Chapter I: Part 1

THE BARBAROUS BABES

THE BARBAROUS BABES

BEING THE MEMOIRS OF MOLLY

BY
EDITH AYRTON
(MRS. ISRAEL ZANGWILL)

LONDON AND EDINBURGH
R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON
MCMIV

To
THE MEMORY
OF
MY MOTHER

CONTENTS

PAGE

I. THE MARTYRDOM OF HUMPHREY 9

II. SAMSON AND DELILAH 24

III. VIOLET’S VISIT 34

IV. THE WHIPPING OF TEDDY 55

V. THE RAGE OF THE HEATHEN 76

VI. A FIRST NIGHT 96

VII. MOTHER 110

I

THE MARTYRDOM OF HUMPHREY

(Reprinted from _Little Folks_ by kind permission)

It all started because Humphrey and me generally play together, and we generally play at torturing games. Sometimes we let the little ones, Violet and Ted, come in too, but they spoil things rather, because Teddy is so tiny and Violet doesn’t properly enjoy even the loveliest tortures. We have promised Mother, though, that we will try not to be selfish, so we pretend we don’t mind their playing with us--much.

I generally make up the tortures because I’m the eldest. My name is Molly, and I’m the only one that has to use two figures for their age; I’m ten. Even Humphrey is a good lot younger than me; he’s only nine, and people don’t think he’s as old as that, because he’s very backward. It isn’t so much that he can’t think of clever things, but he had an illness when he was a baby and that makes lessons harder for him than for other people, ’specially long division. He simply can’t do that; if they try and make him, he sits and cries, and he has the most peculiar way of crying of any one I ever saw. He doesn’t make any noise nor wrinkle up his face, but the tears come dripping down slowly with a plop. Sometimes he catches them in his mouth, but if he doesn’t, he always licks them up afterwards, because he says they are good for the digestion. He is going to be a doctor, so that makes him have ideas like that. Once he invented a most beautiful red ink, only it made holes right through his copy-book, and you couldn’t use the same pen twice, so he had to turn it into a medicine instead.

Though Humphrey can write, he can’t read yet, and that’s another peculiar thing, because with most people it’s the other way. That’s partly why it’s always me that invents the games. I read a nice tortury book, and then tell him about it, and we pretend it through. We did enjoy _The Tower of London_, but the _Pirates of Algiers_ was almost better.

One day we were having a lovely time over this; Humphrey had worked rusty screws into my chest, and had clamped an iron band with spikes round my head, and then he was lashing me with a waxed thong, when all of a sudden he stopped.

“It isn’t any fun,” he said, “because by now you must be dead.”

I told him I wasn’t, and that in the book they lashed the slaves for hours, and he must go on.

He said, “Well, if I’m the torturer, I ought to be allowed to choose the tortures, and I’m a very enervating torturer.” I don’t know exactly what he meant, because he’s fond of using long words that make grown-up people laugh, and then getting sulky. But I _was_ surprised when he went on solemnly, “Slave, go and put your head in the meal-barrel.”

Of course he meant that I was really to do it, because if one is able to do a thing there’s no use in just pretending it; but a nice rage Fräulein would have been in. She’s our governess and I expect she’d have given me extra practising for a week. If there’s one thing I loathe it’s the piano, especially now that Fräulein comes and sits beside me. She used to be in the other room, which is warmer, and just shout out every now and then, “Zu schnell, ein, zwei, drei, vier,” so I could read the book on my lap quite comfortably. The music sounded just the same, and you could shut up your knees quickly if you heard any one coming, but somehow Fräulein discovered it. Well, thinking of the extra practising I should have to do, I said to Humphrey rather crossly, “You’re really too stupid to play with.” Then I walked to the other end of the room.

I forget if I said that all this happened one Sunday when Mother and Father had gone up to town for a lunch party. (Mother hates being away from us like that, especially on a Sunday, but they had to go.) Fräulein had been getting the little ones ready for church, but now they came down and we started almost directly. It was such a lovely day that we took the short cut through the woods; I found some wild roses, quite pink ones, and the paths were all mossy and quiet. I stopped wanting to be cross; woods always do make one feel gooder somehow. It is all so silent and lovely.

In church it was very nice too. We had a most splendid sounding psalm, and “Onward Christian Soldiers,” which is my favourite hymn, and we didn’t stay for the sermon. By the time we got out I was perfectly aching with goodness; I wanted to go away at once and bind up wounded soldiers and things like that.

I was going along planning it all, and how nobly I’d catch fever from a poor drummer-boy and lie beautiful in death with wreaths all around me, when suddenly I remembered what Mother once said about people thinking they’d do great deeds and passing by the duties that are on their path. So, as Humphrey was dawdling behind, because he was cross, I waited for him and asked him if I should tell him some story. This doesn’t sound much but really it was awfully hard, because you don’t know how horrid Humphrey looks when he is sulky. Besides, the little ones are always bothering me to tell them stories, so I get rather sick of it, and Mother said that they must give me a holiday and not even ask me to on Sundays.

