"Oh, lessons!"
Dreamikins brought down her uninjured leg and foot with a stamp upon the carpet, and tears filled her blue eyes.
"It's always trying and especking and not getting. I do think it might happen easy and comfortable for Michael and us. I wish I could grow and swell up into a grown-up person quick, and then I'd just go and get everything done in one day."
"But, my poor little impatient Dreamikins, don't you know we can't all get our good deeds into one day and be finished with them? They must last our lifetime. And it is not doing a thing once that tells; it's doing it continually."
Dreamikins shook her curly head sadly.
"I always did hate that word contin'lly. It means go on, and on, and on, doesn't it? I like to go on, and then stop and do somefing different."
"So you do. And we've had enough of this sober talk. Get me my baccy-jar over there; I'm going to smoke a pipe. Will you fill it for me? And then I'll show you a picture I've been drawing this morning."
Dreamikins was her sunshiny self at once. Not again that day did she mention Michael, or the prison into which she was wanting to put him.
But the next morning she pushed her way into her uncle's room very early.
"Fibo, when I was in bed this morning, Er told me of all the people he had got out of prison. Don't you remember Peter in prison? One of God's angels got him out. Er thinks if him and me goes together we'll get Michael out very quick. It wouldn't hurt him to be in prison a teeny weeny little bit if I comed quick and let him out. So it won't be wicked to wish him there for about half an hour."
Fibo judged it best not to take his small niece seriously. He refused to be drawn into any arguments, and would only talk nonsense, distracting her mind at once from the undesirable subject.
When Dreamikins met her governess a little later, she said:
"Fibo and me have been having such pretence games in his room that I feel quite tarred. He's the funniest man in the world. He's been turning his face into all kinds of things—a H.D., and a P.D., and a A.O., and into you!"
"Into me?" said the astonished Miss Fletcher.
"Yes, into the M.R.P. That's what you are."
"I never shall understand all your letters," said Miss Fletcher pleasantly.
And then Daffy enlightened her.
"H.D. means Haughty Dragon, and P.D. means Proud Dog, and A.O. means Angry Ogre, and M.R.P. means the Mighty Ruling Power!"
"Well," said Miss Fletcher decidedly, "the M.R.P. says lessons at once, and no more talking, and as Dreamikins has been laughing till she is tired, it will rest her to have a grave face for the rest of the morning."
Nothing put Miss Fletcher out. She was always pleasant, but always firm; and Dreamikins as well as Freda and Daffy had already learnt the meaning of that long word "discipline" in the schoolroom.
The Prisoner
MICHAEL DUNN did get sent to prison for a month. It was by no means his first offence, and I cannot say that the little girls were really sorry for it. They all determined to go and see him. Freda was the one who planned how they should do it. She thought if she went to his mother she could coax her into taking them with her when she went. Jane, who knew everybody, told Freda and Daffy all about the lad's mother. She said her husband had been a bad lot, and the son was taking after him. Mrs. Dunn had been a widow for some years. One afternoon when out with Jane they met Mrs. Dunn, and Jane stopped to speak to her. It was Freda's opportunity; but she was bitterly disappointed when she heard that Michael would be allowed no visitors, and even his mother could not go and see him. When next they met Dreamikins they told her this. She was quite overcome by the bad news.
"But we must see him! It must be allowed. It is what God wishes. We must do somefing at once."
It was after lesson-time, just before Freda and Daffy went home, that they were discussing the question. Dreamikins dashed into her uncle's study, dragging her little friends after her.
"Oh, Fibo, Fibo! It's a shame! It seemed as if everyfing was coming true, and we were really going to do it! It's the only differcult thing we can't manage ourselves; and it was getting easy, and now it's all no good, and they won't let us see him. It's no good, we shall never be the sheep; we shall end by being goats, all because we couldn't get in."
"What is it all about?" asked Fibo mildly.
Dreamikins' eyes were full of tears; she was clenching her hands, as she did when she was much distressed. Freda and Daffy's faces were miserable as they stood each side of her.
"It's Michael," explained Freda. "We thought we could go to see him, and even his mother can't."
Dreamikins climbed upon her uncle's knees and clasped him firmly round his neck, then, resting her tear-stained cheek against his, she went on:
"You are the only hope we have, Fibo dear, the only hope! You're grown-up, and we feel you'll help us, won't you? We really must be helped. It will all be no good if we can't get into Michael's prison. And Er, Fibo,—" here she lifted her head and gazed into his eyes gravely,—"Er has been telling me it's nuffing to get into prison, and God likes people to be visited, and God will show you how to get us in."
"Oh, Fibo, do," pleaded Freda; and Daffy came up to his chair, and took hold of one of his hands and kissed it. "Do, do, do something to help us."
"Upon my word," said Fibo, shaking his head at them, "you take my breath away. I am not the governor of the prison, or the chaplain, or a prison visitor."
"Then there is a prison visitor?" said Freda eagerly. "Why can't we be prison visitors? The Bible says we are to be."
Fibo's kind heart was touched with the children's distress. He told them to be quite quiet while he put on his thinking cap, and they watched him eagerly, and anxiously, and silently, with big eyes and open mouths.
Then at last he said:
"Well, nothing venture, nothing have! The prison chaplain is a friend of mine, and I'll write to him and ask him if he could smuggle us in one day. I doubt if he can do it—but still there's a chance; only he will say there are too many of us."
"No, no," cried Dreamikins; "we'll squeeze in behind, very small. I couldn't possibly be dis'pointed, and Freda and Daffy couldn't. You see, we all are working so hard, and we can all go in the pony-carriage. Oh, Fibo dear, it will be lovally!"
"It will be heavenly!" exclaimed Freda; and Daffy began to dance up and down upon her toes.
"Now I do pray and beseech you," said Fibo imploringly, "not to be laying up another disappointment in store for yourselves. It's a very difficult undertaking, and if you young creatures had not such wheedling ways of creeping into my heart and upsetting everything there, I shouldn't attempt improbabilities. You must give me time, and you mustn't worry and wear me to fiddlestrings because I can't settle it all up in a minute! Run along, and when the door is tightly shut, and your voices out of ear reach, I may be able to take up my pen and write a letter."
The little girls obediently left the room. Freda and Daffy had to go home, but Dreamikins said hopefully:
"Fibo will do it. He's a wunnerful man."
