"I am going out myself to-morrow--for the day."
"I hope it will not tire you too much," said Dora, with soft-voiced and
cautious politeness. "If you want anything bought we could do it for
you, with pleasure, and you could have a nice, quiet day at home."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Bax shortly; and we saw she would do what she
chose, whether it was really for her own good or not.
She started before we did next morning, and we were careful to be
mouse-quiet till the "Ship's" fly which contained her was out of
hearing. Then we had another yelling competition, and Noel won with that
new shriek of his that is like railway engines in distress; and then we
went and fetched Bates' donkey and cart and packed our bales in it and
started, some riding and some running behind.
Any faint distant traces of respectableness that were left to our
clothes were soon covered up by the dust of the road and by some of the
ginger-beer bursting through the violence of the cart, which had no
springs.
The first farm we stopped at the woman really did want some pins, for
though a very stupid person, she was making a pink blouse, and we
said--
"Do have some tape! You never know when you may want it."
"I believe in buttons," she said. "No strings for me, thank you."
But when Oswald said, "What about pudding-strings? You can't button up
puddings as if they were pillows!" she consented to listen to reason.
But it was only twopence altogether.
But at the next place the woman said we were "mummickers," and told us
to "get along, do." And she set her dog at us; but when Pincher sprang
from the inmost recesses of the cart she called her dog off. But too
late, for it and Pincher were locked in the barking, scuffling, growling
embrace of deadly combat. When we had separated the dogs she went into
her house and banged the door, and we went on through the green flat
marshes, among the buttercups and may-bushes.
"I wonder what she meant by 'mummickers'?" said H.O.
"She meant she saw our high-born airs through our shabby clothes," said
Alice. "It's always happening, especially to princes. There's nothing so
hard to conceal as a really high-bred air."
"I've been thinking," said Dicky, "whether honesty wouldn't perhaps be
the best policy--not always, of course; but just this once. If people
knew what we were doing it for they might be glad to help on the good
work---- What?"
So at the next farm, which was half hidden by trees, like the picture at
the beginning of "Sensible Susan," we tied the pony to the gate-post and
knocked at the door. It was opened by a man this time, and Dora said to
him--
"We are honest traders. We are trying to sell these things to keep a
lady who is poor. If you buy some you will be helping too. Wouldn't you
like to do that? It is a good work, and you will be glad of it
afterwards, when you come to think over the acts of your life."
"Upon my word an' 'onner!" said the man, whose red face was surrounded
by a frill of white whiskers. "If ever I see a walkin' Tract 'ere it
stands!"
"She doesn't mean to be tractish," said Oswald quickly; "it's only her
way. But we really are trying to sell things to help a poor person--no
humbug, sir--so if we _have_ got anything you want we shall be glad. And
if not--well, there's no harm in asking, is there, sir?"
The man with the frilly whiskers was very pleased to be called
"sir"--Oswald knew he would be--and he looked at everything we'd got,
and bought the head-stall and two tin-openers, and a pot of marmalade,
and a ball of string, and a pair of braces. This came to four and
twopence, and we were very pleased. It really seemed that our business
was establishing itself root and branch.
When it came to its being dinner-time, which was first noticed through
H.O. beginning to cry and say he did not want to play any more, it was
found that we had forgotten to bring any dinner. So we had to eat some
of our stock--the jam, the biscuits, and the cucumber.
"I feel a new man," said Alice, draining the last of the ginger-beer
bottles. "At that homely village on the brow of yonder hill we shall
sell all that remains of the stock, and go home with money in both
pockets."
But our luck had changed. As so often happens, our hearts beat high with
hopeful thoughts, and we felt jollier than we had done all day. Merry
laughter and snatches of musical song re-echoed from our cart, and from
round it as we went up the hill. All Nature was smiling and gay. There
was nothing sinister in the look of the trees or the road--or anything.
