Illustration: "THEY CAME TO THE LITTLE GROUP""they came to the little group"(p. 229)
"While I thank you for your very kind proposal, Mr. Murray, I'll make no promises; let the boys choose for themselves. Bertie, of course, must obtain his Uncle Gregory's permission, as he promised, without fail, to be back at the office on Monday morning. I will not ever stand in the way of the boys' pleasure or profit, but I think it is truer kindness to have them go along quietly on the paths they have chosen. Bertie is happy and contented enough now, but he's a high-spiritedlad, fond of the sea almost passionately; a voyage, be it ever so short, may unsettle his mind for the office. Eddie is discontented enough already; I don't really see what good can come of it. Of course, I don't really think that either of the boys is going to make his fortune, recover Riversdale, and live there in peace and plenty, ease and indolence, ever after. That's a pretty poetical little romance, and serves to cheer the children, and make their sudden change of circumstance more bearable, but I know they will have to fight the battle of life each by himself, and quite unaided. Neither possesses a magic wand to conjure up a fortune."
"And why not, pray? Has not many a London 'prentice lad found that magic wand in honest hard work and strict integrity? Why not Bertie Rivers as well as another? But let it be as you say: leave it to the boys' own choice. Suppose we go out and find them."
Mr. Clair went very willingly, and seemed as if he would be glad to have the whole matter settled. Aunt Amy smiled encouragingly; she was really anxious that the young cousins should know and love each other, and felt almost sure that Eddie would be much happier if he had some friends of his own age, especially if they were clever boys, who would make him feel anxious to shine in their eyes, and excel at least in his beloved painting, and that he talked so much of and performed so little.
Mr. Murray and Mr. Clair had not joined the children on the beach many minutes before Uncle Gregory came along with his two sons, one walking demurely on either side. When they came to the little group sitting and lounging in somewhat undignified fashion under the lee of the old tarry boat, they paused, Mr. Gregory looking somewhat astonished and scandalised at seeing his old friend Mr. Murray—Murray and Co., one of the most respected "houses" in the City of London—sprawling full-length, with his hat over his eyes, while Mr. Clair made an accurate two-inch sketch of him; but no matter what Mr. Murray did or said, he was in a sense privileged, and Mr. Gregory greeted him cordially, shook hands with Mr. Clair a little more stiffly, and introduced his sons. Bertie, at the first approach of his uncle Gregory, had edged to the other side of the boat, and watched the proceedings with an amused twinkle in his eyes, that peered about half an inch over the keel. Eddie was gravely polite, Agnes painfully shy, and Uncle Clair seemed to have become quite a grand gentleman too in a moment; but Mr. Murray never moved, and actually asked Mr. Gregory to sit down, pointing to a vacant scrap of pebbly beach, and indicating the tarry boat as something to lean against. At the proposition Bertie disappeared altogether: it was too absurd to see Uncle Gregory's expression of wonder, and he had to stuff his cap into his mouth to avoid laughing aloud, but Mr. Murray did not seem to mind a bit.
"Rather stand, eh? Yes, of course; I dare say you do get sitting down enough. I was just wanting to see you, to ask a favour. Can you give this lad—where is he, Bertie"—Bertie emerged solemn-faced, and rather scared, from the other side of the boat, and bowed to his uncle—"can you give this youngster another week's holiday? I want him and his brother, and this lassie here, to come for a sail with your boys. Mr. and Mrs. Clair have also kindly promised to join us for a week, so that we shall be quite a pleasant party, eh, lads? You would like it."
Dick and Harry Gregory instinctively drew nearer to their father, and their faces expressed anything but lively satisfaction at the proposal. On the other side, Eddie and Agnes had glanced at each other, and edged behind Uncle Clair, who had resumed his sketching; only Eddie and Mr. Gregory looked straight at each other, and old Mr. Murray from under his shaggy eyebrows watched them both.
"Well, Bertie, would you like to go on this excursion very much?" Uncle Gregory asked, in his hardest voice, and with his most chilling smile.
"No, thank you, uncle. I would rather go back to the office on Monday morning."
"Thank you, Bert," Eddie whispered, giving his brother's hand a hearty squeeze. "Of course we can't go without you."
Indeed, Bertie's words seemed to have brought a sort of relief to the whole party. Mr. Gregory's smile was quite pleasant as he laid his hand on the boy's head.
