The Tale of Lal

by Raymond Paton

  CHAPTER V

  THE WRITER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE

  There had been a certain amount of excitement when Father and Motherhad started for their holidays abroad, but nothing in any way to becompared to the excitement of the day when the Writer made his firstappearance.

  Ridgwell and Christine distinctly heard themselves being asked for by avisitor, one day when the sitting-room door was open, and to beinquired for personally was at least something of an event. "I want tosee the children," a voice had said, and there was no mistaking thesignificance of the words. Without any undue delay, Ridgwell andChristine immediately presented themselves.

  The stranger was led in captive, one upon either side of him, and beingplaced upon the sofa was regarded steadfastly for some little while.During a very thorough scrutiny the prisoner smiled affably, produced apipe which he lighted carefully and puffed at steadily, and theninquired casually if they both thought he would do.

  "You look jolly," announced Ridgwell, "only I can't make out who youare; but you know Father and Mother very well, don't you?"

  "Rather," said the stranger, "great friends of mine."

  "But we've never seen you, have we?" added Christine.

  "No," replied the stranger, "but I thought it was quite time I madeyour acquaintance, so I thought I would call upon you. Sorry I haven'tgot a card, but you can supply something in its place which will bequite as good. Where does Father keep his books?" was the sudden andsomewhat unexpected question.

  "It just depends," debated Ridgwell, "what particular lot you want.Biography, Philosophy, Romance or Poetry."

  "I think the Romance and Poetry department," suggested the stranger.

  "This way," said Ridgwell; "I will show you."

  The stranger ran his finger over the well-stocked orderly shelves, thenhe paused at four volumes side by side about the middle of the secondshelf.

  "Of course you both read?" inquired the stranger.

  "Not those sort of books," explained Ridgwell. "We haven't quite gotup to those sort of books yet."

  "Anyway you can read the author's name upon the back of each of them."

  The children nodded.

  "That's me," confessed the stranger. "I have the misfortune to writebooks that you don't read."

  "Father does," Ridgwell hastened to explain; "I've often heard him talkabout you. Why, you're quite famous, aren't you?"

  "I hope not," said the Writer.

  "Anyway," concluded Ridgwell, "Father said you wrote jolly good stuff,only it was over the heads of the people, but Father said one of thesedays when you woke up, you would knock 'em, and I've heard him say thatanyway it was better than some of the drivel a lot of people wrotenowadays. He hoped you'd reform, though."

  The Writer laughed. "A very candid opinion, Master Ridgwell, and Ireally must reform and mend my ways."

  "Don't you write fairy tales as well?" inquired Christine upon the wayback to the dining-room.

  "Sometimes," agreed the Writer.

  Without more ado, Christine drew three chairs invitingly round thefire, almost by way of an invitation to recount some upon the spot.

  The fire was really very cheerful in spite of the fact that it was latespring. The daffodils nodded their yellow heads quite contentedly, andfilled the bowls upon mantelshelf and table with colour, and the littleroom with fragrance, at one and the same time. The coloured crocusespeeped in from the window boxes outside, whilst the sparrows chirpedand hopped about and hoped that the Writer had something pleasant tosay about them. It was all very peaceful with the sunlight stealinginto the room through the lattice panes, making little patterns uponthe floor, the flickering red of the fire playing at hide and seek withthe diamond patterns and never quite catching each other; the yellowflowers nodding drowsily over the two childish heads that were nowregarding the Writer most earnestly. The clock upon the mantelpiecechimed its mellow notes. Three o'clock it said. The afternoon hadseemed almost dull up to that time, but now it all appeared to havechanged in some curious way, ever since the Writer had made hisappearance.

  "I wonder," commenced Ridgwell, "if by any chance you could have beensent to us; you know we were faithfully promised that a Writer shouldcome and see us and write down for us something we particularly want toremember. I wonder if you are the man," ended Ridgwell, quizzically.

  "Shouldn't wonder at all," murmured the Writer; "delighted if I havehad the honour to be chosen for the mission, and it really sounds to melike one of Lal's very rash promises."

  "What!!!" It was a shriek from two children at once. Two pairs ofarms were suddenly flung around the Writer's neck, two pairs of armsthat were almost hugging him to death.

  The Writer endured this onslaught throughout in the most becomingmanner.

  "Lal _did_ send you then," shouted Ridgwell. "I knew it. How lovely!Fancy your knowing him! Tell us all about it."

  The Writer smiled. "I have known Lal almost as many years as I canremember; he is one of my oldest and very dearest friends."

  "Ridgie," said Christine solemnly, at this point, "do you remember themotto of the cracker we pulled last night? It said--

  "I'll whisper on this little page A secret unto you: The greatest wonder of the age Shall suddenly come true."

  But Ridgwell was beyond crackers, and beyond poetry; he felt, notunreasonably, amidst the development of this new wonder, that he was inpossession of the real thing.

  "I think," said the Writer, "I had better tell you all about it fromthe very beginning, but you know really it is quite a long story."

  Ridgwell and Christine arranged themselves comfortably to listen;sometimes they looked at the fire, but more often at the face of theWriter, but they never missed one word of his story.

  "I expect," commenced the Writer, "my story is going to be verydifferent from anything you children may have imagined; in fact, mylife has turned out so utterly different from anything it promised tobe in the early beginning, that at times upon looking back it seems tobe like some wonderful fairy tale--utterly unlike the ordinary fairytales, however, one reads in books.

  "The only two good fairies in my case were first and foremost our goodold friend Lal, and, secondly, a gentleman who in the early stages ofmy life was always called the Miser, but who since has become one ofthe wealthiest, most generous and notable personages in the City ofLondon. As a rule, whenever I think of my early childhood it is with ashudder, for I was running about the streets of London minus any shoesor stockings, with hardly any food save of the smallest and coarsestdescription, selling newspapers in the streets until late at night, andinvariably soundly beaten if I did not take back some miserable coppersat the end of the day.

