 Section 1 of the House of Arden. It had been a great house once, with farms and fields, money and jewels, with tenants and squires and men at arms. The head of the house had ridden out three days' journey to meet King Henry at the boundary of his estate, and the king had ridden back with him to lie in the tall, state bed in the castle guest chamber. The heir of the house had led his following against Cromwell, younger sons of the house, had fought in foreign lands, to the honour of England, and the gilding and regilding with the perishable gold of glory of the old Arden name. There had been Ardens in Saxon times, and there were Ardens still, but few and impoverished. The lands were gone, and the squires and men at arms, the castle itself was ruthless, and its unglazed windows stared blankly across the fields of strangers, that stretched right up to the foot of its grey, weather-worn walls. And of the male Ardens there were now known only two, an old man and a child. The old man was Lord Arden, the head of the house, and he lived lonely in a little house built of the fallen stones that time and Cromwell's round-shot had cast from the castle walls. The child was Idrid Arden, and he lived in a house in a clean, windswept town on a cliff. It was a bright-faced house, with bow-windows and a green balcony that looked out over the sparkling sea. It had three neat white steps and a brass knocker, pale and smooth with constant rubbing. It was a pretty house, and it would have been a pleasant house, but for one thing, the lodgers. For I cannot conceal from you any longer that Idrid Arden lived with his aunt, and that his aunt let lodgings. Letting lodgings is one of the most unpleasant of all possible ways of earning your living, and I advise you to try every other honest way of earning your living before you take to that. Because people who go to the seaside and take lodging seem somehow much harder to please than the people who go to hotels, they want ever so much more waiting on, they want so many meals, and at such odd times, they ring the bell almost all day long. They bring in sand from the shore in every fold of their clothes, and it shakes out of them onto the carpets and the sofa cushions and everything in the house. They hang long streamers of wet seaweed against the pretty roses of the new wallpapers, and their wash-hand basins are always full of sea anemones and shells. Although they are noisy, their boots seem to be always on the stairs, no matter how bad a headache you may have, and when you give them their bill they always think it is too much, no matter how little it may be. So do not let lodgings if you can help it. Miss Arden could not help it. It happened like this. Idrid and his sister were at school. Did I tell you he had a sister? Well he had, and her name was Alfreda. Miss Arden lived near the school, so that she could see the children often. She was getting her clothes ready for her wedding, and the gentleman who was going to marry her was coming home from South America, where he had made a fortune. The children's father was coming home from South America, too, with the fortune that he had made, for he and Miss Arden's sweetheart were partners. The children and their aunt talked whenever they met of the glorious time that was coming, and how when Father and Uncle Jim—they called him Uncle Jim already—came home, they were all going to live in the country, and be happy ever after. And then the news came that Father and Uncle Jim had been captured by brigands, and all the money was lost, too, and there was nothing left but the house on the cliff. So Miss Arden took the children from the expensive school in London, and they all went to live in the cliff-house, and as there was no money to live on, and no other way of making money to live on except letting lodgings, Miss Arden let them, like the brave lady she was, and did it well. And then came the news that Father and Uncle Jim were dead, and for a time the light of life went out in Cliff-house. This was two years ago, but the children had never got used to the lodgers. They hated them. At first they had tried to be friendly with the lodger's children, but they soon found that the lodger's children considered Edred and Alfreda very much beneath them, and looked down on them accordingly. And very often the lodger's children were the sort of children on whom anybody might have looked down, if it were right and kind to look down on any one. And when Master Reginald Potts of Peckham puts his tongue out at you at the morade and says, right before everybody, Lodgings, yaa! It is hard to feel quite the same to him as you did before. When there were lodgers—and there nearly always were, for the house was comfortable and people who had been once came again—the children and their aunt had to live in the very top and the very bottom of the house—in the attics and the basement, in fact. When there were no lodgers they used all the rooms in turn to keep them aired. But the children liked the big basement parlor room best, because there all the furniture had belonged to dead-and-gone ardents, and all the pictures on the walls were of ardents dead and gone. The rooms that the lodgers had were furnished with a new sort of furniture that had no stories belonging to it, such as belonged to the old polished oak tables and bureau that were in the basement parlor. Idrid and Alfredo went to school every day, and learned reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, history, spelling, and useful knowledge—all of which they hated quite impartially, which means they hated the whole lot, one thing as much as another. The only part of lessons they liked was the homework, when, if Aunt Edith had time to help them, geography became like adventures, history like story books, and even arithmetic suddenly seemed to mean something. I wish you could teach us always," said Idrid, very inky, and interested for the first time in the exports of China. It does seem so silly trying to learn things that are only words and books. I wish I could," said Aunt Edith, but I can't do twenty-nine thousand and seventeen things all at once, and—a bell jangled. That's the seventh time since tea. She got up and went into the kitchen. There's the bell again, my poor Eliza. Never mind, answer the bell, but don't answer them whatever they say. It doesn't do a bit of good, and it sometimes prevents their giving you half-crowns when they leave. I do love it when they go," said Alfredo. Yes, said her aunt. A cap, top-heavy with luggage, the horse's nose turned stationward, it's a heavenly sight, when the bill is paid, and—but then I'm just as glad to see the luggage coming. Chickens, when my ship comes home, will go and live on a desert island where there aren't any cabs, and we won't have any lodgers in our cave. When I grow up," said Idrid, I shall go across the sea and look for your ship and bring it home, I shall take a steam-tug and steer it myself. Then I shall be captain," said Alfredo. No, I shall be captain. You can't if you steer. Yes, I can. No you can't. Yes, I can. Well, do then," said Alfredo, and while you're doing it, I know you can't. I shall dig in the garden and find a goldmine, and Aunt Edith will be rolling in money when you come back, and she won't want your silly old ship. Spelling next," said Aunt Edith, how do you spell disagreeable? Which of us?" asked Idrid acutely. Both, said Aunt Edith, trying to look very severe. When you are a child, you always dream of your ship coming home, of having a hundred pounds, or a thousand, or a million pounds to spend as you like. My favourite dream, I remember, was a thousand pounds and an express understanding that I was not to spend it on anything useful. And when you have dreamed of your million pounds, or your thousand, or your hundred, you spend happy hour on hour in deciding what presence you will buy for each of the people you are fond of, and picturing their surprise and delight at your beautiful presence and your wonderful generosity. I think very few of us spend our dream fortunes entirely on ourselves. Of course we buy ourselves a motor-bicycle straight away, and footballs and bats, and dolls with real hair, and real china tea-sets, and large boxes of mixed chocolates, and treasure-island, and all the books that Mrs. Ewing ever wrote. But when we have done that, we begin to buy things for other people. It is a beautiful dream. But too often, by the time it comes true, up to a hundred pounds or a thousand, we forget what we used to mean to do with our money, and spend it all in stocks and shares, and eligible building sites, and fat cigars and fur coats. If I were young again, I would sit down and write a list of all the kind things I meant to do when my ship came home, and if my ship ever did come home, I would read that list, and— Watch the parlor bell is ringing for the eighth time, and the front doorbell is ringing too, and the first floor is ringing also, and so is the second floor, and Eliza is trying to answer four bells at once—always a most difficult thing to do. The front doorbell was wrung by the postman. He brought three letters. The first was a bill for mending the lid of the cistern, on which Edred had recently lighted a fire, fortified by an impression that wood could not burn if there were water on the other side—a totally false impression, as the charred cistern lid proved. The second was an inquiry whether Miss Arden would take a clergyman in it half the usual price, because he had a very large family, which had all just had measles. And the third was THE letter, which is really the seed, and beginning, and backbone, and rhyme, and reason of this story. Edred had got the letters from the postman, and he stood and waited while Aunt Edith read them. He collected postmarks, and he had not been able to make out by the thick half-light of the hall gas whether any of these were valuable. The third letter had a very odd effect on Aunt Edith. She read it once, and rubbed her hand across her eyes. Then she got up and stood under the chandelier, which wanted new burners badly, and so burned with a very unlighting light, and read it again. Then she read it a third time, and then she said, Oh! What is it, auntie? Alfreda asked anxiously, is it the taxes? It had been the taxes once, and Alfreda had never forgotten. If you don't understand what this means, ask your poorest relations, who are also likely to be your nicest, and if they don't know, ask the washerwoman. No! It's not the taxes, darling, said Aunt Edith, on the contrary. I don't know what the contrary, or opposite of taxes, is, any more than the children did, but I am sure it is something quite nice, and so were they. Oh, auntie, I am so glad," they both said, and said it several times before they asked again, What is it? I think. I'm not quite sure, but I think it's a ship come home. Oh, just a quite tiny little bit of a ship, a toy boat, hardly more than that, but I must go up to London to-morrow the first thing, and see if it really is a ship, and if so, what sort of a ship it is. Mrs. Blake shall come in, and you'll be good as gold, children, won't you? Yes! Oh, yes! said the two. And not make booby-traps for the butcher, or go on the roof in your night-gowns, or play-right Indians in the dust-bin, or make apple-pie beds for the lodgers? Aunt Edith asked, hastily mentioning a few of the little amusements which had lately enlivened the spare time of her nephew and niece. No, we won't, really, said Edrid, and will truly try not to think of anything new and amusing, he added, with real self-sacrifice. I must go by the eight-thirty train. I wish I could think of some way of—of amusing you, she ended, for she was too kind to say, of keeping you out of mischief for the day, which was what she really thought. I'll bring you something jolly for your birthday, Edrid. Wouldn't you like to spend the day with nice Mrs. Hammond? Oh, no! said Edrid, and added on the inspiration of the moment. Why made we have a picnic, just Elf and me, on the downs to keep my birthday? It doesn't matter at being the day before, does it? You said we were too little last summer, and we should this, and now it is this, and I have grown two inches, and Elves grown three, so we're five inches tall than when we said we weren't big enough. Now you begin to see how useful arithmetic is, said the Aunt. Very well you shall. Only wear your old clothes, and keep