The Wouldbegoods: Being the Further Adventures of the Treasure Seekers

by E. Nesbit

  CHAPTER 14. ALBERT'S UNCLE's GRANDMOTHER; OR, THE LONG-LOST

  The shadow of the termination now descended in sable thunder-clouds uponour devoted nobs. As Albert's uncle said, 'School now gaped for itsprey'. In a very short space of time we should be wending our way backto Blackheath, and all the variegated delightfulness of the countrywould soon be only preserved in memory's faded flowers. (I don't carefor that way of writing very much. It would be an awful swot to keep itup--looking out the words and all that.)

  To speak in the language of everyday life, our holiday was jolly nearlyup. We had had a ripping time, but it was all but over. We really didfeel sorry--though, of course, it was rather decent to think of gettingback to Father and being able to tell the other chaps about our raft,and the dam, and the Tower of Mystery, and things like that.

  When but a brief time was left to us, Oswald and Dicky met by chancein an apple-tree. (That sounds like 'consequences', but it is meretruthfulness.) Dicky said--

  'Only four more days.'

  Oswald said, 'Yes.'

  'There's one thing,' Dickie said, 'that beastly society. We don't wantthat swarming all over everything when we get home. We ought to dissolveit before we leave here.'

  The following dialogue now took place:

  Oswald--'Right you are. I always said it was piffling rot.'

  Dicky--'So did I.'

  Oswald--'Let's call a council. But don't forget we've jolly well got toput our foot down.'

  Dicky assented, and the dialogue concluded with apples.

  The council, when called, was in but low spirits. This made Oswald's andDicky's task easier. When people are sunk in gloomy despair about onething, they will agree to almost anything about something else. (Remarkslike this are called philosophic generalizations, Albert's uncle says.)Oswald began by saying--

  'We've tried the society for being good in, and perhaps it's done usgood. But now the time has come for each of us to be good or bad on hisown, without hanging on to the others.'

  'The race is run by one and one, But never by two and two,'

  the Dentist said.

  The others said nothing.

  Oswald went on: 'I move that we chuck--I mean dissolve--the WouldbegoodsSociety; its appointed task is done. If it's not well done, that's ITSfault and not ours.'

  Dicky said, 'Hear! hear! I second this prop.'

  The unexpected Dentist said, 'I third it. At first I thought it wouldhelp, but afterwards I saw it only made you want to be naughty, justbecause you were a Wouldbegood.'

  Oswald owns he was surprised. We put it to the vote at once, so as notto let Denny cool. H. O. and Noel and Alice voted with us, so Daisy andDora were what is called a hopeless minority. We tried to cheer theirhopelessness by letting them read the things out of the Golden Deedbook aloud. Noel hid his face in the straw so that we should not see thefaces he made while he made poetry instead of listening, and when theWouldbegoods was by vote dissolved for ever he sat up, straws in hishair, and said--

  THE EPITAPH

  'The Wouldbegoods are dead and gone But not the golden deeds they have done These will remain upon Glory's page To be an example to every age, And by this we have got to know How to be good upon our ow--N.

  N is for Noel, that makes the rhyme and the sense both right. O, W, N,own; do you see?'

  We saw it, and said so, and the gentle poet was satisfied. And thecouncil broke up. Oswald felt that a weight had been lifted from hisexpanding chest, and it is curious that he never felt so inclined to begood and a model youth as he did then. As he went down the ladder out ofthe loft he said--

  'There's one thing we ought to do, though, before we go home. We oughtto find Albert's uncle's long-lost grandmother for him.'

  Alice's heart beat true and steadfast. She said, 'That's just exactlywhat Noel and I were saying this morning. Look out, Oswald, you wretch,you're kicking chaff into my eyes.' She was going down the ladder justunder me.

  Oswald's younger sister's thoughtful remark ended in another council.But not in the straw loft. We decided to have a quite new place, anddisregarded H. O.'s idea of the dairy and Noel's of the cellars. We hadthe new council on the secret staircase, and there we settled exactlywhat we ought to do. This is the same thing, if you really wish to begood, as what you are going to do. It was a very interestingcouncil, and when it was over Oswald was so pleased to think that theWouldbegoods was unrecoverishly dead that he gave Denny and Noel, whowere sitting on the step below him, a good-humoured, playful, gentle,loving, brotherly shove, and said, 'Get along down, it's tea-time!'

