Us, An Old Fashioned Story Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII.

  NEW HOPES.

  "I am a friend to them and you." _Winter's Tale._

  It was a good thing Tim had some new ground of hope, for otherwise thenext day or two would have sadly distressed him. He never once could getnear the children. And, what he found very strange, Diana herself seemedto be doing her utmost to keep him from them. Two or three times,especially when Mick or the Missus happened to be near, she roughlypushed him back when he was making his way to the door of the van, whereDuke and his sister were. And at first the boy was not only surprised,but rather offended.

  "What for will you not let me play with them a bit?" he said to her,half inclined to appeal to Mick, who did not interfere.

  "They've no need of _you_--keep out of my way," Diana answered roughly,at which Mick and the others laughed as if it was a very good joke, forhitherto Diana had been always accused of "favouring" the boy.

  Tim looked up resentfully. He had it on his tongue--for after all he wasonly a child--to say something which might have done harm never to beundone, for he could not understand Diana. But something in her face, asshe looked at him steadily, stopped the words of reproach as they roseto his lips.

  "You'll make an end of them, you will, if you keep them choked up inthere all day," he said sullenly. "Why can't you let 'em out for a bitof a run with me, like you've done before?"

  "I'll let them out when it suits me, and not before. It's none of yourbusiness," she replied, while adding in a lower tone that no one elsecould overhear: "I'd never have thought you such a fool, Tim;" and Tim,feeling rather small,--for he began to understand her a little,--walkedoff.

  All this was at what they called dinner-time, when the vans generallyhalted for an hour or so and hitherto--even when they were travellingtoo quickly for the children to have walked beside for a change, as theyhad sometimes done when going slowly--Mick or Diana had always let themout at this hour for a breath of fresh air. But to-day, though it wasbeautifully fine and the sun was shining most temptingly, poor Duke andPamela had to be content with the sight of it through the tiny littlewindow in the side of the van, which Diana opened, and with such air ascould get in by the same means. It was hot and stuffy inside, and theirlittle heads ached with being jolted along, and with having had noexercise such as they were accustomed to. Still they did not lookaltogether miserable or unhappy, as they tried to eat the dinner thegipsy girl had brought them on a tin plate, from the quickly-lightedfire by the hedge, where the old hag who did the cooking for the partyhad been stewing away at a mess in a great pot. She ladled out thecontents all round for the others, but Diana helped herself. She pickedout the nicest bits she could see for the two little prisoners, andstood by them for a minute or two to see if they really were going toeat.

  "I'll come back in a bit to see if it's all gone," she said, when shehad seen them at work, "and remember what I said this morning. That'llhelp to make you eat hearty."

  "Her's very kind," said Duke; but as he spoke he laid down the coarsetwo-pronged fork Diana had given him to eat with, and seemed glad of anexcuse to rest in his labours for a while. "But I can't eat this, canyou, sister?"

  Pamela looked up--she had got a small bone in her fingers, at which shewas trying to nibble.

  "I'm pretending to be Toby eating a bone," she said gravely. "Sometimesit makes it seem nicer."

  "_I_ don't think so," said Duke. "It only makes it worser to think ofToby," and his voice grew very doleful, as if he were going to cry.

  "Now don't, bruvver," said Pamela. "Let's think of what Diana said."

  "What was it?" said Duke. "Say it again."

  "'Twas that, p'raps, if us was very good and did just ezactly what hertells us, us'd go somewhere soon, where us'd be _very_ happy," saidPamela. "Where do you fink it can be, Duke? Us mustn't tell _nobody_,not even Tim; but I don't mind, for Diana said she thought Tim'd go too.Do you fink she meant" (and here poor little Pam, who had learntunnatural caution already, glanced round her--as if any one could havebeen hidden in the small space of the van!--and lowered hervoice)--"that she meant us was to go _home_ again to dear Grandmamma andGrandpapa?"

  Duke shook his head.

  "No," he said, "they'll never send us home now. Mick'd be put in prisonif he took us home. I know that. I heard what they was saying about itone day when they didn't know I was there. And it's too far away--it's adreadful way away. We can never go home. I daresay Grandpapa andGrandmamma and everybody's dead by now," concluded Duke, who talked witha sort of reckless composure sometimes, altogether too much for Pamela,who burst into tears.

