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(illustration)
BY
(front)
(dedication)
To OSWALD BARRON WITHOUT WHOM THIS BOOK COULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
"THE TREASURES SEEKERS" IS DEDICATED IN MEMORY OF CHILDHOODS
IDENTICAL BUT FOR THE ACCIDENTS OF TIME AND SPACE.
(contents)
There are some things I must tell before I begin to tell about the
treasure-seeking, because I have read books myself, and I know how
beastly it is when a story begins, "'Alas!' said
Hildegarde with a deep sigh, 'we must look our last on this ancestral
home'"--and then some one else says something--and
you don't know for pages and pages where the home is, or who
Hildegarde is, or anything about it. Our ancestral home is in
the Lewisham Road. It is semi-detached
and has a garden, not a large one. We are the Bastables. There are six of us besides Father. Our Mother is dead, and if you think we don't care because I don't tell you much about her you only show that you do not understand people at all. Dora is the eldest. Then Oswald--and then Dicky. Oswald won the Latin prize at his preparatory school--and Dicky is good at sums. Alice and Noël are twins: they are ten, and Horace Octavius is my youngest brother. It is one of us that tells this story--but I shall not tell you which: only at the very end perhaps I will. While the story is going on you may be trying to guess, only I bet you don't.
It was Oswald who first thought of looking for treasure. Oswald often
thinks of very interesting things. And directly he thought of it he did not
keep it to himself, as some boys would have done, but he told the others,
and said--
"I'll tell you what, we must go and seek for treasure:
it is always what you do to restore the fallen fortunes of your
House."
Dora said it was all very well. She often says that. She was trying to
mend a large hole in one of Noël's stockings. He tore it on a
nail when we were playing shipwrecked
mariners on top of the chicken-house the day H.O. fell off and cut his chin: he has the scar still. Dora is the only one of us who ever tries to mend anything. Alice tries to make things sometimes. Once she knitted a red scarf for Noël because his chest is delicate, but it was much wider at one end than the other, and he wouldn't wear it. So we used it as a pennon, and it did very well, because most of our things are black or grey since Mother died; and scarlet was a nice change. Father does not like you to ask for new things. That was one way we had of knowing that the fortunes of the ancient House of Bastable were really fallen. Another way was that there was no more pocket-money--except a penny now and then to the little ones, and people did not come to dinner any more, like they used to, with pretty dresses, driving up in cabs--and the carpets got holes in them--and when the legs came off things they were not sent to be mended, and we gave up having the gardener except for the front garden, and not that very often. And the silver in the big oak plate-chest that is lined with green baize all went away to the shop to have the dents and scratches taken out of it, and it never came back. We think Father
hadn't enough money to pay the silver man for taking out the dents and scratches. The new spoons and forks were yellowy-white, and not so heavy as the old ones, and they never shone after the first day or two.
Father was very ill after Mother died; and while he was ill his
business-partner went to Spain--and there was never much money
afterwards. I don't know why. Then the servants left and there was
only one, a General. A great deal of your comfort and happiness depends on
having a good General. The last but one was nice: she used to make
jolly good currant puddings for us, and let us have the dish on the floor
and pretend it was a wild boar we were killing with our forks. But the
General we have now nearly always makes sago puddings, and they are the
watery kind, and you cannot pretend anything with them, not even islands,
like you do with porridge.
Then we left off going to school, and Father said we should go to a good
school as soon as he could manage it. He said a holiday would do us all
good. We thought he was right, but we wished he had told us he
couldn't afford it. For of course we knew.
Then a great many people used to come to the door with envelopes with no
stamps on
them, and sometimes they got very angry, and said they were calling for the last time before putting it in other hands. I asked Eliza what that meant, and she kindly explained to me, and I was so sorry for Father.
And once a long, blue paper came; a policeman brought it, and we were so
frightened. But Father said it was all right, only when he went up to kiss
the girls after they were in bed they said he had been crying, though
I'm sure that's not true. Because only cowards and snivellers
cry, and my Father is the bravest man in the world.
So you see it was time we looked for treasure and Oswald said so, and
Dora said it was all very well. But the others agreed with Oswald. So we
held a council. Dora was in the chair--the big dining-room
chair, that we let the fireworks off from, the Fifth of November when we
had the measles and couldn't do it in the garden. The hole has never
been mended, so now we have that chair in the nursery, and I think it was
cheap at the blowing-up we boys got when the hole was burnt.
"We must do something," said Alice, "because the
exchequer is empty." She rattled the money-box as she spoke,
and it
really did rattle because we always keep the bad sixpence in it for luck.
"Yes--but what shall we do?" said Dicky.
"It's so jolly easy to say let's do
something." Dicky always wants everything settled
exactly. Father calls him the Definite Article.
"Let's read all the books again. We shall get lots of ideas
out of them." It was Noël who suggested this, but we made him
shut up, because we knew well enough he only wanted to get back to his old
books. Noël is a poet. He sold some of his poetry once--and it
was printed, but that does not come in this part of the story.
Then Dicky said, "Look here. We'll be quite quiet for ten
minutes by the clock--and each think of some way to find treasure. And
when we've thought we'll try all the ways one after the other,
beginning with the eldest."
"I shan't be able to think in ten minutes, make it half an
hour," said H.O. His real name is Horace Octavius, but we call him
H.O. because of the advertisement, and it's not so very long ago he
was afraid to pass the hoarding where it says "Eat H.O." in big
letters. He says it was when he was a little boy, but I remember last
Christmas but one, he woke in the middle of the night crying and
howling, and they said it was the pudding. But he told me afterwards he had been dreaming that they really had come to eat H.O., and it couldn't have been the pudding, when you come to think of it, because it was so very plain.
Well, we made it half an hour--and we all sat quiet, and thought
and thought. And I made up my mind before two minutes were over, and I saw
the others had, all but Dora, who is always an awful time over everything.
I got pins and needles in my leg from sitting still so long, and when it
was seven minutes H.O. cried out--
"Oh, it must be more than half an hour!"
H.O. is eight years old, but he cannot tell the clock yet. Oswald could
tell the clock when he was six.
We all stretched ourselves and began to speak at once, but Dora put up
her hands to her ears and said--
"One at a time, please. We aren't playing Babel." (It
is a very good game. Did you ever play it?)
So Dora made us all sit in a row on the floor, in ages, and then she
pointed at us with the finger that had the brass thimble on. Her silver
one got lost when the last General but
two went away. We think she must have forgotten it was Dora's and put it in her box by mistake. She was a very forgetful girl. She used to forget what she had spent money on, so that the change was never quite right.
Oswald spoke first. "I think we might stop people on
Blackheath--with crape masks and horse-pistols--and say
'Your money or your life! Resistance is useless, we are armed to the
teeth'--like Dick Turpin and Claude Duval. It wouldn't
matter about not having horses, because coaches have gone out
too."
Dora screwed up her nose the way she always does when she is going to
talk like the good elder sister in books, and said, "That would be
very wrong: it's like pickpocketing or taking pennies out of
Father"s great-coat when it's hanging in the
hall."
I must say I don't think she need have said that, especially
before the little ones--for it was when I was only four.
But Oswald was not going to let her see he cared, so he said--
"Oh, very well. I can think of lots of other ways. We could rescue
an old gentleman from deadly Highwaymen."
"There aren't any," said Dora.
"Oh, well, it's all the same--from deadly peril, then.
There's plenty of that. Then he would turn out to be the Prince of
Wales, and he would say, "My noble, my cherished preserver! Here is a
million pounds a year. Rise up, Sir Oswald Bastable.'"
But the others did not seem to think so, and it was Alice's turn
to say.
She said, "I think we might try the divining-rod. I'm
sure I could do it. I've often read about it. You hold a stick in
your hands, and when you come to where there is gold underneath the stick
kicks about. So you know. And you dig."
"Oh," said Dora suddenly, "I have an idea. But
I'll say last. I hope the divining-rod isn't wrong. I
believe it's wrong in the Bible."
"So is eating pork and ducks," said Dicky. "You
can't go by that."
"Anyhow, we'll try the other ways first," said Dora.
"Now, H.O."
"Let's be Bandits," said H.O. "I dare say
it's wrong but it would be fun pretending."
"I'm sure it's wrong," said Dora.
And Dicky said she thought everything wrong. She said she didn't,
and Dicky was
very disagreeable. So Oswald had to make peace, and he said--
"Dora needn't play if she doesn't want to. Nobody
asked her. And, Dicky, don't be an idiot: do dry up and
let's hear what Noël's idea is."
Dora and Dicky did not look pleased, but I kicked Noël under the
table to make him hurry up, and then he said he didn't think he
wanted to play any more. That's the worst of it. The others are so
jolly ready to quarrel. I told Noël to be a man and not a snivelling
pig, and at last he said he had not made up his mind whether he would print
his poetry in a book and sell it, or find a princess and marry her.
"Whichever it is," he added, "none of you shall want
for anything, though Oswald did kick me, and say I was a snivelling
pig."
"I didn't," said Oswald, "I told you not to
be." And Alice explained to him that that was quite the opposite of
what he thought. So he agreed to drop it.
Then Dicky spoke.
"You must all of you have noticed the advertisements in the
papers, telling you that ladies and gentlemen can easily earn two pounds a
week in their spare time, and to send
two shillings for sample and instructions, carefully packed free from observation. Now that we don't go to school all our time is spare time. So I should think we could easily earn twenty pounds a week each. That would do us very well. We'll try some of the other things first, and directly we have any money we'll send for the sample and instructions. And I have another idea, but I must think about it before I say."
We all said, "Out with it--what's the other
idea?"
But Dicky said, "No." That is Dicky all over. He never will
show you anything he's making till it's quite finished, and the
same with his inmost thoughts. But he is pleased if you seem to want to
know, so Oswald said--
"Keep your silly old secret, then. Now, Dora, drive ahead.
We've all said except you."
Then Dora jumped up and dropped the stocking and the thimble (it rolled
away, and we did not find it for days), and said--
"Let's try my way now. Besides, I'm the
eldest, so it's only fair. Let's dig for treasure. Not any
tiresome divining rod--but just plain digging. People who dig for
treasure always
find it. And then we shall be rich and we needn't try your ways at all. Some of them are rather difficult: and I'm certain some of them are wrong--and we must always remember that wrong things--"
But we told her to shut up and come on, and she did.
I couldn't help wondering as we went down to the garden, why
Father had never thought of digging there for treasure instead of going to
his beastly office every day.
write all that down, though of course it happens. I said so to Albert-next-door's uncle, who writes books, and he said, "Quite right, that's what we call selection, a necessity of true art." And he is very clever indeed. So you see.
I have often thought that if the people who write books for children
knew a little more it would be better. I shall not tell you anything about
us except what I should like to know about if I was reading the story and
you were writing it. Albert's uncle says I ought to have put this in
the preface, but I never read prefaces, and it is not much good writing
things just for people to skip. I wonder other authors have never thought
of this.
Well, when we had agreed to dig for treasure we all went down into the
cellar and lighted the gas. Oswald would have liked to dig there, but it is
stone flags. We looked among the old boxes and broken chairs and fenders
and empty bottles and things, and at last we found the spades we had to dig
in the sand with when we went to the seaside three years ago. They are not
silly, babyish, wooden spades, that split if you look at them, but good
iron, with a blue mark across the top of the iron part, and yellow wooden
handles. We wasted
a little time getting them dusted, because the girls wouldn't dig with spades that had cobwebs on them. Girls would never do for African explorers or anything like that, they are too beastly particular.
It was no use doing the thing by halves. We marked out a sort of square
in the mouldy part of the garden, about three yards across, and began to
dig. But we found nothing except worms and stones--and the ground was
very hard.
So we thought we'd try another part of the garden, and we found a
place in the big round flower bed, where the ground was much softer. We
thought we'd make a smaller hole to begin with, and it was much
better. We dug and dug and dug, and it was jolly hard work! We got very hot
digging, but we found nothing.
Presently Albert-next-door looked over the wall. We do not
like him very much, but we let him play with us sometimes, because his
father is dead, and you must not be unkind to orphans, even if their
mothers are alive. Albert is always very tidy. He wears frilly collars and
velvet knickerbockers. I can't think how he can bear to.
So we said, "Hullo!"
And he said, "What are you up to?"
"We're digging for treasure," said Alice; "an
ancient parchment revealed to us the place of concealment. Come over and
help us. When we have dug deep enough we shall find a great pot of red
clay, full of gold and precious jewels."
Albert-next-door only sniggered and said, "What
silly nonsense!" He cannot play properly at all. It is very strange,
because he has a very nice uncle. You see, Albert-next-door
doesn't care for reading, and he has not read nearly so many books as
we have, so he is very foolish and ignorant, but it cannot be helped, and
you just have to put up with it when you want him to do anything. Besides,
it is wrong to be angry with people for not being so clever as you are
yourself. It is not always their faults.
So Oswald said, "Come and dig! Then you shall share the treasure
when we've found it."
But he said, "I shan't--I don't like
digging--and I'm just going in to my tea."
"Come along and dig, there's a good boy," Alice said.
"You can use my spade. It's much the best--"
So he came along and dug, and when once
he was over the wall we kept him at it, and we worked as well, of course, and the hole got deep. Pincher worked too--he is our dog and he is very good at digging. He digs for rats in the dustbin sometimes, and gets very dirty. But we love our dog, even when his face wants washing.
"I expect we shall have to make a tunnel," Oswald said,
"to reach the rich treasure." So he jumped into the hole and
began to dig at one side. After that we took it in turns to dig at the
tunnel, and Pincher was most useful in scraping the earth out of the
tunnel--he does it with his back feet when you say "Rats!"
and he digs with his front ones, and burrows with his nose as well.
At last the tunnel was nearly a yard long, and big enough to creep along
to find the treasure, if only it had been a bit longer. Now it was
Albert's turn to go in and dig, but he funked it.
"Take your turn like a man," said Oswald--nobody can
say that Oswald doesn't take his turn like a man. But Albert
wouldn't. So we had to make him, because it was only fair.
"It's quite easy," Alice said. "You just crawl
in and dig with your hands. Then
when you come out we can scrape out what you've done, with the spades. Come--be a man. You won't notice it being dark in the tunnel if you shut your eyes tight. We've all been in except Dora--and she doesn't like worms."
"I don't like worms neither."
Albert-next-door said this; but we remembered how he had
picked a fat red and black worm up in his fingers and thrown it at Dora
only the day before.
So we put him in.
But he would not go in head first, the proper way, and dig with his
hands as we had done, and though Oswald was angry at the time, for he hates
snivellers, yet afterwards he owned that perhaps it was just as well. You
should never be afraid to own that perhaps you were mistaken--but it
is cowardly to do it unless you are quite sure you are in the wrong.
"Let me go in feet first," said
Albert-next-door. "I'll dig with my boots--I
will truly, honour bright."
So we let him get in feet first--and he did it very slowly and at
last he was in, and only his head sticking out into the hole; and all the
rest of him in the tunnel.
"Now dig with your boots," said Oswald; "and, Alice,
do catch hold of Pincher, he'll be digging again in another minute,
and perhaps it would be uncomfortable for Albert if Pincher threw the mould
into his eyes."
You should always try to think of these little things. Thinking of other
people's comfort makes them like you. Alice held Pincher, and we all
shouted, "Kick! dig with your feet, for all you're
worth!"
So Albert-next-door began to dig with his feet, and we
stood on the ground over him, waiting--and all in a minute the ground
gave way, and we tumbled together in a heap: and when we got up there
was a little shallow hollow where we had been standing, and
Albert-next-door was underneath, stuck quite fast, because
the roof of the tunnel had tumbled in on him. He is a horribly unlucky boy
to have anything to do with.
It was dreadful the way he cried and screamed, though he had to own it
didn't hurt, only it was rather heavy and he couldn't move his
legs. We would have dug him out all right enough, in time, but he screamed
so we were afraid the police would come, so Dicky climbed over the wall, to
tell the cook there to tell Albert-next-door's uncle he
had been buried by mistake, and to come and help dig him out.
Dicky was a long time gone. We wondered what had become of him, and all
the while the screaming went on and on, for we had taken the loose earth
off Albert's face so that he could scream quite easily and
comfortably.
Presently Dicky came back and Albert-next-door's
uncle came with him. He has very long legs, and his hair is light and his
face is brown. He has been to sea, but now he writes books. I like him.
He told his nephew to stow it, so Albert did, and then he asked him if
he was hurt--and Albert had to say he wasn't, for though he is a
coward, and very unlucky, he is not a liar like some boys are.
"This promises to be a protracted if agreeable task," said
Albert-next-door's uncle, rubbing his hands and looking
at the hole with Albert's head in it. "I will get another
spade," so he fetched the big spade out of the next-door
garden tool-shed, and began to dig his nephew out.
"Mind you keep very still," he said, "or I might chunk
a bit out of you with the spade." Then after a while he
said--
"I confess that I am not absolutely insensible to the dramatic
interest of the situation. My curiosity is excited. I own that I should
like to know how my nephew happened to be buried. But don't tell me
if you'd rather not. I suppose no force was used?"
"Only moral force," said Alice. They used to talk a lot
about moral force at the High School where she went, and in case you
don't know what it means I'll tell you that it is making people
do what they don't want to, just by slanging them, or laughing at
them, or promising them things if they're good.
"Only moral force, eh?" said
Albert-next-door's uncle. "Well?"
"Well," Dora said, "I'm very sorry it happened
to Albert--I'd rather it had been one of us. It would have been
my turn to go into the tunnel, only I don't like worms, so they let
me off. You see we were digging for treasure."
"Yes," said Alice, "and I think we were just coming to
the underground passage that leads to the secret hoard, when the tunnel
fell in on Albert. He is so unlucky," and she
sighed.
Then Albert-next-door began to scream again, and his uncle
wiped his face--his own face, not Albert's--with his silk
handkerchief, and then he put it in his trousers pocket. It seems a strange
place to put a handkerchief, but he had his coat and waistcoat off and I
suppose he wanted the handkerchief handy. Digging is warm work.
He told Albert-next-door to drop it, or he wouldn't
proceed further in the matter, so Albert stopped screaming, and presently
his uncle finished digging him out. Albert did look so funny, with his hair
all dusty and his velvet suit covered with mould and his face muddy with
earth and crying.
We all said how sorry we were, but he wouldn't say a word back to
us. He was most awfully sick to think he'd been the one buried, when
it might just as well have been one of us. I felt myself that it was hard
lines.
"So you were digging for treasure," said
Albert-next-door's uncle, wiping his face again with
his handkerchief. "Well, I fear that your chances of success are
small. I have made a careful study of the whole subject. What I don't
know about buried treasure is not worth knowing. And I never knew more
than one coin buried in any one garden--and that is generally--Hullo--what's that?"
He pointed to something shining in the hole he had just dragged Albert
out of. Oswald picked it up. It was a half-crown. We looked at each
other, speechless with surprise and delight, like in books.
"Well, that's lucky, at all events," said
Albert-next-door's uncle.
"Let's see, that's fivepence each for you."
"It's fourpence--something; I can't do
fractions," said Dicky; "there are seven of us, you
see."
"Oh, you count Albert as one of yourselves on this occasion,
eh?"
"Of course," said Alice; "and I say, he was buried
after all. Why shouldn't we let him have the odd somethings, and
we'll have fourpence each."
We all agreed to do this, and told Albert-next-door we
would bring his share as soon as we could get the half-crown
changed. He cheered up a little at that, and his uncle wiped his face
again--he did look hot--and began to put on his coat and
waistcoat.
When he had done it he stooped and picked up something. He held it up,
and you will
hardly believe it, but it is quite true--it was another half-crown!
"To think that there should be two!" he said; "in all
my experience of buried treasure I never heard of such a thing!"
I wish Albert-next-door's uncle would come
treasure-seeking with us regularly; he must have very sharp
eyes: for Dora says she was looking just the minute before at the
very place where the second half-crown was picked up from, and
she never saw it.
reading a book by Dick Diddlington--that's not his right name, but I know all about libel actions, so I shall not say what his name is really, because his books are rot. Only they put it into our heads to do what I am going to narrate.
It was in September, and we were not to go to the seaside because it is
so expensive, even if you go to Sheerness, where it is all tin cans and old
boots and no sand at all. But every one else went, even the people next
door--not Albert's side, but the other. Their servant told Eliza
they were all going to Scarborough, and next day sure enough all the blinds
were down and the shutters up, and the milk was not left any more. There is
a big horse-chestnut tree between their garden and ours, very useful
for getting conkers out of and for making stuff to rub on your chilblains.
This prevented our seeing whether the blinds were down at the back as well,
but Dicky climbed to the top of the tree and looked, and they were.
It was jolly hot weather, and very stuffy indoors--we used to play
a good deal in the garden. We made a tent out of the kitchen
clothes-horse and some blankets off our beds, and though it was
quite as hot in the tent as
in the house it was a very different sort of hotness. Albert's uncle called it the Turkish Bath. It is not nice to be kept from the seaside, but we know that we have much to be thankful for. We might be poor little children living in a crowded alley where even at summer noon hardly a ray of sunlight penetrates; clothed in rags and with bare feet--though I do not mind holes in my clothes myself, and bare feet would not be at all bad in this sort of weather. Indeed we do, sometimes, when we are playing at things which require it. It was shipwrecked mariners that day, I remember, and we were all in the blanket tent. We had just finished eating the things we had saved, at the peril of our lives, from the fast-sinking vessel. They were rather nice things. Two pennyworth of cocoa-nut candy--it was got in Greenwich, where it is four ounces a penny--three apples, some macaroni--the straight sort that is so useful to suck things through--some raw rice, and a large piece of cold suet pudding that Alice nicked from the larder when she went to get the rice and macaroni. And when we had finished some one said--
"I should like to be a detective."
I wish to be quite fair, but I cannot remem-
ber exactly who said it. Oswald thinks he said it, and Dora says it was Dicky, but Oswald is too much of a man to quarrel about a little thing like that.
"I should like to be a detective," said--perhaps it was
Dicky, but I think not--"and find out strange and hidden
crimes."
"You have to be much cleverer than you are," said H.O.
"Not so very," Alice said, "because when you've
read the books you know what the things mean: the red hair on the
handle of the knife, or the grains of white powder on the velvet collar of
the villain's overcoat. I believe we could do it."
"I shouldn't like to have anything to do with
murders," said Dora; "somehow it doesn't seem
safe--"
"And it always ends in the poor murderer being hanged," said
Alice.
We explained to her why murderers have to be hanged, but she only said,
"I don't care. I'm sure no one would ever do murdering
twice. Think of the blood and things, and what you would see
when you woke up in the night! I shouldn't mind being a detective to
lie in wait for a gang of coiners, now, and spring upon them unawares, and
secure them
--single-handed, you know, or with only my faithful bloodhound."
She stroked Pincher's ears, but he had gone to sleep because he
knew well enough that all the suet pudding was finished. He is a very
sensible dog.
"You always get hold of the wrong end of the stick," Oswald
said. "You can't choose what crimes you'll be a detective
about. You just have to get a suspicious circumstance, and then you look
for a clue and follow it up. Whether it turns out a murder or a missing
will is just a fluke."
"That's one way," Dicky said. "Another is to get
a paper and find two advertisements or bits of news that fit. Like
this: 'Young Lady Missing,' and then it tells about all
the clothes she had on, and the gold locket she wore, and the colour of her
hair, and all that; and then in another piece of the paper you see,
'Gold locket found,' and then it all comes out."
We sent H.O. for the paper at once, but we could not make any of the
things fit in. The two best were about how some burglars broke into a place
in Holloway where they made preserved tongues and invalid delicacies, and
carried off a lot of them. And on another
page there was, "Mysterious deaths in Holloway." Oswald thought there was something in it, and so did Albert's uncle when we asked him, but the others thought not, so Oswald agreed to drop it. Besides, Holloway is a long way off. All the time we were talking about the paper Alice seemed to be thinking about something else, and when we had done she said--
"I believe we might be detectives ourselves, but I should not like
to get anybody into trouble."
"Not murderers or robbers?" Dicky asked.
"It wouldn't be murderers," she said; "but I
have noticed something strange. Only I feel a little
frightened. Let's ask Albert's uncle first."
Alice is a jolly sight too fond of asking grown-up people things.
And we all said it was Tommy-rot, and she was to tell us.
"Well, promise you won't do anything without me,"
Alice said, and we promised. Then she said--
"This is a dark secret, and any one who thinks it is better not to
be involved in a career of crime-discovery had better go away ere
yet it be too late."
So Dora said she had had enough of tents,
and she was going to look at the shops. H.O. went with her because he had twopence to spend. They thought it was only a game of Alice's but Oswald knew by the way she spoke. He can nearly always tell. And when people are not telling the truth Oswald generally knows by the way they look with their eyes. Oswald is not proud of being able to do this. He knows it is through no merit of his own that he is much cleverer than some people.
When they had gone, the rest of us got closer together and
said--
"Now then."
"Well," Alice said, "you know the house next door? The
people have gone to Scarborough. And the house is shut up. But last night
I saw a light in the windows."
We asked her how and when, because her room is in the front, and she
couldn't possibly have seen. And then she said--
"I'll tell you if you boys will promise not ever to go
fishing again without me."
So we had to promise. Then she said--
"It was last night. I had forgotten to feed my rabbits and I woke
up and remembered it. And I was afraid I should find them dead in the
morning, like Oswald did."
"It wasn't my fault," Oswald said; "there was
something the matter with the beasts. I fed them right enough."
Alice said she didn't mean that, and she went on--
"I came down into the garden, and I saw a light in the house, and
dark figures moving about. I thought perhaps it was burglars, but Father
hadn't come home, and Eliza had gone to bed, so I couldn't do
anything. Only I thought perhaps I would tell the rest of you."
"Why didn't you tell us this morning?" Noël
asked. And Alice explained that she did not want to get any one into
trouble, even burglars. "But we might watch to-night,"
she said, "and see if we see the light again."
"They might have been burglars," Noël said. He was
sucking the last bit of his macaroni. "You know the people next door
are very grand. They won't know us--and they go out in a real
private carriage sometimes. And they have an 'At Home' day, and
people come in cabs. I daresay they have piles of plate and jewellery and
rich brocades, and furs of price and things like that. Let us keep watch
to-night."
"It's no use watching to-night," Dicky said;
"if it's only burglars they won't come
again. But there are other things besides burglars that are discovered in empty houses where lights are seen moving."
"You mean coiners," said Oswald at once. "I wonder
what the reward is for setting the police on their track?"
Dicky thought it ought to be something fat, because coiners are always a
desperate gang; and the machinery they make the coins with is so heavy and
handy for knocking down detectives.
Then it was tea-time, and we went in; and Dora and H.O. had
clubbed their money together and bought a melon; quite a big one, and only
a little bit squashy at one end. It was very good, and then we washed the
seeds and made things with them and with pins and cotton. And nobody said
any more about watching the house next door.
Only when we went to bed Dicky took off his coat and waistcoat, but he
stopped at his braces, and said--
"What about the coiners?"
Oswald had taken off his collar and tie, and he was just going to say
the same, so he said, "Of course I meant to watch, only my
collar's rather tight, so I thought I'd take it off
first."
Dicky said he did not think the girls ought to be in it, because there
might be danger, but Oswald reminded him that they had promised Alice, and
that a promise is a sacred thing, even when you'd much rather not. So
Oswald got Alice alone under pretence of showing her a
caterpillar--Dora does not like them, and she screamed and ran away
when Oswald offered to show it her. Then Oswald explained, and Alice agreed
to come and watch if she could. This made us later than we ought to have
been, because Alice had to wait till Dora was quiet and then creep out very
slowly, for fear of the boards creaking. The girls sleep with their
room-door open for fear of burglars. Alice had kept on her clothes
under her nightgown when Dora wasn't looking, and presently we got
down creeping past Father's study, and out at the glass door that
leads on to the veranda and the iron steps into the garden. And we went
down very quietly, and got into the chestnut-tree; and then I felt
that we had only been playing what Albert's uncle calls our favourite
instrument--I mean the Fool. For the house next door was as dark as
dark. Then suddenly we heard a sound--it came from the gate at the end
of the garden. All the gardens have gates; they
lead into a kind of lane that runs behind them. It is a sort of back way, very convenient when you don't want to say exactly where you are going. We heard the gate at the end of the next garden click, and Dicky nudged Alice so that she would have fallen out of the tree if it had not been for Oswald's extraordinary presence of mind. Oswald squeezed Alice's arm tight, and we all looked; and the others were rather frightened because really we had not exactly expected anything to happen except perhaps a light. But now a muffled figure, shrouded in a dark cloak, came swiftly up the path of the next door garden. And we could see that under its cloak the figure carried a mysterious burden. The figure was dressed to look like a woman in a sailor hat.
We held our breath as it passed under the tree where we were, and then
it tapped very gently on the back door and was let in, and then a light
appeared in the window of the downstairs back breakfast-room. But
the shutters were up.
Dicky said, "My eye!" and wouldn't the others be sick
to think they hadn't been in this! But Alice didn't half like
it--and as she is a girl I do not blame her. Indeed, I
thought myself at first that perhaps it would be better to retire for the present, and return later with a strongly armed force.