"You're quite right," he said, genially. "You and I are business people, and can't afford taking holidays at random. We will go up to town together, Bertie, on Monday morning, and I hope the others will enjoy their trip."
"I'm sure Eddie will not care to go without Bertie," Uncle Clair said, rising. "We must only wait for some more favourable opportunity for becoming better acquainted with your lads, Mr. Gregory. Now, children, it's dinner-time, and your Aunt Amy will be waiting. If you will join us"—turning to Uncle Gregory—"it will give us much pleasure."
"Not to-day, thank you, as I have an engagement; but Mrs. Gregory will take an early opportunity of waiting on Mrs. Clair;" and after a greatmany ceremonious bows and smiles, they separated; Mr. Gregory, his sons, and Mr. Murray (frowning, shaking his head, clenching his hands in the most ridiculous manner) going one way, Uncle Clair, with Agnes clinging to his arm, and Eddie and Bertie behind, hurrying away in the opposite direction; but not a single word was spoken till they reached the house, and then Aunt Amy saw by their faces that the old gentleman's good-natured plan had failed, for that time, at least; but if she thought for a moment that Mr. Murray gave up an idea so easily after once forming it, it showed that she knew nothing whatever either of his goodness of heart or force of character.
ThoughBertie looked cheerful enough as he walked with Uncle Clair and Eddie to the railway station on Monday morning, he could not help feeling very sorry at having to leave Brighton. The weather was so glorious, the sea all rippling and dancing in the morning sunshine, the streets so full of merry pleasure-seekers, that going back to the office in Mincing Lane was dull enough. They Were very sorry to lose him, too: there could be no mistake about that; ever since he had so promptly declined for them all Mr. Murray's invitation, they felt a sort of respectful admiration for him, though from very different reasons. Uncle Clair thought it was very sensible to return to town when his Uncle Gregory so clearly wished it; Eddie and Agnes thought it was quite splendid of him to have saved them from becoming more intimately acquainted with their cousins; while the latter, in their lofty, patronising way, considered Bertie was not such a bad sort of fellow, and they would be kinder to him when they got back home, but they certainly did not want to have to introduce him to their Eton friends, Lionel and Arthur Delamere, whom Mr. Murray had given them leave to invite. They would be sure to ask where Eddie and Bertie went to school, and so, of course, hear all about the office; besides, Eddie looked so proud and reserved, he would hardly prove an agreeable companion, nor was Mr. Clair regarded very favourably. Mr. Murray was more annoyed by the failure of his plan than any one else, and yet he felt in a way that Bertie was quite right, for his Uncle Gregory would not easily have forgiven him had he acted differently.
Mr. Gregory was not at the station when they arrived, but just as the train was starting he came up, and after one quick glance up and down the platform, entered a carriage without having recognised Uncle Clair or Eddie, and Bertie found himself in a compartment with several strange gentlemen, who each had a newspaper that he turned over eagerly, and Bertie could not help wishing that he too had something to read, though I think he would have preferred either Don Quixote or Robinson Crusoe. Then he fell to wondering what Eddie and Agnes were doing: whether they were on the beach reading or sketching, and thinking how nice it would be to meet them at the station on next Saturday afternoon, when they purposed returning home, have the cabs all engaged, and then go back with them to Fitzroy Square. After a time his head fell back into the corner, and from thinking, Bertie fell into a pleasant dream, from which he was aroused by a gentle touch. A gentleman was searching for a small bag, which had slipped behind Bertie.
"Sorry to trouble you; thanks," he said, when he had found it. Then leaning forward towards the gentleman opposite, he took out a packet of papers neatly tied up. "It's very provoking," he said. "I came down here on Saturday to get the governor's signature, and could not find trace or tidings of him. He left an hour before I arrived, and if I don't find him somewhere in town to-day, it will be a serious loss to our firm."
"You can afford it," the gentleman said, smiling.
"Yes; but our manager will be none the less angry about it. However, I can't help it;" and then they talked about the money market and other matters, till Bertie fell asleep again, and did not awake till they reached London Bridge. There Mr. Gregory saw him, and gave him a seat in his hansom, and the last thing Bertie saw as he left the platform was the gentleman with his little black bag in his hand, hurrying along as if for his life.