Dogs are said to have inside instincts that warn them of intending
perils, but Pincher was not a bit instinctive that day somehow. He
sported gaily up and down the hedge-banks after pretending rats, and
once he was so excited that I believe he was playing at weasels and
stoats. But of course there was really no trace of these savage denizens
of the jungle. It was just Pincher's varied imagination.
We got to the village, and with joyful expectations we knocked at the
first door we came to.
Alice had spread out a few choice treasures--needles, pins, tape, a
photograph-frame, and the butter, rather soft by now, and the last of
the tin-openers--on a basket-lid, like the fish-man does with herrings
and whitings and plums and apples (you cannot sell fish in the country
unless you sell fruit too. The author does not know why this is).
The sun was shining, the sky was blue. There was no sign at all of the
intending thunderbolt, not even when the door was opened. This was done
by a woman.
She just looked at our basket-lid of things any one might have been
proud to buy, and smiled. I saw her do it. Then she turned her
traitorous head and called "Jim!" into the cottage.
A sleepy grunt rewarded her.
"Jim, I say!" she repeated. "Come here directly minute."
Next moment Jim appeared. He was Jim to her because she was his wife, I
suppose, but to us he was the Police, with his hair ruffled--from his
hateful sofa-cushions, no doubt--and his tunic unbuttoned.
"What's up?" he said in a husky voice, as if he had been dreaming that
he had a cold. "Can't a chap have a minute to himself to read the paper
in?"
"You told me to," said the woman. "You said if any folks come to the
door with things I was to call you, whether or no."
Even now we were blind to the disaster that was entangling us in the
meshes of its trap. Alice said--
"We've sold a good deal, but we've _some_ things left--very nice things.
These crochet needles----"
But the Police, who had buttoned up his tunic in a hurry, said quite
fiercely--
"Let's have a look at your license."
"We didn't bring any," said Noel, "but if you will give us an order
we'll bring you some to-morrow." He thought a lisen was a thing to sell
that we ought to have thought of.
"None of your lip," was the unexpected reply of the now plainly brutal
constable. "Where's your license, I say?"
"We have a license for our dog, but Father's got it," said Oswald,
always quick-witted, but not, this time, quite quick enough.
"Your 'awker's license is what I want, as well you knows, you young
limb. Your pedlar's license--your license to sell things. You ain't half
so half-witted as you want to make out."
"We haven't got a pedlar's license," said Oswald. If we had been in a
book the Police would have been touched to tears by Oswald's simple
honesty. He would have said "Noble boy!" and then gone on to say he had
only asked the question to test our honour. But life is not really at
all the same as books. I have noticed lots of differences. Instead of
behaving like the book-Police, this thick-headed constable said--
"Blowed if I wasn't certain of it! Well, my young blokes, you'll just
come along o' me to Sir James. I've got orders to bring up the next case
afore him."
"_Case!_" said Dora. "_Oh, don't!_ We didn't know we oughtn't to. We
only wanted----"
"Ho, yes," said the constable, "you can tell all that to the magistrate;
and anything you say will be used against you."
"I'm sure it will," said Oswald. "Dora, don't lower yourself to speak to
him. Come, we'll go home."
The Police was combing its hair with a half-toothless piece of comb, and
we turned to go. But it was vain.
Ere any of our young and eager legs could climb into the cart the Police
had seized the donkey's bridle. We could not desert our noble steed--and
besides, it wasn't really ours, but Bates's, and this made any hope of
flight quite a forlorn one. For better, for worse, we had to go with the
donkey.
"Don't cry, for goodness' sake!" said Oswald in stern undertones. "Bite
your lips. Take long breaths. Don't let him see we mind. This beast's
only the village police. Sir James will be a gentleman. _He'll_
understand. Don't disgrace the house of Bastable. Look here! Fall into
line--no, Indian file will be best, there are so few of us. Alice, if
you snivel I'll never say you ought to have been a boy again. H.O., shut
your mouth; no one's going to hurt you--you're too young."
