before, with a guilty + look, he crumpled it up in his hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4. A CUNNING CONSPIRACY. + </h2> + <p> + The Warden entered at this moment: and close behind him came the Lord + Chancellor, a little flushed and out of breath, and adjusting his wig, + which appeared to have been dragged partly off his head. + </p> + <p> + “But where is my precious child?” my Lady enquired, as the four took their + seats at the small side-table devoted to ledgers and bundles and bills. + </p> + <p> + “He left the room a few minutes ago with the Lord Chancellor,” the + Sub-Warden briefly explained. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said my Lady, graciously smiling on that high official. “Your + Lordship has a very taking way with children! I doubt if any one could + gain the ear of my darling Uggug so quickly as you can!” For an entirely + stupid woman, my Lady's remarks were curiously full of meaning, of which + she herself was wholly unconscious. + </p> + <p> + The Chancellor bowed, but with a very uneasy air. “I think the Warden was + about to speak,” he remarked, evidently anxious to change the subject. + </p> + <p> + But my Lady would not be checked. “He is a clever boy,” she continued with + enthusiasm, “but he needs a man like your Lordship to draw him out!” + </p> + <p> + The Chancellor bit his lip, and was silent. He evidently feared that, + stupid as she looked, she understood what she said this time, and was + having a joke at his expense. He might have spared himself all anxiety: + whatever accidental meaning her words might have, she herself never meant + anything at all. + </p> + <p> + “It is all settled!” the Warden announced, wasting no time over + preliminaries. “The Sub-Wardenship is abolished, and my brother is + appointed to act as Vice-Warden whenever I am absent. So, as I am going + abroad for a while, he will enter on his new duties at once.” + </p> + <p> + “And there will really be a Vice after all?” my Lady enquired. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so!” the Warden smilingly replied. + </p> + <p> + My Lady looked much pleased, and tried to clap her hands: but you might as + well have knocked two feather-beds together, for any noise it made. “When + my husband is Vice,” she said, “it will be the same as if we had a hundred + Vices!” + </p> + <p> + “Hear, hear!” cried the Sub-Warden. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to think it very remarkable,” my Lady remarked with some + severity, “that your wife should speak the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not remarkable at all!” her husband anxiously explained. “Nothing is + remarkable that you say, sweet one!” + </p> + <p> + My Lady smiled approval of the sentiment, and went on. “And am I + Vice-Wardeness?” + </p> + <p> + “If you choose to use that title,” said the Warden: “but 'Your Excellency' + will be the proper style of address. And I trust that both 'His + Excellency' and 'Her Excellency' will observe the Agreement I have drawn + up. The provision I am most anxious about is this.” He unrolled a large + parchment scroll, and read aloud the words “'item, that we will be kind to + the poor.' The Chancellor worded it for me,” he added, glancing at that + great Functionary. “I suppose, now, that word 'item' has some deep legal + meaning?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly!” replied the Chancellor, as articulately as he could with a + pen between his lips. He was nervously rolling and unrolling several other + scrolls, and making room among them for the one the Warden had just handed + to him. “These are merely the rough copies,” he explained: “and, as soon + as I have put in the final corrections—” making a great commotion + among the different parchments, “—a semi-colon or two that I have + accidentally omitted—” here he darted about, pen in hand, from one + part of the scroll to another, spreading sheets of blotting-paper over his + corrections, “all will be ready for signing.” + </p> + <p> + “Should it not be read out, first?” my Lady enquired. + </p> + <p> + “No need, no need!” the Sub-Warden and the Chancellor exclaimed at the + same moment, with feverish eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “No need at all,” the Warden gently assented. “Your husband and I have + gone through it together. It provides that he shall exercise the full + authority of Warden, and shall have the disposal of the annual revenue + attached to the office, until my return, or, failing that, until Bruno + comes of age: and that he shall then hand over, to myself or to Bruno as + the case may be, the Wardenship, the unspent revenue, and the contents of + the Treasury, which are to be preserved, intact, under his guardianship.” + </p> + <p> + All this time the Sub-Warden was busy, with the Chancellor's help, + shifting the papers from side to side, and pointing out to the Warden the + place whew he was to sign. He then signed it himself, and my Lady and the + Chancellor added their names as witnesses. + </p> + <p> + “Short partings are best,” said the Warden. “All is ready for my journey. + My children are waiting below to see me off” He gravely kissed my Lady, + shook hands with his brother and the Chancellor, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + {Image...'What a game!'} + </p> + <p> + The three waited in silence till the sound of wheels announced that the + Warden was out of hearing: then, to my surprise, they broke into peals of + uncontrollable laughter. + </p> + <p> + “What a game, oh, what a game!” cried the Chancellor. And he and the + Vice-Warden joined hands, and skipped wildly about the room. My Lady was + too dignified to skip, but she laughed like the neighing of a horse, and + waved her handkerchief above her head: it was clear to her very limited + understanding that something very clever had been done, but what it was + she had yet to learn. + </p> + <p> + “You said I should hear all about it when the Warden had gone,” she + remarked, as soon as she could make herself heard. + </p> + <p> + “And so you shall, Tabby!” her husband graciously replied, as he removed + the blotting-paper, and showed the two parchments lying side by side. + “This is the one he read but didn't sign: and this is the one he signed + but didn't read! You see it was all covered up, except the place for + signing the names—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” my Lady interrupted eagerly, and began comparing the two + Agreements. + </p> + <p> + “'Item, that he shall exercise the authority of Warden, in the Warden's + absence.' Why, that's been changed into 'shall be absolute governor for + life, with the title of Emperor, if elected to that office by the people.' + What! Are you Emperor, darling?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, dear,” the Vice-Warden replied. “It won't do to let this paper + be seen, just at present. All in good time.” + </p> + <p> + My Lady nodded, and read on. “'Item, that we will be kind to the poor.' + Why, that's omitted altogether!” + </p> + <p> + “Course it is!” said her husband. “We're not going to bother about the + wretches!” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said my Lady, with emphasis, and read on again. “'Item, that the + contents of the Treasury be preserved intact.' Why, that's altered into + 'shall be at the absolute disposal of the Vice-Warden'! Well, Sibby, that + was a clever trick! All the Jewels, only think! May I go and put them on + directly?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not just yet, Lovey,” her husband uneasily replied. “You see the + public mind isn't quite ripe for it yet. We must feel our way. Of course + we'll have the coach-and-four out, at once. And I'll take the title of + Emperor, as soon as we can safely hold an Election. But they'll hardly + stand our using the Jewels, as long as they know the Warden's alive. We + must spread a report of his death. A little Conspiracy—” + </p> + <p> + “A Conspiracy!” cried the delighted lady, clapping her hands. “Of all + things, I do like a Conspiracy! It's so interesting!” + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Warden and the Chancellor interchanged a wink or two. “Let her + conspire to her heart's content!” the cunning Chancellor whispered. “It'll + do no harm!” + </p> + <p> + “And when will the Conspiracy—” + </p> + <p> + “Hist!', her husband hastily interrupted her, as the door opened, and + Sylvie and Bruno came in, with their arms twined lovingly round each other—Bruno + sobbing convulsively, with his face hidden on his sister's shoulder, and + Sylvie more grave and quiet, but with tears streaming down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Mustn't cry like that!” the Vice-Warden said sharply, but without any + effect on the weeping children. “Cheer 'em up a bit!” he hinted to my + Lady. + </p> + <p> + “Cake!” my Lady muttered to herself with great decision, crossing the room + and opening a cupboard, from which she presently returned with two slices + of plum-cake. “Eat, and don't cry!” were her short and simple orders: and + the poor children sat down side by side, but seemed in no mood for eating. + </p> + <p> + For the second time the door opened—or rather was burst open, this + time, as Uggug rushed violently into the room, shouting “that old Beggars + come again!” + </p> + <p> + “He's not to have any food—” the Vice-warden was beginning, but the + Chancellor interrupted him. “It's all right,” he said, in a low voice: + “the servants have their orders.” + </p> + <p> + “He's just under here,” said Uggug, who had gone to the window, and was + looking down into the court-yard. + </p> + <p> + “Where, my darling?” said his fond mother, flinging her arms round the + neck of the little monster. All of us (except Sylvie and Bruno, who took + no notice of what was going on) followed her to the window. The old Beggar + looked up at us with hungry eyes. “Only a crust of bread, your Highness!” + he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + {Image...'Drink this!'} + </p> + <p> + He was a fine old man, but looked sadly ill and worn. “A crust of bread is + what I crave!” he repeated. “A single crust, and a little water!” + </p> + <p> + “Here's some water, drink this!” + </p> + <p> + Uggug bellowed, emptying a jug of water over his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well done, my boy!” cried the Vice-Warden. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way to settle such folk!” + </p> + <p> + “Clever boy!”, the Wardeness chimed in. “Hasn't he good spirits?” + </p> + <p> + “Take a stick to him!” shouted the Vice-Warden, as the old Beggar shook + the water from his ragged cloak, and again gazed meekly upwards. + </p> + <p> + “Take a red-hot poker to him!” my Lady again chimed in. + </p> + <p> + Possibly there was no red-hot poker handy: but some sticks were + forthcoming in a moment, and threatening faces surrounded the poor old + wanderer, who waved them back with quiet dignity. “No need to break my old + bones,” he said. “I am going. Not even a crust!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor, poor old man!” exclaimed a little voice at my side, half choked + with sobs. Bruno was at the window, trying to throw out his slice of + plum-cake, but Sylvie held him back. + </p> + <p> + “He shalt have my cake!” Bruno cried, passionately struggling out of + Sylvie's arms. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, darling!” Sylvie gently pleaded. “But don't throw it out! He's + gone away, don't you see? Let's go after him.” And she led him out of the + room, unnoticed by the rest of the party, who were wholly absorbed in + watching the old Beggar. + </p> + <p> + The Conspirators returned to their seats, and continued their conversation + in an undertone, so as not to be heard by Uggug, who was still standing at + the window. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, there was something about Bruno succeeding to the + Wrardenship,” said my Lady. “How does that stand in the new Agreement?” + </p> + <p> + The Chancellor chuckled. “Just the same, word for word,” he said, “with + one exception, my Lady. Instead of 'Bruno,' I've taken the liberty to put + in—” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “to put in 'Uggug,' you + know!” + </p> + <p> + “Uggug, indeed!” I exclaimed, in a burst of indignation I could no longer + control. To bring out even that one word seemed a gigantic effort: but, + the cry once uttered, all effort ceased at once: a sudden gust swept away + the whole scene, and I found myself sitting up, staring at the young lady + in the opposite corner of the carriage, who had now thrown back her veil, + and was looking at me with an expression of amused surprise. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5. A BEGGAR'S PALACE. + </h2> + <p> + That I had said something, in the act of waking, I felt sure: the hoarse + stifled cry was still ringing in my ears, even if the startled look of my + fellow-traveler had not been evidence enough: but what could I possibly + say by way of apology? + </p> + <p> + “I hope I didn't frighten you?” I stammered out at last. “I have no idea + what I said. I was dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + “You said 'Uggug indeed!'” the young lady replied, with quivering lips + that would curve themselves into a smile, in spite of all her efforts to + look grave. “At least—you didn't say it—you shouted it!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm very sorry,” was all I could say, feeling very penitent and helpless. + “She has Sylvie's eyes!” I thought to myself, half-doubting whether, even + now, I were fairly awake. “And that sweet look of innocent wonder is all + Sylvie's too. But Sylvie hasn't got that calm resolute mouth nor that + far-away look of dreamy sadness, like one that has had some deep sorrow, + very long ago—” And the thick-coming fancies almost prevented my + hearing the lady's next words. + </p> + <p> + “If you had had a 'Shilling Dreadful' in your hand,” she proceeded, + “something about Ghosts or Dynamite or Midnight Murder—one could + understand it: those things aren't worth the shilling, unless they give + one a Nightmare. But really—with only a medical treatise, you know—” + and she glanced, with a pretty shrug of contempt, at the book over which I + had fallen asleep. + </p> + <p> + Her friendliness, and utter unreserve, took me aback for a moment; yet + there was no touch of forwardness, or boldness, about the child for child, + almost, she seemed to be: I guessed her at scarcely over twenty—all + was the innocent frankness of some angelic visitant, new to the ways of + earth and the conventionalisms or, if you will, the barbarisms—of + Society. “Even so,” I mused, “will Sylvie look and speak, in another ten + years.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't care for Ghosts, then,” I ventured to suggest, “unless they are + really terrifying?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” the lady assented. “The regular Railway-Ghosts—I mean + the Ghosts of ordinary Railway-literature—are very poor affairs. I + feel inclined to say, with Alexander Selkirk, 'Their tameness is shocking + to me'! And they never do any Midnight Murders. They couldn't 'welter in + gore,' to save their lives!” + </p> + <p> + “'Weltering in gore' is a very expressive phrase, certainly. Can it be + done in any fluid, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” the lady readily replied—quite as if she had thought + it out, long ago. “It has to be something thick. For instance, you might + welter in bread-sauce. That, being white, would be more suitable for a + Ghost, supposing it wished to welter!” + </p> + <p> + “You have a real good terrifying Ghost in that book?” I hinted. + </p> + <p> + “How could you guess?” she exclaimed with the most engaging frankness, and + placed the volume in my hands. I opened it eagerly, with a not unpleasant + thrill (like what a good ghost-story gives one) at the 'uncanny' + coincidence of my having so unexpectedly divined the subject of her + studies. + </p> + <p> + It was a book of Domestic Cookery, open at the article Bread Sauce.' + </p> + <p> + I returned the book, looking, I suppose, a little blank, as the lady + laughed merrily at my discomfiture. “It's far more exciting than some of + the modern ghosts, I assure you! Now there was a Ghost last month—I + don't mean a real Ghost in in Supernature—but in a Magazine. It was + a perfectly flavourless Ghost. It wouldn't have frightened a mouse! It + wasn't a Ghost that one would even offer a chair to!” + </p> + <p> + “Three score years and ten, baldness, and spectacles, have their + advantages after all!”, I said to myself. “Instead of a bashful youth and + maiden, gasping out monosyllables at awful intervals, here we have an old + man and a child, quite at their ease, talking as if they had known each + other for years! Then you think,” I continued aloud, “that we ought + sometimes to ask a Ghost to sit down? But have we any authority for it? In + Shakespeare, for instance—there are plenty of ghosts there—does + Shakespeare ever give the stage-direction 'hands chair to Ghost'?” + </p> + <p> + The lady looked puzzled and thoughtful for a moment: then she almost + clapped her hands. “Yes, yes, he does!” she cried. “He makes Hamlet say + 'Rest, rest, perturbed Spirit!”' + </p> + <p> + “And that, I suppose, means an easy-chair?” + </p> + <p> + “An American rocking-chair, I think—” + </p> + <p> + “Fayfield Junction, my Lady, change for Elveston!” the guard announced, + flinging open the door of the carriage: and we soon found ourselves, with + all our portable property around us, on the platform. + </p> + <p> + The accommodation, provided for passengers waiting at this Junction, was + distinctly inadequate—a single wooden bench, apparently intended for + three sitters only: and even this was already partially occupied by a very + old man, in a smock frock, who sat, with rounded shoulders and drooping + head, and with hands clasped on the top of his stick so as to make a sort + of pillow for that wrinkled face with its look of patient weariness. + </p> + <p> + “Come, you be off!” the Station-master roughly accosted the poor old man. + “You be off, and make way for your betters! This way, my Lady!” he added + in a perfectly different tone. “If your Ladyship will take a seat, the + train will be up in a few minutes.” The cringing servility of his manner + was due, no doubt, to the address legible on the pile of luggage, which + announced their owner to be “Lady Muriel Orme, passenger to Elveston, via + Fayfield Junction.” + </p> + <p> + As I watched the old man slowly rise to his feet, and hobble a few paces + down the platform, the lines came to my lips:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “From sackcloth couch the Monk arose, + With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd; + A hundred years had flung their snows + On his thin locks and floating beard.” + </pre> + <p> + {Image...'Come, you be off!'} + </p> + <p> + But the lady scarcely noticed the little incident. After one glance at the + 'banished man,' who stood tremulously leaning on his stick, she turned to + me. “This is not an American rocking-chair, by any means! Yet may I say,” + slightly changing her place, so as to make room for me beside her, “may I + say, in Hamlet's words, 'Rest, rest—'” she broke off with a silvery + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “—perturbed Spirit!”' I finished the sentence for her. “Yes, that + describes a railway-traveler exactly! And here is an instance of it,” I + added, as the tiny local train drew up alongside the platform, and the + porters bustled about, opening carriage-doors—one of them helping + the poor old man to hoist himself into a third-class carriage, while + another of them obsequiously conducted the lady and myself into a + first-class. + </p> + <p> + She paused, before following him, to watch the progress of the other + passenger. “Poor old man!” she said. “How weak and ill he looks! It was a + shame to let him be turned away like that. I'm very sorry—” At this + moment it dawned on me that these words were not addressed to me, but that + she was unconsciously thinking aloud. I moved away a few steps, and waited + to follow her into the carriage, where I resumed the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare must have traveled by rail, if only in a dream: 'perturbed + Spirit' is such a happy phrase.” + </p> + <p> + “'Perturbed' referring, no doubt,” she rejoined, “to the sensational + booklets peculiar to the Rail. If Steam has done nothing else, it has at + least added a whole new Species to English Literature!” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt of it,” I echoed. “The true origin of all our medical books—and + all our cookery-books—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she broke in merrily. “I didn't mean our Literature! We are + quite abnormal. But the booklets—the little thrilling romances, + where the Murder comes at page fifteen, and the Wedding at page forty—surely + they are due to Steam?” + </p> + <p> + “And when we travel by Electricity if I may venture to develop your theory + we shall have leaflets instead of booklets, and the Murder and the Wedding + will come on the same page.” + </p> + <p> + “A development worthy of Darwin!”, the lady exclaimed enthusiastically. + “Only you reverse his theory. Instead of developing a mouse into an + elephant, you would develop an elephant into a mouse!” But here we plunged + into a tunnel, and I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment, trying + to recall a few of the incidents of my recent dream. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I saw—” I murmured sleepily: and then the phrase insisted + on conjugating itself, and ran into “you thought you saw—he thought + he saw—” and then it suddenly went off into a song:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He thought he saw an Elephant, + That practised on a fife: + He looked again, and found it was + A letter from his wife. + 'At length I realise,' he said, + “The bitterness of Life!'” + </pre> + <p> + And what a wild being it was who sang these wild words! A Gardener he + seemed to be yet surely a mad one, by the way he brandished his rake—madder, + by the way he broke, ever and anon, into a frantic jig—maddest of + all, by the shriek in which he brought out the last words of the stanza! + </p> + <p> + {Image....The gardener} + </p> + <p> + It was so far a description of himself that he had the feet of an + Elephant: but the rest of him was skin and bone: and the wisps of loose + straw, that bristled all about him, suggested that he had been originally + stuffed with it, and that nearly all the stuffing had come out. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie and Bruno waited patiently till the end of the first verse. Then + Sylvie advanced alone (Bruno having suddenly turned shy) and timidly + introduced herself with the words “Please, I'm Sylvie!” + </p> + <p> + “And who's that other thing?', said the Gardener. + </p> + <p> + “What thing?” said Sylvie, looking round. “Oh, that's Bruno. He's my + brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he your brother yesterday?” the Gardener anxiously enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Course I were!” cried Bruno, who had gradually crept nearer, and didn't + at all like being talked about without having his share in the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well!” the Gardener said with a kind of groan. “Things change so, + here. Whenever I look again, it's sure to be something different! Yet I + does my duty! I gets up wriggle-early at five—” + </p> + <p> + “If I was oo,” said Bruno, “I wouldn't wriggle so early. It's as bad as + being a worm!” he added, in an undertone to Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “But you shouldn't be lazy in the morning, Bruno,” said Sylvie. “Remember, + it's the early bird that picks up the worm!” + </p> + <p> + “It may, if it likes!” Bruno said with a slight yawn. “I don't like eating + worms, one bit. I always stop in bed till the early bird has picked them + up!” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder you've the face to tell me such fibs!” cried the Gardener. + </p> + <p> + To which Bruno wisely replied “Oo don't want a face to tell fibs wiz—only + a mouf.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie discreetly changed the subject. “And did you plant all these + flowers?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What a lovely garden you've made! Do you know, I'd like to live here + always!” + </p> + <p> + “In the winter-nights—” the Gardener was beginning. + </p> + <p> + “But I'd nearly forgotten what we came about!” Sylvie interrupted. “Would + you please let us through into the road? There's a poor old beggar just + gone out—and he's very hungry—and Bruno wants to give him his + cake, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “It's as much as my place is worth!” the Gardener muttered, taking a key + from his pocket, and beginning to unlock a door in the garden-wall. + </p> + <p> + “How much are it wurf?” Bruno innocently enquired. + </p> + <p> + But the Gardener only grinned. “That's a secret!” he said. “Mind you come + back quick!” he called after the children, as they passed out into the + road. I had just time to follow them, before he shut the door again. + </p> + <p> + We hurried down the road, and very soon caught sight of the old Beggar, + about a quarter of a mile ahead of us, and the children at once set off + running to overtake him. + </p> + <p> + Lightly and swiftly they skimmed over the ground, and I could not in the + least understand how it was I kept up with them so easily. But the + unsolved problem did not worry me so much as at another time it might have + done, there were so many other things to attend to. + </p> + <p> + The old Beggar must have been very deaf, as he paid no attention whatever + to Bruno's eager shouting, but trudged wearily on, never pausing until the + child got in front of him and held up the slice of cake. The poor little + fellow was quite out of breath, and could only utter the one word “Cake!” + not with the gloomy decision with which Her Excellency had so lately + pronounced it, but with a sweet childish timidity, looking up into the old + man's face with eyes that loved 'all things both great and small.' + </p> + <p> + The old man snatched it from him, and devoured it greedily, as some hungry + wild beast might have done, but never a word of thanks did he give his + little benefactor—only growled “More, more!” and glared at the + half-frightened children. + </p> + <p> + “There is no more!”, Sylvie said with tears in her eyes. “I'd eaten mine. + It was a shame to let you be turned away like that. I'm very sorry—” + </p> + <p> + I lost the rest of the sentence, for my mind had recurred, with a great + shock of surprise, to Lady Muriel Orme, who had so lately uttered these + very words of Sylvie's—yes, and in Sylvie's own voice, and with + Sylvie's gentle pleading eyes! + </p> + <p> + “Follow me!” were the next words I heard, as the old man waved his hand, + with a dignified grace that ill suited his ragged dress, over a bush, that + stood by the road side, which began instantly to sink into the earth. At + another time I might have doubted the evidence of my eyes, or at least + have felt some astonishment: but, in this strange scene, my whole being + seemed absorbed in strong curiosity as to what would happen next. + </p> + <p> + When the bush had sunk quite out of our sight, marble steps were seen, + leading downwards into darkness. The old man led the way, and we eagerly + followed. + </p> + <p> + The staircase was so dark, at first, that I could only just see the forms + of the children, as, hand-in-hand, they groped their way down after their + guide: but it got lighter every moment, with a strange silvery brightness, + that seemed to exist in the air, as there were no lamps visible; and, when + at last we reached a level floor, the room, in which we found ourselves, + was almost as light as day. + </p> + <p> + It was eight-sided, having in each angle a slender pillar, round which + silken draperies were twined. The wall between the pillars was entirely + covered, to the height of six or seven feet, with creepers, from which + hung quantities of ripe fruit and of brilliant flowers, that almost hid + the leaves. In another place, perchance, I might have wondered to see + fruit and flowers growing together: here, my chief wonder was that neither + fruit nor flowers were such as I had ever seen before. Higher up, each + wall contained a circular window of coloured glass; and over all was an + arched roof, that seemed to be spangled all over with jewels. + </p> + <p> + With hardly less wonder, I turned this way and that, trying to make out + how in the world we had come in: for there was no door: and all the walls + were thickly covered with the lovely creepers. + </p> + <p> + “We are safe here, my darlings!” said the old man, laying a hand on + Sylvie's shoulder, and bending down to kiss her. Sylvie drew back hastily, + with an offended air: but in another moment, with a glad cry of “Why, it's + Father!”, she had run into his arms. + </p> + <p> + {Image...A beggar's palace} + </p> + <p> + “Father! Father!” Bruno repeated: and, while the happy children were being + hugged and kissed, I could but rub my eyes and say “Where, then, are the + rags gone to?”; for the old man was now dressed in royal robes that + glittered with jewels and gold embroidery, and wore a circlet of gold + around his head. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6. THE MAGIC LOCKET. + </h2> + <p> + “Where are we, father?” Sylvie whispered, with her arms twined closely + around the old man's neck, and with her rosy cheek lovingly pressed to + his. + </p> + <p> + “In Elfland, darling. It's one of the provinces of Fairyland.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought Elfland was ever so far from Outland: and we've come such a + tiny little way!” + </p> + <p> + “You came by the Royal Road, sweet one. Only those of royal blood can + travel along it: but you've been royal ever since I was made King of + Elfland that's nearly a month ago. They sent two ambassadors, to make sure + that their invitation to me, to be their new King, should reach me. One + was a Prince; so he was able to come by the Royal Road, and to come + invisibly to all but me: the other was a Baron; so he had to come by the + common road, and I dare say he hasn't even arrived yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how far have we come?” Sylvie enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Just a thousand miles, sweet one, since the Gardener unlocked that door + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand miles!” Bruno repeated. “And may I eat one?” + </p> + <p> + “Eat a mile, little rogue?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bruno. “I mean may I eat one of that fruits?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, child,” said his father: “and then you'll find out what Pleasure is + like—the Pleasure we all seek so madly, and enjoy so mournfully!” + </p> + <p> + Bruno ran eagerly to the wall, and picked a fruit that was shaped + something like a banana, but had the colour of a strawberry. + </p> + <p> + He ate it with beaming looks, that became gradually more gloomy, and were + very blank indeed by the time he had finished. + </p> + <p> + “It hasn't got no taste at all!” he complained. “I couldn't feel nuffin in + my mouf! It's a—what's that hard word, Sylvie?” + </p> + <p> + “It was a Phlizz,” Sylvie gravely replied. “Are they all like that, + father?” + </p> + <p> + “They're all like that to you, darling, because you don't belong to + Elfland—yet. But to me they are real.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno looked puzzled. “I'll try anuvver kind of fruits!” he said, and + jumped down off the King's knee. “There's some lovely striped ones, just + like a rainbow!” And off he ran. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the Fairy-King and Sylvie were talking together, but in such low + tones that I could not catch the words: so I followed Bruno, who was + picking and eating other kinds of fruit, in the vain hope of finding some + that had a taste. I tried to pick so me myself—but it was like + grasping air, and I soon gave up the attempt and returned to Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “Look well at it, my darling,” the old man was saying, “and tell me how + you like it.” + </p> + <p> + “'It's just lovely,” cried Sylvie, delightedly. “Bruno, come and look!” + And she held up, so that he might see the light through it, a heart-shaped + Locket, apparently cut out of a single jewel, of a rich blue colour, with + a slender gold chain attached to it. + </p> + <p> + “It are welly pretty,” Bruno more soberly remarked: and he began spelling + out some words inscribed on it. “All—will—love—Sylvie,” + he made them out at last. “And so they doos!” he cried, clasping his arms + round her neck. “Everybody loves Sylvie!” + </p> + <p> + “But we love her best, don't we, Bruno?” said the old King, as he took + possession of the Locket. “Now, Sylvie, look at this.” And he showed her, + lying on the palm of his hand, a Locket of a deep crimson colour, the same + shape as the blue one and, like it, attached to a slender golden chain. + </p> + <p> + “Lovelier and lovelier!” exclaimed Sylvie, clasping her hands in ecstasy. + “Look, Bruno!” + </p> + <p> + “And there's words on this one, too,” said Bruno. “Sylvie—will—love—all.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you see the difference,” said the old man: “different colours and + different words.” + </p> + <p> + “Choose one of them, darling. I'll give you which ever you like best.” + </p> + <p> + {Image...The crimson locket} + </p> + <p> + Sylvie whispered the words, several times over, with a thoughtful smile, + and then made her decision. “It's very nice to be loved,” she said: “but + it's nicer to love other people! May I have the red one, Father?” + </p> + <p> + The old man said nothing: but I could see his eyes fill with tears, as he + bent his head and pressed his lips to her forehead in a long loving kiss. + Then he undid the chain, and showed her how to fasten it round her neck, + and to hide it away under the edge of her frock. “It's for you to keep you + know he said in a low voice, not for other people to see. You'll remember + how to use it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'll remember,” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “And now darlings it's time for you to go back or they'll be missing you + and then that poor Gardener will get into trouble!” + </p> + <p> + Once more a feeling of wonder rose in my mind as to how in the world we + were to get back again—since I took it for granted that wherever the + children went I was to go—but no shadow of doubt seemed to cross + their minds as they hugged and kissed him murmuring over and over again + “Good-bye darling Father!” And then suddenly and swiftly the darkness of + midnight seemed to close in upon us and through the darkness harshly rang + a strange wild song:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He thought he saw a Buffalo + Upon the chimney-piece: + He looked again, and found it was + His Sister's Husband's Niece. + 'Unless you leave this house,' he said, + 'I'll send for the Police!' +</pre> + <p> + {Image...'He thought he saw a buffalo'} + </p> + <p> + “That was me!” he added, looking out at us, through the half-opened door, + as we stood waiting in the road.' “And that's what I'd have done—as + sure as potatoes aren't radishes—if she hadn't have tooken herself + off! But I always loves my pay-rints like anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are oor pay-rints?” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “Them as pay rint for me, a course!” the Gardener replied. “You can come + in now, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + He flung the door open as he spoke, and we got out, a little dazzled and + stupefied (at least I felt so) at the sudden transition from the + half-darkness of the railway-carriage to the brilliantly-lighted platform + of Elveston Station. + </p> + <p> + A footman, in a handsome livery, came forwards and respectfully touched + his hat. “The carriage is here, my Lady,” he said, taking from her the + wraps and small articles she was carrying: and Lady Muriel, after shaking + hands and bidding me “Good-night!” with a pleasant smile, followed him. + </p> + <p> + It was with a somewhat blank and lonely feeling that I betook myself to + the van from which the luggage was being taken out: and, after giving + directions to have my boxes sent after me, I made my way on foot to + Arthur's lodgings, and soon lost my lonely feeling in the hearty welcome + my old friend gave me, and the cozy warmth and cheerful light of the + little sitting-room into which he led me. + </p> + <p> + “Little, as you see, but quite enough for us two. Now, take the + easy-chair, old fellow, and let's have another look at you! Well, you do + look a bit pulled down!” and he put on a solemn professional air. “I + prescribe Ozone, quant. suff. Social dissipation, fiant pilulae quam + plurimae: to be taken, feasting, three times a day!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Doctor!” I remonstrated. “Society doesn't 'receive' three times a + day!” + </p> + <p> + “That's all you know about it!” the young Doctor gaily replied. “At home, + lawn-tennis, 3 P.M. At home, kettledrum, 5 P.M. At home, music (Elveston + doesn't give dinners), 8 P.M. Carriages at 10. There you are!” + </p> + <p> + It sounded very pleasant, I was obliged to admit. “And I know some of the + lady-society already,” I added. “One of them came in the same carriage + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “What was she like? Then perhaps I can identify her.” + </p> + <p> + “The name was Lady Muriel Orme. As to what she was like—well, I + thought her very beautiful. Do you know her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I do know her.” And the grave Doctor coloured slightly as he + added “Yes, I agree with you. She is beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite lost my heart to her!” I went on mischievously. “We talked—” + </p> + <p> + “Have some supper!” Arthur interrupted with an air of relief, as the maid + entered with the tray. And he steadily resisted all my attempts to return + to the subject of Lady Muriel until the evening had almost worn itself + away. Then, as we sat gazing into the fire, and conversation was lapsing + into silence, he made a hurried confession. + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't meant to tell you anything about her,” he said (naming no names, + as if there were only one 'she' in the world!) “till you had seen more of + her, and formed your own judgment of her: but somehow you surprised it out + of me. And I've not breathed a word of it to any one else. But I can trust + you with a secret, old friend! Yes! It's true of me, what I suppose you + said in jest. + </p> + <p> + “In the merest jest, believe me!” I said earnestly. “Why, man, I'm three + times her age! But if she's your choice, then I'm sure she's all that is + good and—” + </p> + <p> + “—and sweet,” Arthur went on, “and pure, and self-denying, and + true-hearted, and—” he broke off hastily, as if he could not trust + himself to say more on a subject so sacred and so precious. Silence + followed: and I leaned back drowsily in my easy-chair, filled with bright + and beautiful imaginings of Arthur and his lady-love, and of all the peace + and happiness in store for them. + </p> + <p> + I pictured them to myself walking together, lingeringly and lovingly, + under arching trees, in a sweet garden of their own, and welcomed back by + their faithful gardener, on their return from some brief excursion. + </p> + <p> + It seemed natural enough that the gardener should be filled with exuberant + delight at the return of so gracious a master and mistress and how + strangely childlike they looked! I could have taken them for Sylvie and + Bruno less natural that he should show it by such wild dances, such crazy + songs! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He thought he saw a Rattlesnake + That questioned him in Greek: + He looked again, and found it was + The Middle of Next Week. + 'The one thing I regret,' he said, + 'Is that it cannot speak!” + </pre> + <p> + —least natural of all that the Vice-Warden and 'my Lady' should be + standing close beside me, discussing an open letter, which had just been + handed to him by the Professor, who stood, meekly waiting, a few yards + off. + </p> + <p> + “If it were not for those two brats,” I heard him mutter, glancing + savagely at Sylvie and Bruno, who were courteously listening to the + Gardener's song, “there would be no difficulty whatever.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's hear that bit of the letter again,” said my Lady. And the + Vice-Warden read aloud:— + </p> + <p> + “—and we therefore entreat you graciously to accept the Kingship, to + which you have been unanimously elected by the Council of Elfland: and + that you will allow your son Bruno of whose goodness, cleverness, and + beauty, reports have reached us—to be regarded as Heir-Apparent.” + </p> + <p> + “But what's the difficulty?” said my Lady. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you see? The Ambassador, that brought this, is waiting in the + house: and he's sure to see Sylvie and Bruno: and then, when he sees + Uggug, and remembers all that about 'goodness, cleverness, and beauty,' + why, he's sure to—” + </p> + <p> + “And where will you find a better boy than Uggug?” my Lady indignantly + interrupted. “Or a wittier, or a lovelier?” + </p> + <p> + To all of which the Vice-Warden simply replied “Don't you be a great + blethering goose! Our only chance is to keep those two brats out of sight. + If you can manage that, you may leave the rest to me. I'll make him + believe Uggug to be a model of cleverness and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “We must change his name to Bruno, of course?” said my Lady. + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Warden rubbed his chin. “Humph! No!” he said musingly. “Wouldn't + do. The boy's such an utter idiot, he'd never learn to answer to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Idiot, indeed!” cried my Lady. “He's no more an idiot than I am!” + </p> + <p> + “You're right, my dear,” the Vice-Warden soothingly I replied. “He isn't, + indeed!” + </p> + <p> + My Lady was appeased. “Let's go in and receive the Ambassador,” she said, + and beckoned to the Professor. “Which room is he waiting in?” she + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “In the Library, Madam.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you say his name was?” said the Vice-Warden. + </p> + <p> + The Professor referred to a card he held in his hand. “His Adiposity the + Baron Doppelgeist.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does he come with such a funny name?” said my Lady. + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't well change it on the journey,” the Professor meekly replied, + “because of the luggage.” + </p> + <p> + “You go and receive him,” my Lady said to the Vice-Warden, “and I'll + attend to the children.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7. THE BARONS EMBASSY. + </h2> + <p> + I was following the Vice-Warden, but, on second thoughts, went after my + Lady, being curious to see how she would manage to keep the children out + of sight. + </p> + <p> + I found her holding Sylvie's hand, and with her other hand stroking + Bruno's hair in a most tender and motherly fashion: both children were + looking bewildered and half-frightened. + </p> + <p> + “My own darlings,” she was saying, “I've been planning a little treat for + you! The Professor shall take you a long walk into the woods this + beautiful evening: and you shall take a basket of food with you, and have + a little picnic down by the river!” + </p> + <p> + Bruno jumped, and clapped his hands. “That are nice!” he cried. “Aren't + it, Sylvie?” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie, who hadn't quite lost her surprised look, put up her mouth for a + kiss. “Thank you very much,” she said earnestly. + </p> + <p> + My Lady turned her head away to conceal the broad grin of triumph that + spread over her vast face, like a ripple on a lake. “Little simpletons!” + she muttered to herself, as she marched up to the house. I followed her + in. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, your Excellency,” the Baron was saying as we entered the + Library. “All the infantry were under my command.” He turned, and was duly + presented to my Lady. + </p> + <p> + “A military hero?” said my Lady. The fat little man simpered. “Well, yes,” + he replied, modestly casting down his eyes. “My ancestors were all famous + for military genius.” + </p> + <p> + My Lady smiled graciously. “It often runs in families,” she remarked: + “just as a love for pastry does.” + </p> + <p> + The Baron looked slightly offended, and the Vice-Warden discreetly changed + the subject. “Dinner will soon be ready,” he said. “May I have the honour + of conducting your Adiposity to the guest-chamber?