# Explorers of the Dawn (February 1922)/Chapter 8

Angel and I grew amazingly that summer. We grew in length of limb but with no corresponding gain in scholastic stature. We had made up our minds to retain as little as possible of Mrs. Handsomebody's teaching and we had succeeded so well in our purpose, that, at nine and ten we had about as much book-learning as would have befitted The Seraph, while he retained the serene ignorance of babyhood. But in affairs of the imagination we were no laggards. We eagerly drank in Granfa's tales of the sea, and Harry lent us many a hair-raising book of adventure.
Yet we longed for the companionship of other boys of our own age, and strained towards the day when we should go to school. Our abounding energy chafed more and more under the rule of Mrs. Handsomebody.
Now she had left the schoolroom to interview a plumber, and her black bombazine dress having sailed away like a cloud, we had utterly ​relaxed, and were basking in the sunshine of her absence.
Slumped on my spine, I was watching a spider, just over my head, that was leisurely ascending his shining rope-ladder to the ceiling. I contemplated his powers of retreat with an almost bitter envy. Fancy being able, at a moment's notice, to bolt out of reach (even out of sight and hearing) of all that was obnoxious to a fellow! I pictured myself, when some particularly harassing question had been put by my governess, springing from my seat, snatching the ever-ready shining rope and making for some friendly cornice, where, with my six or eight legs wrapped round my head, I would settle down for a snug sleep, not to be disturbed by any female.
Yet, I had to admit, that if any one in the schoolroom played the rôle of spider, it was Mrs. Handsomebody herself, whose desk was the centre of a web of books, pencils, rulers and a cane, in the meshes of which we three were caught like young flies, before our bright wings had been unfolded.
I looked at The Seraph. After slavishly making pot hooks all the afternoon, he was now licking them off his slate with unaffected relish. I turned to Angel.
With hands thrust deep in his pockets he was ​staring disconsolately at the unfinished sum before him. I, too, had given it up in despair.
"It's mediocre," he muttered. "Absolutely mediocre, and I won't stand it."
Mediocre. It was a new word to me, and I wondered where he had picked it up. It was like Angel to spring it on me this way.
"Awfully mediocre," I assented. "And it can't be done."
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face that his new word should be thus lightly bandied, but he went on—"Just listen here: an apple-woman who had four score of apples in her cart, sold three dozen at four pence, half-penny a dozen; two and a half dozen at five pence a dozen. At what price would she have to sell the remaining, in order to realize"—
"And look here," I interrupted, wrathfully, "Why does she always give us sums about an apple-woman, or a muffin-man? It just makes a chap hungry. Why doesn't she make one up about a dentist for a change, or somethin' like that?"
"Yes," assented Angel, catching at the idea. "Like this: if a dentist pulled five teeth out of one lady, and seven and a half out of another, at two shillings apiece how many must he pull in order to—"
​"Then there's undertakers," I broke in. "If a undertaker buried nine corpses one day, and six and a half the next—"
I had to stop, for Angel was convulsed with laughter, and The Seraph was beginning to get noisy.
Angel produced a small bottle of licorice water from his pocket and took a long mouthful. Then he handed it to me. It was soothing, delicious.
"Me too!" cried The Seraph, and I held it to his eager little mouth.
"Here," said Angel angrily, "he's swiggin' down the whole thing. Drop it, young'un!"
At the same moment, the door opened quietly, and Mrs. Handsomebody entered. I tore the bottle from The Seraph's clinging lips, and stuffed it, corkless, into my pocket.
Mrs. Handsomebody sat down and disposed her skirt about her knees. Her eyes travelled over us.
"Alexander," she said to The Seraph, "stand up." He meekly rose.
"What is that on your chin?"
The Seraph explored his chin with his tongue.
"It tastes sweet," he said.
"I asked what is it?"
The Seraph shot an imploring glance at Angel.
"I fink," he hedged, "it's some of the gwavy fwom dinner left over."
