by E. Nesbit
CHAPTER X
SCALPS
Probably the day would have been a greater success if Cyril had not beenreading _The Last of the Mohicans_. The story was running in his head atbreakfast, and as he took his third cup of tea he said dreamily, "I wishthere were Red Indians in England--not big ones, you know, but littleones, just about the right size for us to fight."
Everyone disagreed with him at the time and no one attached anyimportance to the incident. But when they went down to the sand-pit toask for a hundred pounds in two-shilling pieces with Queen Victoria'shead on, to prevent mistakes--which they had always felt to be a reallyreasonable wish that must turn out well--they found out that they haddone it again! For the Psammead, which was very cross and sleepy,said--
"Oh, don't bother me. You've had your wish."
"I didn't know it," said Cyril.
"Don't you remember yesterday?" said the Sand-fairy, still moredisagreeably. "You asked me to let you have your wishes wherever youhappened to be, and you wished this morning, and you've got it."
"Oh, have we?" said Robert. "What is it?"
"So you've forgotten?" said the Psammead, beginning to burrow. "Nevermind; you'll know soon enough. And I wish you joy of it! A nice thingyou've let yourselves in for!"
"We always do somehow," said Jane sadly.
And now the odd thing was that no one could remember anyone's havingwished for anything that morning. The wish about the Red Indians had notstuck in anyone's head. It was a most anxious morning. Everyone wastrying to remember what had been wished for, and no one could, andeveryone kept expecting something awful to happen every minute. It wasmost agitating; they knew from what the Psammead had said, that theymust have wished for something more than usually undesirable, and theyspent several hours in most agonizing uncertainty. It was not tillnearly dinner-time that Jane tumbled over _The Last of theMohicans_,--which had of course, been left face downwards on thefloor,--and when Anthea had picked her and the book up she suddenlysaid, "I know!" and sat down flat on the carpet.
"Oh, Pussy, how awful! It was Indians he wished for--Cyril--atbreakfast, don't you remember? He said, 'I wish there were Red Indiansin England,'--and now there are, and they're going about scalping peopleall over the country, as likely as not."
"Perhaps they're only in Northumberland and Durham," said Janesoothingly. It was almost impossible to believe that it could reallyhurt people much to be scalped so far away as that.
"Don't you believe it!" said Anthea. "The Sammyadd said we'd letourselves in for a nice thing. That means they'll come _here_. Andsuppose they scalped the Lamb!"
"Perhaps the scalping would come right again at sunset," said Jane; butshe did not speak so hopefully as usual.
"Not it!" said Anthea. "The things that grow out of the wishes don't go.Look at the fifteen shillings! Pussy, I'm going to break something, andyou must let me have every penny of money you've got. The Indians willcome _here_, don't you see? That Spiteful Psammead as good as said so.You see what my plan is? Come on!"
Jane did not see at all. But she followed her sister meekly intomother's bedroom.
Anthea lifted down the heavy water-jug--it had a pattern of storks andlong grasses on it, which Anthea never forgot. She carried it into thedressing-room, and carefully emptied the water out of it into the bath.Then she took the jug back into the bedroom and dropped it on the floor.You know how a jug always breaks if you happen to drop it by accident.If you happen to drop it on purpose, it is quite different. Antheadropped that jug three times, and it was as unbroken as ever. So at lastshe had to take her father's boot-tree and break the jug with that incold blood. It was heartless work.
Next she broke open the missionary-box with the poker. Jane told herthat it was wrong, of course, but Anthea shut her lips very tight andthen said--
She broke open the missionary-box with the poker.]
"Don't be silly--it's a matter of life and death."
There was not very much in the missionary-box,--onlyseven-and-fourpence,--but the girls between them had nearly fourshillings. This made over eleven shillings, as you will easily see.
Anthea tied up the money in a corner of her pocket-handkerchief. "Comeon, Jane!" she said, and ran down to the farm. She knew that the farmerwas going into Rochester that afternoon. In fact it had been arrangedthat he was to take the four children with him. They had planned this inthe happy hour when they believed that they we're going to get thathundred pounds, in two-shilling pieces, out of the Psammead. They hadarranged to pay the farmer two shillings each for the ride. Now Antheahastily explained to him that they could not go, but would he takeMartha and the Baby instead? He agreed, but he was not pleased to getonly half-a-crown instead of eight shillings.
Then the girls ran home again. Anthea was agitated, but not flurried.When she came to think it over afterwards, she could not help seeingthat she had acted with the most far-seeing promptitude, just like aborn general. She fetched a little box from her corner drawer, and wentto find Martha, who was laying the cloth and not in the best of tempers.
"Look here," said Anthea. "I've broken the water jug in mother's room."
"Just like you--always up to some mischief," said Martha, dumping down asalt-cellar with a bang.
"Don't be cross, Martha dear," said Anthea. "I've got enough money topay for a new one--if only you'll be a dear and go and buy it for us.Your cousins keep a china-shop, don't they? And I would like you to getit to-day, in case mother comes home to-morrow. You know she said shemight perhaps."
"But you're all going into town yourselves," said Martha.
"We can't afford to, if we get the new jug," said Anthea; "but we'll payfor you to go, if you'll take the Lamb. And I say, Martha, lookhere--I'll give you my Liberty box, if you'll go. Look, it's mostawfully pretty--all inlaid with real silver and ivory and ebony, likeKing Solomon's temple."
