When they reached the beach again the old lady was just in the act of
departing for her lunch. She cheerfully paid the donkey man, but Jill
was watching the transaction anxiously, and pursued the man to the end
of the beach, where she held an earnest conversation with him.
"Jill is trying to make him give up his tenth," said Jack confidentially
to the old lady. "I don't think she'll do it."
"What do you mean, child?"
Explanation followed, and with Bumps' eager and breathless interruptions,
the old lady got quite mystified.
"Why do you keep talking about a tenth?" she said.
"Because it's a tenth that God expects from everybody," said Jack. "I
suppose you give yours to somebody to look after, don't you?"
"I don't give a tenth of my money away at all," said the lady snappishly.
"That is an old Jewish law. Thank goodness, we are not Jews, but
Christians."
"But Miss Falkner told us it wasn't only meant for Jews," argued Jack.
"She says everybody who gets money from God ought to give back some to
Him."
"Yeth," nodded Bumps; "and becauth we can't send it up to heaven, Miss
Falkner thaid we could thpend it on good things for God down on the
earth, and we would be very happy if you gave us your money for our bag,
wouldn't we, Jack?"
Jack was not a good beggar. He got hot and red.
"We don't ask people for money," he said; "but if they like to give us
their tenth we should be pleased."
"Jill asks," said Bumps. "She asks everybody!"
"Oh, dear!" said the old lady, "here she comes running back! I must
go. There, my boy, there's a coin for your bag!"
She put a sovereign into Jack's hand.
"Is it your tenth?" he asked wonderingly; "what a lot of money you must
have! Thank you very much!"
But the old lady was gone, and strangely enough the children never saw
her again.
"Have you got any money from the donkey man?" asked Jack.
"Yes," said Jill in quiet triumph. "He gave me sixpence. I don't know
whether it was quite a tenth, but he seemed very pleased to do it--at
least he got pleased. He said he had never done such a good thing in his
life, and he hoped that it would be remembered. I told him God wouldn't
forget it, for He can't forget anything. And he told me he only lives
a mile from Chilton Common, and when the church is built I'm to let him
know, and he will come and see it. He's a nice man!"
Then Jack opened his hand, and let her see what he had got. Jill screamed
in ecstacy; the red bag was produced, and when both coins were safely
deposited, they ran indoors to their dinner, feeling they had had an
eventful morning.
The days passed slowly. There were days when everything went wrong,
when Jill, as well as Jack and Bumps, was seized with the spirit of
mischief and naughtiness. She was very repentant when the day was over,
but Annie did not understand her moods, and was not so long-suffering
as Miss Falkner.
"It's no good leading me such a life all day, and then thinking you
make it all right by saying you're sorry," she said with great severity.
"You're all talk, Miss Jill! pretending to be so good with your bag of
money, and making Miss Bumps as wicked as yourself when you choose! I've
no belief in them that talks good, and acts wicked!"
Jill's passionate temper was aroused at once.
"I don't pretend, and I don't talk good! And I hate you, Annie! It's
you that make us wicked! Miss Falkner never does! I'll run away, and
go straight home, and catch the scarlet fever! I won't stay with you!"
Annie laughed scornfully.
"Words again! You want a piece clipped out of your saucy tongue, Miss
Jill!"
Jill was sitting up in bed. With all her strength she flung her pillow
in Annie's face.
Annie caught it, and marched out of the room with it.
"You naughty, impudent child! I shall take it right away to punish
you. You can sleep without it to-night!"
Jill buried her burning cheeks in her bolster, and began to cry.
Bumps sat up and ruefully regarded her.
"Never mind, Jill. Annie is horrid. Oh, pleath don't cry!"
"It's no good," sobbed poor Jill. "Annie doesn't mean me to finish off
being wicked. She tries to make me go on for ever. Nobody understands but
Miss Falkner. It's no use to try to be good again. I shall have to go
on being in disgrace. I've gone miles away from my path to the Golden
City to-day, and just when I'm trying to find my way back again, Annie
pushes me away. I shall give it up altogether. I shall throw my red bag
in the sea to-morrow, and shall give no more tenths to God. I shall be
as wicked as I possibly can. I'm meant to be wicked!"
"Oh, dear!" sighed Bumps, in despair. "You do want Miss Falkner, Jill."
"Of course I do," said Jill, angrily. "How can I be good without her?"
"I wonder," said Bumps, "if God would do instead!"
There was silence. Bumps sometimes--baby though she was--had the rare
faculty of hitting the nail straight on the head.
Jill stopped her weeping and began to think.
"I think," she said, after a few minutes' silence, "I'll just tell God
all about it. I'd like to tell Him how nasty Annie is!"
Better thoughts soon stole into her angry little heart.
"There's one thing," she said presently, startling Bumps out of her
first sleep; "God knows the proper truth about me. He knows I am sorry
that I was tiresome to-day! Annie doesn't believe me, but He will. And
He knows I don't pretend to be good!"
"Yeth," assented Bumps, drowsily; "He knowth it!"
Jill dropped asleep comforted.
The long time was over at last. Mona recovered and went away for change
of air; the house was cleaned and re-papered, and one day Miss Falkner
arrived to take them home.
"We almost like lessons now," said Jack. "We've had such long holidays."
But when lessons began the children found them irksome. They had become
thoroughly unsettled, and accustomed to careless, unpunctual ways. Miss
Falkner's regular routine fretted and chafed them. She found she needed
all her patience to bring them and keep them under her control.
"I think," Jill said to Jack, one day, and her face was thoughtful as
she spoke, "that no one can be properly good till they are twenty. I
wonder how old Miss Falkner is."
"She's just as old as Mona," said Jack. "I heard Mona tell Miss Webb so."