​Mrs. Handsomebody turned to Angel and me.
"Stand up," she commanded, sternly, "and we shall sift this matter to the root."
"Yes," admitted Angel, nonchalantly. "It was licorice root made into a drink."
"Licorice root," repeated our governess, in a tone of disgust. "It is by imbibing such vile concoctions that the taste for more ardent spirits is created. When I was your age, I had taken no beverage save milk and hot water, from which I graduated naturally to weak tea, and from thence to the—er—stronger brew. I am at present your guardian as well as your teacher and I shall do my utmost to eradicate—"
It was impossible to follow her discourse because of the keen discomfort I was feeling as the remainder of the licorice water trickled down my right leg. I was brought up with a start by Mrs. Handsomebody almost shouting:
"John! What is that puddle on the floor beneath you? Don't move! Stay where you are." She sprang to my side and grasped my shoulder.
"I s'pose it's some more of the woot," giggled The Seraph.
I put my hand in my pocket and produced the empty bottle. Mrs. Handsomebody took it between her thumb and forefinger. She gave me a sharp rap on the head with it.
​"Now," she gobbled, "go to your room and remain there till the exercises are over, then return to me for punishment. And change your trousers."
My trousers had been changed. Afternoon school was over, and I had just finished the last weary line in the long imposition set by Mrs. Handsomebody. I stretched my cramped limbs, and wondered dully where my brothers were. My depression was increased by the fact that the freshly-donned trousers were brown tweed, while my jacket was of blue serge.
I laid the imposition on Mrs. Handsomebody's desk, and listlessly set out to find the others. I could hear Mary Ellen in the kitchen thumping a mop against the legs of the furniture in a savage manner that bespoke no mood of airy persiflage. Therefore, I did not go down the back stairs, but throwing a leg over the hand-rail of the front stairs, I slowly slid to the bottom, and rested there a space on my stomach, an attitude peaceful, and conducive to clear thinking.
I reviewed the situation dispassionately. Here was I, who had scarcely been at all to blame, humiliated, an outcast, so to speak, while Angel, who had made the beastly mess, went unscathed. ​As for The Seraph! I could scarcely bear to think of him with his tell-tale sticky little chin.
Voices roused me. Buoyant with animation, they penetrated beyond the closed front door. A loud unknown voice, mingled with those of Angel and The Seraph.
In an instant, I was on my feet, my nose pressed against one of the narrow windows of ruby-coloured glass that were on either side of the hall door. I could see three small red figures in animated conversation on the square grass plot before the house. The largest of the three began to execute a masterly hop, skip and jump on the crimson grass. Above arched the sanguine sky.
I opened the door and closing it softly behind me, stood on the steps.
The newcomer was a sturdy fellow about a year older than Angel. He had a devil-may-care air about him, and he wore, at a rakish angle, a cap, bearing the badge of a well-known school. He turned to me instantly.
"Well," he said, "you're a rum-lookin' pup."
I was rather abashed at such a greeting, but I held my ground. "My name is John," I replied simply.
"Oh, Lord!" he groaned. "John! Don't you know enough to give your surname? Eh? ​I wish we had you at my school for a term. We'd lick you into shape."
"His surname is Curzon, too," put in Angel, "same as mine."
"Very well, then," said the boy, "you're Curzon major, Curzon minor, and Curzon minimus. Hear that, Curzon minimus?" he shouted, tweaking The Seraph's ear.
"I say," said Angel, "you let him alone!" And I ran down the steps. The boy stared.
"Don't you keep him in order?" he asked.
"Rather," replied Angel, "but I don't hurt him for nothing."
"I have two young brothers," said the boy, "and I hurt them for next to nothing. Licks 'em into shape."
He looked around him and then added, "There's no fun here. Let's hook it to my place, and I'll show you my rabbits. I've taken a fancy to you, and, if you like, I'll let you call me by my first name. It's Simon. And I'll call you by yours. That minor and minimus business is rather rotten when you're friends. Come along."
