Mary Louisa S. Molesworth - Us

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Pamela hesitated. She stood quite quite still, her eyes gazing before
her, but as if seeing nothing--she seemed to be listening.

"Bruvver," she said at last, "I can't tell you yet. I must fink. But I'm
_almost_ sure it's speaking now. I'm almost sure it's saying us must
tell."

"Oh don't, don't, Pamela," cried poor Duke; "you mustn't say that. For I
can't--I am sure I can't--tell Grandmamma. And you won't tell without me
knowing, will you, sister?"

"For sure not," replied Pamela indignantly. "Us must do it togevver like
always. But there's Miss Mitten coming--I hear her. Wait till after
she's gone, bruvver, and then I'll tell you what I've been finking."

With this Duke was obliged to content himself. But he and Pamela took
care to put away in a shelf of the toy cupboard, where they would not be
seen, the remains of the broken bowl.

Miss Mitten had two very quiet and subdued little pupils that morning.
She noticed Duke's red eyes, but, not being on very intimate terms with
the children, for she was rather a formal young person, she said nothing
about them. Only when lessons were quite finished she told her pupils
they might tell their Grandmamma that they had been very good and
attentive.

"Your good Grandmamma will be pleased to hear this," she said, "for she
must be troubled about poor Nurse's being ill. I hope you will do your
best to give her no trouble you can possibly avoid," and with these
words Miss Mitten took her leave.

She had scarcely left when Biddy came to take the children out a walk,
and after that it was their dinner-time, so that it was not till the
afternoon that they found themselves quite alone and able to talk over
their troubles. They had not seen Grandmamma since the morning, for she
had gone out in the pony-carriage with Grandpapa to pay some visits,
which in those days were _really_ "morning calls"! and she had left word
that after their dinner Duke and Pamela might play in the garden till
she and Grandpapa came home.

"And when us sees them coming us'll ask Grandpapa to tell Walters to
drive us round to the stable in the pony-carriage," said Duke, jumping
up and down in great excitement, quite forgetting his troubles for the
moment. But his forgetfulness did not last long. Biddy began looking
about the room as if in search of something; she seemed vexed and
uneasy.

"What's the matter, Biddy?" said Duke, stopping in the midst of his
gymnastics.

"Have you seen one of the china bowls anywhere about, you or Miss
Pamela, Master Duke?" asked the girl. "Cook is so angry with me, and she
will have it I've broken it and won't tell," and poor Biddy looked ready
to cry.

"Didn't you miss it when you took the tray down?" said Pamela, and Duke
was astonished she could speak so quietly.

"No," replied Biddy, "and then I _was_ at fault, for sure I gathered up
the things quickly, and never noticed there was but one bowl. And they
must have been both there, for you both had your breakfast. The only
thing I can think of is that some one took it out of the room after you
were downstairs, master and missy," for it never occurred to Biddy to
think Duke or Pamela would have concealed it had they broken the bowl,
"but I'm afeared Cook will lay it all on me."

"Do you fink they cost much--bowls like these?" asked Pamela.

"Not so very much perhaps, but I don't think I've ever seen any quite
like them in any shop. Besides, if even I could get to Sandle'ham to
see, it's a thing I daren't do. It's one of your Grandmamma's strictest
rules that if anything's broke we're to tell. And I'm sure if I had
broke it I would tell."

"Perhaps Cook won't say anything more about it," said Duke, but Biddy
shook her head.

"Not to-day perhaps. She's busy to-day, for two ladies and two gentlemen
are coming to dinner. But she'll be very angry with me when she comes to
send up your bread and milk to-morrow morning if so be as the bowl isn't
there."

"Are there only two like that?" asked Pamela.

"Your Grandmamma has some others, I think, but they're kept locked up in
a cupboard in the china closet," said Biddy dolefully. "I'd tell my
mistress myself in a minute if I had broke it, but the worst is, it will
seem as if I have broke it and won't tell, and that will make her very
vexed with me. But you must make haste to go out into the garden, master
and missy. It's such a fine day, and if you stayed here it might wake
Nurse. She's just fallen asleep, and the doctor said she might be better
to-morrow if she got some sleep."

