OSWALD BASTABLE AND OTHERS

[Illustration: '"Don't break down the door! The villains may return anymoment and destroy you. "'--Page 115. ]

 OSWALD BASTABLE AND OTHERS

 _By_ E. NESBIT

 _Illustrated by_ CHARLES E. BROCK AND H. R. MILLAR

 ERNEST BENN LIMITED LONDON

 COWARD-McCANN INC NEW YORK

 _First re-issued in this edition 1960_

 _Published by Ernest Benn Limited Bouverie House · Fleet Street · London · EC4 and Coward-McCann Inc 210 Madison Avenue · New York 16 · NY_

 _Printed in Great Britain_

 TO MY DEAR NIECE ANTHONIA NESBIT

CONTENTS

 OSWALD BASTABLE

 AN OBJECT OF VALUE AND VIRTUE _page_ 1

 THE RUNAWAYS 34

 THE ARSENICATORS: A TALE OF CRIME 64

 THE ENCHANCERIED HOUSE 89

 OTHERS

 MOLLY, THE MEASLES, AND THE MISSING WILL 123

 BILLY AND WILLIAM 151

 THE TWOPENNY SPELL 167

 SHOWING OFF; OR, THE LOOKING-GLASS BOY 181

 THE RING AND THE LAMP 200

 THE CHARMED LIFE; OR, THE PRINCESS AND THE LIFT-MAN 224

 BILLY THE KING 247

 THE PRINCESS AND THE CAT 275

 THE WHITE HORSE 301

 SIR CHRISTOPHER COCKLESHELL 318

 MUSCADEL 343

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 '_Don't break down the door! The villains may return any moment and destroy you_' _Frontispiece_

 _'Here is your prize, ' said Oswald_ _facing page_ 30

 _'Come into the kitchen, ' said Oswald; 'you can drip there quite comfortably'_ 52

 _We consented to carry the unfortunate bed-woman to it_ 76

 _The room was a very odd shape_ _page_ 103

 _A little person in a large white cap_ 121

 _Molly had a splendid ride behind the groom_ _facing page_ 134

 _The bicycle started, Billy in the saddle and Harold on the step_ 164

 '_And what can we do for you to-day, Miss?_' 170

 _The alligator very nearly had him_ 194

 '_Your servant, Miss. Do I understand that you order me to mend this?_' 206

 _The little girl had slapped Fina, and taken the pagoda away_ 214

 '_We'll see if you are going to begin a-ordering of me about_' 218

 _'Come by post, your Lordship, ' said the footman_ 254

 _'Excuse my hair, Sire, ' he said_ 256

 '_Speak to the dragon as soon as it arrives_' 262

 _The two skated into each other's arms_ 270

 _'Take that!' cried he, aiming an apple at the old man's head_ _facing page_ 306

 _In the drawer was just one jewelled ring. It lay on a written page_ 346

 _A black-winged monster, with hundreds and hundreds of eyes_ 350

 _On the table stood the dazzling figure of a real full-sized princess_ 358

 _A blowzy, frowzy dairymaid_ 362

 '_You've got a face as long as a fiddle_' 366

AN OBJECT OF VALUE AND VIRTUE

This happened a very little time after we left our humble home inLewisham, and went to live at the Blackheath house of our Indian uncle, which was replete with every modern convenience, and had a big gardenand a great many greenhouses. We had had a lot of jolly Christmaspresents, and one of them was Dicky's from father, and it was aprinting-press. Not one of the eighteenpenny kind that never come off, but a real tip-topper, that you could have printed a whole newspaper outof if you could have been clever enough to make up all the stuff thereis in newspapers. I don't know how people can do it. It's all aboutdifferent things, but it is all just the same too. But the author issorry to find he is not telling things from the beginning, as he hasbeen taught. The printing-press really doesn't come into the story tillquite a long way on. So it is no use your wondering what it was that wedid print with the printing-press. It was not a newspaper, anyway, andit wasn't my young brother's poetry, though he and the girls did do anawful lot of that. It was something much more far-reaching, as you willsee if you wait. 

There wasn't any skating those holidays, because it was what they callnice open weather. That means it was simply muggy, and you could playout of doors without grown-ups fussing about your overcoat, or bringingyou to open shame in the streets with knitted comforters, except, ofcourse, the poet Noël, who is young, and equal to having bronchitis ifhe only looks at a pair of wet boots. But the girls were indoors a gooddeal, trying to make things for a bazaar which the people ourhousekeeper's elder sister lives with were having in the country for thebenefit of a poor iron church that was in difficulties. And Noël and H. O. Were with them, putting sweets in bags for the bazaar's lucky-tub. SoDicky and I were out alone together. But we were not angry with theothers for their stuffy way of spending a day. Two is not a good number, though, for any game except fives; and the man who ordered the vineriesand pineries, and butlers' pantries and things, never had the sense totell the builders to make a fives court. Some people never think of thesimplest things. So we had been playing catch with a fives ball. It wasDicky's ball, and Oswald said:

'I bet you can't hit it over the house. '

'What do you bet?' said Dicky. 

And Oswald replied:

'Anything you like. You couldn't do it, anyhow. '

Dicky said:

'Miss Blake says betting is wicked; but I don't believe it is, if youdon't bet money. '

Oswald reminded him how in 'Miss Edgeworth' even that wretched littleRosamond, who is never allowed to do anything she wants to, even loseher own needles, makes a bet with her brother, and none of the grown-upsturn a hair. 

'But _I_ don't want to bet, ' he said. 'I know you can't do it. '

'I'll bet you my fives ball I do, ' Dicky rejoindered. 

'Done! I'll bet you that threepenny ball of string and the cobbler's waxyou were bothering about yesterday. '

So Dicky said 'Done!' and then he went and got a tennis racket--when Imeant with his hands--and the ball soared up to the top of the house andfaded away. But when we went round to look for it we couldn't find itanywhere. So he said it had gone over and he had won. And Oswald thoughtit had not gone over, but stayed on the roof, and he hadn't. And theycould not agree about it, though they talked of nothing else till teatime. 

It was a few days after that that the big greenhouse began to leak, andsomething was said at brekker about had any of us been throwing stones. But it happened that we had not. Only after brek Oswald said to Dicky:

'What price fives balls for knocking holes in greenhouses?'

'Then you own it went over the house, and I won my bet. Hand over!'Dicky remarked. 

But Oswald did not see this, because it wasn't proved it was the fivesball. It was only his idea. 

Then it rained for two or three days, and the greenhouse leaked muchmore than just a fives ball, and the grown-ups said the man who put itup had scamped the job, and they sent for him to put it right. And whenhe was ready he came, and men came with ladders and putty and glass, and a thing to cut it with a real diamond in it that he let us have tolook at. It was fine that day, and Dicky and H. O. And I were out mostof the time talking to the men. I think the men who come to do things tohouses are so interesting to talk to; they seem to know much more aboutthe things that really matter than gentlemen do. I shall try to be likethem when I grow up, and not always talk about politics and the way thearmy is going to the dogs. 

The men were very jolly, and let us go up the ladder and look at the topof the greenhouse. Not H. O. , of course, because he is very youngindeed, and wears socks. When they had gone to dinner, H. O. Went in tosee if some pies were done that he had made out of a bit of putty theman gave him. He had put the pies in the oven when the cook wasn'tlooking. I think something must have been done to him, for he did notreturn. 

So Dicky and I were left. Dicky said:

'If I could get the ladder round to the roof of the stovehouse I believeI should find my fives ball in the gutter. I _know_ it went over thehouse that day. '

So Oswald, ever ready and obliging, helped his brother to move theladder round to the tiled roof of the stovehouse, and Dicky looked inthe gutter. But even he could not pretend the ball was there, because Iam certain it never went over at all. 

When he came down, Oswald said:

'Sold again!'

And Dicky said:

'Sold yourself! You jolly well thought it was there, and you'd have topay for it. '

This unjustness was Oswald's reward for his kind helpingness aboutmoving the ladder. So he turned away, just saying carelessly over hisretiring shoulder:

'I should think you'd have the decency to put the ladder back where youfound it. ' And he walked off. 

But he has a generous heart--a crossing-sweeper told him so once when hegave him a halfpenny--and when Dicky said, 'Come on, Oswald; don't be asneak, ' he proved that he was not one, and went back and helped with theladder. But he was a little distant to Dicky, till all disagreeablenesswas suddenly buried in a rat Pincher found in the cucumber frame. 

Then the washing-hands-and-faces-for-dinner bell rang, and, of course, we should have gone in directly, only just then the workmen came backfrom their dinner, and we waited, because one of them had promisedOswald some hinges for a ferrets' hutch he thought of making, and whilehe was talking to this man the other one went up the ladder. And thenthe most exciting and awful thing I ever saw happened, all in a minute, before anyone could have said 'Jack Robinson, ' even if they had thoughtof him. The bottom part of the ladder slipped out along the smooth tilesby the greenhouse, and there was a long, dream-like, dreadful time, whenOswald knew what was going to happen; but it could only have been asecond really, because before anyone could do anything the top end ofthe ladder slid softly, like cutting butter, off the top of thegreenhouse, and the man on the ladder fell too. I never saw anythingthat made me feel so wrong way up in my inside. He lay there all in aheap, without moving, and the men crowded round him. Dicky and I couldnot see properly because of the other men. But the foreman, the one whohad given Oswald the hinges, said:

'Better get a doctor. '

It always takes a long time for a workman to understand what you wanthim to do, and long before these had, Oswald had shouted 'I'll go!' andwas off like an arrow from a bow, and Dicky with him. 

They found the doctor at home, and he came that minute. Oswald and Dickywere told to go away, but they could not bear to, though they knew theirdinner-bell must have been already rung for them many times in vain, andit was now ringing with fury. They just lurked round the corner of thegreenhouse till the doctor said it was a broken arm, and nothing elsehurt; and when the poor man was sent home in a cab, Oswald and Dicky gotthe cabman, who is a friend of theirs, to let them come on the box withhim. And thus they saw where the man lived, and saw his poor wife greetthe sufferer. She only said:

'Gracious, Gus, whatever have you been up to now? You always was anunlucky chap. '

But we could see her loving heart was full to overflowing. 

When she had taken him in and shut the door we went away. The wretchedsufferer, whose name transpired to be Augustus Victor Plunkett, waslucky enough to live in a mews. Noël made a poem about it afterwards:

 'O Muse of Poetry, do not refuse To tell about a man who loves the Mews. It is his humble home so poor, And the cabman who drove him home lives next door But two: and when his arm was broke His loving wife with tears spoke. '

And so on. It went on for two hundred and twenty-four lines, and hecould not print it, because it took far too much type for theprinting-press. It was as we went out of the mews that we first saw theGoat. I gave him a piece of cocoanut ice, and he liked it awfully. Hewas tied to a ring in the wall, and he was black and white, with hornsand a beard; and when the man he belonged to saw us looking at him, hesaid we could have that Goat a bargain. And when we asked, out ofpoliteness and not because we had any money, except twopence halfpennyof Dicky's, how much he wanted for the Goat, he said:

'Seven and sixpence is the lowest, so I won't deceive you, young gents. And so help me if he ain't worth thribble the money. '

Oswald did the sum in his head, which told him the Goat was worth onepound two shillings and sixpence, and he went away sadly, for he didwant that Goat. 

We were later for dinner than I ever remember our being, and Miss Blakehad not kept us any pudding; but Oswald bore up when he thought of theGoat. But Dicky seemed to have no beautiful inside thoughts to sustainhim, and he was so dull Dora said she only hoped he wasn't going to havemeasles. 

It was when we had gone up to bed that he fiddled about with the studsand old buttons and things in a velvety box he had till Oswald was inbed, and then he said:

'Look here, Oswald, I feel as if I was a murderer, or next-door to. Itwas our moving that ladder: I'm certain it was. And now he's laid up, and his wife and children. '

Oswald sat up in bed, and said kindly:

'You're right, old chap. It _was_ your moving that ladder. Of course, you didn't put it back firm. But the man's not killed. '

'We oughtn't to have touched it, ' he said. 'Or we ought to have toldthem we had, or something. Suppose his arm gets blood-poisoning, orinflammation, or something awful? I couldn't go on living if I was adoer of a deed like that. '

Oswald had never seen Dicky so upset. He takes things jolly easy as arule. Oswald said:

'Well, it is no use fuming over it. You'd better get out of your clothesand go to bed. We'll cut down in the morning and leave our cards andkind inquiries. '

Oswald only meant to be kind, and by making this amusing remark hewished to draw his erring brother's thoughts from the remorse that waspoisoning his young life, and would very likely keep him awake for anhour or more thinking of it, and fidgetting about so that Oswaldcouldn't sleep. 

But Dicky did not take it at all the way Oswald meant. He said:

'Shut up, Oswald, you beast!' and lay down on his bed and began to blub. 

Oswald said, 'Beast yourself!' because it is the proper thing to say;but he was not angry, only sorry that Dicky was so duffing as not to seewhat he meant. And he got out of bed and went softly to the girls' room, which is next ours, and said:

'I say, come in to our room a sec. , will you? Dicky is howling fit tobring the house down. I think a council of us elder ones would do himmore good than anything. '

'Whatever is up?' Dora asked, getting into her dressing-gown. 

'Oh, nothing, except that he's a murderer! Come on, and don't make arow. Mind the mats and our boots by the door. '

They came in, and Oswald said:

'Look here, Dicky, old boy, here are the girls, and we're going to havea council about it. '

They wanted to kiss him, but he wouldn't, and shrugged his shouldersabout, and wouldn't speak; but when Alice had got hold of his hand hesaid in a muffled voice:

'You tell them, Oswald. '

When Oswald and Dicky were alone, you will have noticed the just elderbrother blamed the proper person, which was Dicky, because he would goup on the stovehouse roof after his beastly ball, which Oswald did notcare a rap about. And, besides, he knew it wasn't there. But now thatother people were there Oswald, of course, said:

'You see, _we_ moved the men's ladder when they were at their dinner. And you know the man that fell off the ladder, and we went with him inthe cab to the place where that Goat was? Well, Dicky has only justthought of it; but, of course, it was really our fault his tumbling, because we couldn't have put the ladder back safely. And Dicky thinks ifhis arm blood-poisoned itself we should be as good as murderers. '

Dicky is perfectly straight; he sat up and sniffed, and blew his nose, and said:

'It was my idea moving the ladder: Oswald only helped. '

'Can't we ask uncle to see that the dear sufferer wants for nothingwhile he's ill, and all that?' said Dora. 

'Well, ' said Oswald, 'we could, of course. But, then, it would all comeout. And about the fives ball too. And we can't be at all sure it _was_the ball made the greenhouse leak, because I know it never went over thehouse. '

'Yes, it did, ' said Dicky, giving his nose a last stern blow. 

Oswald was generous to a sorrowing foe, and took no notice, only wenton:

'And about the ladder: we can't be quite sure it wouldn't have slippedon those tiles, even if we'd never moved it. But I think Dicky wouldfeel jollier if we could do something for the man, and I know it wouldme. '

That looks mixed, but Oswald was rather agitated himself, and that waswhat he said. 

'We must think of something to do to get money, ' Alice said, 'like weused to do when we were treasure-seekers. '

Presently the girls went away, and we heard them jawing in their room. Just as Oswald was falling asleep the door opened, and a figure in whitecame in and bent above his almost sleeping form. It said:

'We've thought of something! We'll have a bazaar, like the people MissBlake's elder sister lives with did for the poor iron church. '

The form glided away. Miss Blake is our housekeeper. Oswald could hearthat Dicky was already sleeping, so he turned over and went to sleephimself. He dreamed of Goats, only they were as big as railway engines, and would keep ringing the church bells, till Oswald awoke, and it wasthe getting-up bell, and not a great Goat ringing it, but only Sarah asusual. 

The idea of the bazaar seemed to please all of us. 

'We can ask all the people we know to it, ' said Alice. 

'And wear our best frocks, and sell the things at the stalls, ' saidDora. 

Dicky said we could have it in the big greenhouse now the plants wereout of it. 

'I will write a poem for the man, and say it at the bazaar, ' Noël said. 'I know people say poetry at bazaars. The one Aunt Carrie took me to aman said a piece about a cowboy. '

H. O. Said there ought to be lots of sweets, and then everyone would buythem. 

Oswald said someone would have to ask my father, and he said he would doit if the others liked. He did this because of an inside feeling in hismind that he knew might come on at any moment. So he did. And 'Yes' wasthe answer. And then the uncle gave Oswald a whole quid to buy things tosell at the bazaar, and my father gave him ten bob for the same usefuland generous purpose, and said he was glad to see we were trying to dogood to others. 

When he said that the inside feeling in Oswald's mind began that he hadfelt afraid would, some time, and he told my father about him and Dickymoving the ladder, and about the hateful fives ball, and everything. Andmy father was awfully decent about it, so that Oswald was glad he hadtold. 

The girls wrote the invitations to all our friends that very day. Weboys went down to look in the shops and see what we could buy for thebazaar. And we went to ask how Mr. Augustus Victor Plunkett's arm wasgetting on, and to see the Goat. 

The others liked the Goat almost as much as Oswald, and even Dickyagreed that it was our clear duty to buy the Goat for the sake of poorMr. Plunkett. 

Because, as Oswald said, if it was worth one pound two and six, we couldeasily sell it again for that, and we should have gained fifteenshillings for the sufferer. 

So we bought the Goat, and changed the ten shillings to do it. The manuntied the other end of the Goat's rope, and Oswald took hold of it, andsaid he hoped we were not robbing the man by taking his Goat from himfor such a low price. And he said:

'Not at all, young gents. Don't you mention it. Pleased to oblige afriend any day of the week. '

So we started to take the Goat home. But after about half a street hewould not come any more. He stopped still, and a lot of boys and peoplecame round, just as if they had never seen a Goat before. We werebeginning to feel quite uncomfortable, when Oswald remembered the Goatliked cocoanut ice, so Noël went into a shop and got threepenn'orth, andthen the cheap animal consented to follow us home. So did the streetboys. The cocoanut ice was more for the money than usual, but not sonice. 

My father was not pleased when he saw the Goat. But when Alice told himit was for the bazaar, he laughed, and let us keep it in the stableyard. 

It got out early in the morning, and came right into the house, andbutted the cook in her own back-kitchen, a thing even Oswald himselfwould have hesitated before doing. So that showed it was a brave Goat. 

The groom did not like the Goat, because it bit a hole in a sack ofcorn, and then walked up it like up a mountain, and all the oats ran outand got between the stones of the stableyard, and there was a row. Butwe explained it was not for long, as the bazaar was in three days. Andwe hurried to get things ready. 

We were each to have a stall. Dora took the refreshment stall. The unclemade Miss Blake get all that ready. 

Alice had a stall for pincushions and brush-and-comb bags, and otheruseless things that girls make with stuff and ribbons. 

Noël had a poetry stall, where you could pay twopence and get a piece ofpoetry and a sweet wrapped up in it. We chose sugar almonds, becausethey are not so sticky. 

H. O. 's stall was to be sweets, if he promised on his word of honour asa Bastable only to eat one of each kind. 

Dicky wished to have a stall for mechanical toys and parts of clocks. Hehas a great many parts of clocks, but the only mechanical toy was hisclockwork engine, that was broken ages ago, so he had to give it up, andhe couldn't think of anything else. So he settled to help Oswald, andkeep an eye on H. O. 

Oswald's stall was meant to be a stall for really useful things, but inthe end it was just a lumber stall for the things other people did notwant. But he did not mind, because the others agreed he should have theentire selling of the Goat, and he racked his young brains to think howto sell it in the most interesting and unusual way. And at last he sawhow, and he said:

'He shall be a lottery, and we'll make people take tickets, and thendraw a secret number out of a hat, and whoever gets the right numbergets the Goat. I wish it was me. '

'We ought to advertise it, though, ' Dicky said. 'Have handbills printed, and send out sandwich-men. '

Oswald inquired at the printers in Greenwich, and handbills were anawful price, and sandwich-men a luxury far beyond our means. So he wenthome sadly; and then Alice thought of the printing-press. We got it out, and cleaned it where the ink had been upset into it, and mended thebroken parts as well as we could, and got some more printers' ink, andwrote the circular and printed it. It was:

 SECRET LOTTERY. EXCEPTIONABLE AND RARE CHANCE. _An Object of Value--_

'It ought to be object of _virtue_, ' said Dicky. 'I saw it in the oldiron and china and picture shop. It was a carved ivory ship, and therewas a ticket on it: "Rare Object of Virtue. "'

'The Goat's an object, certainly, ' Alice said, 'and it's valuable. Asfor virtue, I'm not so sure. '

But Oswald thought the two V's looked well, and being virtuous isdifferent to being valuable; but, all the same, the Goat might be bothwhen you got to know him really well. So we put it in. 

 SECRET LOTTERY. EXCEPTIONABLE AND RARE CHANCE. _An Object of Value and Virtue_

 will be lotteried for on Saturday next, at four o'clock. Tickets one or two shillings each, according to how many people want them. The object is not disclosed till after the Lottery, but it cost a lot of money, and is honestly worth three times as much. If you win it, it is the same as winning money. Apply at Morden House, Blackheath, at 3 o'clock next Saturday. Take tickets early to prevent disappointment. 

We printed these, and though they looked a bit rum, we had not time todo them again, so we went out about dusk and dropped them in people'sletter-boxes. Then next day Oswald, who is always very keen on doing thething well, got two baking-boards out of the kitchen and bored holes inthem with an auger I had, and pasted paper on them, and did on themwith a paint-brush and ink the following lines:

 SECRET LOTTERY. 

 OBJECT OF VALUE AND VIRTUE. 

 _Tickets 1/- and 2/-. _

 If you win, it will be the same as winning money. 

 Lottery at Morden House, Blackheath. 

 Saturday at 4. Come at 3. 

And he slung the boards round his neck, and tied up his mouth in one ofthose knitted comforters he despises so much at other times, and, pulling a cap of father's over his bold ears, he got Dicky to let himout of the side-door. And then the brave boy went right across the heathand three times up and down the village, till those boys that followedhim and the Goat home went for him near the corner of Wemyss Road, andhe made a fight for it, taking off the boards and using them as shields. But at last, being far outnumbered, which is no disgrace, he had tochuck the boards and run for it. 

Saturday was fine. We had hung the greenhouse with evergreens andpaper roses that looked almost like real among the green, and MissBlake let us have some Chinesy-looking curtains to cover over theshelves and staging with. And the gardener let us have a lot of azaleasand things in pots, so that it was all very bowery and flowery. 

Alice's stall was the smartest looking, because Miss Blake had let herhave all the ribbons and things that were over from the other bazaar. 

H. O. 's stall was also nice--all on silver tea-trays, so as not to bestickier than needful. 

The poetry stall had more flowers on it than any of the others, to makeup for the poetry looking so dull outside. Of course, you could not seethe sweet inside the packets till you opened them. Red azaleas areprettier than poetry, I think. I think the tropic lands in 'WestwardHo!' had great trees with flowers like that. 

We got the Goat into the stovehouse. He was to be kept a secret till thevery last. And by half-past two we were all ready, and very clean anddressed. We had all looked out everything we thought anyone could wantto buy, and that we could spare, and some things we could not, and mostof these were on Oswald's table--among others, several boxes of gameswe had never cared about; some bags of marbles, which nobody plays now;a lot of old books; a pair of braces with wool-work on them, that anaunt once made for Oswald, and, of course, he couldn't wear them; somebags of odd buttons for people who like sewing these things on; a lot offoreign stamps, gardening tools, Dicky's engine, that won't go, and astuffed parrot, but he was moth-eaten. 

About three our friends began to come, Mrs. Leslie, and Lord Tottenham, and Albert's uncle, and a lot of others. It was a very grand party, andthey admired the bazaar very much, and all bought things. Mrs. Lesliebought the engine for ten shillings, though we told her honestly itwould never go again, and Albert's uncle bought the parrot, and wouldnot tell us what he wanted it for. The money was put on a blue dish, sothat everyone could see how it got on, and our hearts were full of joyas we saw how much silver there was among the pennies, and two or threegold pieces too. I know now how the man feels who holds the plate at thedoor in church. 

Noël's poetry stall was much more paying than I thought it would be. Ibelieve nobody really likes poetry, and yet everyone pretends they do, either so as not to hurt Noël's feelings, or because they thinkwell-brought-up people ought to like poetry, even Noël's. Of course, Macaulay and Kipling are different. I don't mind them so much myself. 

Noël wrote a lot of new poetry for the bazaar. It took up all his time, and even then he had not enough new stuff to wrap up all the sugaralmonds in. So he made up with old poetry that he'd done before. Albert's uncle got one of the new ones, and said it made him a proudman. It was:

 'How noble and good and kind you are To come to Victor A. Plunkett's Bazaar. Please buy as much as you can bear, For the sufferer needs all you can possibly spare. I know you are sure to take his part, Because you have such a noble heart. '

Mrs. Leslie got:

 'The rose is red, the violet's blue, The lily's pale, and so are you. Or would be if you had seen him fall Off the top of the ladder so tall. Do buy as much as you can stand, And lend the poor a helping hand. '

Lord Tottenham, though, only got one of the old ones, and it happened tobe the 'Wreck of the _Malabar_. ' He was an admiral once. But he likedit. He is a nice old gentleman, but people do say he is 'excentric. '

Father got a poem that said:

 'Please turn your eyes round in their sockets, And put both your hands in your pockets; Your eyes will show you things so gay, And I hope you'll find enough in your pockets to pay For the things you buy. Good-bye!'

And he laughed and seemed pleased; but when Mrs. Morrison, Albert'smother, got that poem about the black beetle that was poisoned she wasnot so pleased, and she said it was horrid, and made her flesh creep. You know the poem. It says:

 'Oh, beetle, how I weep to see Thee lying on thy poor back: It is so very sad to see You were so leggy and black. I wish you were crawling about alive again, But many people think this is nonsense and a shame. '

Noël _would_ recite, no matter what we said, and he stood up on a chair, and everyone, in their blind generousness, paid sixpence to hear him. It was a long poem of his own about the Duke of Wellington, and itbegan:

 'Hail, faithful leader of the brave band Who went to make Napoleon understand He couldn't have everything his own way. We taught him this on Waterloo day. '

I heard that much; but then he got so upset and frightened no one couldhear anything till the end, when it says:

 'So praise the heroes of Waterloo, And let us do our duty like they had to do. '

Everyone clapped very much, but Noël was so upset he nearly cried, andMrs. Leslie said:

'Noël, I'm feeling as pale as a lily again! Take me round the garden torecover myself. '

She was as red as usual, but it saved Noël from making a young ass ofhimself. And we got seventeen shillings and sixpence by his reciting. Sothat was all right. 

We might as well not have sent out those circulars, because only thepeople we had written to ourselves came. Of course, I don't count thosefive street boys, the same Oswald had the sandwich-board fight with. They came, and they walked round and looked at the things; but they hadno money to spend, it turned out, and only came to be disagreeable andmake fun. So Albert's uncle asked them if they did not think theirfamilies would be lonely without them, and he and I saw them off at thegate. Then they stood outside and made rude noises. And another strangercame, and Oswald thought perhaps the circular was beginning to bearfruit. But the stranger asked for the master of the house, and he wasshown in. Oswald was just shaking up the numbers in his hat for thelottery of the Goat, and Alice and Dora were selling the tickets forhalf a crown each to our visitors, and explaining the dreadful misery ofthe poor man that all this trouble was being taken for, and we were allenjoying ourselves very much, when Sarah came to say Master Oswald wasto go in to master's study at once. So he went, wondering what on earthhe could have been up to now. But he could not think of anything inparticular. But when his father said, 'Oswald, this gentleman is adetective from Scotland Yard, ' he was glad he had told about the fivesball and the ladder, because he knew his father would now stand by him. But he did wonder whether you could be sent to prison for leaving aladder in a slippery place, and how long they would keep you there forthat crime. 

Then my father held out one of the fatal circulars, and said:

'I suppose this is some of your work? Mr. Biggs here is bound in honourto do his best to find out when people break the laws of the land. Now, lotteries are illegal, and can be punished by law. '

Oswald gloomily wondered how much the law could do to you. He said:

'We didn't know, father. '

Then his father said:

'The best thing you can do is to tell this gentleman all about it. '

So Oswald said:

'Augustus Victor Plunkett fell off a ladder and broke his arm, andperhaps it was our fault for meddling with the ladder at all. So wewanted to do something to help him, and father said we might have abazaar. It is happening now, and we had three pounds two and sevenpencelast time I counted the bazaar. '

'But what about the lottery?' said Mr. Biggs, who did not look as if hewould take Oswald to prison just then, as our young hero had feared. Infact, he looked rather jolly. 'Is the prize money?'

'No--oh no; only it's so valuable it's as good as winning money. '

'Then it's only a raffle, ' said Mr. Biggs; 'that's what it is, just aplain raffle. What _is_ the prize?'

'Are we to be allowed to go on with it?' asked the wary Oswald. 

'Why, yes, ' said Mr. Biggs; 'if it's not money, why not? What is thevaluable object?'

'Come, Oswald, ' said his father, when Oswald said nothing, 'what is theobject of _virtù_?'

'I'd rather not say, ' said Oswald, feeling very uncomfortable. 

Mr. Biggs said something about duty being duty, and my father said:

'Come, Oswald, don't be a young duffer. I dare say it's nothing to beashamed of. '

'I should think not indeed, ' said Oswald, as his fond thoughts playedwith that beautiful Goat. 

'Well, then?'

'Well, sir'--Oswald spoke desperately, for he wondered his father hadbeen so patient so long, and saw that he wasn't going to go onbeing--'you see, the great thing is, nobody is to know it's a G---- Imean, it's a secret. No one's to know what the prize is. Only whenyou've won it, it will be revealed. '

'Well, ' said my father, 'if Mr. Biggs will take a glass of wine with me, we'll follow you down to the greenhouse, and he can see for himself. '

Mr. Biggs said something about thanking father kindly, and about hisduty. And presently they came down to the greenhouse. Father did notintroduce Mr. Biggs to anyone--I suppose he forgot--but Oswald did whilefather was talking to Mrs. Leslie. And Mr. Biggs made himself veryagreeable to all the ladies. 

Then we had the lottery. Everyone had tickets, and Alice asked Mr. Biggsto buy one. She let him have it for a shilling, because it was the last, and we all hoped he would win the Goat. He seemed quite sure now thatOswald was not kidding, and that the prize was not money. Indeed, Oswaldwent so far as to tell him privately that the prize was too big to putin your pocket, and that if it was divided up it would be spoiled, whichis true of Goats, but not of money. 

[Illustration: '"Here is your prize, " said Oswald. '--Page 31. ]

Everyone was laughing and talking, and wondering anxiously whatever theprize could possibly be. Oswald carried round the hat, and everyonedrew a number. The winning number was six hundred and sixty-six, andAlbert's uncle said afterwards it was a curious coincidence. I don'tknow what it meant, but it made Mrs. Leslie laugh. When everyone haddrawn a number, Oswald rang the dinner-bell to command silence, andthere was a hush full of anxious expectation. Then Oswald said:

'The prize number is six hundred and sixty-six. Who has it?'

And Mr. Biggs took a step forward and held out his paper. 

'The prize is yours! I congratulate you, ' said Oswald warmly. 

Then he went into the stovehouse, and hastily placing a wreath of paperroses on the Goat's head, that Alice had got ready for the purpose, hegot out the Goat by secretly showing it a bit of cocoanut ice, and ledit by the same means to the feet of the happy winner. 

'Here is your prize, ' said Oswald, with feelings of generous pride. 'Iam very glad you've got him. He'll be a comfort to you, and make up forall the trouble you've had over our lottery--raffle, I mean. '

And he placed the ungoated end of the rope in the unresisting hand ofthe fortunate detective. 

Neither Oswald nor any of the rest of us has ever been able to make outwhy everyone should have laughed so. But they did. They said the lotterywas the success of the afternoon. And the ladies kept on congratulatingMr. Biggs. 

At last people began to go, and the detective, so unexpectedly made richbeyond his wildest dreams, said he, too, must be going. He had tied theGoat to the greenhouse door, and now he moved away. But we all criedout:

'You've forgotten your Goat!'

'No, I haven't, ' he said very earnestly; 'I shall never forget that Goatto my dying hour. But I want to call on my aunt just close by, and Icouldn't very well take the Goat to see her. '

'I don't see why not, ' H. O. Said; 'it's a very nice Goat. '

'She's frightened of them, ' said he. 'One ran at her when she was alittle girl. But if you will allow me, sir'--and he winked at my father, which is not manners--'if you'll allow me, I'll call in for the Goat onmy way to the station. '

We got five pounds thirteen and fivepence by the bazaar and the raffle. We should have had another ten shillings from father, but he had togive it to Mr. Biggs, because we had put him to the trouble of comingall the way from Scotland Yard, because he thought our circular was fromsome hardened criminal wishing to cheat his trustful fellow-creatures. We took the money to Augustus Victor Plunkett next morning, and I tellyou he _was_ pleased. 

We waited till long after dark for the detective to return for his richprize. But he never came. I hope he was not set upon and stabbed in somedark alley. If he is alive, and not imprisoned, I can't see why hedidn't come back. I often think anxiously of him. Because, of course, detectives have many enemies among felons, who think nothing of stabbingpeople in the back, so that being murdered in a dark alley is a thingall detectives are constantly liable to. 

THE RUNAWAYS

It was after we had had the measles, that fell and blighting disorderwhich we got from Alice picking up five deeply infected shillings that abemeasled family had wrapped in a bit of paper to pay the doctor withand then carelessly dropped in the street. Alice held the packet hotlyin her muff all through a charity concert. Hence these tears, as it saysin Virgil. And if you have ever had measles you will know that this isnot what is called figuring speech, because your eyes do run like madall the time. 

When we were unmeasled again we were sent to stay at Lymchurch with aMiss Sandal, and her motto was plain living and high thinking. She had abrother, and his motto was the same, and it was his charity concert thatAlice held the fatal shillings in her muff throughout of. Later on hewas giving tracts to a bricklayer, and fell off a scaffold in his giddyearnestness, and Miss Sandal had to go and nurse him. So the six of usstayed in the plain living, high thinking house by ourselves, and oldMrs. Beale from the village came in every day and did the housework. Shewas of humble birth, but was a true lady in minding her own affairs, which is what a great many ladies do not know how to do at all. We hadno lessons to do, and we were thus free to attend to any adventureswhich came along. Adventures are the real business of life. The rest isonly in-betweenness--what Albert's uncle calls padding. He is an author. 

Miss Sandal's house was very plain and clean, with lots of white paint, and very difficult to play in. So we were out a good deal. It wasseaside, so, of course, there was the beach, and besides that themarsh--big green fields with sheep all about, and wet dykes with sedgegrowing, and mud, and eels in the mud, and winding white roads that alllook the same, and all very interesting, as though they might lead toalmost anything that you didn't expect. Really, of course, they lead toAshford and Romney and Ivychurch, and real live places like that. Butthey don't look it. 

The day when what I am going to tell you about happened, we were allleaning on the stone wall looking at the pigs. The pigman is a greatfriend of ours--all except H. O. , who is my youngest brother. His nameis Horace Octavius, and if you want to know why we called him H. O. Youhad better read 'The Treasure Seekers' and find out. He had gone to teawith the schoolmaster's son--a hateful kid. 

'Isn't that the boy you're always fighting?' Dora asked when H. O. Saidhe was going. 

'Yes, ' said H. O. , 'but, then, he keeps rabbits. '

So then we understood and let him go. 

Well, the rest of us were gazing fondly on the pigs, and two soldierscame by. 

We asked them where they were off to. 

They told us to mind our own business, which is not manners, even if youare a soldier on private affairs. 

'Oh, all right, ' said Oswald, who is the eldest. And he advised thesoldiers to keep their hair on. The little they had was cut very short. 

'I expect they're scouts or something, ' said Dicky; 'it's a field-day, or a sham-fight, or something, as likely as not. '

'Let's go after them and see, ' said Oswald, ever prompt in hisdecidings. So we did. 

We ran a bit at first, so as not to let the soldiers have too much of alead. Their red coats made it quite easy to keep them in sight on thewinding white marsh road. But we did not catch them up: they seemed togo faster and faster. So we ran a little bit more every now and then, and we went quite a long way after them. But they didn't meet any oftheir officers or regiments or things, and we began to think thatperchance we were engaged in the disheartening chase of the wild goose. This has sometimes occurred. 

There is a ruined church about two miles from Lymchurch, and when we gotclose to that we lost sight of the red coats, so we stopped on thelittle bridge that is near there to reconnoitre. 

The soldiers had vanished. 

'Well, here's a go!' said Dicky. 

'It _is_ a wild-goose chase, ' said Noël. 'I shall make a piece of poetryabout it. I shall call the title the "Vanishing Reds, or, the Soldiersthat were not when you got there. "'

'You shut up!' said Oswald, whose eagle eye had caught a glimpse ofscarlet through the arch of the ruin. 

None of the others had seen this. Perhaps you will think I do not sayenough about Oswald's quickness of sight, so I had better tell you thatis only because Oswald is me, and very modest. At least, he tries tobe, because he knows it is what a true gentleman ought to. 

'They're in the ruins, ' he went on. 'I expect they're going to have aneasy and a pipe--out of the wind. '

'I think it's very mysterious, ' said Noël. 'I shouldn't wonder ifthey're going to dig for buried treasure. Let's go and see. '

'No, ' said Oswald, who, though modest, is thoughtful. 'If we do they'llstop digging, or whatever they're doing. When they've gone away, we'llgo and see if the ground is scratched about. '

So we delayed where we were, but we saw no more scarlet. 

In a little while a dull-looking man in brown came by on a bicycle. Hestopped and got off. 

'Seen a couple of Tommies about here, my lad?' he said to Oswald. 

Oswald does not like being called anybody's lad, especially that kind ofman's; but he did not want to spoil the review, or field-day, orsham-fight, or whatever it might be, so he said:

'Yes; they're up in the ruins. '

'You don't say so!' said the man. 'In uniform, I suppose? Yes, ofcourse, or you wouldn't have known they were soldiers. Silly cuckoos!'

He wheeled his bicycle up the rough lane that leads to the old ruin. 

'It can't be buried treasure, ' said Dicky. 

'I don't care if it is, ' said Oswald. 'We'll see what's happening. Idon't mind spoiling _his_ sport. "My ladding" me like that!'

So we followed the man with the bicycle. It was leaning against thechurchyard gate when we got there. The man off it was going up to theruin, and we went after him. 

He did not call out to the soldiers, and we thought that odd; but itdidn't make us think where it might have made us if we had had anysense. He just went creeping about, looking behind walls and insidearches, as though he was playing at hide-and-seek. There is a mound inthe middle of the ruin, where stones and things have fallen during darkages, and the grass has grown all over them. We stood on the mound, andwatched the bicycling stranger nosing about like a ferret. 

There is an archway in that ruin, and a flight of steps goes down--onlyfive steps--and then it is all stopped up with fallen stones and earth. The stranger stopped at last at this arch, and stooped forward with hishands on his knees, and looked through the arch and down the steps. Then he said suddenly and fiercely:

'Come out of it, will you?'

And the soldiers came. I wouldn't have. They were two to his one. Theycame cringing out like beaten dogs. The brown man made a sort of bound, and next minute the two soldiers were handcuffed together, and he wasdriving them before him like sheep. 

'Back you go the same way as what you come, ' he said. 

And then Oswald saw the soldiers' faces, and he will never forget whatthey looked like. 

He jumped off the mound, and ran to where they were. 

'What have they done?' he asked the handcuffer. 

'Deserters, ' said the man. 'Thanks to you, my lad, I got 'em as easy askiss your hand. '

Then one of the soldiers looked at Oswald. He was not very old--about asbig as a fifth-form boy. And Oswald answered what the soldier looked athim. 

'I'm _not_ a sneak, ' he said. 'I wouldn't have told if I'd known. Ifyou'd told me, instead of saying to mind my own business I'd have helpedyou. '

The soldier didn't answer, but the bicycle man did. 

'Then you'd 'a helped yourself into the stone jug, my lad, ' said he. 'Help a dirty deserter? You're young enough to know better. Come along, you rubbish!'

And they went. 

When they were gone Dicky said:

'It's very rum. I hate cowards. And deserters are cowards. I don't seewhy we feel like this. '

Alice and Dora and Noël were now discovered to be in tears. 

'Of course we did right to tell. Only when the soldier looked at me ... 'said Oswald. 

'Yes, ' said Dicky, 'that's just it. '

In deepest gloom the party retraced its steps. 

As we went, Dora said with sniffs:

'I suppose it was the bicycle man's duty. '

'Of course, ' said Oswald, 'but it wasn't _our_ duty. And I jolly wellwish we hadn't!'

'And such a beautiful day, too, ' said Noël, sniffing in his turn. 

It _was_ beautiful. The afternoon had been dull, but now the sun wasshining flat across the marshes, making everything look as if it hadbeen covered all over with the best gold-leaf--marsh and trees, androofs and stacks, and everything. 

That evening Noël wrote a poem about it all. It began:

 'Poor soldiers, why did you run away On such a beautiful, beautiful day? If you had run away in the rain, Perhaps they would never have found you again, Because then Oswald would not have been there To show the hunter the way to your lair. '

Oswald would have licked him for that--only Noël is not very strong, andthere is something about poets, however young, that makes it rather likelicking a girl. So Oswald did not even say what he thought--Noël criesat the least thing. Oswald only said, 'Let's go down to our pigman. '

And we all went except Noël. He never will go anywhere when in the midstof making poetry. And Alice stayed with him, and H. O. Was in bed. 

We told the pigman all about the deserters, and about our miserableinside remorsefulness, and he said he knew just how we felt. 

'There's quite enough agin a pore chap that's made a bolt of it withoutthe rest of us a-joinin' in, ' he said. 'Not as I holds withdeserting--mean trick I call it. But all the same, when the odds isthat heavy--thousands to one--all the army and the navy and the pleeceand Parliament and the King agin one pore silly bloke. You wouldn't 'adone it a purpose, I lay. '

'Not much, ' said Oswald in gloomy dejection. 'Have a peppermint? They'reextra strong. '

When the pigman had had one he went on talking. 

'There's a young chap, now, ' he said, 'broke out of Dover Gaol. I 'appento know what he's in for--nicked a four-pound cake, he did, off of acounter at a pastrycook's--Jenner's it was, in the High Street--parthunger, part playfulness. But even if I wasn't to know what he waslagged for, do you think I'd put the coppers on to him? Not me. Give afellow a chance is what I say. But don't you grizzle about them thereTommies. P'raps it'll be the making of 'em in the end. A slack-bakedpair as ever wore boots. _I_ seed 'em. Only next time just you take andthink afore you pipes up--see?'

