"But she never told me what happened to Rover afterwards," put in Chris.
"He lived to a great age," answered Granny, adjusting her spectacles and resuming her knitting, "and was loved and honoured by all. And when he died he was beautifully stuffed and put into a glass case."
"I wish he hadn't died, my Granny," said the little beggar mournfully, unconsoled by the honour paid to Rover's remains. Then, with a sudden change of thought: "Can Jack swim like he did, I wonder."
"That I can't say, my darling," Granny replied, intent on her work.
"I think I had better teach him," the little beggar said, looking very wise; "'cause if you, or Miss Beggarley, or me, or Briggs felled into the water like Eliza, Jacky could bring us out, and save us from being drownded."
"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine," murmured Granny, busy counting the stitches on her sock, and too much occupied to pay attentionto what Chris said. "Twenty-nine! Now, how have I gone wrong? Miss Baggerley, my dear, would you be so kind as to see if you can find out my mistake?"
"I know!" exclaimed Chris, as Granny handed me her work; "I know very well what I will do. I'll—," and he stopped short.
"What will you do, my pet?" asked Granny, a little absently, watching me as I put her knitting right.
But Chris shook his head. "A surprise!" he said, and closed his lips firmly.
I felt that it would be safer for the interests of all to probe the matter further, and was about to do so, when there was a tap at the door, and Briggs entered.
"Master Chris," she said, "it's time for your walk."
Now, generally the little beggar murmured much and loudly when he was interrupted by Briggs. On this occasion, however, he showed no disinclination to go with her, but on the contrary went with alacrity.
"I think he is really becoming fond of her," Granny remarked with some satisfaction when they had gone. "Perhaps, after all, I shall not have to send her away at Christmas, as I feared I should have to if she and Chris did not understand each other better. I shall be very glad ifI can let her stay, for although she has an unsympathetic manner—yes, I must say that she strikes me as being extremely unsympathetic to the darling at times; don't you think so, my dear?—yet I know that she is thoroughly reliable and trustworthy."
"I wonder if Chris's readiness to go with her had anything to do with his 'surprise'," I answered. "It looks to me a little suspicious, I must own. I hope he has not any mischievous idea in his little head."
"Oh, no, my dear!" she replied, almost reproachfully; "the darling is as good as gold. There never was a better child when he likes. No, no, he is not at all inclined to be troublesome to-day; I think you are mistaken."
I kept silence, for I saw that dear old Granny was not altogether pleased at my suggestion. Nevertheless, in spite of her reassuring words, I did not feel convinced that the little beggar was not going to give us some fresh proof of his remarkable powers for getting into mischief. And further events justified my fears.
I will tell you how this happened.
About half an hour later I was taking a stroll in the garden, when, turning my steps in the direction of the pond, I suddenly came upon Chris, accompanied by Briggs. That something was amiss was at once evident. Briggs waswalking along, with her air of greatest dignity—and that, I assure you, was very great indeed,—whilst Chris, by her side, was also making his little attempt at being dignified.
But it was the sorriest attempt you can imagine!
Dripping from head to foot, water running in little rivulets from his large straw hat upon his face, water dripping from his clothes soaked through and through, and making little pools on the garden-path as he pursued his way—a more forlorn, miserable-looking little object it was impossible to conceive.
In spite of this, however, he would not let go of that attempt at dignity. With his hands in his pockets, and his head thrown back, he whistled as he walked along, with the most defiant expression he could assume upon that naughty little face of his.
And the procession was brought up by Jack, with his tail between his legs, also dripping and shivering violently.
Directly Chris saw me the defiant expression instantly vanished, and running to me, he buried his face in my dress and wept at the top of his voice.
"What is the matter, Chris?" I asked. "What has happened? What have you been doing?"
"Whathasn'thappened, and whathasn'thebeen doing?" said Briggs, coming up and speaking very angrily. "And what will happen next? That's what I ask."
"What has happened now?" I repeated.
"One of Master Chris's tricks again, that's all," she said, still angrily, as we all walked on to the house.
"I was—teach-teach—teaching J-J-Jack to—to swim—like Ro-Ro—Rover," the little beggar said between violent sobs, and bringing out the last word with a great gasp.
"Teaching Jack to swim like Rover!" I repeated.
"Yes," exclaimed Briggs, with much sarcasm; "and it was a mighty clever thing for Master Chris to do, seeing as how he can't swim himself.
"It was just like this, mum," she explained, as she hastened her steps, "(I think we had better hurry a bit if Master Chris isn't to take his death of cold. He'll be in bed to-morrow unless I'm much mistaken!) I was just speaking to one of the gardeners about a pot of musk we wanted in the nursery. I hadn't turned my back two minutes before I hear a splash and Master Chris crying out at the top of his voice, and when I look around there he is struggling nearly up to his neck in water, and Jacky struggling along by his side. Well, here we are back; we'll seewhat my mistress thinks of it all. I'll be bound she won't be over and above pleased. As for me, I can only say I am more than thankful it was at the shallow part of the pond; if it had been at the deep end, there's no saying if he wouldn't have been lying there now stiff and stark."
At this woeful picture of himself, Chris's grief, which had become slightly subdued, burst forth afresh, and as we entered the hall he sobbed more loudly and more violently than before. So loudly and so violently that the sound of his grief penetrated to the library where Granny was sitting, and brought her out into the hall, frightened and anxious to know what was wrong.
"He nearly drowned himself, that's what is the matter, mum," answered Briggs, with a certain gloomy satisfaction, in reply to the old lady's anxious questions. "It's nothing but a chance he isn't at the bottom of the deepest end of the pond at this very same minute that I speak to you!"
At this startling, not to say overwhelming statement, Granny became quite white, and, holding on to a chair near at hand, did not speak.
"There is nothing for you to alarm yourself about, Mrs. Wyndham," I said quietly.—"Chris, stop crying; you are frightening Granny.—He managed to fall into the pond, trying to teach Jack to swim, but it was at the shallow end, so there was no danger."
Thus reassured, Granny looked at me with relief.
"Thank God!" she said earnestly, as she kissed the little beggar thankfully, all wet and tear-stained as he was.
Then, with an attempt to control her emotion, but speaking in a voice that trembled in spite of herself:
"Come, come," she said to Briggs, "we must not waste time in talking. We must put Master Chris to bed at once, and get him warm. See how he shivers. Yes, come upstairs at once, my darling, and I will hear all about it by and by."