inside of the road. Yes, you can have a whole holiday, and now to bed. Oh! There's that bell again! Poor dear Eliza! A clappum cub, belonging to one of the lodgers, happened to be going up to bed, just as Edrid and Alfreda came through the bay's door that shut off the basement from the rest of the house. He put his tongue out through the banisters at the children of the house, and said, little slavies! The cub thought he could get up the stairs before the two got round the end of the banisters, but he had not counted on the long arm of Alfreda, whose hand shot through the banisters and caught the cub's leg and held on to it till Edrid had time to get round. The two boys struggled up the stairs together, and then rolled together from top to bottom, where they were picked up and disentangled by their relations. Except for this little incident, going to bed was uneventful. Next morning Aunt Edith went off by the 8.30 train. The children's school satchels were filled, not with books, but with buns. Instead of exercise books, there were sandwiches, and in the place of inky pencil boxes were two magnificent boxes of peppermint creams which had cost a whole shilling each, and had been recklessly bought by Aunt Edith in the agitation of the parting hour when they saw her off at the station. They went slowly up the red brick-paved sidewalk that always looked as though it had just been washed, and when they got to the top of the hill, they stopped and looked at each other. It can't be wrong, said Edrid. She never told us not to, said Elfride. I've noticed, said Edrid, that when grown-up people say they'll see about anything you want, it never happens. I've noticed that too, said Elfride. Auntie always said she'd see about taking us there. Yes she did. We won't be mean and sneaky about it, Edrid insisted, though no one had suggested that he would be mean and sneaky. We'll tell Auntie directly she gets back. Of course, said Elfride, rather relieved, for she had not felt at all sure that Edrid meant to do this. After all, said Edrid, it's our castle. We ought to go and see the cradle of our race. That's what it calls it, in Cliffgate and its environs. I say, let's call it a pilgrimage. The satchels will do for packs, and we can get half-pony walking sticks with that penny of yours. We can put peas in our shoes if you like," he added generously. We should have to go back for them, and I don't expect the split-kind count anyway, and perhaps they'd hurt, said Elfride doubtfully, and I want my penny for—she stopped, warned by her brother's frown. All right, then, she ended. You can have it. Only give me half next time you get a penny. That's only fair. I'm not usually unfair, said Edrid coldly. Don't let's be pilgrims. But I should like to," said Elfride. Edrid was obstinate. No, he said, we'll just walk. So they just walked, rather dismally. The town was getting thinner, like the tract of stocking that surrounds a hole. The houses were farther apart and had large gardens. In one of them a maid was singing to herself as she shook out the mats, a thing which, somehow, maids don't do much in towns. Good luck, says I, to my sweet art, for I will love you true. And all the while we've got to part, my luck shall go with you. That's lucky for us," said Elfride, amiably. We're not her silly sweetheart, said Edrid. No, but we heard her sing it, and he wasn't here, so he couldn't. There's a signpost. I wonder how far we've gone. I'm getting awfully tired. Better have been pilgrims," said Edrid. They never get tired, however many peas they have in their shoes. I will now," said Elfride. You can't," said Edrid. It's too late, or miles and miles from the stick shop. Very well, I shan't go on," said Elfride. You got out of bed the wrong side this morning. I've tried to soft answer you as hard as ever I could all the morning, and I'm not going to try any more, so there. Don't, then," said Edrid bitterly. Go along home if you like, you're only a girl. I'd rather be only a girl than what you are," said she. And what's that I should like to know? Elfride stopped and shut her eyes tight. Don't, don't, don't, don't," she said. I won't be cross, I won't be cross, I won't be cross. Packs, drop it, don't let's. Don't let's what? Quorl about nothing," said Elfride, opening her eyes and walking on very fast. We're always doing it. Auntie says it's a habit. If boys are so much splendider than girls, they ought to be able to stop when they like. Suppose they don't like," said he, kicking his boots in the thick white dust. Well, said she, I'll say I'm sorry first. Will that do? I was just going to say it first myself," said Edrid, in the grieve tones. Come on," he added more generously. Here's the signpost. Let's see what it says. It said, quite plainly and without any nonsense about it, that they had come a mile and three-quarters, adding most unkindly that it was eight miles to Arden Castle. But it said it was a quarter of a mile to Ardenhurst's station. Let's go by train," said Edrid grandly. No money," said Elfride, very forlornly indeed. Aha! said Edrid. Now you'll see, I'm not mean about money. I brought my new florin. Oh, Edrid," said the girl, stricken with remorse. You are noble. Poo! said the boy, and his ears grew red with mingled triumph and modesty. That's nothing. Come on. End of section one. Section two of the House of Arden. So it was from the train that the pilgrims got their first sight of Arden Castle. It stands up boldly on the cliff where it was set to keep off foreign foes and guard the country round about it. But of all its old splendor there is now nothing but the great walls that the grasses and wildflowers grow on, and round towers whose floors and ceilings have fallen away, and ruthless chambers where owls build, and brambles and green ferns grow strong and thick. The children walked to the castle along the cliff-path where the skylarks were singing like mad up in the pale sky, and the bean-fields, where the bees were busy, gave out the sweetest scent in the world, a scent that got itself mixed with the scent of the brown seaweed that rises and falls in the wash of the tide on the rocks at the cliff-foot. Let's have dinner here," said Alfrida, when they reached the top of a little mound from which they could look down on the castle. So they had it. Two bites of sandwich and one of peppermint cream. That was the rule. And all the time they were munching they looked down on the castle, and loved it more and more. Don't you wish it was real, and we lived in it?" Alfrida asked, when they had eaten as much as they wanted—not of peppermint creams, of course—but they had finished them. It is real what there is of it. Yes, but I mean if it was a house with chimneys and fireplaces and doors with bolts and glass and the windows. I wonder if we could get in, said Idrid. We might climb over," said Alfrida, looking hopefully at the enormous wall sixty feet high in which no gate or gap showed. There's an old man going across that field. No, not that one, the very green field. Let's ask him. So they left their satchels lying on the short turf that was half-wild time, and went down. But they were not quite quick enough. Before they could get to him the old man had come through the field of young corn, clambered over a stile, and vanished between the high hedges of a deep sunk lane. So over the stile and down into the lane went the children, and caught up with the old man just as he had clicked his garden gate behind him, and a turn to go up the bricked path between beds of wood-druff and anemones and narcissus and tulips of all colours. His back was towards them. Now it is very difficult to address a back politely, so you will not be surprised to learn that Idrid said, Hi, and Alfrida said, Hello, I say! The old man turned and saw at his gate two small figures dressed in what is known as sailor costume. They saw a very wrinkled old face with snowy hair and mutton-chop whiskers of a silvery whiteness. They were very bright, twinkling blue eyes in the sun-brown face, and on the clean-shaven mouth a kind, if tight, smile. Well, said he, and what do you want? We want to know, said Alfrida, about the castle, said Idrid. Can we get in and look at it? I've got the keys," said the old man, and put his hand in at his door and reached them from a nail. I suppose no one lives there, said Alfrida. Not now," said the old man, coming back along the garden path. Lord Arden, he died a fortnight ago come Tuesday, and the place is shut up till the new lords found. I wish I was the new lord," said Idrid, as they followed the old man along the lane. "'And how old might you be?' the old man asked. "'I'm ten nearly—it's my birthday to-morrow,' said Idrid. "'How old are you?' "'Getting on for eighty—I've seen a deal in my time. If you was the young lord, you'd have a chance none of the rest of them ever had, you being the age you are.' "'What sort of chance?' "'Why?' said the old man. "'Don't you know the saying? I thought everyone know'd it hereabouts.' "'What saying?' "'I ain't got the wind for saying and walking, too,' said the old man, and stopped. "'Least ways, not pottery.' He drew a deep breath and said, "'When Arden's lords still lacketh ten, and may not see his nine again, let Arden stand as Arden may, on Arden knoll at death of day. If he have skill to say the spell, he shall find the treasure and all be well.' "'I say,' said both the children, "'and where's Arden knoll?' Idrid asked, up yonder. He pointed to the mound where they had had lunch. Alfreda inquired, "'What treasure?' But that question was not answered. Then, "'If I'm to talk, I must set me down,' said the old man. "'Shall we set down here, or set down inside of the castle?' Two curiosities struggled, and the stronger one. "'In the castle,' said the children. So it was in the castle, on a pillar fallen from one of the chapel arches, that the old man sat down and waited. When the children had run up and down the grassy enclosure, peeped into the ruined chambers, picked their way along the ruined colonnade, and climbed the steps of the only tower that they could find with steps to climb, then they came and sat beside the old man on the grass that was white with daisies, and said, "'Now, then!' "'Well, then,' said the old man. "'You see, the Arden's was always great gentry. I've heard say there's always been Arden's here since before William the Conquer, whoever he was.' "'Ten sixty-six,' said Idrid himself. And they had their ups and downs like other folks, great and small. And once, when there was a war or trouble of some sort abroad, there was a lot of money and jewellery and silver plate hidden away—that's what it means by treasure—and the men who hid it got killed. Ah, them was unsafe times to be alive in, I tell you, that nobody never knew where the treasure was hid. "'Did they ever find it?' "'Ain't I telling you?' And a wise woman that lived in them old ancient times, they went to her to ask her what to do to find the treasure, and she had a fit directly, what you'd call a historical fit nowadays. She never said nothing worth hearing without she was in a fit, and she made up the saying all in pottery whilst she was in her fit, and that was all they could get out of her. And she never would say what the spell was. Only when she was a dying, Lady Arden that was, then, was very took up with nursing of her, and before she breathed her lastest she told Lady Arden the spell. He stopped for lack of breath. "'And what is the spell?' said the children, much more breathless than he. "'Nobody knows,' said he. "'But where is it?' "'Nobody knows. But I've heard say it's in a book in the library in the house, yonder. But it ain't no good, because there's never been a Lord Arden come to his title without he's left his ten years far behind him.' Idrid had a queer feeling in his head than you can imagine. His hands got hot and dry, and then cold and damp. "'I suppose,' he said, "'you've got to be Lord Arden. It wouldn't do if you were just playing John or James or Idrid, Arden. Because my name's Arden, and I would like to have a try.' The old man stooped, caught Idrid by the arm, pulled him up, and stood him between his knees. "'Let's have a look at you, sonny,' he said, and had a look. "'Aye,' he said, "'you're an Arden, for sure. To think of me not seeing that. I might have seen your long nose and your chin that sticks out like a spur. I ought to have known it