"Please may I just look in your cellar for a minute?" began Madge very politely, as she entered the shop. "I am very sorry to trouble you, but I won't be long."
"What did you say you wanted, miss?" inquired the old woman, thinking that she had not heard correctly what Madge asked for. "You must excuse me, miss," she went on, "for ever since I had the influenza last winter my hearing has not been what it was before. It's very awkward in the shop, as you may think. Many days I get one of my grand-children, a little girl about your age, to come and help me, but this week she has gone off to visit an aunt in London. Of course that was a great treat for her, so I couldn't think of interfering with it, and I am trying to do the best I can alone."
Another time Madge would have been much interested in hearing all about the little girl who helped her grandmother to keep shop; but now she was in a great hurry to get her money back before Miss Thompson came to look for her, so directly the old woman stopped speaking she began a more detailed explanation of what she wanted, in a particularly clear voice.
"If it was only my own money I wouldn't interrupt you to look for it," she said, "although it is five shillings and sevenpence. But it belongs to the others as well, and, of course, they are expecting me to choose all sorts of nice things in the shops. They will be so disappointed if I don't get it back in time to buy something before we have to start home. It seemed so safe in a brown money-bag, you know; at least it was really Betty's shoe-bag, only she took them out and put them in her drawer. I don't think Nurse knew she had done it. But what I wanted to tell you was, that I believe I can find it in a minute if you will only let me run down to your cellar."
It is to be feared that the old woman understood even less than she heard of this long speech. One sentence, however, reached her ears, and to this she replied.
"I haven't any cellar, miss," she said.
"But—but—" Madge did not dare contradict her flatly. Yet there was the grating in the pavement outside. "Please come to the door a minute," she cried, "and I will show you what I mean, Mrs— Oh, I am so sorry! I don't know your name!"
"My name is Mrs. Winter, and I've kept this shop ever since I became a widow thirty years ago," said the old woman. Then pitying Madge's blushes she continued: "It doesn't matter about not knowing my name, miss. Don't give it another thought. Mrs. Winter is my name, as I said, and it is certainly written above the door, but perhaps you didn't notice it."
"No, I didn't look there! That was very stupid indeed of me!" exclaimed Madge, who had been rather afraid that the old woman might be vexed at her name not being better known. "But I shall remember that you are Mrs. Winter always now," she added. "And now please let me show you where the brown bag dropped."
"Ah, down there was it?" said Mrs. Winter, coming to the door. "You will have a troublesome job to get in there, I am afraid. That cellar belongs to the large house next door that's empty. The whole place is shut up, and the man who keeps the key lives at the other side of the town."
"What shall I do? What shall I do?" repeated poor Madge, her spirits quite giving way at this discouraging news. Up to that time she had fancied that if she could once explain the state of the case to Mrs. Winter all would be well. And now it turned out that after all Mrs. Winter had no more power to get back the bag than Madge herself. Of course at twelve years old one can't cry before strangers, but if Madge had only been the same age as the twins, it is very certain that she would have relieved herself by bursting into tears. Even as it was she looked so miserable as to excite Mrs. Winter's compassion.
"There! Don't you fret about your money, my dear," she said, patting Madge kindly on the shoulder. "It will be all safe down that grating, never fear! There are too many locked doors to the house for anybody to run away with it, and the rats and spiders won't do it any harm. And when the man who keeps the key comes to open the windows and air the rooms a bit I'll try and catch him. He is generally here about once or twice a week, and I'll see that you get back your money safe enough."
"It's very kind of you," said Madge dolefully; "but I am afraid it will not be of much use unless I can get back the money this afternoon. You see, we live in the country, and we hardly ever come to Churchbury; only now and then for a great treat. And Betty and John are expecting their toys this evening, or books, or chocolates. I was to choose whatever I thought they would like best, and now I can't get anything."
"Dear! dear!" exclaimed kind Mrs. Winter, in a tone of deep concern. And then she proceeded to ask a great many questions about what had happened.
As Madge finished her sad story the old woman broke out into lamentations.
"If only I had someone to keep the shop for half an hour I would go after the man myself and try to get the key, that I would," she said. "But little Ann is away, and—"
"Who is little Ann?" interrupted Madge.
"Why, my grandchild to be sure!" rejoined Mrs. Winter. "And not so little either, only that's a manner of speaking I got into when she was a baby, and now I keep on forgetting that she has turned thirteen and able to help me in the shop as well as any grown-up woman."
"I shall be thirteen very soon myself," said Madge eagerly. "Don't you think I could stay in the shop just as Ann does, while you go to find the man with the key? Oh, please let me try! I'm sure I could manage it if you are quick."
Mrs. Winter hesitated. It is true that Madge was just as tall as her own grand-daughter, but then Ann knew the ways of the shop; and it was a very different thing leaving her in charge to confiding all one's property to the care of a perfect stranger. Mrs. Winter, however, did not feel any distrust of Madge, and quite believed the story about the lost bag of money. She could see that it was not the invention of an impostor, who wished to get an opportunity for pilfering little things out of the shop. In fact, the more Mrs. Winter thought about the case the more inclined she felt to help in the recovery of the brown bag. She was one if those kindly people who naturally interest themselves in their neighbours' affairs, and she felt strongly tempted to take a part in the little adventure.