We said that we saw, and that next time we would do as he said. And wewent home again. As we went Dora said:

'But supposing it was a cruel murderer that had got loose, you ought totell then. '

'Yes, ' said Dicky; 'but before you do tell you ought to be jolly sure it_is_ a cruel murderer, and not a chap that's taken a cake because he washungry. How do you know what _you'd_ do if you were hungry enough?'

'I shouldn't steal, ' said Dora. 

'I'm not so sure, ' said Dicky; and they argued about it all the wayhome, and before we got in it began to rain in torrents. 

Conversations about food always make you feel as though it was a verylong time since you had had anything to eat. Mrs. Beale had gone home, of course, but we went into the larder. It is a generous larder. Nolock, only a big wooden latch that pulls up with a string, like in RedRiding Hood. And the floor is clean damp red brick. It makes ginger-nutssoft if you put the bag on this floor. There was half a rhubarb pie, andthere were meat turnovers with potato in them. Mrs. Beale is athoughtful person, and I know many people much richer that are notnearly so thoughtful. 

We had a comfortable feast at the kitchen table, standing up to eat, like horses. 

Then we had to let Noël read us his piece of poetry about the soldier;he wouldn't have slept if we hadn't. It was very long, and it began asI have said, and ended up:

 'Poor soldiers, learn a lesson from to-day, It is very wrong to run away; It is better to stay And serve your King and Country--hurray!'

Noël owned that Hooray sounded too cheerful for the end of a poem aboutsoldiers with faces like theirs were. 

'But I didn't mean it about the soldiers. It was about the King andCountry. Half a sec. I'll put that in. ' So he wrote:

 'P. S. --I do not mean to be unkind, Poor soldiers, to you, so never mind. When I say hurray or sing, It is because I am thinking of my Country and my King. '

'You can't sing Hooray, ' said Dicky. So Noël went to bed singing it, which was better than arguing about it, Alice said. But it was noisieras well. 

Oswald and Dicky always went round the house to see that all the doorswere bolted and the shutters up. This is what the head of the housealways does, and Oswald is the head when father is not there. There areno shutters upstairs, only curtains. The White House, which is MissSandal's house's name, is not in the village, but 'quite a step' fromit, as Mrs. Beale says. It is the first house you come to as you comealong the road from the marsh. 

We used to look in the cupboard and under the beds for burglars everynight. The girls liked us to, though they wouldn't look themselves, andI don't know that it was much good. If there _is_ a burglar, it'ssometimes safer for you not to know it. Where ignorance is bliss, 'tisfolly to find a burglar, especially as he would be armed to the teeth aslikely as not. However, there is not much worth being a burglar about, in houses where the motto is plain living and high thinking, and therenever was anyone in the cupboards or under the beds. 

Then we put out all the lights very carefully incase of fire--all except Noël's. He does not like the dark. He saysthere are things in it that go away when you light a candle, and howevermuch you talk reason and science to him, it makes no difference at all. 

Then we got into our pyjamas. It was Oswald who asked father to let ushave pyjamas instead of nightgowns; they are so convenient for dressingup when you wish to act clowns, or West Indian planters, or anyloose-clothed characters. Then we got into bed, and then we got intosleep. 

Little did the unconscious sleepers reck of the strange destiny that wasadvancing on them by leaps and bounds through the silent watches of thenight. 

Although we were asleep, the rain went on raining just the same, and thewind blowing across the marsh with the fury of a maniac who has beentransformed into a blacksmith's bellows. And through the night, and thewind, and the rain, our dreadful destiny drew nearer and nearer. I wishthis to sound as if something was going to happen, and I hope it does. Ihope the reader's heart is now standing still with apprehensionness onour account, but I do not want it to stop altogether, so I will tell youthat we were not all going to be murdered in our beds, or passpeacefully away in our sleeps with angel-like smiles on our young andbeautiful faces. Not at all. What really happened was this. Some timemust have elapsed between our closing our eyes in serene slumber and thefollowing narrative:

Oswald was awakened by Dicky thumping him hard in the back, and sayingin accents of terror--at least, he says not, but Oswald knows what theysounded like:

'What's that?'

Oswald reared up on his elbow and listened, but there was nothing tolisten to except Dicky breathing like a grampus, and the giggle-guggleof the rain-water overflowing from the tub under the window. 

'What's what?' said Oswald. 

He did not speak furiously, as many elder brothers would have done whensuddenly awakened by thumps. 

'_That!_' said Dicky. 'There it is again!'

And this time, certainly, there it was, and it sounded like somebodyhammering on the front-door with his fists. There is no knocker to theplain-living, high-thinking house. 

Oswald controlled his fears, if he had any (I am not going to saywhether he had or hadn't), and struck a match. Before the candle had hadtime to settle its flame after the first flare up that doesn't last, therow began again. 

Oswald's nerves are of iron, but it would have given anybody a start tosee two white figures in the doorway, yet so it was. They proved to beAlice and Dora in their nighties; but no one could blame anyone for notbeing sure of this at first. 

'Is it burglars?' said Dora; and her teeth did chatter, whatever she maysay. 

'_I_ think it's Mrs. Beale, ' said Alice. 'I expect she's forgotten thekey. '

Oswald pulled his watch out from under his pillow. 

'It's half-past one, ' he said. 

And then the knocking began again. So the intrepid Oswald went to thelanding window that is over the front-door. The others went too. And heopened the window in his pyjamas and said, 'Who's there?'

There was the scraping sound of boots on the doorstep, as somebody downthere stepped back. 

'Is this the way to Ashford?' said the voice of a man. 

'Ashford's thirteen miles off, ' said Oswald. 'You get on to the Doverroad. '

'I don't want to get on the Dover road, ' said the voice; 'I've hadenough of Dover. '

A thrill ran through every heart. We all told each other so afterwards. 

'Well, ' said Dicky, 'Ashford's thirteen miles----'

'Anybody but you in the house?'

'Say we've got men and dogs and guns, ' whispered Dora. 

'There are six of us, ' said Oswald, 'all armed to the teeth. '

The stranger laughed. 

'I'm not a burglar, ' he said; 'I've lost my way, that's all. I thought Ishould have got to Ashford before dusk, but I missed the way. I've beenwandering all over these marshes ever since, in the rain. I expectthey're out after me now, but I'm dead beat. I can't go on. Won't youlet me in? I can sit by the kitchen fire. '

Oswald drew his head back through the window, and a hasty council tookplace on the landing. 

'It _is_, ' said Alice. 

'You heard what he said about Dover, and their being out after him?'

'I say, you might let a chap in, ' said the voice outside. 'I'm perfectlyrespectable. Upon my word I am. '

'I wish he hadn't said that, ' whispered Dora. [** ']Such a dreadfulstory! And we didn't even ask him if he was. '

'He sounds very tired, ' said Alice. 

'And wet, ' said Oswald. 'I heard the water squelching in his boots. '

'What'll happen if we don't let him in?' said Dicky. 

'He'll be caught and taken back, like the soldiers, ' said Oswald. 'Lookhere, I'm going to chance it. You others can lock yourselves into yourrooms if you're frightened. '

Then Oswald put his brave young head out of the window, and the raindripped on to the back of his bold young neck off the roof, like awatering-pot on to a beautiful flower, and he said:

'There's a porch to the side door. Just scoot round there and shelter, and I'll come down in half a sec. '

A resolve made in early youth never to face midnight encounters withoutboots was the cause of this delay. Oswald and Dicky got into their bootsand jackets, and told the girls to go back to bed. 

Then we went down and opened the front-door. The stranger had heard thebolts go, and he was outside waiting. 

We held the door open politely, and he stepped in and began at once todrip heavily on the doormat. 

We shut the door. He looked wildly round. 

'Be calm! You are safe, ' said Oswald. 

'Thanks, ' said the stranger; 'I see I am. '

All our hearts were full of pity for the outcast. He was, indeed, aspectacle to shock the benevolent. Even the prison people, Oswaldthought, or the man he took the cake from, would have felt theirfierceness fade if they could have seen him then. He was not in prisondress. Oswald would have rather liked to see that, but he rememberedthat it was safer for the man that he had found means to rid himself ofthe felon's garb. He wore a gray knickerbocker suit, covered with mud. The lining of his hat must have been blue, and it had run down his facein streaks like the gentleman in Mr. Kipling's story. He was wetter thanI have ever seen anyone out of a bath or the sea. 

'Come into the kitchen, ' said Oswald; 'you can drip there quitecomfortably. The floor is brick. '

He followed us into the kitchen. 

'Are you kids alone in the house?' he said. 

'Yes, ' said Oswald. 

'Then I suppose it's no good asking if you've got a drop of brandy?'

'Not a bit, ' said Dicky. 

[Illustration: '"Come into the kitchen, " said Oswald, "you can dripthere quite comfortably. "'--Page 52]

'Whisky would do, or gin--any sort of spirit, ' said the smeared strangerhopefully. 

'Not a drop, ' said Oswald; 'at least, I'll look in the medicinecupboard. And, I say, take off your things and put them in the sink. I'll get you some other clothes. There are some of Mr. Sandal's. '

The man hesitated. 

'It'll make a better disguise, ' said Oswald in a low, significantwhisper, and turned tactfully away, so as not to make the stranger feelawkward. 

Dicky got the clothes, and the stranger changed in the back-kitchen. Theonly spirit Oswald could find was spirits of salts, which the strangersaid was poison, and spirits of camphor. Oswald gave him some of this onsugar; he knows it is a good thing when you have taken cold. Thestranger hated it. He changed in the back-kitchen, and while he wasdoing it we tried to light the kitchen fire, but it would not; so Dickywent up to ask Alice for some matches, and finding the girls had notgone to bed as ordered, but contrarily dressed themselves, he let themcome down. And then, of course, there was no reason why they should notlight the fire. They did. 

When the unfortunate one came out of the back-kitchen he looked quite adecent chap, though still blue in patches from the lining of his hat. Dicky whispered to me what a difference clothes made. 

He made a polite though jerky bow to the girls, and Dora said:

'How do you do? I hope you are quite well. '

'As well as can be expected, ' replied the now tidy outcast, 'consideringwhat I've gone through. '

'Tea or cocoa?' said Dora. 'And do you like cheese or cold bacon best?'

'I'll leave it to you entirely, ' he answered. And he added, without apause, 'I'm sure I can trust you. '

'Indeed you can, ' said Dora earnestly; 'you needn't be a bit afraid. You're perfectly safe with us. '

He opened his eyes at this. 

'He didn't expect such kindness, ' Alice whispered. 'Poor man! he's quiteovercome. '

We gave him cocoa, and cheese, and bacon, and butter and bread, and heate a great deal, with his feet in Mr. Sandal's all-wool boots on thekitchen fender. 

The girls wrung the water out of his clothes, and hung them on theclothes-horse on the other side of the fire. 

'I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, ' he said; 'real charity I callthis. I shan't forget it, I assure you. I ought to apologise forknocking you up like this, but I'd been hours tramping through thisprecious marsh of yours wet to the skin, and not a morsel of food sincemid-day. And yours was the first light I'd seen for a couple of hours. '

'I'm very glad it _was_ us you knocked up, ' said Alice. 

'So am I, ' said he; 'I might have knocked at a great many doors before Igot such a welcome. I'm quite aware of that. '

He spoke all right, not like a labouring man; but it wasn't agentleman's voice, and he seemed to end his sentences off short at theend, as though he had it on the tip of his tongue to say 'Miss' or'Sir. '

Oswald thought how terrible it must be to be out alone in the rain andthe dark, with the police after you, and no one to be kind to you if youknocked at their doors. 

'You must have had an awful day, ' he said. 

'I believe you, ' said the stranger, cutting himself more bacon. 'Thankyou, miss (he really did say it that time), just half a cup if you don'tmind. I believe you! I never want to have such a day again, I can tellyou. I took one or two little things in the morning, but I wasn't in themood or something. You know how it is sometimes. '

'I can fancy it, ' said Alice. 

'And then the afternoon clouded over. It cleared up at sunset, youremember, but then it was too late. And then the rain came on. Not half!My word! I've been in a ditch. Thought my last hour had come, I tellyou. Only got out by the skin of my teeth. Got rid of my whole outfit. There's a nice thing to happen to a young fellow! Upon my Sam, it'senough to make a chap swear he'll never take another thing as long as helives. '

'I hope you never will, ' said Dora earnestly; 'it doesn't pay, youknow. '

'Upon my word, that's nearly true, though I don't know how _you_ know, 'said the stranger, beginning on the cheese and pickles. 

'I wish, ' Dora was beginning, but Oswald interrupted. He did not thinkit was fair to preach at the man. 

'So you lost your outfit in the ditch, ' he said; 'and how did you getthose clothes?'

He pointed to the steaming gray suit. 

'Oh, ' replied the stranger, 'the usual way. '

Oswald was too polite to ask what was the usual way of getting a graysuit to replace a prison outfit. He was afraid the usual way was the waythe four-pound cake had been got. 

Alice looked at me helplessly. I knew just how she felt. 

Harbouring a criminal when people are 'out after him' gives you a verychilly feeling in the waistcoat--or, if in pyjamas, in the part that theplaited cotton cord goes round. By the greatest good luck there were afew of the extra-strong peppermints left. We had two each, and feltbetter. 

The girls put the sheets off Oswald's bed on to the bed Miss Sandal usedto sleep in when not in London nursing the shattered bones of hertract-distributing brother. 

'If you will go to bed now, ' Oswald said to the stranger, 'we will wakeyou in good time. And you may sleep as sound as you like. We'll wake youall right. '

'You might wake me about eight, ' he said; 'I ought to be getting on. I'm sure I don't know what to say in return for the very handsomereception you've given me. Good-night to you all, I'm sure. '

'Good-night, ' said everyone. And Dora added, 'Don't you bother. Whileyou're asleep we'll think what's best to be done. '

'Don't _you_ bother, ' said the stranger, and he absently glanced at hisown clothes. 'What's big enough to get out of's big enough to get into. '

Then he took the candle, and Dicky showed him to his room. 

'What's big enough to get out of, ' repeated Alice. 'Surely he doesn'tmean to creep back into prison, and pretend he was there all the time, only they didn't notice him?'

'Well, what are we to do?' asked Dicky, rejoining the rest of us. 'Hetold me the dark room at Dover was a disgrace. Poor chap!'

'We must invent a disguise, ' said Dora. 

'Let's pretend he's our aunt, and dress him up--like in "Hard Cash, "'said Alice. 

It was now three o'clock, but no one was sleepy. No one wanted to go tosleep at all till we had taken our candles up into the attic andrummaged through Miss Sandal's trunks, and found a complete disguiseexactly suited to an aunt. We had everything--dress, cloak, bonnet, veil, gloves, petticoats, and even boots, though we knew all the time, in our hearts, that these were far too small. We put all ready on theparlour sofa, and then at last we began to feel in our eyes and ears andjaws how late it was. So we went back to bed. Alice said she knew how towake exact to the minute, and we had known her do it before, so wetrusted her, and agreed that she was to wake us at six. 

But, alas! Alice had deemed herself cleverer than she was, by longchalks, and it was not her that woke us. 

We were aroused from deep slumber by the voice of Mrs. Beale. 

'Hi!' it remarked, 'wake up, young gentlemen! It's gone the half afternine, and your gentleman friend's up and dressed and a-waiting for hisbreakfast. '

We sprang up. 

'I say, Mrs. Beale, ' cried Oswald, who never even in sleep quite loseshis presence of mind, 'don't let on to anyone that we've got a visitor. '

She went away laughing. I suppose she thought it was some sillyplay-secret. She little knew. 

We found the stranger looking out of the window. 

'I wouldn't do that, ' said Dora softly; 'it isn't safe. Suppose someonesaw you?'

'Well, ' said he, 'suppose they did?'

'They might take you, you know, ' said Dora; 'it's done in a minute. Wesaw two poor men taken yesterday. '

Her voice trembled at the gloomy recollection. 

'Let 'em take me, ' said the man who wore the clothes of the plain-livingand high-thinking Mr. Sandal; '_I_ don't mind so long as my ugly mugdon't break the camera!'

'We want to save you, ' Dora was beginning; but Oswald, far-sightedbeyond his years, felt a hot redness spread over his youthful ears andright down his neck. He said:

'Please, what were you doing in Dover? And what did you take yesterday?'

'I was in Dover on business, ' said the man, 'and what I took was HytheChurch and Burmarsh Church, and----'

'Then you didn't steal a cake and get put into Dover Gaol, and breakloose, and----' said Dicky, though I kicked him as a sign not to. 

'_Me?_' said our friend. 'Not exactly!'

'Then, _what_ are you? If you're not that poor escaped thief, what areyou?' asked Dora fiercely, before Oswald could stop her. 

'I'm a photographer, miss, ' said he--'a travelling photographer. '

Then slowly but surely he saw it all, and I thought he would never havedone laughing. 

 * * * * *

'Breakfast is getting cold, ' said Oswald. 

'So it is, ' said our guest. 'Lordy, what a go! This'll be something totalk about between friends for many a year. '

'No, ' said Alice suddenly; 'we thought you were a runaway thief, and wewanted to help you whatever you were. ' She pointed to the sofa, wherethe whole costume of the untrue aunt was lying in simple completeness. 'And you're in honour bound never to tell a soul. Think, ' she added inpersuading tones--'think of the cold bacon and the cheese, and all thosepickles you had, and the fire and the cocoa, and us being up all night, and the dry all-wool boots. '

'Say no more, miss, ' said the photographer (for such he indeed was)nobly. 'Your will is my law; I won't never breathe a word. '

And he sat down to the ham and eggs as though it was weeks since he hadtasted bacon. 

 * * * * *

But we found out afterwards he went straight up to the Ship, and toldeverybody all about it. I wonder whether all photographers aredishonourable and ungrateful. Oswald hopes they are not, but he cannotfeel at all sure. 

Lots of people chaffed us about it afterwards, but the pigman said wewere jolly straight young Britons, and it is something to be called thatby a man you really respect. It doesn't matter so much what the otherpeople say--the people you don't really care about. 

When we told our Indian uncle about it he said, 'Nonsense! you oughtnever to try and shield a criminal. ' But that was not at all the way wefelt about it at the time when the criminal was there (or we thought hewas), all wet, and hunted, and miserable, with people 'out after him. 'He meant his friends who were expecting him, but we thought he meantpolice. It is very hard sometimes to know exactly what is right. If what_feels_ right _isn't_ right, how are you to know, I wonder. 

 * * * * *

The only comforting thing about it all is that we heard next day thatthe soldiers had got away from the brown bicycle beast after all. Isuppose it came home to them suddenly that they _were_ two to one, andthey shoved him into a ditch and got away. They were never caught; I amvery glad. And I suppose _that's_ wrong too--so many things are. But I_am_. 

THE ARSENICATORS

A TALE OF CRIME

It was Mrs. Beale who put it into our heads that Miss Sandal lived plainbecause she was poor. We knew she thought high, because that is what youjolly well have to do if you are a vegetationist and an all-wooler, andthose sort of things. 

And we tried to get money for her, like we had once tried to do forourselves. And we succeeded by means that have been told alone inanother place in getting two golden pounds. 

Then, of course, we began to wonder what we had better do with the twopounds now we had got them. 

'Put them in the savings-bank, ' Dora said. 

Alice said:

'Why, when we could have them to look at?'

Noël thought we ought to buy her something beautiful to adorn MissSandal's bare dwelling. 

H. O. Thought we might spend it on nice tinned and potted things fromthe stores, to make the plain living and high thinking go down better. 

But Oswald knew that, however nice the presents are that other peoplebuy for you, it is really more satisfying to have the chink to spendexactly as you like. 

Then Dicky said:

'I don't believe in letting money lie idle. Father always says it's badbusiness. '

'They give interest at the bank, don't they?' Dora said. 

'Yes; tuppence a year, or some rot like that! We ought to go into tradewith it, and try to make more of it. That's what we ought to do. '

'If it's Miss Sandal's money, do you think we ought to do anything withit without asking her?'

'It isn't hers till she's got it, and it is hers because it's not oursto spend. I think we're--what is it?--_in loco parentis_ to that twoquid, because anyone can see poor Miss Sandal doesn't know how to manageher money. And it will be much better if we give her ten pounds thanjust two. '

This is how Dicky argued. 

We were sitting on the sands when this council took place, and Alicesaid, 'Suppose we bought a shrimping-net, and sold shrimps from ourwindow in red handkerchiefs and white French caps. ' But we asked her howshe would like going into the sea nearly up to her neck in all weathers, and she had to own she had not thought of that. Besides, shrimps are sobeastly cheap--more than you can eat for twopence. 

The conversation was not interesting to anyone but Dicky, because we didnot then believe we could do it, though later we thought differently. But I dare say we should have gone on with it just out of politeness tohim, only at this moment we saw a coastguard, who is a great friend ofours, waving to us from the sea-wall. So we went up. And he said:

'You take my tip and cut along home. There's something come for you. '

'Perhaps it's heaps of things, like I said, to eat with the plainliving, ' said H. O. 

And bright visions of hampers full of the most superior tuck winged ouryoung legs as we cut along home. 

It was not, however, a hamper that we found awaiting us. It was a largebox. And besides that there were two cases addressed to Dicky and me, and through the gaps in the boards we could see twisted straw, and ourhearts leapt high in our breasts, because we knew that they were bikes. 

And such, indeed, they proved to be--free-wheels of the most unspottedcharacter, the noble gift of our Indian uncle, ever amiable, generous, and esteemed. 

While we were getting the glorious bikes from their prison bars, theothers were undoing the box which had their names on it. 

It contained cakes and sweets, a work-basket for Dora, lined with redsatin, and dressed up with silver thimbles, and all sorts of bodkins andscissors, and knives with silver handles. There was a lovely box ofpaints for Alice. 

Noël had a paint-box too, and H. O. Had a very good Aunt Sally. Andthere were lots of books--not the sawdusty, dry kind that Miss Sandalhad in her house, but jolly good books, the kind you can't put down tillyou've finished. But just now we hardly looked at them. For who with aspark of manly spirit would think twice about a book with a newfree-wheel champing the oil like a charger in a ballad?

Dicky and I had a three-mile spin before dinner, and only fell off fivetimes between us. Three spills were Dicky's, one was Oswald's, and onewas when we ran into each other. The bikes were totally uninjured. 

As time ran its appointed course we got a bit used to the bikes, and, finding that you cannot ride all day and all night, we began to look atthe books. Only one of them comes into this story. It was called 'TheYouth's Manual of Scientific and Mechanical Recreation, ' and, of course, we none of us read it till we'd read everything else, and then we foundit wasn't half bad. It taught you how to make all sorts ofthings--galvanic batteries, and kites, and mouse-traps, and how toelectroplate things, and how to do wood-carving and leather-work. Wetried as many of the things as we had money for, and some of themsucceeded. Then we made a fire-balloon. 

It took a long time to make, and then it caught fire and blazed awaybefore we could get it launched. 

So we made another, and Noël dropped it near the water-butt, where therewas a puddle, and, being tissue-paper, it was unable to stand thestrain. 

So we made another. But the paste was bad, and it did not stick. 

So we made another. 

Then, at last, when all was ready, Oswald climbed on to the pigsty atMrs. Beales', and held the balloon very steady while Dicky lighted thecotton-wool, soaked in spirits of wine, which hangs from the end (wherecars are in larger sizes), and causes it to be called a fire-balloon. Ataper is burned inside the balloon, and then, according to the book, 'itreadily ascends, and is carried away by the wind, sometimes to aconsiderable distance. '

Well, this time everything happened just as the book said, which is notalways the case. 

It was a clear, dark night, bright stars only. And, to our relief andagreeable surprise, our balloon rose up and sailed away, dragging itslighted tail like a home-made comet. 

It sailed away over the marshes, getting smaller and smaller, and atlast it was, though lost to sight, to memory dear. Some of us thought itwasn't worth doing, but Oswald was glad he had persevered. He does hateto be beaten. However, we none of us cared to make another, so we wentto bed. 

Dicky always goes to sleep directly on these occasions, but Oswald, morethoughtful for his years, sometimes reviews the events of the day. Hemust have been nearly asleep, because he was just reviewing an elephantthat flew with a lamp inside, so that it looked like a fire-balloon, when Alice suddenly came and woke him up completely. 

'Beware!' she said in tones of awe. 

And he said, but not crossly:

'Well, what on earth's up now?'

'The fire-balloon!' replied Alice. 

'What about it?' he rejoined, still calm and kind, though roused fromhis reviews. 

'Why, it came to me all in a minute! Oh, Oswald--when it comesdown--there are lots of farms in the march. Suppose it comes down andsets light to something! It's a crime--arsenic or something--and you canbe hanged for it!'

'Don't be an idiot!' said Oswald kindly. 'The book wouldn't have toldyouths how to make them if they were crimes. Go back to bed, forgoodness' sake!'

'I wish we hadn't--oh, I do!' said Alice. 

But she did as she was told. Oswald has taught her this. 

Next day her fears had stopped, like silent watches in the night, andwe began to make a trap for badgers--in case we ever found one. 

But Dicky went to the top of the mill with some field-glasses he hadborrowed from Mr. Carrington to look at distant ships with, and he burstinto the busy circle of badger-trap makers, and said:

'I say, come and look! There's a fire in the marsh!'

'There!' said Alice, dropping the wire pliers on her good elderbrother's foot. 'What did I tell you?'

We all tore to the top of the mill, and sure enough, far across thesunny green marshes rose a little cloud of smoke, and blue and yellowflames leaped out every now and then. We all took turns to look throughthe glasses. 

Then Oswald said:

'This is no time for looking through field-glasses with your mouthsopen. We must go and help. We might fetch the fire-engines or something. The bikes, Dicky!'

Almost instantly we were in the saddle and tearing along the level marshtowards the direction of the fire. At first we got down at everycrossroad and used the field-glasses to see which way to go; but as wegot nearer, or the fire got bigger, or perhaps both, we could see itquite plainly with the naked eye. It was much further off than we hadthought, but we rode on undaunted, regardless of fatigue and ofdinner-time, being now long gone by. 

We got to the fire at last. It was at Crown Ovender Farm, and we had tolift the bikes over fences and wheel them over ploughed fields to getthere, because we did not know the right way by road. 

Crown Ovender is a little farmhouse, and a barn opposite, and a greatrick-yard, and two of the ricks were alight. They smoked horribly, andthe wind blew the hot smoke into your eyes, and every now and then yousaw great flames--yards long they seemed--leap out as if they werecrying to get to the house. 

We had put our bikes in a ditch a field away, and now we went all roundabout to ask if we could help; but there wasn't a soul to be seen. 

We did not know what to do. Even Oswald--always full of resource--almostscratched his head, which seems to help some people to think, though Idon't think it ever would me, besides not looking nice. 

'I wish we'd told them in the village, ' said Dicky. 

We had not done this, and the reason, the author is ashamed to say, wasbecause we wanted to get there before anyone else. This was veryselfish, and the author has often regretted it. 

The flames were growing larger and fiercer, and the tar on the side ofthe barn next the rick-yard was melting and running down like treacle. 

'There's a well!' said Dicky suddenly. 'It isn't a deep well, and thereare two buckets. '

Oswald understood. He drew up the water, and Dicky took the buckets asthey came up full and dripping and dashed the water on to the tarry faceof the barn. It hissed and steamed. We think it did some good. We tookit in turns to turn the well-wheel. It was hard work, and it wasfrightfully hot. Then suddenly we heard a horrid sound, a sort ofout-of-breath scream, and there was a woman, very red in the face andperspiring, climbing over the fence. 

'Hallo!' said Oswald. 

'Oh!' the woman said, panting, 'it's not the house, then? Thank them asbe it's not the house! Oh, my heart alive, I thought it was the house!'

'It isn't the house, ' said Oswald; 'but it jolly soon will be!'

'Oh, my pore Lily!' said the woman. 'With this 'ere wind the house 'llbe alight in a minute. And her a-bed in there! Where's Honeysett?'

'There's no one here but us. The house is locked up, ' we said. 

'Yes, I know, 'cause of tramps. Honeysett's got the key. I comes in assoon as I've cleared dinner away. She's ill a-bed, sleeping like a lamb, I'll be bound, all unknowing of her burning end. '

'We _must_ get her out, ' said Oswald. 

But the woman didn't seem to know what to do. She kept on saying, 'Where's Honeysett? Oh, drat him! where's that Honeysett?'

So then Oswald felt it was the time to be a general, like he alwaysmeant to if he got the chance. He said, 'Come on!' and he took a stoneand broke the kitchen window, and put his hand through the jagged holeand unfastened the catch, and climbed in. The back-door was locked andthe key gone, but the front-door was only bolted inside. But it stuckvery tight, from having been painted and shut before the paint was dry, and never opened again. 

Oswald couldn't open it. He ran back to the kitchen window and shoutedto the others. 

'Go round to the other door and shove for all you're worth!' he cried inthe manly tones that all must obey. 

So they went; but Dicky told me afterwards that the woman didn't shovefor anything like all she was worth. In fact, she wouldn't shove at all, till he had to make a sort of battering-ram of her, and then she seemedto awake from a dream, and they got the door open. 

We followed the woman up the stairs and into a bedroom, and there wasanother woman sitting up in bed trembling, and her mouth opening andshutting. 

'Oh, it's you, Eliza, ' she said, falling back against the pillows. 'Ithought it were tramps. '

Eliza did not break things to the sufferer gently, like we should havedone, however hurried. 

'Mercy you aren't burnt alive in your bed, Lily!' she merely remarked. 'The place is all ablaze!'

Then she rolled her sick sufferer in a blanket and took hold of hershoulders, and told us to take her feet. 

But Oswald was too calm to do this suddenly. He said:

'Where are you going to put her?'

'Anywheres!' said Eliza wildly--'anywheres is better than this here. '

'There's plenty of time, ' said Oswald; and he and Dicky rushed intoanother room, and got a feather-bed and bedclothes, and hunched themdown the stairs, and dragged them half a field away, and made a bed in anice dry ditch. And then we consented to carry the unfortunate bed-womanto it. 

The house was full of smoke by this time, though it hadn't yet caughtfire; and I tell you we felt just like heroic firemen as we stumbleddown the crookety narrow stairs, back first, bearing the feet of thesick woman. Oswald did so wish he had had a fireman's helmet to put on!

When we got the fading Lily to her dry ditch, she clutched Oswald's armand whispered:

'Save the sticks!'

'What sticks?' asked Oswald, who thought it was the ragings of delirium. 

'She means the furniture, ' said Eliza; 'but I'm afraid its doom iswritten on high. '

[Illustration: 'We consented to carry the unfortunate bed-woman toit. '--Page 76]

'Rubbish!' said Oswald kindly; and we flew back, us boys dragging Elizawith us. 

There didn't seem to be much furniture in the house, but when we beganto move it, it at once seemed to multiply itself with the rapidity ofcompound interest. We got all the clothes out first, in drawers andclothes-baskets, and tied up in sheets. Eliza wasn't much use. The onlything she could do was to look for a bed-key to unscrew the ironbedsteads; but Oswald and Dicky toiled on. They carried out chairs andtables and hearthrugs. As Oswald was staggering on under a Windsorarmchair, with a tea-tray and an ironing-board under his arms, he raninto a man. 

'What's up?' said he. 

'Fire!' said Oswald. 

'I seed that, ' said the man. 

Oswald shoved the chair and other things on to the man. 

'Then lend a hand to get the things away, ' he said. 

And more and more people came, and all worked hard; but Oswald and Dickydid most. Eliza never even found that bed-key, because when she sawpeople beginning to come thicker and thicker across the fields, likeants hurrying home, she went out and told everyone over and over againthat Honeysett had got the key. 

Then a woman came along, and Eliza got her into a corner by the stairsand jawed. I heard part of the jaw. 

'An' pore Mrs. Simpkins, her man he's gone to Ashford Market with hisbeasts and the three other men, and me and my man said we'd have Liz upat my place, her being my sister, so as Honeysett could go off to Romneyabout the sheep. But she wouldn't come, not though we brought the lightcart over for her. So we thought it best Honeysett stayed about hiswork, and go for the sheep to-morrow. '

'Then the house would ha' been all empty but for her not being wishfulto go along of you?' Oswald heard the other say. 

'Yes, ' said Eliza; 'an' so you see----'

'You keep your mouth shut, ' the other woman fiercely said; 'you'reLily's sister, but Tom, he's my brother. If you don't shut your sillymouth you'll be getting of them into trouble. It's insured, ain't it?'

'I don't see, ' said Eliza. 

'You don't never see nothing, ' said the other. 'You just don't say aword 'less you're arst, and then only as you come to look after her andfound the fire a-raging something crool. '

'But why----'

The other woman clawed hold of her and dragged her away, whisperingsecretly. 

All this time the fire was raging, but there were lots of men now towork the well and the buckets, and the house and the barn had notcaught. 

When we had got out all the furniture, some of the men set to work onthe barn, and, of course, Oswald and Dicky, though weary, were in thisalso. They helped to get out all the wool--bundles and bundles andbundles of it; but when it came to sacks of turnip seed and things, theythought they had had enough, and they went to where the things were thathad come out of the larder, and they got a jug of milk and some breadand cheese, and took it to the woman who was lying in the dry ditch onthe nice bed they had so kindly made for her. She drank some milk, andasked them to have some, and they did, with bread and cheese (Dutch), and jolly glad they were of it. 

Just as we had finished we heard a shout, and there was the fire-enginecoming across the field. 

I do like fire-engines. They are so smart and fierce, and look likedragons ready to fight the devouring element. 

It was no use, however, in spite of the beautiful costumes of thefiremen, because there was no water, except in the well, and not muchleft of that. 

The man named Honeysett had ridden off on an old boneshaker of his tofetch the engines. He had left the key in the place where it was alwayskept, only Eliza had not had the sense to look for it. He had left aletter for her, too, written in red pencil on the back of a bill for amowing-machine. It said: 'Rix on fir'; going to git fir'-injins. '

Oswald treasures this letter still as a memento of happier days. 

When Honeysett saw the line of men handing up buckets to throw on thetarry wall, he said:

'That ain't no manner of use. Wind's changed a hour agone. '

And so it had. The flames were now reaching out the other way, and twomore ricks were on fire. But the tarry walls were quite cool, and verywet, and the men who were throwing the water were very surprised tofind that they were standing in a great puddle. 

And now, when everything in the house and the barn was safe, Oswald hadtime to draw his breath and think, and to remember with despair exactlywho it was that had launched a devastating fire-balloon over thepeaceful marsh. 

It was getting dusk by this time; but even the splendour of all thoseburning ricks against the darkening sky was merely wormwood and gall toOswald's upright heart, and he jolly soon saw that it was the same toDicky's. 

'I feel pretty sick, ' he said. 'Let's go home. '

'They say the whole eleven ricks are bound to go, ' said Dicky, 'with thewind the way it is. '

'_We're_ bound to go, ' said Oswald. 

'Where?' inquired the less thoughtful Dicky. 

'To prison, ' said his far-seeing brother, turning away and beginning towalk towards the bicycles. 

'We can't be sure it was our balloon, ' said Dicky, following. 

'Pretty average, ' said Oswald bitterly. 

'But no one would know it was us if we held our tongues. '

'We can't hold our tongues, ' Oswald said; 'if we do someone else will beblamed, as sure as fate. You didn't hear what that woman said aboutinsurance money. '

'We might wait and see if anyone _does_ get into trouble, and _then_come forward, ' said Dicky. 

And Oswald owned they might do that, but his heart was full of despairand remorse. 

Just as they got to their bikes a man met them. 

'All lost, I suppose?' he said, jerking his thumb at the blazingfarmyard. 

'Not all, ' said Dicky; 'we saved the furniture and the wool andthings----'

The man looked at us, and said heavily:

'Very kind of you, but it was all insured. '

'Look here, ' said Oswald earnestly, 'don't you say that to anyone else. '

'Eh?' said the man. 

'If you do, they're safe to think you set fire to it yourself!'

He stared, then he frowned, then he laughed, and said something aboutold heads on young shoulders, and went on. 

We went on, too, in interior gloom, that only grew gloomier as we gotnearer and nearer home. 

We held a council that night after the little ones had gone to bed. Doraand Alice seemed to have been crying most of the day. They felt a littlebetter when they heard that no one had been burned to death. Alice toldme she had been thinking all day of large families burned to littlecinders. But about telling of the fire-balloon we could not agree. 

Alice and Oswald thought we ought. But Dicky said 'Wait, ' and Dora said'Write to father about it. '

Alice said:

'No; it doesn't make any difference about our not being sure whether ourballoon _was_ the cause of destruction. I _expect_ it was, and, anyway, we ought to own up. '

'I feel so too, ' said Oswald; 'but I do wish I knew how long in prisonyou got for it. '

We went to bed without deciding anything. 

And very early in the morning Oswald woke, and he got up and looked outof the window, and there was a great cloud of smoke still going up fromthe doomed rickyard. So then he went and woke Alice, and said:

'Suppose the police have got that poor farmer locked up in a noisomecell, and all the time it's _us_. '

'That's just what _I_ feel, ' said Alice. 

Then Oswald said, 'Get dressed. '

And when she had, she came out into the road, where Oswald, pale butresolute, was already pacing with firm steps. And he said:

'Look here, let's go and tell. Let's say you and I made the balloon. Theothers can stop out of it if they like. '

'They won't if it's really prison, ' said Alice. 'But it would be nobleof us to try it on. Let's----'

But we found we didn't know who to tell. 

'It seems so fatal to tell the police, ' said Alice; 'there's no gettingout of it afterwards. Besides, he's only Jameson, and he's very stupid. '

The author assures you you do not know what it is like to have a crimelike arsenic on your conscience, and to have gone to the trouble andexpense of making up your mind to confess it, and then not to know whoto. 

We passed a wretched day. And all the time the ricks were blazing. Allthe people in the village went over with carts and bikes to see thefire--like going to a fair or a show. In other circumstances we shouldhave done the same, but now we had no heart for it. 

In the evening Oswald went for a walk by himself, and he found hisfootsteps turning towards the humble dwelling of the Ancient Mariner whohad helped us in a smuggling adventure once. 

The author wishes to speak the truth, so he owns that perhaps Oswald hadsome idea that the Ancient Mariner, who knew so much about smugglers andhighwaymen, might be able to think of some way for us to save ourselvesfrom prison without getting an innocent person put into it. Oswald foundthe mariner smoking a black pipe by his cottage door. He winked atOswald as usual. Then Oswald said:

'I want to ask your advice; but it's a secret. I know you can keepsecrets. '

When the aged one had agreed to this, Oswald told him all. It was agreat relief. 

The mariner listened with deep attention, and when Oswald had quitedone, he said:

'It ain't the stone jug this time mate. That there balloon of yours, Isee it go up--fine and purty 'twas, too. '

'We all saw it go _up_, ' said Oswald in despairing accents. 'Thequestion is, where did it come down?'

'At Burmarsh, sonny, ' was the unexpected and unspeakably relievingreply. 'My sister's husband's niece--it come down and lodged in theirpear-tree--showed it me this morning, with the red ink on it whatspelled your names out. '

Oswald, only pausing to wring the hand of his preserver, tore home onthe wings of the wind to tell the others. 

I don't think we were ever so glad of anything in our lives. It is afrightfully blighting thing when you believe yourself to be anArsenicator (or whatever it is) of the deepest dye. 

As soon as we could think of anything but our own cleanness from guilt, we began to fear the worst of Tom Simkins, the farmer at Crown Ovenden. But _he_ came out of it, like us, without a stain on his fair name, because he and his sister and his man Honeysett all swore that he hadgiven a tramp leave to sleep up against the beanstack the night beforethe fire, and the tramp's pipe and matches were found there. So he gothis insurance money; but the tramp escaped. 

But when we told father all about it, he said he wished he had been adirector of that fire insurance company. 

We never made another fire-balloon. Though it was not us that time, itmight have been. And we know now but too well the anxieties of a life ofcrime. 

THE ENCHANCERIED HOUSE

A STORY ABOUT THE BASTABLES

The adventure which I am about to relate was a very long time ago, andit was nobody's fault. The part of it that was most like a real crimewas caused by H. O. Not being at that date old enough to knowbetter--and this was nobody's fault--though we took care that but abrief half-hour elapsed between the discovery of his acts and his_being_ old enough to know better, and knowing it, too (better, I mean), quite thoroughly. We were residing at the residence of an old nurse offather's while Dora was engaged in the unagreeable pastime of havingsomething catching at home. If she had been with us most likely none ofthis would have happened. For she has an almost unerring nose for rightand wrong. Or perhaps what the author means is that she never does thekind of thing that grown-ups don't like your doing. Father's old nursewas very jolly to us, and did not bother too much, except about wetfeet and being late for meals, and not airing your shirt before you putit on. But it is part of the nature of the nicest grown-ups to botherabout these little things, and we must not be hard on them for it, forno one can help their natures. 

The part where old nurse's house was was where London begins to leaveoff being London, but before it can make up its mind not to be it. Thereare fields and bits of lanes and hedges, but the rows of ugly littlehouses go creeping along like yellow caterpillars, eating up the greenfields. There are brickfields here and there, and cabbage fields, andplaces where rhubarb is grown. And it is much more interesting than realtown, because there is more room to do things in, and not so many peopleto say 'Don't!' when you do. 

Nurse's house was the kind that is always a house, no matter how muchyou pretend it is a baron's castle or an enchanted palace. And to playat its being a robber's cave or any part of a pirate ship is simplysilly, and no satisfaction to anyone. There were no books except sermonsand the Wesleyan Magazine. And there was a green cut-paper fuzziness onthe frame of the looking-glass in the parlour. There was a garden--atleast, there was enough ground for one, but nothing grew there exceptnettles and brick-bats and one elder-tree, and a poor old oak-tree thathad seen better days. There was a hole in the fence, very convenient forgoing through in a hurry. 

One morning there had been what old nurse called a 'set out' becauseNoël was writing some of his world-without-end poetry, and he had got asfar as

 'How beautiful the sun and moon And all the stars appear! They really are a long way off, Although they look very near. '

 'I do not think that they are worlds, But apples on a tree; The angels pick them whenever they like, But it is not so with me. I wish I was a little angel-child To gather stars for my tea, '

before Dicky found out that he was writing it on the blank leaf at theend of the Latin prize Dicky got at the Preparatory School. 

Noël--for mysterious reasons unknown to Fame--is Alice's favouritebrother, and of course she stood up for him, and said he didn't mean it. 

And things were said on both sides, and the rest of us agreed with Dickythat Noël was old enough to know better. It ended in Alice and Noëlgoing out for a walk by themselves as soon as Noël had had the cryingwashed off his hands and face. 

The rest of us spent the shining hours in getting a board and nailing itup in the oak-tree for a look-out station, in case of Saracens arrivingwith an army to attack London. The oak is always hard to climb, and thiswas a peculiarly hard day, because the next-door people had tied aclothes-line to the oak, and hung their wet washing out on the line. 

The sun was setting (in the west as usual) before Alice and Noëlreturned. They came across the wide fields from the direction of apinewood that we had never explored yet, though always meaning to. 