"Out in the garden" to-day it was lovely, for though only April it was
unusually bright and warm. And the garden of Arbitt Lodge matched the
house. It was so quaint and neat, and yet such a very delightful garden
to play in, full of queer little unexpected paths between high stiff
hedges that quite hid such small people as "us," leading to tiny bits of
lawn, where one was sure to find, if not a summer-house, at least a
rustic bench in a nice corner beside some old tree whose foliage made a
pleasant shade. Duke and Pamela had given names of their own to some of
the seats and arbours, as they found this a great convenience for their
games, especially that of paying visits. I think their favourite bench
was one placed on what they called "the hill;" that was a part of the
garden banked up very high against the wall, from which you could look
down on the passers-by without being seen by them, and the name of this
one was "Spy Tower." It was a nice place on a sunny day, for the high
trees made it shady, and when they had no particular game they cared to
play it was always amusing to watch who passed.

This afternoon they did not feel in good enough spirits to play, and
almost without speaking they walked quietly in the direction of "the
hill."

"Us can see when Grandpapa and Grandmamma are coming in time to run
round and meet them at the gate," said Pamela, as they climbed up the
bank.

"I don't think I want to see them coming, and I don't want them to see
us," said Duke. "Sister, I am so midderable that I think if there was a
big sea near here I would go into it and be drowned."

"Bruvver!" ejaculated Pamela.

"Yes, sister," he continued, "it would be the best thing. For if I was
drown_ded_ quite dead, they'd all be so sorry that then you could tell
them about the bowl, and Biddy would not be scolded. And--and--you could
say it was far most _my_ fault, you know, for it was, and then they
wouldn't be very angry with you. Yes," he repeated solemnly, "it would
be the best thing."

By this time Pamela was completely dissolved in tears--tears of
indignation as well as of grief.

"Bruvver," she began again, "how can you say that? Us has always been
togevver. How can you fink I would _ever_ say it was most your fault,
not if you was ever so drownded. But oh, bruvver, don't frighten me so."

Duke's own tears were flowing too.

"There isn't any big sea near here," he said; "I only said if there was.
It's just that I am so very midderable. I wish Nurse hadn't got ill."

"Oh, so do I," said Pamela fervently.

By this time they had reached Spy Tower. Pamela seated herself
discreetly on the bench, though it was so much too high for her that her
short legs dangled in the air. Duke established himself on the ground in
front of her. It was a very still day--more like late summer than
spring--hardly a leaf stirred, and in the distance various sounds, the
far-off barking of a dog, the faint crowing and cackling of cocks and
hens, the voices, subdued to softness, "of the village boys and girls at
play," all mingled together pleasantly. The children were too young to
explain to themselves the pleasant influences about them, of the soft
sunshine and the cloudless sky, seen through the network of branches
overhead, of the balmy air and sweet murmurs of bird and insect life
rejoicing in the spring-time; but they felt them nevertheless.

"How very happy us would have been to-day if it hadn't been for the bowl
being brokened," said Duke.

"No, it began before that," said Pamela. "It was the not telling
Grandmamma. I fink that was the real naughty, bruvver. I don't _fink_
Grandmamma would have minded so much us giving the bread and milk to
Toby."

"Her wouldn't have given us any treat," objected Duke.

"Well, that wouldn't have mattered very much for once. And perhaps it
would have been a good fing; _perhaps_ Grandmamma would have told Cook
not to send up quite so much, and----"

"Why do you say that _now_?" said Duke rather crossly; "it's only making
it all worser and worser. I wish----"

But what Duke wished was never to be known, for just at that moment
sounds coming down the lane, evidently drawing nearer and nearer, made
him start up and peep out from behind the few thin low-growing shrubs at
the top of the wall.

"Hush, sister," he said, quite forgetting that it was himself and not
"sister" who had been speaking,--"there are _such_ funny people coming
down the lane. Come here, close by me; there, you can see them--don't
they look funny?"

Pamela squeezed herself forward between Duke and a bush, and looked
where he pointed to. A little group of people was to be seen making
their way slowly along the lane. There were a man, two women, and two
boys--the women with red kerchiefs over their heads, and something
picturesque about their dress and bearing, though they were dirty and
ragged. They, as well as the man, had very dark skins, black hair, and
bright piercing eyes, and the elder of the two boys, a great
loose-limbed fellow of sixteen or so, was just like them. But the other
boy, who did not look more than nine or ten, though his skin was tanned
by the weather nearly as brown as his companion's, had lighter hair and
eyes. He followed the others at a little distance, not seeming to attend
to what they were saying, though they were all talking eagerly, and
rather loudly, in a queer kind of language, which Duke and Pamela could
not understand at all. The younger boy whistled as he came along, and he
held a stout branch in his hand, from which, with a short rough knife,
he was cutting away the twigs and bark. He did not seem unhappy though
he looked thin, and his clothes hardly held together they were so
ragged.