And, together with Briggs and the cause of all the confusion, she went upstairs to take precautions for the prevention of the ill consequences likely to follow upon his rash deed. It was some time before she came downstairs again, and when she did so she looked worried.
"I am afraid, very much afraid, he has caught a chill," she remarked. "He so easily does that."
"Perhaps you may have prevented it," I said hopefully.
"I wish I could think so," she replied, shaking her head; "but I much fear that it cannot be altogether prevented. He is not strong, you see, my dear."
"And to think," she went on admiringly; "to think the darling ran that risk all because of hisloving little heart; because he feared that some day we might be in danger of being drowned, and that if Jack could swim we should be rescued. Isn't it just like the pet to think of it?"
"It is," I agreed with conviction; adding cautiously, "It would have been better, I think, if he had told you of his idea before trying to put it into effect. It would have given everyone less trouble."
"He wished to surprise us all by showing us he had by himself taught Jack to swim," Granny returned, quick to defend her darling. "No, no, I see how it happened; he was thoughtless but not naughty. Indeed, I take what blame there is to myself. I should have considered, before I told him the story of Eliza and her dog Rover, the effect it was likely to have upon an active, quick little brain like his."
I smiled. It was quite plain that dear old Granny in her loving way wished to take all the blame upon her own willing shoulders, and to spare that incorrigible little beggar....
It was some three days after this, and I was sitting in the nursery by Chris's crib, trying to amuse him and wile away the time until Briggs came back with the lamp, when it would be the hour for him to say good-night and go to sleep. The bright September afternoon was drawing to a close, and twilight was beginning to fall.
In spite of all Granny's precautions he had not escaped from the consequences of his tumble into the pond, but had caught a severe chill, and so had had to stay in bed for these last three days. He was very sweet and gentle in his weakness, that poor little beggar; partly, I think, because he felt too tired to be mischievous, and also, I am glad to say, because he loved his Granny very dearly and was truly sorry for the fright he had given her. I had been telling him stories for the last half-hour, but having now come to the end of my resources, for the moment we were quiet.
With his hand in mine, Chris lay looking out through the window at the stars as they came out slowly, slowly in the gathering darkness.
Presently he asked:
"Do you like the stars? I like them very much."
"Yes, Chris," I answered; "so do I."
"I think they are the most beautifullest things," he remarked with enthusiasm.
"Yes, they are," I replied. "They are like the great and loving deeds of God, falling in a bright shower from heaven upon the earth beneath."
"When I go to heaven, will God give me some stars if I ask Him very much?" Chris inquired, most seriously. "P'r'aps if I ask Him every day in my prayers till I'm dead He will then."
I smiled a little.
"No, darling," I said, smoothing his hair gently; "the stars are not the little things they seem to you. You see, they are worlds like our world. It is only because they are such thousands and thousands of miles away that they look to you so small."
Chris pondered over this for a moment or two, then he said thoughtfully:
"Miss Beggarley, I want to ask you, when the good man got to the top of the hill, did he see that the stars were big worlds and not little, tiny things?"
"Yes," I replied, half to him, half to myself; "he saw then that those things which, at the foot of the hill, had seemed to him so small and so far away he had given them but little consideration, were in reality great, and beautiful, and worlds in their importance. And he saw, too, that the things which in the valley beneath had appeared to him of such infinite value were by comparison poor and valueless, not worthy the thought he had given them or the pain they had so often caused him...."
I heard a footstep, and looking round, saw that Briggs had come back.
"I must go now," I said to Chris, kissing him. "It is time for you to sleep. Good-night, dear!"
"Good-night!" he said, then turned his headtowards the window and lay still, gazing solemnly with big, sleepy eyes at the stars that shone without.
As Chris regained his strength he also regained his love of mischief—a state of affairs that proved somewhat trying. To keep him in bed and to keep him good was not a very easy task.
"The trouble it is, mum, words can't tell," Briggs said to me with fervour one evening when I had come upstairs to see that Chris was comfortably settled for the night. "If I turn my back for a moment he is half out of bed," she said, as she detained me for a moment as I went through the day-nursery. "He is that full of mischief I hardly know what to do with him."
"It shows he is getting strong again," I said, half smiling.
"It's the only way I can get any comfort," she said, sighing.
Poor Briggs! She really looked tired as she spoke, and I felt sorry for her.
"You look very tired," I remarked.
"I've had bad enough nights lately to make me so," she replied. "Master Chris—he is always waking up and coughing and coughing till I'm nearly driven wild. It's my belief it's the barley-sugar has got something to do with it. Ever since the doctor said some had better be given to him when he got coughing it seems to me his cough has got a deal worse."
"Why don't you put a little by his crib?" I suggested; "then he needn't wake you up when he wants it."
"I did try that last night," she answered, "but by the time I went to bed myself he had eaten it all up, and there wasn't a scrap of it left."
"I think he will be well enough to get up soon," I said hopefully.
"I think so too," she replied. "It was only yesterday I said so to Dr. Saunders, but he didn't seem to think the same.
"I don't altogether hold with him," she continued, with a return of her usual dignified manner; "and so I told my mistress this morning. He is over-careful, and I've no belief in these medical gentlemen who are given that way. When he comes to-morrow—There, if I didn't forget!" she interrupted herself to exclaim.
"What have you forgotten, Briggs?" I asked.
"My mistress asked me in particular to remindthe doctor that he said Master Chris would be the better of a tonic, but he had forgotten to leave the prescription," she answered. "I never thought of it this morning when he was here."
"I should make a note of it," I suggested.
"Which is the very thing I'll do," she assented. "I'll write it down now on Master Chris's slate whilst it is in my mind. It's the only way to remember things, I do believe.
"Though it is my opinion, mum," she added, as she carried out her intention; "though it's my opinion a physician should not need reminding of such things. But there! he is always forgetting something. He has no head! I should like to know where it is sometimes, for it isn't always on his shoulders, I'll be bound!"
"How can the doctor's head not be on his shoulders?" asked a puzzled little voice. "'Cause he'd be quite dead if he had no head."
