 CHAPTER XI. ZAIDA THE MISTERIOUS PROPHETESS OF THE GOLDEN ORIENT. This is the story of how we were gypsies and wandering minstrels, and, like everything else we did about that time, it was done to make money for Miss Sandal, whose poorness kept on making our kind hearts ache. It is rather difficult to get up any good name in a house like Miss Sandals, where there is nothing lying about, except your own things, and where everything is so neat and necessary. Your own clothes are seldom interesting, and even if you change hats with your sisters, it is not a complete disguise. The idea of being gypsies was due to Alice. She had not at all liked being entirely out of the smuggling of Frey, though Oswald explained to her that it was her own fault for having been born a girl. And, of course, after that event, Dickey and I had some things to talk about that the girls hadn't, and we had a couple of wet days. You have no idea how dull you can be in a house like that, unless you happen to know the sort of house I mean. A house that is meant for plain living and high thinking, like Miss Sandal told us, may be very nice for the high thinkers, but if you are not accustomed to thinking high, there is only the plain living left, and it is like boiled rice for every meal to any young mind, however much beef and yorkshire there may be for the young insides. Mrs. Biel saw to our having plenty of nice things to eat, but alas it is not always dinner time, and in between meals the cold rice pudding feeling is very chilling. Of course we had the splendid drawings of winged things made by our flying lodger, but you cannot look at pictures all day long, however many colored chalks they are drawn with, and however fond you may be of them. Miss Sandals was the kind of house that makes you wander all around it and say, what shall we do next? And when it rains the little ones get cross. It was the second wet day when we were wandering around the house to the sad music of our boots on the clean bare boards, that Alice said, Mrs. Biel has got a book at her house called Napoleon's Book of Fate. You might ask her to let you go and get it, Oswald, she likes you best. Oswald is as modest as any one I know, but the truth is the truth. We could tell our fortunes and read the dark future, Alice went on, it would be better than high thinking without anything particular to think about. So Oswald went down to Mrs. Biel and said, I say, Billy dear, you've got a book up at your place, I wish you'd lend it to us to read. If it's the holy book you mean, sir, replied Mrs. Biel, going on with peeling the potatoes that were to be a radiant vision later on, all brown and crisp and company with a leg of mutton. If it's the holy book you want there's one up on Miss Sandals' chest of drawers. I know, said Oswald, he knew every book in the house, the backs of them were beautiful, leather and gold, but inside they were like white at sepulchres, full of poetry and improving reading. No, we didn't want that book just now, it is a book called Napoleon's Book of Fate. Would you mind if I ran up to your place and got it? There's no one at home, said Mrs. Biel, wait a bit till I go along to the back-us with the meat, and I'll fetch it along. You might let me go, said Oswald, whose high spirit is always ill-attuned to waiting a bit. I wouldn't touch anything else, and I know where you keep the key. There's precious little as you don't know it seems to me, said Mrs. Biel, there, and along do, it's on top of the mantle-shelf alongside the picture-t-tin, it's a red book. Don't go take in the Wesleyan Conference reports by mistake, the two is both together on the mantle. Oswald and his mackers splashed through the mud to Mrs. Biel's, found the key under the loose tile behind the water-butt, and got the book without adventure. He had promised not to touch anything else, so he could not make even the gentlest booby-trap as a little surprise for Mrs. Biel when she got back. And most of that day we were telling our fortunes by the ingenious means invented by the Great Emperor, or by cards, which is hard to remember the rules for, or by dreams. The only blights were that the others all wanted to have the book all the time, and that Noelle's dreams were so long and mixed that we got tired of hearing about them before he did, but he said he was quite sure he had dreamt every single bit of every one of them. And the author hopes this was the truth. We all went to bed hoping we should dream something that we could look up in the dream-book, but none of us did, and in the morning it was still raining, and Alice said, Look here, if it ever clears up again, let's dress up and be gypsies. We can go about in the distant villages telling people's fortunes. If you let me have the book all today, I can learn up quite enough to tell them mysteriously and darkly. And gypsies always get their hands crossed with silver. Dickie said that was one way of keeping the book to herself, but Oswald said, Let us try. She shall have it for an hour, and then we'll have an exam to see how much she knows. This was done, but while she was swatting the thing up with her fingers in her ears, we began to talk about how gypsies should be dressed. And when we all went out of the room to see if we could find anything in that tidy house to dress up in, she came after us to see what was up, so there was no exam. We peeped into the cupboards and drawers in Miss Sandals' room, but everything was gray or brown, not at all the sort of thing to dress up for children of the sunny south in. The plain living was shown in all her clothes, and besides, gray shows every little spot you may happen to get on it. We were almost in despair. We looked in all the drawers in all the rooms, but found only sheets and tablecloths and more gray and brown clothing. We tried the attic with fainting hearts. Servants' clothes are always good for dressing up with. They have so many different colors. But Miss Sandal had no servant. Still, she might have had one once, and the servant might have left something behind her. The judge suggested this, and added, if you don't find anything in the attic you'll know it's fate, and you're not to do it. Besides I'm almost sure you can be put in prison for telling fortunes. Not if you're gypsy you can't, said Noelle. They have licenses to tell fortunes, I believe, and judges can't do anything to them. So we went up to the attic, and it was as bare and tidy as the rest of the house. But there were some boxes, and we looked in them. The smallest was full of old letters, so we shut it again at once. Another had books in it, and the last had a clean towel spread over what was inside. So we took off the towel, and then everyone said, Oh! In right on the top was a scarlet thing, embroidered heavily with gold. It proved on unfolding to be a sort of coat, like a Chinaman's. We lifted it out, and laid it on the towel on the floor. And then the full glories of that box were revealed. There were cloaks, and dresses, and skirts, and scarves, of all the colors of a well-chosen rainbow, and all made of the most beautiful silks and stuff, with things worked on them with silk, as well as chains of beads, and many lovely ornaments. We think Miss Sandal must have been very fond of pretty things, when she was young, or when she was better off. Well, there won't be any gypsies nearby to come up to us, said Oswald joyously. Do you think we ought to take them without asking, said Dora? Of course not, said Oswald witheringly. We ought to write to her, and say, Please, Miss Sandal, we know how poor you are, and may we borrow your things to be gypsies in, so as we get money for you? All right, you go and write the letter, Dora. I only just asked, said Dora. We tried the things on. Some of them were so ladylike that they were no good, evening dresses, and things like that. But there were enough useful things to go round. Oswald, in white shirt and flannel knee-breaches, tied a brick-colored silk scarf round his middle part, and a green one round his head for a turban. The turban was fastened with a sparkling brooch with pink stones in it. He looked like a Moorish Torre d'Or. Dicky had the scarlet and gold coat, which was the right length when Dora had run a tuck in it. Alice had a blue skirt with embroidery of peacock's feathers on it, and a golden black jacket very short with no sleeves, and a yellow silk handkerchief on her head, like Italian peasants, and another hanky round her neck. Dora's skirt was green, and her handkerchiefs purple and pink. Phil insisted on having his two scarves, one green and one yellow, twisted on his legs like putties, and a red scarf wound round his middle part, and he stuck a long ostrich feather in his own bicycle cap, and said he was a troubadour bard. H.O. was able to wear a lady's blouse of mouse-colored silk embroidered with poppies. It came down to his knees, and a jeweled belt kept it in place. We made up our costumes into bundles, and Alice thoughtfully bought a penny-worth of pins. Of course it was idle to suppose that we could go through the village in our gypsy clothes without exciting some remark. The more we thought about it, the more it seemed as if it would be a good thing to get some way from our village before we began our gypsy career. The woman at the sweet-shop where Alice got the pins has a donkey and cart, and for two shillings she consented to lend us this so that some of us could walk while some of us would always be resting in the cart. And the next morning the weather was bright and blue as ever, and we started. We were beautifully clean, but all our hairs had been arranged with a brush solely, because at the last moment nobody could find its comb. Mrs. Biel had packed up a jolly sandwich-y and apple-y lunch for us. We told her we were going to