"It's not burglars," Alice whispered; "the
mysterious stranger was bringing things in, not taking them out. They must
be coiners--and oh, Oswald!--don't let's! The things
they coin with must hurt very much. Do let's go to bed!"
But Dicky said he was going to see; if there was a reward for finding
out things like this he would like to have the reward.
"They locked the back door," he whispered, "I heard it
go. And I could look in quite well through the holes in the shutters and be
back over the wall long before they'd got the door open, even if they
started to do it at once."
There were holes at the top of the shutters the shape of hearts, and the
yellow light came out through them as well as through the chinks of the
shutters.
Oswald said if Dicky went he should, because he was the eldest; and
Alice said, "If any one goes it ought to be me, because I thought of
it."
So Oswald said, "Well, go then"; and she said, "Not
for anything!" And she begged
us not to, and we talked about it in the tree till we were all quite hoarse with whispering.
At last we decided on a plan of action.
Alice was to stay in the tree, and scream "Murder!" if
anything happened. Dicky and I were to get down into the next garden and
take it in turns to peep.
So we got down as quietly as we could, but the tree made much more noise
than it does in the day, and several times we paused, fearing that all was
discovered. But nothing happened.
There was a pile of red flower-pots under the window and one very
large one was on the window-ledge. It seemed as if it was the hand
of Destiny had placed it there, and the geranium in it was dead, and there
was nothing to stop your standing on it--so Oswald did. He went first
because he is the eldest, and though Dicky tried to stop him because he
thought of it first it could not be, on account of not being able to say
anything.
So Oswald stood on the flower-pot and tried to look through one
of the holes. He did not really expect to see the coiners at their fell
work, though he had pretended to when we were talking in the tree. But if
he had seen them pouring the base molten metal into tin
moulds the shape of half-crowns he would not have been half so astonished as he was at the spectacle now revealed.
At first he could see little, because the hole had unfortunately been
made a little too high, so that the eye of the detective could only see the
Prodigal Son in a shiny frame on the opposite wall. But Oswald held on to
the window-frame and stood on tiptoe and then he
saw.
There was no furnace, and no base metal, no bearded men in leathern
aprons with tongs and things, but just a table with a table-cloth on
it for supper, and a tin of salmon and a lettuce and some bottled beer. And
there on a chair was the cloak and the hat of the mysterious stranger, and
the two people sitting at the table were the two youngest grown-up
daughters of the lady next door, and one of them was saying--
"So I got the salmon three-halfpence cheaper, and the
lettuces are only six a penny in the Broadway, just fancy! We must save as
much as ever we can on our housekeeping money if we want to go away decent
next year."
And the other said, "I wish we could all go
every year, or else--Really, I almost
wish--"
And all the time Oswald was looking Dicky was pulling at his jacket to
make him get down and let Dicky have a squint. And just as she said
"I almost," Dicky pulled too hard and Oswald felt himself
toppling on the giddy verge of the big flower-pots. Putting forth
all his strength our hero strove to recover his
equi-what's-its-name, but it was now lost beyond
recall.
"You've done it this time!" he said, then he fell
heavily among the flower-pots piled below. He heard them crash and
rattle and crack, and then his head struck against an iron pillar used for
holding up the next-door veranda. His eyes closed and he knew no
more.
Now you will perhaps expect that at this moment Alice would have cried
"Murder!" If you think so you little know what girls are.
Directly she was left alone in that tree she made a bolt to tell
Albert's uncle all about it and bring him to our rescue in case the
coiner's gang was a very desperate one. And just when I fell,
Albert's uncle was getting over the wall. Alice never screamed at all
when Oswald fell, but Dicky thinks he heard Albert's uncle say,
"Confound those kids!" which would not have been kind or
polite, so I hope he did not say it.
The people next door did not come out to see what the row was.
Albert's uncle did not wait for them to come out. He picked up Oswald
and carried the insensible body of the gallant young detective to the wall,
laid it on the top, and then climbed over and bore his lifeless burden into
our house and put it on the sofa in Father's study. Father was out,
so we needn't have crept so when we were getting into
the garden. Then Oswald was restored to consciousness, and his head tied
up, and sent to bed, and next day there was a lump on his young brow as big
as a turkey's egg, and very uncomfortable.
Albert's uncle came in next day and talked to each of us
separately. To Oswald he said many unpleasant things about ungentlemanly to
spy on ladies, and about minding your own business; and when I began to
tell him what I had heard he told me to shut up, and altogether he made me
more uncomfortable than the bump did.
Oswald did not say anything to any one, but next day, as the shadows of
eve were falling, he crept away, and wrote on a piece of paper, "I
want to speak to you," and shoved it through the hole like a heart in
the top of the next-door shutters.
And the youngest young lady put an eye to the heart-shaped hole,
and then opened the shutter and said "Well?" very crossly.
Then Oswald said--
"I am very sorry, and I beg your pardon. We wanted to be
detectives, and we thought a gang of coiners infested your house, so we
looked through your window last night. I saw the lettuce, and I heard what
you said about the salmon being three-halfpence cheaper, and I know
it is very dishonourable to pry into other people's secrets,
especially ladies", and I never will again if you will forgive me
this once."
Then the lady frowned and then she laughed, and then she said--
"So it was you tumbling into the flower-pots
last night? We thought it was burglars. It frightened us horribly. Why,
what a bump on your poor head!"
And then she talked to me a bit, and presently she said she and her
sister had not wished people to know they were at home, because--and
then she stopped short and grew very red, and I said, "I thought you
were all at Scarborough; your servant told Eliza so. Why didn't you
want people to know you were at home?"
The lady got redder still, and then she laughed and said--
"Never mind the reason why. I hope your head doesn't hurt
much. Thank you for your nice, manly little speech.
You've nothing to be ashamed of, at any rate."
Then she kissed me, and I did not mind. And then she said, "Run away
now, dear. I'm going to--I'm going to pull up the blinds
and open the shutters, and I want to do it at once, before it
gets dark, so that every one can see we're at home, and not at
Scarborough."
Dora wanted a new pair of scissors, and she said she was going to get
them with her eightpence. But Alice said--
"You ought to get her those, Oswald, because you know you broke
the points off hers getting the marble out of the brass thimble."
It was quite true, though I had almost forgotten it, but then it was
H.O. who jammed the marble into the thimble first of all. So I
said--
"It's H.O.'s fault as much as mine, anyhow. Why
shouldn't he pay?"
Oswald didn't so much mind paying for the beastly scissors, but he
hates injustice of every kind.
"He's such a little kid," said Dicky, and of course
H.O. said he wasn't a little kid, and it very nearly came to being a
row between them. But Oswald knows when to be generous; so he
said--
"Look here! I'll pay sixpence of the scissors, and H.O.
shall pay the rest, to teach him to be careful."
H.O. agreed: he is not at all a mean kid, but I found out
afterwards that Alice paid his share out of her own money.
Then we wanted some new paints, and Noël wanted a pencil and a
halfpenny account-book to write poetry with, and it does seem hard
never to have any apples. So, somehow or other nearly all the money got
spent, and we agreed that we must let the advertisement run loose a little
longer.
"I only hope," Alice said, "that they won't have
got all the ladies and gentlemen they want before we have got the money to
write for the sample and instructions."
And I was a little afraid myself, because it seemed such a splendid
chance; but we looked in the paper every day, and the advertisement
was always there, so we thought it was all right.
Then we had the detective try-on--and it proved no go; and
then, when all the money was gone, except a halfpenny of mine and twopence
of Noël's and threepence of Dicky's and a few pennies that
the girls had left, we held another council.
Dora was sewing the buttons on H.O.'s Sunday things. He got
himself a knife with his money, and he cut every single one of his best
buttons off. You've no idea how many buttons there are on a suit.
Dora counted them. There are twenty-four, counting the little ones
on the sleeves that don't undo.
Alice was trying to teach Pincher to beg; but he has too much sense when
he knows you've got nothing in your hands, and the rest of us were
roasting potatoes under the fire. We had made a fire on purpose, though it
was rather warm. They are very good if you cut away the burnt
parts--but you ought to wash them first, or you are a dirty boy.
"Well, what can we do?" said Dicky. "You are so fond
of saying 'Let's do something!' and never saying
what."
"We can't try the advertisement yet. Shall we try rescuing
some one?" said Oswald. It
was his own idea, but he didn't insist on doing it, though he is next to the eldest, for he knows it is bad manners to make people do what you want, when they would rather not.
"What was Noël's plan?" Alice asked.
"A Princess or a poetry book," said Noël sleepily. He
was lying on his back on the sofa, kicking his legs. "Only I shall
look for the Princess all by myself. But I'll let you see her when
we're married."
"Have you got enough poetry to make a book?" Dicky asked
that, and it was rather sensible of him, because when Noël came to
look there were only seven of his poems that any of us could understand.
There was the "Wreck of the Malabar", and the poem
he wrote when Eliza took us to hear the Reviving Preacher, and everybody
cried, and Father said it must have been the Preacher's
Eloquence.
So Noël wrote:
O Eloquence and what art thou?
Ay what art thou? because we
cried
And everybody cried inside
When they came out their eyes
were red--
And it was your doing Father said.
But Noël told Alice he got the first line and a half from a book a
boy at school was going
to write when he had time. Besides this there were the "Lines on a Dead Black Beetle that was poisoned":--
O Beetle how I weep to see
Thee lying on thy
poor back!
It is so very sad indeed.
You were so
shiny and black.
I wish you were alive again
But Eliza says
wishing it is nonsense and a shame.
It was very good beetle poison, and there were hundreds of them lying
dead--but Noël only wrote a piece of poetry for one of them. He
said he hadn't time to do them all, and the worst of it was he
didn't know which one he'd written it to--so Alice
couldn't bury the beetle and put the lines on its grave, though she
wanted to very much.
Well, it was quite plain that there wasn't enough poetry for a
book.
"We might wait a year or two," said Noël. "I
shall be sure to make some more sometime. I thought of a piece about a fly
this morning that knew condensed milk was sticky."
"But we want the money now," said Dicky,
"and you can go on writing just the same. It will come in sometime
or other."
"There's poetry in newspapers," said Alice.
"Down, Pincher! you'll never be a clever dog, so it's no good trying."
"Do they pay for it?" Dicky thought of that; he often thinks
of things that are really important, even if they are a little dull.
"I don't know. But I shouldn't think any one would let
them print their poetry without. I wouldn't I know." That was
Dora; but Noël said he wouldn't mind if he didn't get
paid, so long as he saw his poetry printed and his name at the end.
"We might try, anyway," said Oswald. He is always willing to
give other people's ideas a fair trial.
So we copied out "The Wreck of the Malabar" and
the other six poems on drawing-paper--Dora did it, she writes
best--and Oswald drew a picture of the Malabar going down
with all hands. It was a full-rigged schooner, and all the ropes and
sails were correct; because my cousin is in the Navy, and he showed me.
We thought a long time whether we'd write a letter and send it by
post with the poetry--and Dora thought it would be best. But Noël
said he couldn't bear not to know at once if the paper would print
the poetry, So we decided to take it.
I went with Noël, because I am the eldest, and he is not old enough
to go to London by himself. Dicky said poetry was rot--and he was glad
he hadn't got to make a fool of himself: that was because there
was not enough money for him to go with us. H.O. couldn't come
either, but he came to the station to see us off, and waved his cap and
called out "Good hunting!" as the train started.
There was a lady in spectacles in the corner. She was writing with a
pencil on the edges of long strips of paper that had print all down
them.
When the train started she asked--
"What was that he said?"
So Oswald answered--
"It was 'Good hunting'--it's out of the
Jungle book!"
"That's very pleasant to hear," the lady said;
"I am very pleased to meet people who know their Jungle book. And
where are you off to--the Zoological Gardens to look for
Bagheera?"
We were pleased, too, to meet some one who knew the Jungle book.
So Oswald said--
"We are going to restore the fallen fortunes of the House of
Bastable--and we have all
thought of different ways--and we're going to try them all. Noël's way is poetry. I suppose great poets get paid?"
The lady laughed--she was awfully jolly--and said she was a
sort of poet, too, and the long strips of paper were the proofs of her new
book of stories. Because before a book is made into a real book with pages
and a cover, they sometimes print it all on strips of paper, and the writer
make marks on it with a pencil to show the printers what idiots they are
not to understand what a writer means to have printed.
We told her all about digging for treasure, and what we meant to do.
Then she asked to see Noël's poetry--and he said he
didn't like--so she said, "Look here--if you'll
show me yours I'll show you some of mine." So he agreed.
The jolly lady read Noël's poetry, and she said she liked it
very much. And she thought a great deal of the picture of the
Malabar. And then she said, "I write serious poetry like
yours myself; too, but I have a piece here that I think you will like
because it's about a boy." She gave it to us--and so I can
copy it down, and I will, for it shows that some grown-up ladies are
not so silly as others. I like
it better than Noël's poetry, though I told him I did not, because he looked as if he was going to cry. This was very wrong, for you should always speak the truth, however unhappy it makes people. And I generally do. But I did not want him crying in the railway carriage. The lady's piece of poetry:
Oh when I wake up in my bed
And see the sun
all fat and red,
I'm glad to have another day
For all my
different kinds of play.
There are so many
things to do--
The things that make a man of you,
If
grown-ups did not get so vexed
And wonder what you will do
next.
I often wonder whether they
Ever
made up our kinds of play--
If they were always good as
gold
And only did what they were
told.
They like you best to play with
tops
And toys in boxes, bought in shops;
They do not even know
the names
Of really interesting
games.
They will not let you
play with fire
Or trip your sister up with wire,
They grudge
the tea-tray for a drum,
Or booby-traps when
callers come.
They
don't like fishing, and it's true
You sometimes soak a
suit or two:
They look on fireworks, though they're
dry,
With quite a disapproving eye.
They
do not understand the way
To get the most out of your
day:
They do not know how hunger feels
Nor what you need
between your meals.
And when you're sent
to bed at night,
They're happy, but they're not
polite.
For through the door you hear them
say:
"He's done his
mischief for the day!"
She told us a lot of other pieces but I cannot remember them, and she
talked to us all the way up, and when we got nearly to Cannon Street she
said--
"I've got two new shillings here! Do you think they would
help to smooth the path to Fame?"
Noël said, "Thank you," and was going to take the
shilling. But Oswald, who always remembers what he is told, said--
"Thank you very much, but Father told us we ought never to take
anything from strangers."
"That's a nasty one," said the lady--she
didn't talk a bit like a real lady, but more like a jolly sort of
grown-up boy in a dress and hat
--"a very nasty one! But don't you think as Noël and I are both poets I might be considered a sort of relation? You've heard of brother poets, haven't you? Don't you think Noël and I are aunt and nephew poets, or some relationship of that kind?"
I didn't know what to say, and she went on--
"It's awfully straight of you to stick to what your Father
tells you, but look here, you take the shillings, and here's my card.
When you get home tell your Father all about it, and if he says No, you can
just bring the shillings back to me."
So we took the shillings, and she shook hands with us and said,
"Goodbye, and good hunting!"
We did tell Father about it, and he said it was all right, and when he
looked at the card he told us we were highly honoured, for the lady wrote
better poetry than any other lady alive now. We had never heard of her,
and she seemed much too jolly for a poet. Good old Kipling! We owe him
those two shillings, as well as the Jungle books!
We got to St. Paul's. Noël would go in, and we saw where
Gordon was buried--at least the monument. It is very flat, considering
what a man he was.
When we came out we walked a long way, and when we asked a policeman he
said we'd better go back through Smithfield. So we did. They
don't burn people any more there now, so it was rather dull, besides
being a long way, and Noël got very tired. He's a peaky little
chap; it comes of being a poet, I think.
We had a bun or two at different shops--out of the shillings--and it was quite late in the afternoon when we got to Fleet Street. The gas was lighted and the electric lights. There is a jolly Bovril sign that comes off and on in different coloured lamps. We went to the Daily Recorder office, and asked to see the Editor. It is a big office, very bright, with brass and mahogany and electric lights.
They told us the Editor wasn't there, but at another office. So we
went down a dirty street, to a very dull-looking place. There was a
man there inside, in a glass case, as if he was a museum, and he told us to
write down our names and our business. So Oswald wrote--
OSWALD BASTABLE. NOËL BASTABLE. Business very private indeed.
Then we waited on the stone stairs; it was very draughty. And the man in
the glass case looked at us as if we were the museum instead of him. We
waited a long time, and then a boy came down and said--
"The Editor can't see you. Will you please write your
business?" And he laughed. I wanted to punch his head.
But Noël said, "Yes, I'll write it if you'll give
me a pen and ink, and a sheet of paper and an envelope."
The boy said he'd better write by post. But Noël is a bit
pig-headed; it's his worst fault, so he said--
"No, I'll write it now." So I backed him
up by saying--
"Look at the price penny stamps are since the coal
strike!"
So the boy grinned, and the man in the glass case gave us pen and paper,
and Noël wrote. Oswald writes better than he does; but Noël would
do it; and it took a very long time, and then it was inky.
"DEAR MR. EDITOR,--I want you to print my poetry and pay for
it, and I am a friend of Mrs. Leslie's; she is a poet too.
"Your affectionate friend,
"NOËL BASTABLE."
He licked the envelope a good deal, so that that boy shouldn't
read it going upstairs; and he wrote "Very private" outside,
and gave the letter to the boy. I thought it wasn't any good; but in
a minute the grinning boy came back, and he was quite respectful, and
said--
"The Editor says, please will you step up?"
We stepped up. There were a lot of stairs and passages, and a queer sort
of humming, hammering sound and a very funny smell. The boy was now very
polite, and said it was the ink we smelt, and the noise was the printing
machines.
After going through a lot of cold passages we came to a door; the boy
opened it, and let us go in. There was a large room, with a big, soft,
blue-and-red carpet, and a roaring fire, though it was only
October; and a large table with drawers, and littered with papers, just
like the one in father's study. A gentleman was sitting at one side
of the table; he had a light moustache and light eyes, and he looked very
young to be an editor--not nearly so old as Father. He looked very
tired and sleepy, as if he had got up very early in the morning; but he was
kind, and we liked him. Oswald thought he looked clever. Oswald is
considered a judge of faces.
"Well," said he, "so you are Mrs. Leslie's
friends?"
"I think so," said Noël; "at least she gave us
each a shilling, and she wished us 'good hunting!'"
"Good hunting, eh? Well, what about this poetry of yours? Which is
the poet?"
I can't think how he could have asked! Oswald is said to be a very
manly-looking boy for his age. However, I thought it would look
duffing to be offended, so I said--
"This is my brother Noël. He is the poet."
Noël had turned quite pale. He is disgustingly like a girl in some
ways. The Editor told us to sit down, and he took the poems from Noël,
and began to read them. Noël got paler and paler; I really thought he
was going to faint, like he did when I held his hand under the cold water
tap, after I had accidentally cut him with my chisel. When the Editor had
read the first poem--it was the one about the beetle--he got up
and stood with his back to us. It was not manners; but Noël thinks he
did it "to conceal his emotion," as they do in books.
He read all the poems, and then he said--
"I like your poetry very much, young man. I'll give
you--let me see; how much shall I give you for it?"
"As much as ever you can," said Noël. "You see I
want a good deal of money to restore the fallen fortunes of the house of
Bastable."
The gentleman put on some eye-glasses and looked hard at us.
Then he sat down.
"That's a good idea," said he. "Tell me how you
came to think of it. And, I say, have you had any tea? They've just
sent out for mine."
He rang a tingly bell, and the boy brought in a tray with a teapot and a
thick cup and saucer and things, and he had to fetch another tray for us,
when he was told to; and we had tea with the Editor of the Daily
Recorder. I suppose it was a very proud moment for Noël, though
I did not think of that till afterwards. The Editor asked us a lot of
questions, and we told him a good deal, though of course I did not tell a
stranger all our reasons for thinking that the family fortunes wanted
restoring. We stayed about half an hour, and when we were going away he
said again--
"I shall print all your poems, my poet; and now what do you think
they're worth?"
"I don't know," Noël said. "You see I
didn't write them to sell."
"Why did you write them then?" he asked.
Noël said he didn't know; he supposed because he wanted
to.
"Art for Art's sake, eh?" said the Editor, and he
seemed quite delighted, as though Noël had said something clever.
"Well, would a guinea meet your views?" he asked.
I have read of people being at a loss for words, and dumb with emotion,
and I've read of people being turned to stone with astonishment, or
joy, or something, but I never knew how silly it looked till I saw
Noël standing staring at the Editor with his mouth open. He went red
and he went white, and then he got crimson, as if you were rubbing more and
more crimson lake on a palette. But he didn't say a word, so Oswald
had to say--
"I should jolly well think so."
So the Editor gave Noël a sovereign and a shilling, and he shook
hands with us both, but he thumped Noël on the back and
said--
"Buck up, old man! It's your first guinea, but it
won't be your last. Now go along home, and in about ten years you can
bring me some more poetry. Not before--see? I'm just taking this
poetry of yours because I like it very much; but we don't put poetry
in this paper at all. I shall have to put it in another paper
I know of."
"What do you put in your paper?" I asked, for
Father always takes the Daily Chronicle, and I didn't
know what the Recorder was like. We chose it because it has
such a
glorious office, and a clock outside lighted up.
"Oh, news," said he, "and dull articles, and things
about Celebrities. If you knew any Celebrities, now?"
Noël asked him what Celebrities were.
"Oh, the Queen and the Princes, and people with titles, and people
who write, or sing, or act--or do something clever or
wicked."
"I don't know anybody wicked," said Oswald, wishing he
had known Dick Turpin, or Claude Duval, so as to be able to tell the Editor
things about them. "But I know some one with a title--Lord
Tottenham."
"The mad old Protectionist, eh? How did you come to know
him?"
"We don't know him to speak to. But he goes over the heath
every day at three, and he strides along like a giant--with a black
cloak like Lord Tennyson's flying behind him, and he talks to himself
like one o'clock."
"What does he say?" The Editor had sat down again, and he
was fiddling with a blue pencil.
"We only heard him once, close enough to understand, and then he
said, 'The curse of the country, sir--ruin and
desolation!' And then he went striding along again, hitting at
the furze-bushes as if they were the heads of his enemies."
"Excellent descriptive touch," said the Editor. "Well,
go on."
"That's all I know about him, except that he stops in the
middle of the Heath every day, and he looks all round to see if
there's any one about, and if there isn't, he takes his collar
off."
The Editor interrupted--which is considered rude--and
said--
"You're not romancing?"
"I beg your pardon?" said Oswald.
"Drawing the long bow, I mean," said the Editor.
Oswald drew himself up, and said he wasn't a liar.
The Editor only laughed, and said romancing and lying were not at all
the same; only it was important to know what you were playing at. So Oswald
accepted his apology, and went on.
"We were hiding among the furze-bushes one day, and we saw
him do it. He took off his collar, and he put on a clean one, and he threw
the other among the furze-bushes. We picked it up afterwards, and it
was a beastly paper one!"
"Thank you," said the Editor, and he got up and put his hand
in his pocket. "That's well worth five shillings, and there
they are. Would you like to see round the printing offices before you go
home?"
I pocketed my five bob, and thanked him, and I said we should like it
very much. He called another gentleman and said something we couldn't
hear. Then he said goodbye again; and all this time Noël hadn't
said a word. But now he said, "I've made a poem about you. It
is called 'Lines to a Noble Editor.' Shall I write it
down?"
The Editor gave him the blue pencil, and he sat down at the
Editor's table and wrote. It was this, he told me afterwards as well
as he could remember--
basket, and we go up to the Park. She likes that--it saves cooking
dinner for us; and sometimes she says of her own accord, "I've
made some pasties for you, and you might as well go into the Park as not.
It's a lovely day."
fight," said Oswald; "and I shall be Count Folko of Mont
Faucon."
about--but we could hear a man rubbing down a horse and hissing in the
stable; so we crept very quietly past, and Alice whispered--
was coming down. He was standing looking at a little girl; she was the
funniest little girl you ever saw.
very glad, because it is so seldom you meet any children who can begin to
play right off without having everything explained to them. And even then
they will say they are going to "pretend to be" a lion, or a
witch, or a king. Now this little girl just said "I am a
Princess." Then she looked at Oswald and said, "I fancy
I've seen you at Baden."
the grass. When we got to the other grass we all sat down, and the Princess
asked us if we liked "dragées" (I know that's how
you spell it, for I asked Albert-next-door's
uncle).
of course he could only get the first two names right, because he'd
made it up as he went on.
Princesses--which was silly, to a grown-up person that is not a
great friend of yours.
so did Alice, but Oswald took off his cap and said he was sorry if she was
annoyed about anything; for Oswald has always been taught to be polite to
ladies, however nasty. Dicky took his off, too, when he saw me do it; he
says he did it first, but that is a mistake. If I were really a common boy
I should say it was a lie.
wish I could give her some! It is very good."
a picture of Lewisham Church at the bottom; and a blotting-pad, and
a box of preserved fruits, and an ivory penholder with a view of Greenwich
Park in the little hole where you look through at the top. He was most
awfully pleased and surprised, and when he heard how Noël and Oswald
had earned the money to buy the things he was more surprised still. Nearly
all the rest of our money went to get fireworks for the Fifth of November.
We got six Catherine wheels and four rockets; two hand-lights, one
red and one green; a sixpenny maroon; two Roman-candles--they
cost a shilling; some Italian streamers, a fairy fountain, and a tourbillon
that cost eighteenpence and was very nearly worth it.
help us to let them off at eight o'clock after he had had his
dinner, and you ought never to disappoint your Father if you can help
it.
and afterwards to the right. You come out then at the top of the hill,
where the big guns are with the iron fence round them, and where the bands
play on Thursday evenings in the summer.
door, and he was very frightened indeed until he saw who we were.
manners, and I want to go in to my tea. Let go of me!"
always does. I wonder he didn't begin long before--but Alice
fetched him one of the dried fruits we gave Father for his birthday. It was
a green walnut. I have noticed the walnuts and the plums always get left
till the last in the box; the apricots go first, and then the figs and
pears; and the cherries, if there are any.
jug out of the spare-room where nobody ever sleeps. And even then
Albert-next-door couldn't be happy like the rest of us.
He howled and cried and tried to get out, and he knocked the ewer over and
stamped on the mouldering crusts. Luckily there was no water in the ewer
because we had forgotten it, only dust and spiders. So we tied him up with
the clothes line from the back kitchen, and we had to hurry up, which was a
pity for him. We might have had him rescued by a devoted page if he
hadn't been so tiresome. In fact Noël was actually dressing up
for the page when Albert-next-door kicked over the prison
ewer.
"Restored," and we had to write the rest with crimson lake,
which is not the same colour, though I always use it, myself, for painting
wounds.
strange and unfortunate chance I haven't the money about me.
Couldn't you take less?"
but he gave way to her because she is a girl, and afterwards he knew that
it is true what it says in the copy-books about Virtue being its own
Reward. Because you've no idea what a bother it is. Everybody wanted
to put in`everything just as they liked, no matter how much room there was
on the page. It was simply awful! Dora put up with it as long as she could
and then she said if she wasn't let alone she wouldn't go on
being editor; they could be the paper's editors themselves, so
there.
I could write a better paper on my head, but an editor is not
allowed to write all the paper. It is very hard, but he is not. You just
have to fill up with what you can get from other writers. If I ever have
time I will write a paper all by myself. It won't be patchy. We had
no time to make it an illustrated paper, but I drew the ship going down
with all hands for the first copy. But the typewriter can't draw
ships, so it was left out in the other copies. The time the first paper
took to write out no one would believe! This was the
Newspaper:--
her all sorts of horrid things would happen if she didn't catch a
mouse every day, and she had caught so many mice that now there were hardly
any left to catch. So she sent her carrier pigeon to ask the noble
strangers if they could send her a few mice--because she
would be of age in a few days and then it wouldn't matter. So the
fairy godmother-- (I'm very sorry, but there's no room to
make the chapters any longer.--ED.)
was the education that made him able to fight Red Indians, and to be the
stranger who might have been observed in the first chapter.
curl, so it's no use. Some people say it's more important to
tidy up as you go along. I don't mean you in particular, but every
one.
patterns round. I know a good way to make a slate-pencil squeak, but
I won't put it in because I don't want to make it
common.--SUB-EDITOR.
did it. They want me just to put in which Annie married, but I
shan't, so they will never know.
sell one hundred copies we will write another paper.
and the prune people have forgotten Father's address.
enough poor people to help, so he puts it in the paper that he will help
them, by lending them his money--that's it, isn't it,
Dicky?"
bit, and I was an Arab physician with a bath-towel turban, and cured
the plague with magic acid-drops. After that it was time for dinner,
and after dinner we talked it all over and settled that we would go and see
the Generous Benefactor the very next day. But we thought perhaps the
G.B.--it is short for Generous Benefactor--would not like it if
there were so many of us. I have often noticed that it is the worst of our
being six--people think six a great many, when it's children.