Mrs. Handsomebody, we knew, was safe at a lecture on The Application of Science to Human Relationships; Mary Ellen was doing her Friday's cleaning; therefore, we set off with our new-found friend without fear of hindrance from the female section of our household.
As we trotted along, Simon told us that his family had taken a large old house that had stood vacant ever since we had come to live with Mrs. Handsomebody. How often we had timidly passed its dingy front, wondering what might be within its closed shutters and deep-set front door!
Now, as we approached, we saw that the sign, To Let, had been taken down; the door and shutters were wide open; and, one of the shutters, hanging at a rakish angle, much as Simon wore his cap, gave a promise of jollity and lack of restraint within.
"We shall just cut around to the back garden," announced Simon. "The kids are there, and need putting in order by the row they are making."
We passed through a low door in the wall that separated the front garden from the back. The wall was overgrown with dusty untrimmed creepers, from which a flock of sparrows flew when the door was opened.
For a moment, we could scarcely take in the scene before us; in our experience it was so unprecedented. But Simon did not seem in the least surprised.
"Hi, kids!" he yelled, "just keep that water off us, will you! Put down that hose, Mops!"
​Mops was a girl a little younger than Simon. She stood in the middle of the garden, a hose in her hands, and she was absorbed in drenching two half-naked small boys and five fox terriers, who circled around her like performers in a circus ring. The noise of yelling boys and barking dogs was terrific.
"What's she doing?" we gasped.
"It's so dev'lish hot that the hose feels bully. Like to try it?"
"I wish we had got our bathing suits," said Angel.
"Never mind. I think there's a couple of pairs of trunks in the scullery, and the young 'un can have a pinafore of Mopsie's."
He led the way down some littered steps into a basement room, where a dishevelled maid was blacking boots.
"Here Playter," he ordered, "dig up some togs for a hosing, will you? And be sharp about it, there's a love."
The girl obligingly dropped her boots, and turning out the contents of a cupboard, produced some faded blue bathing trunks.
To us they seemed shamelessly inadequate, but Simon appeared satisfied. Now he hurried us to a summer-house occupied by a family of lop-eared rabbits, and here we changed into the trunks. ​The Seraph required some help, and when he was stripped, I could see his little heart pounding away at his ribs, for, between the exertion of keeping up to us, and not quite understanding why he was being undressed, he was very much wrought up.
"It's just fun," I reassured him. "Don't get funky."
"I'm not," he whispered, as I tied on his trunks, "but I fink it's a dangerous enterpwise."
"Time's up," yelled Simon, "get into the game!"
We leaped from the summer-house to the grass, and, refreshing it was to our bare soles. The first onslaught from the hose almost knocked my legs from under me, and, indeed, throughout the game, Mops seemed to single me out for special attention. We three had never in our lives given way to such an abandon of wildness. The Seraph yelled till he was hoarse, and, when at last Mops surrendered the hose to Simon, the orgy grew wilder still.
In the midst of it, a French window at the back of the house opened, and a lady stood on the threshold.
My senses had received only a delicate impression of pink satin, golden hair, and flashing rings, when Simon turned the hose, in full force, on the ​step just below her, sending a shower of drops all about her. With a scream she fled indoors, slamming the French window.
"You got her that time, all right," said Mops, grinning roguishly.
"Who is she?" I gasped.
"Oh, just mummy," replied Simon, nonchalantly.
The French window opened again. This time a young man in grey tweeds appeared. I quite expected to see him greeted with a shower also, but Simon respectfully lowered the hose.
"Did you turn that hose on your mother, Simon?" asked the young man sternly.
"Just a little," answered Simon.
"Well, the next time you do it you'll get your jacket dusted, do you hear?"
"Yes, father."
The young man disappeared into the house, three of the wet dogs following him.
"Isn't Lord Simon sweet?" asked Mops, with another roguish smile at me.
"Awfully," I replied politely, "but is the lady really your mother?"
"Let's feed," interrupted Simon, throwing down the hose, "I've a rare old twist on."
