The House of Arden: A Story for Children (2024)

TO
JOHN BLAND

Dymchurch, 1908.

(All rights reserved.)

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CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER I

ARDEN’S LORD 13

CHAPTER II

THE MOULDIWARP 45

CHAPTER III

IN BONEY’S TIMES 76

CHAPTER IV

THE LANDING OF THE FRENCH 97

CHAPTER V

THE HIGHWAYMAN AND THE —— 112

CHAPTER VI

THE SECRET PANEL 136

CHAPTER VII

THE KEY OF THE PARLOUR 162

CHAPTER VIII

GUY FAWKES 184

CHAPTER IX

THE PRISONERS IN THE TOWER 214

CHAPTER X

WHITE WINGS AND A BROWNIE 238

CHAPTER XI

DEVELOPMENTS 262

CHAPTER XII

FILMS AND CLOUDS 291

CHAPTER XIII

MAY-BLOSSOM AND PEARLS 308

CHAPTER XIV

THE FINDING OF THE TREASURE 327

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

“HE TOOK OFF HIS HAT AT THE LAST WORDS AND SWEPT IT, WITH A FLOURISH, NEARLY TO THE GROUND”Frontispiece

PAGE

“THEY WENT SLOWLY UP THE RED-BRICK-PAVED SIDEWALK”25

“‘AYE,’ HE SAID, ‘YOU’RE AN ARDEN, FOR SURE’”35

“THEY WERE TURNING ITS PAGES WITH QUICK, ANXIOUS HANDS”41

“THE CHILDREN WENT IN THE CARRIER’S CART”55

“‘HOITY-TOITY,’ SAID THE OLD LADY, VERY SEVERELY; ‘WE FORGET OUR MANNERS, I THINK’”73

“‘I’VE BROUGHT YOU SOME TEA AND SUGAR,’ SHE SAID”89

“THE MOULDIWARP MADE A LITTLE RUN AND A LITTLE JUMP, AND ELFRIDA CAUGHT IT”95

“‘DO YOU THINK THE FRENCH WILL LAND TOMORROW IN LYMCHURCH BAY?’ EDRED ASKED”103

“THEY SAT DOWN ON THE CLOSE WHITE LINE OF DAISIES”117

“‘COME, SEE HOW THE NEW SCARF BECOMES THY BET. IS IT NOT VASTLY MODISH?’”121

“‘IF YOU AIM AT ME YOU SHOOT THE CHILD’”131

“BETTY HANDED HIM THE CANDLE”137

“‘NOW,’ SAID A DOZEN VOICES, ‘THE TRUTH, LITTLE MISS’”143

“ELFRIDA WAS OBLIGED TO SHAKE HIM”153

“EDRED AND THE BIG CHAIR FELL TO THE FLOOR”159

“SHE SAW THAT THE NAME WAS ‘E. TALBOT’”167

“THE ROOM SEEMED FULL OF CIRCLING WINGS”171

“A LADY IN CRIMSON AND ERMINE WITH A GOLD CROWN”181

“THE WALLS SEEMED TO TREMBLE AND SHAKE AND GO CROOKED”193

“‘THOU’RT A FINE PAGE, INDEED, MY DEAR SON,’ SAID THE LADY. ‘STAND ASIDE AND TAKE MY TRAIN’”199

“OLD PARROT-NOSE HAD ELFRIDA BY THE WRIST”207

“THEY FOUND THEIR HOUSE OCCUPIED BY AN ARMED GUARD”211

“‘I WILL CONVEY HIM TO OUR COACH, GOOD MASTERS,’ SHE SAID TO THE GUARD”231

“‘YOU’VE NO MANNERS,’ IT SAID TO THE NURSE”235

“THE STREAM CAME OUT UNDER A ROUGH, LOW ARCH OF STONE”253

“‘SOLDIERS!’ SHE CRIED, ‘AND THEY’RE AFTER US’”257

“MRS. HONEYSETT WAS SITTING IN A LITTLE LOW CHAIR AT THE BACK DOOR PLUCKING A WHITE CHICKEN”263

“‘AH,’ SAID OLD NEALE ADMIRINGLY, ‘YOU’LL BE A-BUSTING WITH BOOK-LARNIN’ AFORE YOU COME TO YOUR TWENTY-ONE, I LAY’”279

“IT HELD CLOTHES FAR RICHER THAN ANY THEY HAD SEEN YET”287

“‘NOW RUN!’ SHE SAID, AND HERSELF LED THE WAY”315

“EDRED AND ELFRIDA AND RICHARD SAT DOWN ON THE MINUTE HAND”325

“THE HOUSES WERE MADE OF GREAT BLOCKS OF STONE”337

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CHAPTER I
ARDEN’S LORD

It had been a great house once, with farmsand fields, money and jewels—with tenantsand squires and men-at-arms. The head ofthe house had ridden out three days’ journeyto meet King Henry at the boundary of hisestate, and the King had ridden back withhim to lie in the tall State bed in the castleguest-chamber. The heir of the house hadled his following against Cromwell; youngersons of the house had fought in foreign lands,to the honour of England and the gilding andregilding with the perishable gold of glory ofthe old Arden name. There had been Ardensin Saxon times, and there were Ardens still—butfew and impoverished. The lands weregone, and the squires and men-at-arms; thecastle itself was roofless, and its unglazedwindows stared blankly across the fields ofstrangers, that stretched right up to the footof its grey, weather-worn walls. And of themale Ardens there were now known two only—anold man and a child.

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The old man was Lord Arden, the head of thehouse, and he lived lonely in a little house builtof the fallen stones that Time and Cromwell’sround-shot had cast from the castle walls. Thechild was Edred Arden, and he lived in a housein a clean, wind-swept town on a cliff.

It was a bright-faced house with bow-windowsand a green balcony that looked out over thesparkling sea. It had three neat white stepsand a brass knocker, pale and smooth withconstant rubbing. It was a pretty house, andit would have been a pleasant house but forone thing—the lodgers. For I cannot concealfrom you any longer that Edred Arden livedwith his aunt, and that his aunt let lodgings.Letting lodgings is one of the most unpleasantof all possible ways of earning your living, andI advise you to try every other honest way ofearning your living before you take to that.

Because people who go to the seaside andtake lodgings seem, somehow, much harder toplease than the people who go to hotels. Theywant ever so much more waiting on; they wantso many meals, and at such odd times. Theyring the bell almost all day long. They bringin sand from the shore in every fold of theirclothes, and it shakes out of them on to thecarpets and the sofa cushions, and everythingin the house. They hang long streamers of wetseaweed against the pretty roses of the newwall-papers, and their washhand basins arealways full of sea anemones and shells. Also,they are noisy; their boots seem to be alwayson the stairs, no matter how bad a headacheyou may have; and when you give them theirbill they always think it is too much, no matterhow little it may be. So do not let lodgings ifyou can help it.

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Miss Arden could not help it. It happenedlike this.

Edred and his sister were at school. (Did Itell you that he had a sister? Well, he had, andher name was Elfrida.) Miss Arden lived nearthe school, so that she could see the childrenoften. She was getting her clothes ready forher wedding, and the gentleman who was goingto marry her was coming home from SouthAmerica, where he had made a fortune. Thechildren’s father was coming home from SouthAmerica, too, with the fortune that he hadmade, for he and Miss Arden’s sweetheart werepartners. The children and their aunt talkedwhenever they met of the glorious time thatwas coming, and how, when father and UncleJim—they called him Uncle Jim already—camehome, they were all going to live in the countryand be happy ever after.