That sentence looks wrong somehow. I mean they don't mind six pairs
of boots, or six pounds of apples, or six oranges, especially in equations,
but they seem to think you ought not to have five brothers and sisters. Of
course Dicky was to go, because it was his idea. Dora had to go to
Blackheath to see an old lady, a friend of Father's, so she
couldn't go. Alice said she ought to go, because it
said, "Ladies and gentlemen," and perhaps the G.B.
wouldn't let us have the money unless there were both kinds of
us.
trust us to pay his money back when we had it. But Dora said that would be
wrong too. So it came to our being quite honest, as Dora said, and going
just as we were, without even washing our faces and hands; but when I
looked at H.O. in the train I wished we had not been quite so particularly
honest.
have a piece of pink chalk in my pocket and we wrote them with that.
the pictures there were clocks and candlesticks and vases, and gilt
looking-glasses, and boxes of cigars and scent and things littered
all over the chairs and tables. It was a wonderful place, and in the middle
of all the splendour was a little old gentleman with a very long black coat
and a very long white beard and a hooky nose--like a falcon. And he
put on a pair of gold spectacles and looked at us as if he knew exactly how
much our clothes were worth. And then, while we elder ones were thinking
how to begin, for we had all said "Good morning" as we came in,
of course, H.O. began before we could stop him. He said:
sticks off some of the chairs, and we sat down. The chairs were velvety,
with gilt legs. It was like a king's palace.
honour. Between gentlemen, you know--and ladies"--he made a
beautiful bow to Alice--"a word is as good as a bond."
cab, and the G.B. put us in and shook hands with us all, and asked Alice to
give him a kiss, so she did, and H.O. would do it too, though his face was
dirtier than ever. The G.B. paid the cabman and told him what station to go
to, and so we went home.
partnership without consulting me, that's all. I don't want to
interfere with your plays and pleasures; but you will consult me about
business matters, won't you?"
peril, and we should have to make one before we could rescue the old
gentleman from it, but Oswald didn't see that that mattered. However,
he thought he would try some of the easier ways first, by himself.
wasting our time, not trying to rescue the old gentleman in deadly peril.
Come--buck up! Do let's do something!"
we heard him whining. And Alice kept saying, "I am so
cold! Isn't he coming yet?" And H.O. wanted to come out and
jump about to warm himself. But we told him he must learn to be a Spartan
boy, and that he ought to be very thankful he hadn't got a beastly
fox eating his inside all the time. H.O. is our little brother, and we are
not going to let it be our fault if he grows up a milksop. Besides, it was
not really cold. It was his knees--he wears socks. So they stayed
where they were. And at last, when even the other three who were walking
about were beginning to feel rather chilly, we saw Lord Tottenham's
big black cloak coming along, flapping in the wind like a great bird. So we
said to Alice--
I don't think people ought to call a Lord such names.
so we made Pincher into one--and so--" I was so ashamed I
couldn't go on, for it did seem an awfully mean thing. Lord Tottenham
said--
whispered to H.O. that I wished we hadn't."
useful presents. The needle would not move after I'd had it a day or
two, but Lord Tottenham used to be an admiral, so he will be able to make
that go all right. Alice had made him a shaving-case, with a rose
worked on it. And H.O. gave him his knife--the same one he once cut
all the buttons off his best suit with. Dicky gave him his prize,
"Naval Heroes," because it was the best thing he had, and
Noël gave him a piece of poetry he had made himself--
shillings. Packed free from observation." A good deal of the
half-crown was Dora's. It came from her godmother; but she
said she would not mind letting Dicky have it if he would pay her back
before Christmas, and if we were sure it was right to try to make our
fortune that way. Of course that was quite easy, because out of two pounds
a week in your spare time you can easily pay all your debts, and have
almost as much left as you began with; and as to the right we told her to
dry up.
we would spend in ginger-beer to drink success to trade.
corkscrew in the dresser drawer--it always gets there, though it is
supposed to be in the sideboard drawer in the dining-room--and
when he got back the others had read most of the printed papers.
And if we only got ten shillings a week it would be something to begin
with, wouldn't it?"
there's not much more than half of it left, even counting the
sugar."
She led the way into the dining-room, where the Castilian Amoroso
bottle and the medicine glass were standing on the table all ready.
is called Castilian something or other, and at the price it is unequalled
for flavour and bouquet."
make any one buy. It's called a purr something."
sister meant it kindly." And she looked round the room just like the
butcher had done. Then she said again, "I didn't
know--I'm very sorry ..."
show, and when we came back we were better.
on, making his voice very thick and strong (I expect he does it like that
in church), "have you never been taught that it is the
drinking of wine and spirits--yes, and
BEER, which makes half the homes in England
full of wretched little children, and degraded,
MISERABLE parents?"
you would order a dozen of the wine, then we should get two
shillings."
I suppose it is their nature, and we ought to be sorry for their
affliction.
I kissed Dora for some time. Because girls like it. And I will never say
again that she comes the good elder sister too much. And I have put all
this in though I do hate telling about it, because I own I have been hard
on Dora, but I never will be again. She is a good old sort; of course we
never knew before about what Mother told her, or we wouldn't have
ragged her as we did. We did not tell the little ones, but I got Alice to
speak to Dicky, and we three can sit on the others if requisite.
and I had not told about the dead sailor's lady.
said Dicky. "This was only on commission." And Father laughed
again. I am glad we got the Castilian Amoroso, because it did really cheer
Father up, and you cannot always do that, however hard you try, even if you
make jokes, or give him a comic paper.
have spent it on the share in that lucrative business for the sale of
useful patent, and then found out afterwards that we should have done
better to spend the money in some other way. My Father says so, and he
ought to know. We had several ideas about that time, but having so little
chink always stood in the way. This was the case with H.O.'s idea of
setting up a cocoanut-shy on this side of the Heath, where there are
none generally. We had no sticks or wooden balls, and the greengrocer said
he could not book so many as twelve dozen cocoanuts without Mr.
Bastable's written order. And as we did not wish to consult my Father
it was decided to drop it. And when Alice dressed up Pincher in some of the
dolls" clothes and we made up our minds to take him round with an
organ as soon as we had taught him to dance, we were stopped at once by
Dicky's remembering how he had once heard that an organ cost seven
hundred pounds. Of course this was the big church kind, but even the ones
on three legs can't be got for one-and-sevenpence,
which was all we had when we first thought of it. So we gave that up
too.
with lumps in it. I think the others would have left a good deal on the
sides of their plates, although they know better, only Oswald said it was a
savoury stew made of the red deer that Edward shot. So then we were the
Children of the New Forest, and the mutton tasted much better. No one in
the New Forest minds venison being tough and the gravy pale.
smoke. They get to think too much of themselves if you let them do
everything the same as men.
Dora; "look how expensive jujubes are at the chemist's, and
peppermints too."
only had to invent the medicine. You might think that was easy, because of
the number of them you see every day in the paper, but it is much harder
than you think. First we had to decide what sort of illness we should like
to cure, and a "heated discussion ensued", like in
Parliament.
people do not have this feeling, however much they eat, and he agreed.
Dicky said he did not care a straw what the loathsome disease was, as long
as we hurried up and settled on something. Then Alice said--
little of the juice of the red flannel that Noël's throat was
done up in. It comes out beautifully in hot water. Noël took this and
he liked it. Noël's own idea was liquorice-water, and we
let him have it, but it is too plain and black to sell in bottles at the
proper price.
but it was not one of the kind when he has to have poultices and
can't sit up in bed. But when it had been in his head nearly a week,
Oswald happened to tumble over Alice on the stairs. When we got up she was
crying.
Oswald would have embraced his little sister tenderly, and mingled his
tears with hers.
but she whispered to Oswald that it was all right. When it was rather late
Eliza said she was going out to post a letter. This always takes her an
hour, because she will go to the post-office across the Heath
instead of the pillar-box, because once a boy dropped fusees in our
pillar-box and burnt the letters. It was not any of us; Eliza told
us about it. And when there was a knock at the door a long time after we
thought it was Eliza come back, and that she had forgotten the
back-door key. We made H.O. go down to open the door, because it is
his place to run about: his legs are younger than ours. And we heard
boots on the stairs besides H.O.'s, and we listened spellbound till
the door opened, and it was Albert's uncle. He looked very tired.
edge of the bed. It is a rather shaky bed, the bar that keeps it steady
underneath got broken when we were playing burglars last winter. It was our
crowbar. He began to feel Noël's pulse, and went on talking.
uncle, pulling her close to him to sit on his knee. "I am very glad
you telegraphed."
then he gave us a long talking-to. He can make you feel most awfully
small. At last he stopped, and we said we were very sorry, and he said,
"You know I promised to take you all to the pantomime?"
what for; and of course we could not do that because of the honour of the
family. And Oswald was anxious to get the sixpence to give to the telegraph
people because he feared that the badness of that sixpence might have been
found out, and that the police might come for Alice at any moment. I
don't think I ever had such an unhappy day. Of course we could have
written to Albert's uncle, but it would have taken a long time, and
every moment of delay added to Alice's danger. We thought and
thought, but we couldn't think of any way to get that sixpence. It
seems a small sum, but you see Alice's liberty depended on it. It was
quite late in the afternoon when I met Mrs. Leslie on the Parade. She had a
brown fur coat and a lot of yellow flowers in her hands. She stopped to
speak to me, and asked me how the Poet was. I told her he had a cold, and I
wondered whether she would lend me sixpence if I asked her, but I could not
make up my mind how to begin to say it. It is a hard thing to
say--much harder than you would think. She talked to me for a bit, and
then she suddenly got into a cab, and said--
shoved the yellow flowers through the window and said, "For the sick
poet, with my love," and was driven off.
back the pennies. So at last she said she should put them in the plate on
Sunday. She is a very nice lady. I like the way she does her hair.
unlikely. Alice said afterwards that she rather liked the Water Rates,
really, and Noël said he had a face like a good vizier, or the man who
rewards the honest boy for restoring the purse, but we did not think about
these things at the time, and as the Water Rates came up the steps, we
shovelled down a great square slab of snow like an avalanche--and it
fell right on his head . Two of us thought of it at the same moment, so it
was quite a large avalanche. And when the Water Rates had shaken himself he
rang the bell. It was Saturday, and Father was at home. We know now that it
is very wrong and ungentlemanly to shovel snow off porticoes on to the
Water Rates, or any other person, and we hope he did not catch a cold, and
we are very sorry. We apologized to the Water Rates when Father told us to.
We were all sent to bed for it.
will be able to believe it. I should not, if a boy told me, unless I knew
him to be a man of honour, and perhaps not then unless he gave his sacred
word. But it is true, all the same, and it only shows that the days of
romance and daring deeds are not yet at an end.
listened again, but there was no more noise. Presently Dora said in a
whisper--
it's robbers. I expect it's a stray cat got in when the coals
came this morning, and she's been hiding in the cellar, and now
she's moving about. Let's go down and see."
creeping slowly up the stairs as softly as It could with
Its boots off, and the stairs creaking, towards the room where
we were with the door open in case of Eliza coming back suddenly, and all
dark on the landings. And then it would have been just as bad, and it
would have lasted longer, and you would have known you were a coward
besides. Dicky says he felt all these same things. Many people would say
we were young heroes to go down as we did; so I have tried to explain,
because no young hero wishes to have more credit than he deserves.
him, standing on the study hearthrug, a Real Robber. There was no mistake
about it. Oswald was sure it was a robber, because it had a screwdriver in
its hands, and was standing near the cupboard door that H.O. broke the lock
off; and there were gimlets and screws and things on the floor. There is
nothing in that cupboard but old ledgers and magazines and the tool chest,
but of course, a robber could not know that beforehand.
out, we looked at him. He was of the middle height, and clad in a black
frock-coat and grey trousers. His boots were a little gone at the
sides, and his shirt-cuffs were a bit frayed, but otherwise he was
of gentlemanly demeanour. He had a thin, wrinkled face, with big, light
eyes that sparkled, and then looked soft very queerly, and a short beard.
In his youth it must have been of a fair golden colour, but now it was
tinged with grey. Oswald was sorry for him, especially when he saw that one
of his pockets had a large hole in it, and that he had nothing in his
pockets but letters and string and three boxes of matches, and a pipe and a
handkerchief and a thin tobacco pouch and two pennies. We made him put all
the things on the table, and then he said--
he had thrown his head back, and laughed for quite half a minute. So we
told him. And he applauded our valour, and Alice and H.O. explained that
they would have said "surrender," too, only they were
reinforcements.
with a trusty steed. And he talked of highwaymen as if he knew just
how we liked hearing it.
that's true anyway." He sighed again, and looked hard at the
fire.
making them. And it's a hole and corner business at the best,
isn't it?--and it must be a very thirsty one--with the hot
metal and furnaces and things."
One of the footmen had six new pennies: the Lord Mayor always pays
his servants" wages in new pennies. I spent fourpence of that in
bread and cheese, that on the table's the tuppence. Ah, it's a
poor trade!" And then he filled his pipe again.
in the grandest manner with his legs very wide apart, and the pistol
pointing at the cowering burglar. The burglar was a large man who did not
mean to have a beard, I think, but he had got some of one, and a red
comforter, and a fur cap, and his face was red and his voice was thick. How
different from our own robber! The burglar had a dark lantern, and he was
standing by the plate-basket. When we had lit the gas we all thought
he was very like what a burglar ought to be. He did not look as if he could
ever have been a pirate or a highwayman, or anything really dashing or
noble, and he scowled and shuffled his feet and said: "Well, go
on: why don't yer fetch the pleece?"
talked at once. It was the most wonderful adventure we ever had, though it
wasn't treasure-seeking--at least not ours. I suppose it
was the burglar's treasure-seeking, but he didn't get
much--and our robber said he didn't believe a word about those
kids that were so like Alice and me.
but I may as well hold on and see what happens.'"
had told them to, and Alice was Hardy, and I was the doctor, and the others
were the crew. Playing at Hardy made us think of our own dear robber, and
we wished he was there, and wondered if we should ever see him any
more.
doing nothing that Dora said she knew he'd begin to tease Noël
in a minute; then of course Dicky said he wasn't going to tease
anybody--he was going out to the Heath. He said he'd heard that
nagging women drove a man from his home, and now he found it was quite
true. Oswald always tries to be a peacemaker, so he told Dicky to shut up
and not make an ass of himself. And Alice said, "Well, Dora
began--"And Dora tossed her chin up and said it wasn't any
business of Oswald's any way, and no one asked Alice's opinion.
So we all felt very uncomfortable till Noël said, "Don't
let's quarrel about nothing. You know let dogs delight--and I
made up another piece while you were talking--
it is, and I want to laugh; but it doesn't do to say so--for it
only makes the others crosser than they were before. I wonder why that
is?
and our boots were quite clean, and Eliza might as well let us. So she
did.
But now--I'm sure I saw it; do get a match, Noël,
there's a dear."
But Dora said, "I don't know that it's our money.
Let's wait and ask Father."
But it was Albert's uncle who first taught us how to make people talk
like books when you're playing things, and he made us learn to tell a
story straight from the beginning, not starting in the middle like most
people do. So now Oswald remembered what he had been told, as he generally
does, and began at the beginning, but when he came to where Alice said she
was the priestess, Albert's uncle said--
among those favoured by the Immortals. First you find half-crowns in
the garden, and now this. The high priest advises you to tell your Father,
and ask if you may keep it. My hero has become penitent, but impatient. I
must pull him out of this scrape. Ye have my leave to depart."
the rabbit because we are so tired of beef and mutton, and Father
hasn't a bill at the poultry shop. And we got some flowers to go on
the dinner-table for Father's party. And we got hardbake and
raspberry noyau and peppermint rock and oranges and a cocoanut, with other
nice things. We put it all in the top long drawer. It is H.O.'s play
drawer, and we made him turn his things out and put them in Father's
old portmanteau. H.O. is getting old enough now to learn to be unselfish,
and besides, his drawer wanted tidying very badly. Then we all vowed by the
honour of the ancient House of Bastable that we would not touch any of the
feast till Dora gave the word next day. And we gave H.O. some of the
hardbake, to make it easier for him to keep his vow. The next day was the
most rememorable day in all our lives, but we didn't know that then.
But that is another story. I think that is such a useful way to know when
you can't think how to end up a chapter. I learnt it from another
writer named Kipling. I've mentioned him before, I believe, but he
deserves it!
flurry. We heard the Uncle say, "God bless my soul!" and then
he went into Father's study and the door was shut--we
didn't see him properly at all that time.
a very big voice, and Father was not going to be beaten by a poor Indian in
talking or anything else--so he spoke up too, like a man, and I heard
him say it was a very good business, and only wanted a little
capital--and he said it as if it was an imposition he had learned, and
he hated having to say it. The Uncle said, "Pooh, pooh!" to
that, and then he said he was afraid that what that same business wanted
was not capital but management. Then I heard my Father say, "It is
not a pleasant subject: I am sorry I introduced it. Suppose we change
it, sir. Let me fill your glass." Then the poor Indian said something
about vintage--and that a poor, broken-down man like he was
couldn't be too careful. And then Father said, "Well, whisky
then," and afterwards they talked about Native Races and Imperial
something or other and it got very dull.
no use staying there any longer, and we went to the nursery.
table looked very nice with the flowers we got. I set it myself, and Eliza
made me borrow the silver spoons and forks from
Albert-next-door's Mother."
us to-morrow, we will show you our idea of good things to
eat." You will see, if you think it over, that this would not have
been at all polite to Father.
Indian, perhaps you're very poor"--I didn't like
to tell him we had heard the dreadful truth from his own lips, so I went
on, "because of 'Lo, the poor Indian'--you
know--and you can't get a good dinner every day. And we are very
sorry if you're poor; and won't you come and have dinner with
us to-morrow--with us children, I mean? It's a very, very
good dinner--rabbit, and hardbake, and cocoanut--and you
needn't mind us knowing you're poor, because we know honourable
poverty is no disgrace, and--" I could have gone on much longer,
but he interrupted me to say--
I did ask if he played cricket. He said he had not played lately. And then
no one said anything till dinner came in. We had all washed our faces and
hands and brushed our hair before he came in, and we all looked very nice,
especially Oswald, who had had his hair cut that very morning. When Eliza
had brought in the rabbit and gone out again, we looked at each other in
silent despair, like in books. It seemed as if it were going to be just a
dull dinner like the one the poor Indian had had the night before; only, of
course, the things to eat would be nicer. Dicky kicked Oswald under the
table to make him say something--and he had his new boots on,
too!--but Oswald did not kick back; then the Uncle asked--
sharpened to a point. The Uncle's piece got a little burnt, but he
said it was delicious, and he said game was always nicer when you had
killed it yourself. When Eliza had taken away the rabbit bones and brought
in the pudding, we waited till she had gone out and shut the door, and then
we put the dish down on the floor and slew the pudding in the dish in the
good old-fashioned way. It was a wild boar at bay, and very hard
indeed to kill, even with forks. The Uncle was very fierce indeed with the
pudding, and jumped and howled when he speared it, but when it came to his
turn to be helped, he said, "No, thank you; think of my liver.
Eh!--what?"
that we were quite sure there was no more gold in the house, because we
happened to have looked very carefully.
much. I shan't forget your kind hospitality. Perhaps the poor Indian
may be in a position to ask you all to dinner some day."
looked at the parcels. Some were done up in old, dirty newspapers, and tied
with bits of rag, and some were in brown paper and string from the shops,
and there were boxes. We wondered if the Uncle had come to stay and this
was his luggage, or whether it was to sell. Some of it smelt of spices,
like merchandise--and one bundle Alice felt certain was a bale. We
heard a hand on the knob of the study door after a bit, and Alice
said--
Oswald and a book of Japanese pictures for Noël, and some ivory
chessmen for Dicky: the castles of the chessmen are
elephant-and-castles. There is a railway station called
that; I never knew what it meant before. The brown paper and string parcels
had boxes of games in them--and big cases of preserved fruits and
things. And the shabby old newspaper parcels and the boxes had the Indian
things in. I never saw so many beautiful things before. There were carved
fans and silver bangles and strings of amber beads, and necklaces of uncut
gems--turquoises and garnets, the Uncle said they were--and
shawls and scarves of silk, and cabinets of brown and gold, and ivory boxes
and silver trays, and brass things. The Uncle kept saying, "This is
for you, young man," or "Little Alice will like this
fan,"or "Miss Dora would look well in this green silk, I think.
Eh!--what?"
thing to say, and the poor Indian, I mean the Uncle, said,
"No, your Father won't object--he's coming too,
bless your soul!"
top of Greenwich. But the cab went right over the Heath and in at some
big gates, and through a shrubbery all white with frost like a fairy
forest, because it was Christmas time. And at last we stopped before one of
those jolly, big, ugly red houses with a lot of windows, that are so
comfortable inside, and on the steps was the Indian Uncle, looking very big
and grand, in a blue cloth coat and yellow sealskin waistcoat, with a bunch
of seals hanging from it.
because it happens this way. Real life is often something like books.
was really kind; but they only laughed, and Father said you could not ask
all your business friends to a private dinner.
Printed in Great Britain by UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE
GRESHAM PRESS, LONDON AND WOKING
May Life's choicest blessings be your lot
For you are going to print my
poems--
And you may have this one as well as the
rest.
"Thank you," said the Editor. "I don't think I
ever had a poem addressed to me before. I shall treasure it, I assure
you."
Then the other gentleman said something about Mecænas, and we went
off to see the printing office with at least one pound seven in our
pockets.
Page 75
It was good hunting, and no mistake!
But he never put Noël's poetry in the Daily
Recorder. It was quite a long time afterwards we saw a sort of story
thing in a magazine, on the station bookstall, and that kind,
sleepy-looking Editor had written it, I suppose. It was not at all
amusing. It said a lot about Noël and me, describing us all wrong, and
saying how we had tea with the Editor; and all Noël's poems were
in the story thing. I think myself the Editor seemed to make game of them,
but Noël was quite pleased to see them printed--so that's
all right.
It wasn't my poetry anyhow, I am glad to say.
Page 77CHAPTER VI.
Page 79CHAPTER VI
NOËL'S PRINCESS
SHE happened quite accidentally. We were not looking for a
Princess at all just then; but Noël had said he was going to find a
Princess all by himself; and marry her--and he really did. Which was
rather odd, because when people say things are going to befall, very often
they don't. It was different, of course, with the prophets of
old.
We did not get any treasure by it, except twelve chocolate drops; but we
might have done, and it was an adventure, anyhow.
Greenwich Park is a jolly good place to play in, especially the parts
that aren't near Greenwich. The parts near the Heath are
first-rate. I often wish the Park was nearer our house; but I
suppose a Park is a difficult thing to move.
Sometimes we get Eliza to put lunch in a
Page 80
She always tells us to rinse out the cup at the
drinking-fountain, and the girls do; but I always put my head under
the tap and drink. Then you are an intrepid hunter at a mountain
stream--and besides, you're sure it's clean. Dicky does
the same, and so does H.O. But Noël always drinks out of the cup. He
says it is a golden goblet wrought by enchanted gnomes.
The day the Princess happened was a fine, hot day, last October, and we
were quite tired with the walk up to the Park.
We always go in by the little gate at the top of Croom's Hill. It
is the postern gate that things always happen at in stories. It was dusty
walking, but when we got in the Park it was ripping, so we rested a bit,
and lay on our backs, and looked up at the trees, and wished we could play
monkeys. I have done it before now, but the Park-keeper makes a row
if he catches you.
Page 81
When we'd rested a little, Alice said--
"It was a long way to the enchanted wood, but it is very nice now
we are there. I wonder what we shall find in it?"
"We shall find deer," said Dicky, "if we go to look;
but they go on the other side of the Park because of the people with
buns."
Saying buns made us think of lunch, so we had it; and when we had done
we scratched a hole under a tree and buried the papers, because we know it
spoils pretty places to leave beastly, greasy papers lying about. I
remember Mother teaching me and Dora that, when we were quite little. I
wish everybody's parents would teach them this useful lesson, and the
same about orange-peel.
When we'd eaten everything there was, Alice whispered--
"I see the white witch bear yonder among the trees! Let's
track it and slay it in its lair."
"I am the bear," said Noël; so he crept away, and we
followed him among the trees. Often the witch bear was out of sight, and
then you didn't know where it would jump out from; but sometimes we
saw it, and just followed.
"When we catch it there'll be a great
Page 82
"I'll be Gabrielle," said Dora. She is the only one of
us who likes doing girl's parts.
"I'll be Sintram," said Alice; "and H.O. can be
the Little Master."
"What about Dicky?"
"Oh, I can be the Pilgrim with the bones."
"Hist!" whispered Alice. "See his white fairy fur
gleaming amid yonder covert!"
And I saw a bit of white too. It was Noël's collar, and it
had come undone at the back.
We hunted the bear in and out of the trees, and then we lost him
altogether; and suddenly we found the wall of the Park--in a place
where I'm sure there wasn't a wall before. Noël
wasn't anywhere about, and there was a door in the wall. And it was
open; so we went through.
"The bear has hidden himself in these mountain fastnesses,"
Oswald said. "I will draw my good sword and after him."
So I drew the umbrella, which Dora always will bring in case it rains,
because Noël gets a cold on the chest at the least thing--and we
went on.
The other side of the wall it was a stable yard, all cobble stones.
There was nobody
Page 83
""Tis the lair of the Monster Serpent; I hear his deadly
hiss! Beware! Courage and despatch!"
We went over the stones on tiptoe, and we found another wall with
another door in it on the other side. We went through that too, on tiptoe.
It really was an adventure. And there we were in a shrubbery, and we saw
something white through the trees. Dora said it was the white bear. That is
so like Dora. She always begins to take part in a play just when the rest
of us are getting tired of it. I don't mean this unkindly, because I
am very fond of Dora. I cannot forget how kind she was when I had
bronchitis; and ingratitude is a dreadful vice. But it is quite true.
"It is not a bear," said Oswald; and we all went on, still
on tiptoe, round a twisty path and on to a lawn, and there was Noël.
His collar had come undone, as I said, and he had an inky mark on his face
that he made just before we left the house, and he wouldn't let Dora
wash it off, and one of his boot-laces
Page 84
She was like a china doll--the sixpenny kind; she had a white face,
and long yellow hair, done up very tight in two pigtails; her forehead was
very big and lumpy, and her cheeks came high up, like little shelves under
her eyes. Her eyes were small and blue. She had on a funny black frock,
with curly braid on it, and button boots that went almost up to her knees.
Her legs were very thin. She was sitting in a hammock chair nursing a blue
kitten--not a sky-blue one, of course, but the colour of a new
slate pencil. As we came up we heard her say to Noël--
"Who are you?"
Noël had forgotten about the bear, and he was taking his favourite
part, so he said--
"I'm Prince Camaralzaman."
The funny little girl looked pleased--
"I thought at first you were a common boy," she said. Then
she saw the rest of us and said--
"Are you all Princesses and Princes too?"
Of course we said "Yes," and she said--
"I am a Princess also." She said it very well too, exactly
as if it were true. We were
Page 85
Of course Oswald said, "Very likely."
The little girl had a funny voice, and all her words were quite plain,
each word by itself; she didn't talk at all like we do.
H.O. asked her what the cat's name was, and she said
"Katinka." Then Dicky said--
"Let's get away from the windows; if you play near windows
some one inside generally knocks at them and says
'Don't'."
The Princess put down the cat very carefully and said--
"I am forbidden to walk off the grass."
"That's a pity," said Dora.
"But I will if you like," said the Princess.
"You mustn't do things you are forbidden to do," Dora
said; but Dicky showed us that there was some more grass beyond the shrubs
with only a gravel path between. So I lifted the Princess over the gravel,
so that she should be able to say she hadn't walked off
Page 86
We said we thought not, but she pulled a real silver box out of her
pocket and showed us; they were just flat, round chocolates. We had two
each. Then we asked her her name, and she began, and when she began she
went on, and on, and on, till I thought she was never going to stop. H.O.
said she had fifty names, but Dicky is very good at figures, and he says
there were only eighteen. The first were Pauline, Alexandra, Alice, and
Mary was one, and Victoria, for we all heard that, and it ended up with
Hildegarde Cunigonde something or other, Princess of something else.
When she'd done, H.O. said, "That's jolly good! Say it
again!" and she did, but even then we couldn't remember it. We
told her our names, but she thought they were too short, so when it was
Noël's turn he said he was Prince Noël Camaralzaman Ivan
Constantine Charlemagne James John Edward Biggs Maximilian Bastable Prince
of Lewisham, but when she asked him to say it again
Page 87
So the Princess said, "You are quite old enough to know your own
name." She was very grave and serious.
She told us that she was the fifth cousin of Queen Victoria. We asked
who the other cousins were, but she did not seem to understand. She went on
and said she was seven times removed. She couldn't tell us what that
meant either, but Oswald thinks it means that the Queen's cousins are
so fond of her that they will keep coming bothering, so the Queen's
servants have orders to remove them. This little girl must have been very
fond of the Queen to try so often to see her, and to have been seven times
removed. We could see that it is considered something to be proud of; but
we thought it was hard on the Queen that her cousins wouldn't let her
alone.