"I see," said Martha,--"no, I don't want your box, miss. What you wantis to get the precious Lamb off your hands for the afternoon. Don't yougo for to think I don't see through you!"
This was so true that Anthea longed to deny it at once. Martha had nobusiness to know so much. But she held her tongue.
Martha set down the bread with a bang that made it jump off itstrencher.
"I _do_ want the jug got," said Anthea softly. "You _will_ go, won'tyou?"
"Well, just for this once, I don't mind; but mind you don't get intonone of your outrageous mischief while I'm gone--that's all!"
"He's going earlier than he thought," said Anthea eagerly. "You'd betterhurry and get dressed. Do put on that lovely purple frock, Martha, andthe hat with the pink cornflowers, and the yellow-lace collar. Jane'llfinish laying the cloth, and I'll wash the Lamb and get him ready."
As she washed the unwilling Lamb and hurried him into his best clothes,Anthea peeped out of the window from time to time; so far all waswell--she could see no Red Indians. When with a rush and a scurry andsome deepening of the damask of Martha's complexion she and the Lamb hadbeen got off, Anthea drew a deep breath.
"_He's_ safe!" she said, and, to Jane's horror, flung herself down onthe floor and burst into floods of tears. Jane did not understand at allhow a person could be so brave and like a general, and then suddenlygive way and go flat like an air-balloon when you prick it. It is betternot to go flat, of course, but you will observe that Anthea did not giveway till her aim was accomplished. She had got the dear Lamb out ofdanger--she felt certain that the Red Indians would be round the WhiteHouse or nowhere--the farmer's cart would not come back till aftersunset, so she could afford to cry a little. It was partly with joy thatshe cried, because she had done what she meant to do. She cried forabout three minutes, while Jane hugged her miserably and said atfive-second intervals, "Don't cry, Panther dear!"
Then she jumped up, rubbed her eyes hard with the corner of herpinafore, so that they kept red for the rest of the day, and started totell the boys. But just at that moment cook rang the dinner-bell, andnothing could be said till they had been helped
to minced beef. Thencook left the room, and Anthea told her tale. But it is a mistake totell a thrilling tale when people are eating minced beef and boiledpotatoes. There seemed somehow to be something about the food that madethe idea of Red Indians seem flat and unbelievable. The boys actuallylaughed, and called Anthea a little silly.
"Why," said Cyril, "I'm almost sure it was before I said that, that Janesaid she wished it would be a fine day."
"It wasn't," said Jane briefly.
"Why, if it was Indians," Cyril went on,--"salt, please, and mustard--Imust have something to make this mush go down,--if it was Indians,they'd have been infesting the place long before this--you know theywould. I believe it's the fine day."
"Then why did the Sammyadd say we'd let ourselves in for a nice thing?"asked Anthea. She was feeling very cross. She knew she had acted withnobility and discretion, and after that it was very hard to be called alittle silly, especially when she had the weight of a burglaredmissionary-box and about seven-and-fourpence, mostly in coppers, lyinglike lead upon her conscience.
There was a silence, during which cook took away the mincy plates andbrought in the pudding. As soon as she had retired, Cyril began again.
"Of course I don't mean to say," he admitted, "that it wasn't a goodthing to get Martha and the Lamb out of the way for the afternoon; butas for Red Indians--why, you know jolly well the wishes always come thatvery minute. If there was going to be Red Indians, they'd be here now."
"I expect they are," said Anthea; "they're lurking amid the undergrowth,for anything you know. I do think you're most unkind."
"Indians almost always _do_ lurk, really, though, don't they?" put inJane, anxious for peace.
"No, they don't," said Cyril tartly. "And I'm not unkind, I'm onlytruthful. And I say it was utter rot breaking the water-jug; and as forthe missionary-box, I believe it's a treason-crime, and I shouldn'twonder if you could be hanged for it, if any of us was to split"--
"Shut up, can't you?" said Robert; but Cyril couldn't. You see, he feltin his heart that if there _should_ be Indians they would be entirelyhis own fault, so he did not wish to believe in them. And trying not tobelieve things when in your heart you are almost sure they are true, isas bad for the temper as anything I know.
"It's simply idiotic," he said, "talking about Indians, when you can seefor yourself that it's Jane who's got her wish. Look what a fine day itis----_OH!_--"
He had turned towards the window to point out the fineness of theday--the others turned too--and a frozen silence caught at Cyril, andnone of the others felt at all like breaking it. For there, peeringround the corner of the window, among the red leaves of the Virginiacreeper, was a face--a brown face, with a long nose and a tight mouthand very bright eyes. And the face was painted in coloured patches. Ithad long black hair, and in the hair were feathers!
Every child's mouth in the room opened, and stayed open. The pudding wasgrowing white and cold on their plates. No one could move.
Suddenly the feathered head was cautiously withdrawn, and the spell wasbroken. I am sorry to say that Anthea's first words were very like agirl.
"There, now!" she said. "I told you so!"
The pudding had now definitely ceased to charm. Hastily wrapping theirportions in a _Spectator_ of the week before the week before last, theyhid them behind the crinkled paper stove-ornament, and fled upstairs toreconnoitre and to hold a hurried council.