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And then the news came that father andUncle Jim had been captured by brigands, andall the money was lost, too, and there wasnothing left but the house on the cliff. So MissArden took the children from the expensiveschool in London, and they all went to live inthe cliff house, and as there was no money tolive on, and no other way of making money tolive on except letting lodgings, Miss Arden letthem, like the brave lady she was, and did itwell. And then came the news that father andUncle Jim were dead, and for a time the light oflife went out in Cliff House.

This was two years ago; but the children hadnever got used to the lodgers. They hated them.At first they had tried to be friendly with thelodgers’ children, but they soon found that thelodgers’ children considered Edred and Elfridavery much beneath them, and looked down onthem accordingly. And very often the lodgers’children were the sort of children on whomanybody might have looked down, if it wereright and kind to look down on any one. Andwhen Master Reginald Potts, of Peckham, putshis tongue out at you on the parade and says,right before everybody, “Lodgings! Yah!” itis hard to feel quite the same to him as you didbefore.

When there were lodgers—and there nearlyalways were, for the house was comfortable,and people who had been once came again—thechildren and their aunt had to live in thevery top and the very bottom of the house—inthe attics and the basem*nt, in fact.

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When there were no lodgers they used all therooms in turn, to keep them aired. But thechildren liked the big basem*nt parlour roombest, because there all the furniture had belongedto dead-and-gone Ardens, and all the pictures onthe walls were of Ardens dead and gone. Therooms that the lodgers had were furnished witha new sort of furniture that had no storiesbelonging to it such as belonged to the oldpolished oak tables and bureaux that were inthe basem*nt parlour.

Edred and Elfrida went to school every dayand learned reading, writing, arithmetic, geography,history, spelling, and useful knowledge,all of which they hated quite impartially, whichmeans they hated the whole lot—one thing asmuch as another.

The only part of lessons they liked was thehome-work, when, if Aunt Edith had time tohelp them, geography became like adventures,history like story-books, and even arithmeticsuddenly seemed to mean something.

“I wish you could teach us always,” saidEdred, very inky, and interested for the firsttime in the exports of China; “it does seem sosilly trying to learn things that are only wordsin books.”

“I wish I could,” said Aunt Edith, “but I can’tdo twenty-nine thousand and seventeen thingsall at once, and——” A bell jangled. “That’sthe seventh time since tea.” She got up andwent into the kitchen. “There’s the bell again,my poor Eliza. Never mind; answer the bell,but don’t answer them, whatever they say. Itdoesn’t do a bit of good, and it sometimes preventstheir giving you half-crowns when theyleave.”

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“I do love it when they go,” said Elfrida.

“Yes,” said her aunt. “A cab top-heavy withluggage, the horse’s nose turned stationward, it’sa heavenly sight—when the bill is paid and—— But,then, I’m just as glad to see the luggagecoming. Chickens! when my ship comes homewe’ll go and live on a desert island where therearen’t any cabs, and we won’t have any lodgersin our cave.”

“When I grow up,” said Edred, “I shall goacross the sea and look for your ship and bringit home. I shall take a steam-tug and steer itmyself.”

“Then I shall be captain,” said Elfrida.

“No, I shall be captain.”

“You can’t if you steer.”

“Yes, I can!”

“No, you can’t!”

“Yes, I can!”

“Well, do, then!” said Elfrida; “and whileyou’re doing it—I know you can’t—I shall digin the garden and find a gold-mine, and AuntEdith will be rolling in money when you comeback, and she won’t want your silly old ship.”

“Spelling next,” said Aunt Edith. “How doyou spell ‘disagreeable’?”

“Which of us?” asked Edred acutely.

“Both,” said Aunt Edith, trying to look verysevere.

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When you are a child you always dream ofyour ship coming home—of having a hundredpounds, or a thousand, or a million poundsto spend as you like. My favourite dream, Iremember, was a thousand pounds and anexpress understanding that I was not to spendit on anything useful. And when you havedreamed of your million pounds, or yourthousand, or your hundred, you spend happyhour on hour in deciding what presents you willbuy for each of the people you are fond of, andin picturing their surprise and delight at yourbeautiful presents and your wonderful generosity.I think very few of us spend our dreamfortunes entirely on ourselves. Of course, webuy ourselves a motor-bicycle straight away,and footballs and bats—and dolls with real hair,and real china tea-sets, and large boxes of mixedchocolates, and “Treasure Island,” and all thebooks that Mrs. Ewing ever wrote, but when wehave done that we begin to buy things for otherpeople. It is a beautiful dream, but too often,by the time it comes true—up to a hundredpounds or a thousand—we forget what we usedto mean to do with our money, and spend it allin stocks and shares, and eligible building sites,and fat cigars and fur coats. If I were youngagain I would sit down and write a list of allthe kind things I meant to do when my shipcame home, and if my ship ever did comehome I would read that list, and—— But theparlour bell is ringing for the eighth time,and the front-door bell is ringing too, andthe first-floor is ringing also, and so is thesecond-floor, and Eliza is trying to answerfour bells at once—always a most difficult thingto do.

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The front-door bell was rung by the postman;he brought three letters. The first was a bill formending the lid of the cistern, on which Edredhad recently lighted a fire, fortified by an impressionthat wood could not burn if there werewater on the other side—a totally false impression,as the charred cistern lid proved. Thesecond was an inquiry whether Miss Ardenwould take a clergyman in at half the usualprice, because he had a very large family whichhad all just had measles. And the third wasTHE letter, which is really the seed, andbeginning, and backbone, and rhyme, and reasonof this story.

Edred had got the letters from the postman,and he stood and waited while Aunt Edith readthem. He collected postmarks, and had notbeen able to make out by the thick half-lightof the hall gas whether any of these werevaluable.

The third letter had a very odd effect on AuntEdith. She read it once, and rubbed her handacross her eyes. Then she got up and stoodunder the chandelier, which wanted new burnersbadly, and so burned with a very unlightinglight, and read it again. Then she read it athird time, and then she said, “Oh!”

“What is it, auntie?” Elfrida asked anxiously;“is it the taxes?” It had been the taxes once,and Elfrida had never forgotten. (If you don’tunderstand what this means ask your poorestrelations, who are also likely to be your nicest,and if they don’t know, ask the washerwoman.)

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“No; it’s not the taxes, darling,” said AuntEdith; “on the contrary.”

I don’t know what the contrary (or opposite)of taxes is, any more than the children did—butI am sure it is something quite nice—and sowere they.

“Oh, auntie, I am so glad,” they both said,and said it several times before they askedagain, “What is it?”

“I think—I’m not quite sure—but I think it’sa ship come home—oh, just a quite tiny little bitof a ship—a toy boat—hardly more than that.But I must go up to London to-morrow the firstthing, and see if it really is a ship, and, if so,what sort of ship it is. Mrs. Blake shall comein, and you’ll be good as gold, children, won’tyou?”

“Yes—oh, yes,” said the two.

“And not make booby traps for the butcher,or go on the roof in your nightgowns, or playRed Indians in the dust-bin, or make apple-piebeds for the lodgers?” Aunt Edith asked, hastilymentioning a few of the little amusem*ntswhich had lately enlivened the spare time ofher nephew and niece.

“No, we really won’t,” said Edred; “and we’lltruly try not to think of anything new andamusing,” he added, with real self-sacrifice.