Presently the little girl asked us where our maids and governesses
were.
We told her we hadn't any just now. And she said--
"How pleasant! And did you come here alone?"
Page 88
"Yes," said Dora; "we came across the
Heath."
"You are very fortunate," said the little girl. She sat very
upright on the grass, with her fat little hands in her lap. "I should
like to go on the Heath. There are donkeys there, with white saddle covers.
I should like to ride them, but my governess will not permit."
"I'm glad we haven't a governess," H.O. said.
"We ride the donkeys whenever we have any pennies, and once I gave
the man another penny to make it gallop."
"You are indeed fortunate!" said the Princess again, and
when she looked sad the shelves on her cheeks showed more than ever. You
could have laid a sixpence on them quite safely if you had had one.
"Never mind," said Noël; "I've got a lot of
money. Come out and have a ride now." But the little girl shook her
head and said she was afraid it would not be correct.
Dora said she was quite right; then all of a sudden came one of those
uncomfortable times when nobody can think of anything to say, so we sat and
looked at each other. But at last Alice said we ought to be going.
"Do not go yet," the little girl said. "At what time
did they order your carriage?"
Page 89
"Our carriage is a fairy one, drawn by griffins, and it comes when
we wish for it," said Noël.
The little girl looked at him very queerly, and said, "That is out
of a picture-book."
Then Noël said he thought it was about time he was married if we
were to be home in time for tea. The little girl was rather stupid over it,
but she did what we told her, and we married them with Dora's
pocket-handkerchief for a veil, and the ring off the back of one of
the buttons on H.O.'s blouse just went on her little finger.
Then we showed her how to play cross-touch, and puss in the
corner, and tag. It was funny, she didn't know any games but
battledore and shuttlecock and les graces.
But she really began to laugh at last and not to look quite so like a
doll.
She was Puss and was running after Dicky when suddenly she stopped short
and looked as if she was going to cry. And we looked too, and there were
two prim ladies with little mouths and tight hair. One of them said in
quite an awful voice, "Pauline, who are these children?" and
her voice was gruff; with very curly R's.
The little girl said we were Princes and
Page 90
The gruff lady gave a short, horrid laugh, like a husky bark, and
said--
"Princes, indeed! They're only common children!"
Dora turned very red and began to speak, but the little girl cried out
"Common children! Oh, I am so glad! When I am grown up I'll
always play with common children."
And she ran at us, and began to kiss us one by one, beginning with
Alice; she had got to H.O. when the horrid lady said--
"Your Highness--go indoors at once!"
The little girl answered, "I won't!" Then the prim
lady said--
"Wilson, carry her Highness indoors."
And the little girl was carried away screaming, and kicking with her
little thin legs and her buttoned boots, and between her screams she
shrieked: "Common children! I am glad, glad, glad! Common
children! Common children!"
The nasty lady then remarked--
"Go at once, or I will send for the police!"
So we went. H.O. made a face at her and
Page 91
Then we all came away, and when we got outside Dora said, "So she
was really a Princess. Fancy a Princess living
there!"
"Even Princesses have to live somewhere," said Dicky.
"And I thought it was play. And it was real. I wish I'd
known! I should have liked to ask her lots of things," said
Alice.
H.O. said he would have liked to ask her what she had for dinner and
whether she had a crown.
I felt, myself, we had lost a chance of finding out a great deal about
kings and queens. I might have known such a stupid-looking little
girl would never have been able to pretend, as well as that.
So we all went home across the Heath, and made dripping toast for
tea.
When we were eating it Noël said, "I
Page 92
He sighed as he said it, and his mouth was very full, so we knew he was
thinking of his Princess. He says now that she was as beautiful as the day,
but we remember her quite well, and she was nothing of the kind.
Page 93CHAPTER VII.
Page 95CHAPTER VII
BEING BANDITS
NOËL was quite tiresome for ever so long after we found
the Princess. He would keep on wanting to go to the Park when the rest of
us didn't, and though we went several times to please him, we never
found that door open again, and all of us except him knew from the first
that it would be no go.
So now we thought it was time to do something to rouse him from the
stupor of despair, which is always done to heroes when anything baffling
has occurred. Besides, we were getting very short of money again--the
fortunes of your house cannot be restored (not so that they will last, that
is), even by the one pound eight we got when we had the "good
hunting." We spent a good deal of that on presents for Father's
birthday. We got him a paper-weight, like a glass bun, with
Page 96
But I think crackers and squibs are a mistake. It's true you get a
lot of them for the money, and they are not bad fun for the first two or
three dozen, but you get jolly sick of them before you've let off
your sixpenn'orth. And the only amusing way is not allowed: it
is putting them in the fire.
It always seems a long time till the evening when you have got fireworks
in the house, and I think as it was a rather foggy day we should have
decided to let them off directly after breakfast, only Father had said he
would
Page 97
You see we had three good reasons for trying H.O.'s idea of
restoring the fallen fortunes of our house by becoming bandits on the Fifth
of November. We had a fourth reason as well, and that was the best reason
of the lot. You remember Dora thought it would be wrong to be bandits. And
the Fifth of November came while Dora was away at Stroud staying with her
godmother. Stroud is in Gloucestershire. We were determined to do it while
she was out of the way, because we did not think it wrong, and besides we
meant to do it anyhow.
We held a Council, of course, and laid our plans very carefully. We let
H.O. be Captain, because it was his idea. Oswald was Lieutenant. Oswald was
quite fair, because he let H.O. call himself Captain; but Oswald is the
eldest next to Dora, after all.
Our plan was this. We were all to go up on to the Heath. Our house is in
the Lewisham Road, but it's quite close to the Heath if you cut up
the short way opposite the confectioner's, past the nursery gardens
and the cottage hospital, and turn to the left again
Page 98
We were to lurk in ambush there, and waylay an unwary traveller. We
were to call upon him to surrender his arms, and then bring him home and
put him in the deepest dungeon below the castle moat; then we were to load
him with chains and send to his friends for ransom.
You may think we had no chains, but you are wrong, because we used to
keep two other dogs once, besides Pincher, before the fall of the fortunes
of the ancient House of Bastable. And they were quite big dogs.
It was latish in the afternoon before we started. We thought we could
lurk better if it was nearly dark. It was rather foggy, and we waited a
good while beside the railings, but all the belated travellers were either
grown up or else they were Board School children. We weren't going to
get into a row with grown-up people--especially
strangers--and no true bandit would ever stoop to ask a ransom from
the relations of the poor and needy. So we thought it better to wait.
Page 99
As I said, it was Guy Fawkes day, and if it had not been we should never
have been able to be bandits at all, for the unwary traveller we did catch
had been forbidden to go out because he had a cold in his head. But he
would run out to follow a guy, without even putting on a coat or a
comforter, and it was a very damp, foggy afternoon and nearly dark, so you
see it was his own fault entirely, and served him jolly well right.
We saw him coming over the Heath just as we were deciding to go home to
tea. He had followed that guy right across to the village (we call
Blackheath the village; I don't know why), and he was coming back
dragging his feet and sniffing.
"Hist, an unwary traveller approaches!" whispered
Oswald.
"Muffle your horses" heads and see to the priming of your
pistols," muttered Alice. She always will play boys' parts, and
she makes Ellis cut her hair short on purpose. Ellis is a very obliging
hairdresser.
"Steal softly upon him," said Noël; "for lo!
"tis dusk, and no human eyes can mark our deeds."
So we ran out and surrounded the unwary traveller. It turned out to be
Albert-next-
Page 100
"Surrender!" hissed Oswald, in a desperate-sounding
voice, as he caught the arm of the Unwary. And
Albert-next-door said, "All right! I'm
surrendering as hard as I can. You needn't pull my arm
off."
We explained to him that resistance was useless, and I think he saw that
from the first. We held him tight by both arms, and we marched him home
down the hill in a hollow square of five.
He wanted to tell us about the guy, but we made him see that it was not
proper for prisoners to talk to the guard, especially about guys that the
prisoner had been told not to go after because of his cold.
When we got to where we live he said, "All right, I don't
want to tell you. You'll wish I had afterwards. You never saw such a
guy."
"I can see you!" said H.O. It was very rude,
and Oswald told him so at once, because it is his duty as an elder brother.
But H.O. is very young and does not know better yet, and besides it
wasn't bad for H.O.
Albert-next-door said, "You haven't any
Page 101
But Alice told him, quite kindly, that he was not going in to his tea,
but coming with us.
"I'm not," said Albert-next-door;
"I'm going home. Leave go! I've got a bad cold.
You're making it worse." Then he tried to cough, which was very
silly, because we'd seen him in the morning, and he'd told us
where the cold was that he wasn't to go out with. When he had tried
to cough, he said, "Leave go of me! You see my cold's getting
worse."
"You should have thought of that before," said Dicky;
"you're coming in with us."
"Don't be a silly," said Noël; "you know we
told you at the very beginning that resistance was useless. There is no
disgrace in yielding. We are five to your one."
By this time Eliza had opened the door, and we thought it best to take
him in without any more parleying. To parley with a prisoner is not done by
bandits.
Directly we got him safe into the nursery, H.O. began to jump about and
say, "Now you're a prisoner really and truly!"
And Albert-next-door began to cry. He
Page 102
So he ate it and shut up. Then we explained his position to him, so that
there should be no mistake, and he couldn't say afterwards that he
had not understood.
"There will be no violence," said Oswald--he was now
Captain of the Bandits, because we all know H.O. likes to be Chaplain when
we play prisoners--"no violence. But you will be confined in a
dark, subterranean dungeon where toads and snakes crawl, and but little of
the light of day filters through the heavily mullioned windows. You will be
loaded with chains. Now don't begin again, Baby, there's
nothing to cry about; straw will be your pallet; beside you the gaoler will
set a ewer--a ewer is only a jug, stupid; it won't eat
you--a ewer with water; and a mouldering crust will be your
food."
But Albert-next-door never enters into the spirit of a
thing. He mumbled something about tea-time.
Page 103
Now Oswald, though stern, is always just, and besides we were all rather
hungry, and tea was ready. So we had it at once,
Albert-next-door and all--and we gave him what was left
of the four-pound jar of apricot jam we got with the money Noël
got for his poetry. And we saved our crusts for the prisoner.
Albert-next-door was very tiresome. Nobody could have had
a nicer prison than he had. We fenced him into a corner with the old wire
nursery fender and all the chairs, instead of putting him in the
coal-cellar as we had first intended. And when he said the
dog-chains were cold the girls were kind enough to warm his fetters
thoroughly at the fire before we put them on him.
We got the straw cases of some bottles of wine some one sent Father one
Christmas--it is some years ago, but the cases are quite good. We
unpacked them very carefully and pulled them to
pieces and scattered the straw about. It made a lovely straw pallet, and
took ever so long to make--but Albert-next-door has yet
to learn what gratitude really is. We got the bread trencher for the wooden
platter where the prisoner's crusts were put--they were not
mouldy, but we could not wait till they got so, and for the ewer we got the
toilet
Page 104
We got a sheet of paper out of an old exercise-book, and we made
H.O. prick his own thumb, because he is our little brother and it is our
duty to teach him to be brave. We none of us mind pricking ourselves;
we've done it heaps of times. H.O. didn't like it, but he
agreed to do it, and I helped him a little because he was so slow, and when
he saw the red bead of blood getting fatter and bigger as I squeezed his
thumb he was very pleased, just as I had told him he would be.
This is what we wrote with H.O.'s blood, only the blood gave out
when we got to
Page 105
While Oswald was writing it he heard Alice whispering to the prisoner
that it would soon be over, and it was only play. The prisoner left off
howling, so I pretended not to hear what she said. A Bandit Captain has to
overlook things sometimes. This was the letter:--
"Albert Morrison is held a prisoner by Bandits. On payment of
three thousand pounds he will be restored to his sorrowing relatives, and
all will be forgotten and forgiven."
I was not sure about the last part, but Dicky was certain he had seen it
in the paper, so I suppose it must have been all right.
We let H.O. take the letter; it was only fair, as it was his blood it
was written with, and told him to leave it next door for Mrs. Morrison.
H.O. came back quite quickly, and Albert-next-door's
uncle came with him.
"What is all this, Albert?" he cried. "Alas, alas, my
nephew! Do I find you the prisoner of a desperate band of
brigands?"
Page 106
"Bandits," said H.O.; "you know it says
bandits."
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said
Albert-next-door's uncle, "bandits it is, of
course. This, Albert, is the direct result of the pursuit of the guy on an
occasion when your doting mother had expressly warned you to forgo the
pleasures of the chase."
Albert said it wasn't his fault, and he hadn't wanted to
play.
"So ho!" said his uncle, "impenitent too!
Where's the dungeon?"
We explained the dungeon, and showed him the straw pallet and the ewer
and the mouldering crusts and other things.
"Very pretty and complete," he said. "Albert, you are
more highly privileged than ever I was. No one ever made me a nice dungeon
when I was your age. I think I had better leave you where you
are."
Albert began to cry again and said he was sorry, and he would be a good
boy.
"And on this old familiar basis you expect me to ransom you, do
you? Honestly, my nephew, I doubt whether you are worth it. Besides, the
sum mentioned in this document strikes me as excessive: Albert really
is not worth three thousand pounds. Also by a
Page 107
We said perhaps we could.
"Say eightpence," suggested
Albert-next-door's uncle, "which is all the small
change I happen to have on my person."
"Thank you very much," said Alice as he held it out;
"but are you sure you can spare it? Because really it was only
play."
"Quite sure. Now, Albert, the game is over. You had better run
home to your mother and tell her how much you've enjoyed
yourself."
When Albert-next-door had gone his uncle sat in the Guy
Fawkes armchair and took Alice on his knee, and we sat round the fire
waiting till it would be time to let off our fireworks. We roasted the
chestnuts he sent Dicky out for, and he told us stories till it was nearly
seven. His stories are first-rate--he does all the parts in
different voices. At last he said--
"Look here, young uns. I like to see you play and enjoy
yourselves, and I don't think it hurts Albert to enjoy himself
too."
"I don't think he did much," said H.O. But I knew what
Albert-next-door's uncle meant because I am much older
than H.O. He went on--
Page 108
"But what about Albert's Mother? Didn't you think how
anxious she would be at his not coming home? As it happens I saw him come
in with you, so we knew it was all right. But if I hadn't,
eh?"
He only talks like that when he is very serious, or even angry. Other
times he talks like people in books--to us, I mean.
We none of us said anything. But I was thinking. Then Alice spoke.
Girls seem not to mind saying things that we don't say. She put
her arms round Albert-next-door's uncle's neck
and said--
"We're very, very sorry. We didn't think about his
Mother. You see we try very hard not to think about other people's
Mothers because--"
Just then we heard Father's key in the door and
Albert-next-door's uncle kissed Alice and put her down,
and we all went down to meet Father. As we went I thought I heard
Albert-next-door's uncle say something that sounded
like "Poor little beggars!"
He couldn't have meant us, when we'd been having such a
jolly time, and chestnuts, and fireworks to look forward to after dinner
and everything!
Page 109CHAPTER VIII.
Page 111CHAPTER VIII
BEING EDITORS
IT was Albert's uncle who thought of our trying a
newspaper. He said he thought we should not find the bandit business a
paying industry, as a permanency, and that journalism might be.
We had sold Noël's poetry and that piece of information about
Lord Tottenham to the good editor, so we thought it would not be a bad idea
to have a newspaper of our own. We saw plainly that editors must be very
rich and powerful, because of the grand office and the man in the glass
case, like a museum, and the soft carpets and big writing-table.
Besides our having seen a whole handful of money that the editor pulled out
quite carelessly from his trousers pocket when he gave me my five bob.
Dora wanted to be editor and so did Oswald,
Page 112
Then Oswald said, like a good brother: "I will help you if
you like, Dora," and she said, "You're more trouble than
all the rest of them! Come and be editor and see how you like it. I give it
up to you." But she didn't, and we did it together. We let
Albert-next-door be sub-editor, because he had hurt
his foot with a nail in his boot that gathered.
When it was done Albert-next-door's uncle had it
copied for us in typewriting, and we sent copies to all our friends, and
then of course there was no one left that we could ask to buy it. We did
not think of that until too late. We called the paper the Lewisham
Recorder; Lewisham because we live there, and Recorder in memory of
the good editor.
Page 113
THE LEWISHAM RECORDER.
EDITORS: DORA AND OSWALD BASTABLE.
EDITORIAL NOTE.
Every paper is written for some reason. Ours is because we want to sell
it and get money. If what we have written brings happiness to any sad heart
we shall not have laboured in vain. But we want the money too. Many papers
are content with the sad heart and the happiness, but we are not like that,
and it is best not to be deceitful.--EDITORS.
Page 114
There will be two serial stories; One by Dicky and one by all of us. In
a serial story you only put in one chapter at a time. But we shall put all
our serial story at once, if Dora has time to copy it. Dicky's will
come later on.
SERIAL STORY.
BY US ALL.
CHAPTER I.--By Dora.
The sun was setting behind a romantic-looking tower when two
strangers might have been observed descending the crest of the hill. The
eldest, a man in the prime of life; the other a handsome youth who reminded
everybody of Quentin Durward. They approached the Castle, in which the fair
Lady Alicia awaited her deliverers. She leaned from the castellated window
and waved her lily hand as they approached. They returned her signal, and
retired to seek rest and refreshment at a neighbouring hostelry.
CHAPTER II.--By Alice.
The Princess was very uncomfortable in the tower, because her fairy
godmother had told
Page 115
CHAPTER III.--By the Sub-Editor.
(I can't--I'd much rather not--I don't know
how.)
CHAPTER IV.--By Dicky.
I must now retrace my steps and tell you something about our hero. You
must know he had been to an awfully jolly school, where they had turkey and
goose every day for dinner, and never any mutton, and as many helps of
pudding as a fellow cared to send up his plate for--so of course they
had all grown up very strong, and before he left school he challenged the
Head to have it out man to man, and he gave it him, I tell you. That
Page 116
CHAPTER V.--By Noël.
I think it's time something happened in this story. So then the
dragon he came out, blowing fire out of his nose, and he said--
"Come on, you valiant man and true,
I'd like to
have a set to along of you!"
(That's bad English.--ED. I don't care; it's what
the dragon said. Who told you dragons didn't talk bad
English?--NOËL.)
So the hero, whose name was Noeloninuris, replied--
"My blade is sharp, my axe is keen,
You're not
nearly as big as a good many dragons I've seen."
(Don't put in so much poetry, Noël. It's not fair,
because none of the others can do it.--ED.)
And then they went at it, and he beat the dragon, just as he did the
Head in Dicky's part of the Story, and so he married the Princess,
and they lived-- (No they didn't--not till the last
chapter.--ED.)
Page 117
CHAPTER VI.--by H.O.
I think it's a very nice Story--but what about the mice? I
don't want to say any more. Dora can have what's left of my
chapter.
CHAPTER VII.--by the Editors.
And so when the dragon was dead there were lots of mice, because he used
to kill them for his tea but now they rapidly multiplied and ravaged the
country, so the fair lady Alicia, sometimes called the Princess, had to say
she would not marry any one unless they could rid the country of this
plague of mice. Then the Prince, whose real name didn't begin with N,
but was Osrawalddo, waved his magic sword, and the dragon stood before
them, bowing gracefully. They made him promise to be good, and then they
forgave him; and when the wedding breakfast came, all the bones were saved
for him. And so they were married and lived happy ever after.
(What became of the other stranger?--NOËL. The dragon ate him
because he asked too many questions.--EDITORS.)
This is the end of the story.
Page 118
INSTRUCTIVE.
It only takes four hours and a quarter now to get from London to
Manchester; but I should not think any one would if they could help it.
A dreadful warning. A wicked boy told me a very instructive
thing about ginger. They had opened one of the large jars, and he happened
to take out quite a lot, and he made it all right by dropping marbles in,
till there was as much ginger as before. But he told me that on the
Sunday, when it was coming near the part where there is only juice
generally, I had no idea what his feelings were. I don't see what he
could have said when they asked him. I should be sorry to act like it.
SCIENTIFIC.
Experiments should always be made out of doors. And don't use
benzoline.--DICKY. (That was when he burnt his eyebrows
off.--ED.)
The earth is 2,400 miles round, and 800 through--at least I think
so, but perhaps it's the other way.--DICKY.
Page 119
(You ought to have been sure before you began.--ED.)
SCIENTIFIC COLUMN.
In this so-called Nineteenth Century Science is but too little
considered in the nurseries of the rich and proud. But we are not like
that.
It is not generally known that if you put bits of camphor in
luke-warm water it will move about. If you drop sweet oil in, the
camphor will dart away and then stop moving. But don't drop any till
you are tired of it, because the camphor won't any more afterwards.
Much amusement and instruction is lost by not knowing things like this.
If you put a sixpence under a shilling in a wine-glass, and blow
hard down the side of the glass, the sixpence will jump up and sit on the
top of the shilling. At least I can't do it myself, but my cousin
can. He is in the Navy.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
Noël.--You are very poetical, but I am sorry to say it will
not do.
Alice.--Nothing will ever make your hair
Page 120
H.O.--We never said you were tubby, but the Editor does not know
any cure.
Noël.--If there is any of the paper over when this newspaper
is finished, I will exchange it for your shut-up inkstand, or the
knife that has the useful thing in it for taking stones out of
horses" feet, but you can't have it without.
H.O.--There are many ways how your steam engine might stop working.
You might ask Dicky. He knows one of them. I think it is the way yours
stopped.
Noël.--If you think that by filling the garden with sand you
can make crabs build their nests there you are not at all sensible.
You have altered your poem about the battle of Waterloo so often, that
we cannot read it except where the Duke waves his sword and says some thing
we can't read either. Why did you write it on blotting-paper
with purple chalk?--ED.
(Because you know who sneaked my pencil.--NOËL.)
Page 121
POETRY.
The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,
And the way he
came down was awful, I'm told;
But it's nothing to the
way one of the Editors comes down on me,
If I crumble my
bread-and-butter or spill my tea.--NOËL.
CURIOUS FACTS.
If you hold a guinea-pig up by his tail his eyes drop out.
You can't do half the things yourself that children in books do,
making models or soon. I wonder why?--ALICE.
If you take a date's stone out and put in an almond and eat them
together, it is prime. I found this out.--SUB-EDITOR.
If you put your wet hand into boiling lead it will not hurt you if you
draw it out quickly enough. I have never tried this.--DORA.
THE PURRING CLASS.
(Instructive Article.)
If I ever keep a school everything shall be quite different. Nobody
shall learn anything they don't want to. And sometimes instead of
having masters and mistresses we will have cats, and we will dress up in
cat skins and learn purring.
Page 122
"Now, my dears," the old cat will say, "one, two,
three all purr together," and we shall purr like anything.
She won't teach us to mew, but we shall know how without teaching.
Children do know some things without being taught.--ALICE.
POETRY.
(Translated into French by Dora.)
Quand j'étais jeune et j'étais
fou
J"achetai un violon pour dix-huit sous
Et tous
les airs que je jouai
Était over the hills and far
away.
Another piece of it.
Mercie jolie vache qui fait
Bon lait pour mon
déjeuner
Tous les matins tous les soirs
Mon pain je
mange, ton lait je boire.
RECREATIONS.
It is a mistake to think that cats are playful. I often try to get a cat
to play with me, and she never seems to care about the game, no matter how
little it hurts.--H.O.
Page 123
Making pots and pans with clay is fun, but do not tell the
grown-ups. It is better to surprise them; and then you must say at
once how easily it washes off--much easier than ink.--DICKY.
SAM REDFERN, OR THE BUSH RANGER's BURIAL.
By Dicky.
"Well, Annie, I have bad news for you," said Mr. Ridgway, as
he entered the comfortable dining-room of his cabin in the Bush.
"Sam Redfern the Bushranger is about this part of the Bush just now.
I hope he will not attack us with his gang."
"I hope not," responded Annie, a gentle maiden of some
sixteen summers.
Just then came a knock at the door of the hut, and a gruff voice asked
them to open the door.
"It is Sam Redfern the Bushranger, father," said the
girl.
"The same," responded the voice, and the next moment the
hall door was smashed in, and Sam Redfern sprang in, followed by his
gang.
Page 124
CHAPTER II.
Annie's Father was at once overpowered, and Annie herself lay
bound with cords on the drawing-room sofa. Sam Redfern set a guard
round the lonely hut, and all human aid was despaired of. But you never
know. Far away in the Bush a different scene was being enacted.
"Must be Injuns," said a tall man to himself as he pushed
his way through the brushwood. It was Jim Carlton, the celebrated
detective. "I know them," he added; "they are
Apaches." Just then ten Indians in full war-paint appeared.
Carlton raised his rifle and fired, and slinging their scalps on his arm he
hastened towards the humble log hut where resided his affianced bride,
Annie Ridgway, sometimes known as the Flower of the Bush.
CHAPTER III.
The moon was low on the horizon, and Sam Redfern was seated at a
drinking bout with some of his boon companions.
They had rifled the cellars of the hut, and the rich wines flowed like
water in the golden goblets of Mr. Ridgway.
Page 125
But Annie had made friends with one of the gang, a noble,
good-hearted man who had joined Sam Redfern by mistake, and she had
told him to go and get the police as quickly as possible.
"Ha! ha!" cried Redfern, "now I am enjoying
myself!" He little knew that his doom was near upon him.
Just then Annie gave a piercing scream, and Sam Redfern got up, seizing
his revolver.
"Who are you?" he cried, as a man entered.
"I am Jim Carlton, the celebrated detective," said the new
arrival.
Sam Redfern's revolver dropped from his nerveless fingers, but the
next moment he had sprung upon the detective with the well-known
activity of the mountain sheep, and Annie shrieked, for she had grown to
love the rough Bushranger.
(To be continued at the end of the paper if there is room.)
SCHOLASTIC.
A new slate is horrid till it is washed in milk. I like the green spots
on them to draw
Page 126
Peppermint is a great help with arithmetic. The boy who was second in
the Oxford Local always did it. He gave me two. The examiner said to him,
"Are you eating peppermints?" And he said, "No,
Sir." He told me afterwards it was quite true, because he was only
sucking one. I'm glad I wasn't asked. I should never have
thought of that, and I could have had to say
"Yes."--OSWALD.
THE WRECK OF THE "MALABAR"
By Noël.
(Author of "A Dream of Ancient Ancestors.") He isn't
really--but he put it in to make it seem more real.
Hark! what is that noise of
rolling
Waves and thunder in the air?
'Tis
the death-knell of the sailors
And officers and
passengers of the good ship
Malabar.
It was a fair and lovely
noon
When the good ship put out of port
And
people said "ah little we think
How soon she
will be the elements'
sport."
Page 127
She was
indeed a lovely sight
Upon the billows with sails
spread.
But the captain folded his gloomy
arms,
Ah--if she had been a life-boat
instead!
See the captain stern yet
gloomy
Flings his son upon a rock,
Hoping that
there his darling boy
May escape the
wreck.
Alas in vain the loud winds
roared
And nobody was saved.
That was the
wreck of the Malabar,
Then let us toll
for the brave.NOËL.
GARDENING NOTES.
It is useless to plant cherry-stones in the hope of eating the
fruit, because they don't!
Alice won't lend her gardening tools again, because the last time
Noël left them out in the rain, and I don't like it. He said he
didn't.
SEEDS AND BULBS.
These are useful to play at shop with, until you are ready. Not at
dinner-parties, for they will not grow unless uncooked. Potatoes
are not grown with seed, but with chopped-up potatoes. Apple trees
are grown from twigs, which is less wasteful.
Page 128
Oak trees come from acorns. Every one knows this. When Noël says he
could grow one from a peach stone wrapped up in oak leaves, he shows that
he knows nothing about gardening but marigolds, and when I passed by his
garden I thought they seemed just like weeds now the flowers have been
picked.
A boy once dared me to eat a bulb.
Dogs are very industrious and fond of gardening. Pincher is always
planting bones, but they never grow up. There couldn't be a bone
tree. I think this is what makes him bark so unhappily at night. He has
never tried planting dog-biscuit, but he is fonder of bones, and
perhaps he wants to be quite sure about them first.
SAM REDFERN, OR THE BUSHRANGER's BURIAL.
By Dick.
CHAPTER IV AND LAST.
This would have been a jolly good story if they had let me finish it at
the beginning of the paper as I wanted to. But now I have forgotten how I
meant it to end, and I have lost my book about Red Indians, and all my
Boys of England have been sneaked. The girls say "Good
riddance!" so I expect they
Page 129
We have now put everything we can think of into the paper. It takes a
lot of thinking about. I don't know how grown-ups manage to
write all they do. It must make their heads ache, especially lesson
books.
Albert-next-door only wrote one chapter of the serial
story, but he could have done some more if he had wanted to. He could not
write out any of the things because he cannot spell. He says he can, but it
takes him such a long time he might just as well not be able. There are one
or two things more. I am sick of it, but Dora says she will write them
in.