I was sorry he had interrupted us, for I yearned towards Mops, and I felt that further conversation with me would be acceptable to her, but we ​were swept away in the stampede for food to the basement kitchens.
They seemed immense to me, and full of the jolliest servants I had ever seen. Two men-servants in livery were playing a game of cribbage at one end of a long littered table, while several laughing maid-servants hung over their shoulders. The game was suspended at our entrance, and they all turned to ask us questions and chaff us about our appearance. One of the fox terriers jumped on the table and began nosing among the saucepans. Nobody stopped him. The fat, good-natured cook busied herself in spreading bread and butter with Sultana raisins for us; the maid-servants made a great fuss over The Seraph.
In such a whirlwind did this family live that just as I was beginning to feel at ease in this extraordinary kitchen, I was rushed back to the garden to play, a somewhat solid feeling in my stomach telling me that the bread and Sultanas had arrived.
"Hurrah for stilts," screamed Mops.
"Just the thing," assented Simon. "Here young Bunny and Bill, fetch the stilts, and be sharp about it—hear?" and he gave them each a punch in the ribs.
Thus encouraged, Bunny and Bill scampered across the grass, the fox-terriers yelping at their ​heels, and, from a convenient out-house all sizes of stilts were produced.
These accomplished children could do all manner of amazing feats on the stilts; even little Bill laughed at our awkward attempts. But, after many falls, Angel and I could limp haltingly about the garden, and experienced the new joy of looking down at things instead of up.
We noticed presently that Simon was propped against the high wall that divided this garden from the next. In a moment he called to us:
"Toddle over here and see what the old girls are doing."
"Who does he mean?" I asked Mops, as we moved stiffly, side by side.
"It's the Unaquarium parson's garden," she said. "I expect they're having a tea-fight. They're always up to something fishy."
Something ominous in the words should have warned me, but I was too elated to be heedful of signs or portents. I clutched the wall, and, with a grin of amusement, gazed down at the group of ladies, who, with two gentlemen in black, were drinking tea on the lawn.
Bunny threw a green pear at the thin legs of the taller gentleman.
The gentleman shied in a most spirited fashion, slopping his tea.
Everybody turned to look in our direction.
​"Duck," hissed Mops.
But it was too late to duck. Several ladies were already sweeping towards us.
Then my soul fainted within me, for the voice of the being who ruled our little universe spoke as from a dark cloud.
"David! John! Alexander!" gobbled the Voice, "are you gone mad? Come here instantly—but no—you appear to be nude—answer me—are you nude?"
Mops answered for us; we were too afflicted for speech.
"If you mean naket, we're not," she said, "but the dressed-up part of us is on this side."
I was conscious of murmuring voices: What a terrible little girl; indeed the whole family; as for the mother— Yes—my pupils, and, for the present, my wards— Once they even threw a dead rat over!
Then up spoke Mrs. Handsomebody. "Put on your clothes," she ordered, "and meet me at the corner. I shall be waiting."
We had put on our clothes. We had met her but, good Heaven! what a Rendezvous! She, and Angel, and I were pallid with suppressed emotions, while The Seraph's face was flushed crimson. He was weeping loudly, as he followed in ​our wake, and walking with some difficulty, since Angel and I, in our agitation, had put his trousers on back to front.
Mrs. Handsomebody placed us in a row, on three chairs in the dining-room, and seated herself opposite to us. After removing her bonnet, and giving it to Mary Ellen to carry upstairs to the wardrobe, she said:
"If I believed that you realized the enormity of what you have done, I should write to South America to your father, and tell him that I would no longer undertake the responsibility of three boys so evilly inclined. What do you suppose my sensations were when, at the close of the lecture, the other ladies, the professor, our pastor, and myself adjourned to the garden for tea, to find you three perched, almost nude, on a wall, in such company?"
"Do you know that those people are not respectable? The man, I am told, is a rake, who attends cockfights, and the mother of those children has been seen in the garden—tight!"