“I must go by the eight-thirty train. I wishI could think of some way of—of amusing you,”she ended, for she was too kind to say “of keepingyou out of mischief for the day,” which waswhat she really thought. “I’ll bring you somethingjolly for your birthday, Edred. Wouldn’tyou like to spend the day with nice Mrs.Hammond?”

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“Oh, no,” said Edred; and added, on theinspiration of the moment, “Why mayn’t wehave a picnic—just Elf and me—on the downs,to keep my birthday? It doesn’t matter itbeing the day before, does it? You said wewere too little last summer, and we should this,and now it is this and I have grown two inchesand Elf’s grown three, so we’re five inches tallerthan when you said we weren’t big enough.”

“Now you see how useful arithmetic is,” saidthe aunt. “Very well, you shall. Only wearyour old clothes, and always keep in sight of theroad. Yes; you can have a whole holiday.And now to bed. Oh, there’s that bell again!Poor, dear Eliza.”

A Clapham cub, belonging to one of thelodgers, happened to be going up to bed justas Edred and Elfrida came through the baizedoor that shut off the basem*nt from the restof the house. He put his tongue out throughthe banisters at the children of the house andsaid, “Little slaveys.” The cub thought hecould get up the stairs before the two got roundthe end of the banisters, but he had not countedon the long arm of Elfrida, whose hand shotthrough the banisters and caught the cub’s legand held on to it till Edred had time to getround. The two boys struggled up the stairstogether and then rolled together from top tobottom, where they were picked up and disentangledby their relations. Except for thislittle incident, going to bed was uneventful.

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Next morning Aunt Edith went off by theeight-thirty train. The children’s school satchelswere filled, not with books, but with buns; insteadof exercise-books there were sandwiches;and in the place of inky pencil-boxes were twomagnificent boxes of peppermint creams whichhad cost a whole shilling each, and had beenrecklessly bought by Aunt Edith in the agitationof the parting hour when they saw heroff at the station.

They went slowly up the red-brick-pavedsidewalk that always looks as though it hadjust been washed, and when they got to thetop of the hill they stopped and looked ateach other.

“It can’t be wrong,” said Edred.

“She never told us not to,” said Elfrida.

“I’ve noticed,” said Edred, “that when grown-uppeople say ‘they’ll see about’ anything youwant it never happens.”

“I’ve noticed that, too,” said Elfrida. “Auntiealways said she’d see about taking us there.”

“Yes, she did.”

“We won’t be mean and sneaky about it,”Edred insisted, though no one had suggestedthat he would be mean and sneaky. “We’lltell auntie directly she gets back.”

“Of course,” said Elfrida, rather relieved, forshe had not felt at all sure that Edred meantto do this.

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“After all,” said Edred, “it’s our castle. Weought to go and see the cradle of our race.That’s what it calls it in ‘Cliffgate and itsEnvions.’ I say, let’s call it a pilgrimage. Thesatchels will do for packs, and we can get half-pennywalking-sticks with that penny of yours.We can put peas in our shoes, if you like,” headded generously.

“We should have to go back for them, andI don’t expect the split kind count, anyhow.And perhaps they’d hurt,” said Elfrida doubtfully.“And I want my penny for——” Shestopped, warned by her brother’s frown. “Allright, then,” she ended; “you can have it. Onlygive me half next time you get a penny; that’sonly fair.”

“I’m not usually unfair,” said Edred coldly.“Don’t let’s be pilgrims.”

“But I should like to,” said Elfrida.

Edred was obstinate. “No,” he said, “we’lljust walk.”

So they just walked, rather dismally.

The town was getting thinner, like the tractof stocking that surrounds a hole; the houseswere farther apart and had large gardens. Inone of them a maid was singing to herself asshe shook out the mats—a thing which, somehow,maids don’t do much in towns.

“That’s lucky for us,” said Elfrida amiably.

25

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“We’re not her silly sweetheart,” said Edred.

“No; but we heard her sing it, and he wasn’there, so he couldn’t. There’s a sign-post. Iwonder how far we’ve gone? I’m gettingawfully tired.”

“You’d better have been pilgrims,” saidEdred. “They never get tired, however manypeas they have in their shoes.”

“I will now,” said Elfrida.

“You can’t,” said Edred; “it’s too late. We’remiles and miles from the stick shop.”

“Very well, I shan’t go on,” said Elfrida.“You got out of bed the wrong side thismorning. I’ve tried to soft-answer you ashard as ever I could all the morning, and I’mnot going to try any more, so there.”

“Don’t, then,” said Edred bitterly. “Goalong home if you like. You’re only a girl.”

“I’d rather be only a girl than what you are,”said she.

“And what’s that, I should like to know?”

Elfrida stopped and shut her eyes tight.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t!” she said. “Iwon’t be cross, I won’t be cross, I won’t becross! Pax. Drop it. Don’t let’s!”

“Don’t let’s what?”

“Quarrel about nothing,” said Elfrida, openingher eyes and walking on very fast. “We’realways doing it. Auntie says it’s a habit. Ifboys are so much splendider than girls, theyought to be able to stop when they like.”

“Suppose they don’t like?” said he, kickinghis boots in the thick, white dust.

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“Well,” said she, “I’ll say I’m sorry first.Will that do?”

“I was just going to say it first myself,” saidEdred, in aggrieved tones. “Come on,” headded more generously, “here’s the sign-post.Let’s see what it says.”

It said, quite plainly and without any nonsenseabout it, that they had come a mile andthree-quarters, adding, most unkindly, that itwas eight miles to Arden Castle. But, it said,it was a quarter of a mile to ArdenhurstStation.

“Let’s go by train,” said Edred grandly.

“No money,” said Elfrida, very forlornlyindeed.

“Aha!” said Edred; “now you’ll see. I’mnot mean about money. I brought my newflorin.”

“Oh, Edred,” said the girl, stricken withremorse, “you are noble.”

“Pooh!” said the boy, and his ears grew redwith mingled triumph and modesty; “that’snothing. Come on.”

So it was from the train that the pilgrimsgot their first sight of Arden Castle. It standsup boldly on the cliff where it was set to keepoff foreign foes and guard the country roundabout it. But of all its old splendour there isnow nothing but the great walls that the grassesand wild flowers grow on, and round towerswhose floors and ceilings have fallen away,and roofless chambers where owls build, andbrambles and green ferns grow strong and thick.

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The children walked to the castle along thecliff path where the skylarks were singing likemad up in the pale sky, and the bean-fields,where the bees were busy, gave out thesweetest scent in the world—a scent that gotit*elf mixed with the scent of the brown seaweedthat rises and falls in the wash of the tideon the rocks at the cliff-foot.

“Let’s have dinner here,” said Elfrida, whenthey reached the top of a little mound fromwhich they could look down on the castle. Sothey had it.

Two bites of sandwich and one of peppermintcream; that was the rule.

And all the time they were munching theylooked down on the castle, and loved it moreand more.

“Don’t you wish it was real, and we livedin it?” Elfrida asked, when they had eatenas much as they wanted—not of peppermintcreams, of course; but they had finished them.

“It is real, what there is of it.”

“Yes; but I mean if it was a house withchimneys, and fireplaces, and doors with bolts,and glass in the windows.”

“I wonder if we could get in?” said Edred.

“We might climb over,” said Elfrida, lookinghopefully at the enormous walls, sixty feet high,in which no gate or gap showed.

“There’s an old man going across that field—no,not that one; the very green field. Let’sask him.”