All these particulars became visible to the children, as the party of
gipsies--for such they were, though of a low class--came nearer and
nearer. I forgot to say that the sixth member of the party was a donkey,
a poor half-starved looking creature, with roughly-made panniers,
stuffed with crockery apparently, for basins and jugs and pots of
various kinds were to be seen sticking out of them in all directions.
And besides the donkey's load there was a good deal more to carry, for
the man and the women and the big boy were all loaded with bundles of
different shapes and sizes, and the little fellow had a sort of knapsack
on his back. They would probably have passed on their way without
dreaming of the two small people in Spy Tower up above their heads, had
not Duke, suddenly catching sight of the donkey's burden, exclaimed
loudly to Pamela:

"See, see, sister; they have jugs and dishes. Perhaps us could get a
bowl like ours."

At the sound of the child's voice the man stopped short in what he was
saying to his companions, and looked up.

"Good day, my little master, and my pretty missy too," he said in a
smooth voice, not the least like the rather harsh tones in which he had
been speaking a moment before in the strange language. "At your service,
and is there anything I can do for you?"

"Oh the pretty dears," exclaimed one of the two women, while the other
turned away with a rough laugh, muttering something the children could
not distinguish the meaning of. "Oh the pretty dears! Like two sweet
birds up in a nest. And wouldn't you like your fortunes told, my
honeys?"

"I don't know what that means," replied Duke, feeling very valiant at
the top of the wall. "I want to know if you've got any china bowls to
sell--bowls for bread and milk, with little blue leaves running over
them."

"To be sure, to be sure," said the man. "We've the very thing--it is
strange, to be sure, that I should have just what the little master
wants, isn't it?" he went on, turning to the woman.

"If the gentleman and lady could come down and look at them, they would
see better," said she, seizing the panniers with a great show of getting
out the crockery they contained.

"Us can't come down there," said Duke. "You must come in at the gate,
and us will meet you at the back door."

The man and woman hesitated.

"Will the servants let us come so far, d'ye think?" asked the man. "Are
there no dogs about? Must we say the little master and missy told us to
come for that they want to buy a bowl?"

"Oh no," cried Pamela hastily, "that wouldn't do. The servants mustn't
know."

The man glanced at the woman with a meaning look.

"To be sure, to be sure," she said. "Master and missy must please
themselves. It's no business of the servants. Perhaps it's for a little
present to their mamma they want one of our pretty bowls?"

"Us hasn't any mamma," said Duke, "and it isn't for a present, but still
us doesn't want any one to know. Are you _sure_ you've got any bowls
just like ours?"

"Certain sure," said the woman; "you see we've such a many--if I was to
get them all out you'd see. Yours is blue--with leaves all over
it--we've some, sweet and pretty, with pink roses and green leaves."

"No, no," said the children, shaking their heads, "that wouldn't do. It
must be just the same."

"And have you got it there, then?" asked the woman. "But that won't
matter. You'll soon see what beauties ours are. And so cheap! Not to
everybody of course as cheap as to you, but it isn't often we see so
pretty spoken a little gentleman and lady as you. And you shall have
them as cheap as we can give them."

"Then us must get our money-box," said Duke. "It's in the nursery
cupboard. Will you go round to near the back gate," and he pointed in
the direction he named, "and sister will go through the garden to meet
you, and I'll run in for our money-box."

The man peered about him, and again a sort of meaning look passed
between him and the woman.

"To be sure, to be sure," he said. "And pretty missy will wait with us
till you come. But don't be long, master, for we've a weary way to go
afore night."

"Poor things," said Pamela, "are you tired and hungry? I wish us could
ask you to come in and rest, but you see Grandpapa and Grandmamma are
out and Nurse is ill, and there's no one to ask."

"Dear me, what a pity!" said the woman. "To be sure we're tired and
hungry, and it's not an easy business to unpack the panniers, but
anything to please master and missy."

Just then the other woman, who had been standing apart with the big boy
all this time, called out something in the same strange-sounding
language. And, apparently forgetting the children's presence, the man
roared out at her with such brutal roughness that Duke and Pamela shrank
back trembling. The first woman hastened to reassure them.

"For shame, Mick," she said, and then with a laugh she turned to the
children. "It's just a way he has. You must excuse him, master and
missy. And if little master will go quick for the money-box it would be
better. There won't be much in it, I suppose, but it isn't much we'd
want to take."