"Pax," said Cyril handsomely when they reached their mother's bedroom."Panther, I'm sorry if I was a brute."
"All right," said Anthea; "but you see now!"
No further trace of Indians, however, could be discerned from thewindows.
"Well," said Robert, "what are we to do?"
"The only thing I can think of," said Anthea, who was now generallyadmitted to be the heroine of the day, "is--if we dressed up as likeIndians as we can, and looked out of the windows, or even went out. Theymight think we were the powerful leaders of a large neighbouring tribe,and--and not do anything to us, you know, for fear of awful vengeance."
"But Eliza, and the cook?" said Jane.
"You forget--they can't notice anything," said Robert. "They wouldn'tnotice anything out of the way, even if they were scalped or roasted ata slow fire."
"But would they come right at sunset?"
"Of course. You can't be really scalped or burned to death withoutnoticing it, and you'd be sure to notice it next day, even if it escapedyour attention at the time," said Cyril. "I think Anthea's right, but weshall want a most awful lot of feathers."
"I'll go down to the hen-house," said Robert. "There's one of theturkeys in there--it's not very well. I could cut its feathers withoutit minding much. It's very bad--doesn't seem to care what happens to it.Get me the cutting-out scissors."
Earnest reconnoitring convinced them all that no Indians were in thepoultry-yard. Robert went. In five minutes he came back--pale, but withmany feathers.
"Look here," he said, "this is jolly serious. I cut off the feathers,and when I turned to come out there was an Indian squinting at me fromunder the old hen-coop. I just brandished the feathers and yelled, andgot away before he could get the coop off top of himself. Panther, getthe coloured blankets off our beds, and look slippy, can't you?"
It is wonderful how like an Indian you can make yourself with blanketsand feathers and coloured scarves. Of course none of the childrenhappened to have long black hair, but there was a lot of black calicothat had been bought to cover school-books with. They cut strips of thisinto a sort of fine fringe, and fastened it round their heads with theamber-coloured ribbons off the girls' Sunday dresses. Then they stuckturkeys' feathers in the ribbons. The calico looked very like long blackhair, especially when the strips began to curl up a bit.
"But our faces," said Anthea, "they're not at all the right colour.We're all rather pale, and I'm sure I don't know why, but Cyril is thecolour of putty."
"I'm not," said Cyril.
"The real Indians outside seem to be brownish," said Robert hastily. "Ithink we ought to be really _red_--it's sort of superior to have a redskin, if you are one."
The red ochre cook uses for the kitchen bricks seemed to be about thereddest thing in the house. The children mixed some in a saucer withmilk, as they had seen cook do for the kitchen floor. Then theycarefully painted each other's faces and hands with it, till they werequite as red as any Red Indian need be--if not redder.
They knew at once that they must look very terrible when they met Elizain the passage, and she screamed aloud. This unsolicited testimonialpleased them very much. Hastily telling her not to be a goose, and thatit was only a game, the four blanketed, feathered, really and trulyRedskins went boldly out to meet the foe. I say boldly. That is becauseI wish to be polite. At any rate, they went.
Along the hedge dividing the wilderness from the garden was a row ofdark heads, all highly feathered.
"It's our only chance," whispered Anthea. "Much better than to wait fortheir blood-freezing attack. We must pretend like mad. Like that game ofcards where you pretend you've got aces when you haven't. Fluffing theycall it, I think. Now then. Whoop!"
With four wild war-whoops--or as near them as white children could beexpected to go without any previous practice--they rushed through thegate and struck four war-like attitudes in face of the line of RedIndians. These were all about the same height, and that height wasCyril's.
"I hope to goodness they can talk English," said Cyril through hisattitude.
Anthea knew they could, though she never knew how she came to know it.She had a white towel tied to a walking-stick. This was a flag of truce,and she waved it, in the hope that the Indians would know what it was.Apparently they did--for one who was browner than the others steppedforward.
"Ye seek a pow-wow?" he said in excellent English. "I am Golden Eagle,of the mighty tribe of Rock-dwellers."
"Ye seek a pow-wow?" he said]
"And I," said Anthea, with a sudden inspiration, "am the BlackPanther--chief of the--the--t
he--Mazawattee tribe. My brothers--I don'tmean--yes, I do--the tribe--I mean the Mazawattees--are in ambush belowthe brow of yonder hill."
"And what mighty warriors be these?" asked Golden Eagle, turning to theothers.
Cyril said he was the great chief Squirrel, of the Moning Congo tribe,and, seeing that Jane was sucking her thumb and could evidently think ofno name for herself, he added, "This great warrior is Wild Cat--PussyFerox we call it in this land--leader of the vast Phiteezi tribe."
"And thou, valorous Redskin?" Golden Eagle inquired suddenly of Robert,who, taken unawares, could only reply that he was Bobs--leader of theCape Mounted Police.
"And now," said Black Panther, "our tribes, if we just whistle them up,will far outnumber your puny forces; so resistance is useless. Return,therefore, to your land, O brother, and smoke pipes of peace in yourwampums with your squaws and your medicine-men, and dress yourselves inthe gayest wigwams, and eat happily of the juicy fresh-caughtmoccasins."
"You've got it all wrong," murmured Cyril angrily. But Golden Eagle onlylooked inquiringly at her.