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly!” the Baron eagerly assented. “It would never do to + keep dinner waiting!” And he almost trotted out of the room after the + Vice-Warden. + </p> + <p> + He was back again so speedily that the Vice-warden had barely time to + explain to my Lady that her remark about “a love for pastry” was + “unfortunate. You might have seen, with half an eye,” he added, “that + that's his line. Military genius, indeed! Pooh!” + </p> + <p> + “Dinner ready yet?” the Baron enquired, as he hurried into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Will be in a few minutes,” the Vice-Warden replied. “Meanwhile, let's + take a turn in the garden. You were telling me,” he continued, as the trio + left the house, “something about a great battle in which you had the + command of the infantry—” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said the Baron. “The enemy, as I was saying, far outnumbered us: + but I marched my men right into the middle of—what's that?” the + Military Hero exclaimed in agitated tones, drawing back behind the + Vice-Warden, as a strange creature rushed wildly upon them, brandishing a + spade. + </p> + <p> + “It's only the Gardener!” the Vice-Warden replied in an encouraging tone. + “Quite harmless, I assure you. Hark, he's singing! Its his favorite + amusement.” + </p> + <p> + And once more those shrill discordant tones rang out:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk + Descending from the bus: + He looked again, and found it was + A Hippopotamus: + 'If this should stay to dine,' he said, + 'There won't be mutch for us!'” + </pre> + <p> + Throwing away the spade, he broke into a frantic jig, snapping his + fingers, and repeating, again and again, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There won't be much for us! + There won't be much for us!” + </pre> + <p> + {Image...It was a hippoptamus} + </p> + <p> + Once more the Baron looked slightly offended, but the Vice-Warden hastily + explained that the song had no allusion to him, and in fact had no meaning + at all. “You didn't mean anything by it, now did you?” He appealed to the + Gardener, who had finished his song, and stood, balancing himself on one + leg, and looking at them, with his mouth open. + </p> + <p> + “I never means nothing,” said the Gardener: and Uggug luckily came up at + the moment, and gave the conversation a new turn. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to present my son,” said the Vice-warden; adding, in a whisper, + “one of the best and cleverest boys that ever lived! I'll contrive for you + to see some of his cleverness. He knows everything that other boys don't + know; and in archery, in fishing, in painting, and in music, his skill is—but + you shall judge for yourself. You see that target over there? He shall + shoot an arrow at it. Dear boy,” he went on aloud, “his Adiposity would + like to see you shoot. Bring his Highness' bow and arrows!” + </p> + <p> + Uggug looked very sulky as he received the bow and arrow, and prepared to + shoot. Just as the arrow left the bow, the Vice-Warden trod heavily on the + toe of the Baron, who yelled with the pain. + </p> + <p> + “Ten thousand pardons!” he exclaimed. “I stepped back in my excitement. + See! It is a bull's-eye!” + </p> + <p> + The Baron gazed in astonishment. “He held the bow so awkwardly, it seemed + impossible!” he muttered. But there was no room for doubt: there was the + arrow, right in the centre of the bull's-eye! + </p> + <p> + “The lake is close by,” continued the Vice-warden. “Bring his Highness' + fishing-rod!” And Uggug most unwillingly held the rod, and dangled the fly + over the water. + </p> + <p> + “A beetle on your arm!” cried my Lady, pinching the poor Baron's arm worse + than if ten lobsters had seized it at once. “That kind is poisonous,” she + explained. “But what a pity! You missed seeing the fish pulled out!” + </p> + <p> + An enormous dead cod-fish was lying on the bank, with the hook in its + mouth. + </p> + <p> + “I had always fancied,” the Baron faltered, “that cod were salt-water + fish?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in this country,” said the Vice-Warden. “Shall we go in? Ask my son + some question on the way any subject you like!” And the sulky boy was + violently shoved forwards, to walk at the Baron's side. + </p> + <p> + “Could your Highness tell me,” the Baron cautiously began, “how much seven + times nine would come to?” + </p> + <p> + “Turn to the left!” cried the Vice-Warden, hastily stepping forwards to + show the way—-so hastily, that he ran against his unfortunate guest, + who fell heavily on his face. + </p> + <p> + “So sorry!” my Lady exclaimed, as she and her husband helped him to his + feet again. “My son was in the act of saying 'sixty-three' as you fell!” + </p> + <p> + The Baron said nothing: he was covered with dust, and seemed much hurt, + both in body and mind. However, when they had got him into the house, and + given him a good brushing, matters looked a little better. + </p> + <p> + Dinner was served in due course, and every fresh dish seemed to increase + the good-humour of the Baron: but all efforts, to get him to express his + opinion as to Uggug's cleverness, were in vain, until that interesting + youth had left the room, and was seen from the open window, prowling about + the lawn with a little basket, which he was filling with frogs. + </p> + <p> + “So fond of Natural History as he is, dear boy!” said the doting mother. + “Now do tell us, Baron, what you think of him!” + </p> + <p> + “To be perfectly candid,” said the cautious Baron, “I would like a little + more evidence. I think you mentioned his skill in—” + </p> + <p> + “Music?” said the Vice-Warden. “Why, he's simply a prodigy! You shall hear + him play the piano.” And he walked to the window. “Ug—I mean my boy! + Come in for a minute, and bring the music-master with you! To turn over + the music for him,” he added as an explanation. + </p> + <p> + Uggug, having filled his basket with frogs, had no objection to obey, and + soon appeared in the room, followed by a fierce-looking little man, who + asked the Vice-Warden “Vot music vill you haf?” + </p> + <p> + “The Sonata that His Highness plays so charmingly,” said the Vice-Warden. + “His Highness haf not—” the music-master began, but was sharply + stopped by the Vice-warden. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, Sir! Go and turn over the music for his Highness. My dear,” (to + the Wardeness) “will you show him what to do? And meanwhile, Baron, I'll + just show you a most interesting map we have—of Outland, and + Fairyland, and that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + By the time my Lady had returned, from explaining things to the + music-master, the map had been hung up, and the Baron was already much + bewildered by the Vice-Warden's habit of pointing to one place while he + shouted out the name of another. + </p> + <p> + {Image...The map of fairyland} + </p> + <p> + My Lady joining in, pointing out other places, and shouting other names, + only made matters worse; and at last the Baron, in despair, took to + pointing out places for himself, and feebly asked “Is that great yellow + splotch Fairyland?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's Fairyland,” said the Vice-warden: “and you might as well give + him a hint,” he muttered to my Lady, “about going back to-morrow. He eats + like a shark! It would hardly do for me to mention it.” + </p> + <p> + His wife caught the idea, and at once began giving hints of the most + subtle and delicate kind. “Just see what a short way it is back to + Fairyland! Why, if you started to-morrow morning, you'd get there in very + little more than a week!” + </p> + <p> + The Baron looked incredulous. “It took me a full month to come,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But it's ever so much shorter, going back, you know!' + </p> + <p> + The Baron looked appealingly to the Vice-warden, who chimed in readily. + “You can go back five times, in the time it took you to come here once—if + you start to-morrow morning!” + </p> + <p> + All this time the Sonata was pealing through the room. The Baron could not + help admitting to himself that it was being magnificently played: but he + tried in vain to get a glimpse of the youthful performer. Every time he + had nearly succeeded in catching sight of him, either the Vice-Warden or + his wife was sure to get in the way, pointing out some new place on the + map, and deafening him with some new name. + </p> + <p> + He gave in at last, wished a hasty good-night, and left the room, while + his host and hostess interchanged looks of triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Deftly done!” cried the Vice-Warden. “Craftily contrived! But what means + all that tramping on the stairs?” He half-opened the door, looked out, and + added in a tone of dismay, “The Baron's boxes are being carried down!” + </p> + <p> + “And what means all that rumbling of wheels?” cried my Lady. She peeped + through the window curtains. “The Baron's carriage has come round!” she + groaned. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened: a fat, furious face looked in: a voice, + hoarse with passion, thundered out the words “My room is full of frogs—I + leave you!”: and the door closed again. + </p> + <p> + And still the noble Sonata went pealing through the room: but it was + Arthur's masterly touch that roused the echoes, and thrilled my very soul + with the tender music of the immortal 'Sonata Pathetique': and it was not + till the last note had died away that the tired but happy traveler could + bring himself to utter the words “good-night!” and to seek his much-needed + pillow. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 8. A RIDE ON A LION. + </h2> + <p> + The next day glided away, pleasantly enough, partly in settling myself in + my new quarters, and partly in strolling round the neighbourhood, under + Arthur's guidance, and trying to form a general idea of Elveston and its + inhabitants. When five o'clock arrived, Arthur proposed without any + embarrassment this time—to take me with him up to 'the Hall,' in + order that I might make acquaintance with the Earl of Ainslie, who had + taken it for the season, and renew acquaintance with his daughter Lady + Muriel. + </p> + <p> + My first impressions of the gentle, dignified, and yet genial old man were + entirely favourable: and the real satisfaction that showed itself on his + daughter's face, as she met me with the words “this is indeed an + unlooked-for pleasure!”, was very soothing for whatever remains of + personal vanity the failures and disappointments of many long years, and + much buffeting with a rough world, had left in me. + </p> + <p> + Yet I noted, and was glad to note, evidence of a far deeper feeling than + mere friendly regard, in her meeting with Arthur though this was, as I + gathered, an almost daily occurrence—and the conversation between + them, in which the Earl and I were only occasional sharers, had an ease + and a spontaneity rarely met with except between very old friends: and, as + I knew that they had not known each other for a longer period than the + summer which was now rounding into autumn, I felt certain that 'Love,' and + Love alone, could explain the phenomenon. + </p> + <p> + “How convenient it would be,” Lady Muriel laughingly remarked, a propos of + my having insisted on saving her the trouble of carrying a cup of tea + across the room to the Earl, “if cups of tea had no weight at all! Then + perhaps ladies would sometimes be permitted to carry them for short + distances!” + </p> + <p> + “One can easily imagine a situation,” said Arthur, “where things would + necessarily have no weight, relatively to each other, though each would + have its usual weight, looked at by itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Some desperate paradox!” said the Earl. “Tell us how it could be. We + shall never guess it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose this house, just as it is, placed a few billion miles above + a planet, and with nothing else near enough to disturb it: of course it + falls to the planet?” + </p> + <p> + The Earl nodded. “Of course though it might take some centuries to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “And is five-o'clock-tea to be going on all the while?” said Lady Muriel. + </p> + <p> + “That, and other things,” said Arthur. “The inhabitants would live their + lives, grow up and die, and still the house would be falling, falling, + falling! But now as to the relative weight of things. Nothing can be + heavy, you know, except by trying to fall, and being prevented from doing + so. You all grant that?” + </p> + <p> + We all granted that. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, if I take this book, and hold it out at arm's length, of + course I feel its weight. It is trying to fall, and I prevent it. And, if + I let go, it fails to the floor. But, if we were all falling together, it + couldn't be trying to fall any quicker, you know: for, if I let go, what + more could it do than fall? And, as my hand would be falling too—at + the same rate—it would never leave it, for that would be to get + ahead of it in the race. And it could never overtake the failing floor!” + </p> + <p> + “I see it clearly,” said Lady Muriel. “But it makes one dizzy to think of + such things! How can you make us do it?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a more curious idea yet,” I ventured to say. “Suppose a cord + fastened to the house, from below, and pulled down by some one on the + planet. Then of course the house goes faster than its natural rate of + falling: but the furniture—with our noble selves—would go on + failing at their old pace, and would therefore be left behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Practically, we should rise to the ceiling,” said the Earl. “The + inevitable result of which would be concussion of brain.” + </p> + <p> + “To avoid that,” said Arthur, “let us have the furniture fixed to the + floor, and ourselves tied down to the furniture. Then the five-o'clock-tea + could go on in peace.” + </p> + <p> + “With one little drawback!” Lady Muriel gaily interrupted. “We should take + the cups down with us: but what about the tea?” + </p> + <p> + “I had forgotten the tea,” Arthur confessed. “That, no doubt, would rise + to the ceiling unless you chose to drink it on the way!” + </p> + <p> + “Which, I think, is quite nonsense enough for one while!” said the Earl. + “What news does this gentleman bring us from the great world of London?” + </p> + <p> + This drew me into the conversation, which now took a more conventional + tone. After a while, Arthur gave the signal for our departure, and in the + cool of the evening we strolled down to the beach, enjoying the silence, + broken only by the murmur of the sea and the far-away music of some + fishermen's song, almost as much as our late pleasant talk. + </p> + <p> + We sat down among the rocks, by a little pool, so rich in animal, + vegetable, and zoophytic—or whatever is the right word—life, + that I became entranced in the study of it, and, when Arthur proposed + returning to our lodgings, I begged to be left there for a while, to watch + and muse alone. + </p> + <p> + The fishermen's song grew ever nearer and clearer, as their boat stood in + for the beach; and I would have gone down to see them land their cargo of + fish, had not the microcosm at my feet stirred my curiosity yet more + keenly. + </p> + <p> + One ancient crab, that was for ever shuffling frantically from side to + side of the pool, had particularly fascinated me: there was a vacancy in + its stare, and an aimless violence in its behaviour, that irresistibly + recalled the Gardener who had befriended Sylvie and Bruno: and, as I + gazed, I caught the concluding notes of the tune of his crazy song. + </p> + <p> + The silence that followed was broken by the sweet voice of Sylvie. “Would + you please let us out into the road?” + </p> + <p> + “What! After that old beggar again?” the Gardener yelled, and began + singing:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He thought he saw a Kangaroo + That worked a coffee-mill: + He looked again, and found it was + A Vegetable-pill + 'Were I to swallow this,' he said, + 'I should be very ill!'” + </pre> + <p> + {Image...He thought he saw a kangaroo} + </p> + <p> + “We don't want him to swallow anything,” Sylvie explained. “He's not + hungry. But we want to see him. So Will you please—” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” the Gardener promptly replied. “I always please. Never + displeases nobody. There you are!” And he flung the door open, and let us + out upon the dusty high-road. + </p> + <p> + We soon found our way to the bush, which had so mysteriously sunk into the + ground: and here Sylvie drew the Magic Locket from its hiding-place, + turned it over with a thoughtful air, and at last appealed to Bruno in a + rather helpless way. “What was it we had to do with it, Bruno? It's all + gone out of my head!” + </p> + <p> + “Kiss it!” was Bruno's invariable recipe in cases of doubt and difficulty. + Sylvie kissed it, but no result followed. + </p> + <p> + “Rub it the wrong way,” was Bruno's next suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Which is the wrong way?”, Sylvie most reasonably enquired. The obvious + plan was to try both ways. + </p> + <p> + Rubbing from left to right had no visible effect whatever. + </p> + <p> + From right to left—“Oh, stop, Sylvie!” Bruno cried in sudden alarm. + “Whatever is going to happen?” + </p> + <p> + For a number of trees, on the neighbouring hillside, were moving slowly + upwards, in solemn procession: while a mild little brook, that had been + rippling at our feet a moment before, began to swell, and foam, and hiss, + and bubble, in a truly alarming fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Rub it some other way!” cried Bruno. “Try up-and-down! Quick!” + </p> + <p> + It was a happy thought. Up-and-down did it: and the landscape, which had + been showing signs of mental aberration in various directions, returned to + its normal condition of sobriety with the exception of a small + yellowish-brown mouse, which continued to run wildly up and down the road, + lashing its tail like a little lion. + </p> + <p> + “Let's follow it,” said Sylvie: and this also turned out a happy thought. + The mouse at once settled down into a business-like jog-trot, with which + we could easily keep pace. The only phenomenon, that gave me any + uneasiness, was the rapid increase in the size of the little creature we + were following, which became every moment more and more like a real lion. + </p> + <p> + Soon the transformation was complete: and a noble lion stood patiently + waiting for us to come up with it. No thought of fear seemed to occur to + the children, who patted and stroked it as if it had been a Shetland-pony. + </p> + <p> + {Image...The mouse-lion} + </p> + <p> + “Help me up!” cried Bruno. And in another moment Sylvie had lifted him + upon the broad back of the gentle beast, and seated herself behind him, + pillion-fashion. Bruno took a good handful of mane in each hand, and made + believe to guide this new kind of steed. “Gee-up!', seemed quite + sufficient by way of verbal direction: the lion at once broke into an easy + canter, and we soon found ourselves in the depths of the forest. I say + 'we,' for I am certain that I accompanied them though how I managed to + keep up with a cantering lion I am wholly unable to explain. But I was + certainly one of the party when we came upon an old beggar-man cutting + sticks, at whose feet the lion made a profound obeisance, Sylvie and Bruno + at the same moment dismounting, and leaping in to the arms of their + father. + </p> + <p> + “From bad to worse!” the old man said to himself, dreamily, when the + children had finished their rather confused account of the Ambassador's + visit, gathered no doubt from general report, as they had not seen him + themselves. “From bad to worse! That is their destiny. I see it, but I + cannot alter it. The selfishness of a mean and crafty man—the + selfishness of an ambitious and silly woman——the selfishness + of a spiteful and loveless child all tend one way, from bad to worse! And + you, my darlings, must suffer it awhile, I fear. Yet, when things are at + their worst, you can come to me. I can do but little as yet—” + </p> + <p> + Gathering up a handful of dust and scattering it in the air, he slowly and + solemnly pronounced some words that sounded like a charm, the children + looking on in awe-struck silence:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Let craft, ambition, spite, + Be quenched in Reason's night, + Till weakness turn to might, + Till what is dark be light, + Till what is wrong be right!” + </pre> + <p> + The cloud of dust spread itself out through the air, as if it were alive, + forming curious shapes that were for ever changing into others. + </p> + <p> + “It makes letters! It makes words!” Bruno whispered, as he clung, + half-frightened, to Sylvie. “Only I ca'n't make them out! Read them, + Sylvie!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll try,” Sylvie gravely replied. “Wait a minute—if only I could + see that word—” + </p> + <p> + “I should be very ill!', a discordant voice yelled in our ears. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Were I to swallow this,' he said, + 'I should be very ill!'” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 9. A JESTER AND A BEAR. + </h2> + <p> + Yes, we were in the garden once more: and, to escape that horrid + discordant voice, we hurried indoors, and found ourselves in the library—Uggug + blubbering, the Professor standing by with a bewildered air, and my Lady, + with her arms clasped round her son's neck, repeating, over and over + again, “and did they give him nasty lessons to learn? My own pretty pet!” + </p> + <p> + “What's all this noise about?” the Vice-warden angrily enquired, as he + strode into the room. “And who put the hat-stand here?” + </p> + <p> + And he hung his hat up on Bruno, who was standing in the middle of the + room, too much astonished by the sudden change of scene to make any + attempt at removing it, though it came down to his shoulders, making him + look something like a small candle with a large extinguisher over it. + </p> + <p> + The Professor mildly explained that His Highness had been graciously + pleased to say he wouldn't do his lessons. + </p> + <p> + “Do your lessons this instant, you young cub!” thundered the Vice-Warden. + “And take this!” and a resounding box on the ear made the unfortunate + Professor reel across the room. + </p> + <p> + “Save me!” faltered the poor old man, as he sank, half-fainting, at my + Lady's feet. + </p> + <p> + “Shave you? Of course I will!” my Lady replied, as she lifted him into a + chair, and pinned an anti-macassar round his neck. “Where's the razor?” + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Warden meanwhile had got hold of Uggug, and was belabouring him + with his umbrella. “Who left this loose nail in the floor?” he shouted, + “Hammer it in, I say! Hammer it in!” Blow after blow fell on the writhing + Uggug, till he dropped howling to the floor. + </p> + <p> + {Image...'Hammer it in!'} + </p> + <p> + Then his father turned to the 'shaving' scene which was being enacted, and + roared with laughter. “Excuse me, dear, I ca'n't help it!” he said as soon + as he could speak. “You are such an utter donkey! Kiss me, Tabby!” + </p> + <p> + And he flung his arms round the neck of the terrified Professor, who + raised a wild shriek, but whether he received the threatened kiss or not I + was unable to see, as Bruno, who had by this time released himself from + his extinguisher, rushed headlong out of the room, followed by Sylvie; and + I was so fearful of being left alone among all these crazy creatures that + I hurried after them. + </p> + <p> + “We must go to Father!” Sylvie panted, as they ran down the garden. “I'm + sure things are at their worst! I'll ask the Gardener to let us out + again.” + </p> + <p> + “But we ca'n't walk all the way!” Bruno whimpered. “How I wiss we had a + coach-and-four, like Uncle!” + </p> + <p> + And, shrill and wild, rang through the air the familiar voice:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four + That stood beside his bed: + He looked again, and found it was + A Bear without a Head. + 'Poor thing,' he said, 'poor silly thing! + It's waiting to be fed!'” + </pre> + <p> + {Image...A bear without a head} + </p> + <p> + “No, I ca'n't let you out again!” he said, before the children could + speak. “The Vice-warden gave it me, he did, for letting you out last time! + So be off with you!” And, turning away from them, he began digging + frantically in the middle of a gravel-walk, singing, over and over again, + “'Poor thing,' he said, 'poor silly thing! It's waiting to be fed!'” but + in a more musical tone than the shrill screech in which he had begun. + </p> + <p> + The music grew fuller and richer at every moment: other manly voices + joined in the refrain: and soon I heard the heavy thud that told me the + boat had touched the beach, and the harsh grating of the shingle as the + men dragged it up. I roused myself, and, after lending them a hand in + hauling up their boat, I lingered yet awhile to watch them disembark a + goodly assortment of the hard-won 'treasures of the deep.' + </p> + <p> + When at last I reached our lodgings I was tired and sleepy, and glad + enough to settle down again into the easy-chair, while Arthur hospitably + went to his cupboard, to get me out some cake and wine, without which, he + declared, he could not, as a doctor, permit my going to bed. + </p> + <p> + And how that cupboard-door did creak! It surely could not be Arthur, who + was opening and shutting it so often, moving so restlessly about, and + muttering like the soliloquy of a tragedy-queen! + </p> + <p> + No, it was a female voice. Also the figure half-hidden by the + cupboard-door—was a female figure, massive, and in flowing robes. + </p> + <p> + Could it be the landlady? The door opened, and a strange man entered the + room. + </p> + <p> + “What is that donkey doing?” he said to himself, pausing, aghast, on the + threshold. + </p> + <p> + The lady, thus rudely referred to, was his wife. She had got one of the + cupboards open, and stood with her back to him, smoothing down a sheet of + brown paper on one of the shelves, and whispering to herself “So, so! + Deftly done! Craftily contrived!” + </p> + <p> + Her loving husband stole behind her on tiptoe, and tapped her on the head. + “Boh!” he playfully shouted at her ear. “Never tell me again I ca'n't say + 'boh' to a goose!” + </p> + <p> + My Lady wrung her hands. “Discovered!” she groaned. “Yet no—he is + one of us! Reveal it not, oh Man! Let it bide its time!” + </p> + <p> + “Reveal what not?” her husband testily replied, dragging out the sheet of + brown paper. “What are you hiding here, my Lady? I insist upon knowing!” + </p> + <p> + My Lady cast down her eyes, and spoke in the littlest of little voices. + “Don't make fun of it, Benjamin!” she pleaded. “It's—it's—-don't + you understand? It's a DAGGER!” + </p> + <p> + “And what's that for?” sneered His Excellency. “We've only got to make + people think he's dead! We haven't got to kill him! And made of tin, too!” + he snarled, contemptuously bending the blade round his thumb. “Now, Madam, + you'll be good enough to explain. First, what do you call me Benjamin + for?” + </p> + <p> + “It's part of the Conspiracy, Love! One must have an alias, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, an alias, is it? Well! And next, what did you get this dagger for? + Come, no evasions! You ca'n't deceive me!” + </p> + <p> + “I got it for—for—for—” the detected Conspirator + stammered, trying her best to put on the assassin-expression that she had + been practising at the looking-glass. “For—” + </p> + <p> + “For what, Madam!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for eighteenpence, if you must know, dearest! That's what I got it + for, on my—” + </p> + <p> + “Now don't say your Word and Honour!” groaned the other Conspirator. “Why, + they aren't worth half the money, put together!” + </p> + <p> + “On my birthday,” my Lady concluded in a meek whisper. “One must have a + dagger, you know. It's part of the—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't talk of Conspiracies!” her husband savagely interrupted, as he + tossed the dagger into the cupboard. “You know about as much how to manage + a Conspiracy as if you were a chicken. Why, the first thing is to get a + disguise. Now, just look at this!” + </p> + <p> + And with pardonable pride he fitted on the cap and bells, and the rest of + the Fool's dress, and winked at her, and put his tongue in his cheek. “Is + that the sort of thing, now.” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + My Lady's eyes flashed with all a Conspirator's enthusiasm. “The very + thing!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You do look, oh, such a + perfect Fool!” + </p> + <p> + The Fool smiled a doubtful smile. He was not quite clear whether it was a + compliment or not, to express it so plainly. “You mean a Jester? Yes, + that's what I intended. And what do you think your disguise is to be?” And + he proceeded to unfold the parcel, the lady watching him in rapture. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how lovely!” she cried, when at last the dress was unfolded. “What a + splendid disguise! An Esquimaux peasant-woman!” + </p> + <p> + “An Esquimaux peasant, indeed!” growled the other. “Here, put it on, and + look at yourself in the glass. Why, it's a Bear, ca'n't you use your + eyes?” He checked himself suddenly, as a harsh voice yelled through the + room, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He looked again, and found it was + A Bear without a Head!” + </pre> + <p> + But it was only the Gardener, singing under the open window. The + Vice-Warden stole on tip-toe to the window, and closed it noiselessly, + before he ventured to go on. “Yes, Lovey, a Bear: but not without a head, + I hope! You're the Bear, and me the Keeper. And if any one knows us, + they'll have sharp eyes, that's all!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to practise the steps a bit,” my Lady said, looking out + through the Bear's mouth: “one ca'n't help being rather human just at + first, you know. And of course you'll say 'Come up, Bruin!', won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course,” replied the Keeper, laying hold of the chain, that hung + from the Bear's collar, with one hand, while with the other he cracked a + little whip. “Now go round the room in a sort of a dancing attitude. Very + good, my dear, very good. Come up, Bruin! Come up, I say!” + </p> + <p> + {Image...'Come up, bruin!'} + </p> + <p> + He roared out the last words for the benefit of Uggug, who had just come + into the room, and was now standing, with his hands spread out, and eyes + and mouth wide open, the very picture of stupid amazement. “Oh, my!” was + all he could gasp out. + </p> + <p> + The Keeper pretended to be adjusting the bear's collar, which gave him an + opportunity of whispering, unheard by Uggug, “my fault, I'm afraid! Quite + forgot to fasten the door. Plot's ruined if he finds it out! Keep it up a + minute or two longer. Be savage!” Then, while seeming to pull it back with + all his strength, he let it advance upon the scared boy: my Lady, with + admirable presence of mind, kept up what she no doubt intended for a + savage growl, though it was more like the purring of a cat: and Uggug + backed out of the room with such haste that he tripped over the mat, and + was heard to fall heavily outside—an accident to which even his + doting mother paid no heed, in the excitement of the moment. + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Warden shut and bolted the door. “Off with the disguises!” he + panted. “There's not a moment to lose. He's sure to fetch the Professor, + and we couldn't take him in, you know!” And in another minute the + disguises were stowed away in the cupboard, the door unbolted, and the two + Conspirators seated lovingly side-by-side on the sofa, earnestly + discussing a book the Vice-Warden had hastily snatched off the table, + which proved to be the City-Directory of the capital of Outland. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, very slowly and cautiously, and the Professor peeped in, + Uggug's stupid face being just visible behind him. + </p> + <p> + “It is a beautiful arrangement!” the Vice-warden was saying with + enthusiasm. “You see, my precious one, that there are fifteen houses in + Green Street, before you turn into West Street.” + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen houses! Is it possible?” my Lady replied. “I thought it was + fourteen!” And, so intent were they on this interesting question, that + neither of them even looked up till the Professor, leading Uggug by the + hand, stood close before them. + </p> + <p> + My Lady was the first to notice their approach. “Why, here's the + Professor!” she exclaimed in her blandest tones. “And my precious child + too! Are lessons over?” + </p> + <p> + “A strange thing has happened!” the Professor began in a trembling tone. + “His Exalted Fatness” (this was one of Uggug's many titles) “tells me he + has just seen, in this very room, a Dancing-Bear and a Court-Jester!” + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Warden and his wife shook with well-acted merriment. + </p> + <p> + “Not in this room, darling!” said the fond mother. “We've been sitting + here this hour or more, reading—,” here she referred to the book + lying on her lap, “—reading the—the City-Directory.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me feel your pulse, my boy!” said the anxious father. “Now put out + your tongue. Ah, I thought so! He's a little feverish, Professor, and has + had a bad dream. Put him to bed at once, and give him a cooling draught.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't been dreaming!” his Exalted Fatness remonstrated, as the + Professor led him away. + </p> + <p> + “Bad grammar, Sir!” his father remarked with some sternness. “Kindly + attend to that little matter, Professor, as soon as you have corrected the + feverishness. And, by the way, Professor!” (The Professor left his + distinguished pupil standing at the door, and meekly returned.) “There is + a rumour afloat, that the people wish to elect an—in point of fact, + an—you understand that I mean an—” + </p> + <p> + “Not another Professor!” the poor old man exclaimed in horror. + </p> + <p> + “No! Certainly not!” the Vice-Warden eagerly explained. “Merely an + Emperor, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “An Emperor!” cried the astonished Professor, holding his head between his + hands, as if he expected it to come to pieces with the shock. “What will + the Warden—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the Warden will most likely be the new Emperor!” my Lady explained. + “Where could we find a better? Unless, perhaps—” she glanced at her + husband. + </p> + <p> + “Where indeed!” the Professor fervently responded, quite failing to take + the hint. + </p> + <p> + The Vice-Warden resumed the thread of his discourse. “The reason I + mentioned it, Professor, was to ask you to be so kind as to preside at the + Election. You see it would make the thing respectable—no suspicion + of anything, underhand—” + </p> + <p> + “I fear I ca'n't, your Excellency!” the old man faltered. “What will the + Warden—” + </p> + <p> + “True, true!” the Vice-Warden interrupted. “Your position, as + Court-Professor, makes it awkward, I admit. Well, well! Then the Election + shall be held without you.” + </p> + <p> + “Better so, than if it were held within me!” the Professor murmured with a + bewildered air, as if he hardly knew what he was saying. “Bed, I think + your Highness said, and a cooling-draught?” And he wandered dreamily back + to where Uggug sulkily awaited him. + </p> + <p> + I followed them out of the room, and down the passage, the Professor + murmuring to himself, all the time, as a kind of aid to his feeble memory, + “C, C, C; Couch, Cooling-Draught, Correct-Grammar,” till, in turning a + corner, he met Sylvie and Bruno, so suddenly that the startled Professor + let go of his fat pupil, who instantly took to his heels. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 10. THE OTHER PROFESSOR. + </h2> + <p> + “We were looking for you!” cried Sylvie, in a tone of great relief. “We do + want you so much, you ca'n't think!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, dear children?” the Professor asked, beaming on them with a + very different look from what Uggug ever got from him. + </p> + <p> + “We want you to speak to the Gardener for us,” Sylvie said, as she and + Bruno took the old man's hands and led him into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “He's ever so unkind!” Bruno mournfully added. “They's all unkind to us, + now that Father's gone. The Lion were much nicer!” + </p> + <p> + “But you must explain to me, please,” the Professor said with an anxious + look, “which is the Lion, and which is the Gardener. It's most important + not to get two such animals confused together. And one's very liable to do + it in their case—both having mouths, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “Doos oo always confuses two animals together?” Bruno asked. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty often, I'm afraid,” the Professor candidly confessed. “Now, for + instance, there's the rabbit-hutch and the hall-clock.” The Professor + pointed them out. “One gets a little confused with them—both having + doors, you know. Now, only yesterday—would you believe it?—I + put some lettuces into the clock, and tried to wind up the rabbit!” + </p> + <p> + “Did the rabbit go, after oo wounded it up?” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + The Professor clasped his hands on the top of his head, and groaned. “Go? + I should think it did go! Why, it's gone? And where ever it's gone to—that's + what I ca'n't find out! I've done my best—I've read all the article + 'Rabbit' in the great dictionary—Come in!” + </p> + <p> + “Only the tailor, Sir, with your little bill,” said a meek voice outside + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, I can soon settle his business,” the Professor said to the + children, “if you'll just wait a minute. How much is it, this year, my + man?” The tailor had come in while he was speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's been a doubling so many years, you see,” the tailor replied, a + little gruffly, “and I think I'd like the money now. It's two thousand + pound, it is!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's nothing!” the Professor carelessly remarked, feeling in his + pocket, as if he always carried at least that amount about with him. “But + wouldn't you like to wait just another year, and make it four thousand? + Just think how rich you'd be! Why, you might be a King, if you liked!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I'd care about being a King,” the man said thoughtfully. + “But it dew sound a powerful sight o' money! Well, I think I'll wait—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will!” said the Professor. “There's good sense in you, I + see. Good-day to you, my man!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you ever have to pay him that four thousand pounds?” Sylvie asked as + the door closed on the departing creditor. + </p> + <p> + “Never, my child!” the Professor replied emphatically. “He'll go on + doubling it, till he dies. You see it's always worth while waiting another + year, to get twice as much money! And now what would you like to do, my + little friends? Shall I take you to see the Other Professor? This would be + an excellent opportunity for a visit,” he said to himself, glancing at his + watch: “he generally takes a short rest—of fourteen minutes and a + half—about this time.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno hastily went round to Sylvie, who was standing at the other side of + the Professor, and put his hand into hers. “I thinks we'd like to go,” he + said doubtfully: “only please let's go all together. It's best to be on + the safe side, oo know!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you talk as if you were Sylvie!” exclaimed the Professor. + </p> + <p> + “I know I did,” Bruno replied very humbly. “I quite forgotted I wasn't + Sylvie. Only I fought he might be rarver fierce!” + </p> + <p> + The Professor laughed a jolly laugh. “Oh, he's quite tame!” he said. “He + never bites. He's only a little—a little dreamy, you know.” He took + hold of Bruno's other hand; and led the children down a long passage I had + never noticed before—not that there was anything remarkable in that: + I was constantly coming on new rooms and passages in that mysterious + Palace, and very seldom succeeded in finding the old ones again. + </p> + <p> + Near the end of the passage the Professor stopped. “This is his room,” he + said, pointing to the solid wall. + </p> + <p> + “We ca'n't get in through there!” Bruno exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie said nothing, till she had carefully examined whether the wall + opened anywhere. Then she laughed merrily. “You're playing us a trick, you + dear old thing!” she said. “There's no door here!” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any door to the room,” said the Professor. “We shall have to + climb in at the window.” + </p> + <p> + So we went into the garden, and soon found the window of the Other + Professor's room. It was a ground-floor window, and stood invitingly open: + the Professor first lifted the two children in, and then he and I climbed + in after them. + </p> + <p> + {Image...The other professor} + </p> + <p> + The Other Professor was seated at a table, with a large book open before + him, on which his forehead was resting: he had clasped his arms round the + book, and was snoring heavily. “He usually reads like that,” the Professor + remarked, “when the book's very interesting: and then sometimes it's very + difficult to get him to attend!” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to be one of the difficult times: the Professor lifted him up, + once or twice, and shook him violently: but he always returned to his book + the moment he was let go of, and showed by his heavy breathing that the + book was as interesting as ever. + </p> + <p> + “How dreamy he is!” the Professor exclaimed. “He must have got to a very + interesting part of the book!” And he rained quite a shower of thumps on + the Other Professor's back, shouting “Hoy! Hoy!” all the time. “Isn't it + wonderful that he should be so dreamy?” he said to Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “If he's always as sleepy as that,” Bruno remarked, “a course he's + dreamy!” + </p> + <p> + “But what are we to do?” said the Professor. “You see he's quite wrapped + up in the book!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose oo shuts the book?” Bruno suggested. + </p> + <p> + “That's it!” cried the delighted Professor. “Of course that'll do it!” And + he shut up the book so quickly that he caught the Other Professor's nose + between the leaves, and gave it a severe pinch. + </p> + <p> + The Other Professor instantly rose to his feet, and carried the book away + to the end of the room, where he put it back in its place in the + book-case. “I've been reading for eighteen hours and three-quarters,” he + said, “and now I shall rest for fourteen minutes and a half. Is the + Lecture all ready?” + </p> + <p> + “Very nearly,” the Professor humbly replied. “I shall ask you to give me a + hint or two—there will be a few little difficulties—” + </p> + <p> + “And Banquet, I think you said?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! The Banquet comes first, of course. People never enjoy Abstract + Science, you know, when they're ravenous with hunger. And then there's the + Fancy-Dress-Ball. Oh, there'll be lots of entertainment!” + </p> + <p> + “Where will the Ball come in?” said the Other Professor. + </p> + <p> + “I think it had better come at the beginning of the Banquet—it + brings people together so nicely, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's the right order. First the Meeting: then the Eating: then the + Treating—for I'm sure any Lecture you give us will be a treat!” said + the Other Professor, who had been standing with his back to us all this + time, occupying himself in taking the books out, one by one, and turning + them upside-down. An easel, with a black board on it, stood near him: and, + every time that he turned a book upside-down, he made a mark on the board + with a piece of chalk. + </p> + <p> + “And as to the 'Pig-Tale'—which you have so kindly promised to give + us—” the Professor went on, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “I think + that had better come at the end of the Banquet: then people can listen to + it quietly.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I sing it?” the Other Professor asked, with a smile of delight. + </p> + <p> + “If you can,” the Professor replied, cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “Let me try,” said the Other Professor, seating himself at the pianoforte. + “For the sake of argument, let us assume that it begins on A flat.” And he + struck the note in question. “La, la, la! I think that's within an octave + of it.” He struck the note again, and appealed to Bruno, who was standing + at his side. “Did I sing it like that, my child?” + </p> + <p> + “No, oo didn't,” Bruno replied with great decision. “It were more like a + duck.” + </p> + <p> + “Single notes are apt to have that effect,” the Other Professor said with + a sigh. “Let me try a whole verse, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There was a Pig, that sat alone, + Beside a ruined Pump. + By day and night he made his moan: + It would have stirred a heart of stone + To see him wring his hoofs and groan, + Because he could not jump. +</pre> + <p> + Would you call that a tune, Professor?” he asked, when he had finished. + </p> + <p> + The Professor considered a little. “Well,” he said at last, “some of the + notes are the same as others and some are different but I should hardly + call it a tune.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me try it a bit by myself,” said the Other Professor. And he began + touching the notes here and there, and humming to himself like an angry + bluebottle. + </p> + <p> + “How do you like his singing?” the Professor asked the children in a low + voice. