GOLDEN GUINEAS
Anthea woke in the morning from a very real sort of dream, in which
she was walking in the Zoological Gardens on a pouring wet day
without any umbrella. The animals seemed desperately unhappy
because of the rain, and were all growling gloomily. When she
awoke, both the growling and the rain went on just the same. The
growling was the heavy regular breathing of her sister Jane, who
had a slight cold and was still asleep. The rain fell in slow
drops on to Anthea's face from the wet corner of a bath-towel which
her brother Robert was gently squeezing the water out of, to wake
her up, as he now explained.
'Oh, drop it!' she said rather crossly; so he did, for he was not
a brutal brother, though very ingenious in apple-pie beds,
booby-traps, original methods of awakening sleeping relatives, and
the other little accomplishments which make home happy.
'I had such a funny dream,' Anthea began.
'So did I,' said Jane, wakening suddenly and without warning. 'I
dreamed we found a Sand-fairy in the gravel-pits, and it said it
was a Sammyadd, and we might have a new wish every day, and -'
'But that's what I dreamed,' said Robert. 'I was just going to
tell you - and we had the first wish directly it said so. And I
dreamed you girls were donkeys enough to ask for us all to be
beautiful as the day, and we jolly well were, and it was perfectly
beastly.'
'But CAN different people all dream the same thing?' said Anthea,
sitting up in bed, 'because I dreamed all that as well as about the
Zoo and the rain; and Baby didn't know us in my dream, and the
servants shut us out of the house because the radiantness of our
beauty was such a complete disguise, and -'
The voice of the eldest brother sounded from across the landing.
'Come on, Robert,' it said, 'you'll be late for breakfast again -
unless you mean to shirk your bath like you did on Tuesday.'
'I say, come here a sec,' Robert replied. 'I didn't shirk it; I
had it after brekker in father's dressing-room, because ours was
emptied away.'
Cyril appeared in the doorway, partially clothed.
'Look here,' said Anthea, 'we've all had such an odd dream. We've
all dreamed we found a Sand-fairy.'
Her voice died away before Cyril's contemptuous glance. 'Dream?'
he said, 'you little sillies, it's TRUE. I tell you it all
happened. That's why I'm so keen on being down early. We'll go up
there directly after brekker, and have another wish. Only we'll
make up our minds, solid, before we go, what it is we do want, and
no one must ask for anything unless the others agree first. No
more peerless beauties for this child, thank you. Not if I know
it!'
The other three dressed, with their mouths open. If all that dream
about the Sand-fairy was real, this real dressing seemed very like
a dream, the girls thought. Jane felt that Cyril was right, but
Anthea was not sure, till after they had seen Martha and heard her
full and plain reminders about their naughty conduct the day
before. Then Anthea was sure. 'Because,' said she, 'servants
never dream anything but the things in the Dream-book, like snakes
and oysters and going to a wedding - that means a funeral, and
snakes are a false female friend, and oysters are babies.'
'Talking of babies,' said Cyril, 'where's the Lamb?'
'Martha's going to take him to Rochester to see her cousins.
Mother said she might. She's dressing him now,' said Jane, 'in his
very best coat and hat. Bread-and-butter, please.'
'She seems to like taking him too,' said Robert in a tone of
wonder.
'Servants do like taking babies to see their relations,' Cyril
said. 'I've noticed it before - especially in their best things.'
'I expect they pretend they're their own babies, and that they're
not servants at all, but married to noble dukes of high degree, and
they say the babies are the little dukes and duchesses,' Jane
suggested dreamily, taking more marmalade. 'I expect that's what
Martha'll say to her cousin. She'll enjoy herself most
frightfully-'
'She won't enjoy herself most frightfully carrying our infant duke
to Rochester,' said Robert, 'not if she's anything like me - she
won't.'
'Fancy walking to Rochester with the Lamb on your back! Oh,
crikey!' said Cyril in full agreement.
'She's going by carrier,' said Jane. 'Let's see them off, then we
shall have done a polite and kindly act, and we shall be quite sure
we've got rid of them for the day.'
So they did.