gather blue-bells in the woods, and of course we meant to do that, too. The donkey-cart drew up at the door, and we started. It was found impossible to get everyone into the cart at once, so we agreed to cast lots for who should run behind, and to take it in turns, mile and mile. The lot fell on door on H.O., but there was precious little running about it. Anything slower than that donkey Oswald has never known, and when it came to passing its own front door the donkey simply would not. It ended in Oswald getting down and going to the animal's head, and having it out with him, man to man. The donkey was small, but of enormous strength. He set all his four feet firmly, and leaned back, and Oswald said his two feet firm, and leaned back, so that Oswald and the front part of the donkey formed an angry and contentious letter V, and Oswald gazed in the donkey's eyes in a dauntless manner, and the donkey looked at Oswald as though it thought he was hay or thistles. Alice beat the donkey from the cart with a stick that had been given us for the purpose. The rest shouted, but it was all in vain, and four people in a motor-car stopped it to see the heroic struggle, and laughed till I thought they would have upset their hateful motor. However, it was all for the best, though Oswald did not see it at the time. When they had had enough of laughing, they started their machine again, and the noise it made penetrated the donkey's dull intelligence, and he started off without a word. I mean without any warning, and Oswald had only just time to throw himself clear of the wheels before he fell on the ground and rolled over, biting the dust. The motor-car people behaved as you would expect, but accidents happened even to motor-cars when people laughed too long and too unfeelingly. The driver turned round to laugh, and the motor instantly took the bit between its teeth, and bolted into the stone wall of the churchyard. No one was hurt except the motor, but that had to spend the day at the blacksmiths we heard afterwards. Thus was the outraged Oswald avenged by fate. He was not hurt, either, though much the motor-people would have cared if he had been, and he caught up with the others at the end of the village, for the donkey's pace had been too good to last, and the triumphal progress resumed. It was some time before we found a wood sufficiently lurking looking for our secret purposes. There are no woods close to the village, but at last, up by Bonnington, we found one, and tying our noble steed to the sign-post that says how many miles it is to Ashford, we cast a hasty glass round, and finding no one in sight disappeared in the wood with our bundles. We went in just ordinary creatures. We came out gypsies of the deepest dye, for we had caught up hen north a walnut stain for Mr. Jameson the builder, and mixed with water, the water we had brought in a medicine bottle, it was a prime disguise, and we knew it would wash off. Unlike the Condys fluid we once stained ourselves with during a never-to-be-forgotten game of jungle-book. We had put on all the glorious things we had bagged from Miss Sandle's attic-treasures, but still Alice had a small bundle unopened. What's that? Dora asked. I meant to keep it as a reserve force in case the fortune-telling didn't turn out all our fancy-painted it, said Alice, but I don't mind telling you now. She opened the bundle, and there was a tambourine, some black lace, a packet of cigarette papers, and our missing combs. Whatever on earth, Dicky was beginning, but Oswald saw it all. He was a wonderfully keen nose, and he said, Bully, for you, Alice, I wish I'd thought it myself. Alice was much pleased by this handsome speech. Yes, she said, perhaps really it would be best to begin with it. It would attract the public's attention, and then we could tell the fortunes. You see, she kindly explained to Dicky and H.O. and Dora, who had not seen it yet, though Noel had almost as soon as I did, you see, we'll all play on the combs with the veils over our faces, so that no one can see what our instruments are. Why, they might be mouth-organs for anything anyone will know, or some costly instruments from the far off East, like they play to sultans in the Zananas. Let's just try a tune or two before we go, to be sure that all the combs work right. Dora's has such big teeth, I shouldn't wonder if it wouldn't act at all. So we all papered our combs and did heroes, but that sounded awful. The girl I left behind me went better, and so did Bonnie Dundee. But we thought, see the conquering, or the death of Nelson would be the best to begin with. It was beastly hot during it under the veils, but when Oswald had done one tune without the veil to see how the others looked, he could not help owning that the veils did give a hidden mystery that was a stranger to simple combs. We were all a bit puffed when we had played for a while, so we decided that as the donkey seemed calm and eating grass and resting, we might as well follow his example. We ought not to be too proud to take pattern by the brute creation, said Dora. So we had our lunch in the wood. We lighted a little fire of sticks and fur-cones, so as to be as gypsy-ish as we could, and we sat round the fire. We made a charming picture in our bright clothes, among what would have been our native surroundings if we had been real gypsies, and we knew how nice we looked, and stayed there though the smoke got in our eyes, and everything we ate tasted of it. The woods were a little damp, and that was why the fire smoked so. There were the jackets we had cast off when we dressed up to sit on, and there was a horse-cloth in the cart intended for the donkey's wear, but we decided that our need was greater than its, so we took the blanket to recline on. It was as jolly a lunch as ever, I remember, and we lingered over that and looking romantic till we could not bear the smoke any more. Then we got a lot of blue-bells, and we trampled out the fire most carefully because we know about not setting woods and places alight, rolled up our clothes in bundles, and went out of the shadowy woodland into the bright sunlight, as sparkling looking a crew of gypsies as any one need wish for. Last time we had seen the road it had been quite white and bare of persons walking on it, but now there were several, and not only walkers, but people in carts, and some carriages passed us too. Everyone stared at us, but they did not seem so astonished as we had every right to expect, and though interested they were not rude, and this was very rare among English people, and not only poor people, either, when they see anything at all out of the way. We asked one man, who was very Sunday best indeed in black clothes and a blue tie, where every one was going, for every one was going the same way, and every one looked as if it was going to church, which was unlikely it being but Thursday. He said, some place what you are going to I expect, and when we said where was that we were requested by him to get along with us, which we did. An old woman in the heaviest bonnet I have ever seen, and the highest it was like a black church, revealed the secret to us, and we learned that there was a primrose fit going on in Sir Willoughby Blockson's grounds. We instantly decided to go to the fit. I have been to a primrose fit, and so have you Dora, Oswald remarked, and people are so dull at them they'd gladly give gold to see the dark future, and besides the villages will be unpopulated, and no one at home but idiots and babies and their keepers. So we went to the fit. The people got thicker and thicker, and when we got to Sir Willoughby's Lodge gates, which have sprawling lions on the gate-posts, we were told to take the donkey cart round to the stable-yard. This we did, and proud was the moment when a stiff groom had to bend his proud stomach to go to the head of Bates' donkey. "'This is something like,' said Alice, and Noelle added. The foreign princes are well-received at this palace. We aren't princes, we're gypsies,' said Dora, tucking his scarf in. It would keep on getting loose. "'There are gypsy princes, though,' said Noelle, "'because there are gypsy kings.' "'You aren't always a prince first,' said Dora. "'Don't wriggle so, or I can't fix you. Sometimes being made a king just happens to someone who isn't anyone in particular.' "'I don't think so,' said Noelle. "'You have to be a prince before you're a king, just as you have to be a kitten before you're a cat, or a puppy before you're a dog, or a worm before you're a serpent, or—' "'What about the king of Sweden?' Dora was beginning, when a very nice, tall, thin man, with white flowers in his buttonhole, like for a wedding, came strolling up and said, "'And who show is this? Say, what?' "'We said it was ours.' "'Are you expected?' he asked. "'We said we thought not, but we hoped he didn't mind. "'What are you, acrobats? Tightrope? That's a ripping Burmese coat you've got there.' "'Yes, it is.' "'No, we aren't,' said Alice, with dignity. "'I am Zahida, the mysterious prophetess of the Golden Orient, and the others are mysterious, too, but we haven't fixed on their names yet.' "'By Jove,' said the gentleman, "'But who are you really?' "'Our names are our secret,' said Oswald, with dignity. "'Oh, but we don't mind telling you, because I'm sure you're nice. We're really the bastables, and we want to get some money for someone we know that's rather poor. Of course, I can't tell you her name. And we've learned how to tell fortunes. Really we have. Do you think they'll let us tell them at the fit? People are often dull at fits, aren't they?' "'By Jove,' said the gentleman again, "'By Jove, they are.' "'He plunged for a moment in deep reflection. "'We've got co-musical instruments,' said Noel, "'Shall we play to you a little?' "'Not here,' said