  No reader who understands justice and the real rightness of things, andwho is to blame for what, will ever think it could have been Oswald'sfault that the two other boys got along down by rolling over and overeach other, and bursting the door at the bottom of the stairs open bytheir revolving bodies. And I should like to know whose fault it wasthat Mrs Pettigrew was just on the other side of that door at that veryminute? The door burst open, and the Impetuous bodies of Noel and Dennyrolled out of it into Mrs Pettigrew, and upset her and the tea-tray.Both revolving boys were soaked with tea and milk, and there were one ortwo cups and things smashed. Mrs Pettigrew was knocked over, but none ofher bones were broken. Noel and Denny were going to be sent to bed, butOswald said it was all his fault. He really did this to give the othersa chance of doing a refined golden deed by speaking the truth and sayingit was not his fault. But you cannot really count on anyone. They didnot say anything, but only rubbed the lumps on their late-revolvingheads. So it was bed for Oswald, and he felt the injustice hard.

  But he sat up in bed and read The Last of the Mohicans, and then hebegan to think. When Oswald really thinks he almost always thinks ofsomething. He thought of something now, and it was miles better than theidea we had decided on in the secret staircase, of advertising in theKentish Mercury and saying if Albert's uncle's long-lost grandmotherwould call at the Moat House she might hear of something much to heradvantage.

  What Oswald thought of was that if we went to Hazelbridge and askedMr B. Munn, Grocer, that drove us home in the cart with the horse thatliked the wrong end of the whip best, he would know who the lady wasin the red hat and red wheels that paid him to drive us home thatCanterbury night. He must have been paid, of course, for even grocersare not generous enough to drive perfect strangers, and five ofthem too, about the country for nothing. Thus we may learn that evenunjustness and sending the wrong people to bed may bear useful fruit,which ought to be a great comfort to everyone when they are unfairlytreated. Only it most likely won't be. For if Oswald's brothers andsisters had nobly stood by him as he expected, he would not have hadthe solitary reflections that led to the great scheme for finding thegrandmother.

  Of course when the others came up to roost they all came and squattedon Oswald's bed and said how sorry they were. He waived their apologieswith noble dignity, because there wasn't much time, and said he had anidea that would knock the council's plan into a cocked hat. But he wouldnot tell them what it was. He made them wait till next morning. This wasnot sulks, but kind feeling. He wanted them to have something else tothink of besides the way they hadn't stood by him in the bursting of thesecret staircase door and the tea-tray and the milk.

  Next morning Oswald kindly explained, and asked who would volunteer fora forced march to Hazelbridge. The word volunteer cost the young Oswalda pang as soon as he had said it, but I hope he can bear pangs with anyman living. 'And mind,' he added, hiding the pang under a general-likesevereness, 'I won't have anyone in the expedition who has anything inhis shoes except his feet.'

  This could not have been put more delicately and decently. But Oswald isoften misunderstood. Even Alice said it was unkind to throw the peas upat Denny. When this little unpleasantness had passed away (it took sometime because Daisy cried, and Dora said, 'There now, Oswald!') therewere seven volunteers, which, with Oswald, made eight, and was, indeed,all of us. There were no cockle-shells, or tape-sandals, or staves, or
scrips, or anything romantic and pious about the eight persons who setout for Hazelbridge that morning, more earnestly wishful to be good anddeedful--at least Oswald, I know, was--than ever they had been in thedays of the beastly Wouldbegood Society. It was a fine day. Either itwas fine nearly all last summer, which is how Oswald remembers it, orelse nearly all the interesting things we did came on fine days.

  With hearts light and gay, and no peas in anyone's shoes, the walk toHazelbridge was perseveringly conducted. We took our lunch with us, andthe dear dogs. Afterwards we wished for a time that we had left one ofthem at home. But they did so want to come, all of them, and Hazelbridgeis not nearly as far as Canterbury, really, so even Martha was allowedto put on her things--I mean her collar--and come with us. She walksslowly, but we had the day before us so there was no extra hurry.