  "Oh bruvver!" she cried between her sobs, "don't talk like that. I_fink_ God's too good to have let dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma die. Andus has said our prayers such many many times about going home. I'm sureGrandpapa would never put Mick in prison if us asked him not, and p'rapsif Mick was sure of that he'd take us home. Oh don't you fink us mightgo and ask him," and she started up.

  "Us can't promise it; Grandpapa'd _have_ to do it. It'd be his _dooty_,"said Duke sternly--his ideas on all subjects were very grim atpresent--"he'd have to stop Mick going and stealing away other childrenlike he did us. And Diana said us mustn't speak to _nobody_ about whatshe told us."

  "I don't care about it if it isn't that us is going home," said Pamela,crying quietly. "I don't care about gold frocks like fairies and allthat if dear Grandmamma and Grandpapa can't see us."

  Duke looked at her gloomily.

  "P'raps Diana meant us'd soon be going to heaven," he said at last. "Iheard them saying us'd 'not stand it long,' and I know that means goingto die."

  "I don't care," sobbed Pamela again, "if Grandpapa and Grandmamma aredead, heaven'd be the best place for us to go to;" and regardless of allDiana had said to her about trying to eat and to keep up her spirits,the little girl let the tin plate, with the greasy meat and gravy, slipoff her knees on to the floor, and, leaning her head on the hard woodenbench, she went off in a fit of piteous and hopeless sobbing. In amoment Duke's arms were around her, and he was kissing and hugging anddoing his best to console her.

  "Dear little sister," he cried, "don't be so _very_ unhappy. It was verynaughty of me to say dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma and everybody wouldbe dead."

  "And Toby," interrupted Pamela. "Did you mean Toby too?"

  Duke considered.

  "No, I don't think I meant Toby. He must be a good deal younger thanGrandpapa and Grandmamma, and I don't think he'd be _quite_ so unhappyabout us as they'd be."

  "If _I'd_ been Toby I'd have come to look for us," said Pamela, cryingnow less violently. "Us could have wrote a letter and tied it to hiscollar, and then Grandpapa could have come to look for us. Toby can runso fast," and she was going on to describe what she would have done inToby's place when the little door of the van opened and Dianareappeared. Her face clouded as she looked at the children.

  "Crying again! Oh missie," she said reproachfully, "that's not good ofyou. You'll cry yourself ill, and then----" Diana in turn looked roundand lowered her voice, "have you forgotten the secret I told you? You'llnever get away where you'd like to be if you make yourself ill. Andscarce a bite of dinner have you touched," she went on, looking at thebits of meat reposing beside the overturned plate.

  Pamela lifted up her tear-swollen face and drew herself out of Duke'sarms, to fling herself into Diana's.

  "If us is going to die, it's no good eating," she said.

  "Who said you was a-going to die?" exclaimed the gipsy girl.

  "Duke and I was talking, and us thought p'raps heaven was the nice placeyou said us'd go to if us was good," replied Pamela.

  Diana gave a little laugh, half sad and half bitter.

  "It isn't here you'll learn much about going to _that_ place," she said."But that wasn't what I meant. Listen, master and missy; but, mind you,never you say one word,--now hush and listen," and in a very low voiceshe went on: "To-night we'll get to a big town where there's a fair.Mick's got it all settled to give you to a--a
gentleman there, who'ddress you up fine and teach you to sing and to dance."

  "Would he be kind to us?" asked both children eagerly. Diana shook herhead.

  "Maybe, and maybe not. That's just why I cannot stand by and see yougiven to him," said Diana, half as if speaking to herself. "It was a badday's work when he took them," she went on. Then suddenly rousingherself: "Listen children, again," she said. "If that man as I'mspeaking of comes to see you to-night, as he most likely will, you must,for my sake and your own, speak very pretty, and try to laugh and lookhappy and answer all he says. It's only for once. For to-morrow--I can'tsay for sure to-morrow--but I think it will be, and I can't say thetime--I'm going to do my best to get you sent back to where you shouldnever have been taken from." She stopped a moment as if to judge of theeffect of her words. For an instant the children did not speak; theyjust stared at her with their blue eyes opened to their widest extent,their little white faces looking whiter than before, till gradually arush of rosy colour spread over them, the blue eyes filled with tears,and both Duke and Pamela flung themselves into the gipsy girl's arms.

