The tide began to ebb, and once it had started it receded quite rapidly (they watched the rocks come poking up through the water and saw the seaweed drying in the sun), but it was three o’clock in the afternoon before it had gone out far enough to release the prisoners, and by that time they were hungry and thirsty and somewhat stiff.
“Don’t tell any one, will you, Guy?” said Frances as they went up to the hotel.
“Not on your life,” he replied. “I should never hear the end of it if any of the others got hold of the story . . . mum’s the word, Frances.”
They looked at each other and smiled.
CHAPTER XIII
It was raining gently but persistently when Frances woke, and she decided that it was just the sort of day to go over to Rithie and see a picture. She could get a bus at ten o’clock, which would give her plenty of time to do some shopping and have lunch before the picture started.
The bus was almost empty, but several people hurried up at the last minute and amongst them were Miss Cole and Winkie. Miss Cole was very flustered. She thrust Winkie into the seat next to Frances and sat down beside him.
“It was all your fault,” she declared. “You seem to have no idea of time—”
“Hallo, Miss Field!” said Winkie.
Frances returned the greeting.
“Oh, Miss Field—I didn’t see you!” exclaimed Miss Cole. “I’m taking Winkie to the dentist. He’s been complaining of toothache.”
“Was it bad toothache?” asked Frances sympathetically.
“Oh, no,” replied Miss Cole, “but he makes such a fuss when there’s anything the matter with him.”
“Sometimes it’s bad and sometimes it goes away,” said Winkie gravely.
“I’ve had toothache like that,” said Frances.
“He makes such a fuss,” repeated Miss Cole.
“Toothache can be horrid,” said Frances.
They were bumping over the cobbles now and Frances felt a small hand steal into hers. She gave it a little squeeze.
“Will the dentist pull it out?” asked Winkie in anxious tones.
“You keep on asking the same thing,” complained Miss Cole. “I’ve told you that I don’t know. He may pull it out or he may drill a hole in it and fill it with stopping.”
Winkie shuddered.
“It won’t hurt much,” declared Frances, squeezing his hand again.
“It’s stopped aching now,” said Winkie suddenly. “Isn’t that funny? It doesn’t hurt any more. Perhaps we needn’t go to the dentist after all.”
Frances knew exactly what he was feeling, for she had been through the same thing herself, but apparently Miss Cole was above such childish nonsense. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Miss Field will think you’re a coward. You know perfectly well that you’ve got to have your tooth attended to, so what’s the use of making a fuss about it?”
“I wasn’t making a fuss,” he replied meekly. “I was just thinking it was rather a waste going to the dentist when my tooth was quite better, that was all.”
After having made his point Winkie was silent for a few minutes, and his elders discussed various matters over his head. They discussed the war news and the calling up of women for essential services. Frances explained that she was having a holiday at the moment but that she intended to take up some sort of work very shortly.
“What sort of work?” inquired Miss Cole.
“I don’t know,” replied Frances. “I’ve written to a friend of mine to ask his advice. I’m afraid I’m not very good at anything.”
Miss Cole laughed. “It doesn’t affect me,” she said. “I mean, I’m doing work of national importance already. What could be more important than looking after children and bringing them up to be useful members of society?”
“Yes,” agreed Frances. “Yes, it’s very important.”
“The future of the world, the future of civilisation, is in their hands.”
“Yes,” said Frances, nodding.
“We must teach them to build a better world,” declared Miss Cole. “We must train them to be good citizens.”
“Yes,” agreed Frances.
“There is no work of more importance to the nation than the training of the next generation,” declared Miss Cole.
Frances agreed that there was not.
Miss Cole laughed. She said: “I’m afraid I get quite heated on the subject. I have a friend and she’s gone into munitions. She and I have the most tremendous arguments about it, but nothing she says can alter my opinion. I just tell her that every one has to decide for themselves. I just say: ‘Well, perhaps making aeroplanes is right for you, but I’m making the men and women of the future.’ That always shuts her up. She can find nothing to say to that.”
*“No,” said Frances.
“No,” repeated Miss Cole, shaking her head. “No, there’s nothing she can say, really. Mrs. Liston couldn’t possibly look after the children herself—she hasn’t the knack, if you know what I mean—it’s so important to understand their little minds. . . . I don’t know what Mrs. Liston would do if I were called up.”
“No,” said Frances.
“Poor little Dolly,” continued Miss Cole, smiling. “Poor little Dolly is so devoted to me. She has such a sweet, loving little nature. This morning she cried when I came away. I told her over and over again that I was coming back this afternoon and that I would bring her a parcel, but she was quite inconsolable.”
“Dolly cried because she bumped her head on the table,” said Winkie in a detached sort of manner.
Miss Cole did not reply. Her lips were set in a straight line and her face was very red. Frances could not help smiling, but she turned her head and looked out of the window so that Miss Cole should not see her amusement.
“I had an operation,” said Winkie suddenly. “Have you ever had an operation, Miss Field?”
Frances replied that she had had her tonsils out.
“Oh, mine was much worse,” said Winkie with some pride. “I was very ill. The doctor had to cut me open and take out my pain—then he sewed me up again with a needle and thread.”
