Linda and Nettie turned to go back to the nursery, where tea was waiting
for them. Denis took hold of Nettie's hand to go too, but Alex and Lambert
remained behind to explore further their new quarters.
'Nettie,' said Denis, pulling his little sister back a little. 'I wish
I might have slept in the old nursery with nurse and baby.'
'Why, Denis dear?' said Nettie in surprise; 'your little room is so
pretty, and I never knew you were frightened of sleeping alone.'
'I'm not,' said Denis. 'It's not that.'
'What is it, then?' said Nettie. 'It's such a pity you don't like it,
when Granny's planned it so to please us. We should seem pleased, Denis,
for you know Granny is rather sad. Last Christmas she was too sad to
have anybody, for poor old uncle had died, you know. And it's _so_ good
of her to have us all this Christmas. Mother says Granny's only pleasure
is to make other people happy.'
'I do love Granny,' said Denis.
'Well then, don't you think you should try to be pleased with what she's
planned for us--with your nice little room?'
'I _are_ pleased with my room,' replied Denis. 'I like it werry much.'
Nettie stared at him as if she thought he was losing his senses.
'Then what _do_ you mean?' she asked.
Denis looked round. They were still in the picture gallery. He pulled
Nettie on, and when they were in the passage on to which at this end the
gallery opened, he shut the door and drew his sister into a corner.
'Nettie,' he said, 'you won't never tell, will you?'
'No,' said Nettie, rather rashly.
'I wouldn't tell anybody but you, Nettie. Linda can't hear, can she?'
'Oh no, she's run on to the nursery.'
'Nettie,' he continued, 'it's not my room. It's the picshurs,' here
he shook his head solemnly. 'It's having to pass the picshurs. It's
dreadful. But, O Nettie, don't tell. It began last year when we was
here. They try to catch me, Nettie. I'm almost sure they do. They come
down off the wall and run after me--at least I _fink_ they do.'
'But they _can't_,' said Nettie, very much impressed, but still full
of common sense; 'they _can't_, Denis. Pictures is pictures--they can't
walk or run. Just think, they're not alive--they're not even like dolls.
They're only thin bits of paper or wood--or--or--whatever it is pictures
are painted on.'
But Denis still shook his head.
'I know that,' he said. 'I've thought of that, but it's no good. When
I'm not there I think that way, but as soon as I'm there it begins. Their
eyes all look at me, and I'm sure they begin to get down to run after me
as soon as I've passed. It's worst at night, like now, when the lamps is
lighted. It isn't so bad in the day. But, O Nettie, it must be worstest
in the moonlight,' and he gave a little shiver; 'don't you 'amember what
Linda said about it--all the colours on the faces, you know?'
'But anyway,' said practical Nettie, 'you don't need to see them in the
moonlight. You never need to go along there after the lamps are put out
at night.'
'No,' said Denis, but not as if he found much consolation in the
thought.
'And if you'd let me tell mother,' continued Nettie, 'I'm sure she'd
change it some way. You might sleep with Alex, and Lam have your room.'
'_That_ wouldn't do any good,' objected Denis. 'It's not the room I mind.'
'Oh no, of course. I forgot. But Den, I daresay it could be settled for
you to sleep in the old nursery after all.'
'No,' said Denis. 'I'm going to try, Nettie. I want to be brave, and I
don't want to vex Granny and mother. So you mustn't tell. You won't, I
know, 'cos you've p'omised. I'm going to try running very fast along the
gallery every time and look at the window side, not at the pictures.
Then _p'raps_ it won't come.'
'It. What?' asked Nettie, in an awe-struck tone. She was very much
impressed by the whole, and felt no small admiration for Denis. 'Is
there one more than the others that tries to catch you?'
'No,' said Denis. 'I mean the _feeling_ when I say "it." Oh, it's
dreadful!' he repeated. 'But do you know, Nettie,' he went on, 'I fink
Granny knows somefin about it. She said somefin to mother. But _she_
didn't seem frightened. P'raps they don't try to catch her. She said
they smiled at her?' and Denis looked up at Nettie with great
bewilderment.
'She couldn't have meant the pictures,' said Nettie decisively.
'She said, the old faces, and there isn't any other old faces,'
persisted Denis.
'Well, never mind about that,' said Nettie, resolving privately,
nevertheless, to try to find out what it was Granny _had_ said. 'You
didn't understand, perhaps, Denis. You're only a very little boy still,
you know, and big people do say things sometimes that sound quite
different from what they mean. We must go to the nursery to tea now, but
I'll tell you one thing. Every time you have to run along the gallery
I'll _try_ to go with you, and then p'raps you'll get not to mind. Of
course if you were frightened in the night, you have Alex and Lambert
close to.'
'I'm not frightened in the night. I'm not frightened _nowhere_ 'cept
_there_. Thank you, dear Nettie. You'll hold my hand, won't you? and
we'll run together, and p'raps I'll get not to mind. I don't fink I can
leave off minding, but I want to be brave.'
And holding up his little face to be kissed, Denis went back to the
nursery with Nettie, his heart somewhat lighter, I think, for having
confided his secret to some one.
It did not occur to Nettie that it would have been right for her to tell
it. For one thing she had 'promised,' and with these children that word
was a solemn one. Then, too, she fully shared Denis's dislike to
complain or give trouble, partly from the wish to please Granny who was
'so kind,' partly from the strange reserve one often finds in even very
little children. Few but those who have watched them very constantly and
closely have any idea how much children will endure rather than complain.