"I _am_ trying," said Alice, gasping.
"Noel," Oswald went on--now, as so often, showing the brilliant
qualities of the born leader and general--"don't _you_ be in a funk.
Remember how Byron fought for the Greeks at Missy-what's-its-name. _He_
didn't grouse, and he was a poet, like you! Now look here, let's be
_game_. Dora, you're the eldest. Strike up--any tune. We'll _march_ up,
and show this sneak we Bastables aren't afraid, whoever else is."
You will perhaps find it difficult to believe, but we _did_ strike up.
We sang "The British Grenadiers," and when the Police told us to stow it
we did not. And Noel said--
"Singing isn't dogs or pedlaring. You don't want a license for that."
"I'll soon show you!" said the Police.
But he had to jolly well put up with our melodious song, because he knew
that there isn't really any law to prevent you singing if you want to.
We went on singing. It soon got easier than at first, and we followed
Bates's donkey and cart through some lodge gates and up a drive with big
trees, and we came out in front of a big white house, and there was a
lawn. We stopped singing when we came in sight of the house, and got
ready to be polite to Sir James. There were some ladies on the lawn in
pretty blue and green dresses. This cheered us. Ladies are seldom quite
heartless, especially when young.
The Police drew up Bates's donkey opposite the big front door with
pillars, and rang the bell. Our hearts were beating desperately. We cast
glances of despair at the ladies. Then, quite suddenly, Alice gave a
yell that wild Indian war-whoops are simply nothing to, and tore across
the lawn and threw her arms round the green waist of one of the ladies.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" she cried; "oh, save us! We haven't done anything
wrong, really and truly we haven't."
And then we all saw that the lady was our own Mrs. Red House, that we
liked so much. So we all rushed to her, and before that Police had got
the door answered we had told her our tale. The other ladies had turned
away when we approached her, and gone politely away into a shrubbery.
"There, there," she said, patting Alice and Noel and as much of the
others as she could get hold of. "Don't you worry, dears, don't. I'll
make it all right with Sir James. Let's all sit down in a comfy heap,
and get our breaths again. I am so glad to see you all. My husband met
your father at lunch the other day. I meant to come over and see you
to-morrow."
You cannot imagine the feelings of joy and safeness that we felt now we
had found someone who knew we were Bastables, and not vagrant outcasts
like the Police thought.
The door had now been answered. We saw the base Police talking to the
person who answered it. Then he came towards us, very red in the face.
"Leave off bothering the lady," he said, "and come along of me. Sir
James is in his lib_ra_ry, and he's ready to do justice on you, so he
is."
Mrs. Red House jumped up, and so did we. She said with smiles, as if
nothing was wrong--
"Good morning, Inspector!"
He looked pleased and surprised, as well he might, for it'll be long
enough before he's within a mile of being _that_.
"Good morning, miss, I'm sure," he replied.
"I think there's been a little mistake, Inspector," she said. "I expect
it's some of your men--led away by zeal for their duties. But I'm sure
_you'll_ understand. I am staying with Lady Harborough, and these
children are very dear friends of mine."
The Police looked very silly, but he said something about hawking
without a license.
"Oh no, not _hawking_," said Mrs. Red House, "not _hawking_, surely!
They were just _playing_ at it, you know. Your subordinates must have
been quite mistaken."
Our honesty bade us say that he was his own only subordinate, and that
he hadn't been mistaken; but it is rude to interrupt, especially a lady,
so we said nothing.
The Police said firmly, "You'll excuse me, miss, but Sir James expressly
told me to lay a information directly next time I caught any of 'em at
it without a license."
"But, you see, you didn't catch them at it." Mrs. Red House took some
money out of her purse. "You might just give this to your subordinates
to console them for the mistake they've made. And look here, these
mistakes do lead to trouble sometimes. So I'll tell you what I'll do.
I'll promise not to tell Sir James a word about it. _So_ nobody will be
blamed."