"Thy customs are other than ours, O Black Panther," he said. "Bring upthy tribe, that we may hold pow-wow in state before them, as becomesgreat chiefs."
"We'll bring them up right enough," said Anthea, "with their bows andarrows, and tomahawks and scalping-knives, and everything you can thinkof, if you don't look sharp and go."
She spoke bravely enough, but the hearts of all the children werebeating furiously, and their breath came in shorter and shorter gasps.For the little real Red Indians were closing up round them--comingnearer and nearer with angry murmurs--so that they were the centre of acrowd of dark cruel faces.
"It's no go," whispered Robert. "I knew it wouldn't be. We must make abolt for the Psammead. It might help us. If it doesn't--well, I supposewe shall come alive again at sunset. I wonder if scalping hurts as muchas they say."
"I'll wave the flag again," said Anthea. "If they stand back, we'll runfor it."
She waved the towel, and the chief commanded his followers to standback. Then, charging wildly at the place where the line of Indians wasthinnest, the four children started to run. Their first rush knockeddown some half-dozen Indians, over whose blanketed bodies the childrenleaped, and made straight for the sand-pit. This was no time for thesafe easy way by which carts go down--right over the edge of thesand-pit they went, among the yellow and pale purple flowers and driedgrasses, past the little bank martins' little front doors, skipping,clinging, bounding, stumbling, sprawling, and finally rolling.
Yellow Eagle and his followers came up with them just at the very spotwhere they had seen the Psammead that morning.
Breathless and beaten, the wretched children now awaited their fate.Sharp knives and axes gleamed round them, but worse than these was thecruel light in the eyes of Golden Eagle and his followers.
"Ye have lied to us, O Black Panther of the Mazawattees--and thou, too,Squirrel of the Moning Congos. These also, Pussy Ferox of the Phiteezi,and Bobs of the Cape Mounted Police,--these also have lied to us, if notwith their tongues, yet by their silence. Ye have lied under the coverof the Truce-flag of the Pale-face. Ye have no followers. Your tribesare far away--following the hunting trail. What shall be their doom?" heconcluded, turning with a bitter smile to the other Red Indians.
"Build we the fire!" shouted his followers; and at once a dozen readyvolunteers started to look for fuel. The four children, each heldbetween two strong little Indians, cast despairing glances round them.Oh, if they could only see the Psammead!
"Do you mean to scalp us first and then roast us?" asked Antheadesperately.
"Of course!" Redskin opened his eyes at her. "It's always done."
The Indians had formed a ring round the children, and now sat on theground gazing at their captives. There was a threatening silence.
Then slowly, by twos and threes, the Indians who had gone to look forfirewood came back, and they came back empty-handed. They had not beenable to find a single stick of wood for a fire! No one ever can, as amatter of fact, in that part of Kent.
The children drew a deep breath of relief, but it ended in a moan ofterror. For bright knives were being brandished all about them. Nextmoment each child was seized by an Indian; each closed its eyes andtried not to scream. They waited for the sharp agony of the knife. Itdid not come. Next moment they were released, and fell in a tremblingheap. Their heads did not hurt at all. They only felt strangely cool!Wild war-whoops rang in their ears. When they ventured to open theireyes they saw four of their foes dancing round them with wild leaps andscreams, and each of the four brandished in his hand a scalp of longflowing black hair. They put their hands to their heads--their ownscalps were safe! The poor untutored savages had indeed scalped thechildren. But they had only, so to speak, scalped them of the blackcalico ringlets!
Bright knives were being brandished all about them]
The children fell into each other's arms, sobbing and laughing.
"Their scalps are ours," chanted the chief; "ill-rooted were theirill-fated hairs! They came off in the hands of the victors--withoutstruggle, without resistance, they yielded their scalps to theconquering Rock-dwellers! Oh, how little a thing is a scalp so lightlywon!"
"They'll take our real ones in a minute; you see if they don't," saidRobert, trying to rub some of the red ochre off his face and hands on tohis hair.
"Cheated of our just and fiery revenge are we," the chant went on,--"butthere are other torments than the scalping-knife and the flames. Yet isthe slow fire the correct thing. O strange unnatural country, wherein aman may find no wood to burn his enemy!--Ah for the boundless forests ofmy native land, where the great trees for thousands of miles grow but tofurnish firewood wherewithal to burn our foes. Ah, would we were but inour native forest once more!"
Suddenly like a flash of lightning, the golden gravel shone all roundthe four children instead of the dusky figures. For every singleIndian had vanished on the instant at their leader's word. The Psammeadmust have been there all the time. And it had given the Indian chief hiswish.
* * * * *
Martha brought home a jug with a pattern of storks and long grasses onit. Also she brought back all Anthea's money.
"My cousin, she gave me the jug for luck; she said it was an odd onewhat the basin of had got smashed."
"Oh, Martha, you are a dear!" sighed Anthea, throwing her arms roundher.
"Yes," giggled Martha, "you'd better make the most of me while you'vegot me. I shall give your ma notice directly minute she comes back."
"Oh, Martha, we haven't been so _very_ horrid to you, have we?" askedAnthea, aghast.
