The Return Visit
"IT'S too bad, she won't come!"
Freda stood at the nursery window with Daffy. Their noses were
flattened against the panes, and they were gazing disconsolately down
the beech avenue.
It was raining fast, softly, persistently, and it did not mean to stop,
even though Dreamikins had been asked to tea, and it was now four
o'clock. Tea was laid on the round table in the nursery. Freda and
Daffy had inspected it very critically when Nurse was out of the room
washing Bertie's face and hands and putting him into a clean holland
suit in honour of the occasion.
There was a big currant cake in the centre of the table, some
strawberry jam, and a large plate of cut bread-and-butter.
"I should like one of Mum's teas," said Daffy, with a sigh, "with
sangwiches, and hot tea-cakes, and sugar-iced cakes, and chocolates. I
would like Dreamikins to think we had very nice teas."
"And tea in the garden is so much nicer than in a room," sighed Freda.
"But she wouldn't have tea in the garden to-day," said Daffy.
Then they went to the window to watch for her coming. It was Nurse who
told them she was sure she would not come, and now they had begun to
believe it.
Bertie came up to them, and stretched up on tiptoes to see too.
"There's a b'llella!" he suddenly announced.
And, sure enough, his quick eyes had discovered the big umbrella first.
It was waving about rather uncertainly, and two tiny legs and feet were
underneath it.
"She's coming, Nurse! And all by herself Dreamikins is allowed to come
out to tea alone."
They rushed out of the room and down the stairs to meet her. They found
her in the front hail, and Purling, the old butler, was taking her wet
umbrella from her.
"She's come in at the front door!" said Daffy, in awed tones.
Dreamikins looked up at them with her radiant smile.
"Did you come all by yourself?" asked Freda.
Dreamikins opened her lips quickly, then shut them tight, and waited
quite a moment before she spoke.
"I was just going to say 'Yes,'" she said. "I wanted to say it, but
Cherubine pinched me, so I knew I mustn't. Annette brought me to the
gate and then I got her to leave me."
"Where did Cherubine pinch you?" asked Daffy curiously.
"Oh, just inside my heart," Dreamikins answered airily. "She gets in
there and does what she likes."
Then she kissed her friends rather solemnly, and followed them upstairs
to the nursery without saying another word.
Nurse welcomed her quite kindly. Dreamikins in a clean white frock, and
her best manners, brought a smile to Nurse's lips.
Bertie hastened up to shake hands. He was very excited over this new
visitor, and was ready to be friends with her at once.
Very soon they were sitting round the tea-table. Shyness had suddenly
descended upon Freda and Daffy. It was Dreamikins who did most of the
talking—Dreamikins and Nurse.
"I think," Dreamikins said, looking at Nurse with one of her sweetest
smiles, "that I shall call you H.D. Do you mind if I do?"
"Why H.D.?" demanded Nurse.
"It means something to me," Dreamikins replied. "I always like
calling people by letters. I call Mummie D.Q. Not when she scolds me,
though—never then!"
She shook her curls with vigour as she spoke. Then she condescended to
explain.
"D.Q. means Darling Queen," she said.
Freda and Daffy began to guess under their breath what H.D. meant, but
Dreamikins would not tell them. She went on calmly:
"You see, I can't call you Nurse, because you aren't my nurse. I gave
up nurses when I was quite little; they changed so often, and Mummie
and me got quite tarred of them."
"I hope you weren't a very troublesome little girl," said Nurse
sternly. "Children who have no nursery are always spoilt and unruly.
I am sorry for their mothers, but all the best families keep their
children in the nursery till they go to school."
"Did you have a nurse?" asked Dreamikins.
But Nurse changed the conversation.
When tea was over, Jane cleared away the tea, and Nurse and she left
the nursery for a short time. Then the children's tongues ran fast.
"Show me your house; it's such a big one. Let us play hide-and-seek in
the passages."
"Nurse won't let us. We can never do anything nice. What is H.D.?"
"Haughty Dragon," said Dreamikins, laughing gaily. "Fibo and I always
call people H.D.'s who look like your nurse does. Oh, we must play
hide-and-seek. I'll go and ask her."
Away darted Dreamikins, peeping into every room and dancing up and down
the passages as if it were all a game. She found Nurse, and actually
coaxed the permission she wanted out of her.
"It's a wet afternoon, and if you promise not to spoil or disarrange
anything, you can do it," said Nurse.
Then followed a lovely hour. Freda and Daffy and even Bertie were as
excited and happy as their little guest. At last the time came when
Dreamikins could not be found. Every corner and cupboard in the few
rooms in which they were allowed to hide were ransacked. The passages
with their queer corners were searched again and again, and the
children came to Nurse in the nursery with troubled faces.
"We're quite tired out," said Freda gloomily, "and we think she's
climbed up one of the chimneys and got on to the roof."
Nurse bestirred herself.
"She's a mischievous child, I fear. There's such daring in her eye; but
it won't do for her to come to harm here."
