"I have got so many plans in my head, that I think I shall burst," said Humphrey to Miles the next morning, as they stood on the door-steps, watching the dog-cart vanishing in the distance, on its way to the station, with their father and uncle. "Some of the things Uncle Charlie was telling us about would be quite easy for us to do. You wouldn't be afraid, I suppose, to climb up the big tree overhanging the pond where the water-lilies are?"
"No," said Miles, rather doubtfully, "not if you went on first and gave me your hand: but that tree is a long way off—wouldn't one of the trees in the orchard do?"
"Oh, no! it wouldn't be half the fun. Don't you remember the man in the storycrawled along the branch that stretched over the water? Well, this tree has a branch hanging right over the pond; and I want to crawl along it, like he did."
"Hadn't we better ask Virginie if we may go all that way alone?" suggested Miles, in the vain hope of putting off the evil moment.
Humphrey, however, did not see the force of this argument, and so they started off.
It was a very hot day, and after they had got out of the farm-yard there was no shade at all.
Humphrey skipped through the meadows and over the gates, and Miles followed him as quickly as he could, but the sun was very hot on his head, and he soon got wearied and fell back.
Humphrey did not perceive how languidly his little brother was following him, till a faint cry from behind reached him.
"Humphie,pleasestop; I can't keep up to you."
Instantly he ran back.
"I'msotired, Humphie, andsohot, shall we go home?"
"Go home! why we are close to the pond now. Look, Miles, it is only across that meadow, and the corn-field beyond."
Miles followed the direction of his brother's finger, and his eye rested ruefully on the expanse lying before him, where the sun was scorching up everything.
"I'll try, Humphie," he said, resignedly.
"I tell you what!" exclaimed Humphrey, "I'llcarryyou!"
Miles felt a little nervous at the prospect, but he did not like to object.
"Just get over the gate," continued Humphrey, "and then I'll carry you across the field, and we'll soon be by the pond, where it will be as cool as possible."
Over the gate they scrambled, and then the elder boy disposed himself to take his little brother in his arms. How shall I describe the intense discomfort of the circumstances under which Miles now found himself!
One of Humphrey's arms was so tightly round his neck, that he almost felt as if he were choking, and the hand of the other grasped one of his legs with a gripe which amounted almost to pain; andstillthere was a feeling of insecurity about his position which, already very strong while Humphrey was standing still, did not diminish when he began to move.
Humphrey started with a run, but his speed soon slackened, and grave doubts began to arise even in his own mind as to the accomplishment of the task he had undertaken.
However, he staggered on. But when presently his long-suffering load began to show signs of slipping, Humphrey tightened his grasp to such a degree, that Miles, who till now had endured in silence, could endure no longer, and he uttered a faint cry for mercy.
At the same moment, Humphrey caught his foot in a rabbit hole, and both boys rolled over together. Peals of laughter fromHumphrey followed the catastrophe, but Miles did not quite enter into the spirit of the joke. He was hot and tired, poor little fellow, and began to implore his brother to take him under the neighboring hedge to rest.
Humphrey readily consented, and led him out of the baking sun.
"Perhaps we had better give it up," said he, sighing, as he sat down by Miles in the shade, "and try again in the cool of the evening. You could do it, couldn't you, if it were not for the heat?"
"Oh, yes," said Miles, eagerly. With a respite in view, he was ready to agree to anything.
"Very well," said Humphrey, "then we'll give it up and come again this evening after tea. I declare," he added, suddenly breaking off, "there's a mushroom out there!"
He was off in a moment, and returned in triumph. "Isn't it a lovely one, Miles? How fresh it smells and how beautiful it peels. If father were at home, we'd have had itcooked for his dinner, heisso fond of mushrooms."
"It wouldn't keep good till Friday, I suppose, for the wild men's dinner party?" enquired Miles.
"One would be no use," answered Humphrey, "but we might come here some morning and get a lot if we brought a basket. I'll tell you what, we'll get upquite, quiteearly to-morrow, and come and have a regular mushroom hunt. Won't it be fun!"
"I'm afraid Virginie would not be awake to dress me," observed Miles.
"Oh, never mind Virginie!" said Humphrey, "I'll dress you, Miles; I don't think Virginie would care to get up so early, and it would be a pity to wake her, poor thing! She goes to bed late, and issotired in the morning."
"So she is, poor thing!" said Miles.
"And besides, you know," continued Humphrey, "she always thinks something dreadful will happen if she doesn't comewith us, and it would be a pity to frighten her for nothing."
"So it would; a great pity," repeated Miles. "But what's that noise, Humphie? Is it a cock crowing or a bull roaring?"
Both children listened.
There was many a sound to be heard round about on that summer morning; the buzzing of bees as they flitted about among the clover, the chirrup of the grasshoppers in the long grass, the crowing of a cock from the farm, and the lowing of cattle in the distance, but that which had attracted Miles' attention was none of all these. It was the gradually approaching sound of a female voice, which, as its owner neared the meadow, assumed to the two little listeners the familiar tones of the French language.
"M. Humphrey! M. Miles! M. Humphrey! où êtes-vous donc?"
"It's Virginie!" they both exclaimed, jumping up.
Virginie it was; and great was the horror she expressed at their having strayed so farfrom home, at the state of heat in which she found Miles, and at his having been taken such a long walk.
Many were the reproaches she heaped upon Humphrey as they walked back to the house for having causedhersuch a hunt in the heat of the sun, and her nerves such a shock as they had experienced when she had not found him and his brother in their usual haunts.
Lastly she brought him up with the inquiry, "Et vos leçons! Savez vous qu'il est midi passé?"
Humphrey's ideas of time were always of the vaguest order, and when anything of so exciting a nature as this morning's expedition came in the way, hourswerenot in his calculations.
He did not mend matters much by saying he should have thought it had been about half-past nine.
Virginie maintained a dignified silence after this explanation, till they reached the hall door; and it now being too near dinnertime to make it worth while for Humphrey to get out his books, she informed him that he would have to do all his lessons in the afternoon.
This was perhaps more of a punishment to Miles than to Humphrey.
