43
Then about next day the good old doctor rode over from the Castle very
mysteriously, and asked to see Baby.
And when he had shut the door, and drawn his chair up very close, he
told her in a whisper there was a Surprise-present coming for her from
the King at the Castle; only she wasn't to tell any one, because it was
a secret.
Then Baby opened her eyes, and whispered,
"Mayn't I know?"
But the good old doctor chuckled,
"Certainly not, my dear. You may guess--if you can," and he got up to
go.
Then Baby got up too, and asked,
"When may I know?"
So the doctor answered,
"About to-morrow," and went out, chuckling.
But Baby stayed behind in the window, and guessed and guessed.
Then all of a sudden her heart leaped up; and she blushed and trembled
so that she had to sit down.
44
So all the rest of the day she sat under the elm, very busy, making
secret little clothes, that nobody was supposed to know anything about.
But of course mannikin must leave his daisies, and come and poke and
pry and bother with questions, until at last Baby got up and took him
by his little hand, and led him back to his hole, saying,
"You're a very naughty little man indeed. And I'm very cross with
you--very cross."
But mannikin only swaggered along at her side, nodding his head very
wisely, and saying,
"I know--I know," which was a very favourite saying of mannikin's.
But Baby answered very short,
"I'm sure you don't," and locked him in good and tight for the rest of
the day.
And that evening when Tiny came back from the Fort, Baby hid the little
clothes away, and walked about on his arm, talking poetry-talk in the
twilight among the roses; and she didn't say one word about the secret.
But Tiny saw there was something up all the same. And when he went to
tidy up the boot-hole for the night, mannikin came to him in tears, and
begged him to get Baby to forgive him, and to say he promised not to
mention one word about the little clothes.
And when Tiny heard about the little clothes, he thought,
"_Now_ I know!" and went pale all over with excitement.
For at that time every year, the good King sends a Surprise-present to
the best married girl of That Country: for that is one of the rules.
And the Surprise-present is always the same, and so jolly you can't
think.
So every nice married girl wants to win it; only you can't unless you
have been truly good and loving.
And Tiny knew Baby was best by far; and he believed the King knew it
too.
For as he was leaving the Fort that afternoon, he had seen the King
whispering in the Colonel's ear behind the water-butt.
And when the Colonel heard, he hopped up high, crying,
"Dear old Baby!"
And the Colonel was Baby's great friend.
45
But Tiny didn't say one word to Baby all the same, but just gave her
mannikin's message instead.
Then Baby cried,
"O poor little chap!--I _clean_ forgot him," and she ran to the
boot-hole.
And when she got there she heard a tiny little noise inside.
So she undid and peeped.
And there was mannikin sobbing in a heap in the corner.
Then Baby cried,
"Why?"
But mannikin only sobbed,
"Becob you're cross."
So Baby ran to him, and said,
"Dear little mannikin!--It's nothing--only you mustn't bother with
questions just now about things you can't understand."
And she sat down, and took him on her lap, and comforted him.
And mannikin leaned his head on her shoulder, and said, very sniffy,
"Lub me," for he was a sentimental little thing.
And he told Baby about his home in a cottage in the Forest far away,
where he used to live with his old mother, and little lame sister, and
the tortoise-shell cat, till the King came and took him.
And when he told about that, he began to cry again.
Then Baby jigged him a bit, and said,
"Now I'll tell you a secret the Queen told me last time she came round
with the butter.--The King is going to let you out soon now, because at
all events you _try_ to be good. There!"
And when mannikin heard that, he sniffed and said,
"Gobblessim."
And after that Baby tied an empty reel to a thread, and gave it him.
And he quite cheered up, and bobbed the reel, and twinkled his eyes,
and said he a little fisherman, trying to catch a Surprise-present for
being so truly good and loving.
46
Next morning, as Tiny entered the Fort, all the Fellows came rushing
out from the shed, shouting,
"Well done, Baby!--Good luck to you both!" for it usually leaks out who
has won the Surprise-present for the year, before it is stuck up on the
Castle-door.
Then Tiny stopped and said,
"But you don't _know_."
So all the Fellows crowded round, and they answered,
"No, we don't _know_. But the Queen got talking to the Junior
Subaltern when he went to the Castle for his glass of milk this
morning. So we next door to know."
Just then the dear old Colonel came up with Moses on his shoulder, and
little Marwy, who had quite recovered from her broken heart, trotting
behind.
And he stopped and patted Tiny on the back, saying,
"Ah, my dear boy!--I believe I have to congratulate you."
Then Tiny blushed and answered,
"Well, Sir, we've heard nothing from the King as yet. Still--we hope."
So the Colonel nodded very wisely and said,
"Well, we shall see what we shall see."
And he passed on to Sunday-school: for the Colonel always attended
himself, and tried to get the Fellows to come too; only they always had
sore throats or something, and couldn't.
Then Tiny ran home, quite sure now.
47
And when he got there he found a white paper pinned on to the door,
saying,
_I have gone to my room to wait. Don't come._
So Tiny waited down below all day.
But towards evening, he crept up, and peeped.
And there was Baby waiting by the window, nursing her pussy-kitten.