“You talk about it far too much,” said Miss Cole.
“Well, you needn’t listen,” replied Winkie in reasonable tones. “Miss Field doesn’t know about it, so I thought she’d be interested. I haven’t talked about it too much to her.”
After these preliminaries Winkie settled down and chattered all the way, and as Miss Cole was sulky he addressed himself exclusively to his new friend, Frances knew that Miss Cole was becoming more and more furious every moment, and made several attempts to drag her into the conversation, but her efforts were in vain, and by the time they reached Rithie she was uncomfortably aware that she had made an enemy—it was an exceedingly unpleasant feeling.
“Where does the dentist live?” asked Frances as they got out of the bus.
“In Forth Street,” replied Miss Cole shortly. “Come along, Winkie, we shall be late for your appointment if we hang about here.”
“I want Miss Field to come too,” declared Winkie, clinging to his new friend’s hand. “I shall be quite good and brave if Miss Field comes too. I promise faithfully I will.”
“Miss Field doesn’t want to be bothered with little boys,” declared Miss Cole, trying to drag him away.
“She likes little boys,” declared Winkie, clinging on harder than ever. “I know she does.”
“She doesn’t like silly little boys who make a fuss about going to the dentist,” said Miss Cole firmly.
“She likes me,” he replied with the utmost assurance.
It was true, of course. Frances had discovered that she liked him immensely, and she would have been quite willing to go to the dentist with him, but the thing was impossible. It was Miss Cole’s business to take him to the dentist, not hers. Frances disengaged herself from Winkie, declaring that she had a great deal of shopping to do and reminding him that they were going out in a boat one day—the very first day that the s
ea was calm. She said goodbye and fled for her life before Winkie could say anything more . . . but although she had managed to escape from Winkie’s clinging hand she could not escape from his large, reproachful eyes; they haunted her all the morning, and even followed her into the picture house and spoilt her enjoyment of the film. She wondered whether the dentist had been obliged to pull out Winkie’s tooth . . . and whether Miss Cole had been kind.
The next day Frances met Winkie on the shore. He was dabbling in a pool, and beside him was a red pail full of seaweed. She was glad when she saw him, for she felt that she had let him down, and although she could not have done anything else in the circumstances she was anxious to make amends.
*“Hallo, how is your tooth?” she inquired.
“It’s out,” he replied, opening his mouth and showing her a small red gap. “The dentist pulled it out. I had gas, so I didn’t feel it at all. I had a most awfully funny dream.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, it was a horrid dream, really. I don’t think I had better tell you about it.”
Frances thought that this was a wise decision. She sat down on a rock and pointed to the pail. “Have you caught any fish?” she asked.
“Not fish,” he said gravely. “It’s very difficult to catch fish—they’re so slippery, you know—but I’ve caught a whole lot of funny little animals. They’re like snails, but they’ve got legs underneath them.”
“They’re hermit crabs,” said Frances.
The hermit crabs reminded Frances of an occasion when she had been sent to the seaside for a few days to recover from the effects of whooping-cough. She had gone with her nurse and they had spent their whole time searching for hermit crabs and playing “house-agents.” It was rather a curious game, and she was pretty certain that it would appeal to Winkie, so she proceeded to show it to him . . . “You see,” said Frances, “you put a few hermits in a pool and you collect some empty shells and put them in beside the hermits, and then you watch for a bit and sometimes the hermits change their shells . . . they move into a new house.”
“Why do they?” asked Winkie in surprise.
“I think it’s because their own houses are too small,” replied Frances.
They chose the hermit crabs which were to be provided with houses, and Winkie named them. “That’s you, and that’s me,” said Winkie seriously, “and that’s Jennifer’s uncle. We must find a very big new house for him, because he’s so big already.”
“Who is Jennifer’s uncle?” Frances inquired.
“Just Jennifer’s uncle,” replied Winkie in surprise. “I thought you knew him. You know Jennifer, don’t you?”
“No,” said Frances.
“She’s a baby,” Winkie explained. “She’s only a little older than Dolly, but she’s quite different. Jennifer is beautiful,” declared Winkie in a dreamy voice.
“Is she?”
“Yes, perfectly beautiful. I’m going to marry her, you know.”
“But who is Jennifer?” asked Frances.
“Jennifer!” he said, wrinkling his brows. “Oh, I see what you mean. She’s Mrs. Crabbe’s baby, that’s who she is.” He laughed and added: “She’s a little crab—isn’t that funny?”
Frances agreed that it was.
“Now look,” continued Winkie. *“Look, that teeny weeny hermit crab is Jennifer and we must find a nice house for her. Here’s a yellow shell—it’s pretty, isn’t it?—I think Jennifer would like that, don’t you?” He put the two shells close together and they waited with breathless interest to see what would happen. For a long time nothing happened at all, and then, just when they had begun to lose patience with Jennifer, she put out her little pink claws and felt the yellow shell all over . . . she hesitated for a moment, then out came her long, whitish body, it did a little somersault, and fitted itself snugly into its new home.