the gentleman, "'Follow me.'" He let the way by the backs of shrubberies to an old summer-house, and we asked him to wait outside. Then we put on our veils and tuned up. See, see, the conquering. But he did not let us finish the tune. He burst in upon us, crying, "'Ripping! Oh! Ripping! And now tell me my fortune!' Alice took off her veil, and looked at his hand. "'You will travel in distant lands,' she said. "'You will have great wealth and honour. You will marry a beautiful lady—a very fine woman,' it says in the book. "'But I think a beautiful lady sounds nicer, don't you?' "'Much. But I shouldn't mention the book when you're telling the fortune.' "'I wouldn't, except to you,' said Alice. "'And she'll have lots of money, and a very sweet disposition. Trials and troubles beset your path. But do but be brave and fearless, and you will overcome all your enemies. Beware of a dark woman, most likely a widow.' "'I will,' said he, for Alice had stopped for breath. Is that all?' "'No. Beware of a dark woman, and shun the society of drunkards and gamblers. Be very cautious in your choice of acquaintances, or you will make a false friend who will be your ruin. "'That's all. Except that you will be married very soon, and live to a green old age with the beloved wife of your bosom, and have twelve sons, and—' "'Stop, stop,' said the gentleman, twelve sons are as many as I can bring up handsomely on my present income. "'Now look here. You did that jolly well. Only go slower, and pretend to look for things in the hand before you say them. Things free at the fit, so you'll get no money for your fortune-telling.' Gloom was on each young brow. "'It's like this,' he went on. There is a lady fortune-teller in a tent in the park. "'Then we may as well get along home,' said Dickie. "'Not at all,' said our new friend, for such he was now about to prove himself to be. That lady does not want to tell fortunes to-day. She has a headache.' "'Now, if you'll really stick to it, and tell the people's fortunes, as well as you told mine, I'll stand you—let's see—two quid for the afternoon. Will that do—what?' "'We said we should just jolly well think it would.' "'I've got some odor cologne in a medicine-bottle,' Dora said. My brother Noel has headaches sometimes, but I think he's going to be all right today. If you take it, it will do the lady's head good.' "'I'll take care of her head,' he said, laughing, but he took the bottle, and said, Thank you.' Then he told us to stay where we were, while he made final arrangements, and we were left with palpitating breasts to look wildly through the Book of Fate, so as to have the things ready. But it turned out to be time thrown away, for when he came back, he said to Alice, "'It'll have to be only you and your sister, please, for I see they've stuck up a card with Esmeralda, the Gypsy Princess, reads the hand, and foretells the future on it. So you boys will have to be mum. You can be attendance—mutes, by Jove—yes, that's it. And I say, kitties, you will jolly well play up, won't you? Don't stand any cheek. Stick it on, you know. I can't tell you how important it is about the lady's headache. I should think this would be a cool place for a headache to be quiet in,' said Dora, and it was, for it was quite hidden in the shrubbery, and no path to it. "'By Jove,' he remarked yet once again, so it would. You're right.' He led us out of the shrubbery, and across the park. There were people dotted all about, and they stared, but they touched their hats to the gentleman, and he returned their salute with stern politeness. Inside the tent with Esmeralda, et cetera, outside there was a lady in a hat and dust-cloak, but we could see her spangles under the cloak. "'Now,' said the gentleman, to Dickie, you stand at the door and let people in, one at a time. A few others can just play a few bars on your instruments for each new person—only a very little, because you do get out of tune, though that's barbaric, certainly. "'Now, here's the two quid, and you stick to the show till five. You'll hear the stable-clock chime.' The lady was very pale, with black marks under her eyes, and her eyes looked red, Oswald thought. She seemed about to speak, but the gentleman said, "'Do trust me, Ella. I'll explain everything directly. Just go to the old summer-house, you know, and I'll be there directly. I'll take a couple of pegs out of the back, and you can slip away among the trees. Hold your cloak close over your gown. "'Good-bye, kiddies. Say, give me your address, and I'll write and tell you if my fortune comes true.' So he shook hands with us and went, and we did stick to it, though it is far less fun than you would think telling fortunes all afternoon in a stuffy tent, while outside, you know, there are things to eat and people enjoying themselves. But there were two gold quid, and we were determined to earn them. It is very hard to tell a different fortune for each person, and there were a great many. The girls took it in turns, and Oswald wondered why their hairs did not go gray, though, of course, it was much better fun for them than for us, because we had just to be mutes when we weren't playing on the combs. The people we told fortunes to at first laughed, rather, and said we were too young to know anything. But Oswald said in a hollow voice that we were as old as the pyramids, and after that Alice took the tucks out of Dickie's red coat, and put it on, and turbaned herself, and looked much older. The stable clock had chimed the quarter to five some little time when an elderly gentleman with whiskers, who afterwards proved to be Sir Willoughby, burst into the tent. Where's Miss Blokson? He said, and we answered truthfully that we did not know. How long have you been here? he furiously asked. Ever since, too, said Alice Wearily. He said a word that I should have thought a baronet would have been above using. Who brought you here? We described the gentleman who had done this, and again the baronet said things we should never be allowed to say. That confounded caroo, he added with more words. Is anything wrong? asked Dora. Can we do anything? We'll stay on longer, if you like, if you can't find the lady who was doing Esmeralda before we came. I'm not very likely to find her, he said ferociously. Stay longer, indeed. Get away out of my sight, before I have you locked up for vagrants and vagabonds. He left a scene in bounding and mad fury. We thought it best to do, as he said, and went round the back way to the stable so as to avoid exciting his ungoverned rage by meeting him again. We found our cart and went home. We had got too quid and something to talk about. But none of us, not even Oswald the discerning, understood exactly what we had been mixed up in, till the pink satin box with three large bottles of A1 scent in it, and postmarks of foreign lands came to Dora. And there was a letter. It said, My dear Gypsies, I beg to return the odder cologne you so kindly lent me. The lady did use a little of it, but I found that foreign travel was what she really wanted to make her quite happy. So we caught the four fifteen to town, and now we are married, and intend to live to a green old age, etc., as you foretold. But for your help my fortune couldn't have come true, because my wife's father, Sir Willoughby, thought I was not rich enough to marry. But, you see, I was, and my wife and I both thank you heartily for your kind help. I hope it was not an awful swat. I had to say five, because of the train. Good luck to you, and thanks awfully. Yours faithfully, Caress Brooke Carew. If Oswald had known beforehand, we should never have made that too quid for Miss Sandal, for Oswald does not approve of marriages, and would never, if he knew it, be the means of assisting one to occur. CHAPTER XII THE LADY AND THE LICENSE OR FRIENDSHIP'S GARLAND My dear kitties, Miss Sandal's married sister has just come home from Australia, and she feels very tired. No wonder you will say, after such a long journey. So she is going to Limchurch to rest. Now I want all of you to be very quiet, because when you are in your usual form you aren't exactly restful, are you? If this weather lasts you will be able to be out most of the time, and when you are indoors for goodness sake control your lungs and your boots, especially H.O.'s. Mrs. Bax has travelled about a good deal, and once was nearly eaten by cannibals. But I hope you won't bother her to tell you stories. She is coming on Friday. I am glad to hear from Alice's letter that you enjoyed the primrose fatigue. Tell Noel that poetical is not the usual way it was spelling the word he wants. I send you ten shillings for pocket money, and again implore you to let Mrs. Bax have a little rest and peace. You're loving father. P.S., if you want any things sent down tell me, and I will get Mrs. Bax to bring it. I met your friend Mr. Redhouse the other day at lunch. When the letter had been read aloud, and we had read it to ourselves, a sad silence took place. Dickie was the first to speak. It is rather beastly, I grant you, he said, but it might have been worse. I don't see how, said H.O. I do wish father would jolly well learn to leave my boots alone. It might be worse, I tell you, said Dickie. Suppose instead of telling us to keep out of doors it had been the other way. Yes, said Alice. Suppose it had been, poor Mrs. Bax requires to be cheered up. Do not leave her side day or night. Take it in turns to make jokes for her. Let not a moment pass without some merry jest. Oh, yes, it might be much, much worse. Being able to go out all day makes it all right about trying to make that two pounds increase and multiply, remarked Arswald. Now who's going to meet her at the station? Because after all it's her sister's house, and we've got to be polite to visitors even if we're