Lessons were no trouble to Humphrey when once his attention was fixed on them; and if it were not for the penance of having to sit still in a chair, he did not really dislike them. But to Miles, his brother's lesson hours were times of dreary probation. He was not allowed to speak to him, or distract his attention in any way; and had to sit turning over the leaves of a picture book, or building a solitary castle of bricks, in some part of the room where Humphrey could not see him without regularly turning his head round.
Humphrey made a faint attempt after dinner to persuade Virginie to let him do his lessons in the garden, under the big tree on the lawn; but it was instantly negatived. In the nursery, with his back turned toMiles, she did sometimes succeed in concentrating his attention on his reading; but she knew too much of the all-powerful attractions out of doors to comply with his proposal. Not to mention the chance of Carlo suddenly jumping upon the book, or the tempting vicinity of the gardeners with the mowing machine, there was always risk to his powers of attention in chance butterflies and humble bees, the dropping of a blossom from the tree above, or the sudden advent of a stray water-wag-tail.
Humphrey did not press the question, and opened his book with a slight sigh, for which Virginie could not account.
Was there a memory floating in the child's mind of a time when the same request had never been made in vain?—of summer afternoons, dimly remembered, when, sitting by his mother's side under the same old tree, he had learnt to read words of one syllable out of the baby primer on her knee?—and when, if his attentionhadsometimes wandered to the summer sights and soundsaround him, her gentle "Now, my darling try and attend to your reading," would instantly recall it. And then the quick shutting up of the book when the specified stage had been reached, the fond kiss of dismissal, and the joyous "Now run away, my child, and play to your heart's content!" as if she rejoiced as much as he did that he should be released from his temporary bondage, and disport himself in the sunshine once more!
Great stillness now reigned in the nursery for more than an hour. It was only broken by the monotonous drone of Humphrey's reading, and Virginie's occasional "Tenez-vous bien. Otez donc les bras de la table Ne donnez pas des coups de pied à la chaise"—varied by the fall of Miles's bricks, as he knocked down one completed castle after another, in despair at not being able to call upon his brother to admire them.
As the time at which Humphrey's release was due approached, and there were no signs of moving on Virginie's part, Milesgave vent, at intervals, to deep-drawn sighs.
It came at last; Virginie shut up the book, and put a mark in it, and Humphrey, with a loud "Hurrah," dashed his chair suddenly back, and turned head over heels on the floor.
Miles threw himself upon him, and the two rolled over and over each other, in the "abandon" of perfect enjoyment.
"We'll start for the pond directly after tea," whispered Humphrey.
But Virginie had other plans in view, and to the children's disgust they were taken for a walk with her, to visit the wife of one of the farmers.
The long confinement in the farmer's kitchen, while Virginie and the farmer's wife talked about bonnets and trimmings, was very wearisome to the two boys. Miles found some compensation in the discovery of a tiny kitten on the hearth; and Humphrey, mounting on a chair, played with the trigger of the farmer's gun which hung overthe mantelpiece, "just to see whether it was loaded or not."
They did not get home till Miles's bed-time.
Humphrey established himself on the edge of the bath, and watched Virginie carefully as she undressed his little brother, that he might learn how Miles's vestments succeeded each other; for he felt a little doubtful of his own powers as a valet.
His face lengthened considerably when he saw how many strings there would be to tie.
He drew nearer, in his eagerness, as Virginie untied them one after the other; and began considering how to do the untying process backwards, and wondering whether it would produce the desired result.
"Don't be in such a hurry," he called out, in his excitement, as she pulled out the last tie, "I didn't half see."
Virginie's look of astonishment recalled him to himself, and he retreated hastily to his seat on the edge of the bath.
Fortunately for him, she was so taken up with reproving him for speaking to her in English, that she forgot to inquire into his extraordinary interest in the tape strings.
Little Miles was dreaming on a green bank, on the top of which he and Humphrey were seated, making daisy-chains, when suddenly the midges began to fly in his face in a most disagreeable manner. Buzz, buzz, they came up against his cheeks like hard lumps, and he couldn't drive them away. He turned to Humphrey for assistance, and such a strong gust of wind blew upon one side of his head and face that he fell over on his side and began to slip down the hill. He clutched hold of his brother to save himself, and woke—to find neither bank nor daisies but that Humphrey was dragging him out of bed.
"At last!" whispered Humphrey. "I thought you neverweregoing to wake. I'vetriedeverything! I've thrown bits of biscuit in your face, I've blown into your ear, I've shaken you till I was tired; I couldn't speak, you know, for fear of waking Virginie. Be very quiet, for she's moved once or twice."
"But what do you want, Humphie?" asked Miles, rubbing his eyes. "Why do you get out of bed in the middle of the night?"
"Middle of the night!" echoed Humphrey, "why it's broad daylight! Look at the hole in the shutter, how sunny it is out of doors. I've been lying awake ever since the cock crew, watching the light get brighter and brighter, and——"
But before he had concluded his sentence his weary little brother had settled himself again on his pillow.
"Miles! Miles!" whispered Humphrey in despair, stooping over him.
"Good night, Humphie," said Miles, sleepily.
"Why, you're going to sleep again," said Humphrey in his ear.
"No, I'm not," said the child, dreamily.
"Yes, you are!" exclaimed Humphrey, forgetting, in his excitement, that he was speaking out loud.
"No, I'm not," repeated Miles, trying to seem very wide-awake: but the fringed eyelids drooped over the heavy eyes, and he tried to keep them open in vain.
An ominous stir from the big bed prevented Humphrey from answering, and he watched Virginie nervously, as she rolled over from one side to the other.
Miles took advantage of the pause and fell asleep again directly.
"Wake up! wake up!" said Humphrey, returning to the charge.
Miles sat up in bed.
"Whatisthe matter, Humphie?"
"Nothing's the matter, but don't you remember ourdeliciousplan to get up early and pick mushrooms?"
Miles remembered now, but the plan did not seem so delicious now, somehow, as it had done the day before.
"Get up now, Humphie?" he said dejectedly.