At this unexpected interruption Briggs and I looked in the direction whence the voice proceeded, and saw a little figure standing on the threshold of the door that led into the night-nursery. A little figure, in a long white nightgown, with tumbled, golden hair falling about the flushed little face, and two great violet eyes shining like stars, and dancing with mischief and glee.
I confess I felt a weak desire to take thatnaughty but bewitching little beggar in my arms, and kiss him in spite of all his sins. But Briggs experienced no such weakness.
"Master Chris!" she exclaimed in horrified amazement; "what next, I should like to know? This is past everything."
Then snatching him up in her arms, she carried him back to bed, struggling and vehemently protesting at being treated in so summary and undignified a fashion.
As for me, I presently went downstairs laughing, with the sound of Chris's voice still ringing in my ears:
"Put me down, Briggs. I will be a good boy. I don't want to be carried like a baby." Then with his usual persistency: "But I want to know—why do you say that the doctor sometimes has no head on his shoulders, 'cause how could he live without a head?" Then again, in the most insinuating of voices: "Shall I tell the doctor about the medicine he forgot, and shall I write down all the things you want to know, and all the things I want to know, and everything. Would I be a good boy if I did? I want some barley-sugar, 'cause my cough's drefful bad."
"Chris is certainly recovering," I said to Granny when I joined her in the drawing-room, and told her what had occurred. "He is quite in his usual spirits again."
"His is a happy disposition, is it not?" she said, with satisfaction. "The child is like a sunbeam in the house; so merry, so bright!"
The next morning, however, the sunbeam was comparatively still; not dancing, gay, and restless, as sunbeams often are.
The little beggar was in one of his quiet moods—moods of rare occurrence with him, as you will have gathered.
"The darling is like a lamb," Granny remarked when she came downstairs; "very gentle and so good. He wants you to go and sit with him a little, if you are not busy, my dear."
"Certainly," I said, and went up to the nursery to see Chris in this edifying rôle.
I found him busy, drawing strange hieroglyphics on a large sheet of foolscap paper with a red-lead pencil. As I entered he looked up at me for a moment with a preoccupied expression, then said mysteriously:
"Miss Beggarley, what do you think I am doing?"
"I don't know," I replied. "What is it? Let me see."
"No, no, no!" he cried, bending over the paper, "you mustn't see. I don't want you to know."
"Then why did you ask me?" I inquired.
"'Cause I wanted to see if you could guess," he said.
"It's nothing naughty, is it?" I asked.
"Oh no!" he replied in the most virtuous of voices, "it's very good.
"I've done now," he remarked a few minutes later, sitting up and putting the sheet of foolscap and the red-lead pencil under his pillow. "When I get better will you play horses with me? You said you would, and you never have."
"That is very wrong of me," I answered. "Yes, I will play with you when you are better."
"When will the doctor come?" he suddenly asked with some eagerness.
"Very soon now, I think," I replied. "It is just about his time."
"Will you be a lame horse when you play, or a well horse?"
"Which of the two horses has the least work?"
"The lame horse."
"Then I'll be the lame horse."
"Is that the doctor?"
I listened. "Wait a moment, I'll see," I replied, and went to the day-nursery.
Yes, it was the doctor. I could hear him and Granny talking as they walked along the passage; Granny on her favourite topic—the virtues of her darling.
"Yes," she was saying, in answer to some observation of her companion's, "he really shows a great deal of character for one so young. Buthe has done that from the earliest, from the very earliest age. When he was a baby of but a few weeks old, he would clutch hold of his bottle with such resolution, such tenacity, that it was, I assure you, a difficult matter to take it from him."
"Quite so, quite so," the doctor answered blandly as they entered; "as you say, great tenacity of purpose.
"Well," I heard him continue, after having passed through the day-nursery to the one beyond; "well, and how are we to-day?"
"Quite well," answered the little beggar's voice cheerfully.
"Quite well? We couldn't be better, could we?" he said jocularly. "Yes, I think we are looking so much better we may get up to-day, and go for a walk in the sun to-morrow. What do you say, Master Chris?"
"I want to ask you a lot," I heard Chris say importantly.
"Very well," replied the doctor good-naturedly, "let us hear it;" at which point curiosity prompted me to go to the door of the night-nursery and look in.
Chris was in the act of drawing, with no little pomp, the large sheet of foolscap from beneath his pillow.
"Read it," he said, handing it to the doctor with pride. "I've printed it all myself."
The doctor laughed as he glanced at it.
"I think," he said, "you had better read it to me yourself, my little man."
"All right!" answered Chris. "It's all questions I want to ask you. I've written them down in case I forget them."
I here saw Briggs glance up uneasily, and was myself conscious of some feeling of disquietude. Could Chris's questions have anything to do with Briggs' remarks of the previous evening? A recollection came back to me which, till that moment, had slipped from my mind. Had not I heard a suggestion made by a naughty, struggling little mortal being carried back to bed against his will? "Shall I write down all the things you want to know, and all the things I want to know, and everything?"
A presentiment of coming confusion came upon me, and I half stepped forward to try and stop Chris going further in his proposed catechism. But I was too late; he started without delay.
"May I have sugar-candy for my cough instead of barley-sugar, 'cause I've eaten so much barley-sugar?" he began pompously.
"Certainly," replied the doctor laughing; "we won't make any difficulty about that."
I gave an involuntary sigh of relief at hearing so harmless a question, whilst Briggs looked less anxious, and Granny smiled.
"Shall I be well enough to run my hoop to-morrow?" he went on, loudly and slowly, pretending to read from the sheet of foolscap he held. "I have a new one, and I'm tired of not running it," he added.
"Very well, we'll see," the doctor answered. "If the sun is out I daresay we shall be able to run our hoop a little bit to-morrow. But we must be careful not to over-tire ourselves. Anything more, my little man?"
"Yes. Why did you forget to leave the 'scription for my tonic yesterday?" continued Chris. "And will you remember it to-day?"
The doctor laughed, but with some constraint. Briggs looked up anxiously, and the smile vanished from Granny's face.
"What! Are we so fond of medicine?" the doctor asked, trying to speak as before, but unable to prevent a touch of annoyance being heard in his voice. "Little boys don't generally care for it so much. Yes, I will leave the prescription to-day."
"There, there, that will do," interposed Granny nervously, moving towards the door.
"But there is one other question I want to ask very much," Chris said, again feigning to refer to his paper.