29

So they left their satchels lying on the shortturf, that was half wild thyme, and went down.But they were not quite quick enough; beforethey could get to him the old man had comethrough the field of young corn, clambered over astile, and vanished between the high hedges of adeep-sunk lane. So over the stile and downinto the lane went the children, and caught upwith the old man just as he had clicked hisgarden gate behind him and had turned to goup the bricked path between beds of woodruff,and anemones, and narcissus, and tulips of allcolours.

His back was towards them. Now it is verydifficult to address a back politely. So you willnot be surprised to learn that Edred said, “Hi!”and Elfrida said, “Halloa! I say!”

The old man turned and saw at his gate twosmall figures dressed in what is known as sailorcostume. They saw a very wrinkled old facewith snowy hair and mutton-chop whiskers ofa silvery whiteness. There were very brighttwinkling blue eyes in the sun-browned face,and on the clean-shaven mouth a kind, if tight,smile.

“Well,” said he, “and what do you want?”

“We want to know——” said Elfrida.

“About the castle,” said Edred, “Can we getin and look at it?”

“I’ve got the keys,” said the old man, and puthis hand in at his door and reached them from anail.

“I s’pose no one lives there?” said Elfrida.

30

“Not now,” said the old man, coming backalong the garden path. “Lord Arden, he died afortnight ago come Tuesday, and the place isshut up till the new lord’s found.”

“I wish I was the new lord,” said Edred, asthey followed the old man along the lane.

“An’ how old might you be?” the old manasked.

“I’m ten nearly. It’s my birthday to-morrow,”said Edred. “How old are you?”

“Getting on for eighty. I’ve seen a deal inmy time. If you was the young lord you’dhave a chance none of the rest of them everhad—you being the age you are.”

“What sort of chance?”

“Why,” said the old man, “don’t you knowthe saying? I thought every one knowed ithereabouts.”

“What saying?”

“I ain’t got the wind for saying and walkingtoo,” said the old man, and stopped; “leastways,not potery.” He drew a deep breath andsaid—

“I say!” said both the children. “And where’sArden Knoll?” Edred asked.

“Up yonder.” He pointed to the moundwhere they had had lunch.

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Elfrida inquired, “What treasure?”

But that question was not answered—then.

“If I’m to talk I must set me down,” said theold man. “Shall we set down here, or set downinside of the castle?”

Two curiosities struggled, and the strongerwon. “In the castle,” said the children.

So it was in the castle, on a pillar fallen fromone of the chapel arches, that the old man satdown and waited. When the children had runup and down the grassy enclosure, peeped intothe ruined chambers, picked their way along theruined colonnade, and climbed the steps of theonly tower that they could find with steps toclimb, then they came and sat beside the oldman on the grass that was white with daisies,and said, “Now, then!”

“Well, then,” said the old man, “you see theArdens was always great gentry. I’ve heardsay there’s always been Ardens here since beforeWilliam the Conker, whoever he was.”

“Ten-sixty-six,” said Edred to himself.

“An’ they had their ups and downs like otherfolks, great and small. And once, when therewas a war or trouble of some sort abroad, therewas a lot of money, and jewlery, and silverplate hidden away. That’s what it means bytreasure. And the men who hid it got killed—ah,them was unsafe times to be alive in, I tellyou—and nobody never knew where the treasurewas hid.”

“Did they ever find it?”

32

“Ain’t I telling you? An’ a wise woman thatlived in them old ancient times, they went toher to ask her what to do to find the treasure,and she had a fit directly, what you’d call ahistorical fit nowadays. She never said nothingworth hearing without she was in a fit, and shemade up the saying all in potery whilst she wasin her fit, and that was all they could get out ofher. And she never would say what the spellwas. Only when she was a-dying, Lady Arden,that was then, was very took up with nursingof her, and before she breathed her lastest shetold Lady Arden the spell.” He stopped forlack of breath.

“And what is the spell?” said the children,much more breathless than he.

“Nobody knows,” said he.

“But where is it?”

“Nobody knows. But I’ve ’eard say it’s in abook in the libery in the house yonder. But itain’t no good, because there’s never been a LordArden come to his title without he’s left his tenyears far behind him.”

Edred had a queerer feeling in his head thanyou can imagine; his hands got hot and dry,and then cold and damp.

“I suppose,” he said, “you’ve got to be LordArden? It wouldn’t do if you were just plainJohn or James or Edred Arden? Becausemy name’s Arden, and I would like to havea try?”

The old man stooped, caught Edred by thearm, pulled him up, and stood him between hisknees.

33

“Let’s have a look at you, sonny,” he said;and had a look. “Aye,” he said, “you’re anArden, for sure. To think of me not seeingthat. I might have seen your long nose andyour chin that sticks out like a spur. I oughtto have known it anywhere. But my eyes ain’twhat they was. If you was Lord Arden—— What’syour father’s name—his chrissenedname, I mean?”

“Edred, the same as mine. But father’s dead,”said Edred gravely.

“And your grandf’er’s name? It wasn’tGeorge, was it—George William?”

“Yes, it was,” said Edred. “How did youknow?”

The old man let go Edred’s arms and stood up.Then he touched his forehead and said—

“I’ve worked on the land ’ere man and boy,and I’m proud I’ve lived to see another LordArden take the place of him as is gone. Lauk-alive,boy, don’t garp like that,” he added sharply.“You’re Lord Arden right enough.”

“I—I can’t be,” gasped Edred.

“Auntie said Lord Arden was a relation ofours—a sort of great-uncle—cousin.”

“That’s it, missy,” the old man nodded. “LordArden—chrissen name James—’e was firstcousin to Mr. George as was your grandf’er.His son was Mr. Edred, as is your father. Thelate lord not ’avin’ any sons—nor daughtersneither for the matter of that—the title comesto your branch of the family. I’ve heard Snigsworthy,the lawyer’s apprentice from Lewis, tellit over fifty times this last three weeks. You’reLord Arden, I tell you.”

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“If I am,” said Edred, “I shall say the spelland find the treasure.”

“You’ll have to be quick about it,” said Elfrida.“You’ll be over ten the day after to-morrow.”

“So I shall,” said Edred.

“When you’re Lord Arden,” said the old manvery seriously,—“I mean, when you grow up toenjoy the title—as, please God, you may—youremember the poor and needy, young master—that’swhat you do.”

“If I find the treasure I will,” said Edred.

“You do it whether or no,” said the old man.“I must be getting along home. You’d like toplay about a bit, eh? Well, bring me the keyswhen you’ve done. I can trust you not to hurtyour own place, that’s been in the family allthese hundreds of years.”

“I should think you could!” said Edredproudly. “Goodbye, and thank you.”

“Goodbye, my lord,” said the old man, andwent.

“I say,” said Edred, with the big bunch ofkeys in his hand,—“if I am Lord Arden!”

“You are! you are!” said Elfrida. “I amperfectly certain you are. And I suppose I’mLady Arden. How perfectly ripping! We canshut up those lodging-children now, anyhow.What’s up?”

Edred was frowning and pulling the velvetcovering of moss off the big stone on which hehad absently sat down.

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“Do you think it’s burglarish,” he said slowly,“to go into your own house without leave?”

“Not if it is your own house. Of course not,”said Elfrida.

“But suppose it isn’t? They might put youin prison for it.”

“You could tell the policeman you thoughtit was yours. I say, Edred, let’s!”

“It’s not vulgar curiosity, like auntie says;it’s the spell I want,” said the boy.

“As if I didn’t know that,” said the girl contemptuously.“But where’s the house?”