Well, Humphrey was certainly very nice; he caught hold of my hand. “Molly,” he said very slowly, and wagging his head like he always does; “Molly, it would be a gweat welief onto my mind to know if Lady Flowence Gwendoline escaped fwom the wobber’s cave, but I’m going to wait till to-mowow.” It’s horrid for him not being able to say his “r’s” properly, when he’s nearly nine and a quarter, and Ted who is only five can talk as if he were grown up. Humph minds so much though, that we pretend not to notice it. Any way I don’t believe it’s a bit of good his putting rubber bands round his tongue, to curl it to the right shape, like we found him in bed one night. He’s been happier, though, since Mother told him we all had our bundles of affliction to carry, and that not being able to say his “r’s” was in his bundle. And if it were heavy, Mother said, he mustn’t grumble, but just step out more bravely. I’m sure, though, it isn’t a bit heavier than having hair that will get untidy, and to stand still and not get impatient while it’s being brushed, is a very difficult sort of stepping out.

All this time Humphrey had been squeezing my hand harder and harder, and now he said, “I’ve thought of a lovely new torture that I know you’ll like. I thought of it all myself in church. It’s cutting off your head and tying it onto a wampant horse and then dancing.”

I didn’t know what to say, because of course he was thinking of Salome, whom we’d had the second lesson about, and Mother doesn’t like us acting things out of the Bible, but just then we saw a bush of burs. We always like to have burs, because they’re so convenient to put in one another’s hair and down people’s backs and nice tortury things of that sort; these, though, grew right in the middle of a bed of nettles. “Disagweable things,” said Humphrey.

But when I saw the nettles I remembered more than ever about the duties on one’s path, and how I’d promised Mother to try and be unselfish, and I thought perhaps this would make up for some of the times I hadn’t been. Besides, I thought how astonished Humphrey would be at my bravery. So I just pretended that I was the Black Prince scaling the walls of Calais, and I dashed into the stinging-nettles. I forgot, though, that the Prince had got his armour on, and we’d gone into summer stockings that day, at least the other three wear socks, but, of course, I’m too old. But by thinking I was Joan of Arc as well, I got the burs, and when I came out Humphrey was so astonished, he couldn’t say anything at all, particularly when I gave them all to him. I didn’t keep a single one.

My legs were hurting dreadfully, so I pulled down my stockings to look, and there were a lot of great white lumps; that was rather nice, because sometimes things are horrid, like earache, with nothing to show for it and all waste. So I sent Humphrey for some dock leaves, but he couldn’t find any, though when you aren’t wanting them, you are always seeing them. He said that if you rubbed on the milk of dandelions with a dead mole’s paw, it would do just as well, but then we hadn’t got a mole, except the one we are trying to tame on the tennis lawn, and he isn’t dead.

Poor Humphrey looked quite unhappy when I told him this. He was quiet for a long time, and then he said, “I’ll go on lashing you with waxed thongs if you like.” I did think that nice of him. Generally if we quarrel, you might cut him up into little bits before he’d say he was wrong.

So I thanked him but I said it didn’t matter, because we must hurry home. On Sundays we have tart for dinner, and if Mother’s at home there is generally cream, and even if Fräulein is stingy about that, I didn’t want to miss the tart, particularly as I knew that it was raspberry. I forgot to explain that if we are late for meals, we don’t have any pudding, at least at breakfast or tea it’s jam, unless there is a very good reason why we couldn’t help it. I dare say if I’d shown Fräulein my lumps on my legs she’d have excused me, but, of course, I wasn’t going to do that; I should have liked the little ones to have seen them though before they went down. They were very large lumps.

It was when we were going along that I had the Great Idea. I was thinking about the tortures, because I knew Humphrey would want to do Salome, unless I could tell him of something else. “We’ll be Christian martyrs,” I said suddenly. “You shall be burnt.”

Humphrey stood still in the middle of the road with his mouth open, like he does when he’s pleased. “When?” he asked at last.

“After dinner,” I said. “Being Sunday makes it all the better. You shall be Latimer-Ridley-and-Hooper and tied to a stake and burnt.”

It really is a convenient thing that Fräulein likes a nap on Sunday; we got rid of the little ones too because it was such a very great secret that we thought Mother wouldn’t mind. Then Humphrey and I crept silently up to the orchard; we are allowed there always, but it seemed to make it nicer to creep. Humphrey brought his dark lantern, but you can’t light it because it drops to pieces, and I believe he was thinking of Guy Fawkes, but he said I couldn’t be sure that Latimer-Ridley-and-Hooper didn’t have a lantern too.

Our orchard is a very nice place; generally the washing is hung there, but, of course, there isn’t any out on Sundays. So we collected a lot of twigs and things and piled them round a clothes-prop, and I stuck in all the burs to prick the martyr’s feet. Then I poured paraffin over it all. I forgot to say that I had brought the can up out of the scullery. When it was all ready I tied Humphrey to the post with some of the clothes-line.

He looked lovely, he really did, just like Latimer-Ridley-and-Hooper. I took off the sailor hat and told him to shut his eyes and say his prayers, while I hit him with things--not hard, of course, that would be horribly mean when he was all tied up, but just pretence. And I kept asking him if he would abjure his faith, because I was Bloody Mary, but he wouldn’t, and then I hit him again. Only in the middle he sneezed and I had to get out his pocket-handkerchief, which spoilt it rather. I don’t know what Latimer-Ridley-and-Hooper did if he wanted to blow his nose.