"Yes," answered his energetic brother, "you won't mind it when we're once out in the fields. I'm going to dress you before I dress myself, so be quick and jump up. You'll feel all right when you're out of bed."
Little Miles looked half inclined to cry.
"I'm so sleepy," he said wistfully.
"You'll be better soon," said Humphrey, pulling off the bed-clothes.
"Let's go to-morrow instead, Humphie." Humphrey had turned round to get Miles's boots and stockings, and did not hear this last proposal. When he came back to the bed-side, to his horror, Miles had lain down again.
"What is to be done?" he exclaimed in despair. A sudden thought struck him, and he went quickly off to the other end of the room.
Miles was not quite asleep, and attracted by a clatter, he raised himself to see what his brother was about.
"What are you going to do, Humphie?" he exclaimed, as he saw Humphrey coming slowly across the room with a great jug of water in his arms.
"Why you see," said Humphrey in a loud whisper, and rather out of breath, for he was oppressed by the weight of the water jug, "the best way to wake people is to pour a jug of cold water suddenly on their face, and so——"
"Oh! I'm quite awake now, Humphie; indeed," interrupted Miles, getting out of bed in a great hurry, "you needn't, really. Look at my eyes." And in great trepidation the child opened his large blue eyes to their fullest extent.
Humphrey was satisfied, and put the jug down. Miles would have been happier to see it safely replaced on the distant wash-hand stand, and offered to help to carry it back, if his brother found it too heavy.
He was not much reassured by Humphrey's answer:
"It'll do very well there; and, besides,it's better to have it near, in case you get sleepy again."
The toilette now began in earnest: Humphrey gave Miles his stockings to put on while he proceeded to dress himself, and was all ready but his jacket, when turning round he found Miles in great perplexity, with his toe unaccountably fixed in the place where his heel ought to be.
"I can't get it out, Humphie!"
"I must do it, I suppose," said the elder boy; and he seized the leg, nearly upsetting Miles as he did so, and proceeded to put on the stocking wrong side out.
"It doesn't matter the least," he assured Miles, who was rather discomfited at the bits of thread, and general unfinished appearance of his leg. But whatdidmatter was, that the walking-boots had not, of course, come up from being cleaned.
"Never mind," said Humphrey; "shoes will do."
On came the delicate child's thin in-door shoes, without any reference to the heavydew and long grass attendant upon mushroom hunting. Miles was then divested of his night-gown, and his under-clothes put on.
All went on smoothly till the first tying of strings, and here Humphrey was completely at fault. It was no use.
"Don't you think you could hold all your things together?" he suggested; "and then I'll pop on your blouse quick, and make the band very tight, to keep it all steady?"
Miles agreed to this plan, as he did to all others, more especially as he found the alternative was the insertion of a huge pin, with which Humphrey offered to "make it all comfortable!"
"I don't know how it is," said little Miles, shaking himself about, "but I don't feel as warm as usual."
"Don't shake like that, Miles," exclaimed Humphrey; "it'll all come down, you know. Get your hat, and let's come along quietly."
"Why! I have had no bath!" said Miles, stopping short.
"No more have I," echoed Humphrey, "I quite forgot! And what's this?" he added, picking up a small flannel shirt.
"Why, it's mine," said Miles.
"So it is," rejoined Humphrey, "of course; that's why you felt cold. Well, we can't wait now. Come along: be very quiet." And the two boys stepped quietly out of the room, and of course left the door wide open behind them.
It was not much more than half-past five by the clock in the hall, and doors and windows were as yet all barred. The light came in fitfully through any chinks or holes it could find, and gave a generally mysterious aspect to the hall and staircase. Little Miles glanced rather timidly round, and drew nearer to his brother, as they passed through the library and billiard-room, as if the unwonted appearance of the familiar apartments threw something of the supernatural round about them.
Any one who has risen at an unusual hour, and come into the sitting-rooms before thehousehold is stirring, will understand something of the child's feeling. The chairs and tables are undergoing a phase which to them is familiar, but which is quite strange to us.
We only know them as in connection with ourselves, and do not dream that they have an existence in which we are not, with which we have nothing to do. We know them in the busy day and in the lighted room at night; but with the grey dawn creeping in upon them they are quite strangers, and even mysterious.
Hans Christian Andersen recognized and expressed this feeling when he laid the scene of one of his fairy tales in a drawing-room at dead of night, and endowed the inanimate objects in the room with the attributes of human beings.
The two little brothers found their way out by the conservatory, and went to the tool-house to fetch some baskets, before setting out for the mushroom fields.
The dew was heavy on flowers and grassand when they got into the meadow, their feet, and legs got very wet.
At sight of the first batch of mushrooms in the distance, Humphrey got wild, and with a scream of joy he bounded towards it. From one batch to another he sped, picking as fast as he could, and was soon out of sight.
Humphrey had it all to himself, for Miles could not keep up, and he was soon left far behind with his basket. He was a little disconcerted at first, when he saw Humphrey gradually getting further and further away; but having satisfied himself by a hasty glance round the field, that there were no bulls near, he became reconciled to his solitude, and began to fill his basket, humming a little tune to himself as he did so.
He was rather surprised, as he went along, to see how many mushrooms Humphrey had left untouched. They were such lovely ones too! all red and yellow outside, and white inside, and so huge!
He filled his basket with them in greattriumph, and then sat down under a tree to wait for Humphrey's return.
The early morning air was rather fresh, and he began to feel a little cold without his flannel shirt. His feet, too, were very wet, and he got up to take a little run to warm himself. He caught sight of Humphrey coming towards him, and ran to meet him.
"Oh, Humphie! I've got such a lot, and such beauties! Come and see them under the tree."
"Look here!" said Humphrey, holding up his basket; "did you ever see such a quantity?"
Miles looked a little nervously at the white exteriors of Humphrey's mushrooms.
"Mine are quite different, Humphie."
"You haven't been picking fungus, I hope?" exclaimed Humphrey, stopping short.
"Oh, no!" said Miles, quickly—"at least I don't think I have," he added doubtfully, "But whatisfungus, Humphie?"