anywhere. But my eyes ain't what they was. If you was, Lord Arden, what's your father's name, his christened name, I mean? Idrid, the same as mine. But father's dead,' said Idrid gravely. "'And your grandfather's name? It wasn't George, was it, George William?' "'Yes, it was,' said Idrid. "'How did you know?' The old man let go Idrid's arms and stood up. Then he touched his forehead and said, "'I've worked on the land, dear man and boy, and I'm proud I've lived to see another Lord Arden take the place of him as is gone. Walk alive, boy, don't garp like that.' He added sharply, "'You're Lord Arden right enough.' "'I—I can't be,' gasped Idrid. Auntie said Lord Arden was a relation of ours, a sort of great-uncle cousin. "'That's it, Missy,' the old man nodded. Lord Arden, christened name, James, he was first cousin to Mr. George, as was your grandfather. His son was Mr. Idrid, as is your father. Too late, Lord, not having any sons nor daughters neither for the matter of that, the title comes to your branch of the family. I've heard Snigsworthy, the lawyer's apprentice from Lewis, tell it over fifty times this last three weeks. Your Lord Arden, I tell you.' "'If I am,' said Idrid, "'I shall say the spell and find the treasure. "'You'll have to be quick about it,' said Elfride. "'You'll be over ten the day after to-morrow.' "'So I shall,' said Idrid. "'When your Lord Arden,' said the old man very seriously, "'I mean when you grow up to enjoy the title, as please God you may, you remember the poor and needy young master, that's what you do.' "'If I find the treasure I will,' said Idrid. "'You do it whether or no,' said the old man. "'I must be getting a long home.' "'You'd like to play about a bit, eh?' "'Well, bring me the keys when you've done. "'I can trust you not to hurt your own place, "'that's been in the family all these hundreds of years.' "'I should think you could,' said Idrid proudly. "'Good-bye, and thank you.' "'Good-bye, my Lord,' said the old man, and went. "'I say,' said Idrid, with a big bunch of keys in his hand. "'If I am, Lord Arden, you are, you are,' said Elfride. "'I am perfectly certain you are, and I suppose I'm Lady Arden. "'How perfectly ripping! "'He can shut up those lodging children now, anyhow.' "'What's up?' Idrid was frowning and pulling the velvet covering of moss off the big stone on which he had absently sat down. "'Do you think it's burglarish?' he said slowly. "'To go into your own house without leave.' "'Not if it is your own house, of course not,' said Elfride. "'But suppose it isn't. "'They might put you in prison for it.' "'You could tell the policeman you thought it was yours. "'I say, Idrid, let's. "'It's not vulgar curiosity like auntie says. "'It's the spell I want,' said the boy. "'As if I didn't know that,' said the girl contemptuously. "'But where's the house?' "'She might well ask, for there was no house to be seen. "'Only the great grey walls of the castle, "'with their fine fringe of flowers and grass showing feathery "'against the pale blue of the June sky. "'Here and there, though, there were grey wooden doors "'set in the grey of the stone.' "'It must be one of those,' Idrid said. "'We'll try all the keys and all the doors till we find it.' "'So they tried all the keys and all the doors. "'One door led to a loft where apples were stored, "'another to a cellar where brooms and spades and picks "'leamed against the damp wall, and there were baskets "'and piles of sacks. "'A third opened into a tower that seemed to be used "'as a pigeon-coat. "'It was the very last door they tried that led "'into the long garden between two high walls, "'where already the weeds had grown high among the forget-me-naughts "'and pansies. "'And at the end of this garden was a narrow house "'with a red roof, wedged tightly in between two high grey "'walls that belonged to the castle. "'All the blinds were down, the garden was chill and quiet, "'and smelt of damp earth and dead leaves. "'Oh, Idrid, do you think we ought?' "'Elfrida said, shivering. "'Yes, I do,' said Idrid, "'and you're not being good whatever you may think, "'you're only being frightened.' "'Elfrida naturally replied, "'I'm not, come on.' "'But it was very slowly, "'and with a feeling of being on tiptoe "'and holding their breath, "'that they went up to those blinded windows "'that looked like sightless eyes. "'The front door was locked, "'and none of the keys would fit it.' "'I don't care,' said Idrid. "'If I am, Lord Arden, I've got a right to get in. "'And if I'm not, I don't care about anything, "'so here goes.' "'Elfrida almost screamed, "'half with horror and half with admiration of his daring, "'when he climbed up to a little window "'by means of an elder tree that grew close to it, "'tried to open the window, "'and when he found it fast, "'deliberately pushed his elbow through the glass. "'Thus,' he said, rather unsteadily, "'the air of Arden Castle re-enters his estates. "'He got the window open and disappeared through it. "'Elfrida stood clasping and unclasping her hands, "'and in her mind trying to get rid of the idea "'of a very large and sudden policeman appearing "'in the garden door, "'and saying in that deep voice "'so much admired in our village constables, "'Where's your brother?' "'No policeman came, fortunately, "'and presently a blind went up, "'a French window opened, "'and there was Idred beckoning her "'with the air of a conspirator. "'It needed an effort to obey his signal, "'but she did it. "'He closed the French window, drew down the blind again, "'and—' "'Oh, don't let's,' said Elfrida. "'Nonsense,' said Idred. "'There's nothing to be frightened of. "'It's just like our rooms at home.' "'It was. "'They went all over the house, "'and it certainly was. "'Some of the upper rooms were very bare, "'but all the furniture was of the same kind as Aunt Edith's, "'and there were the same kind of pictures. "'Only the library was different. "'It was a very large room, "'and there were no pictures at all. "'Nothing but books and books and books, "'bound in yellowy leather. "'Books from ceiling to floor, "'shelves of books between the windows "'and over the mantelpiece, "'hundreds and thousands of books. "'Even Idred's spirit sank. "'It's no go. "'It will take us years to look in the mall,' he said. "'We may as well look at some of them,' said Elfride, "'always less daring but more persevering than her brother. "'She sat down on the worn carpet "'and began to read the names "'on the backs of the books nearest to her. "'Burton's Atomy of Melon Something,' she read, "'and Locke on Understanding, "'and many other dull and wearying titles. "'But none of the books seemed at all likely "'to contain a spell for finding treasure. "'Burgis on the precious metals,' "'beguiled her for a moment, "'but she saw at once that there was no room "'in its closely printed, brown-spotted pages "'for anything so interesting as a spell. "'Time passed by. "'The sunlight that came through the blinds "'had quite changed its place on the carpet, "'and Elfride is still persevered. "'Idred grew more and more restless. "'It's no use,' he kept saying, "'and let's chuck it. "'And I expect that old chap was just kidding us. "'I don't feel a bit like I did about it. "'And do let's go along home.' "'But Elfride plotted on, "'though her head and her back both ached. "'I wish I could say that her perseverance was rewarded. "'But it wasn't, and one must keep to facts. "'As it happened, it was Idred, "'who aimlessly running his finger along the edge "'of the bookshelf just for the pleasure of looking "'at the soft, mouse-colored dust "'that clung to the finger at the end of each shelf, "'suddenly cried out, "'What about this?' "'And pulled out a great white book "'that had on its cover a shield printed in gold, "'with squares and little spots on it, "'and a gold pig standing on top of the shield, "'and on the back, the history of the ardents of Arden. "'In an instant it was open on the floor between them, "'and they were turning its pages with quick, anxious hands. "'But alas, it was as empty of spells "'as dull old Burgess himself. "'It was only when Idred shut it with a bang, "'and the remark that he had had jolly well enough of it, "'that a paper fluttered out and swept away like a pigeon, "'settling on the fireless hearth. "'And it was the spell. "'There was no doubt of that. "'Ritten in faint ink on a square yellowed sheet "'of letter-paper that had been folded once, "'and opened and folded again so often "'that the fold was worn thin "'and hardly held its two parts together, "'the writing was fine and pointed and lady-like. "'At the top was written, "'the spell, Aunt Anne, told me, December 24th, 1793. "'And then came the spell. "'Here, O badge of Arden's house, "'the spell my little age allows. "'Arden speaks it without fear, "'badge of Arden's house, draw near. "'Make me brave and kind and wise, "'and show me where the treasure lies.' "'To be said,' the paper went on, "'at sun-setting by a Lord Arden "'between the completion of his ninth and tenth years. "'But it is all folly and not to be believed.' "'This is it, right enough,' said Idred. "'Come on, let's get out of this.' "'They turned to go, and as they did so, "'something moved in the corner of the library, "'something little, and they could not see its shape. "'Neither drew free breath again "'till they were out of the house, "'and out of the garden, and out of the castle, "'and on the wide, timey downs with the blue sky above, "'where the skylark sang, "'and there was the sweet, fresh scent "'of the seaweed and the bean-fields.' "'Oh,' said Elfrida, then, "'I'm so glad it's not at midnight you've got to say the spell. "'You'd be too frightened.' "'I shouldn't,' said Idred, "'very pale and walking quickly away from the castle. "'I should say it just the same if it was midnight.' "'And he very nearly believed what he said. "'Elfrida it was who had picked up the paper "'that Idred had dropped when that thing moved in the corner. "'She still held it fast. "'I expect it was only a rat or something,' said Idred, "'his heart beating nineteen to the dozen, "'as they say in Kent and elsewhere. "'Oh, yes,' said Elfrida, "'whose lips were trembling a little. "'I'm sure it was only a rat or something.' "'When they got to the top of Arden Knoll, "'there was no sign of sunset. "'There was time, therefore, to pull oneself together, "'to listen to the skylarks, "'and to smell the bean-flowers, "'and to wonder how one could have been such a duffer "'as to be scared by a rat or something. "'Also there were some bits of sandwich and crumbled cake, "'despised at dinner-time, "'but now somehow tasting quite different. "'These helped to pass the time till the sun "'almost seemed to rest on a brown shoulder of the Downs, "'that looked as though it were shrugging itself up "'to meet the round red ball "'that the evening mists had made of the sun. "'The children had not spoken for several minutes. "'Their four eyes were fixed on the sun, "'and as the edge of it seemed to flatten itself "'against the hill-shoulder, "'Alfreda whispered, "'Now!' and gave her brother the paper. "'They had read the spell so often, "'as they sat there in the waning light, "'that both knew it by heart, "'so there was no need for Idrid to read it. "'And that was lucky, "'for in that thick pink light "'the faint ink hardly showed at all on the yellowy paper. "'Idrid stood up. "'Now!' said Alfreda again. "'Say it now!' "'And Idrid said, "'quite out loud, "'and in a pleasant sort of sing-song, "'such as he was accustomed to use at school "'when reciting the stirring ballads of the late Lord Macaulay, "'or the moving tale of the boy on the burning deck. "'Here, O badge of Arden's house, "'the spell my little age allows. "'Arden speaks it without fear. "'Badge of Arden's house-drawn near. "'Make me brave and kind and wise, "'and show me where the treasure lies.' "'He said it slowly and carefully, "'his sister eagerly listening, "'ready to correct him if he said a word wrong, "'but he did not. "'Where the treasure lies,' he ended, "'and the great silence of the down seemed to rush in "'like a wave to fill the space which his voice had filled. "'And nothing else happened at all. "'A flush of pink from the sun-setting "'spread over the downs, "'the grass-stems showed up thin and distinct, "'the sky-larks had ceased to sing, "'but the scent of the bean-flowers "'and the seaweed was stronger than ever. "'And