  "I may say that these pence I had procured with so much toil werealways expended in the public-house by both the man and his wife whowere supposed at that time to provide me with the weird accommodationthey were pleased to call home. My particular portion of this edificewas a dirty mat by way of a bed, which I shared with a rough-hairedterrier dog called Sam. We two, Sam and I, were roofed in with manypanes of broken glass in a species of outhouse which may at one timehave formed a small conservatory. It must have been a hopelessfailure, I am sure, as a conservatory, for I cannot imagine anythinggrowing in it at all.

  "One thing I am very certain of, I should never have grown either, butshould most likely have withered and died in it had I remained, like mypossible predecessors the plants, a few blackened and withered sticksof which could still be seen in some broken red flower-pots upon ashelf out of my reach. How these people came to have charge of me Ishall never know, but I have sometimes believed, from odds and ends ofconversation they let drop when they were quarrelling, which they werealways doing, that my real father and mother had died when I was a tinymite.

  "The woman, who seemed at one time to have been better off, was left asum of money to bring me up, as no relations appeared to claim me. Atthis time the woman was single, and had not met the man she afterwardsmarried,
the man who used to beat me so cruelly. Whether she spent allthe money left for me, or whether they both spent it, appears to be oflittle consequence; anyway, once it was gone I was regarded with blacklooks as an encumbrance, and turned out into the streets to make somemoney, or do something for my board and lodging, as they expressed it.I have already told you what the lodging was like. Well, the boardpart of it corresponded to the rest of the picture in every way.Crusts of old dry bread, which they couldn't eat themselves, did for meand the dog, sometimes a little milk, varied by an occasional awfulform of hard cake which the woman cooked, and which was impossible toeat unless first soaked in something. In the long hours of waitingbetween selling the newspapers I learned to spell, and then to read,very slowly at first, but still I learned. Then one of the menemployed at the newspaper office I collected papers from, although Ishould imagine a very poor man himself, found a few pence every week tohave me taught to write and spell, together with arithmetic, grammar,history and other things. This rather uncertain method of educationwent on for about two years. I was getting on fine, and absorbingeverything I was taught with great rapidity, when my one friend, whohad provided the night school education, departed to another worldwhere I always hope he found the conditions easier than the one he hadleft. I might have been at my miserable home in the slums with the manand woman for years after this, only a curious form of providence wasworking upon my behalf.

  "It had been a bad night for selling papers, I had a few coppers only,and my heart sank down when I approached the hovel where we all lived.The man and woman were quarrelling violently. As I slunk in white offace and with a terrible quaking feeling inside me, I saw at once theman was worse than he had ever been, and as I entered the door of thesqualid room he struck the woman an awful blow, then he saw me. Hegrabbed me, and I think might have killed me that night, but I wrenchedmyself away after he had given me the first blows; he pursued me,catching at my coat, which at the best of times was only rags; he torepart of the coat away, which was left in his hand, and I ran for dearlife. The man was mad and didn't know what he was doing, maybe, butthe only thing he could lay his hands upon was a broken brandy bottle;he hurled this at my head. It struck me as I reached the street andcut the back of my head open. Although I was hurt I staggered on. Iwas dizzy and sick and the blood was dripping all over my shirt, butthough I swayed about I never stopped, I would go anywhere away fromthe horror of that place. I never meant to go back there again.

  "The next thing I remember was some sort of Square, which I had neverseen until then, for I had never gone so far West in London before.There was nobody about, and I sank down beside a sort of stone thingand held my head, which hurt me horribly, and began to cry, I think.

  "I was only about ten or eleven years old at that time, if as much, forno record of my age had ever been kept. Whether it was the pain, orsimply fright because the few clothes I had were covered in blood fromthe wound in my head where the bottle had cut me, I don't know, butthere is no doubt that I lost consciousness, probably for someconsiderable time. When I came to myself and woke up, it must havebeen very late at night. It was a fairly cold night, but the moon wasshining, and the Square where I was sitting all looked like polishedsilver, and the clock of a big church at the side of the Square boomedout one.

  "I looked about me, and raised myself up painfully upon one elbow andtried to think.

  "Here I was outside everything--no shelter, no home, alone in Londonwith a vengeance. True the other place had been a hateful home, yet atthe very worst it had been a shelter, and, moreover, the rough-haireddog Sam and I had somehow squeezed together to keep ourselves warm, andSam was the only thing that was in any way fond of me, and Sam wasreally good company.

  "As the thought of him came across my mind, and how I had lost him forgood now, I think I was about to start crying again, when a rathergruff but quite kindly voice just over my head called out--

  "'Now then, stop that.'

  "Of course I was only a very common Cockney little street boy at thattime, and I couldn't either speak the Queen's English properly or spellit correctly, so when the voice said 'Stop that,' I said 'Wot?' 'Goingto cry,' said the voice."

  Here Ridgwell was so overcome with excitement by reason of a strangecoincidence that he interrupted. "Why, that is exactly what Lal firstsaid to me, and I can guess what the next thing was that he said toyou--wasn't it 'Here, jump up'?"

  The Writer smiled. "Yes," he said, "it is really very wonderful howhistory repeats itself. That is exactly what he said, but what I saidis perhaps even more singular.

  "I raised myself slowly and looked up gradually, for my head stillached and throbbed horribly, and when I saw it was a big bronze lionthat was speaking to me and looking quite pleasant, all I said was--

  "'Lor lummy, if it ain't a bloomin' lion a-talking to me. 'Alf ajiffey, cocky,' I said, 'an' I'll 'ave a climb up atween them paws ofyours.'

  "'You mustn't call me cocky,' remarked the Lion, reprovingly, when Ihad once landed up safe and sound; 'you must call me Lal.'

  "'Right oh!' ses I. 'Can I sleep 'ere safe without a bloomin' coppera-coming and diggin' of me art 'alf-way through my nap?'

  "'Yes, of course,' said Lal. 'Sleep here comfortably, and coveryourself over with the policemen's capes. You'll find three of thembeside you. Hitherto they have always annoyed me by placing themthere, but upon this occasion I am really grateful to them, as theywill be useful for you to keep yourself warm with.'

  "'I fits in 'ere fine,' ses I, 'and so 'elp me I think ye're a stunner.But I never knowed as lions talked afore.'