"Toadstools," answered Humphrey, "horrid big yellow toads; there are lots of them about in the fields. Where are they, Miles? Show them to me, quick!"
"They're under the trees," said Miles; and both boys set off running.
"Toads, every one!" proclaimed Humphrey, emptying the basket on the ground. "Not one mushroom in the lot. Why, Miles! do you know they're poison?"
Miles stood aghast—the awe of the announcement completely softening the disappointment.
"It's lucky I saw them before they were cooked," continued Humphrey, in a tone of great solemnity; "fancy, if all the wild men had been poisoned! It would have been your fault."
"Oh, Humphie!" said little Miles, in terror, "let's throw them away."
"We'll smash them," said Humphrey; "and that'll do as well."
So they made a heap of the fungus, and stamped upon them till their shoes andstockings were covered with the nasty compound.
"What will Virginie say?" laughed Humphrey, as he looked at his legs.
"Whatwillshe say?" echoed Miles, delighted. Suddenly he stopped short. "Humphie! I never said my prayers!"
"Good gracious! No more have I."
"What shall we do? We shall have to go home. It wouldn't be right, I suppose, to say them out of doors?"
"No harm at all," said Humphrey; "let's say them under the tree."
And, suiting the action to the word, with his usual promptitude, Humphrey knelt down; but he was up again directly.
"I was going to tell you, Miles, that we'd better take off our hats while we say them; every one does when they go to church; which, of course, you don't know, as you're too young to go there."
Miles received the information with great respect, and began to disentangle his elastic from his hair.
"Not yet!" exclaimed Humphrey; "wait till we kneel down; I'll tell you when."
Miles kept his eyes fixed upon Humphrey, with his hand on the brim of his hat, ready to take it off at the expected signal.
"Now!" said Humphrey. Down knelt the two little brothers on the grass, baring their curly heads as they did so.
Little Miles was accustomed to repeat his prayer after Virginie, and did not know it by heart; and he was in great perplexity till Humphrey had finished, not knowing whether it would be best to remain kneeling or not.
In about five minutes Humphrey jumped up and put on his hat. Miles rose too, and confided his troubles. Humphrey instantly gave the subject his earnest attention.
"It would never do for you to say my prayer after me," he said, reflectively; "you're too young."
"Too young," repeated Miles, meekly.
"And I've forgotten my baby prayer,of course," continued Humphrey; "it's so veryvery long since I used to say it—— I'll tell you what, Miles, you might say your grace!"
"My grace?" said Miles, rather scared; "why, that isn't prayers, is it, Humphie?"
"Oh, yes, it is," answered Humphrey; "in your little book of 'Prayers for Children,' your grace has got at the top of it, 'A prayer after meat.' Meat, you know, means breakfast, dinner, and tea; even if you only have bread and butter, or sop."
"Doesit?" exclaimed Miles. "I thought meat was only beef and mutton—hardly chicken!"
"Ah! but it does, though," said Humphrey, in a superior tone; "you don't know, Miles. There's lots of things you don't know yet. Why you thought grace wasn't prayers, and yet it is. Now say this after me: 'For what I have received, may the Lord make me truly thankful.'"
"Why! that'syourgrace, Humphie, notmine! Mine is only, 'Thank God for my good breakfast.'"
"That will do," said Humphrey.
"But, Humphie! I've nothadmy breakfast! How can I say it?"
"To be sure," said Humphrey, reflectively, "that makes it very awkward. You've not even had a bit of bread. If you'd only had a biscuit, it would have done—it's very unlucky."
He remained for some minutes in an attitude of deep thought.
"I know!" he exclaimed suddenly; "I always say a gracebeforemy meals, and of course you'll have some breakfast presently, so you can say my grace after me. It's very difficult for you, of course; but still, if I say it very slowly, you can manage to do it. Now listen very attentively: 'For what I am going to receive, may the Lord make me truly thankful.'"
Miles knelt down and repeated the little prayer, and then the two little brothers sat down on the grass, and counted their mushrooms, to see how' many there would be for the wild men apiece.
Meanwhile Virginie, awakened by the rush of cold air caused by the open door, sat up in bed and looked about her.
The two little nightgowns on the floor and the jug of water in the middle of the room, first attracted her attention; but the room being partially dark, she did not perceive that the children had disappeared. She got up and opened the shutters, and then stood staring at the empty beds, the sheets and blankets scattered in all directions. And then she advanced hurriedly to Humphrey's bed, to see if the children were hidden beneath it. She looked also under the wardrobe, behind the curtains, in the toy cupboard. But her astonishment changed to alarm when she found their clothes were missing, and she ran into the day-nursery, and hung over the stairs shouting, "M. Humphrey! M. Miles!"
Not being dressed, she could not go down, so she rang the bell violently, and began to put on her things as quickly as she could.
The housemaid who answered the bell could give no account of the young gentlemen, but volunteered to search the house for them.
While she was absent Virginie's eyes fell on Miles's flannel shirt, and she wrung her hands in despair.
"They must have gone out," said the housemaid, returning; "the conservatory door is wide open, and so is the outer door."
"Impossible!" stuttered Virginie, in her broken English; "their walking boots have not mounted; they have not but the thin shoes of the house!"
"They must be out," repeated the housemaid, "for I've hunted every corner. Have they taken their hats?"
Virginie strode across the room, and opened a drawer.
"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, when she saw it was empty.
"But, I say," she continued, gesticulating violently with both hands, "that M. Miles will catch the cold, the cough, the croup.See there, Jeanne! he has not the flannel shirt he carries always. His chest will inflame. He will die!"
She began to put on her bonnet.
"There they are!" exclaimed Jane, who had gone to the window. "Look there! out in that field!"
"In the fields? sitting on the wet grass!" said Virginie in horror, as she distinguished the two little figures in the distance, seated under a tree. "Entrez, entrez, à l'instant!" she screamed to the children, though they were much too far off to hear. She seized her shawl and ran down-stairs.