"Was that the lady in pink satin?" asked Angel, showing interest for the first time.
"I daresay. One would expect to find her in pink satin."
The lecture went on, but I did not hear it; my mind dwelt insistently on thoughts of the lady in pink.
​"What did she do, please?" I interrupted, thoughtlessly, at last.
"Who do?"
"The lady. When she was tight."
"So that is where your thoughts were," said Mrs. Handsomebody, angrily, "nice speculations indeed, for a little boy!"
"I should yike a little nushment, please," interrupted The Seraph in his turn.
"Not nourishment, but punishment is what you will get, young man," replied our governess, tartly. "What you three need is discipline at the hands of a strong man. We shall now go upstairs."
It was over. The gas was out, and we were in bed. Not snugly in bed, but smartingly; each trying to find a cool place on the sheets, and things very much bedewed by the tears of The Seraph.
"I don't care," said Angel, rather huskily. "It was worth it, I'd do it again like a shot."
"So would I," I assented. "Whatever do you s'pose they're up to now!"
And, indeed, the thought of this spirited family coloured all my dreams. As in dancing rainbows they whirled about my bed: Mops with the hose; Bunny and Bill twinkling on stilts; ​Simon with all the dogs at his heels; and above all, the lady in pink, presiding like a golden-haired goddess, and very "tight."
We were still in black disgrace at breakfast. Scarcely dared we raise our eyes to the cold face of Mrs. Handsomebody, lest she should read in them some yearning recollection of yesterday's misdeeds. Large spoonfuls of porridge and thin milk made unwonted gurgling noises as they hurried down our throats to our empty young stomachs.
When we had done, and The Seraph had offered thanks to God for this good meal, Mrs. Handsomebody marched us, like conscripts to the schoolroom, where she assigned to each of us a task to keep him busy until her return from market.
But the front door had barely closed upon her black bombazine dress, when we scampered to the head of the stairs, threw ourselves upon the hand-rail, and slid lightly to the bottom, and from there ran to find Mary Ellen in the parlour.
She was sweeping out the sombre room with such listless movements of her plump, red arms, that the moist tea-leaves on the floor scarce moved beneath the broom.
"Sure, I niver see sich a cairpet as this in all me born days," she was saying. "If I was to swape till I fell prostitute, I'd niver git it clane."
​"Oh, don't bother about the work, Mary Ellen!" we cried. "Just listen to the adventure we had yesterday!"
"I listened to the hindermost part of it," she returned, "and it sounded purty lively."
"Who cares?" said Angel. "It didn't hurt a bit."
"Not a bit," assented The Seraph, cheerily. "She gets weaker evwy day, and I get stwonger."
We rushed upon Mary Ellen then with the whole story of our new friends, dwelling, especially, upon our visit below stairs, and the rollicking men and maid-servants we found there.
"They were drinking beer-and-gin," concluded Angel, "and the scullery-maid did a breakdown for us in a pair of hunting boots."
"It beats all,"said Mary Ellen, leaning on her broom, "what kapes me in a dull place like this, whin there do be sich wild goin's on just around the corner like. I'd give a month's wage to see thim folks."
"Come around with me," suggested Angel, "and I'll introduce you."
"Oh, no, Masther Angel. Misther Watlin, me young man, wouldn't want me to be goin' into mixed company widout him. An it do seem a pity, too, since I have me new blue dress, for if ever I look lovely, I look lovely in blue." And she attacked the tea-leaves with a lagging broom.
​Mrs. Handsomebody, when dinner was over, fixed us with her cold grey eye, and said:
"Since you have proved yourselves utterly untrustworthy, you shall be locked in your bedroom, during my absence this afternoon. Mary Ellen, who will be engaged in cleaning the coal cellar, has been instructed to supply you with bread and milk at four o'clock. By exemplary behaviour today, you will ensure a return to your customary privileges tomorrow."
The prison door was locked. The gaoler gone.