"After all it's no great work to stand behind the counter and see that the things are safe," said Mrs. Winter reflectively.
"Oh, yes, I'm sure I could do that!" replied Madge. "But then if anybody came to buy. They do sometimes, I suppose?"
"Of course they do, or what would be the sense of calling it a shop," said Mrs. Winter rather sharply. "You mustn't think because you caught me just sitting down to knit for a few minutes this afternoon that business is in any way slack. That's just my quiet time for an hour or so then. But you wait till about tea-time, and there isn't standing room for anyone in the shop many an evening. I know I could do with another pair of hands easily! What with one wanting writing-paper, and another pencils, and another a bottle of ink, it may be! And the children running in with their pennies to ask for some of the little things you may have noticed in the window; I always keep a lot of knick-knacks for them."
All this sounded very alarming. Even Madge began to doubt her own capacity for standing behind the counter and awaiting such an overpowering rush of business. However, she presently remembered that Mrs. Winter had referred to the afternoon as being usually a very quiet time, and certainly nothing could have looked more peaceful than the old woman sitting quietly nodding over her knitting, and occasionally flicking a speck of dust off the goods nearest her. Besides, on careful consideration, the shop was so small that three or four customers would have great difficulty in getting inside it at once, so perhaps the crowd of which Mrs. Winter spoke was not really of such an alarming size. At all events she wanted to get the brown bag back very much, and it was worth risking something for its recovery.
After a great deal of persuasion Mrs. Winter consented to put on her bonnet and go in search of the man with the key. Up to the last moment she poured out an unceasing flow of instructions to Madge how to behave under every possible circumstance. "And if anybody should come while I am away, which it's to be hoped they won't, you must just make a bit of conversation about the weather or something till I come back," she concluded. "That's what Ann does when I've stepped out for a moment, and she doesn't know the price of a thing somebody inquires for. Why, the child will chat away as cleverly as possible about the new electric lights in the town, or the spring flower-show, or what not, and nobody could ever guess that she is only filling up the time till I come back! And that's what you must try and do." With these words Mrs. Winter left the shop.
It was a funny position for Madge, left all alone in charge of a shop. If anybody had told her that it was going to happen she would have been delighted at such an amusing prospect, and would certainly not have been troubled by any modest doubts as to her power of selling like a regular shop-woman. But now that the situation had actually come to pass she felt unusually nervous, and very much hoped that her talents would not be tested by any customer coming while she was alone. For the first quarter of an hour she stood anxiously staring through the glass at the passers-by, expecting each person to stop and come in at the door. Nobody came, however, and in spite of Mrs. Winter's repeated assurances of the popularity of her little shop, it seemed strangely neglected that afternoon by the inhabitants of Churchbury.
Madge gradually became calmer as she found that nothing was going to happen, and with the comfortable reflection that Mrs. Winter must be back before long she began to amuse herself by examining the contents of the shop.
It was really very interesting to be inside the counter instead of outside, and in a position to examine everything carefully without any interference. On the rare occasions when Madge, Betty, and John went shopping, it always seemed to them as if no sooner had they caught a glimpse of some especially fascinating book, picture, or toy, than they were instantly hauled away to one of those dull linen-draper's establishments in which grown-up people so mysteriously delight to linger. As for examining anything closely, that was quite out of the question when they went shopping with Miss Thompson. Ever since the time when Betty had knocked two china ornaments off a shelf and broken them to pieces while stretching out her hand to pick up a pepper-pot in the shape of an owl, there had been a strict rule that the children should touch nothing in shops. It was a dreadfully dull rule, because, of course, nobody can look at things comfortably from a yard off and without handling them at all. The prettiest doll loses most of its interest if one cannot count how many petticoats there are under its dress, and examine how much of its neck is made of wax, and where the stuffing begins. And what can be duller than a mechanical mouse, unless one can wind it up to run on the floor?
Madge decided at once that under such very peculiar circumstances as the present she need not keep to Miss Thompson's rule. After all it would be simply ridiculous to be standing inside the counter and left in charge of the shop without even daring to look at the things she was supposed to be selling. So, to provide herself as it were with a good excuse, she took up a duster that she found lying on a chair, and began carefully to rub over all the interesting things. The piles of envelopes and writing-paper Madge did not consider required much dusting, but pen-wipers in the shape of pigs, and work-boxes covered with shells arranged in patterns, clearly called for a great deal of attention.
Although Mrs. Winter was very particular about calling her shop a stationer's, she really seemed to sell a little of everything. Madge could see very well that it was just the kind of place where she would be able to choose the sort of interesting things that Betty and John expected. When she got her money back she would set seriously to work to spend it at Mrs. Winter's before she met with any further misadventures.
"It isn't many people who have first kept a shop and then bought things out of it all in one afternoon, I should think," she said aloud, as she vigorously dusted a mug adorned with coloured portraits of the royal family.
At that moment there was a great push, and the door flew open.
"How quick you have been!" began Madge; then she stopped suddenly and almost dropped the mug. It was not Mrs. Winter who came in, but a girl a few years older than herself, evidently a customer.
"I want a fashion-paper," said the new-comer in a harsh voice. "One of those with big coloured pictures of ladies in party-dresses and ball-gowns. Something smart, you know. It's for myself—Miss Amelia Block of Ivy Villa."