Martha wore her Sunday dress of two shades of purple, so tight in
the chest that it made her stoop, and her blue hat with the pink
cornflowers and white ribbon. She had a yellow-lace collar with a
green bow. And the Lamb had indeed his very best cream-coloured
silk coat and hat. It was a smart party that the carrier's cart
picked up at the Cross Roads. When its white tilt and red wheels
had slowly vanished in a swirl of chalk-dust -
'And now for the Sammyadd!' said Cyril, and off they went.
As they went they decided on the wish they would ask for. Although
they were all in a great hurry they did not try to climb down the
sides of the gravel-pit, but went round by the safe lower road, as
if they had been carts. They had made a ring of stones round the
place where the Sand-fairy had disappeared, so they easily found
the spot. The sun was burning and bright, and the sky was deep
blue - without a cloud. The sand was very hot to touch.
'Oh - suppose it was only a dream, after all,' Robert said as the
boys uncovered their spades from the sand-heap where they had
buried them and began to dig.
'Suppose you were a sensible chap,' said Cyril; 'one's quite as
likely as the other!'
'Suppose you kept a civil tongue in your head,' Robert snapped.
'Suppose we girls take a turn,' said Jane, laughing. 'You boys
seem to be getting very warm.'
'Suppose you don't come shoving your silly oar in,' said Robert,
who was now warm indeed.
'We won't,' said Anthea quickly. 'Robert dear, don't be so grumpy
- we won't say a word, you shall be the one to speak to the Fairy
and tell him what we've decided to wish for. You'll say it much
better than we shall.'
'Suppose you drop being a little humbug,' said Robert, but not
crossly. 'Look out - dig with your hands, now!'
So they did, and presently uncovered the spider-shaped brown hairy
body, long arms and legs, bat's ears and snail's eyes of the
Sand-fairy himself. Everyone drew a deep breath of satisfaction,
for now of course it couldn't have been a dream.
The Psammead sat up and shook the sand out of its fur.
'How's your left whisker this morning?' said Anthea politely.
'Nothing to boast of,' said it, 'it had rather a restless night.
But thank you for asking.'
'I say,' said Robert, 'do you feel up to giving wishes to-day,
because we very much want an extra besides the regular one? The
extra's a very little one,' he added reassuringly.
'Humph!' said the Sand-fairy. (If you read this story aloud,
please pronounce 'humph' exactly as it is spelt, for that is how he
said it.) 'Humph! Do you know, until I heard you being
disagreeable to each other just over my head, and so loud too, I
really quite thought I had dreamed you all. I do have very odd
dreams sometimes.'
'Do you?'Jane hurried to say, so as to get away from the subject of
disagreeableness. 'I wish,' she added politely, 'you'd tell us
about your dreams - they must be awfully interesting.'
'Is that the day's wish?' said the Sand-fairy, yawning.
Cyril muttered something about 'just like a girl,' and the rest
stood silent. If they said 'Yes,' then good-bye to the other
wishes they had decided to ask for. If they said 'No,' it would be
very rude, and they had all been taught manners, and had learned a
little too, which is not at all the same thing. A sigh of relief
broke from all lips when the Sand-fairy said:
'If I do I shan't have strength to give you a second wish; not even
good tempers, or common sense, or manners, or little things like
that.'
'We don't want you to put yourself out at all about these things,
we can manage them quite well ourselves,' said Cyril eagerly; while
the others looked guiltily at each other, and wished the Fairy
would not keep all on about good tempers, but give them one good
rowing if it wanted to, and then have done with it.
'Well,' said the Psammead, putting out his long snail's eyes so
suddenly that one of them nearly went into the round boy's eyes of
Robert, 'let's have the little wish first.'
'We don't want the servants to notice the gifts you give us.'
'Are kind enough to give us,' said Anthea in a whisper.
'Are kind enough to give us, I mean,' said Robert.
The Fairy swelled himself out a bit, let his breath go, and said -
'I've done THAT for you - it was quite easy. People don't notice
things much, anyway. What's the next wish?'
'We want,' said Robert slowly, 'to be rich beyond the dreams of
something or other.'
'Avarice,' said Jane.