Thus our Saturday half-holiday!
Angel and I threw ourselves, face downward, on the bed. Not so The Seraph. Folding his arms, which were almost too short to fold, he stood before the single window, gazing through its grimy glass at the brick wall opposite, as though determined to find something cheerful in the outlook.
Aeons passed.
Familiar faces began to leer at me from the pattern in the wall-paper. Angel was despondently counting out his money on the counter-pane, and trying to make three half-pennys and a penny with a hole through it, look like affluence.
Suddenly there came a rattling of hard par​ticles on the pane. As we stared at each other in surprise, another volley followed. It was a signal, and no mistake! Already The Seraph was tapping the window in response. A moment of violent exertion passed before we could get it open. Then, thrusting out our heads we discovered Simon standing in the passage below, his upturned face wearing an anxious grin.
"Thought I'd never get you," he whispered hoarsely. "I saw the Dragon go out, so I fired a handful of gravel at every window in turn. Come on out."
"We can't. We're locked in!" we chorused dismally.
"I'll try to catch you if you jump," he suggested. "I would break the fall, anyway."
But the way looked long, and Simon very small.
Then: "There's a ladder," cried The Seraph, gleefully, "better twy that."
With his usual clear-sightedness, he had spied what had escaped his seniors. Our neighbour, Mr. Mortimer Pegg, had been having some paper hung, and, surely enough, the workmen had left a tall ladder propped against the wall of the house. Without a second's hesitation, Simon flung himself upon it, and with one splendid effort, hurled it from that support to the wall of Mrs. Handsomebody's house. Then, with the strength of a superman, he dragged it until it ​leaned just below our window, and stood gasping at its base.
"Good fellow," said Angel, and began to climb out.
"Now, you hand me The Seraph," he ordered, "and I'll attend to him."
I had some misgivings as I passed his plump, clinging little person through the window, and watched him make the perilous descent, but, in time, he reached the ground, and then I, too, stood beside the others, and the four of us scampered lightly down the street with no misgivings, and no fears.
Before the door of our own grocer, Simon made a halt.
"Must have somethin' wet," he gasped. "Ladder nearly floored me."
He took us in and treated us with princely unconcern to ginger beer and a jam puff apiece. As we sucked our beer through straws, I smiled to think of Mary Ellen, doubtless preparing bread and milk at home.
Once more we entered the garden through the creeper-hung door. We visited the rabbits, and unchained one of the fox-terriers, which had been tied up, Simon told us, as a punishment for eating part of a lace curtain. Bill appeared then and said that his mother desired us to go to her in the drawing-room, and, as it was beginning to rain, ​Simon agreed that it wasn't a bad idea. We might even find something to eat in there.
As we trooped past the basement window, I lingered behind the others, and peered for a space into the lawless region below. What met my gaze almost took my breath away: for there was our own Mary Ellen, who should have been at that moment cleaning the coal cellar, sitting at one end of the long table, in her new blue dress, and plumed hat, a gentleman in livery on either side of her, and on the table before her, a mug, which, without doubt, contained gin-and-beer!
I waited to see no more. Enough to know that all the world was run amuck! With a glad whoop, I sped after the others, and only drew up when I stood on the threshold of the drawing-room.
Like the servants' hall, it was a large apartment, and, like it, was bewildering in its colour and movement, to eyes accustomed to the grey decorum of Mrs. Handsomebody's establishment.
Though it was summer, there was a fire on the hearth, which played with changeful constancy on the vivid chintzes, silver candle-sticks, and many mirrors of the room, but most of all, on the golden hair and satin tea-gown of the lady in pink.
She was speaking in a loud, clear voice to ​Simon's father, who was leaning against the mantelpiece smoking.
"Why the devil," she was saying, "should you smoke expensive cigars? Why don't you smoke cigarettes as I do?"
She angrily puffed at one as she spoke, and threw herself back among the black and gold cushions of the divan, where she was sitting. Her fair brow cleared, however, as her glance rested on The Seraph.