  At Hazelbridge we went into B. Munn's grocer's shop and asked forginger-beer to drink. They gave it us, but they seemed surprised atus wanting to drink it there, and the glass was warm--it had just beenwashed. We only did it, really, so as to get into conversation with B.Munn, grocer, and extract information without rousing suspicion. Youcannot be too careful. However, when we had said it was first-classginger-beer, and paid for it, we found it not so easy to extractanything more from B. Munn, grocer; and there was an anxious silencewhile he fiddled about behind the counter among the tinned meats andsauce bottles, with a fringe of hobnailed boots hanging over his head.

  H. O. spoke suddenly. He is like the sort of person who rushes in whereangels fear to tread, as Denny says (say what sort of person that is).He said--

  'I say, you remember driving us home that day. Who paid for the cart?'

  Of course B. Munn, grocer, was not such a nincompoop (I like that word,it means so many people I know) as to say right off. He said--

  'I was paid all right, young gentleman. Don't you terrify yourself.'

  People in Kent say terrify when they mean worry. So Dora shoved in agentle oar. She said--

  'We want to know the kind lady's name and address, so that we can writeand thank her for being so jolly that day.'

  B. Munn, grocer, muttered something about the lady's address being goodshe was often asked for. Alice said, 'But do tell us. We forgot to askher. She's a relation of a second-hand uncle of ours, and I do so wantto thank her properly. And if you've got any extra-strong peppermints ata penny an ounce, we should like a quarter of a pound.'

  This was a master-stroke. While he was weighing out the peppermints hisheart got soft, and just as he was twisting up the corner of the paperbag, Dora said, 'What lovely fat peppermints! Do tell us.'

  And B. Munn's heart was now quite melted, he said--

  'It's Miss Ashleigh, and she lives at The Cedars--about a mile down theMaidstone Road.'

  We thanked him, and Alice paid for the peppermints. Oswald was a littleanxious when she ordered such a lot, but she and Noel had got the moneyall right, and when we were outside on Hazelbridge Green (a good dealof it is gravel, really), we stood and looked at each other. Then Dorasaid--

  'Let's go home and write a beautiful letter and all sign it.'

  Oswald looked at the others. Writing is all very well, but it's such abeastly long time to wait for anything to happen afterwards.

  The intelligent Alice divined his thoughts, and the Dentist divinedhers--he is not clever enough yet to divine Oswald's--and the two saidtogether--

  'Why not go and see her?'

  'She did say she would like to see us again some day,' Dora replied. Soafter we had argued a little about it we went.

  And before we had gone a hundred yards down the dusty road Martha beganto make us wish with all our hearts we had not let her come. She beganto limp, just as a pilgrim, who I will not name, did when he had thesplit peas in his silly palmering shoes.

  So we called a halt and looked at her feet. One of them was quiteswollen and red. Bulldogs almost always have something the matter withtheir feet, and it always comes on when least required. They are not theright breed for emergencies.

  There was nothing for it but to take it in turns to carry her. Sheis very stout, and you have no idea how heavy she is. A half-heartedunadventurous person name no names, but Oswald, Alice, Noel, H. O.,(Dicky, Daisy, and Denny will understand me) said, why not go straighthome and come another day without Martha? But the rest agreed withOswald when he said it was only a mile, and perhaps we might get alift home with the poor invalid. Martha was very grateful to us forour kindness. She put her fat white arms round the person's neck whohappened to be carrying her. She is very affectionate, but by holdingher very close to you you can keep her from kissing your face allthe time. As Alice said, 'Bulldogs do give you such large, wet, pinkkisses.'

  A mile is a good way when you have to take your turn at carrying Martha.

  At last we came to a hedge with a ditch in front of it, and chainsswinging from posts to keep people off the grass and out of the ditch,and a gate with 'The Cedars' on it in gold letters. All very neat andtidy, and showing plainly that more than one gardener was kept. There westopped. Alice put Martha down, grunting with exhaustedness, and said--

  'Look here, Dora and Daisy, I don't believe a bit that it's hisgrandmother. I'm sure Dora was right, and it's only his horridsweetheart. I feel it in my bones. Now, don't you really think we'dbetter chuck it; we're sure to catch it for interfering. We always do.'

  'The cross of true love never did come smooth,' said the Dentist. 'Weought to help him to bear his cross.'

  'But if we find her for him, and she's not his grandmother, he'll MARRYher,' Dicky said in tones of gloominess and despair.

  Oswald felt the same, but he said, 'Never mind. We should all hate it,but perhaps Albert's uncle MIGHT like it. You can never tell. If youwant to do a really unselfish action and no kid, now's your time, mylate Wouldbegoods.'