Legal answer wanted. A quantity of excellent string is
offered if you know whether there really is a law passed about not buying
gunpowder under thirteen.--DICKY.
The price of this paper is one shilling each, and sixpence extra for the
picture of the Malabar going down with all hands. If we
Page 130
* * * * *
And so we would have done, but we never did.
Albert-next-door's uncle gave us two shillings, that
was all. You can't restore fallen fortunes with two shillings!
Page 131CHAPTER IX.
Page 133CHAPTER IX
THE G.B.
BEING editors is not the best way to wealth. We all feel this
now, and highwaymen are not respected any more like they used to be.
I am sure we had tried our best to restore our fallen fortunes. We felt
their fall very much, because we knew the Bastables had been rich once.
Dora and Oswald can remember when Father was always bringing nice things
home from London, and there used to be turkeys and geese and wine and
cigars come by the carrier at Christmas-time, and boxes of candied
fruit and French plums in ornamental boxes with silk and velvet and gilding
on them. They were called prunes, but the prunes you buy at the grocers are
quite different. But now there is seldom anything nice brought from London,
and the turkey
Page 134
"How can we restore those beastly fallen
fortunes?" said Oswald. "We've tried digging and writing
and princesses and being editors."
"And being bandits," said H.O.
"When did you try that?" asked Dora quickly. "You know
I told you it was wrong."
"It wasn't wrong the way we did it," said Alice,
quicker still, before Oswald could say, "Who asked you to tell us
anything about it?" which would have been rude, and he is glad he
didn't. "We only caught
Albert-next-door."
"Oh, Albert-next-door!" said Dora
contemptuously, and I felt more comfortable; for even after I didn't
say, "Who asked you, and cetera," I was afraid Dora was going
to come the good elder sister over us. She does that a jolly sight too
often.
Dicky looked up from the paper he was reading and said, "This
sounds likely," and he read out--
£100 secures partnership in lucrative business for sale of useful
patent. £10 weekly. No personal attendance necessary. Jobbins, 300,
Old Street Road.
Page 135
"I wish we could secure that partnership," said Oswald. He
is twelve, and a very thoughtful boy for his age.
Alice looked up from her painting. She was trying to paint a fairy
queen's frock with green bice, and it wouldn't rub. There is
something funny about green bice. It never will rub off; no matter how
expensive your paint-box is--and even boiling water is very
little use.
She said, "Bother the bice! And, Oswald, it's no use
thinking about that. Where are we to get a hundred pounds?"
"Ten pounds a week is five pounds to us," Oswald went
on--he had done the sum in his head while Alice was
talking--"because partnership means halves. It would be
A1."
Noël sat sucking his pencil--he had been writing poetry as
usual. I saw the first two lines--
I wonder why Green Bice
Is never very nice.
Suddenly he said, "I wish a fairy would come down the chimney and
drop a jewel on the table--a jewel worth just a hundred
pounds."
"She might as well give you the hundred pounds while she was about
it," said Dora.
Page 136
"Or while she was about it she might as well give us five pounds a
week," said Alice.
"Or fifty," said I.
"Or five hundred," said Dicky.
I saw H.O. open his mouth, and I knew he was going to say, "Or
five thousand," so I said--
"Well, she won't give us fivepence, but if you'd only
do as I am always saying, and rescue a wealthy old gentleman from deadly
peril he would give us a pot of money, and we could have the partnership
and five pounds a week. Five pounds a week would buy a great many
things."
Then Dicky said, "Why shouldn't we borrow it?"
So we said, "Who from?" and then he read this out of the
paper--
MONEY PRIVATELY WITHOUT FEES. THE BOND STREET BANK. Manager, Z.
Rosenbaum.
Advances cash from £20 to £10,000 on ladies" or
gentlemen's note of hand alone, without security. No fees. No
inquiries. Absolute privacy guaranteed.
"What does it all mean?" asked H.O.
"It means that there is a kind gentleman who has a lot of money,
and he doesn't know
Page 137
Dora explained this and Dicky said, "Yes." And H.O. said he
was a Generous Benefactor, like in Miss Edgeworth. Then Noël wanted to
know what a note of hand was, and Dicky knew that, because he had read it
in a book, and it was just a letter saying you will pay the money when you
can, and signed with your name.
"No inquiries!" said Alice. "Oh--Dicky--do
you think he would?"
"Yes, I think so," said Dicky. "I wonder Father
doesn't go to this kind gentleman. I've seen his name before on
a circular in Father's study."
"Perhaps he has." said Dora.
But the rest of us were sure he hadn't, because, of course, if he
had, there would have been more money to buy nice things. Just then Pincher
jumped up and knocked over the painting-water. He is a very careless
dog. I wonder why painting-water is always such an ugly colour? Dora
ran for a duster to wipe it up, and H.O. dropped drops of the water on his
hands and said he had got the plague. So we played at the plague for a
Page 138
H.O. said Alice wasn't a lady; and she said he
wasn't going, anyway. Then he called her a disagreeable cat, and she
began to cry.
But Oswald always tries to make up quarrels, so he said--
Page 139
"You're little sillies, both of you!"
And Dora said, "Don't cry, Alice; he only meant you
weren't a grown-up lady."
Then H.O. said, "What else did you think I meant,
Disagreeable?"
So Dicky said, "Don't be disagreeable yourself, H.O. Let her
alone and say you're sorry, or I'll jolly well make
you!"
So H.O. said he was sorry. Then Alice kissed him and said she was sorry
too; and after that H.O. gave her a hug, and said, "Now I'm
really and truly sorry," so it was all right.
Noël went the last time any of us went to London, so he was out of
it, and Dora said she would take him to Blackheath if we'd take H.O.
So as there'd been a little disagreeableness we thought it was better
to take him, and we did. At first we thought we'd tear our oldest
things a bit more, and put some patches of different colours on them, to
show the G.B. how much we wanted money. But Dora said that would be a sort
of cheating, pretending we were poorer than we are. And Dora is right
sometimes, though she is our elder sister. Then we thought we'd
better wear our best things, so that the G.B. might see we weren't
so very poor that he couldn't
Page 140
Every one who reads this knows what it is like to go in the train, so I
shall not tell about it--though it was rather fun, especially the part
where the guard came for the tickets at Waterloo, and H.O. was under the
seat and pretended to be a dog without a ticket. We went to Charing Cross,
and we just went round to Whitehall to see the soldiers and then by St.
James's for the same reason--and when we'd looked in the
shops a bit we got to Brook Street, Bond Street. It was a brass plate on a
door next to a shop--a very grand place, where they sold bonnets and
hats--all very bright and smart, and no tickets on them to tell you
the price. We rang a bell and a boy opened the door and we asked for Mr.
Rosenbaum. The boy was not polite; he did not ask us in. So then Dicky gave
him his visiting card; it was one of Father's really, but the name is
the same, Mr. Richard Bastable, and we others wrote our names underneath. I
happened to
Page 141
Then the boy shut the door in our faces and we waited on the step. But
presently he came down and asked our business. So Dicky said--
"Money advanced, young shaver! and don't be all day about
it!"
And then he made us wait again, till I was quite stiff in my legs, but
Alice liked it because of looking at the hats and bonnets, and at last the
door opened, and the boy said--
"Mr. Rosenbaum will see you," so we wiped our feet on the
mat, which said so, and we went up stairs with soft carpets and into a
room. It was a beautiful room. I wished then we had put on our best things,
or at least washed a little. But it was too late now.
The room had velvet curtains and a soft, soft carpet, and it was full of
the most splendid things. Black and gold cabinets, and china, and statues,
and pictures. There was a picture of a cabbage and a pheasant and a dead
hare that was just like life, and I would have given worlds to have it for
my own. The fur was so natural I should never have been tired of looking at
it; but Alice liked the one of the girl with the broken jug best. Then
besides
Page 142
"Are you the G.B.?"
"The what?" said the little old gentleman.
"The G.B.," said H.O., and I winked at him to shut up, but
he didn't see me, and the G.B. did. He waved his hand at
me to shut up, so I had to, and H.O. went on--
"It stands for Generous Benefactor."
The old gentleman frowned. Then he said, "Your Father sent you
here, I suppose?"
"No he didn't," said Dicky. "Why did you think
so?"
The old gentleman held out the card, and I explained that we took that
because Father's name happens to be the same as Dicky's.
Page 143
"Doesn't he know you've come?"
"No," said Alice, "we shan't tell him till
we've got the partnership, because his own business worries him a
good deal and we don't want to bother him with ours till
it's settled, and then we shall give him half
our share."
The old gentleman took off his spectacles and rumpled his hair with his
hands, then he said, "Then what did you come
for?"
"We saw your advertisement," Dicky said, "and we want
a hundred pounds on our note of hand, and my sister came so that there
should be both kinds of us; and we want it to buy a partnership with in the
lucrative business for sale of useful patent. No personal attendance
necessary."
"I don't think I quite follow you," said the G.B.
"But one thing I should like settled before entering more fully into
the matter: why did you call me Generous Benefactor?"
"Well, you see," said Alice, smiling at him to show she
wasn't frightened, though I know really she was, awfully, "we
thought it was so very kind of you to try to find out the poor
people who want money and to help them and lend them your money."
"Hum!" said the G.B. "Sit down."
He cleared the clocks and vases and candle-
Page 144
"Now," he said, "you ought to be at school, instead of
thinking about money. Why aren't you?"
We told him that we should go to school again when Father could manage
it, but meantime we wanted to do something to restore the fallen fortunes
of the House of Bastable. And we said we thought the lucrative patent would
be a very good thing. He asked a lot of questions, and we told him
everything we didn't think Father would mind our telling, and at last
he said--
"You wish to borrow money. When will you repay it?"
"As soon as we've got it, of course," Dicky said.
Then the G.B. said to Oswald, "You seem the eldest," but I
explained to him that it was Dicky's idea, so my being eldest
didn't matter. Then he said to Dicky--
"You are a minor, I presume?"
Dicky said he wasn't yet, but he had thought of being a mining
engineer some day, and going to Klondike.
"Minor, not miner," said the G.B. "I mean
you're not of age?"
Page 145
"I shall be in ten years, though," said Dicky.
"Then you might repudiate the loan," said the G.B., and
Dicky said "What?" Of course he ought to have said "I beg
your pardon. I didn't quite catch what you said"--that is
what Oswald would have said. It is more polite than "What."
"Repudiate the loan," the G.B. repeated. "I mean you
might say you would not pay me back the money, and the law could not compel
you to do so."
"Oh, well, if you think we're such sneaks," said
Dicky, and he got up off his chair. But the G.B. said, "Sit down,
sit down; I was only joking."
Then he talked some more, and at last he said--
"I don't advise you to enter into that partnership.
It's a swindle. Many advertisements are. And I have not a hundred
pounds by me to-day to lend you. But I will lend you a pound, and
you can spend it as you like. And when you are twenty-one you shall
pay me back."
"I shall pay you back long before that," said Dicky.
"Thanks, awfully! And what about the note of hand?"
"Oh," said the G.B., "I'll trust to your
Page 146
Then he took out a sovereign, and held it in his hand while he talked to
us. He gave us a lot of good advice about not going into business too
young, and about doing our lessons--just swatting a bit, on our own
hook, so as not to be put in a low form when we went back to school. And
all the time he was stroking the sovereign and looking at it as if he
thought it very beautiful. And so it was, for it was a new one. Then at
last he held it out to Dicky, and when Dicky put out his hand for it the
G.B. suddenly put the sovereign back in his pocket.
"No," he said, "I won't give you the sovereign.
I'll give you fifteen shillings, and this nice bottle of scent.
It's worth far more than the five shillings I'm charging you
for it. And, when you can, you shall pay me back the pound, and sixty per
cent. interest--sixty per cent., sixty per cent--"
"What's that?" said H.O.
The G.B. said he'd tell us that when we paid back the sovereign,
but sixty per cent. was nothing to be afraid of. He gave Dicky the money.
And the boy was made to call a
Page 147
That evening Father had a letter by the seven-o'clock post.
And when he had read it he came up into the nursery. He did not look quite
so unhappy as usual, but he looked grave.
"You've been to Mr. Rosenbaum's," he said.
So we told him all about it. It took a long time, and Father sat in the
armchair. It was jolly. He doesn't often come and talk to us now. He
has to spend all his time thinking about his business. And when we'd
told him all about it he said--
"You haven't done any harm this time, children; rather good
than harm, indeed. Mr. Rosenbaum has written me a very kind
letter."
"Is he a friend of yours, Father?" Oswald asked.
"He is an acquaintance," said my Father, frowning a little,
"we have done some business together. And this letter--"
he stopped and then said: "No; you didn't do any harm
to-day; but I want you for the future not to do anything so serious
as to try to buy a
Page 148
Of course we said we should be delighted, but then Alice, who was
sitting on his knee, said, "We didn't like to bother
you."
Father said, "I haven't much time to be with you, for my
business takes most of my time. It is an anxious business--but I
can't bear to think of your being left all alone like
this."
He looked so sad we all said we liked being alone. And then he looked
sadder than ever.
Then Alice said, "We don't mean that exactly, Father. It is
rather lonely sometimes, since Mother died."
Then we were all quiet a little while.
Father stayed with us till we went to bed, and when he said good night
he looked quite cheerful. So we told him so, and he said--
"Well, the fact is, that letter took a weight off my mind."
I can't think what he meant--but I am sure the G.B. would be
pleased if he could know he had taken a weight off somebody's mind.
He is that sort of man, I think.
Page 149
We gave the scent to Dora. It is not quite such good scent as we thought
it would be, but we had fifteen shillings--and they were all good, so
is the G.B.
And until those fifteen shillings were spent we felt almost as jolly as
though our fortunes had been properly restored. You do not notice your
general fortune so much, as long as you have money in your pocket. This is
why so many children with regular pocket-money have never felt it
their duty to seek for treasure. So, perhaps, our not having
pocket-money was a blessing in disguise. But the disguise was quite
impenetrable, like the villains" in the books; and it seemed still
more so when the fifteen shillings were all spent. Then at last the others
agreed to let Oswald try his way of seeking for treasure, but they were not
at all keen about it, and many a boy less firm than Oswald would have
chucked the whole thing. But Oswald knew that a hero must rely on himself
alone. So he stuck to it, and presently the others saw their duty, and
backed him up.
Page 151CHAPTER X.
Page 152
Page 153CHAPTER X
LORD TOTTENHAM
OSWALD is a boy of firm and unswerving character, and he had
never wavered from his first idea. He felt quite certain that the books
were right, and that the best way to restore fallen fortunes was to rescue
an old gentleman in distress. Then he brings you up as his own son:
but if you preferred to go on being your own father's son I expect
the old gentleman would make it up to you some other way. In the books the
least thing does it--you put up the railway carriage window--or
you pick up his purse when he drops it--or you say a hymn when he
suddenly asks you to, and then your fortune is made.
The others, as I said, were very slack about it, and did not seem to
care much about trying the rescue. They said there wasn't any deadly
Page 154
So he waited about the station, pulling up railway carriage windows for
old gentlemen who looked likely--but nothing happened, and at last the
porters said he was a nuisance. So that was no go. No one ever asked him to
say a hymn, though he had learned a nice short one, beginning "New
every morning"--and when an old gentleman did drop a
two-shilling piece just by Ellis's the hairdresser's,
and Oswald picked it up, and was just thinking what he should say when he
returned it, the old gentleman caught him by the collar and called him a
young thief. It would have been very unpleasant for Oswald if he
hadn't happened to be a very brave boy, and knew the policeman on
that beat very well indeed. So the policeman backed him up, and the old
gentleman said he was sorry, and offered Oswald sixpence. Oswald refused
it with polite disdain, and nothing more happened at all.
When Oswald had tried by himself and it had not come off, he said to the
others, "We're
Page 155
It was dinner-time, and Pincher was going round getting the bits
off the plates. There were plenty because it was cold-mutton day.
And Alice said--
"It's only fair to try Oswald's way--he has tried
all the things the others thought of. Why couldn't we rescue Lord
Tottenham?"
Lord Tottenham is the old gentleman who walks over the Heath every day
in a paper collar at three o'clock--and when he gets half way,
if there is no one about, he changes his collar and throws the dirty one
into the furze-bushes.
Dicky said, "Lord Tottenham's all right--but
where's the deadly peril?"
And we couldn't think of any. There are no highwaymen on
Blackheath now, I am sorry to say. And though Oswald said half of us could
be highwaymen and the other half rescue party, Dora kept on saying it would
be wrong to be a highwayman--and so we had to give that up.
Then Alice said, "What about Pincher?"
And we all saw at once that it could be done.
Page 156
Pincher is very well bred, and he does know one or two things, though we
never could teach him to beg. But if you tell him to hold on--he will
do it, even if you only say "Seize him!" in a whisper.
So we arranged it all. Dora said she wouldn't play; she said she
thought it was wrong, and she knew it was silly--so we left her out,
and she went and sat in the dining-room with a goody-book, so
as to be able to say she didn't have anything to do with it, if we
got into a row over it.
Alice and H.O. were to hide in the furze-bushes just by where
Lord Tottenham changes his collar, and they were to whisper, 'Seize
him!" to Pincher; and then when Pincher had seized Lord Tottenham we
were to go and rescue him from his deadly peril. And he would say,
"How can I reward you, my noble young preservers?" and it would
be all right.
So we went up to the Heath. We were afraid of being late. Oswald told
the others what Procrastination was--so they got to the
furze-bushes a little after two o'clock, and it was rather
cold. Alice and H.O. and Pincher hid, but Pincher did not like it any more
than they did, and as we three walked up and down
Page 157
"Hist! he approaches. You'll know when to set Pincher on by
hearing Lord Tottenham talking to himself--he always does while he is
taking off his collar."
Then we three walked slowly away whistling to show we were not thinking
of anything. Our lips were rather cold, but we managed to do it.
Lord Tottenham came striding along, talking to himself. People call him
the mad Protectionist. I don't know what it means--but
Page 158
As he passed us he said, "Ruin of the country, sir! Fatal error,
fatal error!" And then we looked back and saw he was getting quite
near where Pincher was, and Alice and H.O. We walked on--so that he
shouldn't think we were looking--and in a minute we heard
Pincher's bark, and then nothing for a bit; and then we looked round,
and sure enough good old Pincher had got Lord Tottenham by the trouser leg
and was holding on like billy-oh, so we started to run.
Lord Tottenham had got his collar half off--it was sticking out
sideways under his ear--and he was shouting, "Help, help,
murder!" exactly as if some one had explained to him beforehand what
he was to do. Pincher was growling and snarling and holding on. When we got
to him I stopped and said--
"Dicky, we must rescue this good old man."
Lord Tottenham roared in his fury, "Good old man be--"
something or othered. "Call the dog off!"
So Oswald said, "It is a dangerous task--but who would
hesitate to do an act of true bravery?"
Page 159
And all the while Pincher was worrying and snarling, and Lord Tottenham
shouting to us to get the dog away. He was dancing about in the road with
Pincher hanging on like grim death; and his collar flapping about, where it
was undone.
Then Noël said, "Haste, ere yet it be too late." So I
said to Lord Tottenham--
"Stand still, aged sir, and I will endeavour to alleviate your
distress."
He stood still, and I stooped down and caught hold of Pincher and
whispered, "Drop it, sir; drop it!"
So then Pincher dropped it, and Lord Tottenham fastened his collar
again--he never does change it if there's any one
looking--and he said--
"I'm much obliged, I'm sure. Nasty vicious brute!
Here's something to drink my health."
But Dicky explained that we are teetotallers, and do not drink
people's healths. So Lord Tottenham
said, "Well, I'm much obliged any way. And now I come to look
at you--of course, you're not young ruffians, but
gentlemen's sons, eh? Still, you won't be above taking a tip
from an old boy--I wasn't when I was your age," and he
pulled out half a sovereign.
Page 160
It was very silly; but now we'd done it I felt it would be beastly
mean to take the old boy's chink after putting him in such a funk. He
didn't say anything about bringing us up as his own sons--so I
didn't know what to do. I let Pincher go, and was just going to say
he was very welcome, and we'd rather not have the money, which seemed
the best way out of it, when that beastly dog spoiled the whole show.
Directly I let him go he began to jump about at us and bark for joy, and
try to lick our faces. He was so proud of what he'd done. Lord
Tottenham opened his eyes and he just said, "The dog seems to know
you."
And then Oswald saw it was all up, and he said, "Good
morning," and tried to get away. But Lord Tottenham said--
"Not so fast!" And he caught Noël by the collar.
Noël gave a howl, and Alice ran out from the bushes. Noël is her
favourite. I'm sure I don't know why. Lord Tottenham looked at
her, and he said--
"So there are more of you!" And then H.O. came out.
"Do you complete the party?" Lord Tottenham asked him. And
H.O. said there were only five of us this time.
Page 161
Lord Tottenham turned sharp off and began to walk away, holding
Noël by the collar. We caught up with him, and asked him where he was
going, and he said, "To the Police Station." So then I said
quite politely, "Well, don't take Noël; he's not
strong, and he easily gets upset. Besides, it wasn't his doing. If
you want to take any one take me--it was my very own idea."
Dicky behaved very well. He said, "If you take Oswald I'll
go too, but don't take Noël; he's such a delicate little
chap."
Lord Tottenham stopped, and he said, "You should have thought of
that before." Noël was howling all the time, and his face was
very white, and Alice said--
"Oh, do let Noël go, dear, good, kind Lord Tottenham;
he'll faint if you don't, I know he will, he does sometimes.
Oh, I wish we'd never done it! Dora said it was wrong."
"Dora displayed considerable common sense," said Lord
Tottenham, and he let Noël go. And Alice put her arm round Noël
and tried to cheer him up, but he was all trembly, and as white as
paper.
Then Lord Tottenham said--
"Will you give me your word of honour not to try to
escape?"
Page 162
So we said we would.
"Then follow me," he said, and led the way to a bench. We
all followed, and Pincher too, with his tail between his legs--he knew
something was wrong. Then Lord Tottenham sat down, and he made Oswald and
Dicky and H.O. stand in front of him, but he let Alice and Noël sit
down. And he said--
"You set your dog on me, and you tried to make me believe you were
saving me from it. And you would have taken my half-sovereign. Such
conduct is most-- No--you shall tell me what it is, sir, and
speak the truth."
So I had to say it was most ungentlemanly, but I said I hadn't
been going to take the half-sovereign.
"Then what did you do it for?" he asked. "The truth,
mind."
So I said, "I see now it was very silly, and Dora said it was
wrong, but it didn't seem so till we did it. We wanted to restore the
fallen fortunes of our house, and in the books if you rescue an old
gentleman from deadly peril, he brings you up as his own son--or if
you prefer to be your Father's son, he starts you in business, so
that you end in wealthy affluence; and there wasn't any deadly peril,
Page 163
"A very nice way to make your fortune--by deceit and
trickery. I have a horror of dogs. If I'd been a weak man the shock
might have killed me. What do you think of yourselves, eh?"
We were all crying except Oswald, and the others say he was; and Lord
Tottenham went on--
"Well, well, I see you're sorry. Let this be a lesson to
you; and we'll say no more about it. I'm an old man now, but I
was young once."
Then Alice slid along the bench close to him, and put her hand on his
arm: her fingers were pink through the holes in her woolly gloves,
and said, "I think you're very good to forgive us, and we are
really very, very sorry. But we wanted to be like the children in the
books--only we never have the chances they have. Everything they do
turns out all right. But we are sorry, very, very. And I know
Oswald wasn't going to take the half-sovereign. Directly you
said that about a tip from an old boy I began to feel bad inside, and I
Page 164
Then Lord Tottenham stood up, and he looked like the Death of Nelson,
for he is clean shaved and it is a good face, and he said--
"Always remember never to do a dishonourable thing, for money or
for anything else in the world."
And we promised we would remember. Then he took off his hat, and we took
off ours, and he went away, and we went home. I never felt so cheap in all
my life! Dora said, "I told you so," but we didn't mind
even that so much, though it was indeed hard to bear. It was what Lord
Tottenham had said about ungentlemanly. We didn't go on to the Heath
for a week after that; but at last we all went, and we waited for him by
the bench. When he came along Alice said, "Please, Lord Tottenham, we
have not been on the Heath for a week, to be a punishment because you let
us off. And we have brought you a present each if you will take them to
show you are willing to make it up."
He sat down on the bench, and we gave him our presents. Oswald gave him
a sixpenny compass--he bought it with my own money on purpose to give
him. Oswald always buys
Page 165
When sin and shame bow down the brow
Then people feel just like
we do now.
We are so sorry with grief and pain
We never will be
so ungentlemanly again.
Lord Tottenham seemed very pleased. He thanked us, and talked to us for
a bit, and when he said good-bye he said--
"All's fair weather now, mates," and shook hands.
And whenever we meet him he nods to us, and if the girls are with us he
takes off his hat, so he can't really be going on thinking us
ungentlemanly now.
Page 167CHAPTER XI.
Page 169CHAPTER XI
CASTILIAN AMOROSO
ONE day when we suddenly found that we had half a crown we
decided that we really ought to try Dicky's way of restoring our
fallen fortunes while yet the deed was in our power. Because it might
easily have happened to us never to have half a crown again. So we decided
to dally no longer with being journalists and bandits and things like them,
but to send for sample and instructions how to earn two pounds a week each
in our spare time. We had seen the advertisement in the paper, and we had
always wanted to do it, but we had never had the money to spare before,
somehow. The advertisement says: "Any lady or gentleman can
easily earn two pounds a week in their spare time. Sample and instructions,
two
Page 170
Dicky had always thought that this was really the best way to restore
our fallen fortunes, and we were glad that now he had a chance of trying
because of course we wanted the two pounds a week each, and besides, we
were rather tired of Dicky's always saying when our ways didn't
turn out well, "Why don't you try the sample and instructions
about our spare time?"
When we found out about our half-crown we got the paper.
Noël was playing admirals in it, but he had made the cocked hat
without tearing the paper, and we found the advertisement, and it said just
the same as ever. So we got a two-shilling postal order and a stamp,
and what was left of the money it was agreed
Page 171
We got some nice paper out of Father's study, and Dicky wrote the
letter, and we put in the money and put on the stamp, and made H.O. post
it. Then we drank the ginger-beer, and then we waited for the sample
and instructions. It seemed a long time coming, and the postman got quite
tired of us running out and stopping him in the street to ask if it had
come.
But on the third morning it came. It was quite a large parcel, and it
was packed, as the advertisement said it would be, "free from
observation." That means it was in a box; and inside the box was some
stiff browny cardboard, crinkled like the galvanized iron on the tops of
chicken-houses, and inside that was a lot of paper, some of it
printed and some scrappy, and in the very middle of it all a bottle, not
very large, and black, and sealed on the top of the cork with yellow
sealing-wax.
We looked at it as it lay on the nursery table, and while all the others
grabbed at the papers to see what the printing said, Oswald went to look
for the corkscrew, so as to see what was inside the bottle. He found the
Page 172
"I don't think it's much good, and I don't think
it's quite nice to sell wine," Dora said "and besides,
it's not easy to suddenly begin to sell things when you aren't
used to it."
"I don't know," said Alice; "I believe I
could."
They all looked rather down in the mouth, though, and Oswald asked how
you were to make your two pounds a week.
"Why, you've got to get people to taste that stuff in the
bottle. It's sherry--Castilian Amoroso its name is--and
then you get them to buy it, and then you write to the people and tell them
the other people want the wine, and then for every dozen you sell you get
two shillings from the wine people, so if you sell twenty dozen a week you
get your two pounds. I don't think we shall sell as much as
that," said Dicky.
"We might not the first week," Alice said, "but when
people found out how nice it was, they would want more and more.
Page 173
Oswald said he should jolly well think it would, and then Dicky took the
cork out with the corkscrew. The cork broke a good deal, and some of the
bits went into the bottle. Dora got the medicine glass that has the
teaspoons and tablespoons marked on it, and we agreed to have a teaspoonful
each, to see what it was like.
"No one must have more than that," Dora said, "however
nice it is." Dora behaved rather as if it were her bottle. I suppose
it was, because she had lent the money for it.
Then she measured out the teaspoonful, and she had first go, because of
being the eldest. We asked at once what it was like, but Dora could not
speak just then.
Then she said, "It's like the tonic Noël had in the
spring; but perhaps sherry ought to be like that."
Then it was Oswald's turn. He thought it was very burny; but he
said nothing. He wanted to see first what the others would say.
Dicky said his was simply beastly, and Alice said Noël could taste
next if he liked.
Page 174
Noël said it was the golden wine of the gods, but he had to put his
handkerchief up to his mouth all the same, and I saw the face he made.
Then H.O. had his, and he spat it out in the fire, which was very rude
and nasty, and we told him so.
Then it was Alice's turn. She said, "Only half a teaspoonful
for me, Dora. We mustn't use it all up." And she tasted it and
said nothing.
Then Dicky said: "Look here, I chuck this. I'm not
going to hawk round such beastly stuff. Any one who likes can have the
bottle. Quis?"
And Alice got out "Ego" before
the rest of us. Then she said, "I know what's the matter with
it. It wants sugar."