  "'My good little boy, there are many things that you do not know,'answered the Lion, 'one of them being that you do not know how to speakEnglish correctly. I am afraid you are quite ignorant.'

  "''Ere, 'old on, Mister,' ses I, 'I've been to school, yer know.'

  "'The wrong schools, I fear,' replied the Lion; 'and would you obligeme by not calling me Mister; in future always call me Lal.'

  "'Do them other three lions talk, Lal?' I asked.

  "'No, I am the only one that talks.'

  "'Then I should say as 'ow you're the best of the 'ole bunch,' Iremarked.

  "Lal sighed deeply. 'How dreadfully wrong,' he said; 'imagine a bunchof lions! No, you certainly cannot speak at all correctly, so I thinkperhaps you had better go to sleep instead.'

  "Well, before I went to sleep I remembered at the night school I hadgone to they always said people ought to say their prayers, so Ithought to myself for a minute, and I'm afraid this is something in thenature of what I said--

  "'Please send me as soon as you 'ave it, a goodish-sized lump o' breadand drippin', or a big baked 'tater, cos' I am as empty as ever I can'ang together. I don't want nothink tasty, but jist somethink fillin'.I'm very grateful for lions wot talk and 'elps yer like a pal; andplease don't let no blighted coppers a see me, and lock me up. Don'tforget the drippin'--any sort, beef, mutton, or pork. Amen.'

  "'Humph!' remarked the Lion, when I concluded, 'that is a most singularpetition; to whom is it addressed?'

  "'Up there, Lal,' I answered, looking into the sky; 'they say you gitseverythink from there.'

  "'Dear me,' replied the Lion, 'really most singular. I notice you didnot describe the manner in which you expected these provisions toarrive.'

  "'I'll get 'em, Lal; if not ter-night, ter-morrer.'

  "The Lion looked down at me quite kindly I thought. 'What is yourname?' he asked.

  "'Ain't got no name that I knows of 'cept Skylark.'

  "The Lion purred softly. 'You will have a name some day,' he said,'and a great name, too. Why are you called Skylark now?'

  "''Cos I sings and whistles, t'other blokes in the streets calls methat.'

  "I was just starting to show him how I could whistle, and had done abit, when we heard pitter-patter, pitter-patter, and the sound offlying padded feet over the stone Square.

  "The Lion sniffed. 'It's a dog. What is he doing here to-night? Isupp
ose he is lost.'

  "I looked out between his paws, and I gave a shout of delight; I wasanswered by loud yelps of gladness.

  "'It's Sam,' I shouted. 'Oh, Sam, 'ole cockie, 'ere I is; jump up wivme and Lal.'

  "'Is he all right?' asked Lal.

  "'Yus,' I yelled, 'a friend, a fust-class friend. 'Ere, Sam, I'll 'elpyer up by yer paws,' and he scrambled up and licked my face. Then helooks at the Lion.

  "'He'll do,' said Lal. 'Tell him not to attract attention by barkingor making any more of that noise. You must both go to sleep; and Imust say that you are a remarkably strange pair. However, here youare, and here you must stay.'

  "When I woke up in the morning it was just beginning to be daylight. Ispoke to Lal, but he wouldn't answer, he was cold and still, and didn'tlook as if he had ever spoken or moved in his life, and never wouldagain. I folded the policemen's aprons up tight and thin liketruncheons in case they missed them, clambered down, followed by Sam,and had a wash in one of the basins of the fountains, and got fairlyclean and respectable, except my coat, all torn in half, which Icouldn't help, and then I set out to see what I could find. It was Samwho nosed out something like a breakfast.

  "Two stale buns in a bag. I should think some child had thrown themaway--penny buns they were. I never tasted anything better, and Samhad some of them, and he thought they were all right.

  "I made twopence that day, carrying a bag. The man who gave me the jobgave me the unnecessary caution at the same time, not to run away withit, just as if such a thing was likely. Why, I could hardly lift it,and I couldn't have run two steps with it.

  "He was an inquisitive man too, wanted to know if I had stolen the dog.I said no, I didn't steal. 'Well,' he asked, 'if you don't steal, howdo you get a living?' I said, 'I'm getting it now.' He said it mustbe a hard job. I replied, 'Golly, you're right, governor, this 'erebag is that 'eavy it drags me vitals out; wot's it got inside ofit--bricks?' Then he drove me off and said I was a cheeky littledevil, but he gave me twopence. Sam and I went to an eating-house andgot two big lumps of pudding on the strength of it, and that fed usbang up for that day.

  "I waited around at night with Sam, and directly I saw the Square wasdeserted, I hopped up into my old place and Sam after me.

  "'Hullo!' said Lal, 'you two have turned up again, have you?'

  "'Yuss,' I replied; 'it's the only 'ome we've got, yer know, Lal.'

  "'I must see what I can do for you,' mused the Lion. 'There is a man Iknow who could give you work and help you at once, only his heart isvery hard at the present time; unfortunately success hasn't softenedhim--he is a miser.'

  "'Ain't a miser a bloke 'oo grabs all wot 'ee gits?' I suggested; 'ifso 'ee wouldn't do nothink 'ansome for Sam and me; the only copper aswe would git art of 'im would be the ones 'eed call up ter give us incharge. A miser don't seem no good to us, as they wants change out o'nothing.'

  "'My dear little boy,' said Lal, 'your language may be pithy, but it isso incorrect; your metaphors, moreover, are so mixed. I think,' saidthe Lion, 'it is high time I took the Miser in hand; he is capable ofbetter things, and if success cannot give him the milk of humankindness, I must try what sterner measures can effect. Get down now,'continued the Lion, 'and both of you slip round the other side of thepedestal and hide yourselves. I expect the Miser to pass this wayshortly, and you are not to interrupt on any account, or come backuntil he has gone away, you understand.'

  "'Yuss, Lal, anyfink to oblige. Come on, Sam, and may 'is 'eartsoften,' I said.