"Yes," said Freda; "and we feel God is on our side, and we'll ask Him in our prayers to-night to help that chaplain to say 'Yes.'"
"Oh, I shan't wait till to-night! I'll ask God now," said Dreamikins. She astonished Freda and Daffy by suddenly falling down on the grass in the garden, and putting her hands over her face, and her face on the ground. Freda and Daffy watched her in silence. She jumped up in about two minutes.
"I've done it."
"We never say our prayers in the daytime," said Daffy.
"And never flat on the ground," said Freda.
"Oh, I do," said Dreamikins, nodding her curls at them. "I always ask God things d'reckly I think of them; and I saw pictures of people in India who pray like that, and so I do it too, and Er says it's a good thing to do, because the Bible always likes you to be low down; and sometimes I hit my chest like the Publican. That's a good thing to do too!"
They could only stare. Dreamikins' statements always interested them. But they both added a fervent petition to God at the end of their prayers that night:
"Oh, please, God, let us go and see Michael in prison."
Two days afterwards, Fibo was able to tell the children that the chaplain, a Mr. Horner, had asked them all to come to tea with him in the prison, and then he would manage that they should see Michael.
This caused great excitement. To have tea in a prison was an entertainment indeed! Everything seemed to work smoothly. Mrs. Harrington gave her permission for them to go, and one bright afternoon Freda and Daffy started off for the Dower House. They found the little pony-carriage waiting at the door, and it was three very happy little girls who drove off a few minutes later. Fibo drove. He would not allow Dreamikins to touch the reins this afternoon; but she was so full of joy at going to the prison that she could think and talk of nothing else. They were disappointed, when they got to the chaplain's rooms, to find them much the same as other people's rooms.
"We thoughted you would be in a stone room with high windows and bars," said Dreamikins to the young man.
He laughed.
"But why put me in prison? I don't quite deserve it, do I?"
"But you live in a prison," said Dreamikins.
Neither she nor her little friends could quite understand it. They sat at a big table and enjoyed their tea; and while they were eating cake and bread-and-butter, Mr. Horner heard why they were so anxious to see Michael.
"We're fond of poor Michael," said Dreamikins softly; "but we aren't coming just to see him because we love him, but because we want to be able to tell Jesus we've done it when He's counting out His sheep and goats."
And Mr. Horner nodded, and seemed to quite understand almost as well as Fibo did.
"I'm sorry for the boy," he said. "His sentence was a bit hard, I think; but he comes of a bad stock, and I think that told against him. I've told the warder to expect us after tea."
So, after tea, they followed Mr. Hornet through a baize door and down a long corridor; and then a warder came forward. He had keys in his hand, and took them on farther to a little room nearly at the end of the passage. He unlocked the door, and there was Michael. He had been having his tea, but the little girls heard that he had been working at some post office bags before. Now he stood up, with hanging head and sullen face.
Dreamikins looked at the cell with interested eyes, and then sidled up to Michael's side.
"Poor Michael!" she said, in a soft whisper, slipping her little hand into his. "I've got a angel with me, do you know!—very nice he is, and I did hope him and me togever could get you out of prison; but Fibo said 'No,' nobody could do it without breaking the law. Are you very mis'able here, dear Michael?"
The lad turned his face sharply away from her, and drew the cuff of his sleeve across his eyes.
Dreamikins kept tight hold of one of his hands, and bent her head forward coaxingly.
"Never mind, dear Michael. You won't never do it again, will you? And you can be quite happy in prison, you know. Some of the Bible people sang hymns, and made quite a noise. I forget their names. And God always comes to people in prisons. And I'm so very glad we've comed here, for do you know that Jesus says we're visiting Him if we visit you? Fancy that! You're instead of Him! I can't quite explain it. And Shylock misses you so much. He looks round every day to see when you're coming back. And he sent you his love and a kiss, and somefing very nice. It's here in this embelope. It's a lock of his hair. I cut it off myself. Won't you like to have it?"
Michael's great fingers closed on the packet, and the sullen boy choked down a sob. He suddenly realised how much he had lost and thrown away. Then Fibo called to Dreamikins. The others were standing in the passage; for Mr. Horner said each of the little girls might go in alone. Dreamikins stretched up on tiptoe, and put her arms round Michael's neck as she kissed him for a good-bye.
The Freda and Daffy stole forward softly, hand in hand.
"You don't mind us coming to see you, Michael, do you?" said Freda. "You see, Daffy and me and Dreamikins are all very sorry for you, and we wanted to bring you some chocs; but Fibo said it wouldn't be allowed. Are they very cruel to you in prison?"
He shook his head. Daffy patted him on the arm caressingly.
"We've been talking about you every day, and it's Fibo who's got us in to see you. Your mother wants to come, and they won't let her. Would you like to send a message to her, Michael? We'll take it."
"Tell her I'll be honest when I comes out," said Michael gruffly.
Daffy nodded, and Freda said:
"We would have come long ago if we could, for it's the one thing God likes people to do, only grown-up people don't seem to believe it. I suppose God is very fond of any one in prison. He tells us we must go and see prisoners, and so we've come. Good-bye, Michael. And, do you know, we've come in the pony-carriage."
"And Shylock is outside," said Daffy; "wouldn't you like to have seen him? Wouldn't it have been funny if he had come after us, and poked his head inside the door to see you?"
She laughed gleefully, and Michael smiled. Then they were called away, and Fibo stepped forward.
"Your chaplain has allowed this visit, Michael, otherwise we could not have come. It is very good of him to have managed it for us. This is a sad pull-up to you, my boy; but be a good lad, and make a fresh start when you come out, and I'll see what I can do for you."
A few minutes after they were all getting into the pony-carriage again, and thanking Mr. Horner for his kindness.
"You have helped these small people to realise one of their ideals, Horner," said Fibo, as he shook hands with him.
Mr. Horner nodded.
"I wish we were more like them," he said, and as his eyes met Fibo's, they both smiled, for they understood each other very well.
Dreamikins was very quiet when she got into the carriage. She had a rapt smile about her face. Presently she looked across at Freda and Daffy.
"We've done it nearly all now, and very soon we shall be quite, quite ready to die."
"Oh, I don't know," Freda said doubtfully. "I don't feel like that at all. I want to live and grow up and do wonderful things, much more wonderful than what we've done to-day."
"I was very disappointed in the prison," said Daffy. "I thought there would be chains, and stone pillars, and darkness all underground. It wasn't very awful after all, and Michael was in quite a nice room."
