New Treasure Seekers; Or, The Bastable Children in Search of a Fortune
Any way, the keg was broached, and sure enough it was water, and
sea-water at that, as the Unamiable One said when he had tasted it out
of a tin cup, for nothing else would convince him. "But I smell brandy
still," he said, wiping his mouth after the sea-water.
Our Viking slowly drew a good-sized flat labelled bottle out of the
front of his jersey.
"From the 'Old Ship,'" he said gently. "I may have spilt a drop or two
here or there over the keg, my hand not being very steady, as is well
known, owing to spells of marsh fever as comes over me every six weeks
to the day."
The coastguard that we never could bear said, "Marsh fever be something
or othered," and his comrades said the same. But they all blamed _him_,
and we were glad.
We went home sleepy, but rejoicing. The whole thing was as complete a
sell as ever I wish to see.
Of course we told our own dear and respected Lymchurch coastguards, and
I think they may be trusted not to let it down on the Longbeach
coastguards for many a good day. If their memories get bad I think there
will always be plenty of people along that coast to remind them!
So _that's_ all right.
* * * * *
When we had told the girls all, and borne their reproaches for not
telling them before, we decided to give the Viking five bob for the game
way he had played up.
So we did. He would not take it at first, but when we said, "Do--you
might buy a pig with it, and call it Stokes after that coastguard," he
could no longer resist, and accepted our friendly gift.
We talked with him for a bit, and when we were going we thanked him for
being so jolly, and helping us to plant out the repulsive coastguard so
thoroughly.
Then he said, "Don't mention it. Did you tell your little gells what you
was up to?"
"No," said Oswald, "not till afterwards."
"Then you _can_ hold your tongues. Well, since you've acted so handsome
about that there pig, what's to be named for Stokes, I don't mind if I
tells you something. Only mum's the word."
We said we were quite sure it was.
"Well, then," said he, leaning over the pig-stye wall, and rubbing the
spotted pig's back with his stick. "It's an ill wind that blows no good
to nobody. You see, that night there was a little bird went an'
whispered to 'em up at Longbeach about our little bit of a keg. So when
we landed they was there."
"Of course," said Oswald.
"Well, if they was there they couldn't be somewheres else, could they?"
We owned they could not.
"I shouldn't wonder," he went on, "but what a bit of a cargo was run
that night further up the beach: something as _wasn't_ sea-water. I
don't say it was so, mind--and mind you don't go for to say it."
Then we understood that there is a little smuggling done still, and that
we had helped in it, though quite without knowing.
We were jolly glad. Afterwards, when we had had that talk with Father,
when he told us that the laws are made by the English people, and it is
dishonourable for an Englishman not to stick to them, we saw that
smuggling must be wrong.
But we have never been able to feel really sorry. I do not know why this
is.
_ZAIDA, THE MYSTERIOUS PROPHETESS OF THE GOLDEN ORIENT_
THIS is the story of how we were gipsies and wandering minstrels. And,
like everything else we did about that time, it was done to make money
for Miss Sandal, whose poorness kept on, making our kind hearts ache.
It is rather difficult to get up any good game in a house like Miss
Sandal's, where there is nothing lying about, except your own things,
and where everything is so neat and necessary. Your own clothes are
seldom interesting, and even if you change hats with your sisters it is
not a complete disguise.
The idea of being gipsies was due to Alice. She had not at all liked
being entirely out of the smuggling affray, though Oswald explained to
her that it was her own fault for having been born a girl. And, of
course, after the event, Dicky and I had some things to talk about that
the girls hadn't, and we had a couple of wet days.
You have no idea how dull you can be in a house like that, unless you
happen to know the sort of house I mean. A house that is meant for
plain living and high thinking, like Miss Sandal told us, may be very
nice for the high thinkers, but if you are not accustomed to thinking
high there is only the plain living left, and it is like boiled rice for
every meal to any young mind, however much beef and Yorkshire there may
be for the young insides. Mrs. Beale saw to our having plenty of nice
things to eat, but, alas! it is not always dinner-time, and in between
meals the cold rice-pudding feeling is very chilling. Of course we had
the splendid drawings of winged things made by our Flying Lodger, but
you cannot look at pictures all day long, however many coloured chalks
they are drawn with, and however fond you may be of them.
Miss Sandal's was the kind of house that makes you wander all round it
and say, "What shall we do next?" And when it rains the little ones get
cross.
It was the second wet day when we were wandering round the house to the
sad music of our boots on the clean, bare boards that Alice said--
"Mrs. Beale has got a book at her house called 'Napoleon's book of
Fate.' You might ask her to let you go and get it, Oswald. She likes you
best."
Oswald is as modest as any one I know, but the truth is the truth.
"We could tell our fortunes, and read the dark future," Alice went on.
"It would be better than high thinking without anything particular to
think about."
So Oswald went down to Mrs. Beale and said--
"I say, Bealie dear, you've got a book up at your place. I wish you'd
lend it to us to read."