She might well ask, for there was no houseto be seen—only the great grey walls of thecastle, with their fine fringe of flowers and grassshowing feathery against the pale blue of theJune sky. Here and there, though, there weregrey wooden doors set in the grey of thestone.

“It must be one of those,” Edred said. “We’lltry all the keys and all the doors till we find it.”

So they tried all the keys and all the doors.One door led to a loft where apples were stored.Another to a cellar, where brooms and spadesand picks leaned against the damp wall, andthere were baskets and piles of sacks. A thirdopened into a tower that seemed to be used asa pigeon-cote. It was the very last door theytried that led into the long garden between twohigh walls, where already the weeds had grownhigh among the forget-me-nots and pansies.And at the end of this garden was a narrowhouse with a red roof, wedged tightly inbetween two high grey walls that belonged tothe castle.

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All the blinds were down; the garden waschill and quiet, and smelt of damp earth anddead leaves.

“Oh, Edred, do you think we ought?” Elfridasaid, shivering.

“Yes, I do,” said Edred; “and you’re notbeing good, whatever you may think. You’reonly being frightened.”

Elfrida naturally replied, “I’m not. Comeon.”

But it was very slowly, and with a feeling ofbeing on tiptoe and holding their breaths, thatthey went up to those blinded windows thatlooked like sightless eyes.

The front door was locked, and none of thekeys would fit it.

“I don’t care,” said Edred. “If I am LordArden I’ve got a right to get in, and if I’m notI don’t care about anything, so here goes.”

Elfrida almost screamed, half with horror andhalf with admiration of his daring, when heclimbed up to a little window by means of anelder-tree that grew close to it, tried to open thewindow, and when he found it fast deliberatelypushed his elbow through the glass.

“Thus,” he said rather unsteadily, “the heirof Arden Castle re-enters his estates.”

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He got the window open and disappearedthrough it. Elfrida stood clasping and unclaspingher hands, and in her mind trying to getrid of the idea of a very large and suddenpoliceman appearing in the garden door andsaying, in that deep voice so much admired inour village constables, “Where’s your brother?”

No policeman came, fortunately, and presentlya blind went up, a French window opened, andthere was Edred beckoning her with the airof a conspirator.

It needed an effort to obey his signal, but shedid it. He closed the French window, drewdown the blind again, and——

“Oh, don’t let’s,” said Elfrida.

“Nonsense,” said Edred; “there’s nothing tobe frightened of. It’s just like our rooms athome.”

It was. They went all over the house, andit certainly was. Some of the upper roomswere very bare, but all the furniture was ofthe same kind as Aunt Edith’s, and there werethe same kind of pictures. Only the librarywas different. It was a very large room, andthere were no pictures at all. Nothing butbooks and books and books, bound in yellowyleather. Books from ceiling to floor, shelvesof books between the windows and over themantelpiece—hundreds and thousands of books.Even Edred’s spirits sank. “It’s no go. It willtake us years to look in them all,” he said.

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“We may as well look at some of them,” saidElfrida, always less daring, but more perseveringthan her brother. She sat down on theworn carpet and began to read the nameson the backs of the books nearest to her.“Burton’s Atomy of Melon something,” sheread, and “Locke on Understanding,” andmany other dull and wearying titles. Butnone of the books seemed at all likely tocontain a spell for finding treasure. “Burgesson the Precious Metals” beguiled her for amoment, but she saw at once that there wasno room in its closely-printed, brown-spottedpages for anything so interesting as a spell.Time passed by. The sunlight that camethrough the blinds had quite changed its placeon the carpet, and still Elfrida persevered.Edred grew more and more restless.

“It’s no use,” he kept saying, and “Let’schuck it,” and “I expect that old chap wasjust kidding us. I don’t feel a bit like I didabout it,” and “Do let’s get along home.”

But Elfrida plodded on, though her headand her back both ached. I wish I could saythat her perseverance was rewarded. But itwasn’t; and one must keep to facts. As ithappened, it was Edred who, aimlessly runninghis finger along the edge of the bookshelf justfor the pleasure of looking at the soft, mouse-coloureddust that clung to the finger at theend of each shelf, suddenly cried out, “Whatabout this?” and pulled out a great whitebook that had on its cover a shield printed ingold with squares and little spots on it, anda gold pig standing on the top of the shield,and on the back, “The History of the Ardensof Arden.”

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In an instant it was open on the floorbetween them, and they were turning itspages with quick, anxious hands. But, alas!it was as empty of spells as dull old Burgesshimself.

It was only when Edred shut it with a bangand the remark that he had had jolly wellenough of it that a paper fluttered out andswept away like a pigeon, settling on the firelesshearth. And it was the spell. There wasno doubt of that.

Written in faint ink on a square yellowedsheet of letter-paper that had been foldedonce, and opened and folded again so oftenthat the fold was worn thin and hardly heldits two parts together, the writing was fineand pointed and ladylike. At the top waswritten: “The Spell Aunt Anne Told Me.—December24, 1793.”

And then came the spell:—

“To be said,” the paper went on, “at sun-settingby a Lord Arden between the completionof his ninth and tenth years. But itis all folly and not to be believed.”

“This is it, right enough,” said Edred.“Come on, let’s get out of this.” They turnedto go, and as they did so something moved inthe corner of the library—something little, andthey could not see its shape.

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Neither drew free breath again till theywere out of the house, and out of the garden,and out of the castle, and on the wide, thymydowns, with the blue sky above, where theskylarks sang, and there was the sweet, freshscent of the seaweed and the bean-fields.

“Oh,” said Elfrida, then, “I am so glad it’snot at midnight you’ve got to say the spell.You’d be too frightened.”

“I shouldn’t,” said Edred, very pale andwalking quickly away from the castle. “Ishould say it just the same if it was midnight.”And he very nearly believed what hesaid.

Elfrida it was who had picked up the paperthat Edred had dropped when that thingmoved in the corner. She still held it fast.

“I expect it was only a rat or something,”said Edred, his heart beating nineteen to thedozen, as they say in Kent and elsewhere.

“Oh, yes,” said Elfrida, whose lips weretrembling a little; “I’m sure it was only a rator something.”

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When they got to the top of Arden Knollthere was no sign of sunset. There was time,therefore, to pull oneself together, to listento the skylarks, and to smell the bean-flowers,and to wonder how one could have been such aduffer as to be scared by a “rat or something.”Also there were some bits of sandwich andcrumbled cake, despised at dinner-time, butnow, somehow, tasting quite different. Thesehelped to pass the time till the sun almostseemed to rest on a brown shoulder of thedowns, that looked as though it were shruggingitself up to meet the round red ball that theevening mists had made of the sun.

The children had not spoken for severalminutes. Their four eyes were fixed on thesun, and as the edge of it seemed to flattenitself against the hill-shoulder Elfrida whispered,“Now!” and gave her brother the paper.

They had read the spell so often, as theysat there in the waning light, that both knewit by heart, so there was no need for Edredto read it. And that was lucky, for in thatthick, pink light the faint ink hardly showedat all on the yellowy paper.

Edred stood up.

“Now!” said Elfrida, again. “Say it now.”And Edred said, quite out loud and in apleasant sort of sing-song, such as he wasaccustomed to use at school when reciting thestirring ballads of the late Lord Macaulay, orthe moving tale of the boy on the burningdeck:—

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He said it slowly and carefully, his sistereagerly listening, ready to correct him if hesaid a word wrong. But he did not.

“Where the treasure lies,” he ended, and thegreat silence of the downs seemed to rushin like a wave to fill the space which his voicehad filled.