"You did not expect to find him in a Roman dungeon," said Fibo, "did you? And our prisons do have worse cells than the one we saw this afternoon. But Michael is not a desperate criminal, and I think the confinement quite enough punishment for him. I hope it will be the making of him."
"Well," said Freda, "Daffy and me have done everything the Bible tells us, and now we're free to be as naughty as we like!"
"Oh dear!" sighed Dreamikins. "I must go and see somebody sick to-morrow, and then I'll be free too. But we haven't really clothed the naked, have we?"
"We shall, when Miss Fletcher gives our frocks away to the ragged children; and we've nearly finished them."
"I should rather like to fasten the frocks on them myself," said Dreamikins. "I'll ask Miss Fletcher to-morrow morning."
Fibo let the children talk freely without interrupting them. He did not want them to feel that he was always correcting them. But when Freda and Daffy said good-bye that afternoon and thanked him prettily for having taken them, he said with a smile:
"Don't think that our visit to Michael has made us all quite perfect, will you? We have a lot to learn, and a good deal of fighting against our three enemies."
"Which are they?" asked Daffy.
"The world, the flesh, and the devil."
"Oh, that's the catechism," said Freda indifferently. "Nurse is very fond of that. Daffy and me don't like it. We really don't, Fibo. It has such long names."
But Dreamikins bent forward, eager interest in her eyes.
"I like enemies. Er will help me to fight them. He's made the devil run away from him lots of times. Tell us more, Fibo."
"Not now. Some other time."
The children separated. Freda and Daffy had a good deal to tell Nurse when they got back to their nursery.
She shook her head.
"Folks say that Captain Arnold is very soft-hearted. 'Tis encouraging that wicked young thief to go and see him; but I do believe you children can twist the Captain round your fingers."
"Dreamikins can," said Daffy. "Fibo adores her, and she adores him."
"And I adore them both," said Freda quickly. "They're simply perfect!"
When they met Miss Fletcher the next morning they told her of their visit, and she listened with more sympathy and interest than Nurse had done.
Then Dreamikins said:
"And now we must make haste and clothe the naked children, but I'm wanting to put the frocks on them myself, Miss Fletcher. I think God would like us to."
Miss Fletcher shook her head.
"I'm going to send these to my sister in London. She's a nurse, and works in the East End; but I'll ask her to write and tell us all about it when she has given the frocks away. The next thing we must make are some flannel petticoats, for winter is coming on. You will be busy for a long time."
"We needn't be," said Freda; "if we've done it once, it's enough."
Miss Fletcher knew the Bible story well that they were trying to act out. She shook her head.
"You haven't any of you understood that rightly," she said. "The people whom our Lord commended were those who made all those things a part of their lives. They were always thinking of others and doing things for others, not just when they felt inclined. And if you keep your eyes open to help when help is needed, that will be doing what God wishes. But none of us can ever sit down and say our work is done."
"How very tiring!" said Freda.
"Er says we shan't work in heaven," Dreamikins asserted.
"I don't know about that," said Miss Fletcher.
The little girls said no more.
Daffy said afterwards, when Miss Fletcher had gone away:
"She's rather like Nurse. Grown-up people always make everything so dull and stupid. But Freda and I mean to go on seeing Mrs. Bone. She loves us, and it's real fun going to visit her."
"And I'm going to see an old man," said Dreamikins—"our milkman's father. He's bedridden; that's what they call it; and our milkman says he's very lonely, and Fibo says I can, so I'll go this afternoon, and then we'll all be equal!"
Dreamikins was able to make her visit. Annette accompanied her to the door, and then was asked inside by the milkman's wife, a cheerful young woman whose name was Mrs. Ford. She took Dreamikins up a narrow little staircase into a very clean, bright bedroom, where an old man lay in bed close to the window.
"Here's a little lady to see you, feyther. I'll sit her on this chair, and then she can talk pretty to you. Jim, he goes to their house with milk. 'Tis the Captain's little niece."
Dreamikins sat upon the chair pulled forward for her with great dignity, and Mrs. Ford clattered downstairs. She wanted a little gossip with Annette.
"Do you like me coming to see you?" Dreamikins began.
Old John Ford nodded his head. "Ay, little missy; talk a bit to me. 'Tis cruel lonesome lyin' here."
If there was one thing that Dreamikins could do well, it was talking. She began at once. She told him about herself and her parents and her pets and Fibo and all her guardian angels; she told him about her broken leg and how she broke it, and about Freda and Daffy and Miss Fletcher; about her pony, Shylock, and about Michael in prison, and about everybody else that she had ever seen or heard of. And at last she stopped quite breathless, and then began to question him.
How many children had he? Did he like rice pudding? Did he wear curls when he was a boy? When did he come to bed? Could he tell a story? Had he ever seen a fairy? Did he think goats very wicked animals? Had he been a milkman? Had his son any little baby cows? Would he like to eat a bun?
And after this last question Dreamikins produced a bun in a crushed paper bag, which she had been holding tight in her hand, and which bag was very hot and sticky in consequence.
Old John declared he would like nothing better, and whilst he was eating it Dreamikins made a tour round the room, looking at and admiring everything. A picture of the battle of Waterloo attracted her attention.
"Did you fight in it?" she asked, and was disappointed when John said "No."
"I thought when there was fighting everybody who isn't old has to go."
"'Tis a terrible time to live when there be a war waging," said John. "I wish I'd been taken afore it come."
"Taken where to?" asked Dreamikins.
"To my Home above," said the old man with reverence.
"Do you want to go there soon? I don't, not just yet, unless, of course, I'm wanted. And Er will carry me up all right. He won't let me tumble, so I shan't be frightened. I'll lend him to you if you like when you have to go up. When do you think it will be? Would you like Er to carry you? He will if I ask him. He has carried such lots of people there. He sometimes tells me about them. You'd better let me know when you're going, and I'll send him."
"Ay, I shall be in no want of angels then! The Almighty didn't forget to send 'em for the beggar that sat at the rich man's gate, and He'll send 'em for me," said the old man.
There was pleased satisfaction in his tone. Then he looked at Dreamikins and smiled.
"Can you read the Book, missy? Parson, he sometimes do read to me, and there's that chapter—the comforting one about the place prepared for us. I'd like to hear it again."
Dreamikins eagerly seized the big Bible on the table near his bed.
"I can read anything," she said proudly.