'So it is,' said the Fairy unexpectedly. 'But it won't do you much
good, that's one comfort,' it muttered to itself. 'Come - I can't
go beyond dreams, you know! How much do you want, and will you
have it in gold or notes?'
'Gold, please - and millions of it.'
'This gravel-pit full be enough?' said the Fairy in an off-hand
manner.
'Oh YES!'
'Then get out before I begin, or you'll be buried alive in it.'
It made its skinny arms so long, and waved them so frighteningly,
that the children ran as hard as they could towards the road by
which carts used to come to the gravel-pits. Only Anthea had
presence of mind enough to shout a timid 'Good-morning, I hope your
whisker will be better to-morrow,' as she ran.
On the road they turned and looked back, and they had to shut their
eyes, and open them very slowly, a little bit at a time, because
the sight was too dazzling for their eyes to be able to bear it.
It was something like trying to look at the sun at high noon on
Midsummer Day. For the whole of the sand-pit was full, right up to
the very top, with new shining gold pieces, and all the little
sand-martins' little front doors were covered out of sight. Where
the road for the carts wound into the gravel-pit the gold lay in
heaps like stones lie by the roadside, and a great bank of shining
gold shelved down from where it lay flat and smooth between the
tall sides of the gravel-pit. And all the gleaming heap was minted
gold. And on the sides and edges of these countless coins the
midday sun shone and sparkled, and glowed and gleamed till the
quarry looked like the mouth of a smelting furnace, or one of the
fairy halls that you see sometimes in the sky at sunset.
The children stood with their mouths open, and no one said a word.
At last Robert stopped and picked up one of the loose coins from
the edge of the heap by the cart-road, and looked at it. He looked
on both sides. Then he said in a low voice, quite different to his
own, 'It's not sovereigns.'
'It's gold, anyway,' said Cyril. And now they all began to talk at
once. They all picked up the golden treasure by handfuls, and let
it run through their fingers like water, and the chink it made as
it fell was wonderful music. At first they quite forgot to think
of spending the money, it was so nice to play with. Jane sat down
between two heaps of gold and Robert began to bury her, as you bury
your father in sand when you are at the seaside and he has gone to
sleep on the beach with his newspaper over his face. But Jane was
not half buried before she cried out, 'Oh, stop, it's too heavy!
It hurts!
Robert said 'Bosh!' and went on.
'Let me out, I tell you,' cried Jane, and was taken out, very
white, and trembling a little.
'You've no idea what it's like,' said she; 'it's like stones on you
- or like chains.'
'Look here,' Cyril said, 'if this is to do us any good, it's no
good our staying gasping at it like this. Let's fill our pockets
and go and buy things. Don't you forget, it won't last after
sunset. I wish we'd asked the Sammyadd why things don't turn to
stone. Perhaps this will. I'll tell you what, there's a pony and
cart in the village.'
'Do you want to buy that?' asked Jane.
'No, silly - we'll HIRE it. And then we'll go to Rochester and buy
heaps and heaps of things. Look here, let's each take as much as
we can carry. But it's not sovereigns. They've got a man's head
on one side and a thing like the ace of spades on the other. Fill
your pockets with it, I tell you, and come along. You can jaw as
we go - if you must jaw.'
Cyril sat down and began to fill his pockets.
'You made fun of me for getting father to have nine pockets in my
Norfolks,' said he, 'but now you see!'
They did. For when Cyril had filled his nine pockets and his
handkerchief and the space between himself and his shirt front with
the gold coins, he had to stand up. But he staggered, and had to
sit down again in a hurry-
'Throw out some of the cargo,' said Robert. 'You'll sink the ship,
old chap. That comes of nine pockets.'
And Cyril had to.
Then they set off to walk to the village. It was more than a mile,
and the road was very dusty indeed, and the sun seemed to get
hotter and hotter, and the gold in their pockets got heavier and
heavier.
It was Jane who said, 'I don't see how we're to spend it all.
There must be thousands of pounds among the lot of us. I'm going
to leave some of mine behind this stump in the hedge. And directly
we get to the village we'll buy some biscuits; I know it's long
past dinner-time.' She took out a handful or two of gold and hid
it in the hollows of an old hornbeam. 'How round and yellow they
are,' she said. 'Don't you wish they were gingerbread nuts and we
were going to eat them?'