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't very beautiful,” Sylvie said, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “It's very extremely ugly!” Bruno said, without any hesitation at all. + </p> + <p> + “All extremes are bad,” the Professor said, very gravely. “For instance, + Sobriety is a very good thing, when practised in moderation: but even + Sobriety, when carried to an extreme, has its disadvantages.” + </p> + <p> + “What are its disadvantages?” was the question that rose in my mind—and, + as usual, Bruno asked it for me. “What are its lizard bandages?' + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is one of them,” said the Professor. “When a man's tipsy + (that's one extreme, you know), he sees one thing as two. But, when he's + extremely sober (that's the other extreme), he sees two things as one. + It's equally inconvenient, whichever happens. + </p> + <p> + “What does 'illconvenient' mean?” Bruno whispered to Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “The difference between 'convenient' and 'inconvenient' is best explained + by an example,” said the Other Professor, who had overheard the question. + “If you'll just think over any Poem that contains the two words—such + as—” + </p> + <p> + The Professor put his hands over his ears, with a look of dismay. “If you + once let him begin a Poem,” he said to Sylvie, “he'll never leave off + again! He never does!” + </p> + <p> + “Did he ever begin a Poem and not leave off again?” Sylvie enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Three times,” said the Professor. + </p> + <p> + Bruno raised himself on tiptoe, till his lips were on a level with + Sylvie's ear. “What became of them three Poems?” he whispered. “Is he + saying them all, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said Sylvie. “The Other Professor is speaking!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll say it very quick,” murmured the Other Professor, with downcast + eyes, and melancholy voice, which contrasted oddly with his face, as he + had forgotten to leave off smiling. (“At least it wasn't exactly a + smile,”) as Sylvie said afterwards: “it looked as if his mouth was made + that shape.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on then,” said the Professor. “What must be must be.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember that!” Sylvie whispered to Bruno, “It's a very good rule for + whenever you hurt yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “And it's a very good rule for whenever I make a noise,” said the saucy + little fellow. “So you remember it too, Miss!” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever do you mean?” said Sylvie, trying to frown, a thing she never + managed particularly well. + </p> + <p> + “Oftens and oftens,” said Bruno, “haven't oo told me 'There mustn't be so + much noise, Bruno!' when I've tolded oo 'There must!' Why, there isn't no + rules at all about 'There mustn't'! But oo never believes me!” + </p> + <p> + “As if any one could believe you, you wicked wicked boy!” said Sylvie. The + words were severe enough, but I am of opinion that, when you are really + anxious to impress a criminal with a sense of his guilt, you ought not to + pronounce the sentence with your lips quite close to his cheek—since + a kiss at the end of it, however accidental, weakens the effect terribly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 11. PETER AND PAUL. + </h2> + <p> + “As I was saying,” the other Professor resumed, “if you'll just think over + any Poem, that contains the words—such as, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Peter is poor,' said noble Paul, + 'And I have always been his friend: + And, though my means to give are small, + At least I can afford to lend. + How few, in this cold age of greed, + Do good, except on selfish grounds! + But I can feel for Peter's need, + And I WILL LEND HIM FIFTY POUNDS!' + + How great was Peter's joy to find + His friend in such a genial vein! + How cheerfully the bond he signed, + To pay the money back again! + 'We ca'n't,' said Paul, 'be too precise: + 'Tis best to fix the very day: + So, by a learned friend's advice, + I've made it Noon, the Fourth of May. +</pre> + <p> + {Image...'How cheefully the bond he signed!'} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But this is April! Peter said. + 'The First of April, as I think. + Five little weeks will soon be fled: + One scarcely will have time to wink! + Give me a year to speculate— + To buy and sell—to drive a trade—' + Said Paul 'I cannot change the date. + On May the Fourth it must be paid.' + + 'Well, well!' said Peter, with a sigh. + 'Hand me the cash, and I will go. + I'll form a Joint-Stock Company, + And turn an honest pound or so.' + 'I'm grieved,' said Paul, 'to seem unkind: + The money shalt of course be lent: + But, for a week or two, I find + It will not be convenient.' + + So, week by week, poor Peter came + And turned in heaviness away; + For still the answer was the same, + 'I cannot manage it to-day.' + And now the April showers were dry— + The five short weeks were nearly spent— + Yet still he got the old reply, + 'It is not quite convenient!' + + The Fourth arrived, and punctual Paul + Came, with his legal friend, at noon. + 'I thought it best,' said he, 'to call: + One cannot settle things too soon.' + Poor Peter shuddered in despair: + His flowing locks he wildly tore: + And very soon his yellow hair + Was lying all about the floor. + + The legal friend was standing by, + With sudden pity half unmanned: + The tear-drop trembled in his eye, + The signed agreement in his hand: + But when at length the legal soul + Resumed its customary force, + 'The Law,' he said, 'we ca'n't control: + Pay, or the Law must take its course!' + + Said Paul 'How bitterly I rue + That fatal morning when I called! + Consider, Peter, what you do! + You won't be richer when you're bald! + Think you, by rending curls away, + To make your difficulties less? + Forbear this violence, I pray: + You do but add to my distress!' +</pre> + <p> + {Image...'Poor peter shuddered in despair'} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Not willingly would I inflict,' + Said Peter, 'on that noble heart + One needless pang. Yet why so strict? + Is this to act a friendly part? + However legal it may be + To pay what never has been lent, + This style of business seems to me + Extremely inconvenient! + + 'No Nobleness of soul have I, + Like some that in this Age are found!' + (Paul blushed in sheer humility, + And cast his eyes upon the ground) + 'This debt will simply swallow all, + And make my life a life of woe!' + 'Nay, nay, nay Peter!' answered Paul. + 'You must not rail on Fortune so! + + 'You have enough to eat and drink: + You are respected in the world: + And at the barber's, as I think, + You often get your whiskers curled. + Though Nobleness you ca'n't attain + To any very great extent— + The path of Honesty is plain, + However inconvenient!' + + “Tis true, 'said Peter,' I'm alive: + I keep my station in the world: + Once in the week I just contrive + To get my whiskers oiled and curled. + But my assets are very low: + My little income's overspent: + To trench on capital, you know, + Is always inconvenient!' + + 'But pay your debts!' cried honest Paul. + 'My gentle Peter, pay your debts! + What matter if it swallows all + That you describe as your “assets”? + Already you're an hour behind: + Yet Generosity is best. + It pinches me—but never mind! + I WILL NOT CHARGE YOU INTEREST!' + + 'How good! How great!' poor Peter cried. + 'Yet I must sell my Sunday wig— + The scarf-pin that has been my pride— + My grand piano—and my pig!' + Full soon his property took wings: + And daily, as each treasure went, + He sighed to find the state of things + Grow less and less convenient. + + Weeks grew to months, and months to years: + Peter was worn to skin and bone: + And once he even said, with tears, + 'Remember, Paul, that promised Loan!' + Said Paul' I'll lend you, when I can, + All the spare money I have got— + Ah, Peter, you're a happy man! + Yours is an enviable lot! +</pre> + <p> + {Image...Such boots as these you seldom see} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'I'm getting stout, as you may see: + It is but seldom I am well: + I cannot feel my ancient glee + In listening to the dinner-bell: + But you, you gambol like a boy, + Your figure is so spare and light: + The dinner-bell's a note of joy + To such a healthy appetite!' + + Said Peter 'I am well aware + Mine is a state of happiness: + And yet how gladly could I spare + Some of the comforts I possess! + What you call healthy appetite + I feel as Hunger's savage tooth: + And, when no dinner is in sight, + The dinner-bell's a sound of ruth! + + 'No scare-crow would accept this coat: + Such boots as these you seldom see. + Ah, Paul, a single five-pound-note + Would make another man of me!' + Said Paul 'It fills me with surprise + To hear you talk in such a tone: + I fear you scarcely realise + The blessings that are all your own! + + 'You're safe from being overfed: + You're sweetly picturesque in rags: + You never know the aching head + That comes along with money-bags: + And you have time to cultivate + That best of qualities, Content— + For which you'll find your present state + Remarkably convenient!' + + Said Peter 'Though I cannot sound + The depths of such a man as you, + Yet in your character I've found + An inconsistency or two. + You seem to have long years to spare + When there's a promise to fulfil: + And yet how punctual you were + In calling with that little bill!' + + 'One can't be too deliberate,' + Said Paul, 'in parting with one's pelf. + With bills, as you correctly state, + I'm punctuality itself: + A man may surely claim his dues: + But, when there's money to be lent, + A man must be allowed to choose + Such times as are convenient!' + + It chanced one day, as Peter sat + Gnawing a crust—his usual meal— + Paul bustled in to have a chat, + And grasped his hand with friendly zeal. + 'I knew,' said he, 'your frugal ways: + So, that I might not wound your pride + By bringing strangers in to gaze, + I've left my legal friend outside! + + 'You well remember, I am sure, + When first your wealth began to go, + And people sneered at one so poor, + I never used my Peter so! + And when you'd lost your little all, + And found yourself a thing despised, + I need not ask you to recall + How tenderly I sympathised! + + 'Then the advice I've poured on you, + So full of wisdom and of wit: + All given gratis, though 'tis true + I might have fairly charged for it! + But I refrain from mentioning + Full many a deed I might relate + For boasting is a kind of thing + That I particularly hate. +</pre> + <p> + {Image...'I will lend you fifty more!'} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'How vast the total sum appears + Of all the kindnesses I've done, + From Childhood's half-forgotten years + Down to that Loan of April One! + That Fifty Pounds! You little guessed + How deep it drained my slender store: + But there's a heart within this breast, + And I WILL LEND YOU FIFTY MORE!' + + 'Not so,' was Peter's mild reply, + His cheeks all wet with grateful tears; + No man recalls, so well as I, + Your services in bygone years: + And this new offer, I admit, + Is very very kindly meant— + Still, to avail myself of it + Would not be quite convenient!' +</pre> + <p> + You'll see in a moment what the difference is between 'convenient' and + 'inconvenient.' You quite understand it now, don't you?” he added, looking + kindly at Bruno, who was sitting, at Sylvie's side, on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bruno, very quietly. Such a short speech was very unusual, for + him: but just then he seemed, I fancied, a little exhausted. In fact, he + climbed up into Sylvie's lap as he spoke, and rested his head against her + shoulder. “What a many verses it was!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 12. A MUSICAL GARDENER. + </h2> + <p> + The Other Professor regarded him with some anxiety. “The smaller animal + ought to go to bed at once,” he said with an air of authority. + </p> + <p> + “Why at once?” said the Professor. + </p> + <p> + “Because he can't go at twice,” said the Other Professor. + </p> + <p> + The Professor gently clapped his hands. “Isn't he wonderful!” he said to + Sylvie. “Nobody else could have thought of the reason, so quick. Why, of + course he ca'n't go at twice! It would hurt him to be divided.” + </p> + <p> + This remark woke up Bruno, suddenly and completely. “I don't want to be + divided,” he said decisively. + </p> + <p> + “It does very well on a diagram,” said the Other Professor. “I could show + it you in a minute, only the chalk's a little blunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care!” Sylvie anxiously exclaimed, as he began, rather clumsily, to + point it. “You'll cut your finger off, if you hold the knife so!” + </p> + <p> + “If oo cuts it off, will oo give it to me, please? Bruno thoughtfully + added. + </p> + <p> + “It's like this,” said the Other Professor, hastily drawing a long line + upon the black board, and marking the letters 'A,' 'B,' at the two ends, + and 'C' in the middle: “let me explain it to you. If AB were to be divided + into two parts at C—” + </p> + <p> + “It would be drownded,” Bruno pronounced confidently. + </p> + <p> + The Other Professor gasped. “What would be drownded?” + </p> + <p> + “Why the bumble-bee, of course!” said Bruno. “And the two bits would sink + down in the sea!” + </p> + <p> + Here the Professor interfered, as the Other Professor was evidently too + much puzzled to go on with his diagram. + </p> + <p> + “When I said it would hurt him, I was merely referring to the action of + the nerves—” + </p> + <p> + The Other Professor brightened up in a moment. “The action of the nerves,” + he began eagerly, “is curiously slow in some people. I had a friend, once, + that, if you burnt him with a red-hot poker, it would take years and years + before he felt it!” + </p> + <p> + “And if you only pinched him?” queried Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “Then it would take ever so much longer, of course. In fact, I doubt if + the man himself would ever feel it, at all. His grandchildren might.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't like to be the grandchild of a pinched grandfather, would you, + Mister Sir?” Bruno whispered. “It might come just when you wanted to be + happy!” + </p> + <p> + That would be awkward, I admitted, taking it quite as a matter of course + that he had so suddenly caught sight of me. “But don't you always want to + be happy, Bruno?” + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” Bruno said thoughtfully. “Sometimes, when I's too happy, I + wants to be a little miserable. Then I just tell Sylvie about it, oo know, + and Sylvie sets me some lessons. Then it's all right.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry you don't like lessons,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “You should copy Sylvie. She's always as busy as the day is long!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so am I!” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” Sylvie corrected him. “You're as busy as the day is short!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what's the difference?” Bruno asked. “Mister Sir, isn't the day as + short as it's long? I mean, isn't it the same length?” + </p> + <p> + Never having considered the question in this light, I suggested that they + had better ask the Professor; and they ran off in a moment to appeal to + their old friend. The Professor left off polishing his spectacles to + consider. “My dears,” he said after a minute, “the day is the same length + as anything that is the same length as it.” And he resumed his + never-ending task of polishing. + </p> + <p> + The children returned, slowly and thoughtfully, to report his answer. + “Isn't he wise?” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie asked in an awestruck whisper. “If I was as wise as that, I should + have a head-ache all day long. I know I should!” + </p> + <p> + “You appear to be talking to somebody—that isn't here,” the + Professor said, turning round to the children. “Who is it?” + </p> + <p> + Bruno looked puzzled. “I never talks to nobody when he isn't here!” he + replied. “It isn't good manners. Oo should always wait till he comes, + before oo talks to him!” + </p> + <p> + The Professor looked anxiously in my direction, and seemed to look through + and through me without seeing me. “Then who are you talking to?” he said. + “There isn't anybody here, you know, except the Other Professor and he + isn't here!” he added wildly, turning round and round like a teetotum. + “Children! Help to look for him! Quick! He's got lost again!” + </p> + <p> + The children were on their feet in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Where shall we look?” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere!” shouted the excited Professor. “Only be quick about it!” And + he began trotting round and round the room, lifting up the chairs, and + shaking them. + </p> + <p> + Bruno took a very small book out of the bookcase, opened it, and shook it + in imitation of the Professor. “He isn't here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “He ca'n't be there, Bruno!” Sylvie said indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Course he ca'n't!” said Bruno. “I should have shooked him out, if he'd + been in there!” + </p> + <p> + “Has he ever been lost before?” Sylvie enquired, turning up a corner of + the hearth-rug, and peeping under it. + </p> + <p> + “Once before,” said the Professor: “he once lost himself in a wood—” + </p> + <p> + “And couldn't he find his-self again?” said Bruno. “Why didn't he shout? + He'd be sure to hear his-self, 'cause he couldn't be far off, oo know.” + </p> + <p> + “Lets try shouting,” said the Professor. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we shout?” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “On second thoughts, don't shout,” the Professor replied. “The Vice-Warden + might hear you. He's getting awfully strict!” + </p> + <p> + This reminded the poor children of all the troubles, about which they had + come to their old friend. Bruno sat down on the floor and began crying. + “He is so cruel!” he sobbed. “And he lets Uggug take away all my toys! And + such horrid meals!” + </p> + <p> + “What did you have for dinner to-day?” said the Professor. + </p> + <p> + “A little piece of a dead crow,” was Bruno's mournful reply. + </p> + <p> + “He means rook-pie,” Sylvie explained. + </p> + <p> + “It were a dead crow,” Bruno persisted. “And there were a apple-pudding—and + Uggug ate it all—and I got nuffin but a crust! And I asked for a + orange—and—didn't get it!” And the poor little fellow buried + his face in Sylvie's lap, who kept gently stroking his hair as she went + on. “It's all true, Professor dear! They do treat my darling Bruno very + badly! And they're not kind to me either,” she added in a lower tone, as + if that were a thing of much less importance. + </p> + <p> + The Professor got out a large red silk handkerchief, and wiped his eyes. + “I wish I could help you, dear children!” he said. “But what can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “We know the way to Fairyland—where Father's gone—quite well,” + said Sylvie: “if only the Gardener would let us out.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't he open the door for you?” said the Professor. + </p> + <p> + “Not for us,” said Sylvie: “but I'm sure he would for you. Do come and ask + him, Professor dear!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll come this minute!” said the Professor. + </p> + <p> + Bruno sat up and dried his eyes. “Isn't he kind, Mister Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “He is indeed,” said I. But the Professor took no notice of my remark. He + had put on a beautiful cap with a long tassel, and was selecting one of + the Other Professor's walking-sticks, from a stand in the corner of the + room. “A thick stick in one's hand makes people respectful,” he was saying + to himself. “Come along, dear children!” And we all went out into the + garden together. + </p> + <p> + “I shall address him, first of all,” the Professor explained as we went + along, “with a few playful remarks on the weather. I shall then question + him about the Other Professor. This will have a double advantage. First, + it will open the conversation (you can't even drink a bottle of wine + without opening it first): and secondly, if he's seen the Other Professor, + we shall find him that way: and, if he hasn't, we sha'n't.” + </p> + <p> + On our way, we passed the target, at which Uggug had been made to shoot + during the Ambassador's visit. + </p> + <p> + “See!” said the Professor, pointing out a hole in the middle of the + bull's-eye. “His Imperial Fatness had only one shot at it; and he went in + just here!” + </p> + <p> + Bruno carefully examined the hole. “Couldn't go in there,” he whispered to + me. “He are too fat!” + </p> + <p> + We had no sort of difficulty in finding the Gardener. Though he was hidden + from us by some trees, that harsh voice of his served to direct us; and, + as we drew nearer, the words of his song became more and more plainly + audible:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He thought he saw an Albatross + That fluttered round the lamp: + He looked again, and found it was + A Penny-Postage-Stamp. + 'You'd best be getting home,' he said: + 'The nights are very damp!'” + </pre> + <p> + {Image...He thought he saw an albatross} + </p> + <p> + “Would it be afraid of catching cold?” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “If it got very damp,” Sylvie suggested, “it might stick to something, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “And that somefin would have to go by the post, what ever it was!” Bruno + eagerly exclaimed. “Suppose it was a cow! Wouldn't it be dreadful for the + other things!” + </p> + <p> + “And all these things happened to him,” said the Professor. “That's what + makes the song so interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “He must have had a very curious life,” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “You may say that!” the Professor heartily rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “Of course she may!” cried Bruno. + </p> + <p> + By this time we had come up to the Gardener, who was standing on one leg, + as usual, and busily employed in watering a bed of flowers with an empty + watering-can. + </p> + <p> + “It hasn't got no water in it!” Bruno explained to him, pulling his sleeve + to attract his attention. + </p> + <p> + “It's lighter to hold,” said the Gardener. “A lot of water in it makes + one's arms ache.” And he went on with his work, singing softly to himself, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The nights are very damp!” + </pre> + <p> + “In digging things out of the ground which you probably do now and then,” + the Professor began in a loud voice; “in making things into heaps—which + no doubt you often do; and in kicking things about with one heel—which + you seem never to leave off doing; have you ever happened to notice + another Professor something like me, but different?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” shouted the Gardener, so loudly and violently that we all drew + back in alarm. “There ain't such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “We will try a less exciting topic,” the Professor mildly remarked to the + children. “You were asking—” + </p> + <p> + “We asked him to let us through the garden-door,” said Sylvie: “but he + wouldn't: but perhaps he would for you!” + </p> + <p> + The Professor put the request, very humbly and courteously. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't mind letting you out,” said the Gardener. “But I mustn't open + the door for children. D'you think I'd disobey the Rules? Not for + one-and-sixpence!” + </p> + <p> + The Professor cautiously produced a couple of shillings. + </p> + <p> + “That'll do it!” the Gardener shouted, as he hurled the watering-can + across the flower-bed, and produced a handful of keys—one large one, + and a number of small ones. + </p> + <p> + “But look here, Professor dear!” whispered Sylvie. “He needn't open the + door for us, at all. We can go out with you.” + </p> + <p> + “True, dear child!” the Professor thankfully replied, as he replaced the + coins in his pocket. “That saves two shillings!” And he took the + children's hands, that they might all go out together when the door was + opened. This, however, did not seem a very likely event, though the + Gardener patiently tried all the small keys, over and over again. + </p> + <p> + At last the Professor ventured on a gentle suggestion. “Why not try the + large one? I have often observed that a door unlocks much more nicely with + its own key.” + </p> + <p> + The very first trial of the large key proved a success: the Gardener + opened the door, and held out his hand for the money. + </p> + <p> + The Professor shook his head. “You are acting by Rule,” he explained, “in + opening the door for me. And now it's open, we are going out by Rule—the + Rule of Three.” + </p> + <p> + The Gardener looked puzzled, and let us go out; but, as he locked the door + behind us, we heard him singing thoughtfully to himself, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He thought he saw a Garden-Door + That opened with a key: + He looked again, and found it was + A Double Rule of Three: + 'And all its mystery,' he said, + 'Is clear as day to me!'” + </pre> + <p> + “I shall now return,” said the Professor, when we had walked a few yards: + “you see, it's impossible to read here, for all my books are in the + house.” + </p> + <p> + But the children still kept fast hold of his hands. “Do come with us!” + Sylvie entreated with tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” said the good-natured old man. “Perhaps I'll come after you, + some day soon. But I must go back now. You see I left off at a comma, and + it's so awkward not knowing how the sentence finishes! Besides, you've got + to go through Dogland first, and I'm always a little nervous about dogs. + But it'll be quite easy to come, as soon as I've completed my new + invention—for carrying one's-self, you know. It wants just a little + more working out.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't that be very tiring, to carry yourself?” Sylvie enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, my child. You see, whatever fatigue one incurs by carrying, one + saves by being carried! Good-bye, dears! Good-bye, Sir!” he added to my + intense surprise, giving my hand an affectionate squeeze. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Professor!” I replied: but my voice sounded strange and far + away, and the children took not the slightest notice of our farewell. + Evidently they neither saw me nor heard me, as, with their arms lovingly + twined round each other, they marched boldly on. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 13. A VISIT TO DOGLAND. + </h2> + <p> + “There's a house, away there to the left,” said Sylvie, after we had + walked what seemed to me about fifty miles. “Let's go and ask for a + night's lodging.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks a very comfable house,” Bruno said, as we turned into the road + leading up to it. “I doos hope the Dogs will be kind to us, I is so tired + and hungry!” + </p> + <p> + A Mastiff, dressed in a scarlet collar, and carrying a musket, was pacing + up and down, like a sentinel, in front of the entrance. He started, on + catching sight of the children, and came forwards to meet them, keeping + his musket pointed straight at Bruno, who stood quite still, though he + turned pale and kept tight hold of Sylvie's hand, while the Sentinel + walked solemnly round and round them, and looked at them from all points + of view. + </p> + <p> + {Image...The mastiff-sentinel} + </p> + <p> + “Oobooh, hooh boohooyah!” He growled at last. “Woobah yahwah oobooh! Bow + wahbah woobooyah? Bow wow?” he asked Bruno, severely. + </p> + <p> + Of course Bruno understood all this, easily enough. All Fairies understand + Doggee—-that is, Dog-language. But, as you may find it a little + difficult, just at first, I had better put it into English for you. + “Humans, I verily believe! A couple of stray Humans! What Dog do you + belong to? What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “We don't belong to a Dog!” Bruno began, in Doggee. (“Peoples never + belongs to Dogs!” he whispered to Sylvie.) + </p> + <p> + But Sylvie hastily checked him, for fear of hurting the Mastiff's + feelings. “Please, we want a little food, and a night's lodging—if + there's room in the house,” she added timidly. Sylvie spoke Doggee very + prettily: but I think it's almost better, for you, to give the + conversation in English. + </p> + <p> + “The house, indeed!” growled the Sentinel. “Have you never seen a Palace + in your life? Come along with me! His Majesty must settle what's to be + done with you.” + </p> + <p> + They followed him through the entrance-hall, down a long passage, and into + a magnificent Saloon, around which were grouped dogs of all sorts and + sizes. Two splendid Blood-hounds were solemnly sitting up, one on each + side of the crown-bearer. Two or three Bull-dogs—-whom I guessed to + be the Body-Guard of the King—were waiting in grim silence: in fact + the only voices at all plainly audible were those of two little dogs, who + had mounted a settee, and were holding a lively discussion that looked + very like a quarrel. + </p> + <p> + “Lords and Ladies in Waiting, and various Court Officials,” our guide + gruffly remarked, as he led us in. Of me the Courtiers took no notice + whatever: but Sylvie and Bruno were the subject of many inquisitive looks, + and many whispered remarks, of which I only distinctly caught one—made + by a sly-looking Dachshund to his friend “Bah wooh wahyah hoobah Oobooh, + hah bah?” (“She's not such a bad-looking Human, is she?”) + </p> + <p> + Leaving the new arrivals in the centre of the Saloon, the Sentinel + advanced to a door, at the further end of it, which bore an inscription, + painted on it in Doggee, “Royal Kennel—scratch and Yell.” + </p> + <p> + Before doing this, the Sentinel turned to the children, and said “Give me + your names.” + </p> + <p> + “We'd rather not!” Bruno exclaimed, pulling' Sylvie away from the door. + “We want them ourselves. Come back, Sylvie! Come quick!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Sylvie very decidedly: and gave their names in Doggee. + </p> + <p> + Then the Sentinel scratched violently at the door, and gave a yell that + made Bruno shiver from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Hooyah wah!” said a deep voice inside. (That's Doggee for “Come in!”) + </p> + <p> + “It's the King himself!” the Mastiff whispered in an awestruck tone. “Take + off your wigs, and lay them humbly at his paws.” (What we should call “at + his feet.”) + </p> + <p> + Sylvie was just going to explain, very politely, that really they couldn't + perform that ceremony, because their wigs wouldn't come off, when the door + of the Royal Kennel opened, and an enormous Newfoundland Dog put his head + out. “Bow wow?” was his first question. + </p> + <p> + “When His Majesty speaks to you,” the Sentinel hastily whispered to Bruno, + “you should prick up your ears!” + </p> + <p> + Bruno looked doubtfully at Sylvie. “I'd rather not, please,” he said. “It + would hurt.” + </p> + <p> + {Image...The dog-king} + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't hurt a bit!” the Sentinel said with some indignation. “Look! + It's like this!” And he pricked up his ears like two railway signals. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie gently explained matters. “I'm afraid we ca'n't manage it,” she + said in a low voice. “I'm very sorry: but our ears haven't got the right—” + she wanted to say “machinery” in Doggee: but she had forgotten the word, + and could only think of “steam-engine.” + </p> + <p> + The Sentinel repeated Sylvie's explanation to the King. + </p> + <p> + “Can't prick up their ears without a steam-engine!” His Majesty exclaimed. + “They must be curious creatures! I must have a look at them!” And he came + out of his Kennel, and walked solemnly up to the children. + </p> + <p> + What was the amazement—nor to say the horror of the whole assembly, + when Sylvie actually patted His Majesty on the head, while Bruno seized + his long ears and pretended to tie them together under his chin! + </p> + <p> + The Sentinel groaned aloud: a beautiful Greyhound who appeared to be one + of the Ladies in Waiting—fainted away: and all the other Courtiers + hastily drew back, and left plenty of room for the huge Newfoundland to + spring upon the audacious strangers, and tear them limb from limb. + </p> + <p> + Only—he didn't. On the contrary his Majesty actually smiled so far + as a Dog can smile—and (the other Dogs couldn't believe their eyes, + but it was true, all the same) his Majesty wagged his tail! + </p> + <p> + “Yah! Hooh hahwooh!” (that is “Well! I never!”) was the universal cry. + </p> + <p> + His Majesty looked round him severely, and gave a slight growl, which + produced instant silence. “Conduct my friends to the banqueting-hall!” he + said, laying such an emphasis on “my friends” that several of the dogs + rolled over helplessly on their backs and began to lick Bruno's feet. + </p> + <p> + A procession was formed, but I only ventured to follow as far as the door + of the banqueting-hall, so furious was the uproar of barking dogs within. + So I sat down by the King, who seemed to have gone to sleep, and waited + till the children returned to say good-night, when His Majesty got up and + shook himself. + </p> + <p> + “Time for bed!” he said with a sleepy yawn. “The attendants will show you + your room,” he added, aside, to Sylvie and Bruno. “Bring lights!” And, + with a dignified air, he held out his paw for them to kiss. + </p> + <p> + But the children were evidently not well practised in Court-manners. + Sylvie simply stroked the great paw: Bruno hugged it: the Master of the + Ceremonies looked shocked. + </p> + <p> + All this time Dog-waiters, in splendid livery, were running up with + lighted candles: but, as fast as they put them upon the table, other + waiters ran away with them, so that there never seemed to be one for me, + though the Master kept nudging me with his elbow, and repeating, “I ca'n't + let you sleep here! You're not in bed, you know!” + </p> + <p> + I made a great effort, and just succeeded in getting out the words “I know + I'm not. I'm in an arm-chair.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, forty winks will do you no harm,” the Master said, and left me. I + could scarcely hear his words: and no wonder: he was leaning over the side + of a ship, that was miles away from the pier on which I stood. The ship + passed over the horizon and I sank back into the arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + The next thing I remember is that it was morning: breakfast was just over: + Sylvie was lifting Bruno down from a high chair, and saying to a Spaniel, + who was regarding them with a most benevolent smile, “Yes, thank you we've + had a very nice breakfast. Haven't we, Bruno?” + </p> + <p> + “There was too many bones in the”—Bruno began, but Sylvie frowned at + him, and laid her finger on her lips, for, at this moment, the travelers + were waited on by a very dignified officer, the Head-Growler, whose duty + it was, first to conduct them to the King to bid him farewell and then to + escort them to the boundary of Dogland. The great Newfoundland received + them most affably but instead of saying “good-bye” he startled the + Head-growler into giving three savage growls, by announcing that he would + escort them himself. + </p> + <p> + It is a most unusual proceeding, your Majesty! the Head-Growler exclaimed, + almost choking with vexation at being set aside, for he had put on his + best Court-suit, made entirely of cat-skins, for the occasion. + </p> + <p> + “I shall escort them myself,” his Majesty repeated, gently but firmly, + laying aside the Royal robes, and changing his crown for a small coronet, + “and you may stay at home.” + </p> + <p> + “I are glad!” Bruno whispered to Sylvie, when they had got well out of + hearing. “He were so welly cross!” And he not only patted their Royal + escort, but even hugged him round the neck in the exuberance of his + delight. + </p> + <p> + His Majesty calmly wagged the Royal tail. “It's quite a relief,” he said, + “getting away from that Palace now and then! Royal Dogs have a dull life + of it, I can tell you! Would you mind” (this to Sylvie, in a low voice, + and looking a little shy and embarrassed) “would you mind the trouble of + just throwing that stick for me to fetch?” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie was too much astonished to do anything for a moment: it sounded + such a monstrous impossibility that a King should wish to run after a + stick. But Bruno was equal to the occasion, and with a glad shout of “Hi + then! Fetch it, good Doggie!” he hurled it over a clump of bushes. The + next moment the Monarch of Dogland had bounded over the bushes, and picked + up the stick, and came galloping back to the children with it in his + mouth. Bruno took it from him with great decision. “Beg for it!” he + insisted; and His Majesty begged. “Paw!” commanded Sylvie; and His Majesty + gave his paw. In short, the solemn ceremony of escorting the travelers to + the boundaries of Dogland became one long uproarious game of play! + </p> + <p> + “But business is business!” the Dog-King said at last. “And I must go back + to mine. I couldn't come any further,” he added, consulting a dog-watch, + which hung on a chain round his neck, “not even if there were a Cat + insight!” + </p> + <p> + They took an affectionate farewell of His Majesty, and trudged on. + </p> + <p> + “That were a dear dog!” Bruno exclaimed. “Has we to go far, Sylvie? I's + tired!” + </p> + <p> + “Not much further, darling!” Sylvie gently replied. “Do you see that + shining, just beyond those trees? I'm almost sure it's the gate of + Fairyland! I know it's all golden—Father told me so and so bright, + so bright!” she went on dreamily. + </p> + <p> + “It dazzles!” said Bruno, shading his eyes with one little hand, while the + other clung tightly to Sylvie's hand, as if he were half-alarmed at her + strange manner. + </p> + <p> + For the child moved on as if walking in her sleep, her large eyes gazing + into the far distance, and her breath coming and going in quick pantings + of eager delight. I knew, by some mysterious mental light, that a great + change was taking place in my sweet little friend (for such I loved to + think her) and that she was passing from the condition of a mere Outland + Sprite into the true Fairy-nature. + </p> + <p> + Upon Bruno the change came later: but it was completed in both before they + reached the golden gate, through which I knew it would be impossible for + me to follow. I could but stand outside, and take a last look at the two + sweet children, ere they disappeared within, and the golden gate closed + with a bang. + </p> + <p> + And with such a bang! “It never will shut like any other cupboard-door,” + Arthur explained. “There's something wrong with the hinge. However, here's + the cake and wine. And you've had your forty winks. So you really must get + off to bed, old man! You're fit for nothing else. Witness my hand, Arthur + Forester, M.D.” + </p> + <p> + By this time I was wide-awake again. “Not quite yet!” I pleaded. “Really + I'm not sleepy now. And it isn't midnight yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did want to say another word to you,” Arthur replied in a + relenting tone, as he supplied me with the supper he had prescribed. “Only + I thought you were too sleepy for it to-night.” + </p> + <p> + We took our midnight meal almost in silence; for an unusual nervousness + seemed to have seized on my old friend. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a night is it?” he asked, rising and undrawing the + window-curtains, apparently to change the subject for a minute. I followed + him to the window, and we stood together, looking out, in silence. + </p> + <p> + “When I first spoke to you about—” Arthur began, after a long and + embarrassing silence, “that is, when we first talked about her—for I + think it was you that introduced the subject—my own position in life + forbade me to do more than worship her from a distance: and I was turning + over plans for leaving this place finally, and settling somewhere out of + all chance of meeting her again. That seemed to be my only chance of + usefulness in life.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that have been wise?” I said. “To leave yourself no hope at all?” + </p> + <p> + “There was no hope to leave,” Arthur firmly replied, though his eyes + glittered with tears as he gazed upwards into the midnight sky, from which + one solitary star, the glorious 'Vega,' blazed out in fitful splendour + through the driving clouds. “She was like that star to me—bright, + beautiful, and pure, but out of reach, out of reach!” + </p> + <p> + He drew the curtains again, and we returned to our places by the fireside. + </p> + <p> + “What I wanted to tell you was this,” he resumed. “I heard this evening + from my solicitor. I can't go into the details of the business, but the + upshot is that my worldly wealth is much more than I thought, and I am (or + shall soon be) in a position to offer marriage, without imprudence, to any + lady, even if she brought nothing. I doubt if there would be anything on + her side: the Earl is poor, I believe. But I should have enough for both, + even if health failed.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you all happiness in your married life!” I cried. “Shall you speak + to the Earl to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet awhile,” said Arthur. “He is very friendly, but I dare not think + he means more than that, as yet. And as for—as for Lady Muriel, try + as I may, I cannot read her feelings towards me. If there is love, she is + hiding it! No, I must wait, I must wait!” + </p> + <p> + I did not like to press any further advice on my friend, whose judgment, I + felt, was so much more sober and thoughtful than my own; and we parted + without more words on the subject that had now absorbed his thoughts, nay, + his very life. + </p> + <p> + The next morning a letter from my solicitor arrived, summoning me to town + on important business. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 14. FAIRY-SYLVIE. + </h2> + <p> + For a full month the business, for which I had returned to London, + detained me there: and even then it was only the urgent advice of my + physician that induced me to leave it unfinished and pay another visit to + Elveston. + </p> + <p> + Arthur had written once or twice during the month; but in none of his + letters was there any mention of Lady Muriel. Still, I did not augur ill + from his silence: to me it looked like the natural action of a lover, who, + even while his heart was singing “She is mine!”, would fear to paint his + happiness in the cold phrases of a written letter, but would wait to tell + it by word of mouth. “Yes,” I thought, “I am to hear his song of triumph + from his own lips!” + </p> + <p> + The night I arrived we had much to say on other matters: and, tired with + the journey, I went to bed early, leaving the happy secret still untold. + Next day, however, as we chatted on over the remains of luncheon, I + ventured to put the momentous question. “Well, old friend, you have told + me nothing of Lady Muriel—nor when the happy day is to be?” + </p> + <p> + “The happy day,” Arthur said, looking unexpectedly grave, “is yet in the + dim future. We need to know—or, rather, she needs to know me better. + I know her sweet nature, thoroughly, by this time. But I dare not speak + till I am sure that my love is returned.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't wait too long!” I said gaily. “Faint heart never won fair lady!” + </p> + <p> + “It is 'faint heart,' perhaps. But really I dare not speak just yet.” + </p> + <p> + “But meanwhile,” I pleaded, “you are running a risk that perhaps you have + not thought of. Some other man—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Arthur firmly. “She is heart-whole: I am sure of that. Yet, if + she loves another better than me, so be it! I will not spoil her + happiness. The secret shall die with me. But she is my first—and my + only love!” + </p> + <p> + “That is all very beautiful sentiment,” I said, “but it is not practical. + It is not like you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He either fears his fate too much, + Or his desert is small, + Who dares not put it to the touch, + To win or lose it all.” + </pre> + <p> + “I dare not ask the question whether there is another!” he said + passionately. “It would break my heart to know it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet is it wise to leave it unasked? You must not waste your life upon an + 'if'!” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I dare not!,” + </p> + <p> + “May I find it out for you?” I asked, with the freedom of an old friend. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” he replied with a pained look. “I entreat you to say nothing. + Let it wait.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please,” I said: and judged it best to say no more just then. “But + this evening,” I thought, “I will call on the Earl. I may be able to see + how the land lies, without so much as saying a word!” + </p> + <p> + It was a very hot afternoon—too hot to go for a walk or do anything—or + else it wouldn't have happened, I believe. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, I want to know—dear Child who reads this!