"Yes?" said the doctor inquiringly, pausing in his progress towards the door.
"What do you do with your head when it isn't on your shoulders?" he asked, with the innocent expression always to be seen upon his face when he was creating the greatest awkwardness.
At this question Briggs became scarlet, looked as if she were about to speak, then appeared to alter her mind, and, turning her back, busied herself arranging the medicine-bottles on a little table near the crib. The doctor himself appeared more bewildered than anything else.
"What do you mean?" he said. "Where can my head be except on my shoulders?"
"Well, that was what I thought," Chris said, triumphantly. "I said you'd be dead if your head was off your shoulders."
"I should have concluded that everyone must have been of the same opinion," he said, still mystified, whilst Granny shook her head gently, and frowned at the little beggar, hoping to prevent any further discussion of the subject. A futile hope. Chris was resolved to go to the bottom of the matter.
"Well, Briggs said it wasn't!" he exclaimed, "and what did she mean?"
The doctor's expression of mystification changed to one of annoyance, as he remarked with no little displeasure:
"I think you had better ask Briggs herself foran explanation of her remark," then left, accompanied by Granny—poor Granny, awkward and mortified beyond measure at the embarrassing situation.
As for Briggs—who had certainly been the principal sufferer—her indignation burst out as soon as we saw the last of the doctor.
"Well, I never!" she exclaimed indignantly. Then with increased wrath, "Well, I never did!" After which two exclamations she paused to find suitable words in which to condemn the enormities of which Chris had been guilty.
For his part, he was not in the least disturbed by the general embarrassment—the only one who was not.
He gazed up at Briggs with an expression of injured innocence.
"Are you cross, Briggs?" he asked. "Have I been naughty?"
"Have you been naughty, Master Chris?" she asked, with wrathful sarcasm. "Oh, no! thereneverwas such a well-behaved young gentleman."
"Surely, Chris," I said, coming into the night-nursery, "you knew that you had no business to repeat to Dr. Saunders what Briggs said to me?"
He hung his head a little guiltily.
"I wanted him to 'member about the tonic," he replied; "and I did want to know what Briggsmeant about his head coming off his shoulders. Wasn't I a good boy?"
He received his answer, however, from Granny, who returned at this moment, a bright spot glowing in each of her faded, pink cheeks.
"My Chris!" she said, "my darling! What foolish thought made you ask such questions?"
Chris wrinkled his brows. "I want to be a very good boy and please you," he said querulously, and with a tremble in his voice; "and now Briggs scolds me, and now you scold me, and now I'm very unhappy."
"But don't you see, my pet," Granny said, more calmly; "don't you see what rude questions you asked Dr. Saunders? Oh, I felt ashamed of my little Chris!"
The little beggar at this point crawled to the bottom of his crib.
"I shall stay down here," said a muffled voice. "I shall stay here always and never come back again, as my Granny is so unkind."
"But you must see," she reiterated, addressing a shapeless mass of bed-clothes, "that you asked the kind doctor very naughty questions, and very silly ones too. Did you not understand when Briggs said that he had no head, she meant that he had a bad memory, my child? Did you not understand that? And did you not think how insulting, how very insulting it was to ask himsuch a question? And about the tonic too. Surely, my darling, if you had thought you must have seen that. And, especially, how wrong it was to repeat what you overheard. Does not my pet see what his Granny means?"
The mass of bed-clothes moved impatiently, but there was no reply.
"As for me," put in Briggs with dignity, "I felt as if I was going to sink through the floor, I was that ashamed!"
"Yes, yes, and so were we all," agreed Granny. "Indeed, had not my Chris been ill, I should have felt obliged to punish him for his thoughtlessness. But he is sorry now; that Granny feels sure of. Is he not?"
Her question was received in sullen silence.
"Come, come," she said, "this is not the way I expect my child to behave."
"Nor any other little gentleman either," put in Briggs, with asperity.
There was an expectant pause, but no answer from the little beggar buried beneath the bed-clothes.
Granny looked at me with a puzzled expression.
"Well, Chris, we have no time to waste with naughty little boys," I said, "so we are going downstairs. But I am surprised that you should treat your Granny so; I thought you loved her."
There was still no reply, and we turned to go.
But ere we reached the door the shamefaced but slightly defiant little beggar cried out:
"Idolove my Granny!"
At the sound she turned back with a radiant smile, and saw with delight two little arms stretched out to her appealingly, and two large tears trickling down a penitent little face.
"There, there! we will say no more," she exclaimed, forgivingly; "for you are sorry, my pet, are you not?"
"Very, very sorry," said the little beggar with contrition; "and very hot, dreffully hot; and I won't ask the nasty doctor nothing ever again."
"Not the 'nasty' doctor; the nice, kind doctor who has made little Chris well again," she corrected gently. "And you are going to be a good little boy now, darling?"
"A very good boy; as good as Uncle Godfrey," Chris said brightening up, as he saw that he was to be blamed no more.
"That's my pet," she said, covering him up and tucking in the bed-clothes.
"I'm so glad," she continued to me as we went downstairs, "that he came round, and was good in the end. But I knew he would. Sulkiness is not one of his faults; no, no, nobody could say that.
"I suppose," she went on a little uneasily, "Godfrey would tell me that I ought to have beenmore severe with the child. 'You've let the little beggar off too easily, mother,'—that's what he would say. But between ourselves, my dear, I sometimes think that officers in the army are accustomed to such obedience, such implicit obedience, that they are at times inclined to carry their love of discipline too far. Don't you agree with me? Not that Godfrey is a martinet! Oh, no! he is far from that; such a favourite, so beloved by the men under his command. But you understand what I mean, do you not?
"However," she concluded, with a certain relief, and as a salve to her conscience in the shape of her son Godfrey's opinion, "now I think of it, I did tell the poor darling that if he had not been ill I should have felt obliged to punish him. Of course, so I did. That will serve as a warning to him in the future; won't it, my dear?"
"I can't, my pet; I can't tell you a story to-day," said, or rather whispered, Granny huskily. "I have such a bad cold I can hardly speak."
Chris looked at her solemnly with wide-open eyes.
"Are you very ill, my Granny?" he inquired very seriously, and sinking his voice to the sympathizing whisper which seemed to him to befit the occasion.
"Not very ill, darling," she whispered again with an effort; "only a very bad cold.