'There!' said Dicky, 'they've been and gone to the pinewood all bythemselves. '

But the hatchet Dicky was still cherishing in his breast was buried atonce under the first words spoken by the returning party of explorers. 

'Oh, Oswald, ' said Alice, 'oh, Dicky, we've found a treasure!'

Dicky hammered the last nail into the Saracen watch-tower. 

'Not a real money one?' he said, dropping the hammer--which was acareless thing to do, and the author told him so at the time. 

'No, not a money one, but it's real all the same. Let's have a council, and I'll tell you. '

It was then that Dicky showed that if he dropped hammers it was notbecause he could not bury hatchets. He said, 'Righto! There's room forus all up here. Catch hold, Noël. Oswald, give him a shove up. Alice andhe can sit in the Saracens' watch-tower, and I'll keep hold of H. O. Ifyou'll hand him up. '

Alice was full of the politest compliments about the architecture of theSaracens' watch-tower, and Noël said:

'I say, Dicky, I'm awfully sorry about your prize. '

'It's all right, ' said Dicky; 'I rubbed it out with bread. '

Noël opened his mouth. He looks like a very young bird when he doesthis. 

'Then my beautiful poem's turned into dirty bread-crumbs, ' he saidslowly. 

'Never mind, ' said Alice; 'I remember nearly every word of it: we'llwrite it out again after tea. '

'I thought you'd be so pleased, ' Noël went on, 'because it makes a bookmore valuable to have an author's writing in it. Albert's uncle told meso. '

'But it has to be the same author that wrote the book, ' Alice explained, 'and it was Cæsar wrote that book. And you aren't Cæsar _yet_, youknow. '

'Nor don't want to be, ' said Noël. 

Oswald now thought that politeness was satisfied on both sides, so hesaid:

'What price treasures?'

And then Alice told. But it had to be in whispers, because the next-doorpeople, who always did things at times when not convenient to us, werenow taking in their washing off the line. I heard them remark that itwas a 'good drying day. '

'Well, ' Alice mysteriously observed, 'it was like this. (Do you thinkthe Saracens' watch-tower is really safe for two? It seems to go downawfully much in the middle. )'

'Sit nearer the ends, then, ' said Oswald. 'Well?'

'We thought we would go to the pinewoods because of reading in BretHarte that the resinous balsam of the pine is healing to the woundedspirit. '

'I should have thought if anybody's spirit was wounded... ' said Dicky intones of heatening indignantness. 

'Yes, I know. But you'd got the oak, and I expect oaks are just as good, if not better, especially for English people, because of OakappleDay--and----Where was I?'

We told her. 

'So we went, and it is a very nice wood--quite tulgy, you know. Weexpected to see a Bandersnatch every minute, didn't we, Noël? It's notvery big, though, and on the other side there's an enchanteddesert--rather bare, with patches of grass and brambles. And in the verymiddle of it we found the treasure. '

'Let's have a squint at the treasure, ' said Dicky. 'Did you fetch italong?'

Noël and Alice sniggered. 

'Not exactly, ' said Alice; 'the treasure is a _house_. '

'It's an enchanted house, ' said Noël, 'and it's a deserted house, andthe garden is like in "The Sensitive Plant" after the lady has given upattending. '

'Did you go in?' we asked. 

'No, ' said Alice; 'we came back for you. And we asked an old man, andhe _did_ say it was in Chancery, so no one can live in it. '

H. O. Asked what was enchancery. 

'I'm certain the old man meant enchanted, ' said Noël, 'only I expectthat's the old-fashioned word for it. Enchanceried is a very nice word. And it means it's an enchanted house, just like I said. '

Nurse now came out to remark, 'Tea, my dears, ' so we left the Saracens'tower and went in to that meal. 

Noël began to make a poem called 'The Enchanceried House, ' but we gothim to stop till there was more for him to write about. There soon wasmore, and more than enough, as it turned out. 

The setting sun had set, but it had left a redness in the sky (like oneof those distant fires that you go after, and they are always miles fromwhere you are) which shone through the pinetrees. The house lookedblack and mysterious against the strawberry-ice-coloured horizon. 

It was a good-sized house. The bottom-floor windows were boarded up. Ithad a Sensitive-Plantish garden and a paved yard and outhouses. Thegarden had a high wall with glass on top, but Oswald and Dicky got intothe yard. Green grass was growing between the paving-stones. The cornersof the stable and coach-house doors were rough, as if from the attacksof rats, but we never saw any of these stealthy rodents. The back-doorwas locked, but we climbed up on the water-butt and looked through alittle window, and saw a plate-rack, and a sink with taps, and a copper, and a broken coal-scuttle. It was very exciting. 

The day after we went again, and this time we borrowed the next-doorpeople's clothes-line, and by tying it in loops made a sort ofrope-ladder, and then all of us got over. We had a glorious gamebesieging the pigsty, and all the military orders had to be given inwhispers for fear of us being turned out if anyone passed and heard us. We found the pinewood, and the field, and the house had all got boardsto say what would be done to trespassers with the utmost rigour of thelaw. It was such a swat untying the knots in the next-door people'sclothes-line, that we only undid one; and then we bought them a new linewith our own pocket-money, and kept the rope-ladder in a hidden bed ofnettles, always on the spot and ready for us. 

We found a way of going round, and getting to the house through a holein a hedge and across a lane, so as not to go across the big fieldswhere every human eye could mark our proceedings, and come after us andtell us not to. 

We went there every day. It would have been a terrible thing if an armyof bloodthirsty Saracens had chosen that way to march on London, forthere was hardly ever a look-out in the tower now. 

It was a jolly place to play in, and Oswald had found out what 'inChancery' really means, so he had no fear of being turned into apig-headed lady, or marble from the waist down. 

And after a bit we began to want to get into the house, and we wanted itso much that our hearts got quite cold about the chicken-house and thepigsty, which at first had been a fairy dream of delight. 

But the doors were all locked. We got all the old keys we could, butthey were all the keys of desks and workboxes and tea-caddies, and notthe right size or shape for doors. 

Then one day Oswald, with his justly celebrated observingness, noticedthat one of the bars was loose in the brickwork of a sort ofhalf-underground window. To pull it out was to the lion-hearted youthbut the work of a moment. He got down through the gap thus obtained, andfound himself in a place like a very small area, only with no steps, andwith bars above him, broken glass and matted rags and straw beneath hisenterprising boots, and on one side a small cobwebby window. He got outagain and told the others, who were trying to get up the cobblestonesby the stable so as to make an underground passage into the stable atthe ratty corner of its door. 

They came at once, and, after a brief discussion, it was decided tobreak the window a little more than it was already, and to try to get ina hand that could unlatch the window. Of course, as Oswald hadfound the bar, it was to be his hand. 

The dauntless Oswald took off his jacket, and, wrapping it round hisfist, shoved at the pane nearest the window fastening. The glass fellinwards with the noise you would expect. In newspapers I suppose theywould call it a sickening thud. Really it was a sort of hollow tinklingsound. It made even Oswald jump, and H. O. Said:

'Suppose the window opens straight into a bottomless well!'

We did not think this likely, but you cannot be too careful when you areexploring. 

Oswald got in his hand and undid the window fastening, which was veryrusty. The window opened out like a door. There was only just room inthe area under the bars for Oswald and the opening of the window. Heleaned forward and looked in. He was not surprised to find that it wasnot a well, after all, but a cellar. 

'Come on, ' he said; 'it's all right. '

Dicky came on so rapidly that his boots grazed the shoulder of theadvancing Oswald. Alice was coming next, but Noël begged her to wait. 

'I don't think H. O. Ought to go in till we're sure it's safe, ' he said;and Oswald hopes it was not because Noël was in a funk himself, thoughwith a poet you never know. 

The cellar into which Oswald now plunged had a damp and moulderingsmell, like of mouse-traps, and straw, and beer-barrels. Another cellaropened out of it, and in this there was traces of coal having existed inother ages. 

Passing the coal-cellar, we went out to a cellar with shelves on thewall like berths in a ship, or the catacombs where early Christiansused to be bricked up. Of course, we knew it was only a wine-cellar, because we have one at home. Matches had to be used here. Then we founda flight of stone steps and went up. And Oswald is not ashamed to ownthat, the staircase being of a twisty nature, he did think what it wouldbe like if he and Dicky were to meet Something at one of the corners;but all was peace and solitude. Yet it was with joy, and like meeting anold friend, that we got out of the cellars, stairs, and through a doorto the back-kitchen, where the sink was, and the copper and theplate-rack. Oswald felt like a brother to the broken coal-scuttle. Ourfirst instant thought was the back door. 

It was bolted top and bottom, and the bolts were sort of cemented intotheir places with rust. But they were unable to resist our patient anddetermined onslaught. Only when we had undone them the door kept shut, and by stooping down and looking we saw that this was because it waslocked. 

Dicky at once despaired, and said, 'It's no go. '

But the researchful Oswald looked round, and there was a key on a nail, which shows how wrong it is to despair. 

It was not the right key, proving later to be the key of thechicken-house. So we went into the hall. There was a bunch of keys on anail on the back of the front-door. 

'There now, you see I was right, ' remarked Oswald. And he was, as is sooften the case. All the keys had labels, and one of these said'Back-kitchen, ' so we applied it at once, and the locked door yielded toit. 

'You can bring H. O. In quite safely, ' Oswald said when the door hadcreakingly consented to open itself, and to disclose the sunshine, andthe paved yard with the paving stones marked out with green grass, andthe interested expressions on the faces of Alice and the others. 'It'squite safe. It's just a house like anyone else's, only it hasn't got anyfurniture in it. '

We went all over the house. There were fourteen rooms altogether, fifteen if you counted the back-kitchen where the plate-warmer was, andthe copper, and the sink with the taps, and the brotherly coal-scuttle. The rooms were quite different from the ones in old nurse's house. Noëlsaid he thought all the rooms in this house had been the scene of duelsor elopements, or concealing rightful heirs. The present author doesn'tknow about that, but there was a splendid cupboardiness about the placethat spoke volumes to a discerning eye. Even the window seats, of whichthere were six, lifted up like the lids of boxes, and you could havehidden a flying Cavalier in any of them, if he had been of only mediumheight and slender build, like heroes with swords so often are. 

Then there were three staircases, and these must have been darklyconvenient for getting conspirators away when the King's officers wereat the door, as so constantly happened in romantic times. 

The whole house was full of ideas for ripping games, and when we cameaway Alice said:

'We must be really better than we know. We must have done _something_ todeserve a find like this. '

'Don't worry, ' said Oswald. 'Albert's uncle says you always have to payfor everything. We haven't paid for this yet. '

This reflection, like so many of our young hero's, was correct. 

I have not yet told you about the finest find of all the fine finds wefound finally (that looks very odd, and I am not sure if it isallity-what's-its-name, or only carelessness. I wonder whether otherauthors are ever a prey to these devastating doubts?) This find was onthe top floor. It was a room with bars to the windows, and it was a veryodd shape. You went along a passage to the door, and then there was theroom; but the room went back along the same way as the passage had come, so that when you went round there no one could see you from the door. The door was sort of in the middle of the room; but I see I must draw itfor you, or you will never understand. 

[Illustration]

The door that is marked 'Another Door' was full of agitated excitementfor us, because it wasn't a door at all--at least, not the kind that youare used to. It was a gate, like you have at the top of nursery stairsin the mansions of the rich and affluent; but instead of being halfwayup, it went all the way up, so that you could see into the room throughthe bars. 

'Somebody must have kept tame lunatics here, ' said Dicky. 

'Or bears, ' said H. O. 

'Or enchanceried Princes, ' said Noël. 

'It seems silly, though, ' said Alice, 'because the lunatic or the bearor the enchanted Prince could always hide round the corner when he heardthe keepers coming, if he didn't happen to want to show off just then. '

This was so, and the deep mystery of the way this room was built wasnever untwisted. 

'Perhaps a Russian prisoner was kept there, ' said Alice, 'and they didnot want to look too close for fear he would shoot them with hisbomb-gun. Poor man! perhaps he caught vodka, or some other of thoseawful foreign diseases, and died in his hidden confinement. '

It was a most ripping room for games. The key of it was on the bunchlabelled 'Mrs. S. 's room. ' We often wondered who Mrs. S. Was. 

'Let's have a regular round of gaieties, ' said Oswald. 'Each of us totake it in turns to have the room, and act what they like, and theothers look through the bars. '

So next day we did this. 

Oswald, of course, dressed up in bath-towels and a sheet as the ghost ofMrs. S. , but Noël and H. O. Screamed, and would not be calm till he toreoff the sheet and showed his knickerbockers and braces as a guarantee ofgood faith. Alice put her hair up, and got a skirt, and a largehandkerchief to cry in, and was a hapless maiden imprisoned in a towerbecause she would not marry the wicked Baron. Oswald instantly took thepart of the wicked Baron, and Dicky was the virtuous lover of lowdegree, and they had a splendid combat, and Dicky carried off the lady. Of course, that was the proper end to the story, and Oswald had topretend to be beaten, which was not the case. 

Dicky was Louis XVI. Watch-making while waiting for the guillotine tohappen. So we were the guillotine, and he was executed in the pavedyard. 

Noël was an imprisoned troubadour dressed in bright antimacassars, andhe fired off quite a lot of poetry at us before we could get the dooropen, which was most unfair. 

H. O. Was a clown. He had no fancy dress except flour and two Turkishtowels pinned on to look like trousers, but he put the flour all overhimself, and it took the rest of the day to clean him. 

It was when Alice was drying the hair-brushes that she had washed afterbrushing the flour out of Noël's hair in the back-garden that Oswaldsaid:

'_I_ know what that room was made for. '

And everyone said, 'What?' which is not manners, but your brothers andsisters do not mind because it saves time. 

'Why, _coiners_, ' said Oswald. 'Don't you see? They kept a sentinel atthe door, that _is_ a door, and if anyone approached he whispered"_Cave_. "'

'But why have iron bars?'

'In extra safety, ' said Oswald; 'and if their nefarious fires were notburning he need not say "_Cave_" at all. It's no use saying anything fornothing. '

It is curious, but the others did not seem to see this cleardistinguishedness. All people have not the same fine brains. 

But all the same the idea rankled in their hearts, and one day fathercame and took Dicky up to London about that tooth of his, and whenDicky came back he said:

'Look here, talking of coiners, there was a man in St. Swithin's Laneto-day selling little bottles of yellow stuff, and he rubbed some of iton a penny, and it turned the penny into a half-crown before youreyes--a new half-crown! It was a penny a bottle, so I bought threebottles. '

'I always thought the plant for coining was very expensive, ' said Alice. 

'Ah! they tell you that to keep you from doing it, because of its beinga crime, ' said Dicky. 'But now I've got this stuff we can begin to becoiners right away. I believe it isn't really a crime unless you try tobuy things with the base coin. '

So that very afternoon, directly after dinner, which had a suet puddingin it that might have weighed down the enterprising spirit of anyone butus, we went over to the Enchanceried House. 

We found our good rope ladder among its congealing bed of trustynettles, and got over into the paved yard, and through the kitchen-door. Oswald always carried the key of this hung round his neck by a bootlace, as if it was a talisman, or the hair of his lost love. Of course, Oswaldnever had a lost love. He would scorn the action. But some heroes dohave. _De gustibus_ something or other, which means, one man's meat isanother man's poison. 

When we got up into the room with the iron-grated door, it all seemedvery bare. Three bottles of yellow stuff and tenpence halfpenny incoppers is not much to start a coining enterprise with. 

'We ought to make it _look_ like coining, anyway, ' said Oswald. 

'Coiners have furnaces, ' said Dicky. 

Alice said: 'Wouldn't a spirit-lamp do? Old nurse has got an old one onthe scullery shelf. '

We thought it would. 

Then Noël reminded us that coiners have moulds, and Oswald went andbought a pair of wooden lemon squeezers for sevenpence three farthings. In his far-sightedness he remembered that coiners use water, so hebought two enamelled iron bowls at sixpence halfpenny the two. When hecame back he noticed the coal-scuttle we had always felt so friendly to, and he filled it with water and brought it up. It did not leak worthmentioning. 

'We ought to have a bench, ' said Dicky; 'most trades havethat--shoemakers and watchmakers, and tailors and lawyers. '

This was difficult, but we did it. There were some planks in the cellar, and a tub and a beer-barrel. Unluckily, the tub and the beer-barrel werenot the same height, but we taught them better by getting old nurse's'Pilgrim's Progress' and the _Wesleyan Magazine_, to put on top of thetub; and then it was as high as the barrel, and we laid the boardsacross, and there was a bench as beautiful as you could wish. 

Dicky was allowed to put the stuff on the coins, because he had boughtthe bottles with his own money. But Alice held them for him to do, because girls are inferior beings, except when you are ill, and you mustbe kind to them or you need never hope to be a hero. There are drawbacksto every ambition. 

She let Noël hold them part of the time. 

When she was not helping Dicky, she tried covering pennies with thesilver paper off chocolate, but it was not the kind of success thatwould take anyone in. 

H. O. And Noël took it in turns to be sentinel, but they said it wasdull, so Oswald took it on. And before he had been there three minuteshe cried, 'Hist! someone approaches!' and the coining materials werehastily concealed and everyone hid round the corner, like we had agreedwe would do if disturbed in our unlawful pursuits. 

Of course, there wasn't anyone really. After this the kids wanted to besentinels again, but Oswald would not let them. 

It was a jolly good game. And there was something about that house thatmade whatever you played in it seem awfully real. When I was Mrs. S. Ifelt quite unhappy, and when Dicky was the unfortunate monarch whoperished in the French Revolution he told me afterwards he didn't halflike it when it came to the guillotine, though, of course, he knew theknife was only the little sliding-door of the chicken-house. 

We played coiners for several days, and all learned to give the alarm, but we were beginning to feel it was time for something new. Noël wassaving the hairs out of his comb, and pulling them out of the horsehairsofa in the parlour, to make a hair shirt to be a hermit in, and Oswaldhad bought a file to get through the bars and be an escaped Bastilleprisoner, leaving his life-history concealed in the fireplace, when thegreat event occurred. 

We found the silvered money turned to a dirty black when a few hours hadelapsed, and we tried silver paint and gold paint. Our pockets werealways full of gold and silver money, and we could jingle it and take itout in handfuls and let people see it--not too near. 

Then came the great eventful day. 

H. O. Had fallen into the water-butt that morning. We dried his hollandsmock, but it went stiff like paper, so that old nurse noticed it, andthus found out that he was wringing wet underneath. So she put him tobed, for fear of his catching his death of cold, and the inveterate gangof coiners had to go to their fell lair without him. We left all ourfalse money at home, because old nurse had given Alice a piece oftrimming, for dolls, that was all over little imitation silver coins, called sequences, I believe, to imitate the coinage of Turkish regions. We reached our Enchanceried House, got in as usual, and started ourdesperate work of changing silver sequences into gold half-sovereigns, with gold paint. 

Noël was very grumpy: he was odd altogether that day. He was trying towrite a poem about a Bastille prisoner. He asked to be sentry, so thathe could think about rhymes. 

We had not coined more than about four half-sovereigns when we heardNoël say: 'Hist! Hide the plant!'

We didn't take any notice, because we wanted to get enough of them doneto play a game of misers, which was Alice's idea. 

'Hist!' Noël said again. And then suddenly he rushed in and said: 'It'sa _real_ hist! I tell you there's someone on the stairs. '

And he shut the wooden-grated door, and Oswald, with rare presence ofmind, caught up the bunch of keys and locked the wooden-grated door withthe key labelled 'Mrs. S. 's room. '

Then, breathless and furtive, we all hid in the part of the room nearthe fireplace, where no one could see us from the door. 

We hardly dared to breathe. Alice said afterwards that she could hearOswald's heart beating with terror, but the author is almost sure thatit was only his watch ticking. It had begun to go that week, after daysof unexplained idleness. If we _did_ have to pay for finding theEnchanceried House, this was when we paid. 

There _were_ feet on the stairs. We all heard them. And voices. Theauthor distinctly heard the words 'replete with every moderninconvenience, ' and 'pleasantly situate ten minutes from tram andrail. '

And Oswald, at least, understood that, somehow or other, our house hadgot itself disenchanceried, and that the owner was trying to let it. 

We held our breaths till they were nearly choked out of us. 

The steps came nearer and nearer. They came along the passage, andstopped at the door. 

'This is the nursery, ' said a manly voice. 'Ah, locked! I quiteunderstood from the agent that the keys were in the hall. '

Of course _we_ had the keys, and this was the moment that Noël chose fordropping them. Why he was fingering them where they lay on themantelpiece the author does not know, and never will know. There issomething about 'previously demented' in some Latin chap--Virgil orLucretius--that seems to hit the nail on the head. The keys fell on thecracked hearthstone with a clang that Oswald, at any rate, will neverforget. 

There was an awful silence--quite a long one. 

Then another voice said:

'There's someone in there. '

'Look at that bench, ' said the other man; 'it's coiners' work, that'swhat it is, but there's nobody there. The keys must have _blown_ down!'

The two voices talked some time, but we could not hear all theirconversation. We were all wondering, as it turned out afterwards, whatexactly the utmost rigour of the law was. Because, of course, we knew wewere trespassers of the very deepest dye, even if we could prove that wewere not real coiners. 

'No, ' we heard one of them say, 'if we go for the police very likely thegang will return and destroy everything. There's no one here now. Let'ssecure the evidence. We can easily break the door down. '

It is a sickening feeling when the evidence against you is going to besecured, and you don't know what the punishment for coining is, orwhether anyone will believe you if you say you were only playing at it. 

We exchanged pallid glances. 

We could hear the two men shaking the door, and we had no means ofknowing just how weak it was, never having seriously tampered with itourselves. 

It was then that Noël suddenly went quite mad. I think it was due tosomething old nurse had read to us at breakfast that day about a boy ofeight who played on the fiddle, and composed pieces of music. Affectedyoung ass!

He darted from us into the middle of the room, where the two intruderscould see him, and said:

'Don't break down the door! The villains may return any moment anddestroy you. Fetch the police!'

The surprised outsiders could find no word but 'Er?'

'You are surprised to see me here, ' said Noël, not taking any notice ofthe furious looks of the rest of us. 'I am an infant prodigy. I play theviolin at concerts; I play it beautifully. They take me to London toplay in a closed carriage, so that I can't tell anyone my woes on theway. '

'My poor child!' said one of the outsiders; 'tell us all about it. Wemust rescue you. '

'Born of poor but honest parents, ' said Noël--and this was what nursehad read out to us--'my musical talent early manifested itself on a toyviolin, the gift of a devoted great-aunt. Torn from my home----I say, dofetch the police. If the monsters who live on my violin-playing returnand find you here, they will brain you with the tools of their trade, and I shall be lost. '

'Their trade?' said one of them. 'What trade?'

'They are coiners, ' said Noël, 'as well as what they do to me to make meplay. '

'But if we leave you?'

'Oh, they won't hurt _me_, ' cried Noël, 'because I have to play to-nightat Exeter Hall. Fly--fly for the police! They may come up behind you anymoment and cleave you to the chine. '

And they actually flew. The present author would have known instantlythat it was rot that about cleaving chines, but the man who wanted tolet the Disenchanteried House and the man who wanted to have it let tohim were of other mettle. 

We had remained perfectly still and silent. Of course, if the outsidershad attacked Noël, his brothers would have rushed to his rescue. 

As soon as the retreating boots of the outsiders grew fainter on thestairs, Noël turned green, and had to be revived by splashings from thebrotherly coal-scuttle full of water. He got better directly, and we allscooted home to old nurse's, leaving our coining plant without a pang. All great generals say that a retreat is best conducted withoutimpediments. 

Noël was so ill he had to go to bed and stay there. This was as well, because of the neighbourhood being scoured for the ill-used infantprodigy that had been imprisoned in the Enchanceried House. He got allright again in time to go home when father came up for us. While he wasin bed he wrote a long poem in six different coloured chalks, called'The Enchanceried Coiners, or the Liar's Remorse. ' So I know he wassorry for what he had done. He told me he could not think what made him, and of course it was very wrong, but it did save our bacon, and preserveus from the noisome cells and bread and water that I am sure are thereal meaning of the 'utmost rigour of the law. '

Really the worst of it all was that while we were trembling in thecoiners' den, with the two outside gentlemen snorting and whispering onthe other side of the gate-door, H. O. Had got up out of his bed at homeand answered the door. (Old nurse had gone out to get a lettuce and anaerated loaf for tea. ) He answered it to a butcher's bill for fifteenand sevenpence that the butcher's little girl had brought, and he paidit with six of the pennies that we had disguised as half-crowns, andtold the little girl to call for the sevenpence in the morning. Ibelieve many people have been hanged for less. It was lucky for H. O. That old nurse was a friend of the butcher's, and able to persuade himthat it was only a joke. In sterner times, like the French Revolution... But Alice does not like to think what would have happened then. Asthis is the twentieth century, and not the eighteenth, our all goingdown to the butcher and saying we were sorry made it all right. Butsuppose it had been in other dates!

The butcher's wife gave us cake and ginger wine, and was very jolly. Sheasked us where we had got the false half-crowns. Oswald said they hadbeen given us. This was true, but when they were given us they werepennies. 

Did Oswald tell a lie to the butcher? He has often wondered. He hopesnot. It is easy to know whether a thing is a lie or not when nothingdepends on it. But when events are happening, and the utmost rigour ofthe law may be the result of your making a mistake, you have to tell thetruth as carefully as you can. 

No English gentleman tells a lie--Oswald knows that, of course. But anEnglishman is not obliged to criminalate himself. The rules of honourand the laws of your country are very puzzling and contradictory. 

But the butcher got paid afterwards in real money--a half-sovereign andtwo half-crowns, and seven unsilvered pennies. So nobody was injured, and the author thinks that is the great thing after all. 

All the same, if ever he goes to stay with old nurse again, he thinks hewill tell the butcher All in confidence. He does not like to have anydoubts about such a serious thing as the honour of a Bastable. 

THE END OF OSWALD'S PART OF THE BOOK. 

OTHERS

[Illustration: 'A little person in a large white cap. '--Page 257]

MOLLY, THE MEASLES, AND THE MISSING WILL

We all think a great deal too much of ourselves. We all believe--everyman, woman, and child of us--in our very insidest inside heart, that noone else in the world is at all like us, and that things happen to usthat happen to no one else. Now, this is a great mistake, becausehowever different we may be in the colour of our hair and eyes, theinside part, the part that we feel and suffer with, is pretty much alikein all of us. But no one seems to know this except me. That is whypeople won't tell you the really wonderful things that happen to them:they think you are so different that you could never believe thewonderful things. But of course you are not different really, and youcan believe wonderful things as easily as anybody else. For instance, you will be able to believe this story quite easily, for though itdidn't happen to you, that was merely an accident. It might havehappened, quite easily, to you or any else. As it happened, it happenedto Maria Toodlethwaite Carruthers. 

You will already have felt a little sorry for Maria, and you will havethought that I might have chosen a prettier name for her. And so Imight. But I did not do the choosing. Her parents did that. And theycalled her Maria after an aunt who was disagreeable, and would have beenmore disagreeable than ever if the baby had been called Enid or Elaineor Vivien, or any of the pretty names that will readily occur to you. She was called Toodlethwaite after the eminent uncle of that name whohad an office in London and an office in Liverpool, and was said to berolling in money. 

'I _should_ like to see Uncle Toodlethwaite rolling in his money, ' saidMaria, 'but he never does it when I'm about. '

The third name, Carruthers, was Maria's father's name, and she oftenfelt thankful that it was no worse. It might so easily have been Snooksor Prosser. 

Of course no one called Maria Maria except Aunt Maria herself. Her AuntEliza, who was very refined, always wrote in the improving books thatshe gave Maria on her birthday, 'To dearest Marie, from her affectionateAunt Elise, ' and when she spoke to her she called her Mawrie. Herbrothers and sisters, whenever they wanted to be aggravating, called herToodles, but at times of common friendliness they called her Molly, andso did most other people, and so shall I, and so may you. 

Molly and her brothers and sisters were taken care of by a young womanwho was called a nursery-governess. I don't know why, for she did notnurse them, and she certainly did not govern them. In her last situationshe had been called a lady-help--I don't know the why of that, either. Her name was Simpshall, and she was always saying 'Don't, ' and 'Youmustn't do that, ' and 'Put that down directly, ' and 'I shall tell yourmamma if you don't leave off. ' She never seemed to know what you oughtto do, but only what you oughtn't. 

One day the children had a grand battle with all the toy soldiers, andthe little brass cannons that shoot peas, and the other kind that shootpink caps with '_Fortes Amorces_' on the box. 

Bertie, who always liked to have everything as real as possible, didnot like the soldiers to be standing on the bare polished mahogany ofthe dining-table. 

'It's not a bit like the field of glory, ' he said. And indeed it wasnot. 

So he borrowed the large kitchen knife-box and went out, and brought itin full of nice real clean mould out of the garden. Half a dozenknife-box-fulls were needed to cover the table. Then the children madeforts and ditches, and brought in sprigs of geranium and calceolaria andbox and yew and made trees and ambushes and hedges. It was a lovelybattlefield, and would have melted the heart of anyone but anursery-governess. 

But she just said, 'What a disgusting mess! How naughty you are!' andfetched a brush and swept the field of glory away into the dustpan. There was only just time to save the lives of the soldiers. 

And then Cecily put the knife-box back without saying what it had beenused for, and the knives were put into it, so that at dinner everythingtasted of earth, and the grit got between people's teeth, so that theycould not eat their mutton or potatoes or cabbage, or even their gravy. 

This, of course, was entirely Miss Simpshall's fault. If she had notbehaved as she did Bertie or Eva would have remembered to clean out theknife-box. As it was, the story of the field of glory came out over thegritty mutton and things, and father sent all the battlefield-makers tobed. 

Molly was out of this. She was staying with Aunt Eliza, who was kind, ifrefined. She was to come back the next day. But as mother was on her wayto the station to meet Aunt Maria for a day's shopping, she met atelegraph boy, who gave her a telegram from Aunt Eliza saying:

 'Am going to Palace to-day instead of to-morrow. Fetch Marie. --ELISE. '

So mother fetched her from Aunt Eliza's flat in Kensington and took hershopping with Aunt Maria. There were hours of shopping in hot, stuffyshops full of tired shop-people and angry ladies, and even the new hatand jacket and the strawberry ice at the pastrycook's in Oxford Streetdid not make up to Molly for that tiresome day. 

Still, she was out of the battlefield row. Only as she did not know thatit could not comfort her. 

When Aunt Maria had been put into her train, mother and Molly went home. As their cab stopped, Miss Simpshall rushed out between the two dustylaburnums by the gate. 

'Don't come in!' said Miss Simpshall wildly. 

'My dear Miss Simpshall----' said mother. 

The hair of the nursery-governess waved wildly in the evening breeze. She shut the ornamental iron gate in mother's face. 

'Don't come in!' said Miss Simpshall again. 'You shan't, youmustn't----'

'Don't talk nonsense, ' said mother, looking very white. 'Have you gonemad?'

Miss Simpshall said she hadn't. 

'But what's the matter?' said mother. 

'Measles, ' said Miss Simpshall; 'it's all out on them--thick. '

'Good gracious!' said mother. 

'And I thought you'd perhaps just as soon Molly didn't have it, Mrs. Carruthers. And this is all the thanks I get, being told I'm insane. '

'I'm sorry, ' said mother absently. 'Yes, you were quite right. Keep thechildren warm. Has the doctor seen them?'

'Not yet; I've only just found it out. Oh, it's terrible! Their handsand faces are all scarlet with purple spots. '

'Oh dear, oh dear! I hope it's nothing worse than measles! I'll call inand send the doctor, ' said mother; 'I shall be home by the last train. It's a blessing Molly's clothes are all here in her box. '

So Molly was whisked off in the cab. 

'I must take you back to your aunt's, ' said mother. 

'But Aunt Eliza's gone to stay at the Bishop's Palace, ' said Molly. 

'So she has; we must go to your Aunt Maria's. Oh dear!'

'Never mind, mother, ' said Molly, slipping her hand into mother's;'perhaps they won't have it very badly. And I'll be very good, and trynot to have it at all. '

This was very brave of Molly; she would much rather have had measlesthan have gone to stay at Aunt Maria's. 

Aunt Maria lived in a lovely old house down in Kent. It had beautifulfurniture and beautiful gardens; in fact, as Bertie said, it was a place

 'Where every prospect pleases, And only aunt is vile. '

Molly and her mother arrived there just at supper-time. Aunt Maria wasvery surprised and displeased. Molly went to bed at once, and hersupper was brought up on a tray by Clements, aunt's own maid. It wascold lamb and mint-sauce, and jelly and custard. 

'Your aunt said to bring you biscuits and milk, ' said Clements, 'but Ithought you'd like this better. '

'You're a darling!' said Molly; 'I was so afraid you'd be gone for yourholiday. It's not nearly so beastly when you're here. '

Clements was flattered, and returned the compliment. 

'And you aren't so bad when you're good, miss, ' she said. 'Eat it up. I'll come back and bring you a night-light by-and-by. '

One thing Molly liked about Aunt Maria's was that there were nochildren's bedrooms--no bare rooms with painted furniture and Dutchdrugget. All the rooms were 'best rooms', with soft carpetsand splendid old furniture. The beds were all four-posters with carvedpillars and silk damask curtains, and there were sure to be theloveliest things to make believe with in whatever room you happened tobe put into. In this room there were cases of stuffed birds, and astuffed pike that was just like life. There was a wonderful oldcabinet, black and red and gold, very mysterious, and oak chests, andtwo fat white Indian idols sitting cross-legged on the mantelpiece. Itwas very delightful; but Molly liked it best in the daytime. And she wasglad of the night-light. 

She thought of Bertie, and Cicely, and Eva, and baby, and Vincent, andwondered whether measles hurt much. 

Next day Aunt Maria was quite bearable. The worst thing she said wasabout people coming when they weren't expected, and upsettingeverything. 

'I'll try not to upset anything, ' said Molly, and went out and got thegardener to put up a swing for her. 

Then she upset herself out of it, and got a bump on her forehead thesize of a hen's egg, and that, as Aunt Maria very properly said, kepther out of mischief for the rest of the day. 

Next morning Molly had two letters. The first was from Bertie. It said:

 'DEAR MOLLY, 'It is rough lines on you, but we did not mean to keep it up, and it is your fault for coming home the day before you ought to have. We did it to kid old Simpshall, because she was so beastly about us making a real battlefield. We only painted all the parts of us that show with vermilion, and put spots--mixed crimson lake and Prussian blue--all over, and we pulled down the blinds and said our heads ached, and so they did with crying--I mean the girls cried. She was afraid to come near us; but she was sorry she had been such a beast. And when she had come to the door and said so through the keyhole we owned up, but you had gone by then. It was a rare lark, but we've got three days bedder for it. I shall lower this on the end of a fishingline to the baker's boy, and he will post it. It is like a dungeon. He is going to bring us tarts, like a faithful page. 

 'Your affectionate bro. , 'BERTRAND DE LISLE CARRUTHERS. '

The other letter was from mother. 

 'MY DARLING MOLLY, It was all a naughty hoax, intended to annoy poor Miss Simpshall. Your brothers and sisters had painted their faces red and purple--they had not measles at all. But since you _are_ at Aunt Maria's I think you may as well stay ... '

'How awful!' said Molly. 'It _is_ too bad!'

 '... Stay and make it your annual visit. Be a good girl, dear, and do not forget to wear your pinafores in the morning. 

 'Your loving MOTHER. '

Molly wrote a nice little letter to her mother. To her brother she said:

 DEAR BERTIE, I think you are beasts to have let me in for this. You might have thought of me. I shall not forgive you till the sun is just going down, and I would not then, only it is so wrong not to. I wish _you_ had been named Maria, and had to stay here instead of me. 

 'Your broken-hearted sister, 'MOLLY CARRUTHERS. '

When Molly stayed at the White House she was accustomed to read aloud inthe mornings from 'Ministering Children' or 'Little Pilgrims, ' whileAunt Maria sewed severely. But that morning Aunt Maria did not send forher. 

'Your aunt's not well, ' Clements told her; 'she won't be down beforelunch. Run along, do, miss, and walk in the garden like a young lady. '

Molly chose rather to swagger out into the stableyard like a younggentleman. The groom was saddling the sorrel horse. 

'I've got to take a telegram to the station, ' said he. 

'Take me, ' said Molly. 

'Likely! And what ud your aunt say?'

'She won't know, ' said Molly, 'and if she does I'll say I made you. '

He laughed, and Molly had a splendid ride behind the groom, with herarms so tight round his waistcoat that he could hardly breathe. 

When they got to the station a porter lifted her down, and the groom lether send off the telegram. It was to Uncle Toodlethwaite, and it said:

 'Please come down at once urgent business most important don't fail bring Bates. --MARIA CARRUTHERS. '

So Molly knew something very out of the way had happened, and she wasglad that her aunt should have something to think of besides her, because the White House would have been a very nice place to stay at ifAunt Maria had not so often remembered to do her duty by you. 

[Illustration: 'Molly had a splendid ride behind the groom. '--Page 134]

In the afternoon Uncle Toodlethwaite came, and he and Aunt Maria and aperson in black with a shining black bag--Molly supposed he was Mr. Bates, who was to be brought by Uncle Toodlethwaite--sat in thedining-room with the door shut. 

Molly went to help the kitchenmaid shell peas, in the little grasscourtyard in the middle of the house. They sat on the kitchen steps, andMolly could hear the voices of Clements and the housekeeper through theopen window of the servants' hall. She heard, but she did not think itwas eavesdropping, or anything dishonourable, like listening at doors. They were talking quite out loud. 

'And a dreadful blow it will be to us all, if true, ' the housekeeper wassaying. 

'_She_ thinks it's true, ' said Clements; 'cried her eyes out, she did, and wired for her brother-in-law once removed. '

'Meaning her brother's brother-in-law--I see. But I don't know as Ireally understand the ins and outs of it even yet. '

'Well, it's like this, ' said Clements: 'missis an' her brother they usedto live here along of their uncle, and he had a son, a regular bad egghe was, and the old master said he shouldn't ever have a penny of hismoney. He said he'd leave it to Mr. Carruthers--that's missis's brother, see?'

'That means father, ' thought Molly. 

'And he'd leave missis the house and enough money to keep it up instyle. He was a warm man, it seems. Well, then the son's drowned atsea--ship went down and all aboard perished. Just as well, because whenthe old man died they couldn't find no will. So it all comes to missisand her brother, there being no other relations near or far, and theydivides it the same as the old man had always said he wished. You seewhat I mean?'

'Near enough, ' said the housekeeper; 'and then?'

'Why, then, ' said Clements, 'comes this letter--this very morning--froma lawyer, to say as this bad egg of a son wasn't drowned at all: he wasin foreign parts, and only now heard of his father's decease, and tendswithout delay to claim the property, which all comes to him, thedeceased have died insensate--that means without a will. '

'I say, Clements, ' Molly sung out, 'you must have read the letter. Didaunt show it to you?'

There was a dead silence; the kitchenmaid giggled. Someone whisperedinside the room. Then the housekeeper's voice called softly, 'Come inhere a minute, miss, ' and the window was sharply shut. 

Molly emptied the peascods out of her pinafore and went in. 

Directly she was inside the door Clements caught her by the arm andshook her. 

'You nasty mean, prying little cat!' she said; 'and me getting you jellyand custard, and I don't know what all. '

'I'm not, ' said Molly. 'Don't, Clements; you hurt. '

'You deserve me to, ' was the reply. 'Doesn't she, Mrs. Williams?'

'Don't you know it's wrong to listen, miss?' asked Mrs. Williams. 

'I didn't listen, ' said Molly indignantly. 'You were simply shouting. Noone could help hearing. Me and Jane would have had to put our fingers inour ears _not_ to hear. '

'I didn't think it of you, ' said Clements, beginning to sniff. 

'I don't know what you're making all this fuss about, ' said Molly; 'I'mnot a sneak. '

'Have a piece of cake, miss, ' said Mrs. Williams, 'and give me your wordit shan't go any further. '

'I don't want your cake; you'd better give it to Clements. It's she thattells things--not me. '

Molly began to cry. 

'There, I declare, miss, I'm sorry I shook you, but I was that put out. There! I ask your pardon; I can't do more. You wouldn't get poorClements into trouble, I'm sure. '

'Of course I wouldn't; you might have known that. '

Well, peace was restored; but Molly wouldn't have any cake. 

That evening Jane wore a new silver brooch, shaped like a horseshoe, with an arrow through it. 

It was after tea, when Uncle Toodlethwaite was gone, that Molly, creeping quietly out to see the pigs fed, came upon her aunt at the endof the hollyhock walk. Her aunt was sitting on the rustic seat that thecrimson rambler rose makes an arbour over. Her handkerchief was held toher face with both hands, and her thin shoulders were shaking withsobs. 

And at once Molly forgot how disagreeable Aunt Maria had always been, and how she hated her. She ran to her aunt and threw her arms round herneck. Aunt Maria jumped in her seat, but she let the arms stay wherethey were, though they made it quite difficult for her to use herhandkerchief. 

'Don't cry, dear ducky _darling_ Aunt Maria, ' said Molly--'oh, don't!What _is_ the matter?'

'Nothing you would understand, ' said Aunt Maria gruffly; 'run away andplay, there's a good child. '

'But I don't want to play while you're crying. I'm sure I couldunderstand, dear little auntie. '

Molly embraced the tall, gaunt figure of the aunt. 

'Dear little auntie, tell Molly. '

She used just the tone she was used to use to her baby brother. 

'It's--it's business, ' said Aunt Maria, sniffing. 

'I know business is dreadfully bad--father says so, ' said Molly. 'Don'tsend me away, auntie; I'll be as quiet as a mouse. I'll just sit andcuddle you till you feel better. '

She got her arms round the aunt's waist, and snuggled her head against athin arm. Aunt Maria had always been one for keeping children in theirproper places. Yet somehow now Molly's proper place seemed to be justwhere she was--where she had never been before. 

'You're a kind little girl, Maria, ' she said presently. 

'I wish I could do something, ' said Molly. 'Wouldn't you feel better ifyou told me? They say it does you good not to grieve in solitaryconcealment. I'm sure I could understand if you didn't use long words. '

And, curiously enough, Aunt Maria did tell her, almost exactly what shehad heard from Clements. 

'And I know there was a will leaving it all to your father and me, ' shesaid; 'I saw it signed. It was witnessed by the butler we had then--hedied the year after--and by Mr. Sheldon: he died, too, out hunting. '

Her voice softened, and Molly snuggled closer and said:

'Poor Mr. Sheldon!'

'He and I were to have been married, ' said Aunt Maria suddenly. 'That'shis picture in the hall between the carp and your Great-uncleCarruthers. '

'Poor auntie!' said Molly, thinking of the handsome man in scarlet nextthe stuffed carp--'oh, poor auntie, I do love you so!'