"Oh but there's a great deal," said Duke. "One big guinea--that's
between us, and two little ones, one each, and three shillings and a
fourpenny of mine----"

"And five sixpences and seven pennies of mine," said Pamela.

"Who'd a-thought it?" said the woman admiringly. "I'd be pleased to see
so much money for once."

"Well, I'll show it you," said Duke, and off he started. Pamela looked
after him for a moment.

"Wouldn't it be better," she said to the woman, "if you saw a bit of the
bowl, then you could find the ones like it in a minute?"

"What a clever missy!" exclaimed the woman, bent on flattery.

"Then I'll run after bruvver and fetch the bits," said Pamela, and, not
heeding the woman's calling after her that there was no need to give
herself the trouble, off she set too, overtaking Duke just before he
reached the house.

"I've come after you!" she exclaimed, breathless; "I want to get the
broken bits and then they'll see what the bowl was like. And,
bruvver,"--and the little girl hesitated a little,--"I was _raver_
frightened to stay alone wif those people. The man did speak so rough,
didn't he?"

Duke had felt very brave on the top of the wall, and rather proud of
himself for feeling so.

"You needn't be afraid when _I'm_ there, sister," he said. "Besides they
can't hurt us--us'll just buy the bowl and run back with it. Us needn't
go farther than just by the back gate."

"Do you fink you should take _all_ the money?" asked Pamela doubtfully.
"It can't cost all that."

"I'll not take the gold guineas, then," said Duke. "At least," he went
on, sorely divided between caution and the wish to show off his riches,
"I'll only take _one_--just to let them see it. And one shilling and one
sixpence to let them see, and all the pennies. You needn't be
frightened, sister," he repeated encouragingly, as the two trotted
across the garden again, "I won't let the man speak rude to _you_."

CHAPTER IV.

BABES IN A WOOD.

"Out of this wood do not desire to go;
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no."
_Midsummer Night's Dream._

There was no one to be seen when they got to the back gate. The children
stood and looked about--Pamela with the bits of broken crockery in her
apron held up in front, Duke tightly clasping the precious money-box.
They looked this way and that way, up the lane and down the lane, but
could see nothing or nobody save Farmer Riggs' very old horse turned out
at the side of the hedge, and two or three ducks who had perversely
chosen to wander out to grub about in a small pool of stagnant water
instead of gratefully enjoying their own nice clean pond, as
Grandmamma's ducks might have been expected to do. At another time Duke
and Pamela would certainly have chased the stray ducks home again, with
many pertinent remarks on their naughty disobedience, but just now they
had no thought or attention to give to anything but their own concerns.

A sudden feeling came over Pamela, and she turned to Duke.

"Bruvver," she said, "those people hasn't come. I fink they're not good
people, and they won't come near the house. I daresay they're somewhere
down the lane, not far off--but don't you _fink_ perhaps us had better
not look for them any more, but just go home, and when Grandmamma comes
in tell her _everyfing_. Even if she is raver angry, wouldn't it be
better, bruvver? I'm almost sure my little voice inside is telling me
so," and Pamela stood for a moment with a look of intent listening on
her face. "Yes, I'm sure that's what it's trying to say. Can you hear
yours, bruvver?"

Duke looked undecided.

"I can't listen just now, sister," he replied. "I'm full of thinking how
nice it would be to buy a bowl just the same, and take it in and give it
to poor Biddy, and then she wouldn't be scolded. I don't think I'd mind
telling Grandmamma once us had got the bowl. She'd be so pleased to have
one the same."

"_I_ fink she'd be most pleased for us to tell her everyfing,"
maintained Pamela stoutly.

And Duke, always impressed by her opinion, wavered, and no doubt he
would have wavered back into the right way, had not, just at that
moment, a low whistle been heard some way to the left down the lane;
and, looking in the direction from whence it came, the little boy and
girl caught sight of a head quickly poked out and as quickly drawn back
again into the shade of the hedge. But not too quickly for them to have
recognised the sharp black eyes and rough black hair of the gipsy
pedlar.

Without replying to Pamela Duke darted off, and, though much against her
will, the little girl felt she could not but follow him. Before they had
quite reached the spot the head was poked out again.

"I've had to wait here for you, master and missy," said the man. "There
were some farmers men down that way, round the corner," and he jerked
his thumb--for he had by this time come out of his hole--in an imaginary
direction, "as said this were a private road, and they'd set dogs on us
if we came on. I'm a peaceable fellow, and not fond o' fightin', so I'd
just have gone on my way out of their road but for promisin' you to come
round this way."