Bertie was very busy that morning: there were a great many letters to be addressed and notices copied out; his uncle seemed hasty and impatient, spoke harshly, and once or twice said he believed Bertie had left his brains in Brighton. Then the office was very stuffy and gloomy, for though the day was bright enough outside, very little sunshine found its way through the dusty ground glass windows of the office in Mincing Lane. Never in his life had Bertie so longed for luncheon-time; his head ached, and more than once a great lump seemed to grow suddenly in his throat as he thought of his past holidays; but the City at luncheon-time is not the best possible place for dreaming or moping, and before he had gone a hundred yards from the office door he came into violent collision with a gentleman running down the steps of another office, who, without pausingeven to apologise, sprang into a cab that was waiting, without observing that he had dropped a small leather bag he held in his hand. Bertie, whose hat had been knocked off in the encounter, stooped to pick it up, picked up the bag at the same time, and glanced at the hansom fast disappearing amongst the crowd of others. It was no use to shout, much less to run, but having begun to learn to think, he acted with a good deal of decision. Hailing another cab that chanced to be near, he bade the driver follow the one that had just started, as the gentleman had dropped something, and the cabby, who had witnessed the whole transaction, nodded and drove on; but a few minutes had been lost; the first vehicle was a private one, with a good horse, Bertie's was a worn-out old creature, that ought not to have been in harness at all, so that it was just as much as the driver could do to keep it in sight. In the City, owing to several blocks, they almost lost it; and when they got into more fashionable regions amongst the less-frequented streets and quiet squares of the West End, matters were still worse, but at length, turning suddenly round a corner, they saw the identical cab standing before a large, gloomy-looking house, and its occupant speaking hurriedly to another gentleman on the steps. Bertie sprang out and ran up, flushed, breathless, and excited.
"If you please, sir, you dropped this in Mincing Lane," he said, "and I followed you as quickly as ever I could."
One of the gentlemen uttered a little cry of dismay, and almost staggered against the railing for support. In his hurry and confusion, his eagerness to deliver a pressing message, and get the documents back to the City, he had not discovered their loss at all. The other gentleman caught the boy by the arm, and then uttered an exclamation of still greater astonishment. "Oh! Bertie Rivers, I see. So you found my clerk's bag?"
"Yes, sir," Bertie replied, very much surprised to discover in the same moment that one speaker was Mr. Murray, the other the gentleman who had come up in the train with him that morning, the bag the very one that had excited his curiosity on two previous occasions, and caused him to be disturbed from his pleasant dream.
"How did you know the person it belonged to? Why did you come here with it?" Mr. Murray asked, after a keen, searching glance at Bertie's face. He was a shrewd, suspicious old gentleman, who had been deceived many times in his life, much imposed upon, and therefore very cautious of whom he trusted. Still, Bertie Rivers' face was truthful and frank enough to satisfy anybody as he replied that he did not know in the least to whom the bag belonged; "but I was going to my luncheon, sir, and I ran against this gentleman; my hat got knocked off, and when I stooped to pick it up I saw the bag. I felt sure the gentleman dropped it, and I called; but he had driven off, so I just hailed another hansom, and told the driver to follow the one just started. He said, 'I saw it all,' and drove as quick as he could, and—that's all, sir."
"No, no, there's something more; you must tell me all about it presently," and Mr. Murray pushed Bertie before him into a magnificent library. "You sit there for ten minutes, while I see to this business," and he turned to the clerk, who had followed him. "Give me the papers, and while I sign them thank that lad. He has done you a good turn to-day."
The clerk thanked Bertie cordially, and at length Mr. Murray stood up, thrust the papers into the bag, and with a curious glance, which seemed to say plainly, "I'll see you later on about this," dismissed the man by a wave of his hand, then he turned to Bertie, and caught him glancing at the clock with much uneasiness.
"Now then, boy, you have done me a very great service to-day; what can I do for you in return?"
Bertie flushed, hung his head, and then looked up resolutely. "If you would be so kind as to pay the cabman," he stammered. "I forgot when I engaged him that I had spent nearly all my pocket-money, and it takes three days to get any from the savings' bank, and I—I couldn't ask Uncle Gregory."
"Of course not; besides, the cab came here onmybusiness: it'smyduty to pay him, else I would not do it. Here, run out and give him this," and Mr. Murray handed him a sovereign; "then come back to me."
"Please, sir, will you excuse me?" Bertie said earnestly. "I am so afraid to be late."