Well, after some time Humphrey said that he was uncomfortable and must be burnt quick. So I asked him once more if he’d abjure, and then I said in awful tones, “Minion, fire the faggots.”

Of course, I had to be the minion myself, because Humphrey’s hands were tied. We’d brought up a box of matches and I struck one; and now comes the dreadful part. I don’t know how it happened, for I threw the match down quite a long way off; it must have been the paraffin or something, for suddenly the flame ran along the grass and it all began really to blaze.

For the first second we were both so frightened, we didn’t do anything; then Humphrey screamed. I rushed forward and tried to pull him out, but I couldn’t, and I tried to push away the twigs and things, but they only seemed to burn more than ever. All this time I was screaming too in the most curious way and shaking all over though it was so hot. I was just going to run and fetch Mother, because I’d forgotten she was out to lunch, when suddenly the clothes-prop came out of the ground, and Humphrey stumbled forward. When he’d got out of the fire he fell down on his face and wouldn’t speak, so I was more frightened than ever.

They carried Humphrey down to the house, for, of course, I went and fetched Fräulein. He wasn’t crying, he was quite still, which seemed worse. I wanted to go for the doctor, but Fräulein told me I’d done quite enough harm and I’d better keep out of the way. So I went up to the box-room and cried. My only comfort was that my hands were hurting a lot, because they were burnt too, though I hadn’t felt it before. Still I couldn’t pretend to be Casabianca like Humphrey might have, I could only think I was a murderer and going to be hanged, and there wasn’t much comfort even in that.

I don’t know how long I stopped there, but I didn’t have any tea nor supper either, and I cried so that my face felt quite stiff. At last, as it was getting dark, Mother came in. She didn’t see me, but she said my name softly; that made me feel dreadful. So I just sobbed out, “Is he dead like Latimer-Ridley-and-Hooper?”

But suddenly Mother took me up in her arms. “Oh, no, no, my poor little girl,” she said. “He isn’t very badly burnt, he only fainted.” Then she carried me downstairs, just as if I were one of the little ones, and when she saw my hands she quite cried out. She put oil and cotton-wool on to them, and it was lovely, and she brought me some soup and helped me to undress. I felt much happier.

First of all, though, I went in to see Humphrey. He was in bed, and he didn’t look very different. Directly he saw me, he called out, “Do you know that you’ve got seven skins? The doctor told me so; and I’m playing that I’m a wounded fireman in the hospital, but it’s no fun without you.”

I don’t think Latimer-Ridley-and-Hooper could have said anything nicer.

II

SAMSON AND DELILAH

(Reprinted from _Little Folks_ by kind permission)

Boys with long hair are always silly, and Lionel was one of the silliest. I don’t know whether it was having the curls that had done it, or if he had been born stupid, but any way he used to make a most awful fuss if he knocked himself or cut his finger, and he liked to have his hands clean, and cried if you didn’t always play just what he wanted. Another peculiar thing about him was that he seemed to enjoy it, if visitors noticed him or admired his hair, instead of escaping as any of us would have done. Fortunately they don’t pay much attention to us, because our hair is short. At least mine and Humphrey’s is, and though Violet’s has been allowed to grow, it is quite straight, and an ugly sort of lighty brown in colour. As for Teddy, he is only four, so his hair doesn’t count.

Though I’ve spoken of Lionel here by his proper name, we didn’t call him that. It was much too long, and so we christened him “Macassar Oil,” because I discovered that the first part of Lionel written backwards spells oil, and Cousin Florence does put stuff on his hair. She didn’t seem a bit pleased though, when I explained it to her, though I don’t believe she’d have ever thought of it for herself. Cousin Florence is Lionel’s mother, and they’ve always lived in India, so we children had never seen them until they came to stay with us.

It was funny, but though we’d never wanted people to do anything before but leave us alone, we found that we didn’t a bit like it always being Lionel and his curls that every one made such a fuss over. I don’t mean, of course, that Mother was any different, but she was so busy that she couldn’t attend to us much, for there was a dinner party and lots of other things to amuse Cousin Florence, and cook’s temper is always awful. Why, some evenings she couldn’t even come to say good-night to us and tuck us up, (I mean Mother, not cook), and that makes everything seem horrid.

It wasn’t only Lionel that was such a trial, but Cousin Florence was always there too. She said she liked to watch us play, as if we could do anything with a grown-up person looking on, and just at that time we were in the middle of a most exciting game, where Humphrey was my grandfather and very strict and nearly starved and beat me to death. One day we couldn’t stand it any longer, so Humph and I ran off and left Cousin Florence and Lionel. We hid all the afternoon in the cave we’ve discovered, where you have to sit quite doubled up because it’s so small and secret, and it was lovely. But Mother made us promise not to do it again. She said Bayard wouldn’t have done it nor any one like that, because they considered the laws of hospitality to be most sacred, and that they showed politeness to a visitor even if he’d insulted them. So after that we always played with Lionel, but underneath Humph and I had another game all the time, and that helped us. We pretended that we were Knights of the Round Table, and that Lionel was the Unwelcome Guest, who had to be courteously entreated; we said “please” and “thank you” to him in almost every sentence. Really that was the only game at which Lionel was much good, for he didn’t seem to understand pretending at all, so he always had to act a passing gentleman or some silly thing of that sort. He couldn’t even be a regiment of soldiers properly.