nothing happened, till Edred cried out, "'What's that?' "'For close to his foot something moved, "'not quickly or suddenly so as to startle, "'but very gently, very quietly, "'very unmistakably, "'something that glittered goldenly "'in the pink-diffused light of the sun-setting. "'Why?' said Alfreda, stooping. "'Why, it's—' "'End of Section Two.' Section Three of the House of Arden. "'This is a LibriVox recording. "'All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. "'For more information or to volunteer, "'please visit LibriVox.org.' Recording by Elizabeth Klett. "'The House of Arden' by Edith Nespit. Chapter Two. "'The Moldy-Warp.' Part One. "'And it was—' "'It was the living image of the little pig-like animal "'that was stamped in gold above the checkered shield "'on the cover of the white book in which they had found the spell. "'And as on the yellowy-white of the vellum book-cover, "'so here on the timey grass of the knoll, it shone golden. "'The children stood perfectly still. "'They were afraid to move lest they should scare away "'this little creature, "'which though golden was alive and moved about at their feet, "'turning a restless nose to right and left.' "'It is,' said Alfreda, "'again, very softly, so as not to frighten it.' "'What!' "'Edrid asked, though he knew well enough. "'Off the book that we got the spell out of. "'That was our crest on the top of our coat of arms, "'like on the old snuff-box that was great grand-pappas. "'Well, this is our crest come alive, that's all.' "'Don't you be too clever,' said Edrid. "'It said badge. "'I don't believe badge is the same thing as crest. "'A badge is leeks or roses or thistles, "'something you can wear in your cap. "'I shouldn't like to wear that in my cap.' "'And still the golden thing at their feet "'moved cautiously and without ceasing.' "'Why?' said Edrid suddenly. "'It's just a common old mole. "'It isn't. "'It's our own crest that's on the spoons and things. "'It's our own old family mole that's our crest. "'How can it be a common mole? "'It's all golden.' And even as she spoke, it left off being golden. "'For the last bit of sun dipped behind the shoulder "'of the Downs, and in the gray twilight that was left, "'the mole was white. "'Anyone could see that.' "'Oh,' said Elfride, but she stuck to her point. "'So you see,' she went on, "'it can't be just a really mole. "'Really moles are black.' "'Well,' said Edrid, "'it's very tame, I will say that.' "'Well,' Edrid was beginning, "'but at that same moment the mole also, "'suddenly and astonishingly said, "'Well?' "'There was a hushed pause. "'Then, did you say that?' Elfride whispered. "'No,' said Edrid. "'You did.' "'Don't whisper now,' said the mole. "'Taint pretty manners, so I tell thee.' "'With one accord the two children came to their knees, "'one on each side of the white mole.' "'I say,' said Edrid. "'Now, don't,' said the mole, pointing its nose at him, "'quite as disdainfully as any human being "'could have pointed a finger. "'Don't you go for to pretend you don't know "'as moldy warps has got tongues in their heads, "'same as what you've got?' "'But not to talk with,' said Elfride softly. "'Don't you tell me,' said the moldy warp, bristling a little. "'Has it no one told you ere a fairytale? "'All us beasties has tongues, "'and when we're dare, us uses of them.' "'When you're where?' said Edrid, "'rather annoyed at being forced to believe in fairytales, "'which he had never really liked.' "'Why, in a fairytale, for sure,' said the mole, "'wherever to goodness else on earth do you suppose you be?' "'We're here,' said Edrid, kicking the ground to make it feel more solid and himself more sure of things. "'On our knoll.' "'And ain't that in a fairytale?' demanded the moldy warp triumphantly. "'You do talk so free. "'You called me and here I be. "'What do you want?' "'Are you?' said Elfride, "'thrilling with surprise and fear and pleasure "'and hope and wonder, "'and a few other things, "'which taken in the lump, "'are usually called a thousand conflicting emotions. "'Are you the badge of Arden's house?' "'Course I be,' said the mole. "'What's left of it? "'And never did I think to be called one "'by the Arden boy and gell, "'as didn't know their own silly minds. "'What do you want, eh?' "'We told you in the spell,' said Elfride. "'Oh, be that all,' said the mole bitterly. "'Nothing else. "'I'm to make him brave and wise "'and show him to treasure, milk-sop,' it said, "'so suddenly and fiercely that it almost seemed "'to spit the words in poor Edrid's face. "'I'm not,' said Edrid, turning turkey red. "'I got into the house and found the spell anyway.' "'Yes, and who did all the looking for it? "'She did. "'Bless you, I was there, I know all about it. "'If it was showing her the treasure now, "'there'd be some sense in it.' "'I think you're very unfair,' said Elfride, "'as earnestly as though she had been speaking "'to a grown-up human being. "'If he was brave and wise, "'we shouldn't want you to make him it.' "'You ain't got nothing to do with it,' said the mole crossly. "'Yes, she has,' said Edrid. "'I mean to share and share with her, whatever I get, "'and if you could make me wise, "'I teach her everything you taught me, "'but I don't believe you can, so there.' "'Do you believe I can talk?' the mole asked, "'and Edrid quite definitely and surprisingly said, "'No, I don't. "'You're a dream, that's all you are,' he said, "'and I'm dreaming you.' "'And what do you think?' the mole asked Elfride, "'who hesitated.' "'I think,' she said at last, "'that it's getting very dark, "'and Aunt Edith will be anxious about us, "'and will you meet us another day? "'There isn't time to make us brave and wise tonight.' "'That there ain't for sure,' said the mole, meaningly. "'But you might tell us where the treasure is,' said Edrid. "'That comes last, greedy,' said the mole. "'I've got to make you kind and wise first, "'and I see I've got my work cut out. "'Good night!' it began to move away. "'Oh, don't go!' said Elfride. "'We shall never find you again. "'Oh, don't! Oh, this is dreadful!' the mole paused. "'I've got to let you find me again. "'Don't upset yourself,' it said bitterly. "'When you want me, come up to the knoll "'and say a piece of poetry to me, "'and call me, and I'll come.' And it started again. "'But what poetry?' Edrid's asked. "'Oh, anything you can pick in shoes,' Edrid thought of, the lays of ancient Rome. "'Only taint no good without you makes it up yourselves,' said the moldy warp. "'Oh,' said the two, much disheartened. "'And, of course, it must be asking me kindly to come to you. "'Get along home.' "'Where are you going?' Elfride asked. "'Home, too, of course,' it said. "'And this time it really did go.' The two children turned towards the lights of Ardenhurst's station in perfect silence, only as they reached the place where the downturf ends and the road begins, Edrid said, in tones of awe. "'I say,' and Elfride answered. "'Yes, isn't it?' Then they walked, still without talking, to the station. The lights there, and the voices of porters and passengers, the rattle of signal wires, and the ping-ping of train signals, had on them the effect of a wet sponge passed over the face of a sleeper by some already up person. They seemed to awaken from a dream, and the moment they were in the train, which fortunately came quite soon, they began to talk. They talked without stopping till they got to Cliffville station, and then they talked all the way home, and by the time they reached the house with the green balconies and the smooth, pale, polished door-knocker, they had decided, as children almost always do in cases of magic adventure, that they had better not say anything to anyone. As I am always pointing out, it is extremely difficult to tell your magic experiences to people who not only will not, but cannot believe you. This is one of the drawbacks of really wonderful happenings. Aunt Edith had not come home, but she came as they were washing their hands and faces for supper. She brought with her presents for Edred's birthday, nicer presents and more of them, than he had had for three years. She bought him a box of wonderfully varied chocolate and a box of tools, a very beautiful bat and a cricket-ball and a set of stumps, and a beetle-backed paint-box in which all the colors were hole pans and not half-ones as they usually are the boxes you get as presents. In this were beautiful paint-brushes, two camel's hair ones, and a sable with a point as fine as fine. You are a deer, auntie, he said, with his arms very tight round her waist. He was very happy, and it made him feel more generous than usual. So he said again, you are a deer, and Alfreda can use the paint-box whenever I'm out and the camel's hair brushes, not the sable, of course. Oh, Edred, how jolly of you, said Alfreda, quite touched. I've got something for Alfreda, too, said Aunt Edith, feeling among the rustling pile of brown paper and tissue paper and string and cardboard and shavings that were the husks of Edred's presents. Ah, here it is! It was a book, a red book with gold pictures on back and cover, and it was called The Amulet. So then it was Alfreda's turn to clasp her aunt round the waist and tell her about her dearness. And now to supper, said the deer, roast chicken and gooseberry pie and cream. To the children accustomed to the mild uninterestingness of bread and milk for supper, this seemed the crowning wonder of the day, and what a day it had been. And while they ate the brown chicken with bread sauce and gravy and stuffing and the gooseberry pie and cream, the aunt told them of her day. It really is a ship, she said, and the best thing it brings is that we shan't let lodgings any more. Hurrah! was the natural response. And we shall have more money to spend and be more comfortable, and you can go to a really nice school. And where do you think we're going to live? Not, said Alfreda in a whisper. Not at the castle? Why, how did you guess? Alfreda looked at Edred. He hastily swallowed a large mouthful of chicken to say, Auntie, I do hope you won't mind. We went to Arden today. You said we might go this year. Then the whole story came out, yes, quite all, up to the saying of the spell. And did anything happen? Aunt Edred asked. The children were thankful to see that she was only interested and did not seem vexed at what they had done. Well, said Alfreda slowly, we saw a mole. Aunt Edred laughed, and Edred said quickly, that's all the story, Auntie, and I am Lord Arden, aren't I? Yes, the aunt answered gravely, you are Lord Arden. Oh, ripping! cried Edred, with so joyous a face that his aunt put away a little sermon she had got ready in the train on the duties of the English aristocracy. That would keep, she thought, and turned to say, no, dear, to Alfreda's eager question, then I'm Lady Arden, aren't I? If he's a Lord, I ought to be a lady, Alfreda said, it's not fair. Never mind, old girl, said Edred kindly, I'll call you Lady Arden whenever you like. How would you like, asked the aunt, to go over and live at the castle now? Tonight? No, no, she laughed. Next week, you see, I must try to let this house, and I shall be very busy. Mrs. Honey set the old lady who used to keep house for your great uncle, wrote to the lawyers and asked if we would employ her. I remember her when I was a little girl. She is a dear, and knows heaps of old songs. How would you like to be there with her while I finish up here and get rid of the lodgers? Oh, there's that bell again. I don't think we'll have any bells at the castle, shall we? So that was how it was arranged. The aunt stayed at the bow-windowed house to arrange the new furniture, for the house was to be let furnished, and to pack up the beautiful old things that were real Arden things, and the children went in the carrier's cart with their clothes and their toys in two black boxes, and in their hearts a world of joyous anticipations. Mrs. Honey set received them with a pretty old-fashioned curtsy, which melted into an embrace. You're welcome to your home, my lord, she said with an arm round each child. And you too, Miss, my dear. Anyone can see your Arden's, both two of you. There was always a boy and a girl, a boy and a girl. She had a sweet patient face, with large pale blue eyes that twinkled when she smiled, and she almost always smiled when she looked at the children. Oh, but it was fine to unpack one's own box, to lay