"It can't be helped this time, Bertie. You must have something to eat, and I'm going into the City presently, and will call and explain matters to your uncle; but you must go in first and tell your own story, because I don't want to deprive you of his praise when he hears what a shrewd, honest boy you've been. Come on, and have luncheon with me, and tell me why you said you preferred returning to the office to going for a week's cruise in my yacht. I am really very anxious, Bertie Rivers, to know what good reason you could have had for that very strange decision of yours. Were you afraid of offending your Uncle Gregory?"
(To be continued.)
All About Snails
Germancountry children have a quaint little rhyme to ask the snail to put out his horns. Translated, its meaning is like this:—
"Snail, snail, your four horns show,Show me the four, and don't say 'No,'Or I shall pitch you into the ditch,And the crows that come to the ditch to sup,Will gobble you up, gobble you up!"
In some parts of the south of England the children invite the snail out still less politely. They chant over and over:—
"Snail, snail, come out of your hole,Or else I'll beat you as black as a coal!"
This sounds very cruel, but they can't mean it, can they? Near Exeter the country children have a more fanciful rhyme:—
"Snail, snail, shove out your horns,Father and mother are dead,Brother and sister are in the back-yard,Begging for barley-bread."
The snail's parents and relations are meant, not their own. This reminds us of what the little brown Italian children say in Naples; they sing to the snail to look out and show his horns, as the snail-mamma is laughing at him because she has now a better little snail at home. In some parts of the south of Ireland there is a prettier rhyme than any of these, and it asks him to come out to see a great visitor:—
"Shell-a-muddy, shell-a-muddy,Put out your horns,For the king's daughter is coming to town,In a red petticoat and a green gown!"
The children who sing these rhymes think that if only they sing them often enough, the horns will be put out at last. They have picked up the snail, and he has tucked himself into his shell. After awhile, when his first fright has worn off, perhaps he puts out his head just to see where he is, or to look if the big live thing that startled him has gone away.
The four snails in the picture have come out for a walk by the light of the moon; they like to go out on fine dry nights, because when the weather is dry they have been all day hidden in some corner of a lane or garden. On wet days in summer weather they go out at all hours, always carrying their little shell-houses on their backs, and ready at a moment's notice to tuck themselves in, horns and all. One notices the two long horns most, but they have another pair of very small ones as well. In winter they sleep all the time in some crevice of an old garden wall, or in a little hole in the ground covered with moss and leaves.
We often hear of "fattening-up" geese and turkeys, but how funny it sounds to talk of fattening up a snail. The Romans, long, long ago, kept snails in special gardens and fattened them on meal and boiled wine, and ate them at their feasts. There are still snail-gardens in many places on the Continent, but they are not fed on boiled wine now. In England, as late as James the First's time, they were made into a favourite dish with sauce and spices. The Italian peasants think large brown snails a great treat; and the gipsies in many places make dinners and suppers of the common little "shell-a-muddies." A larger kind are sold still at Covent Garden Market, London, to be taken as a cure by people who are ill.
ByPhillis Browne,Author of "A Year's Cookery," "What Girls can Do," &c.
Applefritters to-day," said Margaret.
"Yes, apple fritters to-day," replied Mary. "Won't it be delightful, miss?"
"Let me see," said Mrs. Herbert, coming into the room at the moment, "we are going to make something special to-day. Whatever is it?"
"Apple fritters!" said both the children in one breath.
"Oh yes, to be sure! It is apple fritters. You would not like to broil a mutton chop instead, would you, Margaret?"
"Certainly not, mother!"
"Then we must take broiling for our next lesson. It will be all the better, for I see cook has put the apples and the materials for the batter ready for us. So let us set to work."
"But, mother, what do you think?" said Margaret, as she came up to the table and looked round, "cook has made the batter for us; and we wanted to make it ourselves. Is it not a pity?"
"Cook has partly made it, dear, because I told her to do so. Batter is best when mixed some time before it is wanted. The whites of eggs, however, are not put in until a few minutes before the batter is used; so that part of making the batter has been left for you."
"It does not signify very much," said Mary; "we learnt how to make batter when we made pancakes."
"This batter is not made in the same way, though, as pancake-batter," said Mrs. Herbert. "This is frying-batter, and it is mixed differently. I will tell you how to mix it, and you must try to remember."
"We will write it down," said Margaret. "I have written down all the recipes you have given us, so far, in a copy-book, and I am going to keep them as long as I live."