  No one had the face to say right out that they didn't want to beunselfish.

  But it was with sad hearts that the unselfish seekers opened the longgate and went up the gravel drive between the rhododendrons and othershrubberies towards the house.

  I think I have explained to you before that the eldest son of anybody iscalled the representative of the family if his father isn't there. Thiswas why Oswald now took the lead. When we got to the last turn of thedrive it was settled that the others were to noiselessly ambush in therhododendrons, and Oswald was to go on alone and ask at the house forthe grandmother from India--I mean Miss Ashleigh.

  So he did, but when he got to the front of the house and saw how neatthe flower-beds were with red geraniums, and the windows all bright andspeckless with muslin blinds and brass rods, and a green parrot ina cage in the porch, and the doorstep newly whited, lying clean anduntrodden in the sunshine, he stood still and thought of his boots andhow dusty the roads were, and wished he had not gone into the farmyardafter eggs before starting that morning. As he stood there in anxiousuncertainness he heard a low voice among the bushes. It said, 'Hist!Oswald here!' and it was the voice of Alice.

  So he went back to the others among the shrubs and they all crowdedround their leader full of importable news.

  'She's not in the house; she's HERE,' Alice said in a low whisper thatseemed nearly all S's. 'Close by--she went by just this minute with agentleman.'

  'And they're sitting on a seat under a tree on a little lawn, and she'sgot her head on his shoulder, and he's holding her hand. I never sawanyone look so silly in all my born,' Dicky said.

  'It's sickening,' Denny said, trying to look very manly with his legswide apart.

  'I don't know,' Oswald whispered. 'I suppose it wasn't Albert's uncle?'

  'Not much,' Dicky briefly replied.

  'Then don't you see it's all right. If she's going on like that withthis fellow she'll want to marry him, and Albert's uncle is safe. Andwe've really done an unselfish action without having to suffer for itafterwards.'

  With a stealthy movement Oswald rubbed his hands as he spoke in realjoyfulness. We decided that we had better bunk unnotice
d. But we hadreckoned without Martha. She had strolled off limping to look about hera bit in the shrubbery. 'Where's Martha?' Dora suddenly said.

  'She went that way,' pointingly remarked H. O.

  'Then fetch her back, you young duffer! What did you let her go for?'Oswald said. 'And look sharp. Don't make a row.'

  He went. A minute later we heard a hoarse squeak from Martha--the oneshe always gives when suddenly collared from behind--and a little squealin a lady-like voice, and a man say 'Hallo!' and then we knew that H. O.had once more rushed in where angels might have thought twice about it.We hurried to the fatal spot, but it was too late. We were just in timeto hear H. O. say--

  'I'm sorry if she frightened you. But we've been looking for you. Areyou Albert's uncle's long-lost grandmother?'

  'NO,' said our lady unhesitatingly.

  It seemed vain to add seven more agitated actors to the scene now goingon. We stood still. The man was standing up. He was a clergyman, and Ifound out afterwards he was the nicest we ever knew except our own MrBriston at Lewisham, who is now a canon or a dean, or something grandthat no one ever sees. At present I did not like him. He said, 'No, thislady is nobody's grandmother. May I ask in return how long it is sinceyou escaped from the lunatic asylum, my poor child, and whence yourkeeper is?'

  H. O. took no notice of this at all, except to say, 'I think you arevery rude, and not at all funny, if you think you are.'

  The lady said, 'My dear, I remember you now perfectly. How are all theothers, and are you pilgrims again to-day?'

  H. O. does not always answer questions. He turned to the man and said--

  'Are you going to marry the lady?'

  'Margaret,' said the clergyman, 'I never thought it would come to this:he asks me my intentions.'

  'If you ARE,' said H. O., 'it's all right, because if you do Albert'suncle can't--at least, not till you're dead. And we don't want him to.'

  'Flattering, upon my word,' said the clergyman, putting on a deep frown.'Shall I call him out, Margaret, for his poor opinion of you, or shall Isend for the police?'

  Alice now saw that H. O., though firm, was getting muddled and ratherscared. She broke cover and sprang into the middle of the scene.

