The Wouldbegoods (18 page)

‘I can’t help it,’ he said, ‘we didn’t kill it, and that’s all there is to it.’

The white-whiskered magistrate may have been master of the fox-hounds, but he was not master of his temper, which is more important, I should think, than a lot of beastly dogs.

He said several words which Oswald would never repeat, much less in his own conversing, and besides that he called us ‘obstinate little beggars’.

Then suddenly Albert’s uncle entered in the midst of a silence freighted with despairing reflections. The M.F.H. got up and told his tale: it was mainly lies, or, to be more polite, it was hardly any of it true, though I supposed he believed it.

‘I am very sorry, sir,’ said Albert’s uncle, looking at the bullets. ‘You’ll excuse my asking for the children’s version?’

‘Oh, certainly, sir, certainly,’ fuming, the fox-hound magistrate replied.

Then Albert’s uncle said, ‘Now Oswald, I know I can trust you to speak the exact truth.’

So Oswald did.

Then the white-whiskered fox-master laid the bullets before Albert’s uncle, and I felt this would be a trial to his faith far worse than the rack or the thumbscrew in the days of the Armada.

And then Denny came in. He looked at the fox on the table.

‘You found it, then?’ he said.

The M.F.H. would have spoken but Albert’s uncle said, ‘One moment, Denny; you’ve seen this fox before?’

‘Rather,’ said Denny; ‘I –’

But Albert’s uncle said, ‘Take time. Think before you speak and say the exact truth. No, don’t whisper to
Oswald. This boy,’ he said to the injured fox-master, ‘has been with me since seven this morning. His tale, whatever it is, will be independent evidence.’

But Denny would not speak, though again and again Albert’s uncle told him to.

‘I can’t till I’ve asked Oswald something,’ he said at last. White Whiskers said, ‘That looks bad – eh?’

But Oswald said, ‘Don’t whisper, old chap. Ask me whatever you like, but speak up.’

So Denny said, ‘I can’t without breaking the secret oath.’

So then Oswald began to see, and he said, ‘Break away for all you’re worth, it’s all right.’

And Denny said, drawing relief’s deepest breath, ‘Well then, Oswald and I have got a pistol – shares – and I had it last night. And when I couldn’t sleep last night because of the toothache I got up and went out early this morning. And I took the pistol. And I loaded it just for fun. And down in the wood I heard a whining like a dog, and I went, and there was the poor fox caught in an iron trap with teeth. And I went to let it out and it bit me – look, here’s the place – and the pistol went off and the fox died, and I am so sorry.’

‘But why didn’t you tell the others?’

‘They weren’t awake when I went to the dentist’s.’

‘But why didn’t you tell your uncle if you’ve been with him all the morning?’

‘It was the oath,’ H.O. said –

White Whiskers actually grinned.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I see it was an accident, my boy.’ Then he turned to us and said – ‘I owe you an apology for doubting your word – all of you. I hope it’s accepted.’

We said it was all right and he was to never mind.

But all the same we hated him for it. He tried to make up for his unbelievingness afterwards by asking Albert’s uncle to shoot rabbits; but we did not really forgive him till the day when he sent the fox’s brush to Alice, mounted in silver with a note about her plucky conduct in standing by her brothers.

We got a lecture about not playing with firearms, but no punishment, because our conduct had not been exactly sinful, Albert’s uncle said, but merely silly.

The pistol and the cartridges were confiscated.

I hope the house will never be attacked by burglars. When it is, Albert’s uncle will only have himself to thank if we are rapidly overpowered, because it will be his fault that we shall have to meet them totally unarmed, and be their almost unresisting prey.

chapter ten

the sale of antiquities

It began one morning at breakfast. It was the 15th of August – the birthday of Napoleon the Great, Oswald Bastable, and another very nice writer. Oswald was to keep his birthday on the Saturday, so that his Father could be there. A birthday when there are only many happy returns is a little like Sunday or Christmas Eve. Oswald had a birthday card or two – that was all; but he did not repine, because he knew they always make it up to you for putting off keeping your birthday, and he looked forward to Saturday.

Albert’s uncle had a whole stack of letters as usual, and presently he tossed one over to Dora, and said, ‘What do you say, little lady? Shall we let them come?’

But Dora, butter-fingered as ever, missed the catch, and Dick and Noel both had a try for it, so that the letter went into the place where the bacon had been, and where now only a frozen-looking lake of bacon fat was slowly hardening, and then somehow it got into the marmalade, and then H.O. got it, and Dora said –

‘I don’t want the nasty thing now – all grease and stickiness.’