"Adorable little toad!" she cried, drawing him to her side. "What is your name?"
"Alexander," replied our youngest, "but they call me The Seraph. I'm not a pampud pet."
This sent the lady into a gale of laughter. She hugged him closer and turned to me.
"And what is your name, Sobersides?" she demanded.
"John," I replied, "and my father is David Curzon, and he is an engineer in South America, but he's coming back to England some day, and, I expect then we shall go to school. We just live with Mrs. Handsomebody."
As I talked, her expression changed. She leaned forward, searching my face eagerly.
"Is it possible?" she said, in a tragic voice. "Is it possible? David Curzon. His son. The very spit of him!" Abruptly she broke ​into gay laughter, which, somehow, I did not quite like: and turning to her husband, she said: "Do you remember Davy Curzon? He was such a silly old pet. Lor'! I'd quite forgot him!"
"Lucky Davy," said the gentleman, smiling at me.
"And he was so ridiculously poor," she went on, "I remember he ruined himself once to buy me a pair of cream-coloured ponies, and a lapis-lazuli necklace. And I daresay he's fat now!"
"He is not," I retorted stoutly. "He's thin. He's had the fever."
"Again?" she cried. "He had it when I knew him—badly too. Who did he marry?"
"A Miss Vicars," replied her husband. "Good family. A screaming beauty too. Other two boys look like her."
But the lady had now, it seemed, no interest in the other two boys. The Seraph was deposed from his place on the divan to make room for me; and the lady begged me to give her a kiss, just for old times' sake. Yet, somehow, I did not quite like it, for I felt that she was making fun of my father, the hero of my dreams.
Meanwhile, the other children, unchided, were making things lively in their own way. Mops and the boys were eating dates from a bowl and ​pelting each other with the stones, while a new member of the family, a seemingly sexless being in a blue sash and shoulder knots, called "Baby," galloped up and down the room with a battledore and shuttlecock.
No servant announced her name. I felt no warning tremor of solid Earth beneath my feet. Yet there she was, in full equipment of bombazine dress, hard black bonnet, reticule, and umbrella, gripped like an avenging sword. Oh, that some merciful cloud might have swept us, like fair Iphigenia to the abode of the gods, and left three soft-eyed hinds in our stead!
Yet, there we were, gazing at her, spellbound: and presently she enunciated with awful distinctness:
"I am come to apologize for the intrusion of my wards upon your privacy, and to remove them instantly."
"Oh, bless you," said the lady in pink, cheerily, "three or four more don't matter to us. Won't you sit down? And children—please let the lady's things be, d'you hear?" for these intrepid children had gathered around Mrs. Handsomebody as though she were a dancing bear; and "Baby" had even pulled her umbrella from her hand substituting for it the battledore which ​Mrs. Handsomebody unconsciously held, with an effect of ferocious playfulness.
"I thank you," replied Mrs. Handsomebody. "I shall remain standing."
"Let me make you acquainted with my husband," pursued the lady, "he's Lord Simon de Lacey, second son of the Duke of Aberfalden. Please excuse him smokin'!"
The effect of these simple words on Mrs. Handsomebody was startling. She brandished the battledore as though to ward off the approaching Lord Simon, and repeated in a trembling voice:
"Lord Simon de Lacey—Duke of Aberfalden. Surely there is some mistake."
"I'm afraid not," said Lord Simon, shaking her hand. "In me you behold the traditional, impecunious younger son, and—"
"But it will not always be so," interrupted Lady Simon, shouting to make herself heard, "for, you see, my husband's older brother is an invalid who will never marry, so we shall inherit the dukedom and estates one day. This child—" pointing to young Simon—"is a future duke."
"He has a lovely brow," said Mrs. Handsomebody, beaming at him.
Indeed, an astounding change had come over our governess. No longer was her manner frigid; her face, so grey and hard, had softened ​till it seemed to radiate benevolence. She beamed at Bill and Bunny playing at leap-frog before her chair; she beamed at "Baby," galloping astride of her umbrella; she beamed at Mops, trying to force a date into the mouth of a struggling fox-terrier; she even beamed at me when I caught her eye.