"I am quite losing my voice," she added to me, shaking her head. "Most trying, my dear."
"How drefful!" exclaimed Chris with sympathy, and still speaking in a whisper. "What a drefful thing!"
"I have a good piece of news for you, my Chris," she whispered, with another effort. "Someone is coming home—to-day—this very afternoon—that you and I shall be—very, very—glad to see. Who do you think it is?"
Chris considered a moment, then suddenly looked enlightened.
"I know, I know!" he cried, jumping about and clapping his hands, in the excess of his joy forgetting to whisper, and putting to their full use his well-developed little lungs. "I know!" he repeated. "It's my Uncle Godfrey. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"
Granny nodded, and held up a telegram. "I've just had this," she said, with an attempt to regainher natural tone, which ended in an almost inaudible whisper, and her voice going away completely. "Few nights ... way to London.... Isn't ... treat ... pet?" she whispered brokenly. "Must be ... quiet ... tired."
"Yes," I put in, taking upon myself to act as interpreter; "Granny is very tired, Chris; so if you stay here, you must be quiet."
"Did I make a noise and tire my Granny, and was I a naughty boy?" he asked penitently, becoming very subdued in voice and manner.
Granny smiled at him tenderly, and shook her head.
"No, dear," I said; "you have not been naughty. We did not mean that."
Thus reassured, the little beggar looked relieved; then, with a glance of deepest sympathy at his Granny, he ran out of the room as if struck by a sudden thought.
In a few moments he returned, carrying something carefully wrapped up in his pinafore. Then, going up to her, he drew out a piece of paste bearing some rude resemblance to a man, and laid it with triumph on her lap.
"My Granny," he whispered proudly, "see what I have brought you. Cook gave it to me for my tea, and I'm going to give it to you, and you may eat it all up; every bit. P'r'aps it will make you feel happy, as you have a cold."
Granny opened her eyes slowly and languidly, but seeing the paste figure, she sat straight up in her chair, with an expression of the strongest disapprobation.
She opened her mouth and endeavoured to speak, but this time without success; she could not make herself heard. She rose, therefore, and going to the writing-desk, took a sheet of note-paper, and, in a neat, old-fashioned, Italian hand, wrote the following reply, which she placed in my hand, signing to me to read aloud:
"My darling, this is a most unwholesome and indigestible thing. It would not make either my Chris or his Granny happy to eat it, but would probably make them both ill. I am much surprised that Mrs. James should have given it to you; she should have known better. You may, instead, have some of the sponge-cake we had at lunch, but I cannot permit my pet to eat this paste, nor can I eat it myself. But he will understand how much Granny appreciates his kind thought."
Chris listened to this long message attentively and without interruption, for there was a solemnity about the proceeding that much impressed him. When I had finished reading it, he regarded the object of Granny's displeasure with suspicion, mingled with awe; then remarked in a solemn and stage whisper, and in the manner ofone bringing a grave charge against his poor, misguided friend:
"Cook called it 'Master Chris's little friend'. That's what she called it, my Granny."
"Tut, tut!" said Granny, as she heard this charge made against Cook.
By her expression, it was plain to see that she would have liked to say more had she been in full possession of her voice. Failing that, however, she was obliged to content herself with "Tut, tut!" and a gentle frown.
"Come, Chris," I said laughing, "we'll leave Granny in peace now and go and play in the library, or I will tell you a story. Take your 'friend', the man of paste, with you, and see if Jack would like to eat him."
"What shall we do?" asked Chris, slipping his hand into mine as we left the drawing-room.
"Would you like a story?" I asked.
"No, thank you; I don't want a story now, I think," he answered, with some caprice. He thought a moment or two, then exclaimed: "I know! we'll paint. I'll get the new paint-box Granny has given me, and a picture-paper, and we'll make lovely pictures."
"Very well," I said, not dissatisfied with this arrangement, which I hoped would only require on my part advice from time to time, or admiration, as required.
Taking a book, therefore, I sat down in an easy-chair near the writing-table, where Chris, having fetched his paint-box, settled himself, labouring for a time silently and earnestly at his paintings.
Presently he asked:
"What colour shall I make this horse? Shall I make him black?"
"A very good colour," I replied.
"Then, you see, I could call him 'Black Prince'," he went on. "I couldn't call him 'Black Prince' if I made him brown, could I? I'd have to call him 'Brown Prince'. Have you ever heard of a horse called 'Brown Prince'?"
"Not to my recollection," I said, with my eyes on my book.
"It is a funny name, isn't it?" he said laughing, as he continued his work. "Brown Prince!"
"Very," I said shortly, interested in my story, and not inclined to encourage conversation.
Chris worked on for a few moments without speaking; then asked:
"Miss Beggarley, what colour are moons gennerly?"
I laughed. It was, after all, a futile hope to continue reading under the circumstances. Still, it was Chris's time with Granny and me, when he exacted as his right an unlimited amount of attention, so I resigned myself.
"What colour?" he repeated, as I did not at once answer.
"Green," I answered.
"Green!" he echoed.
"Haven't you ever heard that the moon is made of green cheese?" I asked.
He stared at me reproachfully.
"You're laughing at me," he said, in an aggrieved voice, "and I don't like you to laugh."
"I won't any more, dear," I said, composing my countenance to a becoming expression of gravity. "If I were you, I should paint the moon pale blue. How would that do?"
"Loverly," answered the little beggar in a mollified voice, and for a moment or two there was again silence.
Then, however, I heard something like a whimper, and looking up I saw Chris's great eyes fixed on me tearfully.
"What is the matter?" I inquired.
"Will my Granny never, never be able to speak again?" he asked, digging his knuckles into his eyes. "Will she always be never able to talk?"
"Why, no, dear," I answered cheerfully. "In a day or two she will be able to talk again as well as ever."
"But she said it," he replied tearfully.
"Said what?" I asked, puzzled. "Oh," I added, enlightened, "you mean when she said she waslosing her voice! But she only meant for a little while. She did not intend to say she was losing it for ever. It is only because she has caught a bad cold. When her cold is better she will be able to speak again."
"Are you quite, quite sure?" he asked, anxiously, but relieved at my explanation.
"Quite sure," I answered.
His mind thus at ease, he returned once more to his painting and worked contentedly for another five minutes, at the end of which time his restless spirit reasserted itself.