Madge felt that she was expected to know the name, and that Miss Amelia Block was, in her own estimation at least, a very important person. Perhaps she was in the habit of buying fashion-papers at this shop. She probably had copied her hat, which was very large and profusely trimmed with pink ribbon, out of one of the coloured pictures of which she seemed so fond. It was a pity, Madge thought, that her face, instead of being pretty and smiling, as the ladies are always represented in fashion-papers, was ugly and cross-looking. And a pair of very dirty gray kid gloves, with most of their buttons off, did not improve her appearance by any means.
"I do hope she intends to buy some new gloves before she has any more smart dresses or hats made," Madge could not help thinking.
In the meantime Miss Block was walking slowly round, or to speak more correctly, turning on her heels, in the middle of the tiny shop. "You don't seem to have much choice of fashion-papers here," she said rudely.
Madge did not reply, for the very excellent reason that she had not an idea what fashion-papers Mrs. Winter kept.
"Haven't you anything more stylish than this?" inquired Miss Block, picking up an illustrated magazine off the counter, and pointing contemptuously to the picture of two ladies in their best dresses on the cover. "I'm going to several parties and bazaars," she explained, "and, of course, I don't want to look a regular dowdy."
"No, I see you don't," said Madge, staring at the enormous pink hat, and then without intending it her eyes suddenly fell to the dirty gray kid gloves.
Miss Block evidently thought that the little girl was intentionally trying to make her feel uncomfortable. She became very red, and hurriedly hid her hands in the folds of her skirt.
"If you will kindly give me what I asked for at once, instead of standing there giggling at your betters, I'll be very much obliged to you," she said, speaking even more disagreeably than before.
Madge was quite taken aback by this address. She never had the least intention of behaving rudely, although it was true that in the bottom of her heart she did not at all admire Miss Block's appearance. Still, she had not meant to show her feelings so plainly. While she stood speechless, wondering how she could best beg her customer's pardon, Miss Block burst out into a storm of abuse that would better have befitted a neglected street child than such a very smartly dressed young woman.
"You just wait a bit till I see your grandmother!" she cried. "I'll soon give her a bit of my mind for leaving such a vulgar chit of a child in charge of her shop! It's my own fault I suppose for coming to such a low place instead of going to the largest shops in the town, which I might as well do. And in future I shall certainly go where I shall be treated like a young lady! Mrs. Winter needn't look for my patronage any more, I can tell you. She may think I am going to submit quietly to being insulted by her pert little granddaughter, but she will soon find out—"
"Please, I am not Mrs. Winter's grandchild, so you need not say that!" interrupted Madge, suddenly recovering the use of her voice. Her anger at this undeserved abuse almost got the better of her shyness. "I've got nothing to do with Mrs. Winter," she continued. "But it's a nice shop and I won't hear it abused. I dare say there are heaps of fashion-papers in it, only I don't know where to find them—"
"If you aren't Mrs. Winter's grand-daughter, who are you then, I should very much like to know?" said Miss Block, looking at Madge curiously across the counter.
"That's no business of yours," replied Madge, with more truth than politeness. In point of fact she did not wish this very disagreeable young person to find out her name. It seemed as if the adventure might end rather sillily, and Madge was not at all anxious for her part in it to be widely known.
Miss Block did not appear daunted by the abrupt answer she had received. On the contrary, she gave a curious smile when Madge declined to tell her name, and nodded her head, repeating softly to herself, "I thought so. Just as I thought."
"What did you think?" said Madge at last, feeling intolerably irritated at her customer's mysterious words and manners.
"Well, it wouldn't require a very clever person to guess what you are!" replied Miss Block triumphantly. She spoke as if she had just made some great discovery that gave her infinite pleasure.
"You don't really know who I am, do you?" said Madge with considerable anxiety.
"Well, I am generally considered as sharp as my neighbours, I believe!" retorted Miss Block. "And I can make a pretty good guess! When I find somebody in a shop who doesn't know where any of the things are kept, although I see her pulling them all about as I come in; and when she gets very frightened, and won't tell her name or how she got there, I call that person a thief!"
"A thief! You think I am a thief!" cried Madge, almost more astonished than offended by such an extraordinary accusation. "Why, Mrs. Winter herself told me to stay in the shop while she went off to find the man who—"
"Oh yes! A very fine story. I have heard of that kind of excuse before!" interrupted Miss Block mockingly. "It's my belief you just slipped in when poor old Mrs. Winter was out of the way for a minute, and if I hadn't luckily caught you in the very act you would have been off with your pockets crammed—"
"How can you say such things!" cried Madge. "Why, I have money to pay for everything I want, only it's dropped down the grating into the cellar of the next house, as I was just going to tell you. And while Mrs. Winter went to get the key I was making up my mind what I would buy presently. And as I have five shillings and sevenpence to spend (it's not all mine exactly, but nearly the same thing), you certainly need not say that I wasn't going to pay!"
"Now that's a very interesting story! So interesting that I'll give you the chance of repeating it to a policeman, and we'll see what he says to it," remarked Miss Block, at the same time moving towards the street door as if to go out.