Any one would think that things were bad enough like this, but it was much worse when Macassar Oil’s grandmother came to stay too. She wasn’t any relation of ours really, but she told us to call her Aunt Arabella, and so we did, although we didn’t want to. I didn’t like her from the first, though I never guessed that she’d take to watching us as well as Cousin Florence. But the most insulting part was that we found out they did it because they didn’t like to leave Lionel alone with us. They said that we were so rough and would hurt him or something, just because Humphrey once knocked him down, and as Lionel is eleven months older, I’m sure he ought to have been ashamed not to be able to take care of himself. Besides that was before Mother told us about Bayard. Another horrid thing that Cousin Florence and Aunt Arabella did, was always to make out that Lionel had won in races, and if Fräulein, our governess, was there, she was just as bad, and they didn’t seem to think it dreadful when Lionel cheated or anything, but only said to one another, in French, how sweet he looked with his golden hair and things like that.

Well, we tried to bear it and be good--we really did. It was most unlucky that just the day when I was feeling particularly cross with Lionel, because he’d gone in to lunch with the grown-ups, and Humph and I were too untidy, that I happened to see the picture of Samson in the old scrap-book. I won’t tell you more about it now, because you’ll understand better further on, but it was that picture that put the whole thing into my head.

I’d better say at once that of course we knew that what we meant to do was naughty, though we pretended to ourselves that it wasn’t; but we really didn’t know _how_ naughty it was until Mother told us afterwards. Besides, we didn’t wait to let ourselves think, which Mother says is always a mistake, for it was directly after lunch that it all happened.

I don’t think I’ve said that in the afternoon Lionel always went to sleep; he really does just as if he were a baby, only on hot days Cousin Florence sometimes puts a rug and cushions and things for him in the garden. Then every one used to leave him, for we children were only too glad to get away, and so they didn’t think they need watch over him any more.

That afternoon it was very warm, and it all went most conveniently. Instead of going up to the orchard though, as we generally did when Lionel rested, we hid in the laurel bushes. Then as soon as Cousin Florence had gone into the house I crept out. Lionel was still awake, and I made him put his head on my knees. I felt rather mean at that part, but it couldn’t be helped, for that’s what Delilah really did, and Lionel didn’t mind, because he likes any one to cuddle him, instead of only his mother like most people. Then I sat quite still though I got the most awful pins and needles in my left foot.

At last he went to sleep and I called “Man, Man,” softly, and Humphrey came wriggling along the grass, like we’d planned.

“Shave off the seven locks of Samson’s head,” I whispered, but then I saw that Humph had brought father’s razor because it said “shave,” so I told him not to be so silly, but to run and fetch a pair of scissors.

Humphrey was very quick, I will say that, and Lionel didn’t stir, so the exciting part could begin. Humph was the lords of the Philistines now, of course, and I took the scissors. And then--it was dreadful I know--I really cut off Lionel’s curls!

Lionel never woke, and the scissors went snip, snip, most beautifully. I did enjoy it, because I thought so hard about its being Samson and Delilah that I couldn’t remember it was naughty. At last the curls were all off, and though the hair wasn’t very even, not like the barber does it, because it was most difficult, still it was beautifully short in places. Humph had been looking on almost too astonished to speak, but when I jumped up and cried, “The Philistines be upon thee, Samson,” he rushed at Lionel like I’d told him to.

Lionel, though, spoilt it all. He always does. He wouldn’t do anything that was proper, nor have his eyes put out, but just began to howl. He howled and howled, and Cousin Florence and Mother and Father and everybody came tearing out of the house. They all spoke at once, and cried out that Lionel’s appearance was spoilt, and all sorts of things, and certainly, now that I saw him properly, he did look rather bad, and quite ugly. The astonishing part was that they seemed almost as cross with Lionel as with us, though I kept explaining that he’d been asleep all the time, for that was only fair. Finally Father sent Humph and me to our rooms very angrily.

But I didn’t mind that, like I did Mother’s coming up that evening and talking to me. It was dreadful. She said that she was disappointed in me and not only had I been rude to guests myself, but I’d made her and Father seem rude; and she told me that Cousin Florence and Lionel were going away early in the morning, so what I’d done had practically driven them out of the house. But the worst was when she said that she had trusted me to look after the others, because I was the eldest, and to be a help to her, but now she found that she couldn’t, and that she must ask Fräulein to always stop with us. I began to wish that I could be dead.

At last, though, Mother forgave me. And she said that if I was very good for a long time, then her confidence in me would come back again, and so I’m going to be. And I’m never going to be Delilah again, never, because I see now how wicked she was to cut off any one’s hair without first asking her mother.