"Oh, it isn't that, miss." Martha giggled more than ever. "I'm a-goin'to be married. It's Beale the gamekeeper. He's been a-proposin' to meoff and on ever since you come home from the clergyman's where you gotlocked up on the church-tower. And to-day I said the word an' made him ahappy man."
* * * * *
Anthea put the seven-and-fourpence back in the missionary-box, andpasted paper over the place where the poker had broken it. She was veryglad to be able to do this, and she does not know to this day whetherbreaking open a missionary-box is or is not a hanging matter!
CHAPTER XI (AND LAST)
THE LAST WISH
Of course you, who see above that this is the eleventh (and last)chapter, know very well that the day of which this chapter tells must bethe last on which Cyril, Anthea, Robert, and Jane will have a chance ofgetting anything out of the Psammead, or Sand-fairy.
But the children themselves did not know this. They were full of rosyvisions, and, whereas on the other days they had often found itextremely difficult to think of anything really nice to wish for, theirbrains were now full of the most beautiful and sensible ideas. "This,"as Jane remarked afterwards, "is always the way." Everyone was up extraearly that morning, and these plans were hopefully discussed in thegarden before breakfast. The old idea of one hundred pou
nds in modernflorins was still first favourite, but there were others that ran itclose--the chief of these being the "pony-each" idea. This had a greatadvantage. You could wish for a pony each during the morning, ride itall day, have it vanish at sunset, and wish it back again next day.Which would be an economy of litter and stabling. But at breakfast twothings happened. First, there was a letter from mother. Granny wasbetter, and mother and father hoped to be home that very afternoon. Acheer arose. And of course this news at once scattered all thebefore-breakfast wish-ideas. For everyone saw quite plainly that thewish of the day must be something to please mother and not to pleasethemselves.
"I wonder what she _would_ like," pondered Cyril.
"She'd like us all to be good," said Jane primly.
"Yes--but that's so dull for us," Cyril rejoined; "and besides, I shouldhope we could be that without sand-fairies to help us. No; it must besomething splendid, that we couldn't possibly get without wishing for."
"Look out," said Anthea in a warning voice; "don't forget yesterday.Remember, we get our wishes now just wherever we happen to be when wesay 'I wish.' Don't let's let ourselves in for anything silly--to-day ofall days."
"All right," said Cyril. "You needn't talk so much."
Just then Martha came in with a jug full of hot water for thetea-pot--and a face full of importance for the children.
"A blessing we're all alive to eat our breakfast!" she said darkly.
"Why, whatever's happened?" everybody asked.
"Oh, nothing," said Martha, "only it seems nobody's safe from beingmurdered in their beds nowadays."
"Why," said Jane as an agreeable thrill of horror ran down her back andlegs and out at her toes, "_has_ anyone been murdered in their beds?"
"Well--not exactly," said Martha; "but they might just as well. There'sbeen burglars over at Peasemarsh Place--Beale's just told me--andthey've took every single one of Lady Chittenden's diamonds and jewelsand things, and she's a-goin out of one fainting fit into another, withhardly time to say 'Oh, my diamonds!' in between. And Lord Chittenden'saway in London."
"Lady Chittenden," said Anthea; "we've seen her. She wears ared-and-white dress, and she has no children of her own and can't abideother folkses'."
"That's her," said Martha. "Well, she's put all her trust in riches, andyou see how she's served. They say the diamonds and things was worththousands of pounds. There was a necklace and a river--whatever thatis--and no end of bracelets; and a tarrer and ever so many rings. Butthere, I mustn't stand talking and all the place to clean down aforeyour ma comes home."
"I don't see why she should ever have had such lots of diamonds," saidAnthea when Martha had flounced off. "She was not at all a nice lady, Ithought. And mother hasn't any diamonds, and hardly any jewels--thetopaz necklace, and the sapphire ring daddy gave her when they wereengaged, and the garnet star, and the little pearl brooch withgreat-grandpapa's hair in it,--that's about all."
"When I'm grown up I'll buy mother no end of diamonds," said Robert, "ifshe wants them. I shall make so much money exploring in Africa I shan'tknow what to do with it."
"Wouldn't it be jolly," said Jane dreamily, "if mother could find allthese lovely things, necklaces and rivers of diamonds and tarrers?"
"_Ti--aras_," said Cyril.
"Ti--aras, then,--and rings and everything in her room when she camehome. I wish she would"--
The others gazed at her in horror.
"Well, she _will_," said Robert; "you've wished, my good Jane--and ouronly chance now is to find the Psammead, and if it's in a good temperit _may_ take back the wish and give us another. If not--well--goodnessknows what we're in for!--the police of course, and---- Don't cry,silly! We'll stand by you. Father says we need never to be afraid if wedon't do anything wrong and always speak the truth."
But Cyril and Anthea exchanged gloomy glances. They remembered howconvincing the truth about the Psammead had been once before when toldto the police.
It was a day of misfortunes. Of course the Psammead could not be found.Nor the jewels, though every one of the children searched the mother'sroom again and again.
"Of course," Robert said, "_we_ couldn't find them. It'll be motherwho'll do that. Perhaps she'll think they've been in the house for yearsand years, and never know they are the stolen ones at all."
"Oh yes!" Cyril was very scornful; "then mother will be a receiver ofstolen goods, and you know jolly well what _that's_ worse than."