out one's clothes and long cedarwood drawers, fronted with curved polished mahogany, to draw back the neat muslin blinds from lattice-pained windows that had always been Arden windows, to look out as so many Ardens must have done, overland that, as far as one could see, had belonged to one's family in old days. That it no longer belonged hardly mattered at all to the romance of hearts only ten and twelve years old. Then to go down one's own shallow polished stairs, where portraits of old Arden's hung on the wall, and to find the cloth laid for dinner in one's own wainskitted parlor laid for two. I think it was nice of Edred to say, the moment Mrs. Honey said had helped them to toad in the hole and left them to eat it. May I pass you some potatoes, Lady Arden? Elfride giggled happily. The parlor was furnished with the kind of furniture they knew and loved. It had a long, low window that showed the long, narrow garden outside. The walls were paneled with wood, browny gray under its polish. Oh! said Elfride, there must be secret panels here. And though Edred said, secret fiddle-sticks, he and his heart felt that she was right. After dinner, may we explore?" Elfride asked. And Mrs. Honey said, most charming of women, answered heartily, Why not? It's all his own, bless his dear heart. So they explored. The house was much bigger than they had found it on that wonderful first day when they had acted the part of burglars. There was a door covered with faded green bays. Mrs. Honey said pointed it out to them with, Don't you think this is all? There's the other house beyond! And at the other side of that door there was, indeed, the other house. The house they had already seen was neat, orderly, bees-whacked, as Mrs. Honey said, till every bit of furniture shone like a mirror or a fond hope. But beyond the bay's door there were shadows. There was dust, windows draped in cobwebs, before which hung curtains tattered and faded, drooping from their poles like the old banners that, slowly rotting in great cathedrals, sway in the quiet air where no wind is, stirred perhaps by the breath of fame's invisible trumpet to the air of old splendours and glories. The carpets lay in rags on the floors, on the furniture the dust lay thick, and on the boards of corridor and staircase, on the four-post beds in the bed-chambers the hangings hung dusty and rusty. The quilts showed the holes eaten by moths and mice. In one room a cradle of carved oak still had a coverlet of tattered silk dragging from it. From the great kitchen hearth where no fire had been this very long time, yet where still the ashes of the last fire lay gray and white, a chill air came. The place smelt damp and felt, "'Do you think it's haunted?' Elfrida asked. "'Rot!' was her brother's brief reply, and they went on. They found long narrow corridors hung crookedly with old black-framed prints which drooped cobwebs like gray-draped crepe. They found rooms with floors of gray, uneven oak, and fireplaces in whose great slay old soot and the broken nests of starlings hatched very long ago. Idrid's handkerchief, always a rag of all work, rubbed a space in one of the windows, and they looked out over the swelling downs. This part of the house was not built within the castle, that was plain. When they had opened every door and looked at every roomful of decayed splendor, they went out and round. Then they saw that this was a wing built right out of the castle, a wing with squarish windows with carved drip-stones, all the windows were yellow as parchment, with the inner veil laid on them by time in the spider. The ivy grew thick round the windows, almost hiding some of them altogether. "'Oh!' cried Elfrida, throwing herself down on the turf. "'It's too good to be true. I can't believe it.' "'What I can't believe,' said Idrid, doing likewise, "'is that precious mole.' "'But we saw it,' said Elfrida. "'You can't help believing things when you've seen them.' "'I can,' said Idrid, superior. "'You remember the scarlet-told stools and hear-word? "'Suppose those peppermint creams were enchanted, "'to make us dream things.' "'They were good,' said Elfrida. "'I say.' "'Well, have you made up any poetry to call them all with?' "'Have you?' "'No. I've tried, though.' "'I've tried, and I've done it.' "'Oh, Idrid, you are clever. "'Do say it.' "'If I do, do you think the mole will come?' "'Of course it will.' "'Well,' said Idrid slowly. "'Of course I want to find the treasure and all that, "'but I don't believe in it. "'It isn't likely. That's what I think. "'Now, is it likely?' "'Unlikely, are things happened in the amulet,' said Elfrida. "'Ah,' said Idrid. "'That's a story.' "'The mole said we were in a story. "'I say, Idrid, do say your poetry.' Idrid slowly said it. "'Mole, mole, come out of your hole. "'I know you're blind, but I don't mind.'" Elfrida looked eagerly round her. There was the short turf, the castle walls, ivy and gray, rose high above her. Pigeons circled overhead, and in the arches of the windows and on the roof of the house they perched, preening their bright feathers or telling each other, "'Coo, coo, coo-loo, coo-loo.'" Whatever that may mean. But there was no mole. Not a hint or a dream or idea of a mole. "'Idrid,' said his sister. "'Well, did you really make that up? "'Don't be cross, but I do think "'I've heard something like it before.' "'I... I adopted it,' said Idrid. "'What?' said Elfrida. "'Haven't you seen it in books? "'Adopted from the French. "'I altered it.' "'I don't believe that'll do. "'How much did you alter? "'What's the real poetry like?' "'The mole, the mole. "'He lives in a hole. "'The mole is blind. "'I don't mind,' said Idrid sulkily. "'Auntie told it me the day you went "'with her to Mrs. Harrison. "'I'm sure you ought to make it up all yourself. "'You see, the mole doesn't come. "'There isn't any mole,' said Idrid. "'Let's both think hard. "'I'm sure I could make poetry if I knew how to begin. "'If anyone's got to make it, it's me,' said Idrid. "'You're not Lord Arden. "'You're very unkind,' said Elfrida, "'and Idrid knew she was right. "'I don't mind trying,' he said condescendingly. "'You make the poetry, and I'll say it.' "'Elfrida buried her head in her hands "'and thought till her forehead felt as large "'as a mangle-wurzel, and her blood "'thropped in it like a church-clock ticking. "'Got it yet?' he asked, "'just as she thought she had really got it. "'Don't!' said the poet in agony. "'Then there was silence except for the pigeons "'and the skylarks, and the mooing of a cow "'at a distant red-roofed farm. "'Will this do?' she said at last, "'lifting her head from her hands "'and her elbows from the grass. "'There were deep dents and lines on her elbows "'made by the grass stalk she had leaned on so long. "'Spit it out,' said Idrid. "'End of section three.' "'Section four of the House of Arden. "'This is a LibriVox recording. "'All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. "'For more information, or to volunteer, "'please visit LibriVox.org.' "'Recording by Elizabeth Klett. "'The House of Arden by Edith Nespit.' "'Chapter Two, The Moldy Warp. "'Part Two.' "'Thus encouraged,' Alfreda said, "'very slowly and carefully. "'Oh, Moldy Warp. "'I think it would rather be called that than Mold, don't you? "'Oh, Moldy Warp, do please come out "'and show us how to set about it. "'That means the treasure. "'I hope it'll understand.' "'That's not poetry,' said Idrid. "'Yes, it is, if you say it right on. "'Oh, Moldy Warp, do please come out "'and show us how to set about it.' "'There ought to be some more,' said Idrid, "'rather impressed, all the same. "'There is,' said Alfreda. "'Oh, wait a minute, I shall remember directly. "'It, what I mean is how to find the treasure "'and make Idrid brave and wise and kind. "'I'm kind enough if it comes to that,' said Lord Arden. "'Oh, I know you are, but poetry has to rhyme. "'You know it has. "'I expect poets often have to say "'what they don't mean because of that.' "'Well, say it straight through,' said Idrid. "'And, Alfreda said, obediently, "'Oh, Moldy Warp, do please come out "'and show us how to set about it. "'What I mean is how to find the treasure "'and make Idrid brave and wise and kind. "'I'll write it down if you've got a pencil.' Idrid produced a piece of pink chalk, but he had no paper, so Alfreda had to stretch out her white petticoat, put a big stone on the hem, and hold it out tightly with both hands while Idrid wrote at her dictation. Then Idrid studiously repeated the lines again and again, as he was accustomed to repeat the Battle of Ivory, till at last he was able to stand up and say, "'Oh, Moldy Warp, do please come out "'and show me how to set about it. "'What I mean is how to find the treasure "'and make me brave and wise and, if you don't mind,' he added. "'And instantly there was the white mole.' "'What do you want now?' it said, very crossly indeed. "'And call that poetry.' "'It's the first I ever made,' said Alfreda, of the hot ears. "'Perhaps it'll be better next time. "'We want you to do what the spell says,' said Idrid. "'Make you brave and wise. "'That can't be done all in a minute. "'That's a long job, that is,' said the mole viciously. "'Don't be so cross, dear,' said Alfreda. "'And if it's going to be so long, "'haven't you better begin?' "'I ain't going to do no more in my share,' said the mole, "'somewhat softened, though, perhaps, by the deer. "'You tell me what you want, and perhaps I'll do it.' "'I know what I want,' said Idrid, "'but I don't know whether you can do it.' "'Ha!' laughed the mole contemptuously. "'I got it out of a book, Alfreda got, on my birthday,' Idrid said. "'The children in it went into the past. "'I'd like to go into the past and find that treasure.' "'Choose your period,' said the mole, wearily. "'Choose your period. "'What time you'd like to go back to? "'If you don't choose before I'd counted ten, it's all off.' "'One, two, three, four.' "'It counted ten through a blank silence. "'Nine, ten.' It ended. "'Oh, very well, then. "'You'll have to take your luck, that's all.' "'Bother,' said Idrid. "'I couldn't think of anything except all the dates "'of all the kings of England all at once.' "'Lucky to know them,' said the mole, "'and so plainly not believing that he did know them "'that Idrid found himself saying under his breath. "'William I, ten sixty-six, William II, ten eighty-seven, "'Henry I, eleven hundred.' The mole yawned, which, of course, was very rude of it. "'Don't be cross, dear,' said Alfreda again. "'You help us your own way.' "'Now you're talking,' said the mole, "'which, of course, Alfreda knew. "'Well, I'll give you a piece of advice. "'Don't you be nasty to each other for a whole day, "'and then—' "'You needn't talk,' said Idrid, "'still under his breath. "'Very well,' said the mole, "'whose ears were sharper than his eyes. "'I won't.' "'Oh, don't,' sighed Alfreda. "'What is it we are to do when we've been nice "'to each other for a whole day?' "'Well, when you've done that,' said the mole. "'Look for the door.' "'What door?' asked Alfreda. "'The door,' said the mole. "'But where is it?' Idrid asked. "'In the house it be, of course,' said the mole. "'Where else to gracious should it be?' "'And it ran with mouths like quickness across the grass "'and vanished down what looked like a rabbit hole. "'Now,' said Alfreda triumphantly, "'you've got to believe in the mole.' "'Yes,' said Idrid, "'and you've got to be nice to me for a whole day "'or it's no use my believing. "'Aren't I generally nice?' "'The girl pleaded, and her lips trembled. "'Yes,' said her brother. "'Yes, Lady Arden, "'and now I'm going to be nice too. "'And where shall we look for the door?' This problem occupied them till tea-time. After tea they decided to paint, with the new paint-box and the beautiful new brushes. Alfreda wanted to paint Mr. Miller's illustrations in the amulet, and Idrid wanted to paint them too. This could not be, as you will see if you have the book. Idrid contended that they were his paints. Alfreda reminded him that it was her book. The heated discussion that followed ended quite suddenly and breathlessly. "'I wouldn't be a selfish pig,' said Idrid. "'No more would I,' said Alfreda. "'Oh, Idrid, is this being nice to each other for twenty-four hours?' "'Oh,' said Idrid. "'Yes, well, all right. "'Never mind, we'll begin again to-morrow.' "'But it is much more difficult than you would think "'to be