in a house we aren't related to. This was seen to be so, but no one was keen on going to the station, at last Arswald, ever ready for forlorn hopes, consented to go. We told Mrs. Biel, and she got the best room ready, scrubbing everything until it smelt deliciously of wet wood and modelled soap, and then we decorated the room as well as we could. She'll want some pretty things, said Alice, coming from the land of parrots and opossums and gumshees and things. We did think of borrowing the stuffed wildcat that is in the bar at the ship, but we decided that our decorations must be very quiet, and the wildcat, even in its stuffed state, was anything but. So we borrowed a stuffed roach in a glass box and stood it on the chest of drawers. It looked very calm. Seashells are quiet things when they are vacant, and Mrs. Biel let us have the four big ones off her chiffonniere. The girls got flowers, bluebells, and white wood anemones. We might have had poppies or butter-cups, but we thought the colours might be too loud. We took some books up from Mrs. Bax to read in the night, and we took the quietest ones we could find. Sonnets of sleep, confessions of an opium eater, twilight of the gods, diary of a dreamer, and by still waters were some of them. The girls covered them with grey paper because some of the bindings were rather gay. The girls hemmed grey calico covers for the drawers and the dressing table, and we drew the blinds half down, and when all was done the room looked as quiet as a roosting wood pigeon. We put in a clock, but we did not wind it up. She can do that herself, said Dora, if she feels she can bear to hear it ticking. Oswald went to the station to meet her. He rode on the box beside the driver. When the others saw him mount there, I think they were sorry they had not been polite and gone to meet her themselves. Oswald had a jolly ride. We got to the station just as the train came in. Only one lady got out of it, so Oswald knew it must be Mrs. Bax. If he had not been told how quiet she wanted to be, he would have thought she looked rather jolly. She had short hair and gold spectacles. Her skirts were short, and she carried a parrot cage in her hand. It contained our parrot, and when we wrote to tell father that it and a pincher were the only things we wanted sent, we never thought she would have brought either. Mrs. Bax, I believe, was the only break Oswald made in the polite silence that he took the parrot cage and her bag from her in. How do you do? She said very briskly for a tired lady, and Oswald thought it was noble of her to make the effort to smile. Are you Oswald or Dicky? Oswald told her in one calm word which he was, and then pincher rolled madly out of a dog-box almost into his arms. Pincher would not be quiet. Of course, he did not understand the need for it. Oswald conversed with pincher in low restraining whispers as he led the way to the ship's fly. He put the parrot cage on the inside of the carriage, held the door open for Mrs. Bax with silent politeness, closed it as quietly as possible, and prepared to mount on the box. Oh, won't you come inside? asked Mrs. Bax. Do? No thank you, said Oswald in calm and mouse-like tones, and to avoid any more jaw he got at once onto the box with pincher, so that Mrs. Bax was perfectly quiet for the whole six miles unless you count the rattle and shake up and down of the fly. On the box Oswald and pincher tasted the sweets of a blissful reunion like it says in novels, and the man from the ship looked on and said how well bread pincher was. It was a happy drive. There was something almost awful about the sleek, quiet tidiness of the others, who were all standing in a row outside the cottage to welcome Mrs. Bax. They all said, How do you do? in hushed voices, and all looked as if butter would not melt in any of their young mouths. I never saw a more soothing-looking lot of kids. She went to her room and we did not see her again till tea-time. Then still exquisitely brushed and combed, we sat around the board in silence. We had left at the tea-tree-place for Mrs. Bax, of course, but she said to Dora, Wouldn't you like to pour out? And Dora replied in low, soft tones, If you wish me to, Mrs. Bax, I usually do, and she did. We passed each other bread and butter and jam and honey with silent courteousness, and, of course, we saw that she had enough to eat. Do you manage to amuse yourselves pretty well here? she asked presently. We said, Yes, thank you, in hushed tones. What do you do? she asked. We did not wish to excite her by telling her what we did, so Dickie murmured, Nothing in particular, at the same time that Alice said, All sorts of things. Tell me about them, said Mrs. Bax, invitingly. We replied by a deep silence. She sighed and passed her cup for Morty. Do you ever feel shy? she asked suddenly. I do, dreadfully, with new people. We liked her for saying that, and Alice replied that she hoped she would not feel shy with us. I hope not, she said. Do you know there was such a funny woman in the train? She had seventeen different parcels, and she kept counting them, and one of them was a kitten, and it was always under the seat when she began to count, so she always got the number wrong. We should have liked to hear about the kitten, especially what colour it was and how old, but Oswald felt that Mrs. Bax was only trying to talk for our sakes, so that we shouldn't feel shy, so he simply said, Will you have some more cake? and nothing more was said about the kitten. Mrs. Bax seemed very noble. She kept trying to talk to us about Pinscher, and trains, and Australia, but we were determined she should be quiet as she wished it so much, and we restrained our brimming curiosity about opossums up gum-trees and about emus and kangaroos and waddles, and only said yes or no or, more often, nothing at all. When tea was over we melted away, like snow reeds in thaw-jean, and went out on the beach and had a yelling-match. Our throats felt as though they were full of wool from the hushed tones we had used in talking to Mrs. Bax. Oswald won the match. The next day we kept carefully out of the way, except for meals. Mrs. Bax tried talking again at breakfast time, but we checked our wish to listen, and passed the pepper, salt, mustard, bread, toast, butter, marmalade, and even the cayenne, vinegar, and oil, with such politeness that she gave up. We took it in turns to watch the house and drive away organ grinders. We told them they must not play in front of that house, because there was an Australian lady who had to be kept quiet, and they went at once. This cost us expense, because an organ grinder will never consent to fly the spot under two pence of flight. We went to bed early. We were quite weary with being so calm and still, but we knew it was our duty, and we liked the feel of having done it. The day after was the day Jake Lee got hurt. Jake is the man who drives about the country in a covered cart, with pins and needles and combs and frying-pans, and all the sort of things that farmers' wives are likely to want in a hurry, and no shops for miles. I have always thought Jake's was a beautiful life. I should like to do it myself. Well, this particular day he had got his cart all ready to start, and had got his foot on the wheel to get up, when a motor car went by puffing and hooting. I always think motor cars seem so rude somehow. And the horse got frightened, and no wonder. It shied, and poor Jake was thrown violently to the ground, and hurt so much that they had to send for the doctor. Of course we went and asked Mrs. Jake if we could do anything, such as take the cart out and sell the things to the farmers' wives, but she thought not. It was after this that Dickie said, Why shouldn't we get things of our own and go and sell them with Bates Donkey? Oswald was thinking the same thing, but he wishes to be fair, so he owns that Dickie spoke first. We all saw at once that the idea was a good one. Shall we dress up for it? H.O. asked. We thought not. It is always good sport to dress up, but I have never heard of people selling things to farmers' wives in really beautiful disguises. We ought to go as shabby as we can, said Alice, but somehow that always seems to come natural to your clothes when you have done a few interesting things in them. We have plenty of clothes that look poor but deserving. What shall we buy to sell? Pins and needles and tape and bodkins, said Dora. Butter, said Noel. It is terrible when there's no butter. Honey is nice, said H.O., and so are sausages. Jake has ready-made shirts and corduroy trousers. I suppose a farmer's shirt and trousers may give it any moment, said Alice, and if he can't get new ones he has to go to bed so they are mended. Oswald thought tin-tacks and glue and string must often be needed to mend barn and farm-tools with if they broke suddenly, and Dickie said, I think the pictures of ladies hanging onto crosses and foaming seas are good. Dick told me he sold more of them than anything. I suppose people suddenly break the old ones and home isn't home without a lady holding onto a cross. We went to Munn's shop and we bought needles and pins and tapes and bodkins, a pound of butter, a pot of honey, and one of marmalade, and tin-tacks, string, and glue, but we could not get any ladies with crosses and the shirts and trousers were too expensive for us to dare to risk it. Instead we bought a headstile for eighteen pence because how providential we should be to a farmer whose favourite horse had escaped and he had nothing to catch it with, and three tin-openers in case of a distant farm subsisting entirely on tin things and the only opener for miles lost down the well or something. We also bought several other thoughtful and farsighted things. That night at supper we told Mrs. Bax we wanted to go out