The little boys were coming homewards when she got into the garden, and she hurried on to meet them. Miles had hold of his brother's hand, and was walking rather wearily; but Humphrey, with his head still full of the success of his morning sport, disregarded alike Miles's languor and Virginie's infuriated appearance.
"Regardez!" he shouted in triumph, holding up his basket of mushrooms.
At the sight of Miles's wet boots and flushed cheeks, Virginie forgot all the reproaches she had prepared for Humphrey and merely with lofty disdain confiscating his mushrooms, she took Miles up in her arms and carried him home.
Humphrey trotted along by her side, entreating to have his basket restored, but she took no notice of him.
She carried Miles straight up into the nursery, and began to undress him. He presented a curious appearance when his blouse was taken off—strings all knotted together, buttons forced into the wrong holes, and hooks clinging to outlets that were never intended for them.
Miles yawned all the time, and sneezed once or twice, each time provoking from Virginie an exclamation, half of alarm and half of anger.
"You needn't scold Miles," called out Humphrey, who was being washed in the distance by the nursery-maid; "he didn't want to come—it was all me."
When they were dressed again, the two little culprits were seated to their breakfast, but forbidden to hold any communication with each other except in French.
It was rather a slow ending to so pleasant a beginning, especially as after breakfast Miles was so tired that he had to lie down, and Humphrey was hardly allowed to move for fear of disturbing him.
Virginie would not let them out of her sight for the rest of the day, and they took a dull walk in the afternoon, one on each side of her.
Towards evening, Miles gave forth an ominous cough, and was decidedly croupy at night.
Virginie's nerves always deserted her when the delicate boy was ill in his father's absence, and towards the middle of the next day she could stand it no longer, and sent off for the doctor.
Humphrey was very remorseful when Virginie informed him it was his fault thatMiles was unwell, and remained in a state of great depression for about three minutes. But the sight of the doctor's gig coming up the avenue sent it all out of his head, and he dashed down-stairs, three steps at a time, to receive him at the hall door.
"Well, Doctor," he called out; "how are you? Why, you've got new harness to your horse! How jolly and clean it looks."
"New harness?—yes," said the doctor, dismounting; "but tell me what's the matter with your brother?"
"Oh, it was the mushrooms," said Humphrey, vaguely, and with his eyes running over the new reins and straps. "I wonder how long they'll look so fresh and clean?"
"Mushrooms!" exclaimed the doctor; "you don't mean to say they let that delicate child eat mushrooms? Has he got an attack of indigestion?"
"Oh, no," said Humphrey, springing down the steps and patting the horse; "a pain in his chest, I think. How glossy his coat is to-day, isn't it?"
"Same thing—same thing," said the doctor; "and I'm sure I don't wonder, if they let him eat mushrooms."
Humphrey burst out laughing, having for the first time given his attention to what the doctor was saying.
"Why, they were raw!" he said.
"Raw mushrooms!" exclaimed the doctor, "who could have allowed him to eat them?"
"But he didn't eat any," said Humphrey, convulsed. And he rolled about so, as he laughed at the doctor's mistake, that he knocked up against the horse, who immediately plunged.
"Take care, my dear child," said the doctor, pulling him away; "you mustn't frighten black Bob—he won't stand it. But, tell me," he continued, drawing the boy into the hall, "Why did you say the mushrooms had given him a pain in his chest?"
"It was the flannel shirt——" began Humphrey; but at the sound of hoofs on the gravel outside, he broke off suddenly: "Ohthere's black Bob plunging again; Imustgo and see—let me go, please." He broke from the doctor's grasp, and ran back to the door, calling out as he did so: "It might have been the flannel shirt, perhaps, if it wasn't the shoes; but we were in such a hurry."
Despairing of getting any sense out of him, the doctor let him go, and pursued his way up-stairs, where he had full details from Virginie.
He did not think Miles very bad, but ordered him to be kept in two rooms for the rest of the week.
I need hardly say that when he came down again Humphrey had persuaded the groom to let him get into the gig, and there he was in the broiling sun without his hat, driving black Bob round and round the approach.
Little Miles was terribly disappointed to find his confinement up-stairs would extend over the day of the dinner-party, but there was no help for it.
The eventful Friday arrived, and Humphrey was on the fidget all day. He paid constant visits to the dining-room and library, and even intruded into the kitchen; but he could see nothing in any of the preparations going on which at all differed from those usual.
"I suppose, for once they will eat like civilized people," he told Miles—after visit one hundred and fourth down-stairs, in the vain hope of finding something new.
"Yes, just for a treat," suggested little Miles; and they amused themselves for thenext few hours by imagining the astonishment of the wild men at all the different things they would see.
Sir Everard arrived late, and went straight up to Miles's room. It so happened that he did not see Humphrey, as he was under the hands of Virginie, in preparation for his appearance in company; and as several of the guests had already arrived, Sir Everard had only just time to kiss Miles, and to hurry off to his dressing-room, from whence he descended to the library. So that the conversation of the preceding week, and the children's excitement over the prospect of the aborigines, had entirely escaped his memory, for want of the refreshing it would have been sure to have received had he had time for a word with either of his little boys.
He was deep in politics with an old gentleman in a broad expanse of satin waistcoat, and a general buzz of conversation was going on all over the room, when the library door was flung open with a bounce, and Humphrey appeared in the doorway.
Fresh from Virginie's improving hand, in velveteen clothes, white waistcoat, and light blue tie, with his brown hair brushed back from his bright face, and his eyes sparkling with excitement, he looked like a being of another sphere, among the rusty old gentlemen congregated in the room.
Many of them turned round to look at the pretty boy, and more than one held out a hand of greeting.
But, to Sir Everard's annoyance, Humphrey, whose manners were usually perfect, took not the slightest notice of any of these overtures.
He stood at the door as if spell-bound, gazing around him with an expression of intense surprise, wonder, and disappointment.
"Humphrey," said Sir Everard, "why don't you come and say 'How do you do?' to these gentlemen?"
"Father," exclaimed the boy, in a clear treble voice, that was heard all over the room, "where are the wild men?"
The ghastly truth flashed across SirEverard's mind, as the boy asked the question. The recollection of the children's conversation with their uncle came back to him, and he was at his wit's end.