III

VIOLET’S VISIT

The most astonishing part was its being Violet who was naughty and not me. I forget if I’ve said anything about Violet, but the little ones don’t count very much, for Ted is almost a baby, and Violet sits all day making doll’s clothes. Violet is seven, her birthday was in July, and she has straight, lighty-brown hair; I think her eyes are brown too, but she isn’t particularly dark like me, nor fair like Ted. She isn’t particularly anything, except good-tempered, and that she is tremendously. I expect it’s because she’s rather fat, because all the rest of us are “lean kine,” and we certainly aren’t very good-tempered, although we don’t all have it in the same way. Humphrey gets sulky and doesn’t speak at all, and Ted runs round and round the room slapping the chairs and saying, “Beast, beast, beast, beast,” as quickly as ever he can. As for me, when I get cross, I want to go away alone, and if I can’t, I’d like to slap the others, which is worse than chairs, only I don’t do it because it makes Mother unhappy; I believe it hurts her more than them.

The curiousest part of Violet is that the things she is told to do are always the things she likes, so she must be an “_Engel Kind_,” as Fräulein says. And when once she is told a thing, she remembers it for ever; she’d make a simply splendid Casabianca. Humphrey and I always think that, however much we’d been told to sit still and not wriggle, when we saw the fire coming, we’d have forgotten all about it, and we’d have jumped up and tried to put it out. It doesn’t seem as if it ought to have been very difficult with all that water around, and I dare say the Father would have been just as pleased really as if we’d all been burnt.

So you can understand now how astonished we were at Violet’s being naughty, though perhaps what she did wasn’t naughtiness exactly, but too much goodness, which seems to be nearly as bad. I’ve been wondering since if goodness isn’t Violet’s besetting sin, but I suppose it can’t be really. It’s something like being too punctual, I think. Father used to tell us that the Duke of Wellington owed his success in life to always being half an hour too early, but all I can say is, it’s lucky he didn’t have our Fräulein. One day we tried it, because there’d been such a lot of fuss about my being late for breakfast, so I got up exactly half an hour before we were called, and of course I made the others get up too. Well, when Fräulein came in, she simply stormed and said I was a “_Dummkopf_,” and did I want to give Teddy croup playing in a room without a fire? She set me half an hour’s extra practising too; so that just shows.

This all hasn’t anything to do with Violet’s scrape; that wasn’t my fault in the least, no one said it was, not even Fräulein. If it was anybody’s fault, it was Mother’s, because she hates paying calls. I should feel just the same if I were her, because it’s perfectly horrid having on your best clothes; you can’t climb trees, nor hang by your legs nor do anything interesting, but Humphrey says he shall go calling all day when he’s grown up, so as to get scones and things for tea. Humphrey has got an awfully sweet tooth, and he is rather greedy besides. Another thing he says is that he doesn’t mind whom he marries, but he has settled to have a most enormous wedding-cake, and to cut it himself. I like wedding-cake too, but I don’t care about it as much as all that, and I’d sooner be a widow, of course.

Well, to go on about Violet. How it all started was that one evening Father said to Mother, “You’ve never called on those Crespignys who’ve come to live at Boscombe Park. You really must, you know, dear.”

“I don’t feel very attracted by them,” Mother said, and she laughed.

But Father said it was no good being rude to people, and that the Crespignys were new comers, so Mother ought to leave cards this week.

“Very well,” Mother said, “only I shall be glad when Molly and Violet are able to pay my calls for me.”

“Well, it’s to be hoped Molly will discontinue her practice of smashing people’s best crockery and spilling tea over their plush sofas,” but, of course, I rushed at Father for saying that. It is a shame. I only once dropped a plate when I was out calling, and once I upset my cup, but the people happened to be awfully fussy, and Mother said I mustn’t pay visits any more. I’m sure it wasn’t my fault that they had velvet chairs, and no one seems to remember that it isn’t pleasant sitting there with scalding tea trickling down your legs, and never say a word, like the Spartan boy.

In the middle of the commotion, because Father started tickling me when I punched him, Violet said suddenly, “Can’t I go and call on the Crespignys now?” We were most astonished because Violet is so shy she generally cries if she has to see strangers, so I thought it was just to show she’d be allowed to, because she doesn’t upset things like me, and I said very crossly--

“Oh, we all know you are a saint without your telling us.”

I felt sorry directly afterwards, because Violet got quite red and I ought to have remembered that she’s very little and doesn’t understand much besides dolls, so I got out Aytoun’s Lays and stuffed my fingers into my ears to show I didn’t care at all. All the same I could hear them talking, and Mother said to Violet--

“Never mind, dear, I know it wasn’t that. You shall go to call on the Crespignys if your new dress comes home this week, my good little girl.”

Mother was pleased, because she is always telling Violet she must conquer her shyness, and she thought she was trying to. As for me, I felt horrid.