And nothing else happened at all. A flushof pink from the sun-setting spread over thedowns, the grass-stems showed up thin anddistinct, the skylarks had ceased to sing, butthe scent of the bean-flowers and the seaweedwas stronger than ever. And nothing happenedtill Edred cried out, “What’s that?”For close to his foot something moved, notquickly or suddenly so as to startle, but verygently, very quietly, very unmistakably—somethingthat glittered goldenly in the pink,diffused light of the sun-setting.

“Why,” said Elfrida stooping, “why, it’s——”

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CHAPTER II
THE MOULDIWARP

And it was—it was the living image of thelittle pig-like animal that was stamped in goldabove the chequered shield on the cover of thewhite book in which they had found the spell.And as on the yellowy white of the vellumbook-cover, so here on the thymy grass of theknoll it shone golden. The children stoodperfectly still. They were afraid to move lestthey should scare away this little creaturewhich, though golden, was alive and movedabout at their feet, turning a restless nose toright and left.

“It is,” said Elfrida again, very softly, so asnot to frighten it.

“What?” Edred asked, though he knew wellenough.

“Off the book that we got the spell out of.”

“That was our crest on the top of our coat-of-arms,like on the old snuff-box that was great-grandpapa’s.”

“Well, this is our crest come alive, that’s all.”

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“Don’t you be too clever,” said Edred. “Itsaid badge; I don’t believe badge is the samething as crest. A badge is leeks, or roses, orthistles—something you can wear in your cap.I shouldn’t like to wear that in my cap.”

And still the golden thing at their feet movedcautiously and without ceasing.

“Why,” said Edred suddenly, “it’s just acommon old mole.”

“It isn’t; it’s our own crest, that’s on thespoons and things. It’s our own old familymole that’s our crest. How can it be a commonmole? It’s all golden.”

And, even as she spoke, it left off beinggolden. For the last bit of sun dipped behindthe shoulder of the downs, and in the greytwilight that was left the mole was white—anyone could see that.

“Oh!” said Elfrida—but she stuck to herpoint. “So you see,” she went on, “it can’t bejust a really-mole. Really-moles are black.”

“Well,” said Edred, “it’s very tame. I willsay that.”

“Well——” Edred was beginning; but atthat same moment the mole also, suddenly andastonishingly, said, “Well?”

There was a hushed pause. Then——

“Did you say that?” Elfrida whispered.

“No,” said Edred, “you did.”

“Don’t whisper, now,” said the mole; “’tain’tpurty manners, so I tells ’ee.”

With one accord the two children came totheir knees, one on each side of the white mole.

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“I say!” said Edred.

“Now, don’t,” said the mole, pointing its noseat him quite as disdainfully as any humanbeing could have pointed a finger. “Don’t yougo for to pretend you don’t know as Mouldiwarps’as got tongues in dere heads same’s whatyou’ve got.”

“But not to talk with?” said Elfrida softly.

“Don’t you tell me,” said the Mouldiwarp,bristling a little. “Hasn’t no one told you e’era fairy tale? All us beastes has tongues, andwhen we’re dere us uses of en.”

“When you’re where?” said Edred, ratherannoyed at being forced to believe in fairy tales,which he had never really liked.

“Why, in a fairy tale for sure,” said the mole.“Wherever to goodness else on earth do yousuppose you be?”

“We’re here,” said Edred, kicking the groundto make it feel more solid and himself moresure of things, “on Arden Knoll.”

“An’ ain’t that in a fairy tale?” demandedthe Mouldiwarp triumphantly. “You do talkso free. You called me, and here I be. Whatd’you want?”

“Are you,” said Elfrida, thrilling with surpriseand fear, and pleasure and hope, and wonder,and a few other things which, taken in thelump, are usually called “a thousand conflictingemotions,”—“are you the ‘badge of Arden’shouse’?”

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“Course I be,” said the mole,—“what’s leftof it; and never did I think to be called one bythe Arden boy and gell as didn’t know theirown silly minds. What do you want, eh?”

“We told you in the spell,” said Elfrida.

“Oh, be that all?” said the mole bitterly;“nothing else? I’m to make him brave andwise and show him de treasure. Milksop!” itsaid, so suddenly and fiercely that it almostseemed to spit the words in poor Edred’s face.

“I’m not,” said Edred, turning turkey-red.“I got into the house and found the spell,anyway.”

“Yes; and who did all the looking for it?She did. Bless you, I was there; I know allabout it. If it was showing her the treasure,now, there’d be some sense in it.”

“I think you’re very unfair,” said Elfrida, asearnestly as though she had been speaking toa grown-up human being; “if he was brave andwise we shouldn’t want you to make him it.”

“You ain’t got nothing to do with it,” saidthe mole crossly.

“Yes, she has,” said Edred. “I mean to shareand share with her—whatever I get. And ifyou could make me wise I’d teach her everythingyou taught me. But I don’t believe youcan. So there!”

“Do you believe I can talk?” the mole asked,and Edred quite definitely and surprisinglysaid—

“No, I don’t. You’re a dream, that’s all youare,” he said, “and I’m dreaming you.”

“And what do you think?” the mole askedElfrida, who hesitated.

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“I think,” she said at last, “that it’s gettingvery dark, and Aunt Edith will be anxiousabout us; and will you meet us another day?There isn’t time to make us brave and wiseto-night.”

“That there ain’t, for sure,” said the molemeaningly.

“But you might tell us where the treasureis,” said Edred.

“That comes last, greedy,” said the mole.“I’ve got to make you kind and wise first, andI see I’ve got my work cut out. Good-night.”

It began to move away.

“Oh, don’t go!” said Elfrida; “we shall neverfind you again. Oh, don’t! Oh, this is dreadful!”

The mole paused.

“I’ve got to let you find me again. Don’tupset yourself,” it said bitterly. “When youwants me, come up on to the knoll and saya piece of poetry to call me, and I’ll come,” andit started again.

“But what poetry?” Edred asked.

“Oh, anything. You can pick and choose.”

Edred thought of “The Lays of Ancient Rome.”

“Only ’tain’t no good without you makes itup yourselves,” said the Mouldiwarp.

“Oh!” said the two, much disheartened.

“And course it must be askin’ me to kindlycome to you. Get along home.”

“Where are you going?” Elfrida asked.

“Home too, of course,” it said, and this time itreally did go.

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The two children turned towards the lights ofArdenhurst Station in perfect silence. Only asthey reached the place where the down-turfends and the road begins Edred said, in tones ofawe, “I say!”

And Elfrida answered, “Yes—isn’t it?”

Then they walked, still without talking, to thestation.

The lights there, and the voices of porters andpassengers, the rattle of signal-wires and the“ping, ping” of train signals, had on them theeffect of a wet sponge passed over the face ofa sleeper by some “already up” person. Theyseemed to awaken from a dream, and themoment they were in the train, which fortunatelycame quite soon, they began to talk.They talked without stopping till they got toCliffville Station, and then they talked all theway home, and by the time they reached thehouse with the green balconies and the smooth,pale, polished door-knocker they had decided,as children almost always do in cases of magicadventure, that they had better not say anythingto any one. As I am always pointingout, it is extremely difficult to tell your magicexperiences to people who not only will not,but cannot believe you. This is one of thedrawbacks of really wonderful happenings.

Aunt Edith had not come home, but she cameas they were washing their hands and faces forsupper. She brought with her presents forEdred’s birthday—nicer presents, and more ofthem, than he had had for three years.