"Wild men, Humphrey?" he said, with a sickly smile, "what are you dreaming about? There are no wild men here."
"You know what I mean, father," the child answered, in the same clear voice, making his way straight across the room to Sir Everard; "the wild men of the woods, that you and Uncle Charlie were talking about last Saturday, and who you said you were going to have to dinner. There were two long words, and the one I mean—means wild men. It was a very long word, the a—abo——"
"Constituents?" gasped the baronet.
Fortunately for Sir Everard's seat in Parliament, the two long words, heard for the first time that Saturday, had confused themselves in the boy's mind, and he answered "I suppose it was—butIthought it began with an 'a.'"
"And you thought 'constituents' meant 'wild men?'" pursued his father, eagerly following up his advantage, while the guests laughed. "Why did you not ask me, or look it out in the dictionary? Though, to be sure," concluded the baronet, appealing to the bystanders, "I don't know that it would have been easy to make it clear to a child of seven."
"No, indeed," answered one or two.
"But why should he think it meant wild men?" asked another, laughingly.
"A child's natural love of the extraordinary, I suppose," answered Sir Everard, "the unknown is always the marvellous, and ignorance is always the most easily deceived."
He hardly knew if he was talking sense or not; he only felt he must provide an answer of some kind, and having silenced his questioner, he breathed freely again. But there was an only half-satisfied expression on Humphrey's face which alarmed his father: and dreading that he should cast histhoughts back, and by raking up something else that had been said on that fatal occasion furnish to the assembled guests the clue to the conversation, he drew the boy to him, and told him he had better run back to his brother.
It still wanted five minutes to dinner; and he felt there was no peace of mind for him, as long as Humphrey remained in the room.
As if to atone for his unceremonious entry, Humphrey seemed determined that his exit should be more in accordance with the rules of society; for he advanced to the fat gentleman next his father, and holding out his hand wished him "good night;" then, proceeding to the next in order, he did likewise.
"Is he going to shake hands with every single one?" thought Sir Everard, in despair, as his eyes wandered from one to another of his twenty guests, dispersed all over the library.
There could be no doubt about it. Patiently and methodically Humphrey wentthrough his task. Not one was overlooked—not one was left out.
No matter if one was standing apart, at the other end of the room, another deep in a volume of prints, and two more tête-à-tête in a political discussion. Humphrey thought nothing of pursuing the first, rousing the second, and disturbing the others. The inevitable "good-night" rang out all down the room, and the inevitable little palm was outstretched.
Sir Everard ever afterwards looked back to those slow moments of torture, as to a sort of hideous nightmare. Each minute was laden with anxiety, each new handshaking fraught with danger, each conversation that a guest opened with the child, a fresh source of fear.
Interminable moments! The hands of the clock seemed as if they would never move, the gong seemed as if it would never sound, and he stood in despair, watching the little figure pursuing its triumphal progress down the room, and listening to the patronizingtones in which one and the other rallied the boy on his mistake.
"So you thought you were going to see a lot of wild men, young gentleman?"
"Uncle Charlie told me so," was the answer.
Sir Everard fidgeted from one leg to the other. ("Only thirteen more," he observed to himself.)
"And you're quite disappointed?" said the next one, laughing.
"Yes," said Humphrey; "there isn't much to see in a lot of gentlemen in black coats."
("Only twelve now," reflected the baronet.)
"It was a joke of uncle's, I suppose," said a paterfamilias, in a consoling tone—and Sir Everard beat the ground nervously with his foot.
"A very stupid joke," said Humphrey, with which opinion his father fervently agreed.
It ended at last. The gong sounded, thelast "good night" was said, and with an indescribable sense of relief Sir Everard saw the little figure disappear. But he did not recover himself all the evening. It was remarked that he was silent and abstracted during the dinner, and the guests shook their heads, and observed that he had never got over his wife's death. He was truly thankful when the party broke up, and the strain was over.
He could not pass the bedroom nursery without taking a look at Miles. He was sleeping peacefully, but various sounds, as if of sobbing, came from the other little bed.
Sir Everard laid his hand on the sheet, but it was held tight, and the curly head hidden beneath it. "Why, Humphrey, my little man, what is the matter?"
Very inarticulate sounds succeeded, but by dint of great patience, the baronet distinguished among the sobs that, "he was afraid Uncle Charlie would go to hell, for telling such a dreadful story, and he couldn't bear to think of it!"
Virginie waylaid Sir Everard on his way down to breakfast next morning, to beg him to speak to Humphrey on the subject of leading Miles into mischief.
The baronet acquiesced with a sigh. It was a job he particularly disliked. In the short time he was able to be with his children, he enjoyed seeing them all life and happiness; and he hated to bring a cloud over their bright faces.
Humphrey was hanging out of the window when his father went into the dining room, and Sir Everard was half afraid of calling him away, for fear of startling him, and causing him to fall out; but at the sound of his father's footsteps, the boy drew himself in and bounded towards him.
"Why did you not come and help me to dress this morning?" said Sir Everard, as he kissed him.
Humphrey looked rather bored. "Virginie wouldn't let me," he answered; "she thought it would be a good punishment."
Here was an opening! Sir Everard felt he ought not to let it slip.
"Punishment!" said he, trying to look very solemn; "I am sorry to hear you deserved punishing. Why, what have you been doing?"
Humphrey looked up to the ceiling, down to the ground, and all round the room. "I can't remember what it was, father!"
Sir Everard tried hard not to smile. "What is the use of scolding such a boy," thought he; "a child who does not even remember for what offence he is suffering?"
"Stop a minute!" cried Humphrey, who was still in an attitude of reflection, "perhaps I shall remember presently."
He ran over his recent misdemeanors in his head, checking them off with his fingersand his father, seeing it was likely to be a long job, sat down to breakfast.
"Well, Humphrey!" he questioned, after a pause, "have you remembered?"
"No, Ican't," answered the boy, "but I'm sure Virginie will. Shall I run up and ask her?"
