Doris felt a little shy.
"But should I be able to use it?" she asked. "And how could I tellwhether somebody wanted me?"
"Oh, that'll be all right," he said, "as soon as you catch hold of thehook; and perhaps you won't be wanted at all. The only trouble is whentwo children are falling at once, and then you have to decide whichyou'll go for. But that doesn't happen very often, considering how manychildren there are."
So Doris went upstairs, and he unbuttoned the hook, and when she caughthold of it she felt a strange sort of thrill. She felt like Cuthbert hadfelt when he went into In-between Land; and indeed that was where shereally was. St Uncus had vanished, and she saw Christopher Mark like alittle fat ghost, with his soul shining inside him. Then she suddenlyheard a cry in a strange foreign language, and she saw a dark-eyedmother at the bottom of some stone steps, and a small round baby, withan olive-coloured skin, tumbling down them one by one. She felt a hotwind, full of the odour of spices, blowing faintly against her cheek;and then she bent forward and hooked up the baby, and saw the look ofterror die out of the mother's face.
Never in her life had Doris felt so pleased. She felt as if she couldshout and sing with joy. No wonder, she thought, that St Uncus looked sohappy. She began to understand what being in Heaven meant. And then sheheard a shout, and smelt a smell of herrings, and she saw a man in ablue jersey, and a curly-headed boy, about four years old, pitching headfirst down a dark staircase. Through a dirty window-pane she could seethe mouth of a river, full of fishing-smacks floating side by side; andshe saw a woman, with rolled-up sleeves, run out of a kitchen and standbeside the man.
Then she hooked up the boy, and she heard the woman say "Thank God!" andthe man say "You little rascal, you!" and then she was back again, andthere was St Uncus sitting beside her and rubbing his hands.
"Ever so many thanks," he said. "I haven't seen old Bill for nearlythree hundred years. He says he'd like to meet you, but of course it'sonly now and again that anybody like you is able to see us."
Then he said good-bye to her, and she never saw him again, but she knewthat he was there, and once she actually heard him; and that was verylate on this same evening, long after everyone had gone to bed. For soonafter midnight, when Auntie Kate was dreaming about clergymen andbazaars, and when Teddy and George were dreaming about bears, and Jimmyand Jocko about bathrooms, and when Christopher Mark was dreaming aboutrabbits, and Doris wasn't dreaming at all--soon after midnight a littlered-hot cinder suddenly popped out of the kitchen grate.
It fell on a bit of matting, and burnt its way through to thefloor-boards below; and presently a wisp of smoke, with a wicked pungentsmell, began to twist upward and flatten against the ceiling. Fuller andfuller grew the kitchen of smoke, and Teddy and George began to dream ofcamp-fires, but Auntie Kate still dreamt of bazaars and pincushionsmarked tenpence halfpenny. Teddy and George were sleeping by themselves,and Christopher Mark slept in a little room turning out of AuntieKate's. These rooms were above the sitting-room in the front of thehouse, and it was Teddy and George who slept over the kitchen; whileDoris herself and Jimmy and Jocko shared a little room under the roof.
The floor of the kitchen was now blazing fiercely, with the boardscrackling in the flames, and Teddy and George began to dream about guns,but still they didn't wake up. They only moved a little uneasily, and itwas somebody shouting that finally woke them, just as it was a neighbourbanging at the front door that roused Auntie Kate from her dreams.
"Hurry up!" cried the neighbour, "your house is on fire!" and AuntieKate was so flustered that she quite forgot where she had put herclothes, and rushed downstairs in her nightdress. As for Teddy andGeorge, their room was full of smoke, and they bolted out of it,coughing and spluttering, and met Doris coming down from the attic,pushing Jimmy and Jocko in front of her.
The kitchen door had now swung open, and the flames were darting acrossthe hall; and clouds of smoke were rolling upstairs like a sour andsuffocating fog.
"Never mind," said Doris. "Hold your breath, and run downstairs as quickas you can," and soon they were all standing together in the street,while some of the neighbours were running for the fire-engine.