"Now, what shall we do?" he asked, throwing down his brush and yawning. "Will you play at horses? You said you would."
"Well, for a little while," I answered, "but not too long."
"Oh, Briggs, what do you want?" Chris asked discontentedly, as at this point that worthy woman made her appearance.
"You are to come and put on your velvet suit against Mr. Wyndham comes," she announced staidly.
"I don't want to put on my velvet clothes," he replied rebelliously, annoyed at being thus disturbed. "They're nasty, horrid things."
"Oh, fie! Master Chris," she answered reprovingly.
"It isn't like a big man to wear a velvet suit,it's like a baby," he went on, grumblingly. "Uncle Godfrey doesn't wear velvet clothes, and why should I?"
"Don't you grumble at your velvet suit, Master Chris," Briggs said in a warning tone. "You may come to want it some day. There's many a little boy in the gutter as would be glad and proud to own it."
"Then I wish you would give it to the little boys in the gutters," the little beggar answered wilfully. "I shall ask my Granny to give it to them, 'cause I hate it. And I'm going to play at horses; aren't I, Miss Beggarley?"
"Not with me," I said firmly, "until you have done what Briggs tells you."
"You said you would," he remarked, pouting.
"So I will," I replied, "when you have obeyed Briggs."
He glanced at me inquiringly to see if there was no chance of my relenting, but I preserved a severe and resolute expression—in spite of a distinct inclination to smile,—seeing which he left with laggard step to don the despised suit.
When, later, he returned in that same suit—in the dark-blue knickerbockers and coat, the large Vandyke collar of cream lace, and the little white satin vest,—I really thought that he looked the sweetest little picture in the world!
He had, indeed, such an extremely clean, well-brushed,and altogether spotless appearance, that I hesitated about the promised game of horses, fearing to spoil the result of Briggs' work, before that all-important event—the arrival of Uncle Godfrey.
"Shall we play something else?" I suggested. "I'm afraid if we play horses you will get untidy."
"Oh no, I won't!" he said confidently. "We'll be quiet horses.
"I know," he added, with a look of intelligence. "I won't be a horse; I'll be the driver, and you shall be a lame horse. Then the game will be such a quiet game."
"Very well," I replied, weakly yielding to his wishes, as most people had a habit of doing. And a minute later I was running round the library in a fashion most undignified for a lady of middle-age, becoming at the same time hotter and more breathless than was altogether comfortable. Consequently I slackened my pace, and found it more to my mind. For, when a good many years have passed since you indulged in the habit of playing horses, you find it more expedient to take for your model the slow and conscientious cab-horse rather than the swift and brilliant racer.
But the change did not please Chris.
"Gee-up, Charlie!" he cried, excitedly. "That'syour name, you know. Gee-up! why are you going so slowly?"
"I've no breath left to go fast," I explained.
"What shall we do?" he said, perplexed. "I don't like a horse what won't go fast.
"Oh," he said, his face clearing. "Why, it's time for you to go lame. Poor Charlie! poor thing! what's the matter?
"You've got a stone in your foot," he explained in an aside, "and you must jog up and down as if you're lame."
"Must I?" I said, and obediently followed the directions with a patience truly praiseworthy, jogging laboriously up and down, whilst the little beggar followed in my wake, highly delighted, and giving vent as he did so to many loud and excited ejaculations.
Before long, however, he pined for further excitement.
"The road is very, very slippery," he said; "'cause it's been snowing. You must slip right down and break your leg."
"I'll slip into an arm-chair," I said, glancing at the comfortable one I had just quitted.
"No, horses don't slip into arm-chairs; there aren't no arm-chairs for them in the road," he objected.
"I can't help that," I answered, taking a stand. "My bones are too old to risk breaking them.I don't mind my leg being broken in fancy, but I do mind its being broken in reality."
"How shall everyone know, then, that it is broken?" he asked, discontentedly. "It won't look a bit as if it is broken if you fall into an arm-chair."
"I will groan very loud to show that I have," I said in a propitiating voice.
"Do horses groan when they break their legs?" he asked, doubtfully.
"This horse does, very loud indeed," I said. "Come, we'll go once more round the room, and then I'll break my leg and show you how beautifully I can groan."
"All right!" said the little beggar, conceding the point, and away we started once more.
"Gee-up, Charlie!" he cried; "gee-up, good horse! Now then!" as we approached the arm-chair; "now then, now then, it's time for you to break your leg. Quick, quick!"
"All right!" I said, and with the most heartrending groan I could produce, I sank—carefully—into the chair. At the same moment the door opened, and a stranger to me entered the room—a tall and soldier-like-looking young man. Even in the dimness of the twilight I could see a strong enough resemblance to the little beggar to tell me who he was without his delighted scream of "Uncle Godfrey! Uncle Godfrey!" as he ran and clasped him round the knees.
"Hold on!" answered Uncle Godfrey, putting him aside.
Then turning to me:
"I fear you are ill. Shall I send for my mother's maid?" he asked with polite sympathy.
"Why, no; she isn't; she isn't a bit ill!" cried the little beggar delightedly, with peals of derisive laughter, as he jumped about and clapped his hands. "She's only a poor, old, lame horse, what has just fallen down and broken his leg...."
If ever there was a case of hero-worship it was the worship by Chris of his uncle. To the little beggar, Uncle Godfrey was the ideal of all that was most manly, most noble, most heroic. To emulate him in every way was his most ardent desire, and with this end in view he imitated him whenever possible, to the smallest details.
When Uncle Godfrey was at home in the autumn, Chris's diminutive toy-gun was, without fail, brought down to the gun-case in the hall, where it lay in company with the more imposing weapons of his uncle. And when these werecleaned, it was an understood thing that the toy-gun must be cleaned likewise. To have omitted to do this would have drawn down upon the offender the little beggar's deepest indignation.
I believe, too, that it was a real grief of heart to him that he was not allowed to go out with his uncle in the autumn, and try the effect of that same toy-gun upon the pheasants. He had often pleaded hard to be permitted do so, having, I imagine, glorious visions of the bags they would make between them; and the refusal of his request had been the cause of many tears in the nursery. Not before his uncle! No, if there was one thing more than another that troubled him, it was the fear of looking like a baby in his uncle's presence. Uncle Godfrey might tease him as much as he pleased,—and he was undeniably talented in this respect,—but, close as were the tears to his eyes at other times, before his hero Chris would never let them fall if he could help it.
