The Railway Children
locomotives or signals or the likes,” said Perks.
“We didn't know you didn't know.”
“We thought Mother had told you.”
“Wewantedtotellyouonlywethoughtitwouldbestalenews.”
The three spoke all at once.
Perks said it was all very well, and still held up the paper. Then
Phyllis suddenly snatched it away, and threw her arms round his neck.
“Oh, let's kiss and be friends,” she said; “we'll say we're sorry first,
if you like, but we didn't really know that you didn't know.”
“We are so sorry,” said the others.
And Perks at last consented to accept their apologies.
Then they got him to come out and sit in the sun on the green Railway
Bank, where the grass was quite hot to touch, and there, sometimes
speaking one at a time, and sometimes all together, they told the Porter
the story of the Russian Prisoner.
“Well, I must say,” said Perks; but he did not say it--whatever it was.
“Yes, it is pretty awful, isn't it?” said Peter, “and I don't wonder you
were curious about who the Russian was.”
“I wasn't curious, not so much as interested,” said the Porter.
“Well, I do think Mr. Gills might have told you about it. It was horrid
of him.”
“I don't keep no down on 'im for that, Missie,” said the Porter; “cos
why? I see 'is reasons. 'E wouldn't want to give away 'is own side with
a tale like that 'ere. It ain't human nature. A man's got to stand
up for his own side whatever they does. That's what it means by Party
Politics. I should 'a' done the same myself if that long-'aired chap 'ad
'a' been a Jap.”
“But the Japs didn't do cruel, wicked things like that,” said Bobbie.
“P'r'aps not,” said Perks, cautiously; “still you can't be sure with
foreigners. My own belief is they're all tarred with the same brush.”
“Then why were you on the side of the Japs?” Peter asked.
“Well, you see, you must take one side or the other. Same as with
Liberals and Conservatives. The great thing is to take your side and
then stick to it, whatever happens.”
A signal sounded.
“There's the 3.14 up,” said Perks. “You lie low till she's through,
and then we'll go up along to my place, and see if there's any of them
strawberries ripe what I told you about.”
“If there are any ripe, and you DO give them to me,” said Phyllis, “you
won't mind if I give them to the poor Russian, will you?”
Perks narrowed his eyes and then raised his eyebrows.
“So it was them strawberries you come down for this afternoon, eh?” said
he.
This was an awkward moment for Phyllis. To say “yes” would seem rude and
greedy, and unkind to Perks. But she knew if she said “no,” she would
not be pleased with herself afterwards. So--
“Yes,” she said, “it was.”
“Well done!” said the Porter; “speak the truth and shame the--”
“But we'd have come down the very next day if we'd known you hadn't
heard the story,” Phyllis added hastily.
“I believe you, Missie,” said Perks, and sprang across the line six feet
in front of the advancing train.
The girls hated to see him do this, but Peter liked it. It was so
exciting.
The Russian gentleman was so delighted with the strawberries that the
three racked their brains to find some other surprise for him. But all
the racking did not bring out any idea more novel than wild cherries.
And this idea occurred to them next morning. They had seen the blossom
on the trees in the spring, and they knew where to look for wild
cherries now that cherry time was here. The trees grew all up and along
the rocky face of the cliff out of which the mouth of the tunnel opened.
There were all sorts of trees there, birches and beeches and baby oaks
and hazels, and among them the cherry blossom had shone like snow and
silver.
The mouth of the tunnel was some way from Three Chimneys, so Mother let
them take their lunch with them in a basket. And the basket would do
to bring the cherries back in if they found any. She also lent them her
silver watch so that they should not be late for tea. Peter's Waterbury
had taken it into its head not to go since the day when Peter dropped it
into the water-butt. And they started. When they got to the top of the
cutting, they leaned over the fence and looked down to where the railway
lines lay at the bottom of what, as Phyllis said, was exactly like a
mountain gorge.
“If it wasn't for the railway at the bottom, it would be as though the
foot of man had never been there, wouldn't it?”
The sides of the cutting were of grey stone, very roughly hewn. Indeed,
the top part of the cutting had been a little natural glen that had been
cut deeper to bring it down to the level of the tunnel's mouth. Among
the rocks, grass and flowers grew, and seeds dropped by birds in the
crannies of the stone had taken root and grown into bushes and trees
that overhung the cutting. Near the tunnel was a flight of steps leading
down to the line--just wooden bars roughly fixed into the earth--a very
steep and narrow way, more like a ladder than a stair.
“We'd better get down,” said Peter; “I'm sure the cherries would be
quite easy to get at from the side of the steps. You remember it was
there we picked the cherry blossoms that we put on the rabbit's grave.”
So they went along the fence towards the little swing gate that is at
the top of these steps. And they were almost at the gate when Bobbie
said:--
“Hush. Stop! What's that?”
“That” was a very odd noise indeed--a soft noise, but quite plainly to
be heard through the sound of the wind in tree branches, and the hum
and whir of the telegraph wires. It was a sort of rustling, whispering
sound. As they listened it stopped, and then it began again.
And this time it did not stop, but it grew louder and more rustling and
rumbling.
“Look”--cried Peter, suddenly--“the tree over there!”
