This is the story of one of the most far-reaching and influentially
naughty things we ever did in our lives. We did not mean to do such a
deed. And yet we did do it. These things will happen with the
best-regulated consciences.
The story of this rash and fatal act is intimately involved--which means
all mixed up anyhow--with a private affair of Oswald's, and the one
cannot be revealed without the other. Oswald does not particularly want
his story to be remembered, but he wishes to tell the truth, and perhaps
it is what father calls a wholesome discipline to lay bare the awful
facts.
It was like this.
On Alice's and Noel's birthday we went on the river for a picnic. Before
that we had not known that there was a river so near us. Afterwards
father said he wished we had been allowed to remain in our pristine
ignorance, whatever that is. And perhaps the dark hour did dawn when we
wished so too. But a truce to vain regrets.
It was rather a fine thing in birthdays. The uncle sent a box of toys
and sweets, things that were like a vision from another and a brighter
world. Besides that Alice had a knife, a pair of shut-up scissors, a
silk handkerchief, a book--it was _The Golden Age_ and is A1 except
where it gets mixed with grown-up nonsense. Also a work-case lined with
pink plush, a boot-bag, which no one in their senses would use because
it had flowers in wool all over it. And she had a box of chocolates and
a musical box that played "The Man Who Broke" and two other
tunes, and two pairs of kid gloves for church, and a box of
writing-paper--pink--with "Alice" on it in gold writing, and an egg
colored red that said "A. Bastable" in ink on one side. These gifts were
the offerings of Oswald, Dora, Dicky, Albert's uncle, Daisy, Mr. Foulkes
(our own robber), Noel, H. O., father, and Denny. Mrs. Pettigrew gave
the egg. It was a kindly housekeeper's friendly token.
I shall not tell you about the picnic on the river, because the happiest
times form but dull reading when they are written down. I will merely
state that it was prime. Though happy, the day was uneventful. The only
thing exciting enough to write about was in one of the locks, where
there was a snake--a viper. It was asleep in a warm corner of the lock
gate, and when the gate was shut it fell off into the water.
Alice and Dora screamed hideously. So did Daisy, but her screams were
thinner.
The snake swam round and round all the time our boat was in the lock. It
swam with four inches of itself--the head end--reared up out of the
water, exactly like Kaa in the Jungle book--so we know Kipling is a
true author and no rotter. We were careful to keep our hands well inside
the boat. A snake's eyes strike terror into the boldest breast.
When the lock was full father killed the viper with a boat-hook. I was
sorry for it myself. It was indeed a venomous serpent. But it was the
first we had ever seen, except at the Zoo. And it did swim most awfully
well.
Directly the snake had been killed H. O. reached out for its corpse, and
the next moment the body of our little brother was seen wriggling
conclusively on the boat's edge. This exciting spectacle was not of a
lasting nature. He went right in. Father clawed him out. He is very
unlucky with water.
Being a birthday, but little was said. H. O. was wrapped in everybody's
coats, and did not take any cold at all.
This glorious birthday ended with an iced cake and ginger wine, and
drinking healths. Then we played whatever we liked. There had been
rounders during the afternoon. It was a day to be forever marked by
memory's brightest what's-its-name.
I should not have said anything about the picnic but for one thing. It
was the thin edge of the wedge. It was the all-powerful lever that moved
but too many events. You see, _we were now no longer strangers to the
river_.
And we went there whenever we could. Only we had to take the dogs, and
to promise no bathing without grown-ups. But paddling in back waters
was allowed. I say no more.
I have not enumerated Noel's birthday presents because I wish to leave
something to the imagination of my young readers. (The best authors
always do this.) If you will take the large, red catalogue of the Army
and Navy Stores, and just make a list of about fifteen of the things you
would like best--prices from 2_s._ to 25_s._--you will get a very good
idea of Noel's presents, and it will help you to make up your mind in
case you are asked just before your next birthday what you really
_need_.
One of Noel's birthday presents was a cricket-ball. He cannot bowl for
nuts, and it was a first-rate ball. So some days after the birthday
Oswald offered him to exchange it for a cocoanut he had won at the fair,
and two pencils (new), and a brand-new note-book. Oswald thought, and he
still thinks, that this was a fair exchange, and so did Noel at the
time, and he agreed to it, and was quite pleased till the girls said it
wasn't fair, and Oswald had the best of it. And then that young beggar
Noel wanted the ball back, but Oswald, though not angry, was firm.
"You said it was a bargain, and you shook hands on it," he said, and he
said it quite kindly and calmly.
Noel said he didn't care. He wanted his cricket-ball back.
And the girls said it was a horrid shame.
If they had not said that, Oswald might yet have consented to let Noel
have the beastly ball, but now, of course, he was not going to. He said:
"Oh yes, I dare say. And then you would be wanting the cocoanut and
things again the next minute."
"No, I shouldn't," Noel said. It turned out afterwards he and H. O. had
eaten the cocoanut, which only made it worse. And it made them worse,
too--which is what the book calls poetic justice.
Dora said, "I don't think it was fair," and even Alice said:
"Do let him have it back, Oswald." I wish to be just to Alice. She did
not know then about the cocoanut having been secretly wolfed up.
We were in the garden. Oswald felt all the feelings of the hero when the
opposing forces gathered about him are opposing as hard as ever they
can. He knew he was not unfair, and he did not like to be jawed at just
because Noel had eaten the cocoanut and wanted the ball back. Though
Oswald did not know then about the eating of the cocoanut, but he felt
the injustice in his soul all the same.
Noel said afterwards he meant to offer Oswald something else to make up
for the cocoanut, but he said nothing about this at the time.
"Give it me, I say," Noel said.