'Well, they're not, and we're not,' said Cyril. 'Come on!'
But they came on heavily and wearily. Before they reached the
village, more than one stump in the hedge concealed its little
hoard of hidden treasure. Yet they reached the village with about
twelve hundred guineas in their pockets. But in spite of this
inside wealth they looked quite ordinary outside, and no one would
have thought they could have more than a half-crown each at the
outside. The haze of heat, the blue of the wood smoke, made a sort
of dim misty cloud over the red roofs of the village. The four sat
down heavily on the first bench they came to- It happened to be
outside the Blue Boar Inn.
It was decided that Cyril should go into the Blue Boar and ask for
ginger-beer, because, as Anthea said, 'It is not wrong for men to
go into public houses, only for children. And Cyril is nearer to
being a man than us, because he is the eldest.' So he went. The
others sat in the sun and waited.
'Oh, hats, how hot it is!' said Robert. 'Dogs put their tongues
out when they're hot; I wonder if it would cool us at all to put
out ours?'
'We might try,'Jane said; and they all put their tongues out as far
as ever they could go, so that it quite stretched their throats,
but it only seemed to make them thirstier than ever, besides
annoying everyone who went by. So they took their tongues in
again, just as Cyril came back with the ginger-beer.
'I had to pay for it out of my own two-and-sevenpence, though, that
I was going to buy rabbits with,' he said. 'They wouldn't change
the gold. And when I pulled out a handful the man just laughed and
said it was card-counters. And I got some sponge-cakes too, out of
a glass jar on the bar-counter. And some biscuits with caraways
in.'
The sponge-cakes were both soft and dry and the biscuits were dry
too, and yet soft, which biscuits ought not to be. But the
ginger-beer made up for everything.
'It's my turn now to try to buy something with the money,' Anthea
said, 'I'm next eldest. Where is the pony-cart kept?'
It was at The Chequers, and Anthea went in the back way to the
yard, because they all knew that little girls ought not to go into
the bars of public-houses. She came out, as she herself said,
'pleased but not proud'.
'He'll be ready in a brace of shakes, he says,' she remarked, 'and
he's to have one sovereign - or whatever it is - to drive us in to
Rochester and back, besides waiting there till we've got everything
we want. I think I managed very well.'
'You think yourself jolly clever, I daresay,' said Cyril moodily.
'How did you do it?'
'I wasn't jolly clever enough to go taking handfuls of money out of
my pocket, to make it seem cheap, anyway,' she retorted. 'I just
found a young man doing something to a horse's leg with a sponge
and a pail. And I held out one sovereign, and I said, "Do you know
what this is?" He said, "No," and he'd call his father. And the
old man came, and he said it was a spade guinea; and he said was it
my own to do as I liked with, and I said "Yes"; and I asked about
the pony-cart, and I said he could have the guinea if he'd drive us
in to Rochester. And his name is S. Crispin. And he said, "Right
oh".'
It was a new sensation to be driven in a smart pony-trap along
pretty country roads, it was very pleasant too (which is not always
the case with new sensations), quite apart from the beautiful plans
of spending the money which each child made as they went along,
silently of course and quite to itself, for they felt it would
never have done to let the old innkeeper hear them talk in the
affluent sort of way they were thinking. The old man put them down
by the bridge at their request.
'If you were going to buy a carriage and horses, where would you
go?' asked Cyril, as if he were only asking for the sake of
something to say.
'Billy Peasemarsh, at the Saracen's Head,' said the old man
promptly. 'Though all forbid I should recommend any man where it's
a question of horses, no more than I'd take anybody else's
recommending if I was a-buying one. But if your pa's thinking of
a turnout of any sort, there ain't a straighter man in Rochester,
nor a civiller spoken, than Billy, though I says it.'
'Thank you,' said Cyril. 'The Saracen's Head.'
And now the children began to see one of the laws of nature turn
upside down and stand on its head like an acrobat. Any grown-up
persons would tell you that money is hard to get and easy to spend.