But she was some time in finding the place. Old John told her it was the fourteenth chapter in the New Testament, and Dreamikins tried to find it in St. Matthew, St. Mark, and St. Luke before she came to St. John. She read the chapter nearly through in her soft childish voice, and then Annette called her.
She jumped up to go.
"I'll come and read to you again, and I'll read you the chapter we like best. It's the twenty-sixth chapter of St. Matthew—the last part of it. It tells about me coming to see you. Good-bye."
She stretched over the bed and kissed his withered cheek, then stumbled down the steep stairs, and trotted off home very pleased with her visit.
When she met Freda and Daffy the next morning she told them about it, but they did not seem very interested. Their mother was going away that afternoon, and they were full of her departure.
"Nurse doesn't like being here in the winter. She told Mums she thought it would be too cold for Bertie, and we're afraid Nurse will get us back to London. Mums always ends by doing what she wishes."
Dreamikins' face fell.
"You mustn't go, now you do lessons with me. Couldn't Nurse and Bertie go and leave you behind?"
"Nurse will never leave us," said Daffy hopelessly. "I believe she'll stay with us till we quite grow up."
She and Freda were very downhearted that morning, and when Mrs. Harrington came into the nursery to wish them good-bye, Freda put her arms round her neck and whispered in her ear, so that Nurse should not hear:
"Do let us stay the winter here, Mums. Don't listen to Nurse."
Mrs. Harrington shook her head at her.
"What should I do without Nurse?" she said. "She takes care of all of us. Of course this house is a great expense. Mr. Denton wants me to let it, and I am trying to do so; but till that time comes, I don't see why you should not stay on. Don't bother your heads about it, children. Why do you want to stay here so much? It's much livelier in town."
"But Dreamikins isn't there," said Daffy.
"Oh, that child! Nurse thinks she leads you into mischief. Perhaps you would be best apart."
But both Daffy and Freda cried out at this.
"She helps us to be good, Mums. She's much gooder than we are. She's always talking about angels and heaven! It was only one day that she was really naughty!"
Mrs. Harrington shook her head again.
"It isn't talking that I believe in, it is doing. Remember that. You can talk like an angel and yet be the most troublesome child in the world. And I fancy that Dreamikins is rather that sort."
Freda and Daffy looked horrified. After their mother had said good-bye to them all, and they had stood at the nursery windows and waved their handkerchiefs to her as she drove away from the house, Freda said:
"It is Nurse who doesn't like Dreamikins, and she tells Mums tales of her. She can't forget the rhyme Dreamikins sang in front of her face the day she was so naughty!"
"I think she's more good than wicked," said Daffy thoughtfully. "She means to be good, and she's made me think much more about God since I knew her."
"She's a darling, and Nurse is a—"
But Nurse came up then, and Freda's sentence was never finished.
A New Playmate
IT was a dull cold afternoon in November. Freda and Daffy were in the nursery, which looked the picture of cosy comfort. There was a blazing fire in the grate and a bright picture screen to keep out the draughts of the door. Bertie was playing with a box of tin soldiers on the hearth-rug; Nurse was mending a pair of his socks in her rocking-chair. Freda and Daffy had been tidying their dolls' house, and now were standing at the window watching the wind sweeping the dry leaves along the avenue, and wondering what they had better do next.
"There's quantities of things we could do," said Freda, "but Nurse will say 'No' to most of them. We could go into the bathroom and have a wash. All the dolls want washing, and so do their clothes. But Nurse says we aren't to leave the room."
"Let's get our scrap books. Miss Fletcher says her sister would like to have them when they're finished to give to her poor children."
For want of something better to do, they got their books out and commenced to paste pictures in them, talking all the time. Nurse presently put down her work and left the room. Soon Freda ran to the window.
"Come quick, Daffy! I thought I heard something. There's a motor coming up the avenue. Who can it be?"
Daffy darted to the window.
"I expect it's visitors who don't know Mummy is away."
They cautiously opened the window and hung their heads out.
"Why, it's Aunt Frances," cried Freda.
Aunt Frances was their mother's sister, and lived in the north of England. They did not often see her; only when she came up to town.
"She doesn't know Mummy is away! Oh, I do hope she'll stay the night!"
Daffy danced round the room in excitement; Bertie at once joined in. Then the dance turned into a chase round the table, in which Freda joined; and then, when they were all screaming at the top of their voices, the nursery door opened, and their aunt appeared, followed by a chubby-cheeked boy in knickerbockers, and Nurse brought up the rear.
"You seem very cheerful up here," their aunt said.
"They turn it into Bedlam when I'm not here," said Nurse crossly.
"It was only because we saw you on the steps, Aunt Frances," said Freda breathlessly.
"We're so glad to see anybody," said Daffy, with emphasis; "we were feeling very dull."
Their aunt laughed.
"Well, I have brought you Edmund as a companion. He has been sent home from school because of an outbreak of scarlatina, and I'm shutting up my house, and going to join your mother in town. She told me to bring him along here. The country air will do him good."
"It's to be hoped that he is safe from infection," said Nurse grimly; "we don't want scarlatina brought here."
"Now, Nurse, do you think I should have brought him if the doctors had not assured me it would be safe? You'll take care of him, won't you, like a good soul, and I'll be everlastingly grateful to you. I know we've sprung upon you very suddenly, but we only decided to do it early this morning. Here is a note for you from Mrs. Harrington."
She took a seat in Nurse's rocking-chair, and pulled Bertie towards her as she spoke.
"Now, Baby Bertie, give me a kiss. How you've grown! Freda and Daffy, you haven't seen Edmund for three years. He comes just between the two of you, so you will be companions together. You mustn't get into scrapes, or I shall hear about it from Nurse."
Freda looked shyly at Edmund. He stood, legs well apart and hands in his pockets, and returned her gaze rather defiantly.
"Are you going to do lessons with us?" asked Daffy.
"Not if I know it!"
There was no doubt or hesitation in Edmund's tone.
"He'll amuse himself; and he has been given a holiday task to do," said his mother. "It's a pity Bertie is not a little older. Poor little man! He will never know his father."
Here she gave a sigh.
"I hope my boy won't lose his father in this awful War!"
"It will be nice to have Edmund to play with," said Freda, looking at Edmund with great interest. Then she followed him, for he walked off to the toy cupboard to inspect their games and books. He did not approve of many of them.
"Do you play hockey?" he asked.