  "_Home_, do you mean, Diana?" they said. "Home to our own dear Grandpapaand Grandmamma?"

  "And Toby," added Duke.

  "And Toby," echoed Pam.

  Diana clasped them tight; her eyes, that for many a day had not shed atear, were running over.

  "Yes, home, my blessed darlings," she said.

  "But you'll come with us" was the next idea. "You've been so good to us.Grandpapa'd never put _you_ in prison, Diana."

  They sat up now and looked at her anxiously.

  "Perhaps not," she said, shaking her head nevertheless. "But I dursn'tgo with you. I must stay here to stop them going the right way after youfor one thing. And then--you didn't know it, but, bad as he is, Mick'smy brother. I dursn't get him into trouble."

  "Mick's your bruvver!" repeated Pam; "the same as bruvver is to me. Andhe speaks so naughty to you, Diana. I don't fink he _can_ be yourbruvver. I fink you've made a mistake. Oh do come wif us, dear Diana.You and Tim."

  "Yes for Tim, it'd be the best thing he could do, and the best chancefor you to get safe home. But for me," and again Diana shook her head."Let alone Mick, I'm only a poor wild gipsy girl," she said. "I couldn'ttake to your pretty quiet ways; no, it'd kill me. It's in the gipsyblood--we must for ever be on the go. It wasn't so bad long ago whenfather and mother was alive. Father was honest--he was a gentlemangipsy, he was. But Mick's another sort. If I could get away from him Iwould--but not so as to get him into trouble. I'll try some day to getamong a better lot. There's bad and good among us, though you mightn'tbelieve it. But here am I wasting time talking of myself, and I want totell you all I'm thinking of. First, do you know the name of the villageor town nearest where you live?"

  "Sandle'ham," said the children.

  "But is that near your home?" pursued Diana. The twins shook theirheads. They didn't know.

  "Us was there once," said Duke. "But it was a long time ago. It seemed avery far way."

  "And is there no village nearer?"

  "Yes, of course," said Pamela. "There's where Barbara Twiss and thebutcher Live, and where the church is."

  "And what's it called?"

  "What's it called?" repeated the children. "Why, it's just called thevillage. It isn't called anything else."

  "That's what I was afraid of," said Diana. "And it was all new countrythereabouts to me. Well, there's nothing for it but to make forSandle'ham, and once there Tim must go to the police."

  At this dreadful word the children set up a shriek, but Diana quicklystopped them.

  "Hush, hush!" she said, "you'll have them all coming to see what's thematter. The police won't hurt _you_, you silly children. They'd be yourbest friends if only they could find you. I'd rather have had nothing tosay to them, for fear they should get too much out of Tim, but I see noother way to get you safe home. But now we mustn't talk any more, onlyremember all I've said if that man comes. And to-morrow, when I give youthe word, you must be ready," she went on impressively; "you won't beafraid with Tim. I'll do the best I can, but we'll have to trust a dealto Tim; and you must do just what he tells you, and never mind if itseems strange and hard. It's the only chance for them," she added toherself, with a strange longing in her beautiful dark eyes, as she againleft them, "but if I could but have taken them safe back myself I'd havefelt easier in my mind."

  She put in her head again to warn the children not to try to speak toTim, and if they must speak to each other to do so in a whisper.

  But at first their hearts seemed too full to speak. They just sat withtheir arms round each other, too bewildered and almost stunned with thegood news to take it in.

  "Bruvver," said Pamela at last, "don't you fink it's because us has saidour prayers such many many times?"

  "P'raps," replied Duke.

  "And you _don't_ fink now what--you know what you said about Grandpapaand Grandmamma," said Pamela, her voice faltering.

  Duke hesitated. He was not quite generous enough to own that his gloomyprophecies had been a good deal the result of his being tired and crossand contradictory. In his heart he had no misgiving such as he hadexpressed to Pamela--he had no idea that what he had said might reallyhave been true.

  "You _don't_ fink so, bruvver?" persisted Pam.