Aunt Maria put an arm round her. 

'Oh, my dear, ' she said, 'you don't understand. All the happy thingsthat ever happened to me happened here, and all the sad things too; ifthey turn me out I shall die--I know I shall. It's been bad enough, ' shewent on, more to herself than to Molly; 'but there's always been theplace just as it was when I was a girl, when he used to come here: sobold and laughing he always was. I can see him here quite plainly; I'veonly to shut my eyes. But I couldn't see him anywhere else. '

'Don't wills get hidden away sometimes?' Molly asked; for she had readstories about such things. 

'We looked everywhere, ' said Aunt Maria--'everywhere. We had detectivesfrom London, because there were things he'd left to other people, and wewanted to carry out his wishes; but we couldn't find it. Uncle must havedestroyed it, and meant to make another, only he never did--he neverdid. Oh, I hope the dead can't see what we suffer! If my UncleCarruthers and dear James could see me turned out of the old place, itwould break their hearts even up in heaven. '

Molly was silent. Suddenly her aunt seemed to awake from a dream. 

'Good gracious, child, ' she said, 'what nonsense I've been talking! Goaway and play, and forget all about it. Your own troubles will beginsoon enough. '

'I do love you, auntie, ' said Molly, and went. 

Aunt Maria never unbent again as she had done that evening; but Mollyfelt a difference that made all the difference. She was not afraid ofher aunt now, and she loved her. Besides, things were happening. TheWhite House was now the most interesting place in the world. 

Be sure that Molly set to work at once to look for the missing will. London detectives were very careless; she was certain they were. Sheopened drawers and felt in the backs of cupboards; she prodded thepadding of chairs, listening for the crackling of paper inside among thestuffing; she tapped the woodwork of the house all over for secretpanels; but she did not find the will. 

She could not believe that her Great-uncle Carruthers would have been sosilly as to burn a will that he knew might be wanted at any moment. Sheused to stand in front of his portrait, and look at it; he did not lookat all silly. And she used to look at the portrait of handsome, laughingMr. Sheldon, who had been killed out hunting instead of marrying AuntMaria, and more than once she said:

'You might tell me where it is; you look as if you knew. '

But he never altered his jolly smile. 

Molly thought of missing wills from the moment her eyes opened in themorning to the time when they closed at night. 

Then came the dreadful day when Uncle Toodlethwaite and Mr. Bates camedown, and Uncle Toodlethwaite said:

'I'm afraid there's no help for it, Maria; you can delay the thing abit, but you'll have to turn out in the end. '

It was on that night that the wonderful thing happened--the thing thatMolly has never told to anyone except me, because she thought no onecould believe it. She went to bed as usual and to sleep, and she wokesuddenly, hearing someone call 'Molly, Molly!'

She sat up in bed; the room was full of moonlight. As usual her firstwaking thought was of the missing will. Had it been found? Was her auntcalling her to tell the good news? No, the room was quite still. She wasalone. 

The moonlight fell full on the old black and red and gold cabinet; that, she had often thought, was just the place where a will would be hidden. It might have a secret drawer, that the London detectives had missed. She had often looked over it carefully, but now she got out of bed andlighted her candle, and went over to the cabinet to have one more look. She opened all the drawers, pressed all the knobs in the carvedbrasswork. There was a little door in the middle; she knew that thelittle cupboard behind it was empty. It had red lacquered walls, and theback wall was looking-glass. She opened the little cupboard, held up hercandle, and looked in. She expected to see her own face in the glass asusual, but she did not see it; instead there was a black space, theopening to something not quite black. She could seelights--candle-lights--and the space grew bigger, or she grew smaller, she never knew which. And next moment she was walking through theopening. 

'Now I am going to see something really worth seeing, ' said Molly. 

She was not frightened--from first to last she was not at allfrightened. 

She walked straight through the back of the cabinet in the best bedroomupstairs into the library on the ground-floor. That sounds likenonsense, but Molly declares it was so. 

There were candles on the table and papers, and there were people in thelibrary; they did not see her. 

There was great-uncle Carruthers and Aunt Maria, very pretty, with longcurls and a striped gray silk dress, like in the picture in thedrawing-room. There was handsome, jolly Mr. Sheldon in a brown coat. Anold servant was just going out of the door. 

'That's settled, then, ' said Great-uncle Carruthers; 'now, my girl, bed. '

Aunt Maria--such a young, pretty Aunt Maria, Molly would never haveknown her but for the portrait--kissed her uncle, and then she took aChristmas rose out of her dress and put it in Mr. Sheldon's buttonhole, and put up her face to him and said, 'Good-night, James. ' He kissed her;Molly heard the loud, jolly sound of the kiss, and Aunt Maria went away. 

Then the old man said: 'You'll leave this at Bates' for me, Sheldon;you're safer than the post. '

Handsome Mr. Sheldon said he would. Then the lights went out, and Mollywas in bed again. 

Quite suddenly it was daylight. Jolly Mr. Sheldon, in his red coat, wasstanding by the cabinet. The little cupboard door was open. 

'By George!' he said, 'it's ten days since I promised to take that willup to Bates, and I never gave it another thought. All your fault, Maria, my dear. You shouldn't take up all my thoughts; 'I'll take itto-morrow. '

Molly heard something click, and he went out of the room whistling. 

Molly lay still. She felt there was more to come. And the next thing wasthat she was looking out of the window, and saw something carried acrossthe lawn on a hurdle with two scarlet coats laid over it, and she knewit was handsome Mr. Sheldon, and that he would not carry the will toBates to-morrow, or do anything else in this world ever any more. 

When Molly woke in the morning she sprang out of bed and ran to thecabinet. There was nothing in the looking-glass cupboard. 

All the same, she ran straight to her aunt's room. It was long beforethe hour when Clements soberly tapped, bringing hot water. 

'Wake up, auntie!' she cried. 

And auntie woke up, very cross indeed. 

'Look here, auntie, ' she said, 'I'm certain there's a secret place inthat cabinet in my room, and the will's in it; I know it is. '

'You've been dreaming, ' said Aunt Maria severely; 'go back to bed. You'll catch your death of cold paddling about barefoot like that. '

Molly had to go, but after breakfast she began again. 

'But why do you think so?' asked Aunt Maria. 

And Molly, who thought she knew that nobody would believe her story, could only say:

'I don't know, but I am quite sure. '

'Nonsense!' said Aunt Maria. 

'Aunty, ' Molly said, 'don't you think uncle might have given the will toMr. Sheldon to take to Mr. Bates, and he may have put it in the secretplace and forgotten?'

'What a head the child's got--full of fancies!' said Aunt Maria. 

'If he slept in that room--did he ever sleep in that room?'

'Always, whenever he stayed here. '

'Was it long after the will-signing that poor Mr. Sheldon died?'

'Ten days, ' said Aunt Maria shortly; 'run away and play. I've letters towrite. '

But because it seemed good to leave no stone unturned, one of thoseletters was to a cabinet-maker in Rochester, and the groom took it inthe dog-cart, and the cabinet-maker came back with him. 

And there _was_ a secret hiding-place behind the looking-glass in thelittle red lacquered cupboard in the old black and red and gold cabinet, and in that secret hiding-place was the missing will, and on it lay abrown flower that dropped to dust when it was moved. 

'It's a Christmas rose, ' said Molly. 

 * * * * *

'So, you see, really it was a very good thing the others pretended tohave measles, because if they hadn't I shouldn't have come to you, andif I hadn't come I shouldn't have known there was a will missing, and ifI hadn't known that I shouldn't have found it, should I, aunty, shouldI, uncle?' said Molly, wild with delight. 

'No, dear, ' said Aunt Maria, patting her hand. 

'Little girls, ' said Uncle Toodlethwaite, 'should be seen and not heard. But I admit that simulated measles may sometimes be a blessing indisguise. '

All the young Carruthers thought so when they got the five pounds thatAunt Maria sent them. Miss Simpshall got five pounds too because it wasowing to her that Molly was taken to the White House that day. Molly gota little pearl necklace as well as five pounds. 

'Mr. Sheldon gave it to me, ' said Aunt Maria. 'I wouldn't give it toanyone but you. '

Molly hugged her in silent rapture. 

That just shows how different our Aunt Marias would prove to be if theywould only let us know them as they really are. It really is not wise toconceal _everything_ from children. 

You see, if Aunt Maria had not told Molly about Mr. Sheldon, she wouldnever have thought about him enough to see his ghost. Now Molly is grownup she tells me it was only a dream. But even if it was it is just aswonderful, and served the purpose just as well. 

Perhaps you would like to know what Aunt Maria said when thecabinet-maker opened the secret hiding-place and she saw the paper withthe brown Christmas rose on it? Clements was there, as well as thecabinet-maker and Molly. She said right out before them all, 'Oh, James, my dear!' and she picked up the flower before she opened the will. Andit fell into brown dust in her hand. 

BILLY AND WILLIAM

A HISTORICAL TALE FOR THE YOUNG

 '_Have you found your prize essay?_' '_No; but I have found the bicycle of the butcher's boy. _'

It is rather trying to have to walk three miles to the station, to saynothing of the three miles back, to meet a cousin you have never seenand never wish to see, especially if you have to leave a kite half made, and there is no proper lock to the shed you are making your kite in. 

The road was flat and dusty, the sun felt much too warm on his back, thehill to the station was long and steep, and the train was nearly an hourlate, because it was a train on the South-Eastern Railway. So Williamwas exceedingly cross, and he would have been crosser still if he couldhave known that I should ever call him William, for though that happenedto be his name, the one he 'answered to' (as the stolen-dogadvertisements say) was 'Billy. ' So perhaps it would be kind of me tospeak of him as Billy, because it is rather horrid to do things you knowpeople won't like, even if you think they'll never know you've donethem. 

Well, the train came in, and it was annoying to Billy, very, that fouror five boys should bundle out of the train, and he should have to go upto them one after the other and say:

'I say, is your name Harold St. Leger?'

He did not particularly like the look of any of the boys, and of courseit happened that the very last one he spoke to was Harold, and that hewas also the one whom Billy liked least particularly of the whole lot. 

'Oh, you are, are you?' was all he could find to say when Harold hadblushingly owned to his name. Then in manly tones Billy gave the orderabout Harold's luggage and the carrier, said 'Come along!' and Haroldcame. 

Harold was a fattish boy with whitey-brown hair, and he was as soft andwhite as a silkworm. Billy did not admire him. He himself was hard andbrown, with thin arms and legs and joints like the lumps of clay onbranches that the gardener has grafted. And Harold did not admire _him_. 

There was little conversation on the way home; when you don't want tohave a visitor and he doesn't want to be one, talking is not much fun. When they got home there was tea. Billy's mother talked politely toHarold, but that did not make anyone any happier. Then Billy took hiscousin round and showed him the farm and the stock, and Harold was lessinterested than you would think a boy could be. At last, weary of tryingto behave nicely, Billy said:

'I suppose there must be _something_ you like, however much of a muffyou are. Well, you can jolly well find it out for yourself. I'm going tofinish my kite. '

The silkworm-soft face of Harold lighted up. 

'Oh, _I_ can make kites, ' he said; 'I've invented a new kind. I'll helpyou if you'll let me. '

Harold, eager, quick fingered, skilful, in the shed among the string, and the glue, and the paper, and the bendable, breakable laths, wasquite a different person from Harold, nervous and dull, among thefarmyard beasts. Billy allowed him to help with the kite, and he beganto respect his cousin a little more. 

'Though it's rather like a girl, being so neat with your fingers, ' hesaid disparagingly. 

'I wish I'd got the proper sort of paper, ' Harold said, 'then I'd makemy new patent kite that I've invented; but it's a very extra sort ofkind of paper. I got some once at a butter-shop in Bermondsey, but thatwas in a dream. '

Billy stared. 

'You must be off your chump, ' he said; and he felt more sorry than everthat his jolly country holiday was to be spoiled by a strange cousin, who ought, perhaps, to be in a lunatic asylum rather than at arespectable farm. 

That night Billy was awakened from the dreamless sleep which blesses thesort of boy he was to find Harold excitedly thumping him on the backwith a roll of stiff paper. 

'Wake up, ' he said--'wake up! I _will_ tell somebody that's awake. Idreamed that a jackdaw came in and flew off with that thin paper thingthat was on the chest of drawers with the gilt button at the corner, andthen I dreamed I got up and found this roll of paper up the chimney. Andwhen I woke up I found _it_ had and _I_ had, and it's the real rightkite-paper for my patent kite--just like I dreamed I bought in thebutter-shop in Bermondsey. And it's five o'clock by the church clock, and it's quite light. I'm going to get up directly minute and make mypatent kite. '

'Patent fiddlestick!' replied Billy, sleepy and indignant. 'You getalong and leave me be; you've been dreaming, that's all. Just like agirl!'

'Yes, ' repeated Harold gently, 'I _have_ been dreaming; but when I wokeup I found _it_ had and _I_ had; and here's the paper, and the flimsything with the gold stud's _gone_. You get up and see----'

Billy did. He got up with a bound, and he saw with an eye. And Williamturned on Harold and shook him till his teeth nearly rattled in his headand his pale eyes nearly dropped out. (I have called him William herebecause I really think he deserves it. It is a cowardly thing to shake acousin, even if you do not happen to be pleased with him. )

'Wha--wha--what's the matter?' choked the wretched Harold. 

'Why, you miserable little idiot, you've _not_ been dreaming at all!You've been lying like a silly log, and letting that beastly bird carryoff my prize essay! That's _all_! And it took me ten days to do, and Ihad to get almost all of it out of books, and the worse swat I ever didin my life. And now it's all no good. And there aren't any books downhere to do it again out of. Oh, bother, _bother_, BOTHER!'

'I'm very sorry for you, ' said Harold, 'but I didn't lie like logs--Idid dream--and I've got the kite-paper, and I'll help you write theessay again if you like. '

'I shouldn't be surprised if it was all a make-up, ' said William. (I_must_ go on calling him William at present. ) 'You've hidden the essayso as to be able to send it in yourself. '

'Oh, how _can_ you?' said Harold; and he turned pale just like a girl, and just like a girl he began to cry. 

'Now, look here, ' the enraged William went on, 'I've got to be civil toyou before people; but don't you dare to speak to me when we're alone. You're either a silly idiot or a sneaking hound, and either way I'm notgoing to have anything to do with you. '

I don't know how he could have done it, but William kept his word, andfor three days he only spoke to Harold when other people were about. This was horrible for Harold; he had been used to being his father'spride and his mother's joy, and now he was Nobody's Anything, which isthe saddest thing in the world to be. He tried to console himself bymaking kites all day long, but even kites cannot comfort you when nobodyloves you, and when you feel that it really is not your fault at all. 

William went about his own affairs; he was not at all happy. He finishedhis kite and flew it, and he lost it because the string caught on thechurch weather-cock, which cut it in two. And he tried to rewrite hisprize essay, but he couldn't, because he had taken all the stuffing forit out of books and not out of his head, where it ought to have been. 

Harold found some moments of forgetfulness when he was making the patentkite. It was very big, and the roll of paper he had found in his dreamin the chimney was exactly the right thing for patent kite-making. Butwhen it was done, what was the good? There was no one to see him fly it. He did fly it, and it was perfect. It was shaped like a bird, and itrose up, and up, and up, and hung poised above the church-tower, lightand steady as a hawk poised above its prey. William wouldn't even comeout to look at it, though Harold begged him to. 

The next morning Harold dreamed that he had not been able to bear thingsany longer, and had run away, and when William woke up Harold was gone. Then William remembered how Harold had offered to help him with hiskite, and would have helped him to rewrite the essay, and how throughthose three cruel days Harold had again and again tried to make friends, and how, after all, he was with his own people, and Harold was astranger. 

He said, 'Oh, bother, I wish I hadn't!' and he felt that he had been abeast. This is called Remorse. Then he said, 'I'll find him, and I'll beas decent to him as I can, poor chap! though he _is_ silly. ' This iscalled Repentance. 

Then he found a letter on Harold's bed. It said (and it was blotted withtears, and it had a blob of glue on it):

 'DEAR BILLY, 'It wasn't my fault about your essay, and I'm sorry, and am going to run away to India to find my people. I shall go disguised as a stowaway. 

 'Your affectionate cousin, 'HAROLD EGBERT DARWIN ST. LEGER. '

Billy did not have to show this letter to his mother, because she hadgone away for the day, so he did not have to explain to her what abeast he had been. If he had had to do this, it would have been part ofwhat is called Expiation. 

Then he got the farm men to go out in every direction, furnished with afull description of Harold's silkworm-like appearance, and Billyborrowed a bicycle from a noble-hearted butcher's boy in the village andset out for Plymouth, because that seemed the likeliest place to look infor a cousin who was running away disguised as a stowaway. The wind blewstraight towards the sea, and it occurred to Billy--he deserves to becalled Billy now, I think--that the great patent kite, which was tenfeet high, would drag him along like winking if he could only set itflying, and then tie it to the handle-bar of the bicycle. It was rathera ticklish business to get the kite up, but the butcher's boy helped--hehad a noble heart--and at last it was done. Billy saw the greatbird-kite flying off towards Plymouth. He hastily knotted the string tothe bicycle handle, held the slack of it in his hand, mounted, started, paid out the slack of the string, and the next moment the string wastight, and the kite was pulling Billy and the bicycle along thePlymouth road at the rate of goodness-only-knows-how-improbably manymiles an hour. 

At last he came to the outskirts of Plymouth. I shall not tell you whatPlymouth was like, because Billy did not notice or know at all what itwas like, and there is no reason why you should. Plymouth seemed toBilly very much like other places. The only odd thing was that he couldnot stop his bicycle, though he pulled in the kite string as hard as hecould. He flew through the town. All the traffic stopped to let himsteer his mad-paced machine through the streets, and tradespeople, andpeople walking on business, and people walking for pleasure, all stoppedwith their respectable mouths wide open to stare at Billy on hisbicycle. And the kite pulled the machine on and on without pause, and ata furious rate, and Billy, in despair, was just feeling in his pocketfor his knife to cut the string, when some mighty sky-wind seemed tocatch the kite, and it gave a leap and went twenty times as fast as ithad gone before, and the bicycle had to go twenty times as fast too, andbefore Billy could say 'Jack Robinson, ' or even 'J. R. , ' for short, thekite rushed wildly out to sea, dragging the bicycle after it, right slapoff the edge of England. So Billy and the butcher's boy's bicycle weredragged into the sea? Not at all. They were dragged _on_ to the sea, which is not at all the same sort of thing. For the kite was such a veryextra patent one, and so perfectly designed and made, that it was juststrong enough to bear the weight of Billy and the bicycle, and to keepthem out of the water. So that Billy found himself riding splendidlyover the waves, and there was no more splashing than there would havebeen on the road on a very muddy day. Luckily, the sea was smooth, or Idon't know what would have happened. It was smooth and greeny-blue, andthe sun made diamond sparkles on it, and Billy felt as grand as grand tobe riding over such a glorious floor. It was a fine time, but rather ananxious one too. Because, suppose the string had not held? No one couldpossibly ride a bicycle on the sea unless they had the really only trulyright sort of kite to hold the machine up. 

Away and away went the kite, through the blue air up above, and away andaway went the bicycle over the greeny, foamy sea down below, and awayand away went Billy, and the kite went faster and faster and faster, andfaster went the bicycle--much, much faster than you would believeunless you had seen it as Billy did. And just at the front-door of theBay of Biscay the bicycle caught up with a P. And O. Steamer, and thekite followed the course of the ship, and went alongside of it, so youcan guess how fast the bicycle was going. 

And the Captain of the ship hailed Billy through a speaking-trumpet, andsaid:

'Ahoy, there!'

Billy replied:

'Ahoy yourself!'

But the Captain couldn't hear him. So the Captain said something thatBilly couldn't hear either. But the people who were meant to hear heard, and the great ship stopped, and Billy rode close up to it, and theyhauled him up by the string of the kite, and they put the bicycle in asafe place, and tied the string to the mast, and then the Captain said:

'I suppose I'm dreaming you, boy, because what you're doing isimpossible. '

'I know it is, ' said Billy; 'only I'm doing it--at least, I was till youstopped me. '

They were both wrong, because, of course, if it had been impossible, Billy could not have done it; but neither of them had a scientificmind, as you and I have, dear reader. 

So the Captain asked Billy to dinner, which was very nice, only therewas an uncertain feeling about it. And when Billy had had dinner, hesaid to the Captain:

'I must be going. '

'Is there nothing I can do for you?' said the Captain. 

'I don't know, ' said Billy, 'unless you happen to have a boy namedHarold Egbert Darwin St. Leger on board. He said he was going away in aship to India, disguised as a stowaway. '

The Captain at once ordered the ship to be searched for a boy of thisname in this disguise. The crew looked in the hold, and in the galley, and in the foretop, and on the quarter, and in the gaff, and the jib, and the topsail, and the boom, but they could not find Harold. Theyransacked the cross-trees, and the engine-room, and the bowsprit; theyexplored the backstays, the stays, and the waist, but they found nostowaway. They examined truck and block, they hunted through everyporthole, they left not an inch of the ribs unexplored; but no Harold. He was not in any of the belaying-pins or dead-eyes, nor was he hiddenin the capstan or the compass. At last, in despair, the Captain thoughtof looking in the cabins, and in one of them, hidden under the scatteredpyjamas and embroidered socks of a Major of Artillery, they foundHarold. 

He and Billy explained everything to each other, and shook hands, andthere was not a dry eye in the ship. (Did you ever see a dry eye? Ithink it would look rather nasty. )

Then said Billy to Harold:

'This is all very well, but how am I to get you home?'

'I can ride on the step of the bike, ' said Harold. 

'But the wind won't take us back, ' said Billy; 'it's dead against us. '

'Excuse me, ' said the Captain in a manly manner; 'you know thatBritannia rules the waves and controls the elements. Allow me onemoment. '

He sent for the boatswain and bade him whistle for a wind, expresslystating what kind of wind was needed. 

And everyone saw with delight, but with little surprise, the kitedeliberately turn round and retrace its steps towards the cliffs ofAlbion. 

[Illustration: 'The bicycle started, Billy in the saddle and Harold onthe step. '--Page 165. ]

A cheer rose from passengers and crew alike as the bicycle was loweredto the waves, the string tightened, and the bicycle started, Billy inthe saddle and Harold on the step. The event was a perfect windfall tothe passengers. It gave them something to talk of all the way to Suez;some of them are talking about it still. 

The kite went back even faster than it had come; it pulled the bicyclebehind it as easily as a child pulls a cotton-reel along the floor by abit of thread. So that Harold and Billy were home by tea-time, and itwas the jolliest meal either of them had ever had. 

They had determined to stop the bicycle by cutting the string, and thenHarold would have lost the patent kite, which would have been a pity. But, most happily, the string of the kite caught in the vane on the topof the church tower, and the bicycle stopped by itself exactly oppositethe butcher's boy to whom it belonged. He had a noble heart, and he wasvery glad to see his bicycle again. 

After tea the boys went up the church tower to get the kite; and I don'tsuppose you will believe me when I tell you that there, in the niche ofa window of the belfry, was a jackdaw's nest, and in it the HistoricalEssay which the jackdaw had stolen, as you will have guessed, for thesake of the bright gilt manuscript fastener in the corner. 

And now Harold and Billy became really chums, in spite of all thequalities which they could not help disliking in each other. Each foundsome things in the other that he didn't dislike so very much, after all. 

When Harold grows up he will sell many patent kites, and we shall all beable to ride bicycles on the sea. 

Billy sent in his essay, but he did not get the prize; so it wouldn'thave mattered if it had never been found, only I am glad it was found. 

I hope you will not think that this is a made-up story. It is verynearly as true as any of the history in Billy's essay that didn't get aprize. The only thing I can't quite believe myself is about the roll ofthe right kind of paper being in the chimney; but Harold couldn't thinkof anything else to dream about, and the most fortunate accidents dohappen sometimes even in stories. 

THE TWOPENNY SPELL

Lucy was a very good little girl indeed, and Harry was not so bad--for aboy, though the grown-ups called him a limb! They both got on very wellat school, and were not wholly unloved at home. Perhaps Lucy was a bitof a muff, and Harry was certainly very rude to call her one, but sheneed not have replied by calling him a 'beast. ' I think she did itpartly to show him that she was not quite so much of a muff as hethought, and partly because she was naturally annoyed at being buried upto her waist in the ground among the gooseberry-bushes. She got into thehole Harry had dug because he said it might make her grow, and then hesuddenly shovelled down a heap of earth and stamped it down so that shecould not move. She began to cry, then he said 'muff' and she said'beast, ' and he went away and left her 'planted there, ' as the Frenchpeople say. And she cried more than ever, and tried to dig herself out, and couldn't, and although she was naturally such a gentle child, shewould have stamped with rage, only she couldn't get her feet out to doit. Then she screamed, and her Uncle Richard came and dug her out, andsaid it was a shame, and gave her twopence to spend as she liked. So shegot nurse to clean the gooseberry ground off her, and when she wascleaned she went out to spend the twopence. She was allowed to go alone, because the shops were only a little way off on the same side of theroad, so there was no danger from crossings. 

'I'll spend every penny of it on myself, ' said Lucy savagely; 'Harryshan't have a bit, unless I could think of something he wouldn't like, and then I'd get it and put it in his bread and milk!' She had neverfelt quite so spiteful before, but, then, Harry had never before beenquite so aggravating. 

She walked slowly along by the shops, wishing she could think ofsomething that Harry hated; she herself hated worms, but Harry didn'tmind them. Boys are so odd. 

Suddenly she saw a shop she had never noticed before. The window wasquite full of flowers--roses, lilies, violets, pinks, pansies--everything you can think of, growing in a tangled heap, as yousee them in an old garden in July. 

She looked for the name over the shop. Instead of being somebody orother, Florist, it was 'Doloro de Lara, Professor of white and blackMagic, ' and in the window was a large card, framed and glazed. It said:

 ENCHANTMENTS DONE WHILE YOU WAIT. EVERY DESCRIPTION OF CHARM CAREFULLY AND COMPETENTLY WORKED. STRONG SPELLS FROM FIFTY GUINEAS TO TUPPENCE. WE SUIT ALL PURSES. GIVE US A TRIAL. BEST AND CHEAPEST HOUSE IN THE TRADE. COMPETITION DEFIED. 

Lucy read this with her thumb in her mouth. It was the tuppence thatattracted her; she had never bought a spell, and even a tuppenny onewould be something new. 

'It's some sort of conjuring trick, I suppose, ' she thought, 'and I'llnever let Harry see how it's done--never, never, never!'

She went in. The shop was just as flowery, and bowery, and red-rosy, andwhite-lilyish inside as out, and the colour and the scent almost tookher breath away. A thin, dark, unpleasing gentleman suddenly popped outof a bower of flowering nightshade, and said:

'And what can we do for you to-day, miss?'

'I want a spell, if you please, ' said Lucy; 'the best you can do fortuppence. '

'Is that all you've got?' said he. 

'Yes, ' said Lucy. 

'Well, you can't expect much of a spell for that, ' said he; 'however, it's better that I should have the tuppence than that you should; yousee that, of course. Now, what would you like? We can do you a nicelittle spell at sixpence that'll make it always jam for tea. And I'veanother article at eighteenpence that'll make the grown-ups always thinkyou're good even if you're not; and at half a crown----'

'I've only got tuppence. '

'Well, ' he said crossly, 'there's only one spell at that price, andthat's really a tuppenny-half-penny one; but we'll say tuppence. I canmake you like somebody else, and somebody else like you. '

'Thank you, ' said Lucy; 'I like most people, and everybody likes me. '

'I don't mean _that_, ' he said. 'Isn't there someone you'd like to hurtif you were as strong as they are, and they were as weak as you?'

[Illustration: '"And what can we do for you to-day, Miss?"'--Page170. ]

'Yes, ' said Lucy in a guilty whisper. 

'Then hand over your tuppence, ' said the dark gentleman, 'and it's abargain. '

He snatched the coppers warm from her hand. 

'Now, ' he said, 'to-morrow morning you'll be as strong as Harry, andhe'll be little and weak like you. Then you can hurt him as much as youlike, and he won't be able to hurt back. '

'Oh!' said Lucy; 'but I'm not sure I want----I think I'd like to changethe spell, please. '

'No goods exchanged, ' he said crossly; 'you've got what you asked for. '

'Thank you, ' said Lucy doubtfully, 'but how am I----?'

'It's entirely self-adjusting, ' said nasty Mr. Doloro. 'No previousexperience required. '

'Thank you very much, ' said Lucy. 'Good----'

She was going to say 'good-morning, ' but it turned into 'good gracious, 'because she was so very much astonished. For, without a moment'swarning, the flower-shop had turned into the sweet-shop that she knew sowell, and nasty Mr. Doloro had turned into the sweet-woman, who wasasking what she wanted, to which, of course, as she had spent hertwopence, the answer was 'Nothing. ' She was already sorry that she hadspent it, and in such a way, and she was sorrier still when she gothome, and Harry owned handsomely that _he_ was sorry he had planted herout, but he really hadn't thought she was such a little idiot, and he_was_ sorry--so there! This touched Lucy's heart, and she felt more thanever that she had not laid out her tuppence to the best advantage. Shetried to warn Harry of what was to happen in the morning, but he onlysaid, 'Don't yarn; Billson Minor's coming for cricket. You can field ifyou like. ' Lucy didn't like, but it seemed the only thing she could doto show that she accepted in a proper spirit her brother's apology aboutthe planting out. So she fielded gloomily and ineffectively. 

Next morning Harry got up in good time, folded up his nightshirt, andmade his room so tidy that the housemaid nearly had a surprise-fit whenshe went in. He crept downstairs like a mouse, and learned his lessonsbefore breakfast. Lucy, on the other hand, got up so late that it wasonly by dressing hastily that she had time to prepare a thoroughly goodbooby-trap before she slid down the banisters just as the breakfast-bellrang. She was first in the room, so she was able to put a little salt inall the tea-cups before anyone else came in. Fresh tea was made, andHarry was blamed. Lucy said, 'I did it, ' but no one believed her. Theysaid she was a noble, unselfish sister to try and shield her naughtybrother, and Harry burst into floods of tears when she kicked him underthe table; she hated herself for doing this, but somehow it seemedimpossible to do anything else. 

Harry cried nearly all the way to school, while Lucy insisted on slidingalong all the gutters and dragging Harry after her. She bought acatapult at the toy-shop and a pennyworth of tintacks at the oil-shop, both on credit, and as Lucy had never asked for credit before, she gotit. 

At the top of Blackheath Village they separated--Harry went back to hisschool, which is at the other side of the station, and Lucy went on tothe High School. 

The Blackheath High School has a large and beautiful hall, with astaircase leading down into it like a staircase in a picture, and at theother end of the hall is a big statue of a beautiful lady. The HighSchool mistresses call her Venus, but I don't really believe that is hername. 

Lucy--good, gentle, little Lucy, beloved by her form mistress andrespected by all the school--sat on those steps--I don't know why noone caught her--and used her catapult to throw ink pellets (you knowwhat they are, of course) with her catapult at the beautiful whitestatue-lady, till the Venus--if that is her name, which I doubt--was allover black spots, like a Dalmation or carriage dog. 

Then she went into her class room and arranged tintacks, with thebusiness end up, on all the desks and seats, an act fraught with gloomyreturns to Blossoma Rand and Wilhelmina Marguerite Asterisk. Anotherbooby-trap--a dictionary, a pot of water, three pieces of chalk, and ahandful of torn paper--was hastily sketched above the door. Three otherlittle girls looked on in open-mouthed appreciation. I do not wish toshock you, so I will not tell you about the complete success of thebooby-trap, nor of the bloodthirsty fight between Lucy and BerthaKaurter in a secluded fives-court during rec. Dora Spielman and GertrudeRook were agitated seconds. It was Lucy's form mistress, the adored MissHarter Larke, who interrupted the fight at the fifth round, and led theblood-stained culprits into the hall and up the beautiful picture-likesteps to the Headmistress's room. 

The Head of the Blackheath High School has all the subtle generalship ofthe Head in Mr. Kipling's 'Stalky. ' She has also a manner which subduesparents and children alike to 'what she works in, like the dyer's hand. 'Anyone less clever would have expelled the luckless Lucy--saddled withher brother's boy-nature--on such evidence as was now brought forward. Not so the Blackheath Head. She reserved judgment, the most terrible ofall things for a culprit, by the way, who thought it over for an hourand a half in the mistress's room, and she privately wrote a note toLucy's mother, gently hinting that Lucy was not quite herself: might besickening for something. Perhaps she had better be kept at home for aday or two. Lucy went home, and on the way upset a bicycle with a littlegirl on it, and came off best in a heated physical argument with abaker's boy. 

Harry, meanwhile, had dried his tears, and gone to school. He knew hislessons, which was a strange and pleasing thing, and roused in hismaster hopes destined to be firmly and thoroughly crushed in the nearfuture. But when he had emerged triumphantly from morning school hesuddenly found his head being punched by Simpkins Minor, on the groundthat he, Harry, had been showing off. The punching was scientific andirresistible. Harry, indeed, did not try to resist; in floods of tearsand with uncontrolled emotion he implored Simpkins Minor to let himalone, and not be a brute. Then Simpkins Minor kicked him, and severalother nice little boy-friends of his joined the glad throng, and itbecame quite a kicking party. So that when Harry and Lucy met at thecorner of Wemyss Road his face was almost unrecognisable, while Lucylooked as happy as a king, and as proud as a peacock. 

'What's up?' asked Lucy briskly. 

'Every single boy in the school has kicked me, ' said Harry in flataccents. 'I wish I was dead. '

'So do I, ' said Lucy cheerily; 'I think I'm going to be expelled. Ishould be quite certain, only my booby-trap came down on Bessie Jayne'shead instead of Miss Whatshername's, and Bessie's no sneak, though shehas got a lump like an ostrich's egg on her forehead, and soaked throughas well. But I think I'm certain to be expelled. '

'I wish I was, ' said Harry, weeping with heartfelt emotion. 'I don'tknow what's the matter with me; I feel all wrong inside. Do you thinkyou can turn into things just by reading them? Because I feel as if Iwas in "Sandford and Merton, " or one of the books the kind clergymanlent us at the seaside. '

'How awfully beastly!' said Lucy. 'Now, I feel as if I didn't caretuppence whether I was expelled or not. And, I say, Harry, I feel as ifI was much stronger than you. I know I could twist your arm round andthen hit it like you did me the other day, and you couldn't stop me. '

'Of course I couldn't! _I_ can't stop anybody doing anything they wantto do. Anybody who likes can hit me, and I can't hit back. '

He began to cry again. And suddenly Lucy was really sorry. She had donethis, she had degraded her happy brother to a mere milksop, just becausehe had happened to plant her out, and leave her planted. Remorsesuddenly gripped her with tooth and claw. 

'Look here, ' she said, 'it's all my fault! Because you planted me out, and I wanted to hurt you. But now I don't. I can't make you boy-braveagain; but I'm sorry, and I'll look after you, Harry, old man! Perhapsyou could disguise yourself in frocks and long hair, and come to theHigh School. I'd take care nobody bullied you. It isn't nice beingbullied, is it?'

Harry flung his arms round her, a thing he would never have done in thepublic street if he had not been girlish inside at the time. 

'No, it's hateful, ' he said. 'Lucy, I'm sorry I've been such a pig toyou. '

Lucy put her arms round him, and they kissed each other, though it wasbroad daylight and they were walking down Lee Park. 

The same moment the enchanter Doloro de Lara ran into them on thepavement. Lucy screamed, and Harry hit out as hard as he could. 

'Look out, ' said he; 'who are you shoving into?'

'Tut-tut, ' said the enchanter, putting his hat straight, 'you've bust upyour spell, my Lucy--child; no spells hold if you go kissing and sayingyou're sorry. Just keep that in mind for the future, will you?'

He vanished in the white cloud of a passing steam-motor, and Harry andLucy were left looking at each other. And Harry was Harry and Lucy wasLucy to the very marrow of their little back-bones. They shook handswith earnest feeling. 

Next day Lucy went to the High School and apologised in dust and ashes. 

'I don't think I was my right self, ' she said to the Headmistress, whoquite agreed with her, 'and I never will again!'

And she never has. Harry, on the other hand, thrashed Simpkins Minorthoroughly and scientifically on the first opportunity; but he did notthrash him extravagantly: he tempered pluck with mercy. 

For this is the odd thing about the whole story. Ever since the day whenthe tuppenny spell did its work Harry has been kinder than before andLucy braver. I can't think why, but so it is. He no longer bullies her, and she is no longer afraid of him, and every time she does somethingbrave for him, or he does something kind for her, they grow more andmore alike, so that when they are grown up he may as well be calledLucius and she Harriett, for all the difference there will be betweenthem. 

And all the grown-ups look on and admire, and think that their incessantjawing has produced this improvement. And no one suspects the truthexcept the Headmistress of the High School, who has gone through thecomplete course of Social Magic under a better professor than Mr. Dolorode Lara; that is why she understands everything, and why she did notexpel Lucy, but only admonished her. Harry is cock of his school now, and Lucy is in the sixth, and a model girl. I wish all Headmistresseslearned Magic at Girton. 

SHOWING OFF; OR, THE LOOKING-GLASS BOY

His parents had thoughtlessly christened him Hildebrand, a name which, as you see, is entirely unsuitable for school use. His friends calledhim Brandy, and that was bad enough, though it had a sort ofpirate-smuggler sound, too. But the boys who did not like him called himHilda, and this was indeed hard to bear. In vain he told them that hisname was James as well. It was not true, and they would not havebelieved it if it had been. 

He had not many friends, because he was not a very nice boy. He was notvery brave, except when he was in a rage, which is a poor sort ofcourage, anyhow; and when the boys used to call him. 'Cowardy custard'and other unpleasing names, he used to try to show off to them, and makethem admire him by telling them stories of the wild boars he had killed, and the Red Indians he had fought, and of how he had been down Niagarain an open boat, and been shipwrecked on the high seas. They were notbad stories, and the boys would not have minded listening to them, butHildebrand wanted to have his stories not only listened to, butbelieved, which is quite another pair of shoes. 

He had one friend who always liked his stories, and believed them almostall. This was his little sister. But he was simply horrid to her. Henever would lend her a any of his toys, and he called her 'Kiddie, 'which she hated, instead of Ethel, which happened to be her name. 

All this is rather dull, and exactly like many boys of youracquaintance, no doubt. But what happened to Hildebrand does not, fortunately or unfortunately, happen to everybody; I dare say it hasnever happened to you. It began on the day when Hildebrand was making acatapult, and Billson Minor came up to him in the playground and said:

'Much use it'll be to you when you've made it. You can't hit a haystacka yard off!'

'Can't I?' said Hildebrand. 'You just see! I hit a swallow on the winglast summer, and when we had a house in Thibet I shot a llama dead withone bullet. He was twenty-five feet long. '

Billson laughed, and asked a boy who was passing if he'd ever been outllama-shooting, and, if so, what his bag was. The other boy said:

'Oh, I see--little Hilda gassing again!'

Billson said:

'Gassing! Lying I call it!'

'Liar yourself!' said Hildebrand, who was now so angry that his fingerstrembled too much for him to be able to go on splicing the catapult. 

'Oh, run away and play, ' said Billson wearily. 'Go home to nurse, Hildadarling, and tell her to put your hair in curl-papers!'

Then Hildebrand's rage turned into a sort of courage, and he hit out atBillson, who, of course, hit back, and there was a fight. The other boyheld their coats and saw fair; and Hildebrand was badly beaten, becauseBillson was older and bigger and a better fighter, so he went home, crying with fury and pain. He went up into his own bedroom and boltedthe door, and wildly wished that he was a Red Indian, and that takingscalps was not forbidden in Clapham. Billson's, he reflected gloomily, would have been a sandy-coloured scalp, and a nice beginning to ascalp-album. 

Presently he stopped crying, and let his little sister in. She had beencrying, too, outside the door, ever since he came home and pushed pasther on the stairs. She pitied his bruised face, and said it was a shameof Billson Minor to hit a boy littler than he was. 

'I'm not so very little, ' said Hildebrand; 'and you know how brave I am. Why, it was only last week that I was the chief of the mighty tribe ofMoccasins, who waged war against Bill Billson, the Vulture-facedRedskin----'

He told the story to its gory end, and Ethel liked it very much, andhoped it wasn't wrong to make up such things. She couldn't quite believeit all. 

Then she went down, and Hildebrand had to wash his face for dinner; andwhen he looked at the boy in the looking-glass and saw the black eyeBillson Minor had given him, and the cut lip from the same giver, heclenched his fist and said:

'I wish I could make things true by saying them. Wouldn't I bung up oldBillson's peepers, that's all?'

'Well, you can if you like, ' said the boy in the glass, whom Hildebrandhad thought was his own reflection. 

'What?' said he, with his mouth open. He was horribly startled. 

'You can if you like, ' said the looking-glass boy again. 'I'll give youyour wish. Will you have it?'

'Is this a fairy-tale?' asked Hildebrand cautiously. 

'Yes, ' said the boy. 

Hildebrand had never expected to be allowed to take part in afairy-tale, and at first he could hardly believe in such luck. 

'Do you mean to say, ' he said, 'that if I say I found a pot of gold inthe garden yesterday I did find a pot of gold?'

'No; you'll find it to-morrow. The thing works backwards, you see, likeall looking-glass things. You know your "Alice, " I suppose? There's onlyone condition: you won't be able to see yourself in the looking-glassany more!'

'Who wants to, ' said Hildebrand. 

'And things you say to _yourself_ don't count. '

'There's always Ethel, ' said Ethel's brother. 

'You accept, then?' said the boy in the glass. 

'Rather!'

'Right' And with that the looking-glass boy vanished, and Hildebrand wasleft staring at the mirror, which now reflected only the wash-hand-standand the chest of drawers, and part of the picture of Lord Roberts pinnedagainst the wall. You have no idea how odd and unpleasant it is to lookat a glass and see everything reflected as usual, except yourself, though you are right in front of it. Hildebrand felt as if he must havevanished as well as the looking-glass boy. But he was reassured when helooked down at his hands. They were still there, and still extremelydirty. The second bell had rung, and he washed them hastily and wentdown. 

'How untidy your hair is!' said his mother; 'and oh, Hildebrand, what adisagreeable expression, dear! and look at your eye! You've beenfighting again. '

'I couldn't help it, ' said our hero sulkily; 'he called names. Anyway, Igave him an awful licking. He's worse than I am. Potatoes, please. '

Next day Hildebrand had forgotten the words he had said at dinner. Andwhen Billson asked him if one licking was enough, and whether he, Billson, was a liar or not, Hildebrand said:

'You can lick me and make me anything you like, but you _are_, all thesame, just as much as me, ' and he began to cry. 