They shook their heads.
"Football or cricket?"
"No."
"Then you're two rotters!"
"Hush, Edmund; you can teach them! Now I shall have to go. No, children, I can't stay to tea. I must get back to town as soon as I can."
In a few minutes Aunt Frances had gone. Nurse went out of the nursery with her, and they had some talk together downstairs. When she came back to the nursery, Edmund had made himself thoroughly at home. He was talking in the most eager way, and Freda and Daffy were deeply interested in what he was saying.
"Fireworks and a bonfire! How lovely! Have you the fireworks in your box?"
He nodded.
"Mums gave them to me; and I have an air-gun. Are there any things to shoot in the park?"
"Now look here, Master Edmund," interrupted Nurse, "I'm quite willing to have the charge of you if you behave like a little gentleman, but I'm not going to have you play any antics here. And as to fireworks and guns and bonfires, they are all dangerous things, and we can do without them."
"Mums gave me the fireworks. She said the gardener would help me send them off!"
"Oh well," said Nurse more mildly, "that's a different thing. We'll see what Mr. Trimmer will say to that. Now you follow me, and I'll show you the bedroom you're going to have."
Edmund marched away with her. He was not at present at all in awe of Nurse. When he came back to the nursery, tea was ready. The children had plenty to talk about during the meal. Edmund's ideas were bold in the extreme. He hoped to ride one of the horses, and go out fishing, and shoot with the gamekeeper; he liked climbing trees, and intended to have "good sport."
Nurse laughed at him. He was so soft and chubby to look at, so very manly in his talk. Then he was told of Dreamikins.
"A pity she isn't a boy," he said; "but she can come and see my fireworks!"
After tea he got out a mechanical engine of his, and when he had set it going on the nursery floor, and tied Bertie's cart on to it with a load of bricks, the children were delighted. They played contentedly till bedtime, and Freda and Daffy began to think that it was very nice to have a boy to play with.
The next morning Edmund was down in the stables long before breakfast-time, and he persuaded the old coachman to put him on the back of one of the carriage horses, and trotted up and down the avenue on it, to the great admiration of his cousins, who watched him from the nursery windows. Then he liberated a small terrier who was generally tied up in the stables, and actually brought him up to the nursery. But Nurse quickly sent him down again.
"How I wish we needn't go to lessons to-day!" sighed Freda.
"I shall go out fishing," said Edmund. "Old Bates says he'll come with me."
Bates was the coachman, and Nurse was quite willing to trust him with the charge of Edmund.
"Nurse, Dreamikins hasn't been to tea for ages and ages. May she come this afternoon? Do say 'Yes,'" begged Daffy.
For some reason or other Nurse was in a very good temper to-day.
"If her uncle likes her to come, she can; but remember, I don't trust her, and if she gets up to any pranks, home I'll send her as soon as look at her!"
The little girls departed to their lessons, delighted with this permission. Dreamikins was enchanted to come, and very anxious and excited to see the fresh arrival.
"I like boys," she said. "I knew Harry and Frank at Brighton; they used to play with me, and I fished, oh, lots of times with them!"
She arrived at three o'clock that afternoon, and found all the children on the lawn. They were assisting Trimmer and the under-gardener to sweep up the leaves.
"We're going to have a bonfire just in the beginning of the park," said Freda excitedly.
Dreamikins' eyes gleamed with delight. Then she was introduced to Edmund. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, then Dreamikins said:
"I shall call you R.R."
"What's that?" he demanded.
"Fibo has a story of a R.R., and he drew him on paper just like you. He rode, and he roved, and he was a robber, and the lines about him were:
"'The round rogue rode a red reptile,And ruined rainbows, rats, and rooks.'"
Edmund chuckled, and retorted quickly:
"And round the rugged rock the ragged robber ran."
Then he dropped his brush, darted round a tree, and raced after Dreamikins, who fled away screaming.
She was soon caught.
"Now call me a rogue again!"
He had her by the wrists. Dreamikins looked up at him with one of her angelic smiles.
"Darling rogue, I do 'dore you!"
And Edmund was so taken aback that he let her go.
Half an hour after, a great bonfire of rubbish, sticks, and leaves was burning up. The children danced round it in great delight.
"I wish we could burn something nice. They used to burn witches, didn't they?" said Daffy.
"Let us make a witch—a kind of Guy!"
So they ran off to the house to see if they could find anything out of which to make it.
Jane good-naturedly gave them an old hat and veil of hers, and Nellie an old petticoat. Then they went to a barn in the yard and got a sack, and Edmund, who was the leader, ordered them to stuff it with straw. The little girls laughed with delight when this sack was dressed in the petticoat and hat and veil. They tied a rope round her middle, and dragged her along to the bonfire.
"We've got a witch," they shouted, "and we've brought her to be burnt!"
Trimmer stuck his pitchfork into her, and hoisted her upon the burning pile.
Dreamikins watched her with clasped hands and eager eyes. It really almost looked like a woman burning; the hat hung down and the petticoat waved about in the wind. Then the flames licked round it and blazed up, the sack burst, and with a loud cry Dreamikins flung herself down on the ground, covering her face with her hands.
"Take me away!" she cried. "I've sawed enough. It's a horrible sight. It's a real witch burning. I know it is!"
Freda pulled her up from the ground, but tears were streaming down her cheeks.
"Let's get away," she sobbed. "I hate the old bonfire!"
Edmund looked at her with a superior smile.
"Isn't she a baby?" he said.
But Dreamikins only flung him an angry glance as she hurried over the grass. She recovered herself in a few minutes, but would not go back to the bonfire.
"It's so cruel," she said.
"But it was only a sack of straw," argued Daffy.
"Oh, it was cruel to burn the hat," said Dreamikins. "I can't explain myself, but I felt it was cruel!"
Presently Edmund and Freda also had had enough of the bonfire. They joined Dreamikins and Daffy.
"I wish it was dark," said Edmund, "and then I could let off my fireworks."
"When it's dark, Nurse will call us in," said Freda.
"Now what shall we play at?" asked Daffy.
Dreamikins pointed her finger at Edmund.
"He's the round rogue; I'm going to be the Princess walking through the wood, and he'll rob me, and then you, Freda, will come and ride away with me, and Daffy will be the old woman who takes us in."
The game started. Edmund proved a very dashing rogue and robber—so much so that Dreamikins spoilt the game by suddenly turning against her knight and defender, and fleeing after the robber.