Madge could hardly believe her ears. A policeman being called to examine her just as if she were really a thief! It seemed impossible, but Miss Block, with a most unpleasant smile, was actually turning the door-handle, when she was suddenly seized round the waist by two strong arms.
"You sha'n't do it!" cried Madge hysterically. "You sha'n't do it, I tell you!"
She was a tall, strong girl for her age, and having sprung on Miss Block from behind and taken her quite by surprise, she had no difficulty in dragging her across the little shop.
Miss Block uttered a series of frightened shrieks and tried to wrench herself free, but though taller she was not nearly so active as Madge. While struggling together the two girls pushed heavily against a door at the back of the shop that led into Mrs. Winter's little sitting-room. It burst open, and they both fell headlong on to a black horse-hair sofa which occupied a prominent position in the room. Madge recovered first from the shock of the fall, and darting back into the shop slammed the door behind her, turning the key in the lock.
On finding herself imprisoned in the little parlour Miss Block began to scream. The noise she had been making before was nothing compared to what she made now. One would never have supposed that the wearer of such a magnificent pink hat could scream as loud as she did. Madge looked anxiously at the faces of the passers-by in the street, but apparently the sounds were considerably softened by coming through two closed doors, at all events nobody took any notice of the turmoil. If only no more customers came to the shop all might be well; but Madge could not help feeling that she was running a great risk of getting mixed up in a really serious affair. Without knowing much about the law, she understood very well that it was exceedingly unusual conduct, to say the least of it, first to knock a strange lady down, and then shut her into somebody else's back parlour. Of course, Madge had rolled over at the same time as her prisoner, and indeed hurt her own elbow rather severely against the wooden framework of the sofa, so that the two girls had really fared very equally. In spite of this Madge felt convinced that Miss Block would describe herself in the future as having been violently assaulted. It might even turn out that, quite unintentionally, Madge had broken the law, and now deserved to be seized by the policeman with whom Miss Block had threatened her a few minutes previously. Then, the very idea of being a fit object for the attention of a policeman seemed absurd; but now Madge could not feel quite as consciously innocent as she would have wished.
Until to-day it had never occurred to Madge that she could possibly break the law except by trespassing on her neighbours' property. The children were all terribly afraid of being caught doing that, because old Barton had often told them warning stories of boys who had been sent to prison for this offence. But now it seemed that it was much easier to get into the clutches of the law than they had imagined. Miss Block between her shrieks might be heard loudly requesting the presence of a policeman, and it could hardly be expected that she would go on much longer without attracting any attention.
On the whole, Madge's best chance of safety seemed to be in trying to make friends with her late adversary. She stood close to the parlour door, and seizing an opportunity when Miss Block's shrieks became a little fainter (probably owing to loss of breath), she put her mouth close to the key-hole and shouted:
"I am very sorry I was rough. Please listen, I have something to say."
Miss Block did not answer, but she did what was still better, she stopped screaming for a minute.
"It was like this," continued Madge, still shouting through the key-hole. "I dropped all our money, five shillings and sevenpence, you know, down the grating in the pavement outside. And when I came and told Mrs. Winter, she promised to fetch the man who kept the key of the house if I would stay—"
"I don't believe a word of it!" suddenly shrieked Miss Block from behind the door. "I expect you rushed in and knocked the poor old woman down like you did me! I shouldn't be a bit surprised to hear that she was lying unconscious behind the counter at this very moment!"
Madge was dreadfully disappointed by this fresh outbreak. She had hoped, judging by Miss Block's momentary calm, that she was becoming more reasonable, and that the door might soon be unlocked without there being any danger of a policeman being summoned. But this last absurd accusation of injuring Mrs. Winter was the worst of all. It would clearly be extreme folly to release Miss Block while she was capable of such malicious misrepresentations.
"I can't let you out unless you promise solemnly on your word and honour not to tell anybody silly stories about my stealing, or hurting Mrs. Winter. As if I would do such a thing!" shouted Madge through the key-hole.
"Help! Fire! Murder! Thieves!" shrieked Miss Block in reply.
"If you go on making that noise I won't unlock the door at all until Mrs. Winter comes back," threatened Madge, rendered desperate by terror.
"You won't let me out, won't you? Then I'll smash everything in this room with the poker!" screamed Miss Block in a voice choking with rage.
There was an ominous pause followed by a loud crash.
"Oh, please don't break Mrs. Winter's things! Please don't!" implored Madge. "It isn't her fault, you know, or mine either for the matter of that! The whole thing is a mistake, just because you won't listen to the true—"
"I am going to wait exactly one minute," interrupted Miss Block, "and at the end of that time if the door isn't opened I shall knock the clock off the chimney-piece, and the glass shade that is over it too!"
Poor Madge was almost wild with terror at this horrid threat. She broke out into incoherent cries and entreaties for mercy, to which there was no reply. Then she dashed to the street door in the hope of seeing Mrs. Winter, but only an unceasing flow of strangers passed along the pavement outside.
"The minute is over!" screamed Miss Block. "Let me out at once or—"
Madge was dreadfully afraid of a policeman, and felt that, very shortly, the worst terror of her life would come to pass and she would be dragged off to prison. Still, she could not let kind old Mrs. Winter's best clock be broken on her account. She unlocked the parlour door and flung it wide open.