for the day. She had hardly said anything that supper time and now she said, Where are you going, teaching Sunday school? As it was Monday we felt her poor brain was wandering, most likely for want of quiet, and the room smelt of tobacco smoke, so we thought someone had been to see her and perhaps been too noisy for her. So Oswald said gently, No, we're not going to teach Sunday school, and Mrs. Bax sighed. Then she said, I am going out myself to-morrow, for the day. I hope it will not tire you too much, said Dora, with soft voice and cautious politeness. If you want anything bought we could do it for you with pleasure, and you could have a nice quiet day at home. Thank you, said Mrs. Bax shortly, and we saw she would do what she chose whether it was really for her own good or not. She started before we did next morning and we were careful to be mouse quiet till the ships fly which contained her was out of hearing. Then we had another yelling competition, and Noel won with that new shriek of his that is like railway engines in distress, and then we went and fetched Bates donkey and cart and packed our bales in it and started, some riding and some running behind. Any faint distant traces of respectableness that were left to our clothes were soon covered up by the dust of the road and by some of the ginger-beer bursting through the violence of the cart which had no springs. The first farm we stopped at the woman really did want some pins, for though a very stupid person she was making a pink blouse and we said, Do have some tape, you never know when you may want it. I believe in buttons," she said, no strings than me, thank you. But when Oswald said, What about pudding strings, you can't button that puddings as if they were pillows? She consented to listen to reason. But it was only two pence altogether. But at the next place the woman said we were mummickers and told us to get along, do. And she said her dog at us. But when pinchers sprang from the inmost recesses of the cart she called her dog off. But too late, for it and pincer were locked in the barking scuffling growling embrace of deadly combat. When we had separated the dogs she went into her house and banged the door and we went on through the green flat marshes among the butter-cups and amae-bushes. I wonder what she meant by mummickers, said H.O. She meant she saw our high-born heirs through our shabby clothes, said Alice. It's always happening, especially to princes. There's nothing so hard to conceal as a really high-bred air. I've been thinking, said Dicky, whether honesty wouldn't perhaps be the best policy. Not always, of course, but just this once. If people knew what we were doing it for they might be glad to help on the good work, what? So at the next farm, which was half hidden by trees, like the picture at the beginning of Sensible Susan, we tied the pony to the gate-post and knocked at the door. It was opened by a man this time, and Dora said to him, We are honest traders. We're trying to sell these things to keep a lady who is poor. If you buy some you will be helping, too. Wouldn't you like to do that? It is a good work, and you will be glad of it afterwards when you come to think over the acts of your life." Upon my word and honour, said the man, whose red face was surrounded by a thrill of white whiskers, if ever I saw a walk in tract, ere it stands. She doesn't mean to be tractish, said Oswald quickly. It's only her way. But we really are trying to sell things to help a poor person. No humbug, sir. So if we have got anything you want we shall be glad, and if not, well, there's no harm in asking, is there, sir? The man with the frilly whiskers was very pleased to be called sir, Oswald knew he would be, and he looked at everything we got, and about the head stall and two tin openers, and a part of marmalade, and a ball of string, and a pair of braces. This came to four and two pence, and we were very pleased. It really seemed that our business was establishing itself root and branch. When it came to its being-dinner time, which was first noticed through H.O. beginning to cry and say he did not want to play any more, it was found that we had forgotten to bring any dinner, so we had to eat some of our stock, the jam, the biscuits, and the cucumber. I feel a new man, said Alice, draining the last of the ginger beer bottles. At that homely village on the brow of Yonder Hill we shall sell all that remains of the stock and go home with money in both pockets. But our luck had changed, as so often happens our hearts feet high with hopeful thoughts, and we felt jollier than we had done all day. Merry laughter and snatches of musical song re-echoed from our card, and from round it as we went up the hill. All nature was smiling and gay. There was nothing sinister in the look of the trees or the road or anything. Dogs are said to have inside instincts that warn them of intending perils. But Pinscher was not a bit instinctive that day somehow. He sported gaily up and down the hedge banks after pretending rats, and once he was so excited that I believe he was playing at weasels and stouts. But of course there was really no trace of these savage denizens of the jungle. It was just Pinscher's varied imagination. We got to the village and with joyful expectations we knocked at the first door we came to. Alice had spread out a few choice treasures—needles, pins, tape, a photograph frame, and the butter, rather soft by now—and the last of the tin openers on a basket lid, like the Fishman does with herrings and whitings and plums and apples. You cannot sell fish in the country unless you sell fruit, too. The author does not know why this is. The sun was shining, the sky was blue. There was no sign at all of the intending thunderbolt, not even when the door was opened. This was done by a woman. She just looked at our basket lid if things any one might have been proud to buy, and smiled. I saw her do it. Then she turned her traitorous head and called, Jam! into the cottage. A sleepy grunt rewarded her, Jim, I say! she repeated. Come here directly, minute! Next a moment Jim appeared. He was Jim to her because she was his wife, I suppose, but to us he was the police, with his hair ruffled from his hateful sofa cushions, no doubt, and his tunic unbuttoned. What's up? he said in a husky voice as if he had been dreaming that he had a cold. Can't a chap have a minute himself to read the paper in? You told me to, said the woman. You said if any folks come to the door with things I was to call you whether or no. Even now we were blind to the disaster that was entangling us in the meshes of its trap. Alice said, We've sold a good deal, but we've some things left, very nice things, these crochet needles. But the police, who had buttoned up his tunic in a hurry, said quite fiercely, Let's ever look at your license. We didn't bring any, so nor. But if you will give us an order we'll bring you some tomorrow. He thought a license was a thing to sell that we ought to have thought of. Naniolip was the unexpected reply of the now plainly brutal constable. Where's your license, I say? We have a license for our dog, but father's got it, said Oswald, always quick-witted, but not this time quite quick enough. Your orca's license is what I want as well, you knows you young limb, your peddler's license, your license to sell things. You ain't half so half-witted as you want to make out. We haven't got a peddler's license, said Oswald. If we had been in a book, the police would have been touched to tears by Oswald's simple honesty. He would have said, noble boy, and then gone on to say he had only asked the question to test our honour. But life is not really at all the same as books. I have noticed lots of differences. Instead of behaving like the book police, this thick-headed constable said, Blowed if I wasn't certain of it, well, my young blokes, you'll just come along with me to serve James. I've got orders to bring up the next case for him. Case, said Dora. Hold, don't. We didn't know we ought to. We only wanted— Oh, yes, said the constable. You can tell all that to the magistrate, and anything you say will be used against you. I'm sure it will, said Oswald. Dora, don't lower yourself to speak to him. Come, we'll go home. The police was combing its hair with a half-toothless piece of comb, and we turned to go. But it was vain. Are any of our young and eager legs could climb into the cart? The police had seized the donkey's bridle. We could not desert our noble steed. And besides, it wasn't really ours, but Bates's. And he has made any hope of flight quite a forlorn one. For better or for worse, we had to go with the donkey. Don't cry for goodness' sake, said Oswald, and stern undertones. Bite your lips. Take long breaths. Don't let him see we mind. This beast's only the village police. Sir James will be a gentleman. He'll understand. Don't disgrace the house of Bastarbo. Look here. Fall into line. No. Indian fire will be best. There are so few of us. Alice, if you snivel, I'll never say you ought to have been a boy again. Eh, Joe? Shut your mouth. No one's going to hurt you. You're too young. I am trying, said Alice, gasping. No. Oswald went on, now, as so often, showing the brilliant qualities of the born leader and general. But you be in a funk. Remember how Byron fought for the Greeks at Missy, what's its name? He didn't grouse, and he was a poet like you. Now look here, let's be game. Dora, you're the eldest. Strike up. Any tune. We'll march up and show this sneak we Bastarbo's aren't afraid, whoever else is. You will perhaps find it difficult to believe, but we did strike up. We sang, the British Grenadiers, and when the police told us to stow it, we did not. And Noel said, singing isn't dogs or peddlering. You don't want a license for that. I'll