And at once we all saw that that was all there was the matter with the
stuff. So we got two lumps of sugar and crushed it on the floor with one of
the big wooden bricks till it was powdery, and mixed it with some of the
wine up to the tablespoon mark, and it was quite different, and not nearly
so nasty.
"You see it's all right when you get used to it,"
Dicky said. I think he was sorry he had
said "Quis?" in such a hurry.
Page 175
"Of course," Alice said, "it's rather dusty. We
must crush the sugar carefully in clean paper before we put it in the
bottle."
Dora said she was afraid it would be cheating to make one bottle nicer
than what people would get when they ordered a dozen bottles, but Alice
said Dora always made a fuss about everything, and really it would be quite
honest.
"You see," she said, "I shall just tell them, quite
truthfully, what we have done to it, and when their dozens come they can do
it for themselves."
So then we crushed eight more lumps, very cleanly and carefully between
newspapers, and shook it up well in the bottle, and corked it up with a
screw of paper, brown and not news, for fear of the poisonous printing ink
getting wet and dripping down into the wine and killing people. We made
Pincher have a taste, and he sneezed for ever so long, and after that he
used to go under the sofa whenever we showed him the bottle.
Then we asked Alice who she would try and sell it to. She said:
"I shall ask everybody who comes to the house. And while we are doing
that, we can be thinking of outside people to take it to. We must be
careful:
Page 176
We did not wish to tell Eliza--I don't know why. And she
opened the door very quickly that day, so that the Taxes and a man who came
to our house by mistake for next door got away before Alice had a chance to
try them with the Castilian Amoroso. But about five Eliza slipped out for
half an hour to see a friend who was making her a hat for Sunday, and while
she was gone there was a knock.
Alice went, and we looked over the banisters.
When she opened the door, she said at once, "Will you walk in,
please?"
The person at the door said, "I called to see your Pa, miss. Is he
at home?"
Alice said again, "Will you walk in, please?"
Then the person--it sounded like a man--said, "He
is in, then?" But Alice only kept on saying, "Will
you walk in, please?" so at last the man did, rubbing his boots very
loudly on the mat. Then Alice shut the front door, and we saw that it was
the butcher, with an envelope in his hand. He was not dressed in blue, like
when he is cutting up the sheep and things in the shop, and he wore
knickerbockers. Alice says he came on a bicycle.
Page 177
The others stayed on the stairs, but Oswald crept down and looked
through the door-crack.
"Please sit down," said Alice quite calmly, though she told
me afterwards I had no idea how silly she felt. And the butcher sat down.
Then Alice stood quite still and said nothing, but she fiddled with the
medicine glass and put the screw of brown paper straight in the Castilian
bottle.
"Will you tell your Pa I'd like a word with him?" the
butcher said, when he got tired of saying nothing.
"He'll be in very soon, I think," Alice said.
And then she stood still again and said nothing. It was beginning to
look very idiotic of her, and H.O. laughed. I went back and cuffed him for
it quite quietly, and I don't think the butcher heard. But Alice did,
and it roused her from her stupor. She spoke suddenly, very fast
indeed--so fast that I knew she had made up what she was going to say
before. She had got most of it out of the circular.
She said, "I want to call your attention to a sample of sherry
wine I have here. It
Page 178
The butcher said, "Well--I never!"
And Alice went on, "Would you like to taste it?"
"Thank you very much, I'm sure, miss," said the
butcher.
Alice poured some out.
The butcher tasted a very little. He licked his lips, and we thought he
was going to say how good it was. But he did not. He put down the medicine
glass with nearly all the stuff left in it (we put it back in the bottle
afterwards to save waste) and said, "Excuse me, miss, but isn't
it a little sweet?--for sherry I mean?"
"The real isn't," said Alice. "If
you order a dozen it will come quite different to that--we like it
best with sugar. I wish you would order some."
The butcher asked why.
Alice did not speak for a minute, and then she said--
"I don't mind telling you: you are in
business yourself, aren't you? We are trying to get people to buy it,
because we shall have two shillings for every dozen we can
Page 179
"A percentage. Yes, I see," said the butcher, looking at the
hole in the carpet.
"You see there are reasons," Alice went on, "why we
want to make our fortunes as quickly as we can."
"Quite so," said the butcher, and he looked at the place
where the paper is coming off the wall.
"And this seems a good way," Alice went on. "We paid
two shillings for the sample and instructions, and it says you can make two
pounds a week easily in your leisure time."
"I'm sure I hope you may, miss," said the butcher.
And Alice said again would he buy some?
"Sherry is my favourite wine," he said.
Alice asked him to have some more to drink.
"No, thank you, miss," he said; "it's my
favourite wine, but it doesn't agree with me; not the least bit. But
I've an uncle drinks it. Suppose I ordered him half a dozen for a
Christmas present? Well, miss, here's the shilling commission,
anyway," and he pulled out a handful of money and gave her the
shilling.
Page 180
"But I thought the wine people paid that," Alice said.
But the butcher said not on half-dozens they didn't. Then
he said he didn't think he'd wait any longer for
Father--but would Alice ask Father to write him?
Alice offered him the sherry again, but he said something about
"Not for worlds!"--and then she let him out and came back
to us with the shilling, and said, "How's that?" And we
said "A1."
And all the evening we talked of our fortune that we had begun to
make.
Nobody came next day, but the day after a lady came to ask for money to
build an orphanage for the children of dead sailors. And we saw her. I
went in with Alice. And when we had explained to her that we had only a
shilling and we wanted it for something else, Alice suddenly said,
"Would you like some wine?"
And the lady said, "Thank you very much," but she looked
surprised. She was not a young lady, and she had a mantle with beads, and
the beads had come off in places--leaving a browny braid showing, and
she had printed papers about the dead sailors in a sealskin bag, and the
seal had come off in places, leaving the skin bare.
Page 181
We gave her a tablespoonful of the wine in a proper wine-glass
out of the sideboard, because she was a lady. And when she had tasted it
she got up in a very great hurry, and shook out her dress and snapped her
bag shut, and said, "You naughty, wicked children! What do you mean
by playing a trick like this? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! I
shall write to your Mamma about it. You dreadful little girl!--you
might have poisoned me. But your Mamma..."
Then Alice said, "I'm very sorry; the butcher liked it, only
he said it was sweet. And please don't write to Mother. It makes
Father so unhappy when letters come for her!"--and Alice was
very near crying.
"What do you mean, you silly child?" said the lady, looking
quite bright and interested. "Why doesn't your Father like your
Mother to have letters--eh?"
And Alice said, "Oh, you ...!"and began to cry,
and bolted out of the room.
Then I said, "Our Mother is dead, and will you please go away
now?"
The lady looked at me a minute, and then she looked quite different, and
she said, "I'm very sorry. I didn't know. Never mind
about the wine. I daresay your little
Page 182
So I said, "Don't mention it," and shook hands with
her, and let her out. Of course we couldn't have asked her to buy the
wine after what she'd said. But I think she was not a bad sort of
person. I do like a person to say they're sorry when they ought to
be--especially a grown-up. They do it so seldom. I suppose
that's why we think so much of it.
But Alice and I didn't feel jolly for ever so long afterwards.
And when I went back into the dining-room I saw how different it was
from when Mother was here, and we are different, and Father is different,
and nothing is like it was. I am glad I am not made to think about it every
day.
I went and found Alice, and told her what the lady had said, and when
she had finished crying we put away the bottle and said we would not try to
sell any more to people who came. And we did not tell the others--we
only said the lady did not buy any--but we went up on the Heath, and
some soldiers went by and there was a Punch-and-Judy
Page 183
The bottle got quite dusty where we had put it, and perhaps the dust of
ages would have laid thick and heavy on it, only a clergyman called when we
were all out. He was not our own clergyman--Mr. Bristow is our own
clergyman, and we all love him, and we would not try to sell sherry to
people we like, and make two pounds a week out of them in our spare time.
It was another clergyman, just a stray one; and he asked Eliza if the dear
children would not like to come to his little Sunday school. We always
spend Sunday afternoons with Father. But as he had left the name of his
vicarage with Eliza, and asked her to tell us to come, we thought we would
go and call on him, just to explain about Sunday afternoons, and we thought
we might as well take the sherry with us.
"I won't go unless you all go too," Alice said,
"and I won't do the talking."
Dora said she thought we had much better not go; but we said
"Rot!" and it ended in her coming with us, and I am glad she
did.
Oswald said he would do the talking if the others liked, and he learned
up what to say from the printed papers.
Page 184
We went to the Vicarage early on Saturday afternoon, and rang at the
bell. It is a new red house with no trees in the garden, only very yellow
mould and gravel. It was all very neat and dry. Just before we rang the
bell we heard some one inside call "Jane! Jane!" and we thought
we would not be Jane for anything. It was the sound of the voice that
called that made us sorry for her.
The door was opened by a very neat servant in black, with a white apron;
we saw her tying the strings as she came along the hall, through the
different-coloured glass in the door. Her face was red, and I think
she was Jane.
We asked if we could see Mr. Mallow.
The servant said Mr. Mallow was very busy with his sermon just then, but
she would see.
But Oswald said, "It's all right. He asked us to
come."
So she let us all in and shut the front door, and showed us into a very
tidy room with a bookcase full of a lot of books covered in black cotton
with white labels, and some dull pictures, and a harmonium. And Mr. Mallow
was writing at a desk with drawers, copying something out of a book. He was
stout and short, and wore spectacles.
Page 185
He covered his writing up when we went in--I didn't know why.
He looked rather cross, and we heard Jane or somebody being scolded outside
by the voice. I hope it wasn't for letting us in, but I have had
doubts.
"Well," said the clergyman, "what is all this
about?"
"You asked us to call," Dora said, "about your little
Sunday school. We are the Bastables of Lewisham Road."
"Oh--ah, yes," he said; "and shall I expect you
all to-morrow?" He took up his pen and fiddled with it, and he
did not ask us to sit down. But some of us did.
"We always spend Sunday afternoon with Father," said Dora;
"but we wished to thank you for being so kind as to ask
us."
"And we wished to ask you something else!" said Oswald; and
he made a sign to Alice to get the sherry ready in the glass. She
did--behind Oswald's back while he was speaking.
"My time is limited," said Mr. Mallow, looking at his watch;
"but still--" Then he muttered something about the fold,
and went on: "Tell me what is troubling you, my little man,
and I will try to give you any help in my power. What is it you
want?"
Page 186
Then Oswald quickly took the glass from Alice, and held it out to him,
and said, "I want your opinion on that."
"On that," he said. "What is
it?"
"It is a shipment," Oswald said; "but it's quite
enough for you to taste." Alice had filled the glass
half-full; I suppose she was too excited to measure properly.
"A shipment?" said the clergyman, taking the glass in his
hand.
"Yes," Oswald went on; "an exceptional opportunity.
Full-bodied and nutty."
"It really does taste rather like one kind of
Brazil-nut." Alice put her oar in as usual.
The Vicar looked from Alice to Oswald, and back again, and Oswald went
on with what he had learned from the printing. The clergyman held the glass
at half-arm's-length, stiffly, as if he had caught
cold.
"It is of a quality never before offered at the price. Old
Delicate Amoro--what's its name--"
"Amorolio," said H.O.
"Amoroso," said Oswald. "H.O., you just shut
up--Castilian Amoroso--it's a true after-dinner
wine, stimulating and yet ..."
"Wine?" said Mr. Mallow, holding the glass
further off. "Do you know," he went
Page 187
"Not if you put sugar in it," said Alice firmly;
"eight lumps and shake the bottle. We have each had more than a
teaspoonful of it, and we were not ill at all. It was something else that
upset H.O. Most likely all those acorns he got out of the Park."
The clergyman seemed to be speechless with conflicting emotions, and
just then the door opened and a lady came in. She had a white cap with
lace, and an ugly violet flower in it, and she was tall, and looked very
strong, though thin. And I do believe she had been listening at the
door.
"But why," the Vicar was saying, "why did you bring
this dreadful fluid, this curse of our country, to me to
taste?"
"Because we thought you might buy some," said Dora, who
never sees when a game is up. "In books the parson loves his bottle
of old port; and new sherry is just as good--with sugar--for
people who like sherry. And if
Page 188
The lady said (and it was the voice), "Good gracious!
Nasty, sordid little things! Haven't they any one to teach them
better?"
And Dora got up and said, "No, we are not those things you say;
but we are sorry we came here to be called names. We want to make our
fortune just as much as Mr. Mallow does--only no one would listen to
us if we preached, so it's no use our copying out sermons like
him."
And I think that was smart of Dora, even if it was rather rude.
Then I said perhaps we had better go, and the lady said, "I should
think so!" But when we were going to wrap up the bottle and glass the
clergyman said, "No; you can leave that," and we were so upset
we did, though it wasn't his after all.
We walked home very fast and not saying much, and the girls went up to
their rooms. When I went to tell them tea was ready, and there was a
teacake, Dora was crying like anything and Alice hugging her. I am afraid
there is a great deal of crying in this chapter, but I can't help it.
Girls will sometimes;
Page 189
"It's no good," Dora was saying, "you all hate
me, and you think I'm a prig and a busybody, but I do try to do
right--oh, I do! Oswald, go away; don't come here making fun of
me!"
So I said, "I'm not making fun, Sissy; don't cry, old
girl."
Mother taught me to call her Sissy when we were very little and before
the others came, but I don't often somehow, now we are old. I patted
her on the back, and she put her head against my sleeve, holding on to
Alice all the time, and she went on. She was in that laughy-cryey
state when people say things they wouldn't say at other times.
"Oh dear, oh dear--I do try, I do. And when Mother died she
said, 'Dora, take care of the others, and teach them to be good, and
keep them out of trouble, and make them happy.' She said, 'Take
care of them for me, Dora dear.' And I have tried, and
all of you hate me for it; and to-day I let you do this, though I
knew all the time it was silly."
I hope you will not think I was a muff but
Page 190
This made us forget all about the sherry; but about eight o'clock
there was a knock, and Eliza went, and we saw it was poor Jane, if her name
was Jane, from the Vicarage. She handed in a brown-paper parcel and
a letter. And three minutes later Father called us into his study.
On the table was the brown-paper parcel, open, with our bottle
and glass on it, and Father had a letter in his hand. He pointed to the
bottle and sighed, and said, "What have you been doing now?"
The letter in his hand was covered with little black writing, all over the
four large pages.
So Dicky spoke up, and he told Father the whole thing, as far as he knew
it, for Alice
Page 191
And when he had done, Alice said, "Has Mr. Mallow written to you
to say he will buy a dozen of the sherry after all? It is really not half
bad with sugar in it."
Father said no, he didn't think clergymen could afford such
expensive wine; and he said he would like to taste it. So we
gave him what there was left, for we had decided coming home that we would
give up trying for the two pounds a week in our spare time.
Father tasted it, and then he acted just as H.O. had done when he had
his teaspoonful, but of course we did not say anything. Then he laughed
till I thought he would never stop. I think it was the sherry, because I am
sure I have read somewhere about "wine that maketh glad the heart of
man". He had only a very little, which shows that it was a good
after-dinner wine, stimulating, and yet ... I forget the rest.
But when he had done laughing he said, "It's all right,
kids. Only don't do it again. The wine trade is overcrowded; and
besides, I thought you promised to consult me before going into
business?"
"Before buying one I thought you meant,"
Page 192
Page 193CHAPTER XII.
Page 195CHAPTER XII
THE NOBLENESS OF OSWALD
THE part about his nobleness only comes at the end, but you
would not understand it unless you knew how it began. It began, like nearly
everything about that time, with treasure seeking.
Of course as soon as we had promised to consult my Father about business
matters we all gave up wanting to go into business. I don't know how
it is, but having to consult about a thing with grown-up people,
even the bravest and the best, seems to make the thing not worth doing
afterwards.
We don't mind Albert's uncle chipping in sometimes when the
thing's going on, but we are glad he never asked us to promise to
consult him about anything. Yet Oswald saw that my Father was quite right;
and I daresay if we had had that hundred pounds we should
Page 196
It was a wet day, I remember, and mutton hash for dinner--very
tough with pale gravy
Page 197
Then after dinner we let the girls have a dolls' tea-party,
on condition they didn't expect us boys to wash up; and it was when
we were drinking the last of the liquorice water out of the little cups
that Dicky said--
"This reminds me."
So we said, "What of?"
Dicky answered us at once, though his mouth was full of bread with
liquorice stuck in it to look like cake. You should not speak with your
mouth full, even to your own relations, and you shouldn't wipe your
mouth on the back of your hand, but on your handkerchief, if you have one.
Dicky did not do this. He said--
"Why, you remember when we first began about treasure seeking, I
said I had thought of something, only I could not tell you because I
hadn't finished thinking about it."
Page 198
We said "Yes."
"Well, this liquorice water--"
"Tea," said Alice softly.
"Well, tea then--made me think." He was going on to say
what it made him think, but Noël interrupted and cried out, "I
say; let's finish off this old tea-party and have a council of
war."
So we got out the flags and the wooden sword and the drum, and Oswald
beat it while the girls washed up, till Eliza came up to say she had the
jumping toothache, and the noise went through her like a knife. So of
course Oswald left off at once. When you are polite to Oswald he never
refuses to grant your requests.
When we were all dressed up we sat down round the camp fire, and Dicky
began again.
"Every one in the world wants money. Some people get it. The
people who get it are the ones who see things. I have seen one
thing."
Dicky stopped and smoked the pipe of peace. It is the pipe we did
bubbles with in the summer, and somehow it has not got broken yet. We put
tea-leaves in it for the pipe of peace, but the girls are not
allowed to have any. It is not right to let girls
Page 199
Oswald said, "Out with it."
"I see that glass bottles only cost a penny. H.O., if you dare to
snigger I'll send you round selling old bottles, and you shan't
have any sweets except out of the money you get for them. And the same
with you, Noël."
"Noël wasn't sniggering," said Alice in a hurry;
"it is only his taking so much interest in what you were saying makes
him look like that. Be quiet, H.O., and don't you make faces, either.
Do go on, Dicky dear."
So Dicky went on.
"There must be hundreds of millions of bottles of medicines sold
every year. Because all the different medicines say, 'Thousands of
cures daily,' and if you only take that as two thousand, which it
must be, at least, it mounts up. And the people who sell them must make a
great deal of money by them because they are nearly always
two and ninepence the bottle, and three and six for one nearly double the
size. Now the bottles, as I was saying, don't cost anything like
that."
"It's the medicine costs the money," said
Page 200
"That's only because they're nice," Dicky
explained; "nasty things are not so dear. Look what a lot of
brimstone you get for a penny, and the same with alum. We would not put the
nice kinds of chemist's things in our medicine."
Then he went on to tell us that when we had invented our medicine we
would write and tell the editor about it, and he would put it in the paper,
and then people would send their two and ninepence and three and six for
the bottle nearly double the size, and then when the medicine had cured
them they would write to the paper and their letters would be printed,
saying how they had been suffering for years, and never thought to get
about again, but thanks to the blessing of our ointment--"
Dora interrupted and said, "Not ointment--it's so
messy." And Alice thought so too. And Dicky said he did not mean it,
he was quite decided to let it be in bottles. So now it was all settled,
and we did not see at the time that this would be a sort of going into
business, but afterwards when Albert's uncle showed us we saw it, and
we were sorry. We
Page 201
Dora wanted it to be something to make the complexion of dazzling
fairness, but we remembered how her face came all red and rough when she
used the Rosabella soap that was advertised to make the darkest complexion
fair as the lily, and she agreed that perhaps it was better not. Noël
wanted to make the medicine first and then find out what it would cure, but
Dicky thought not, because there are so many more medicines than there are
things the matter with us, so it would be easier to choose the disease
first.
Oswald would have liked wounds. I still think it was a good idea, but
Dicky said, "Who has wounds, especially now there aren't any
wars? We shouldn't sell a bottle a day!" So Oswald gave in
because he knows what manners are, and it was Dicky's idea. H.O.
wanted a cure for the uncomfortable feeling that they give you powders for,
but we explained to him that grown-up
Page 202
"It ought to be something very common, and only one thing. Not the
pains in the back and all the hundreds of things the people have in
somebody's syrup. What's the commonest thing of all?"
And at once we said, "Colds."
So that was settled.
Then we wrote a label to go on the bottle. When it was written it would
not go on the vinegar bottle that we had got, but we knew it would go small
when it was printed. It was like this:
BASTABLE'S CERTAIN CURE FOR COLDS.
Coughs, Asthma, Shortness of Breath, and all infections of the
Chest.
One dose gives immediate relief. It will cure your cold in one bottle.
Especially the larger size at 3s. 6d. Order at once of the Makers. To
prevent disappointment.
Makers:
D., O., R., A., N., and H.O. BASTABLE, 150, Lewisham Road, S.E.
(A halfpenny for all bottles returned.)
Page 203
Of course the next thing was for one of us to catch a cold and try what
cured it; we all wanted to be the one, but it was Dicky's idea, and
he said he was not going to be done out of it, so we let him. It was only
fair. He left off his undershirt that very day, and next morning he stood
in a draught in his nightgown for quite a long time. And we damped his
day-shirt with the nail-brush before he put it on. But all
was vain. They always tell you that these things will give you cold, but we
found it was not so.
So then we all went over to the Park, and Dicky went right into the
water with his boots on, and stood there as long as he could bear it, for
it was rather cold, and we stood and cheered him on. He walked home in his
wet clothes, which they say is a sure thing, but it was no go, though his
boots were quite spoiled. And three days after Noël began to cough
and sneeze.
So then Dicky said it was not fair.
"I can't help it," Noël said. "You should
have caught it yourself, then it wouldn't have come to me.
And Alice said she had known all along Noël oughtn't to have
stood about on the bank cheering in the cold.
Page 204
Noël had to go to bed, and then we began to make the medicines; we
were sorry he was out of it, but he had the fun of taking the things.
We made a great many medicines. Alice made herb tea. She got sage and
thyme and savory and marjoram and boiled them all up together with salt and
water, but she would put parsley in too. Oswald is sure parsley is not a
herb. It is only put on the cold meat and you are not supposed to eat it.
It kills parrots to eat parsley, I believe. I expect it was the parsley
that disagreed so with Noël. The medicine did not seem to do the cough
any good.
Oswald got a pennyworth of alum, because it is so cheap, and some
turpentine which every one knows is good for colds, and a little sugar and
an aniseed ball. These were mixed in a bottle with water, but Eliza threw
it away and said it was nasty rubbish, and I hadn't any money to get
more things with.
Dora made him some gruel, and he said it did his chest good; but of
course that was no use, because you cannot put gruel in bottles and say it
is medicine. It would not be honest, and besides nobody would believe
you.
Dick mixed up lemon-juice and sugar and a
Page 205
Noël liked H.O.'s medicine the best, which was silly of him,
because it was only peppermints melted in hot water, and a little cobalt to
make it look blue. It was all right, because H.O.'s paint-box
is the French kind, with Couleurs non
Vénéneuses on it. This means you may suck your
brushes if you want to, or even your paints if you are a very little
boy.
It was rather jolly while Noël had that cold. He had a fire in his
bedroom which opens out of Dicky's and Oswald's, and the girls
used to read aloud to Noël all day; they will not read aloud to you
when you are well. Father was away at Liverpool on business, and
Albert's uncle was at Hastings. We were rather glad of this, because
we wished to give all the medicines a fair trial, and grown-ups are
but too fond of interfering. As if we should have given him anything
poisonous!
His cold went on--it was bad in his head,
Page 206
"Don't cry silly!" said Oswald; "you know I
didn't hurt you." I was very sorry if I had hurt her, but you
ought not to sit on the stairs in the dark and let other people tumble over
you. You ought to remember how beastly it is for them if they do hurt
you.
"Oh, it's not that, Oswald," Alice said.
"Don't be a pig! I am so miserable. Do be kind to
me."
So Oswald thumped her on the back and told her to shut up.
"It's about Noël," she said. "I'm
sure he's very ill; and playing about with medicines is all very
well, but I know he's ill, and Eliza won't send for the
doctor: she says it's only a cold. And I know the
doctor's bills are awful. I heard Father telling Aunt Emily so in the
summer. But he is ill, and perhaps he'll die or
something."
Then she began to cry again. Oswald thumped her again, because he knows
how a good brother ought to behave, and said, "Cheer up." If we
had been in a book
Page 207
Then Oswald said, "Why not write to Father?" And she cried
more and said, "I've lost the paper with the address. H.O. had
it to draw on the back of, and I can't find it now; I've looked
everywhere. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. No I
won't. But I'm going out. Don't tell the others. And I
say, Oswald, do pretend I'm in if Eliza asks. Promise."
"Tell me what you're going to do," I said. But she
said "No"; and there was a good reason why not. So I said I
wouldn't promise if it came to that. Of course I meant to all right.
But it did seem mean of her not to tell me.
So Alice went out by the side door while Eliza was setting tea, and she
was a long time gone; she was not in to tea. When Eliza asked Oswald where
she was he said he did not know, but perhaps she was tidying her corner
drawer. Girls often do this, and it takes a long time. Noël coughed a
good bit after tea, and asked for Alice. Oswald told him she was doing
something and it was a secret. Oswald did not tell any lies even to save
his sister. When Alice came back she was very quiet,
Page 208
"I am glad you've come," Oswald said. "Alice
began to think Noël--"
Alice stopped me, and her face was very red, her nose was shiny too,
with having cried so much before tea.
She said, "I only said I thought Noël ought to have the
doctor. Don't you think he ought?" She got hold of
Albert's uncle and held on to him.
"Let's have a look at you, young man," said
Albert's uncle, and he sat down on the
Page 209
"It was revealed to the Arab physician as he made merry in his
tents on the wild plains of Hastings that the Presence had a cold in its
head. So he immediately seated himself on the magic carpet, and bade it
bear him hither, only pausing in the flight to purchase a few sweetmeats in
the bazaar."
He pulled out a jolly lot of chocolate and some butter-scotch,
and grapes for Noël. When we had all said thank you, he went on.
"The physician's are the words of wisdom: it's
high time this kid was asleep. I have spoken. Ye have my leave to
depart."
So we bunked, and Dora and Albert's uncle made Noël
comfortable for the night.
Then they came to the nursery which we had gone down to, and he sat down
in the Guy Fawkes chair and said, "Now then."
Alice said, "You may tell them what I did. I daresay they'll
all be in a wax, but I don't care."
"I think you were very wise," said Albert's
Page 210
So then Oswald understood what Alice's secret was. She had gone
out and sent a telegram to Albert's uncle at Hastings. But Oswald
thought she might have told him. Afterwards she told me what she had put in
the telegram. It was, "Come home. We have given Noël a cold, and
I think we are killing him." With the address it came to tenpence
halfpenny.
Then Albert's uncle began to ask questions, and it all came out,
how Dicky had tried to catch the cold, but the cold had gone to Noël
instead, and about the medicines and all. Albert's uncle looked very
serious.
"Look here," he said, "You're old enough not to
play the fool like this. Health is the best thing you've got; you
ought to know better than to risk it. You might have killed your little
brother with your precious medicines. You've had a lucky escape,
certainly. But poor Noël!"
"Oh, do you think he's going to die?" Alice asked
that, and she was crying again.
"No, no," said Albert's uncle; "but look here.
Do you see how silly you've been? And I thought you promised your
Father--" and
Page 211
So we said, "Yes," and knew but too well that now he
wasn't going to. Then he went on--
"Well, I will take you if you like, or I will take Noël to
the sea for a week to cure his cold. Which is it to be?"
Of course he knew we should say, "Take Noël" and we
did; but Dicky told me afterwards he thought it was hard on H.O.
Albert's uncle stayed till Eliza came in, and then he said good
night in a way that showed us that all was forgiven and forgotten.
And we went to bed. It must have been the middle of the night when
Oswald woke up suddenly, and there was Alice with her teeth chattering,
shaking him to wake him.
"Oh, Oswald!" she said, "I am so unhappy. Suppose I
should die in the night!"
Oswald told her to go to bed and not gas. But she said, "I must
tell you; I wish I'd told Albert's uncle. I'm a thief,
and if I die to night I know where thieves go to."
Page 212
So Oswald saw it was no good and he sat up in bed and said--
"Go ahead."
So Alice stood shivering and said--
"I hadn't enough money for the telegram, so I took the bad
sixpence out of the exchequer. And I paid for it with that and the
fivepence I had. And I wouldn't tell you, because if you'd
stopped me doing it I couldn't have borne it; and if you'd
helped me you'd have been a thief too. Oh, what shall I
do?"
Oswald thought a minute, and then he said--
"You'd better have told me. But I think it will be all right
if we pay it back. Go to bed. Cross with you? No, stupid! Only another time
you'd better not keep secrets." So she kissed Oswald, and he
let her, and she went back to bed. The next day Albert's uncle took
Noël away, before Oswald had time to persuade Alice that we ought to
tell him about the sixpence. Alice was very unhappy, but not so much as in
the night: you can be very miserable in the night if you have done
anything wrong and you happen to be awake. I know this for a fact.