And Billson called him schoolgirl and slapped his face--because Billsonknew nothing of the promise of the looking-glass boy, that whateverHildebrand said had happened should happen. 

It was a dreadful fight, and when it was over Hildebrand could hardlywalk home. He was much more hurt than he had been the day before. ButBillson Minor had to be carried home. Only he was all right again nextday, and Hildebrand wasn't, so he did not get much out of this affair, except glory, and the comfort of knowing that Billson and the other boyswould now be jolly careful how they called him anything but Pilkings, which was his father's and his mother's name, and therefore his as well. 

He had to stay in bed the next day, and his father punished him forfighting, so he consoled himself by telling Ethel how he had found a potof gold in the cellar the day before, after digging in the hard earthfor hours, till his hands were all bleeding, and how he had hidden itunder his bed. 

'Do let me see, Hildy dear, ' she said, trying hard to believe him. 

But he said, 'No, not till to-morrow. '

Next day he was well enough to go to school, but he thought he wouldjust take some candle-ends and have a look at the cellar, and see if itwas really likely that there was any gold there. It did not seemprobable, but he thought he would try, and he did. It was terribly hardwork, for he had no tools but a spade he had had at the seaside, andwhen that broke, as it did almost at once, he had to go on with a pieceof hoop-iron and the foot of an old bedstead. He went on till long pastdinner-time, and his hands were torn and bleeding, his back felt brokenin two, and his head was spinning with hunger and tiredness. At last, just as the tea-bell rang, he reached his hand down deep into the holehe had made, and felt something cold and round. He held his candle down. It was a pot, tied over with brown paper, like pickled onions. When hegot it out he took off the paper. The pot was filled to the brim withgold coins. Hildebrand blew out his candle and went up. The cook stoppedhim at the top of the cellar stairs. 

'What's that you got there, Master Hildy? Pickles, I lay my boots, ' shesaid. 

'It's not, ' said he. 

'Let me look, ' said she. 

'Let me alone, ' said Hildebrand. 

'Not me, ' said the cook. 

She had her hand on the brown paper. 

Hildebrand had heard how treasure-trove has to be given up toGovernment, and he did not trust the cook. 

'You'd better not, ' he said quickly; 'it's not what you think it is. '

'What is it, then?'

'It's--it's _snakes_!' said Hildebrand desperately--'snakes out of thewine-cellar. '

The cook went into hysterics, and Hildebrand was punished twice, oncefor staying away from school without leave, and once for frightening theservants with silly stories. But in the confusion brought about by thecook's screams he managed to hide the pot of gold in the bottom of theboot cupboard, among the old gaiters and goloshes, and when peace wasrestored and he was sent to bed in disgrace he took the pot with him. Helay long awake thinking of the model engine he would buy for himself, also of the bay pony, the collections of coins, birds' eggs, andpostage-stamps, the fishing-rods, the guns, revolvers, and bows andarrows, the sweets and cakes and nuts, he would get all for himself. Henever thought of so much as a pennyworth of toffee for Ethel, or asilver thimble for his mother, or a twopenny cigar for Mr. Pilkings. 

The first thing in the morning he jumped up and felt under the bed forthe pot of gold. His hand touched something that was not the pot. Hescreamed, and drew his hand back as quickly as though he had burned it;but what he had touched was not hot: it was cold, and thin, and alive. It was a snake. And there was another on his bed, and another on thedressing-table, and half a dozen more were gliding about inquisitivelyon the floor. 

Hildebrand gathered his clothes together--a snake tumbled out of hisshirt as he lifted it--and made one bound for the door. He dressed onthe landing, and went to school without breakfast. I am glad to be ableto tell you that he did say to Sarah the housemaid:

'For goodness' sake don't go into my bedroom--it's running alive withsnakes!'

She did not believe him, of course; and, indeed, when she went up thesnakes were safe back in the pot. She did not see this, because she wasnot the kind of girl who sweeps under things every day. That nightHildebrand secretly slept in the boxroom, on a pile of newspapers, witha rag-bag and a hearthrug over him. 

Next day he said to Sarah:

'Did you go into my room yesterday?'

'Of course, ' said she. 

'Did you take the snakes away?'

'Go along with your snakes!' she said. 

So he understood that she had not seen any, and very cautiously helooked into his room, and finding it snakeless, crept in, hoping thatthe snakes had changed back into gold. But they had not--snakes and goldand pot had all vanished. Then he thought he would be very careful. Hesaid to Ethel:

'I had twenty golden sovereigns in my pocket yesterday. '

This was Saturday. Next day was Sunday, and all day long he jingled thetwenty golden sovereigns he had found that morning in his knickerbockerpocket. But they were not there on Monday. And then he saw that thoughhe could make things _happen_, he could not make them _last_. So he toldEthel he had had seven jam-tarts. He meant to eat them as soon as he gotthem. But the next day when they came he had a headache and did notwant to eat them. He might have given them to Ethel, but he didn't, andnext day they had disappeared. 

It was very annoying to Hildebrand to know that he had this wonderfulpower, yet he could not get any good out of it. He tried to consult hisfather about it, but Mr. Pilkings said he had no time for romances, andhe advised Hildebrand to learn his lessons and stick to the truth. Butthis was just what Hildebrand could not do, even after the awfuloccasion when his schoolfellows began to tease him again, and, tocommand their respect, he related how he had met a bear in the lane bythe church and fought it single-handed, and been carried off more deadthan alive. Next day, of course, he had to fight the bear, which wasvery brown and clawy and toothy and fierce, and though themore-dead-than-alive feeling had gone by next day, it was not a pleasantexperience. But even that was better than the time when they laughed ata very bad construe of his--the form was in Cæsar--and he told them howhe had once translated the inscription on an Egyptian Pyramid. He had nopeace for weeks after that, because he had forgotten to say how long ittook him. Every time he was alone he was wafted away to Egypt and setdown at that Pyramid. But he could not find the inscription, and if hehad found it he could not have translated it. So, in self-defence, hespent most of his waking-time with Ethel. But every night the Pyramidhad its own way, and it was not till he had cut an inscription himselfon the Pyramid with the broken blade of his pocket-knife, and translatedit into English, that he was allowed any rest at all. The inscriptionwas _Ich bin eine Gans_, and you can translate it for yourself. 

But that did him good in one way; it made him fonder of Ethel. Being somuch with her, he began to see what a jolly little girl she really was. When she had measles--Hildebrand had had them, or it, last Christmas, sohe was allowed to see his sister--he was very sorry, and really wishedto do something for her. Mr. Pilkings brought her some hothouse grapesone day, and she liked them so much that they were very soon gone. ThenHildebrand, who had been very careful since the Pyramid occasion to saynothing but the truth, said:

'Ethel, some grapes and pineapples came for you yesterday. '

Ethel knew it wasn't true, but she liked the idea, and said:

'Anything else?'

'Oh yes!' said her brother--'a wax doll and a china tea-set with pinkroses on it, and books and games, ' and he went on to name everything hethought she would like. 

And, of course, next day the things came in a great packing-case. No oneever knew who sent them, but Mr. And Mrs. Pilkings thought it wasEthel's godfather in India. And, curiously enough, these things did notvanish away, but were eaten and enjoyed and played with as long as theylasted. Ethel has one of the dolls still, though now she is quite grownup. 

Now Hildebrand began to feel sorry to see how ill and worried his motherlooked; she was tired out with nursing Ethel, so he said to Sarah:

'Mother was quite well yesterday. '

Sarah answered:

'Much you know about it; your poor ma's wore to a shadow. '

[Illustration: 'The alligator very nearly had him. '--Page 195. ]

But next day mother _was_ quite well, and this lasted, too. Then hewanted to do something for his father, and as he had heard Mr. Pilkingscomplain of his business being very bad, Hildebrand said to Ethel:

'Father made a most awful lot of money yesterday. '

And next day Mr. Pilkings came home and kissed Mrs. Pilkings in the hallunder the very eyes of Sarah and the boot-boy, and said:

'My dear, our fortune's made!'

The family did not have any nicer things to eat or wear than before, soHildebrand gained nothing by this, unless you count the pleasure he hadin seeing his father always jolly and cheerful and his mother well, andnot worried any more. Hildebrand _did_ count this, and it counted for agood deal. 

But though Hildebrand was now a much happier as well as a more agreeableboy, he could not quite help telling a startling story now and then. As, for instance, when he informed the butcher's boy that there was analligator in the back-garden. The butcher's boy did not go into thegarden--indeed, he had no business there, though that would have been noreason if he had wanted to go--but next day, when Hildebrand, havingforgotten all about the matter, went out in the dusk to look for a fivesball he had lost, the alligator very nearly had him. 

And when he related that adventure of the lost balloon, he had to gothrough with it next day, and it made him dizzy for months only to thinkof it. 

But the worst thing of all was when Ethel was well, and he was allowedto go back to school. Somehow the fellows were much jollier with himthan they used to be. Even Billson Minor was quite polite, and asked himhow the kid was. 

'She's all right, ' said Hildebrand. 

'When my kiddie sister had measles, ' Billson said, 'her eyes got badafterwards; she could hardly see. '

'Oh, ' said Hildebrand promptly, '_my_ sister's been much worse thanthat; she couldn't see at all. '

When Hildebrand went home next day he found his mother pale and intears. The doctor had just been to see Ethel's eyes--and Ethel wasblind. 

Then Hildebrand went up to his own room. He had done this--his ownlittle sister who was so fond of him. And she was such a jolly littlething, and he had made her blind, just for a silly bit of show-off toBillson Minor; and he knew that the things he had said about Ethelbefore had come true, and had not vanished like the things he saidabout himself, and he felt that this, too, would last, and Ethel wouldgo on being blind always. So he lay face down on his bed and cried, andwas sorry, and wished with all his heart that he had been a good boy, and had never looked in the glass, and wished to bung up the eyes ofBillson Minor, who, after all, was not such a bad sort of chap. 

When he had cried till he could not cry any more he got up, and went tothe looking-glass to see if his eyes were red, which is alwaysinteresting. He never could remember that he couldn't see himself in theglass now. Then suddenly he knew what to do. He ran down into thestreet, and said to the first person he met:

'I say, I saw the looking-glass boy yesterday, and he let me off thingscoming true, and Ethel was all right again. '

It was a policeman, and the constable boxed his ears, and promised torun him in next time he had any of his cheek. But Hildebrand went homecalmer, and he read 'The Jungle Book' aloud to Ethel all the evening. 

Next morning he ran to his looking-glass, and it was strange andwonderful to him to see his own reflection again after all these weeksof a blank mirror, and of parting his hair as well as he could just byfeeling. But it wasn't his own reflection, of course: it was thelooking-glass boy. 

'I say, you look very different to what you did that day, ' saidHildebrand slowly. 

'So do you, ' said the boy. 

That other day, which was weeks ago, the looking-glass boy had beenswollen and scowling and angry, with a black eye and a cut lip, andrevengeful looks and spiteful words. Now he looked pale and a littlethinner, but his eyes were only anxious, and his mouth was kind. It wasjust the same ugly shape as ever, but it looked different. AndHildebrand was as like the boy in the glass as one pin is like anotherpin. 

'I say, ' said Hildebrand suddenly and earnestly, 'let me off; I don'twant it any more, thank you. And oh, do--do make my sister all rightagain. '

'Very well, ' said the boy in the looking-glass; 'I'll let you off forsix months. If you haven't learned to speak the truth by then--well, you'll see. Good-bye. '

He held out his hand, and Hildebrand eagerly reached out to shake it. Hehad forgotten the looking-glass, and it smashed against his fist, andcracked all over. He never saw the boy again, and he did not want to. 

When he went down Ethel's eyes were all right again, and the doctorthought it was _his_ doing, and was as proud as a King and as pleased asPunch. Hildebrand could only express his own gladness by giving Ethelevery toy he had that he thought she would like, and he was so kind toher that she cried with pleasure. 

Before the six months were up Hildebrand was as truthful a boy as anyoneneed wish to meet. He made little slips now and then, just at first, about his escape from the mad bull, for instance, and about thepress-gang. 

His stories did not come true next day any more, but he had to dreamthem, which was nearly as bad. So he cured himself, and did his lessons, and tried to stick to the truth; and when he told romances he let peopleknow what he was playing at. Now he is grown up he dreams his storiesfirst, and writes them afterwards; for he writes books, and also hewrites for the newspapers. When you do these things you may tell as manystories as you like, and you need not be at all afraid that any of themwill come true. 

THE RING AND THE LAMP

You are, of course, a singularly intelligent child, and so must oftenhave wondered what has become of all the interesting things that youread about in the old fairy-tales--the shoes of swiftness, and the swordof sharpness, and the cloak that made its wearer invisible, and thingslike that. Well, the fact is all these things are still in the world, hidden about somewhere, only people are so busy with new inventions, wireless telegraphs and X rays, and air-ships, that they don't troubleany more to look for the really interesting things. And if you don'tlook for things, you don't find them--at least, not often; though somelucky persons have only to walk out of doors and adventures happen tothem as readily as breakfast and bed happen to ordinary folk. But whenpeople do find any of the wonderful old treasures they generally holdtheir tongues about it, because it is so difficult to make peoplebelieve the truth if it is at all out of the way. Two of the wonderthings out of the old stories were found only the other day by a littlegirl in Sussex; and she never told anyone but me and one other person. Ioften have things told me that no one else ever hears of, becauseeveryone knows that I can believe anything. 

The little-girl-in-Sussex's name was Seraphina Bodlett. She did notbelong to Sussex, having been born in Tooting; but she was staying at aSussex farmhouse for the summer holidays. It was the very nicest placeto stay at, plenty of room to play in--all the Sussex Downs, infact--and plenty of animals to pet and feed. The only thing was that allthe other people at the farm were grown up, and Seraphina longed verymuch for someone to play with. The farmer's daughter, Miss Patty, wasvery kind, and always quite willing to play Halma; only it happened thatHalma was not what Seraphina wanted to play. 

It was summer, and Seraphina went to bed early, while it was stilldaylight. She used to lie awake in the big four-post bed, with the whitedimity curtains, and look at the latticed window and the oak chest ofdrawers with the shell boxes on it, and try to make herself dream thatshe had another little girl to play with. But she always surprisedherself by waking up in the morning without having dreamed of anythingat all. 

The best parlour at the farm was a very nice place, but Seraphina (whosename takes so long to write that I think I had better call her Fina, aseveryone else did) was not usually allowed to play there, and the blindswere always drawn down exactly halfway, because that is genteel. 

Sometimes Fina was taken into the parlour by Miss Patty, and then MissPatty would bring out the curiosities that her brother the sailor hadbrought home from his voyages: South Sea necklaces of seeds and beadsand cut-up reeds, and fat idols from India, with far more arms than mostof us could find a use for. Then there were beady pincushions made byseamen, and a stuffed parrot exactly like life, except that one eye wasout, and Chinese junks in beautiful carved ivory, and a pagoda (orChinese temple), and that was of ivory too, and all carved out of onesolid block, Miss Patty said. Fina loved the pagoda best of all thecuriosities. You could see right into it. It was a tower with sevenstories, and it had little gold bells on it that rang when Miss Pattytook off the glass case and gently shook the wooden stand. Of course, Fina was never allowed to shake it herself. 

'Where did it come from?' She asked this question every time she wasshown the pagoda. 

'It came from the Emperor of China's own Summer Palace at Pekin, ' MissPatty always said; 'but my brother Bob never would tell me how he gotit. '

Then, when Fina had had a last peep through the windows of the pagoda, the glass case would be put on again, and Fina would be told to 'runalong now and play. '

One day she was 'running along and playing' when she met a playfellow. It was a fat foxhound puppy, very clumsy and very affectionate. They hada romp together, and then the puppy blundered off, and Fina went indoorsto wash her hands, because the puppy's idea of a romp had been a roll inthe dust, which Fina had gladly consented to share. 

But as she passed the door of the best parlour she stopped a minute, forthe door was open. It was the day for cleaning out the room, but MissPatty had stopped in the middle of the cleaning to go to the back-doorto see a pedlar who had some really wonderful bargains in handkerchiefsand silk dresses, and mixed white pins and back-hair combs. Fina oftenwondered afterwards whether that pedlar was a real pedlar or a magicianin disguise. 

Now, Fina was an obedient little girl. She did _not_ slip into theparlour to have a look round just because the door was open and no onewas about. But she had not been forbidden to _look_ in, if she got thechance, so she stood at the door and looked at the stuffed parrot, andthe junk, and the rest of the things; and as she looked she started, andsaid:

'_Oh!_ it will tumble down--I know it will--if a door banged even!'

And just then the front-door _did_ bang, and the pagoda trembled; for itwas standing at the very edge of the chiffonnier, and one of the littleblack, carved claw-feet of its stand was actually overhanging thechiffonnier edge. 

'I _must_ stand it steady, ' said Fina. 'If I go and tell Miss Patty itmay tumble off before I get back. '

So she went quickly in and took the glass case and stand and pagoda verycarefully in her hands to move them back to a safe place. 

It was this very moment that the foxhound puppy chose for rushingin--all wriggle and bark and clumsy paws--and plunging between Fina'sfeet. She reeled, staggered, and she, the puppy, the stand, the glasscase, and the precious pagoda, all went down together in a crushingheap. 

When Fina picked herself up the puppy's tail was just disappearing roundthe door, and at her feet lay a scattered heap of splintered ivory andglass, the hopeless ruins of the beautiful pagoda. 

Her heart seemed to stand still, and then began to beat so hard and fastthat she felt as though she had a steam-engine in her chest. 

Her hands trembled so much that she could hardly pick up the pieces; butshe did begin to pick them up. 

'Perhaps it could be mended, ' she said, 'with glue or white of egg, likenurse did the china basin; only the pieces are so small and chippety, some of them, that I don't see how you could ever fit them together. AndMiss Patty will be in in a minute! Oh, I wish I was somebody else andnot me! Oh, whatever will she say?'

Among the shivered splinters of ivory the little gold bells werescattered. 

'But what's that?' said Fina. 'It's not a bell or----'

She picked whatever it was up from among the shattered ivory and glass. It was a gold ring, thick and beautiful, with a strange design on itlike on the sides of tea-caddies. She slipped it on her hand to keep itsafe while she went on with the dismal work of picking up the pieces. And then, suddenly, the dreadfulness of the deed she had done--thoughquite the puppy's fault, and not hers at all--came over her. She beganto breathe quickly and then to make faces, and in a moment she wassobbing and sniffing, and rubbing her wet eyes with her knuckles, stilldirty from her politeness in letting the puppy choose what game she andit should play at. 

She was roused from her crying by a voice, and it was not Miss Patty'svoice. It said:

'Your servant, miss. What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?'

She took her knuckles out of her eyes, and saw, from between her verydirty eyelids, a tall footman who was bowing respectfully before her. He was dressed wonderfully in green satin--his large and lovely legswore white silk stockings, and his hair was powdered till it was aswhite as the inside of a newly-sheared fleece. 

[Illustration: '"Your servant, Miss. Do I understand that you order meto mend this?"'--Page 207. ]

'Thank you, ' said Fina, sobbing, but polite; 'no one can do anythingfor me, unless they can mend all this, and of course nobody can. '

'Your servant, miss, ' said the footman. 'Do I understand that you orderme to mend this?'

'If you can, ' said Fina, a ray of hope lighting her blighted existence;'but, of course----WHAT?'

The pagoda stood on the table _mended_! Indeed, it seemed as thoughthere had never been any breaking. It was there, safe and sound as ithad always been, on its ebony stand, with the shining bubble of itsglass case rising dome-like over it. 

The footman had vanished. 

'_Well!_' said Fina, 'I suppose it was all a waking dream. How horrible!I've read of waking dreams, but I didn't know there were ever wakingnightmares. Perhaps I better _had_ wash my hands--and my face, ' sheadded, when she saw it, round, red, and streaked with mud (made of dustand tears), in the glass of the chiffonnier. 

She dipped her face in fresh water in the willow-patterned basin in herbig attic bedroom. Then she washed her hands. And as she began to rubthe soap on she heard a noise. 

'Your servant, miss. What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?'

And there was that footman again. 

'Who are you?' said Fina. 'Why do you follow me about?'

'I am the Slave of the Ring, please, miss, ' replied the footman, withanother bow. 'And, of course, when you rubs it I appears. '

'The Slave of the Ring?' said Fina, letting the soapsuds drip from herhands to the carpet. 'Do you mean Aladdin's ring?'

'The ring belonged to the gentleman you mentions at one time, miss. '

'But I thought the Slave of the Ring was a genie--a great, foaming, fierce, black slave in a turban. '

'Times is changed, miss, ' said the footman. 'In this here civilisedcountry there aren't no slaves, only servants. You have to keep up withthe times, even if you're a----'

'But I thought the Slave of the Ring spoke Chinese?'

'So I does, miss, when in that country. But whatever'd be the use oftalking Chinese to you?'

'But tell me--oh, there's the dinner-bell! Look here, I wish you'd notkeep appearing so suddenly. It does startle me so. '

'Then don't you go on rubbing the ring sudden, miss. It's that as doesit. Nothing I can do for you, miss?'

'Not now, ' said Fina, and he vanished as she spoke. 

When Fina sat down to dinner in the farm kitchen--a very nice dinner itwas, boiled pork and beans, and a treacle-tart to follow--she picked upher horn-handled knife and fork and clutched them hard. They felt realenough. But the footman--she must have dreamed him, and the ring. Shehad left the ring in the dressing-table drawer upstairs, for fear sheshould rub it accidentally. She knew what a start it would give MissPatty and the farmer if a genie footman suddenly appeared from nowhereand stood behind their chairs at dinner. 

Miss Patty seemed very cheerful. 

'It _was_ a piece of luck, father, wasn't it, that pedlar wantingChinese things? He gave me two pieces of broadcloth that'll cut intothree or four coats for you, and a length of black silk that rich it'llstand alone, and ten pounds in gold, and half a dozen silkneck-squares. '

'Yes, ' said the farmer, 'it was a good bargain for you; and Bob give youthe pagoda, and you've a right to do as you like with your own. '

'Oh, Miss Patty, ' said Fina, 'you've never been and sold the pagoda--thebeautiful, darling pagoda?'

'Yes, I have, dear; but never mind, I'll buy you a new doll out of themoney I got for it. '

'Thank you, ' said Fina; but the pork and beans did not taste so nice nowshe knew that the pretty pagoda was sold. Also she was rather worriedabout the ring. Ought she to keep it? She had found it, of course, butsomeone must have lost it. Yet she couldn't bear to give it up, when shehadn't made the slave of it do a single thing for her, except to mendthe pagoda. 

After dinner Fina went and got the ring. She was very careful not to rubit till she was safe and alone in a quiet green nook in the little woodat the end of the garden, where the hazels and sweet chestnuts andhornbeams grew so closely that she was quite hidden. 

Then she rubbed the ring, and instantly the footman was there. But therewas no room for him to stand up under the thicket, so he appearedkneeling, and trying to bow in that position. 

'Then it's not a dream?' said she. 

'How often I have heard them very words!' said the Slave of the Ring. 

'I want you to tell me things, ' said Fina. 'Do sit down; you look souncomfortable like that. '

'Thank you, miss, ' said the footman; 'you're very thoughtful for a childof your age, and of this age, too! Service ain't what it was. '

'Now, tell me, ' she said, 'where did the ring come from?'

'There's seven secrets I ain't allowed to tell, ' the footman said, 'andthat there what you asked me's one of them; but the ring's as old asold--I can tell you that. '

'But I mean where did it come from just now--when I found it?'

'Oh, _then_. Why, it come out of the pagoda, of course. The floor of thethird story was made double, and the ring was stuck between the floor ofthat and the ceiling of the second floor, and when you smashed thepagoda o' course it rolled out. The pagoda was made o' purpose to takecare of the ring. '

'Who made it?' asked Fina. 

'I did, ' said the genie proudly. 

'And now, ' said Fina, 'what shall we do?'

'Excuse me, ' the footman said firmly; 'one thing I'm _not_ bound to dois to give advice. '

'But you'll do anything else I tell you?'

'Yes, miss--almost anything. I'll talk to you willing, I will, and tellyou my life's sorrows. '

'I should like that some other time, ' said Fina, 'but just now, perhaps, you'd better get me a doll. '

And a doll lay at her feet among the dead leaves. It was a farthingDutch doll. 

'You didn't say what sort of a doll, ' said the footman, when she hadrubbed the ring and he had reappeared, and she had reproached him. 'I'vebeen in service long enough to do exactly what I am told. My life-sorrowhas been----'

'I say, ' Fina said suddenly, 'can't you get the pagoda back for me?'

Instantly the pagoda was there and the footman was not. Fina spent theafternoon playing with the beautiful ivory toy, but when it was tea-timeshe had to ask the genie footman to take it away again, for she darednot face the questions and she could not invent the explanations thatwould have followed if she had turned up at the house with the pagodaunder her arm. 

You will think that Fina ought to have been the happiest of littlegirls, now that she had a genie footman Slave of the Ring in a greencoat to get her anything she wanted, and run her errands on hisbeautiful balustrade-like white silk legs. But this was not so. 

It was all very well to go into the wood every day and make the footmanfetch her the most beautiful dolls and toys and sweets, but even sweetsare dull if you eat them alone; and what is the use of toys, or evenpagodas, if you have no one to show them to, and dare not have themexcept in a secret corner of the wood?

She tried to get the footman to play with her, but he said that was alittle more than anyone could expect, and began again about his sorrows;and as for getting him to take any interest in the wonderful things hefetched for her, she felt at once that these were nothing to a geniefootman with such a jewelled and exciting past as his. 

She was not a very clever little girl. She wished for a white pony, and, of course, it came, but there was no room for it in the wood, and itwalked on her foot and tried to bite her, and she hastily had to send itaway. She wished for a pet lamb, but it baaed so loudly that she wasalmost discovered by the farmer, so that had to go too. And she hadbeen wishing for these vain and unsatisfying things for more than a weekbefore she thought of asking for a little girl to play with. 

The genie brought a little girl at once, but she was a horrid littlegirl, with a red pigtail and a green frock trimmed with black beadtrimming, and she broke the toys and laughed at Fina when she tried totell her the story of the pagoda and the Ring Slave. Also there was noroom to play in the secret nook in the wood, and when the little girlhad slapped Fina and taken the pagoda away from her it seemed best toask the genie to take the little girl herself away. Fina never saw heragain, and never wanted to either!

At last Fina knew that what she really wanted was not only someone toplay with, but a good place to play in, so she shut her eyes andthought--as hard as a not very clever person of eight can think--andthen she rubbed the ring and said:

'Please take me somewhere where there is a little girl who will playwith me, a nice little girl, and room to play in. '

And at once the wood vanished--like a magic-lantern picture when thekind clergyman who is showing it changes the slide--and she was in astrange room. 

[Illustration: 'The little girl had slapped Fina and taken the pagodaaway. '--Page 214. ]

It was a nursery--very large and light. There were flowers at thewindow, and pictures on the walls, and many toys. And on a couch, covered with a bright green rug with yellow daisies embroidered on it, lay a little girl with pretty yellow hair and kind, merry blue eyes. 

'_Oh!_' said the little girl, very much astonished. 

'_Oh!_' said Fina, at the same minute, and with the same quantity ofastonishment. 

'I've come to play with you, if you'll let me, ' said Fina. 

'How lovely! But how did you get in?'

'The Slave of the Ring brought me. '

'The Slave of the Ring! How wonderful!'

'Yes, isn't it? What's your name?'

'Ella. '

'Mine's Fina. Wouldn't you like to see my Ring Slave, Ella?'

'Yes--oh yes!' Ella was laughing softly. 

Fina rubbed the ring and the footman genie appeared, his silk legs morebeautifully silk than ever. 

'Please fetch the pagoda. '

The pagoda toppled on to the couch, and the genie vanished, as healways did when he had executed an order. 

When Ella had admired the pagoda, which she did very thoroughly andsatisfyingly, she said:

'And now I'll show you _mine_!'

She pulled a battered iron thing from under her pillow and rubbed it. Instantly a very grand stout gentleman in evening dress stood beforethem. He had most respectable whiskers, and he said:

'What can I do for you, madam?'

'Who is it?' whispered Fina. 

'It's the Slave of the Lamp, ' said Ella. 'He says he's disguised as aperfect butler because times have changed so since _his_ time. '

'Send him away, ' said Fina. 

'Oh, dear Ella, ' she went on, when they were alone, 'tell me all aboutyours, and I'll tell you all about mine. '

'Well, ' said Ella, 'I found the lamp at the seaside, just before I hurtmy back. I fell off the sea-wall, you know, and I shan't be able to walkfor ever so long. And one day I rubbed it by accident, and since then mybeautiful perfect butler gets me anything I want. Look here, I'll tellhim to make it like it was yesterday. '

The lamp was rubbed, the order given, and the nursery became a palacehall hung with cloth of gold and blazing with jewels and softly-colouredlamps. 

'But can't your butler cure your back?'

'No. Time is the only genie who can do that, my butler says. You don'tknow how I've wanted someone to show it all to! But I never thought ofwishing for you. It's only a week since I found the lamp----'

'Do they leave you alone all the time?'

'Oh no, only when I say I'm sleepy; and my butler has orders to changeeverything to ordinary directly the door-handle turns. '

'Have you told anyone?'

'Oh _no_! My butler says if you tell anyone grown-up that you've got thelamp it will vanish away. I can't remember whether it's like that in the"Arabian Nights"; perhaps it's a new rule. '

The two little girls talked all the afternoon about the wonderful thingsthey would make their slaves do for them, and they were so contentedwith each other's company that they never once called on their slavesfor anything. 

But when Fina began to feel the inside feeling that means teatime, sherubbed the ring for her slave to take her back to the farm. 

'I'll get my slave to take me to see you home, ' said Ella. 'He can carryme quite without hurting me. '

So she rubbed the lamp, and the stately butler instantly appeared. 

'Please----' Ella began; but the glorious butler interrupted. 

'James, ' he said to the footman, 'what are you doing here?'

'I'm in service with this young lady, Mr. Lamp, sir. '

'Give me the ring, James. '

And instantly the footman took the ring, very gently but quiteirresistibly, from Fina's finger, and handed it to the butler. 

'Oh _no_!' Fina cried, 'you've no right to take my ring. And he's noright to obey you. He's _my_ slave. '

'Excuse me, madam, ' said the butler, looking more and more perfect, andmore and more the sort of person who is sure to know best, 'he is not_your_ slave. He is the Slave of the Ring. But then, you see, he is afootman, and footmen have to obey butlers all the world over. '

[Illustration: '"We'll see if you are going to begin a-ordering of meabout. "'--Page 219. ]

'That's so, miss, ' said the footman; 'but the lamp's stronger than thering. ' He snatched up the lamp. 'Now, then, ' he said, turning fiercelyto the butler, 'we'll see if you're going to begin a-orderin' of meabout!'

The butler so far forgot himself as to scratch his head thoughtfully. 

'Yes, ' he said, after a pause; 'I've got to own that you've got thebetter of me there, James Rings. But why dispute--which is beneath thedignity of a six-foot footman like yourself, to say nothing of thedignity of a butler, which is a thing words can't do justice to? You'remy slave because I've got the ring and because I'm a butler and you're afootman. And I'm your slave because you've got the lamp. It's half adozen of one and six and a half of the other. Can't we come to someagreement between ourselves, James?'

'Oh, ' cried Ella, 'what about _us_?'

'We are excessively sorry to cause any inconvenience, madam, ' said thebutler, 'but we give you five minutes' notice. We are leaving servicefor good. '

'Oh, Lamps!' cried Ella. 'And you were always such a beautiful butler. Ithought you enjoyed being it. '

'Don't you make any mistake, miss, ' the footman put in. 'Nobody _enjoys_being in service, though they has to put up with it. Me and Mr. Lamps isretiring from service. Perhaps we may take a little business and go intopartnership, and always wishing you well, young ladies both. '

'But, ' said Fina, 'you _can't_ go and leave me here! Why, I should neverget home. I don't so much as know what county I'm in. '

'You're in Auckland, miss, ' said James. 

'There isn't such a country. '

'Pardon me, madam, ' said the butler, 'there is. In New Zealand. '

'Don't cry, miss, ' said James. 'If Mr. Lamps 'll only give the word, I'll take you home. '

'And then I shall never see Ella again. '

'Oh, tell Lamps to rub the ring and tell you to arrange for me to comeand live near her in England, ' cried Ella; 'if he'll do that I don'tcare. I'd rather have a friend than twenty slaves. '

'A very proper sentiment, ma'am, ' said the butler approvingly. 'Is thereany other little thing we could do to oblige you?'

'The pagoda, ' said Fina. 'If you could only get it back to Miss Patty, so that she won't lose the things she sold it for, and won't know aboutthe ring having been in it. '

'Consider it done, madam, ' said the Slave of the Lamp, stroking hisrespectable butlerial whisker. 'Now, if you're ready, your footman shallsee you home. '

'Good-bye, oh, good-bye, ' said the little girls, kissing each other verymuch. 

Then Fina shut her eyes, and there she was in the wood in Sussex--alone. 

'Now, _have_ I dreamed it all?' she said, and went slowly home to tea. 

The first thing she saw on the tea-table was the pagoda! And the nextwas a brown-faced sailor eating hot buttered toast in the Windsorarmchair. 

'Well may you look!' said Miss Patty; 'this is my brother Bob, newlyarrived from foreign parts. And he met that pedlar and bought the pagodaoff him for two pounds and a highly-coloured cockatoo he was bringinghome. And these ten sovereigns the wicked old man gave me are bad ones. But the dresses and the cloth are good. It's a wonderful world!'

Fina thought so too. 

Now, the oddest thing about all this is that six months later some newpeople came to live in the house next door to the house where Fina livedin Tooting. And those new people came from New Zealand. And one of themwas called Ella!

Fina knew her at once, but Ella had forgotten her, and forgotten thebeautiful perfect butler and the perfect footman, and the lamp and thering, and everything. Perhaps a long sea-voyage is bad for the memory. Anyway, the two little girls are close friends, and Ella loves to hearFina tell the story of the two slaves, though she doesn't believe a wordof it. 

Fina's father and Ella's father have left Tooting now. They live inlovely houses at Haslemere. And Fina has a white pony and Ella has abrown one. Their fathers are very rich now. They both got situations asmanagers to branch houses of Messrs. Lamps, Rings, and Co. , ElectricalEngineers. Mr. Lamps attends to the lighting department, and Mr. Ringsis at the head of the bells, which always ring beautifully. And I hearthat Ella's father and Fina's father are likely to be taken intopartnership. Mr. Bodlett has bought the pagoda, at Fina's earnestrequest, and it stands on a sideboard in his handsome drawing-room. Fina sometimes asks it whether she really did dream the whole story ornot. But it never says a word. 

Of course, you and I know that every word of the story is true. 

THE CHARMED LIFE; OR, THE PRINCESS AND THE LIFT-MAN

There was once a Prince whose father failed in business and losteverything he had in the world--crown, kingdom, money, jewels, andfriends. This was because he was so fond of machinery that he was alwaysmaking working models of things he invented, and so had no time toattend to the duties that Kings are engaged for. So he lost hissituation. There is a King in French history who was fond of machinery, particularly clock-work, and he lost everything too, even his head. TheKing in this story kept his head, however, and when he wasn't allowed tomake laws any more, he was quite contented to go on making machines. Andas his machines were a great deal better than his laws had ever been, hesoon got a nice little business together, and was able to buy a house inanother kingdom, and settle down comfortably with his wife and son. Thehouse was one of those delightful villas called after Queen Anne (theone whose death is still so often mentioned and so justly deplored), with stained glass to the front-door, and coloured tiles on thefront-garden path, and gables where there was never need of gables, andnice geraniums and calceolarias in the front-garden, and pretty redbrick on the front of the house. The back of the house was yellow brick, because that did not show so much. 

Here the King and the Queen and the Prince lived very pleasantly. TheQueen snipped the dead geraniums off with a pair of gold scissors, anddid fancy-work for bazaars. The Prince went to the Red-Coat School, andthe King worked up his business. In due time the Prince was apprenticedto his father's trade; and a very industrious apprentice he was, andnever had anything to do with the idle apprentices who play pitch andtoss on tombstones, as you see in Mr. Hogarth's picture. 

When the Prince was twenty-one his mother called him to her. She putdown the blotting-book she was embroidering for the School Bazaar intasteful pattern of stocks and nasturtiums, and said:

'My dear son, you have had the usual coming-of-age presents--silvercigar-case and match-box; a handsome set of brushes, with your initialson the back; a Gladstone bag, also richly initialled; the complete worksof Dickens and Thackeray; a Swan fountain-pen mounted in gold; and theheartfelt blessing of your father and mother. But there is still onemore present for you. '

'You are too good, mamma, ' said the Prince, fingering thenasturtium-coloured silks. 

'Don't fidget, ' said the Queen, 'and listen to me. When you were a babya fairy, who was your godmother, gave you a most valuable present--aCharmed Life. As long as you keep it safely, nothing can harm you. '

'How delightful!' said the Prince. 'Why, mamma, you might have let me goto sea when I wanted to. It would have been quite safe. '

'Yes, my dear, ' said the Queen, 'but it's best to be careful. I havetaken care of your life all these years, but now you are old enough totake care of it for yourself. Let me advise you to keep it in a safeplace. You should never carry valuables about on your person. '

And then she handed the Charmed Life over to him, and he took it andkissed her, and thanked her for the pretty present, and went away andhid it. He took a brick out of the wall of the villa, and hid his Lifebehind it. The bricks in the walls of these Queen Anne villas generallycome out quite easily. 

Now, the father of the Prince had been King of Bohemia, so, of course, the Prince was called Florizel, which is their family name; but when theKing went into business he went in as Rex Bloomsbury, and his greatpatent Lightning Lift Company called itself R. Bloomsbury and Co. , sothat the Prince was known as F. Bloomsbury, which was as near as theKing dared go to 'Florizel, Prince of Bohemia. ' His mother, I am sorryto say, called him Florrie till he was quite grown up. 

Now, the King of the country where Florizel lived was a very go-aheadsort of man, and as soon as he heard that there were such things aslifts--which was not for a long time, because no one ever lets a Kingknow anything if it can be helped--he ordered one of the very, very bestfor his palace. Next day a card was brought in by one of the palacefootmen. It had on it: 'Mr. F. Bloomsbury, R. Bloomsbury and Co. '

'Show him in, ' said the King. 

'Good-morning, sire, ' said Florizel, bowing with that perfect gracewhich is proper to Princes. 

'Good-morning, young man, ' said the King. 'About this lift, now. '

'Yes, sire. May I ask how much your Majesty is prepared to----'

'Oh, never mind price, ' said the King; 'it all comes out of the taxes. '

'I should think, then, that Class A ... Our special Argentinelladesign--white satin cushions, woodwork overlaid with ivory and insetwith pearls, opals, and silver. '

'Gold, ' said the King shortly. 

'Not with pearls and ivory, ' said Florizel firmly. He had excellenttaste. 'The gold pattern--we call it the Anriradia--is inlaid withsapphires, emeralds, and black diamonds. '

'I'll have the gold pattern, ' said the King; 'but you might run up alittle special lift for the Princess's apartments. I dare say she'd likethat Argentinella pattern--"Simple and girlish, " I see it says in yourcircular. '

So Florizel booked the order, and the gold and sapphire and emerald liftwas made and fixed, and all the Court was so delighted that it spentits whole time in going up and down in the lift, and there had to be newblue satin cushions within a week. 

Then the Prince superintended the fixing of the Princess's lift--theArgentinella design--and the Princess Candida herself came to look on atthe works; and she and Florizel met, and their eyes met, and their handsmet, because his caught hers, and dragged her back just in time to saveher from being crushed by a heavy steel bar that was being lowered intoits place. 

'Why, you've saved my life, ' said the Princess. 

But Florizel could say nothing. His heart was beating too fast, and itseemed to be beating in his throat, and not in its proper place behindhis waistcoat. 

'Who are you?' said the Princess. 

'I'm an engineer, ' said the Prince. 

'Oh dear!' said the Princess, 'I thought you were a Prince. I'm sure youlook more like a Prince than any Prince _I've_ ever seen. '

'I wish I was a Prince, ' said Florizel; 'but I never wished it tillthree minutes ago. '

The Princess smiled, and then she frowned, and then she went away. 

Florizel went straight back to the office, where his father, Mr. RexBloomsbury, was busy at his knee-hole writing-table. 

He spent the morning at the office, and the afternoon in the workshop. 

'Father, ' he said, 'I don't know what ever will become of me. I wish Iwas a Prince!'

The King and Queen of Bohemia had never let their son know that he was aPrince; for what is the use of being a Prince if there's never going tobe a kingdom for you?

Now, the King, who was called R. Bloomsbury, Esq. , looked at his sonover his spectacles and said:

'Why?'

'Because I've been and gone and fallen head over ears in love with thePrincess Candida. '

The father rubbed his nose thoughtfully with his fountain pen. 

'Humph!' he said; 'you've fixed your choice high. '

'Choice!' cried the Prince distractedly. 'There wasn't much choice aboutit. She just looked at me, and there I was, don't you know? I didn't_want_ to fall in love like this. Oh, father, it hurts most awfully!What ever shall I do?'

After a long pause, full of thought, his father replied:

'Bear it, I suppose. '

'But I _can't_ bear it--at least, not unless I can see her every day. Nothing else in the world matters in the least. '

'Dear me!' said his father. 

'Couldn't I disguise myself as a Prince, and try to make her like me alittle?'

'The disguise you suggest is quite beyond our means at present. '

'Then I'll disguise myself as a lift attendant, ' said Florizel. 

And what is more, he did it. His father did not interfere. He believedin letting young people manage their own love affairs. 

So that when the lift was finished, and the Princess and her ladiescrowded round to make the first ascent in it, there was Florizel dressedin white satin knee-breeches, and coat with mother-o'-pearl buttons. Hehad silver buckles to his shoes, and a tiny opal breast-pin on thelappet of his coat, where the white flower goes at weddings. 

When the Princess saw him she said:

'Now, none of you girls are to go in the lift at all, mind! It's _my_lift. You can use the other one, or go up the mother-of-pearl staircase, as usual. '

Then she stepped into the lift, and the silver doors clicked, and thelift went up, just carrying her and him. 

She had put on a white silky gown, to match the new lift, and she, too, had silver buckles on her shoes, and a string of pearls round herthroat, and a silver chain set with opals in her dark hair; and she hada bunch of jasmine flowers at her neck. As the lift went out of sightthe youngest lady-in-waiting whispered:

'What a pretty pair! Why, they're made for each other! What a pity he'sa lift-man! He looks exactly like a Prince. '

'Hold your tongue, silly!' said the eldest lady-in-waiting, and slappedher. 

The Princess went up and down in the lift all the morning, and when atlast she had to step out of it because the palace luncheon-bell had rungthree times, and the roast peacock was getting cold, the eldestlady-in-waiting noticed that the Lift-man had a jasmine flower fastenedto his coat with a little opal pin. 