It was the very next day that Mother got ill, and that made us forget about the Crespignys and everything. Mother isn’t very strong, and she often has to stay in bed, but this was much worse than usual and we weren’t allowed to see her for days. The one nice thing was that Fräulein was in with Mother nearly all the time, so there was nobody to bother us and we could do lots of nice things. We children used even to have tea alone; we did like it. I used to pour out, and there were no fines or anything if we spilt things on the cloth. Certainly it did get into rather a mess, but that was mostly because Humphrey would drink his milk up a bit of macaroni like the gentlemen do at Father’s club, only they use a straw. Cook was so nice too, she used to send us up hot buttered toast, and it was all most lovely, except, of course, Mother’s being ill, which spoilt everything. That was almost too horrid to bear, especially when one went to bed.

It was the night that cook was kindest of all and gave us real tea, that Violet wasn’t there. I remember it quite well, because we were so astonished to see cook bringing up the teapot instead of our just having a jug of milk, but she said a drop would liven us up in a house of trouble. It is a pity cook can’t always live in houses of trouble, it makes her so much nicer. Humphrey was particularly pleased, because he said he’d always been wanting to try an experiment of putting the milk and sugar into the pot and drinking out of the spout in turns. I couldn’t let him do it though until after we’d had first cups, else there wouldn’t have been any honour in my being Pourer Out at all.

We’d been wondering where Violet was ever since tea came, for generally she’s the only one of us who is punctual except Teddy, and Fräulein washes his hands so he can’t help it. I thought she couldn’t know, so at last I sent Humph to tell her, though he was rather cross and would only go after we’d said three times “Certain true, black and blue, lay me down and cut me in two,” that we wouldn’t touch his toast. We didn’t like to shout for Violet, you see, because of Mother.

Well, Humph was gone a long time, because he always takes longer over everything than you’d think a person possibly could, and when he came back he said he couldn’t find Violet. I wasn’t surprised at that and I went myself expecting that I’d see her directly, but I didn’t. I hunted everywhere, but I couldn’t find any sign of her, until at last when I went into our bedroom again, I noticed that the string had been taken off the box in which her new dress had come from the dressmaker’s. I opened it, and her new dress had gone, so had her best hat and coat! We remembered then that we hadn’t seen her all the afternoon. It was most astonishing.

I didn’t know what to do; I really didn’t. It was quite dark outside by now so I thought Violet must have gone out and got lost, and I began to plan about their bringing her home dead, but I didn’t want to tell people and get her into a scrape, besides, Fräulein was in Mother’s room. It didn’t seem either as if Violet could have done anything so dreadfully naughty as to go out alone and get killed, besides wearing her best clothes on a week-day.

We’d finished tea by now, and we put crumbs and things in Violet’s place to pretend she’d been there, but I wouldn’t let Humph upset her cup, because Violet is so tidy it wouldn’t have looked more real at all, and he only wanted to because he thought it would be so lovely to spill things on purpose. About six o’clock Father came in and I was just going to tell him, but the first thing he said was, “Why, where’s little Mrs. Roundabout?” He calls Violet that because she is so fat.

Father was as surprised as any of us when he heard she was lost, but he didn’t think she could have gone out. “Nonsense,” he said, “she must have gone to sleep in some corner,” as if anybody except babies and grown-ups would go to sleep in the daytime. However, we searched the house all over again. It was rather nice at first, only then I thought of the Princes in the Tower and I was afraid I’d find her body mouldering in the boot cupboard or somewhere, but we didn’t see anything at all. Then Father and Stubbins (he is the gardener) searched all over the garden with lanterns like in a book, but they didn’t find anything there either. After that, they came in again and Father told Stubbins to go to the village and make inquiries at every cottage, and he was just getting ready himself to bicycle round to all the people we know, when suddenly the front door opened--and there was Violet.

She didn’t look a bit naughty, that was what surprised me most. She was just smiling to herself like she does sometimes in church, and she’d got on her best things, like I thought, and Mother’s black _moiré_ parasol in one hand and her ivory card case in the other and the plush case with the opera glasses over her arm. I think Father was all the crosser because she looked so pleased. Anyway he almost shouted out, “Where on earth have you been, turning the whole house upside down? Upon my word it’s perfectly intolerable!”

Well, after that it wasn’t any good talking any more, for Violet began to cry, and when she once starts she goes on and on for hours and can’t understand anything. Father asked her where she’d been about a hundred times but she wouldn’t answer, so at last he marched off, telling her to go upstairs and that she wasn’t to come down until she’d apologised.

I did wish Mother was there; she’d have made it all nice at once. I remembered though about being the eldest, and I tried to think of the kind of things Mother would have done, so I took Violet’s hand and we went upstairs together. When we got to the schoolroom I sat down in the big armchair and I managed to drag Violet on to my lap, and I took off her boots and hugged her and told Humph to try and get some bread and jam out of cook because that makes you feel a lot less miserable. Violet was still crying, but I sat there, though my arms began to feel as if they’d drop off, when at last she sobbed out, “I thought everybody would be so pleased, and Mother said I was to.” She wouldn’t say anything else but just that over and over again, crying all the time, so, of course, I couldn’t understand, but I just went on kissing her and didn’t talk, like Mother does. It had never been so easy to be nice to Violet before.