"I likes you best; I'll turn into a rogue and robber, and we'll drag the others by their hair into our cave!"
The game prolonged itself till tea-time, and then they were called indoors. Dreamikins sat up at the tea-table as good as gold. Nurse looked approvingly at her.
"Your governess is improving you," she said.
Dreamikins shook her head.
"Oh dear no! It's Er. Er is making me so good that I forget how to be naughty."
"Who's Er?" demanded Edmund. "Do you mean her? Can't you sound your h's?"
"I mean Er," said Dreamikins; "and he isn't her, he couldn't be. He's a very nice angel with black curls and black eyes, and he's sitting on my chair with me now!"
"Angels don't sit on chairs. Why should they?"
"Because they chooses to, and Er likes to be close to me, so he does it."
"You're talking nonsense."
Dreamikins raised herself in her chair eagerly.
"It isn't nonsense. You're only a round rogue. Fibo's round rogue was rolled round and round till he got into a ball, and then an ogre came by and threwed him up into the moon, and he peeps out, showing one fat cheek when the moon is full. That's what will be done to you one day."
Edmund stared at her.
"What a rum kid she is!" he said.
Freda and Daffy were not sure whether Dreamikins was going to get on with Edmund; but after tea, when they played together again, they noticed that Edmund always did what Dreamikins wanted. There was no doubt she had a way with her; and suddenly, in the midst of a hot argument, she would smile her radiant smile and call him a nice boy, and then he would stop arguing and agree with her instantly.
But they had a last argument together when Annette called for her, and she stood in her hat and coat wishing them good-bye.
"Say good-night to Er," she demanded, turning to Edmund.
"There's no Er here. Show him to me."
"I shan't. You're to believe me."
"You might as well say an elephant is in the nursery."
"If I said it, he would be."
"You're just a pretence-maker, that's what you are, and a story-teller."
"Fibo is a lovely story-teller. I'd like to be like him. I shall ask Er to flap his wings in your face when you're asleep to-night, and then you'll be frightened."
"Oh, Dreamikins," objected Daffy, "angels would never frighten people."
"Er would do it for me. Boys who won't believe must be punished."
Dreamikins tried to look severe.
Edmund frowned at her.
"Er told me he once took care of a boy who wouldn't believe in him, and he tooked him to a high cliff above the sea and let him tumble over, and then he just caught him in time, and then he asked him if he felt him do it, and the boy said 'Yes,' and he cried and begged his angel's pardon."
"Boys don't cry."
"When nobody sees them they does."
Edmund considered.
"I take care of myself," he said. "It's only babies who believe in angels taking care of them."
"You don't read your Bible," said Dreamikins. "Peter had a angel to get him out of prison, and heaps of grown-up people had them. If you don't say good-night to Er, I shan't ask you to tea and to come and see Fibo and me."
Edmund squared his shoulders.
"All right; I don't care," he said.
"Come along, Miss Emmeline," called Annette.
Then Dreamikins sidled up to him.
"Dear Robber Rogue, just whisper it very low. Er is close to your shoulder now. He does want you and me to be frens."
And Edmund shrugged his shoulders.
"Good-night, Er; you're a proper humbug, and you know it!"
Dreamikins danced away.
"If you're rude to him, God will send you a horrid dream to-night, and you'll wake up and long for a angel to be close to you, and he won't be!"
When she was gone, Freda said:
"If you don't believe Dreamikins, and all she says, it will be no fun at all, Edmund. Even Miss Fletcher never contradicts her. She's different to anybody we've ever seen. And it seems all true to her, so perhaps it is."
"It's rubbish," said Edmund firmly.
"But grown-up people believe in guardian angels," said Daffy. "Let us ask Nurse."
"Nurse," said Freda, "do people have guardian angels?"
"Yes," said Nurse gravely, "so we're told; and I remember a story about a child that was run over and taken out unhurt from a horse's feet, and she said that a 'beautiful angel had covered her under his wings!'"
"There!" said Daffy, turning triumphantly to Edmund. "Now what do you say? It isn't only Dreamikins, you see!"
But Edmund shook his head scoffingly.
"She's a little humbug," he said. "She's so fond of letters, I shall call her the R.H."
"What's that?" asked Freda.
"Rotten Humbug!" said Edmund.
"That isn't a pretty enough name for her. Daffy and me love Dreamikins. She's always saying things you don't expect."
"You'd better call her Dreamikins," said Daffy; "that's the name that suits her."
"Well, I'll call her B.H.—Baby Humbug. She wears socks; I've never played with a girl in socks before."
And Freda and Daffy thought it wisest to say no more.
The Fire
IN a few days' time, Edmund had settled down very happily with his cousins. He was out of doors a great deal. Bates took him fishing, and Raikes, the gamekeeper, let him go with him through the woods. Freda and Daffy were almost envious, he was allowed to do so many things that were refused to them. And then they were all invited to spend the afternoon with Dreamikins, and they went through the park, and crawled through the little door, for Nurse let the three of them go alone.
There was no doubt about it that Nurse had a soft spot in her heart for boys. She seemed to think that Edmund was steady and good; but when Nurse was away from him he behaved rather differently. Dreamikins and he were soon the greatest friends, though they disagreed upon nearly every point that was discussed; but Dreamikins always got her way in the end.
Edmund started playing hockey upon the lawn at the Dower House. Fibo lent them some walking-sticks and a tennis ball, and cheered them on from the window of his study, where he lay on his couch watching them. And after tea they roasted chestnuts on the bars of the study fire, and Fibo told them funny stories. When Edmund walked home he said:
"Captain Arnold is just ripping! I wish I lived with him instead of you!"
"You must call him Fibo like we do," said Freda; "and that's rather a rude thing to say to us."
"But I agree with him," said Daffy quickly; "I would much rather live with Fibo than with Nurse. Fibo wants us to be happy and have fun—we can see it in his eyes."
"I mean to have my fireworks soon," said Edmund, very firmly. "Nurse keeps putting off the day, but I shall have them without asking her. Look here! When we go to bed to-night, and Nurse goes down to supper, you come out in the long passage between my room and yours, and I'll let off a cracker. It will be such fun!"
Daffy danced with excitement, and Freda said:
"All right, we will! I wish Dreamikins was with us!"
"We'll go out one night, and let some off outside her window."
"Oh, we couldn't!"