Another and exhaustive search of the sand-pit failed to reveal thePsammead, so the children went back to the house slowly and sadly.
"I don't care," said Anthea stoutly, "we'll tell mother the truth, andshe'll give back the jewels--and make everything all right."
"Do you think so?" said Cyril slowly. "Do you think she'll believe us?Could anyone believe about a Sammyadd unless they'd seen it? She'llthink we're pretending. Or else she'll think we're raving mad, and thenwe shall be sent to the mad-house. How would you like it?"--he turnedsuddenly on the miserable Jane,--"how would you like it, to be shut upin an iron cage with bars and padded walls, and nothing to do but stickstraws in your hair all day, and listen to the howlings and ravings ofthe other maniacs? Make up your minds to it, all of you. It's no usetelling mother."
"But it's true," said Jane.
"Of course it is, but it's not true enough for grown-up people tobelieve it," said Anthea.
"Cyril's right. Let's put flowers in all the vases, and try not to thinkabout the diamonds. After all, everything has come right in the end allthe other times."
So they filled all the pots they could find with flowers--asters andzinnias, and loose-leaved late red roses from the wall of thestableyard, till the house was a perfect bower.
And almost as soon as dinner was cleared away mother arrived, and wasclasped in eight loving arms. It was very difficult indeed not to tellher all about the Psammead at once, because they had got into the habitof telling her everything. But they did succeed in not telling her.
She was clasped in eight loving arms]
Mother, on her side, had plenty to tell them--about Granny, and Granny'spigeons, and Auntie Emma's lame tame donkey. She was very delighted withthe flowery-boweryness of the house; and everything seemed so naturaland pleasant, now that she was home again, that the children almostthought they must have dreamed the Psammead.
But, when mother moved towards the stairs to go up to her bedroom andtake off her bonnet, the eight arms clung round her just as if she onlyhad two children, one the Lamb and the other an octopus.
"Don't go up, mummy darling," said Anthea; "let me take your things upfor you."
"Or I will," said Cyril.
"We want you to come and look at the rose-tree," said Robert.
"Oh, don't go up!" said Jane helplessly.
"Nonsense, dears," said mother briskly, "I'm not such an old woman yetthat I can't take my bonnet off in the proper place. Besides I must washthese black hands of mine."
So up she went, and the children, following her, exchanged glances ofgloomy foreboding.
Mother took off her bonnet,--it was a very pretty hat, really, withwhite roses in it,--and when she had taken it off she went to thedressing-table to do her pretty hair.
On the table between the ring-stand and the pin-cushion lay a greenleather case. Mother opened it.
"Oh, how lovely!" she cried. It was a ring, a large pearl with shiningmany-lighted diamonds set round it. "Wherever did this come from?"mother asked, trying it on her wedding finger, which it fittedbeautifully. "However did it come here?"
"I don't know," said each of the children truthfully.
"Father must have told Martha to put it here," mother said. "I'll rundown and ask her."
"Let me look at it," said Anthea, who knew Martha would not be able tosee the ring. But when Martha was asked, of course she denied puttingthe ring there, and so did Eliza and cook.
Mother came back to her bedroom, very much interested and pleased aboutthe ring. But, when she opened the dressing-table d
rawer and found along case containing an almost priceless diamond necklace, she was moreinterested still, though not so pleased. In the wardrobe, when she wentto put away her "bonnet," she found a tiara and several brooches, andthe rest of the jewellery turned up in various parts of the room duringthe next half-hour. The children looked more and more uncomfortable, andnow Jane began to sniff.
Mother looked at her gravely.
"Jane," she said, "I am sure you know something about this. Now thinkbefore you speak, and tell me the truth."
"We found a Fairy," said Jane obediently.
"We found a Fairy," said Jane obediently]
"No nonsense, please," said her mother sharply.
"Don't be silly, Jane," Cyril interrupted. Then he went on desperately."Look here, mother, we've never seen the things before, but LadyChittenden at Peasmarsh Place lost all her jewellery by wicked burglarslast night. Could this possibly be it?"
All drew a deep breath. They were saved.
"But how could they have put it here? And why should they?" askedmother, not unreasonably. "Surely it would have been easier and safer tomake off with it?"
"Suppose," said Cyril, "they thought it better to wait for--forsunset--nightfall, I mean, before they went off with it. No one but usknew that you were coming back to-day."
"I must send for the police at once," said mother distractedly. "Oh, howI wish daddy were here!"
"Wouldn't it be better to wait till he _does_ come?" asked Robert,knowing that his father would not be home before sunset.
"No, no; I can't wait a minute with all this on my mind," cried mother."All this" was the heap of jewel-cases on the bed. They put them all inthe wardrobe, and mother locked it. Then mother called Martha.
"Martha," she said, "has any stranger been into my room since I've beenaway? Now, answer me truthfully."
"No, mum," answered Martha; "leastways, what I mean to say"--
She stopped.
"Come," said her mistress kindly, "I see someone has. You must tell meat once. Don't be frightened. I'm sure _you_ haven't done anythingwrong."
Martha burst into heavy sobs.