And as she nursed, she sang,
"Hushaby,
Hushaby,
Here at twilight,
Waiting, I,
Sweet-contented,
Know not why--
Hushaby,
Hushaby."
Then Tiny put his finger to his lips, and stole away without a word.
But Baby waited at the window, looking East.
48
Then at dusk the good old doctor came from the Castle with a basket on
his arm.
And the basket was full of lovely little Stars of Bethlehem, which
flower about then in That Country.
And on the basket was a label written in the King's hand,
_Baby
from
The King
because
She Is
so truly
Good and Loving._
Then the old doctor went up the stairs in the dusk very quietly.
And he knocked at Baby's door and entered, the little Stars of
Bethlehem shining white about him, as he went.
49
Then after about a bit he came downstairs smiling, the basket empty
now, only for the bulrushes that had lined it.
And he came out to where Tiny was holding his white cob, and said,
"Ha, my boy!--what d'you think I've brought for you?"
Then Tiny trembled and said,
"What, Sir?"
So the good old doctor answered,
"Go to Baby's room; and you'll see." And he climbed on to his cob, and
jogged away, chuckling.
And the kitten walked after him down the drive with its tail up tight.
50
Then Tiny came to Baby's door and knocked.
But there came no answer.
So he went in.
And within all was still and twilight.
[Illustration: WITHIN ALL WAS STILL AND TWILIGHT]
And the only light came from the Stars of Bethlehem strewn about the
floor.
And in the middle of these kneeled Baby, rocking to and fro with
something in her arms.
And when Tiny came in, she looked up; and he could see her eyes shining
in the dusk.
Then Tiny came to her upon his toes, and kneeled beside her.
And he laid his lips to her ear, and whispered, "Mother."
Then they kissed each other and It.
AMEN
[Illustration: Chapter VIII Tailpiece]
ON THE STORY THAT GOES ON FOR EVER
So this story ends the same as all other stories that ever were
written, and that is happily.
And really there is only one Story, and it is the best Story in the
world; but it is not finished yet, and never will be.
And this Story grows better and better all the time, which is how we
know it from the written stories that we read.
But it is told in bits, so that unless we're sort of in the secret, we
may mistake it for a lot of little stories, all separate, and all
telling against each other.
Yet all the little bits fit in together at the end most perfectly; and
not one word is wasted, although it seems as if there would be
thousands; to say nothing of bad spellings, and erasures, and great
blots of ink and tears.
And it is the same end always, and always a happy end.
For no story really ends sadly for the very good reason that it can't.
For Love is Love, and in the end end of all Love must win.
So after we have finished our bit of the Story, and our friends have
read it, and scribbled on the blank space at the bottom,
THE END:
HE WAS A SINNER--
And after they have whispered about us in public, and the ladies have
gone behind their handkerchieves, and said,
"We must hope for the best, and expect the worst," and the men have
yawned and said,
"Ah, well--De mortuis nil nisi bonum," which means--"He was the Devil's
darling from his youth up, and I always told you so."
We need not mind so very much; for it may be that we have done better
than we thought; and it is certain that while the world knows nothing
of our aim, of our failure it knows more than all.
Moreover let us remember to our comfort that after that dead
END,
which seems to wind us up so blankly, there is always a
BEYOND.
And the strange thing about that Beyond is that it is really no Beyond
at all: it is There all the time; but we can hardly see it for the
rather odd reason that we are too close.
And this Beyond that is always There is the real Story, if we only knew
it.
What we read is only foot-notes at the bottom of the page to explain
the real Story.
But because our eyes are so close to the page, and because the page is
so very large, we often only see the foot-notes, which are most
interesting of themselves.
Then sometimes we deny that the page is there, saying the foot-notes
are all, which is rather foolish: for what is the good of Notes on
Nothing?
And a man who buries his nose in the Notes, and tries to read the
writing by smelling it, is a sinner; and _he_ usually knows a lot about
nothing.
And a man who holds his eyes close to the page, and pries into the
Notes, is a scientist; and _he_ usually knows a lot about the Notes,
and nothing about the Story, which the Notes are on.
And a man who stands back a bit, and says he can read the whole thing,
Notes and all, and explain it easily, is a Philosopher; and _he_
usually knows a little about both Notes and Story.
And a man who stands still further back, and looks at the Story very
quietly, and tells truly all he sees, without trying to explain it, is
a Poet; and he usually knows a lot about both Notes and Story.
And this Beyond that is always There is always the same, and is always
a Love-story.
And we are characters in this Love-story, and walk for ever through its
pages.
But if we walk apart by ourselves, rather proud and puffed up, saying
that it isn't a real Story, and that we don't belong to it, and will
take no part, then we lose all the interest.
For that comes from joining in, and feeling that we are characters in
the Story, and must help it along by helping the other characters.
While if we enter in, then we very soon find out that it is the best
Story in the world, and that if we will, we can be little heroes, and
play our part, and win in the end quite splendidly.
_Then_ it becomes exciting.
And once we have joined in, we find oddly enough that as we grow older
we grow younger, until at length we become as little children, happy
all the time, our work our play, our life a Song of Innocence, not
unlike the natives of That Country.
* * * * *