—why + Fairies should always be teaching us to do our duty, and lecturing us when + we go wrong, and we should never teach them anything? You can't mean to + say that Fairies are never greedy, or selfish, or cross, or deceitful, + because that would be nonsense, you know. Well then, don't you think they + might be all the better for a little lecturing and punishing now and then? + </p> + <p> + I really don't see why it shouldn't be tried, and I'm almost sure that, if + you could only catch a Fairy, and put it in the corner, and give it + nothing but bread and water for a day or two, you'd find it quite an + improved character—it would take down its conceit a little, at all + events. + </p> + <p> + The next question is, what is the best time for seeing Fairies? I believe + I can tell you all about that. + </p> + <p> + The first rule is, that it must be a very hot day—that we may + consider as settled: and you must be just a little sleepy—but not + too sleepy to keep your eyes open, mind. Well, and you ought to feel a + little—what one may call “fairyish “—the Scotch call it + “eerie,” and perhaps that's a prettier word; if you don't know what it + means, I'm afraid I can hardly explain it; you must wait till you meet a + Fairy, and then you'll know. + </p> + <p> + And the last rule is, that the crickets should not be chirping. I can't + stop to explain that: you must take it on trust for the present. + </p> + <p> + So, if all these things happen together, you have a good chance of seeing + a Fairy—or at least a much better chance than if they didn't. + </p> + <p> + The first thing I noticed, as I went lazily along through an open place in + the wood, was a large Beetle lying struggling on its back, and I went down + upon one knee to help the poor thing to its feet again. In some things, + you know, you ca'n't be quite sure what an insect would like: for + instance, I never could quite settle, supposing I were a moth, whether I + would rather be kept out of the candle, or be allowed to fly straight in + and get burnt—or again, supposing I were a spider, I'm not sure if I + should be quite pleased to have my web torn down, and the fly let loose—but + I feel quite certain that, if I were a beetle and had rolled over on my + back, I should always be glad to be helped up again. + </p> + <p> + So, as I was saying, I had gone down upon one knee, and was just reaching + out a little stick to turn the Beetle over, when I saw a sight that made + me draw back hastily and hold my breath, for fear of making any noise and + frightening the little creature a way. + </p> + <p> + Not that she looked as if she would be easily frightened: she seemed so + good and gentle that I'm sure she would never expect that any one could + wish to hurt her. She was only a few inches high, and was dressed in + green, so that you really would hardly have noticed her among the long + grass; and she was so delicate and graceful that she quite seemed to + belong to the place, almost as if she were one of the flowers. I may tell + you, besides, that she had no wings (I don't believe in Fairies with + wings), and that she had quantities of long brown hair and large earnest + brown eyes, and then I shall have done all I can to give you an idea of + her. + </p> + <p> + {Image...Fairy-sylvie} + </p> + <p> + Sylvie (I found out her name afterwards) had knelt down, just as I was + doing, to help the Beetle; but it needed more than a little stick for her + to get it on its legs again; it was as much as she could do, with both + arms, to roll the heavy thing over; and all the while she was talking to + it, half scolding and half comforting, as a nurse might do with a child + that had fallen down. + </p> + <p> + “There, there! You needn't cry so much about it. You're not killed yet—though + if you were, you couldn't cry, you know, and so it's a general rule + against crying, my dear! And how did you come to tumble over? But I can + see well enough how it was—I needn't ask you that—walking over + sand-pits with your chin in the air, as usual. Of course if you go among + sand-pits like that, you must expect to tumble. You should look.” + </p> + <p> + The Beetle murmured something that sounded like “I did look,” and Sylvie + went on again. + </p> + <p> + “But I know you didn't! You never do! You always walk with your chin up—you're + so dreadfully conceited. Well, let's see how many legs are broken this + time. Why, none of them, I declare! And what's the good of having six + legs, my dear, if you can only kick them all about in the air when you + tumble? Legs are meant to walk with, you know. Now don't begin putting out + your wings yet; I've more to say. Go to the frog that lives behind that + buttercup—give him my compliments—Sylvie's compliments—can + you say compliments'?” + </p> + <p> + The Beetle tried and, I suppose, succeeded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give you some of that salve I + left with him yesterday. And you'd better get him to rub it in for you. + He's got rather cold hands, but you mustn't mind that.” + </p> + <p> + I think the Beetle must have shuddered at this idea, for Sylvie went on in + a graver tone. “Now you needn't pretend to be so particular as all that, + as if you were too grand to be rubbed by a frog. The fact is, you ought to + be very much obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody but a toad to do + it, how would you like that?” + </p> + <p> + There was a little pause, and then Sylvie added “Now you may go. Be a good + beetle, and don't keep your chin in the air.” And then began one of those + performances of humming, and whizzing, and restless banging about, such as + a beetle indulges in when it has decided on flying, but hasn't quite made + up its mind which way to go. At last, in one of its awkward zigzags, it + managed to fly right into my face, and, by the time I had recovered from + the shock, the little Fairy was gone. + </p> + <p> + I looked about in all directions for the little creature, but there was no + trace of her—and my 'eerie' feeling was quite gone off, and the + crickets were chirping again merrily—so I knew she was really gone. + </p> + <p> + And now I've got time to tell you the rule about the crickets. They always + leave off chirping when a Fairy goes by—because a Fairy's a kind of + queen over them, I suppose—at all events it's a much grander thing + than a cricket—so whenever you're walking out, and the crickets + suddenly leave off chirping, you may be sure that they see a Fairy. + </p> + <p> + I walked on sadly enough, you may be sure. However, I comforted myself + with thinking “It's been a very wonderful afternoon, so far. I'll just go + quietly on and look about me, and I shouldn't wonder if I were to come + across another Fairy somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + Peering about in this way, I happened to notice a plant with rounded + leaves, and with queer little holes cut in the middle of several of them. + “Ah, the leafcutter bee!” I carelessly remarked—you know I am very + learned in Natural History (for instance, I can always tell kittens from + chickens at one glance)—and I was passing on, when a sudden thought + made me stoop down and examine the leaves. + </p> + <p> + Then a little thrill of delight ran through me—for I noticed that + the holes were all arranged so as to form letters; there were three leaves + side by side, with “B,” “R,” and “U” marked on them, and after some search + I found two more, which contained an “N” and an “O.” + </p> + <p> + And then, all in a moment, a flash of inner light seemed to illumine a + part of my life that had all but faded into oblivion—the strange + visions I had experienced during my journey to Elveston: and with a thrill + of delight I thought “Those visions are destined to be linked with my + waking life!” + </p> + <p> + By this time the 'eerie' feeling had come back again, and I suddenly + observed that no crickets were chirping; so I felt quite sure that Bruno + was somewhere very near. + </p> + <p> + And so indeed he was—so near that I had very nearly walked over him + without seeing him; which would have been dreadful, always supposing that + Fairies can be walked over my own belief is that they are something of the + nature of Will-o'-the-wisps: and there's no walking over them. + </p> + <p> + Think of any pretty little boy you know, with rosy cheeks, large dark + eyes, and tangled brown hair, and then fancy him made small enough to go + comfortably into a coffee-cup, and you'll have a very fair idea of him. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name, little one?” I began, in as soft a voice as I could + manage. And, by the way, why is it we always begin by asking little + children their names? Is it because we fancy a name will help to make them + a little bigger? You never thought of asking a real large man his name, + now, did you? But, however that may be, I felt it quite necessary to know + his name; so, as he didn't answer my question, I asked it again a little + louder. “What's your name, my little man?” + </p> + <p> + “What's oors?” he said, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + I told him my name quite gently, for he was much too small to be angry + with. + </p> + <p> + “Duke of Anything?” he asked, just looking at me for a moment, and then + going on with his work. + </p> + <p> + “Not Duke at all,” I said, a little ashamed of having to confess it. + </p> + <p> + “Oo're big enough to be two Dukes,” said the little creature. “I suppose + oo're Sir Something, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, feeling more and more ashamed. “I haven't got any title.” + </p> + <p> + The Fairy seemed to think that in that case I really wasn't worth the + trouble of talking to, for he quietly went on digging, and tearing the + flowers to pieces. + </p> + <p> + After a few minutes I tried again. “Please tell me what your name is.” + </p> + <p> + “Bruno,” the little fellow answered, very readily. “Why didn't oo say + 'please' before?” + </p> + <p> + “That's something like what we used to be taught in the nursery,” I + thought to myself, looking back through the long years (about a hundred of + them, since you ask the question), to the time when I was a little child. + And here an idea came into my head, and I asked him “Aren't you one of the + Fairies that teach children to be good?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we have to do that sometimes,” said Bruno, “and a dreadful bother + it is.” As he said this, he savagely tore a heartsease in two, and + trampled on the pieces. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing there, Bruno?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Spoiling Sylvie's garden,” was all the answer Bruno would give at first. + But, as he went on tearing up the flowers, he muttered to himself “The + nasty cross thing wouldn't let me go and play this morning,—said I + must finish my lessons first—lessons, indeed! I'll vex her finely, + though!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bruno, you shouldn't do that!” I cried. + “Don't you know that's revenge? And revenge is a wicked, cruel, dangerous + thing!” + </p> + <p> + “River-edge?” said Bruno. “What a funny word! I suppose oo call it cruel + and dangerous 'cause, if oo wented too far and tumbleded in, oo'd get + drownded.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not river-edge,” I explained: “revenge” (saying the word very + slowly). But I couldn't help thinking that Bruno's explanation did very + well for either word. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Bruno, opening his eyes very wide, but without trying to repeat + the word. + </p> + <p> + “Come! Try and pronounce it, Bruno!” I said, cheerfully. “Re-venge, + re-venge.” + </p> + <p> + But Bruno only tossed his little head, and said he couldn't; that his + mouth wasn't the right shape for words of that kind. And the more I + laughed, the more sulky the little fellow got about it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind, my little man!” I said. + “Shall I help you with that job?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, please,” Bruno said, quite pacified. + </p> + <p> + “Only I wiss I could think of somefin to vex her more than this. Oo don't + know how hard it is to make her angry!” + </p> + <p> + “Now listen to me, Bruno, and I'll teach you quite a splendid kind of + revenge!” + </p> + <p> + “Somefin that'll vex her finely?” he asked with gleaming eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Something that will vex her finely. First, we'll get up all the weeds in + her garden. See, there are a good many at this end quite hiding the + flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “But that won't vex her!” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “After that,” I said, without noticing the remark, “we'll water this + highest bed—up here. You see it's getting quite dry and dusty.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno looked at me inquisitively, but he said nothing this time. + </p> + <p> + “Then after that,” I went on, “the walks want sweeping a bit; and I think + you might cut down that tall nettle—it's so close to the garden that + it's quite in the way—” + </p> + <p> + “What is oo talking about?” Bruno impatiently interrupted me. “All that + won't vex her a bit!” + </p> + <p> + “Won't it?” I said, innocently. “Then, after that, suppose we put in some + of these coloured pebbles—just to mark the divisions between the + different kinds of flowers, you know. That'll have a very pretty effect.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno turned round and had another good stare at me. At last there came an + odd little twinkle into his eyes, and he said, with quite a new meaning in + his voice, “That'll do nicely. Let's put 'em in rows—all the red + together, and all the blue together.” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do capitally,” I said; “and then—what kind of flowers does + Sylvie like best?” + </p> + <p> + Bruno had to put his thumb in his mouth and consider a little before he + could answer. “Violets,” he said, at last. + </p> + <p> + “There's a beautiful bed of violets down by the brook—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let's fetch 'em!” cried Bruno, giving a little skip into the air. + “Here! Catch hold of my hand, and I'll help oo along. The grass is rather + thick down that way.” + </p> + <p> + I couldn't help laughing at his having so entirely forgotten what a big + creature he was talking to. “No, not yet, Bruno,” I said: “we must + consider what's the right thing to do first. You see we've got quite a + business before us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let's consider,” said Bruno, putting his thumb into his mouth again, + and sitting down upon a dead mouse. + </p> + <p> + “What do you keep that mouse for?” I said. “You should either bury it, or + else throw it into the brook.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's to measure with!” cried Bruno. + “How ever would oo do a garden without one? We make each bed three mouses + and a half long, and two mouses wide.” + </p> + <p> + I stopped him, as he was dragging it off by the tail to show me how it was + used, for I was half afraid the 'eerie' feeling might go off before we had + finished the garden, and in that case I should see no more of him or + Sylvie. “I think the best way will be for you to weed the beds, while I + sort out these pebbles, ready to mark the walks with.” + </p> + <p> + “That's it!” cried Bruno. “And I'll tell oo about the caterpillars while + we work.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, let's hear about the caterpillars,” I said, as I drew the pebbles + together into a heap and began dividing them into colours. + </p> + <p> + And Bruno went on in a low, rapid tone, more as if he were talking to + himself. “Yesterday I saw two little caterpillars, when I was sitting by + the brook, just where oo go into the wood. They were quite green, and they + had yellow eyes, and they didn't see me. And one of them had got a moth's + wing to carry—a great brown moth's wing, oo know, all dry, with + feathers. So he couldn't want it to eat, I should think—perhaps he + meant to make a cloak for the winter?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” I said, for Bruno had twisted up the last word into a sort of + question, and was looking at me for an answer. + </p> + <p> + One word was quite enough for the little fellow, and he went on merrily. + “Well, and so he didn't want the other caterpillar to see the moth's wing, + oo know—so what must he do but try to carry it with all his left + legs, and he tried to walk on the other set. Of course he toppled over + after that.” + </p> + <p> + “After what?” I said, catching at the last word, for, to tell the truth, I + hadn't been attending much. + </p> + <p> + “He toppled over,” Bruno repeated, very gravely, “and if oo ever saw a + caterpillar topple over, oo'd know it's a welly serious thing, and not sit + grinning like that—and I sha'n't tell oo no more!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed and indeed, Bruno, I didn't mean to grin. See, I'm quite grave + again now.” + </p> + <p> + But Bruno only folded his arms, and said “Don't tell me. I see a little + twinkle in one of oor eyes—just like the moon.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you think I'm like the moon, Bruno?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oor face is large and round like the moon,” Bruno answered, looking at me + thoughtfully. “It doosn't shine quite so bright—but it's more + cleaner.” + </p> + <p> + I couldn't help smiling at this. “You know I sometimes wash my face, + Bruno. The moon never does that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, doosn't she though!” cried Bruno; and he leant forwards and added in + a solemn whisper, “The moon's face gets dirtier and dirtier every night, + till it's black all across. And then, when it's dirty all over—so—” + (he passed his hand across his own rosy cheeks as he spoke) “then she + washes it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's all clean again, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not all in a moment,” said Bruno. “What a deal of teaching oo wants! She + washes it little by little—only she begins at the other edge, oo + know.” + </p> + <p> + By this time he was sitting quietly on the dead mouse with his arms + folded, and the weeding wasn't getting on a bit: so I had to say “Work + first, pleasure afterwards: no more talking till that bed's finished.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 15. BRUNO'S REVENGE. + </h2> + <p> + After that we had a few minutes of silence, while I sorted out the + pebbles, and amused myself with watching Bruno's plan of gardening. It was + quite a new plan to me: he always measured each bed before he weeded it, + as if he was afraid the weeding would make it shrink; and once, when it + came out longer than he wished, he set to work to thump the mouse with his + little fist, crying out “There now! It's all gone wrong again! Why don't + oo keep oor tail straight when I tell oo!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what I'll do,” Bruno said in a half-whisper, as we worked. + “Oo like Fairies, don't oo?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said: “of course I do, or I shouldn't have come here. I should + have gone to some place where there are no Fairies.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno laughed contemptuously. “Why, oo might as well say oo'd go to some + place where there wasn't any air—supposing oo didn't like air!” + </p> + <p> + This was a rather difficult idea to grasp. I tried a change of subject. + “You're nearly the first Fairy I ever saw. Have you ever seen any people + besides me?” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty!” said Bruno. “We see'em when we walk in the road.” + </p> + <p> + “But they ca'n't see you. How is it they never tread on you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ca'n't tread on us,” said Bruno, looking amused at my ignorance. “Why, + suppose oo're walking, here—so—” (making little marks on the + ground) “and suppose there's a Fairy—that's me—walking here. + Very well then, oo put one foot here, and one foot here, so oo doosn't + tread on the Fairy.” + </p> + <p> + This was all very well as an explanation, but it didn't convince me. “Why + shouldn't I put one foot on the Fairy?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why,” the little fellow said in a thoughtful tone. “But I + know oo wouldn't. Nobody never walked on the top of a Fairy. Now I'll tell + oo what I'll do, as oo're so fond of Fairies. I'll get oo an invitation to + the Fairy-King's dinner-party. I know one of the head-waiters.” + </p> + <p> + I couldn't help laughing at this idea. “Do the waiters invite the guests?” + I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not to sit down!” Bruno said. “But to wait at table. Oo'd like that, + wouldn't oo? To hand about plates, and so on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but that's not so nice as sitting at the table, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it isn't,” Bruno said, in a tone as if he rather pitied my + ignorance; “but if oo're not even Sir Anything, oo ca'n't expect to be + allowed to sit at the table, oo know.” + </p> + <p> + I said, as meekly as I could, that I didn't expect it, but it was the only + way of going to a dinner-party that I really enjoyed. And Bruno tossed his + head, and said, in a rather offended tone that I might do as I pleased—there + were many he knew that would give their ears to go. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever been yourself, Bruno?” + </p> + <p> + “They invited me once, last week,” Bruno said, very gravely. “It was to + wash up the soup-plates—no, the cheese-plates I mean that was grand + enough. And I waited at table. And I didn't hardly make only one mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” I said. “You needn't mind telling me.” + </p> + <p> + “Only bringing scissors to cut the beef with,” Bruno said carelessly. “But + the grandest thing of all was, I fetched the King a glass of cider!” + </p> + <p> + “That was grand!” I said, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't it?” said Bruno, very earnestly. “Oo know it isn't every one + that's had such an honour as that!” + </p> + <p> + This set me thinking of the various queer things we call “an honour” in + this world, but which, after all, haven't a bit more honour in them than + what Bruno enjoyed, when he took the King a glass of cider. + </p> + <p> + I don't know how long I might not have dreamed on in this way, if Bruno + hadn't suddenly roused me. “Oh, come here quick!” he cried, in a state of + the wildest excitement. “Catch hold of his other horn! I ca'n't hold him + more than a minute!” + </p> + <p> + He was struggling desperately with a great snail, clinging to one of its + horns, and nearly breaking his poor little back in his efforts to drag it + over a blade of grass. + </p> + <p> + I saw we should have no more gardening if I let this sort of thing go on, + so I quietly took the snail away, and put it on a bank where he couldn't + reach it. “We'll hunt it afterwards, Bruno,” I said, “if you really want + to catch it. But what's the use of it when you've got it?” + </p> + <p> + “What's the use of a fox when oo've got it?” said Bruno. “I know oo big + things hunt foxes.” + </p> + <p> + I tried to think of some good reason why “big things” should hunt foxes, + and he should not hunt snails, but none came into my head: so I said at + last, “Well, I suppose one's as good as the other. I'll go snail-hunting + myself some day.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think oo wouldn't be so silly,” said Bruno, “as to go + snail-hunting by oor-self. Why, oo'd never get the snail along, if oo + hadn't somebody to hold on to his other horn!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I sha'n't go alone,” I said, quite gravely. “By the way, is + that the best kind to hunt, or do you recommend the ones without shells?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, we never hunt the ones without shells,” Bruno said, with a little + shudder at the thought of it. “They're always so cross about it; and then, + if oo tumbles over them, they're ever so sticky!” + </p> + <p> + By this time we had nearly finished the garden. I had fetched some + violets, and Bruno was just helping me to put in the last, when he + suddenly stopped and said “I'm tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Rest then,” I said: “I can go on without you, quite well.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno needed no second invitation: he at once began arranging the dead + mouse as a kind of sofa. “And I'll sing oo a little song,” he said, as he + rolled it about. + </p> + <p> + “Do,” said I: “I like songs very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Which song will oo choose?” Bruno said, as he dragged the mouse into a + place where he could get a good view of me. “'Ting, ting, ting' is the + nicest.” + </p> + <p> + There was no resisting such a strong hint as this: however, I pretended to + think about it for a moment, and then said “Well, I like 'Ting, ting, + ting,' best of all.” + </p> + <p> + {Image...Bruno's revenge} + </p> + <p> + “That shows oo're a good judge of music,” Bruno said, with a pleased look. + “How many hare-bells would oo like?” And he put his thumb into his mouth + to help me to consider. + </p> + <p> + As there was only one cluster of hare-bells within easy reach, I said very + gravely that I thought one would do this time, and I picked it and gave it + to him. Bruno ran his hand once or twice up and down the flowers, like a + musician trying an instrument, producing a most delicious delicate + tinkling as he did so. I had never heard flower-music before—I don't + think one can, unless one's in the 'eerie' state and I don't know quite + how to give you an idea of what it was like, except by saying that it + sounded like a peal of bells a thousand miles off. When he had satisfied + himself that the flowers were in tune, he seated himself on the dead mouse + (he never seemed really comfortable anywhere else), and, looking up at me + with a merry twinkle in his eyes, he began. By the way, the tune was + rather a curious one, and you might like to try it for yourself, so here + are the notes. + </p> + <p> + {Image...Music for hare-bells} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Rise, oh, rise! The daylight dies: + The owls are hooting, ting, ting, ting! + Wake, oh, wake! Beside the lake + The elves are fluting, ting, ting, ting! + Welcoming our Fairy King, + We sing, sing, sing.” + </pre> + <p> + He sang the first four lines briskly and merrily, making the hare-bells + chime in time with the music; but the last two he sang quite slowly and + gently, and merely waved the flowers backwards and forwards. Then he left + off to explain. “The Fairy-King is Oberon, and he lives across the lake—and + sometimes he comes in a little boat—and we go and meet him and then + we sing this song, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “And then you go and dine with him?” I said, mischievously. + </p> + <p> + “Oo shouldn't talk,” Bruno hastily said: “it interrupts the song so.” + </p> + <p> + I said I wouldn't do it again. + </p> + <p> + “I never talk myself when I'm singing,” he went on very gravely: “so oo + shouldn't either.” Then he tuned the hare-bells once more, and sang:—- + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hear, oh, hear! From far and near + The music stealing, ting, ting, ting! + Fairy belts adown the dells + Are merrily pealing, ting, ting, ting! + Welcoming our Fairy King, + We ring, ring, ring. + + “See, oh, see! On every tree + What lamps are shining, ting, ting, ting! + They are eyes of fiery flies + To light our dining, ting, ting, ting! + Welcoming our Fairy King + They swing, swing, swing. + + “Haste, oh haste, to take and taste + The dainties waiting, ting, ting, ting! + Honey-dew is stored—” + </pre> + <p> + “Hush, Bruno!” I interrupted in a warning whisper. “She's coming!” + </p> + <p> + Bruno checked his song, and, as she slowly made her way through the long + grass, he suddenly rushed out headlong at her like a little bull, shouting + “Look the other way! Look the other way!” + </p> + <p> + “Which way?” Sylvie asked, in rather a frightened tone, as she looked + round in all directions to see where the danger could be. + </p> + <p> + “That way!” said Bruno, carefully turning her round with her face to the + wood. “Now, walk backwards walk gently—don't be frightened: oo + sha'n't trip!” + </p> + <p> + But Sylvie did trip notwithstanding: in fact he led her, in his hurry, + across so many little sticks and stones, that it was really a wonder the + poor child could keep on her feet at all. But he was far too much excited + to think of what he was doing. + </p> + <p> + I silently pointed out to Bruno the best place to lead her to, so as to + get a view of the whole garden at once: it was a little rising ground, + about the height of a potato; and, when they had mounted it, I drew back + into the shade, that Sylvie mightn't see me. + </p> + <p> + I heard Bruno cry out triumphantly “Now oo may look!” and then followed a + clapping of hands, but it was all done by Bruno himself. Sylvie: was + silent—she only stood and gazed with her hands clasped together, and + I was half afraid she didn't like it after all. + </p> + <p> + Bruno too was watching her anxiously, and when she jumped down off the + mound, and began wandering up and down the little walks, he cautiously + followed her about, evidently anxious that she should form her own opinion + of it all, without any hint from him. And when at last she drew a long + breath, and gave her verdict—in a hurried whisper, and without the + slightest regard to grammar—“It's the loveliest thing as I never saw + in all my life before!” the little fellow looked as well pleased as if it + had been given by all the judges and juries in England put together. + </p> + <p> + “And did you really do it all by yourself, Bruno?” said Sylvie. “And all + for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I was helped a bit,” Bruno began, with a merry little laugh at her + surprise. “We've been at it all the afternoon—I thought oo'd like—” + and here the poor little fellow's lip began to quiver, and all in a moment + he burst out crying, and running up to Sylvie he flung his arms + passionately round her neck, and hid his face on her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + There was a little quiver in Sylvie's voice too, as she whispered “Why, + what's the matter, darling?” and tried to lift up his head and kiss him. + </p> + <p> + But Bruno only clung to her, sobbing, and wouldn't be comforted till he + had confessed. “I tried—to spoil oor garden—first—but + I'll never—never—” and then came another burst of tears, which + drowned the rest of the sentence. At last he got out the words “I liked—putting + in the flowers—for oo, Sylvie—and I never was so happy + before.” And the rosy little face came up at last to be kissed, all wet + with tears as it was. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie was crying too by this time, and she said nothing but “Bruno, + dear!” and “I never was so happy before,” though why these two children + who had never been so happy before should both be crying was a mystery to + me. + </p> + <p> + I felt very happy too, but of course I didn't cry: “big things” never do, + you know we leave all that to the Fairies. Only I think it must have been + raining a little just then, for I found a drop or two on my cheeks. + </p> + <p> + After that they went through the whole garden again, flower by flower, as + if it were a long sentence they were spelling out, with kisses for commas, + and a great hug by way of a full-stop when they got to the end. + </p> + <p> + “Doos oo know, that was my river-edge, Sylvie?” Bruno solemnly began. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie laughed merrily. “What do you mean?” she said. And she pushed back + her heavy brown hair with both hands, and looked at him with dancing eyes + in which the big teardrops were still glittering. + </p> + <p> + Bruno drew in a long breath, and made up his mouth for a great effort. “I + mean revenge,” he said: “now oo under'tand.” And he looked so happy and + proud at having said the word right at last, that I quite envied him. I + rather think Sylvie didn't “under'tand” at all; but she gave him a little + kiss on each cheek, which seemed to do just as well. + </p> + <p> + So they wandered off lovingly together, in among the buttercups, each with + an arm twined round the other, whispering and laughing as they went, and + never so much as once looked back at poor me. Yes, once, just before I + quite lost sight of them, Bruno half turned his head, and nodded me a + saucy little good-bye over one shoulder. And that was all the thanks I got + for my trouble. The very last thing I saw of them was this—Sylvie + was stooping down with her arms round Bruno's neck, and saying coaxingly + in his ear, “Do you know, Bruno, I've quite forgotten that hard word. Do + say it once more. Come! Only this once, dear!” + </p> + <p> + But Bruno wouldn't try it again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 16. A CHANGED CROCODILE. + </h2> + <p> + The Marvellous—the Mysterious—had quite passed out of my life + for the moment: and the Common-place reigned supreme. I turned in the + direction of the Earl's house, as it was now 'the witching hour' of five, + and I knew I should find them ready for a cup of tea and a quiet chat. + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel and her father gave me a delightfully warm welcome. They were + not of the folk we meet in fashionable drawing-rooms who conceal all such + feelings as they may chance to possess beneath the impenetrable mask of a + conventional placidity. 'The Man with the Iron Mask' was, no doubt, a + rarity and a marvel in his own age: in modern London no one would turn his + head to give him a second look! No, these were real people. When they + looked pleased, it meant that they were pleased: and when Lady Muriel + said, with a bright smile, “I'm very glad to see you again!”, I knew that + it was true. + </p> + <p> + Still I did not venture to disobey the injunctions—crazy as I felt + them to be—of the lovesick young Doctor, by so much as alluding to + his existence: and it was only after they had given me full details of a + projected picnic, to which they invited me, that Lady Muriel exclaimed, + almost as an after-thought, “and do, if you can, bring Doctor Forester + with you! I'm sure a day in the country would do him good. I'm afraid he + studies too much—” + </p> + <p> + It was 'on the tip of my tongue' to quote the words “His only books are + woman's looks!” but I checked myself just in time—with something of + the feeling of one who has crossed a street, and has been all but run over + by a passing 'Hansom.' + </p> + <p> + “—and I think he has too lonely a life,” she went on, with a gentle + earnestness that left no room whatever to suspect a double meaning. “Do + get him to come! And don't forget the day, Tuesday week. We can drive you + over. It would be a pity to go by rail——there is so much + pretty scenery on the road. And our open carriage just holds four.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll persuade him to come!” I said with confidence—thinking “it + would take all my powers of persuasion to keep him away!” + </p> + <p> + The picnic was to take place in ten days: and though Arthur readily + accepted the invitation I brought him, nothing that I could say would + induce him to call—either with me or without me on the Earl and his + daughter in the meanwhile. No: he feared to “wear out his welcome,” he + said: they had “seen enough of him for one while”: and, when at last the + day for the expedition arrived, he was so childishly nervous and uneasy + that I thought it best so to arrange our plans that we should go + separately to the house—my intention being to arrive some time after + him, so as to give him time to get over a meeting. + </p> + <p> + With this object I purposely made a considerable circuit on my way to the + Hall (as we called the Earl's house): “and if I could only manage to lose + my way a bit,” I thought to myself, “that would suit me capitally!” + </p> + <p> + In this I succeeded better, and sooner, than I had ventured to hope for. + The path through the wood had been made familiar to me, by many a solitary + stroll, in my former visit to Elveston; and how I could have so suddenly + and so entirely lost it—even though I was so engrossed in thinking + of Arthur and his lady-love that I heeded little else—was a mystery + to me. “And this open place,” I said to myself, “seems to have some memory + about it I cannot distinctly recall—surely it is the very spot where + I saw those Fairy-Children! But I hope there are no snakes about!” I mused + aloud, taking my seat on a fallen tree. “I certainly do not like snakes—and + I don't suppose Bruno likes them, either!” + </p> + <p> + “No, he doesn't like them!” said a demure little voice at my side. “He's + not afraid of them, you know. But he doesn't like them. He says they're + too waggly!” + </p> + <p> + Words fail me to describe the beauty of the little group—couched on + a patch of moss, on the trunk of the fallen tree, that met my eager gaze: + Sylvie reclining with her elbow buried in the moss, and her rosy cheek + resting in the palm of her hand, and Bruno stretched at her feet with his + head in her lap. + </p> + <p> + {Image...Fairies resting} + </p> + <p> + “Too waggly?” was all I could say in so sudden an emergency. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not praticular,” Bruno said, carelessly: “but I do like straight + animals best—” + </p> + <p> + “But you like a dog when it wags its tail,” Sylvie interrupted. “You know + you do, Bruno!” + </p> + <p> + “But there's more of a dog, isn't there, Mister Sir?” Bruno appealed to + me. “You wouldn't like to have a dog if it hadn't got nuffin but a head + and a tail?” + </p> + <p> + I admitted that a dog of that kind would be uninteresting. + </p> + <p> + “There isn't such a dog as that,” Sylvie thoughtfully remarked. + </p> + <p> + “But there would be,” cried Bruno, “if the Professor shortened it up for + us!” + </p> + <p> + “Shortened it up?” I said. “That's something new. How does he do it?” + </p> + <p> + “He's got a curious machine,” Sylvie was beginning to explain. + </p> + <p> + “A welly curious machine,” Bruno broke in, not at all willing to have the + story thus taken out of his mouth, “and if oo puts in—some-finoruvver—at + one end, oo know and he turns the handle—and it comes out at the + uvver end, oh, ever so short!” + </p> + <p> + “As short as short!” Sylvie echoed. + </p> + <p> + “And one day when we was in Outland, oo know—before we came to + Fairyland me and Sylvie took him a big Crocodile. And he shortened it up + for us. And it did look so funny! And it kept looking round, and saying + 'wherever is the rest of me got to?' And then its eyes looked unhappy—” + </p> + <p> + “Not both its eyes,” Sylvie interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Course not!” said the little fellow. “Only the eye that couldn't see + wherever the rest of it had got to. But the eye that could see wherever—” + </p> + <p> + “How short was the crocodile?” I asked, as the story was getting a little + complicated. + </p> + <p> + “Half as short again as when we caught it—so long,” said Bruno, + spreading out his arms to their full stretch. + </p> + <p> + I tried to calculate what this would come to, but it was too hard for me. + Please make it out for me, dear Child who reads this! + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't leave the poor thing so short as that, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no. Sylvie and me took it back again and we got it stretched to—to—how + much was it, Sylvie?” + </p> + <p> + “Two times and a half, and a little bit more,” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't like that better than the other way, I'm afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it did though!” Bruno put in eagerly. “It were proud of its new + tail! Oo never saw a Crocodile so proud! Why, it could go round and walk + on the top of its tail, and along its back, all the way to its head!” + </p> + <p> + {Image...A changed crocodile} + </p> + <p> + “Not quite all the way,” said Sylvie. “It couldn't, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but it did, once!” Bruno cried triumphantly. “Oo weren't looking—but + I watched it. And it walked on tippiety-toe, so as it wouldn't wake + itself, 'cause it thought it were asleep. And it got both its paws on its + tail. And it walked and it walked all the way along its back. And it + walked and it walked on its forehead. And it walked a tiny little way down + its nose! There now!” + </p> + <p> + This was a good deal worse than the last puzzle. Please, dear Child, help + again! + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe no Crocodile never walked along its own forehead!” Sylvie + cried, too much excited by the controversy to limit the number of her + negatives. + </p> + <p> + “Oo don't know the reason why it did it!” Bruno scornfully retorted. “It + had a welly good reason. I heerd it say 'Why shouldn't I walk on my own + forehead?' So a course it did, oo know!” + </p> + <p> + “If that's a good reason, Bruno,” I said, “why shouldn't you get up that + tree?” + </p> + <p> + “Shall, in a minute,” said Bruno: “soon as we've done talking. Only two + peoples ca'n't talk comfably togevver, when one's getting up a tree, and + the other isn't!” + </p> + <p> + It appeared to me that a conversation would scarcely be 'comfable' while + trees were being climbed, even if both the 'peoples' were doing it: but it + was evidently dangerous to oppose any theory of Bruno's; so I thought it + best to let the question drop, and to ask for an account of the machine + that made things longer. + </p> + <p> + This time Bruno was at a loss, and left it to Sylvie. “It's like a + mangle,” she said: “if things are put in, they get squoze—” + </p> + <p> + “Squeezeled!” Bruno interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Sylvie accepted the correction, but did not attempt to pronounce + the word, which was evidently new to her. “They get—like that—and + they come out, oh, ever so long!” + </p> + <p> + “Once,” Bruno began again, “Sylvie and me writed—” + </p> + <p> + “Wrote!” Sylvie whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we wroted a Nursery-Song, and the Professor mangled it longer for + us. It were 'There was a little Man, And he had a little gun, And the + bullets—'” + </p> + <p> + “I know the rest,” I interrupted. “But would you say it long I mean the + way that it came out of the mangle?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll get the Professor to sing it for you,” said Sylvie. “It would spoil + it to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “I would like to meet the Professor,” I said. “And I would like to take + you all with me, to see some friends of mine, that live near here. Would + you like to come?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think the Professor would like to come,” said Sylvie. “He's very + shy. But we'd like it very much. Only we'd better not come this size, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + The difficulty had occurred to me already: and I had felt that perhaps + there would be a slight awkwardness in introducing two such tiny friends + into Society. “What size will you be?” I enquired. + </p> + <p> + “We'd better come as—common children,” Sylvie thoughtfully replied. + “That's the easiest size to manage.” + </p> + <p> + “Could you come to-day?” I said, thinking “then we could have you at the + picnic!” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie considered a little. “Not to-day,” she replied. “We haven't got the + things ready. We'll come on—Tuesday next, if you like. And now, + really Bruno, you must come and do your lessons.” + </p> + <p> + “I wiss oo wouldn't say 'really Bruno!'” the little fellow pleaded, with + pouting lips that made him look prettier than ever. “It always show's + there's something horrid coming! And I won't kiss you, if you're so + unkind.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you have kissed me!” Sylvie exclaimed in merry triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Well then, I'll unkiss you!” And he threw his arms round her neck for + this novel, but apparently not very painful, operation. + </p> + <p> + “It's very like kissing!” Sylvie remarked, as soon as her lips were again + free for speech. + </p> + <p> + “Oo don't know nuffin about it! It were just the conkery!” Bruno replied + with much severity, as he marched away. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie turned her laughing face to me. “Shall we come on Tuesday?” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” I said: “let it be Tuesday next. But where is the Professor? + Did he come with you to Fairyland?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Sylvie. “But he promised he'd come and see us, some day. He's + getting his Lecture ready. So he has to stay at home.” + </p> + <p> + “At home?” I said dreamily, not feeling quite sure what she had said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir. His Lordship and Lady Muriel are at home. Please to walk this + way.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 17. THE THREE BADGERS. + </h2> + <p> + Still more dreamily I found myself following this imperious voice into a + room where the Earl, his daughter, and Arthur, were seated. “So you're + come at last!” said Lady Muriel, in a tone of playful reproach. + </p> + <p> + “I was delayed,” I stammered. Though what it was that had delayed me I + should have been puzzled to explain! Luckily no questions were asked. + </p> + <p> + The carriage was ordered round, the hamper, containing our contribution to + the Picnic, was duly stowed away, and we set forth. + </p> + <p> + There was no need for me to maintain the conversation. Lady Muriel and + Arthur were evidently on those most delightful of terms, where one has no + need to check thought after thought, as it rises to the lips, with the + fear 'this will not be appreciated—this will give' offence—this + will sound too serious—this will sound flippant': like very old + friends, in fullest sympathy, their talk rippled on. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't we desert the Picnic and go in some other direction?” she + suddenly suggested. “A party of four is surely self-sufficing? And as for + food, our hamper—” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't we? What a genuine lady's argument!” laughed Arthur. “A + lady never knows on which side the onus probandi—the burden of + proving—lies!” + </p> + <p> + “Do men always know?” she asked with a pretty assumption of meek docility. + </p> + <p> + “With one exception—the only one I can think of Dr. Watts, who has + asked the senseless question, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Why should I deprive my neighbour + Of his goods against his will?' +</pre> + <p> + Fancy that as an argument for Honesty! His position seems to be 'I'm only + honest because I see no reason to steal.' And the thief's answer is of + course complete and crushing. 'I deprive my neighbour of his goods because + I want them myself. And I do it against his will because there's no chance + of getting him to consent to it!'” + </p> + <p> + “I can give you one other exception,” I said: “an argument I heard only + to-day—-and not by a lady. 'Why shouldn't I walk on my own + forehead?'” + </p> + <p> + “What a curious subject for speculation!” said Lady Muriel, turning to me, + with eyes brimming over with laughter. “May we know who propounded the + question? And did he walk on his own forehead?” + </p> + <p> + “I ca'n't remember who it was that said it!” I faltered. “Nor where I + heard it!” + </p> + <p> + “Whoever it was, I hope we shall meet him at the Picnic!” said Lady + Muriel. “It's a far more interesting question than 'Isn't this a + picturesque ruin?' Aren't those autumn-tints lovely?' I shall have to + answer those two questions ten times, at least, this afternoon!” + </p> + <p> + “That's one of the miseries of Society!” said Arthur. “Why ca'n't people + let one enjoy the beauties of Nature without having to say so every + minute? Why should Life be one long Catechism?” + </p> + <p> + “It's just as bad at a picture-gallery,” the Earl remarked. “I went to the + R.A. last May, with a conceited young artist: and he did torment me! I + wouldn't have minded his criticizing the pictures himself: but I had to + agree with him—or else to argue the point, which would have been + worse!” + </p> + <p> + “It was depreciatory criticism, of course?” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see the 'of course' at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, did you ever know a conceited man dare to praise a picture? The one + thing he dreads (next to not being noticed) is to be proved fallible! If + you once praise a picture, your character for infallibility hangs by a + thread. Suppose it's a figure-picture, and you venture to say 'draws + well.' Somebody measures it, and finds one of the proportions an eighth of + an inch wrong. You are disposed of as a critic! 'Did you say he draws + well?' your friends enquire sarcastically, while you hang your head and + blush. No. The only safe course, if any one says 'draws well,' is to shrug + your shoulders. 'Draws well?' you repeat thoughtfully. 'Draws well? + Humph!' That's the way to become a great critic!” + </p> + <p> + Thus airily chatting, after a pleasant drive through a few miles of + beautiful scenery, we reached the rendezvous—a ruined castle—where + the rest of the picnic-party were already assembled. We spent an hour or + two in sauntering about the ruins: gathering at last, by common consent, + into a few random groups, seated on the side of a mound, which commanded a + good view of the old castle and its surroundings. + </p> + <p> + The momentary silence, that ensued, was promptly taken possession of or, + more correctly, taken into custody—by a Voice; a voice so smooth, so + monotonous, so sonorous, that one felt, with a shudder, that any other + conversation was precluded, and that, unless some desperate remedy were + adopted, we were fated to listen to a Lecture, of which no man could + foresee the end! + </p> + <p> + The speaker was a broadly-built man, whose large, flat, pale face was + bounded on the North by a fringe of hair, on the East and West by a fringe + of whisker, and on the South by a fringe of beard—the whole + constituting a uniform halo of stubbly whitey-brown bristles. His features + were so entirely destitute of expression that I could not help saying to + myself—helplessly, as if in the clutches of a night-mare—“they + are only penciled in: no final touches as yet!” And he had a way of ending + every sentence with a sudden smile, which spread like a ripple over that + vast blank surface, and was gone in a moment, leaving behind it such + absolute solemnity that I felt impelled to murmur “it was not he: it was + somebody else that smiled!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you observe?” (such was the phrase with which the wretch began each + sentence) “Do you observe the way in which that broken arch, at the very + top of the ruin, stands out against the clear sky? It is placed exactly + right: and there is exactly enough of it. A little more, or a little less, + and all would be utterly spoiled!” + </p> + <p> + {Image...A lecture, on art} + </p> + <p> + “Oh gifted architect!” murmured Arthur, inaudibly to all but Lady Muriel + and myself. “Foreseeing the exact effect his work would have, when in + ruins, centuries after his death!” + </p> + <p> + “And do you observe, where those trees slope down the hill,” (indicating + them with a sweep of the hand, and with all the patronising air of the man + who has himself arranged the landscape), “how the mists rising from the + river fill up exactly those intervals where we need indistinctness, for + artistic effect? Here, in the foreground, a few clear touches are not + amiss: but a back-ground without mist, you know! It is simply barbarous! + Yes, we need indistinctness!” + </p> + <p> + The orator looked so pointedly at me as he uttered these words, that I + felt bound to reply, by murmuring something to the effect that I hardly + felt the need myself—and that I enjoyed looking at a thing, better, + when I could see it. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so!” the great man sharply took me up. “From your point of view, + that is correctly put. But for anyone who has a soul for Art, such a view + is preposterous. Nature is one thing. Art is another. Nature shows us the + world as it is. But Art—as a Latin author tells us—Art, you + know the words have escaped my memory—” + </p> + <p> + “Ars est celare Naturam,” Arthur interposed with a delightful promptitude. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so!” the orator replied with an air of relief. “I thank you! Ars + est celare Naturam but that isn't it.” And, for a few peaceful moments, + the orator brooded, frowningly, over the quotation. The welcome + opportunity was seized, and another voice struck into the silence. + </p> + <p> + “What a lovely old ruin it is!” cried a young lady in spectacles, the very + embodiment of the March of Mind, looking at Lady Muriel, as the proper + recipient of all really original remarks. “And don't you admire those + autumn-tints on the trees? I do, intensely!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel shot a meaning glance at me; but replied with admirable + gravity. “Oh yes indeed, indeed! So true!” + </p> + <p> + “And isn't strange,” said the young lady, passing with startling + suddenness from Sentiment to Science, “that the mere impact of certain + coloured rays upon the Retina should give us such exquisite pleasure?” + </p> + <p> + “You have studied Physiology, then?” a certain young Doctor courteously + enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! Isn't it a sweet Science?” + </p> + <p> + Arthur slightly smiled. “It seems a paradox, does it not,” he went on, + “that the image formed on the Retina should be inverted?” + </p> + <p> + “It is puzzling,” she candidly admitted. “Why is it we do not see things + upside-down?” + </p> + <p> + “You have never heard the Theory, then, that the Brain also is inverted?” + </p> + <p> + “No indeed! What a beautiful fact! But how is it proved?” + </p> + <p> + “Thus,” replied Arthur, with all the gravity of ten Professors rolled into + one. “What we call the vertex of the Brain is really its base: and what we + call its base is really its vertex: it is simply a question of + nomenclature.” + </p> + <p> + This last polysyllable settled the matter. + </p> + <p> + “How truly delightful!” the fair Scientist exclaimed with enthusiasm. “I + shall ask our Physiological Lecturer why he never gave us that exquisite + Theory!” + </p> + <p> + “I'd give something to be present when the question is asked!” Arthur + whispered to me, as, at a signal from Lady Muriel, we moved on to where + the hampers had been collected, and devoted ourselves to the more + substantial business of the day. + </p> + <p> + We 'waited' on ourselves, as the modern barbarism (combining two good + things in such a way as to secure the discomforts of both and the + advantages of neither) of having a picnic with servants to wait upon you, + had not yet reached this out-of-the-way region—and of course the + gentlemen did not even take their places until the ladies had been duly + provided with all imaginable creature-comforts. Then I supplied myself + with a plate of something solid and a glass of something fluid, and found + a place next to Lady Muriel. + </p> + <p> + It had been left vacant—apparently for Arthur, as a distinguished + stranger: but he had turned shy, and had placed himself next to the young + lady in spectacles, whose high rasping voice had already cast loose upon + Society such ominous phrases as “Man is a bundle of Qualities!”, “the + Objective is only attainable through the Subjective!”. Arthur was bearing + it bravely: but several faces wore a look of alarm, and I thought it high + time to start some less metaphysical topic. + </p> + <p> + “In my nursery days,” I began, “when the weather didn't suit for an + out-of-doors picnic, we were allowed to have a peculiar kind, that we + enjoyed hugely. The table cloth was laid under the table, instead of upon + it: we sat round it on the floor: and I believe we really enjoyed that + extremely uncomfortable kind of dinner more than we ever did the orthodox + arrangement!” + </p> + <p> + “I've no doubt of it,” Lady Muriel replied. + “There's nothing a well-regulated child hates so much as regularity. I + believe a really healthy boy would thoroughly enjoy Greek Grammar—if + only he might stand on his head to learn it! And your carpet-dinner + certainly spared you one feature of a picnic, which is to me its chief + drawback.” + </p> + <p> + “The chance of a shower?” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No, the chance—or rather the certainty of live things occurring in + combination with one's food! Spiders are my bugbear. Now my father has no + sympathy with that sentiment—have you, dear?” For the Earl had + caught the word and turned to listen. + </p> + <p> + “To each his sufferings, all are men,” he replied in the sweet sad tones + that seemed natural to him: “each has his pet aversion.” + </p> + <p> + “But you'll never guess his!” Lady Muriel said, with that delicate silvery + laugh that was music to my ears. + </p> + <p> + I declined to attempt the impossible. + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't like snakes!” she said, in a stage whisper. “Now, isn't that + an unreasonable aversion? Fancy not liking such a dear, coaxingly, + clingingly affectionate creature as a snake!” + </p> + <p> + “Not like snakes!” I exclaimed. “Is such a thing possible?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he doesn't like them,” she repeated with a pretty mock-gravity. “He's + not afraid of them, you know. But he doesn't like them. He says they're + too waggly!” + </p> + <p> + I was more startled than I liked to show. There was something so uncanny + in this echo of the very words I had so lately heard from that little + forest-sprite, that it was only by a great effort I succeeded in saying, + carelessly, “Let us banish so unpleasant a topic. Won't you sing us + something, Lady Muriel? I know you do sing without music.” + </p> + <p> + “The only songs I know—without music—are desperately + sentimental, I'm afraid! Are your tears all ready?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite ready! Quite ready!” came from all sides, and Lady Muriel—not + being one of those lady-singers who think it de rigueur to decline to sing + till they have been petitioned three or four times, and have pleaded + failure of memory, loss of voice, and other conclusive reasons for silence—began + at once:— + </p> + <p> + {Image...'Three badgers on a mossy stone'} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There be three Badgers on a mossy stone, + Beside a dark and covered way: + Each dreams himself a monarch on his throne, + And so they stay and stay + Though their old Father languishes alone, + They stay, and stay, and stay. + + “There be three Herrings loitering around, + Longing to share that mossy seat: + Each Herring tries to sing what she has found + That makes Life seem so sweet. + Thus, with a grating and uncertain sound, + They bleat, and bleat, and bleat, + + “The Mother-Herring, on the salt sea-wave, + Sought vainly for her absent ones: + The Father-Badger, writhing in a cave, + Shrieked out 'Return, my sons! + You shalt have buns,' he shrieked, 'if you'll behave! + Yea, buns, and buns, and buns!' + + “'I fear,' said she, 'your sons have gone astray? + My daughters left me while I slept.' + 'Yes 'm,' the Badger said: 'it's as you say.' + 'They should be better kept.' + Thus the poor parents talked the time away, + And wept, and wept, and wept.” + </pre> + <p> + Here Bruno broke off suddenly. “The Herrings' Song wants anuvver tune, + Sylvie,” he said. “And I ca'n't sing it not wizout oo plays it for me!” + </p> + <p> + {Image...'Three badgers, writhing in a cave'} + </p> + <p> + Instantly Sylvie seated herself upon a tiny mushroom, that happened to + grow in front of a daisy, as if it were the most ordinary musical + instrument in the world, and played on the petals as if they were the + notes of an organ. And such delicious tiny music it was! Such teeny-tiny + music! + </p> + <p> + Bruno held his head on one side, and listened very gravely for a few + moments until he had caught the melody. Then the sweet childish voice rang + out once more:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, dear beyond our dearest dreams, + Fairer than all that fairest seems! + To feast the rosy hours away, + To revel in a roundelay! + How blest would be + A life so free—- + Ipwergis-Pudding to consume, + And drink the subtle Azzigoom! + + “And if in other days and hours, + Mid other fluffs and other flowers, + The choice were given me how to dine—- + 'Name what thou wilt: it shalt be thine!' + Oh, then I see + The life for me + Ipwergis-Pudding to consume, + And drink the subtle Azzigoom!” + </pre> + <p> + “Oo may leave off playing now, Sylvie. I can do the uvver tune much better + wizout a compliment.” + </p> + <p> + “He means 'without accompaniment,'” Sylvie whispered, smiling at my + puzzled look: and she pretended to shut up the stops of the organ. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Badgers did not care to talk to Fish: + They did not dote on Herrings' songs: + They never had experienced the dish + To which that name belongs: + And oh, to pinch their tails,' (this was their wish,) + 'With tongs, yea, tongs, and tongs!'” + </pre> + <p> + I ought to mention that he marked the parenthesis, in the air, with his + finger. It seemed to me a very good plan. You know there's no sound to + represent it—any more than there is for a question. + </p> + <p> + Suppose you have said to your friend “You are better to-day,” and that you + want him to understand that you are asking him a question, what can be + simpler than just to make a “?”. in the air with your finger? He would + understand you in a moment! + </p> + <p> + {Image...'Those aged one waxed gay'} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'And are not these the Fish,' the Eldest sighed, + 'Whose Mother dwells beneath the foam' + 'They are the Fish!' the Second one replied. + 'And they have left their home!' + 'Oh wicked Fish,' the Youngest Badger cried, + 'To roam, yea, roam, and roam!' + “Gently the Badgers trotted to the shore + The sandy shore that fringed the bay: + Each in his mouth a living Herring bore— + Those aged ones waxed gay: + Clear rang their voices through the ocean's roar, + 'Hooray, hooray, hooray!'” + </pre> + <p> + “So they all got safe home again,” Bruno said, after waiting a minute to + see if I had anything to say: he evidently felt that some remark ought to + be made. And I couldn't help wishing there were some such rule in Society, + at the conclusion of a song—that the singer herself should say the + right thing, and not leave it to the audience. Suppose a young lady has + just been warbling ('with a grating and uncertain sound') Shelley's + exquisite lyric 'I arise from dreams of thee': how much nicer it would be, + instead of your having to say “Oh, thank you, thank you!” for the young + lady herself to remark, as she draws on her gloves, while the impassioned + words 'Oh, press it to thine own, or it will break at last!' are still + ringing in your ears, “—but she wouldn't do it, you know. So it did + break at last.” + </p> + <p> + “And I knew it would!” she added quietly, as I started at the sudden crash + of broken glass. “You've been holding it sideways for the last minute, and + letting all the champagne run out! Were you asleep, I wonder? I'm so sorry + my singing has such a narcotic effect!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 18. QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY. + </h2> + <p> + Lady Muriel was the speaker. And, for the moment, that was the only fact I + could clearly realise. But how she came to be there and how I came to be + there—and how the glass of champagne came to be there—all + these were questions which I felt it better to think out in silence, and + not commit myself to any statement till I understood things a little more + clearly. + </p> + <p> + 'First accumulate a mass of Facts: and then construct a Theory.' That, I + believe, is the true Scientific Method. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and + began to accumulate Facts. + </p> + <p> + A smooth grassy slope, bounded, at the upper end, by venerable ruins half + buried in ivy, at the lower, by a stream seen through arching trees—a + dozen gaily-dressed people, seated in little groups here and there—some + open hampers—the debris of a picnic—such were the Facts + accumulated by the Scientific Researcher. And now, what deep, far-reaching + Theory was he to construct from them? The Researcher found himself at + fault. Yet stay! One Fact had escaped his notice. While all the rest were + grouped in twos and in threes, Arthur was alone: while all tongues were + talking, his was silent: while all faces were gay, his was gloomy and + despondent. Here was a Fact indeed! The Researcher felt that a Theory must + be constructed without delay. + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel had just risen and left the party. Could that be the cause of + his despondency? The Theory hardly rose to the dignity of a Working + Hypothesis. Clearly more Facts were needed. + </p> + <p> + The Researcher looked round him once more: and now the Facts accumulated + in such bewildering profusion, that the Theory was lost among them. For + Lady Muriel had gone to meet a strange gentleman, just visible in the + distance: and now she was returning with him, both of them talking eagerly + and joyfully, like old friends who have been long parted: and now she was + moving from group to group, introducing the new hero of the hour: and he, + young, tall, and handsome, moved gracefully at her side, with the erect + bearing and firm tread of a soldier. Verily, the Theory looked gloomy for + Arthur! His eye caught mine, and he crossed to me. + </p> + <p> + “He is very handsome,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Abominably handsome!” muttered Arthur: then smiled at his own bitter + words. “Lucky no one heard me but you!” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Forester,” said Lady Muriel, who had just joined us, “let me introduce + to you my cousin Eric Lindon Captain Lindon, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur shook off his ill-temper instantly and completely, as he rose and + gave the young soldier his hand. “I have heard of you,” he said. “I'm very + glad to make the acquaintance of Lady Muriel's cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's all I'm distinguished for, as yet!” said Eric (so we soon got + to call him) with a winning smile. “And I doubt,” glancing at Lady Muriel, + “if it even amounts to a good-conduct-badge! But it's something to begin + with.” + </p> + <p> + “You must come to my father, Eric,” said Lady Muriel. “I think he's + wandering among the ruins.” And the pair moved on. + </p> + <p> + The gloomy look returned to Arthur's face: and I could see it was only to + distract his thoughts that he took his place at the side of the + metaphysical young lady, and resumed their interrupted discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Talking of Herbert Spencer,” he began, “do you really find no logical + difficulty in regarding Nature as a process of involution, passing from + definite coherent homogeneity to indefinite incoherent heterogeneity?” + </p> + <p> + Amused as I was at the ingenious jumble he had made of Spencer's words, I + kept as grave a face as I could. + </p> + <p> + “No physical difficulty,” she confidently replied: “but I haven't studied + Logic much. Would you state the difficulty?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Arthur, “do you accept it as self-evident? Is it as obvious, + for instance, as that 'things that are greater than the same are greater + than one another'?” + </p> + <p> + “To my mind,” she modestly replied, “it seems quite as obvious. I grasp + both truths by intuition. But other minds may need some logical—I + forget the technical terms.” + </p> + <p> + “For a complete logical argument,” Arthur began with admirable solemnity, + “we need two prim Misses—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” she interrupted. “I remember that word now. And they produce—?” + </p> + <p> + “A Delusion,” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es?” she said dubiously. “I don't seem to remember that so well. + But what is the whole argument called?” + </p> + <p> + “A Sillygism? + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes! I remember now. But I don't need a Sillygism, you know, to prove + that mathematical axiom you mentioned.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor to prove that 'all angles are equal', I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not! One takes such a simple truth as that for granted!” + </p> + <p> + Here I ventured to interpose, and to offer her a plate of strawberries and + cream. I felt really uneasy at the thought that she might detect the + trick: and I contrived, unperceived by her, to shake my head reprovingly + at the pseudo-philosopher. Equally unperceived by her, Arthur slightly + raised his shoulders, and spread his hands abroad, as who should say “What + else can I say to her?” and moved away, leaving her to discuss her + strawberries by 'involution,' or any other way she preferred. + </p> + <p> + By this time the carriages, that were to convey the revelers to their + respective homes, had begun to assemble outside the Castle-grounds: and it + became evident—now that Lady Muriel's cousin had joined our party + that the problem, how to convey five people to Elveston, with a carriage + that would only hold four, must somehow be solved. + </p> + <p> + The Honorable Eric Lindon, who was at this moment walking up and down with + Lady Muriel, might have solved it at once, no doubt, by announcing his + intention of returning on foot. Of this solution there did not seem to be + the very smallest probability. + </p> + <p> + The next best solution, it seemed to me, was that I should walk home: and + this I at once proposed. + </p> + <p> + “You're sure you don't mind?” said the Earl. “I'm afraid the carriage wont + take us all, and I don't like to suggest to Eric to desert his cousin so + soon.” + </p> + <p> + “So far from minding it,” I said, “I should prefer it. It will give me + time to sketch this beautiful old ruin.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll keep you company,” Arthur suddenly said. And, in answer to what I + suppose was a look of surprise on my face, he said in a low voice, “I + really would rather. I shall be quite de trop in the carriage!” + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll walk too,” said the Earl. “You'll have to be content with + Eric as your escort,” he added, to Lady Muriel, who had joined us while he + was speaking. + </p> + <p> + “You must be as entertaining as Cerberus—'three gentlemen rolled + into one'—” Lady Muriel said to her companion. “It will be a grand + military exploit!” + </p> + <p> + “A sort of Forlorn Hope?” the Captain modestly suggested. + </p> + <p> + “You do pay pretty compliments!” laughed his fair cousin. “Good day to + you, gentlemen three—or rather deserters three!” And the two young + folk entered the carriage and were driven away. + </p> + <p> + “How long will your sketch take?” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “I should like an hour for it. Don't you think you had + better go without me? I'll return by train. I know there's one in about an + hour's time.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that would be best,” said the Earl. “The Station is quite close.” + </p> + <p> + So I was left to my own devices, and soon found a comfortable seat, at the + foot of a tree, from which I had a good view of the ruins. + </p> + <p> + “It is a very drowsy day,” I said to myself, idly turning over the leaves + of the sketch-book to find a blank page. “Why, I thought you were a mile + off by this time!” For, to my surprise, the two walkers were back again. + </p> + <p> + “I came back to remind you,” Arthur said, “that the trains go every ten + minutes—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” I said. “It isn't the Metropolitan Railway!” + </p> + <p> + “It is the Metropolitan Railway,” the Earl insisted. “'This is a part of + Kensington.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you talk with your eyes shut?” said Arthur. “Wake up!” + </p> + <p> + “I think it's the heat makes me so drowsy,” I said, hoping, but not + feeling quite sure, that I was talking sense. “Am I awake now?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” the Earl judicially pronounced. “What do you think, Doctor? + He's only got one eye open!” + </p> + <p> + “And he's snoring like anything!” cried Bruno. “Do wake up, you dear old + thing!” And he and Sylvie set to work, rolling the heavy head from side to + side, as if its connection with the shoulders was a matter of no sort of + importance. + </p> + <p> + And at last the Professor opened his eyes, and sat up, blinking at us with + eyes of utter bewilderment. “Would you have the kindness to mention,” he + said, addressing me with his usual old-fashioned courtesy, “whereabouts we + are just now and who we are, beginning with me?” + </p> + <p> + I thought it best to begin with the children. “This is Sylvie. Sir; and + this is Bruno.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes! I know them well enough!” the old man murmured. “Its myself I'm + most anxious about. And perhaps you'll be good enough to mention, at the + same time, how I got here?” + </p> + <p> + “A harder problem occurs to me,” I ventured to say: “and that is, how + you're to get back again.” + </p> + <p> + “True, true!” the Professor replied. “That's the Problem, no doubt. Viewed + as a Problem, outside of oneself, it is a most interesting one. Viewed as + a portion of one's own biography, it is, I must admit, very distressing!” + He groaned, but instantly added, with a chuckle, “As to myself, I think + you mentioned that I am—” + </p> + <p> + “Oo're the Professor!” Bruno shouted in his ear. “Didn't oo know that? + Oo've come from Outland! And it's ever so far away from here!” + </p> + <p> + The Professor leapt to his feet with the agility of a boy. “Then there's + no time to lose!” he exclaimed anxiously. “I'll just ask this guileless + peasant, with his brace of buckets that contain (apparently) water, if + he'll be so kind as to direct us. Guileless peasant!” he proceeded in a + louder voice. “Would you tell us the way to Outland?” + </p> + <p> + The guileless peasant turned with a sheepish grin. “Hey?” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + “The way—to—Outland!” the Professor repeated. + </p> + <p> + The guileless peasant set down his buckets and considered. “Ah dunnot—” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to mention,” the Professor hastily put in, “that whatever you say + will be used in evidence against you.” + </p> + <p> + The guileless peasant instantly resumed his buckets. “Then ah says nowt!” + he answered briskly, and walked away at a great pace. + </p> + <p> + The children gazed sadly at the rapidly vanishing figure. “He goes very + quick!” the Professor said with a sigh. “But I know that was the right + thing to say. I've studied your English Laws. However, let's ask this next + man that's coming. He is not guileless, and he is not a peasant—but + I don't know that either point is of vital importance.” + </p> + <p> + It was, in fact, the Honourable Eric Lindon, who had apparently fulfilled + his task of escorting Lady Muriel home, and was now strolling leisurely up + and down the road outside the house, enjoying; a solitary cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Might I trouble you, Sir, to tell us the nearest way to Outland!” Oddity + as he was, in outward appearance, the Professor was, in that essential + nature which no outward disguise could conceal, a thorough gentleman. + </p> + <p> + And, as such, Eric Lindon accepted him instantly. He took the cigar from + his mouth, and delicately shook off the ash, while he considered. “The + name sounds strange to me,” he said. “I doubt if I can help you?' + </p> + <p> + “It is not very far from Fairyland,” the Professor suggested. + </p> + <p> + Eric Lindon's eye-brows were slightly raised at these words, and an amused + smile, which he courteously tried to repress, flitted across his handsome + face: “A trifle cracked!” he muttered to himself. “But what a jolly old + patriarch it is!” Then he turned to the children. “And ca'n't you help + him, little folk?” he said, with a gentleness of tone that seemed to win + their hearts at once. “Surely you know all about it? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'How many miles to Babylon? + Three-score miles and ten. + Can I get there by candlelight? + Yes, and back again!'” + </pre> + <p> + To my surprise, Bruno ran forwards to him, as if he were some old friend + of theirs, seized the disengaged hand and hung on to it with both of his + own: and there stood this tall dignified officer in the middle of the + road, gravely swinging a little boy to and fro, while Sylvie stood ready + to push him, exactly as if a real swing had suddenly been provided for + their pastime. + </p> + <p> + “We don't want to get to Babylon, oo know!” Bruno explained as he swung. + </p> + <p> + “And it isn't candlelight: it's daylight!” Sylvie added, giving the swing + a push of extra vigour, which nearly took the whole machine off its + balance. + </p> + <p> + By this time it was clear to me that Eric Lindon was quite unconscious of + my presence. Even the Professor and the children seemed to have lost sight + of me: and I stood in the midst of the group, as unconcernedly as a ghost, + seeing but unseen. + </p> + <p> + “How perfectly isochronous!” the Professor exclaimed with enthusiasm. He + had his watch in his hand, and was carefully counting Bruno's + oscillations. “He measures time quite as accurately as a pendulum!” + {Image...'How perfectly isochronous!'} + </p> + <p> + “Yet even pendulums,” the good-natured young soldier observed, as he + carefully released his hand from Bruno's grasp, “are not a joy for ever! + Come, that's enough for one bout, little man!' Next time we meet, you + shall have another. Meanwhile you'd better take this old gentleman to + Queer Street, Number—” + </p> + <p> + “We'll find it!” cried Bruno eagerly, as they dragged the Professor away. + </p> + <p> + “We are much indebted to you!” the Professor said, looking over his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it!” replied the officer, raising his hat as a parting + salute. + </p> + <p> + “What number did you say!” the Professor called from the distance. + </p> + <p> + The officer made a trumpet of his two hands. “Forty!” he shouted in + stentorian tones. “And not piano, by any means!” he added to himself. + “It's a mad world, my masters, a mad world!” He lit another cigar, and + strolled on towards his hotel. + </p> + <p> + “What a lovely evening!” I said, joining him as he passed me. + </p> + <p> + “Lovely indeed,” he said. “Where did you come from? Dropped from the + clouds?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm strolling your way,” I said; and no further explanation seemed + necessary. + </p> + <p> + “Have a cigar?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks: I'm not a smoker.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there a Lunatic Asylum near here?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought there might be. Met a lunatic just now. Queer old fish as ever I + saw!” + </p> + <p> + And so, in friendly chat, we took our homeward ways, and wished each other + 'good-night' at the door of his hotel. + </p> + <p> + Left to myself, I felt the 'eerie' feeling rush over me again, and saw, + standing at the door of Number Forty, the three figures I knew so well. + </p> + <p> + “Then it's the wrong house?” Bruno was saying. + </p> + <p> + “No, no! It's the right house,” the Professor cheerfully replied: “but + it's the wrong street. That's where we've made our mistake! Our best plan, + now, will be to—” + </p> + <p> + It was over. The street was empty, Commonplace life was around me, and the + 'eerie' feeling had fled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 19. HOW TO MAKE A PHLIZZ. + </h2> + <p> + The week passed without any further communication with the 'Hall,' as + Arthur was evidently fearful that we might 'wear out our welcome'; but + when, on Sunday morning, we were setting out for church, I gladly agreed + to his proposal to go round and enquire after the Earl, who was said to be + unwell. + </p> + <p> + Eric, who was strolling in the garden, gave us a good report of the + invalid, who was still in bed, with Lady Muriel in attendance. + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming with us to church?” I enquired. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, no,” he courteously replied. “It's not—exactly in my line, + you know. It's an excellent institution—for the poor. When I'm with + my own folk, I go, just to set them an example. But I'm not known here: so + I think I'll excuse myself sitting out a sermon. Country-preachers are + always so dull!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur was silent till we were out of hearing. Then he said to himself, + almost inaudibly, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, + there am I in the midst of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I assented: “no doubt that is the principle on which church-going + rests.” + </p> + <p> + “And when he does go,” he continued (our thoughts ran so much together, + that our conversation was often slightly elliptical), “I suppose he + repeats the words 'I believe in the Communion of Saints'?” + </p> + <p> + But by this time we had reached the little church, into which a goodly + stream of worshipers, consisting mainly of fishermen and their families, + was flowing. + </p> + <p> + The service would have been pronounced by any modern aesthetic religionist—or + religious aesthete, which is it?—to be crude and cold: to me, coming + fresh from the ever-advancing developments of a London church under a + soi-disant 'Catholic' Rector, it was unspeakably refreshing. + </p> + <p> + There was no theatrical procession of demure little choristers, trying + their best not to simper under the admiring gaze of the congregation: the + people's share in the service was taken by the people themselves, unaided, + except that a few good voices, judiciously posted here and there among + them, kept the singing from going too far astray. + </p> + <p> + There was no murdering of the noble music, contained in the Bible and the + Liturgy, by its recital in a dead monotone, with no more expression than a + mechanical talking-doll. + </p> + <p> + No, the prayers were prayed, the lessons were read, and best of all the + sermon was talked; and I found myself repeating, as we left the church, + the words of Jacob, when he 'awaked out of his sleep.' “'Surely the Lord + is in this place! This is none other but the house of God, and this is the + gate of heaven.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Arthur, apparently in answer to my thoughts, “those 'high' + services are fast becoming pure Formalism. More and more the people are + beginning to regard them as 'performances,' in which they only 'assist' in + the French sense. And it is specially bad for the little boys. They'd be + much less self-conscious as pantomime-fairies. With all that dressing-up, + and stagy-entrances and exits, and being always en evidence, no wonder if + they're eaten up with vanity, the blatant little coxcombs!” + </p> + <p> + When we passed the Hall on our return, we found the Earl and Lady Muriel + sitting out in the garden. Eric had gone for a stroll. + </p> + <p> + We joined them, and the conversation soon turned on the sermon we had just + heard, the subject of which was 'selfishness.' + </p> + <p> + “What a change has come over our pulpits,” Arthur remarked, “since the + time when Paley gave that utterly selfish definition of virtue, 'the doing + good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of + everlasting happiness'!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel looked at him enquiringly, but she seemed to have learned by + intuition, what years of experience had taught me, that the way to elicit + Arthur's deepest thoughts was neither to assent nor dissent, but simply to + listen. + </p> + <p> + “At that time,” he went on, “a great tidal wave of selfishness was + sweeping over human thought. Right and Wrong had somehow been transformed + into Gain and Loss, and Religion had become a sort of commercial + transaction. We may be thankful that our preachers are beginning to take a + nobler view of life.” + </p> + <p> + “But is it not taught again and again in the Bible?” I ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Not in the Bible as a whole,” said Arthur. “In the Old Testament, no + doubt, rewards and punishments are constantly appealed to as motives for + action. That teaching is best for children, and the Israelites seem to + have been, mentally, utter children. We guide our children thus, at first: + but we appeal, as soon as possible, to their innate sense of Right and + Wrong: and, when that stage is safely past, we appeal to the highest + motive of all, the desire for likeness to, and union with, the Supreme + Good. I think you will find that to be the teaching of the Bible, as a + whole, beginning with 'that thy days may be long in the land,' and ending + with 'be ye perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.'” + </p> + <p> + We were silent for awhile, and then Arthur went off on another tack. “Look + at the literature of Hymns, now. How cankered it is, through and through, + with selfishness! There are few human compositions more utterly degraded + than some modern Hymns!” + </p> + <p> + I quoted the stanza + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Whatever, Lord, we tend to Thee, + Repaid a thousandfold shall be, + Then gladly will we give to Thee, + Giver of all!' +</pre> + <p> + “Yes,” he said grimly: “that is the typical stanza. And the very last + charity-sermon I heard was infected with it. After giving many good + reasons for charity, the preacher wound up with 'and, for all you give, + you will be repaid a thousandfold!' Oh the utter meanness of such a + motive, to be put before men who do know what self-sacrifice is, who can + appreciate generosity and heroism! Talk of Original Sin!” he went on with + increasing bitterness. “Can you have a stronger proof of the Original + Goodness there must be in this nation, than the fact that Religion has + been preached to us, as a commercial speculation, for a century, and that + we still believe in a God?” + </p> + <p> + “It couldn't have gone on so long,” Lady Muriel musingly remarked, “if the + Opposition hadn't been practically silenced—put under what the + French call la cloture. Surely in any lecture-hall, or in private society, + such teaching would soon have been hooted down?” + </p> + <p> + “I trust so,” said Arthur: “and, though I don't want to see 'brawling in + church' legalised, I must say that our preachers enjoy an enormous + privilege—which they ill deserve, and which they misuse terribly. We + put our man into a pulpit, and we virtually tell him 'Now, you may stand + there and talk to us for half-an-hour. We won't interrupt you by so much + as a word! You shall have it all your own way!' And what does he give us + in return? Shallow twaddle, that, if it were addressed to you over a + dinner-table, you would think 'Does the man take me for a fool?'” + </p> + <p> + The return of Eric from his walk checked the tide of Arthur's eloquence, + and, after a few minutes' talk on more conventional topics, we took our + leave. Lady Muriel walked with us to the gate. “You have given me much to + think about,” she said earnestly, as she gave Arthur her hand. “I'm so + glad you came in!” And her words brought a real glow of pleasure into that + pale worn face of his. + </p> + <p> + On the Tuesday, as Arthur did not seem equal to more walking, I took a + long stroll by myself, having stipulated that he was not to give the whole + day to his books, but was to meet me at the Hall at about tea-time. On my + way back, I passed the Station just as the afternoon-train came in sight, + and sauntered down the stairs to see it come in. But there was little to + gratify my idle curiosity: and, when the train was empty, and the platform + clear, I found it was about time to be moving on, if I meant to reach the + Hall by five. + </p> + <p> + As I approached the end of the platform, from which a steep irregular + wooden staircase conducted to the upper world, I noticed two passengers, + who had evidently arrived by the train, but who, oddly enough, had + entirely escaped my notice, though the arrivals had been so few. They were + a young woman and a little girl: the former, so far as one could judge by + appearances, was a nursemaid, or possibly a nursery-governess, in + attendance on the child, whose refined face, even more than her dress, + distinguished her as of a higher class than her companion. + </p> + <p> + The child's face was refined, but it was also a worn and sad one, and told + a tale (or so I seemed to read it) of much illness and suffering, sweetly + and patiently borne. She had a little crutch to help herself along with: + and she was now standing, looking wistfully up the long staircase, and + apparently waiting till she could muster courage to begin the toilsome + ascent. + </p> + <p> + There are some things one says in life—as well as things one does—which + come automatically, by reflex action, as the physiologists say (meaning, + no doubt, action without reflection, just as lucus is said to be derived + 'a non lucendo'). Closing one's eyelids, when something seems to be flying + into the eye, is one of those actions, and saying “May I carry the little + girl up the stairs?” was another. It wasn't that any thought of offering + help occurred to me, and that then I spoke: the first intimation I had, of + being likely to make that offer, was the sound of my own voice, and the + discovery that the offer had been made. The servant paused, doubtfully + glancing from her charge to me, and then back again to the child. “Would + you like it, dear?” she asked her. But no such doubt appeared to cross the + child's mind: she lifted her arms eagerly to be taken up. “Please!” was + all she said, while a faint smile flickered on the weary little face. I + took her up with scrupulous care, and her little arm was at once clasped + trustfully round my neck. + </p> + <p> + {Image...The lame child} + </p> + <p> + She was a very light weight—so light, in fact, that the ridiculous + idea crossed my mind that it was rather easier going up, with her in my + arms, than it would have been without her: and, when we reached the road + above, with its cart-ruts and loose stones—all formidable obstacles + for a lame child—I found that I had said “I'd better carry her over + this rough place,” before I had formed any mental connection between its + roughness and my gentle little burden. “Indeed it's troubling you too + much, Sir!” the maid exclaimed. “She can walk very well on the flat.” But + the arm, that was twined about my neck, clung just an atom more closely at + the suggestion, and decided me to say “She's no weight, really. I'll carry + her a little further. I'm going your way.