It had stopped raining, but the pavement felt all cold and clammy asthey stood upon it with their bare feet, and it seemed funny to be outin the dark with nothing on but their nightgowns. Auntie Kate had fledinto an opposite house, because she couldn't bear that so many peopleshould see her; but Teddy and George were rather enjoying themselves,though Jimmy and Jocko had begun to cry. Then Doris looked round,"Where's Christopher Mark?" she cried, and everybody looked at everybodyelse, and Doris knew that he must be still asleep in his littledressing-room upstairs. She rushed into the house, but the leapingflames had already begun to curl round the banisters; and the lady nextdoor caught hold of her arm and told her that it would be madness to tryand rescue him. But Doris shook her off and ran across the hall, anddashed blindly up the burning staircase.
"Oh, St Uncus!" she said, "come and help me; come and help me to saveChristopher Mark."
The sound of the flames was like the roar of an engine, and the smokewas thicker than the blackest night. But at the top of the stairs shesuddenly heard a whisper, "It's all right, my dear, I'm here."
And then she laughed, and found Christopher Mark fast asleep, hugginghis white rabbit; and in another few seconds she was out in the streetagain, with Christopher Mark safe in her arms.
Some of the people cheered her and patted her on the back, and began totell her how brave she had been; and she was rather pleased, of course,especially when she thought of Mummy, who would be sure to hear about itin hospital. But she wasn't conceited, because she knew that she hadbeen helped by a little saint with a crooked back, who served God bykeeping an eye on all the staircases in the world.
Never a babe in Port of Spain, Peabody Buildings, Portland Maine,
Limerick, Lima, Boston, York, Nottingham, Naples, Cairo, Cork,
Milton of Campsie, Moscow, Mull, Halifax, Hampstead, Hobart, Hull,
Never a baby climbs a stair But little St Hook is waiting there.
OLD MOTHER HUBBARD
Mother Hubbard's]
X
OLD MOTHER HUBBARD
Cuthbert was very sorry when he heard about the fire at Doris's house,and when he next saw her in the street, he almost crossed the road tospeak to her. But she hadn't spoken to him for so long that he hadresolved not to talk to her unless she spoke to him first. Doris andJimmy and Jocko were now staying with some people called Brown; andDoris's mother and the twins and Christopher Mark were staying withGwendolen's aunt and Captain Jeremy. It was rather fun staying with theBrowns, but on the whole Doris was rather sad, because it would be twomonths, so the builders said, before they could all be at home togetheragain.
Cuthbert knew about this, because Marian had told him; and that was whyhe nearly crossed the road. But he decided not to, and he didn't seeDoris again until the second day of the holidays. That was the Thursdaybefore Christmas, and it was a grey day and very cold, with a strongwind blowing out of the north-east, and all the houses looking huddledand shrunken. It was early in the afternoon, and he had just been tocall for Edward, but Edward had gone out to sit by the railway. He wascollecting the numbers on engines, and had already got thirty-seven.
Cuthbert was collecting too, but he was collecting the dates on pennies,so he didn't feel inclined to go and sit with Edward; and it was just ashe was wondering what to do that he saw Doris turn the corner. For amoment he thought that he would pretend not to see her, but she was allalone, and it suddenly occurred to him that it would be rather a goodidea to take her out to tea at Uncle Joe's.
So he stopped and asked her, and she was very glad, because she hadnothing particular to do; and she told him all about St Uncus and thefire and what it was like being nearly burnt to death.
"Let's cut across the fields," she said, "past old Mother Hubbard's.It's jolly cold. I think it's going to snow."
&
nbsp; "I hope it is," said Cuthbert. "But it's not so cold as the day on whichwe found the ice-men."
But it was quite cold enough, with the horses in the fields standingdismally under the naked hedges, and the black north-easter crumblingthe ridges of the plough-lands until they looked like pale-colouredpowdered chocolate.
"I shall be jolly glad," said Cuthbert, "when we get to Uncle Joe's,"and just then they passed Mother Hubbard's--a melancholy house standingby itself, with all its blinds and curtains drawn.