Sometimes, when in the swing of a game, his uncle Godfrey was unintentionally a little rough in word or deed, the little beggar, it is true, would flush—crimsoning up to the roots of his fair hair. His voice would falter, too, as if the tears were not far off, but he would struggle manfully with them, and, as soon as he had recovered, return again to the attack with fresh vigour. Indeed, sogreat was his devotion to him, that he was never so happy as when by his side, and with Chris in his vicinity, Uncle Godfrey found it a matter of no little difficulty to give his attention elsewhere. This was observable one morning when he was endeavouring to write his letters and enjoy a smoke in peace—a state of affairs by no means to the little beggar's mind.
Drawing near, Chris took up his position straight in front of him, and stared steadily at him without speaking. Presently Uncle Godfrey looked up, and, meeting Chris's stedfast gaze, stared back in silence.
"I'm a policeman," at last remarked Chris, with a strenuous effort to assume the manly tones of his uncle; his usual habit when talking to him.
"Are you?" replied Uncle Godfrey, leaning back in his chair and giving him a little kick. "Then be off, it's time you were on your beat."
"But you're a bad, wicked robber, and I've come to take you to prison," persisted Chris.
"Get along," said the writer laconically, blowing the smoke of his cigarette into the face of the policeman, and returning to his letters.
Chris looked at him admiringly.
"I'm going to be a soldier like you, and smoke pipes and cigarettes, and everything like you, Uncle Godfrey," he remarked. "When may I be a soldier?"
"Not yet," was the reply. "We take them young, but they have to be out of the nursery, my boy."
"When shall I be out of the nursery?" asked Chris, discontentedly.
"When you're in the army," his uncle said to tease him.
"But a man, a real soldier, said if I came to him, he would make me a soldier," announced the little beggar.
"What man?" asked Uncle Godfrey.
"A man what is staying in Marston, with his father and his mother and his brothers and his sisters," explained Chris. "A very tall, big man—as tall as you; and he finds soldiers for the Queen, he told me."
"Oh, a recruiting-sergeant!" Uncle Godfrey said. "How did you come to speak to him?"
"I saw him when I was standing outside the shop when Briggs was buying some buns for tea, and when I asked him if he knowed you," said Chris, all in a breath. "He had on such loverly clothes! Do you think if I go to him he will make me a soldier for the Queen?" he asked.
"Of course," his uncle replied. "But I'll tell you what, you had better learn to hold your gun properly, and not as you did the other day. If you don't, you'll end by shooting the sergeant, and being put in 'chokee'."
"What is 'chokee'?" asked Chris, with wide-open eyes.
"Oh, prison! You'll be put into a cell, and have nothing to eat but bread and cold water."
"How drefful!"
"Then go and get that little gun I bought you, and I'll show you how to hold it as you should."
"Just like a real soldier?"
"Well, how else?
"Now, look here," said Uncle Godfrey, when Chris returned with the gun, "didn't I tell you that it was very dangerous to hold a gun like that? It's not sportsmanlike either. Do you hear?"
He spoke with some severity, for he was a young man who was very thorough in all he did, whether work or play, and would tolerate no carelessness.
"Not sports-man-like!" echoed Chris slowly, trying hard with his child's voice to imitate Uncle Godfrey's manly tone.
"Then, as you hear, remember," his uncle said, authoritatively. "Now, rest the gun against your right shoulder—you young duffer, that's your left shoulder; I said your right. Shut your left eye, and aim at my hand."
"Yes," said the little beggar, very proud of himself.
"Let's see; that's right," his uncle continued.
"Now, fire!... Not bad, only you should keep your arm steadier. It wobbled about too much."
"It's very tired," Chris remarked.
Then he inquired: "Uncle Godfrey, may I shoot some wicked men?"
"Certainly, when you find them—and with that gun," he answered.
"Only in the legs," added Chris, "'cause it would be unkind to kill them really, wouldn't it? But I may shoot their legs, so that they can be caught, and can't run away; mayn't I?"
"As much as you like, I say, with that gun," his uncle replied, as he resumed his neglected correspondence.
"I shall shoot a lot," Chris said, with satisfaction.
"Granny," he went on eagerly as he entered the hall, "I'm going to shoot some wicked men. Uncle Godfrey says I may."
"With that gun," cried his uncle, without looking up from his writing.
"My darling!" Granny exclaimed, somewhat dismayed at this bloodthirsty ambition. "But you should not wish to hurt anyone; no, no one at all."
"Only wicked men, and only in the legs, so they couldn't run away from the people who catched them," he said comfortingly. "And I'm going to do it with this gun Uncle Godfrey gaveme. Isn't it a beufferfull gun?" he went on proudly.
"Yes, yes, I saw it," she answered, taking it out of his hands. "A very nice little gun indeed, my pet."
"Oh, my Granny, take care!" he cried suddenly, in a loud, warning voice.
"Why what is the matter?" asked the old lady starting, and in her alarm almost dropping the gun as she spoke. "What is it?" she repeated in a flurried manner, turning round vaguely as she spoke.
"You mustn't hold the gun like that, my Granny," Chris said more calmly, but still gravely; "it's very dan-ger-rus, and it's not sport-man-like."
"Thank you, my darling," she said simply. "Granny will remember another time."
"Shut up, Chris," said Uncle Godfrey laughing, "and don't talk nonsense."
"Well, I want somebody to play with me," he said inconsequently, as he returned to his Uncle's side. "I want someone to play with me very badly."
"I can't," said Uncle Godfrey, in his usual decided manner. "I have to finish my letters."
"Then, Miss Beggarley," he asked, with the air of one making the best of an unpromising state of affairs, "will you tell me a story?"
"Not now, dear," I answered. "I am just turning the heel of this sock, and I can't think of that and a story too."
"Not even Miss Beggarley can tell me a story!" said Chris, sitting down, with a disconsolate expression, beside Jacky on the hearth-rug.
"Not even Miss Beggarley," I repeated laughing.
Chris, looking disappointed and injured, gave Jacky an irritable push, which resulted in an angry growl.
There was a deep sigh from the little beggar. "No one plays with me now," he said mournfully, "and Jacky growls. Naughty Jacky; I don't love you."