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She bought him a box of wonderfully variedchocolate and a box of tools, a very beautifulbat and a cricket-ball and a set of stumps, and abeetle-backed paint-box in which all the colourswere whole pans, and not half ones, as theyusually are in the boxes you get as presents.In this were beautiful paint-brushes—twocamel’s-hair ones and a sable with a point asfine as fine.

“You are a dear, auntie,” he said, with hisarms very tight round her waist. He was veryhappy, and it made him feel more generous thanusual. So he said again, “You are a dear. AndElfrida can use the paint-box whenever I’m out,and the camel’s-hair brushes. Not the sable, ofcourse.”

“Oh, Edred, how jolly of you!” said Elfrida,quite touched.

“I’ve got something for Elfrida too,” saidAunt Edith, feeling among the rustling pile ofbrown paper, and tissue paper, and string, andcardboard, and shavings, that were the husks ofEdred’s presents. “Ah, here it is!”

It was a book—a red book with gold pictureson back and cover—and it was called “TheAmulet.” So then it was Elfrida’s turn toclasp her aunt round the waist and tell herabout her dearness.

“And now to supper,” said the dear. “Roastchicken. And gooseberry pie. And cream.”

To the children, accustomed to the mild uninterestingnessof bread and milk for supper,this seemed the crowning wonder of the day.And what a day it had been!

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And while they ate the brown chicken, withbread sauce and gravy and stuffing, and thegooseberry pie and cream, the aunt told themof her day.

“It really is a ship,” she said, “and the bestthing it brings is that we shan’t let lodgingsany more.”

“Hurrah!” was the natural response.

“And we shall have more money to spendand be more comfortable. And you can go to areally nice school. And where do you thinkwe’re going to live?”

“Not,” said Elfrida, in a whisper,—“not atthe castle?”

“Why, how did you guess?”

Elfrida looked at Edred. He hastily swalloweda large mouthful of chicken to say,“Auntie, I do hope you won’t mind. We wentto Arden to-day. You said we might go thisyear.”

Then the whole story came out—yes, quite all,up to the saying of the spell.

“And did anything happen?” Aunt Edithasked. The children were thankful to see thatshe was only interested, and did not seem vexedat what they had done.

“Well,” said Elfrida slowly, “we saw amole——”

Aunt Edith laughed, and Edred said quickly—

“That’s all the story, auntie. And I am LordArden, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” the aunt answered gravely. “You areLord Arden.”

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“Oh, ripping!” cried Edred, with so joyous aface that his aunt put away a little sermon shehad got ready in the train on the duties ofthe English aristocracy—that would keep, shethought—and turned to say, “No, dear,” toElfrida’s eager question, “Then I’m Lady Arden,aren’t I?”

“If he’s lord I ought to be lady,” Elfrida said.“It’s not fair.”

“Never mind, old girl,” said Edred kindly.“I’ll call you Lady Arden whenever you like.”

“How would you like,” asked the aunt, “to goover and live at the castle now?”

“To-night?”

“No, no,” she laughed; “next week. You see,I must try to let this house, and I shall be verybusy. Mrs. Honeysett, the old lady who used tokeep house for your great-uncle, wrote to thelawyers and asked if we would employ her. Iremember her when I was a little girl; she is adear, and knows heaps of old songs. How wouldyou like to be there with her while I finish uphere and get rid of the lodgers? Oh, there’sthat bell again! I don’t think we’ll have anybells at the castle, shall we?”

So that was how it was arranged. The auntstayed at the bow-windowed house to arrangethe new furniture—for the house was to be letfurnished—and to pack up the beautiful oldthings that were real Arden things, and thechildren went in the carrier’s cart, with theirclothes and their toys in two black boxes, and intheir hearts a world of joyous anticipations.

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Mrs. Honeysett received them with a pretty,old-fashioned curtsey, which melted into anembrace.

“You’re welcome to your home, my lord,” shesaid, with an arm round each child, “and youtoo, miss, my dear. Any one can see you’reArdens, both two of you. There was always aboy and a girl—a boy and a girl.” She had asweet, patient face, with large, pale blue eyesthat twinkled when she smiled, and she almostalways smiled when she looked at the children.

Oh, but it was fine, to unpack one’s own box—tolay out one’s clothes in long, cedar-wooddrawers, fronted with curved polished mahogany;to draw back the neat muslin blinds fromlattice-paned windows that had always beenArden windows; to look out, as so many Ardensmust have done, over land that, as far as onecould see, had belonged to one’s family inold days. That it no longer belonged hardlymattered at all to the romance of hearts onlyten and twelve years old.

Then to go down one’s own shallow, polishedstairs (where portraits of old Ardens hung onthe wall), and to find the cloth laid for dinner inone’s own wainscoted parlour, laid for two. Ithink it was nice of Edred to say, the momentMrs. Honeysett had helped them to toad-in-the-holeand left them to eat it—

“May I pass you some potatoes, Lady Arden?”

Elfrida giggled happily.

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The parlour was furnished with the kind offurniture they knew and loved. It had a long,low window that showed the long, narrowgarden outside. The walls were panelled withwood, browny-grey under its polish.

“Oh,” said Elfrida, “there must be secretpanels here.”

And though Edred said, “Secret fiddlesticks!”he in his heart felt that she was right.

After dinner, “May we explore?” Elfridaasked, and Mrs. Honeysett, most charming ofwomen, answered heartily—

“Why not? It’s all his own, bless his dearheart.”

So they explored.

The house was much bigger than they hadfound it on that wonderful first day when theyhad acted the part of burglars. There was adoor covered with faded green baize. Mrs.Honeysett pointed it out to them with, “Don’tyou think this is all: there’s the other housebeyond;” and at the other side of that doorthere was, indeed, the other house.

The house they had already seen was neat,orderly, “bees-whacked,” as Mrs. Honeysett said,till every bit of furniture shone like a mirror ora fond hope. But beyond the baize door therewere shadows, there was dust, windows drapedin cobwebs, before which hung curtains tatteredand faded, drooping from their poles like theold banners that, slowly rotting in great cathedrals,sway in the quiet air where no wind is—stirred,perhaps, by the breath of Fame’sinvisible trumpet to the air of old splendoursand glories.

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The carpets lay in rags on the floors; on thefurniture the dust lay thick, and on the boardsof corridor and staircase; on the four-postbeds in the bedchambers the hangings hungdusty and rusty—the quilts showed the holeseaten by moths and mice. In one room a cradleof carved oak still had a coverlet of tatteredsilk dragging from it. From the great kitchen-hearth,where no fire had been this very longtime, yet where still the ashes of the last fire laygrey and white, a chill air came. The placesmelt damp and felt——

“Do you think it’s haunted?” Elfrida asked.

“Rot!” was her brother’s brief reply, and theywent on.

They found long, narrow corridors hungcrookedly with old, black-framed prints, whichdrooped cobwebs, like grey-draped crape. Theyfound rooms with floors of grey, uneven oak,and fireplaces in whose grates lay old soot andthe broken nests of starlings hatched very longago.

Edred’s handkerchief—always a rag-of-all-work—rubbeda space in one of the windows,and they looked out over the swelling downs.This part of the house was not built withinthe castle, that was plain.

When they had opened every door and lookedat every roomful of decayed splendour theywent out and round. Then they saw that thiswas a wing built right out of the castle—awing with squarish windows, with carved drip-stones.All the windows were yellow as parchment,with the inner veil laid on them by Timeand the spider. The ivy grew thick roundthe windows, almost hiding some of themaltogether.