Out bounded Miss Block, her face scarlet with rage, the pink hat cocked unbecomingly over one ear. "You miserable, impertinent, thieving little wretch!" she stammered, literally sobbing with fury. "I'll soon teach—"
"My dear child! What has happened, and what are you doing?" interrupted a calm voice.
Unnoticed by the two angry girls the street door had opened, and there stood Miss Thompson. When things came to be explained afterwards there was nothing very strange about her arriving at that moment, but to Madge her appearance seemed so opportune as to be little short of miraculous. In point of fact Miss Thompson had left the linen-draper's shortly before, and on looking up and down the street for her pupil had seen her face peeping out of Mrs. Winter's door. Madge at the time had been so occupied in watching for Mrs. Winter that she had no thoughts to spare for anyone else, and never noticed Miss Thompson until she heard her voice.
Miss Block was not at the best of times a well-bred girl, and now, her face distorted with passion she seemed ready, positively, to fly at Madge. Anything like opposition or argument would have produced a regular torrent of rude words and foolish accusations. But Miss Thompson did not give her any chance of being insulting; she was so calm herself, and so full of dignified apologies for Madge's behaviour, that before long the angry girl left off sobbing hysterically and began to listen to reason.
When Miss Block had heard the whole story she felt distinctly uncomfortable. Captain West was exceedingly well known in the neighbourhood, and the last thing Miss Block would have wished to do was to call his daughter a thief; but how could she guess that a plainly-dressed little girl in a small shop belonged to anyone of importance? Miss Block was sufficiently vulgar to have different manners for different classes of society. It confused her very much to find that she had treated Captain West's daughter as if she were Mrs. Winter's grandchild, or even someone poorer.
"Well, I'm very sorry for all that's happened," she said awkwardly. "It's been a mistake, and I hope Captain West won't think any more about it." Miss Thompson politely assured her that Captain West would attach no importance to the unpleasant interview that had taken place between his daughter and Miss Block, in fact that he would probably never hear of it.
"That's a good thing!" cried Miss Block, evidently much relieved by this assurance. "Then I think I'll be going. And," she added, pausing for a moment in the doorway, "there's not much fear of my coming here again! I might have guessed something would happen in a low little place like this! None of these vulgar poky shops for me in future!"
Miss Thompson was about to speak rather sharply in defence of Mrs. Winter, when Miss Block cut her short by flouncing noisily out of the shop.
There was a short silence, and then Miss Thompson said: "I need not point out to you, Madge, the extreme vulgarity of that last remark?"
"About the poky little shop, do you mean?" asked Madge shyly.
"Yes, indeed. I doubt whether anybody has ever before behaved half so rudely in this little house as the smartly-dressed girl who has just gone out of it. I am glad to see, however, that she has not really broken anything in the parlour, only knocked over a small table to try and frighten you with the noise. But we won't talk of her any more." And Miss Thompson shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
Fortunately, at this point Mrs. Winter returned, bringing with her the key of the empty house that she had actually persuaded the caretaker to lend her.
"I have promised faithfully to return it to him this evening, miss," said the kind old woman. "He made some little difficulties at first about letting it go out of his own hands, but being in the shoe-making business he couldn't come himself till after work hours, and I told him the young lady was in a sad way to be getting home again before tea-time—"
"I don't think the young lady is half as anxious to get home in good time as I am!" laughed Miss Thompson. Then she thanked Mrs. Winter heartily for the trouble she had taken to get back the children's money. "And now that we have the key," she concluded, "it will soon be recovered. I will stay in the shop, and if any customers come I will ask them to wait a few minutes until Mrs. Winter returns."
Madge was quite satisfied with this arrangement; she had had enough of keeping shop for one afternoon. Besides, she was very anxious to see the inside of the empty house.
It was with a certain air of importance that Mrs. Winter walked along the pavement, closely followed by Madge. The friendly old woman always took a great interest in her neighbours' affairs, and she thoroughly enjoyed seeing the recovery of the lost money with her own eyes. When, after about a dozen steps, the front-door of the adjoining house was reached, Mrs. Winter smiled with conscious pride as she put the key into the key-hole. It was a critical moment. If the children ever recovered their lost money it would be entirely owing to her exertions. Not many elderly women in Churchbury that afternoon were playing such an exciting part.
The street in which Mrs. Winter lived was an old one, and consequently built without any regularity. It thus happened that next to Mrs. Winter's tiny shop stood a substantial family dwelling-house, whose cellars, as it has been said, took up rather more room on the pavement than seemed rightly to belong to them. Since the death of the last occupant some time before, the house had stood empty; only the caretaker visited it occasionally to air the rooms.
When Mrs. Winter pushed the heavy, creaking front-door open Madge followed her into a roomy hall, out of which a handsome staircase led to the upper part of the house. It was all very dignified and dreary. When the door was shut the noise echoed all over the house. It was not a very cheerful sound, especially heard in the sombre twilight caused by windows with the blinds all drawn down.
"We shall want a light for the cellar," observed Mrs. Winter. "The man said I should find all that was required on the window-sill in the hall—and here it is too!" she continued joyfully, holding up as she spoke a box of matches and a short candle stuck in a bottle.
Madge was exceedingly interested in this simple form of candlestick, and asked permission to carry it, in spite of the grease trickling down the bottle on to her fingers at every draught, as soon as the candle was lighted.