Sir Everard was amused, but a little provoked. It seemed such a hopeless task ever to make an impression upon Humphrey. But he only said, "No, you need not do that; I think I can tell you a little about it. Come and sit down here."
Sir Everard turned the tap of the urn, and put on the longest face he could think of. "I am sorry to hear from Virginie," he began, looking full at Humphrey, so as to make sure he was gaining his attention, "that you have——"
He stopped in despair, for Humphrey's eyes had wandered to the tap, and his mind was intent on the running water.
"Are you listening to me, Humphrey?"
"Take care!" was all Humphrey's answerjumping up from his chair, and clapping his hands; "turn it off! quick! look! look! father!"
There was no help for it, Sir Everard had to break off his discourse, and attend to the water, which was running all over the table, and the boy's laughter was so infectious that he joined heartily in it.
"I give it up," he said to himself; "it's no use trying to make an impression on anything so volatile."
"It served you quite right, father," said Humphrey, "for not letting me turn on the tap. You know quite well Miles and I always take turns to do it. Oh! I wish it would happen again!" And at the recollection, the merry laugh broke out once more.
But the mention of the little prisoner up-stairs, recalled Sir Everard to a sense of his duty, for Miles was suffering for his brother's thoughtlessness. So he gave Humphrey a long lecture on leading his brother astray and threatened him with the continualespionage of Virginie in the garden if he had any more complaints of the kind.
Humphrey sat looking very mournful while the discourse lasted, and was vehement in his promises that it should never happen again.
"Till next time, I suppose," said the baronet, laughing; and then he gave him some bread and honey and took up the newspaper.
He felt rather proud of the effect he had produced, for Humphrey ate his bread and honey in silence, and seemed very thoughtful.
"Boys will not attend to the maids," he reflected; "there is nothing like the authority of a parent after all."
In about five minutes, Humphrey's meditations came to a close.
"Father!"
"What, my boy," said Sir Everard, putting down the paper, in anticipation of some penitent speech, and mentally saying, "I did not mean him to take it so much to heart, poor child!"
"If you had lived in the times of the Wars of the Roses, which side would you have taken?"
Sir Everard was rather taken aback. In the first place, because it was rather a shock to his feelings to find, after all, how little impression he had made; and in the second, he was by no means so familiar with that part of history as to be able to give his opinion in a hurry. He would not, however, lower himself in the boy's estimation by allowing his ignorance.
"Wars of the Roses," he repeated, to gain a little time for reflection; "have you been learning a great deal about them lately?"
"Yes," said Humphrey, with a sigh; "Virginie seemsveryfond of them. Is it true that unless I remember all the battles of the Wars of the Roses, I shall never be able to go into parliament?"
"Does Virginie say so?" enquired Sir Everard.
"Yes," said Humphrey. "She says, of course all the members of parliament knowthe names at the tips of their fingers and could say them in order; and which were won by Yorkists and which by Lancastrians."
Sir Everard felt very thankful that he held his seat on less frail a tenure, and sincerely hoped his son was not going to put him to the test. Vain hope!
"I suppose, of course, father,youcould say them right off?"
"It's almost a pity to stay indoors such a fine day," said the baronet, hastily; "suppose you get your hat and run out in the garden."
Yorkists and Lancastrians at once vanished from Humphrey's head, and he was off. But when he was gone, Sir Everard took down a volume of English History, and studied it for the rest of the morning.
After luncheon, Sir Everard proposed to take Humphrey out riding.
Little Miles looked very disconsolate when the horses came to the door, and he found himself condemned to a solitaryafternoon, but seemed somewhat cheered by a long-whispered confabulation that his brother had with him before starting.
At three o'clock Sir Everard and Humphrey mounted, and as they went along the road, the following conversation took place:—
"Will you pass through the town, father; because I've got some shopping to do?"
"Shopping! why what do you want to buy?"
"It's such a very great secret, that I don't think I can tell you. But perhaps you can keep a secret?"
"Yes, I think I may promise to keep it."
"Well, then, I'll tell you. It's a birthday present for you. And what would you like? But you must promise not to tell any one."
"No one shall know: but I think I would rather you chose for me; what you like, I shall like."
"Well, now, I don't think you would.You see,Ishould like a pop-gun, or some nine-pins. Nowyouwould not care for either of those, would you?"
Sir Everard admitted that he was getting a little old for these amusements.
"I thought so!" pursued Humphrey, delighted with his own discrimination, "and that's what makes it so difficult. You've got a watch and a thermometer, and all the other things grown-up men have, so it is very puzzling."
"But, my dear child, all the things you mention are very expensive, far beyond your little means, I should think. Why, how much money have you got?"
"Well! that's just the awkward part; I have not got any! But I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind giving me some, as it is for your own birthday present."
Sir Everard laughed.
"Rather an expensive way of having birthday presents."
"I don't think it will be very expensive," said the practical Humphrey; "but ofcourse it depends on what I buy. Here is the shop, father; please stop."
They pulled up before one of those little nondescript shops to be found in every small country-town.
"Now mind," said Humphrey, as he jumped down from his pony, "mind you don't peep through the door, because you might see me looking at things on the counter."
He waited for a moment till he had exacted a promise from Sir Everard, and then ran into the shop.
"I want something for a grown-up man," he said, as he advanced to the counter.
The shop-woman did her best to show everything she thought likely to suit, but Humphrey was not at all satisfied with the choice. His restless eyes wandered all over the shop. "Have not you got anything for a man to put in his pocket?" he asked.
An inspiration seized the woman, and she advanced to the window.
"Take care!" called out Humphrey, to the woman's great surprise, as she began to take down some things.
"Please don't," he continued, in an agony, as, startled by his shout, she remained, with a compass in one hand and a purse in the other.
"Father's out there, and he'll see what you take down, and guess it's for his birthday present."
The woman humbly begged his pardon, but it was too late; Humphrey would not look at either purse or compass. "You've spoilt it all," he said; "he must have seen."
He remained leaning disconsolately against the counter, gazing with no friendly eye on the rapidly increasing heap of goods which the patient woman produced from all corners of the shop for his inspection.