"I was a-goin' to give you warning this very day, mum, to leave at theend of my month, so I was,--on account of me being going to make arespectable young man happy. A gamekeeper he is by trade, mum--and Iwouldn't deceive you--of the name of Beale. And it's as true as I standhere, it was your coming home in such a hurry, and no warning given, outof the kindness of his heart it was, as he says, 'Martha, my beauty,' hesays,--which I ain't, and never was, but you know how them men will goon,--'I can't see you a-toiling and a-moiling and not lend a 'elping'and; which mine is a strong arm, and it's yours Martha, my dear,' sayshe. And so he helped me a-cleanin' of the windows--but outside, mum, thewhole time, and me in; if I never say another breathing word it's gospeltruth."
"Were you with him the whole time?" asked her mistress.
"Him outside and me in, I was," said Martha; "except for fetching up afresh pail and the leather that that slut of a Eliza'd hidden awaybehind the mangle."
"That will do," said the children's mother. "I am not pleased with you,Martha, but you have spoken the truth, and that counts for something."
When Martha had gone, the children clung round their mother.
"Oh, mummy darling," cried Anthea, "it isn't Beale's fault, it isn'treally! He's a great dear; he is, truly and honourably, and as honest asthe day. Don't let the police take him, mummy! Oh, don't, don't, don't!"
It was truly awful. Here was an innocent man accused of robbery throughthat silly wish of Jane's, and it was absolutely useless to tell thetruth. All longed to, but they thought of the straws in the hair and theshrieks of the other frantic maniacs, and they could not do it.
"Is there a cart hereabouts?" asked the mother feverishly. "A trap ofany sort? I must drive in to Rochester and tell the police at once."
All the children sobbed, "There's a cart at the farm, but, oh, don'tgo!--don't go!--oh, don't go!--wait till daddy comes home!"
Mother took not the faintest notice. When she had set her mind on athing she always went straight through with it; she was rather likeAnthea in this respect.
"Look here, Cyril," she said, sticking on her hat with long sharpviolet-headed pins, "I leave you in charge. Stay in the dressing-room.You can pretend to be swimming boats in the bath, or something. Say Igave you leave. But stay there, with the door on the landing open; I'velocked the other. And don't let anyone go into my room. Remember, no oneknows the jewels are there except me, and all of you, and the wickedthieves who put them there. Robert, you stay in the garden and watch thewindows. If anyone tries to get in you must run and tell the two farmmen that I'll send up to wait in the kitchen. I'll tell them there aredangerous characters about--that's true enough. Now remember, I trustyou both. But I don't think they'll try it till after dark, so you'requite safe. Good-bye, darlings."
And she locked her bedroom door and went off with the key in her pocket.
The children could not help admiring the dashing and decided way inwhich she had acted. They thought how useful she would have been inorganising escape from some of the tight places in which they had foundthemselves of late in consequence of their ill-timed wishes.
"She's a born general," said Cyril,--"but _I_ don't know what's going tohappen to us. Even if the girls were to hunt for that old Sammyadd andfind it, and get it to take the jewels away again, mother would onlythink we hadn't looked out properly and let the burglars sneak in andget them--or else the police will think _we've_ got them--or else thatshe's been fooling them. Oh, it's a pretty decent average ghastly messthis time, and no mistake!"
He savagely made a paper boat and began to float it in the bath, as hehad been told to do.
Robert went into the garden and sat down on the worn yellow grass, withhis miserable head between his helpless hands.
Anthea and Jane whispered together in the passage downstairs, where thecocoanut matting was--with the hole in it that you always caught yourfoot in if you were not careful. Martha's voice could be heard in thekitchen,--grumbling loud and long.
"It's simply quite too dreadfully awful," said Anthea. "How do you knowall the diamonds are there, too? If they aren't, the police will thinkmother and father have got them, and that they've only given up some ofthem for a kind of desperate blind. And they'll be put in prison, and weshall be branded outcasts, the children of felons. And it won't be atall nice for father and mother either," she added, by a candidafter-thought.
"But what can we _do_?" asked Jane.
"Nothing--at least we might look for the Psammead again. It's a very,_very_ hot day. He may have come out to warm that whisker of his."
"He won't give us any more beastly wishes to-day," said Jane flatly. "Hegets crosser and crosser every time we see him. I believe he hateshaving to give wishes."
Anthea had been shaking her head gloomily--now she stopped shaking it sosuddenly that it really looked as though she were pricking up her ears.
"What is it?" asked Jane. "Oh, have you thought of something?"
"Our one chance," cried Anthea dramatically; "the last lone-lorn forlornhope. Come on."
At a brisk trot she led the way to the sand-pit. Oh, joy!--there was thePsammead, basking in a golden sandy hollow and preening its whiskershappily in the glowing afternoon sun. The moment it saw them it whiskedround and began to burrow--it evidently preferred its own company totheirs. But Anthea was too quick for it. She caught it by its furryshoulders gently but firmly, and held it.
"Here--none of that!" said the Psammead. "Leave go of me, will you?"
But Anthea held him fast.
"Dear kind darling Sammyadd," she said breathlessly.
"Oh yes--it's all very well," it said; "you want another wish, I expect.But I can't keep on slaving from morning till night giving people theirwishes. I must have _some_ time to myself."
"Do you hate giving wishes?" asked Anthea gently, and her voice trembledwith excitement.
"Of cours
e I do," it said. "Leave go of me or I'll bite!--I reallywill--I mean it. Oh, well, if you choose to risk it."