The tree he pointed at was one of those that have rough grey leaves and
white flowers. The berries, when they come, are bright scarlet, but if
you pick them, they disappoint you by turning black before you get them
home. And, as Peter pointed, the tree was moving--not just the way trees
ought to move when the wind blows through them, but all in one piece,
as though it were a live creature and were walking down the side of the
cutting.
“It's moving!” cried Bobbie. “Oh, look! and so are the others. It's like
the woods in Macbeth.”
“It's magic,” said Phyllis, breathlessly. “I always knew this railway
was enchanted.”
It really did seem a little like magic. For all the trees for about
twenty yards of the opposite bank seemed to be slowly walking down
towards the railway line, the tree with the grey leaves bringing up the
rear like some old shepherd driving a flock of green sheep.
“What is it? Oh, what is it?” said Phyllis; “it's much too magic for me.
I don't like it. Let's go home.”
But Bobbie and Peter clung fast to the rail and watched breathlessly.
And Phyllis made no movement towards going home by herself.
The trees moved on and on. Some stones and loose earth fell down and
rattled on the railway metals far below.
“It's ALL coming down,” Peter tried to say, but he found there was
hardly any voice to say it with. And, indeed, just as he spoke, the
great rock, on the top of which the walking trees were, leaned slowly
forward. The trees, ceasing to walk, stood still and shivered. Leaning
with the rock, they seemed to hesitate a moment, and then rock and trees
and grass and bushes, with a rushing sound, slipped right away from the
face of the cutting and fell on the line with a blundering crash that
could have been heard half a mile off. A cloud of dust rose up.
“Oh,” said Peter, in awestruck tones, “isn't it exactly like when coals
come in?--if there wasn't any roof to the cellar and you could see
down.”
“Look what a great mound it's made!” said Bobbie.
“Yes,” said Peter, slowly. He was still leaning on the fence. “Yes,” he
said again, still more slowly.
Then he stood upright.
“The 11.29 down hasn't gone by yet. We must let them know at the
station, or there'll be a most frightful accident.”
“Let's run,” said Bobbie, and began.
But Peter cried, “Come back!” and looked at Mother's watch. He was very
prompt and businesslike, and his face looked whiter than they had ever
seen it.
“No time,” he said; “it's two miles away, and it's past eleven.”
“Couldn't we,” suggested Phyllis, breathlessly, “couldn't we climb up a
telegraph post and do something to the wires?”
“We don't know how,” said Peter.
“They do it in war,” said Phyllis; “I know I've heard of it.”
“They only CUT them, silly,” said Peter, “and that doesn't do any good.
And we couldn't cut them even if we got up, and we couldn't get up. If
we had anything red, we could get down on the line and wave it.”
“But the train wouldn't see us till it got round the corner, and then it
could see the mound just as well as us,” said Phyllis; “better, because
it's much bigger than us.”
“If we only had something red,” Peter repeated, “we could go round the
corner and wave to the train.”
“We might wave, anyway.”
“They'd only think it was just US, as usual. We've waved so often
before. Anyway, let's get down.”
They got down the steep stairs. Bobbie was pale and shivering. Peter's
face looked thinner than usual. Phyllis was red-faced and damp with
anxiety.
“Oh, how hot I am!” she said; “and I thought it was going to be cold; I
wish we hadn't put on our--” she stopped short, and then ended in quite
a different tone--“our flannel petticoats.”
Bobbie turned at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh, yes,” she cried; “THEY'RE red! Let's take them off.”
They did, and with the petticoats rolled up under their arms, ran along
the railway, skirting the newly fallen mound of stones and rock and
earth, and bent, crushed, twisted trees. They ran at their best pace.
Peter led, but the girls were not far behind. They reached the corner
that hid the mound from the straight line of railway that ran half a
mile without curve or corner.
“Now,” said Peter, taking hold of the largest flannel petticoat.
“You're not”--Phyllis faltered--“you're not going to TEAR them?”
“Shut up,” said Peter, with brief sternness.
“Oh, yes,” said Bobbie, “tear them into little bits if you like. Don't
you see, Phil, if we can't stop the train, there'll be a real live
accident, with people KILLED. Oh, horrible! Here, Peter, you'll never
tear it through the band!”
She took the red flannel petticoat from him and tore it off an inch from
the band. Then she tore the other in the same way.
“There!” said Peter, tearing in his turn. He divided each petticoat into
three pieces. “Now, we've got six flags.” He looked at the watch again.
“And we've got seven minutes. We must have flagstaffs.”
The knives given to boys are, for some odd reason, seldom of the kind
of steel that keeps sharp. The young saplings had to be broken off. Two
came up by the roots. The leaves were stripped from them.
“We must cut holes in the flags, and run the sticks through the holes,”
said Peter. And the holes were cut. The knife was sharp enough to cut
flannel with. Two of the flags were set up in heaps of loose stones
between the sleepers of the down line. Then Phyllis and Roberta took
each a flag, and stood ready to wave it as soon as the train came in
sight.
“I shall have the other two myself,” said Peter, “because it was my idea
to wave something red.”
“They're our petticoats, though,” Phyllis was beginning, but Bobbie
interrupted--
“Oh, what does it matter who waves what, if we can only save the train?”
Perhaps Peter had not rightly calculated the number of minutes it would
take the 11.29 to get from the station to the place where they were, or
perhaps the train was late. Anyway, it seemed a very long time that they
waited.
Phyllis grew impatient. “I expect the watch is wrong, and the train's