  "Well, about a quarter of an hour afterwards, sure enough, a tall,thin, elderly gentleman, with grey hair, in a top hat and frock coat,came along, and he paused when he got to Lal, and looking round firstto see that he was not observed, he stopped beside Lal, and greeted himwith, 'Well, my old friend, and how are you this evening? do you feelinclined to converse with me, or will you remain immovable, silent andcold as you sometimes choose to be? Indeed I hope you feel disposed totalk kindly to me, for I am far from happy, in fact it never enteredinto my calculations that a highly successful man could ever be quiteso miserable.' After saying so much as this the elderly gentlemanpaused, and observing that Lal had not taken any notice of his remarkswhatever, added in a lower tone, as if speaking to himself, 'Ah, notcommunicable to-night, only bronze and stone, eh?'

  "Then the Lion spoke. 'I am not the only thing of bronze and stone.Have you ever thought how the definition might perhaps apply toyourself, for instance, Alderman Simon Gold?'

  "The tall thin gentleman appeared to be slightly taken aback by theLion's words.

  "'You have a front of bronze,' continued the Lion, 'and as hard; youhave a heart of stone and as useless.'

  "'It seems to me, my old friend,' replied the tall thin gentleman,'that you have some grievance against me by the hard words you aregiving me. I came to you for comfort, but you don't seem to haveanything of the sort to bestow. However, I suppose all of us have ourill humours.'

  "'True,' assented the Lion, 'save that some of us never change that illhumour, but continue with it all through life. You yourself are one ofthose people.'

  "'Humph! I certainly have displeased you,' vouchsafed the tall thingentleman; 'how I really cannot imagine.'

  "'I will tell you,' replied the Lion. 'Listen, therefore, carefully.Let us go back to the very beginning of our acquaintance. I am correctin stating that you were a homeless, ragged little urchin prowling thestreets of London.' The tall thin man nodded. 'I gave you the onlyshelter you knew; others have used it since, all of them models ofgratitude compared with yourself. My friendship did not stop there.You wanted work, a home, a name and riches. Who directed you to theCity? who told you how to start, and where you would find all thosethings so long as you worked hard and were honest?'

  "'I did all those things,' interrupted the tall thin man; 'I did workhard, I got a home, name, riches, and I have been honest.'

  "'Until to-day,' purred the Lion, 'until to-day, Alderman Gold.'

  "'To-day,' echoed the Alderman, but he started slightly.

  "'Those shares you bought in the City to-day, a very great number, doyou call that transaction honest?'

  "The Alderman's eyes sought the ground.

  "'Three people will be ruined in that transaction if you keep to it.'

  "'Think of the money.'

  "'Think of your name.'

  "'I must have money.'

  "The Lion laughed. 'You have heaps more than you require. Can youname one good thing you have done with your money or your influencesince I plainly pointed the way out to you how to acquire them?'

  "There was no answer.

  "'Will you still decide to acquire those shares dishonestly?'

  "'Anybody in the City or on 'Change would do the same thing, it is doneevery day.'

  "'Because burglaries may be committed every night, is it any reason whyyou should commit one?'

  "'The world is the world,' replied the Alderman. 'I have to live init, and I have to fight it with its own weapons.'

  "'You have no wife.'

  "'No, Lal.'

  "'No child.'

  "'No.'

  "'No single soul your wealth can do any good for.'

  "'I need it all for myself.'

  "'You are hoarding money fast.'

  "'I shall need it all when I can no longer work; the value of moneydecreases day by day. What is a fortune now will only be a pittance avery few years hence.'

  "'All for yourself?'

  "'Yes.'

  "'Nothing will change you?'

  "'Why should it? I have only myself to consider, and I mean to makemore and more, and more, and never stop; there shall be no limit towhat I shall acquire, it is the only thing I care about now in life.'

  "'In addition,' said the Lion, 'you are cutting down every littlecomfort and every luxury you might enjoy because you are becomingfrightened at every small expense.'

  "'Yes, growing expenses are the worries of my life.'

  "'In fact,
you are becoming daily, slowly and surely, a miser.'

  "'It's not a nice word.'

  "'It is the truth. Your clerks are the most ill-paid of any in theCity of London. Only last week you cut down your office boy's tinysalary from ten shillings a week to seven shillings, although you knowhe has to pay two shillings a week for fares to and from your office.'

  "'How can I help his living out of town?'

  "'You know he has to live with his mother and brothers and sisters,five of them in addition to himself. He only takes home five shillingsevery week, but he _gives_ it all up; he is happier than you are.'

  "'Any way, I know how to arrange my own business,' snapped theAlderman. 'I have prospered so far, and I intend to go on and prosper;I am not going to change a single thing in my life or my methods ofbusiness. I have prospered up to now, I shall prosper even more.'

  "'And hoard more?' inquired Lal gently.

  "'Yes, you call it hoarding. I call it amassing, and I shall strainevery nerve to amass more and more; it is too late in my life to alternow.'

  "'We shall see,' said the Lion. 'I was going to ask you to dosomething for me, something for some one who is as penniless as youwere once yourself; but if I did ask you a favour now I should onlywaste time.'

  "'I have no time for charity,' said the Alderman. 'I heartily begrudgethe subscriptions we have to give from time to time in the City, yetone is compelled to assist some of those for the sake of business; butas for any outside charity, pooh! it's all rot, it's been proved longago they are all frauds. I shall always decline absolutely to giveanything or do anything for any outside charity. Life is too short.'

  "'We shall see,' said the Lion. 'Good-night.'

  "When Lal's friend from the City had departed, I came out from thecorner where I had been waiting, and Sam and I clambered up into ourold place out of sight. At that time I considered the City Alderman avery horrid mean old man, and remembering Lal's words that he was amiser, I made a mental resolution that although this was the firstspecimen of the kind I had ever encountered, I never wished to meetanother of the same sort.

  "'Well?' inquired Lal, as I lay and looked up into his face beforesettling down for the night. 'What do you think of him?'

  "''Ard-hearted, ain't 'e?' I replied.

  "'Humph! yes, at present,' mused Lal.

  "'Wot will yer give 'im ter take for it?' I asked.

  "Lal smiled. 'Oh, a little prescription of my own.'

  "'That bloke wot's just gone won't do nothink fer me. Can't yersuggest somethink else, Lal, somebody as I could go to as would give mesome work?'

