Then Albert's uncle rushed up-stairs three at a time, and as he went he
called out to Oswald:
"Get out my bike, old man, and blow up the back tire."
I am sure Oswald was as quick as any one could have been, but long ere
the tire was thoroughly blowed Albert's uncle appeared, with a
collar-stud and tie and blazer, and his hair tidy, and wrenched the
unoffending machine from Oswald's surprised fingers.
Albert's uncle finished pumping up the tire, and then, flinging himself
into the saddle, he set off, scorching down the road at a pace not
surpassed by any highwayman, however black and high-mettled his steed.
We were left looking at each other.
"He must have recognized her," Dicky said.
"Perhaps," Noel said, "she is the old nurse who alone knows the dark
secret of his high-born birth."
"Not old enough, by chalks," Oswald said.
"I shouldn't wonder," said Alice, "if she holds the secret of the will
that will make him rolling in long-lost wealth."
"I wonder if he'll catch her," Noel said. "I'm quite certain all his
future depends on it. Perhaps she's his long-lost sister, and the estate
was left to them equally, only she couldn't be found, so it couldn't be
shared up."
"Perhaps he's only in love with her," Dora said; "parted by cruel fate
at an early age, he has ranged the wide world ever since trying to find
her."
"I hope to goodness he hasn't--anyway, he's not ranged since we knew
him--never farther than Hastings," Oswald said. "We don't want any of
that rot."
"What rot?" Daisy asked. And Oswald said:
"Getting married, and all that sort of rubbish."
And Daisy and Dora were the only ones that didn't agree with him. Even
Alice owned that being bridesmaids must be fairly good fun. It's no
good. You may treat girls as well as you like, and give them every
comfort and luxury, and play fair just as if they were boys, but there
is something unmanly about the best of girls. They go silly, like milk
goes sour, without any warning.
When Albert's uncle returned he was very hot, with a beaded brow, but
pale as the Dentist when the pease were at their worst.
"Did you catch her?" H. O. asked.
Albert's uncle's brow looked black as the cloud the thunder will
presently break from.
"No," he said.
"Is she your long-lost nurse?" H. O. went on, before we could stop him.
"Long-lost grandmother! I knew the lady long ago in India," said
Albert's uncle, as he left the room, slamming the door in a way we
should be forbidden to.
And that was the end of the Canterbury Pilgrimage.
As for the lady, we did not then know whether she was his long-lost
grandmother that he had known in India or not, though we thought she
seemed youngish for the part. We found out afterwards whether she was or
not, but that comes in another part. His manner was not the one that
makes you go on asking questions.
The Canterbury Pilgriming did not exactly make us good, but then, as
Dora said, we had not done anything wrong that day. So we were
twenty-four hours to the good.
* * * * *
_Note A._--Afterwards we went and saw real Canterbury. It is very large.
A disagreeable man showed us round the cathedral, and jawed all the time
quite loud as if it wasn't a church. I remember one thing he said. It
was this:
"This is the Dean's Chapel; it was the Lady Chapel in the wicked days
when people used to worship the Virgin Mary."