So H.O. read it aloud –

H.O. stuck fast here, and the writing was really very bad, like a spider that has been in the ink-pot crawling in a hurry over the paper without stopping to rub its feet properly on the mat. So Oswald took the letter. He is above minding a little marmalade or bacon. He began to read. It ran thus:

‘It’s not Antiquities, you little silly,’ he said; ‘it’s Antiquaries.’

‘The other’s a very good word,’ said Albert’s uncle, ‘and I never call names at breakfast myself – it upsets the digestion, my egregious Oswald.’

‘That’s a name though,’ said Alice, ‘and you got it out of
Stalky
, too. Go on, Oswald.’

So Oswald went on where he had been interrupted:

‘Just so,’ said Albert’s uncle; ‘well, shall we permit the eye of the Maidstone Antiquities to profane these sacred solitudes, and the foot of the Field Club to kick up a dust on our gravel?’

‘Our gravel is all grass,’ H.O. said.

And the girls said, ‘Oh, do let them come!’

It was Alice who said – ‘Why not ask them to tea? They’ll be very tired coming all the way from Maidstone.’

‘Would you really like it?’ Albert’s uncle asked. ‘I’m afraid they’ll be but dull dogs, the Antiquities, stuffy old gentlemen with amphorae in their buttonholes instead of orchids, and pedigrees poking out of all their pockets.’

We laughed – because we knew what an amphorae is. If you don’t you might look it up in the dicker. It’s not a flower, though it sounds like one out of the gardening book, the kind you never hear of anyone growing.

Dora said she thought it would be splendid.

‘And we could have out the best china,’ she said, ‘and decorate the table with flowers. We could have tea in the garden. We’ve never had a party since we’ve been here.’

‘I warn you that your guests may be boresome; however, have it your own way,’ Albert’s uncle said; and he went off to write the invitation to tea to the Maidstone Antiquities. I know that is the wrong word but somehow we all used it whenever we spoke of them, which was often.

In a day or two Albert’s uncle came in to tea with a lightly clouded brow.

‘You’ve let me in for a nice thing,’ he said. ‘I asked the Antiquities to tea, and I asked casually how many we might expect. I thought we might need at least the full dozen of the best teacups. Now the secretary writes accepting my kind invitation –’

‘Oh, good!’ we cried. ‘And how many are coming?’

‘Oh, only about sixty,’ was the groaning rejoinder. ‘Perhaps more, should the weather be exceptionally favourable.’

Though stunned at first, we presently decided that we were pleased.

We had never, never given such a big party.

The girls were allowed to help in the kitchen, where Mrs Pettigrew made cakes all day long without stopping. They did not let us boys be there, though I cannot see any harm in putting your finger in a cake before it is baked, and then licking your finger, if you are careful to put a different finger in the cake next time. Cake before it is baked is delicious – like a sort of cream.

Albert’s uncle said he was the prey of despair. He drove in to Maidstone one day. When we asked him where he was going, he said –

‘To get my hair cut: if I keep it this length I shall certainly tear it out by double handfuls in the extremity
of my anguish every time I think of those innumerable Antiquities.’

But we found out afterwards that he really went to borrow china and things to give the Antiquities their tea out of; though he did have his hair cut too, because he is the soul of truth and honour.

Oswald had a very good sort of birthday, with bows and arrows as well as other presents. I think these were meant to make up for the pistol that was taken away after the adventure of the fox-hunting. These gave us boys something to do between the birthday-keeping, which was on the Saturday, and the Wednesday when the Antiquities were to come.

We did not allow the girls to play with the bows and arrows, because they had the cakes that we were cut off from: there was little or no unpleasantness over this.

On the Tuesday we went down to look at the Roman place where the Antiquities were going to dig. We sat on the Roman wall and ate nuts. And as we sat there, we saw coming through the beet-field two labourers with picks and shovels, and a very young man with thin legs and a bicycle. It turned out afterwards to be a freewheel, the first we had ever seen.

They stopped at a mound inside the Roman wall, and the men took their coats off and spat on their hands.

We went down at once, of course. The thin-legged bicyclist explained his machine to us very fully and carefully when we asked him, and then we saw the men were cutting turfs and turning them over and rolling them up and putting them in a heap. So we asked the gentleman with the thin legs what they were doing. He said –

‘They are beginning the preliminary excavation in readiness for tomorrow.’