really nice to your brother or sister for a whole day. "'Three days passed before the two ardents "'could succeed in this seemingly so simple thing. "'The days were not dull ones at all. "'There were beautiful things in them "'that I wish I had time to tell you about, "'such as climbings and discoveries and books with pictures, "'and a bureau with a secret drawer. "'It had nothing in it but a farthing "'and a bit of red tape, secret drawers never have, "'but it was a very nice secret drawer for all that. "'And at last a day came "'when each held its temper with a strong bit. "'They began by being very polite to each other, "'and presently it grew to seem like a game. "'Let's call each other Lord and Lady Arden all the time "'and pretend that we're no relation,' said Elfride, "'and really that helped tremendously. "'It is wonderful how much more polite you can be "'to outsiders than you can to your own relations. "'Who are, when all's said and done, "'the people you really love?' "'As the time went on they grew more and more careful. "'It was like building a house of cards. "'As hour after hour of blameless politeness "'was added to the score, "'they grew almost breathlessly anxious. "'If, after all this, some natural annoyance "'which spoil everything. "'I do hope,' said Edred, towards tea-time, "'that you won't go and do anything tiresome. "'Oh, dear, I do hope I shan't,' said Elfride. "'And this was just like them both. "'After tea they decided to read "'so as to lessen the chances of failure. "'They both wanted the same book, Treasure Island it was, "'and for a moment the niceness of both "'hung in the balance. "'Then with one accord each said, "'No, you have it.' "'And the matter ended in each taking "'a quite different book "'that it didn't particularly want to read. "'At bedtime, Edred lighted Alfreda's candle for her, "'and she picked up the matches for him "'when he dropped them. "'Bless their hearts,' said Mrs. Honey said in the passage. "'They parted with the heartfelt remark, "'We've done it this time.' "'Now, of course, in the three days "'when they had not succeeded in being nice to each other, "'they had looked for the door, "'but as the mole had not said where it was, "'nor what kind of a door, "'their search had not been fruitful. "'Most of the rooms had several doors, "'and as there were a good many rooms, "'the doors numbered fifty-seven, counting cupboards, "'and among these there were none that seemed worthy "'to rank above all others as the door. "'Many of the doors in the old part of the house "'looked as though they might be the one, "'but since there were many no one could be sure.' "'How shall we know?' "'Edred asked next morning, "'through his egg and toast. "'I suppose it's like when people fall in love,' "'said Alfreda through hers. "'You see the door and you know at once "'that it is the only princess in the world for you. "'I mean door, of course,' she added. "'And when breakfast was over, "'they stood up and looked at each other. "'Now,' they said together, "'will look at every single door. "'Perhaps there'll be magic writing on the door "'come out in the night like mushrooms,' said the girl. "'More likely that mole was kidding us,' said the boy. "'Oh, no,' said the girl, "'and we must look at them on both sides, every one. "'Oh, I do wonder what's inside the door, don't you?' "'Bluebeard's wives, I shouldn't wonder,' said the boy, "'with their heads. "'If you don't stop,' said the girl, "'putting her fingers in her ears, "'I won't look for the door at all. "'No, I don't mean to be aggravating, "'but please don't, you know I hate it. "'Come on,' said Edred, "'and don't be a duffer, old chap.' "'The proudest moments of Alfreda's life "'or when her brother called her old chap.' "'So they went and looked at all the fifty-seven doors, "'one after the other, on the inside and on the outside. "'Some were painted and some were grained, "'some were carved and some were plain. "'Some had panels and others had none, "'but they were all of them doors, "'just doors and nothing more. "'Each was just a door, "'and none of them had any claim at all "'to be spoken of as the door. "'And when they had looked at all the fifty-seven "'on the inside and on the outside, "'there was nothing for it but to look again. "'So they looked again, very carefully, "'to see if there were any magic writing "'that they hadn't happened to notice. "'And there wasn't. "'So then they began to tap the walls "'to try to discover a door with a secret spring. "'And that was no good either. "'There isn't any old door,' said Edred. "'I told you that mole was pulling our leg.' "'I'm sure there is,' said Alfreda, "'sniffing a little from prolonged anxiety. "'Look here, let's play it like the willing game. "'I'll be blindfolded and you hold my hand "'and will me to find the door. "'I don't believe in the willing game,' said Edred, disagreeably. "'No more do I,' said Alfreda. "'But we must do something, you know. "'It's no good sitting down "'and saying there isn't any door.' "'There isn't all the same,' said Edred. "'Well, come on.' "'So Alfreda was blindfolded "'with her best silk scarf, "'the blue one with the hem stitched ends, "'and Edred took her hands. "'And at once, this happened in the library "'where they'd found the spell. "'Alfreda began to walk in a steady and purposeful way. "'She crossed the hall and went through the green base door "'into the other house, went along its corridor "'and up its dusty stairs, up and up and up. "'We've looked everywhere here,' said Edred, "'but Alfreda did not stop for that. "'I know I'm going straight to it,' she said. "'Oh, do try to believe a little, "'or we shall never find anything.' "'And went on along the corridor, "'where the spiders had draped the picture frames "'with their gray, crepe curtains. "'There were many doors in this corridor, "'and Alfreda stopped suddenly at one of them, "'a door just like the others. "'This,' she said, putting her hand out "'till it rested on the panel, "'all spread out like a pink starfish. "'This is the door.' "'She felt for the handle, turned it, and went in, "'still pulling at Edred's hand "'and with the blue scarf still in her eyes.' Edred followed. "'I say,' he said, "'and then she pulled off the scarf. "'The door closed itself very softly behind them. "'They were in a long attic room close under the roof, "'a room that they had certainly "'in all their explorings never found before. "'There were no windows. "'The roof sloped down at the sides, almost to the floor. "'There was no ceiling. "'Old, warm-eaten roof beams showed the tiles between, "'and old tie beams crossed it so that as you stared up, "'it looked like a great ladder with the rungs "'very far apart. "'Here and there, through the chinks of the tiles, "'the golden, dusty light filtered in, "'and outside was the tic-tic of moving pigeon feet, "'the rustling of pigeon feathers, "'the kuru-ku of pigeon voices. "'The long room was almost bare, only along each side, "'close under the roof, was a row of chests, "'and no two chests were alike.' "'Oh,' said Edred, "'I'm kind and wise now. "'I feel it inside me. "'So now we've got the treasure. "'We'll rebuild the castle.' "'He got to the nearest chest and pushed at the lid, "'but Alfreda had to push two before he could get "'the heavy thing up, and when it was up, alas, "'there was no treasure in the chest, only folded clothes. "'So then they tried the next chest, "'and in all the chests there was no treasure at all, "'only clothes, clothes and more clothes again.' "'Well, never mind,' said Alfreda, "'trying to speak comfortably, "'they'll be splendid for dressing up in.' "'That's all very well,' said Edred, "'but I want the treasure.' "'Perhaps,' said Alfreda, with some want of tact, "'perhaps you're not good and wise yet. "'Not quite, I mean,' she hastened to add. "'Let's take the things out and look at them, "'perhaps the treasures in the pockets.' "'But it wasn't, not a bit of it, "'not even a three-penny bit.' "'The clothes in the first chest "'were full riding cloaks and long boots, "'short waisted dresses and embroidered scarves, "'tight breeches and coats with bright buttons. "'There were very interesting waistcoats "'and odd-shaped hats. "'One a little green one looked as though it would fit Edred. "'He tried it on. "'And at the same minute, Alfreda lifted out "'a little straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons. "'Here's one for me,' she said, and put it on. "'And then it seemed as though the cooing and rustling "'of the pigeons came right through the roof "'and crowded round them in a sort of dazzlement "'and a cloud of pigeon noises. "'The pigeon noises came closer and closer, "'and garments were drawn out of the chest "'and put on the children. "'They did not know how it was done any more than you do. "'But it seemed somehow that the pigeon noises "'were like hands that helped. "'And presently there were the two children "'stood in clothing such as they had never worn. "'Alfreda had a short waisted dress "'of green sprigged cotton with a long and skimpy skirt. "'Her square-toed brown shoes were gone "'and her feet wore flimsy sandals. "'Her arms were bare "'and muslin handkerchief was folded across her chest. "'Eedred wore very white trousers "'that came right up under his arms, "'a blue coat with brass buttons "'and a sort of frilly tucker round his neck. "'I say,' they both said, "'when the pigeon noises had taken themselves away "'and they were face-to-face in the long empty room. "'That was funny,' Eedred added. "'Let's go down and show Mrs. Honeyset.' "'But when they got out of the door, "'they saw that Mrs. Honeyset, or someone else, "'must have been very busy "'while they were on the other side of it. "'For the floor of the gallery "'was neatly swept and polished. "'A strip of carpet, worn but clean, ran along it, "'and prints hung straight and square "'on the cleanly whitewashed walls, "'and there was not a cobweb to be seen anywhere. "'The children opened the gallery doors "'as they went along, "'and every room was neat and clean. "'No dust, no tattered curtains, "'only perfect neatness "'and a sort of rather bare comfort "'showed in all the rooms. "'Mrs. Honeyset was in none of them. "'There were no workmen about, "'yet the bay's door was gone, "'and in its stead was a door of old wood, "'very shaky and crooked. "'The children ran down the passage to the parlor "'and burst open the door, "'looking for Mrs. Honeyset. "'There sat a very upright old lady "'and a very upright old gentleman, "'and their clothes were not the clothes "'people wear nowadays. "'They were like the clothes "'the children themselves had on. "'The old lady was hemming a fine white frill. "'The old gentleman was reading "'what looked like a page from some newspaper. "'Hoyty-toyty,' said the old lady, very severely, "'we forget our manners, I think. "'Make your curtsy, Miss.' Alfreda made one as well as she could. "'To teach you respect for your elders,' said the old gentleman, "'you had best get by heart "'one of Dr. Watt's divine and moral songs. "'I leave you to see to it, my lady.' He laid down the sheet and went out, very straight and dignified, and without quite knowing how it happened, the children found themselves sitting on two little stools in a room that was, and was not, the parlor in which they had had that hopeful eggy breakfast. Each holding a marbled side of Dr. Watt's hymns. "'You will commit to memory the whole of the one commencing, "'Happy the child whose youngest years "'receive instruction well. "'And you will be deprived of pudding with your dinners,' remarked the old lady. "'I say,' murmured Idrid. "'Oh, hush,' said Alfreda, as the old lady carried her cambrick frills to the window-seat. "'But I won't stand it,' whispered Idrid. "'I'll tell Aunt Edith, and who's she, anyhow?' He glowered at the old lady across the speckless carpet. "'Oh, don't you understand?' Alfreda whispered back. "'We've got turned into somebody else, and she's our grandmama.' I don't know how it was that Alfreda saw this, and Idrid didn't, perhaps because she was a girl, perhaps because she was two years older than he. They looked hopelessly at the bright sunlight outside, and then at the dull, small print of the marble-backed book. "'Idrid,' said the old lady, "'hand me the paper.' She pointed at the sheet on the brightly polished table. He got up and carried it across to her, and as he did so he glanced at it and saw the Times, June 16th, 1807. And then he knew, as well as Alfreda did, exactly where he was, and when." End of Section 4 Section 5 of the House of Arden. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. The House of Arden by Edith Nespit. Chapter 3 In Boney's Times Idrid crept back to his stool and took his corner of the marble-backed book of Dr. Watts with fingers that trembled. If you are inclined to despise him, consider that it was his first real adventure. Even in ordinary life, and in the time he naturally lived in, nothing particularly thrilling had ever happened to happen to him until he became Lord Arden and explored Arden Castle. And now he and Alfreda had not only discovered a disused house and a wonderful garret with chests in it, but had been clothed by mysterious pigeon noises and clothes belonging to another age. But, you will say, pigeon noises can't clothe you in anything whatever it belongs to. Well, that was just what Idrid told himself at the time, and yet it was certain that they did. This sort of thing it was that made the whole business so mysterious. Further, he and his sister had managed somehow to go back a hundred years. He knew this quite well, though he had no evidence but that one sheet of newspaper. He felt it, as they say, in his bones. I don't know how it was. Perhaps the air felt a hundred years younger. Shepherds and country people can tell the hour of night by the feel of the air. So perhaps very sensitive people can tell the century by much the same means. These, of course, would be the people to whom adventures in times past or present would be likely to happen. We must always consider what is likely, especially when we are reading stories about unusual things. I say, Idrid whispered presently, we've got back to 1807. That paper says so. I know, Alfreda whispered. So she must have had more of that, like Shepherds telling the time of night feeling than even her brother. I wish I could remember what was happening in history in 1807, said Alfreda. But we never get past Edward IV. We always have to go back to the Saxons because of the new girls. But we're not in history. We're at Arden, Idrid said. We are in history. It'll be awful not even knowing who's king, said Alfreda. And then the stiff old lady looked up over very large spectacles with thick silver rims and said, Silence. Presently she laid down the times and got ink and paper, no envelopes, and began to write. She was finishing a letter. The large sheet was almost covered on one side. When she had covered it quite, she turned it round and began to write across it. She used a white goose quill pen. The ink stand was of china, with gold scrolls and cupids and reeds of roses painted on it. On one side was the inkwell, on the other a thing like a china pepper pot, and in front a tray for the pens and sealing wax to lie in. Both children now knew their unpleasant poem by heart, so they watched the old lady, who was grandmother to the children she supposed them to be. When she had finished writing, she sprinkled some dust out of the pepper pot over the letter to dry the ink. There was no blotting paper to be seen. Then she folded the sheet and sealed it with a silver seal from the pen tray and wrote the address on the outside. Then, have you got your task? she asked. Here it is, said Alfreda, holding up the book. No impudence, miss, said the grandmother sternly. You very well know that I mean. Have you got it by rote yet? And you know, too, that you should say, ma'am, whenever you address me. Yes, ma'am, said Alfreda. And this was taken to mean that she knew her task. Then come and say it. No, no, you know better than that. Feet in the first position, hands behind you, head straight, and do not fidget with your feet." So then first Alfreda and then Idred recited the melancholy verses. Now, said the old lady, you may go and play in the garden. Mate, we take your letter to the post, Alfreda asked. Yes, but you are not to stay in the George bar, mind, not even if Mrs. Skinner should invite you. Just hand her the letter and come out. Shut the door softly and do not shuffle with your feet. Yes, ma'am, said Alfreda, and on that they got out. They'll find us out, bound to, said Idred. We don't know a single thing about anything. I don't know where the George is or where to get a stamp or anything. We must find someone we can trust and tell them the truth, said Alfreda. There isn't anyone, said Idred, that I trust. You can't trust the sort of people who stick this sort of baby flummery round a chap's neck. He crumpled his starched frill with hot, angry fingers. Mine prickles all round too, Alfreda reminded him, and it's lower and you get bigger as you go down, so it prickles more of me than yours does you. Let's go back to the attic and try and get back to our own time. I expect we just got into the wrong door, don't you? Let's go now. Oh, no, said Alfreda, how dreadfully dull! Why, we shall see all sorts of things and be top in history for the rest of our lives. Let's go through with it. Do you remember which door it was? The attic, I mean, Idred suddenly asked. Was it the third on the left? I don't know, but we can easily find it when we want it. I'd like to know now, said Idred, absolutely. You never know when you are going to want things. Mrs. Honeyset says you ought to always be able to lay your hand on anything you want the moment you do want it. I should like to be quite certain about being able to lay our hands on our own clothes. Suppose someone goes and tidies them up. You know what people are. All right, said Alfreda. We'll go and tidy them up ourselves. It won't take a minute. It would certainly not have taken five if things had been as the children expected. They raced up the stairs to the corridor where the Prince were. It's not the first door, I'm certain, said Idred, so they opened the second. But it was not that, either. So then they tried all the doors in turn, even opening at last the first one of all, and it was not that even. It was not any of them. We've come to the wrong corridor, said the boy. It's the only one, said the girl, and it was, for though they hunted all over the house, upstairs and downstairs, and tried every door, the door of the attic they could not find again. And what is more, when they came to count up, there were fifty-seven doors without it. Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, said Alfreda, and ended in a sob. The door's gone! We shall have to stay here for ever and ever. Oh, I want Auntie, I do, I do! She sat down abruptly on a small green mat in front of the last door, which happened to be that of the kitchen. Idrid says he did not cry, too. And if what he says is true, Alfreda's crying must have been louder than was usual with her. For the kitchen door opened, and the two children were caught up in two fat arms, and hurried into a pleasant kitchen, where bright brass and copper pots hung on the walls, and between a large fire and a large meat-screen a leg of mutton turned round and round with nobody to help it. Hold your noise! said the owner of the fat arms, who now proved to be a very stout woman in a chocolate-colored print gown sprigged with blue roses. She had a large linen apron and a cap with flappy frills, and between the frills just such another good, kind, jolly face as Mrs. Honeyset's own. Here, stop your mouths, she said, or your granule be after you, to say nothing of bony, stop your crying, do, and see what cookies got for you. She opened a tin canister and picked out two lumps of brown stuff that looked like sand, about the size and shape of prunes they were. What's that? Eidred asked. Drab it, me, said the cook. What a child it is! Not no sugar when he sees it. Well, well, Master Eidred, what next I should like to know? The children took the lumps and sucked them. They were of sugar, sure enough, but the sugar had a strong coarse taste behind its sweetness, and if the children had really not been quite extra polite and kind, they would have followed the promptings of nature and—but, of course, they knew that this would be both disgusting and ungrateful. So they got the sugar down somehow, while Cook beamed at them with a wide, kind smile between her cap-fills, and two hands as big as little beefsteak puddings on her hips. Now, no more cry, babying! She said, run along and play. We've got to take Granny's letter to post, said Eidred. And we don't—COOK!—said Alfrida on a sudden impulse. Can you keep a secret? Can't I—said the cook. Haven't I kept the secret of how firmity's made, and bake well pies and all? There's no firmity to hold a candle to mine in this country, as well, you know. We don't know anything—said Alfrida—that's just it! And we daren't let Granny know how much we don't know. Dumplings happened to us, so that we can't remember anything that happened more than an hour ago. "'Bless me,' said the cook,—'don't you remember old Cookie giving you the baked apple dumplings when you were sent to bed without your suppers a week come Thursday?' "'No,' said Alfrida,—'but I'm sure you did. Only what are we to do?' "'You're not deceiving, poor Cookie, are you now, like you did about the French soldiers being hit in the windmill, upsetting all the village like you did?' "'No. It's true. It's dreadfully true. You'll have to help us. We don't remember anything, either of us.' The cook sat down heavily in a polished arm chair with a patchwork cushion. "'She's overlooked you. There's not a doubt about it. You're bewitched.' "'Oh, my pretty little dears, that ever I should see the day!' The cook's fat, jolly face twisted and puckered in a way with which each child was familiar in the face of the other. "'Don't cry,' they said both together, and Alfrida added,—'who's overlooked what?' "'Old Betty Lovell has. That I'll be bound. She's bewitched you both, as sure as eggs is eggs. I knew there'd be some sort of a to-do when my lord had her put in the stocks for stealing sticks in the wood. We've got to get her to take it off, my dears. That's what we've got to do, for sure. Without you could find a white moldy-warp, and that's not likely.' "'A white moldy-warp,' said both the children, and again they spoke together like a chorus, and looked at each other like conspirators. "'You know the rhyme. Oh! But if you've forgotten everything, you've forgotten that, too.' "'Say it, won't you?' said Idrid. "'Let's see how do it go. White moldy-warp a spell can make, white moldy-warp a spell can break, when all be well that moldy-warp be, when all goes ill, then turn to he.' "'Well, all's not gone ill yet,' said Alfrida, wriggling her neck in its prickly muslin tucker. "'Let's go and see the witch. You'd best take her something, a screw of sugar she'd like, and a pinch of tea.' "'Why, she'd not say thank you for it,' said Idrid, looking at the tiny packets. "'I expect you forgotten,' said Cook gently. "'That tea's ten shillings a pound, and sugar's gone up to three and six since the war.' "'What war?' "'The French war. You haven't forgotten war at war with boney in the French, and the bonfire we had up at the church, when the news came of the drubbing we gave them at Trafalgar, and poor dear Lord Nelson and all, and your grandfather reading out about it to them from the George balcony, and all the people waiting to cheer and him not able to get it out for choking pride, and because of Lord Nelson, God bless him, and the people couldn't get their cheers out neither for the same cause, and every one blowing their noses and shaking each other's hands like as if it was a mad funeral. "'How splendid!' said Alfreda, but we don't remember it. "'Nor you don't remember how you killed all the white butterflies last year, because you said they were Frenchies in their white coats, and the birching you got for cruelty to dumb animals,' his lordship said. "'You howled for an hour together after it, so you did.' "'I'm glad we've forgotten that, anyhow,' said Edred. "'Gracious!' said the cook, half after eleven, and my eggs not so much as broke for my pudding. Off you go with your letter. Don't you tell anyone else about you forgetting? And then you come along home by dairy-spinny, and go see old Betty. Speak pretty to her, and give her the tea and sugar, and keep your feet crossed under your chair if she asks you to sit down. And I'll give you an old knife-blade apiece to put in your pockets. She can't do nothing if you've