None of us had any money except Eliza, and she wouldn't give us
any unless we said
Page 213
"I'd no idea it was so late," and told the man where
to go. And just as she started she
Page 214
Gentle reader, I will not conceal from you what Oswald did. He knew all
about not disgracing the family, and he did not like doing what I am going
to say: and they were really Noël's flowers, only he could
not have sent them to Hastings, and Oswald knew he would say
"Yes" if Oswald asked him. Oswald sacrificed his family pride
because of his little sister's danger. I do not say he was a noble
boy--I just tell you what he did, and you can decide for yourself
about the nobleness.
He put on his oldest clothes--they're much older than any you
would think he had if you saw him when he was tidy--and he took those
yellow chrysanthemums and he walked with them to Greenwich Station and
waited for the trains bringing people from London. He sold those flowers
in penny bunches and got tenpence. Then he went to the telegraph office at
Lewisham, and said to the lady there:
"A little girl gave you a bad sixpence yesterday. Here are six
good pennies."
The lady said she had not noticed it, and never mind, but Oswald knew
that "Honesty is the best Policy", and he refused to take
Page 215
Then Oswald went home to Alice and told her, and she hugged him, and
said he was a dear, good, kind boy, and he said "Oh, it's all
right."
We bought peppermint bullseyes with the fourpence I had over, and the
others wanted to know where we got the money, but we would not tell.
Only afterwards when Noël came home we told him, because they were
his flowers, and he said it was quite right. He made some poetry about it.
I only remember one bit of it.
The noble youth of high degree
Consents to play
a menial part,
All for his sister Alice's
sake,
Who was so dear to his faithful heart.
But Oswald himself has never bragged about it.
We got no treasure out of this, unless you count the peppermint
bullseyes.
Page 217CHAPTER XIII.
Page 219CHAPTER XIII
THE ROBBER AND THE BURGLAR
A DAY or two after Noël came back from Hastings there was
snow; it was jolly. And we cleared it off the path. A man to do it is
sixpence at least, and you should always save when you can. A penny saved
is a penny earned. And then we thought it would be nice to clear it off the
top of the portico, where it lies so thick, and the edges as if they had
been cut with a knife. And just as we had got out of the
landing-window on to the portico, the Water Rates came up the path
with his book that he tears the thing out of that says how much you have
got to pay, and the little ink-bottle hung on to his buttonhole in
case you should pay him. Father says the Water Rates is a sensible man, and
knows it is always well to be prepared for whatever happens, however
Page 220
We all deserved the punishment, because the others would have shovelled
down snow just as we did if they'd thought of it--only they are
not so quick at thinking of things as we are. And even quite wrong things
sometimes lead to adventures; as every one knows who has ever read about
pirates or highwaymen.
Page 221
Eliza hates us to be sent to bed early, because it means her having to
bring meals up, and it means lighting the fire in Noël's room
ever so much earlier than usual. He had to have a fire because he still had
a bit of a cold. But this particular day we got Eliza into a good temper by
giving her a horrid brooch with pretending amethysts in it, that an aunt
once gave to Alice, so Eliza brought up an extra scuttle of coals, and when
the greengrocer came with the potatoes (he is always late on Saturdays) she
got some chestnuts from him. So that when we heard Father go out after his
dinner, there was a jolly fire in Noël's room, and we were able
to go in and be Red Indians in blankets most comfortably. Eliza had gone
out; she says she gets things cheaper on Saturday nights. She has a great
friend, who sells fish at a shop, and he is very generous, and lets her
have herrings for less than half the natural price.
So we were all alone in the house; Pincher was out with Eliza, and we
talked about robbers. And Dora thought it would be a dreadful trade, but
Dicky said--
"I think it would be very interesting. And you would only rob rich
people, and be very generous to the poor and needy, like Claude
Duval."
Page 222
Dora said, "It is wrong to be a robber."
"Yes," said Alice, "you would never know a happy hour.
Think of trying to sleep with the stolen jewels under your bed, and
remembering all the quantities of policemen and detectives that there are
in the world!"
"There are ways of being robbers that are not wrong," said
Noël; "if you can rob a robber it is a right act."
"But you can't," said Dora; "he is too clever,
and besides, it's wrong anyway."
"Yes you can, and it isn't; and murdering him with boiling
oil is a right act, too, so there!" said Noël. "What about
Ali Baba? Now then!" And we felt it was a score for Noël.
"What would you do if there was a robber?" said
Alice.
H.O. said he would kill him with boiling oil; but Alice explained that
she meant a real robber--now--this minute--in the house.
Oswald and Dicky did not say; but Noël said he thought it would
only be fair to ask the robber quite politely and quietly to go away, and
then if he didn't you could deal with him.
Now what I am going to tell you is a very strange and wonderful thing,
and I hope you
Page 223
Alice was just asking Noël how he would deal with the
robber who wouldn't go if he was asked politely and quietly, when we
heard a noise downstairs--quite a plain noise, not the kind of noise
you fancy you hear. It was like somebody moving a chair. We held our breath
and listened--and then came another noise, like some one poking a
fire. Now, you remember there was no one to poke a fire or
move a chair downstairs, because Eliza and Father were both out. They could
not have come in without our hearing them, because the front door is as
hard to shut as the back one, and whichever you go in by you have to give a
slam that you can hear all down the street.
H.O. and Alice and Dora caught hold of each other's blankets and
looked at Dicky and Oswald, and every one was quite pale. And Noël
whispered--
"It's ghosts, I know it is"--and then we
Page 224
"Whatever shall we do? Oh, whatever shall we do--what
shall we do?"
And she kept on saying it till we had to tell her to shut up.
O reader, have you ever been playing Red Indians in blankets round a
bedroom fire in a house where you thought there was no one but
you--and then suddenly heard a noise like a chair, and a fire being
poked, downstairs? Unless you have you will not be able to imagine at all
what it feels like. It was not like in books; our hair did not stand on end
at all, and we never said "Hist!" once, but our feet got very
cold, though we were in blankets by the fire, and the insides of
Oswald's hands got warm and wet, and his nose was cold like a
dog's, and his ears were burning hot.
The girls said afterwards that they shivered with terror, and their
teeth chattered, but we did not see or hear this at the time.
"Shall we open the window and call police?" said Dora; and
then Oswald suddenly thought of something, and he breathed more freely and
he said--
"I know it's not ghosts, and I don't
believe
Page 225
The girls wouldn't, of course; but I could see that they breathed
more freely too. But Dicky said, "All right; I will if you
will."
H.O. said, "Do you think it's really a
cat?" So we said he had better stay with the girls. And of course
after that we had to let him and Alice both come. Dora said if we took
Noël down with his cold, she would scream "Fire!" and
"Murder!" and she didn't mind if the whole street
heard.
So Noël agreed to be getting his clothes on, and the rest of us
said we would go down and look for the cat.
Now Oswald said that about the cat, and it made it easier
to go down, but in his inside he did not feel at all sure that it might not
be robbers after all. Of course, we had often talked about robbers before,
but it is very different when you sit in a room and listen and listen and
listen; and Oswald felt somehow that it would be easier to go down and see
what it was, than to wait, and listen, and wait, and wait, and listen, and
wait, and then perhaps to hear It, whatever it was, come
Page 226
The landing gas was turned down low--just a blue bead--and we
four went out very softly, wrapped in our blankets, and we stood on the top
of the stairs a good long time before we began to go down. And we listened
and listened till our ears buzzed.
And Oswald whispered to Dicky, and Dicky went into our room and fetched
the large toy pistol that is a foot long, and that has the trigger broken,
and I took it because I am the eldest; and I don't think either of us
thought it was the cat now. But Alice and H.O. did. Dicky got the poker out
of Noël's room, and told Dora it was to settle the cat with when
we caught her.
Page 227
Then Oswald whispered, "Let's play at burglars; Dicky and I
are armed to the teeth, we will go first. You keep a flight behind us, and
be a reinforcement if we are attacked. Or you can retreat and defend the
women and children in the fortress, if you'd rather."
But they said they would be a reinforcement.
Oswald's teeth chattered a little when he spoke. It is not with
anything else except cold.
So Dicky and Oswald crept down, and when we got to the bottom of the
stairs, we saw Father's study door just ajar, and the crack of light.
And Oswald was so pleased to see the light, knowing that burglars prefer
the dark, or at any rate the dark lantern, that he felt really sure it
was the cat after all, and then he thought it would be fun to
make the others upstairs think it was really a robber. So he cocked the
pistol--you can cock it, but it doesn't go off--and he
said, "Come on, Dick!" and he rushed at the study door and
burst into the room, crying, "Surrender! you are discovered!
Surrender, or I fire! Throw up your hands!"
And, as he finished saying it, he saw before
Page 228
When Oswald saw that there really was a robber, and that he was so
heavily armed with the screwdriver, he did not feel comfortable. But he
kept the pistol pointed at the robber, and--you will hardly believe
it, but it is true--the robber threw down the screwdriver clattering
on the other tools, and he did throw up his hands, and
said--
"I surrender; don't shoot me! How many of you are
there?"
So Dicky said, "You are outnumbered. Are you armed?"
And the robber said, "No, not in the least."
And Oswald said, still pointing the pistol, and feeling very strong and
brave and as if he was in a book, "Turn out your pockets."
The robber did: and while he turned them
Page 229
"Well, you've caught me; what are you going to do with me?
Police?"
Alice and H.O. had come down to be reinforcements, when they heard a
shout, and when Alice saw that it was a Real Robber, and that he had
surrendered, she clapped her hands and said, "Bravo, boys!" and
so did H.O. And now she said, "If he gives his word of honour not to
escape, I shouldn't call the police: it seems a pity. Wait till
Father comes home."
Page 230
The robber agreed to this, and gave his word of honour, and asked if he
might put on a pipe, and we said "Yes," and he sat in
Father's armchair and warmed his boots, which steamed, and I sent
H.O. and Alice to put on some clothes and tell the others, and bring down
Dicky's and my knickerbockers, and the rest of the chestnuts.
And they all came, and we sat round the fire, and it was jolly. The
robber was very friendly, and talked to us a great deal.
"I wasn't always in this low way of business," he
said, when Noël said something about the things he had turned out of
his pockets. "It's a great come-down to a man like me.
But, if I must be caught, it's something to be caught by brave young
heroes like you. My stars! How you did bolt into the
room,--'Surrender, and up with your hands!' You might have
been born and bred to the thief-catching."
Oswald is sorry if it was mean, but he could not own up just then that
he did not think there was any one in the study when he did that brave if
rash act. He has told since.
"And what made you think there was any one in the house?"
the robber asked, when
Page 231
The robber ate some of the chestnuts--and we sat and wondered when
Father would come home, and what he would say to us for our intrepid
conduct. And the robber told us of all the things he had done before he
began to break into houses. Dicky picked up the tools from the floor, and
suddenly he said--
"Why, this is Father's screwdriver and his gimlets, and all!
Well, I do call it jolly cheek to pick a man's locks with his own
tools!"
"True, true," said the robber. "It is cheek, of the
jolliest! But you see I've come down in the world. I was a highway
robber once, but horses are so expensive to hire--five shillings an
hour, you know--and I couldn't afford to keep them. The
highwayman business isn't what it was."
"What about a bike?" said H.O.
But the robber thought cycles were low--and besides you
couldn't go across country with them when occasion arose, as you
could
Page 232
Then he told us how he had been a pirate captain--and how he had
sailed over waves mountains high, and gained rich prizes--and how he
did begin to think that here he had found a profession to his
mind.
"I don't say there are no ups and downs in it," he
said, "especially in stormy weather. But what a trade! And a sword at
your side, and the Jolly Roger flying at the peak, and a prize in sight.
And all the black mouths of your guns pointed at the laden trader--and
the wind in your favour, and your trusty crew ready to live and die for
you! Oh--but it's a grand life!"
I did feel so sorry for him. He used such nice words, and he had a
gentleman's voice.
"I'm sure you weren't brought up to be a
pirate," said Dora. She had dressed even to her collar--and made
Noël do it too--but the rest of us were in blankets with just a
few odd things put on anyhow underneath.
The robber frowned and sighed.
"No," he said, "I was brought up to the law. I was at
Balliol, bless your hearts, and
Page 233
"That was my Father's college," H.O. was beginning,
but Dicky said--
"Why did you leave off being a pirate?"
"A pirate?" he said, as if he had not been thinking of such
things. "Oh, yes; why I gave it up because--because I could not
get over the dreadful sea-sickness."
"Nelson was sea-sick," said Oswald.
"Ah," said the robber; "but I hadn't his luck or
his pluck, or something. He stuck to it and won Trafalgar, didn't he?
'Kiss me, Hardy'--and all that, eh? I
couldn't stick to it--I had to resign. And nobody kissed
me."
I saw by his understanding about Nelson that he was really a man who had
been to a good school as well as to Balliol.
Then we asked him, "And what did you do then?"
And Alice asked if he was ever a coiner, and we told him how we had
thought we'd caught the desperate gang next door, and he was very
much interested and said he was glad he had never taken to coining.
"Besides, the coins are so ugly nowadays," he said,
"no one could really find any pleasure in
Page 234
And again he looked at the fire.
Oswald forgot for a minute that the interesting stranger was a robber,
and asked him if he wouldn't have a drink. Oswald has heard Father do
this to his friends, so he knows it is the right thing. The robber said he
didn't mind if he did. And that is right, too.
And Dora went and got a bottle of Father's ale--the Light
Sparkling Family--and a glass, and we gave it to the robber. Dora
said she would be responsible.
Then when he had had a drink he told us about bandits, but he said it
was so bad in wet weather. Bandits" caves were hardly ever properly
weathertight. And bush-ranging was the same.
"As a matter of fact," he said, "I was
bush-ranging this afternoon, among the furze-bushes on the
Heath, but I had no luck. I stopped the Lord Mayor in his gilt coach, with
all his footmen in plush and gold lace, smart as cockatoos. But it was no
go. The Lord Mayor hadn't a stiver in his pockets.
Page 235
We had turned out the gas, so that Father should have a jolly good
surprise when he did come home, and we sat and talked as pleasant as could
be. I never liked a new man better than I liked that robber. And I felt so
sorry for him. He told us he had been a war-correspondent and an
editor, in happier days, as well as a horse-stealer and a colonel of
dragoons.
And quite suddenly, just as we were telling him about Lord Tottenham and
our being highwaymen ourselves, he put up his hand and said
"Shish!" and we were quiet and listened.
There was a scrape, scrape, scraping noise; it came from downstairs.
"They're filing something," whispered the robber,
"here--shut up, give me that pistol, and the poker. There
is a burglar now, and no mistake."
"It's only a toy one and it won't go off," I
said, "but you can cock it."
Page 236
Then we heard a snap.
"There goes the window bar," said the robber softly.
"Jove! what an adventure! You kids stay here, I'll tackle
it."
But Dicky and I said we should come. So he let us go as far as the
bottom of the kitchen stairs, and we took the tongs and shovel with us.
There was a light in the kitchen; a very little light. It is curious we
never thought, any of us, that this might be a plant of our robber's
to get away. We never thought of doubting his word of honour. And we were
right.
That noble robber dashed the kitchen door open, and rushed in with the
big toy pistol in one hand and the poker in the other, shouting out just
like Oswald had done--
"Surrender! You are discovered! Surrender, or I'll fire!
Throw up your hands!" And Dicky and I rattled the tongs and shovel so
that he might know there were more of us, all bristling with weapons.
And we heard a husky voice in the kitchen saying--
"All right, governor! Stow that scent sprinkler. I'll give
in. Blowed if I ain't pretty well sick of the job, anyway."
Then we went in. Our robber was standing
Page 237
"Upon my word, I don't know," said our robber, rubbing
his chin. "Oswald, why don't we fetch the police?"
It is not every robber that I would stand Christian names from, I can
tell you but just then I didn't think of that. I just
said--'do you mean I'm to fetch one?"
Our robber looked at the burglar and said nothing.
Then the burglar began to speak very fast, and to look different ways
with his hard, shiny little eyes.
Page 238
"Lookee "ere, governor," he said, "I was stony
broke, so help me, I was. And blessed if I've nicked a haporth of
your little lot. You know yourself there ain't much to tempt a
bloke," he shook the plate-basket as if he was angry with it,
and the yellowy spoons and forks rattled. "I was just
a-looking through this 'ere Bank-ollerday show, when
you come. Let me off, sir. Come now, I've got kids of my own at home,
strike me if I ain't--same as yours--I've got a
nipper just about 'is size, and what'll come of them if
I'm lagged? I ain't been in it long, sir, and I ain't
'andy at it."
"No," said our robber; "you certainly are
not."
Alice and the others had come down by now to see what was happening.
Alice told me afterwards they thought it really was the cat this time.
"No, I ain't 'andy, as you say, sir, and if you let me
off this once I'll chuck the whole blooming bizz; rake my civvy, I
will. Don't be hard on a cove, mister; think of the missis and the
kids. I've got one just the cut of little missy there bless 'er
pretty 'eart."
"Your family certainly fits your circumstances very nicely,"
said our robber.
Page 239
Then Alice said--
"Oh, do let him go! If he's got a little girl like me,
whatever will she do? Suppose it was Father!"
"I don't think he's got a little girl like you, my
dear," said our robber, "and I think he'll be safer under
lock and key."
"You ask yer Father to let me go, miss," said the burglar;
"'e won't 'ave the 'art to refuse
you."
"If I do," said Alice, "will you promise never to come
back?"
"Not me, miss," the burglar said very earnestly, and he
looked at the plate-basket again, as if that alone would be enough
to keep him away, our robber said afterwards.
"And will you be good and not rob any more?" said Alice.
"I'll turn over a noo leaf, miss, so help me."
Then Alice said--
"Oh, do let him go! I'm sure he'll be good."
But our robber said no, it wouldn't be right; we must wait till
Father came home.
Then H.O. said, very suddenly and plainly:
"I don't think it's at all fair, when you're a
robber yourself."
Page 240
The minute he'd said it the burglar said, "Kidded, by
gum!"--and then our robber made a step towards him to catch hold
of him, and before you had time to think "Hullo!" the burglar
knocked the pistol up with one hand and knocked our robber down with the
other, and was off out of the window like a shot, though Oswald and Dicky
did try to stop him by holding on to his legs.
And that burglar had the cheek to put his head in at the window and say,
"I'll give yer love to the kids and the missis"--and
he was off like winking, and there were Alice and Dora trying to pick up
our robber, and asking him whether he was hurt, and where. He wasn't
hurt at all, except a lump at the back of his head. And he got up, and we
dusted the kitchen floor off him. Eliza is a dirty girl.
Then he said, "Let's put up the shutters. It never rains but
it pours. Now you've had two burglars I daresay you'll have
twenty." So we put up the shutters, which Eliza has strict orders to
do before she goes out, only she never does, and we went back to
Father's study, and the robber said, "What a night we are
having!" and put his boots back in the fender to go on steaming, and
then we all
Page 241
And then there was the click of the gate, and we said,
"Here's Father," and the robber said, "And now for
the police."
Then we all jumped up. We did like him so much, and it seemed so unfair
that he should be sent to prison, and the horrid, lumping big burglar
not.
And Alice said, "Oh, no--run! Dicky will let you
out at the back door. Oh, do go, go now."
And we all said, "Yes, go," and pulled him
towards the door, and gave him his hat and stick and the things out of his
pockets.
But Father's latchkey was in the door, and it was too late.
Father came in quickly, purring with the cold, and began to say,
"It's all right, Foulkes, I've got--" And then
he stopped short and stared at us. Then he said, in the voice we all hate,
"Children, what is the meaning of all this?"
Page 242
And for a minute nobody spoke.
Then my Father said, "Foulkes, I must really apologize for these
very naughty--"
And then our robber rubbed his hands and laughed, and cried
out:
"You're mistaken, my dear sir, I'm not Foulkes;
I'm a robber, captured by these young people in the most gallant
manner. 'Hands up, surrender, or I fire,' and all the rest of
it. My word, Bastable, but you've got some kids worth having! I wish
my Denny had their pluck."
Then we began to understand, and it was like being knocked down, it was
so sudden. And our robber told us he wasn't a robber after all. He
was only an old college friend of my Father's, and he had come after
dinner, when Father was just trying to mend the lock H.O. had broken, to
ask Father to get him a letter to a doctor about his little boy Denny, who
was ill. And Father had gone over the Heath to Vanbrugh Park to see some
rich people he knows and get the letter. And he had left Mr. Foulkes to
wait till he came back, because it was important to know at once whether
Father could get the letter, and if he couldn't Mr. Foulkes would
have had to try some one else directly.
We were dumb with amazement.
Page 243
Our robber told my Father about the other burglar, and said he was sorry
he'd let him escape, but my Father said, "Oh, it's all
right: poor beggar; if he really had kids at home: you never
can tell--forgive us our debts, don't you know; but tell me
about the first business. It must have been moderately
entertaining."
Then our robber told my Father how I had rushed into the room with a
pistol, crying out ... but you know all about that. And he laid it on so
thick and fat about plucky young uns, and chips of old blocks, and things
like that, that I felt I was purple with shame, even under the blanket. So
I swallowed that thing that tries to prevent you speaking when you ought
to, and I said, "Look here, Father, I didn't really think there
was any one in the study. We thought it was a cat at first, and then I
thought there was no one there, and I was just larking. And when I said
surrender and all that, it was just the game, don't you
know?"
Then our robber said, "Yes, old chap; but when you found there
really was someone there, you dropped the pistol and bunked,
didn't you, eh?"
And I said, "No; I thought, 'Hullo! here's a robber!
Well, it's all up, I suppose,
Page 244
And I was glad I'd owned up, for Father slapped me on the back,
and said I was a young brick, and our robber said I was no funk anyway, and
though I got very hot under the blanket I liked it, and I explained that
the others would have done the same if they had thought of it.
Then Father got up some more beer, and laughed about Dora's
responsibility, and he got out a box of figs he had bought for us, only he
hadn't given it to us because of the Water Rates, and Eliza came in
and brought up the bread and cheese, and what there was left of the neck of
mutton--cold wreck of mutton, Father called it--and we had a
feast--like a picnic--all sitting anywhere, and eating with our
fingers. It was prime. We sat up till past twelve o'clock, and I
never felt so pleased to think I was not born a girl. It was hard on the
others; they would have done just the same if they'd thought of it.
But it does make you feel jolly when your pater says you're a young
brick!
When Mr. Foulkes was going, he said to Alice, "Good-bye,
Hardy."
And Alice understood, of course, and kissed him as hard as she
could.
Page 245
And she said, "I wanted to, when you said no one kissed you when
you left off being a pirate."
And he said, "I know you did, my dear."
And Dora kissed him too, and said, "I suppose none of these tales
were true?"
And our robber just said, "I tried to play the part properly, my
dear."
And he jolly well did play it, and no mistake. We have often seen him
since, and his boy Denny, and his girl Daisy, but that comes in another
story.
And if any of you kids who read this ever had two such adventures in one
night you can just write and tell me. That's all.
Page 247CHAPTER XIV.
Page 249CHAPTER XIV
THE DIVINING-ROD
YOU have no idea how uncomfortable the house was on the day
when we sought for gold with the divining-rod. It was like a
spring-cleaning in the winter-time. All the carpets were up,
because Father had told Eliza to make the place decent as there was a
gentleman coming to dinner the next day. So she got in a charwoman, and
they slopped water about, and left brooms and brushes on the stairs for
people to tumble over. H.O. got a big bump on his head in that way, and
when he said it was too bad, Eliza said he should keep in the nursery then,
and not be where he'd no business. We bandaged his head with a towel,
and then he stopped crying and played at being England's wounded hero
dying in the cockpit, while every man was doing his duty, as the hero
Page 250
We were rather astonished at Father's having anyone to dinner,
because now he never seems to think of anything but business. Before
Mother died people often came to dinner, and Father's business did
not take up so much of his time and was not the bother it is now. And we
used to see who could go furthest down in our nightgowns and get nice
things to eat, without being seen, out of the dishes as they came out of
the dining-room. Eliza can't cook very nice things. She told
Father she was a good plain cook, but he says it was a fancy portrait. We
stayed in the nursery till the charwoman came in and told us to be
off--she was going to make one job of it, and have our carpet up as
well as all the others, now the man was here to beat them. It came up, and
it was very dusty--and under it we found my threepenny-bit that
I lost ages ago, which shows what Eliza is. H.O. had got tired of being
the wounded hero, and Dicky was so tired of
Page 251
Quarrelling is an evil thing,
It fills with gall life's
cup;
For when once you begin
It takes such a long time to make
it up.
We all laughed then and stopped jawing at each other. Noël is very
funny with his poetry. But that piece happened to come out quite true. You
begin to quarrel and then you can't stop; often, long before the
others are ready to cry and make it up, I see how silly
Page 252
Alice said Noël ought to be poet laureate, and she actually went
out in the cold and got some laurel leaves--the spotted kind--out
of the garden, and Dora made a crown and we put it on him. He was quite
pleased; but the leaves made a mess, and Eliza said,
"Don't." I believe that's a word grown-ups
use more than any other. Then suddenly Alice thought of that old idea of
hers for finding treasure, and she said--
"Do let's try the divining-rod."
So Oswald said, "Fair priestess, we do greatly desire to find gold
beneath our land, therefore we pray thee practise with the
divining-rod, and tell us where we can find it."
"Do ye desire to fashion of it helms and hauberks?" said
Alice.
"Yes," said Noël; "and chains and
ouches."
"I bet you don't know what an 'ouch' is,"
said Dicky.
"Yes I do, so there!" said Noël. "It's a
carcanet. I looked it out in the dicker, now then!"
Page 253
We asked him what a carcanet was, but he wouldn't say.
"And we want to make fair goblets of the gold," said
Oswald.
"Yes, to drink cocoanut milk out of," said H.O.
"And we desire to build fair palaces of it," said Dicky.
"And to buy things," said Dora--"a great many
things. New Sunday frocks and hats and kid gloves and--"
She would have gone on for ever so long only we reminded her that we
hadn't found the gold yet.
By this Alice had put on the nursery table-cloth, which is green,
and tied the old blue and yellow antimacassar over her head, and she
said--
"If your intentions are correct, fear nothing and follow
me."
And she went down into the hall. We all followed chanting
"Heroes." It is a gloomy thing the girls learnt at the High
School, and we always use it when we want a priestly chant.
Alice stopped short by the hat-stand, and held up her hands as
well as she could for the table-cloth, and said--
Page 254
"Now, great altar of the golden idol, yield me the
divining-rod that I may use it for the good of the suffering
people."
The umbrella-stand was the altar of the golden idol, and it
yielded her the old school umbrella. She carried it between her palms.
"Now," she said, "I shall sing the magic chant. You
mustn't say anything, but just follow wherever I go--like follow
my leader, you know--and when there is gold underneath the magic rod
will twist in the hand of the priestess like a live thing that seeks to be
free. Then you will dig, and the golden treasure will be revealed. H.O., if
you make that clatter with your boots they'll come and tell us not
to. Now come on all of you."
So she went upstairs and down and into every room. We followed her on
tiptoe, and Alice sang as she went. What she sang is not out of a
book--Noël made it up while she was dressing up for the
priestess.
Ashen rod cold
That here I
hold,
Teach me where to find the gold.
When we came to where Eliza was, she said, "Get along with
you"; but Dora said it was only a game, and we wouldn't touch
anything,
Page 255
It was all right for the priestess, but it was a little dull for the
rest of us, because she wouldn't let us sing, too; so we said
we'd had enough of it, and if she couldn't find the gold
we'd leave off and play something else. The priestess said,
"All right, wait a minute," and went on singing. Then we all
followed her back into the nursery, where the carpet was up and the boards
smelt of soft soap. Then she said, "It moves, it moves! Once more the
choral hymn!" So we sang "Heroes" again, and in the
middle the umbrella dropped from her hands.
"The magic rod has spoken," said Alice; "dig here, and
that with courage and despatch." We didn't quite see how to
dig, but we all began to scratch on the floor with our hands, but the
priestess said, "Don't be so silly! It's the place where
they come to do the gas. The board's loose. Dig an you value your
lives, for ere sundown the dragon who guards this spoil will return in his
fiery fury and make you his unresisting prey."
So we dug--that is, we got the loose board up. And Alice threw up
her arms and cried--
Page 256
"See the rich treasure--the gold in thick layers, with silver
and diamonds stuck in it!"
"Like currants in cake," said H.O.
"It's a lovely treasure," said Dicky yawning.
"Let's come back and carry it away another day."
But Alice was kneeling by the hole.
"Let me feast my eyes on the golden splendour," she said,
"hidden these long centuries from the human eye. Behold how the magic
rod has led us to treasures more--Oswald, don't push
so!--more bright than ever monarch--I say, there is
something down there, really. I saw it shine!"
We thought she was kidding, but when she began to try to get into the
hole, which was much too small, we saw she meant it, so I said,
"Let's have a squint," and I looked, but I couldn't
see anything, even when I lay down on my stomach. The others lay down on
their stomachs too and tried to see, all but Noël, who stood and
looked at us and said we were the great serpents come down to drink at the
magic pool. He wanted to be the knight and slay the great serpents with his
good sword--he even drew the umbrella ready--but Alice said,
"All right, we will in a minute.