"It's a fine house. I've been over it many a time in old Doctor Freeman's day," said Mrs. Winter thoughtfully. "But it isn't much to see now since the sale, with all the furniture gone out of the rooms and the carpets up. Besides, we have not the time to lose going over it, or the lady will get tired of waiting for you."
Madge always liked investigating unknown places and things, but still she could not deny that Miss Thompson was awaiting her return rather anxiously. And when Mrs. Winter, taking another key fully as large as the first, proceeded to push open a heavy door and disclose a steep flight of slippery stone steps leading downwards into the cellars, Madge had the comfort of feeling that at all events she was seeing the most interesting part of the house. The bedrooms, or even attics, could not be as thrilling as that yawning chasm beneath her feet into which she was now about to plunge.
"Poor old Doctor Freeman set a great store on his collection of wine," observed Mrs. Winter as she slowly went down the cellar steps, feeling with her hands along the wall, for the bit of candle that Madge carried in front gave a very insufficient light, and she was terribly afraid of slipping. However, her nervousness did not prevent her from giving Madge a long account of the sale that had taken place after Dr. Freeman's death, and of the large sums of money that people gave for his treasured collections of wine.
"And to my thinking he would have been much wiser to drink it himself, poor gentleman!" she concluded. "But each one knows what he likes best, and if he preferred the look of the bottles to the taste of what was in them—well, 'twas his own to do what he liked with!"
Madge did not listen very attentively to Mrs. Winter's somewhat rambling discourse. By this time they had reached the bottom step, and another large key having been produced the last heavy door was opened with a loud creak. To any young lady who had read as many fairy-tales as Madge, the situation irresistibly suggested a subterranean cavern, in which unlimited gold was stored away by thrifty dwarfs.
"And there really is a lot of money there," thought Madge; "five shillings and sevenpence might easily be called a heap of treasure—with a little pretending. But I do wish Betty and John were here to help to discover it! We should have so much more fun."
Mrs. Winter was not a very satisfactory companion on an adventurous expedition. She was kindness itself—nobody could have been more good-natured,—but she did not seem quite to enter into the spirit of the thing. The dark mysterious cavern remained to her nothing but Dr. Freeman's empty wine-cellar; and it evidently never occurred to her for a moment that there was anything to be gained by calling the candle-end a torch! Life in the nursery and schoolroom at home had afforded Madge comparatively few opportunities for real adventure; and when one suddenly fell across her path it was tiresome to have an unappreciative companion who took everything as a matter of course.
Presently a trifling accident brought about a change in the situation. At the farther end of the long cellar there was a very faint glimmer of light coming through a grating overhead.
"That's where your money dropped down," observed Mrs. Winter. "You are sure to find it scattered on the ground under the grating."
At this suggestion Madge very naturally ran forward, and the violent draught coming from the opening above blew out the candle she carried in her hand.
Poor Mrs. Winter was greatly disturbed by suddenly finding herself in the dark. Even by the light of the candle it had seemed hard work to her coming down the steep steps, and how she was ever to get up them again in total darkness she really did not know. Yet she would not consent to let Madge go back to the hall where the matches had had been left and light the candle, fearing that the little girl might set fire to the house.
"Then I may stay here in the dark by myself while you go, may I?" pleaded Madge, who did not wish to waste a minute of her time in this exciting place.
"Yes, I suppose so," replied Mrs. Winter, rather wondering at the little girl's taste, but too much occupied in the effort of feeling her way to the stairs to pay much attention to anything else. Presently she could be heard slowly mounting step by step, then the door at the top of the stairs shut with a noisy clang behind her, and there was silence.
Madge was all alone in the dark. It was certainly delightfully exciting, but not, strictly speaking, quite so enjoyable as she had anticipated. The chief pleasure would be in afterwards describing to Betty and John what had happened. In the meantime she would be very brave, and Mrs. Winter might return at any moment with the candle.
The worst of darkness and silence is, that they seem to increase every moment. What is merely gloomy at first becomes almost intolerable as time goes on. All sorts of horrid ideas came into Madge's head. Could it be that Mrs. Winter had shut her in and gone home? Or fallen down in a fit in the hall? Or that the cellar door had slammed with a spring-lock and could not be got open again? None of these suppositions would have seemed very probable in the light; but Madge was becoming too frightened to form a clear judgment on the subject. She longed to call out in the hopes of getting an answer from Mrs. Winter, but dread of hearing her own voice echoing through the empty house kept her silent. And from the same cause she remained standing motionless on the spot where she had been left. The terror of stepping on some strange soft object that would squeak or squash under her feet was enough to keep her still. She thought of Lewis Brand's tales about rats and toads in Mrs. Howard's cellar, and she wondered that he did not go mad when shut up among them.
As Madge was standing stiff with fright, and straining her ears to catch a distant sound of footsteps that never seemed to come, she suddenly remembered the grating at the farther end of the cellar. "What a stupid creature I am!" she exclaimed joyfully, as, turning her head, she again caught sight of the reassuring glimmer of light behind her. It had been there all the time, while she was staring into the darkness in the opposite direction.