  "'If you have patience,' answered Lal, 'and look around and get a fewodd jobs, and a little grub for yourself and Sam every day for a littlewhile, like the small London sparrow that you are--I beg your pardon, Ishould have said Skylark--I shall be able very shortly to bring ourfriend to a better frame of mind; at the present moment his sense ofproportion is all wrong.'

  "'Wot's sense of proportion, Lal?' I inquired.

  "'If,' replied Lal, 'you persisted in thinking that you were as big asI am, for instance, your sense of proportion would be bad; if Iimagined that I was as great as St. Martin's Church yonder, my sense ofproportion would be worse.'

  "'Lor' lummy, don't I jist wish I was as big as you.'

  "'Why?' asked Lal.

  "''Cos I'd 'ave a bit more weight to do fings wiv. There ain't nodoubt that strength tells in the end.'

  "Lal only chuckled at what I said, and I again went sound to sleep, asupon former occasions, in my strange roosting-place.

  "The Alderman was in the habit of crossing Trafalgar Square everyevening upon his way home, although I had never observed him until thenight Lal had pointed him out to me; consequently, a few eveningsafterwards, I first noticed how strangely he was beginning to walk. Ican only describe it as a sort of zigzag from side to side, andoccasionally a sort of stumble, as if he was not quite certain where hewas going.

  "Now I had often noticed the man who used to beat me, and from whom Ihad run away, walk something like that, and yet I knew at once it wasnot owing to the same reason, and I was rather puzzled to account forit, as the Alderman had never walked like that before, and had alwaysbeen so upright and brisk.

  "As the different evenings went on he grew worse and worse, until onenight I found him slowly groping his way across the Square, with hishands stretched out in front of him, as if he was frightened of runninginto something at every step: that was the first evening I led himacross the Square and over the road the other side; he seemed todislike the idea of the steps, and always avoided them, I noticed.

  "I did this for several evenings, and he never gave me anything, but ashe was an old friend of Lal's I did it more for Lal's sake than for theMiser's, as I now called him; yet he seldom even thanked me forassisting him, although it was only too evident that he ought not to bewalking by himself. A few days went by with nothing in particular toremember about them, until the evening arrived that was to be theturning-point in two people's lives, but at the time I knew nothing ofthis, for my small mind was overwhelmed with the first great childishgrief of my life. I hadn't earned even one copper that day, and Samand I had not had a crumb to eat. I think we must have both lookedvery thin and white. I know that Sam's bones could be seen plainerthan ever through his dear, shaggy old brown coat; but Sam nevercomplained, he stuck to me closer than ever; nobody ever had a betterfriend than he was.

  "As ill luck would have it, Sam and I were crossing the wide streetwhere the traffic is always heaviest, before turning in at our oldquarters for the night. One of the many omnibuses passed, and somebodyeither dropped or threw a small bag of biscuits over the side of it;some rolled in the road, but a lot were left in the bag.

  "Sam, who was the finest dog for spotting grub I have ever known, wentfor it like lightning; he had got it in his mouth, and was scurryingback to me in triumph with his old ears back, full of the importance ofhis find, when a two-horsed mail van struck him down in the road andwent over him. I went in between all the maze of wheels and got himout; he was whimpering like a hurt child. I didn't wait for anything,I carried him along towards the old place by Lal; but he only gave me alick, and died in my arms before I got there.

  "I couldn't climb up to Lal with Sam in my arms, and I wouldn't leavehim, so I don't know how long it was I crouched down in the shadow andcried over Sam--bitter tears I wept, I know. I was alone and utterlywretched, and Sam wouldn't ever speak to me again, would never do anymore of his tricks. When I noticed that even in his death he hadn'treleased the bag of biscuits from his mouth, my tears flowed anew, andI couldn't somehow have touched one of them if I had been twice ashungry as I was. My grief at the death of Sam was so great that Ididn't seem to want to tell Lal about it, so I lay huddled up by thecorner of the pedestal where the shadow is darkest for what must havebeen some considerable time. Then I heard feet groping about and thevoice of Alderman Gold talking.

  "For a long time I didn't care to listen to what he was talking to Lalabout. I heard the man say mockingly, 'Well, I suppose I'm beaten, andyou have been right all the time, my old wise Lion. What cannot beendured, however, can sometimes be cured, so here's your health.'

  "I heard a low angry growl from Lal, unlike any sound I had ever heardhim make before, then Lal raised his paw and knocked something out ofthe Alderman's hand that fell with a tinkling sound of broken glass.

  "I came slowly out of my corner to see what it was all about, and intime to hear Lal say, 'You fool, oh! you fool, when will your eyes everbe opened?'

  "'I was going to close them for ever. What's the good of having themopen _when I cannot see_?'

  "The Miser seemed to be angry as well as Lal, for his voice wastrembling with passion. 'Why,' continued the Miser, 'should I remain_blind_ to please you, in order that all your prophecies may come true?Why destroy the stuff I had bought just when I had need of it?'

  "The Lion regarded the Miser steadily with those fine great eyes ofhis, s
omehow he seemed to look the Miser right through; then the Lionsniffed thrice, very contemptuously.

  "'Do you know _why_ you are blind?' he asked the Miser.

  "'No,' answered the man, 'to be going blind is terrible enough withoutasking the reason of it; what matter what this or that theory may be,when the thing is there to speak for itself? I know I cannot see, andthat being the case my life is finished.'

  "'Or perhaps beginning,' ventured the Lion contemplatively. 'Youcannot see, Alderman Gold, because your eyes are filled with the colourof the thing you have made your God all through your life; it is thegold dust that has blinded you. The dazzling golden hoard you desiredthrough life, watched, kept, gloated over. This love that tinged allyour life and thoughts and feelings has poisoned you, has permeatedwith its fatal colour everything so that you cannot any longer see thebeauty of the blue sky, the ripple of the moving waters, the tenderbloom of blossoming flowers and trees. Remove the terrible gold-dustfrom your eyes that you have worshipped and you will see again, perhapsbetter than you have ever really seen before.'

  "'Cease! cease!' broke in the Miser; 'you are only mocking my miserynow, and even if what you say is true, it is too late now to help me.'