"I could," said Edmund, "and I will. I don't believe Nurse will ever settle the time to have them, so I shall do it without asking."
Freda and Daffy felt very uncomfortable when they were undressing and saying their prayers that night. When Nurse had left them in bed, Freda said:
"I left out 'make me a good girl' in my prayers to-night, because I mean to be wicked—just for once. It's always Nurse makes us wicked, because she tries to keep us from having fun."
"Fibo would say that was a mean excuse," said Daffy, wriggling in her bed.
They both were conscious that they were behaving badly when they crept out of their beds in dressing-gowns and slippers, and went along the passage towards Edmund's room. Nurse and Jane were downstairs. The long passage was only dimly lighted at one end. Edmund was ready. He came out of his room with mischief written all over his face.
"Isn't this ripping?" he said, producing a box of matches in one hand and the cracker in the other.
"What does it do?" asked Freda a little nervously. "Is it like the rockets at the Crystal Palace?"
"No; it leaps and bounds along the ground. I run with it a little way. Now then!" He applied his match, raced along the passage, and then flung it from him. There was an explosion, and then another, and another, as the cracker bounded up and down in the passage, then it leapt over the staircase and fell with a hiss and a bang in the hall. The noise and flames almost frightened the little girls, and then a door burst open below, and the frightened servants, headed by Nurse, came upon the scene. Freda and Daffy fled back to bed and buried their heads under the clothes. Edmund did the same, but Nurse knew he must be the culprit and went straight to his room. She was so angry that she boxed his ears soundly, then pounced upon the small square box of fireworks in his room and carried it off.
"I shall lock these up. Not one of them shall you have again while you stay with us. I'm right down ashamed of you. There was I, thinking you were such a good young gentleman, and you get up to this! Don't you know you might have burned us in our beds?"
Edmund was white with fury. Nurse's quick chastisement had taken him so by surprise that he had not had time to protest or excuse himself. He had never been whipped or struck before, and if Nurse had not gone out of the room so quickly he would have hit her back. The loss of his fireworks made him more furious still. He sprang out of bed, opened his door, and watched where she went.
She walked down the passage to a door rather near the nurseries; she put the box inside, then came out, locked the door, and slipped the key of it in her pocket. It was really a store cupboard where she kept a lot of rubbish that she did not want—brown paper, cardboard boxes, and old rags and her mending-bags.
Then she went into the nurseries and banged the door behind her.
Down the passage crept Edmund, matchbox still in hand.
"Now I will give you something to frighten you, you old brute!" he muttered. "I'll set those fireworks going where they are!"
Without a thought of the possible danger of such a deed, Edmund lighted a screw of paper and stuffed it under the door. He thought it would soon reach the box and explode. He pushed several lighted matches under as well, and then ran back to bed, and waited for the explosion that he felt would follow.
It did not come as soon as he expected. If he had only been inside that cupboard he would have known why. His piece of lighted paper had been more mischievous than he had imagined. It had ignited a roll of soft paper on the floor. The flames had spread from that to other pieces of paper, then the cardboard boxes had caught fire, and soon the store cupboard was a raging furnace.
Then the fireworks exploded, and it was a merciful providence they did. Nurse was preparing to get into bed. She bounced out of her nursery, and saw with horror flames and smoke pouring out of the door close to her. In an instant she had rung all the bells she could lay her hands on, seized hold of Bertie and the little girls, wrapped them in blankets, and dragged them down the passage, calling to Edmund to follow them.
Then ensued an hour of intense horror and confusion. From the big hall below the children watched the flames leaping and bounding round the big gallery. The men were pouring water to extinguish the flames; the stable-boy had ridden off to Cressford for the fire-engine. Nurse was like a distracted person. She had run back to the nurseries when she had got the children safely downstairs, and she had managed to get some of their clothes; but the nursery wing was now blazing fiercely. Purling came up to Nurse very soon.
"You had best take the children to the Dower House. This is no fit place for them. This old house will burn like tinder. It will be as much as we can do, to save the pictures and the plate. I doubt if the firemen will come in time."
So Nurse dressed the children with trembling fingers. Jane was almost in hysterics, and little use at all. Then Nurse hurried them down the avenue. She carried Bertie, and Freda and Daffy and Edmund followed her close behind. Bertie was crying a little, Freda almost enjoying it, and Daffy and Edmund absolutely pale with fright and very silent.
Nurse stopped at the lodge.
"If you weren't so crowded, Mrs. Lane," she said to the lodge-woman, "I would get you to take us in; but you've four children of your own, I know."
Mrs. Lane was wringing her hands in fright and excitement.
"My John is up at the Hall now. Oh, mercy on us, what an awful sight the flames are! I said to 'im when I saw the glare, 'That's the nurseries, and the children will be burnt in their beds.' However did it happen?"
But Nurse pushed on without a word.
As they came near the Dower House Freda spoke in a whisper to Edmund:
"Isn't this fun? What will Fibo and Dreamikins say when they see us come in the middle of the night?"
Edmund looked at her with scared eyes, then he said, "It's all Nurse's fault."
"What is? You don't mean the fire?"
He did not answer, and walked the rest of the way in silence.
It was barely eleven o'clock when they reached the Dower House. Fibo had not gone to bed. He had sent Daw to the Hall with a message to Nurse, so he was not a bit surprised to see her. Mrs. Daw and Carrie were bustling about, making up beds in the spare rooms. They soon had all four children in bed. Mrs. Daw brought them some hot milk to drink. But Dreamikins slept through it all.
Freda and Daffy soon fell asleep. Not so Edmund. He lay awake with wide-open, frightened eyes, listening to the fire-engine when it thundered past, and to the running steps and voices of the villagers, who were all roused from their sleep and eager to help up at the Hall.
When daylight came, he was at last asleep, worn out by his fears and remorse.
Directly Dreamikins was awake, and was told by Annette the events of the evening before, she ran into the room where Freda and Daffy were sleeping. They were in a big bed together.
"Oh," she cried, springing upon the bed in the greatest excitement, "why wasn't I woked? Did you really come in the middle of the night? Er might have woked me. I do hope he doesn't go back to heaven when I aren't looking at him! Do tell me all about it!"
Freda and Daffy were only half awake, but Dreamikins thumped their pillows, and almost dragged them out of bed.
"Do tell me! Were you nearly burnt to ashes? Did you jump out of the windows? Is your house all burnt up?"