"Naughty Chris; it's time for you to go back to the nursery," remarked Uncle Godfrey half-smiling.
"Yes, my Chris; a few lessons, or a nice walk," Granny said, persuasively. "Now, go, like my little pet."
In spite, however, of her gentle persuasions, Chris looked as if he would like to protest, had he not lacked the courage to do so in the presence of Uncle Godfrey. It was, therefore, slowly and unwillingly that he went up the first flight of stairs, then sat on the landing and looked at the back of Uncle Godfrey's head as he bent over his writing.
In a moment or two Briggs' voice was heard in the distance.
"Master Chris, where are you?"
"Here I am," he called back; "just here."
"What, not gone yet?" Uncle Godfrey said a little sharply, turning round.
"Yes, I'm gone," answered the little beggar half-defiantly, half-nervously, as he rose hastily from the landing and continued his upward progress.
"What do you want, Briggs?" he called out.
"I want to know," she said, the sound of her voice coming nearer; "I want to know if you can tell me where your hats are? It's time for you to go out, and I've hunted for them everywhere, but not one can I find."
"Why, they're down there," Chris was heard to say in an aggrieved voice, and as if she were asking a most unnecessary question. "They're all down there."
"And where might down there be?" she asked, with some irritation.
"Why, on the table near the door, with Uncle Godfrey's hats," he answered. "I'm always going to keep my hats there now," he added. "It's only babies what has their hats in the nursery."
"Well, if this doesn't pass everything!" she was heard to exclaim angrily. "And to think of me hunting for those very same hats for thelast quarter of an hour till I'm that tired. Your tricks, Master Chris, are beyond bearing. You'll please come down with me this minute and fetch those very same hats."
"I shall put them all back when we come home," Chris remarked rebelliously, as he began to walk downstairs in company with the irate Briggs.
"We'll see what we'll see,—andyou'llsee. That's all I say," she answered with some loftiness. "I have no mind to have things put out of their proper place, and me have all this trouble given me."
After which oracular speech, and because she was approaching the last flight of stairs leading into the hall, she reserved all further expressions of indignation till she and Chris were once more on the familiar ground of the nursery.
As for the little beggar, it was with many a furtive glance at Uncle Godfrey, who was still writing, that he crossed the hall. He hoped to escape without notice, and, looking mysteriously at Granny and myself, walked by Briggs' side on tiptoe. But his pains were wasted.
"Yes, I know you're there," Uncle Godfrey said, without turning his head, and relaxing into a smile. "What mischief have you been up to this time?"
"I put my hats with your hats, 'cause I likedthem to be with yours, and I didn't want to be a baby and have my hats in the nursery," explained Chris, encouraged by something in his uncle's voice to run to his side and lay his cheek affectionately on his coat-sleeve.
"Then, in future, just you keep your hats where you are told to," Uncle Godfrey said, laughing. "Don't you be such an independent little beggar."
"No," replied Chris obediently, relieved at receiving no severer reprimand.
"And come and kiss your Granny," Granny said gently and caressingly, as he passed her. "Do you love her very much?"
"Oh, yes, my Granny!" he answered somewhat thoughtlessly, as he obeyed her directions. Then continued without pause: "I wanted to ask you—why does Cook always make rice-puddings, and tapioca-puddings, and sago-puddings for my dinner?"
"Because, my pet, I tell her to," she replied. "They are so wholesome, so good for little boys; they make them grow big."
"But I don't mind about growing big," he answered. "I would rather have roly-poly puddings for my dinner; roly-poly puddings what have lots of jam inside."
"Now, how do you think I am to get on with my writing whilst you chatter like this?" interruptedUncle Godfrey. "Go upstairs, and don't keep Briggs waiting like this."
By the little beggar's expression, it was evident that he did not consider the merits of roly-poly pudding, as compared with those of its less enticing rivals, had been by any means sufficiently discussed, and that much yet remained to be said upon the subject. Nevertheless, his uncle's order had the effect of restoring, for a time at least, peace and quiet to the hall; for, as I have before intimated, the one person whose word Chris never thought of disputing was Uncle Godfrey's.
I said that peace and quiet was restoredfor a time only, and I said it advisedly. With the little beggar in the neighbourhood it was useless to count on such a state of affairs continuing for more than a short period. So it proved upon the present occasion.
Before a quarter of an hour had passed, his voice—unmistakably defiant, not to say impertinent—fell upon our ears, as he and Briggs walked along the gallery, that ran above, round the hall. It was Briggs whom we heard first.
"Master Chris," she remarked severely, "I will not stand it."
Then the little beggar repeated in an irritating and rebellious-sounding treble:
"I have a little nursie,She is a little dear,She runs about all dayWithout a thought of fear.I love my little nursie,An' she loves me.So my little nursie an' meBoth a-gree."
A pause followed, evidently intended by Briggs to convey her sense of deep displeasure, and to overawe the offender. Without effect. In a moment Chris's voice began again, from time to time choked with laughter, and giving a little variety to his poetical effort by varying the accent on different words:
"Ihavea little nursie,Sheisa little dear,She runs about all dayWithout athoughtof fear.Ilovemy little nursie,An' she lovesme.Somy little nursie an' meBoth a-gree."
At this repetition of the offence Briggs could contain her wrath no longer.
"If I'm to be ridiculed like this," she exclaimed angrily, yet without altogether losing her habitual impressiveness of manner; "If I'm to be ridiculed like this, I shall give warning and go. I cannot, and I will not stand it."
A second pause, by which time they had reached the top of the stairs leading into the hall, whenChris, forgetful that Uncle Godfrey was within hearing, and unaware of the judgment about to descend on him, started once more:
"I have alittlenur—"
"Wait a moment, young man," called out his uncle from the writing-table. "What do you mean by being so disobedient? Come here."
"He has been going on like that for the last ten minutes," said Briggs complainingly, when she and Chris reached the hall. "He's been that aggravating."
"What nonsense are you talking?" Uncle Godfrey asked him severely, beckoning Chris to come to him.
The little beggar looked at his uncle half-frightened, and did not at once answer.
"What was it, my pet?" Granny said, gently and encouragingly.
"It was a piece of poetry I made up all by myself, all about Briggs," he faltered out.
"A piece of impertinence, it strikes me," remarked Uncle Godfrey.