It seemed a long time before Humph brought the bread and jam, but when he did it was strawberry jam, which was particularly lucky because it’s Violet’s favourite. I told Humph he’d better go away again, and then at last Violet stopped crying, and so I said to her, “But what was it Mother said you were to do?”

Violet looked quite surprised, “Why go and call on the Crespignys, of course. She partic’ly said I was to, if my new dress came home.”

I nearly let her roll off my lap. She’d almost been doing it the whole time because she’s so fat, but now she nearly went quite because I was so astonished. I’d have thought she was making it up, if it had been one of the others, but Violet never pretends. “How ever did you get there?” I said.

I could hardly believe it when she said she’d walked; it’s more than three miles each way, and I don’t think even I have ever walked as far as that. “Weren’t you very frightened?” I asked.

I don’t know if I ought to put the next bit, but it truthfully isn’t bragging because it is what Violet answered: “I thought I’d try and be brave like you,” she said.

Of course, after that I hugged her again and she went on telling me more.

“I _was_ dreadfully frightened when I got to the house and went up the big steps. So I shut my eyes and said, ‘Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,’ and at the Amen I jumped and pulled the bell. It made a dreadfully loud ring and almost at once the door opened and there were two gentlemen with white hair but quite young-looking faces and such pretty clothes. Oh Molly, I shall dress Rhoderigo William Wallace like that with beautiful red plush knickerbockers and----”

“Go on,” I said, because I was most interested; it seemed just like in a story.

“Well, I said to one of the gentlemen, ‘Please is Mrs. Crespigny indoors because I’ve come to pay a call on her?’ So he said, ‘Yes, her ladyship is at home, but who might you be, Miss?’ I told him my name was Violet, and that my Mother didn’t want to come, besides being ill, and then I handed him Mother’s card case that I’d filled with visiting cards of my own, like those you wrote for the guinea-pig. He took one out and gave it to the other gentleman, saying, ‘John, go and ask her ladyship.’ That is what they called Mrs. Crespigny, so I knew she must be really a princess and that that was why she had such beautiful servants.

“There was a lot of laughing somewhere, but presently Mr. John came back and said, ‘Walk this way, Miss,’ so I followed him into a big room, where there were lots of people, but, oh Molly, they didn’t have crowns on or satin dresses, or anything, they had partic’ly ugly clothes, and all the ladies wore things just like gentlemen, only not trousers; Mr. John was the only beautiful one there.

“I was just looking round because there seemed to be such lots and lots of people, when a lady came up, I think it was Mrs. Crespigny, and she said in rather a cross way, ‘So you’ve come to call on me because your Mother doesn’t care to,’ and so I said ‘Yes,’ and every one laughed, I don’t know why. I stood there and I didn’t know what to do until I remembered Mother telling some one that at calls the ladies talked about the weather and babies from the time she went into the room to the time she came out, so I said ‘Good morning, your ladyship. It is a lovely day. Have you got any babies?’

“Well, I don’t see how I could help it, because I couldn’t talk about her babies without knowing if she’d got any, but everybody looked as if I’d said something naughty, and Mrs. Crespigny went right away very angrily, and just at that minute Mother’s parasol dropped with a great clatter, so I thought Mrs. Crespigny would be really cross, and when I picked it up, the opera glasses dropped too. It was dreadful. One gentleman said, ‘Allow me,’ and he put them over my arm again just as if I’d been grown up, and I began to feel a little better, only then he said, ‘Won’t you give me a kiss?’ I said, ‘No, thank you,’ and they all laughed again.

“There’d been a lady standing near, a very funny lady with a whip in her hand, and quite a short skirt, and short hair too, and gaiters like Father’s; and she said all at once, ‘Dash it all! leave the kid alone and give it some grub.’ She truthfully did, and she was quite grown up; but perhaps her mother had never told her she oughtn’t to use bad words like that.

“This lady was kind, though she was so funny. She got me some milk, because Mother never said I might have tea when I went calling, though I did want it, ’specially as lots of people were having it so funnily in teeny-weeny little glasses without any milk or sugar; and the lady got me a nice little pink cake too. Then she sat down beside me and asked me why I’d come, and she hardly seemed to believe it when I told her Mother had said I could go and pay calls instead of her now. She asked me about the opera glasses too, so I said I knew people took them when they went out, but I hadn’t been sure about calls, only I thought it was a good thing always to be on the safe side, like Jane says. The funny lady asked me who Jane was, and I said, ‘Our housemaid,’ and the funny lady said it was a wise rule, although perhaps opera glasses were not very customary when calling.

“Just at this minute I looked up, and I saw a most ’stonishing thing. A lady was holding a cigarette, and a gentleman was striking a match to light it. The gentleman saw me looking and he began to laugh, and he called out, ‘Take care, or that little girl’s eyes will drop out of her head with fright.’ Then he said, ‘Haven’t you ever seen a lady smoke before?’ and I said, ‘No ladies ever do smoke,’ and they all laughed again, I don’t know why. They seemed to be always laughing.