But the fairy money had been easy to get, and spending it was not
only hard, it was almost impossible. The tradespeople of Rochester
seemed to shrink, to a trades-person, from the glittering fairy
gold ('furrin money' they called it, for the most part). To begin
with, Anthea, who had had the misfortune to sit on her hat earlier
in the day, wished to buy another. She chose a very beautiful one,
trimmed with pink roses and the blue breasts of peacocks. It was
marked in the window, 'Paris Model, three guineas'.
'I'm glad,' she said, 'because, if it says guineas, it means
guineas, and not sovereigns, which we haven't got.'
But when she took three of the spade guineas in her hand, which was
by this time rather dirty owing to her not having put on gloves
before going to the gravel-pit, the black-silk young lady in the
shop looked very hard at her, and went and whispered something to
an older and uglier lady, also in black silk, and then they gave
her back the money and said it was not current coin.
'It's good money,' said Anthea, 'and it's my own.'
'I daresay,' said the lady, 'but it's not the kind of money that's
fashionable now, and we don't care about taking it.'
'I believe they think we've stolen it,' said Anthea, rejoining the
others in the street; 'if we had gloves they wouldn't think we were
so dishonest. It's my hands being so dirty fills their minds with
doubts.'
So they chose a humble shop, and the girls bought cotton gloves,
the kind at sixpence three-farthings, but when they offered a
guinea the woman looked at it through her spectacles and said she
had no change; so the gloves had to be paid for out of Cyril's
two-and-sevenpence that he meant to buy rabbits with, and so had
the green imitation crocodile-skin purse at ninepence-halfpenny
which had been bought at the same time. They tried several more
shops, the kinds where you buy toys and scent, and silk
handkerchiefs and books, and fancy boxes of stationery, and
photographs of objects of interest in the vicinity. But nobody
cared to change a guinea that day in Rochester, and as they went
from shop to shop they got dirtier and dirtier, and their hair got
more and more untidy, and Jane slipped and fell down on a part of
the road where a water-cart had just gone by. Also they got very
hungry, but they found no one would give them anything to eat for
their guineas. After trying two pastrycooks in vain, they became
so hungry, perhaps from the smell of the cake in the shops, as
Cyril suggested, that they formed a plan of campaign in whispers
and carried it out in desperation. They marched into a third
pastrycook's - Beale his name was - and before the people behind
the counter could interfere each child had seized three new penny
buns, clapped the three together between its dirty hands, and taken
a big bite out of the triple sandwich. Then they stood at bay,
with the twelve buns in their hands and their mouths very full
indeed. The shocked pastrycook bounded round the corner.
'Here,' said Cyril, speaking as distinctly as he could, and holding
out the guinea he got ready before entering the shop, 'pay yourself
out of that.'
Mr Beale snatched the coin, bit it, and put it in his pocket.
'Off you go,' he said, brief and stern like the man in the song.
'But the change?' said Anthea, who had a saving mind.
'Change!' said the man. 'I'll change you! Hout you goes; and you
may think yourselves lucky I don't send for the police to find out
where you got it!'
In the Castle Gardens the millionaires finished the buns, and
though the curranty softness of these were delicious, and acted
like a charm in raising the spirits of the party, yet even the
stoutest heart quailed at the thought of venturing to sound Mr
Billy Peasemarsh at the Saracen's Head on the subject of a horse
and carriage. The boys would have given up the idea, but Jane was
always a hopeful child, and Anthea generally an obstinate one, and
their earnestness prevailed.
The whole party, by this time indescribably dirty, therefore betook
itself to the Saracen's Head. The yard-method of attack having
been successful at The Chequers was tried again here. Mr
Peasemarsh was in the yard, and Robert opened the business in these
terms -
'They tell me you have a lot of horses and carriages to sell.' It
had been agreed that Robert should be spokesman, because in books
it is always the gentlemen who buy horses, and not ladies, and
Cyril had had his go at the Blue Boar.
'They tell you true, young man,' said Mr Peasemarsh. He was a long
lean man, with very blue eyes and a tight mouth and narrow lips.