The eldest lady-in-waiting kept a sharp eye on the Princess, but afterthat first day the Princess only seemed to go up and down in the liftwhen it was really necessary, and then she always took the youngestlady-in-waiting with her; so that though the Lift-man always had aflower in his buttonhole, there was no reason to suppose it had not beengiven him by his mother. 

'I suppose I'm a silly, suspicious little thing, ' said the eldestlady-in-waiting. 'Of course, it was the lift that amused her, just atfirst. How _could_ a Princess be interested in a lift-man?'

Now, when people are in love, and want to be quite certain that they areloved in return, they will take any risks to find out what they want toknow. But as soon as they are _quite sure_ they begin to be careful. 

And after those seventy-five ups and downs in the lift, on the firstday, the Princess no longer had any doubt that she was beloved by theLift-man. Not that he had said a word about it, but she was a cleverPrincess, and she had seen how he picked up the jasmine flower she letfell, and kissed it when she pretended she wasn't looking, and hepretended he didn't know she was. Of course, she had been in love withhim ever since they met, and their eyes met, and their hands. She toldherself it was because he had saved her life, but that wasn't the realreason at all. 

So, being quite sure, she began to be careful. 

'Since he really loves me he'll find a way to tell me so, right out. It's his part, not mine, to make everything possible, ' she said. 

As for Florizel, he was quite happy. He saw her every day, and every daywhen he took his place in his lift there was a fresh jasmine flowerlying on the satin cushion. And he pinned it into his buttonhole andwore it there all day, and thought of his lady, and of how that firstwonderful day she had dropped a jasmine flower, and how he had picked itup when she pretended she was not looking, and he was pretending that hedid not know she was. But all the same he wanted to know exactly howthat jasmine flower came there every day, and whose hand brought it. Itmight be the youngest lady-in-waiting, but Florizel didn't think so. 

So he went to the palace one morning bright and early, much earlier thanusual, and there was no jasmine flower. Then he hid behind one of thewhite velvet window-curtains of the corridor and waited. And, presently, who should come stealing along on the tips of her pink toes--so as tomake no noise at all--but the Princess herself, fresh as the morning ina white muslin frock with a silver ribbon round her darling waist, anda bunch of jasmine at her neck. She took one of the jasmine flowers andkissed it and laid it on the white satin seat of the lift, and when shestepped back there was the Lift-man. 

'Oh!' said Candida, and blushed like a child that is caught in mischief. 

'Oh!' said Florizel, and he picked up the jasmine and kissed it manytimes. 

'Why do you do that?' said the Princess. 

'Because you did, ' said the Prince. 'I saw you. Do you want to go onpretending any more?'

The Princess did not know what to say, so she said nothing. 

Florizel came and stood quite close to her. 

'I used to wish I was a Prince, ' he said, 'but I don't now. I'd ratherbe an engineer. If I'd been a Prince I should never have seen you. '

'I don't want you to be a bit different, ' said the Princess. And shestooped to smell the jasmine in his buttonhole. 

'So we're betrothed, ' said Florizel. 

'Are we?' said Candida. 

'Aren't we?' he said. 

'Well, yes, I suppose we are, ' said she. 

'Very well, then, ' said Florizel, and he kissed the Princess. 

'You're sure you don't mind marrying an engineer?' he said, when she hadkissed him back. 

'Of course not, ' said the Princess. 

'Then I'll buy the ring, ' said he, and kissed her again. 

Then she gave him the rest of the jasmine, with a kiss for each star, and he gave her a little keepsake in return, and they parted. 

'My heart is yours, ' said Florizel, 'and my life is in your hands. '

'My life is yours, ' said she, 'and my heart is in your heart. '

Now, I am sorry to say that somebody had been listening all the timebehind another curtain, and when the Princess had gone to her breakfastand the Lift-man had gone down in his lift, this somebody came out andsaid, 'Aha!'

It was a wicked, ugly, disagreeable, snub-nosed page-boy, who would haveliked to marry the Princess himself. He had really no chance, and nevercould have had, because his father was only a rich brewer. But he felthimself to be much superior to a lift-man. And he was the kind of boywho always sneaks if he has half a chance. So he went and told the Kingthat he had seen the Princess kissing the Lift-man in the morning allbright and early. 

The King said he was a lying hound, and put him in prison at once formentioning such a thing--which served him right. 

Then the King thought it best to find out for himself whether thesnub-nosed page-boy had spoken the truth. 

So he watched in the morning all bright and early, and he saw thePrincess come stealing along on the tips of her little pink toes, andthe lift (Argentinella design) came up, and the Lift-man in it. And thePrincess gave him kissed jasmine to put in his buttonhole. 

So the King jumped out on them and startled them dreadfully. AndFlorizel was locked up in prison, and the Princess was locked up in herroom with only the eldest lady-in-waiting to keep her company. And thePrincess cried all day and all night. And she managed to hide thekeepsake the Prince had given her. She hid it in a little book ofverses. And the eldest lady saw her do it. Florizel was condemned to beexecuted for having wanted to marry someone so much above him instation. But when the axe fell on his neck the axe flew to pieces, andthe neck was not hurt at all. So they sent for another axe and triedagain. And again the axe splintered and flew. And when they picked upthe bits of the axe they had all turned to leaves of poetry books. 

So they put off the execution till next day. 

The gaoler told the snub-nosed page all about it when he took him hisdinner of green water and mouldering crusts. 

'Couldn't do the trick!' said the gaoler. 'Two axes broke off short andthe bits turned to rubbish. The executioner says the rascal has aCharmed Life. '

'Of course he has, ' said the ugly page, sniffing at the crusts with hissnub-nose. 'I know all about that, but I shan't tell unless the Kinggives me a free pardon and something fit to eat. Roast pork and onionstuffing, I think. And you can tell him so. '

So the gaoler told the King. And the King gave the snub-nosed page thepardon and the pork, and then the page said:

'He has a Charmed Life. I heard him tell the Princess so. And what ismore, he gave it to her to keep. And she said she'd hide it in a safeplace!'

Then the King told the eldest lady-in-waiting to watch, and she didwatch, and saw the Princess take Florizel's Charmed Life and hide it ina bunch of jasmine. So she took the jasmine and gave it to the King, andhe burnt it. But the Princess had not left the Life in the jasmine. 

Then they tried to hang Florizel, because, of course, he had an ordinarylife as well as a charmed one, and the King wished him to be without anylife at all. 

Thousands of people crowded to see the presumptuous Lift-man hanged, andthe execution lasted the whole morning, and seven brand new ropes werewasted one after the other, and they all left off being ropes and turnedinto long wreaths of jasmine, which broke into bits rather than hangsuch a handsome Lift-man. 

The King was furious. But he was not too furious to see that thePrincess must have taken the Charmed Life out from the jasmine flowers, and put it somewhere else, when the eldest lady was not looking. 

And it turned out afterwards that the Princess had held Florizel's lifein her hand all the time the execution was going on. The eldestlady-in-waiting was clever, but she was not so clever as the Princess. 

The next morning the eldest lady brought the Princess's silver mirror tothe King. 

'The Charmed Life is in that, your Majesty, ' she said. 'I saw thePrincess put it in. '

And so she had, but she had not seen the Princess take it out againalmost directly afterwards. 

The King smashed the looking-glass, and gave orders that poor Florizelwas to be drowned in the palace fishpond. 

So they tied big stones to his hands and feet and threw him in. And thestones changed to corks and held him up, and he swam to land, and whenthey arrested him as he landed they found that on each of the corksthere was a beautiful painting of Candida's face, as she saw it everymorning in her mirror. 

Now, the King and Queen of Bohemia, Florizel's father and mother, hadgone to Margate for a fortnight's holiday. 

'We will have a thorough holiday, ' said the King; 'we will forget theworld, and not even look at a newspaper. '

But on the third day they both got tired of forgetting the world, andeach of them secretly bought a newspaper and read it on the beach, andeach rushed back and met the other on the steps of the boarding-housewhere they were staying. And the Queen began to cry, and the King tookher in his arms on the doorstep, to the horror of the other boarders, who were looking out of the windows at them; and then they rushed off tothe railway station, leaving behind them their luggage and theastonished boarders, and took a special train to town. Because the Kinghad read in his newspaper, and the Queen in hers, that the Lift-man wasbeing executed every morning from nine to twelve; and though, so far, none of the executions had ended fatally, yet at any moment the Prince'sCharmed Life might be taken, and then there would be an end of the dailyexecutions--a very terrible end. 

Arrived at the capital, the poor Queen of Bohemia got into a hansom withthe King, and they were driven to the palace. The palace-yard wascrowded. 

'What is the matter?' the King of Bohemia asked. 

'It's that Lift-man, ' said a bystander, with spectacles and a straw hat;'he has as many lives as a cat. They tried boiling oil this morning, andthe oil turned into white-rose leaves, and the fire under it turned toa white-rose bush. And now the King has sent for Princess Candida, andis going to have it out with her. The whole thing has been mostexciting. '

'I should think so, ' said the Lift-man's father. 

'Of course, ' said the bystander in spectacles, 'everyone who has readany history knows that Lift-men don't have charmed lives. But our Kingnever would learn history, so he doesn't see that of course the Lift-manis a Prince disguised. The question is, Will he find out in time? Ican't think why the Lift-man doesn't own his Princishness, and have donewith it. '

'Perhaps he doesn't know it himself, ' said the King of Bohemia. 

He gave his arm to his wife, and they managed to squeeze through to thegreat council hall, where the King of that country sat on his goldthrone, surrounded by lords-in-waiting, judges in wigs, and other peoplein other things. 

Florizel was there loaded with chains, and standing in a very nobleattitude at one corner of the throne steps. At the other stood thePrincess, looking across at her lover with her dear gray eyes. 

'Now, ' said the King, 'I am tired of diplomacy and tact, and the eldestlady-in-waiting is less of a Sherlock Holmes than I thought her, so letus be straightforward and honest. Have you got a Charmed Life?'

'I haven't exactly got it, ' said Florizel. 'My life is not my own now. '

'Did he give it to you?' the King asked his daughter. 

'I cannot tell a lie, father, ' said the Princess, just as though hername had been George Washington instead of Candida; 'he did give it tome. '

'What have you done with it?'

'I have hidden it in different places. I have saved it; he saved mineonce. '

'Where is it?' asked her father, 'as you so justly observe you cannottell a lie. '

'If I tell you, ' said the Princess, 'will you give your Royal word thatthe execution you have ordered for this morning shall be really thelast? You can destroy the object that I have hidden his Charmed Life in, and then you can destroy him. But you must promise me not to ask me tohide his Life in any new place, because I am tired of hide-and-seek. '

All the judges and lords-in-waiting and people felt really sorry forthe Princess, for they thought all these executions had turned herbrain. 

'I give you my Royal word, ' said the King upon his throne. 'I won't askyou to hide his Life any more. Indeed, I was against the practice fromthe first. Now, where have you hidden his Life?'

'In my heart, ' said the Princess, brave and clear, so that everyoneheard her in the big hall. 'You can't take his Life without taking mine, and if you take mine you may as well take his, for he won't care to goon living without me. '

She sprang across the throne steps to Florizel, and his fetters jangledas she threw her arms round him. 

'Dear me!' said the King, rubbing his nose with his sceptre; 'this isvery awkward. '

The Princess laughed happily. 

'Oh, my clever Princess, ' whispered Florizel; 'you're as clever asyou're dear, and as dear as you're beautiful. '

There was a silence. 

'Well, really, ' said the King, 'I don't quite see----'

The father and mother of Florizel had wriggled and wormed their waythrough the crowd to a front place, and now the father spoke. 

'Your Majesty, allow me. Perhaps I can assist your decision. '

'Oh, all right, ' said the King upon his throne; 'go ahead. I'm struckall of a heap. '

'You see before you, ' said the King of Bohemia, 'one known to the worldof science and of business as R. Bloomsbury, inventor and patenter ofmany mechanical novelties--among others the Patent Lightning Lift--nowformed into a company of which I am the chairman. The youngLift-man--whose fetters are most clumsily designed, if you will pardonmy saying so--is my son. '

'Of course he's somebody's son, ' said the King upon his throne. 

'Well, he happens to be mine, and I gather that you do not think him agood enough match for your daughter. '

'Without wishing to hurt your feelings----' began Candida's father. 

'Exactly. Well, know, O King on your throne, and everyone else, thatthis young Lift-man is no other than Florizel, Prince of Bohemia. I amthe King of Bohemia, and this is my Queen. '

As he spoke he took his crown out of his pocket and put it on. His wifetook off her bonnet and got her crown out of her reticule and put thaton, and Florizel's crown was handed to the Princess, who fitted it onfor him, because his hands were awkward with chains. 

'Your most convincing explanation alters everything, ' said the King uponhis throne, and he came down to meet the visitors. 'Bless you, mychildren! Strike off his chains, can't you? I hope there's noill-feeling, Florizel, ' he added, turning to the Prince; 'you see, anengineer is only an engineer, whereas a Prince is a Prince, be he neverso disinherited. Will half an hour from now suit you for the wedding?'

So they were married, and they still live very happily. They will liveas long as is good for them, and when Candida dies Florizel will dietoo, because she still carries his Life in her heart. 

BILLY THE KING

'Now, William, ' said Billy King's great-uncle, 'you are old enough toearn your own living, so I shall find you a nice situation in an office, and you will not return to school. '

The blood of Billy King ran cold in his veins. He looked out over thebrown wire blinds into Claremont Square, Pentonville, which was wherehis uncle lived, and the tears came into his eyes; for, though his unclethought he was old enough to earn his own living, he was still youngenough to hate the idea of having to earn it in an office, where hewould never do anything, or make anything, or see anything, but only addup dull figures from year's end to year's end. 

'I don't care, ' said Billy to himself. 'I'll run away and get asituation on my own--something interesting. I wonder if I could learnhow to be a pirate captain or a highwayman?'

And next morning Billy got up very early, before anyone was about, andran away. 

He ran till he was out of breath and then he walked, and he walked tillhe was out of patience, and then he ran again, and between walking andrunning he came at last plump up to the door of a shop. And over theshop there were big painted letters saying, 'Registry office for allsorts of persons out of employment. '

'I'm out of employment, anyway, ' said he. The window of the shop had biggreen-baize-shutter sort of things in them, with white cards fastenedon to them with drawing-pins, and on the cards were written the kind ofpersons out of employment the registry office had got places for. And inthe very first one he read there was his own name--King!

'I've come to the right shop, ' said Billy, and he read the card through. 'Good general King wanted. Must be used to the business. '

'That's not me, I'm afraid, ' thought Billy, 'because whatever a generalKing's business is I can't be used to it till I've tried it. '

The next was: 'Good steady King wanted. Must be quick, willing, and upto his work. '

'I'm willing enough, ' said Billy, 'and I'm quick enough--at any rate, at fives or footer--but I don't know what a steady King's work is. ' Sohe looked at another card. 

'Wanted, respectable King to take entire charge of Parliament, and toassist in Cabinet Councils and Reform of the Army, to open Bazaars andSchools of Art, and make himself generally useful. '

Billy shook his head. 

'I think that must be a very hard place, ' said he. 

The next was: 'Competent Queen wanted; economical and good manager. '

'Whatever else I am I'm not a Queen, ' said Billy, and he was justturning sadly away, when he saw a little card stuck away in theright-hand top corner of the baize field. 

'Hard-working King wanted; no objection to one who has not been outbefore. '

'I can but try, ' said Billy, and he opened the door of the registryoffice and walked in. 

Inside there were several desks. At the first desk a lion with a penbehind its ear was dictating to a unicorn, who was writing in a seriesof Blue-books with his horn. Billy noticed that the horn had beensharpened to a nice point, like a lead pencil when the drawing-masterdoes it for you as a favour. 

'I think you want a King?' said Billy timidly. 

'No, we don't, ' said the lion, and it turned on him so quickly thatBilly was sorry he had spoken. 'The situation is filled, young man, andwe're thoroughly suited. '

Billy was turning away, much dispirited, when the unicorn said: 'Trysome of the others. '

So he went on to the next desk, where a frog sat sadly. But it onlywanted Presidents; and at the next desk an eagle told him that onlyEmperors were wanted, and those very seldom. It was not till he got tothe very end of the long room that Billy found a desk where a fat pig inspectacles sat reading a cookery-book. 

'Do you want a King?' said Billy. 'I've not been out before. '

'Then you're the King for us, ' said the pig, shutting the cookery-bookwith a bang. 'Hard-working, I suppose, as the notice says?'

'I think I should be, ' said Billy, adding, honestly, 'especially if Iliked the work. '

The pig gave him a square of silver parchment and said, 'That's theaddress. '

On the parchment was written:

'Kingdom of Plurimiregia. Billy King, Respectable Monarch. Not been outbefore. '

'You'd better go by post, ' said the pig. 'The five o'clock post willdo. '

'But why--but how--where is it?' asked Billy. 

'I don't know where it is, ' said the pig, 'but the Post-Office knowseverything. As to how--why, you just tie a label round your neck andpost yourself in the nearest letter-box. As to why, that's a sillyquestion, really, your Majesty. Don't you know the Post-Office alwaystakes charge of the Royal males?'

Billy was just putting the address carefully away in what would havebeen his watch-pocket if he had had any relation in the world except agreat-uncle, when the swing door opened gently and a little girl camein. She looked at the lion and unicorn and the other busy beasts behindtheir desks, and she did not seem to like the look of them. She lookedup the long room and she saw Billy, and she came straight up to him andsaid:

'Please I want a situation as Queen. It says in the window previousexperience not required. '

She was a very shabby little girl, with a clean, round, rosy face, andshe looked as little like a Queen with previous experience as anybodycould possibly have done. 

'I'm not the registry office, my good kid, ' said Billy. 

And the pig said, 'Try the next desk. '

Behind the next desk sat a lizard, but it was so large it was more likean alligator, only with a less unpleasant expression about the mouth. 

'Speak to him, ' said the pig, as the lizard leaned forward on his frontpaws like a draper's assistant when he says, 'What's the next article?'

'I don't like to, ' said the little girl. 

'Nonsense, you little duffer!' said Billy kindly; 'he won't eat you. '

'Are you sure?' said the little girl very earnestly. 

Then Billy said, 'Look here, I'm a King, and so I've got a situation. Are you a Queen?'

'My name's Eliza Macqueen, ' said the little girl. 'I suppose that's nearenough. '

'Well, then, ' said Billy to the lizard, 'will she do?'

'Perfectly, I should say, ' replied the lizard, with a smile that did notbecome him very well. 'Here is the address. ' He gave it to her; it read:

'Kingdom of Allexanassa. Queen, not been out before; willing, obliging, and anxious to learn. '

'Your kingdoms, ' he added, 'are next door to each other. '

'So we shall see each other often, ' said Billy. 'Cheer up! We mighttravel together, perhaps. '

'No, ' said the pig; 'Queens go by railway. A Queen has to begin to getused to her train as soon as she can. Now, run along, do. My friend herewill see her off. '

'You're sure they won't eat me?' said Eliza--and Billy was certain theywouldn't, though he didn't know why. So he said, 'Good-bye. I hopeyou'll get on in your new place, ' and off he went to buy a penny luggagelabel at the expensive stationer's three doors down the street on theright-hand side. And when he had addressed the label and tied it roundhis neck, he posted himself honourably at the General Post-Office. Therest of the letters in the box made a fairly comfortable bed, and Billyfell asleep. When he awoke he was being delivered by the early morningpostman at the Houses of Parliament in the capital of Plurimiregia, andthe Houses of Parliament were just being opened for the day. The air ofPlurimiregia was clear and blue, very different from the air ofClaremont Square, Pentonville. The hills and woods round the town lookedsoft and green, from the hill in the middle of the town where theParliament Houses stood. The town itself was small and very pretty, likeone of the towns in old illuminated books, and it had a great wall allround it, and orange trees growing on the wall. Billy wondered whetherit was forbidden to pick the oranges. 

When Parliament was opened by the footman whose business it was, Billysaid:

'Please, I've come about the place----'

'The King's or the cook's?' asked the footman. 

Billy was rather angry. 

'Now, do I look like a cook?' he said. 

'The question is, do you look like a King?' said the footman. 

'If I get the place you will be sorry for this, ' said Billy. 

'If you get the place you won't keep it long' said the footman. 'It'snot worth while being disagreeable; there's not time to do it properlyin. Come along in. '

Billy went along in, and the footman led him into the presence of thePrime Minister, who was sitting with straws in his hair, wringing hishands. 

[Illustration: '"Come by post, your Lordship, " said the footman. '--Page255. ]

'Come by post, your lordship, ' the footman said--'from London. '

The Prime Minister left off wringing his hands, and held one of them outto Billy. 'You will suit!' he said. 'I'll engage you in a minute. Butjust pull the straws out of my hair first, will you? I only put them inbecause we hadn't been able to find a suitable King, and I find strawsso useful in helping my brain to act in a crisis. Of course, once you'reengaged for the situation, no one will ask you to do anything useful. '

Billy pulled the straws out, and the Prime Minister said:

'Are they all out? Thanks. Well, now you're engaged--six months ontrial. You needn't do anything you don't want to. Now, your Majesty, breakfast is served at nine. Let me conduct you to the Royalapartments. '

In ten minutes Billy had come out of a silver bath filled with scentedwater, and was putting on the grandest clothes he had ever seen in hislife. Everything was of thick, soft, pussy silk, and his boots had goldheels with gold spurs on them. 

For the first time in his life it was with personal pleasure, and notfrom a sense of duty, that he brushed his hair and satisfied himselfthat none of his nails were in mourning. Then he went to breakfast, which was so fine that none but a French cook could have either cookedor described it. He was a little hungry--he had had nothing to eat sincethe bread and cheese at supper in Claremont Square the night beforelast. 

After breakfast he rode out on a white pony, a thing he might have livedin Claremont Square for ever without doing. And he found he rode verywell. After the ride he went on the sea in a boat, and was surprised anddelighted to find that he knew how to sail as well as how to steer. Inthe afternoon he was taken to a circus; and in the evening the wholeCourt played blind-man's buff. A most enchanting day!

Next morning the breakfast was boiled underdone eggs and burnt herrings. The King was too polite to make remarks about his food, but he did feela little disappointed. 

The Prime Minister was late for breakfast and came in looking hot andflurried, and a garland of straw was entwined in the Prime Ministerialhair. 

'Excuse my hair, sire, ' he said. 'The cook left last night, but a newone comes at noon to-day. Meantime, I have done my best. '

[Illustration: '"Excuse my hair, Sire, " he said. '--Page 256. ]

Billy said it was all right, and he had had an excellent breakfast. Thesecond day passed as happily as the first; the cook seemed to havearrived, for the breakfast was made up for by the lunch. And Billy hadthe pleasure of shooting at a target at two thousand yards with theLee-Metford rifle which had arrived by the same post as himself, andhitting the bull's-eye every time. 

This is really a rare thing--even when you are a King. But Billy beganto think it curious that he should never have found out before howclever he was, and when he took down a volume of Virgil and found thathe could read it as easily as though it had been the 'Child's FirstReading-Book, ' he was really astonished. So Billy said to the PrimeMinister:

'How is it I know so many things without learning them?'

'It's the rule here, sire, ' said the Prime Minister. 'Kings are allowedto know everything without learning it. '

Now, the next morning Billy woke very early, and got up and went outinto the garden, and, turning a corner suddenly, he came upon a littleperson in a large white cap, with a large white apron on, in which shewas gathering sweet pot-herbs, thyme, and basil, and mint, and savory, and sage, and marjoram. She stood up and dropped a curtsy. 

'Halloa!' said Billy the King; 'who are you?'

'I'm the new cook, ' said the person in the apron. 

Her big flapping cap hid her face, but Billy knew her voice. 

'Why, ' said he, turning her face up with his hands under her chin, 'you're Eliza!'

And sure enough it was Eliza, but her round face looked very muchcleverer and prettier than it had done when he saw it last. 

'Hush!' she said. 'Yes, I am. I got the place as Queen of Allexanassa, but it was all horribly grand, and such long trains, and the crown isawfully heavy. And yesterday morning I woke very early, and I thoughtI'd just put on my old frock--mother made it for me the very last thingbefore she was taken ill. '

'Don't cry, ' said Billy the King gently. 

'And I went out, and there was a man with a boat, and he didn't know Iwas the Queen, and I got him to take me for a row on the sea, and hetold me some things. '

'What sort of things?'

'Why, about us, Billy. I suppose you're the same as I am now, and knoweverything without learning it. What's Allexanassa Greek for?'

'Why, something like the Country of Changing Queens, isn't it?'

'And what does Plurimiregia mean?'

'That must mean the land of many Kings. Why?'

'Because that's what it is. They're always changing their Kings andQueens here, for a most horrid and frightening reason, Billy. They getthem from a registry office a long way off so that they shouldn't know. Billy, there's a dreadful dragon, and he comes once a month to be fed. And they feed him with Kings and Queens! That's why we know everythingwithout learning. Because there's no time to learn in. And the dragonhas two heads, Billy--a pig's head and a lizard's head--and the pig'shead is to eat _you_ with and the lizard's head will eat _me_!'

'So they brought us here for that, ' said Billy--'mean, cruel, cowardlybrutes!'

'Mother always said you could never tell what a situation was like untilyou tried it, ' said Eliza. 'But what are we to do? The dragon comesto-morrow. When I heard that I asked where your kingdom was, and theboatman showed me, and I made him land me here. So Allexanassa hasn'tgot a Queen now, but Plurimiregia has got us both. '

Billy rumpled his hair with his hands. 

'Oh, my cats alive!' he said, 'we must do something; but I'll tell youwhat it is, Eliza. You're no end of a brick to come and tell me. Youmight have got off all by yourself, and left me to the pig's head. '

'No, I mightn't, ' said Eliza sharply. 'I know everything that people canlearn, the same as you, and that includes right and wrong. So you see I_mightn't_. '

'That's true! I wonder whether our being clever would help us? Let'stake a boat and steer straight out, and take our chance. I can sail andsteer beautifully. '

'So can I, ' said Eliza disdainfully; 'but, you see, it's too late forthat. Twenty-four hours before the beast comes the sea-water runs away, and great waves of thick treacle come sweeping round the kingdoms. Noboat can live in such a sea. '

'Well, but how does the dragon get here? Is he on the island?'

'No, ' said Eliza, squeezing up handfuls of herbs in her agitation tillthe scent quite overpowered the scent of the honeysuckle. 'No; he comesout of the sea. But he is very hot inside, and he melts the treacle sothat it gets quite thin, like when it runs out of a treacle-pudding, andso he can swim in it, and he comes along to the quay, and is fed--with_Us_. '

Billy shuddered. 

'I wish we were back in Claremont Square, ' said he. 

'So do I, I'm sure, ' said Eliza. 'Though I don't know where it is, noryet want to know. '

'Hush!' said Billy suddenly. 'I hear a rustling. It's the PrimeMinister, and I can hear he's got straws in his hair again, most likelybecause you're disappeared, and he thinks he will have to cook thebreakfast. Meet me beside the lighthouse at four this afternoon. Hide inthis summer-house and don't come out till the coast's clear. '

He ran out and took the Prime Minister's arm. 

'What is the straw for now?'

'Merely a bad habit, ' said the Prime Minister wearily. 

Then Billy suddenly saw, and he said:

'You're a beastly mean, cowardly sneak, and you feel it; that's what thestraws are about!'

'Your Majesty!' said the Prime Minister feebly. 

'Yes, ' said Billy firmly; 'you know you are. Now, I know all the laws ofPlurimiregia, and I'm going to abdicate this morning, and the next inrank has to be King if he can't engage a fresh one. You're next in rankto me, so by the time the dragon comes you'll be the King. I'll attendyour Coronation. '

The Prime Minister gasped, 'How did you find out?' and turned the colourof unripe peaches. 

'That's tellings, ' said Billy. 'If you hadn't all been such sneaks, Iexpect heaps of your Kings had sense enough to have got rid of thedragon for you. Only I suppose you've never told them in time. Now, lookhere. I don't want you to do anything except keep your mouth shut, andlet there be a boat, and no boatman, on the beach under the lighthouseat four o'clock. '

'But the sea's all treacle. '

[Illustration: '"Speak to the dragon as soon as it arrives. "' Page 263. ]

'I said on the beach, not on the sea, my good straw merchant. And what Isay you've jolly well got to do. You must be there--and no one else. If you tell a soul I'll abdicate, and where will you be then?'

'I don't know, ' said the wretched Prime Minister, stooping to gathersome more straws from the strawberry bed. 

'But I do, ' said Billy. 'Now for breakfast. '

Before four o'clock that afternoon the Prime Minister's head was aperfect bird's-nest of straws. But he met Billy at the appointed place, and there was a boat--and also Eliza. Billy carried his Lee-Metford. 

A wind blew from the shore, and the straws in the Prime Minister's hairrustled like a barley-field in August. 

'Now, ' said Billy the King, 'my Royal Majesty commands you to speak tothe dragon as soon as it arrives, and to say that your King hasabdicated----'

'But he hasn't, ' said the Prime Minister in tears. 

'But he _does now_--so you won't be telling a lie. I abdicate. But Igive you my word of honour I'll turn King again as soon as I've tried mylittle plan. I shall be quite in time to meet my fate--and the dragon. Say "The King has abdicated. You'd better just look in at Allexanassaand get the Queen, and when you call again I'll have a nice fat Kingall ready for you. "'

The straws trembled, and Eliza sobbed. 

Billy went on; and he had never felt so truly regal as now, when he waspreparing to risk his life in order to save his subjects from themonthly temptation to be mean and cowardly and sneakish. I think myselfit was good of Billy. He might just have abdicated and let things slide. Some boys would have. 

The sea of greeny-black treacle heaved and swelled sulkily against thebeach. The Prime Minister said:

'Very well; I'll do it. But I'd sooner die than see my King false to hisword. '

'You won't have to choose between the two, ' said Billy, very pale, butdetermined. 'Your King's not a hound, like--like some-people. '

And then, far away on the very edge of the green treacly sea, they saw asquirming and a squelching and clouds of steam, and all sorts ofexciting and unpleasant things happening very suddenly and all together. 

The Prime Minister covered his head with dry seaweed and said:

'That's Him. '

'That's _He_, ' corrected Eliza the Queen and Billy the King in onebreath. 

But the Prime Minister was long past any proper pride in his grammar. 

And then, cutting its way through the thick, sticky waves of the treaclesea, came the hot dragon, melting a way for himself as he came. And hegot nearer and nearer and bigger and bigger, and at last he came closeto the beach, snouting and snorting, and opened two great mouths in anexpecting, hungry sort of way; and when he found he was not being fedthe expression of the mouths changed to an angry and surprised question. And one mouth was a pig's mouth and one was a lizard's. 

Billy the King borrowed a pin from Eliza the Queen to stick into thePrime Minister, who was by this time nearly buried in the seaweed whichhe had been trying to arrange in his hair. 

'Speak up, silly!' said His Majesty. 

The Prime Minister spoke up. 

'Please, sir, ' he said to the two-headed dragon, 'our King hasabdicated, so we've nothing for you just now, but if you could just runover to Allexanassa and pick up their Queen, we'll have a nice fat Kingready for you if you'll call on your way home. '

The Prime Minister shuddered as he spoke. He happened to be very fat. 

The dragon did not say a word. He nodded with both his heads and gruntedwith both his mouths, and turned his one tail and swam away along thetrack of thin, warm treacle which he had made in swimming across thesea. 

Quick as thought, Billy the King signed to the Prime Minister and toEliza, and they launched the boat. Billy sprang on board and pushed off, and it was not till the boat was a dozen yards from shore that he turnedto wave a farewell to Eliza and the Prime Minister. The latter wasindeed still on the beach, searching hopefully among the drifts andweeds for more straws, to mark his sense of the constitutional crisis, but Eliza had disappeared. 

'Oh dear, oh dear, ' said Billy the King; 'surely that brute of a PrimeMinister can't have killed her right off, so as to have her ready forthe dragon when he comes back. Oh, my dear little Eliza!'

'I'm here, ' said a thick voice. 

And, sure enough, there was Eliza, holding on to the gunwale of theboat and swimming heavily in the warm treacle. Nearly choked with it, too, for she had been under more than once. 

Billy hastened to haul her aboard, and, though she was quite brown andvery, very sticky, the moment she was safe in the boat he threw his armsround her and said:

'Dear, darling Eliza, you're the dearest, bravest girl in the world. Ifwe ever get out of this you'll marry me, won't you? There's no one inthe world like you. Say you will. '

'Of course I will, ' said Eliza, still spluttering through the treacle. 'There's no one in the world like you, either. '

'Right! Then, if that's so, you steer and I'll sail, and we'll get thebetter of the beast yet, ' said Billy. 

And he set the sail, and Eliza steered as well as she could in hertreacly state. 

About the middle of the channel they caught up with the dragon. Billytook up his Lee-Metford and fired its eight bullets straight into thedragon's side. You have no idea how the fire spurted out through thebullet-holes. But the wind from shore had caught the sails, and the boatwas now going very much faster than the dragon, who found thebullet-holes annoying, and had slowed up to see what was the matter. 

'Good-bye, you dear, brave Eliza, ' said Billy the King. '_You're_ allright, anyhow. '

And, holding his reloaded Lee-Metford rifle high over his head, heplunged into the treacly sea and swam back towards the dragon. It isvery difficult to shoot straight when you are swimming, especially innearly boiling treacle, but His Majesty King Billy managed to do it. Hesent his eight bullets straight into the dragon's heads, and the hugemonster writhed and wriggled and squirmed and squawked, all over the seafrom end to end, till at last it floated lifeless on the surface of theclear, warm treacle, and stretched its wicked paws out, and shut itswicked eyes, all four of them, and died. The lizard's eyes shut last. 

Then Billy began to swim for dear life towards the shore ofPlurimiregia, and the treacle was so hot that if he hadn't been a Kinghe would have been boiled. But now that the dreadful dragon was cold indeath there was nothing to keep the treacle sea thin and warm, and itbegan to thicken so fast that swimming was very difficult indeed. If youdon't understand this, you need only ask the attendants at your nearestswimming-baths to fill the baths with treacle instead of water, and youwill very soon comprehend how it was that Billy reached the shore of hiskingdom quite exhausted and almost speechless. 

The Prime Minister was there. He had fetched a whole truss of straw whenhe thought Billy's plan had failed, and that the dragon would eat him asthe next in rank, and he wanted to do the thing thoroughly; and when hewarmly embraced the treacly King, Billy became so covered with strawsthat he hardly knew himself. He pulled himself together, however, enoughto withdraw his resignation, and then looked out over the sea. Inmid-channel lay the dead dragon, and far in the distance he could seethe white sails of the boat nearing the shores of Allexanassa. 

'And what are we to do now?' asked the Prime Minister. 

'Have a bath, ' said the King. 'The dragon's dead, and I'll fetch Elizain the morning. They won't hurt her over there now the dragon's killed. '

'_They_ won't hurt her, ' said the Prime Minister. 'It's the treacle. Allexanassa is an island. The dragon brought the treacle up by hisenchantments, and now there is no one to take it away again. You'llnever get a boat to live in a sea like that--never. '

'Won't I?' said Billy. 'I'm cleverer than you. '

But, all the same, he didn't quite see his way to sailing a boat in thatsea, and with a sad and aching heart he went back to the palace to thesilver bath. The treacle and straws took hours to wash off, and afterthat he was so tired that he did not want any supper, which was just aswell, because there was no one to cook it. Tired as he was, Billy sleptvery badly. He woke up again and again to wonder what had become of hisbrave little friend, and to wish that he could have done something toprevent her being carried away in that boat; but, think as he might, hefailed to see that he could have done any differently. And his heartsank, for, in spite of his bold words to the Prime Minister, he had nomore idea than you have how to cross the sea of thick treacle that laybetween his kingdom and Allexanassa. He invented steamships with red-hotscrews and paddle-wheels all through his dreams, and when he got up inthe morning he looked out of his window on the dark sea and longed for agood, gray, foamy, salt, tumbling sea like we have at home inEngland, no matter how high the waves and the winds might be. But thewind had fallen, and the dark brown sea looked strangely calm. 

[Illustration: 'The two skated into each other's arms. '--Page 271. ]

Hastily snatching a dozen peaches out of the palace garden by way ofbreakfast, Billy the King hurried to the beach by the lighthouse. Noheaving of the treacle sea broke the smooth line of it against thebeach. Billy looked--looked again, swallowed the last peach, stone andall, and tore back to the town. 

He rushed into the chief ironmonger's and bought a pair of skates and agimlet. In less time than I can write it he had scurried back to thebeach, bored holes in his gold heels, fastened on the skates, and wasskating away over the brown sea towards Allexanassa. For the treacle, heated to boiling-point by the passing of the dragon, had now growncold, and, of course, it was now _toffee_! Far off, Eliza had had thesame idea as soon as she saw the toffee, and, of course, as Queen ofAllexanassa, she could skate beautifully. So the two skated into eachother's arms somewhere near the middle of the channel between the twoislands. 

They stood telling each other how happy they were for a few moments, orit may have been a few hours; and when they turned to go back toPlurimiregia they found that the toffee-ice of the treacle sea was blackwith crowds of skaters--for the Allexanassians and the Plurimiregianshad found out the wonderful truth, and were hurrying across to payvisits to their friends and relations in the opposite islands. Near theshore the toffee was hidden by troops of children, who had borrowed thefamily hammers and were chipping into the solid toffee and eating theflakes of it as they splintered off. 

People were pointing out to each other the spot where the dragon hadsunk, and when they perceived Billy the King and Eliza the Queen theysent up a shout that you could have heard miles out at sea--if there hadbeen any sea--which, of course, there wasn't. The Prime Minister hadlost no time in issuing a proclamation setting forth Billy's splendidconduct in ridding the country of the dragon, and all the populace werein a frenzy of gratitude and loyalty. 

Billy turned on a little tap inside his head by some means which Icannot describe to you, and a bright flood of cleverness poured throughhis brain. 

'After all, ' he said to Eliza, 'they were going to give us to thedragon to save their own lives. It's bad, I know. But I don't knowthat's it's worse than people who let other people die of lead-poisoningbecause they want a particular glaze on their dinner-plates, or letpeople die of phosphorus-poisoning so that they may get matches at sixboxes a penny. We're as well off here as in England. '

'Yes, ' said Eliza. 

So they agreed to stay and go on being King and Queen, on condition thatthe Prime Minister consented to give up straws altogether, even inmoments of crisis. 

'I will, your Majesties, ' he said, adding, with a polite bow, 'I shallnot need a single straw under your Majesty's able kingship. '

And all the people cheered like mad. 

Eliza and Billy were married in due course. The kingdoms are nowextremely happy. Both are governed by Billy, who is a very good Kingbecause he knows so much. Eliza got him to change the law about Queensknowing everything, because she wanted her husband to be cleverer thanshe was. But Billy didn't want to make laws to turn his Eliza stupid, sohe just changed the law--only a little bit--so that the King knowseverything a man ought to know, and the Queen knows everything thatought to be known by a woman. So that's all right. 

Exploring expeditions were fitted out to find the edge of the toffee. Itwas found to stand up in cliffs two hundred feet high, overhanging thereal, live, salt-watery sea. The King had ships built at once to sail onthe real sea and carry merchandise to other lands. And so Allexanassaand Plurimiregia grew richer and richer every day. The merchandise, ofcourse, is toffee, and half the men in the kingdoms work in the greattoffee-mines. All the toffee you buy in shops comes from there. And thereason why some of the cheaper kinds you buy are so gritty is, I needhardly say, because the toffee-miners will not remember, before they godown into the mines, to wipe their muddy boots on the doormats providedby Billy the King, with the Royal Arms in seven colours on the middle ofeach mat. 

THE PRINCESS AND THE CAT

The day when everything began to happen to the Princess began just likeall her ordinary days. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, andthe Princess jumped out of bed and ran into the nursery to let the miceout of the traps in the nursery cupboard. The traps were set every nightwith a little bit of cheese in each, and every morning nurse found thatnot a single trap had caught a single mouse. This was because thePrincess always let them go. No one knew this except the Princess and, of course, the mice themselves. And the mice never forgot it. 

Then came bath and breakfast, and then the Princess ran to the openwindow and threw out the crumbs to the birds that flew down flutteringand chirping into the marble terrace. Before lessons began she had anhour for playing in the garden. But she never began to play till she hadbeen round to see if any rabbits or moles were caught in the traps thepalace gardeners set. The gardeners were lazy, and seldom got to workbefore half-past eight, so she always had plenty of time for this. 

Then came lessons with dear old Professor Ouatidontnoisuntwuthnoing, andthen more play, and dinner, and needlework, and play again. 

And now it was teatime. 

'Eat up your bread-and-butter, your Highness, ' said nurse, 'and then youshall have some nice plummy cake. '

'I don't feel plum-cakey at all to-day, somehow, ' said the Princess. 'Ifeel just exactly as if something was going to happen. '

'Something's always happening, ' said nurse. 

'Ah! but I mean something horrid, ' said the Princess. 'I expect uncle'sgoing to make some nasty new law about me. Last time it was: "ThePrincess is only to wear a white frock on the first Sunday in themonth. " He said it was economy, but I know it was only spite. '

'You mustn't say that, dear, ' said nurse. 'You know your rosy and blueyfrocks are just as pretty as the white;' but in her heart she agreedwith the Princess Everilda. 

The Princess's father and mother had died when she was quite little, and her uncle was Regent. Now, you will have noticed that there issomething about uncles which makes it impossible for them to be good infairy stories. So of course this uncle was bad, as bad as he could be, and everyone hated him. 

In fact, though it was now, as I have said, everybody's teatime, nobodywas making any tea: instead they were making a revolution. And just asthe Princess was looking at the half-moon-shaped hole left by her firstbite into her first piece of bread-and-butter, the good Professor burstinto the nursery with his great gray wig all on one side, crying out ina very loud and very choky voice:

'The revolution! It's come at last. I _knew_ the people would neverstand that last tax on soap. '

'The Princess!' said nurse, turning very pale. 

'Yes, I know, ' said the Professor. 'There's a boat on the canal, bluesails with gold letters "P. P. "--Pupil of the Professor. It's waiting. You go down there at once. I'll take the Princess out down the backstairs. '

He caught the Princess by her pink bread-and-buttery hand, and draggedher away. 

'Hurry, my dear, ' he panted; 'it's as much as your life is worth todelay a minute. '

But he himself delayed quite three minutes, and that was one minute toolong. He had just run into the palace library for the manuscript of hislife's work, 'Everything Easily Explained, ' when the revolutionary crowdburst in, shouting 'Liberty and Soap!' and caught him. They did not seethe Princess Everilda, because he had just time, when he heard themcoming, to throw a red and green crochet antimacassar over her, and tohide her behind an armchair. 

'When they've taken me away, go down the back stairs, and try to findthe boat, ' he whispered, just before they came and took him away. 