"If it's the Holy Book you mean, sir," replied Mrs. Beale, going on with
peeling the potatoes that were to be a radiant vision later on, all
brown and crisp in company with a leg of mutton--"if it's the Holy Book
you want there's one up on Miss Sandal's chest of drawerses."
"I know," said Oswald. He knew every book in the house. The backs of
them were beautiful--leather and gold--but inside they were like whited
sepulchres, full of poetry and improving reading. "No--we didn't want
that book just now. It is a book called 'Napoleon's book of Fate.' Would
you mind if I ran up to your place and got it?"
"There's no one at home," said Mrs. Beale; "wait a bit till I go along
to the bakus with the meat, and I'll fetch it along."
"You might let me go," said Oswald, whose high spirit is always
ill-attuned to waiting a bit. "I wouldn't touch anything else, and I
know where you keep the key."
"There's precious little as ye don't know, it seems to me," said Mrs.
Beale. "There, run along do. It's on top of the mantelshelf alongside
the picture tea-tin. It's a red book. Don't go taking the 'Wesleyan
Conference Reports' by mistake, the two is both together on the mantel."
Oswald in his macker splashed through the mud to Mrs. Beale's, found the
key under the loose tile behind the water-butt, and got the book without
adventure. He had promised not to touch anything else, so he could not
make even the gentlest booby-trap as a little surprise for Mrs. Beale
when she got back.
And most of that day we were telling our fortunes by the ingenious means
invented by the great Emperor, or by cards, which it is hard to remember
the rules for, or by our dreams. The only blights were that the others
all wanted to have the book all the time, and that Noel's dreams were so
long and mixed that we got tired of hearing about them before he did.
But he said he was quite sure he had dreamed every single bit of every
one of them. And the author hopes this was the truth.
We all went to bed hoping we should dream something that we could look
up in the dream book, but none of us did.
And in the morning it was still raining and Alice said--
"Look here, if it ever clears up again let's dress up and be gipsies. We
can go about in the distant villages telling people's fortunes. If
you'll let me have the book all to-day I can learn up quite enough to
tell them mysteriously and darkly. And gipsies always get their hands
crossed with silver."
Dicky said that was one way of keeping the book to herself, but Oswald
said--
"Let her try. She shall have it for an hour, and then we'll have an
exam. to see how much she knows."
This was done, but while she was swatting the thing up with her fingers
in her ears we began to talk about how gipsies should be dressed.
And when we all went out of the room to see if we could find anything in
that tidy house to dress up in, she came after us to see what was up. So
there was no exam.
We peeped into the cupboards and drawers in Miss Sandal's room, but
everything was grey or brown, not at all the sort of thing to dress up
for children of the Sunny South in. The plain living was shown in all
her clothes; and besides, grey shows every little spot you may happen to
get on it.
We were almost in despair. We looked in all the drawers in all the
rooms, but found only sheets and tablecloths and more grey and brown
clothing.
We tried the attic, with fainting hearts. Servants' clothes are always
good for dressing-up with; they have so many different colours. But Miss
Sandal had no servant. Still, she might have had one once, and the
servant might have left something behind her. Dora suggested this and
added--
"If you don't find anything in the attic you'll know it's Fate, and
you're not to do it. Besides, I'm almost sure you can be put in prison
for telling fortunes."
"Not if you're a gipsy you can't," said Noel; "they have licences to
tell fortunes, I believe, and judges can't do anything to them."
So we went up to the attic. And it was as bare and tidy as the rest of
the house. But there were some boxes and we looked in them. The smallest
was full of old letters, so we shut it again at once. Another had books
in it, and the last had a clean towel spread over what was inside. So we
took off the towel, and then every one said "Oh!"
In right on the top was a scarlet thing, embroidered heavily with gold.
It proved, on unfolding, to be a sort of coat, like a Chinaman's. We
lifted it out and laid it on the towel on the floor. And then the full
glories of that box were revealed. There were cloaks and dresses and
skirts and scarves, of all the colours of a well-chosen rainbow, and all
made of the most beautiful silks and stuffs, with things worked on them
with silk, as well as chains of beads and many lovely ornaments. We
think Miss Sandal must have been very fond of pretty things when she was
young, or when she was better off.
"Well, there won't be any gipsies near by to come up to _us_," said
Oswald joyously.
"Do you think we ought to take them, without asking?" said Dora.
"Of course not," said Oswald witheringly; "we ought to write to her and
say, 'Please, Miss Sandal, we know how poor you are, and may we borrow
your things to be gipsies in so as we get money for you---- All right!
You go and write the letter, Dora."
"I only just asked," said Dora.
We tried the things on. Some of them were so ladylike that they were no
good--evening dresses, and things like that. But there were enough
useful things to go round. Oswald, in white shirt and flannel
knee-breeches, tied a brick-coloured silk scarf round his middle part,
and a green one round his head for a turban. The turban was fastened
with a sparkling brooch with pink stones in it. He looked like a Moorish
toreador. Dicky had the scarlet and gold coat, which was the right
length when Dora had run a tuck in it.