soon show you, said the police. But he had to jolly well put up with our melodious song, because he knew that there isn't really any law to prevent you singing if you want to. We went on singing. It soon got easier than at first, and we followed Bates, Donkey, and Cart through some lodge gates, and up a drive with big trees, and we came out in front of a big white house, and there was a lawn. We stopped singing when we came inside of the house, and got ready to be polite to Sir James. There were some ladies on the lawn in pretty blue and green dresses. This cheered us. Ladies are seldom quite heartless, especially when young. The police drew up Bates, Donkey, opposite the big front door with pillars, and rang the bell. Our hearts were beating desperately. We cast glances of despair at the ladies. Then, quite suddenly, Alice gave a yell that wild Indian war whoops are simply nothing to, and tore across the lawn and threw her arms around the green waste of one of the ladies. Oh, I'm so glad! She cried. Oh, save us! We haven't done anything wrong, really, and truly we haven't. And then we saw that the lady was our own Mrs. Redhouse, that we liked so much. So we all rushed to her, and before that police had got the door answered, we had told her our tale. The other ladies had turned away when we approached her, and gone politely away into a shrubbery. There, there, she said, patting Alice and Noel and as much of the others as she could get hold of. Don't you worry, dear stones! I'll make it all right with Sir James. Let's all sit down in a comfy heap and get our breaths again. I'm so glad to see you all. My husband met your father at lunch the other day. I meant to come over and see you tomorrow. You cannot imagine the feelings of joy and safeness that we felt now we had found someone who knew we were bastibles, and not vagrant outcasts like the police thought. The door had now been answered. We saw the base police talking to the person who answered it. Then he came towards us, very red in the face. Live off bothering the lady, he said, and come along with me, Sir James is in his library, and he's ready to do justice on you so he is. Mrs. Redhouse jumped up, and so did we. She said with smiles, as if nothing was wrong. Good morning, Inspector! He looked pleased and surprised, as well he might, for it'll be long enough before he's within a mile of being mad. Good morning, Miss, I'm sure, he replied. I think there's been a little mistake, Inspector, she said. I expect it's some of your men led away by zeal for their duties, but I'm sure you will understand. I'm staying with Lady Harborough, and these children are very dear friends of mine. The police looked very silly, but he said something about Hawking without a license. Oh, no, not Hawking, said Mrs. Redhouse, not Hawking, surely. They were just playing at it, you know. Your subordinates must have been quite mistaken. Our honesty made us say that he was his own subordinate, and that he hadn't been mistaken, but it is rude to interrupt, especially a lady, so he said nothing. The police said firmly, You'll excuse me, Miss, but Sir James expressly told me to lay her information directly next time I caught any of them at it without a license. But you see, you didn't catch them at it. Mrs. Redhouse took some money out of her purse. You might just give this to your subordinates to console them for the mistake they've made, and look here, these mistakes do lead to trouble sometimes, so I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll promise not to tell Sir James a word about it, so nobody will be blamed. We listened to Breathless for his reply. He put his hands behind him. Well, Miss, he said at last. You've managed to put the force in the wrong somehow, which isn't often done, and I'm blessed if I know how you make it out. But there's Sir James awaiting for me to come before him with my complaint. What am I going to say to him? Oh, anything, said Mrs. Redhouse. Surely someone else has done something wrong that you can tell him about. There was a matter of a couple of snares and some nightlines, he said slowly, drawing nearer to Mrs. Redhouse, but I couldn't take no money, of course. Of course not, she said. I beg your pardon for offering it, but I'll give you my name and address, and if ever I can be of any use to you—she turned her back on us while she wrote it down with a stumpy pencil he lent her, but Oswald could swear that he heard money chink and that there was something large and round wrapped up in the paper she gave him. Sorry for any little misunderstanding, the police now said, feeling the paper with his fingers, and my respect to you Miss and your young friend. I'd best be going. And he went to Sir James, I suppose. He seemed quite tamed. I hope the people who set the snares got off. So, that's all right, said Mrs. Redhouse. Oh, you dear children, you must stay till lunch and will have a splendid time. What a darling princess you are, Noel said slowly. You are a witch-princess too, with magic powers over the police. It's not a very pretty sort of magic, she said, and she sighed. Everything about you is pretty, said Noel, and I could see him beginning to make the faces that always procure his poetry fits. But before the fit could break out thoroughly, the rest of us awoke from our stupor of grateful safeness and began to dance around Mrs. Redhouse in a ring, and the girls sang, the roses red, the violets blue, carnations sweet, and so are you, over and over again, so we had to join in, though I think she's a jolly good fellow would have been more manly and less like a poetry book. Suddenly a known voice broke in on our singing. Well, it said, and we stopped dancing, and there were the other two ladies who had politely walked off when we first discovered Mrs. Redhouse, and one of them was Mrs. Bax, of all people in the world, and she was smoking a cigarette, so now we knew where the smell of tobacco came from in the White House. We said, oh, in one voice, and or silent. Is it possible, said Mrs. Bax, that these are the Sunday school children I've been living with these three long days? We're sorry, said Dora softly. We wouldn't have made a noise if we'd known you were here. So I suppose, said Mrs. Bax. Chloe, you seem to be a witch. How have you galvanized my six ragdolls into life like this? Ragdolls, said Acho, before we could stop him. I think you're jolly mean and ungrateful, and it was six pence for making the organs fly. My brain's reeling, said Mrs. Bax, putting her hands to her head. Acho is very rude, and I'm sorry, said Alice. But it is hard to be called ragdolls when you've only tried to do as you were told. And then, in answer to Mrs. Redhouse's questions, we told how father had begged us to be quiet, and how we had earnestly tried to. When it was told, Mrs. Bax began to laugh, and so did Mrs. Redhouse, and at last Mrs. Bax said, oh, my dears, you don't know how glad I am that you're really alive. I began to think, oh, I don't know what I thought, and you're not ragdolls, you're heroes and heroines, every man jack of you, and I do thank you. But I never wanted to be quiet like that. I just didn't want to be bothered with London and tie us some grown-up people. And now let's enjoy ourselves. Shall it be rounders or stories about cannibals? Round is first and story's after, said Acho, and it was so. Mrs. Bax, now that her true nature was revealed, proved to be A-1. The author does not ask for a jollier person to be in the house with. We had rare larks the whole time she stayed with us. And to think that we might never have known her true character if she hadn't been an old school friend of Mrs. Redhouse's, and if Mrs. Redhouse hadn't been such a friend of ours. Friendship, as Mr. William Smith so truly says in his book about Latin, is the crown of life. CHAPTER XIII. OF NEW TREASURE SEEKERS. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. NEW TREASURE SEEKERS. By Edith Nesbitt. CHAPTER XIII. THE POUR AND NEEDY. What shall we do today, kiddies? Said Mrs. Bax. We had discovered her true nature. But three days ago, and already she had taken us out in a sailing boat and in a motor car, had given us sweets every day, and taught us eleven new gains that we had not known before. And only four of the new gains were rotters. How seldom can as much be said for the gains of a grown-up, however gifted. The day was one of cloudless blue perfectness. And we were all basking on the beach. We had all bathed. Mrs. B said we might. There are points about having a grown-up with you, if it is the right time. You can then easily get it to say, yes, to what you want. And after that, if anything goes wrong, it is their fault. And you are pure from blame. But nothing had gone wrong with the bath. And so far, we were all alive and not cold at all, except our fingers and feet. What would you like to do, asked Mrs. Bax. We were far away from human sight along the beach. And Mrs. Bax was smoking cigarettes, as usual. I don't know. We all said politely. But H.O. said, what about poor Miss Sandal? Why poor, asked Mrs. Bax. Because she is, said H.O. But how? What do you mean, asked Mrs. Bax? Why, isn't she, said H.O. Isn't she what, said Mrs. Bax? What do you said, why about, said H.O. She put her hands to her head. Her short hair was still damp and rumpled from contact with the foaming billows of ocean. Let's have a fresh deal and start fair. She said, why do you think my sister is poor? I forgot she was your sister, said H.O. Or I wouldn't have said it. On a bright, I wouldn't. Don't mention it, said Mrs. Bax. And began throwing stones at a groin in abiable silence. We were furious with H.O. First because it is such bad manners to throw people's poverty in their faces. Or even in their sister's faces, like H.O. had done. And second