And then Everilda was left alone. When everything was quiet, she said toherself: 'Now, you mustn't cry; you must do as you're told. ' And shewent down the palace back-stairs, and out through the palace kitcheninto the street. 

She had never set foot in the streets before, but she had been driventhrough them in a coach with four white horses, and she knew the way tothe canal. 

The canal boat with the blue sails was waiting, and she would have gotto it safely enough, but she heard a rattling sound, and when shelooked she saw two boys tying an old rusty kettle to a cat's tail. 

'You horrid boys!' she said; 'let poor pussy alone. '

'Not us, ' said the boys. 

Everilda instantly slapped them both, and they were so surprised thatthey let the cat go. It scuttled and scurried off, and so did thePrincess. The boys threw stones after her and also after the cat, butfortunately they were both very bad shots and nobody was hit. 

Even then the Princess would have got safely away, but she saw a boysitting on a doorstep crying. So she stopped to ask what was the matter. 

'I'm hungry, ' said the boy, 'and father and mother are dead, and myuncle beat me, so I'm running away----'

'Oh, ' said the Princess, 'so am I. What fun! And I've got a horriduncle, too. You come with me, and we'll find my nurse. _She's_ runningaway, too. Make haste, or it'll be too late. '

But when they got to the corner, it _was_ too late. 

The revolutionary crowd caught them; they shouted 'Liberty and Soap!'and they sent the boy to the workhouse, and they put the Princess inprison; and a good many of them wanted to cut off her pretty little headthen and there, because they thought she would be sure to grow up horridlike her uncle the Regent. 

But all the people who had ever been inside the palace said what a nicelittle girl the Princess really was, and wouldn't hear of cutting offher darling head. So at last it was decided to get rid of her byenchantment, and the Head Magician to the Provisional RevolutionaryGovernment was sent for. 

'Certainly, citizens, ' he said, 'I'll put her in a tower on the ForlornIsland, in the middle of the Perilous Sea--a nice strong tower, withonly one way out. '

'That's one too many. There's not to be any way out, ' said the people. 

'Well, there's a way out of everything, you know, ' said the Magiciantimidly--he was trembling for his own head--'but it's fifty thousandmillions to one against her ever finding it. '

So they had to be content with that, and they fetched Everilda out ofher prison; and the Magician took her hand and called his carriage, which was an invention of his own--half dragon, and half motor-car, andhalf flying-machine--so that it was a carriage and a half, and came whenit was called, tame as any pet dog. 

He lifted Everilda in, and said 'Gee up!' to his patent carriage, andthe intelligent creature geed up right into the air and flew away. ThePrincess shut her eyes tight, and tried not to scream. She succeeded. 

When the Magician's carriage got to the place where it knew it ought tostop, it did stop, and tumbled Everilda out on to a hard floor, and wentback to its master, who patted it, and gave it a good feed of oil, andfire, and water, and petroleum spirit. 

The Princess opened her eyes as the sound of the rattling dragon wingsdied away. She was alone--quite alone. 'I won't stay here, ' saidEverilda; 'I'll run away again. '

She ran to the edge of the tower and looked down. The tower was in themiddle of a garden, and the garden was in the middle of a wood, and thewood was in the middle of a field, and after the field there was nothingmore at all except steep cliffs and the great rolling, raging waves ofthe Perilous Sea. 

'There's no way to run away by, ' she said; and then she remembered thateven if she ran away, there was now nowhere to run to, because thepeople had taken her palace away from her, and the palace was the onlyhome she had ever had--and where her nurse was goodness only knew. 

'So I suppose I've got to live here till someone fetches me, ' she said, and stopped crying, like a brave King's daughter as she was. 

'I'll explore, ' said Everilda all alone; 'that will be fun. ' She said itbravely, and really it was more fun than she expected. The tower hadonly one room on each floor. The top floor was Everilda's bedroom; sheknew that by her gold-backed brushes and things with 'E. P. ' on themthat lay on the toilet-table. The next floor was a sitting-room, and thenext a dining-room, and the last of all was a kitchen, with rows ofbright pots and pans, and everything that a cook can possibly want. 

'Now I can play at cooking, ' said the Princess. 'I've always wanted todo that. If only there was something to cook!'

She looked in the cupboards, and there were lots of canisters and jars, with rice, and flour, and beans, and peas, and lentils, and macaroni, and currants, and raisins, and candied peel, and sugar, and sago, andcinnamon. She ate a whole lump of candied citron, and enjoyed it verymuch. 

'I shan't starve, anyway, ' she said. 'But oh! of course, I shall sooneat up all these things, and then----'

In her agitation she dropped the jar; it did not break, but all thecandied peel rolled away into corners and under tables. Yet when shepicked the jar up it was as full as ever. 

'Oh, hooray!' cried Everilda, who had once heard a sentry use that lowexpression; 'of course it's a magic tower, and everything is magic init. The jars will always be full. '

The fire was laid, so she lighted it and boiled some rice, but it stuckto the pot and got burned. You know how nasty burned rice is? and themacaroni she tried to cook would not get soft. So she went out into thegarden, and had a very much nicer dinner than she could ever havecooked. Instead of meat she had apples, and instead of vegetables shehad plums, and she had peaches instead of pudding. 

There were rows and rows of beautiful books in the sitting-room, and sheread a little, and wrote a long letter to nurse, in case anyone evercame who knew nurse's address and would post it for her. And then shehad a nectarine-and-mulberry tea. 

By this time the sun was sinking all red and splendid beyond the darkwaters of the Perilous Sea, and Everilda sat down on the window seat towatch it. 

I shall not tell you whether she cried at all then. Perhaps you wouldhave cried just a little if you had been in her place. 

'Oh dear! oh dear! oh dear!' she said, sniffing slightly. (Perhaps shehad a cold. ) 'There's nobody to tuck me up in bed--nobody at all. '

And just as she said it something fat and furry flew between her and thesunset. It hovered clumsily a moment, and then swooped in at the window. 

'Oh!' cried the Princess, very much frightened indeed. 

'Don't you know me?' said the stout furry creature, folding its wings. 'I'm the cat you saved from the indignity of a rusty kettle inconnection with my honourable tail. '

'But that cat hadn't got wings, ' said Everilda, 'and you're much biggerthan it, and it couldn't talk. '

'How do you know it couldn't talk, ' said the Cat; 'did you ask it?'

'No, ' said the Princess. 

'Well, then!' said the Cat 'And as for wings, I needn't wear them ifyou'd rather I didn't. '

The Cat took off her wings, rolled them neatly up, like your fatherrolls his umbrella, tied them round with a piece of string, and put themin the left-hand corner drawer in the bureau. 

'That's better, ' said Everilda. 

'And as for size, ' said the Cat, 'if I stayed ordinary cat-size Ishouldn't be any use to you. And I've come to be cook, companion, housemaid, nurse, professor, and everything else, so----'

'Oh, don't, ' said the Princess--'_don't_ get any bigger. '

For while she was speaking the Cat had been growing steadily, and shewas now about the size of a large leopard. 

'Certainly not, ' said the Cat obligingly; 'I'll stop at once. '

'I suppose, ' said the Princess timidly, 'that you're magic?'

'Of course, ' said the Cat; 'everything is, here. Don't you be afraid ofme, now! Come along, my pet, time for bed. '

Everilda umped, for the voice was the voice of her nurse; but it wasalso the voice of the Cat. 

'Oh!' cried the Princess, throwing her arms round the cat's large furryneck, 'I'm not afraid of _any_ thing when you speak like that. '

So, after all, she had someone to tuck her up in bed. The Cat did itwith large, soft, furry, clever paws, and in two minutes Everilda wasfast asleep. 

And now began the long, lonely, but all the same quite happy time whichthe Princess and the Cat spent together on the Forlorn Island. 

Everilda had lessons with the Cat--and then it was the Professor's voicethat the Cat spoke with; and the two did the neat little housework ofthe tower together--and then the Cat's voice was like the voices of thepalace housemaids. And they did the cooking and then the Cat's voice wasthe cook's voice. And they played games together--and then the voice ofthe Cat was like the voices of all sorts of merry children. It wasimpossible to be dull with a companion who changed so often. 

'But who are you _really_?' the Princess used to ask. 

And the Cat always answered:

'I give it up! Ask another!' as if the Princess had been playing atriddles. 

'How is it our garden is always so tidy and full of nice fruit andvegetables?' the Princess asked once, when they had been on the islandabout a year. 

'Oh, ' said the Cat, 'didn't you know? The moles you used to let out ofthe traps do the digging, and the birds you used to feed bring the seedsin their little beaks, and the mice you used to save from the palacemouse-traps do the weeding and raking with their sharp little teeth, andtheir fine, neat, needly claws. '

'But how did they get here?' asked the Princess. 

'The usual way--swimming and flying, ' said the Cat. 

'But aren't the mice afraid of _you_?'

'Of me?' The great Cat drew herself up to her full height. 'Anyone wouldthink, to hear you, that I was a _common_ cat. ' And she was really crossfor nearly an hour. 

That was the only approach to a quarrel that the two ever had. 

Sometimes, at first, the Princess used to say:

'How long am I to stay here, pussy-nurse?'

And the Cat always said in nurse's voice:

'Till you're grown up, my dear. '

And the years went by, and each year found the Princess more good, andclever, and beautiful. And at last she was quite grown up. 

'Now, ' said the Cat briskly, 'we must get to work. There's a Prince in akingdom a long way off, and he's the only person who can get you offthis island. '

'Does he know?' asked Everilda. 

'He knows about _you_, but he doesn't know that he's the person to findyou, and he doesn't know where you are. So now every night I must flyaway and whisper about you in his ear. He'll think it's dreams, but hebelieves in dreams; and he'll come in a grand ship with masts of goldand sails of silk, and carry my Pretty away and make a Queen of her. '

'Shall I like that, pussy-nurse, do you think?' asked the Princess. 

And the Cat replied:

'Yes, very much indeed. But you wouldn't like it if it were any otherKing than this one, so it's just as well that it's quite impossible forit to _be_ any other. '

'How will he come?' asked the Princess. 

'Don't I tell you? In a ship, of course, ' said the Cat. 

'Aren't the rocks dangerous?' asked the Princess. 

'Oh, very, ' the Cat answered. 

'Oh, ' said the Princess, and grew silent and thoughtful. 

That night the Cat got out its rolled-up wings, and unrolled them, andbrushed them, and fitted them on; then she lighted a large lamp and setit in the window that looked out on the Perilous Sea. 

'That's the beacon to guide the King to you, ' she said. 

'Won't it guide other ships here?' asked the Princess, 'with perhapsthe wrong Kings on board--the ones I shouldn't like being Queen with?'

'Very likely, ' said the Cat; 'but it doesn't matter: they'd only bewrecked. Serve them right, coming after Princesses that don't wantthem. '

'Oh, ' said Everilda. 

The Cat spread her wings, and after one or two trial flights round thetower, she spread them very wide indeed, and flew away across the blackPerilous Sea, towards a little half moon that was standing on its headto show sailors that there would be foul weather. 

The Princess leaned her elbows on the window-sill and looked out overthe sea. Down below in the garden she could hear the kind moles diggingindustriously, and the good little mice weeding and raking with theirsharp teeth and their fine needly claws. And far away against thelow-hanging moon she saw the sails and masts of a ship. 

'Oh, ' she cried, 'I _can't_! It's sure not to be _his_ ship. It mustn'tbe wrecked. '

And she turned the lamp out. And then she cried a little, becauseperhaps after all it might be _his_ ship, and he would pass by and neverknow. 

Next night the Cat went out on another flying excursion, leaving thelamp lighted. And again the Princess could not bear to go to bed leavinga lamp burning that might lure honest Kings and brave mariners toshipwreck, so she put out the lamp and cried a little. And this happenedfor many, many, many nights. 

When the Cat swept the room of a morning she used to wonder where allthe pearls came from that she found lying all about the floor. But itwas a magic place, and one soon ceased to wonder much about anything. She never guessed that the pearls were the tears the Princess shed whenshe had put out the lamp, and seen ship after ship that perhaps carriedher own King go sailing safely and ignorantly by, no one on boardguessing that on that rock was a pretty, dear Princess waiting to berescued--_the_ Princess, the only Princess that that King would be happyand glad to have for his Queen. 

And the years went on and on. Every night the Cat lighted the lamp andflew away to whisper dreams into the ears of the only King who couldrescue the Princess, and every night the Princess put out the lamp andcried in the dark. And every morning the Cat swept up a dustpan full ofpearls that were Everilda's tears. And again and again the King wouldfit out a vessel and sail the seas, and look in vain for the brightlight that he had dreamed should guide him to his Princess. 

The Cat was a good deal vexed; she could not understand how any Kingcould be so stupid. She always stayed out all night. She used to go andsee her friends after she had done whispering dreams to the King, andonly got home in time to light the fire for breakfast, so she never knewhow the Princess put out the lamp every night, and cried in the dark. 

The years went by and went by, and the Princess grew old and gray, forshe had never had the heart to leave the lamp alight, for fear that somepoor mariners who were not her King should be drawn by the lamp to thosecruel rocks and wrecked on them, for of course it wouldn't and couldn'tbe the poor mariners' fault that they didn't happen to be the one andonly King who could land safely on the Forlorn Island. 

And when the Princess was quite old, and the tear pearls that had beenswept up by the Cat filled seven big chests in the back-kitchen, thePrincess fell ill. 

'I think I am going to die, ' she said to the Cat, 'and I am not reallyat all sorry except for you. I think you'll miss me. Tell me now--it'salmost all over--who are you, really?'

'I give it up, ' said the Cat as usual. 'Ask another. '

But the Princess asked nothing more. She lay on her bed in her whitegown and waited for death, for she was very tired of being alive. Onlyshe said:

'Put out that lamp in the window; it hurts my eyes. '

For even then she thought of the poor men whose ships might be wreckedjust because they didn't happen to be the one and only King with whomshe could be happy. 

So the Cat took the lamp away, but she did not put it out; she set it inthe window of the parlour, and its light shone out over the black watersof the Perilous Sea. 

And that very night the one and only King--who in all these years hadnever ceased to follow the leading of the dreams the Cat whispered inhis ear--came in the black darkness sailing over the Perilous Sea. Andin the black darkness he saw at last the bright white light that hisdreams had promised, and he knew that where the light was his Princesswas, and his heart leaped up, and he bade the helmsmen steer for thelight. 

And for the light they steered. And because he was the only possibleKing to mate that Princess, the helmsman found the only possible passageamong the rocks, and the ship anchored safely in a little quiet creek, and the King landed and went up to the door of the tower and knocked. 

'Who's there?' said the Cat. 

'Me, ' said the King, just as you or I might have done. 

'You're late, ' said the Cat. 'I'm afraid you've lost your chance. '

'I took the first chance I got, ' said the King. 'Let me in, and let mesee her. '

He had been so busy all these years trying to find the bright whitelight of his dreams that he had not noticed that his hair had gone graylong ago. 

So the Cat let him in, and led him up the winding stair to the roomwhere the Princess, very quiet, lay on her white bed waiting for deathto come, for she was very tired. 

The old King stumbled across the bar of moonlight on the floor, flungdown a clanking wallet, and knelt by the bed in the deep shadow, saying:

'Oh, my dear own Princess, I have come at last. '

'Is it really you?' she said, and gave him her hands in the shadow. Ihoped it was Death's foot-step I heard coming up the winding stair. '

'Oh, did you hope for death, ' he cried, 'while I was coming to you?'

'You were long in coming, ' said she, 'and I was very tired. '

'My beautiful dear Princess, ' he said, 'you shall rest in my arms tillyou are not tired any more. '

'My beautiful King, ' she said, 'I am not tired any more now. '

And then the Cat came in with the lamp, and they looked in each other'seyes. 

Instead of the beautiful Princess of his dreams the King saw a white, withered woman whose piteous eyes met his in a look of longing love. ThePrincess saw a bent, white-haired man, but love was in his eyes. 

'_I_ don't mind. '

'_I_ don't mind. '

They both spoke together. And both thought they spoke the truth. But thetruth was that both were horribly disappointed. 

'Yet, all the same, ' said the King to himself, 'old and withered as sheis, she is more to me than the youngest and loveliest of all otherPrincesses. '

'I don't care if he _is_ gray, ' said the Princess to herself; 'whateverhe is, he's the only possible one. '

'Here's a pretty kettle of fish!' said the Cat. 'Why on earth didn't youcome before?'

'I came as soon as I could, ' said the King. 

The Cat, walking about the room in an agitated way, kicked against thewallet the King had dropped. 

'What's this, ' she said crossly, rubbing her toes, for the wallet washard, and she had hurt herself more than a little. 

'Oh, that, ' said the King--'that's just the steel bolts and hammers andthings that my resolves to find the Princess turned into when I failedand never did find her. I never could bear to throw them away; I had asort of feeling that they might be good for something, since they hurtme so much when they came to me. I thought perhaps I could batter downthe doors of the Princess's tower with them. '

'They're good for something better than that, ' said the Cat joyously. 

She went away, and the two heard her hammering away below. Presently shestaggered in with a great basket of white powder, and emptied it on thefloor; then she went away for more. 

The King helped her with the next basketful, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, for there were seven of them, and the heap of white powder stood up in the room as high as the King'smiddle. 

'That's powder of pearls, ' said the Cat proudly. 'Now, tell me, have youbeen a good King?'

'I have tried to be, ' said the white-haired King 'I was a workhouseboy, and then I was apprenticed to a magician, who taught me how to makepeople happy. There was a revolution just at the time when I was putinto the workhouse, and they had a Republic. And I worked my way up tillthey made me President. '

'What became of the King in that revolution?'

'There wasn't a King, only a Regent. They had him taught a trade, and heworked for his living. It was the worst punishment they could invent forhim. There was a Princess, too, but she was hidden by a magician. I sawher once when she was trying to run away. She asked me to run too--toher nurse----'

Here his eyes met the Princess's. 

'Oh, ' she said, 'that was you, was it?'

'Oh, ' said he, 'then that was you!'

And they looked long and lovingly in each other's faded eyes. 

'Hurry up, ' said the Cat impatiently; 'you were made President. Andthen----'

'Oh, why, then, ' said the King, 'they thought it wouldn't be any moredangerous or expensive to have a King than a President, and prettier atState shows--ermine, crown, and sceptre, and all that--prettier thanfrock-coat and spats. So I agreed. '

'And do your people love you?' the Cat asked. 

'I don't know, ' said the King simply; 'I love them----'

As he spoke there came a flutter and flicker of many thousand wings atthe closed casement. The Cat threw the window wide, and in swarmed acountless crowd of white pigeons. 

'These are the blessings of your people, ' said the Cat. 

The wings fluttered and flickered and fanned the heap of pearl dust onthe floor till it burst into flame, and the flame rose up high and whiteand clear. 

'Quick!' cried the Cat, 'walk through it. Lead her through. '

The old King gave his hand to his poor faded love, and raised her fromher couch, and together they passed through the clear fire made of herpatience and self-sacrifice, his high resolve, and the blessings of hispeople. And they came out of that fire on the other side. 

'Oh, love, how beautiful you are!' cried the King. 

'Oh, my King, your face is the face of all my dreams!' cried thePrincess. 

And they put their arms round each other and cried for joy, because nowthey were both young and beautiful again. 

The Cat cried for sympathy. 

'And now we shall live happy ever after, ' said the Princess, putting herother arm round the Cat. 'Dear pussy-nurse, do tell me, now it's allover, who you really are. '

'I give it up. Ask another, ' said the Cat. 

But as she spoke she went herself through the fire, and on the otherside came out--not one person, but eleven. She was, in fact, theProfessor, the nurse, the palace butler, footman, housemaid, parlourmaid, between-maid, boots, scullion, boy in buttons, as well asthe rescued cat--all rolled into one!

'But we only used one part of ourselves at a time, ' they all said withone voice, 'and I hope we were useful. '

'You were a darling, ' said the Princess--'darlings, I mean. But whoturned you all into exactly the pussy-nurse I wanted?'

'Oh, that was the Magician, ' said all the voices in unison; 'he was yourfairy-godfather, you know. '

'What has become of him?' asked the Princess, clinging to her lover'sarm. 

'He's been asleep all this time. It was the condition, the only way hegot leave to work the good magic for all of us, ' said the many voicesthat were one. 

'Let's go and wake him, ' said the King. 

So they all went. And when they woke the Magician, who was sleepingquietly in his own private room in the palace where the Princess hadonce lived, he sneezed seven times for pure joy, and then called forWelsh rabbit and baked Spanish onions for supper. 

'For after all these years of starvation, ' he said, 'I do really think Imay for once take a liberty with my digestion. '

So he had the supper he wanted; but the King and the Princess had rosesand lilies and wedding-cake, because they were married that veryevening. 

And when you have passed through exactly the sort of fire those two hadpassed through, you can never be old, or ugly, or unhappy again, sothose two are happy, and beautiful, and young to this very hour. 

THE WHITE HORSE

'Please, father, ' Diggory said, 'I want to go out and seek my fortune. '

'Seek your grandmother, ' said his father, but not unkindly. He wassmoking a pipe outside his cottage door, and he had a red-spottedhandkerchief over his head because of the flies. There were fliesthen, just the same as there are now, though it was a hundred years agoby the church clock. 

'I wasn't thinking of my grandmother, ' said Diggory; 'I was thinking ofmy Uncle Diggory. He was the third son of a woodcutter, just like I am, and he saw right enough that that's the sort that _has_ to go out andseek its fortune. And I'm getting on, father; I shall be twenty beforeyou know where you are. '

'You'll have to be twenty and more before I agree not to know where_you_ are, ' said his father. 'Your Uncle Diggory did well for himself, sure enough, and many a turkey and chine he's sent us atChristmas-time; but he started a-horseback, he did. He got the horsefrom _his_ Uncle Diggory, and he was a rover too. Now, if you went, you'd have to go on Shank's mare, and them that go a-foot comes backa-foot. '

'Will you let me go, then, if I can get a horse?' said Diggorycoaxingly. 'Do say yes, dad, and then I won't say another word about ittill I've got the horse. '

'Drat the lad--_yes_, then!' shouted the father. 

Diggory jumped up from the porch seat. 

'Then farewell home and hey for the road, ' cried he, 'for I've got thehorse, dad. My Uncle Diggory sent it to me this very day, and it's tiedup behind the lodge; white it is, and a red saddle and bridle fit for aKing. '

The woodcutter grumbled, but he was a woodcutter of honour, and havingsaid 'Yes, ' he had to stick to yes. 

So Diggory rode off on the white horse with the scarlet saddle, and allthe village turned out to see him go. He had on his best white smock, and he had never felt so fine in all his days. 

So he rode away. When he came to the round mound windmill he stopped, for there was Joyce taking in the clean clothes from the hedge, becauseit was Monday evening. 

He told her where he was going. 

'You might take me with you, ' she said. 'I'm not so very heavy but whatwe could both ride on that great big horse of yours. ' And she held up aface as sweet as a bunch of flowers. 

But Diggory said, 'No, my dear. Why, you little silly, girls can't go toseek their fortunes. You'd only be in my way! Wish me luck, child. '

So he rode on, and she folded up the linen all crooked, and damped itdown with her tears, so that it was quite ready for ironing. 

Diggory rode on, and on, and on. He rode through dewy evening, andthrough the cool black night, and right into the fresh-scented pinkypearly dawning. And when it was real live wide-awake morning, Diggoryfelt very thin and empty inside his smock, and he remembered that he hadhad nothing to eat since dinner-time yesterday, and then it was pork andgreens. 

He rode on, and he rode on, and by-and-by he came to a red brick wall, very strong and stout, with big buttresses and a stone coping. His horse(whom he had christened Invicta, and perhaps if he had known as muchLatin as you do he would have called him something different) was avery high horse indeed, and by standing up in his stirrups Diggory couldsee over the wall. And he saw that on the other side was an orchard fullof trees full of apples, red, and yellow, and green. He reined Invictain close under the wall and said, 'Woa, there! stand still, will 'e?'And he stood up on the broad saddle and made a jump and caught at thestone coping of the wall, and next moment he had hung by his hands anddropped into the orchard. And it was a very long drop indeed. For he hadquite made up his mind to take some of the apples. First, because he washungry, and, secondly, because boys _will_ take apples--in stories thatis, of course; _really_, they would never think of such a thing. 

With a practised eye, Diggory chose the tree with the fattest, rosiestapples on it. He climbed the tree, and had just settled himself astridea convenient bough when he heard a voice say: 'Hi! You up there!'

And, looking down, he saw a flat-faced old man with a red flannelwaistcoat standing under the tree looking up spitefully. 

'Good-morning, my fine fellow, ' said the old man. 'You seem a nicehonest lad, and I'm sorry for your sake that apple stealing's punishedso severely in these parts. '

'I've not had any apples yet, ' said Diggory. 'Look here, I'll go away ifyou like, and we'll say no more about it. '

'That's a handsome offer, very, ' said the nasty old man; 'but this is anenchanted orchard, and you can't go away without with your leave or byyour leave, as you came in. Why, you can't even get out of the tree--andas for climbing the wall, no one can do it without a white horse to helphim. So now where are you?'

Diggory knew very well where he was, and he tried at once to besomewhere else, but the old man was right. He could move all about thetree from branch to branch, but the tree felt wrong way up and he feltwrong way up; that is to say, he could not get to the ground except byjumping much harder than he knew how to, and then he knew he would onlyhave fallen back again, just as you would fall back if you jumped up tothe ceiling. He could have fallen off the tree the other way, of course, but then he would have fallen up into the sky, and there seemed to benothing there to stop his falling for ever and ever. So he held tightand looked at the old man. And Diggory thought he looked nastier thanever. 

So he said: 'Well?'

And the old man said: 'Not at all! However, since you had the sense notto fall off wrong way, I suppose you're the boy I want. Now, look here, you throw me down those ten big apples, one by one, so that I can catchthem, and I'll let you go out by the Apple Door that no one but me hasthe key of. '

'Why don't you pick them yourself?' Diggory asked. 

'I'm too old; you know very well that old men don't climb trees. Come, is it a bargain?'

'I don't know, ' said the boy; 'there are lots of apples you can reachwithout climbing. Why do you want these so particularly?'

As he spoke, he picked one of the apples and threw it up and caught it. I say up, but it was down instead, because of the apple-tree being sovery much enchanted. 

'Oh, _don't_!' the old man squeaked like a rat in a trap--'_don't_ dropit! Throw it down to me, you nasty slack-baked, smock-frocked son of aspeckled toad!'

Diggory's blood boiled at hearing his father called a toad. 

[Illustration: '"Take that, " cried he, aiming an apple at the old man'shead. '--Page 307. ]

'Take that!' cried he, aiming the apple at the old man's head. ' I wish Icould get out of this tree. '

The apple hit the old man's head and bounced on to the grass, and themoment that apple touched the ground Diggory found that he _could_ getout of the tree if he liked, for he felt that he was now the proper wayup once more, and so was the tree. 

'So, ' he said, 'these are wish-apples, are they?'

'No, no, no, no!' shrieked the old man so earnestly that Diggory knew hewas lying. 'I've just disenchanted you, that's all. You see, most peoplefall up out of the tree and you didn't, so I thought I'd let you go, because I'm a nice kind old man, I am, and I wouldn't so much as hurt afly. They aren't wish-apples, indeed they aren't. '

'Really, ' said Diggory. 'I wish you'd speak the truth. '

With that he picked the second apple and threw it. And the old man beganto speak the truth as hard as ever he could speak. It was like a childsaying a lesson it has just learned, and is afraid of forgetting beforeit can get it said. 

'I am a wicked magician. I have turned hundreds of people's heads inthat tree so that they fall into the sky, and when they fall back again, as they have to do when the tide turns, I make them into apple-trees. Idon't know why I do, but I like to. I suppose it's because I'm wicked. Inever did anything useful with my magic, but I can hurt. And there'sonly one way out of this, and I don't mean to show it you. '

'It's a pity you're so wicked, ' said Diggory. 'I wish you were good. '

He threw down another apple, and instantly the magician became so goodthat he could do nothing but sit down and cry to think how wicked he hadbeen. He was now perfectly useless. But Diggory was no longer afraid ofhim, so he gathered the ten apples that were left and put them insidehis shirt, and came down the tree. 

The old man couldn't tell him how to get out, and he couldn't disenchantthe fruit-trees or anything. So Diggory had to spend three wish-apples. First he spent one on making the old man happy. This was done as it isin Miss Edgeworth's stories--by giving him a thatched cottage and agarden, and a devoted grand-daughter to look after him. The next appleshowed Diggory the Apple Door, which he had not been able to find, andhe went out by it. You, of course, can find it on the map, but he had nomap, and, besides, it is spelt differently. Before he went out of theorchard he threw down another apple, and wished the apple-trees to bedisenchanted. And they were. And then the red-walled orchard was full ofKings and Princesses, and swineherds and goosegirls, and statesmen andstevedores, and every kind of person you can or can't think of. 

Diggory left them to find their own ways home--some of them lived everso long before, and ever so far away--and he himself went out by theApple Door, and found his good white horse, who had been eating grassvery happily all the time he had been in the company of the magician, and that had been two days and a night. 

So Invicta was not hungry, but Diggory was; and, in fact, he was sohungry that he had to use a wish-apple to get his supper, and that wasvery, very wasteful of him, and he often regretted it in after years. Itis true that he wished for the best supper in the world, and had it; butit was only bread-and-milk! If he had wished for the nicest supper itwould have been different, no doubt. 

Diggory rode on anxiously, arranging what wishes he should have withthe rest of the apples, but in the dusk he missed his way and was nearlydrowned in a rain-flooded ford, and poor white Invicta was quite carriedaway. 

Then Diggory took off his shirt to wring the water out, and as he tookit off he said: 'I wish I had my good white horse again. '

And as he said it all the apples but one tumbled out of his shirt on tothe ground, and he heard soft neighings and stampings and hustlings andrustlings all round him in the dark, and when the moon rose he saw thathe had had his wish--he had his good white horse back again. But as hehad dropped eight apples, he had his good white horse back eight times, and as eight times one is eight, he had now eight good white horses, allcalled Invicta. 

'Well, eight horses are better than nothing!' he said; and when he hadtethered the horses he went to sleep, for he felt strangely feeble andtired. 

In the morning he woke with pains in every limb. He thought it was acold from the wetting in the ford, but it was really rheumatism. And hecould not get rid of it. He tied seven horses together and led them, riding on the eighth. 

'Eight horses are a pretty good fortune for a woodcutter's son, ' he saidto himself, 'and, anyway, I'm too tired to go looking for any betterone. '

So he rode home. 

He knew the roads well enough, and yet they seemed different; they weremuch better roads to ride over, for one thing, and the hedges and treeswere odd somehow. And the big wood near his father's house seemed verysmall as he looked down on it from the hill. But when he got to thevillage he thought he must have gone mad, for in the day and two nightsand a day that he had been away the village had grown big and ugly andyellow-bricky, and there were eight shops and six public-houses besidesthe Bill and Billet, and many more people than there used to be, all inugly, untidy clothes, and the Round Mound windmill was _gone_! Thepeople came crowding round him. 

'What's become of the mill?' he asked, trembling all over. 

The boys and girls and men and women stared, and a very old man steppedout of the crowd. 

'It were pulled down, ' he said, 'when I were a boy. '

'And the woodcutter's cottage?'

'That were burnt down a matter of fifty year ago. Was you a native ofthese parts, old man?'

There was a large plate-glass shop-window just opposite the crowd thatsurrounded Diggory. A dark blind was pulled down inside, because it wasWednesday and early-closing day. This made a fine mirror, and Diggoryhappened to look in it, and there he saw himself--an old, oldwhite-haired man on a white horse. He had a white beard, too, but it wasquite short, because it had only had since bedtime last night to growin. 

He almost tumbled off his horse. The landlord of the Ship led him into sit by the fire in the bar parlour, and the eight horses were put upin the stable. 

The old man who had told him about the mill came and sat by him, andpoor old Diggory asked questions till he grew tired of hearing theanswer, which was always the same: 'Dead, dead, dead!'

Then he sat silent, and the people in the bar talked about his horses, and a young man said:

'I wish I'd got e'er a one on 'em. I'd do a tidy bit in fish, an' set upfor myself--so I would. '

'Young man, ' said Diggory, 'you may take one of them; its name isInvicta. '

The young man could hardly believe his fortunate ears. Diggory felt hisheart warm to think that he had made someone else so happy. He feltactually younger. And next morning he made up his mind to give away allthe horses but one. That one he would sell, and its price would keep himfor the rest of his life: he hoped that would not be long, for he didnot care to go on living now that he had seen the tombstones in thechurchyard with the names of his father and brothers and little Joyce ofthe mill. 

He led his horses away next day. He did not want to give them all awayin one village, because that would have lessened the value of his giftto the young man who was going into fish, and, besides, it would havebeen awkward to have so many horses of the same name in one village. 

He gave away a horse at each village he passed through, and with everyhorse he gave away he felt happier and lighter. And when he had givenaway the fourth his rheumatism went, and when he had given away theseventh his beard was gone. 

'Now, ' he said to himself, 'I will ride home and end my days in my ownvillage, and be buried with my own people. '

So he turned his horse's head towards home, and he felt so gay andlight-limbed he could hardly believe that he was really an old, old man. And he rode on. 

And at the end of the village he stopped and rubbed his eyes, for therestood the Round Mound windmill, and on the slope was Joyce, lookingprettier than ever in a russet petticoat and a white neckerchief and apink print gown with little red rosebuds on it. 

'Oh, Diggory, Diggory, ' she cried, 'you've come back, then! You'll takeme with you now, won't you?'

'Have you got a looking-glass, my dear?' said he. 'Then run in and fetchit. '

She ran. He took it and looked in it. And he saw the same young brownface and the same bright brown hair that he had always known for _him_, and he was not old any more. And there was Joyce holding up a face assweet as a bunch of flowers. 

'Will you take me?' said she. 

He stooped down and kissed the face that was so sweet. 

'I'll take you, ' said he. 

And as they went along to his home he told her all the story. 

'Well, but, ' she said, 'you've got one wish-apple left. '

'Why, so I have, ' said he; 'if I hadn't forgotten it!'

'We'll make that into the fortune you went out to find. Do, do let melook at it!'

He pulled out the apple, and she took it in her hand as she sat behindhim on the big white horse. 

'Yes, our fortune's made, ' he said; 'but I do wish I knew why I turnedold like that. '

Just then Invicta stumbled, and Joyce caught at her lover to saveherself from falling, and as she caught at him the apple slipped fromher hand and the last wish was granted. For as it bounced on the roadDiggory did know why he had grown old like that. He knew that themagician had arranged long before that every wish-apple that was usedoutside the orchard should add ten years to the wisher's age. So thatthe eight horses had made him a hundred years old, and the spell couldonly be undone by the wisher's giving away what he'd wished for. So thatit was Diggory's generosity in giving away the horses that had taken himback to the proper age for being happy in. I don't want to be moral, andI'm very sorry--but it really was that. 

He carried Joyce home to his father's house. They were much too pleasedwith each other to bother about the wasted wish-apples. 

'You're soon back, my son, ' said the woodcutter, laughing. 

'Yes, ' said Diggory. 

'Have you found your fortune?'

'Yes, ' said Diggory; 'here she is!'

And he presented Joyce. The woodcutter laughed more than ever, for themiller's daughter was a bit of an heiress. 

'Well, well!' he said. 

So they were married, and they had a little farm, and the white horsewas put to the plough, and to the cart, and the harrow, and the waggon;and he worked hard, and they worked hard, so that they all throve andwere very happy as long as ever they lived. 

Said Joyce one day to Diggory, 'How was it you wanted to take me withyou directly you came back, and when you were going away you didn't. '

'I've often wondered about that myself, ' he said; 'I think it must havebeen the bread-and-milk. You see, it was one of the wish-apple things, just like the horses were, only they were outside things, so they mademe old outside; but the bread-and milk----'

'Was an inside thing, of course--quite inside. '

'Yes, so it made me old inside of my mind, just old enough to have thesense to see that _you_ were all the fortune I wanted, and more than Ideserved. '

'I didn't have to be so very old to know what fortune _I_ wanted, ' saidJoyce, 'but, then, I was a girl. Boys are always much stupider thangirls, aren't they?'

 * * * * *

The only person in this story you are likely to have heard of is, ofcourse, Invicta, and he is better known as the White Horse of Kent. 

You can see pictures of him all over his county: on brewers circularsand all sorts of documents, and carved in stone on buildings, and evenon the disagreeable, insulting fronts of traction-engines. Traction-engines pretend to despise horses, but they carry the image ofthe White Horse on their hearts. And his name is generally putunderneath his picture, so that there shall be no mistake. 

SIR CHRISTOPHER COCKLESHELL

The children called him Sir Christopher Cockleshell. --'Sir, ' in token ofrespect for his gray hairs and noble-looking face; Christopher, becausehe had once carried Mabel across the road on a very muddy day, whenthunder showers and the parish water-carts had both been particularlybusy; and Cockleshell, because of the house he lived in. 

It was a most wonderful house--like the gateway of an old castle. It hada big arch in the middle and a window over the arch, and there werewindows, too, in the towers on each side of the arch. All along the topwere in-and-out battlements. It had been covered with white plasteronce, but flakes of this had fallen away and showed the pinky bricksunderneath. But the oddest thing about the house was the trimming thatran all round the bottom story about the height of a tall man. Thistrimming was of oyster-shells, and cockle-shells, and mussel-shells, and whelk-shells, and scallop-shells, all stuck on the wall of the housein patterns. It was a very wonderful house indeed, and the childrenalways tried to go past it on their way to everywhere. 

The children themselves lived in a large, square, ordinary brown-brickhouse among other ordinary brown-brick houses. Their house had a longgarden with tall old trees in it, and so had the other houses. Lookingout of the boxroom window was like looking down on the top of a greenforest, Phyllis always thought. Only now, of course, the trees were notgreen any more, because it was nearly Christmas. 

'I wish Sir Christopher had a garden to his house, ' Phyllis said one dayto the new housemaid. 

'There used to be a pleasure-gardens there, I've heard father tell, 'said the new housemaid. 'Quite a big gardens, it was. The gent as ownedit was as rich as rich, kep' his carriage and butlers and all. But whenhis son come into the property he sold the gardens for building on, andonly kep' the gate-house--the Grotto they calls it. An' there 'e's livedever since in quite a poor way. Nasty old miser, that's what he is!'

'He may be a miser, ' said Phyllis, 'but he's not nasty. He carried Mabelas kind as could be. '

'Have you ever spoke to him since?' demanded the housemaid. 

'No, ' said Phyllis; 'he always smiles at us, but he's always in ahurry. '

'That's it, ' said the housemaid; ''e's afraid to let anyone inside ofhis house, fear they should get to see all the sacks of money he's gotthere. And he pokes about and picks things outer the gutters, so hewon't get to know anyone. My young brother he knocked at the door onceto arst for a drink of water--thought he'd get a squint at the inside ofthe house while the old chap was gone to draw it. But he shuts the doorin Elf's face, and only opens it a crack to hand him the mug through. '

'It was kind of him to give your brother the water, ' said Phyllis. 

'Elf didun want the water, ' said Alf's sister; ''e'd just 'ad a lemonadeat the paper shop. '

Phyllis had often wanted to do something kind for Sir Christopher, butshe could not think of anything that wasn't just as likely to annoy himas to please him. If she had known when his birthday was, she would haveput a birthday card under his door; but no one can be pleased at havinga card with 'Bright be thy natal morn' on it when really the natal mornis quite a different date. She would have taken him flowers at the timewhen dahlias and sunflowers grew at the end of the garden, but perhapshe would not like the bother of putting them in water; and, if he wasreally poor, and not a miser, as Jane said, he might not have a vase orjug to put them in. 

And now it was Christmas-time. Guy was home for the holidays, and thatwas splendid. But, on the other hand, mother and father had had to go togranny, who was ill. So there would be no real Christmas in the brownhouse. 

'But I'll tell you what, ' said Phyllis; 'there's the Christmas-tree forthe poor children at the schools. Suppose we were to make some thingsfor that, and buy some, and go down and help decorate? Mother said wemight. '

Guy was rather clever with his fingers, and as we all like doing what wecan do really well, he did not make such a fuss over making things assome boys do. He could make doll's furniture out of pins and wool, andarmchairs out of the breast-bones of geese; only there are so seldomenough breast-bones of geese to make a complete set of furniture. 

There was nearly a week to make things in, and long before its end theschoolroom began to look like a bazaar. There were little boxes ofsweets covered with silver paper, and scrapbooks made of postcardscovered with red calico, and some little dolls that the girls dressed, as well as all the things that Guy made. 

'How ravishingly beautiful!' said Mabel, when the shiny, shimmery, realChristmas-tree things bought at the shop were spread out with theothers. 

The day before Christmas Eve the children were very happy indeed, although they had had to be made thoroughly tidy before Jane would allowthem to go down to the school; and being thoroughly tidy, as you know, often means a lot of soap in your eyes, and having your nails cleaned bysomeone who does not know as well as you do where the nail leaves offand the real you begins. 

They went to the side-door of the school, and left the baskets andbundles of pretty things in the porch and went in. 

The big tree was there, but it was just plain fir-tree so far, nothingChristmassy about it, except that it was planted in a tub. 

'How do you do?' said Guy politely to the stout lady in a bonnet withblack beads and a violet feather; 'I'm so glad we're in time. '

'What for?' said the stout lady. 'The tree's not till to-morrow. Runaway, little boy. '

'Oh, Mrs. Philkins, ' said Phyllis, 'he's not a little boy, he's Guy;don't you remember him?'

'I remember him in petticoats, ' said Mrs. Philkins: 'he's grown. Good-afternoon. '

'Mother said, ' said Guy, keeping his temper beautifully, 'that we mightcome and help. '

'Very kind of your mother to arrange it like that. But _I_ happen to bein charge of the tree, and I don't want any outside assistance. '

The children turned away without a word. When they got outside Guy said:

'I hate Mrs. Philkins!'

'We oughtn't to hate anybody, ' said Mabel. 

'She isn't anybody--at least, not anybody in particular, ' said Phyllis;'I heard father say so. '

'She wouldn't have been such a pig to us if she'd known what we'dbrought for the tree, ' said Phyllis. 

'I'm glad she didn't know. I wish we hadn't done the things at all, 'said Guy; 'it's always the way if you try to do good to others. '

'It _isn't_, ' said the others indignantly; 'you know it isn't. '

'That's right!' said Guy aggravatingly, 'let's begin to quarrel aboutit--_us_--that would just please her. Let's drop the whole lot into thecanal, and say no more about it. '

'Oh _no_!' cried both the girls together, clutching the precious parcelsthey carried. 

'But what's the good?' said Guy; 'we don't know anyone who's got aChristmas-tree to give them to. '

Phyllis stopped short on the pavement, struck motionless by an idea. 