So Nurse went from room to room, and then at the end of one of the
passages thought of a little door which led into the cistern-room.
There were steps up inside, and on these steps was a white hair ribbon.
Nurse got agitated, and called aloud, and a weak little voice answered
her:
"I'm nearly drownded, but Cherubine is keeping me up."
Sure enough, in the big cistern, drenched to the skin, Dreamikins was
clinging with her hands to the top; her feet were on a tiny ledge that
mercifully was inside, or the big cistern would indeed have drowned
her. She had clambered in, taken off her shoes and stockings, and
imagined that the water was not very deep.
"I was so hot, I wanted to paddle. I thought it was a little pond, and
then I splashed down ever so far, but I got up again and held on tight
and screamed, and I've screamed away all my voice, but Cherubine helped
me."
She was certainly exhausted with her wetting and with fright. Nurse
got her out with a stern set face, and carried her off to the
night-nursery, where she changed all her clothes, gave her a hot drink,
and then took her back to her little friends.
"Now, none of you are to leave this room," she said. "It's a mercy we
haven't had a death in this house, and it isn't this child's fault that
we haven't!"
Dreamikins sat still for five minutes whilst she explained to the
others how she had come to be found in such a situation.
"I thought I was going to be drownded, and I asked God to send me a
better angel, for Cherubine was too small to help me. But she just
managed it, till the H.D. came. And now what shall we play at?"
They settled down to a game of marbles on the nursery floor. But very
soon they tired of their game and began to talk again.
"Why do you live in such a big empty house?" questioned Dreamikins.
"Because Dad and Mums are in London," said Freda, "and there's nobody
to fill their part of the house."
"I could get some people to fill it," said Dreamikins thoughtfully.
"What kind?" asked Daffy. "We shouldn't take anybody into our house,
you know."
"It doesn't really belong to us at all," said Freda hastily. "Bertie
will have it one day, and turn us out."
Bertie stared with his round eyes at his sister.
"I won't turn you out," he said. "I couldn't. You're so strong."
Dreamikins' eyes were gazing away into space. She said slowly:
"Fibo and I read a very interessing story in the Bible last night when
I went to bed. It was about the good people who are turned into sheep,
and the wicked who turn into goats. Goats don't live in heaven—only
sheep. And if you want to be a proper sheep you have to do some
differcult things. They're differcult for children; grown-up people
could do them easily, but I've been thinking we really ought to begin
some of them in case we die quickly. I shouldn't like to find myself a
goat all of a sudden."
Freda and Daffy were not so fond of Bible stories as Dreamikins seemed
to be. They looked bored, and Dreamikins was quick to notice it.
"Now, you just listen to me," she said, with upraised finger, "and I'll
tell you what we've got to do. We've got to do six things, and if we do
them to the proper people, Jesus will count it that we've done it to
Him. Fibo explained it beautifully; he always does. We must give meat
to somebody who's hungry, and drink to somebody who's thirsty, and take
into our houses a stranger. That's what made me begin to think of it.
Fancy how many strangers you could take in this big house! And we must
visit somebody who's sick, and somebody who's in prison, and we must
give a poor, naked, ragged beggar some clothes."
"We couldn't do it possibly," said Freda emphatically.
But Daffy's eyes began to shine.
"Oh yes, we could; it would be beautiful!" she said.
Dreamikins put her arms round her and hugged her.
"You and me will begin it, and then Freda will, too," she said. "We
must. Cherubine will help. She thinks we ought to."
The little heads got close together. Nurse was sewing by the window, so
they talked in whispers.
And then, all too soon, Jane appeared, saying that "Miss Broughton's
maid" had arrived to take her home.
Dreamikins was very reluctant to go, but Nurse produced her clothes all
beautifully dried, and Annette came upstairs to wait upon her.
"Ah, Miss Emmeline, you be always in trouble. What a peety!" exclaimed
Annette, when she was told of Dreamikins' escapade.
Dreamikins smiled up at her.
"I 'sure you it's no trouble to me, none at all!" she said, with the
greatest composure.
She hugged Freda and Daffy warmly, kissed Bertie, shook hands very
politely with Nurse, and trotted off. They watched from the window
her little figure tripping down the drive. Annette was holding a big
umbrella over her.
"I'm not at all sure whether she's a fit playmate for you," said Nurse,
with a shake of her head. "If she leads you into worse mischief than
the two of you are generally up to, the house won't hold you all!"
Freda and Daffy said nothing, but presently they began to discuss
Dreamikins together.
"She seems so ridicklously good," said Freda; "I never heard anybody
speak about God as she does. Of course, Cherubine is a make up, but she
believes it, and now she makes out we must do all this or we shan't
please God. I never think about pleasing God at all. Nurse would say we
never could. He's so awfully holy and far away."
"Yes; she's good," said Daffy slowly, "but she isn't proper and stupid
like some good children are. And I think there'll be a lot of fun about
being these Bible sheep. She gets a lot of fun out of being good."