  "I daresay if us goes back very soon it'll make them better even if theyare very ill. I think us had better put that in our prayers too--for usto get back to them so quick that there won't be time for them to getvery ill. I wouldn't mind them being just a _little_ ill, would you,sister? It'd be so nice to see them getting better."

  "I'd _rather_ they wasn't ill at all," said Pamela, "but I daresayGod'll understand. Oh I _wish_ it was to-morrow! don't you, bruvver?"

  "Hush," said Duke. "Diana said us mustn't talk loud--and see, sister,they're going to put the horse in and go on again. Oh how tired I am ofgoing along shaking like this all day! And don't you remember, sister,when us was little us used to think it would be _so_ nice to live in acart like a house, like this?"

  "Us never thought how _nugly_ it would be inside," said Pamela, glancinground the little square space in which they were with greatdissatisfaction. And no wonder--the waggon was stuffed with bundles andpackages of all shapes and sizes; on the sides hung dirty coats andcloaks belonging to some of the tribe, and the only pleasant object tobe seen was a heap of nice clean-looking baskets and brooms, which hadbeen brought in here, as the basket-cart was already filled tooverflowing. For the gipsies expected to do a good trade in these thingsat the Crookford fair.

  "I wish Diana would give us one of these nice baskets to take home--apresent to Grandmamma," continued Pamela, as her glance fell upon them.

  "You're very silly, sister," said Duke. "Don't you understand that us isgoing to _run away_, like Tim has always been wanting. And Diana's goingto help us to run away. Mick mustn't know and nobody, not till us is toofar for them to catch us. I think it's a great pity Diana told you;you're too little to understand."

  "I'm as big as you, bruvver, and my birfday's the same. You're veryunkind to say I'm littler than you, and I _do_ understand."

  She spoke indignantly, but the last words ended in tears. Poor littlepeople!--life in a gipsy caravan was not the sort of thing to improvetheir tempers. But the dispute was soon followed by a reconciliation,and then they decided it was better not to talk any more about whatDiana had told them, but to "make plans" inside their heads about hownice it would be to go home again; how they would knock at the door sosoftly, and creep into the parlour where Grandmamma would be sitting bythe fire with Toby at her feet, and Grandpapa at the table with thenewspaper; and _how_ they would hug them both! At which point you willsee the plan making was no longer confined to the "inside of theirheads."

  "And Duke," added Pamela half timidly. "Us must tell all about thebroken bowl. And us must always tell everything like that toGrandmamma."

  "Yes," said Duke.

  "I fink my voice that Grandmam
ma told us about _did_ tell me to tell,"pursued the little girl thoughtfully. "Didn't yours, bruvver?"

  "I sometimes think it did," said Duke with unusual humility. "I think itmust have been that I wouldn't listen. You would have listened, sister.It was much more my fault than yours. I shall tell _that_."

  "No, no, it was bof our faults," said Pamela. "But I fink Grandpapa andGrandmamma will be so very pleased to have us that they won't care whosefault it was."

  And then the two little creatures leant their heads each on the other's,and tried to keep themselves steady against the rough jolting, till bydegrees--and it was the best thing they could have done--they both fellasleep, and were sleeping as peacefully as in their own white cots athome when, later in the afternoon, Diana got into the waggon again, and,rolling up an old shawl, carefully laid it as a pillow under the twofair heads. It was getting dusk by now, and the gipsies all disappearedinto the vans, for they began to drive too quickly for it to be possiblefor them to keep up by walking alongside.

  The gipsy girl sat there gazing at the two little faces she had learntto love. She gazed at them with a deep tenderness in her dark eyes. Sheknew it was almost the last time she should see them, but it was not ofthat she was thinking.

  "If I could but have taken them back myself and seen them safe!" shekept thinking. "But I daren't. With Tim no one will notice them much,but with me it'd be different. And it'd get Mick and the others intotrouble, even if I didn't care for myself. It's safer for them too forme to stay behind. But how to get them safe out of Crookford! I mustspeak to Tim. And I don't care what Mick says or does after this. I'llnever, _never_ again have a hand in this kind of business; he may stealhorses and poultry and what he likes, but I'll have no more to do withstealing children. If ill had come, or did come, to these innocentcreatures I'd never know another easy moment."