‘What’s up tomorrow?’ H.O. asked.

‘Tomorrow we propose to open this barrow and examine it.’

‘Then
you’re
the Antiquities?’ said H.O.

‘I’m the secretary,’ said the gentleman, smiling, but narrowly.

‘Oh, you’re all coming to tea with us,’ Dora said, and added anxiously, ‘how many of you do you think there’ll be?’

‘Oh, not more than eighty or ninety, I should think,’ replied the gentleman.

This took our breath away and we went home. As we went, Oswald, who notices many things that would pass unobserved by the light and careless, saw Denny frowning hard. So he said, ‘What’s up?’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ the Dentist said. ‘Let’s call a council.’ The Dentist had grown quite used to our ways now. We had called him Dentist ever since the fox hunt day. He called a council as if he had been used to calling such things all his life, and having them come, too; whereas we all know that his former existing was that of a white mouse in a trap, with that cat of a Murdstone aunt watching him through the bars.

(That is what is called a figure of speech. Albert’s uncle told me.)

Councils are held in the straw loft. As soon as we were all there, and the straw had stopped rustling after our sitting down, Dicky said –

‘I hope it’s nothing to do with the Wouldbegoods?’

‘No,’ said Denny in a hurry: ‘quite the opposite.’

‘I hope it’s nothing wrong,’ said Dora and Daisy together.

‘It’s – it’s “Hail to thee, blithe spirit – bird thou never wert”,’ said Denny. ‘I mean, I think it’s what is called a lark.’

‘You never know your luck. Go on, Dentist,’ said Dicky.

‘Well, then, do you know a book called
The Daisy Chain
?’

We didn’t.

‘It’s by Miss Charlotte M. Yonge,’ Daisy interrupted, ‘and it’s about a family of poor motherless children who tried so hard to be good, and they were confirmed, and had a bazaar, and went to church at the Minster, and one of them got married and wore black watered silk and silver ornaments. So her baby died, and then she was sorry she had not been a good mother to it. And –’ Here Dicky got up and said he’d got some snares to attend to, and he’d receive a report of the Council after it was over. But he only got as far as the trapdoor, and then Oswald, the fleet of foot, closed with him, and they rolled together on the floor, while all the others called out ‘Come back! Come back!’ like guinea hens on a fence.

Through the rustle and bustle and hustle of the struggle with Dicky, Oswald heard the voice of Denny murmuring one of his everlasting quotations –

‘“Come back, come back!” he cried in Greek, “Across the stormy water, And I’ll forgive your Highland cheek, My daughter, O my daughter!”’

When quiet was restored and Dicky had agreed to go through with the Council, Denny said –

‘
The Daisy Chain
is not a bit like that really. It’s a ripping book. One of the boys dresses up like a lady and comes to call, and another tries to hit his little sister with a hoe. It’s jolly fine, I tell you.’

Denny is learning to say what he thinks, just like other boys. He would never have learnt such words as ‘ripping’ and ‘jolly fine’ while under the auntal tyranny.

Since then I have read
The Daisy Chain
. It is a first-rate book for girls and little boys.

But we did not want to talk about
The Daisy Chain
just then, so Oswald said –

‘But what’s your lark?’ Denny got pale pink and said –

‘Don’t hurry me. I’ll tell you directly. Let me think a minute.’

Then he shut his pale pink eyelids a moment in thought, and then opened them and stood up on the straw and said very fast – ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears, or if not ears, pots. You know Albert’s uncle said they were going to open the barrow, to look for Roman remains tomorrow. Don’t you think it seems a pity they shouldn’t find any?’

‘Perhaps they will,’ Dora said.

But Oswald saw, and he said ‘Primus! Go ahead, old man.’

The Dentist went ahead.

‘In
The Daisy Chain
,’ he said, ‘they dug in a Roman encampment and the children went first and put some pottery there they’d made themselves, and Harry’s old medal of the Duke of Wellington. The doctor helped
them to some stuff to partly efface the inscription, and all the grown-ups were sold. I thought we might –

Denny sat down amid applause. It really was a great idea, at least for
him
. It seemed to add just what was wanted to the visit of the Maidstone Antiquities. To sell the Antiquities thoroughly would be indeed splendiferous. Of course Dora made haste to point out that we had not got an old medal of the Duke of Wellington, and that we hadn’t any doctor who would ‘help us to stuff to efface’, and etcetera; but we sternly bade her stow it. We weren’t going to do
exactly
like those Daisy Chain kids.