In another moment Madge was cautiously creeping towards the grating. She could only go slowly pushing one foot before her in order to avoid stepping heavily on some hidden horror; for the daylight struggling through the tiny opening overhead only faintly lighted the ground immediately below, leaving the rest of the cellar in total darkness.
Even this feeble patch of twilight quite restored Madge's confidence. She would reach it and feel about for the lost money, then if Mrs. Winter did not speedily return she could no doubt find her way back up the cellar steps without any help. When Madge was not frightened she was just as sensible and energetic as a grown-up person.
Hardly had she resolved on this most practical course, however, when there was a wild scuffle round her legs, and something brushed past her with glaring eyes—something that uttered confused sounds of rage as it lurked in the darkness to spring out upon her.
Poor Madge! She forgot her age, her dignity, and her character for good common sense. She only remembered alarming stories about hobgoblins and witches, and she began to scream. Luckily Mrs. Winter had by this time found the box of matches, and very soon returned with the candle. Then all at once the scene changed. The mysterious haunted cavern again became nothing but a large cellar full of empty shelves, hung with festoons of cobwebs. And the lurking monster turned out to be a half-starved kitten, that must at some time have followed the caretaker down the steps and got locked in.
With trembling hands and a rather shamefaced expression Madge collected the fallen coins, many of which had rolled out of the bag to some distance. She could not bear to think that Mrs. Winter had heard her screaming like a frightened baby. The annoyance of this recollection prevented her from taking any interest in the poor kitten that Mrs. Winter was gently coaxing towards her; and it was not until they were again back in the little shop that Madge regained her customary good spirits.
After all, there was very little time left for the important work of choosing toys. Madge did her best to make up her mind in a hurry, assisted by a good deal of judicious advice from Miss Thompson. But that was not the way in which she enjoyed shopping. She liked to dwell on every purchase, carefully calculating whether its merits justified its price, and trying to imagine how it would look when the stuffing came out of it, or the paint was rubbed off. When the money was not all her own, and the toys not all for herself, as in the present instance, it naturally much increased the difficulty of selection. There were the tastes and needs of different people to be considered, their various wants and wishes to be recalled. Madge was a most conscientious shopper, and in the main a thoughtful elder sister. She would have scorned to spend Betty's and John's money and not give them full satisfaction.
"My dear child," said Miss Thompson at last, "I have really waited as long as I dare. We must go to the place where we left the carriage, and start home. Your parents will think we have met with an accident."
"Oh, please wait a minute! Just one minute!" begged Madge. "I haven't half chosen yet. That's to say, I have put together a lot of things that might do, but I want to look through them before I quite settle."
"Perhaps I can help you to decide?" said Miss Thompson briskly. "What's this? A whip and a boat for John? Surely that is exactly what he had last time we went shopping?"
"Yes; but he has broken the old whip, and he wants another boat," explained Madge. "They have just put such a nice great tub of water in the garden, because the pump has gone dry with the hot weather, and we sail—"
"Oh, that's all right!" interrupted Miss Thompson. "So long as you know what you like and are satisfied. And Betty is to have this doll, I suppose, and that trumpet? Isn't she getting rather old for a trumpet?"
"But she likes a trumpet better than anything, except a whistle," explained Madge hurriedly. "We all like trumpets or anything that makes a noise."
"You are welcome to your noises so long as I hear nothing of them in the schoolroom!" laughed Miss Thompson. "And you have chosen a knife and a china tea-pot for yourself, I see. Well, now be quick and let Mrs. Winter make up the bill."
"But there was a lot of other little things I want to get!" cried Madge. "I have not had time to think properly yet."
Miss Thompson looked at her watch, and said that she would wait exactly five minutes and no more. At the end of that period Madge with many groans of regret was obliged to turn away from the counter, feeling that if she only had all the time she wanted she would immediately put back most of the things she had chosen and select fresh ones. Perhaps it was just as well that she was rather hurried, for at this rate there would have been no end to the shopping.
Mrs. Winter parted from her customers with many invitations to them to return and see how the poor half-starved kitten prospered under her care. She had already put him to bed in a basket in the back-kitchen, after giving him two whole saucers of milk, that he drank without stopping. Altogether it seemed probable that he would find the shop a much more agreeable residence than the cellar, where, judging by the prominence of his ribs, he must have kept himself alive on a very limited supply of mice and black-beetles.
It was long past the usual time for schoolroom tea when Miss Thompson and Madge returned home. The twins, it may be remembered, had been climbing in the Eagle's Nest a good part of the afternoon, and were consequently as hungry as people who have been playing for hours in the open air have a right to be. They were waiting on the door-step when the carriage drove up, and began at once to reproach Madge for being so late, and to inquire what she had brought.
"Come along," said Miss Thompson briskly. "Not a word is to be spoken until Madge has taken off her hat and we are seated at the tea-table. If we begin to embark on our adventures now, we shall never get any tea to-night."
The children grumbled, but they were forced to obey, as Miss Thompson waited to see Madge walk upstairs before she took off her own jacket. Long experience had taught her that if an exciting story was once begun, even tea would be forgotten.