It was always like that, and behind it were some ruined stables, with atin roof that flapped up and down; and a big yellow dog on a long chainran out and yelped at them as they passed. This was called MotherHubbard's house, because it belonged to a Miss Hubbard who lived thereall by herself, and who had allowed nobody to enter the door since herfather had died fifty years ago.
He had been a proud old general with a bad temper; and some people saidthat he had driven Miss Hubbard mad, but other people said that she wasonly queer, and hated everybody except her dog. Occasionally she couldbe seen peering round one of the blinds, or feeding her dog in theruined stables; and once a week she went into the town with a big bag todo her shopping. The shop-people said that she was very polite, and sodid the postman, who sometimes took her a letter. But she always kepther own counsel, and nobody could ever make her talk. Why she lived likethat, nobody knew. Some people said that it was because she was so poor,and because her father had made her promise never to let people know howpoor she was. But other people said that she was really rather rich, andthat she must have had some great trouble. She was very old--nearlyeighty--although her eyes were clear and so were her cheeks; but therewere still a few people who remembered her as a girl galloping onhorseback over the fields.
"Silly old thing," said Doris, as they left her house behind them. "Ishouldn't be surprised if she was a witch."
But Cuthbert said that there weren't any such things, and perhaps shehad killed somebody and had a guilty conscience.
Then they crossed a road, and climbed over a stile, and skirted a greatfield pricked with tiny wheat-blades; and then they slipped down arather steep bank into a sheltered lane still wet with mud. They hadalready forgotten old Mother Hubbard, and the next moment they forgother still more; for just then there came clattering down the lane ayoung man on horseback, splashed to his eyes. His bowler hat was crammeddown on his head, and he shouted at them as he galloped by. "Which wayhave they gone?" he cried, but he never stopped for an answer, and soonthere came some more riders, both men and women. They had evidently comedown the lane to avoid a big ploughed field that lay between high hedgeson the other side of it, for Cuthbert and Doris presently saw them turnsharply to the right into a grass meadow where it was easier to gallop.
"It's the hunt," said Doris. "Let's run after them," so they turned andran down the lane, and saw the riders, one by one, jumping over a gateon the far side of the meadow. Then they crossed the meadow andscrambled over the gate just in time to see the last of the horsemendisappearing over another hedge a couple of hundred yards away.
"We shall never catch them," said Cuthbert, but just then they heard ahorn blowing. "It's the fox," cried Doris. "They've seen the fox," andhalf a minute later, from a little rise in the ground, they saw thewhole hunt streaming away from them.
They were so hot now that they had forgotten all about the wind and thegrey clouds gathering over the downs, and their only thought was to beup among the horses and their jolly, red-cheeked riders. So they randown the rise and across another road and over some more fields and pasta wood, until they came at last to a stream, running rather sluggishlybetween some pollarded willows. On one of these there was a manstanding, and he waved his hand to them as they came up.
"They're coming back," he said. "Keep along the stream, and I'll lay adollar you'll see some fun."
It was now nearly four, and the light was beginning to fade, and theywere ever so far from Uncle Joe's; but they pushed their way through thetangled grass until they came to a plank across the stream. This ledthem out beside a hazel copse, and just as they were wondering which wayto go they heard the horn again, not very far away, and the clear, deepcalling of the hounds. Something cold fell on Cuthbert's cheek.
"Hullo!" he said, "it's beginning to snow." And then a burly man on abig grey mare came crashing through the undergrowth on the other side ofthe stream. He gave a shout, and they jumped aside as his horse rose toclear the water; but the next moment he was sprawling on the ground infront of them, with his scarlet coat about his ears.
They heard him swear, but as he picked himself up and helped his horseout of the stream he began to laugh, and soon he was in the saddle againand vanishing into the dusk. For a minute or two they waited, but nobodyelse came. An old cock pheasant rattled out of the hazel copse. The hornblew once more, and then all was still. Their breath stood like smokeupon the air.
Then Doris suddenly stooped and picked up a coin that had been halftrampled into the bank.