"A very good plan. Listen then. Put a quarter of a pound of flour, with a pinch of salt, into a bowl, pour in two table-spoonfuls of salad-oil, stir a little of the flour with this, and add a gill (which is a quarter of a pint, you know) of tepid water. Beat the batter till it is quite smooth and no lumps remain. Thus much cook has done for us."
"Tepid water is water that is not hot enough to burn, is it not, ma'am?" said Mary, inquiringly.
"That is not at all a safe rule to lay down. I should say, tepid water is made by mixing two parts of cold with one part boiling water."
"Shall I strain off and beat the whites of the eggs, mother?" said Margaret; "I can do that, you know."
"Yes, dear. You will need the whites of two eggs, and they must be beaten till very stiff. When they are ready you mix them lightly into the batter. Meantime Mary can peel the apples. Peel the skin off very thinly, Mary, and stamp out the core with the little instrument called the apple-corer. You see, it does the business very quickly. If we had no apple-corer, we should either have to scoop out the core with the point of a knife, when we should be in danger of cutting our fingers, or we should have to take it from the slices separately. These apples must be cut in slices across the core, you understand, before we can make the fritters."
"How thick must the slices be, please, ma'am?" said Mary.
"Not thick at all. They must be as thin as you can cut them to keep them whole. You will do very well if you can cut them all evenly, thin as a shilling. Do you see that we wish to cook the apple inside, as well as the batter outside it, and the thinner it is the more quickly it will cook?"
Very busily Mary worked, but Margaret had beaten her egg-whites, and stirred them in, long before she had finished.
"May I help Mary, mother?" then said Margaret, who did not enjoy waiting.
"Yes, dear; you can prepare one apple, if you like. Before doing so, however, put the fat on the fire. It was strained into a fresh saucepan to be ready for us. It will take a little time to boil; but we must use it the moment it boils. Remember that every minute, I might say every second, that fat remains on the fire after it boils, and without being used, it is spoiling."
"You will have to be quick, mother, if you are going to use the fat as soon as it boils;" said Margaret after a minute or two. "It is boiling already; see, it is bubbling all over. What shall I do? Shall I take it off the fire?"
"It does not boil yet, dear; wait till it boils."
"But, mother, look. It is bubbling fast. Oh, no, it is not; it is quieting down. How very strange! and I had not lifted it from the fire."
"This is exactly what I wanted you to find out. Water, when it boils, bubbles and spirts; fat is stillwhen it boils. If you watch this fat, it will become quite still."
"How shall we know, then, when it boils?"
"By watching it carefully. When you see a thin blue fume rising from it, it is hot enough. That is the sign. If you do not look closely it may escape your notice, for it is only a thin fume you want, not a thick smoke. If we were to let the fat remain till it smoked it would be spoilt."
"Oh dear, how careful we have to be!" said Margaret.
"The slices of apple are quite ready, ma'am," said Mary.
"And the batter is quite ready," said Margaret.
"I see too, that cook has put a dish with kitchen paper on it for us to put the fritters on as they are fried. And there is the fume. Do you see it, children?"
"No, I see nothing," said Margaret.
"And I see nothing," said Mary.
"Look closely. Hold this piece of black paper behind, that will help you. Be quick, we must not let the fat burn."
"Oh yes, I think I see something," said Margaret, who seemed rather bewildered. "But I thought——"
"Think and work together, dear; we have no time to lose. Take a slice of apple on a skewer, dip it in the batter, and when it is completely covered, lift it up and drop it in the fat. Now do the same to another, and another. You can fry two or three at once if only you are careful that the fritters do not touch. As the batter blows out and forms fritters, turn them over that they may be equally coloured on both sides. They must be very pale brown, or rather fawn-coloured; on no account let them get very brown."
"How shall we get them out?" said Margaret.
"Lift them by the skewer, and put them straight away on the paper to drain. You should put everything on kitchen paper after frying before you dish it; do not let things lie one on top of another, or they will be spoilt."
"There, all the first ones are out," said Mary. "Shall we put some more slices of apple in?"
"Wait a moment. You see there are two or three little specks of batter which have got away all by themselves in the fat. We must take them out at once with the skimmer, or they will burn and spoil the colour of our fat. Also we must let the fat get hot again, watching for the fume between each relay, because the cold batter and the cold apple will make our fat a little cool. It will heat in a moment or two, but we must have it properly hot, or the fritters will be greasy."
"I should have thought they would have been greasy with being put into such a quantity of fat," said Margaret.