'I know, ' she said: 'we'll have a tree of our very own. '

'What's the good if there's no one to see it?'

'We'll ask someone to see it. '

'Who?'

'Sir Christopher!'

The daring and romance of this idea charmed even Guy. But he thought itwould be better not to ask Sir Christopher to come to their house:'Servants are so odd, ' he said; 'they might be rude to him, orsomething. No; we'll get it ready, and we'll wheel it round after dark, and ask him to let us light it in his yard. Then he won't think we'retrying to pry into his house. '

Half an hour later Guy staggered in, bearing a fir-tree. 

'Only ninepence, ' he said; 'it's a bit lop-sided, but we can tie ivy onor something to make that right. I'm glad that old cat wouldn't let ushelp. It's much jollier like this. '

The tree was planted in a pot that a dead azalea had lived in; and Mrs. Philkins was quite forgotten in the joy of trimming their own tree. Besides the things they had made there were the lovely things they hadbought--stars and flags, and a sugar bird-cage with a yellow bird in it, and a glass boat with glass sails, and a blue china bird with a tail ofspun glass. 

Guy went out and borrowed a wheelbarrow from the gardener whocut their grass when it was cut, and when the tree was trimmed he andPhyllis carried it downstairs. The top branch with the star on it gotbanged against the banisters, and the side branch got into Guy's eye, and Phyllis's thumb got jammed between the pot and the banister rail. But what are trifles like these in an adventure like this?

They got the tree out of the front-door without being seen by theservants--a real triumph. They stood the pot in the barrow, and startedto wheel it out of the front-gate. But directly they lifted the handlesof the barrow the floor of it naturally ceased to be straight, and theflower-pot toppled over and cracked itself slightly against the side ofthe barrow, while the boughs of the tree, with their gay decorations, took the opportunity to entangle themselves in the bad-tempered leavesof the holly that stood there, and were disengaged with difficulty. 

Then the pot refused to stand up, and at last it had to be laid down inthe barrow, with its shiny treasures dangling over the front-wheel. 

Then, the barrow was extremely heavy even without the tree in it; andthe children did not go the nearest way to the Grotto, because they didnot want to meet people, so they were thoroughly tired and extremely hotby the time they approached Sir Christopher Cockleshell's castle. 

There was a bit of waste land close to it, where someone had once begunto build a house and had then thought better of it. A bit of thishouse's wall was standing on each side of the space where its front-doorwould have been if it had ever come to the point of having one. Theywheeled the barrow in, and the light of a street lamp that obliginglyshone through the door-space made it possible for them to disentanglethe little strings that had got twisted round each other, to disengagethe gilt fish from the sugar bird-cage, and to take the glass bird outof the goose-bone armchair in which it was trying to sit. Also they setup all the candles--six dozen of them. This is done with tin-tacks, asno doubt you know. 

'Now, ' said Guy, 'one of us must go and ask if he'll let us light it inhis yard, and one of us must wait here with the tree. '

'What about me?' said Mabel. 

'You can do which you like, ' said Guy. 

'I want to do both, ' said Mabel; 'I want to stay with the pretty tree, _and_ I want to go and ask him if he wants us. '

Mabel was still too small to understand thoroughly how hard it is, evenfor a grown-up person, to be in two places at once. 

It ended in Guy's staying with the tree. 

'In case of attacks by boys, ' he said. 

'Then I shall go with Phyllis, ' said Mabel. 

Both girls felt their hearts go quite pitter-pattery when at last theystood on the doorstep of the castle. 

'Why don't you knock?' Mabel asked. 

'I don't like to, ' said Phyllis. 

Mabel instantly knocked very loudly with a wooden ninepin-ball that shehappened to have in her pocket. 

'Oh, I _wish_ you hadn't!' said Phyllis; 'I wanted to think what to sayfirst, and now there's no time. '

There certainly was not. The door opened a cautious inch, and a voicesaid:

'Who's there?'

'It's us, ' said Phyllis, 'please. We don't want to pry into yourbeautiful house like Jane's brother Alf when he asked you for the drinkof water, only we've made up a Christmas-tree, and may we stand it inyour yard and light it--the candles, I mean?'

The door opened a little further, and a face looked out--the face, ofcourse, of Sir Christopher. All the house that showed through the crackof the door didn't, as Mabel said afterwards, show at all, because itwas pitch-dark. 

'I don't quite understand, ' said Sir Christopher gently. Phyllis was alittle surprised to find that the voice was what she called agentleman's voice. 

'We--you were so kind carrying Mab across the road that water-carty daywhen it thundered----'

'Oh, it's you, is it?' he said. 

'Yes, it's us; and they wouldn't let us help with the school tree, andso we made one of our own and then we wanted someone to see it. And wethought of you, because you don't seem to have many friends, and wethought---- But we'll take it home again if you don't care about it. '

She stopped, just on the right side of tears. 

'There's a glass bird with a spun-lovely tail, ' said Mabel persuasively, 'and sweets and fishes, and a crocodile that goes waggle-waddle when youwind him up. '

'My dears, ' said Sir Christopher, and cleared his throat. 'My dears, ' hebegan again, and again he stopped. 

'We'll go away if--if you'd rather, ' said Phyllis, and sniffedmiserably. 

'No, no!' he said; 'no, no--I was only thinking. I never thought--wouldyou like to bring the tree into the house? It's just the sort of thingmy little girl always liked. '

'Oh yes, ' said Phyllis; 'we'll go and fetch it now. '

He closed the door gently. The children flew back to Guy and the tree. 

'Oh, Guy! we've to take the tree inside the house! And he's got a littlegirl--at least, he says so. Come on, quick. We'd better carry it. Thebarrow's so heavy, and it does interfere so!'

They carried the pot between them. It was very heavy, and they had toput it down and rest several times. But at last they dumped it down inthe dark on the front-door step of the castle, and breathed deep breathsof fatigue, relief, and excitement. 

The door opened, and opened wide, and this time light streamed fromwithin. 

'Welcome!' said Sir Christopher. 'Come in. Let me help to lift it. Whata beautiful tree!'

'It is rather decent, isn't it?' said Guy dispassionately. 

Sir Christopher raised the pot, carried it in, and the door was shut. The children found themselves in a small square hall. A windingstaircase of iron corkscrewed upwards in one corner. The hall waslighted only by two candles. 

The old gentleman led the way through a door on the right into a roundroom with white walls. 

'We're inside the tower now, ' said Guy. 

'Yes, ' said their host, 'this is part of the tower. '

He hastily lighted a big lamp, and then a deep 'Oh!' broke from thechildren. For the walls were not white, they were all ofmother-of-pearl, and here and there all over the walls round pearlsshone with a starry, milky radiance. 

'How radishing!' said Mabel in a whisper. 'I always said he wasn't amiser. He's a magician. '

'What a lovely, lovely room!' sighed Phyllis. 

'What's it made of?' asked Guy downrightly. 

'Oyster-shells, ' said Sir Christopher, 'and pearl beads. '

And it was. 

'Oh!' said Mabel gaily, 'then that's what you go prowling about in dirtygutters for?'

'Don't be rude, Mab dear!' whispered Phyllis. 

But the old gentleman did not seem to mind. He just said, 'Yes, that'sit, ' in an absent sort of way. He seemed to be thinking about somethingelse. Then he said, 'The Christmas-tree. '

The children had forgotten all about the Christmas-tree. 

When its seventy-two candles were lighted the pearly room shone andglimmered like a fairy palace in a dream. 

'It's many a year since my little girl had such a Christmas-tree, ' hesaid. 'I don't know how to thank you. '

'Seeing your pearly halls is worth all the time and money, ' said Mabelheartily. 

And Phyllis added in polite haste:

'And you being pleased. '

'Would you like to see the black marble hall?' asked Sir Christopher. 

And, of course, they said, 'Yes, awfully. '

So he led them into the room on the other side of the hall, and lighteda lamp. And the room was like a room of black marble, carved into littleround knobs. 

'How lovely!' said Phyllis. 

'It's not lovely like the other, ' said Mabel; 'but it's more serious, like when the organ plays in church. '

'Why, ' said Guy suddenly, 'it's winkle-shells!'

And it was. Hundreds and thousands of winkle-shells sorted into sizesand stuck on the walls in patterns, and then, it seemed, polished orvarnished. 

'Come, ' said Sir Christopher, 'I'll show you the red-room. '

As they turned to go a tall, white figure by the door seemed to comesuddenly into the lamplight. It was covered with a sheet. 

'Oh!' said all three, starting back, 'what's that?'

'That's my little girl, ' he said. 

'Is she trying to frighten us? Is she playing ghosts?' asked Guy. 

'No, ' he said; 'she never plays at ghosts. It isn't her really. That'sonly my fun. It's a statue really. '

'Aren't statues very dear?' asked Guy. 

'Very, ' said Sir Christopher--'very, very dear. '

He led the way up the winding iron stair and showed them the red-room. Its walls were covered with bits of red lobster-shells, overlapping likea fish's scales or the plates of armour. 

'How resplendid!' said Mabel; 'I believe you're a mighty magician. '

'No, ' he said; 'at least--no, not exactly. There's only one more room. '

The other room was a bedroom, quite dull and plain, with whitewashedwalls and painted deal furniture. 

'I like the pearly halls best, ' said Mabel: 'they're more eloquent;' andthey all went down to the room where the seventy-two candles of theChristmas-tree were burning steadily and brightly, though there was noone to see them. 

'Won't you call your little girl?' said Phyllis. 'The candles won't lastso very long; they're the cheap kind. '

Sir Christopher twisted his fingers together. 

'It's no use calling her, 'he said. 'Would you mind--do you mind leavingthe tree for to-night? You could fetch it to-morrow. And you won't tellanyone about the inside of my house, will you? They'd only laugh at it. '

'I don't see how they could, ' said Mabel indignantly; 'it's thebeautifullest, gorgerest house that ever was. '

'But we won't tell anyone, ' said Guy. 'And we'll come againto-morrow--about the same time. '

Sir Christopher said, 'Yes, please. '

And they all shook hands with him and came away, leaving theChristmas-tree, with all its seventy-two candles, still making thepearly room a dream of fairy beauty. 

They ran all the way home, because it was rather late, and they did notwant the servants to fetch them from the parish schoolroom, where theyhad not spent the evening. It would have been very difficult to explainexactly where and how they _had_ spent it, and the fact that they hadpromised not to say anything about it would have added considerably tothe difficulty. 

When they had been let in, and had taken off their hats and jackets andgot their breaths, they looked at each other. 

'Well?' said Phyllis. 

'Yes, ' said Mabel; 'what an inciting adventure! What a dear he is! I dohope we shall see his little girl to-morrow. '

'Yes, ' said Guy slowly, 'but I don't think we shall. '

'Why ever not?'

'Because I don't believe he's got any little girl. We went into all therooms, and the hall and landing. There wasn't any other room for thelittle girl to be in. '

'Perhaps it was really her under the sheet, trying to be ghosts, ' saidPhyllis. 

'It was too high up, ' said Mabel. 

'She might have been standing on a stool, ' said Phyllis. 

'Well, ' said Guy, with a satisfied look; 'it's a very thrillingmystery. '

It was. And it gave them something to think of for the next few days. For that evening when they went to fetch the Christmas-tree, they foundthe door of Sir Christopher's castle tight shut, and theirChristmas-tree was standing alone on the doorstep in the dark. 

After vainly knocking several times, they put the tree into thewheelbarrow and got it home, only upsetting it three times by the way. 

When they got it into the light of their schoolroom they saw that therewas a piece of paper on it--a note. 

'My dears, ' it said, 'here is your beautiful tree. Thank you very much. If you knew how much pleasure it had given me you would be glad. Why notgive the tree to some poor child? Good-bye. God bless you!'

There were some letters tangled together at the bottom of the page. 

'His initials, I suppose, ' said Guy. But nobody could read them. 

'Anyway, it means he doesn't want to see us any more, ' said Phyllis. 'Oh, I do wish we knew something more about him. '

But they took his advice, and the tree went to the gardener's littleboy, who was ill. It made him almost forget his illness for days anddays. 

When father came home they asked him who lived in the Grotto. He toldthem. 

'He has lived there for years, ' he said. 'I have heard that when he cameinto his property he found that his property was almost all debts. So hesold the tea-gardens for building on, and has lived there in the Grottoon next to nothing, and all these years he's been paying off hisfather's creditors. I should think they're about paid off by now. '

'Has he a little girl?' asked Phyllis. 

'Yes--I believe so, ' said father absently. 

'It's very odd, ' Mabel was beginning, but the others silenced her. 

After this the children were more interested than ever in SirChristopher. They used to paint illuminated texts, and makepicture-frames of paper rosettes, and buy toys, and leave them on hisdoorstep in the dark, 'For the little girl, ' and as the spring cameon, bunches of flowers. 

It was one evening when Phyllis came to the castle with a big bunch ofplumy purple lilac. She was earlier than usual, and it was not quitedark, and--wonder of wonders--the door of the castle was open. Stillmore wonderful, Sir Christopher stood on the doorstep. 

'I was watching for you, ' he said. 'I had a sort of feeling you'd cometo-night. Will you come in?'

He led her into the black marble room and stood looking wistfully ather. 

'Would you like to see my little girl?' he said suddenly. 

'Yes, ' said Phyllis. 

'I didn't think you'd understand, ' he said, 'when you came at Christmas. But you've been so kind and faithful all these months. I think you willunderstand. Look!'

He pulled the sheet from the statue, and Phyllis looked on the whitelikeness of a little girl of her own age, dressed in a long gown like anightgown. 

'It is very beautiful, ' she said. 

'Yes, ' he said. 'Have you ever heard any tales about me?' he asked. 

'Yes, ' said Phyllis, and told him. 

'It's not true, ' he said. My father had no debts. But I married someonehe didn't like; and then I got ill, and couldn't work. My father wasvery hard. He wouldn't help us. My wife died, and then my father died, and all his great wealth came to me. Too late! too late! The letter thattold me I was rich came to me when I was sitting beside my dead child. The money came _then_--the money that would have saved her. The firstmoney I spent out of it all was spent on that statue. It was done as shelay dead. '

Phyllis looked at the statue, and felt--she didn't know why--veryfrightened. Then she looked at him, and she was not frightened any more. She ran to him and put her arms round him. 

'Oh, poor, poor, dear Sir Christopher!' she said. 

'That's how she looked when she was dead, ' he said; 'would you like tosee my ladybird as she was when she was alive and well, and I was astrong man able to work for her?'

'Yes--oh yes, ' said Phyllis. 

He led the way into the pearly room, and drew back a green curtain thathung there. Phyllis caught her breath sharply, and tears pricked hereyes. Not because the picture was a sad one--ah, no! not that!

As the curtain was withdrawn the figure of a child seemed to springtowards them from the canvas--a happy, laughing child, her arms full ofroses, her face full of health and beauty and the joy of life; a childwhose glad, unclouded eyes met Phyllis's in a free, joyous look. 

'Oh no!' cried Phyllis; 'she can't be dead--she _can't_!'

The old man took her in his arms, for she was crying bitterly. 

'Thank you--thank you, dear, ' he said, soothing her. 'Now I know thatyou are the right person to help me. '

'I? Help _you_?'

Phyllis's tears began to dry at the beautiful thought, but she stillsobbed. 

'Don't cry, ' he said, and gently drew the green curtain over the lovelylaughing face. 'Don't cry. I want to tell you of many things. When thatmoney came--I've told you when--as soon as I could see or think again, Isaw what I ought to do. Ever since I've not spent a penny of that moneyon myself--on anything but the plainest food, the plainest clothes. IfI've made the house beautiful for her picture to live in, it's been withmy own work. All the rest of the money has gone to help little girlswhose fathers can't work for them--little girls that can be saved, as mylittle girl could have been saved. That's the work I want you to carryon for me when you grow up. Will you promise?'

'Yes, ' said Phyllis; 'only I'm very stupid. '

'I will have you taught. You shall learn how to do my work. Ask yourfather to come and see me. And now, good-bye. Perhaps I shan't see youagain. Will you always remember that your Christmas-tree came to me likea light in a dark night to show me that there was someone still whocared to be kind.... Good-bye. '

Father, when he heard the story, almost thought that Phyllis wasdreaming. But he went to the Grotto, and when he came back his face wasvery sad. 

'It is a very great honour for you, Phyllis, ' he said gravely. 'Are yousure that you understand how much hard work it will mean?'

'I don't mind hard work, ' said Phyllis, 'if only I can do what hewants. '

So Phyllis is learning many things and preparing for the great work thathas so wonderfully come to her. I think she will do it well, because sheis not at all stupid really, and she has the gift of being sorry for sadpeople, and happy with happy ones. I think Sir Christopher chose well. 

Some distant relations of Sir Christopher's have tried to make out thathe was mad, and so couldn't do what he liked with his money. But whenthey took the matter to the judges to decide, hundreds and hundreds ofpeople he had been good to and helped broke the promise of secrecy thathe had always asked of them. And all England rang with the tale of hisgoodness, and of all the kind and clever things he had done for poorchildren all those long years, for the sake of his own little child. Andthe judges decided he was quite right to use his money in that way, andnot mad at all. So the tiresome relations got nothing but lawyers' billsfor their pains. 

Phyllis only saw Sir Christopher once again. He sent for her when he wasdying. They had moved his bed into the pearly room, and he lay facingthe green curtain. 

'If it seems too hard when the time comes, ' he said, 'you need not dothe work. Your father knows how to arrange that. '

'You needn't be afraid, ' said Phyllis; 'it's the most splendid chanceanyone ever had. '

'Kiss me, dear, ' he said, 'and then draw back the curtain. '

But before Phyllis's hand had touched the green curtain he sat up in thebed and held out his arms towards the picture. 

'Why, ladybird!' he cried, his face all alight with love and joy. 'Why, my little girl!'

MUSCADEL

Of course, there was a grand party when Princess Pandora came of age. The palace was hung with garlands of white roses, all the carpets weretaken up, and the floor of every room was covered close with green turfwith daisies in it, for in that country the cruel practice of rootingdaisies out of lawns with a spud was a crime. 

The Queen-mother had died when Pandora was a little baby, so now thePrincess had to be hostess, and to receive all the guests, and speak toeach one a little, and see that everyone had enough to eat and the rightsort of person to talk to. 

She did it all very nicely indeed, for she was a properly brought upPrincess and had been to a school for the daughters of monarchs only, where, every Wednesday evening, she and her school-fellows were taught'deportment, manners, and how to behave at Court. '

All the guests went away very pleased with her and with themselves, which is how people ought always to feel after a party. 

When they had all gone she went and curled up at the feet of her father, who had sunk back on his throne exhausted by his hospitable exertions. The two were quite alone, except for a particularly fine house-fly whohad settled on the back of the throne, just above the carved Royal arms. Of course, neither the King nor the Princess noticed such a little thingas a fly. 

'Well, daddy dear, ' said the Princess, 'did it go off all right? Did Ibehave prettily?'

'Ah!' said the King, 'you're a born Princess, my pet. Pretty face, pretty manners, good heart, good head. You're your dear mother overagain. And that reminds me----'

'Yes?' said the Princess. 

'When your mother died, ' said the King--and he sighed, though it wastwenty-one years to a day since he had lost his Queen-love--'I promisedher to lock up her apartments, and only to give the keys of them to youwhen you should be twenty-one. And now you _are_, so here are the keys, my precious. You've always wanted to explore the rooms in the southwing. Well, now you can. '

'How lovely!' cried the Princess, jumping up; 'won't you come too, daddy?'

'I'd rather not, dear, ' said the King, so sadly that Pandora at oncesaid:

'Well, then, _I_ won't either. I'll stay with you. '

But the King said 'No, ' and she had better take a housemaid or two withbrooms and dusters. 'The dust grows thick in twenty-one years, ' saidhe. 

But the Princess didn't want any of the palace housemaids to help her toexplore her mother's rooms. She went alone, holding up hercloth-of-silver train because of the dust. 

And the rooms that she unlocked with the six gold keys with pearls intheir handles were very dusty indeed. The windows were yellow with dust, so the Princess threw them all open. And then, even through the dust, she could see how beautiful the rooms were--far more beautiful even thanher own--and everyone had always said that hers were the most beautifulrooms in the seven kingdoms. She dusted the tops of a few of the tablesand cabinets with her lace handkerchief, so that she could just see howeverything was inlaid with ivory and jade and ebony and precious stones. 

Six of the keys--the pearly ones--opened six beautiful rooms, but theseventh had rubies in its handle, and it was a little, little key, notat all like a door-key; so Pandora looked about for a little keyholethat the key would fit, and at last she found a cabinet of ebony inlaidwith gold and red tortoiseshell, and the little seventh key just fittedthrough the opening of the gold lock-plate and into the keyhole. Pandoraturned the key and opened the cabinet. Inside the cabinet were sevenlittle drawers with gold handles set with rubies, like the key. 

Pandora pulled the drawers out one after the other. She was alone, except for the house-fly, who had followed her and now sat on the top ofthe cabinet door, watching her with all his hundreds of eyes. But no onenotices a fly. 

Five of the drawers contained jewels. The first was full of necklaces, the second held rings and brooches, the third had tiaras and chaplets, the fourth girdles, and the fifth bracelets, and they were all of themost beautiful jewels in the world--rubies, sapphires, emeralds, pearlsand diamonds, and opals, and many other stones that the Princess did noteven know the names of. 

In the sixth drawer was a dry brown wreath that fell to pieces asPandora lifted it. It had been jasmine once, and the Queen had wornit at her wedding. 

[Illustration: 'In the drawer was just one jewelled ring. It lay on awritten page. '--Page 347. ]

And in the seventh drawer was just one jewelled ring. It lay on awritten page. 

The Princess read the writing:

'This ring is for my son's wife, or for my daughter, if I have no son. It is the magic ring given thousands of years ago to a Queen of thiscountry. It has the power of changing the wearer into whatever shapes hechooses. But it has never been used, because the Kings of this countryhave always been so good and kind, and clever and beloved, that theirwives could never think of any change that would not be a change for theworse. There is only one thing in the world that this jewel cannot touchor change. And this is of all things in the world the most importantthing. '

Pandora kissed the written words and slipped the ring on to her finger. It was a wonderful stone, like a sapphire that had tried to change intoan opal, and stopped halfway. 

There was not a happier Princess living than Pandora. Yet she was notafraid of change. Girls are like this sometimes, and she was very youngfor her age. 

She stood looking at the ring and turning it on her finger, and the flywatched her with all its hundreds of eyes. 

Now, you will, perhaps, have guessed that this fly was not an ordinaryfly, and you are right. But if you think he was an enchanted Prince oranything of that sort you are wrong. The fly was simply the cleverestfly of all flies--someone must be the cleverest in any society, youknow--and he was just clever enough to like to be where the Princesswas, and to look at her beauty with all his hundreds of eyes. He wasclever enough to like this and to know that he liked it, but he was notclever enough to know why. 

So now, as the Princess stood fingering her ring and trying to make hermind up, he gave an interested buzz, and the Princess jumped. 

'Oh, ' she said, 'it's only a horrid fly! But it has wings. It must belovely to have wings. I wish I were a fairy no bigger than that fly. '

And instantly she and her silver-trained gown, and her silver shoes, andthe magic ring, and everything about her, grew suddenly small, till shewas just as big as the fly and no bigger, and that is flower-fairy size. Silver gauze wings grew out of her shoulders; she felt them unfoldingslowly, like a dragon-fly's wings when he first comes out of that dullbrown coat of his that hasn't any wing-parts. 

She gave a tiny shriek of joyous surprise, and fluttered out through theopen window and down across the marble terraces to the palaceflowergarden. The fly buzzed heavily after her. 

Pandora fluttered among roses and lilies on her bright, light, whitewings, but presently she was tired, because flying is much harder workthan you would think, especially when you have not been brought up to itfrom a child. So she looked about for a place to rest in, and saw nearher the cool pink cave of a foxglove flower. She alighted on its lip, folded her wings, and walked in on her little fairy feet. It was verypleasant inside the foxglove. The Princess sat down by a drop of dew, which was quite a pool to the tiny lady, and presently she took off herrings and laid them on the smooth floor of the pink cave, and began todabble her hands in the dew-pool. The fly had settled on the outer edgeof the flower, and watched her with all his hundreds of eyes. 

And now the dreadful thing happened. Pandora, her hands and face wetwith dew, suddenly saw the daylight darken at the entrance of herfoxglove cave. Then a black-winged monster, with hundreds and hundredsof eyes, came quickly towards her on its six legs. Pandora was veryfrightened, and squeezed herself close to the back of her cave. The flymoved on, and quickly picked up the magic ring, now so tiny that itfitted nicely on to one of its front feet. 

Next moment it had backed out of the foxglove, taking the ring with it, and had flown off, and the Princess was left alone. 

If she cried a little you can hardly blame her. You wait till you findyourself one million three hundred thousand two hundred and seventy-fourtimes as small as you usually are, with no means whatever of gettingback to your proper size, then you'll understand how the Princess felt. 

But she was a brave Princess; so she soon stopped crying, spread hergauzy wings, and flew across the garden and up over the marble terracesand in at the library window of the palace. 

The King was reading the account of the birthday-party in the eveningpaper, and he did not notice the Princess at all till she settled on hisear. Then he put up his hand to brush her away, for he thought she was afly. She dodged his hand and settled again, and shouted 'Papa!' into hisear as loud as ever she could. And the shout was no louder than afly's buzzing, but, as it was close to his ear, the King heard it verydistinctly. 

[Illustration: 'A black-winged monster, with hundreds and hundreds ofeyes. '--Page 350]

'Bless my soul!' said the King, sitting very bolt upright. 

'Don't move, daddy, ' said the tiny Princess, 'even if I tickle your earwith my wings. I found a magic jewel in one of dear mother's cabinets, and I made it turn me into a fairy, and now a horrid fly has buzzed offwith the jewel, and I can't get back to my right size. '

'I must be dreaming, ' said the King. 

'I wish you were--I mean I wish I was--but it's true. I'll settle onyour hand now, and you'll see. '

The King looked at the tiny winged thing--flower-fairy size--thatsettled on his hand. And he put on his spectacles and looked again. Andthen he got a magnifying-glass and looked through that. 

'Yes, ' he said, 'it certainly is you! What a thing to happen, and onyour birthday, too! Oh dear! oh dear!'

'It _is_ rather hard, daddy, ' said the poor Princess; 'but you are sowise and clever, you'll be able to get me back to my right size again. '

'My dear, ' said the King, 'I received a thorough commercial education, but I never learned magic. In fact, I doubt whether it is still taughteven at Oxford. '

'Daddy dear, 'said the Princess shyly, 'I've read a good many books aboutmagic--fairy-tales they're called, you know--and----'

'Yes, ' said the King, who saw at once what she meant. 'Of course, Ishall do that first thing. '

And next morning all the newspapers contained an advertisement:

 'Wanted, competent Prince to undo magic and restore Princesses to their right size. None but eldest sons need apply. The usual reward offered. Apply at the palace. '

'I think _that's_ a mistake, daddy, ' said the Princess; 'in the fairystories it's always the youngest son who makes everything come right. And people don't know their fairy history nowadays; they mayn't knowwhat the reward is. '

So the next day the advertisement was changed to:

 'Any sons of respectable monarchs may apply. The successful candidate will receive the Princess's hand in marriage. '

'It's all very well to put that in, ' said the Princess to herself, 'butif I don't like him I shan't marry him. I'll give him all my jewelsinstead. '

But all the Kings' sons in the world had forgotten their magic, if theyever knew any, and not one single Prince applied at the palace. 

So the Princess had to do the only possible thing--make the best of it. And she did it bravely. 

Now, when the fly, whose name, by the way, was Muscadel, flew off fromthe foxglove-bell with the magic jewel on his feathery foot, he flewstraight to the Princess's boudoir and settled down on his favouritespot, the corner of the frame of her mirror. And there he sat andwondered how he could best use the magic jewel. And he thought so hardthat he never noticed a large spider who spun a web right across thecorner where he sat, and when he spread his wings to assist hismeditations by a little exercise he was caught in the web. 

'Aha!' said the spider, smiling greedily. 

'Oh dear! oh dear!' said the fly. 

'How nice you look!' said the spider. 

Then very slowly and carefully she began to move towards him. 

'What a terrible thing it is to be a fly!' said he. 'I wish I was aspider. '

And, of course, instantly he was. He broke the web and scrambled downthe mirror, for he was still horribly frightened of the other spider. Hegot out of the window and down into the garden, and hid himself under aleaf of a burdock, which was there because the gardener was a lazyfellow and neglected his business. 

But it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Before Muscadel had gothis breath after the shock of that dreadful web he saw a slow, wrinkled-skinned creature, with bright yellow eyes, quite close to him. It was a toad, and he knew that toads eat spiders. 

'Oh, a spider's life isn't worth living!' he cried; 'I wish I was atoad. '

And, of course, he was, for the magic jewel was still on his front foot. 

Now that Muscadel was a toad he felt he should like to find a quiet dampplace to live in, so he crawled to the edge of the basin of the palacefountain. 

And when he had found a nice damp crack in the marble he squeezed in andstayed there for some days. But one day, when he went out for a breathof air and a woodlouse or two, a great beak clattered quite near him, and startled him so that he nearly jumped out of his toad's skin. 

The person with a beak was a stork, and Muscadel knew what the storkwanted. 

'Oh, a toad's life is a dog's life, ' said Muscadel; 'I wish I was astork. '

So he was a stork, and the magic jewel, grown bigger, was round hisright leg. 

It was fine to be a stork, and he did not envy even the golden eaglethat flew down to drink at the fountain. And when the eagle came withina yard or two of him he felt so large and brave that he said:

'Keep to your own side, will you? Where are you shoving to?'

The golden eagle, whose temper is very short, looked at him with evilgolden eyes, and said:

'You'll soon see where I am shoving to, ' and flew at him. 

Muscadel saw that he had made a mistake that might cost him his life. 

'Oh, what's the good of being a stork?' he said. 'I wish I was aneagle. '

And as soon as he was one he flew away, leaving the other eagle with itsbeak open in amazement, too much 'struck of a heap, ' as he told hiswife afterwards, to follow the new bird and finish off their quarrel inthe air. 

'Oh, how grand it is to be an eagle!' said Muscadel, sailing onwidespread wings; and just as he said it an arrow caught him under theleft wing. It hurt horribly. 'What a powerful thing an arrow is!' hesaid. 'Dear me, how it hurts! I wish I was an arrow. '

So he was one, but he was an arrow in the quiver of a very stupidbowman, who shot next day at a buzzard and missed it. So the arrow, which was Muscadel, lodged high in an oak-tree, and the stupid bowmancould not get it down again. 

'I don't like being a slave to a mere bow, ' said Muscadel; 'I'll be abow myself. '

But when he was a bow the archer who owned him hurt his bow-back so infitting him with a new string that he got very cross, and said:

'This is worse slavery than the other. I want to be an archer. '

So he was an archer. And as it happened he was one of the King'sarchers. The magic jewel was round his arm like a bracelet, and no onesaw it, for he kept it hidden up his arm under the sleeve of his buffcoat. 

Now that Muscadel was a man, of course, he read the newspapers, and inthem he saw the King's advertisement, which was still appearing everyday. 

'Dear me!' said Muscadel; 'of course the Princess couldn't get back toher right size when I had taken the magic jewel away. I never thought ofthat. Flies are thoughtless little things. And, by the way, taking thatjewel was stealing. Very wrong indeed. But I didn't know that when I wasa fly. So _I'm_ not a thief, and no more was the fly, because he didn'tknow any better. '

That evening he had a little talk with the captain of the King'sarchers, and in the morning the captain called on the King very earlyand said:

'Sire, there's a crack-brained chap among my archers who says he canmake the Princess her right size again. Of course, it's all tommy-rot, your Majesty, if I may be pardoned the expression, but I thought yourMajesty would like to know. '

'Oh, let him try, ' said the King wearily; 'it's something to findsomeone who even thinks he can do it. '

So next day Muscadel, the archer, put on his Sunday clothes and went upto the palace, and a great, red-faced, burly fellow he was. 

The King and all the Court were assembled to see the archer make thePrincess her own size again, though nobody believed he could do it. 

The King was on his throne, and Pandora, still flower-fairy size, wassitting on one of the carved gold flowers that adorned the throne'sright arm. 

The archer bowed to the King and the Court, and to the Princess, thoughhe could not see her. 

Then he looked round the crowded throne-room and said:

'Look here, your Majesty, this will never do. '

'Eh?' said the King. 

'Magic can't be done in this sort of public way. I must be left alonewith the Princess. No; I can't have anyone bothering round. Not evenyou, your Majesty. '

The King was rather offended, but the Princess got to his ear andwhispered, and then he gave the order for the throne-room to be cleared;and when that was done, he set the tiny Princess on the table, and wentaway himself and shut the door honourably behind him. 

[Illustration: "On the table stood the dazzling figure of a realfull-sized princess. "--Page 359. ]

Then the archer said:

'Little Princess, you can be made your right size again if you will dojust what I tell you. Do you promise?'

The Princess's little voice said, 'Yes. '

'Well, then, ' said the archer, 'I have got the jewel here that the flystole from you, and I will lend it to you, and you can wish yourselfPrincess-size again, and then you must give me back the jewel. '

'Why, the jewel was stolen! You've no right to it. I shall call theguard, ' said Pandora angrily. 

'They wouldn't hear you, little Princess, if you did call, ' said thearcher; 'but I'll call them for you if you like. Only you promised. '

'So I did, ' said the Princess. 'Well, lend me the jewel. '

He took it off his arm and laid it upon the table, and as soon as thePrincess touched it, it grew small, small, small, so that she could putit on her finger. Then she said:

'I wish I were my right size again!'

And the archer rubbed his eyes, for there on the table stood thedazzling figure of a real, full-sized Princess in a cloth-of-silvergown, and a face more beautiful than the morning. 

'Oh, how lovely you are!' he said, and gave her his hand to help herdown. 

She jumped lightly from the table and stood before him, laughing withjoy at being her own real right size once more. 

'Oh, thank you! thank you!' she cried; 'I must run and show my fatherthis very minute. '

'The jewel?' said the archer. 

'Oh!' said Pandora. 'Well, yes, I did promise, but--well, I'm a Princessof my word. Here it is. '

She held it out, but he did not take it. 

'You may keep it for ever and ever, Princess dear, ' he said, 'if youwill only marry me. '

'Oh, I can't!' she cried. 'I'm never going to marry anyone unless I lovehim more than all the world. '

'I feel as if I'd loved you all my lives, ' said Muscadel--'all my life, I mean. Couldn't you wish to love me?'

'I don't think I want to, ' said the Princess doubtfully. 

'Then I must have the jewel. I'll find some way yet of making you loveme, and then you shall have it for ever and ever. '

'If I loved you, ' said she, 'I suppose I shouldn't mind your having redhair, and a red face, and red ears, and red hands, should I?'

'Not a bit, ' said the archer cheerfully. 

She stood there, twisting the magic jewel round and round on her Royalfinger. 

'I suppose it's more important than anything else to love someone?' shesaid. 

'Much, ' said he. 

'Well, then, ' said she, 'but are you the sort of person I ought tolove?'

'No, ' said he, 'I'm not half good enough for you. But then nobody is. '

'That's nice of you, anyhow, ' she said. 'I'll do it. I wish I lovedyou!'

There was a silence. Then Pandora said:

'Nothing's happened. I don't love you. I feel just the same as usual. Your hair, and hands, and face, and ears are redder than ever. You'llexcuse my candour, won't you?'

'Then there's nothing for it but for me to wish not to love you, ' saidMuscadel, 'for I really can't bear loving you to this desperate degreewhen you don't care a snap of your Royal fingers for me. Lend me thejewel a moment. You shall have it back. If you don't care for me, Idon't want to care for anything. I'll live and die a red-faced, red-eared, red-haired, red-handed archer, so I will. '

The Princess lent him the jewel, and he wished and waited. Then, 'It'sno good, ' he said; 'I adore you as much as ever--more, if possible. '

'Ah, I see, ' said the Princess; 'there _is_ one thing that the magicring won't touch. I suppose that's love. How funny!'

'I don't think it's funny at all, ' said he. 'I suppose really it'sbecause you're not the sort of person that could love the sort of personI am. '

'Well, then, ' said she, 'I'll wish I was the sort of person who _could_. I won't be made a silly of by a stupid magic jewel. Only let me call myfather, because goodness knows what sort of person the person who couldlove you would be like. _I_ can't imagine anyone who could!'

'You may be as cruel as you like now, ' said Muscadel, 'if only somehowor other you'll get to love me afterwards. I will call the King. '

So he went to the door and shouted:

'Hi, your Majesty! Step this way for a moment, will you, please?'

And His Majesty stepped. 

'Look here, daddy, ' said the Princess, 'I'm real Princess size again, sogive me a kiss!'

[Illustration: 'A blowzy, frowzy dairymaid. ' Page 363. ]

When this was done she said very quickly, and before the King could stopher:

'I wish I was the kind of person that could love this archer. '

And then and there, before the horrified eyes of the other two, thePrincess turned into the kind of person who could love the archer. 

'Bless my soul and body!' said the King, turning purple. 

'Oh, my heart!' said Muscadel, turning white. 

For the kind of person the Princess had changed into was a blowzy, frowzy dairymaid, with oily black hair and shining red cheeks, andlittle black eyes like the currant eyes in gingerbread pigs. Her handswere fat and red, and her feet would not bear looking at for a moment. 

'Good old Muscadel!' said the dairymaid that Pandora had turned into;'now we'll be married and live as happy as two mice in a cheese!'

'Never in this world!' cried Muscadel, snatching the ring from her hand, which was not manners, but we must remember that he was very much upset. He snatched the ring, and he rushed out of the room and out of thepalace, and when he got to the archers' quarters he flung himself facedown among the rushes on the floor, and lay there till his comradesbegan to mock him and even to kick him as he lay; and then he got up andfought them with his red fists, one down, t'other come on, till seven ofthem had owned that they did not want any more. 

'Oh dear! oh dear!' said the King in his palace; 'I'd rather have hadyou flower-fairy size for life than like this! We must get back thejewel and make you into your old self. '

'Not a bit of it, ' said the dairymaid Princess. 'I never was so happy inmy life. I love that lovely archer, and if I'm a Princess you can orderhim to marry me, and he'll have to. '

'Lackaday!' said the King. 'Dairymaids don't seem to love likePrincesses do. '

'I dare say not, ' said she, 'but we know our own minds. I tell you I'mhappy, governor, and I'll stay as I am. '

The dairymaid Princess called for cold pork and cheese and beer, and, having had quite enough of all three, she went to bed in the Princess'sgreen and white bedroom. 

Now, when all the archers had gone to sleep poor Muscadel stole out andwandered through the palace gardens, and looked at the white fountainsrising and falling in the moonlight. He saw the white lilies sleepingstanding up, just like real live sentinels. He saw the white pea-cocksroosting in the yew-trees, and the white swans cuddled up among thereeds by the lake. He went hither and thither through the cold whitebeauty of the night, and he thought and thought, but he could not thinkany thought that was worth the trouble of thinking. 

And at last he sat down on a marble bench and very nearly wished that hewere dead. Not quite, of course, because people very seldom do that; andif he had there would have been an end to this story. 

The silence and the moonlight soothed him; his poor brain felt clearerand brighter, and at last he had the sense to say, without at allknowing that he was saying anything sensible, 'I wish I was clever. '

And instantly he was. 

The change was so great, so sudden, and so violent that it nearly chokedhim. He drew two or three difficult breaths, and then he said:

'Oh, I see! How stupid of me! I wish I were the kind of person the realPrincess could love. '

And he felt his body change. He grew thinner, and his face seemed togrow a different shape. He hastened to the lake and leaned over it, andsaw by the moonlight the reflection of his own face in the water. It wasnot particularly handsome, but he was not ashamed of the deep-set eyes, largish nose, and firm lips and chin. 

'So that's the sort of man she could love!' he said, and went home tobed like a sensible person. 

Early in the morning he went out into the palace garden, and it was notall gray and white, as it had been the night before, with moonlight andwhite lilies, but gold and red, with sunshine and roses, and hollyhocksand carnations. 

He went and waited under the Princess's window, for he had grown cleverenough to know that the Princess, since she was now a dairymaid, wouldbe awake betimes. And sure enough the green silk curtains were presentlydrawn back, and the drowsy, blowzy, frowzy face of the dairymaid lookedout. 

'Halloa!' she said to Muscadel, among the roses, 'what are _you_ up to?'

'I am the archer you love, ' said Muscadel, among the roses. 

'Not you, ' she said. 

'But indeed!' said he. 

[Illustration: '"You've got a face as long as a fiddle. "'--Page 367. ]

'Lawks!' said the dairymaid. 

'Don't you love me like this?' said Muscadel. 

'Not a bit, ' said she; 'go along, do! You've got a face as long as afiddle, and I never could abide black hair. '

'I'm going to stay like this, ' said he. 

'Then what's to become of me?' she asked, and waited for an answer withher mouth half open. 

'I'll tell you, ' said Muscadel. 'You can stay as you are all your life, and go on loving an archer who isn't anywhere at all, or I'll lend youthe magic jewel, and then you can change back into the Princess. Andwhen you're the Princess, you'll love me ever so much more than you everloved the archer. '

'Humph!' said the dairymaid, fingering the Princess's pearl necklace. 'Well, if my dear archer really isn't any more, anywhere---- As you say, the really important thing is to love someone. ' Although she was a sillydairymaid she had the sense to see that. 'Give me the jewel, ' she said. 

He threw it up, and she caught it overhand, put it on, and said:

'I wish I was the Princess again. '

And there was the Princess leaning out of the window and covering herface with her hands. 

'Look at me, ' said Muscadel; 'am I the sort of person you could love?'

'I don't know, ' said Pandora, peeping at him between her rosyfinger-tips. 'You had better ask papa. '

'I'd rather ask you, ' said Muscadel, as he climbed up the palace ivy andleaned in at her window-sill to ask her. 

And she leaned out to answer him. 

 * * * * *

They were married the very next day, and everyone in the kingdom, richand poor, had roast beef and plum-pudding for dinner. 

And as soon as the wedding was over, Muscadel and his bride went down tothe lake, and he threw the magic jewel far, far out. It gleamed redly asit flew through the sunlit air and with a tiny splash sank in the lake, and there it is to this day. You might try to find it one of these dayswhen you have nothing better to do. I dare say you often feel that youwould like to change from what you are into something else, and, foranything I know, it might be a very good thing for you, and for the restof the world. 

But Pandora and Muscadel were so happy at belonging to each other thatthey never wished to change at all, so they did not want the magic ring, and that is why they threw it away. For, as all good housekeepers know, it is very foolish to keep useless things about--just to litter thehouse up. 

THE END

PHOTOGRAPHED AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAINBY BUTLER AND TANNER LIMITEDFROME AND LONDON