Anthea risked it and held on.
"Look here," she said, "don't bite me--listen to reason. If you'll onlydo what we want to-day, we'll never ask you for another wish as long aswe live."
The Psammead was much moved.
"I'd do anything," it said in a tearful voice. "I'd almost burst myselfto give you one wish after another, as long as I held out, if you'd onlynever, never ask me to do it after to-day. If you knew how I hate toblow myself out with other people's wishes, and how frightened I amalways that I shall strain a muscle or something. And then to wake upevery morning and know you've _got_ to do it. You don't know what itis--you don't know what it is, you don't!" Its voice cracked withemotion, and the last "don't" was a squeak.
Anthea set it down gently on the sand.
"It's all over now," she said soothingly. "We promise faithfully neverto ask for another wish after to-day."
"Well, go ahead," said the Psammead; "let's get it over."
"How many can you do?"
"I don't know--as long as I can hold out."
"Well, first, I wish Lady Chittenden may find she's never lost herjewels."
The Psammead blew itself out, collapsed, and said, "Done."
"I wish," said Anthea more slowly, "mother mayn't get to the police."
"Done," said the creature after the proper interval.
"I wish," said Jane suddenly, "mother could forget all about thediamonds."
"Done," said the Psammead; but its voice was weaker.
"Would you like to rest a little?" asked Anthea considerately.
"Yes, please," said the Psammead; "and, before we go any further, willyou wish something for me?"
"Can't you do wishes for yourself?"
"Of course not," it said; "we were always expected to give each otherour wishes--not that we had any to speak of in the good old Megatheriumdays. Just wish, will you, that you may never be able, any of you, totell anyone a word about _Me_."
"Why?" asked Jane.
"Why, don't you see, if you told grown-ups I should have no peace of mylife. They'd get hold of me, and they wouldn't wish silly things likeyou do, but real earnest things; and the scientific people would hit onsome way of making things last after sunset, as likely as not; andthey'd ask for a graduated income-tax, and old-age pensions, and manhoodsuffrage, and free secondary education, and dull things like that; andget them, and keep them, and the whole world would be turnedtopsy-turvy. Do wish it! Quick!"
Anthea repeated the Psammead's wish, and it blew itself out to a largersize than they had yet seen it attain.
"And now," it said as it collapsed, "can I do anything more for you?"
"Just one thing; and I think that clears everything up, doesn't it,Jane? I wish Martha to forget about the diamond ring, and mother toforget about the keeper cleaning the windows."
"It's like the 'Brass Bottle,'" said Jane.
"Yes, I'm glad we read that or I should never have thought of it."
"Now," said the Psammead faintly, "I'm almost worn out. Is thereanything else?"
"No; only thank you kindly for all you've done for us, and I hope you'llhave a good long sleep, and I hope we shall see you again some day."
"Is that a wish?" it said in a weak voice.
"Yes, please," said the two girls together.
It burrowed, and disappeared, scratching fiercely to thelast]
Then for the last time in this story they saw the Psammead blow itselfout and collapse suddenly. It nodded to them, blinked its long snail'seyes, burrowed, and disappeared, scratching fiercely to the last, andthe sand closed over it.
* * * * *
"I hope we've done right?" said Jane.
"I'm sure we have," said Anthea. "Come on home and tell the boys."
Anthea found Cyril glooming over his paper boats, and told him. Janetold Robert. The two tales were only just ended when mother walked in,hot and dusty. She explained that as she was being driven into Rochesterto buy the girls' autumn school-dresses the axle had broken, and but forthe narrowness of the lane and the high soft hedges she would have beenthrown out. As it was, she was not hurt, but she had had to walk home."And oh, my dearest dear chicks," she said, "I am simply dying for a cupof tea! Do run and see if the water boils!"
"So you see it's all right," Jane whispered. "She doesn't remember."
"No more does Martha," said Anthea, who had been to ask after the stateof the kettle.
As the servants sat at their tea, Beale the gamekeeper dropped in. Hebrought the welcome news that Lady Chittenden's diamonds had not beenlost at all. Lord Chittenden had taken them to be re-set and cleaned,and the maid who knew about it had gone for a holiday. So that was allright.
"I wonder if we ever shall see the Psammead again," said Jane wistfullyas they walked in the garden, while mother was putting the Lamb to bed.
"I'm sure we shall," said Cyril, "if you really wished it."
"We've promised never to ask it for another wish," said Anthea.
"I never want to," said Robert earnestly.
They did see it again, of course, but not in this story. And it was notin a sand-pit either, but in a very, very, very different place. It wasin a---- But I must say no more.
* * * * *
Transcriber's notes:
Varied hyphenation retained where a majority could not be found.Exceptions noted.
Page 60, "Peasemarch" changed to "Peasemarsh" to conform to rest oftext. "Billy Peasemarsh."
Page 111, "hasily" changed to "hastily" in "Jane hastily finished".
Page 116, extraneous " removed. "better. What"
Page 179, Quotation mark added. "...Anthea said. "It's creepy..."
Page 193, "gatehouse" changed to "gate-house" to conform to rest oftext, "in the gate-house."
Page 290, "Peasmarsh" changed to "Peasemarsh" in "at Peasemarsh Place",also on page 297, "Peasemarsh Place".