“The clock struck then, and that made me think of the time, so I asked them if I’d been there twenty minutes yet, because I’d forgotten to look when I came in. I’d asked Father yesterday how long people ought to stay at calls, and he told me he believed twenty minutes was the correct time. One gentleman said I’d been in the room twenty-one minutes, fifteen seconds and three-quarters, so I went out quickly. I didn’t know if I ought to shake hands with Mr. John and the other beautiful one at the door, but I had such a lot of things to carry I thought they’d excuse me, so I just said goodbye. That’s all. It was such a long way home I thought it would never come. It was such a very long way.”

Wasn’t that astonishing? I hadn’t interrupted Violet, because I wanted to hear it all, though of course I knew that she’d made a mistake, and that Mother had never meant that she should go and call on the Crespignys alone. It was no good saying anything when she’d finished because she was nearly asleep, so I just went and helped her to go to bed.

Then I went down and told Father. I tried to tell him exactly what Violet had said, and he simply roared with laughter. I didn’t think it was funny myself, but just like a story; and I do think Violet was very brave. Father went up at once to forgive her and say good-night, but she was too sleepy to understand anything except that it was all right.

Violet didn’t go calling any more, but the very next Christmas a most lovely mother-of-pearl card case came for her, with her initials on, which just shows that if you really try to be good it is nice in the end. When Mother saw it, she said she thought the funny lady must have sent it, the one who talked bad words, but Violet always believes it was a present from Mr. John. She has made Rhoderigo William Wallace a pair of red velvet knickerbockers out of a bit from Fräulein’s old bonnet, and they are most beautiful, except that he can’t sit down. Perhaps that is why Mr. John never did either.

IV

THE WHIPPING OF TEDDY

We were all sitting so happily one evening when Mother told us. She had been reading aloud to us, as she always does on Sundays after tea, and it was the _Water-Babies_. It is a most lovely story, and makes you want to drown dreadfully, but we had just got to the end. “That’s all,” Mother said, and shut the book. Then she stopped a minute. “Chicks, Mother has got to go a long journey too, to the Other-end-of-Nowhere, like little Tom.”

Well, we all thought Mother was joking, and we laughed. Teddy was sitting on her lap, because he is the littlest, and we all snuggle down on the rug around. The Dustman had come to him rather, because it was past his bedtime, only he stays up later on Sundays. “Teddy going to the Other-end-of-Nowhere,” he said, in a very sleepy way.

We all laughed again at that. “Yes, and Mother is Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby,” Humphrey said. Mother didn’t answer.

“Are we really going away, Mother?” I asked.

I looked up then, and I was most astonished. Mother’s eyes were full of tears. “Little Tom had to go alone,” she said, “and poor Mother must go alone too, without her Water-babies.”

All at once I got frightened. I clutched Mother’s hand hard and sat still. I didn’t seem able to speak at all. “But how long for, Mother?” Humph asked. “Fwee days?” Because Mother does sometimes go away from Friday to Monday with Father, although we all grumble very much.

We couldn’t see Mother’s face at all, for she was kissing Teddy’s head. He was quite asleep by now. “No, for a much longer time than that,” she said; “for more than three months--for the whole winter.”

“Oh no, no, no!” Humph and Violet called out; but I still couldn’t speak. I seemed to have expected it somehow. “But why, Mother, why?” Humphrey said. “We haven’t been very naughty.”

Then Mother told us. She said that when she was so ill last month (the time that Violet went calling all alone) our doctor had said that he thought she mustn’t be in England for the cold weather. And yesterday, when she went up to London with Father, she had been to see a very great doctor, and he had said just the same, and that she must start off almost directly.

“But take us, take us too, Mother,” Humph begged. Still I couldn’t say anything.

“I can’t, my little son, I can’t. We aren’t rich enough. It is difficult for Father even to find the money for Mother to go alone.”

“Think how nice it will be when I come back again,” Mother said presently. “It will be getting summer, and we’ll go for lovely picnics in the woods. And there will be surprises in my box, such surprises for each one of you!”

“Mother going away for two, five, six, a million years!” Teddy shouted suddenly. He clapped his hands and laughed as if it were something nice.

Well, I couldn’t help it; it seemed more than one could bear. “Be quiet, you hateful, horrid idiot!” I said. “If you are glad Mother is going, every one isn’t.”

“Hush, hush, Molly!” Mother said. “Teddy is so little, he doesn’t understand.” She laid her hand on my head. Then no one said anything for a long time. Violet had started off to cry, and Humph was crying too, though he pretended he wasn’t, so he wouldn’t blow his nose, but kept on kind of snorting. It couldn’t have been that his handkerchief was dirty, because it was Sunday. As for me, I was behind Mother’s chair, and no one could see me. Teddy was the only happy one; he’d gone to sleep again.

“Oh, children, children!” all at once Mother said. “Don’t make it harder for me. Mother hates to go.”

Well, I hadn’t thought about it that way before. There was Mother going all alone, and at least I’d got the Count of Aulon, (he’s my rat), besides the others.

“You’ll--you’ll get quite strong there, Mother, won’t you? and be able to run races and--and all sorts of things, when you come back?” My voice was hardly funny at all.

But suddenly Mother began to cry; she really did. “My little ones! oh, my ‘preshun cats!’” she whispered. That’s what we like her to call us when we are very cuddly. And for a minute we all sort of cried together.