  'Don't let him rag H. O. any more,' she said, 'it's all our faults. Yousee, Albert's uncle was so anxious to find you, we thought perhaps youwere his long-lost heiress sister or his old nurse who alone knew thesecret of his birth, or something, and we asked him, and he said youwere his long-lost grandmother he had known in India. And we thoughtthat must be a mistake and that really you were his long-lostsweetheart. And we tried to do a really unselfish act and find you forhim. Because we don't want him to be married at all.'

  'It isn't because we don't like YOU,' Oswald cut in, now emerging fromthe bushes, 'and if he must marry, we'd sooner it was you than anyone.Really we would.'

  'A generous concession, Margaret,' the strange clergyman uttered, 'mostgenerous, but the plot thickens. It's almost pea-soup-like now. One ortwo points clamour for explanation. Who are these visitors of yours? Whythis Red Indian method of paying morning calls? Why the lurking attitudeof the rest of the tribe which I now discern among the undergrowth?Won't you ask the rest of the tribe to come out and join the gladthrong?'

  Then I liked him better. I always like people who know the same songs wedo, and books and tunes and things.

  The others came out. The lady looked very uncomfy, and partly as if shewas going to cry. But she couldn't help laughing too, as more and moreof us came out.

  'And who,' the clergyman went on, 'who in fortune's name is Albert? Andwho is his uncle? And what have they or you to do in this galere--I meangarden?'

  We all felt rather silly, and I don't think I ever felt more than thenwhat an awful lot there were of us.

  'Three years' absence in Calcutta or elsewhere may explain my ignoranceof these details, but still--'

  'I think we'd better go,' said Dora. 'I'm sorry if we've done anythingrude or wrong. We didn't mean to. Good-bye. I hope you'll be happy withthe gentleman, I'm sure.'

  'I HOPE so too,' said Noel, and I know he was thinking how much nicerAlbert's uncle was. We turned to go. The lady had been very silentcompared with what she was when she pretended to show us Canterbury. Butnow she seemed to shake off some dreamy silliness, and caught hold ofDora by the shoulder.

  'No, dear, no,' she said, 'it's all right, and you must have sometea--we'll have it on the lawn. John, don't tease them any more.Albert's uncle is the gentleman I told you about. And, my dear children,this is my brother that I haven't seen for three years.'

  'Then he's a long-lost too,' said H. O.

  The lady said 'Not now' and smiled at him.

  And the rest of us were dumb with confounding emotions. Oswald wasparticularly dumb. He might have known it was her brother, because inrotten grown-up books if a girl kisses a man in a shrubbery that isnot the man you think she's in love with; it always turns out to bea brother, though generally the disgrace of the family and not arespectable chaplain from Calcutta.

  The lady now turned to her reverend and surprising brother and said,'John, go and tell them we'll have tea on the lawn.'

  When he was gone she stood quite still a minute. Then she said, 'I'mgoing to tell you something, but I want to put you on your honour notto talk about it to other people. You see it isn't everyone I would tellabout it. He, Albert's uncle, I mean, has told me a lot about you, and Iknow I can trust you.'

  We said 'Yes', Oswald with a brooding sentiment of knowing all too wellwhat was coming next.

  The lady then said, 'Though I am not Albert's uncle's grandmother Idid know him in India once, and we were going to be married, but we hada--a--misunderstanding.'

  'Quarrel?' Row?' said Noel and H. O. at once.

  'Well, yes, a quarrel, and he went away. He was in the Navy then. Andthen... well, we were both sorry, but well, anyway, when his ship cameback we'd gone to Constantinople, then to England, and he couldn't findus. And he says he's been looking for me ever since.'

  'Not you for him?' said Noel.

  'Well, perhaps,' said the lady.

  And the girls said 'Ah!' with deep interest. The lady went on morequickly, 'And then I found you, and then he found me, and now I mustbreak it to you. Try to bear up.'

  She stopped. The branches cracked, and Albert's uncle was in our midst.He took off his hat. 'Excuse my tearing my hair,' he said to the lady,'but has the pack really hunted you down?'

  'It's all right,' she said, and when she looked at him she got milesprettier quite suddenly. 'I was just breaking to them...'

  'Don't take that proud privilege from me,' he said. 'Kiddies, allowme to present you to the future Mrs Albert's uncle, or shall we sayAlbert's new aunt?'