'We should like to buy some, please,' said Robert politely.
'I daresay you would.'
'Will you show us a few, please? To choose from.'
'Who are you a-kiddin of?' inquired Mr Billy Peasemarsh. 'Was you
sent here of a message?'
'I tell you,' said Robert, 'we want to buy some horses and
carriages, and a man told us you were straight and civil spoken,
but I shouldn't wonder if he was mistaken.'
'Upon my sacred!' said Mr Peasemarsh. 'Shall I trot the whole
stable out for your Honour's worship to see? Or shall I send round
to the Bishop's to see if he's a nag or two to dispose of?'
'Please do,' said Robert, 'if it's not too much trouble. It would
be very kind of you.'
Mr Peasemarsh put his hands in his pockets and laughed, and they
did not like the way he did it. Then he shouted 'Willum!'
A stooping ostler appeared in a stable door.
'Here, Willum, come and look at this 'ere young dook! Wants to buy
the whole stud, lock, stock, and bar'l. And ain't got tuppence in
his pocket to bless hisself with, I'll go bail!'
Willum's eyes followed his master's pointing thumb with
contemptuous interest.
'Do 'e, for sure?' he said.
But Robert spoke, though both the girls were now pulling at his
jacket and begging him to 'come along'. He spoke, and he was very
angry; he said:
'I'm not a young duke, and I never pretended to be. And as for
tuppence - what do you call this?' And before the others could
stop him he had pulled out two fat handfuls of shining guineas, and
held them out for Mr Peasemarsh to look at. He did look. He
snatched one up in his finger and thumb. He bit it, and Jane
expected him to say, 'The best horse in my stables is at your
service.' But the others knew better. Still it was a blow, even
to the most desponding, when he said shortly:
'Willum, shut the yard doors,' and Willum grinned and went to shut
them.
'Good-afternoon,' said Robert hastily; 'we shan't buy any of your
horses now, whatever you say, and I hope it'll be a lesson to you.'
He had seen a little side gate open, and was moving towards it as
he spoke. But Billy Peasemarsh put himself in the way.
'Not so fast, you young off-scouring!' he said. 'Willum, fetch the
pleece.'
Willum went. The children stood huddled together like frightened
sheep, and Mr Peasemarsh spoke to them till the pleece arrived. He
said many things. Among other things he said:
'Nice lot you are, aren't you, coming tempting honest men with your
guineas!'
'They ARE our guineas,' said Cyril boldly.
'Oh, of course we don't know all about that, no more we don't - oh
no - course not! And dragging little gells into it, too. 'Ere -
I'll let the gells go if you'll come along to the pleece quiet.'
'We won't be let go,' said Jane heroically; 'not without the boys.
It's our money just as much as theirs, you wicked old man.'
'Where'd you get it, then?' said the man, softening slightly, which
was not at all what the boys expected when Jane began to call
names.
Jane cast a silent glance of agony at the others.
'Lost your tongue, eh? Got it fast enough when it's for calling
names with. Come, speak up! Where'd you get it?'
'Out of the gravel-pit,' said truthful Jane.
'Next article,' said the man.
'I tell you we did,' Jane said. 'There's a fairy there - all over
brown fur - with ears like a bat's and eyes like a snail's, and he
gives you a wish a day, and they all come true.'
'Touched in the head, eh?' said the man in a low voice, 'all the
more shame to you boys dragging the poor afflicted child into your
sinful burglaries.'
'She's not mad; it's true,' said Anthea; 'there is a fairy. If I
ever see him again I'll wish for something for you; at least I
would if vengeance wasn't wicked - so there!'
'Lor' lumme,' said Billy Peasemarsh, 'if there ain't another on
'em!'
And now Willum came -back with a spiteful grin on his face, and at
his back a policeman, with whom Mr Peasemarsh spoke long in a
hoarse earnest whisper.
'I daresay you're right,' said the policeman at last. 'Anyway,
I'll take 'em up on a charge of unlawful possession, pending
inquiries. And the magistrate will deal with the case. Send the
afflicted ones to a home, as likely as not, and the boys to a
reformatory. Now then, come along, youngsters! No use making a
fuss. You bring the gells along, Mr Peasemarsh, sir, and I'll
shepherd the boys.'