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse raised no further objection: and the next speaker was a ragged + little boy, with bare feet, and a broom over his shoulder, who ran across + the road, and pretended to sweep the perfectly dry road in front of us. + “Give us a 'ap'ny!” the little urchin pleaded, with a broad grin on his + dirty face. + </p> + <p> + “Don't give him a 'ap'ny!” said the little lady in my arms. The words + sounded harsh: but the tone was gentleness itself. “He's an idle little + boy!” And she laughed a laugh of such silvery sweetness as I had never yet + heard from any lips but Sylvie's. To my astonishment, the boy actually + joined in the laugh, as if there were some subtle sympathy between them, + as he ran away down the road and vanished through a gap in the hedge. + </p> + <p> + But he was back in a few moments, having discarded his broom and provided + himself, from some mysterious source, with an exquisite bouquet of + flowers. “Buy a posy, buy a posy! Only a 'ap'ny!” he chanted, with the + melancholy drawl of a professional beggar. + </p> + <p> + “Don't buy it!” was Her Majesty's edict as she looked down, with a lofty + scorn that seemed curiously mixed with tender interest, on the ragged + creature at her feet. + </p> + <p> + But this time I turned rebel, and ignored the royal commands. Such lovely + flowers, and of forms so entirely new to me, were not to be abandoned at + the bidding of any little maid, however imperious. I bought the bouquet: + and the little boy, after popping the halfpenny into his mouth, turned + head-over-heels, as if to ascertain whether the human mouth is really + adapted to serve as a money-box. + </p> + <p> + With wonder, that increased every moment, I turned over the flowers, and + examined them one by one: there was not a single one among them that I + could remember having ever seen before. At last I turned to the nursemaid. + “Do these flowers grow wild about here? I never saw—” but the speech + died away on my lips. The nursemaid had vanished! + </p> + <p> + “You can put me down, now, if you like,” Sylvie quietly remarked. + </p> + <p> + I obeyed in silence, and could only ask myself “Is this a dream?”, on + finding Sylvie and Bruno walking one on either side of me, and clinging to + my hands with the ready confidence of childhood. + </p> + <p> + “You're larger than when I saw you last!” I began. “Really I think we + ought to be introduced again! There's so much of you that I never met + before, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well!” Sylvie merrily replied. “This is Bruno. It doesn't take long. + He's only got one name!” + </p> + <p> + “There's another name to me!” Bruno protested, with a reproachful look at + the Mistress of the Ceremonies. “And it's—' Esquire'!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course. I forgot,” said Sylvie. “Bruno—Esquire!” + </p> + <p> + “And did you come here to meet me, my children?” I enquired. + </p> + <p> + “You know I said we'd come on Tuesday,” Sylvie explained. “Are we the + proper size for common children?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite the right size for children,” I replied, (adding mentally “though + not common children, by any means!”) “But what became of the nursemaid?” + </p> + <p> + “It are gone!” Bruno solemnly replied. + </p> + <p> + “Then it wasn't solid, like Sylvie and you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Oo couldn't touch it, oo know. If oo walked at it, oo'd go right + froo!” + </p> + <p> + “I quite expected you'd find it out, once,” said Sylvie. “Bruno ran it + against a telegraph post, by accident. And it went in two halves. But you + were looking the other way.” + </p> + <p> + I felt that I had indeed missed an opportunity: to witness such an event + as a nursemaid going 'in two halves' does not occur twice in a life-time! + </p> + <p> + “When did oo guess it were Sylvie?” Bruno enquired. + </p> + <p> + {Image...'It went in two halves'} + </p> + <p> + “I didn't guess it, till it was Sylvie,” I said. “But how did you manage + the nursemaid?” + </p> + <p> + “Bruno managed it,” said Sylvie. “It's called a Phlizz.” + </p> + <p> + “And how do you make a Phlizz, Bruno?” + </p> + <p> + “The Professor teached me how,” said Bruno. “First oo takes a lot of air—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bruno!” Sylvie interposed. “The Professor said you weren't to tell!” + </p> + <p> + “But who did her voice?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it's troubling you too much, Sir! She can walk very well on the + flat.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno laughed merrily as I turned hastily from side to side, looking in + all directions for the speaker. “That were me!” he gleefully proclaimed, + in his own voice. + </p> + <p> + “She can indeed walk very well on the flat,” I said. “And I think I was + the Flat.” + </p> + <p> + By this time we were near the Hall. “This is where my friends live,” I + said. “Will you come in and have some tea with them?” + </p> + <p> + Bruno gave a little jump of joy: and Sylvie said “Yes, please. You'd like + some tea, Bruno, wouldn't you? He hasn't tasted tea,” she explained to me, + “since we left Outland.” + </p> + <p> + “And that weren't good tea!” said Bruno. “It were so welly weak!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 20. LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO. + </h2> + <p> + Lady Muriel's smile of welcome could not quite conceal the look of + surprise with which she regarded my new companions. + </p> + <p> + I presented them in due form. “This is Sylvie, Lady Muriel. And this is + Bruno.” + </p> + <p> + “Any surname?” she enquired, her eyes twinkling with fun. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said gravely. “No surname.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, evidently thinking I said it in fun; and stooped to kiss the + children a salute to which Bruno submitted with reluctance: Sylvie + returned it with interest. + </p> + <p> + While she and Arthur (who had arrived before me) supplied the children + with tea and cake, I tried to engage the Earl in conversation: but he was + restless and distrait, and we made little progress. At last, by a sudden + question, he betrayed the cause of his disquiet. + </p> + <p> + “Would you let me look at those flowers you have in your hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly!” I said, handing him the bouquet. Botany was, I knew, a + favourite study of his: and these flowers were to me so entirely new and + mysterious, that I was really curious to see what a botanist would say of + them. + </p> + <p> + They did not diminish his disquiet. On the contrary, he became every + moment more excited as he turned them over. “These are all from Central + India!” he said, laying aside part of the bouquet. “They are rare, even + there: and I have never seen them in any other part of the world. These + two are Mexican—This one—” (He rose hastily, and carried it to + the window, to examine it in a better light, the flush of excitement + mounting to his very forehead) “—is, I am nearly sure—but I + have a book of Indian Botany here—” He took a volume from the + book-shelves, and turned the leaves with trembling fingers. “Yes! Compare + it with this picture! It is the exact duplicate! This is the flower of the + Upas-tree, which usually grows only in the depths of forests; and the + flower fades so quickly after being plucked, that it is scarcely possible + to keep its form or colour even so far as the outskirts of the forest! Yet + this is in full bloom! Where did you get these flowers?” he added with + breathless eagerness. + </p> + <p> + I glanced at Sylvie, who, gravely and silently, laid her finger on her + lips, then beckoned to Bruno to follow her, and ran out into the garden; + and I found myself in the position of a defendant whose two most important + witnesses have been suddenly taken away. “Let me give you the flowers!” I + stammered out at last, quite 'at my wit's end' as to how to get out of the + difficulty. “You know much more about them than I do!” + </p> + <p> + “I accept them most gratefully! But you have not yet told me—” the + Earl was beginning, when we were interrupted, to my great relief, by the + arrival of Eric Lindon. + </p> + <p> + To Arthur, however, the new-comer was, I saw clearly, anything but + welcome. His face clouded over: he drew a little back from the circle, and + took no further part in the conversation, which was wholly maintained, for + some minutes, by Lady Muriel and her lively cousin, who were discussing + some new music that had just arrived from London. + </p> + <p> + “Do just try this one!” he pleaded. “The music looks easy to sing at + sight, and the song's quite appropriate to the occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose it's + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Five o'clock tea! + Ever to thee + Faithful I'll be, + Five o'clock tea!”' +</pre> + <p> + laughed Lady Muriel, as she sat down to the piano, and lightly struck a + few random chords. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite: and yet it is a kind of 'ever to thee faithful I'll be!' It's + a pair of hapless lovers: he crosses the briny deep: and she is left + lamenting.” + </p> + <p> + “That is indeed appropriate!” she replied mockingly, as he placed the song + before her. + “And am I to do the lamenting? And who for, if you please?” + </p> + <p> + She played the air once or twice through, first in quick, and finally in + slow, time; and then gave us the whole song with as much graceful ease as + if she had been familiar with it all her life:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He stept so lightly to the land, + All in his manly pride: + He kissed her cheek, he pressed her hand, + Yet still she glanced aside. + 'Too gay he seems,' she darkly dreams, + 'Too gallant and too gay + To think of me—poor simple me—- + When he is far away!' + + 'I bring my Love this goodly pearl + Across the seas,' he said: + 'A gem to deck the dearest girl + That ever sailor wed!' + She clasps it tight: her eyes are bright: + Her throbbing heart would say + 'He thought of me—he thought of me—- + When he was far away!' + + The ship has sailed into the West: + Her ocean-bird is flown: + A dull dead pain is in her breast, + And she is weak and lone: + Yet there's a smile upon her face, + A smile that seems to say + 'He'll think of me he'll think of me—- + When he is far away! + + 'Though waters wide between us glide, + Our lives are warm and near: + No distance parts two faithful hearts + Two hearts that love so dear: + And I will trust my sailor-lad, + For ever and a day, + To think of me—to think of me—- + When he is far away!'” + </pre> + <p> + The look of displeasure, which had begun to come over Arthur's face when + the young Captain spoke of Love so lightly, faded away as the song + proceeded, and he listened with evident delight. But his face darkened + again when Eric demurely remarked “Don't you think 'my soldier-lad' would + have fitted the tune just as well!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, so it would!” Lady Muriel gaily retorted. “Soldiers, sailors, + tinkers, tailors, what a lot of words would fit in! I think 'my tinker-lad' + sounds best. Don't you?” + </p> + <p> + To spare my friend further pain, I rose to go, just as the Earl was + beginning to repeat his particularly embarrassing question about the + flowers. + </p> + <p> + “You have not yet—' + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've had some tea, thank you!” I hastily interrupted him. “And now + we really must be going. Good evening, Lady Muriel!” And we made our + adieux, and escaped, while the Earl was still absorbed in examining the + mysterious bouquet. + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel accompanied us to the door. “You couldn't have given my father + a more acceptable present!” she said, warmly. “He is so passionately fond + of Botany. I'm afraid I know nothing of the theory of it, but I keep his + Hortus Siccus in order. I must get some sheets of blotting-paper, and dry + these new treasures for him before they fade. + </p> + <p> + “That won't be no good at all!” said Bruno, who was waiting for us in the + garden. + </p> + <p> + “Why won't it?” said I. “You know I had to give the flowers, to stop + questions?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it ca'n't be helped,” said Sylvie: “but they will be sorry when they + find them gone!” + </p> + <p> + “But how will they go?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know how. But they will go. The nosegay was only a Phlizz, + you know. Bruno made it up.” + </p> + <p> + These last words were in a whisper, as she evidently did not wish Arthur + to hear. But of this there seemed to be little risk: he hardly seemed to + notice the children, but paced on, silent and abstracted; and when, at the + entrance to the wood, they bid us a hasty farewell and ran off, he seemed + to wake out of a day-dream. + </p> + <p> + The bouquet vanished, as Sylvie had predicted; and when, a day or two + afterwards, Arthur and I once more visited the Hall, we found the Earl and + his daughter, with the old housekeeper, out in the garden, examining the + fastenings of the drawing-room window. + </p> + <p> + “We are holding an Inquest,” Lady Muriel said, advancing to meet us: “and + we admit you, as Accessories before the Fact, to tell us all you know + about those flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “The Accessories before the Fact decline to answer any questions,” I + gravely replied. “And they reserve their defence.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, turn Queen's Evidence, please! The flowers have disappeared in + the night,” she went on, turning to Arthur, “and we are quite sure no one + in the house has meddled with them. Somebody must have entered by the + window—” + </p> + <p> + “But the fastenings have not been tampered with,” said the Earl. + </p> + <p> + “It must have been while you were dining, my Lady,” said the housekeeper. + </p> + <p> + “That was it,” said the Earl. “The thief must have seen you bring the + flowers,” turning to me, “and have noticed that you did not take them + away. And he must have known their great value—they are simply + priceless!” he exclaimed, in sudden excitement. + </p> + <p> + “And you never told us how you got them!” said Lady Muriel. + </p> + <p> + “Some day,” I stammered, “I may be free to tell you. Just now, would you + excuse me?” + </p> + <p> + The Earl looked disappointed, but kindly said “Very well, we will ask no + questions.” + </p> + <p> + {Image...Five o'clock tea} + </p> + <p> + “But we consider you a very bad Queen's Evidence,” Lady Muriel added + playfully, as we entered the arbour. “We pronounce you to be an + accomplice: and we sentence you to solitary confinement, and to be fed on + bread and butter. Do you take sugar?” + </p> + <p> + “It is disquieting, certainly,” she resumed, when all 'creature-comforts' + had been duly supplied, “to find that the house has been entered by a + thief in this out-of-the-way place. If only the flowers had been eatables, + one might have suspected a thief of quite another shape—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that universal explanation for all mysterious disappearances, + 'the cat did it'?” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied. “What a convenient thing it would be if all thieves + had the same shape! It's so confusing to have some of them quadrupeds and + others bipeds!” + </p> + <p> + “It has occurred to me,” said Arthur, “as a curious problem in Teleology—the + Science of Final Causes,” he added, in answer to an enquiring look from + Lady Muriel. + </p> + <p> + “And a Final Cause is—?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose we say—the last of a series of connected events—each + of the series being the cause of the next—for whose sake the first + event takes place.” + </p> + <p> + “But the last event is practically an effect of the first, isn't it? And + yet you call it a cause of it!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur pondered a moment. “The words are rather confusing, I grant you,” + he said. “Will this do? The last event is an effect of the first: but the + necessity for that event is a cause of the necessity for the first.” + </p> + <p> + “That seems clear enough,” said Lady Muriel. “Now let us have the + problem.” + </p> + <p> + “It's merely this. What object can we imagine in the arrangement by which + each different size (roughly speaking) of living creatures has its special + shape? For instance, the human race has one kind of shape—bipeds. + Another set, ranging from the lion to the mouse, are quadrupeds. Go down a + step or two further, and you come to insects with six legs—hexapods—a + beautiful name, is it not? But beauty, in our sense of the word, seems to + diminish as we go down: the creature becomes more—I won't say 'ugly' + of any of God's creatures—more uncouth. And, when we take the + microscope, and go a few steps lower still, we come upon animalculae, + terribly uncouth, and with a terrible number of legs!” + </p> + <p> + “The other alternative,” said the Earl, “would be a diminuendo series of + repetitions of the same type. Never mind the monotony of it: let's see how + it would work in other ways. Begin with the race of men, and the creatures + they require: let us say horses, cattle, sheep, and dogs—we don't exactly + require frogs and spiders, do we, Muriel?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel shuddered perceptibly: it was evidently a painful subject. “We + can dispense with them,” she said gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then we'll have a second race of men, half-a-yard high—” + </p> + <p> + “—who would have one source of exquisite enjoyment, not possessed by + ordinary men!” Arthur interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “What source?” said the Earl. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the grandeur of scenery! Surely the grandeur of a mountain, to me, + depends on its size, relative to me? Double the height of the mountain, + and of course it's twice as grand. Halve my height, and you produce the + same effect.” + </p> + <p> + “Happy, happy, happy Small!” Lady Muriel murmured rapturously. “None but + the Short, none but the Short, none but the Short enjoy the Tall!” + </p> + <p> + “But let me go on,” said the Earl. “We'll have a third race of men, five + inches high; a fourth race, an inch high—” + </p> + <p> + “They couldn't eat common beef and mutton, I'm sure!” Lady Muriel + interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “True, my child, I was forgetting. Each set must have its own cattle and + sheep.” + </p> + <p> + “And its own vegetation,” I added. “What could a cow, an inch high, do + with grass that waved far above its head?” + </p> + <p> + “That is true. We must have a pasture within a pasture, so to speak. The + common grass would serve our inch-high cows as a green forest of palms, + while round the root of each tall stem would stretch a tiny carpet of + microscopic grass. Yes, I think our scheme will work fairly well. And it + would be very interesting, coming into contact with the races below us. + What sweet little things the inch-high bull-dogs would be! I doubt if even + Muriel would run away from one of them!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think we ought to have a crescendo series, as well?” said Lady + Muriel. “Only fancy being a hundred yards high! One could use an elephant + as a paper-weight, and a crocodile as a pair of scissors!” + </p> + <p> + “And would you have races of different sizes communicate with one + another?” I enquired. “Would they make war on one another, for instance, + or enter into treaties?” + </p> + <p> + “War we must exclude, I think. When you could crush a whole nation with + one blow of your fist, you couldn't conduct war on equal terms. But + anything, involving a collision of minds only, would be possible in our + ideal world—for of course we must allow mental powers to all, + irrespective of size. Perhaps the fairest rule would be that, the smaller + the race, the greater should be its intellectual development!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say,” said Lady Muriel, “that these manikins of an inch + high are to argue with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, surely!” said the Earl. “An argument doesn't depend for its + logical force on the size of the creature that utters it!” + </p> + <p> + She tossed her head indignantly. “I would not argue with any man less than + six inches high!” she cried. “I'd make him work!” + </p> + <p> + “What at?” said Arthur, listening to all this nonsense with an amused + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Embroidery!” she readily replied. “What lovely embroidery they would do!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet, if they did it wrong,” I said, “you couldn't argue the question. I + don't know why: but I agree that it couldn't be done.” + </p> + <p> + “The reason is,” said Lady Muriel, “one couldn't sacrifice one's dignity + so far.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course one couldn't!” echoed Arthur. “Any more than one could argue + with a potato. It would be altogether—excuse the ancient pun—infra + dig.!” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it,” said I. “Even a pun doesn't quite convince me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if that is not the reason,” said Lady Muriel, “what reason would + you give?” + </p> + <p> + I tried hard to understand the meaning of this question: but the + persistent humming of the bees confused me, and there was a drowsiness in + the air that made every thought stop and go to sleep before it had got + well thought out: so all I could say was “That must depend on the weight + of the potato.” + </p> + <p> + I felt the remark was not so sensible as I should have liked it to be. But + Lady Muriel seemed to take it quite as a matter of course. “In that case—” + she began, but suddenly started, and turned away to listen. “Don't you + hear him?” she said. “He's crying. We must go to him, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + And I said to myself “That's very strange.” + I quite thought it was Lady Muriel talking to me. “Why, it's Sylvie all + the while!” And I made another great effort to say something that should + have some meaning in it. “Is it about the potato?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 21. THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR. + </h2> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Sylvie. “Hush! I must think. I could go to him, by + myself, well enough. But I want you to come too.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go with you,” I pleaded. “I can walk as fast as you can, I'm + sure.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie laughed merrily. “What nonsense!” she cried. “Why, you ca'n't walk + a bit! You're lying quite flat on your back! You don't understand these + things.” + </p> + <p> + “I can walk as well as you can,” I repeated. And I tried my best to walk a + few steps: but the ground slipped away backwards, quite as fast as I could + walk, so that I made no progress at all. Sylvie laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “There, I told you so! You've no idea how funny you look, moving your feet + about in the air, as if you were walking! Wait a bit. I'll ask the + Professor what we'd better do.” And she knocked at his study-door. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and the Professor looked out. “What's that crying I heard + just now?” he asked. “Is it a human animal?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a boy,” Sylvie said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you've been teasing him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed I haven't!” Sylvie said, very earnestly. “I never tease him!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must ask the Other Professor about it.” He went back into the + study, and we heard him whispering “small human animal—says she + hasn't been teasing him—the kind that's called Boy—” + </p> + <p> + “Ask her which Boy,” said a new voice. The Professor came out again. + </p> + <p> + “Which Boy is it that you haven't been teasing?” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie looked at me with twinkling eyes. “You dear old thing!” she + exclaimed, standing on tiptoe to kiss him, while he gravely stooped to + receive the salute. “How you do puzzle me! Why, there are several boys I + haven't been teasing!” + </p> + <p> + The Professor returned to his friend: and this time the voice said “Tell + her to bring them here—all of them!” + </p> + <p> + “I ca'n't, and I won't!” Sylvie exclaimed, the moment he reappeared. “It's + Bruno that's crying: and he's my brother: and, please, we both want to go: + he ca'n't walk, you know: he's—he's dreaming, you know” (this in a + whisper, for fear of hurting my feelings). “Do let's go through the Ivory + Door!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll ask him,” said the Professor, disappearing again. He returned + directly. “He says you may. Follow me, and walk on tip-toe.” + </p> + <p> + The difficulty with me would have been, just then, not to walk on tip-toe. + It seemed very hard to reach down far enough to just touch the floor, as + Sylvie led me through the study. + </p> + <p> + The Professor went before us to unlock the Ivory Door. I had just time to + glance at the Other Professor, who was sitting reading, with his back to + us, before the Professor showed us out through the door, and locked it + behind us. Bruno was standing with his hands over his face, crying + bitterly. + </p> + <p> + {Image...'What's the matter, darling?'} + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, darling?” said Sylvie, with her arms round his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Hurted mine self welly much!” sobbed the poor little fellow. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry, darling! How ever did you manage to hurt yourself so?” + </p> + <p> + “Course I managed it!” said Bruno, laughing through his tears. “Doos oo + think nobody else but oo ca'n't manage things?” + </p> + <p> + Matters were looking distinctly brighter, now Bruno had begun to argue. + “Come, let's hear all about it!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “My foot took it into its head to slip—” Bruno began. + </p> + <p> + “A foot hasn't got a head!” Sylvie put in, but all in vain. + </p> + <p> + “I slipted down the bank. And I tripted over a stone. And the stone hurted + my foot! And I trod on a Bee. And the Bee stinged my finger!” Poor Bruno + sobbed again. The complete list of woes was too much for his feelings. + “And it knewed I didn't mean to trod on it!” he added, as the climax. + </p> + <p> + “That Bee should be ashamed of itself!” I said severely, and Sylvie hugged + and kissed the wounded hero till all tears were dried. + </p> + <p> + “My finger's quite unstung now!” said Bruno. “Why doos there be stones? + Mister Sir, doos oo know?” + </p> + <p> + “They're good for something,” I said: “even if we don't know what. What's + the good of dandelions, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Dindledums?” said Bruno. “Oh, they're ever so pretty! And stones aren't + pretty, one bit. Would oo like some dindledums, Mister Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Bruno!” Sylvie murmured reproachfully. “You mustn't say 'Mister' and + 'Sir,' both at once! Remember what I told you!” + </p> + <p> + “You telled me I were to say Mister' when I spoked about him, and I were + to say 'Sir' when I spoked to him!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you're not doing both, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I is doing bofe, Miss Praticular!” Bruno exclaimed triumphantly. + “I wishted to speak about the Gemplun—and I wishted to speak to the + Gemplun. So a course I said 'Mister Sir'!” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, Bruno,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Course it's all right!” said Bruno. “Sylvie just knows nuffin at all!” + </p> + <p> + “There never was an impertinenter boy!” said Sylvie, frowning till her + bright eyes were nearly invisible. + </p> + <p> + “And there never was an ignoranter girl!” retorted Bruno. “Come along and + pick some dindledums. That's all she's fit for!” he added in a very loud + whisper to me. + </p> + <p> + “But why do you say 'Dindledums,' Bruno? Dandelions is the right word.” + </p> + <p> + “It's because he jumps about so,” Sylvie said, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's it,” Bruno assented. “Sylvie tells me the words, and then, + when I jump about, they get shooken up in my head—till they're all + froth!” + </p> + <p> + I expressed myself as perfectly satisfied with this explanation. “But + aren't you going to pick me any dindledums, after all?” + </p> + <p> + “Course we will!” cried Bruno. “Come along, Sylvie!” And the happy + children raced away, bounding over the turf with the fleetness and grace + of young antelopes. + </p> + <p> + “Then you didn't find your way back to Outland?” I said to the Professor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I did!” he replied, “We never got to Queer Street; but I found + another way. I've been backwards and forwards several times since then. I + had to be present at the Election, you know, as the author of the new + Money-act. The Emperor was so kind as to wish that I should have the + credit of it. 'Let come what come may,' (I remember the very words of the + Imperial Speech) 'if it should turn out that the Warden is alive, you will + bear witness that the change in the coinage is the Professor's doing, not + mine!' I never was so glorified in my life, before!” Tears trickled down + his cheeks at the recollection, which apparently was not wholly a pleasant + one. + </p> + <p> + “Is the Warden supposed to be dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's supposed so: but, mind you, I don't believe it! The evidence + is very weak—mere hear-say. A wandering Jester, with a Dancing-Bear + (they found their way into the Palace, one day) has been telling people he + comes from Fairyland, and that the Warden died there. I wanted the + Vice-Warden to question him, but, most unluckily, he and my Lady were + always out walking when the Jester came round. Yes, the Warden's supposed + to be dead!” And more tears trickled down the old man's cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “But what is the new Money-Act?” + </p> + <p> + The Professor brightened up again. “The Emperor started the thing,” he + said. “He wanted to make everybody in Outland twice as rich as he was + before just to make the new Government popular. Only there wasn't nearly + enough money in the Treasury to do it. So I suggested that he might do it + by doubling the value of every coin and bank-note in Outland. It's the + simplest thing possible. I wonder nobody ever thought of it before! And + you never saw such universal joy. The shops are full from morning to + night. Everybody's buying everything!” + </p> + <p> + “And how was the glorifying done?” + </p> + <p> + A sudden gloom overcast the Professor's jolly face. “They did it as I went + home after the Election,” he mournfully replied. “It was kindly meant but + I didn't like it! They waved flags all round me till I was nearly blind: + and they rang bells till I was nearly deaf: and they strewed the road so + thick with flowers that I lost my way!” And the poor old man sighed + deeply. + </p> + <p> + “How far is it to Outland?” I asked, to change the subject. + </p> + <p> + “About five days' march. But one must go back—occasionally. You see, + as Court-Professor, I have to be always in attendance on Prince Uggug. The + Empress would be very angry if I left him, even for an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely, every time you come here, you are absent ten days, at least?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, more than that!” the Professor exclaimed. “A fortnight, sometimes. + But of course I keep a memorandum of the exact time when I started, so + that I can put the Court-time back to the very moment!” “Excuse me,” I + said. “I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + Silently the Professor drew front his pocket a square gold watch, with six + or eight hands, and held it out for my inspection. “This,” he began, “is + an Outlandish Watch—” + </p> + <p> + “So I should have thought.” + </p> + <p> + “—which has the peculiar property that, instead of its going with + the time, the time goes with it. I trust you understand me now?” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to explain. So long as it is let alone, it takes its own + course. Time has no effect upon it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have known such watches,” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + “It goes, of course, at the usual rate. Only the time has to go with it. + Hence, if I move the hands, I change the time. To move them forwards, in + advance of the true time, is impossible: but I can move them as much as a + month backwards—-that is the limit. And then you have the events all + over again—with any alterations experience may suggest.” + </p> + <p> + “What a blessing such a watch would be,” I thought, “in real life! To be + able to unsay some heedless word—to undo some reckless deed! Might I + see the thing done?” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure!” said the good natured Professor. “When I move this hand + back to here,” pointing out the place, “History goes back fifteen + minutes!” + </p> + <p> + Trembling with excitement, I watched him push the hand round as he + described. + </p> + <p> + “Hurted mine self welly much!” + </p> + <p> + Shrilly and suddenly the words rang in my ears, and, more startled than I + cared to show, I turned to look for the speaker. + </p> + <p> + Yes! There was Bruno, standing with the tears running down his cheeks, + just as I had seen him a quarter of an hour ago; and there was Sylvie with + her arms round his neck! + </p> + <p> + I had not the heart to make the dear little fellow go through his troubles + a second time, so hastily begged the Professor to push the hands round + into their former position. In a moment Sylvie and Bruno were gone again, + and I could just see them in the far distance, picking 'dindledums.' + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful, indeed!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “It has another property, yet more wonderful,” said the Professor. “You + see this little peg? That is called the 'Reversal Peg.' If you push it in, + the events of the next hour happen in the reverse order. Do not try it + now. I will lend you the Watch for a few days, and you can amuse yourself + with experiments.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much!” I said as he gave me the Watch. “I'll take the + greatest care of it—why, here are the children again!” + </p> + <p> + “We could only but find six dindledums,” said Bruno, putting them into my + hands, “'cause Sylvie said it were time to go back. And here's a big + blackberry for ooself! We couldn't only find but two!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you: it's very nice,” I said. “And I suppose you ate the other, + Bruno?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't,” Bruno said, carelessly. “Aren't they pretty dindledums, + Mister Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very: but what makes you limp so, my child?” + </p> + <p> + “Mine foot's come hurted again!” Bruno mournfully replied. And he sat down + on the ground, and began nursing it. + </p> + <p> + The Professor held his head between his hands—an attitude that I + knew indicated distraction of mind. “Better rest a minute,” he said. “It + may be better then—or it may be worse. If only I had some of my + medicines here! I'm Court-Physician, you know,” he added, aside to me. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go and get you some blackberries, darling?” Sylvie whispered, + with her arms round his neck; and she kissed away a tear that was + trickling down his cheek. + </p> + <p> + Bruno brightened up in a moment. “That are a good plan!” he exclaimed. “I + thinks my foot would come quite unhurted, if I eated a blackberry—two + or three blackberries—six or seven blackberries—” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie got up hastily. “I'd better go,” she said, aside to me, “before he + gets into the double figures!” + </p> + <p> + “Let me come and help you,” I said. “I can reach higher up than you can.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, please,” said Sylvie, putting her hand into mine: and we walked off + together. + </p> + <p> + “Bruno loves blackberries,” she said, as we paced slowly along by a tall + hedge, “that looked a promising place for them, and it was so sweet of him + to make me eat the only one!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was you that ate it, then? Bruno didn't seem to like to tell me + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I saw that,” said Sylvie. “He's always afraid of being praised. But + he made me eat it, really! I would much rather he—oh, what's that?” + And she clung to my hand, half-frightened, as we came in sight of a hare, + lying on its side with legs stretched out just in the entrance to the + wood. + </p> + <p> + “It's a hare, my child. Perhaps it's asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn't asleep,” Sylvie said, timidly going nearer to look at it: + “it's eyes are open. Is it—is it—her voice dropped to an + awestruck whisper, is it dead, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's quite dead,” I said, after stooping to examine it. “Poor thing! + I think it's been hunted to death. I know the harriers were out yesterday. + But they haven't touched it. Perhaps they caught sight of another, and + left it to die of fright and exhaustion.” + </p> + <p> + “Hunted to death?” Sylvie repeated to herself, very slowly and sadly. “I + thought hunting was a thing they played at like a game. Bruno and I hunt + snails: but we never hurt them when we catch them!” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet angel!” I thought. “How am I to get the idea of Sport into your + innocent mind?” And as we stood, hand-in-hand, looking down at the dead + hare, I tried to put the thing into such words as she could understand. + “You know what fierce wild-beasts lions and tigers are?” Sylvie nodded. + “Well, in some countries men have to kill them, to save their own lives, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sylvie: “if one tried to kill me, Bruno would kill it if he + could.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and so the men—the hunters—get to enjoy it, you know: + the running, and the fighting, and the shouting, and the danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sylvie. “Bruno likes danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but, in this country, there aren't any lions and tigers, loose: so + they hunt other creatures, you see.” I hoped, but in vain, that this would + satisfy her, and that she would ask no more questions. + </p> + <p> + “They hunt foxes,” Sylvie said, thoughtfully. “And I think they kill them, + too. Foxes are very fierce. I daresay men don't love them. Are hares + fierce?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said. “A hare is a sweet, gentle, timid animal—almost as + gentle as a lamb.” + </p> + <p> + “But, if men love hares, why—why—” her voice quivered, and her + sweet eyes were brimming over with tears. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid they don't love them, dear child.” + </p> + <p> + “All children love them,” Sylvie said. “All ladies love them.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid even ladies go to hunt them, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie shuddered. “Oh, no, not ladies!” she earnestly pleaded. “Not Lady + Muriel!” + </p> + <p> + “No, she never does, I'm sure—but this is too sad a sight for you, + dear. Let's try and find some—” + </p> + <p> + But Sylvie was not satisfied yet. In a hushed, solemn tone, with bowed + head and clasped hands, she put her final question. “Does GOD love hares?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” I said. “I'm sure He does! He loves every living thing. Even sinful + men. How much more the animals, that cannot sin!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what 'sin' means,” said Sylvie. And I didn't try to explain + it. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my child,” I said, trying to lead her away. “Wish good-bye to the + poor hare, and come and look for blackberries.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, poor hare!” Sylvie obediently repeated, looking over her + shoulder at it as we turned away. And then, all in a moment, her + self-command gave way. Pulling her hand out of mine, she ran back to where + the dead hare was lying, and flung herself down at its side in such an + agony of grief as I could hardly have believed possible in so young a + child. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my darling, my darling!” she moaned, over and over again. “And God + meant your life to be so beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, but always keeping her face hidden on the ground, she would + reach out one little hand, to stroke the poor dead thing, and then once + more bury her face in her hands, and sob as if her heart would break. + {Image...The dead hare} + </p> + <p> + I was afraid she would really make herself ill: still I thought it best to + let her weep away the first sharp agony of grief: and, after a few + minutes, the sobbing gradually ceased, and Sylvie rose to her feet, and + looked calmly at me, though tears were still streaming down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + I did not dare to speak again, just yet; but simply held out my hand to + her, that we might quit the melancholy spot. + </p> + <p> + Yes, I'll come now, she said. Very reverently she kneeled down, and kissed + the dead hare; then rose and gave me her hand, and we moved on in silence. + </p> + <p> + A child's sorrow is violent but short; and it was almost in her usual + voice that she said after a minute “Oh stop stop! Here are some lovely + blackberries!” + </p> + <p> + We filled our hands with fruit and returned in all haste to where the + Professor and Bruno were seated on a bank awaiting our return. + </p> + <p> + Just before we came within hearing-distance Sylvie checked me. “Please + don't tell Bruno about the hare!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Very well, my child. But why not? + </p> + <p> + Tears again glittered in those sweet eyes and she turned her head away so + that I could scarcely hear her reply. “He's—he's very fond of gentle + creatures you know. And he'd—he'd be so sorry! I don't want him to + be made sorry.” + </p> + <p> + And your agony of sorrow is to count for nothing, then, sweet unselfish + child! I thought to myself. But no more was said till we had reached our + friends; and Bruno was far too much engrossed, in the feast we had brought + him, to take any notice of Sylvie's unusually grave manner. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it's getting rather late, Professor?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” said the Professor. “I must take you all through the Ivory + Door again. You've stayed your full time.” + </p> + <p> + “Mightn't we stay a little longer!” pleaded Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “Just one minute!” added Bruno. + </p> + <p> + But the Professor was unyielding. “It's a great privilege, coming through + at all,” he said. “We must go now.” And we followed him obediently to the + Ivory Door, which he threw open, and signed to me to go through first. + </p> + <p> + “You're coming too, aren't you?” I said to Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said: “but you won't see us after you've gone through.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose I wait for you outside?” I asked, as I stepped through the + doorway. + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said Sylvie, “I think the potato would be quite justified + in asking your weight. I can quite imagine a really superior kidney-potato + declining to argue with any one under fifteen stone!” + </p> + <p> + With a great effort I recovered the thread of my thoughts. “We lapse very + quickly into nonsense!” I said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 22. CROSSING THE LINE. + </h2> + <p> + “Let us lapse back again,” said Lady Muriel. “Take another cup of tea? I + hope that's sound common sense?” + </p> + <p> + “And all that strange adventure,” I thought, “has occupied the space of a + single comma in Lady Muriel's speech! A single comma, for which + grammarians tell us to 'count one'!” (I felt no doubt that the Professor + had kindly put back the time for me, to the exact point at which I had + gone to sleep.) + </p> + <p> + When, a few minutes afterwards, we left the house, Arthur's first remark + was certainly a strange one. “We've been there just twenty minutes,” he + said, “and I've done nothing but listen to you and Lady Muriel talking: + and yet, somehow, I feel exactly as if I had been talking with her for an + hour at least!” + </p> + <p> + And so he had been, I felt no doubt: only, as the time had been put back + to the beginning of the tete-a-tete he referred to, the whole of it had + passed into oblivion, if not into nothingness! But I valued my own + reputation for sanity too highly to venture on explaining to him what had + happened. + </p> + <p> + For some cause, which I could not at the moment divine, Arthur was + unusually grave and silent during our walk home. It could not be connected + with Eric Lindon, I thought, as he had for some days been away in London: + so that, having Lady Muriel almost 'all to himself'—for I was only + too glad to hear those two conversing, to have any wish to intrude any + remarks of my own—he ought, theoretically, to have been specially + radiant and contented with life. “Can he have heard any bad news?” I said + to myself. And, almost as if he had read my thoughts, he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “He will be here by the last train,” he said, in the tone of one who is + continuing a conversation rather than beginning one. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Lindon, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—Captain Lindon,” said Arthur: “I said 'he,' because I fancied + we were talking about him. The Earl told me he comes tonight, though + to-morrow is the day when he will know about the Commission that he's + hoping for. I wonder he doesn't stay another day to hear the result, if + he's really so anxious about it as the Earl believes he is.” + </p> + <p> + “He can have a telegram sent after him,” I said: “but it's not very + soldier-like, running away from possible bad news!” + </p> + <p> + “He's a very good fellow,” said Arthur: “but I confess it would be good + news for me, if he got his Commission, and his Marching Orders, all at + once! I wish him all happiness—with one exception. Good night!” (We + had reached home by this time.) “I'm not good company to-night—better + be alone.” + </p> + <p> + It was much the same, next day. Arthur declared he wasn't fit for Society, + and I had to set forth alone for an afternoon-stroll. I took the road to + the Station, and, at the point where the road from the 'Hall' joined it, I + paused, seeing my friends in the distance, seemingly bound for the same + goal. + </p> + <p> + “Will you join us?” the Earl said, after I had exchanged greetings with + him, and Lady Muriel, and Captain Lindon. “This restless young man is + expecting a telegram, and we are going to the Station to meet it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is also a restless young woman in the case,” Lady Muriel added. + </p> + <p> + “That goes without saying, my child,” said her father. “Women are always + restless!” + </p> + <p> + “For generous appreciation of all one's best qualities,” his daughter + impressively remarked, “there's nothing to compare with a father, is + there, Eric?” + </p> + <p> + “Cousins are not 'in it,'” said Eric: and then somehow the conversation + lapsed into two duologues, the younger folk taking the lead, and the two + old men following with less eager steps. + </p> + <p> + “And when are we to see your little friends again?” said the Earl. “They + are singularly attractive children.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be delighted to bring them, when I can,” I said! “But I don't + know, myself, when I am likely to see them again.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to question you,” said the Earl: “but there's no harm in + mentioning that Muriel is simply tormented with curiosity! We know most of + the people about here, and she has been vainly trying to guess what house + they can possibly be staying at.” + </p> + <p> + “Some day I may be able to enlighten her: but just at present—” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. She must bear it as best she can. I tell her it's a grand + opportunity for practising patience. But she hardly sees it from that + point of view. Why, there are the children!” + </p> + <p> + So indeed they were: waiting (for us, apparently) at a stile, which they + could not have climbed over more than a few moments, as Lady Muriel and + her cousin had passed it without seeing them. On catching sight of us, + Bruno ran to meet us, and to exhibit to us, with much pride, the handle of + a clasp-knife—the blade having been broken off—which he had + picked up in the road. + </p> + <p> + “And what shall you use it for, Bruno?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know,” Bruno carelessly replied: “must think.” + </p> + <p> + “A child's first view of life,” the Earl remarked, with that sweet sad + smile of his, “is that it is a period to be spent in accumulating portable + property. That view gets modified as the years glide away.” And he held + out his hand to Sylvie, who had placed herself by me, looking a little shy + of him. + </p> + <p> + But the gentle old man was not one with whom any child, human or fairy, + could be shy for long; and she had very soon deserted my hand for his—Bruno + alone remaining faithful to his first friend. We overtook the other couple + just as they reached the Station, and both Lady Muriel and Eric greeted + the children as old friends—the latter with the words “So you got to + Babylon by candlelight, after all?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and back again!” cried Bruno. + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel looked from one to the other in blank astonishment. “What, you + know them, Eric?” she exclaimed. “This mystery grows deeper every day!” + </p> + <p> + “Then we must be somewhere in the Third Act,” said Eric. “You don't expect + the mystery to be cleared up till the Fifth Act, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “But it's such a long drama!” was the plaintive reply. “We must have got + to the Fifth Act by this time!” + </p> + <p> + “Third Act, I assure you,” said the young soldier mercilessly. “Scene, a + railway-platform. Lights down. Enter Prince (in disguise, of course) and + faithful Attendant. This is the Prince—” (taking Bruno's hand) “and + here stands his humble Servant! What is your Royal Highness next command?” + And he made a most courtier-like low bow to his puzzled little friend. + </p> + <p> + “Oo're not a Servant!” Bruno scornfully exclaimed. “Oo're a Gemplun!” + </p> + <p> + “Servant, I assure your Royal Highness!” Eric respectfully insisted. + “Allow me to mention to your Royal Highness my various situations—past, + present, and future.” + </p> + <p> + “What did oo begin wiz?” Bruno asked, beginning to enter into the jest. + “Was oo a shoe-black?” + </p> + <p> + “Lower than that, your Royal Highness! Years ago, I offered myself as a + Slave—as a 'Confidential Slave,' I think it's called?” he asked, + turning to Lady Muriel. + </p> + <p> + But Lady Muriel heard him not: something had gone wrong with her glove, + which entirely engrossed her attention. + </p> + <p> + “Did oo get the place?” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “Sad to say, Your Royal Highness, I did not! So I had to take a situation + as—as Waiter, which I have now held for some years haven't I?” He + again glanced at Lady Muriel. + </p> + <p> + “Sylvie dear, do help me to button this glove!” Lady Muriel whispered, + hastily stooping down, and failing to hear the question. + </p> + <p> + “And what will oo be next?” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “My next place will, I hope, be that of Groom. And after that—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't puzzle the child so!” Lady Muriel interrupted. “What nonsense you + talk!” + </p> + <p> + “—after that,” Eric persisted, “I hope to obtain the situation of + Housekeeper, which—Fourth Act!” he proclaimed, with a sudden change + of tone. “Lights turned up. Red lights. Green lights. Distant rumble + heard. Enter a passenger-train!” + </p> + <p> + And in another minute the train drew up alongside of the platform, and a + stream of passengers began to flow out from the booking office and + waiting-rooms. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever make real life into a drama?” said the Earl. “Now just try. + I've often amused myself that way. Consider this platform as our stage. + Good entrances and exits on both sides, you see. Capital background scene: + real engine moving up and down. All this bustle, and people passing to and + fro, must have been most carefully rehearsed! How naturally they do it! + With never a glance at the audience! And every grouping is quite fresh, + you see. No repetition!” + </p> + <p> + It really was admirable, as soon as I began to enter into it from this + point of view. Even a porter passing, with a barrow piled with luggage, + seemed so realistic that one was tempted to applaud. He was followed by an + angry mother, with hot red face, dragging along two screaming children, + and calling, to some one behind, “John! Come on!” Enter John, very meek, + very silent, and loaded with parcels. And he was followed, in his turn, by + a frightened little nursemaid, carrying a fat baby, also screaming. All + the children screamed. + </p> + <p> + “Capital byplay!” said the old man aside. “Did you notice the nursemaid's + look of terror? It was simply perfect!” + </p> + <p> + “You have struck quite a new vein,” I said. “To most of us Life and its + pleasures seem like a mine that is nearly worked out.” + </p> + <p> + “Worked out!” exclaimed the Earl. “For any one with true dramatic + instincts, it is only the Overture that is ended! The real treat has yet + to begin. You go to a theatre, and pay your ten shillings for a stall, and + what do you get for your money? Perhaps it's a dialogue between a couple + of farmers—unnatural in their overdone caricature of farmers' dress—more + unnatural in their constrained attitudes and gestures—most unnatural + in their attempts at ease and geniality in their talk. Go instead and take + a seat in a third-class railway-carriage, and you'll get the same dialogue + done to the life! Front-seats—no orchestra to block the view—and + nothing to pay!” + </p> + <p> + “Which reminds me,” said Eric. “There is nothing to pay on receiving a + telegram! Shall we enquire for one?” And he and Lady Muriel strolled off + in the direction of the Telegraph-Office. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if Shakespeare had that thought in his mind,” I said, “when he + wrote 'All the world's a stage'?” + </p> + <p> + The old man sighed. “And so it is,” he said, “look at it as you will. Life + is indeed a drama; a drama with but few encores—and no bouquets!” he + added dreamily. “We spend one half of it in regretting the things we did + in the other half!” + </p> + <p> + “And the secret of enjoying it,” he continued, resuming his cheerful tone, + “is intensity!” + </p> + <p> + “But not in the modern aesthetic sense, I presume? Like the young lady, in + Punch, who begins a conversation with 'Are you intense?'” + </p> + <p> + “By no means!” replied the Earl. “What I mean is intensity of thought—a + concentrated attention. We lose half the pleasure we might have in Life, + by not really attending. Take any instance you like: it doesn't matter how + trivial the pleasure may be—the principle is the same. Suppose A and + B are reading the same second-rate circulating-library novel. A never + troubles himself to master the relationships of the characters, on which + perhaps all the interest of the story depends: he 'skips' over all the + descriptions of scenery, and every passage that looks rather dull: he + doesn't half attend to the passages he does read: he goes on reading + merely from want of resolution to find another occupation—for hours + after he ought to have put the book aside: and reaches the 'FINIS' in a + state of utter weariness and depression! B puts his whole soul into the + thing—on the principle that 'whatever is worth doing is worth doing + well': he masters the genealogies: he calls up pictures before his 'mind's + eye' as he reads about the scenery: best of all, he resolutely shuts the + book at the end of some chapter, while his interest is yet at its keenest, + and turns to other subjects; so that, when next he allows himself an hour + at it, it is like a hungry man sitting down to dinner: and, when the book + is finished, he returns to the work of his daily life like 'a giant + refreshed'!” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose the book were really rubbish—nothing to repay + attention?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose it,” said the Earl. “My theory meets that case, I assure + you! A never finds out that it is rubbish, but maunders on to the end, + trying to believe he's enjoying himself. B quietly shuts the book, when + he's read a dozen pages, walks off to the Library, and changes it for a + better! I have yet another theory for adding to the enjoyment of Life—that + is, if I have not exhausted your patience? I'm afraid you find me a very + garrulous old man.” + </p> + <p> + “No indeed!” I exclaimed earnestly. And indeed I felt as if one could not + easily tire of the sweet sadness of that gentle voice. + </p> + <p> + “It is, that we should learn to take our pleasures quickly, and our pains + slowly.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? I should have put it the other way, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “By taking artificial pain—which can be as trivial as you please—slowly, + the result is that, when real pain comes, however severe, all you need do + is to let it go at its ordinary pace, and it's over in a moment!” + </p> + <p> + “Very true,” I said, “but how about the pleasure?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, by taking it quick, you can get so much more into life. It takes you + three hours and a half to hear and enjoy an opera. Suppose I can take it + in, and enjoy it, in half-an-hour. Why, I can enjoy seven operas, while + you are listening; to one!” + </p> + <p> + “Always supposing you have an orchestra capable of playing them,” I said. + “And that orchestra has yet to be found!” + </p> + <p> + The old man smiled. “I have heard an 'air played,” he said, “and by no + means a short one—played right through, variations and all, in three + seconds!” + </p> + <p> + “When? And how?” I asked eagerly, with a half-notion that I was dreaming + again. + </p> + <p> + “It was done by a little musical-box,” he quietly replied. “After it had + been wound up, the regulator, or something, broke, and it ran down, as I + said, in about three seconds. But it must have played all the notes, you + know!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you enjoy it? I asked, with all the severity of a cross-examining + barrister. + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't!” he candidly confessed. “But then, you know, I hadn't been + trained to that kind of music!” + </p> + <p> + “I should much like to try your plan,” I said, and, as Sylvie and Bruno + happened to run up to us at the moment, I left them to keep the Earl + company, and strolled along the platform, making each person and event + play its part in an extempore drama for my especial benefit. “What, is the + Earl tired of you already?” I said, as the children ran past me. + </p> + <p> + “No!” Sylvie replied with great emphasis. “He wants the evening-paper. So + Bruno's going to be a little news-boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Mind you charge a good price for it!” I called after them. + </p> + <p> + Returning up the platform, I came upon Sylvie alone. “Well, child,” I + said, “where's your little news-boy? Couldn't he get you an + evening-paper?” + </p> + <p> + “He went to get one at the book-stall at the other side,” said Sylvie; + “and he's coming across the line with it—oh, Bruno, you ought to + cross by the bridge!” for the distant thud, thud, of the Express was + already audible. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a look of horror came over her face. “Oh, he's fallen down on the + rails!” she cried, and darted past me at a speed that quite defied the + hasty effort I made to stop her. + </p> + <p> + But the wheezy old Station-Master happened to be close behind me: he + wasn't good for much, poor old man, but he was good for this; and, before + I could turn round, he had the child clasped in his arms, saved from the + certain death she was rushing to. So intent was I in watching this scene, + that I hardly saw a flying figure in a light grey suit, who shot across + from the back of the platform, and was on the line in another second. So + far as one could take note of time in such a moment of horror, he had + about ten clear seconds, before the Express would be upon him, in which to + cross the rails and to pick up Bruno. Whether he did so or not it was + quite impossible to guess: the next thing one knew was that the Express + had passed, and that, whether for life or death, all was over. When the + cloud of dust had cleared away, and the line was once more visible, we saw + with thankful hearts that the child and his deliverer were safe. + </p> + <p> + “All right!” Eric called to us cheerfully, as he recrossed the line. “He's + more frightened than hurt!” + </p> + <p> + {Image...Crossing the line} + </p> + <p> + He lifted the little fellow up into Lady Muriel's arms, and mounted the + platform as gaily as if nothing had happened: but he was as pale as death, + and leaned heavily on the arm I hastily offered him, fearing he was about + to faint. “I'll just—sit down a moment—” he said dreamily: “—where's + Sylvie?” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie ran to him, and flung her arms round his neck, sobbing as if her + heart would break. “Don't do that, my darling!” Eric murmured, with a + strange look in his eyes. “Nothing to cry about now, you know. But you + very nearly got yourself killed for nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “For Bruno!” the little maiden sobbed. “And he would have done it for me. + Wouldn't you, Bruno?” + </p> + <p> + “Course I would!” Bruno said, looking round with a bewildered air. + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel kissed him in silence as she put him down out of her arms. + Then she beckoned Sylvie to come and take his hand, and signed to the + children to go back to where the Earl was seated. “Tell him,” she + whispered with quivering lips, “tell him—all is well!” Then she + turned to the hero of the day. “I thought it was death,” she said. “Thank + God, you are safe! Did you see how near it was?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw there was just time,” Eric said lightly. + </p> + <p> + “A soldier must learn to carry his life in his hand, you know. I'm all + right now. Shall we go to the telegraph-office again? I daresay it's come + by this time.” + </p> + <p> + I went to join the Earl and the children, and we waited—almost in + silence, for no one seemed inclined to talk, and Bruno was half-asleep on + Sylvie's lap—till the others joined us. No telegram had come. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take a stroll with the children,” I said, feeling that we were a + little de trop, “and I'll look in, in the course of the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “We must go back into the wood, now,” Sylvie said, as soon as we were out + of hearing. + “We ca'n't stay this size any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will be quite tiny Fairies again, next time we meet?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sylvie: “but we'll be children again some day—if you'll + let us. Bruno's very anxious to see Lady Muriel again.” + </p> + <p> + “She are welly nice,” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be very glad to take you to see her again,” I said. “Hadn't I + better give you back the Professor's Watch? It'll be too large for you to + carry when you're Fairies, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno laughed merrily. I was glad to see he had quite recovered from the + terrible scene he had gone through. “Oh no, it won't!” he said. “When we + go small, it'll go small!” + </p> + <p> + “And then it'll go straight to the Professor,” Sylvie added, “and you + won't be able to use it anymore: so you'd better use it all you can, now. + We must go small when the sun sets. Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye!” cried Bruno. But their voices sounded very far away, and, when + I looked round, both children had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “And it wants only two hours to sunset!” I said as I strolled on. “I must + make the best of my time!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 23. AN OUTLANDISH WATCH. + </h2> + <p> + As I entered the little town, I came upon two of the fishermen's wives + interchanging that last word “which never was the last”: and it occurred + to me, as an experiment with the Magic Watch, to wait till the little + scene was over, and then to 'encore' it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good night t'ye! And ye winna forget to send us word when your + Martha writes?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, ah winna forget. An' if she isn't suited, she can but coom back. + Good night t'ye!” + </p> + <p> + A casual observer might have thought “and there ends the dialogue!” That + casual observer would have been mistaken. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, she'll like 'em, I war'n' ye! They'll not treat her bad, yer may + depend. They're varry canny fowk. Good night!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, they are that! Good night!” + </p> + <p> + “Good night! And ye'll send us word if she writes?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, ah will, yer may depend! Good night t'ye!” + </p> + <p> + And at last they parted. I waited till they were some twenty yards apart, + and then put the Watch a minute back. The instantaneous change was + startling: the two figures seemed to flash back into their former places. + </p> + <p> + “—isn't suited, she can but coom back. Good night t'ye!” one of them + was saying: and so the whole dialogue was repeated, and, when they had + parted for the second time, I let them go their several ways, and strolled + on through the town. + </p> + <p> + “But the real usefulness of this magic power,” I thought, “would be to + undo some harm, some painful event, some accident—” + </p> + <p> + I had not long to wait for an opportunity of testing this property also of + the Magic Watch, for, even as the thought passed through my mind, the + accident I was imagining occurred. A light cart was standing at the door + of the 'Great Millinery Depot' of Elveston, laden with card-board + packing-cases, which the driver was carrying into the shop, one by one. + One of the cases had fallen into the street, but it scarcely seemed worth + while to step forward and pick it up, as the man would be back again in a + moment. Yet, in that moment, a young man riding a bicycle came sharp round + the corner of the street and, in trying to avoid running over the box, + upset his machine, and was thrown headlong against the wheel of the + spring-cart. The driver ran out to his assistance, and he and I together + raised the unfortunate cyclist and carried him into the shop. His head was + cut and bleeding; and one knee seemed to be badly injured; and it was + speedily settled that he had better be conveyed at once to the only + Surgery in the place. I helped them in emptying the cart, and placing in + it some pillows for the wounded man to rest on; and it was only when the + driver had mounted to his place, and was starting for the Surgery, that I + bethought me of the strange power I possessed of undoing all this harm. + </p> + <p> + “Now is my time!” I said to myself, as I moved back the hand of the Watch, + and saw, almost without surprise this time, all things restored to the + places they had occupied at the critical moment when I had first noticed + the fallen packing-case. + </p> + <p> + Instantly I stepped out into the street, picked up the box, and replaced + it in the cart: in the next moment the bicycle had spun round the corner, + passed the cart without let or hindrance, and soon vanished in the + distance, in a cloud of dust. + </p> + <p> + “Delightful power of magic!” I thought. “How much of human suffering I + have—not only relieved, but actually annihilated!” And, in a glow of + conscious virtue, I stood watching the unloading of the cart, still + holding the Magic Watch open in my hand, as I was curious to see what + would happen when we again reached the exact time at which I had put back + the hand. + </p> + <p> + The result was one that, if only I had considered the thing carefully, I + might have foreseen: as the hand of the Watch touched the mark, the + spring-cart—which had driven off, and was by this time half-way down + the street, was back again at the door, and in the act of starting, while—oh + woe for the golden dream of world-wide benevolence that had dazzled my + dreaming fancy!—the wounded youth was once more reclining on the + heap of pillows, his pale face set rigidly in the hard lines that told of + pain resolutely endured. + </p> + <p> + “Oh mocking Magic Watch!” I said to myself, as I passed out of the little + town, and took the seaward road that led to my lodgings. “The good I + fancied I could do is vanished like a dream: the evil of this troublesome + world is the only abiding reality!” + </p> + <p> + And now I must record an experience so strange, that I think it only fair, + before beginning to relate it, to release my much-enduring reader from any + obligation he may feel to believe this part of my story. I would not have + believed it, I freely confess, if I had not seen it with my own eyes: then + why should I expect it of my reader, who, quite possibly, has never seen + anything of the sort? + </p> + <p> + I was passing a pretty little villa, which stood rather back from the + road, in its own grounds, with bright flower-beds in front—-creepers + wandering over the walls and hanging in festoons about the bow-windows—an + easy-chair forgotten on the lawn, with a newspaper lying near it—a + small pug-dog “couchant” before it, resolved to guard the treasure even at + the sacrifice of life—and a front-door standing invitingly + half-open. “Here is my chance,” I thought, “for testing the reverse action + of the Magic Watch!” I pressed the 'reversal-peg' and walked in. In + another house, the entrance of a stranger might cause surprise—perhaps + anger, even going so far as to expel the said stranger with violence: but + here, I knew, nothing of the sort could happen. The ordinary course of + events first, to think nothing about me; then, hearing my footsteps to + look up and see me; and then to wonder what business I had there—would + be reversed by the action of my Watch. They would first wonder who I was, + then see me, then look down, and think no more about me. And as to being + expelled with violence, that event would necessarily come first in this + case. “So, if I can once get in,” I said to myself, “all risk of expulsion + will be over!” + </p> + <p> + {Image...'The pug-dog sat up'} + </p> + <p> + The pug-dog sat up, as a precautionary measure, as I passed; but, as I + took no notice of the treasure he was guarding, he let me go by without + even one remonstrant bark. “He that takes my life,” he seemed to be + saying, wheezily, to himself, “takes trash: But he that takes the Daily + Telegraph—!” But this awful contingency I did not face. + </p> + <p> + The party in the drawing-room—I had walked straight in, you + understand, without ringing the bell, or giving any notice of my approach—consisted + of four laughing rosy children, of ages from about fourteen down to ten, + who were, apparently, all coming towards the door (I found they were + really walking backwards), while their mother, seated by the fire with + some needlework on her lap, was saying, just as I entered the room, “Now, + girls, you may get your things on for a walk.” + </p> + <p> + To my utter astonishment—for I was not yet accustomed to the action + of the Watch “all smiles ceased,” (as Browning says) on the four pretty + faces, and they all got out pieces of needle-work, and sat down. No one + noticed me in the least, as I quietly took a chair and sat down to watch + them. + </p> + <p> + When the needle-work had been unfolded, and they were all ready to begin, + their mother said “Come, that's done, at last! You may fold up your work, + girls.” But the children took no notice whatever of the remark; on the + contrary, they set to work at once sewing—if that is the proper word + to describe an operation such as I had never before witnessed. Each of + them threaded her needle with a short end of thread attached to the work, + which was instantly pulled by an invisible force through the stuff, + dragging the needle after it: the nimble fingers of the little sempstress + caught it at the other side, but only to lose it again the next moment. + And so the work went on, steadily undoing itself, and the neatly-stitched + little dresses, or whatever they were, steadily falling to pieces. Now and + then one of the children would pause, as the recovered thread became + inconveniently long, wind it on a bobbin, and start again with another + short end. + </p> + <p> + At last all the work was picked to pieces and put away, and the lady led + the way into the next room, walking backwards, and making the insane + remark “Not yet, dear: we must get the sewing done first.” After which, I + was not surprised to see the children skipping backwards after her, + exclaiming “Oh, mother, it is such a lovely day for a walk!” + </p> + <p> + In the dining-room, the table had only dirty plates and empty dishes on + it. However the party—with the addition of a gentleman, as + good-natured, and as rosy, as the children—seated themselves at it + very contentedly. + </p> + <p> + You have seen people eating cherry-tart, and every now and then cautiously + conveying a cherry-stone from their lips to their plates? Well, something + like that went on all through this ghastly—or shall we say + 'ghostly'?—-banquet. An empty fork is raised to the lips: there it + receives a neatly-cut piece of mutton, and swiftly conveys it to the + plate, where it instantly attaches itself to the mutton already there. + Soon one of the plates, furnished with a complete slice of mutton and two + potatoes, was handed up to the presiding gentleman, who quietly replaced + the slice on the joint, and the potatoes in the dish. + </p> + <p> + Their conversation was, if possible, more bewildering than their mode of + dining. It began by the youngest girl suddenly, and without provocation, + addressing her eldest sister. “Oh, you wicked story-teller!” she said. + </p> + <p> + I expected a sharp reply from the sister; but, instead of this, she turned + laughingly to her father, and said, in a very loud stage-whisper, “To be a + bride!” + </p> + <p> + The father, in order to do his part in a conversation that seemed only fit + for lunatics, replied “Whisper it to me, dear.” + </p> + <p> + But she didn't whisper (these children never did anything they were told): + she said, quite loud, “Of course not! Everybody knows what Dotty wants!” + </p> + <p> + And little Dolly shrugged her shoulders, and said, with a pretty + pettishness, “Now, Father, you're not to tease! You know I don't want to + be bride's-maid to anybody!” + </p> + <p> + “And Dolly's to be the fourth,” was her father's idiotic reply. + </p> + <p> + Here Number Three put in her oar. “Oh, it is settled, Mother dear, really + and truly! Mary told us all about it. It's to be next Tuesday four weeks—and + three of her cousins are coming; to be bride's-maids—and—” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't forget it, Minnie!” the Mother laughingly replied. “I do wish + they'd get it settled! I don't like long engagements.” + </p> + <p> + And Minnie wound up the conversation—if so chaotic a series of + remarks deserves the name—with “Only think! We passed the Cedars + this morning, just exactly as Mary Davenant was standing at the gate, + wishing good-bye to Mister—-I forget his name. Of course we looked + the other way.” + </p> + <p> + By this time I was so hopelessly confused that I gave up listening, and + followed the dinner down into the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + But to you, O hypercritical reader, resolute to believe no item of this + weird adventure, what need to tell how the mutton was placed on the spit, + and slowly unroasted—how the potatoes were wrapped in their skins, + and handed over to the gardener to be buried—how, when the mutton + had at length attained to rawness, the fire, which had gradually changed + from red-heat to a mere blaze, died down so suddenly that the cook had + only just time to catch its last flicker on the end of a match—or + how the maid, having taken the mutton off the spit, carried it (backwards, + of course) out of the house, to meet the butcher, who was coming (also + backwards) down the road? + </p> + <p> + The longer I thought over this strange adventure, the more hopelessly + tangled the mystery became: and it was a real relief to meet Arthur in the + road, and get him to go with me up to the Hall, to learn what news the + telegraph had brought. I told him, as we went, what had happened at the + Station, but as to my further adventures I thought it best, for the + present, to say nothing. + </p> + <p> + The Earl was sitting alone when we entered. “I am glad you are come in to + keep me company,” he said. “Muriel is gone to bed—the excitement of + that terrible scene was too much for her—and Eric has gone to the + hotel to pack his things, to start for London by the early train.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the telegram has come?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not hear? Oh, I had forgotten: it came in after you left the + Station. Yes, it's all right: Eric has got his commission; and, now that + he has arranged matters with Muriel, he has business in town that must be + seen to at once.” + </p> + <p> + “What arrangement do you mean?” I asked with a sinking heart, as the + thought of Arthur's crushed hopes came to my mind. “Do you mean that they + are engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “They have been engaged—in a sense—for two years,” the old man +gently replied: “that is, he has had my promise to consent to it, so +soon as he could secure a permanent and settled line in life. I could +never be happy with my child married to a man without an object to live +for—without even an object to die for!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope they will be happy,” a strange voice said. The speaker was + evidently in the room, but I had not heard the door open, and I looked + round in some astonishment. The Earl seemed to share my surprise. “Who + spoke?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “It was I,” said Arthur, looking at us with a worn, haggard face, and eyes + from which the light of life seemed suddenly to have faded. “And let me + wish you joy also, dear friend,” he added, looking sadly at the Earl, and + speaking in the same hollow tones that had startled us so much. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” the old man said, simply and heartily. + </p> + <p> + A silence followed: then I rose, feeling sure that Arthur would wish to be + alone, and bade our gentle host 'Good night': Arthur took his hand, but + said nothing: nor did he speak again, as we went home till we were in the + house and had lit our bed-room candles. Then he said more to himself than + to me, “The heart knoweth its own bitterness. I never understood those + words till now.” + </p> + <p> + The next few days passed wearily enough. I felt no inclination to call by + myself at the Hall; still less to propose that Arthur should go with me: + it seemed better to wait till Time—that gentle healer of our + bitterest sorrows should have helped him to recover from the first shock + of the disappointment that had blighted his life. + </p> + <p> + Business however soon demanded my presence in town; and I had to announce + to Arthur that I must leave him for a while. “But I hope to run down again + in a month,” I added. “I would stay now, if I could. I don't think it's + good for you to be alone.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I ca'n't face solitude, here, for long,” said Arthur. “But don't + think about me. I have made up my mind to accept a post in India, that has + been offered me. Out there, I suppose I shall find something to live for; + I ca'n't see anything at present. 'This life of mine I guard, as God's + high gift, from scathe and wrong, Not greatly care to lose!'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said: “your name-sake bore as heavy a blow, and lived through + it.” + </p> + <p> + “A far heavier one than mine,” said Arthur. + “The woman he loved proved false. There is no such cloud as that on my + memory of—of—” He left the name unuttered, and went on + hurriedly. “But you will return, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall come back for a short time.” + </p> + <p> + “Do,” said Arthur: “and you shall write and tell me of our friends. I'll + send you my address when I'm settled down.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 24. THE FROGS' BIRTHDAY-TREAT. + </h2> + <p> + And so it came to pass that, just a week after the day when my + Fairy-friends first appeared as Children, I found myself taking a + farewell-stroll through the wood, in the hope of meeting them once more. I + had but to stretch myself on the smooth turf, and the 'eerie' feeling was + on me in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Put oor ear welly low down,” said Bruno, “and I'll tell oo a secret! It's + the Frogs' Birthday-Treat—and we've lost the Baby!” + </p> + <p> + “What Baby?” I said, quite bewildered by this complicated piece of news. + </p> + <p> + “The Queen's Baby, a course!” said Bruno. “Titania's Baby. And we's welly + sorry. Sylvie, she's—oh so sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “How sorry is she?” I asked, mischievously. + </p> + <p> + “Three-quarters of a yard,” Bruno replied with perfect solemnity. “And I'm + a little sorry too,” he added, shutting his eyes so as not to see that he + was smiling. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you doing about the Baby?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the soldiers are all looking for it—up and down everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “The soldiers?” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a course!” said Bruno. “When there's no fighting to be done, the + soldiers doos any little odd jobs, oo know.” + </p> + <p> + I was amused at the idea of its being a 'little odd job' to find the Royal + Baby. “But how did you come to lose it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “We put it in a flower,” Sylvie, who had just joined us, explained with + her eyes full of tears. “Only we ca'n't remember which!” + </p> + <p> + “She says us put it in a flower,” Bruno interrupted, “'cause she doosn't + want I to get punished. But it were really me what put it there. Sylvie + were picking Dindledums.” + </p> + <p> + {Image...The queen's baby} + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn't say 'us put it in a flower',” Sylvie very gravely remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, hus, then,” said Bruno. “I never can remember those horrid H's!” + </p> + <p> + “Let me help you to look for it,” I said. So Sylvie and I made a 'voyage + of discovery' among all the flowers; but there was no Baby to be seen. + </p> + <p> + “What's become of Bruno?” I said, when we had completed our tour. + </p> + <p> + “He's down in the ditch there,” said Sylvie, “amusing a young Frog.” + </p> + <p> + I went down on my hands and knees to look for him, for I felt very curious + to know how young Frogs ought to be amused. After a minute's search, I + found him sitting at the edge of the ditch, by the side of the little + Frog, and looking rather disconsolate. + </p> + <p> + “How are you getting on, Bruno?” I said, nodding to him as he looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Ca'n't amuse it no more,” Bruno answered, very dolefully, “'cause it + won't say what it would like to do next! I've showed it all the duck-weeds—and + a live caddis-worm——but it won't say nuffin! What—would + oo like?'” he shouted into the ear of the Frog: but the little creature + sat quite still, and took no notice of him. “It's deaf, I think!” Bruno + said, turning away with a sigh. “And it's time to get the Theatre ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are the audience to be?” + </p> + <p> + “Only but Frogs,” said Bruno. “But they haven't comed yet. They wants to + be drove up, like sheep.” + </p> + <p> + “Would it save time,” I suggested, “if I were to walk round with Sylvie, + to drive up the Frogs, while you get the Theatre ready?” + </p> + <p> + “That are a good plan!” cried Bruno. “But where are Sylvie?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm here!” said Sylvie, peeping over the edge of the bank. “I was just + watching two Frogs that were having a race.” + </p> + <p> + “Which won it?” Bruno eagerly inquired. + </p> + <p> + Sylvie was puzzled. “He does ask such hard questions!” she confided to me. + </p> + <p> + “And what's to happen in the Theatre?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “First they have their Birthday-Feast,” Sylvie said: “then Bruno does some + Bits of Shakespeare; then he tells them a Story.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think the Frogs like the Feast best. Don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's generally very few of them that get any. They will keep + their mouths shut so tight! And it's just as well they do,” she added, + “because Bruno likes to cook it himself: and he cooks very queerly. Now + they're all in. Would you just help me to put them with their heads the + right way?” + </p> + <p> + We soon managed this part of the business, though the Frogs kept up a most + discontented croaking all the time. + </p> + <p> + “What are they saying?” I asked Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “They're saying 'Fork! Fork!' It's very silly of them! You're not going to + have forks!” she announced with some severity. “Those that want any Feast + have just got to open their mouths, and Bruno 'll put some of it in!” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Bruno appeared, wearing a little white apron to show that + he was a Cook, and carrying a tureen full of very queer-looking soup. I + watched very carefully as he moved about among the Frogs; but I could not + see that any of them opened their mouths to be fed—except one very + young one, and I'm nearly sure it did it accidentally, in yawning. However + Bruno instantly put a large spoonful of soup into its mouth, and the poor + little thing coughed violently for some time. + </p> + <p> + So Sylvie and I had to share the soup between us, and to pretend to enjoy + it, for it certainly was very queerly cooked. + </p> + <p> + I only ventured to take one spoonful of it (“Sylvie's Summer-Soup,” Bruno + said it was), and must candidly confess that it was not at all nice; and I + could not feel surprised that so many of the guests had kept their mouths + shut up tight. + </p> + <p> + “What's the soup made of, Bruno?” said Sylvie, who had put a spoonful of + it to her lips, and was making a wry face over it. + </p> + <p> + And Bruno's answer was anything but encouraging. “Bits of things!” + </p> + <p> + The entertainment was to conclude with “Bits of Shakespeare,” as Sylvie + expressed it, which were all to be done by Bruno, Sylvie being fully + engaged in making the Frogs keep their heads towards the stage: after + which Bruno was to appear in his real character, and tell them a Story of + his own invention. + </p> + <p> + “Will the Story have a Moral to it?” I asked Sylvie, while Bruno was away + behind the hedge, dressing for the first 'Bit.' + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” Sylvie replied doubtfully. “There generally is a Moral, only + he puts it in too soon.” + </p> + <p> + “And will he say all the Bits of Shakespeare?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he'll only act them,” said Sylvie. “He knows hardly any of the words. + When I see what he's dressed like, I've to tell the Frogs what character + it is. They're always in such a hurry to guess! Don't you hear them all + saying 'What? What?'” And so indeed they were: it had only sounded like + croaking, till Sylvie explained it, but I could now make out the “Wawt? + Wawt?” quite distinctly. + </p> + <p> + “But why do they try to guess it before they see it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” Sylvie said: “but they always do. Sometimes they begin + guessing weeks and weeks before the day!” + </p> + <p> + (So now, when you hear the Frogs croaking in a particularly melancholy + way, you may be sure they're trying to guess Bruno's next Shakespeare + 'Bit'. Isn't that interesting?) + </p> + <p> + However, the chorus of guessing was cut short by Bruno, who suddenly + rushed on from behind the scenes, and took a flying leap down among the + Frogs, to re-arrange them. + </p> + <p> + For the oldest and fattest Frog—who had never been properly arranged + so that he could see the stage, and so had no idea what was going on—was + getting restless, and had upset several of the Frogs, and turned others + round with their heads the wrong way. And it was no good at all, Bruno + said, to do a 'Bit' of Shakespeare when there was nobody to look at it + (you see he didn't count me as anybody). So he set to work with a stick, + stirring them up, very much as you would stir up tea in a cup, till most + of them had at least one great stupid eye gazing at the stage. + </p> + <p> + “Oo must come and sit among them, Sylvie,” he said in despair, “I've put + these two side-by-side, with their noses the same way, ever so many times, + but they do squarrel so!” + </p> + <p> + So Sylvie took her place as 'Mistress of the Ceremonies,' and Bruno + vanished again behind the scenes, to dress for the first 'Bit.' + </p> + <p> + “Hamlet!” was suddenly proclaimed, in the clear sweet tones I knew so + well. The croaking all ceased in a moment, and I turned to the stage, in + some curiosity to see what Bruno's ideas were as to the behaviour of + Shakespeare's greatest Character. + </p> + <p> + According to this eminent interpreter of the Drama, Hamlet wore a short + black cloak (which he chiefly used for muffling up his face, as if he + suffered a good deal from toothache), and turned out his toes very much as + he walked. “To be or not to be!” Hamlet remarked in a cheerful tone, and + then turned head-over-heels several times, his cloak dropping off in the + performance. + </p> + <p> + I felt a little disappointed: Bruno's conception of the part seemed so + wanting in dignity. “Won't he say any more of the speech?” I whispered to + Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” Sylvie whispered in reply. “He generally turns + head-over-heels when he doesn't know any more words.