"No fear of that, if only the fat is hot enough. If the fat is not hot, they will be most unpleasant; but if the fat is hot the heat will cook the outside so quickly that the grease cannot get in, while that which is on the surface will dry instantly."
"How quickly the fritters are cooked!" said Mary. "I never saw anything like it."
"I thing frying fritters is even more interesting than frying pancakes," said Margaret.
"How pretty the fritters look, and how crisp they feel when we take them out!" said Mary.
"They will not remain crisp very long, though, not more than five minutes," said Mrs. Herbert. "We must send them in to grandmamma as quickly as possible, if we wish her to have them in perfection. That is why we make so much haste in frying, for fritters have lost their excellence when they have lost their crispness."
"I suppose when we have dried them on the kitchen paper we had better dish them and put them in the oven to keep hot, ma'am."
"No, put them in the screen; they will keep crisper than in the oven. We shall not need to put them anywhere for more than a minute, however, for they are just done. Dish them in a circle, sift a little white sugar on, and they are ready."
"I have enjoyed making apple fritters very much," said Margaret.
"That is well. The best of it is that when you have learnt to make apple fritters you can make fritters of any kind of fruit, for all the fruit fritters are made in the same way. Some fruits are dipped in sugar before being put in the batter, and it needs practice to keep the batter over them. Sometimes fruit is soaked in syrup. Then it must be dried before being dipped in the batter."
"I suppose it would not do to fry meat in batter, would it?" said Mary.
"Certainly it would. You can try it, if you like, one day."
"I should like, very much."
"Very well. Never do anything of this sort unless I am with you though, dear, for fear you should burn yourself. Hot water is very hot, and a little spilt on your hand would pain you very much, but hot fat would pain you much more, and when it is used, a little carelessness might end in a serious accident. Therefore I think small cooks like you ought not to practise frying unless an older person is present to see that everything is safe."
Cook passed through the kitchen as this was said, and the remark evidently met with her approval.
(To be continued.)
"Itwasn't here last night? and how did it get here? and who nailed it up? and what does it mean?" said Lilla.
"I didn't nail it up," answered a Magpie, who hopped about from morning till night in Lilla's garden, and never left off chattering.
"Of course not," returned Lilla; "I did not suppose that you did. But I should like to understand the meaning of it."
And she gazed up at a great white board that had been fastened to the garden wall. There were several words upon the board, and Lilla softly repeated them.
Illustration: THERE WERE SEVERAL WORDS UPON THE BOARD."there were several words upon the board"
"there were several words upon the board"
"Air, all, and, and, earth, go, if, know, me, of, sea, so, through, will, you, you."
"What nonsense! No sense in it at all," said Lilla; "yet they are arranged alphabetically,air,all, twoand's, and twoyou'sto finish with."
"Oh, don't begin to calculate the words, or do it quicker," said the Magpie impatiently. "Four fours sixteen. There are just sixteen of them: that is multiplication."
"But not four of each sort," replied Lilla; "only one of most of them. I wish I knew the exact meaning of it all. The only bit of sense I can make out is 'Through will you,' but then there are twoyou's."
"That is oneyoufor you, and oneyoufor me," answered the Magpie. "What you have got to do is to put all the words into a box, and shake them well up, and we'll go through together."
"Oh!—where?—why—?" exclaimed Lilla, as her foot struck against a silver box with the lid open; and on the ground lay a heap of cards with the words she had read printed upon them. She looked up at the board. There were no longer any words there, so of course they had fallen down.
"Pick them up, and put them in,And you will then the game begin,"
said the Magpie, who thought he was wonderfully clever as he said this to Lilla.
"Is it like making words from letters?" asked Lilla.
"Not at all. There you have to think and find out. Here you have nothing to do but to shake, and when you have shaken long enough, the result will come."
"How shall I know how many times to shake?"
"You won't know," returned the Magpie; "no one will know but the box itself, and the box can tell to a quarter of a shake the right time. Now—through!"
"Through what?"
"Through the board, of course," replied the Magpie. "What else is it meant for?"
"But the thick wall is behind the board, and then the houses! This is not country; it is the town."
"Pooh!" said the Magpie. "Have I learned human speech for nothing? Now——"
And he flew at the board, giving it a gentle peck; and as he did so the board split in two, and the crack widened, until it made an opening large enough for Lilla, with the Magpie on her shoulder, to pass through.
Where?