  "'Not too late,' returned the Lion, more gently, I thought, than he hadspoken hitherto; 'just in time, I think, just in time.' Then he calledme. 'Skylark,' said the Lion, 'come here.'

  "I came out from my hiding-place, still hugging the body of poor Samclose to me. The Miser peered at me curiously, though he couldn't seeme very well, or what I was holding, judging from the expression of hisface.

  "'I suppose,' said the Miser, 'this is the ragged little wretch who isalways hanging about here.'

  "'He is very ragged now,' said the Lion patiently, 'but he will be verygreat one day.'

  "The Miser laughed his harsh, unpleasant laugh, and peered down to seewhat I was carrying so carefully, then he put out his hand and touchedSam's coat.

  "I pushed his hand away with my own dirty and grubby paw, but in a verydetermined way.

  "'Don't yer touch 'im,' I cried.

  "'It's a dog,' said the Miser, 'and it's dead; a dead dog isn't of muchuse to any one,' and he laughed again. I felt when he laughed that myblood was boiling.

  "'Look 'ere, if 'ee's dead, 'ee's gone straight to 'Eaven, which is 'isproper place, an' where 'e'll 'ave fields an' the country and rabbitsto chase, an' all them fings wot 'e ought ter 'ave 'ad in his life'ere, an' 'e'll a wait fer me there sure as 'e always waited fer me'ere, an' don't you say nothink agin Sam, 'cos in 'is life 'e was adamned sight better than wot you are, so there.'

  "By this time my outraged feelings had so overcome me that I wasshouting at the Miser, who stood stock still saying nothing, for thesuddenness, to say nothing of the impudence, of my attack seemed tohave rendered him speechless.

  "'Steady, Skylark, steady,' said the Lion; 'try and behave a littlemore respectfully, and cease to use that distressing street language;'then Lal added by way of an afterthought, 'Come, climb up here, I wantto talk to you.'

  "I laid Sam down for the first time and complied with his request.

  "'Now,' said Lal, 'what shall I do with Alderman Simon Gold?'

  "''Im?' I asked, pointing to the Miser.

  "'Precisely.'

  "'Well, can't yer jist blow that there gold dust out of 'is eyes wotseems to be a-choking of 'em as you sed 'e 'ad? You can do most fings,Lal; 'ave a go, and see if 'e don't get better.'

  "The Lion smiled his very wisest smile, then he asked me, 'LittleSkylark, what have you got round your neck?'

  "'Only rags, Lal, but I can't 'elp them, you knows that.'

  "'Look again, little Skylark.'

  "'Lor lummy,' I said, 'wot is it?' for I was startled by theunexpectedness of the thing I saw. Something seemed hanging round myneck that glowed and glistened and sparkled like ever so many jewels.The sort of gems that had made me wink my eyes whenever I had seen themin the shop-windows.

  "'Lal, wot is it? 'ow did it get there?'

  "'It is the Order of Imagination,' said Lal solemnly, 'and oh! littleSkylark, there are only a few, such a few in the world who have everworn it, even for a few minutes. You will think of this some day, youwill remember my words always. Take it off your neck, Skylark, and putit over the neck of Alderman Simon Gold for an instant, for he is onlyjust worthy to wear it. Look, there are two tears in his eyes, tearsof pity, the first he has ever shed in his life, and tears of pity,little Skylark, are the keys that open the Golden Gates of Heaven.'

  "I did as Lal bid me, and I shall never forget. Simon Gold's facebecame radiant.

  "'I can see,' he gasped, 'can see! Oh, Lal, what a brute I have been!What have I been thinking about? Why am I so different? Why do I feelthat I want to give something to all the world? Why, Lal, I want togive, I insist upon giving. Lal, why am I a different man, withdifferent feelings, with a _heart_?'

  "Once again Lal smiled that wise smile of his.

  "'The Order of Imagination does many things,' said Lal. 'If you wantto give, why not give with all your heart now and as long as you live?Everybody, however, has to make a start. Well, start by giving theSkylark a home, a good education, help him towards being the great manthat I say he will one day become. You will have found a faithful,loving, lifelong friend, something as faithful and devoted as thefriend whose life he himself mourns to-night.'

  "'Poor old dog,' said Alderman Gold, 'I can't help him now, I wish Icould, but I'll help the other, by Jove, I will; of course I'll see hehas a good home, I'll see he's educated.'

  "'I think he will repay you for all the money you will spend upon hiseducation,' said the Lion, significantly.

  "'And I mean to spend money,' said the Alderman. 'I've been a beastlymiser, that's what I've been, but I shall never have that taunt flungat me again.'

  "'Good,' nodded the Lion. 'Help him bury his pet in the big garden ofyour London house, and bury at the same time all the past you want toforget.'

  "'I will,' said the Alderman. 'Here, come along and get fed. Here,what's your name?'

  "'Skylark,' prompted the Lion.

  "'Skylark? A very good name,' said the Alderman; 'it suggests Spring,and--and----'

  "'Going steadily upward,' prompted the Lion.

  "'By Jove, Lal, you're wonderful,' exclaimed the Alderman. 'How can Ithank you for giving me my sight again, for making a different man ofme? and, good gracious, now I come to think of it clearly andreasonably, every single thing you have told me has always been true.'

  "'If you believe that,' said the Lion, 'listen attentively to the lastthing I tell you, even more upon account of it being the last time Ishall actually _speak_ to either of you.'

  "'Say on, Lal, we cannot do without your help; I know I can't, and Ithought I could do most things.'

  "'You may consider it most inconsequent of me to mention such achildishly fabled person to you as Dick Whittington, and yet strangelyenough that hero of a nursery legend will have a great deal in commonwith both of you in your future lives.'

  "'Shall I be Lord Mayor of London three times?' laughed the Alderman,who had appeared suddenly to have discovered how to laugh, and itsounded strange to hear him.

  "'I won't say _three_ times,' said the Lion, 'but you will be one ofthe greatest Lord Mayors of London in about fourteen years from now;you will be knighted, and you will become one of the most beloved andbenevolent men in the whole City of London.'

  "'That sounds fine,' said the Alderman; 'how about Master Skylark?'

