"Gin! Where did you taste gin?"
Without reply The Seraph hurried on, while Angel and I scraped our bowls:
"There was once a student fellow and he didn't yike live birds, either. He
poisoned one and it died. Then he undertook a walk (this was a favourite
expression of Mrs. Handsomebody's) and all the other birds pounced on him
and tore him piecemeal."
Mrs. Handsomebody, with a ferocious gleam in her eye, leaned forward to
catch the rest. The Seraph's voice was low and insinuating.
"I was finking"--with a chuckle--"that you might poison one of the nicest
of the stuffed birds. Then you might get in the glass case wiv the others.
We could lock the door on the outside and watch through the glass."
"And I expect you think they would tear _me_ piecemeal? Is that the idea?"
"Oh, I don't know," chuckled The Seraph. "But suppose you twy it."
_Chapter X: The New Day_
I
I think we must have felt that he was coming, for we awoke at dawn that
morning. I could barely see the silvery bars between the slats of the
shutters. The Seraph was stirring in his sleep, and in a moment he
whispered: "I say, John, what's that long black thing behind the door?"
"Just some clothes hung up," I whispered back.
"I fought they moved," he said. "Do you fink the wardrobe door moved,
John?"
"Everything seems a little queer this morning," I replied. "I heard a
whispering sort of noise at the shutters a bit ago."
Angel began to talk in his sleep.
"If three suns were to rise at six," he muttered, "how many stars would it
take to make a moon?"
The Seraph began to laugh delightedly. He kicked his legs and showed all
his little white teeth. Angel opened his eyes and stared at us crossly.
"What a beastly row," he said. "I want to sleep some more."
The silver bars between the slats of the shutters took a golden tinge.
Clearly it was to be a fine day, after a week of rain and sleet.
The chimes of the Cathedral sounded. The notes came with penetrating
sweetness as though the air were cold and clear. We heard the door of Mary
Ellen's room open; she descended the back stairs noisily.
The Seraph turned a somersault in the middle of the bed.
"Cwistmas is coming," he said, trying to stand on his head, "and I want a
pony."
We threw ourselves into a general scuffle, and the old-four-poster creaked
and the bolster fell to the floor.
Then up the cavernous backstairs came the peal of the front door bell. We
heard Mary Ellen drop the poker and run through the house. It was an
unheard of hour for the front door bell to ring. We sat up in bed in
stiffened attitudes of expectancy. Mary Ellen was mounting the front stair.
She rapped loudly at Mrs. Handsomebody's bedroom door. There were whispers.
Then Mrs. Handsomebody's voice came decidedly:
"Go about your work with the utmost speed. Say nothing to the boys of this.
I shall tell them when they have had their breakfast."
In a moment she appeared at our door in her purple dressing-gown, an
expression of repressed excitement on her face. A sunbeam slanting through
the passage rested on the fringe of curl-papers about her head so that she
looked like some elderly saint wearing a rather ragged halo.
"I have received news," she announced, with more than usual firmness,
"which will make it necessary for us to rise immediately. Dress as quickly
as you can, and help your little brother. What a state you have got that
bed into! You deserve to be punished." She stood for a moment, her eyes
resting on us with a curious look, then, with a sigh, she turned away and
went back to her room.
At breakfast she still wore her dressing-gown, an unprecedented laxity.
Beside her on the table-cloth lay a crumpled piece of buff paper. So it was
by telegram that the news had come. Instantly I thought. The telegram is
from father. He is coming home. Maybe he is on his way. In London even! The
food would not go down my throat. Shudders of excitement shook me.
I looked at Angel. Taking advantage of Mrs. Handsomebody's absorption he
was spreading a second spoonful of sugar over his porridge. The Seraph was
staring, spoon in hand, into Mrs. Handsomebody's set face. He said--
"Mrs. Handsomebody, if I was to smile at you, would you smile back at me?"
"Alexander," replied Mrs. Handsomebody, "I hope I have never been found
wanting in courtesy. But, at present, I should prefer to see you eat your
breakfast with as much speed as possible. John, eat your porridge."
"I can't, please."
"Eat it instantly, sir."
"I can't," I repeated, beginning to blubber, "I want to see father!"
"Eat your porridge and you shall see him. He will be here at ten o'clock.
Silence, now, no uproar. My nerves are under quite enough strain." She
poured herself fresh tea, and continued:
"There will be no tasks today. After breakfast you will put on your best
jackets and collars, and sit in the parlour until he arrives. I implore you
to be as composed as possible."