because it seemed to have put out of Mrs. Bax's head what she was beginning to say about what we would like to do. So Oswald presently remarked when he had aimed at the stuff she was aiming at and hit it before she did. For though a fair shot for a lady, she takes a long time to get her eye in. Mrs. Bax, we should like to do whatever you like to do. This was real politeness and true too, as it happened. Because by this time we could quite trust her not to want to do anything deeply duffing. That's very nice of you, she replied. But don't let me interfere with any plans of yours. My own idea was to pluck a wagonette from the nearest bush. I suppose they grow freely in these parts. There's one at the ship, said Alice, of cost seven and six to pluck it, just for going to the station. Well then. And to stuff our wagonette with lunch and drive over to Linwood Castle and eat it there. A picnic fell in a sense of joy from the lips of one and all. We'll also boil the billy in the castle courtyard and eat buns in the shadow of the keep. Tea as well, said H.O., with buns. You can't be poor and needy anyway, whatever you're. We hastily hushed him, startling his murmurs with sand. I always think, said Mrs. Bax, extremely, that the more the merrier is peculiarly true of picnics. So I have arranged, always subject to your approval, of course, to meet your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Redhouse. There, and, we drowned her conclusive remarks with a cheer, and Oswald, always willing to be abused, offered to go to the ship and see about the wagonette. I like horses and stable yards and the smell of hay and straw and talking to oslars and people like that. There turned out to be two horses belonging to the best wagonette, or you could have a one-horse one, much smaller, with the blue cloth of the cushion's rather parade, and mended here and there, and green in patches from age and exposition to the weather. Oswald told Mrs. Bax this, not concealing about how shabby the little one was, and she gloriously said, The pair, by all means, we don't kill a pig every day. No, indeed, said Dora, but if killing a pig means having a lark, Mrs. Bax is as good a pig killer as any I ever knew. It was blended to drive. Oswald, on the box beside the driver, who had his best coat with the bright buttons, along the same roads that we had trodden as muddy pedestrians, all travelled along behind Bates's donkey. It was a perfect day, as I said before. We were all clean and had our second-best things on. I think second-bests are much more comfy than first-bests. You feel equivalent to meeting anyone and have a heart for any fate, as it says in the poetry book, and yet you are not starched and booted and siphoned and tightened out of all human feelings. Linwood Castle is in a hollow in the hills. It has a moat all round it, with water lily leaves on it. I suppose there are lilies when in season. There is a bridge over the moat, not the draw kind of bridge. And the castle has eight towers, four round and four square ones, and a courtyard in the middle, all green grass and heaps of stones, stray bits of castle. I suppose there are, and a great white May tree in the middle that Mrs. Back said was hundreds of years old. Mrs. Redhouse was sitting under the May tree when we got there, nursing her baby in a blue dress and looking exactly like a picture on the top of a chocolate box. The girls instantly wanted to nurse the baby, so we let them, and we explored the castle. We had never happened to explore one thoroughly before. We did not find the deepest dungeon below the castle moat, though we looked everywhere for it. But we found everything else you can think of belonging to castles. Even the holes they used to pour boiling lead through into the eyes of besiegers. When they tried to squint up to see how strong the garrison was in the keep, and the little slits they shot arrows through, and the mould green remains at the portcullis, we went up the eight towers, every single one of them, and some parts were jolly dangerous. I can tell you, Dickie and I would not let H.O. and Noel come up the dangerous parts. There was no lasting ill feeling about this. By the time we had had a thorough good explore, lunch was ready. It was a glorious lunch, not too many meaty things, but all sorts of cakes and sweets, and grapes and figs and nuts. We gazed at the feast, and Mrs. Bax said, There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you've got. They had current wine, said Noel, who had only just read the book by Mr. Charles Dickens. Well, so have you, said Mrs. Bax. And we had two bottles of it. I never knew anyone like you, said Noel to Mrs. Redhouse, dreamily with his mouth full, for knowing the things people really like to eat, not the things that are good for them, but what they like. And Mrs. Bax is just the same. It was one of the things they taught at our school, said Mrs. Bax. Do you remember the Saturday night feasts, Chloe, and how good the coconut ice tasted after extra strong peppermints? Fancy you knowing that, said H.O. I thought it was us found that out. I really know much more about things to eat than she does, said Mrs. Bax. She was such a nice little girl when she was a little thing in pinnacles. She was such a nice little girl. I shouldn't wonder if she was always nice, said Noel, even when she was a baby. Everybody laughed at this, except the existing baby. And it was asleep on the wagon head cushions under the white made tree. And perhaps if it had been awake Mrs. Wolf himself, though possessing a keen sense of humour, did not see anything to laugh at. Mrs. Redhouse made a speech after dinner and said, drink to the health of everybody, one after the other, in current wine, which was done beginning with Mrs. Bax and ending with H.O. Then he said, drink to everybody, as so often happens, had any idea ready. Then suddenly, Mrs. Redhouse said, good gracious, look there, and we look there. And where we were to look was the lowest piece at the castle wall, just beside the keep that the bridge led over to. And what we were to look at were human heads. It turned out when we had talked about cannibals and new guinea that human heads were just exactly what they were. Not loose heads, stuck on pikes or things like that, such as they often must have been while the castle stayed in the olden times. It was built in and belonged to. But real live heads with their bodies still in attendance on them. In fact, the village children, poor little Lazarus's, said Mr. Redhouse. There's not such a bad slice of dives feast left, said Mrs. Bax, shall we? So Mr. Redhouse went out by the keep and called the heads in. With the bodies they were connected with, of course, and they came and ate up all that was left at the lunch. Of course, for those were sacred to Teetown. But all the other things, even the nuts and figs, and we were quite glad that they should have them. Really and truly we were, even H.O. They did not seem to be very clever children or just the sort you would choose for your friends. But I suppose you like to play. However little you are, other people thought. After they had eaten all there was, when Mrs. Redhouse invited them all to join in games with us, we knew we ought to be pleased. The village children are not taught rounders, and though we wondered at first why their teachers had not seen to this, we understood presently. Because it was most awfully difficult to make them understand the very simplest thing. They could play all the ring games and the nuts and may, and there came three nights and another one we had never heard of before. The singing part begins up and down the green grass, this and that and thus. Come along my pretty maid and take a walk with us. You shall have a duck, my dear, and you shall have a drake, and you shall have a handsome man for your father's sake. I forgot the rest and if anybody here reads this knows it and will write and tell me, the author will not have laboured in vain. The grown-ups played with all their heart and soul. I expect it is but seldom they are able to play and they enjoyed the novel and thought there was another head looking over the wall. Hello, said Mrs. Bax. Here's another of them. Run along and ask it to come and join in. She spoke to the village children but nobody ran. Here you go, she said, pointing at a girl in red flats tied with dirty sky blue ribbon. Please miss, I'd laugh a not. replied the red head. He went along of him. Why, what's the matter with him? Asked Mrs. Red House. His father's in jail, miss. Along of stairs and nightlines and no one won't give his mother any work so my mother says we ain't to demean ourselves to speak to him. But it's not the child's fault, said Mrs. Red House. Is it now? I don't know, miss, said the red head. Said Mrs. Bax. How would you like it if your father was sent to prison and nobody would speak to you? Father's always kept himself respectable, said the girl with the dirty blue ribbon. You can't be sent to jail not if he keeps yourself respectable. You can't miss. And do none of you speak to him? The other children put their fingers in their mouths and looked silly, plainly, that they didn't. Don't you feel sorry for the poor little chap, said Mrs. Bax. No answer transpired. Can't you imagine how you'd feel if it was your father? My father always kept himself respectable, the red-haired girl, said again. Well, I shall ask him to come and play with us, said Mrs. Red House. Little pigs, she added, only heard by the author and Mr. Red House. But Mr. Red House said in a whisper that no one overheard except Mrs. R. H. and the present author. Don't push cat, it's no good. The poor little parryer wouldn't like it. And these kids only do what their parents teach them. If the author didn't know what a stainless gentleman