Ah! that cannot be told until one has heard about the little boy who lived far away in a country that Lilla had never heard of, for she knew nothing about geography. She only knew about the town in which she lived, and that there was a long street in it, and a great cathedral, where she heard music issuing forth as she stood outside it; but she had never been inside, nor had she ever been in any of the grand toy-shops in the street. She had stood gazing in at the windows, and wishing for the dolls, and the dolls'-houses, and the boxes of lambs, and the work-baskets with silver thimbles in them; but there was no one to give her any of these finethings. She lived with an old woman, who was always scolding her, and who was especially angry if she tore her frock or soiled her paletot.
he had also a good old grandfather.
HE HAD ALSO A GOOD OLD GRANDFATHER.Now, with Rollo, the little boy, it was quite different; he had a mother who was very kind to him, and gave him as many playthings as he wanted. He had also a good old grandfather and a little sister who used to pull his long curls and kiss his rosy cheeks. And Rollo was very happy.But one day these three died, and Rollo was left alone. Of course Rollo sat down and cried very bitterly: there was nothing else for him to do, as he was but a small boy then. He cried for a long time, and then the sun looked in upon him, and pitied him, and also dried the tears upon his cheeks. Then the sea rolled up on to the shore, and sang "Lullaby, lullaby," so sweetly, that Rollo fell fast asleep. And when he was asleep, the Wind came, and took him in his arms, and carried him away over the hills and valleys, and the great shining lakes and rivers, away, away.And when Rollo awoke from his sleep, he found himself in a beautiful country, where fruit was ever to be found upon the trees, and the flowers were always in bloom. The sun, the wind, the earth, and the sea had said, "He shall be our child."So Rollo was well taken care of, and nothing harmed him.And it was in this very same beautiful country to which Rollo had been carried by the Wind that Lilla suddenly found herself when she stepped through the board with the Magpie on her shoulder.III."It isn't the town, you see," said the Magpie; "there's not a house near, and there's nothing but country, country everywhere.""Oh, it's lovely!" said Lilla, clasping her hands; and then suddenly remembering the silver box, she said—"Shall I shake it?"
Now, with Rollo, the little boy, it was quite different; he had a mother who was very kind to him, and gave him as many playthings as he wanted. He had also a good old grandfather and a little sister who used to pull his long curls and kiss his rosy cheeks. And Rollo was very happy.
But one day these three died, and Rollo was left alone. Of course Rollo sat down and cried very bitterly: there was nothing else for him to do, as he was but a small boy then. He cried for a long time, and then the sun looked in upon him, and pitied him, and also dried the tears upon his cheeks. Then the sea rolled up on to the shore, and sang "Lullaby, lullaby," so sweetly, that Rollo fell fast asleep. And when he was asleep, the Wind came, and took him in his arms, and carried him away over the hills and valleys, and the great shining lakes and rivers, away, away.
And when Rollo awoke from his sleep, he found himself in a beautiful country, where fruit was ever to be found upon the trees, and the flowers were always in bloom. The sun, the wind, the earth, and the sea had said, "He shall be our child."
So Rollo was well taken care of, and nothing harmed him.
And it was in this very same beautiful country to which Rollo had been carried by the Wind that Lilla suddenly found herself when she stepped through the board with the Magpie on her shoulder.
"It isn't the town, you see," said the Magpie; "there's not a house near, and there's nothing but country, country everywhere."
"Oh, it's lovely!" said Lilla, clasping her hands; and then suddenly remembering the silver box, she said—
"Shall I shake it?"
The Magpie nodded, and repeated these words—
"Ay, shake away; ay, shake away;You p'r'aps must shake for many a day,Before the end comes to our play.But shake away, 'twill make us gay,And help to cheer us on our way."
"Ay, shake away; ay, shake away;You p'r'aps must shake for many a day,Before the end comes to our play.But shake away, 'twill make us gay,And help to cheer us on our way."
"The box?" exclaimed Lilla.
"No, what's in it. It's a magic spell, and when you can spell it out the spell will be accomplished." As "accomplished" was a long word for the Magpie to say, he said it twice or thrice, whilst Lilla kept shaking the box, for she was very impatient to know what the end would be.
The Magpie fluttered his wings, and put his head on one side, muttering—
"Not yet, not yet."
There came a burst of low sweet music, as if the south wind were murmuring through the strings of many Æolian harps. And chiming in with the music came the far-off roar of the ocean. Then a flood of sunshine fell over the earth, and the roses burst into bloom, so did the eglantine, that had been hiding away till the sun gave the signal.