The questions that poured from us were hushed by a gesture of her
inflexible, white hand. Dazed by the news, we were herded back to our
bedroom, hurried into stiff white collars and hustled into shining Sunday
shoes. There was the sound of cold water tinkling in the basin; of
straining bootlaces; and of the creaking of a loose board in the floor
every time Mary Ellen stepped on it. Scarcely a word was spoken. Now that
what we had so long strained towards was at hand we stood breathless before
the immensity of it. The long year and nine months at Mrs. Handsomebody's
fell like a heavy curtain between us and the past. Our father's face had
grown hazy to us. I think The Seraph only pretended to remember. His coming
had been held over our heads so long, as a time of swift retribution, that
a feeling of doubt, almost terror, mingled with our joy.
At last we were ready. With shining faces, burning ears, and quickly
tapping hearts, we went soberly down the stairs. The door of the parlour
stood wide open. Mrs. Handsomebody, herself, was dusting the case of
stuffed birds, whose plumage, sadly thinned by the attentions of
Coppertoes, seemed to quiver with expectancy.
We were instructed to wait inside the iron gate, at the front, until train
time, when we were to be recalled to the parlour, and take our places on
three chairs, already ranged in a row for us. Thus we were to be displayed
by Mrs. Handsomebody, to our sire.
We found Granfa polishing the brass on the front door, his white locks
bobbing as he rubbed.
"Oh, Granfa," we cried, "have you heard the news?"
"Ess fay," he replied, straightening his back, "for thiccy Mary Ellen came
a-galloping at top speed to ask me to shine the brasses for 'ee, knowing I
have a wonderful art that way. The poor Zany was all in a mizmaze."
"Are you glad father's coming?"
"Glad! I be so joyful as a bulfinch in springtime. See how the very face of
Natur' be lit up for the grand occasion."
The sky had, indeed, become deeply blue, and a great pink cloud hung above
the Cathedral like a welcoming banner. There had been frost in the night
forming thin ice over the puddles in the road. All those reflected the
serene pink of the cloud, a blue pigeon picked his way delicately among
them. A sweet-smelling wind swayed the moist brown limbs of the elm trees.
All the world seemed like a great organ attuned to joy.
"Suppose," suggested Angel, "that we just race around to the cobbler's and
tell him the news. The Dragon is too busy to miss us."
The very thing! It would take only a few minutes and would be something to
do to pass the time. Softly we slipped through the iron gate; lightly we
hastened along the shining wet street; under the shadow of the Cathedral,
whose spire seemed to taper to the sky; down narrow, winding Henwood Street
till we reached the cobbler's shop.
Martindale was standing in the open door his face raised as though he were
drinking in the fragrance of the morning. A chorus of bird song came from
inside.
"Hallo, Mr. Martindale," Angel shouted.
"What do you suppose? Father's coming home."
"He'll be here In less than two hours," I panted.
The cobbler put a dark hand on a shoulder of each. "That's grand news,
little masters," he said. "But I hope he won't take you so far away that I
shall never see you. The birds like you too. They never sing so loud as
when you are in the shop."
While he was speaking we heard footsteps coming quickly down Henwood street
around the corner. They were quick, sharp footsteps that rang on the frosty
air. "It's curious," said the cobbler, "how footsteps sound here. I think
it's the Cathedral walls that give that ringing sound."
We turned to watch for the approaching pedestrian. We wondered who he was
that walked with such an eager, springing step. He turned the corner. He
faced us. Then he laughed out loud and said, "Hello!"
We were, for a second, simply staggered. We made incoherent noises like
young animals. Then we were snatched by rough tweed arms, a small, stiff
moustache rasped our cheeks, and--"Father!" we squealed, at last, in
chorus.
"I found I could catch an early train," he said, "so I just hopped on, for
I was in a desperate hurry to see you. What are you doing here, at this
hour?" He stared at the cobbler.
"This is Mr. Martindale," I explained. "He mends our boots, and tells us
stories, and he's got a bird named Coppertoes."
"So you are a friend of my boys," said father. "Ay. And they're grand
little lads, sir. I have a daughter of my own I'm very proud of, sir. She
was lost for seventeen years, and your sons helped me to find her."
His daughter came to the door then to call him to breakfast. She had a
yellow braid over each shoulder, and Coppertoes was sitting on her wrist
with a piece of chickweed in his bill. Father stopped to admire them both.
"By George," he said, when we had left them, "if all your friends are as
interesting as those, I should like to meet them."
"They are that," I said, happily, "and here's another of them."
It was Granfa, standing at the gate, his blue eyes staring with amazement.
He raised his broom to his shoulder and stood at attention as we drew near.
"What a sight for the nation!" he exclaimed. "Welcome home my dear
son-in-law. I be terrible proud to hand my charges over to 'ee. Us have got
along famous while you was over to South Ameriky."
I trembled for fear father should say something to hurt Granfa's feelings,
but he seemed to understand him at once, and shook him by the hand, and
made him a present of some tobacco on the spot.