  "'Too early to prophesy,' said the Lion, 'with certainty, but I may saythis; I think when he has also found another Dick Whittington, and oneever so different from yourself, he will become great almost byaccident, but he has to find this Dick Whittington first. He willnever part with Dick Whittington when he has found him, but as a resultof sitting in front of him day by day in great perplexity, he willsuddenly do the first thing that will make his name. You will only_resemble_ Dick Whittington in your career, the Sky
lark will _find_Dick Whittington.'

  "'By Jove,' said the Alderman, 'that is a pretty difficult riddle, Lal,and as I shall never solve it we can only wait and see.'

  "The Lion smiled.

  "'I believe you thoroughly love a riddle, Lal, you old Sphinx. Well,anything else? Tell me, how much more of the future do you see?'

  "'Oh, a lot of things,' answered Lal, 'a very great many of them youwould not understand now, even if I explained them to you, which Ishall not think of doing. For instance, I see a very happy, cheerfuland prosperous elderly gentleman--ahem!--whose acquaintance you willone day make, and whose amiable personality you in common with otherswill thoroughly appreciate. I see a future charming Lady Mayoresswhose--ahem!--friendship you will be most glad of. I see two oldfriends falling out about a certain matter of business in alllikelihood, and the _younger_ of the two will be absolutely in theright. I see an estrangement that doesn't last more than a few years,then a joyful reconciliation, perhaps all the more joyful on account ofthe former separation. Then,' said the Lion, 'I seesomething--ahem!--a series of most painful incidents, most unbecomingto myself as well as yourself.'

  "'Good gracious,' said the Alderman, 'I wonder whatever that can be?'

  "'Like most other things about which there is a great fuss andcommotion, it will rise from a simple cause. There will be a greatmeeting held in a public building, and the result of that meeting willbe in your favour.'

  "'In my favour,' echoed the astonished Alderman.

  "'Distinctly in your favour, and it will make the whole of Englandlaugh.'

  "'At me?' inquired the Alderman, with an apprehensive note in his voiceof quite pardonable nervousness.

  "'No,' said the Lion, 'the laugh will be rather upon your side, Ithink.'

  "'Indeed,' said the Alderman; 'well, that sounds a bit better.'

  "'Moreover,' continued the Lion, 'for my own part I regret to say Ishall be taken in a triumphant procession through the streets ofLondon, guarded upon all sides by the police, and the whole proceedingsthroughout will be sufficiently ridiculous to cause me the acutestdiscomfort, all of which will be most undeserved and brought upon me bythe extravagant adulation of my would-be admirers. However, I shallhave to comfort myself in that time to come by considering that I amnot the only victim who has been sacrificed from the same cause.'

  "'Apart from the deep mystery attached to your strange prophecies,'observed the Alderman, 'which I do not pretend at present tounderstand, but which nevertheless I know will all come true, I amtruly concerned about one thing. Are you really serious, Lal, in yourintention of never speaking to me again? I feel the loss will beirreparable, for you have always been my wisest councillor from myboyhood upwards, and I only wish I had profited by your wisdom beforeand listened more attentively to your counsels in the past, whateveralterations I make in my life for the future.'

  "'I shall never actually speak with either of you again,' replied Lal,'but you will be able to live all your youthful days over again inhim;' here Lal pointed to me. 'You can help him to avoid all themistakes you have made yourself; yet do not misunderstand me, I shallgive both of you a sign, and an unmistakable sign, to show how pleasedI am if you fulfil all the expectations I shall have cherished aboutyou.'

  "'What sort of sign?' asked the Alderman.

  "'I shall not tell you now, and you will both have to do an awful lotbefore I show you the sign that I am satisfied with you eventually.'

  "Now let me see,' mused the Alderman, 'isn't there any little thing wecould do for you to show that we hadn't forgotten you?'

  "'You know what I expect of you,' retorted the Lion, 'keep yourpromises.'

  "'Apart from that,' suggested the Alderman, 'some sort of memento, somesort of recognition.'

  "'Oh, no,' hastily interposed Lal, 'no recognition, please, it is theone thing I dread most in the world owing to the curious position Ioccupy in public life. However, in the years to come, if you canreasonably and truthfully look back upon all you have accomplished witha certain amount of justifiable pride and satisfaction, you can comehere quietly one night and place a big wreath of water-lilies; lay themas an offering between my paws; on no account hang them round my necklike the other terrible people do upon Trafalgar Day, it only makes melook ridiculous.'

  "'Why water-lilies?' asked the Alderman.

  "'My favourite flower,' sighed the Lion, 'and, moreover, the one Inever see. You see, the fountains splash about so incessantly thatthere is no peaceful place where they can grow, and you wouldn'tbelieve,' added the Lion earnestly, 'how I sometimes long for thoseirritating fountains to stop, and for beautiful water-lilies to growthere instead.'

  "'It shall all be done as you say, and I will ponder over every singlething you have mentioned,' promised the Alderman.

  "'Good-bye till then,' said the Lion in his most sepulchral voice, andthen the Lion smiled at me and said, 'Good-bye, little Skylark.'

  "For my own part I had stood by quite silent without saying a word, butI somehow realized that if I wasn't going to see and speak to my oldfriend Lal any more, there were several things I wanted to say, and agood many more things I wanted to ask.

  "'Ere, 'old on 'arf a mo', cocky,' I shouted.

  "'Oh, _don't_ call me cocky,' entreated Lal, 'and what _do_ you mean bythat expression "hold on"? Is not my whole life a perpetual exhibitionof "_holding on_"?'

  "'You've been a first-class, tip-top pal to me, Lal, an' I wants terknow first where that there ring wot shined like blazes, and wot 'unground my neck and then round 'is, 'as a-gone to? Ain't I to 'ave it nomore?'

  "'You will have the memory of it,' replied Lal; 'you have possessed itonce, and I think you will have quite enough imagination left allthrough your life without it; in fact, in the future, at times you willhave rather too much imagination for the comfort of your otherfellow-creatures.'

  "''Ave I got to go with 'im?' I asked; ''ave I got to say good-bye toyou?'