"Yes; but she doesn't do it because of that. She really loves Jesus
Christ—she told me so. I almost wish I did, but I don't."
Daffy made no answer. She thought a great deal more than Freda did, and
some of her thoughts were serious.
"We'll try and take a stranger in as soon as ever we can," said Daffy.
"It will be most exciting! We'll smuggle him in by one of the windows
downstairs, or else Nurse will make a row."
"It might be a 'her,'" said Freda; "we don't know who it will be yet."
"It must be somebody who wants a night's lodging—some poor beggar. We
see some going along the roads when we are out."
"I wonder if Dreamikins will find somebody before we do. She has no
horrid nurse keeping her from doing things she wants."
"A H.D.," said Daffy, with twinkling eyes. "We'll call her H.D. to
ourselves, Freda; she'll never know."
They began to wonder when they would see Dreamikins again. Their days
seemed dull without her, but Nurse determined that they should not meet
too often. She was distrustful of Dreamikins; there was something in
her joyous face and free easy manner that touched on insubordination.
And then something happened that put Dreamikins out of her head. A
letter came one morning from Mrs. Harrington, and it brought sad news.
The children's father had been killed by a Turkish shell in Mesopotamia.
When Nurse broke the news to the children, her voice shook. Freda and
Daffy would not believe it.
"Dad killed, Nurse! Oh, he can't be! It's a mistake. He can't possibly
be dead!"
"What does Mums say?"
"She's coming down this week. Dear heart alive! What shall we all do?
The master—so young and hearty—but there, this War be takin' all the
best! He had no need to volunteer as he did!"
Freda and Daffy crept into a corner of their nursery and cried a
little. Nurse was crying easily and almost happily; tears hurt and
choked Freda. She was horribly ashamed of them, and struggled to
overcome them. Daffy felt she ought to cry harder than she did. She
loved her father, but could not yet take in what his loss would mean.
They had never seen very much of him; he had always been so busy, but
sometimes he would take them to the Zoo or to Madame Tussaud's or to
the Pantomime, and then the hours were golden.
"Shall we go on living here?" she asked Freda. "Perhaps Mums will take
us back to London."
"Oh, I hope not. Oh, Daffy, do you remember what Nurse said? It has
come to pass, and we never thought it would."
"About this being Bertie's house if Dad died? Yes, I remember."
Daffy spoke soberly, but Freda's eagerness carried her on.
"Of course if it's Bertie's house now he can give us leave to do
anything we like, and it will be quite easy to put strangers up for the
night. Nurse could say nothing at all, nothing. We'll ask Bertie now."
Bertie was pulled into the corner which Freda and Daffy always retired
to when they had important business on hand. It was the corner which
was farthest from Nurse's chair, and from her quick ears, which often
heard more than they were meant to do.
"Bertie, this is your house now. You'll give us leave to have one of
the bedrooms to do what we like with, won't you?"
Bertie stared at his sister with round eyes.
"Is it mine own house? Why is it?" he asked.
"Because dear Dad is dead, and he has left it to you."
"But I don't want Dad to be deaded. It makes Nurse cry."
"It makes me cry too," said Freda, gulping down a lump in her throat;
"but God has done it, so there's nothing to say. And this is very
important. It has to do with God. He wishes us to do it, and we want a
bedroom, Daffy and me."
"What must I do?" asked Bertie meekly.
"Make him write it on paper," said Daffy, "like one of our story-books.
Don't you remember a man left a little girl—Helen her name was—all his
money and a big house, and he wrote it on a bit of paper?"
"I'll write it," said Freda quickly. "We'll do it at once, in case we
might be stopped."
So a piece of paper was found, and a black stump of pencil, and Freda
wrote in her best round copy-book writing:
"I give to Freda and Daffy one of my bedrooms in this house for
somebody that God wants to stay here."
And then they told Bertie he must sign his name. He had great trouble
in doing this, but they stood over him till it was done, and then Freda
folded up the paper and put it into a small box of hers which locked.
"Now," she said to Bertie, "this paper is a secret, and you mustn't
tell Nurse."
"I haven't been a naughty boy?" questioned poor Bertie, who always
connected secrecy with misdoings.
"You've been a 'markably good boy," said Freda approvingly; and Bertie
ran back to his brick-building with great content. "Now we'll have to
get the room ready," said Freda triumphantly, "and then we'll find the
stranger."
"But we mustn't do anything just now," said Daffy, who generally
checked Freda's rapid plans. "It won't be proper. Look at Nurse. She's
still crying! And we're forgetting to cry ourselves."
So they sat quietly in their corner, and began to talk about their
father, and then they felt more and more miserable, and more tears
fell. When Jane came in they felt pleased to hear her say to Nurse:
"The poor children! How they feel it! 'Twill be comfort for us to have
the Mistress down. 'Tis a terrible blow, sure enough!"