“Oh!” cried Winkie, raising his head and looking at Frances with shining eyes. “Oh, isn’t it fun? Oh, this is the very nicest game—”
“We’ve let a house,” said Frances, who was almost as pleased as Winkie with the success of their experiment.
“Yes, we’ve let a house,” agreed Winkie. “I’m the house-agent man and you’re the house-agent lady—let’s find a house for Jennifer’s uncle now.”
“Are you all by yourself?” asked Frances, when Jennifer’s uncle had been offered a large mansion with all modern conveniences and had refused it with scorn.
“Not really,” Winkie replied. “Miss Cole and Dolly are sitting behind that rock out of the wind. I’m not supposed to go very far away—and I haven’t, have I?”
He was not far away from the rock, but he was completely out of light, and Frances could not help feeling that Miss Cole was neglecting her duties. He might fall into a pool or get cut off by the tide—she was aware that the latter fate was not altogether impossible.
They played at house-agents for some time and then Winkie demanded a story. “You can make it up,” he said. “Just make it up as you go along—that’s much the nicest sort of story.” Frances was extremely doubtful of her capacity to do anything of the kind, but by this time she had fallen so completely under Winkle’s spell that she could deny him nothing. She started in a tentative manner. “Once upon a time,” said Frances, leaning back against a rock and clasping her hands round her knees, “once upon a time there was a princess who lived in a palace in the middle of a big city.”
“Was it London?” Winkie asked.
“Yes, it was London.”
“Was it Buckingham Palace?”
“No,” said Frances. “No, it was—it was called Wintringham Square.”
“Wintringham Square—what a funny name for a palace!” said Winkie in surprise.
Frances agreed that it was. If she had had more time to think she might have invented a more imposing name for the palace, but she was not used to improvising fairy stories for small boys. “The princess lived in the palace,” continued Frances, searching somewhat desperately for inspiration, “and sometimes she went out for a walk in the city, and she saw all the people enjoying themselves and having fun, but she couldn’t join in their games because she was invisible. She couldn’t speak to them, and they didn’t know she was there because they couldn’t see her, so she was very lonely. She was very comfortable in the palace, of course; she had lovely clothes to wear and lots of good things to eat—”
“Ice-cream?” inquired Winkie with gleaming eyes. “Ice-cream and strawberries and peaches and chocolate creams?”
“Yes,” agreed Frances. “She had everything like that, but she wasn’t happy because she was lonely. She had nobody to play with. Then one day, when she was feeling very sad, a kind old magician came to the palace and he—”
“Was it Merlin?” asked Winkie eagerly.
“No,” replied Frances, smiling. “No, it wasn’t Merlin. It was a magician called Digby. Some people thought he was just an ordinary doctor, but really and truly he was a very powerful magician indeed. He was sorry for the princess, so he broke the spell and the princess was able to escape. She left the palace and came to Cairn, and—”
“She came here,” cried Winkie with his eyes like saucers. “She came here, to Cairn—a real princess?”
Frances nodded. “Yes, but she wasn’t a princess any more. The magician had broken the spell, so she was an ordinary person again. She was ever so much happier because she could do what she liked, and she wasn’t lonely because she could talk to people and make friends with them. It was difficult at first, of course—she wasn’t used to talking—but after a bit she found her tongue. She was ever so much happier,” said Frances thoughtfully.
She stopped there, and Winkie looked at her in surprise. “That’s not the end, is it?” he inquired.
“Yes, that’s all,” replied Frances. It was a poor sort of ending, but she could not think of anything more to say.
“But it can’t be the end,” he declared, looking up at her with his big, solemn eyes. “You haven’t
said that she lived happily ever after.”
“I know, but, you see, she was just an ordinary person; she wasn’t a princess any more. It’s only fairy princesses who live happily ever after—not real people like you and me—and that’s why the story isn’t finished,” added Frances, clutching at this heaven-born inspiration, “because real stories about real people go on and on.”
“Until the people are dead and buried, I suppose,” agreed Winkie, nodding.
“They don’t finish even then,” said Frances in a thoughtful tone, “because things we do and say live on long after we are dead . . . but you aren’t old enough to understand that yet.”
“Couldn’t I if you explained?” inquired Winkie anxiously.
Frances tried to explain it simply. She said: “You and I are friends, and we’re teaching each other a lot of things that neither of us will ever forget, so when I get very old and die there will still be little bits of me alive in you.”
Winkie was silent for a moment, and then he said: “That’s an awfully funny idea, isn’t it? I suppose there are bits of me in every one I know—bits of me in Mummy and Daddy and Dolly—and every one. Perhaps there are bits of me in Jennifer’s uncle too . . . but I don’t think there are any bits of me in Miss Cole.”
CHAPTER XIV
Nothing had been seen or heard of Tommy for two days, and Frances decided to walk over and pay her a visit. She expected to find Tommy alone, but, on approaching the house, she heard the sound of a saw and perceived a tall young man engaged in sawing up an enormous tree. He had a snub nose and a freckled face and was attired in khaki trousers, a khaki shirt, and a pair of blue braces. He stopped sawing as Frances approached, and straightened his back and wiped his brow with a large blue handkerchief.
“Are you looking for any one?” he asked, staring at Frances in surprise.
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