  * * *There was a good deal of explaining done before tea--about how we gotthere, I mean, and why. But after the first bitterness of disappointmentwe felt not nearly so sorry as we had expected to. For Albert's uncle'slady was very jolly to us, and her brother was awfully decent, andshowed us a lot of first-class native curiosities and things, unpackingthem on purpose; skins of beasts, and beads, and brass things, andshells from different savage lands besides India. And the lady told thegirls that she hoped they would like her as much as she liked them, andif they wanted a new aunt she would do her best to give satisfaction inthe new situation. And Alice thought of the Murdstone aunt belonging toDaisy and Denny, and how awful it would have been if Albert's unclehad married HER. And she decided, she told me afterwards, that we mightthink ourselves jolly lucky it was no worse.

  Then the lady led Oswald aside, pretending to show him the parrot whichhe had explored thoroughly before, and told him she was not like somepeople in books. When she was married she would never try to separateher husband from his bachelor friends, she only wanted them to be herfriends as well.

  Then there was tea, and thus all ended in amicableness, and the reverendand friendly drove us home in a wagonette. But for Martha we shouldn'thave had
tea, or explanations, or lift or anything. So we honoured her,and did not mind her being so heavy and walking up and down constantlyon our laps as we drove home.

  And that is all the story of the long-lost grandmother and Albert'suncle. I am afraid it is rather dull, but it was very important (tohim), so I felt it ought to be narrated. Stories about lovers andgetting married are generally slow. I like a love-story where the heroparts with the girl at the garden-gate in the gloaming and goes off andhas adventures, and you don't see her any more till he comes home tomarry her at the end of the book. And I suppose people have to marry.Albert's uncle is awfully old--more than thirty, and the lady isadvanced in years--twenty-six next Christmas. They are to be marriedthen. The girls are to be bridesmaids in white frocks with fur. Thisquite consoles them. If Oswald repines sometimes, he hides it. What'sthe use? We all have to meet our fell destiny, and Albert's uncle is notextirpated from this awful law.

  Now the finding of the long-lost was the very last thing we did for thesake of its being a noble act, so that is the end of the Wouldbegoods,and there are no more chapters after this. But Oswald hates books thatfinish up without telling you the things you might want to know aboutthe people in the book. So here goes.

  We went home to the beautiful Blackheath house. It seemed very statelyand mansion-like after the Moat House, and everyone was most frightfullypleased to see us.

  Mrs Pettigrew CRIED when we went away. I never was so astonished in mylife. She made each of the girls a fat red pincushion like a heart,and each of us boys had a knife bought out of the housekeeping (I meanhousekeeper's own) money.

  Bill Simpkins is happy as sub-under-gardener to Albert's uncle's lady'smother. They do keep three gardeners--I knew they did. And our trampstill earns enough to sleep well on from our dear old Pig-man.

  Our last three days were entirely filled up with visits of farewellsympathy to all our many friends who were so sorry to lose us. Wepromised to come and see them next year. I hope we shall.

  Denny and Daisy went back to live with their father at Forest Hill. Idon't think they'll ever be again the victims of the Murdstone aunt--whois really a great-aunt and about twice as much in the autumn of her daysas our new Albert's-uncle aunt. I think they plucked up spirit enoughto tell their father they didn't like her--which they'd never thought ofdoing before. Our own robber says their holidays in the country didthem both a great deal of good. And he says us Bastables have certainlytaught Daisy and Denny the rudiments of the art of making home happy. Ibelieve they have thought of several quite new naughty things entirelyon their own--and done them too--since they came back from the MoatHouse.

  I wish you didn't grow up so quickly. Oswald can see that ere long hewill be too old for the kind of games we can all play, and he feelsgrown-upness creeping inordiously upon him. But enough of this.

  And now, gentle reader, farewell. If anything in these chronicles of theWouldbegoods should make you try to be good yourself, the author willbe very glad, of course. But take my advice and don't make a society fortrying in. It is much easier without.

  And do try to forget that Oswald has another name besides Bastable. Theone beginning with C., I mean. Perhaps you have not noticed what it was.If so, don't look back for it. It is a name no manly boy would like tobe called by--if he spoke the truth. Oswald is said to be a very manlyboy, and he despises that name, and will never give it to his own sonwhen he has one. Not if a rich relative offered to leave him an immensefortune if he did. Oswald would still be firm. He would, on the honourof the House of Bastable.