"Hullo!" she said, "he's dropped a penny. You'd better add the date ofit to your collection."
Cuthbert took it from her, but the penny was an old one, and the datewas difficult to see. The snow began to fall upon them in heavy flakes.Cuthbert took out his handkerchief and polished the coin. And then anodd thing happened, for suddenly, as he polished, the stream and thehazel copse seemed to fade away; and it was another girl--a grown-upgirl--who had just given him the penny.
"A penny for your thoughts," she said, and Cuthbert knew that she wasn'tspeaking to him, but to somebody else; and the thoughts that came intohis head weren't his own, but a grown-up man's. He knew that they weresomebody else's thoughts, because he was thinking his own thoughts too;and the other person's thoughts were of two kinds--the weak thoughtsthat he decided to tell the girl, and the strong thoughts that went intothe penny.
The thoughts that he told the girl were that, when he got to SouthAmerica, he was going to spend his spare time studying the birds there.He was going to write a book about them, and perhaps, when he hadwritten his book, he would get a job looking after a museum. But hisstrong thoughts, that he didn't tell her, were "I love you and want tomarry you; but I mustn't tell you that, because I'm only a carpenter,and you're a lady, and ever so far above me."
"What's the matter?" said Doris.
Cuthbert gave her the penny.
"It's a queer sort of penny," he said. "Catch hold of it."
Doris took it.
"I don't see anything queer in it," she said. So Cuthbert polished itonce more. This time he polished it harder, so that when he gave it toDoris again it was quite warm from the polishing; and Doris seemed to bestanding in a strange sort of room, full of old-fashioned furniture andheavy ornaments. The same girl said, "A penny for your thoughts," andthe same thoughts came to her as had come to Cuthbert. The day drew in.It was almost dark now, and the snow was glistening on their shoulders.
"I know what's happened," she said. "His real thoughts were so strongthat they all went into the penny."
Cuthbert nodded.
"That's what I thought," he said. "And when you rub the penny they allcome out."
"Did you notice the girl's dress?" asked Doris, "and the way her hairwas done, and the blue china dog on the mantelpiece?"
Cuthbert shook his head.
"Let's have another go," he said, and he rubbed the penny again as hardas he could.
This time he noticed the room, with its queer high-backed piano, and apicture of people hunting hanging on the wall, and the blue china dog,and the girl's dress, and the curious way in which she had done herhair. It was pulled back from her forehead into a smooth sort of bundlebehind her head; and her dress was all in terraces, like a wedding-cake,or a theatre turned upside down.
"It must have been a good long time," said Cuthbert, "since she gave himthe penny. Do you think he was the man who fell off the horse?"
"Oh, he couldn't have been," said Doris. "He was much too young; andbesides I'm sure t
hat he was never a carpenter."
She shivered a little.
"We ought to be getting home," she said, but Cuthbert lingered for amoment, looking at the penny.
"I expect hundreds of people," he said, "have had it in their pocketsand never known what was inside it."
"I daresay," said Doris, "but I know I'm jolly hungry, and we must bemiles away from anywhere."
Nor were they quite sure where anywhere was, but they crossed the plankagain and started for home, with the snow driving past their ears andpiling up in front of their feet. Grey-capped hedges loomed up beforethem, rising unexpectedly out of the darkness; and so thick lay the snowthat they were never able to tell whether the next field was a ploughedone. But they passed the tree--or they thought that they did--on whichthe man had been standing; and they crossed the road--or they thoughtthat they did--that they had crossed after running down the rise. Butthe hours went by, and they felt emptier and emptier, and several timesthey stumbled into snow-filled ditches; and the snow roared past themin angry whiteness, and melted upon their necks and trickled down theirbacks.
Longingly they thought then of Uncle Joe's and of plates of hot muffinsbefore the fire, and even more longingly of supper at home, with bowlsof steaming bread and milk. But every field seemed endlesser than thelast, and the snow grew deeper and ever more deep; and the night closeddown upon them like a lid, and their feet felt heavier than ten-poundweights.
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