got steel on you. And get her to take it off—the ill-wishing, I mean. And don't let her know you've got steel—they don't like to think you've been beforehand with them.' So the children went across the fields to the George, and the bean-flowers smelt as sweet, and the sky-larks sang as clearly, and the sun and the sky were just as golden and blue as they had been last week. And last week was really a hundred years on in the future. And yet it was last week, too, from where they were. Time is a very confusing thing, as the children remarked to each other more than once. They found the George half-way up Arden Village, a stately great house shaped like an E, with many windows and a great porch with a balcony over it. They gave their letter to a lady in a round cap who sat sewing in a pleasant room, where there were many bottles and kegs, and rows of bright pewter ale-pots, and little fat mugs to measure other things with, and pewter plates on a brown dresser. There were greyhounds, too, all sprawling, legs and shoulders and tails entangled together like a bunch of dead eels, before the widest hearth the children had ever seen. They hurried away the moment they had given the letter. A coach, top-heavy with luggage, had drawn up in front of the porch, and as they went out they saw the Oslars leading away the six smoking horses. Edred felt that he must see the stables, so they followed, and the stables were as big as the house, and there were horses going in and horses going out, and hay and straw, and Oslars with buckets and Oslars with harness, and stalls and loose boxes beyond counting, and bustle and hurry beyond words. "'However many horses have you got?' said Elfrida, addressing a man who had not joined in the kindly chorus of, "'Hello, little ones,' that greeted the children. So she judged him to be a newcomer, as he was. "'Two and fifty?' said the man. "'What for?' Elfrida asked. "'Why for the coaches?' and the post-jays and the king's messengers for sure,' the man answered. "'How else dost us all get about the country and get to hear the newses, if it wasn't for the stable the George keeps?' And then the children remembered that this was the time before railways and telegrams and telephones. It is always difficult to remember exactly where one is when one happens to get into a century that is not one's own. Edred would have liked to stay all day watching the busyness of every one and the beautifulness of the horses, but Elfrida dragged him away. They had to find the witch, she reminded him, and in a dreadful tumble-down cottage, with big holes in its roof of rotten thatch, they did find her. She was exactly like the pictures of witches in storybooks, only she had not a broomstick or a high-pointed hat. She had instead a dirty cap that had once been white, and a rusty gown that had once been black, and a streaky shawl that might once, perhaps, have been scarlet. But nobody could be sure of that now. There was a black cat sitting on a very dirty wooden saddle, and the old woman herself sat on a rickety three-legged stool, her wrinkled face bent over a speckled hen which she was nursing in her lap, and holding gently in her yellow wrinkled hands. As soon as Edred caught sight of her through the crooked doorway he stopped. "'I'm not going in,' he said. "'What's the good? We know Jolly well she hasn't bewitched us, and if we go cheeking her she may, and then we shall be in a nice hole.' "'There's the tea and sugar,' said Elfrida. "'You just give it her, and come away. I'll wait for you by the style.' So Elfrida went into the cottage alone, and said, "'Good morning,' in rather a frightened way. "'I've brought you some tea and sugar,' she said, and stood waiting for the thank you, without which it would not be polite to say, good morning, and to go away. The thank you never came. And the witch stopped stroking the hen and said, "'What for? I've not done you no harm.' "'No,' said Elfrida. "'I'm sure you wouldn't.' "'Then what have you brought it for?' "'For—' "'Oh, just for you,' said Elfrida. "'I thought you'd like it. It's just a—a love-gift, you know. This was Aunt Edith's way of calling a present that didn't come just because it was your birthday or Christmas, or you had had a tooth-out.' "'A love-gift,' said the old woman slowly. After all this long time, Elfrida did not understand. How should she? It's almost impossible for even the most grown-up and clever of us to know how women used to be treated, and not so very long ago either, if they were once suspected of being witches. It generally began by the old woman's being cleverer than her neighbours, having more wit to find out what was the matter with sick people, and more still to cure them. Then her extra cleverness would help her to foretell storms and gales and frosts, and to find water by the divining-rod—a very mysterious business. And when once you can find out where water is by just carrying a forked hazel twig between your hands, and walking across a meadow, you can most likely find out a good many other things that your stupid neighbours would never dream of. And in those long ago days, which really aren't so very long ago, you're being so much cleverer than your neighbours would be quite enough, you would soon be known as the wise woman, and from wise woman to witch was a very short step indeed. So Elfrida, not understanding, said, Yes, is your fowl ill? Twill mend, said the old woman, Twill mend, the healing of my hands has gone into it. She rose, set the hen on the hearth, where it fluttered, squawked, and settled among grey ashes, very much annoying the black cat, and laid her hand suddenly on Elfrida's shoulders. And now the healing of my hands is for you. She said, You have brought me a love-gift. Never a gift have I had these fifty years but was a gift of fear or a payment for help, to buy me to take off a spell or put a spell on. But you have brought me a love-gift. And I tell you you shall have your heart's desire. You shall have love around and about you all your life long. That which is lost shall be found. That which came not shall come again. In this world's goods you shall be blessed, and blessed in the goods of the heart also. I know, I see, and for you I see everything good and fair. Your future shall be clean and sweet as your kind heart." She took her hands away. Elfrida, very much impressed by these flattering remarks which she felt she did not deserve, should still, not knowing what to say or do, she rather wanted to cry. I only brought it because Cook told me," she said. Cook didn't give you the kind heart that makes you want to cry for me now," said the witch. The old woman sank down in a crouching heap, and her voice changed to one of Sing-Song. I know, she said, I know many things, all alone the live long day and the death long night I have learned to see. As cats see through the dark, I see through the days that have been and shall be. I know that you are not here, that you are not now. You will return whence you came, and this time that is not yours shall bear no trace of you, and my blessing shall be with you in your own time and your own place, because you brought a love-gift to the poor old wise woman of Arden. Is there anything I can do for you?" Elfrida asked, very sorry indeed, for the old woman's voice was very pitiful. "'Kiss me,' said the old woman, "'kiss me with your little child's mouth that has come back a hundred years to do it.' Elfrida did not wish to kiss the wrinkled grey face, but her heart wished her to be kind, and she obeyed her heart. "'Ah,' said the wise woman, "'now I see. Oh, never have I had such a vision. None of them all has ever been like this. I see great globes of light like the sun in the streets of the city, where now are only little oil lamps and guttering lanterns. I see iron roads with fiery dragons drawing the coaches, and rich and poor riding up and down on them. Men shall speak in England and their voices be heard in France. For the voices of dead men shall be kept alive in boxes and speak at the will of those who still live. The handloom shall cease in the cottages, and the weavers shall work in palaces with a thousand windows lighted as bright as day. The sun shall stoop to make men's portraits more like than any painter can make them. There shall be ships that shall run over the seas like conger eels, and ships that shall ride over the clouds like great birds. And bread that is now a shilling in nine pence shall be five pence, and the corn and the beef shall come from overseas to feed us, and every child shall be taught who can learn and— Peace! Prater! cried a stern voice in the doorway. Alfreda turned. There stood the grandfather, Lord Arden, very straight and tall and gray, leaning on his gold-headed cane, and beside him, Idrid, looking very small and found out. The witch did not seem to see them. Her eyes that rolled and blinked saw nothing, but she must have heard for— Loss to Arden! She said. Loss and woe to Arden! The hangings of your house shall be given to the spider, and the mice shall eat your carved furnishings. Your gold shall be less and less, and your house go down and down till there is not a field that is yours about your house. Lord Arden shrugged his shoulders. "'Likely tales,' he said, to frighten babes with, "'tell me rather if you would have me believe what shall happen to-morrow.' "'To-morrow,' said the wise woman, the French shall land in Limchurch Bay.' Lord Arden laughed. "'And I give you a sign—three signs,' said the woman faintly, for it is tiring work seeing into the future, even when you are enlightened with a kiss from someone who has been there. "'You shall see the white moldy warp that is the badge of Arden on your threshold as you enter. "'That shall be one sign,' said the old man mockingly. "'And the second,' she said, "'shall be again the badge of your house and your own chair and your own parlor.' "'That seems likely,' said Lord Arden, sneering. "'And the third,' said she, "'shall be the badge of your house and the arms of this child.' She turned her back, and picked the hen out of the ashes. Lord Arden led Edred and Alfrida away, one in each hand, and as he went he was very severe on disobedient children, who went straying after wicked witches, and they could not defend themselves without blaming the cook, which of course they would not do. "'Bread and water for dinner,' he said, "'to teach you better ways.'" "'Oh, grandfather,' said Alfrida, catching at his hand, "'don't be so unkind. Just think about when you were little. I'm sure you liked looking at witches, didn't you now?' Lord Arden stared angrily at her, and then he chuckled. "'It's a bold girl, so it is,' he said. "'I own, I remember well, seeing a witch ducked no further off than New Church, and playing truant for my tutor to see it, too.' "'There now you see,' said Alfrida coaxingly. "'We don't mean to be naughty. We're just like what you were. We won't make it bread and water, will you? Especially if bread so dear?' Lord Arden chuckled again. "'Why, the little white mouse has found a tongue, and never was I spoken to so bold since the days I wore petticoats myself,' he said. "'Well, well, we'll say no more about it this time.'" And Idrid, who had privately considered that Alfrida was behaving like an utter idiot, thought better of it. So they turned across the summer fields to Arden Castle. There seemed to be more of the castle than when the children had first seen it, and it was tidier—much. And on the doorstep sat a white mole. "'There now,' said Alfrida. The mole vanished like a streak of white paint that is rubbed out. "'Poo!' said Lord Arden, there's plenty of white moles in the world. But when he saw the white mole sitting up in his own carved arm-chair in the parlor, he owned that it was very unusual. Alfrida stooped and held out her arms. She was extremely glad to see the mole. Because ever since she and her brother had come into this strange time, she had felt that it would be the greatest possible comfort to have the mole on hand—the mole who understood everything—to keep and advise—and above all to get them safely back into the century they belonged to. And the moldy warp made a little run and a little jump, and Alfrida caught it, and held it against her waist with both her hands. "'Stay with me,' whispered Alfrida to the mole. "'By George,' said Lord Arden to the universe. "'So now you see,' said Idrid to Lord Arden. End of Section V.