Page 257
"What did you see?" asked Noël, beginning to go for the
matches very slowly.
"Something bright, away in the corner under the board against the
beam."
"Perhaps it was a rat's eye," Noël said,
"or a snake's," and we did not put our heads quite so
close to the hole till he came back with the matches.
Then I struck a match, and Alice cried, "There it is!"
And there it was, and it was a half-sovereign, partly dusty and
partly bright. We think perhaps a mouse, disturbed by the carpets being
taken up, may have brushed the dust of years from part of the
half-sovereign with his tail. We can't imagine how it came
there, only Dora thinks she remembers once when H.O. was very little Mother
gave him some money to hold, and he dropped it, and it rolled all over the
floor. So we think perhaps this was part of it. We were very glad. H.O.
wanted to go out at once and buy a mask he had seen for fourpence. It had
been a shilling mask, but now it was going very cheap because Guy
Fawkes' day was over, and it was a little cracked at the top.
Page 258
But H.O. did not care about waiting, and I felt for him. Dora is rather
like grown-ups in that way; she does not seem to understand that
when you want a thing you do want it, and that you don't wish to
wait, even a minute.
So we went and asked Albert-next-door's uncle. He
was pegging away at one of the rotten novels he has to write to make his
living, but he said we weren't interrupting him at all.
"My hero's folly has involved him in a difficulty," he
said. "It is his own fault. I will leave him to meditate on the
incredible fatuity--the hare-brained recklessness--which
have brought him to this pass. It will be a lesson to him. I, meantime,
will give myself unreservedly to the pleasures of your
conversation."
That's one thing I like Albert's uncle for. He always talks
like a book, and yet you can always understand what he means. I think he is
more like us, inside of his mind, than most grown-up people are. He
can pretend beautifully. I never met anyone else so good at it, except our
robber, and we began it, with him.
Page 259
"Let the priestess herself set forth the tale in fitting
speech."
So Alice said, "O high priest of the great idol, the humblest of
thy slaves took the school umbrella for a divining-rod, and sang the
song of inver--what's-it's-name?"
"Invocation perhaps?" said Albert's uncle.
"Yes; and then I went about and about and the others got tired, so
the divining-rod fell on a certain spot, and I said,
'Dig', and we dug--it was where the loose board is for the
gas men--and then there really and truly was a half-sovereign
lying under the boards, and here it is."
Albert's uncle took it and looked at it.
"The great high priest will bite it to see if it's
good," he said, and he did. "I congratulate you," he went
on; "you are indeed
Page 260
Of course we know from Kipling that that means, "You'd
better bunk, and be sharp about it," so we came away. I do like
Albert's uncle. I shall be like that when I'm a man. He gave us
our Jungle books, and he is awfully clever, though he does have to write
grown-up tales.
We told Father about it that night. He was very kind. He said we might
certainly have the half-sovereign, and he hoped we should enjoy
ourselves with our treasure-trove.
Then he said, "Your dear Mother's Indian Uncle is coming to
dinner here to-morrow night. So will you not drag the furniture
about overhead, please, more than you're absolutely obliged; and H.O.
might wear slippers or something. I can always distinguish the note of
H.O.'s boots."
We said we would be very quiet, and Father went on--
Page 261
"This Indian Uncle is not used to children, and he is coming to
talk business with me. It is really important that he should be quiet. Do
you think, Dora, that perhaps bed at six for H.O. and
Noël--"
But H.O. said, "Father, I really and truly won't make a
noise. I'll stand on my head all the evening sooner than disturb the
Indian Uncle with my boots."
And Alice said Noël never made a row anyhow.
So Father laughed and said, "All right." And he said we
might do as we liked with the half-sovereign. "Only for
goodness" sake don't try to go in for business with it,"
he said. "It's always a mistake to go into business with an
insufficient capital."
We talked it over all that evening, and we decided that as we were not
to go into business with our half-sovereign it was no use not
spending it at once, and so we might as well have a right royal feast. The
next day we went out and bought the things. We got figs, and almonds and
raisins, and a real raw rabbit, and Eliza promised to cook it for us if we
would wait till tomorrow, because of the Indian Uncle coming to dinner. She
was very busy cooking nice things for him to eat. We got
Page 262
Page 263CHAPTER XV.
Page 265CHAPTER XV
"LO, THE POOR INDIAN!"
IT was all very well for Father to ask us not to make a row
because the Indian Uncle was coming to talk business, but my young
brother's boots are not the only things that make a noise. We took
his boots away and made him wear Dora's bath slippers, which are soft
and woolly, and hardly any soles to them; and of course we wanted to see
the Uncle, so we looked over the banisters when he came, and we were as
quiet as mice--but when Eliza had let him in she went straight down to
the kitchen and made the most awful row you ever heard, it sounded like the
Day of Judgment, or all the saucepans and crockery in the house being
kicked about the floor, but she told me afterwards it was only the
tea-tray and one or two cups and saucers, that she had knocked over
in her
Page 266
I don't believe the dinner was very nice. Something got burned
I'm sure--for we smelt it. It was an extra smell, besides the
mutton. I know that got burned. Eliza wouldn't have any
of us in the kitchen except Dora--till dinner was over. Then we got
what was left of the dessert, and had it on the stairs--just round the
corner where they can't see you from the hall, unless the first
landing gas is lighted. Suddenly the study door opened and the Uncle came
out and went and felt in his great coat pocket. It was his
cigar-case he wanted. We saw that afterwards. We got a much better
view of him then. He didn't look like an Indian but just like a kind
of brown, big Englishman, and of course he didn't see us, but we
heard him mutter to himself--
"Shocking bad dinner! Eh!--what?" When he went back to
the study he didn't shut the door properly. That door has always been
a little tiresome since the day we took the lock off to get out the pencil
sharpener H.O. had shoved into the keyhole. We didn't
listen--really and truly--but the Indian Uncle has
Page 267
So then Oswald remembered that you must not hear what people do not
intend you to hear--even if you are not listening and he said,
"We ought not to stay here any longer. Perhaps they would not like us
to hear--"
Alice said, "Oh, do you think it could possibly matter?" and
went and shut the study door softly but quite tight. So it was
Page 268
Then Noël said, "Now I understand. Of course my Father is
making a banquet for the Indian, because he is a poor, broken-down
man. We might have known that from 'Lo, the poor Indian!' you
know."
We all agreed with him, and we were glad to have the thing explained,
because we had not understood before what Father wanted to have people to
dinner for--and not let us come in.
"Poor people are very proud," said Alice, "and I
expect Father thought the Indian would be ashamed, if all of us children
knew how poor he was."
Then Dora said, "Poverty is no disgrace. We should honour honest
Poverty."
And we all agreed that that was so.
"I wish his dinner had not been so nasty," Dora said, while
Oswald put lumps of coal on the fire with his fingers, so as not to make a
noise. He is a very thoughtful boy, and he did not wipe his fingers on his
trouser leg as perhaps Noël or H.O. would have done, but he just
rubbed them on Dora's handkerchief while she was talking. "I am
afraid the dinner was horrid." Dora went on. "The
Page 269
"I hope the poor Indian is honest," said Dicky gloomily,
"when you are a poor, broken down man silver spoons must be a
great temptation."
Oswald told him not to talk such Tommy-rot because the Indian was
a relation, so of course he couldn't do anything dishonourable. And
Dora said it was all right any way, because she had washed up the spoons
and forks herself and counted them, and they were all there, and she had
put them into their wash-leather bag, and taken them back to
Albert-next-door's Mother.
"And the brussels sprouts were all wet and swimmy," she went
on, "and the potatoes looked grey--and there were bits of black
in the gravy--and the mutton was bluey-red and soft in the
middle. I saw it when it came out. The apple-pie looked very
nice--but it wasn't quite done in the apply part. The other
thing that was burnt--you must have smelt it, was the soup."
"It is a pity," said Oswald; "I don't suppose he
gets a good dinner every day."
Page 270
"No more do we," said H.O., "but we shall
to-morrow."
I thought of all the things we had bought with our
half-sovereign--the rabbit and the sweets and the almonds and
raisins and figs and the cocoanut: and I thought of the nasty mutton
and things, and while I was thinking about it all Alice said--
"Let's ask the poor Indian to come to dinner with
us to-morrow." I should have said it myself if
she had given me time.
We got the little ones to go to bed by promising to put a note on their
dressing-table saying what had happened, so that they might know the
first thing in the morning, or in the middle of the night if they happened
to wake up, and then we elders arranged everything.
I waited by the back door, and when the Uncle was beginning to go Dicky
was to drop a marble down between the banisters for a signal, so that I
could run round and meet the Uncle as he came out.
This seems like deceit, but if you are a thoughtful and considerate boy
you will understand that we could not go down and say to the Uncle in the
hall under Father's eye, "Father has given you a beastly, nasty
dinner, but if you will come to dinner with
Page 271
So when the Uncle left, Father saw him to the door and let him out, and
then went back to the study, looking very sad, Dora says.
As the poor Indian came down our steps he saw me there at the gate. I
did not mind his being poor, and I said, "Good evening,
Uncle," just as politely as though he had been about to ascend into
one of the gilded chariots of the rich and affluent, instead of having to
walk to the station a quarter of a mile in the mud, unless he had the money
for a tram fare.
"Good evening, Uncle." I said it again, for he stood staring
at me. I don't suppose he was used to politeness from boys--some
boys are anything but--especially to the Aged Poor.
So I said, "Good evening, Uncle," yet once again. Then he
said--
"Time you were in bed, young man. Eh!--what?"
Then I saw I must speak plainly with him, man to man. So I did. I
said--
"You've been dining with my Father, and we couldn't
help hearing you say the dinner was shocking. So we thought as you're
an
Page 272
"Upon my word! And what's your name,
eh?"
"Oswald Bastable," I said; and I do hope you people who are
reading this story have not guessed before that I was Oswald all the
time.
"Oswald Bastable, eh? Bless my soul!" said the poor Indian.
"Yes, I'll dine with you, Mr. Oswald Bastable, with all the
pleasure in life. Very kind and cordial invitation, I'm sure. Good
night, sir. At one o'clock, I presume?"
"Yes, at one," I said. "Good night, sir."
Then I went in and told the others, and we wrote a paper and put it on
the boy's dressing-table, and it said--
Page 273
"The poor Indian is coming at one. He seemed very grateful to me
for my kindness."
We did not tell Father that the Uncle was coming to dinner with us, for
the polite reason that I have explained before. But we had to tell Eliza;
so we said a friend was coming to dinner and we wanted everything very
nice. I think she thought it was Albert-next-door, but she
was in a good temper that day, and she agreed to cook the rabbit and to
make a pudding with currants in it. And when one o'clock came the
Indian Uncle came too. I let him in and helped him off with his
great-coat, which was all furry inside, and took him straight to the
nursery. We were to have dinner there as usual, for we had decided from the
first that he would enjoy himself more if he was not made a stranger of. We
agreed to treat him as one of ourselves, because if we were too polite, he
might think it was our pride because he was poor.
He shook hands with us all and asked our ages, and what schools we went
to, and shook his head when we said we were having a holiday just now. I
felt rather uncomfortable--I always do when they talk about
schools--and I couldn't think of anything to say to show him we
meant to treat him as one of ourselves.
Page 274
"Do you carve, sir, or shall I?"
Suddenly Alice said--
"Would you like grown-up dinner, Uncle, or
play-dinner?"
He did not hesitate a moment, but said, "Play-dinner, by
all means. Eh!--what?" and then we knew it was all right.
So we at once showed the Uncle how to be a dauntless hunter. The rabbit
was the deer we had slain in the green forest with our trusty yew bows, and
we toasted the joints of it, when the Uncle had carved it, on bits of
fire-wood
Page 275
Page 275
But he had some almonds and raisins--when we had climbed to the top
of the chest of drawers to pluck them from the boughs of the great trees;
and he had a fig from the cargo that the rich merchants brought in their
ship--the long drawer was the ship--and the rest of us had the
sweets and the cocoanut. It was a very glorious and beautiful feast, and
when it was over we said we hoped it was better than the dinner last night.
And he said--
"I never enjoyed a dinner more." He was too polite to say
what he really thought about Father's dinner. And we saw that though
he might be poor, he was a true gentleman.
Page 276
He smoked a cigar while we finished up what there was left to eat, and
told us about tiger shooting and about elephants. We asked him about
wigwams, and wampum, and mocassins, and beavers, but he did not seem to
know, or else he was shy about talking of the wonders of his native
land.
We liked him very much indeed, and when he was going at last, Alice
nudged me, and I said--"There's one and threepence
farthing left out of our half-sovereign. Will you take it, please,
because we do like you very much indeed, and we don't want it,
really; and we would rather you had it." And I put the money into his
hand.
"I'll take the threepenny bit," he said, turning the
money over and looking at it, "but I couldn't rob you of the
rest. By the way, where did you get the money for this most royal
spread--half a sovereign you said--eh, what?"
We told him all about the different ways we had looked for treasure, and
when we had been telling some time he sat down, to listen better; and at
last we told him how Alice had played at divining-rod, and how it
really had found a half-sovereign. Then he said he would like to see
her do it again. But we explained that the rod would only show gold and
silver, and
Page 277
"Well, silver, then," said he; "let's hide the
plate-basket, and little Alice shall make the divining-rod
find it. Eh!--what?"
"There isn't any silver in the plate-basket
now," Dora said. "Eliza asked me to borrow the silver spoons
and forks for your dinner last night from
Albert-next-door's Mother. Father never notices, but
she thought it would be nicer for you. Our own silver went to have the
dents taken out; and I don't think Father could afford to pay the man
for doing it, for the silver hasn't come back."
"Bless my soul!" said the Uncle again, looking at the hole
in the big chair that we burnt when we had Guy Fawkes" day indoors.
"And how much pocket-money do you get?
Eh!--what?"
"We don't have any now," said Alice; "but indeed
we don't want the other shilling. We'd much rather you had it,
wouldn't we?"
And the rest of us said, "Yes." The Uncle wouldn't
take it, but he asked a lot of questions, and at last he went away. And
when he went he said--
"Well, youngsters, I've enjoyed myself very
Page 278
Oswald said if he ever could we should like to come very much, but he
was not to trouble to get such a nice dinner as ours, because we could do
very well with cold mutton and rice pudding. We do not like these things,
but Oswald knows how to behave. Then the poor Indian went away.
We had not got any treasure by this party, but we had had a very good
time, and I am sure the Uncle enjoyed himself.
We were so sorry he was gone that we could none of us eat much tea; but
we did not mind, because we had pleased the poor Indian and enjoyed
ourselves too. Besides, as Dora said, "A contented mind is a
continual feast," so it did not matter about not wanting tea.
Only H.O. did not seem to think a continual feast was a contented mind,
and Eliza gave him a powder in what was left of the red-currant
jelly Father had for the nasty dinner.
But the rest of us were quite well, and I think it must have been the
cocoanut with H.O. We hoped nothing had disagreed with the Uncle, but we
never knew.
Page 279CHAPTER XVI.
Page 281CHAPTER XVI
THE END OF THE TREASURE-SEEKING
NOW it is coming near the end of our treasure-seeking,
and the end was so wonderful that now nothing is like it used to be. It is
like as if our fortunes had been in an earthquake, and after those, you
know, everything comes out wrong-way up.
The day after the Uncle speared the pudding with us opened in gloom and
sadness. But you never know. It was destined to be a day when things
happened. Yet no sign of this appeared in the early morning. Then all was
misery and upsetness. None of us felt quite well; I don't know
why: and Father had one of his awful colds, so Dora persuaded him not
to go to London, but to stay cosy and warm in the study, and she made him
some gruel. She makes it better than Eliza does; Eliza's gruel is
all little lumps, and when you suck them it is dry oatmeal inside.
Page 282
We kept as quiet as we could, and I made H.O. do some lessons, like the
G.B. had advised us to. But it was very dull. There are some days when you
seem to have got to the end of all the things that could ever possibly
happen to you, and you feel you will spend all the rest of your life doing
dull things just the same way. Days like this are generally wet days. But,
as I said, you never know.
Then Dicky said if things went on like this he should run away to sea,
and Alice said she thought it would be rather nice to go into a convent.
H.O. was a little disagreeable because of the powder Eliza had given him,
so he tried to read two books at once, one with each eye, just because
Noël wanted one of the books, which was very selfish of him, so it
only made his headache worse. H.O. is getting old enough to learn by
experience that it is wrong to be selfish, and when he complained about his
head Oswald told him whose fault it was, because I am older than he is, and
it is my duty to show him where he is wrong. But he began to cry, and then
Oswald had to cheer him up because of Father wanting to be quiet. So Oswald
said--
"They'll eat H.O. if you don't look out!"
Page 283
And Dora said Oswald was too bad.
Of course Oswald was not going to interfere again, so he went to look
out of the window and see the trams go by, and by and by H.O. came and
looked out too, and Oswald, who knows when to be generous and forgiving,
gave him a piece of blue pencil and two nibs, as good as new, to keep.
As they were looking out at the rain splashing on the stones in the
street they saw a four-wheeled cab come lumbering up from the way
the station is. Oswald called out--
"Here comes the coach of the Fairy Godmother. It'll stop
here, you see if it doesn't!"
So they all came to the window to look. Oswald had only said that about
stopping and he was stricken with wonder and amaze when the cab really did
stop. It had boxes on the top and knobby parcels sticking out of the
window, and it was something like going away to the seaside and something
like the gentleman who takes things about in a carriage with the wooden
shutters up, to sell to the drapers" shops. The cabman got down, and
some one inside handed out ever so many parcels of different shapes and
sizes, and the cabman stood holding them in his arms and grinning over
them.
Page 284
Dora said, "It is a pity some one doesn't tell him this
isn't the house." And then from inside the cab some one put out
a foot feeling for the step, like a tortoise's foot coming out from
under his shell when you are holding him off the ground, and then a leg
came and more parcels, and then Noël cried--
"It's the poor Indian!"
And it was.
Eliza opened the door, and we were all leaning over the banisters.
Father heard the noise of parcels and boxes in the hall, and he came out
without remembering how bad his cold was. If you do that yourself when you
have a cold they call you careless and naughty. Then we heard the poor
Indian say to Father--
"I say, Dick, I dined with your kids yesterday--as I daresay
they've told you. Jolliest little cubs I ever saw! Why didn't
you let me see them the other night? The eldest is the image of poor
Janey--and as to young Oswald, he's a man! If he's not a
man, I'm a nigger! Eh!--what? And Dick, I say, I shouldn't
wonder if I could find a friend to put a bit into that business of
yours--eh?"
Then he and Father went into the study and the door was shut--and
we went down and
Page 285
"Fly!" and we all got away but H.O., and the Uncle caught
him by the leg as he was trying to get upstairs after us.
"Peeping at the baggage, eh?" said the Uncle, and the rest
of us came down because it would have been dishonourable to leave H.O.
alone in a scrape, and we wanted to see what was in the parcels.
"I didn't touch," said H.O. "Are you coming to
stay? I hope you are."
"No harm done if you did touch," said the good, kind, Indian
man to all of us. "For all these parcels are for
you."
I have several times told you about our being dumb with amazement and
terror and joy, and things like that, but I never remember us being dumber
than we were when he said this.
Page 286
The Indian Uncle went on: "I told an old friend of mine what
a pleasant dinner I had with you, and about the threepenny bit, and the
divining-rod, and all that, and he sent all these odds and ends as
presents for you. Some of the things came from India."
"Have you come from India, Uncle?" Noël asked; and when
he said "Yes" we were all very much surprised, for we never
thought of his being that sort of Indian. We thought he was the Red kind,
and of course his not being accounted for his ignorance of beavers and
things.
He got Eliza to help, and we took all the parcels into the nursery and
he undid them and undid them and undid them, till the papers lay thick on
the floor. Father came too and sat in the Guy Fawkes chair. I cannot begin
to tell you all the things that kind friend of Uncle's had sent us.
He must be a very agreeable person.
There were toys for the kids and model engines for Dick and me, and a
lot of books, and Japanese china tea sets for the girls, red and white and
gold--there were sweets by the pound and by the box--and long
yards and yards of soft silk from India, to make frocks for the
girls--and a real Indian sword for
Page 287
And Father looked on as if it was a dream, till the Uncle suddenly gave
him an ivory paper-knife and a box of cigars, and said, "My
old friend sent you these, Dick; he's an old friend of yours too, he
says." And he winked at my Father, for H.O. and I saw him. And my
Father winked back, though he has always told us not to.
Page 288
That was a wonderful day. It was a treasure, and no mistake! I never saw
such heaps and heaps of presents, like things out of a
fairy-tale--and even Eliza had a shawl. Perhaps she deserved
it, for she did cook the rabbit and the pudding; and Oswald says it is not
her fault if her nose turns up and she does not brush her hair. I do not
think Eliza likes brushing things. It is the same with the carpets. But
Oswald tries to make allowances even for people who do not wash their
ears.
The Indian Uncle came to see us often after that, and his friend always
sent us something. Once he tipped us a sovereign each--the Uncle
brought it; and once he sent us money to go to the Crystal Palace, and the
Uncle took us; and another time to a circus; and when Christmas was near
the Uncle said--
"You remember when I dined with you, some time ago, you promised
to dine with me some day, if I could ever afford to give a dinner party.
Well, I'm going to have one--a Christmas party. Not on
Christmas Day, because every one goes home then--but on the day after.
Cold mutton and rice pudding. You'll come? Eh!--what?"
We said we should be delighted, if Father had no objection, because that
is the proper
Page 289
We all got Christmas presents for the Uncle. The girls made him a
handkerchief case and a comb bag, out of some of the pieces of silk he had
given them. I got him a knife with three blades; H.O. got a siren whistle,
a very strong one, and Dicky joined with me in the knife, and Noël
would give the Indian ivory box that Uncle's friend had sent on the
wonderful Fairy Cab day. He said it was the very nicest thing he had, and
he was sure Uncle wouldn't mind his not having bought it with his own
money.
I think Father's business must have got better--perhaps
Uncle's friend put money in it and that did it good, like feeding the
starving. Anyway we all had new suits, and the girls had the green silk
from India made into frocks, and on Boxing Day we went in two
cabs--Father and the girls in one, and us boys in the other.
We wondered very much where the Indian Uncle lived, because we had not
been told. And we thought when the cab began to go up the hill towards the
Heath that perhaps the Uncle lived in one of the poky little houses up at
the
Page 290
"I wonder whether he has taken a place as butler here?" said
Dicky. "A poor, broken-down man--"
Noël thought it was very likely, because he knew that in these big
houses there were always thousands of stately butlers.
The Uncle came down the steps and opened the cab door himself, which I
don't think butlers would expect to have to do. And he took us in. It
was a lovely hall, with bear and tiger skins on the floor, and a big clock
with the faces of the sun and moon dodging out when it was day or night,
and Father Time with a scythe coming out at the hours, and the name on it
was "Flint. Ashford. 1776"; and there was a fox eating a
stuffed duck in a glass case, and horns of stags and other animals over the
doors.
Page 291
"We'll just come into my study first," said the Uncle,
"and wish each other a Merry Christmas." So then we knew he
wasn't the butler, but it must be his own house, for only the master
of the house has a study.
His study was not much like Father's. It had hardly any books, but
swords and guns and newspapers and a great many boots, and boxes half
unpacked, with more Indian things bulging out of them.
We gave him our presents and he was awfully pleased. Then he gave us his
Christmas presents. You must be tired of hearing about presents, but I must
remark that all the Uncle's presents were watches; there was a watch
for each of us, with our names engraved inside, all silver except
H.O.'s, and that was a Waterbury, "To match his boots,"
the Uncle said. I don't know what he meant.
Then the Uncle looked at Father, and Father said, "You tell them,
sir."
So the Uncle coughed and stood up and made a speech. He said--
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are met together to discuss an important
subject which has for some weeks engrossed the attention of the honourable
member opposite and myself."
Page 292
I said, "Hear, hear," and Alice whispered, "What
happened to the guinea-pig?" Of course you know the answer to
that.
The Uncle went on--
"I am going to live in this house, and as it's rather big
for me, your Father has agreed that he and you shall come and live with me.
And so, if you're agreeable, we're all going to live here
together, and, please God, it'll be a happy home for us all.
Eh!--what?"
He blew his nose and kissed us all round. As it was Christmas I did not
mind, though I am much too old for it on other dates. Then he said,
"Thank you all very much for your presents; but I've got a
present here I value more than anything else I have."
I thought it was not quite polite of him to say so, till I saw that what
he valued so much was a threepenny bit on his watch-chain, and, of
course, I saw it must be the one we had given him.
He said, "You children gave me that when you thought I was the
poor Indian, and I'll keep it as long as I live. And I've asked
some friends to help us to be jolly, for this is our house-warming.
Eh!--what?"
Then he shook Father by the hand, and they blew their noses; and then
Father said, "Your Uncle has been most
kind--most--"
Page 293
But Uncle interrupted by saying, "Now, Dick, no
nonsense!"
Then H.O. said, "Then you're not poor at all?" as if
he were very disappointed.
The Uncle replied, "I have enough for my simple wants, thank you,
H.O.; and your Father's business will provide him with enough for
yours. Eh!--what?"
Then we all went down and looked at the fox thoroughly, and made the
Uncle take the glass off so that we could see it all round and then the
Uncle took us all over the house, which is the most comfortable one I have
ever been in. There is a beautiful portrait of Mother in Father's
sitting-room. The Uncle must be very rich indeed. This ending is
like what happens in Dickens's books; but I think it was much jollier
to happen like a book, and it shows what a nice man the Uncle is, the way
he did it all.
Think how flat it would have been if the Uncle had said, when we first
offered him the one and threepence farthing, "Oh, I don't want
your dirty one and threepence! I'm very rich indeed." Instead
of which he saved up the news of his wealth till Christmas, and then told
us all in one glorious burst. Besides, I can't help it if it is like
Dickens,
Page 294
Presently, when we had seen the house, we were taken into the
drawing-room, and there was Mrs. Leslie, who gave us the shillings
and wished us good hunting, and Lord Tottenham, and
Albert-next-door's Uncle--and
Albert-next-door, and his Mother (I'm not very fond of
her), and best of all our own Robber and his two kids, and our Robber had a
new suit on. The Uncle told us he had asked the people who had been kind to
us, and Noël said, "Where is my noble editor that I wrote the
poetry to?"
The Uncle said he had not had the courage to ask a strange editor to
dinner; but Lord Tottenham was an old friend of Uncle's, and he had
introduced Uncle to Mrs. Leslie, and that was how he had the pride and
pleasure of welcoming her to our house-warming. And he made her a
bow like you see on a Christmas card.
Then Alice asked, "What about Mr. Rosenbaum? He was kind; it would
have been a pleasant surprise for him."
But everybody laughed, and Uncle said--
"Your father has paid him the sovereign he lent you. I don't
think he could have borne another pleasant surprise."
And I said there was the butcher, and he
Page 295
Then it was dinner time, and we thought of Uncle's talk about cold
mutton and rice. But it was a beautiful dinner, and I never saw such a
dessert! We had ours on plates to take away into another
sitting-room, which was much jollier than sitting round the table
with the grown-ups. But the Robber's kids stayed with their
Father. They were very shy and frightened, and said hardly anything, but
looked all about with very bright eyes. H.O. thought they were like white
mice; but afterwards we got to know them very well, and in the end they
were not so mousy. And there is a good deal of interesting stuff to tell
about them; but I shall put all that in another book, for there is no room
for it in this one. We played desert islands all the afternoon and drank
Uncle's health in ginger wine. It was H.O. that upset his over
Alice's green silk dress, and she never even rowed him. Brothers
ought not to have favourites, and Oswald would never be so mean as to have
a favourite sister, or, if he had, wild horses should not make him tell who
it was.
And now we are to go on living in the big house on the Heath, and it is
very jolly.
Page 296
Mrs. Leslie often comes to see us, and our own Robber and
Albert-next-door's uncle. The Indian Uncle likes him
because he has been in India too and is brown; but our Uncle does not like
Albert-next-door. He says he is a muff. And I am to go to
Rugby, and so are Noël and H.O., and perhaps to Balliol afterwards.
Balliol is my Father's college. It has two separate coats of arms,
which many other colleges are not allowed. Noël is going to be a poet
and Dicky wants to go into Father's business. The Uncle is a real
good old sort; and just think, we should never have found him if we
hadn't made up our minds to be Treasure Seekers!
Noël made a poem about it--
Lo! the poor Indian from lands afar,
Comes where the treasure
seekers are;
We looked for treasure, but we find
The best
treasure of all is the Uncle good and kind.
I thought it was rather rot, but Alice would show it to the Uncle, and
he liked it very much. He kissed Alice and he smacked Noël on the
back, and he said, "I don't think I've done
so badly either, if you come to that, though I was never a regular
professional treasure seeker. Eh!--what?"