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno had meanwhile settled the question by disappearing from the stage; + and the Frogs instantly began inquiring the name of the next Character. + </p> + <p> + “You'll know directly!” cried Sylvie, as she adjusted two or three young + Frogs that had struggled round with their backs to the stage. “Macbeth!” + she added, as Bruno re-appeared. + </p> + <p> + Macbeth had something twisted round him, that went over one shoulder and + under the other arm, and was meant, I believe, for a Scotch plaid. He had + a thorn in his hand, which he held out at arm's length, as if he were a + little afraid of it. “Is this a dagger?” Macbeth inquired, in a puzzled + sort of tone: and instantly a chorus of “Thorn! Thorn!” arose from the + Frogs (I had quite learned to understand their croaking by this time). + </p> + <p> + “It's a dagger!” Sylvie proclaimed in a peremptory tone. “Hold your + tongues!” And the croaking ceased at once. + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare has not told us, so far as I know, that Macbeth had any such + eccentric habit as turning head-over-heels in private life: but Bruno + evidently considered it quite an essential part of the character, and left + the stage in a series of somersaults. However, he was back again in a few + moments, having tucked under his chin the end of a tuft of wool (probably + left on the thorn by a wandering sheep), which made a magnificent beard, + that reached nearly down to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Shylock!” Sylvie proclaimed. “No, I beg your pardon!” she hastily + corrected herself, “King Lear! I hadn't noticed the crown.” (Bruno had + very cleverly provided one, which fitted him exactly, by cutting out the + centre of a dandelion to make room for his head.) + </p> + <p> + King Lear folded his arms (to the imminent peril of his beard) and said, + in a mild explanatory tone, “Ay, every inch a king!” and then paused, as + if to consider how this could best be proved. And here, with all possible + deference to Bruno as a Shakespearian critic, I must express my opinion + that the poet did not mean his three great tragic heroes to be so + strangely alike in their personal habits; nor do I believe that he would + have accepted the faculty of turning head-over-heels as any proof at all + of royal descent. Yet it appeared that King Lear, after deep meditation, + could think of no other argument by which to prove his kingship: and, as + this was the last of the 'Bits' of Shakespeare (“We never do more than + three,” Sylvie explained in a whisper), Bruno gave the audience quite a + long series of somersaults before he finally retired, leaving the + enraptured Frogs all crying out “More! More!” which I suppose was their + way of encoring a performance. But Bruno wouldn't appear again, till the + proper time came for telling the Story. + </p> + <p> + {Image...The frogs' birthday-treat} + </p> + <p> + When he appeared at last in his real character, I noticed a remarkable + change in his behaviour. + </p> + <p> + He tried no more somersaults. It was clearly his opinion that, however + suitable the habit of turning head-over-heels might be to such petty + individuals as Hamlet and King Lear, it would never do for Bruno to + sacrifice his dignity to such an extent. But it was equally clear that he + did not feel entirely at his ease, standing all alone on the stage, with + no costume to disguise him: and though he began, several times, “There + were a Mouse—,” he kept glancing up and down, and on all sides, as + if in search of more comfortable quarters from which to tell the Story. + Standing on one side of the stage, and partly overshadowing it, was a tall + foxglove, which seemed, as the evening breeze gently swayed it hither and + thither, to offer exactly the sort of accommodation that the orator + desired. Having once decided on his quarters, it needed only a second or + two for him to run up the stem like a tiny squirrel, and to seat himself + astride on the topmost bend, where the fairy-bells clustered most closely, + and from whence he could look down on his audience from such a height that + all shyness vanished, and he began his Story merrily. + </p> + <p> + “Once there were a Mouse and a Crocodile and a Man and a Goat and a Lion.” + I had never heard the 'dramatis personae' tumbled into a story with such + profusion and in such reckless haste; and it fairly took my breath away. + Even Sylvie gave a little gasp, and allowed three of the Frogs, who seemed + to be getting tired of the entertainment, to hop away into the ditch, + without attempting to stop them. + </p> + <p> + “And the Mouse found a Shoe, and it thought it were a Mouse-trap. So it + got right in, and it stayed in ever so long.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did it stay in?” said Sylvie. Her function seemed to be much the same + as that of the Chorus in a Greek Play: she had to encourage the orator, + and draw him out, by a series of intelligent questions. + </p> + <p> + “'Cause it thought it couldn't get out again,” Bruno explained. “It were a + clever mouse. It knew it couldn't get out of traps!” + </p> + <p> + “But why did it go in at all?” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “—and it jamp, and it jamp,” Bruno proceeded, ignoring this + question, “and at last it got right out again. And it looked at the mark + in the Shoe. And the Man's name were in it. So it knew it wasn't its own + Shoe.” + </p> + <p> + “Had it thought it was?” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “Why, didn't I tell oo it thought it were a Mouse-trap?” the indignant + orator replied. “Please, Mister Sir, will oo make Sylvie attend?” Sylvie + was silenced, and was all attention: in fact, she and I were most of the + audience now, as the Frogs kept hopping away, and there were very few of + them left. + </p> + <p> + “So the Mouse gave the Man his Shoe. And the Man were welly glad, cause he + hadn't got but one Shoe, and he were hopping to get the other.” + </p> + <p> + Here I ventured on a question. “Do you mean 'hopping,' or 'hoping'?” + </p> + <p> + “Bofe,” said Bruno. “And the Man took the Goat out of the Sack.” (“We + haven't heard of the sack before,” I said. “Nor you won't hear of it + again,” said Bruno). “And he said to the Goat, 'Oo will walk about here + till I comes back.' And he went and he tumbled into a deep hole. And the + Goat walked round and round. And it walked under the Tree. And it wug its + tail. And it looked up in the Tree. And it sang a sad little Song. Oo + never heard such a sad little Song!” + </p> + <p> + “Can you sing it, Bruno?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Iss, I can,” Bruno readily replied. “And I sa'n't. It would make Sylvie + cry—” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't!,” Sylvie interrupted in great indignation. “And I don't + believe the Goat sang it at all!” + </p> + <p> + “It did, though!” said Bruno. “It singed it right froo. I sawed it singing + with its long beard—” + </p> + <p> + “It couldn't sing with its beard,” I said, hoping to puzzle the little + fellow: “a beard isn't a voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, oo couldn't walk with Sylvie!” Bruno cried triumphantly. + “Sylvie isn't a foot!” + </p> + <p> + I thought I had better follow Sylvie's example, and be silent for a while. + Bruno was too sharp for us. + </p> + <p> + “And when it had singed all the Song, it ran away—for to get along + to look for the Man, oo know. And the Crocodile got along after it—for + to bite it, oo know. And the Mouse got along after the Crocodile.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't the Crocodile running?” Sylvie enquired. She appealed to me. + “Crocodiles do run, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + I suggested “crawling” as the proper word. + </p> + <p> + “He wasn't running,” said Bruno, “and he wasn't crawling. He went + struggling along like a portmanteau. And he held his chin ever so high in + the air—” + </p> + <p> + “What did he do that for?” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “'cause he hadn't got a toofache!” said Bruno. “Ca'n't oo make out nuffin + wizout I 'splain it? Why, if he'd had a toofache, a course he'd have held + his head down—like this—and he'd have put a lot of warm + blankets round it!” + </p> + <p> + “If he'd had any blankets,” Sylvie argued. + </p> + <p> + “Course he had blankets!” retorted her brother. “Doos oo think Crocodiles + goes walks wizout blankets? And he frowned with his eyebrows. And the Goat + was welly flightened at his eyebrows!” + </p> + <p> + “I'd never be afraid of eyebrows!” exclaimed Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “I should think oo would, though, if they'd got a Crocodile fastened to + them, like these had! And so the Man jamp, and he jamp, and at last he got + right out of the hole.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvie gave another little gasp: this rapid dodging about among the + characters of the Story had taken away her breath. + </p> + <p> + “And he runned away for to look for the Goat, oo know. And he heard the + Lion grunting—-” + </p> + <p> + “Lions don't grunt,” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “This one did,” said Bruno. “And its mouth were like a large cupboard. And + it had plenty of room in its mouth. And the Lion runned after the Man for + to eat him, oo know. And the Mouse runned after the Lion.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Mouse was running after the Crocodile,” I said: “he couldn't run + after both!” + </p> + <p> + Bruno sighed over the density of his audience, but explained very + patiently. “He did runned after bofe: 'cause they went the same way! And + first he caught the Crocodile, and then he didn't catch the Lion. And when + he'd caught the Crocodile, what doos oo think he did—'cause he'd got + pincers in his pocket?” + </p> + <p> + “I ca'n't guess,” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + {Image...'He wrenched out that crocodile's toof!'} + </p> + <p> + “Nobody couldn't guess it!” Bruno cried in high glee. “Why, he wrenched + out that Crocodile's toof!” + </p> + <p> + “Which tooth?” I ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + But Bruno was not to be puzzled. “The toof he were going to bite the Goat + with, a course!” + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't be sure about that,” I argued, + “unless he wrenched out all its teeth.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno laughed merrily, and half sang, as he swung himself backwards and + forwards, “He did—wrenched—out—all its teef!” + </p> + <p> + “Why did the Crocodile wait to have them wrenched out?” said Sylvie. + </p> + <p> + “It had to wait,” said Bruno. + </p> + <p> + I ventured on another question. “But what became of the Man who said 'You + may wait here till I come back'?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't say 'Oo may,'” Bruno explained. “He said, 'Oo will.' Just like + Sylvie says to me 'Oo will do oor lessons till twelve o'clock.' Oh, I + wiss,” he added with a little sigh, “I wiss Sylvie would say 'Oo may do + oor lessons'!” + </p> + <p> + This was a dangerous subject for discussion, Sylvie seemed to think. She + returned to the Story. “But what became of the Man?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the Lion springed at him. But it came so slow, it were three weeks + in the air—” + </p> + <p> + “Did the Man wait for it all that time?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Course he didn't!” Bruno replied, gliding head-first down the stem of the + fox-glove, for the Story was evidently close to its end. “He sold his + house, and he packed up his things, while the Lion were coming. And he + went and he lived in another town. So the Lion ate the wrong man.” + </p> + <p> + This was evidently the Moral: so Sylvie made her final proclamation to the + Frogs. “The Story's finished! And whatever is to be learned from it,” she + added, aside to me, “I'm sure I don't know!” + </p> + <p> + I did not feel quite clear about it myself, so made no suggestion: but the + Frogs seemed quite content, Moral or no Moral, and merely raised a husky + chorus of “Off! Off!” as they hopped away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 25. LOOKING EASTWARD. + </h2> + <p> + “It's just a week,” I said, three days later, to Arthur, “since we heard + of Lady Muriel's engagement. I think I ought to call, at any rate, and + offer my congratulations. Won't you come with me?” + </p> + <p> + A pained expression passed over his face. + </p> + <p> + “When must you leave us?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “By the first train on Monday.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—yes, I will come with you. It would seem strange and + unfriendly if I didn't. But this is only Friday. Give me till Sunday + afternoon. I shall be stronger then.” + </p> + <p> + Shading his eyes with one hand, as if half-ashamed of the tears that were + coursing down his cheeks, he held the other out to me. It trembled as I + clasped it. + </p> + <p> + I tried to frame some words of sympathy; but they seemed poor and cold, + and I left them unspoken. “Good night!” was all I said. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, dear friend!” he replied. There was a manly vigour in his + tone that convinced me he was wrestling with, and triumphing over, the + great sorrow that had so nearly wrecked his life—and that, on the + stepping-stone of his dead self, he would surely rise to higher things! + </p> + <p> + There was no chance, I was glad to think, as we set out on Sunday + afternoon, of meeting Eric at the Hall, as he had returned to town the day + after his engagement was announced. His presence might have disturbed the + calm—the almost unnatural calm—with which Arthur met the woman + who had won his heart, and murmured the few graceful words of sympathy + that the occasion demanded. + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel was perfectly radiant with happiness: sadness could not live + in the light of such a smile: and even Arthur brightened under it, and, + when she remarked “You see I'm watering my flowers, though it is the + Sabbath-Day,” his voice had almost its old ring of cheerfulness as he + replied “Even on the Sabbath-Day works of mercy are allowed. But this + isn't the Sabbath-Day. The Sabbath-day has ceased to exist.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it's not Saturday,” Lady Muriel replied; “but isn't Sunday often + called 'the Christian Sabbath'?” + </p> + <p> + “It is so called, I think, in recognition of the spirit of the Jewish + institution, that one day in seven should be a day of rest. But I hold + that Christians are freed from the literal observance of the Fourth + Commandment.” + </p> + <p> + “Then where is our authority for Sunday observance?” + </p> + <p> + “We have, first, the fact that the seventh day was 'sanctified', when God + rested from the work of Creation. That is binding on us as Theists. + Secondly, we have the fact that 'the Lord's Day' is a Christian + institution. That is binding on us as Christians.” + </p> + <p> + “And your practical rules would be—?” + </p> + <p> + “First, as Theists, to keep it holy in some special way, and to make it, + so far as is reasonably possible, a day of rest. Secondly, as Christians, + to attend public worship.” + </p> + <p> + “And what of amusements?” + </p> + <p> + “I would say of them, as of all kinds of work, whatever is innocent on a + week-day, is innocent on Sunday, provided it does not interfere with the + duties of the day.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you would allow children to play on Sunday?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I should. Why make the day irksome to their restless natures?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a letter somewhere,” said Lady Muriel, “from an old friend, + describing the way in which Sunday was kept in her younger days. I will + fetch it for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I had a similar description, viva voce, years ago,” Arthur said when she + had left us, “from a little girl. It was really touching to hear the + melancholy tone in which she said 'On Sunday I mustn't play with my doll! + On Sunday I mustn't run on the sands! On Sunday I mustn't dig in the + garden!' Poor child! She had indeed abundant cause for hating Sunday!” + </p> + <p> + “Here is the letter,” said Lady Muriel, returning. “Let me read you a + piece of it.” + </p> + <p> + “When, as a child, I first opened my eyes on a Sunday-morning, a feeling + of dismal anticipation, which began at least on the Friday, culminated. I + knew what was before me, and my wish, if not my word, was 'Would God it + were evening!' It was no day of rest, but a day of texts, of catechisms + (Watts'), of tracts about converted swearers, godly charwomen, and + edifying deaths of sinners saved. + </p> + <p> + “Up with the lark, hymns and portions of Scripture had to be learned by + heart till 8 o'clock, when there were family-prayers, then breakfast, + which I was never able to enjoy, partly from the fast already undergone, + and partly from the outlook I dreaded. + </p> + <p> + “At 9 came Sunday-School; and it made me indignant to be put into the + class with the village-children, as well as alarmed lest, by some mistake + of mine, I should be put below them. + </p> + <p> + “The Church-Service was a veritable Wilderness of Zin. I wandered in it, + pitching the tabernacle of my thoughts on the lining of the square + family-pew, the fidgets of my small brothers, and the horror of knowing + that, on the Monday, I should have to write out, from memory, jottings of + the rambling disconnected extempore sermon, which might have had any text + but its own, and to stand or fall by the result. + </p> + <p> + “This was followed by a cold dinner at 1 (servants to have no work), + Sunday-School again from 2 to 4, and Evening-Service at 6. The intervals + were perhaps the greatest trial of all, from the efforts I had to make, to + be less than usually sinful, by reading books and sermons as barren as the + Dead Sea. There was but one rosy spot, in the distance, all that day: and + that was 'bed-time,' which never could come too early!” + </p> + <p> + “Such teaching was well meant, no doubt,” said Arthur; “but it must have + driven many of its victims into deserting the Church-Services altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I was a deserter this morning,” she gravely said. “I had to + write to Eric. Would you—would you mind my telling you something he + said about prayer? It had never struck me in that light before.” + </p> + <p> + “In what light?” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that all Nature goes by fixed, regular laws—Science has proved + that. So that asking God to do anything (except of course praying for + spiritual blessings) is to expect a miracle: and we've no right to do + that. I've not put it as well as he did: but that was the outcome of it, + and it has confused me. Please tell me what you can say in answer to it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't propose to discuss Captain Lindon's difficulties,” Arthur gravely + replied; “specially as he is not present. But, if it is your difficulty,” + (his voice unconsciously took a tenderer tone) “then I will speak.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my difficulty,” she said anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will begin by asking 'Why did you except spiritual blessings?' Is + not your mind a part of Nature?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but Free-Will comes in there—I can choose this or that; and + God can influence my choice.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not a Fatalist?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she earnestly exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God!” Arthur said to himself, but in so low a whisper that only I + heard it. “You grant then that I can, by an act of free choice, move this + cup,” suiting the action to the word, “this way or that way?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I grant it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let us see how far the result is produced by fixed laws. The cup + moves because certain mechanical forces are impressed on it by my hand. My + hand moves because certain forces—electric, magnetic, or whatever + 'nerve-force' may prove to be—are impressed on it by my brain. This + nerve-force, stored in the brain, would probably be traceable, if Science + were complete, to chemical forces supplied to the brain by the blood, and + ultimately derived from the food I eat and the air I breathe.” + </p> + <p> + “But would not that be Fatalism? Where would Free-Will come in?” + </p> + <p> + “In choice of nerves,” replied Arthur. “The nerve-force in the brain may + flow just as naturally down one nerve as down another. We need something + more than a fixed Law of Nature to settle which nerve shall carry it. That + 'something' is Free-Will.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes sparkled. “I see what you mean!” she exclaimed. “Human Free-Will + is an exception to the system of fixed Law. Eric said something like that. + And then I think he pointed out that God can only influence Nature by + influencing Human Wills. So that we might reasonably pray 'give us this + day our daily bread,' because many of the causes that produce bread are + under Man's control. But to pray for rain, or fine weather, would be as + unreasonable as—” she checked herself, as if fearful of saying + something irreverent. + </p> + <p> + In a hushed, low tone, that trembled with emotion, and with the solemnity + of one in the presence of death, Arthur slowly replied “Shalt he that + contendeth with the Almighty instruct him? Shall we 'the swarm that in the + noontide beam were born,' feeling in ourselves the power to direct, this + way or that, the forces of Nature—of Nature, of which we form so + trivial a part—shall we, in our boundless arrogance, in our pitiful + conceit, deny that power to the Ancient of Days? Saying, to our Creator, + 'Thus far and no further. Thou madest, but thou canst not rule!'?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Muriel had covered her face in her hands, and did not look up. She + only murmured “Thanks, thanks!” again and again. + </p> + <p> + We rose to go. Arthur said, with evident effort, “One word more. If you + would know the power of Prayer—in anything and everything that Man + can need try it. Ask, and it shall be given you. I—have tried it. I + know that God answers prayer!” + </p> + <p> + Our walk home was a silent one, till we had nearly reached the lodgings: + then Arthur murmured—and it was almost an echo of my own thoughts—“What + knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband?” + </p> + <p> + The subject was not touched on again. We sat on, talking, while hour after + hour, of this our last night together, glided away unnoticed. He had much + to tell me about India, and the new life he was going to, and the work he + hoped to do. And his great generous soul seemed so filled with noble + ambition as to have no space left for any vain regret or selfish repining. + </p> + <p> + “Come, it is nearly morning! Arthur said at last, rising and leading the + way upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “The sun will be rising in a few minutes: and, though I have basely + defrauded you of your last chance of a night's rest here, I'm sure you'll + forgive me: for I really couldn't bring myself to say 'Good night' sooner. + And God knows whether you'll ever see me again, or hear of me!” + </p> + <p> + “Hear of you I am certain I shall!” I warmly responded, and quoted the + concluding lines of that strange poem 'Waring':— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, never star + Was lost here, but it rose afar + Look East, where whole new thousands are! + In Vishnu-land what Avatar?” + </pre> + <p> + “Aye, look Eastward!” Arthur eagerly replied, pausing at the stair-case + window, which commanded a fine view of the sea and the eastward horizon. + “The West is the fitting tomb for all the sorrow and the sighing, all the + errors and the follies of the Past: for all its withered Hopes and all its + buried Loves! From the East comes new strength, new ambition, new Hope, + new Life, new Love! Look Eastward! Aye, look Eastward!” + </p> + <p> + His last words were still ringing in my ears as I entered my room, and + undrew the window-curtains, just in time to see the sun burst in glory + from his ocean-prison, and clothe the world in the light of a new day. + </p> + <p> + “So may it be for him, and me, and all of us!” I mused. “All that is evil, + and dead, and hopeless, fading with the Night that is past! All that is + good, and living, and hopeful, rising with the dawn of Day! + </p> + <p> + “Fading, with the Night, the chilly mists, and the noxious vapours, and + the heavy shadows, and the wailing gusts, and the owl's melancholy + hootings: rising, with the Day, the darting shafts of light, and the + wholesome morning breeze, and the warmth of a dawning life, and the mad + music of the lark! Look Eastward! + </p> + <p> + “Fading, with the Night, the clouds of ignorance, and the deadly blight of + sin, and the silent tears of sorrow: and ever rising, higher, higher, with + the Day, the radiant dawn of knowledge, and the sweet breath of purity, + and the throb of a world's ecstasy! Look Eastward! + </p> + <p> + {Image...'Look eastward!'} + </p> + <p> + “Fading, with the Night, the memory of a dead love, and the withered + leaves of a blighted hope, and the sickly repinings and moody regrets + that numb the best energies of the soul: and rising, broadening, rolling + upward like a living flood, the manly resolve, and the dauntless will, and + the heavenward gaze of faith—the substance of things hoped for, the + evidence of things not seen! + </p> + <p> + “Look Eastward! Aye, look Eastward!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + One little picture in this book, the Magic Locket, at p. 77, was drawn by + 'Miss Alice Havers.' I did not state this on the title-page, since it + seemed only due, to the artist of all these (to my mind) wonderful + pictures, that his name should stand there alone. + </p> + <p> + The descriptions, at pp. 386, 387, of Sunday as spent by children of the + last generation, are quoted verbatim from a speech made to me by a + child-friend and a letter written to me by a lady-friend. + </p> + <p> + The Chapters, headed 'Fairy Sylvie' and 'Bruno's Revenge,' are a reprint, + with a few alterations, of a little fairy-tale which I wrote in the year + 1867, at the request of the late Mrs. Gatty, for 'Aunt Judy's Magazine,' + which she was then editing. + </p> + <p> + It was in 1874, I believe, that the idea first occurred to me of making it + the nucleus of a longer story. As the years went on, I jotted down, at odd + moments, all sorts of odd ideas, and fragments of dialogue, that occurred + to me—who knows how?—with a transitory suddenness that left me + no choice but either to record them then and there, or to abandon them to + oblivion. Sometimes one could trace to their source these random flashes + of thought—as being suggested by the book one was reading, or struck + out from the 'flint' of one's own mind by the 'steel' of a friend's chance + remark but they had also a way of their own, of occurring, a propos of + nothing—specimens of that hopelessly illogical phenomenon, 'an + effect without a cause.' Such, for example, was the last line of 'The + Hunting of the Snark,' which came into my head (as I have already related + in 'The Theatre' for April, 1887) quite suddenly, during a solitary walk: + and such, again, have been passages which occurred in dreams, and which I + cannot trace to any antecedent cause whatever. There are at least two + instances of such dream-suggestions in this book—one, my Lady's + remark, 'it often runs in families, just as a love for pastry does', at p. + 88; the other, Eric Lindon's badinage about having been in domestic + service, at p. 332. And thus it came to pass that I found myself at last + in possession of a huge unwieldy mass of litterature—if the reader + will kindly excuse the spelling—which only needed stringing + together, upon the thread of a consecutive story, to constitute the book I + hoped to write. Only! The task, at first, seemed absolutely hopeless, and + gave me a far clearer idea, than I ever had before, of the meaning of the + word 'chaos': and I think it must have been ten years, or more, before I + had succeeded in classifying these odds-and-ends sufficiently to see what + sort of a story they indicated: for the story had to grow out of the + incidents, not the incidents out of the story I am telling all this, in no + spirit of egoism, but because I really believe that some of my readers + will be interested in these details of the 'genesis' of a book, which + looks so simple and straight-forward a matter, when completed, that they + might suppose it to have been written straight off, page by page, as one + would write a letter, beginning at the beginning; and ending at the end. + </p> + <p> + It is, no doubt, possible to write a story in that way: and, if it be not + vanity to say so, I believe that I could, myself,—if I were in the + unfortunate position (for I do hold it to be a real misfortune) of being + obliged to produce a given amount of fiction in a given time,—that I + could 'fulfil my task,' and produce my 'tale of bricks,' as other slaves + have done. One thing, at any rate, I could guarantee as to the story so + produced—that it should be utterly commonplace, should contain no + new ideas whatever, and should be very very weary reading! + </p> + <p> + This species of literature has received the very appropriate name of + 'padding' which might fitly be defined as 'that which all can write and + none can read.' That the present volume contains no such writing I dare + not avow: sometimes, in order to bring a picture into its proper place, it + has been necessary to eke out a page with two or three extra lines: but I + can honestly say I have put in no more than I was absolutely compelled to + do. + </p> + <p> + My readers may perhaps like to amuse themselves by trying to detect, in a + given passage, the one piece of 'padding' it contains. While arranging the + 'slips' into pages, I found that the passage, whichnow extends from the + top of p. 35 to the middle of p. 38, was 3 lines too short. I supplied the + deficiency, not by interpolating a word here and a word there, but by + writing in 3 consecutive lines. Now can my readers guess which they are? + </p> + <p> + A harder puzzle if a harder be desired would be to determine, as to the + Gardener's Song, in which cases (if any) the stanza was adapted to the + surrounding text, and in which (if any) the text was adapted to the + stanza. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the hardest thing in all literature—at least I have found it + so: by no voluntary effort can I accomplish it: I have to take it as it + come's is to write anything original. And perhaps the easiest is, when + once an original line has been struck out, to follow it up, and to write + any amount more to the same tune. I do not know if 'Alice in Wonderland' + was an original story—I was, at least, no conscious imitator in + writing it—but I do know that, since it came out, something like a + dozen story-books have appeared, on identically the same pattern. The path + I timidly explored believing myself to be 'the first that ever burst into + that silent sea'—is now a beaten high-road: all the way-side flowers + have long ago been trampled into the dust: and it would be courting + disaster for me to attempt that style again. + </p> + <p> + Hence it is that, in 'Sylvie and Bruno,' I have striven with I know not + what success to strike out yet another new path: be it bad or good, it is + the best I can do. It is written, not for money, and not for fame, but in + the hope of supplying, for the children whom I love, some thoughts that + may suit those hours of innocent merriment which are the very life of + Childhood; and also in the hope of suggesting, to them and to others, some + thoughts that may prove, I would fain hope, not wholly out of harmony with + the graver cadences of Life. + </p> + <p> + If I have not already exhausted the patience of my readers, I would like + to seize this opportunity perhaps the last I shall have of addressing so + many friends at once of putting on record some ideas that have occurred to + me, as to books desirable to be written—which I should much like to + attempt, but may not ever have the time or power to carry through—in + the hope that, if I should fail (and the years are gliding away very fast) + to finish the task I have set myself, other hands may take it up. + </p> + <p> + First, a Child's Bible. The only real essentials of this would be, + carefully selected passages, suitable for a child's reading and pictures. + One principle of selection, which I would adopt, would be that Religion + should be put before a child as a revelation of love no need to pain and + puzzle the young mind with the history of crime and punishment. (On such a + principle I should, for example, omit the history of the Flood.) The + supplying of the pictures would involve no great difficulty: no new ones + would be needed: hundreds of excellent pictures already exist, the + copyright of which has long ago expired, and which simply need + photo-zincography, or some similar process, for their successful + reproduction. The book should be handy in size with a pretty attractive + looking cover—in a clear legible type—and, above all, with + abundance of pictures, pictures, pictures! + </p> + <p> + Secondly, a book of pieces selected from the Bible—not single texts, + but passages of from 10 to 20 verses each—to be committed to memory. + Such passages would be found useful, to repeat to one's self and to ponder + over, on many occasions when reading is difficult, if not impossible: for + instance, when lying awake at night—on a railway-journey—when + taking a solitary walk-in old age, when eye-sight is failing of wholly + lost—and, best of all, when illness, while incapacitating us for + reading or any other occupation, condemns us to lie awake through many + weary silent hours: at such a time how keenly one may realise the truth of + David's rapturous cry 'O how sweet are thy words unto my throat: yea, + sweeter than honey unto my mouth!' + </p> + <p> + I have said 'passages,' rather than single texts, because we have no means + of recalling single texts: memory needs links, and here are none: one may + have a hundred texts stored in the memory, and not be able to recall, at + will, more than half-a-dozen—and those by mere chance: whereas, once + get hold of any portion of a chapter that has been committed to memory, + and the whole can be recovered: all hangs together. + </p> + <p> + Thirdly, a collection of passages, both prose and verse, from books other + than the Bible. There is not perhaps much, in what is called 'un-inspired' + literature (a misnomer, I hold: if Shakespeare was not inspired, one may + well doubt if any man ever was), that will bear the process of being + pondered over, a hundred times: still there are such passages—enough, + I think, to make a goodly store for the memory. + </p> + <p> + These two books of sacred, and secular, passages for memory—will + serve other good purposes besides merely occupying vacant hours: they will + help to keep at bay many anxious thoughts, worrying thoughts, uncharitable + thoughts, unholy thoughts. Let me say this, in better words than my own, + by copying a passage from that most interesting book, Robertson's Lectures + on the Epistles to the Corinthians, Lecture XLIX. “If a man finds himself + haunted by evil desires and unholy images, which will generally be at + periodical hours, let him commit to memory passages of Scripture, or + passages from the best writers in verse or prose. Let him store his mind + with these, as safeguards to repeat when he lies awake in some restless + night, or when despairing imaginations, or gloomy, suicidal thoughts, + beset him. Let these be to him the sword, turning everywhere to keep the + way of the Garden of Life from the intrusion of profaner footsteps.” + </p> + <p> + Fourthly, a “Shakespeare” for girls: that is, an edition in which + everything, not suitable for the perusal of girls of (say) from 10 to 17, + should be omitted. Few children under 10 would be likely to understand or + enjoy the greatest of poets: and those, who have passed out of girlhood, + may safely be left to read Shakespeare, in any edition, 'expurgated' or + not, that they may prefer: but it seems a pity that so many children, in + the intermediate stage, should be debarred from a great pleasure for want + of an edition suitable to them. Neither Bowdler's, Chambers's, Brandram's, + nor Cundell's 'Boudoir' Shakespeare, seems to me to meet the want: they + are not sufficiently 'expurgated.' Bowdler's is the most extraordinary of + all: looking through it, I am filled with a deep sense of wonder, + considering what he has left in, that he should have cut anything out! + Besides relentlessly erasing all that is unsuitable on the score of + reverence or decency, I should be inclined to omit also all that seems too + difficult, or not likely to interest young readers. The resulting book + might be slightly fragmentary: but it would be a real treasure to all + British maidens who have any taste for poetry. + </p> + <p> + If it be needful to apologize to any one for the new departure I have + taken in this story—by introducing, along with what will, I hope, + prove to be acceptable nonsense for children, some of the graver thoughts + of human life—it must be to one who has learned the Art of keeping + such thoughts wholly at a distance in hours of mirth and careless ease. To + him such a mixture will seem, no doubt, ill-judged and repulsive. And that + such an Art exists I do not dispute: with youth, good health, and + sufficient money, it seems quite possible to lead, for years together, a + life of unmixed gaiety—with the exception of one solemn fact, with + which we are liable to be confronted at any moment, even in the midst of + the most brilliant company or the most sparkling entertainment. A man may + fix his own times for admitting serious thought, for attending public + worship, for prayer, for reading the Bible: all such matters he can defer + to that 'convenient season', which is so apt never to occur at all: but he + cannot defer, for one single moment, the necessity of attending to a + message, which may come before he has finished reading this page,' this + night shalt thy soul be required of thee.' + </p> + <p> + The ever-present sense of this grim possibility has been, in all ages,* + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Note... At the moment, when I had written these words, there + was a knock at the door, and a telegram was brought me, + announcing the sudden death of a dear friend. +</pre> + <p> + an incubus that men have striven to shake off. Few more interesting + subjects of enquiry could be found, by a student of history, than the + various weapons that have been used against this shadowy foe. Saddest of + all must have been the thoughts of those who saw indeed an existence + beyond the grave, but an existence far more terrible than annihilation—an + existence as filmy, impalpable, all but invisible spectres, drifting + about, through endless ages, in a world of shadows, with nothing to do, + nothing to hope for, nothing to love! In the midst of the gay verses of + that genial 'bon vivant' Horace, there stands one dreary word whose utter + sadness goes to one's heart. It is the word 'exilium' in the well-known + passage + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium + Versatur urna serius ocius + Sors exitura et nos in aeternum + Exilium impositura cymbae. +</pre> + <p> + Yes, to him this present life—spite of all its weariness and all its + sorrow—was the only life worth having: all else was 'exile'! Does it + not seem almost incredible that one, holding such a creed, should ever + have smiled? + </p> + <p> + And many in this day, I fear, even though believing in an existence beyond + the grave far more real than Horace ever dreamed of, yet regard it as a + sort of 'exile' from all the joys of life, and so adopt Horace's theory, + and say 'let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.' + </p> + <p> + We go to entertainments, such as the theatre—I say 'we', for I also + go to the play, whenever I get a chance of seeing a really good one and + keep at arm's length, if possible, the thought that we may not return + alive. Yet how do you know—dear friend, whose patience has carried + you through this garrulous preface that it may not be your lot, when mirth + is fastest and most furious, to feel the sharp pang, or the deadly + faintness, which heralds the final crisis—to see, with vague wonder, + anxious friends bending over you to hear their troubled whispers perhaps + yourself to shape the question, with trembling lips, “Is it serious?”, and + to be told “Yes: the end is near” (and oh, how different all Life will + look when those words are said!)—how do you know, I say, that all + this may not happen to you, this night? + </p> + <p> + And dare you, knowing this, say to yourself “Well, perhaps it is an + immoral play: perhaps the situations are a little too 'risky', the + dialogue a little too strong, the 'business' a little too suggestive. I + don't say that conscience is quite easy: but the piece is so clever, I + must see it this once! I'll begin a stricter life to-morrow.” To-morrow, + and to-morrow, and tomorrow! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Who sins in hope, who, sinning, says, + 'Sorrow for sin God's judgement stays!' + Against God's Spirit he lies; quite stops + Mercy with insult; dares, and drops, + Like a scorch'd fly, that spins in vain + Upon the axis of its pain, + Then takes its doom, to limp and crawl, + Blind and forgot, from fall to fall.” + </pre> + <p> + Let me pause for a moment to say that I believe this thought, of the + possibility of death—if calmly realised, and steadily faced would be + one of the best possible tests as to our going to any scene of amusement + being right or wrong. If the thought of sudden death acquires, for you, a + special horror when imagined as happening in a theatre, then be very sure + the theatre is harmful for you, however harmless it may be for others; and + that you are incurring a deadly peril in going. Be sure the safest rule is + that we should not dare to live in any scene in which we dare not die. + </p> + <p> + But, once realise what the true object is in life—that it is not + pleasure, not knowledge, not even fame itself, 'that last infirmity of + noble minds'—but that it is the development of character, the rising + to a higher, nobler, purer standard, the building-up of the perfect Man—and + then, so long as we feel that this is going on, and will (we trust) go on + for evermore, death has for us no terror; it is not a shadow, but a light; + not an end, but a beginning! + </p> + <p> + One other matter may perhaps seem to call for apology—that I should + have treated with such entire want of sympathy the British passion for + 'Sport', which no doubt has been in by-gone days, and is still, in some + forms of it, an excellent school for hardihood and for coolness in moments + of danger. But I am not entirely without sympathy for genuine 'Sport': I + can heartily admire the courage of the man who, with severe bodily toil, + and at the risk of his life, hunts down some 'man-eating' tiger: and I can + heartily sympathize with him when he exults in the glorious excitement of + the chase and the hand-to-hand struggle with the monster brought to bay. + But I can but look with deep wonder and sorrow on the hunter who, at his + ease and in safety, can find pleasure in what involves, for some + defenceless creature, wild terror and a death of agony: deeper, if the + hunter be one who has pledged himself to preach to men the Religion of + universal Love: deepest of all, if it be one of those 'tender and + delicate' beings, whose very name serves as a symbol of Love—'thy + love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women'—whose mission + here is surely to help and comfort all that are in pain or sorrow! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Farewell, farewell! but this I tell + To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! + He prayeth well, who loveth well + Both man and bird and beast. + + He prayeth best, who loveth best + All things both great and small; + For the dear God who loveth us, + He made and loveth all.' +</pre> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sylvie and Bruno, by Lewis Carroll + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE AND BRUNO *** + +***** This file should be named 620-h.htm or 620-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/620/ + +Text file produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +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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