  "'Certainly,' replied Lal in his most stately way; 'you are going tohave a very happy life; you are a fairly respectable kid now, but youwill become more and more respectable until one will hardly recogniseyou at all. You are going to have a ready-made Father and Mother whichI have provided you with.'

  "'Ain't 'eard nothink about no Muvver yet,' I said; 'where's the Muvvercome in?'

  "'Ah! you wait and see,' whispered the Lion mysteriously.

  "'Are you a-kiddin' me, Lal? if so, chuck it!'

  "'Oh! dreadful, dreadful expressions!' lamented Lal. 'Undoubtedly thenext time I see you I believe your grammar will have improved, and yourvocabulary have become more select. I hope so!'

  "It was at this point that something about Lal's eyes and attitude gaveme the idea he was going to shut up for good, so to speak, and myfeelings so overcame me, that without thinking I flung my arms roundLal's neck, that is to say, as far as they would go, and hugged him.

  "Lal opened his eyes again, and somehow I am sure that he was grinning,such a pleasant-looking, happy grin, but he spoke in his severestmanner to me--

  "You must really restrain these exhibitions of feeling in public; if apoliceman chanced to observe you I think there would be the greatestdifficulty in offering any adequate explanation.

  "'No, Lal,' I answered; 'all I ses to the coppers when they ses anyfinkto me is "Rats"--always "Rats," and when I ses "Rats" they can finkwhat they jolly well likes.'

  "Lal sighed, and said, 'How like Dick Whittington!' and those were thevery last words I ever heard him speak, although I little dreamed how Iwas to meet him again."

  * * * * *

  At this juncture Cookie appeared carrying a most wonderful silverntea-tray, whereon a bright gilded urn sizzled happily, and a mostinviting-looking pyramid of toasted muffins nestled in apparentlyfriendly rivalry with the choicest cakes of Cookie's own baking; even aheaped-up crystal dish of whole strawberry jam could not conceal itsblushes as the firelight played upon it.

  "Fairy tales," said Cookie, "I know;
I've listened to them many a timemyself."

  "No, Cookie, you are wrong," ventured Ridgwell in tones of rebuke; "itis not a fairy tale, every word of it is true."

  "That's what Cinderella always declared, Master Ridgwell," was Cookie'simperturbable reply, as she prepared to depart.

  The Writer chuckled quietly.

  "Of course it is true, isn't it?" asked Ridgwell and Christine inunison.

  "Of course," said the Writer, "every word of it, and anyway if it isn'tit ought to be, like all romances."

  "But you haven't finished," objected Ridgwell, whilst he munched amuffin, and Christine poured out the tea.

  "No," agreed the Writer, "I haven't finished yet, but I warned you thatit would be a very long story, didn't I?"

  "Oh, but we are so anxious to know what happened to the Skylark and theMiser, I mean the Alderman, for of course he wasn't a miser any more,was he?"

  "Well, you see," explained the Writer, as he took his tea contentedly,which he really felt he stood in need of, apart from any considerationof deserving it, "nobody is able to read a long book all at once, and Ipropose to tell both of you the remainder of this extraordinary storyin a few days' time."

  "Anyway, that's ripping," vouchsafed Ridgwell.

  "I think myself," added the Writer mysteriously, "that the great eventsLal spoke of so long ago are about to happen."

  "Do tell us when?" implored Ridgwell.

  "I fancy very soon now; of course, you children don't read the papers,do you?"

  Ridgwell and Christine shook their heads.

  "Well, in to-day's paper there was one paragraph that threw out a verydecided hint that the present Lord Mayor of London was going to beknighted by the King, not only on account of his public worth, butbecause the wonderful Home for London Children he has built is almostcompleted."

  "Of course, the new Lord Mayor is Alderman Gold?" inquired Christine.

  "He was Alderman Gold," said the Writer, "but I think myself beforemany days have passed it will be Sir Simon and Lady Gold."

  "Who is Lady Gold? You never told us a word about Lady Gold," objectedRidgwell.

  "Ah," said the Writer, "that will all come in the second part of mystory. Any way, no name was ever more appropriate than hers. She isabsolutely gold all through, head and heart and everything. Lady Goldis, I consider, an absolutely suitable name for her, although twopeople I know always call her Mum; and, do you know, I think she willprefer that title, even when she gets the other."

  "Who are the two people who call her Mum?"

  "That's telling in advance," observed the Writer, as he helped himselfto a fourth muffin; "and of course to tell in advance always spoils astory. But I intend that both of you children shall hear and see thestory to an end. In three days' time from now I am coming to fetch youboth, and you will be able to see the Lord Mayor drive past in state,for I am giving a tea to celebrate that great occasion and also anothergreat occasion at one and the same time. I will finish the story then,and you will both meet the Lord Mayor of London."

  "Will he have his robes on?" inquired Christine expectantly.

  "I don't know that he will wear them, but perhaps I could induce him tobring them with him to show us."

  "That's fine," said Ridgwell. "Will you really come to fetch us?"

  "Yes, in three days' time."

  "Where do you live?" asked Ridgwell, unexpectedly.

  The Writer pretended to be most mysterious all at once.

  "Where do you suppose I live?" he asked Ridgwell; "I do not think youwill ever guess."

  "Whitechapel?" hazarded Ridgwell.

  The Writer pretended to look almost hurt.

  "Peckham?" suggested Christine.

  "Very bad guesses," laughed the Writer. "You are both wrong. I have aset of chambers facing Trafalgar Square, where every morning of my lifeI can look out of the front windows and see my dear old friend Lal."

  Both the children gave a shout at this astounding piece of information.

  "And we shall see the Lord Mayor go past in state from the windows?"

  "Yes," said the Writer; "but if what I believe is coming to pass,provided that the right time has come, and I think myself it has, weshall all see the sign that Lal promised us he would give, so long ago."

  "The sign," echoed Ridgwell breathlessly; "I say, that's somethinglike!"

  "We shall see what we shall see, and as that is Chapter One of my storyI am going to take my departure."

  After the Writer had left, Ridgwell turned to Christine.

  "It's the jolliest afternoon we've had since Father and Mother left,isn't it, Chris?"

  Christine nodded; she was considering many things.