For some time nothing happened to cause Nettie to think more seriously
of poor little Den's strange fancy. He seemed to wish not to speak of
it, and she did not lead him to do so, hoping always that he might come
to forget it. But she did not forget her other promise. Every time that
Denis had to traverse the dreaded gallery, his faithful little sister,
if she knew of it, was sure to start up to go with him. They used to run
as fast as the slippery polished floor would allow them, holding each
other's hands, and, Denis at least, steadily avoiding to look at the
portraits. In the morning early he did not mind it so much, though even
then Nettie often came to fetch him, if he had not already made his
appearance when Linda and she were summoned to the nursery breakfast.
'It's queer how Miss Nettie and Master Denis cling to each other,' the
under-nurse remarked one day. 'I never noticed it so much before. It's
like as if he couldn't move without her.'
'Miss Nettie's a very kind little girl,' the head-nurse replied, 'but
I do think she spoils Master Denis a little. He's getting a big boy.'
That very evening, as they were beginning tea--and tea-time at Christmas
is always after dark--nurse told Denis to run to his brothers' room to
tell them to come, for Alex and Lambert, having gone off to wash their
hands, had not returned. Denis began slowly to clamber down from his
chair, somewhat encumbered by Prince, who was, as usual, in his arms.
'Make haste, Master Denis,' said nurse, rather sharply, though not
unkindly. 'You shouldn't have the dog always in your arms, my dear.
At meal times it isn't nice.'
Denis cast an appealing glance at Nettie. She had already left her place
and was at his side.
'Put Prince down, Den,' she said, and the little boy did so, while
Prince, shaking himself, ran to the hearth-rug, moving round and round
till he had burrowed an imaginary hole, where he comfortably ensconced
himself.
'Mayn't I go instead of Denis?' said Nettie. 'I'd run much quicker.'
Another time nurse would probably have said 'yes,' but her attention was
aroused. She did not quite understand Denis and Nettie, and it seemed to
her that they were not just the same as usual.
'No, my dear,' she said. 'It is better for Master Denis to go, as I told
him first.'
But the children hesitated.
'Mayn't we both go?' persisted Nettie, taking Denis's hand. But nurse
shook her head.
'Miss Nettie, Master Denis will never be a big, sensible boy if you
treat him so. Why should he not run off himself at once when I tell him?'
The tears came to Nettie's eyes, but Denis gave her hand a little squeeze.
'Whatever you do, don't tell,' the squeeze seemed to say, and Nettie
dared not do anything more.
'I'll go, Nettie dear,' said Denis, and his little sister, looking at
him, saw that, though he was very pale, there was a look of determination
on his face. He turned to the door, and Nettie, choking back a sob,
turned back to her place at table, when suddenly the door burst open
with a bang, and the two truants, Alex and Lambert, rushed in breathless
and laughing. With a great sigh of relief Denis clambered up again on to
his chair.
'We've had such a race,' Alex began; 'we wanted to see who'd get to the
end of the gallery first. I expect those old grandfathers and grandmothers
are rather shocked at the noise we make, sometimes.'
'There's one at this end who does look so cross,' said Lambert. 'The
one with the yellow satin dress, and her mouth screwed up _so_.' He
illustrated his words with great effect--'just like Linda, when she's in
a temper. Ah! yes, that's it, Linda,' for his sister had turned from him
with dignified disgust. 'I'm sure I don't want such an ugly old thing
for a great-grandmother, but I'm afraid she must be some relation, she's
so like Linda.'
'Nurse,' began Linda, '_do_ make Lambert leave off, he is _so_'----
But a voice at the door interrupted her.
'Boys,' it said, and the children looking round caught sight of their
father. Up jumped the boys, and would have rushed towards him, had he
not stopped them. 'Don't be so excited,' he went on. 'I only want to
tell you that if the weather continues as it is, your cousins and I
are going to Hatchetts to skate to-morrow. There is to be a large party
there, for it is a capital place. Alex and Lambert, you may come with
us if you like. We shall be back before your bedtime, any way.'
There was a shout of satisfaction from the boys, but Linda looked
considerably annoyed.
'I'm sure father wouldn't take you,' she whispered to Lambert, who was
sitting beside her, 'if he knew how rude you are.'
'I wish Nettie and I might go,' she said aloud. '_Couldn't_ we, father?
The pond here is such a horrid little place for skating, and we can
skate so well now.'
'Me go too. Mayn't me go too?' began Baby, at which everybody except
Linda laughed.
'You, my pet!' said her father. 'Why, you'd be lost in the snow, and
what would we do then without our Baby?'
Denis looked very grave.
'Prin would try to get her out,' he remarked. 'Like the dogs up in those
snowy hills.'
'He means the St Bernard dogs,' said Nettie. 'Mother told us stories
about them.'
'Ah, yes!' said her father. 'But they are ever so much bigger than
Prince, my boy. Much more fear of Prince being lost himself in a
snowstorm, than of his rescuing anyone else, poor little dog.'
'But there isn't going to be a snowstorm,' said Linda. 'Father, mightn't
we go--I anyway?'
'No, my dear,' said her father. 'It's too uncertain. I hope the weather
will keep up. If it doesn't, no one can go. But it is too uncertain for
little girls: the boys must learn to rough it, but you and Nettie must
be content to skate on the pond here for the present.'
Linda's face clouded over still more. She hated being called 'a little
girl,' especially before her brothers. Her father turned away, either
not seeing, or not wishing to seem to see, her vexation.
'Get to bed early, then, and be up in good time,' he called out to the
boys as he left the room.