was, he would think he heard he muttered a word that gentlemen wouldn't say. Tell of a detachment of consolation. Mr. Red House went on. Look here, our kids. He'll go and talk to the poor little chap. We all instantly said, I will. The present author was chosen to be the one. When you think about yourself you don't want to generally are but that you know you would like to be. If only you were good enough. Albert Sunkel says this is called your ideal of yourself. I will call it your best I for short. Oswald's best I was glad to go and talk to that boy whose father was in prison. That the Oswald that generally exists hated being out of the games. Yet the whole Oswald both the best and the ordinary was pleased that he was the one chosen to be a detachment of consolation. He went out under the great archway and as he went he heard the games beginning again. This made him feel noble and yet he was ashamed of feeling it. Your feelings are a beastly nuisance if once you begin to yourself think about them. Oswald soon saw the broken boots of the boy whose father was in jail so nobody would play with him standing on the stones near the top of the wall where it was broken to match the boots. He climbed up and said hello. To this remark the boy replied hello. Oswald now did not know what to say. The sorry are you are the people the harder it is to tell them so. But at last he said I've just heard about your father being where he is it's beastly rough luck I hope you don't mind my saying I'm jolly sorry for you. The boy had a pale face and watery blue eyes when Oswald said this his eyes got waterer than ever and he climbed down to the ground before he said I don't care so much but it do upset mother something cruel it is awfully difficult to console those in affliction Oswald thought this then he said I say never mind if those beastly kids won't play with you it isn't your fault you know. Nor it ain't father's neither the boy said he broke his arm a falling off a rick he hadn't paid up his club money along of mother's new baby costing what it did when it come so there weren't nothing and what's a hair or two or a cartridge it ain't as if it was pheasants as it is as dear to rear as chicks. Oswald did not know what to say so he got out his new pen and pencil combined and said look here you can have this to keep like the pale-eyed boy took it and looked at it and said you ain't feeling me and Oswald said no he wasn't but he felt most awfully run and uncomfy and though he wanted most frightfully to do something for the boy he felt as if he wanted to get away more than anything else and he never was gladder in his life than when he saw Dora coming along and she said you go back and play Oswald I'm tired and I'd like to sit down a bit she got the boy to sit down beside her and Oswald went back to the others games however unusually splendid have to come to an end and when the games were over and it was tea and the village children were sent away and Oswald went to call Dora and the prisoner's son was nothing but Dora and he saw it once in his far-sighted way that she had been crying it was one of the alas days we ever had and the drive home was good but Dora was horribly quiet as though the victim of dark interior thoughts and the next day she was but little better we were all paddling on the sands but Dora would not left us and went back to Dora and we all saw across the sandy waste that something was up and presently Alice came down and said draw your feet and legs and come to a council Dora wants to tell you something we drawed our pink and sandy toes and we came to the council then Alice said I don't think H.O. is wanted at the council it isn't anything amusing you go and enjoy yourself by the sea and catch the nice little crabs H.O. dear H.O. said you always want me to be out of everything I can be councils as well as anybody else oh H.O. said Alice in pleading tones not if I give you half a penny to go and buy bull's eyes with so then he went and Dora said I can't think how I could do it when you'd all trusted me so and yet I couldn't help it I remember Dickie saying when you decided to give it to me to take care of about me being the most trustworthy of all of us I'm not fit for anyone to speak to but it did seem the really right thing at the time it really and truly did it all looks different what has she done Dickie asked this but Osvald almost knew tell them said Dora turning over on her front and hiding her face partly in her hands and partly in the sand she's given all Miss Sandals money to that little boy that the father of was in prison said Alice it was one pound, 13 so Dora you ought to have consulted us I do think really said Dickie of course I see you're sorry now but I do think that how could I consult you said Dora you were playing cat and mouse and he wanted to go home I wish you'd heard what he told me that's all about mother being ill and nobody letting her to do any work because of where there is and his baby brother ill poor little darling and not enough to eat and everything as awful as she can possibly think I'll save up and pay it all back out of my own money only do forgive me all of you and say you don't despise me for a forger and in bezel winter I couldn't help it I'm glad you couldn't said the sudden voice of H.O who had sneaked up on his young stomach unobserved by the council you shall have all my money too Dora and here's the bullseye half penny to begin with he crammed it into her hand listen I should dolly well think I did listen H.O went on I'm just as much right as anybody else to be in at a council and I think Dora was quite right and the rest of you are beasts not to say so too when you see how she's blubbing suppose it had been your darling baby brother ill and nobody hadn't given you nothing when they got pounds and pounds in their silly pockets he now hugged Dora who responded it wasn't her own money said Dickie if you think you're our darling baby brother said Oswald but Alice and Noel began bringing Dora and H.O and Dickie and I felt it was no go feels had no right and honourable feelings about business and little boys are the same all right said Oswald rather bitterly if the majority of the council backs Dora up we'll be then but we must all save up and repay the money that's all we shall all be beastly short for ages so said Dora and now her sobs were beginning to turn into snips you don't know how I felt and I've felt most awful ever since but those poor poor people at this moment Mrs. Bax came down onto the beach by the wooden steps that led from the sea wall where the grass grows between the stones hello she said hurt yourself my Dora Duff Dora was rather a favourite of hers it's all right now said Dora that's all right said Mrs. Bax who has learnt in anti what its name plans the great art of not asking too many questions Mrs. Redhouse has come to lunch she went this morning to see that boy's mother you know the boy the others wouldn't play with we said yes now Mrs. Redhouse has arranged to get the woman some work like the deer she is the woman told her that the little lady that's you Dora had given the little boy one pound thirteen and seven pence Mrs. Bax looked straight out to sea through her gold rim spectacles and went on that must have been about all you had among a lot of you I don't want to draw I think you're a set of little bricks and I must say so or expire on the sandy spot there was a painful silence H.O. looked there what did I tell you at the rest of us then Alice said we others had nothing to do with it it was Dora's doing I suppose she said this because we did not mean to tell Mrs. Bax anything about it there was any brickiness in the act we wish Dora to have the consulment of getting the credit of it but of course Dora couldn't stand that she said oh Mrs. Bax it was very wrong with me it wasn't my own money and I had no business to but I was so sorry for the little boy and his mother and his darling baby brother the money belonged to someone else so Mrs. Bax asked her she had time to remember the excellent Australian rule about not asking questions and H.O. blurted out it was Miss Sandals money every penny before we could stop him once again in our career consulment was at an end the rule about questions was again unregarded and the whole thing came out it was a long story and Mrs. Redhouse came out in middle but nobody could mind her hearing things when she knew all from the plane living to the peddler who hadn't a license Mrs. Bax spoke up like a man and said several kind things that I won't write down she then went on to say that her sister was not poor and needy at all but that she lived plain and thought high just because she liked it we were very disappointed as soon as we had got over our hardly believing anyone could like it I mean and then Mrs. Redhouse said Sir Jones gave me five pounds for the poor woman and she sent back 30 of your shillings she had spent three and seven pounds of this supper a boiled pork and greens last night so now you've only got that to make up and you can buy a most splendid present for Miss Sandal it is difficult to choose presents for people who live plain and think high because they like it but at last we decided to get books they were written by a person called Emerson and of a dull character the books were very beautiful and Miss Sandal was most awfully pleased with them when she came down to her cottage with her partially repaired brother who had fallen off the scaffold when treating a bricklayer to tracks this is the end of the things we did when we were at Limchurch in Miss Sandal's house it is the last story that the present author means ever to be the author of the book if you have got as far as this your affectionate author end of chapter 13 end of New Treasure Seekers by Edith Nesbitt