At last, however, the delightful moment had arrived, when the children were all seated round the table and at liberty to recount their afternoon's occupations. Of course, Madge's adventures were altogether so out of the common as to throw everything else into the shade. The twins said nothing about their meeting with Lewis, and Madge never thought of inquiring what they had been doing. They did not intentionally conceal anything, but in the excitement of hearing about the loss and recovery of the brown bag they completely forgot what, up to that time, had been a great source of pride—namely, that they had been associating on equal terms of friendship with a big school-boy. Even when tea was over and Miss Thompson left them alone, they forgot to tell Madge how they had spent the afternoon, in the interest of looking at the new purchases.
"Well, I suppose all's well that ends well," remarked Betty solemnly, as she helped to unpack the brown paper parcels on the schoolroom table. "Only it must have been very terrible in that cellar, especially when you saw those flaming eyes in the dark! What colour were they, green or yellow?"
"Oh, I hardly remember! The colour of cats' eyes, I suppose!" replied Madge rather impatiently.
She did not much care to dwell upon that time in the cellar, when she had mistaken the poor starved kitten for some sort of hobgoblin, and screamed at it in a way that was most unworthy of her age and good sense. To change the subject, she asked John how he liked the things she had chosen for him.
"The ship is all right," he said slowly, "and so is the whip. At least it's not quite so big as the one I got last time, and it cost a penny more, but still it will do. Only—"
"Well, what's the matter?" interrupted Madge. "What have you got to grumble at now, I should like to know?"
She spoke sharply, for, with all her kindness, she could not bear to have the younger ones finding fault with anything she did. So long as they were duly grateful she would work hard to amuse them; but the moment they began to criticise her conduct in any way there was trouble.
"Do you think you could have chosen anything better yourself?" she said scornfully. "You had better try next time if you think it's so easy!"
"I didn't say the things were not nice things," observed John in his quiet obstinate way. "I never meant that. Only I can't understand how you spent our money. That's all."
"Why it's as simple as A B C!" broke out Madge. "Just listen, you little silly, and I'll tell you. I took five shillings and sevenpence, didn't I?"
"Of course you did! In the brown bag," answered Betty, although nobody had spoken to her.
John merely nodded his head to show that he was following the argument up to this point.
"And as the money belonged to us all we were all to share alike," proceeded Madge rapidly. "So I got a ship and a doll and a knife, each costing a shilling. And we had one apiece. That's three shillings. Then the whip and the trumpet and the tea-pot cost sixpence each. That comes to four shillings and sixpence. And the packets of sugar-plums, and pipes for blowing soap-bubbles, come to tenpence. That makes five shillings and four-pence. And—and—"
"And that's all!" interrupted John. "But you took five shillings and sevenpence in the brown bag, you know. I remember counting it; didn't we, Betty?"
"Oh, I'm well aware of that!" cried Madge impatiently. "If you will only just keep quiet I can make it right in a moment. I must have added up wrongly while you were chattering." And spreading all the purchases out on the table she tried to count them more carefully over again, repeating their prices as she did so. But it was no use. Try as she might her accounts would not come perfectly right. There was threepence missing, and Madge could not account for it at all.
"It must have slipped out of the bag and be lying in a corner of that cellar," said Betty with considerable reason. "Threepence is such a very tiny bit of money you would never see it in the dark, or even by the light of one candle."
"Perhaps not. I suppose that is what has happened," admitted poor Madge. She was ready to cry with mortification at having had the worst of the argument with John, in spite of his being two years younger than herself and very much her inferior in arithmetic. Besides, she knew that if she had, as seemed most probable, left a threepenny piece on the cellar floor, it was all owing to that annoying fit of nervousness that had suddenly come over her in the dark. At the time that she picked up the money she was still suffering from the fright caused by the sudden appearance of the kitten, and no doubt had been too much upset to notice very carefully what she was doing. But she did not like to explain all this to the twins, who were in the habit of looking upon her as the living embodiment of courage. So she merely laid the blame on the dim light of the cellar.
The consequence of this was, that when John next found himself alone with Betty he began to grumble.
"It's all very well for Madge to say she didn't see the threepenny bit," he said, "but I think she ought to have stayed there looking until she did see it. She can see things very well when she tries. I don't believe she took any trouble about it, because it belonged to us."
"But part of it belonged to her," objected Betty.
"Only one part," said John persistently, "and two parts belonged to us. So of course it was more ours than hers, and that's why she didn't trouble to look for it."
"Do you think so really?" said Betty in an irresolute tone. She had great faith in Madge always acting for the best, but these new arguments were rather disturbing.
"I'll tell you what it is," continued John. "Madge thinks herself a much grander person than we are, because she is a little older. And it isn't fair. Lewis said he wouldn't be ordered about by her if he were in my place, and I won't either. After all, she is only a girl!"
After this remark the conversation became rather quarrelsome. Betty objected to the expression, "only a girl", and retorted by some very rude remarks about boys in general and her brother in particular. She reminded him with unpleasant emphasis of how slow he was at climbing trees compared with Madge, and she dwelt with more truth than politeness on the fact that he had once grown giddy on the roof of the cow-house, and had to be ignominiously helped down by his sisters. But in the long run John's solid persistency got the best of it, and in spite of Betty's wish to believe that Madge always acted for the best, she was gradually talked over into thinking that there was some real grievance in her elder sister always taking the lead.
Whenever Lewis Brand had an opportunity of talking to the twins by themselves he mischievously encouraged this idea, so that disagreements among the children became a matter of everyday occurrence.