Then she was told as much as her little friends knew. In the morning light, with Dreamikins' happy rosy face close to them, their misfortune did not seem so terrible as it did the night before.
They all went to the window to see if there was anything left of the Hall. All they could see was some smoke coming up through the trees; no part of the house was visible.
"Fancy!" said Freda. "If it's burnt up, all our toys and clothes and story-books will be gone. What shall we do?"
"We might live in a caravan in the park till it's built up again!" said Daffy joyously.
"Oh, Nurse will simply tear us back to London! I know she will," said Freda.
"No; you'll stay here. We'll squeeze in beautifully, and if there's no room for the H.D. she can go to London and leave you here."
Annette and Nurse both appeared now at the door. Nurse looked quite old and shaken. Poor Nurse! All night she had lain awake wondering if it had been her fault—whether there had been any matches half-lighted that she put in with the fireworks so hurriedly.
Annette took Dreamikins off to be dressed. Freda and Daffy eagerly asked Nurse for news.
"It's the nursery wing that is burnt. They stopped the fire before it got to the rest of the house, but the library below the nursery is very much damaged. They saved the pictures and some of the books, but a great many of them are destroyed."
"Oh, if it's only those old books!" said Freda. "Mums will never read them, nor shall we, so it doesn't matter. Nurse, what shall we do now? And is our toy cupboard burnt?"
"Be quiet now, and don't worry me with questions. I've a splitting headache, and what your mother will say I don't know. It's a mercy we weren't burnt in our beds!"
When Miss Fletcher arrived that morning, she found her little pupils almost too excited to do lessons. They wanted to go and look at the burnt house; but this was not allowed, and Nurse begged Miss Fletcher to keep them in the schoolroom. She asked if Bertie might be kept there too, as she was going up to the Hall at once. Miss Fletcher willingly agreed.
Edmund made himself scarce. He had been very quiet all breakfast-time, and had gone out to the stables to see Shylock directly afterwards. There he made friends with the lad who had succeeded Michael, by name Hal Brown. Hal expressed his opinion that "somebody like those good-for-nothing suffragettes had set the Hall on fire."
"And if they get cotched they'll be taken to prison," he said.
"Will they really?" asked Edmund, trembling.
Hal nodded.
"Our policeman and a lot from Cressford are going round now trying to get the rights of it, and find out the one who did it."
Edmund left the stable silently. He wandered out into the garden and round and round the paths. Even Grinder, following him patiently in hopes of a game, could not gain his attention. Fibo lay by his study window and saw him there. He tapped sharply on the window-pane and beckoned to him.
Edmund appeared at the study door a few minutes afterwards, quite expecting to find the room full of policemen.
Fibo called to him cheerfully.
"Come and amuse me," he said; "we're the two men in the house who have nothing to do. Neither of us are doing lessons just now, are we?"
Edmund tried to smile. He sat down on the edge of a chair by the fire and looked across at Fibo in an uncomfortable fashion.
And then Fibo suddenly held out his hand.
"Come close to me, old chap, and tell me all about it. Don't be afraid. Honour bright, I'll try to help you!"
There was magic in Fibo's look and smile.
With a deep-drawn sob Edmund scuttled over to the couch. Fibo put his arm round him, and then he laid his brown head against the kind shoulder, and began to sob as if his heart would break.
"I—I—shall have to go to prison," he sobbed, "because I—I did it."
"I guessed you did. Nurse's story seems rather confused. We won't think about prison. Just tell me exactly what you did. Be a man and own up."
Edmund told him, and Fibo listened silently.
"Didn't you know that lighted paper and matches would be likely to burn?" he asked, when Edmund had come to a stop.
"I only meant to burn the fireworks."
"But fireworks in a cupboard mean great danger."
"I didn't stop to think. I only wanted to frighten her. She boxed my ears! Will you have to give me up to the police?"
"I think you will have to tell your story to a policeman," said Fibo slowly. He rang his bell, and asked Daw to find Sergeant Ross who had come over from Cressford to make inquiries about the fire.
Edmund stood, white and trembling, by Fibo's side. Fibo patted him on the back in a comforting way.
"You've told the truth, little man; and you did not mean to burn the house down, did you? It will be a lesson for life. Now buck up and tell Sergeant Ross what you have told me."
In a very short time a constable was ushered into the room, and Fibo said:
"I want you to hear this young gentleman's account of the origin of the fire last night. He is very frightened and sorry, but I've told him that he must tell you himself about it."
Edmund clenched his fists, threw up his head, and fought bravely with his tears. Then he told the constable what he had done; and that good man shook his head.
"What a lot of mischief some of you young gentlemen do with your fireworks! Well, I'm glad to hear the rights of it. I'm thankful to say the greater part of the house is saved. I conclude, sir,—" here he turned to Fibo,—"I conclude, sir, that Mrs. Harrington has been communicated with?"
"We have sent a wire."
After a few more words, the constable left the room.
"Is he going to do anything to me?" asked poor Edmund.
"No, my boy. He sees you have been punished quite enough by the consequences of your mischief. But you'll have to tell Nurse. Better go over to the Hall now and find her, and get it over; and then come back to me. I shan't forsake you, you may be sure!"
Edmund gasped out:
"Must I go to Nurse? Won't you tell her for me?"
"No, I won't. For you must show your pluck, and be willing to own yourself the culprit. Cut along!"
Edmund left the room without a word. He seized his cap from the hall peg, and raced along the road, arriving at the Hall hot and breathless. It was some time before he could find Nurse. She and Purling were together in his pantry; she had found that there was literally nothing saved from the nurseries, and now she and Purling were talking together, discussing all that had passed. When she saw Edmund, she turned upon him angrily:
"And you're responsible for it all, Master Edmund. What are you doing here?"
"I've come to tell you that I did it," said Edmund, in quavering tones. "You made me angry, and I stuffed some lighted paper under the door to make the fireworks go off!"
Nurse gave an exclamation of horror.
"You wicked child! And here have I been blaming myself for what I never did! Now you'll just come to Captain Arnold, and tell him that it's you who've burnt us to the ground! And we'll tell the police, and it's to be hoped you'll get a thorough good thrashing!"
"I've told Captain Arnold and the police," said Edmund; "and I've said I'm sorry, and I can't say more!"
Then he ran away down the avenue as fast as he could, and hardly drew his breath till he was in Fibo's study again. He felt that Nurse was more formidable than any one else.