Speechless with rage and horror, the four children were driven
along the streets of Rochester. Tears of anger and shame blinded
them, so that when Robert ran right into a passer-by he did not
recognize her till a well--known voice said, 'Well, if ever I did!
Oh, Master Robert, whatever have you been a doing of now?' And
another voice, quite as well known, said, 'Panty; want go own
Panty!'
They had run into Martha and the baby!
Martha behaved admirably. She refused to believe a word of the
policeman's story, or of Mr Peasemarsh's either, even when they
made Robert turn out his pockets in an archway and show the
guineas.
'I don't see nothing,' she said. 'You've gone out of your senses,
you two! There ain't any gold there - only the poor child's hands,
all over crock and dirt, and like the very chimbley. Oh, that I
should ever see the day!'
And the children thought this very noble of Martha, even if rather
wicked, till they remembered how the Fairy had promised that the
servants should never notice any of the fairy gifts. So of course
Martha couldn't see the gold, and so was only speaking the truth,
and that was quite right, of course, but not extra noble.
It was getting dusk when they reached the police-station. The
policeman told his tale to an inspector, who sat in a large bare
room with a thing like a clumsy nursery-fender at one end to put
prisoners in. Robert wondered whether it was a cell or a dock.
'Produce the coins, officer,' said the inspector.
'Turn out your pockets,' said the constable.
Cyril desperately plunged his hands in his pockets, stood still a
moment, and then began to laugh - an odd sort of laugh that hurt,
and that felt much more like crying. His pockets were empty. So
were the pockets of the others. For of course at sunset all the
fairy gold had vanished away.
'Turn out your pockets, and stop that noise,' said the inspector.
Cyril turned out his pockets, every one of the nine which enriched
his Norfolk suit. And every pocket was empty.
'Well!' said the inspector.
'I don't know how they done it - artful little beggars! They
walked in front of me the 'ole way, so as for me to keep my eye on
them and not to attract a crowd and obstruct the traffic.'
'It's very remarkable,' said the inspector, frowning.
'If you've quite done a-browbeating of the innocent children,' said
Martha, 'I'll hire a private carriage and we'll drive home to their
papa's mansion. You'll hear about this again, young man! - I told
you they hadn't got any gold, when you were pretending to see it in
their poor helpless hands. It's early in the day for a constable
on duty not to be able to trust his own eyes. As to the other one,
the less said the better; he keeps the Saracen's Head, and he knows
best what his liquor's like.'
'Take them away, for goodness' sake,' said the inspector crossly.
But as they left the police-station he said, 'Now then!' to the
policeman and Mr Pease- marsh, and he said it twenty times as
crossly as he had spoken to Martha.
Martha was as good as her word. She took them home in a very grand
carriage, because the carrier's cart was gone, and, though she had
stood by them so nobly with the police, she was so angry with them
as soon as they were alone for 'trapseing into Rochester by
themselves', that none of them dared to mention the old man with
the pony-cart from the village who was waiting for them in
Rochester. And so, after one day of boundless wealth, the children
found themselves sent to bed in deep disgrace, and only enriched by
two pairs of cotton gloves, dirty inside because of the state of
the hands they had been put on to cover, an imitation
crocodile-skin purse, and twelve penny buns long since digested.
The thing that troubled them most was the fear that the old
gentleman's guinea might have disappeared at sunset with all the
rest, so they went down to the village next day to apologize for
not meeting him in Rochester, and to see. They found him very
friendly. The guinea had NOT disappeared, and he had bored a hole
in it and hung it on his watch-chain. As for the guinea the baker
took, the children felt they could not care whether it had vanished
or not, which was not perhaps very honest, but on the other hand
was not wholly unnatural. But afterwards this preyed on Anthea's
mind, and at last she secretly sent twelve stamps by post to 'Mr
Beale, Baker, Rochester'. Inside she wrote, 'To pay for the buns.'
I hope the guinea did disappear, for that pastrycook was really not
at all a nice man, and, besides, penny buns are seven for sixpence
in all really respectable shops.