"Rollo passes by," said the Magpie.
"Rollo?"
"The child beloved by earth and sea and wind," said the Magpie. "Give the box a shake, and look up."
Lilla did as she was desired.
"I only see a purple cloud," she said. "Does Rollo come from the clouds?"
"Rollo lives here, so do not fear,The Multiphobus his course can steer,"
"Rollo lives here, so do not fear,The Multiphobus his course can steer,"
answered the Magpie, looking straight at Lilla.
Illustration: LILLA ... PERCEIVED ... AN EXTRAORDINARY ANIMAL."lilla ... perceived ... an extraordinary animal."
"lilla ... perceived ... an extraordinary animal."
"Multi——" and here Lilla stopped. She had never heard the word before.
"The Multiphobus," said the Magpie; and he spelt it over for her.
"Yes, the Multiphobus. What is a Multiphobus?"
"A creature that can do many things. He can live on the earth or in the sea or in the air. He can run, swim, or fly, just as Rollo wishes. Rollo is riding on the Multiphobus now. If you look up into the air you will see him."
Lilla looked up, and perceived that what she had taken for a great purple cloud sailing through the sky was in reality an extraordinary animal, partly like a panther, partly like a hippopotamus, partly like a bat and an eagle, for it had wings, claws, and feathers. And seated on its breast, with one arm round its neck, and nestling close to it, was a boy with a deerskin bound round him, and a crown of gay feathers on his head.
Though the Multiphobus had an ugly face, yet he was evidently amiable, and he and Rollo appeared to be talking together.
The Magpie nodded approvingly, but Lilla felt a little alarmed at so enormous and nondescript an animal; and she trembled so much that the box shook, and the words rattled violently inside.
"They want to get out," she said; "shall I open the lid?"
"Certainly not," replied the Magpie; "they will come out of themselves when it is time. Stand still, and watch the Multiphobus descending."
It was easy to say "stand still," but not so easy for Lilla to do so; she shook and shivered, and could only keep herself steady by supporting herself against the trunk of a tall pine-tree.
Suddenly the Multiphobus ceased to work his wings, but he stretched them out to their full extent, and then dropped quietly to the ground. When he touched the earth, his wings fell off, and he looked like an ordinary quadruped.
"He has only to say 'Wings,' and they come to him at once," explained the Magpie.
But Lilla scarcely heard him; she was in a greater fright than ever. Not only did the Multiphobus look more huge, but at that moment a sharp-nosed Wolf appeared in sight, and Lilla's box rattled so loudly that she was afraid he would hear it, and look round at her.
Illustration: ROLLO ... ADVANCED TO MEET HIM."rollo ... advanced to meet him."
"rollo ... advanced to meet him."
She could not keep it still.
"No matter, no matter,If it does make a clatter,"
"No matter, no matter,If it does make a clatter,"
said the Magpie.
"Will the Wolf hurt Rollo?" asked Lilla.
But the Magpie only whistled.
And the Wolf, who walked slowly along, drew nearer and nearer to Rollo. And Rollo, having taken off his feather crown, advanced to meet him.
"What tidings, friend Wolf?" said Rollo; "what have you come to tell us?"
"There are strangers in the land," answered the Wolf, "and I come to warn you."
The Multiphobus sprang up with a growl, and Lilla almost shrieked, while the box rattled and rattled till it nearly jumped out of her hand.
"It will go, it will go!" said she.
"Hold it fast!" whispered the Magpie; "hold it fast!
"'On it will dependWhat may be the end.Come with me to the tree,And then we shall see.'"
"'On it will dependWhat may be the end.Come with me to the tree,And then we shall see.'"
"To the tree where Rollo and the Multiphobus are standing?" asked Lilla.
"Where else?" asked the Magpie.
Lilla became nervous, and spoke in disjointed sentences.
"Oh no, no, no! I cannot go. I quake, I shake; I will not take a single step. The box will break. Oh, how I quake!"
But the Magpie perched on her shoulder again, saying, "Do not be foolish. Rollo will not let them hurt us;" and he gave Lilla a gentle peck, which made her start forward, and when once she had made a move she found that she could not stop herself: her feet carried her along until she paused in front of Rollo.
And as she paused the lid of the box flew open, and the words jumped out, and arranged themselves on the ground in the following order.