"Have you got a husband?" he asked, suddenly.
To Humphrey's horror, the woman put up her apron to her eyes, and began to cry.
"Oh! I'msosorry," said he; "I didn't mean to make you cry, really. I see now you've got a cap on, so of course he's dead. I'mverysorry he's dead," he continued after a pause, "because I was going to say perhaps he would have been able to tell me what a grown-up man would like." Then, afraid he had been unfeeling, he added, "Of course, I'm sorry too, because it seems to make you unhappy. You don't remember, I suppose," he went on, doubtfully, and eyeing the widow carefully, to see how far he might go without fear of a fresh outburst, "what he used to like for his birthday presents?"
The woman cast her thoughts back to the memory of the defunct, and the prominent idea connected with him being tobacco-smoke, she suggested a cigar-case.
Humphrey was delighted at the idea.
"You don't mean to say they're in the window!" he exclaimed in despair.
The widow was obliged to admit that it was too true.
"What are we to do!" said Humphrey, dejectedly. "I know!" he added, the next moment running to the door.
"Father!" he shouted, "would you mind turning your head away for a minute, because we're going to get something out of the window."
Sir Everard immediately became engrossed with the door of the opposite public-house, to the great discomfiture of one of his gardeners, who was issuing therefrom, slightly inebriated, and had been doing his best to escape the baronet's notice.
Humphrey was delighted with the cigar-cases. They were so brilliant in their embroidered covers. He was particularly attracted by the smallest and smartest.
"It will hold so very few cigars," suggested the woman, "had you not better have a larger one?"
"Oh, that doesn't matter the least," said Humphrey, "because father doesn't smoke. As long as it is smart and pretty to put into his pocket, it will do very well. Wrap itup, please, so as to hide it quite, in case he should guess by the shape."
The widow wrapped it in several covers, and Humphrey left the shop.
"You did not see, father, I hope," he said earnestly, as he mounted his pony, and Sir Everard assured him he had not once looked towards the window.
"How much?" asked the baronet, as the parcel was handed up.
"Ten-and-sixpence," answered the shop-woman.
Sir Everard hid his feelings, and paid the money.
"Isn't it cheap?" said Humphrey, as they rode off, "considering it's all embroidered with gold, and ... oh! dear me! I hope you haven't guessed by that?"
"Far from it," answered Sir Everard; "I am more puzzled than ever; for I can't conceive what you could have found in that little shop, that would be all embroidered with gold."
Humphrey was in great glee. "Youhaven't the slightestidea, I suppose, father what it is?"
"Not the remotest."
"So I know something you don't. You often tell me you know so many things I know nothing about. Now it is just the other way, isn't it?"
"Just the other way," answered the baronet, and Humphrey rode on in a state of great elation.
"It's a dreadful thing to have a secret," he observed presently, after having once or twice begun to speak, and stopped short.
"Why?" inquired his father, smiling.
"Oh! sodreadfullydifficult to keep," he answered. "Two or three times I've been beginning to talk about it, and forgetting you weren't to know."
"Let's talk of something else then."
Another pause, and then Humphrey said: "Do you know, father, I think you had better take me home?"
"Home already! are you tired?"
"No—it isn't that; but I know if I waitmuch longer, I shall be telling you the secret before I can stop myself. If I only could tell some one, I should be all right; so that's why I want to get home to Miles."
"But I want to call on General Colville and also to pay old Dyson a visit. Can you last a little longer, do you think?"
Humphrey was fond of society, and so took very kindly to the arrangement.
"Dyson is the old deaf man, isn't he? Was he born deaf?"
"No; it is only of late years that he has become so."
"I'm glad I wasn't born deaf. It would have been a great bore. I wonder Dyson doesn't buy an ear-trumpet."
"I suppose, poor fellow, he can't afford it."
"Ishouldso like to give him one."
"But where's your money?"
"Ah! there it is again. I neverdohave any money."
"I gave you a shilling a very little while ago."
"I bought copper caps, and hard-bake."
"Ah! we can't eat our cake, and have it, you know."
"Not cake, father—hardbake!"
"It's all the same. Now, if you were to save up your money, instead of buying trash, you would be able to buy useful things."
"So I will. I'll begin saving directly; the very next shilling you give me, I'll put away, and go on till I've got enough to buy Dyson an ear-trumpet."
"That will be a very good plan."
"When do you suppose you'll be giving me another shilling, father?"
"Ah! that I don't know at all."
"Hadn't you better be beginning pretty soon? because an ear-trumpet will cost a good deal, and it would be a pity to keep old Dyson waiting."
Sir Everard handed him a shilling, saying, as he did so: "Now, mind, it is not to be spent on anything else," and Humphrey faithfully promised it should not.
Old Dyson was in his garden when they passed, so they drew up to speak to himHe was not so deaf as to be unable to hear Sir Everard's powerful shout, but Humphrey's little attempts were futile.
"How pleased he'd be," thought Humphrey to himself, "if he knew I was going to save up my money to buy him an ear-trumpet."
And he held up his shilling to the old man in triumph, as if the very sight of it would tell him the whole story.
Dyson smiled and nodded. "Ay, ay, going to buy sweeties, I see!"
Humphrey shook his head vehemently, and tried to shout an explanation.
"No!" said the old man; "then it'll be a top, maybe?"
It was no use trying to make him understand; and as Sir Everard was moving off, Humphrey was obliged to follow, shaking his head to the last.
"It would never do to tell old Dyson a secret," he observed to his father, when he overtook him.
"Why not?"
"Why, you'd have to scream it so loud in his ear that every one would hear. It wouldn't be much of a secret when all the village was listening. Supposing I were to shout to him, 'Dyson, I'm going to give father a birthday present, and it's a cigar ca——.' Oh, good gracious!" said Humphrey, pulling up his pony, "I've told you my secret! Oh, father,didyou guess?"
Sir Everard's attention had been wandering, and he could honestly assure the child that he was as far as ever from knowing the secret.
"And now, here we are at General Colville's," he added; "so you will have lots of things to distract your thoughts."