"I trust that your father, the Duke, keeps well," she said to Lord Simon.
"Great old boy," he replied. "Never misses a meet. Been in at the death of nearly four thousand foxes."
"Ah, blood will tell," breathed Mrs. Handsomebody.
"You see," interposed Lady Simon, "the Duke disinherited my husband when he married me. Didn't approve of the Profession. I was Miss Dulcie June, awfully well known. Photographs all over the place. Danced at the Gaiety, y'know."
"I'm sure I have heard of you," said Mrs. Handsomebody.
"Well, the Duke and I ran into each other at a dog show last week, and he was so struck with me, he asked to be introduced, and has asked us all to visit him at Falden Castle. It looks hopeful, don't it?"
"Indeed, yes. But we shall be very sorry to lose you. It is so difficult for me to find suitable ​companions for my wards, and your children are so—spirited. Of course, blood will tell."
"Just what I say," assented Lady Simon, "for I was a spirited girl, if ever there was one. What with late hours, and toe-dancin' and high-kickin', it's a wonder how I stood it. I think I was like that Sir Galahad chap whose 'strength was as the strength of ten'—"
"Doubtless because your art was pure, my love," put in Lord Simon, with a sly smile.
"I used to know this boy's father in those days," went on Lady Simon. "He was a lamb."
"He was also my pupil in his youth," said Mrs. Handsomebody, and the two talked on in the happiest fashion, till we took our leave, the whole family following us to the door, and "Baby" returning Mrs. Handsomebody's umbrella, and relieving her of the battledore without her having been aware of the negotiation.
So we who had expected to be haled to retribution, as criminals of the deepest dye, floated homeward in the serene light of Mrs. Handsomebody's approval.
No one spoke till the Cathedral came in view. Then Angel said:
"There's a window in the Cathedral in memory of a son of some Duke of Aberfalden. He died about a hundred years ago."
"The very same family," replied our governess, ​"and, I am sure, from now on, my dear boy, you will regard the window with a new reverence."
"You must have noticed," she proceeded, "the geniality and dignity that emanated from each separate member of that noble family. This is admirably expressed by the French in the saying—'Noblesse oblige'—meaning that nobility has its obligations. Repeat the phrase after me, David, that you may acquire a perfect accent."
"Knob-less obleedge," repeated Angel, submissively; and The Seraph also repeated it several times, as though storing it away for future use.
When Mrs. Handsomebody rang the door-bell, I trembled for Mary Ellen, remembering where I had last seen her, but the admirable girl promptly opened the door to us, clad in the drabbest of her cellar-cleaning garb, a smudge of soot on her rosy cheek.
Mrs. Handsomebody ordered sardines for tea, and had the silver tea-pot brought out. She also dressed for the occasion, adding a jet bracelet, seldom seen, to her toilet.
All went well, till, at bedtime, The Seraph could not be found. Becoming alarmed, Mrs. Handsomebody, at last, opened the door of the forbidden parlour, Angel and I peering from behind her, hoping, yet fearing, to discover the recreant.
Truly the gods had a mind to The Seraph. ​His was ever the cream of every adventure. There he was, lolling at ease, in a tasselled velvet chair, just beneath the portrait of Mr. Handsomebody. Lolling at ease, and smoking a gold-tipped cigarette, which, he afterwards confessed, he had got from Bill, in trade for a piece of India-rubber.
Like an old-timer he handled it, watching the smoke-wreaths above his head with the tranquil gaze of an elderly club-man.
"Merciful Heaven!" screamed Mrs. Handsomebody, clutching Angel and me for support. "Are you demented, Alexander? Do you realize what you are doing?"
The Seraph drew a long puff, looking straight into her eyes, before he replied: then, in a tone of gentle seriousness, he said:
"Knob-less obleedge."