"How funny! But she's not a bit like Mona."
"No. Miss Webb said to Mona when she told her, 'You are a child beside
her, Mona.' Now, what did she mean by that?"
Jill pondered.
"Miss Falkner looks older. And I expect being good makes you old. Miss
Falkner is _very_ good. I'm sure when I try to be very good, and make
you and Bumps good too, I feel--I feel a hundred years old!"
"I don't think children are meant to be _very_ good," said Jack. "People
always talk of us as if we're wicked. P'raps we ought to be good on
Sundays."
"If we're walking to the Golden City, we ought to be good every day,"
said Jill decidedly.
Jack shook his curly head.
"I've thought of a lovely game I'm going to make Bumps play at."
"What?" asked Jill in an eager tone.
"Why you know the story that comes in our reading-books about the geese
who saved Rome by cackling when the enemy was creeping up. I'm going
to be the enemy, and Bumps and you must be asleep."
"But where?" asked Jill. "It was on the top of a high hill."
"Yes," nodded Jack; "but I've thought it out. There's the church tower.
We'll do it to-morrow afternoon, and we'll take the geese up first."
"That will be splendid," said Jill; "only how will you do it? Remember
the swans! I think if we can get hold of their food, and hold it out
to them, they'll follow us, but how will you climb up to the tower?"
"Tom Sanders has done it. He told me he did, and I'm longing to
try. You climb the yew tree first, and then get on to the ivy. Then
you get in at the belfry window. He got out again and went up by the
lightning-conductor, but I thought the geese would see me climbing in
at the window and then they'll cackle--and of course I shan't be able
to come on any further."
"But supposing they don't cackle?"
"Well, that's the game--to see if they do! If they don't, I shall know
Roman history tells lies. Because, of course, these geese are just the
same as those were."
"These are English geese!" Jill said doubtfully.
Jack was undaunted. He was a true little Briton.
"Then they must be better than Roman geese, and they'll cackle twice as
loud, and be double as fierce!"
So the next afternoon when lessons were over, instead of playing in the
garden, the three children stole quietly off to the farmyard.
The prospect was so exciting that even Jill had no qualms of
conscience. Jack had persuaded one of the farm lads who looked after
the geese to save him a dish of their food. Armed with a big dish he
boldly went up to the biggest gander, who greedily put his head into it
at once. It was the signal for all the others to follow suit. Then Jack,
holding the dish, ran out of the farmyard; and to the children's delight,
away strode the flock of geese after him, stretching out their necks and
shrieking in protest. Jill and Bumps followed behind with switches to
drive them along. Unfortunately, the fowls joined the chase, and two
small black pigs escaped out of the yard and with squeals of delight
raced into the flower-garden. Out into the lane the little procession
went, and the geese behaved very well. Occasionally one or two would
dive into a ditch after frogs, which delayed progress, but with Jill
and Bumps chasing them behind, and Jack enticing them in front, they at
last reached the church-yard, which was not very far away. The door of
the tower was found open, and the geese were with a little difficulty
driven in. But when Jill turned and shut the door a pandemonium
ensued. The frightened birds screamed, and beat their wings against
each other. As to making them mount the spiral stone steps, it seemed
an impossibility. When Jack caught hold of the gander and tried to
hoist him up, he turned and pecked at his hand so viciously that it
began to bleed. Bumps got frightened, and crept into an empty oak chest.
Jill coaxed and beat the birds by turns, and geese and children shrieked
at the top of their voices, till the old tower echoed and re-echoed
with the noise.
But Jack and Jill never gave up any cherished plan very easily.
By perseverance, and with much toil and persuasion, they got two young
geese to the top. Their wings were strong and they flew most of the
way. With these two birds they were forced to be content. Poor Bumps
was forgotten, and the gander and his tribe were so furious at being
entrapped in such a manner, that they shrieked and fought like furies.
Bumps felt if she showed herself amongst them she would literally be
torn to pieces, so she lay still in her chest, her little heart panting
and throbbing with fright.
Presently she heard voices in the church, and in a few minutes the belfry
door was flung open.
Mr. Errington had been entertaining his bishop that day, and had brought
him and a party of ladies to look at a beautiful old screen in the
church. Their consternation and amazement was considerable when the
flock of angry geese confronted them. The ladies beat a hasty retreat
behind the yew tree, and the bishop spoke sternly to the vicar, though
there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Is this usual, Errington? Is the belfry your poultry-yard?"
And poor Mr. Errington was so utterly astonished that he could not utter
a sound.
Away waddled the geese down the church-yard path, and then Bumps lifted
up her voice, and her little body too, thereby causing a second alarm.
"Pleath it's only me," she explained, climbing out of her retreat. "The
geeth were so angry, I wath quite frightened!"
"Are you a little goose girl?" asked the bishop, bending over her,
and putting his hand under her chin.
"No," said Bumps, feeling distinctly aggrieved; "I'm not a gooth at all.
It's a game, only the thtupid geeth won't play properly!"
"I am afraid my lord," said Mr. Errington, recovering his presence of
mind, "that some young people have been making free of this belfry
without my knowledge."
Then turning to Bumps he said, "Where are your brother and sister? I
fancy they are the culprits."
"They're upstairs," said Bumps, tears filling her blue eyes, which she
vainly struggled to keep back. "They're playing the game without me. They
always does when I get left behind. The geeth wouldn't go up-stairs,
but Jack and Jill made two of them go."
"And what game are you playing?" asked the bishop gently.
"It's something about Rome and geeth that have to cackle, and an
enemy. Jack is the enemy; he is climbing up outthide, and the top is
Rome, and the geeth have to wake Jill and me up. But I've never been
athleep, and it's all no good!"
Tears dropped on her white pinafore.