"It's very strange," said Duke; "I don't know what it means about a
private road, but I know everybody always passes this way--that's why us
likes Spy Tower so much, there's so many people passing."

"It's all along of our being poor folk," said the man; "there's no fair
play for poor folk. But I'm one as keeps his word, so here I am. And the
donkey and the missus are down the road there waiting--there's a little
wood where we thought nobody would disturb us for a bit, if you and
missy will come so far--the missus said she'd unpack the pots. But you
must be quick--I dursn't hang about here, and if you can't come there's
no more to be said," and he turned as if to go.

"Just wait one instant, please," said Pamela hastily, extracting one of
the fragments from her apron; "just look at this. It's no use our going
to see the bowls if you've none the same--do you fink you have any like
this?"

The man pretended to start.

"Well, that is cur'ous," he said. "If my eyes is not deceivin' me,
that's the very pattern we've a whole set on--the bowls shouldn't ought
to be sold separate, but to oblige you we'll see what the missus will
do," and again he turned to go.

The children looked at each other. They had never before in their lives
been outside the gates alone; of this back road and where it led to they
knew very little, as it was always on the other road--that leading to
Sandlingham--that Nurse liked to walk. They did not remember the little
wood the man spoke of, but they did not like to contradict him; then, if
it was only such a little way, they could run back in a minute when they
had got the bowl, and all would be right. So they took each other's
hands and followed the man, who was already striding some steps in front
down the lane, glancing behind him over his shoulder from time to time
to see if the little couple had made up their minds.

A few minutes' quick walking on his part, necessitating something
between a trot and a run on theirs, brought them out of the lane into
the high road. Here the man stopped short for a moment and looked about
him--the children supposed in search of his companions and the donkey.
But there was no one and nothing to be seen.

"I don't think us can come any farther," said Duke rather timidly. The
man turned round with a scowl on his face, but in a moment he had
smoothed it away and spoke in the same oily tones.

"It's just a step farther," he said, "and I can take you a shorter way
through the fields than the missus could go with the donkey. This way,
master and missy," and he quickly crossed the road, still glancing up
and down, and, climbing over a stile, stood beckoning for the children
to follow.

They had never noticed this stile before; they had not the slightest
idea where it led to, but somehow they felt more afraid now to turn back
than to go on; and, indeed, it would not have been any use, for, had he
cared to do so, the man could have overtaken them in a moment. The stile
was hard for their short legs to climb, but they had a great dislike to
the idea of his touching them, and would not ask for help. And once he
had got them on the other side of it he seemed to feel he had them in
his power, and did not take much notice of them, but strode on through
the rough brushwood--for they were by this time in a sort of little
coppice--as if he cared for nothing but to get over the ground as fast
as possible. And still the two followed him--through the coppice, across
one or two ploughed fields, down a bit of lane where they had never been
before, plunging at last into a wood where the trees grew thick and
dark--a forest of gloom it seemed to Duke and Pamela--and all this time
they never met a creature, or passed any little cottage such as they
were accustomed to see on the cheerful Sandlingham road. The pedlar knew
the country, and had chosen the least frequented way. Had they by any
chance met a carriage or cart, even when crossing the high road, he
would not have dared to risk being seen with the children, but in that
case he would no doubt have hurried off, leaving them to find their way
home as best they might. But no such good fortune having befallen them,
on they trotted--hand-in-hand for the most part, though by this time
several stumbles had scratched and bruised them, and their flying hair,
flushed faces and tumbled clothes made them look very different from the
little "master and missy" Biddy had sent out into the peaceful garden to
play that sweet April afternoon.

_Why_ they went on, they could not themselves have told. Often in after
years, and when they had grown older and wiser, they asked themselves
the question. It was not exactly fear, for as yet the man had not
actually spoken roughly to them, nor was it altogether a feeling of
shame at giving in--it was a mixture of both perhaps, and some strange
sort of fascination that even very wise people might not find it easy to
explain. For every time their steps lagged, and they felt as if they
could go no farther, a glance over his shoulder of the man in front
seemed to force them on again. And as the wood grew closer and darker
this feeling increased. They felt as if they were miles and miles from
home, in some strange and distant country they had never before seen or
heard of; they seemed to be going on and on, as in a dream. And though
poor little Pamela still, through all her stumbles and tumbles, held
tightly up before her the corners of her apron, containing the bits of
the unlucky bowl, and Duke, on his side, still firmly clutched his
precious money-box, I do not believe either of them had by this time any
very clear remembrance of why they were laden with these queer burdens,
or what was the object of the strange and painful expedition.

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