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“Oh!” cried Elfrida, throwing herself downon the turf, “it’s too good to be true. I can’tbelieve it.”

“What I can’t believe,” said Edred, doinglikewise, “is that precious mole.”

“But we saw it,” said Elfrida; “you can’thelp believing things when you’ve seen them.”

“I can,” said Edred, superior. “You rememberthe scarlet toadstools in ‘Hereward.’Suppose those peppermint creams were enchanted—tomake us dream things.”

“They were good,” said Elfrida. “I say!”

“Well?”

“Have you made up any poetry to call themole with?”

“Have you?”

“No; I’ve tried, though.”

“I’ve tried. And I’ve done it.”

“Oh, Edred, you are clever. Do say it.”

“If I do, do you think the mole willcome?”

“Of course it will.”

“Well,” said Edred slowly, “of course I wantto find the treasure and all that. But I don’tbelieve in it. It isn’t likely—that’s what I think.Now is it likely?”

“Unlikelier things happened in ‘The Amulet,’”said Elfrida.

“Ah,” said Edred, “that’s a story.”

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“The mole said we were in a story. I say,Edred, do say your poetry.”

Edred slowly said it—

Elfrida looked eagerly round her. There wasthe short turf; the castle walls, ivied and grey,rose high above her; pigeons circled overhead,and in the arches of the windows and on theroof of the house they perched, preening theirbright feathers or telling each other, “Coo, coo;cooroo, cooroo,” whatever that may mean. Butthere was no mole—not a hint or a dream oridea of a mole.

“Edred,” said his sister.

“Well?”

“Did you really make that up? Don’t becross, but I do think I’ve heard something likeit before.”

“I—I adopted it,” said Edred.

“?” said Elfrida.

“Haven’t you seen it in books, ‘Adopted fromthe French’? I altered it.”

“I don’t believe that’ll do. How much didyou alter? What’s the real poetry like?”

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said Edred sulkily. “Auntie told me it the dayyou went to her with Mrs. Harrison.”

“I’m sure you ought to make it up all yourself.You see, the mole doesn’t come.”

“There isn’t any mole,” said Edred.

“Let’s both think hard. I’m sure I couldmake poetry—if I knew how to begin.”

“If any one’s got to make it, it’s me,” saidEdred. “You’re not Lord Arden.”

“You’re very unkind,” said Elfrida, and Edredknew she was right.

“I don’t mind trying,” he said, condescendingly;“you make the poetry and I’ll say it.”

Elfrida buried her head in her hands andthought till her forehead felt as large as amangel-wurzel, and her blood throbbed in itlike a church clock ticking.

“Got it yet?” he asked, just as she thoughtshe really had got it.

“Don’t!” said the poet, in agony.

Then there was silence, except for the pigeonsand the skylarks, and the mooing of a cow ata distant red-roofed farm.

“Will this do?” she said at last, lifting herhead from her hands and her elbows from thegrass; there were deep dents and lines on herelbows made by the grass-stalks she had leanedon so long.

“Spit it out,” said Edred.

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Thus encouraged, Elfrida said, very slowly andcarefully, “‘Oh, Mouldiwarp’—I think it wouldrather be called that than mole, don’t you?—‘Oh,Mouldiwarp, do please come out and showus how to set about it’—that means thetreasure. I hope it’ll understand.”

“That’s not poetry,” said Edred.

“Yes, it is, if you say it right on—

“There ought to be some more,” said Edred—ratherimpressed, all the same.

“There is,” said Elfrida. “Oh, wait a minute—Ishall remember directly. It—what I meanis, how to find the treasure and make Edredbrave and wise and kind.”

“I’m kind enough if it comes to that,” saidLord Arden.

“Oh, I know you are; but poetry has torhyme—you know it has. I expect poets oftenhave to say what they don’t mean becauseof that.”

“Well, say it straight through,” said Edred,and Elfrida said, obediently—

I’ll write it down if you’ve got a pencil.”

Edred produced a piece of pink chalk, buthe had no paper, so Elfrida had to stretch outher white petticoat, put a big stone on thehem, and hold it out tightly with both hands,while Edred wrote at her dictation.

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Then Edred studiously repeated the linesagain and again, as he was accustomed torepeat “The Battle of Ivry,” till at last hewas able to stand up and say—

If you don’t mind,” he added.

And instantly there was the white mole.

“What do you want now?” it said verycrossly indeed. “And call that poetry?”

“It’s the first I ever made,” said Elfrida,of the hot ears. “Perhaps it’ll be better nexttime.”

“We want you to do what the spell says,”said Edred.

“Make you brave and wise? That can’t bedone all in a minute. That’s a long job, thatis,” said the mole viciously.

“Don’t be so cross, dear,” said Elfrida; “andif it’s going to be so long hadn’t you betterbegin?”

“I ain’t agoin’ to do no more’n my share,”said the mole, somewhat softened though,perhaps by the “dear.” “You tell me whatyou want, and p’raps I’ll do it.”

“I know what I want,” said Edred, “but Idon’t know whether you can do it.”

“Ha!” laughed the mole contemptuously.

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“I got it out of a book Elfrida got on mybirthday,” Edred said. “The children in itwent into the past. I’d like to go into thepast—and find that treasure!”

“Choose your period,” said the mole wearily.

“Choose——?”

“Your period. What time you’d like to goback to. If you don’t choose before I’vecounted ten it’s all off. One, two, three,four——”

It counted ten through a blank silence.

“Nine, ten,” it ended. “Oh, very well, den,you’ll have to take your luck, that’s all.”

“Bother!” said Edred. “I couldn’t think ofanything except all the dates of all the kingsof England all at once.”

“Lucky to know ’em,” said the mole, andso plainly not believing that he did knowthem that Edred found himself saying underhis breath, “William the First, 1066; Williamthe Second, 1087; Henry the First, 1100.”

The mole yawned, which, of course, wasvery rude of it.

“Don’t be cross, dear,” said Elfrida again;“you help us your own way.”

“Now you’re talking,” said the mole, which,of course, Elfrida knew. “Well, I’ll give youa piece of advice. Don’t you be nasty to eachother for a whole day, and then——”

“You needn’t talk,” said Edred, still underhis breath.

“Very well,” said the mole, whose ears weresharper than his eyes. “I won’t.”

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“Oh, don’t!” sighed Elfrida; “what is it weare to do when we’ve been nice to each otherfor a whole day?”

“Well, when you’ve done that,” said themole, “look for the door.”

“What door?” asked Elfrida.

“The door,” said the mole.

“But where is it?” Edred asked.

“In the house it be, of course,” said themole. “Where else to gracious should it be?”

And it ran with mouse-like quickness acrossthe grass and vanished down what looked likea rabbit-hole.

“Now,” said Elfrida triumphantly, “you’vegot to believe in the mole.”

“Yes,” said Edred, “and you’ve got to benice to me for a whole day, or it’s no use mybelieving.”

“Aren’t I generally nice?” the girl pleaded,and her lips trembled.

“Yes,” said her brother. “Yes, Lady Arden;and now I’m going to be nice, too. And whereshall we look for the door?”

This problem occupied them till tea-time.After tea they decided to paint—with the newpaint-box and the beautiful new brushes.Elfrida wanted to paint Mr. Millar’s illustrationsin “The Amulet,” and Edred wanted topaint them, too. This could not be, as youwill see if you have the book. Edred contendedthat they were his paints. Elfridareminded him that it was her book. Theheated discussion that followed ended quitesuddenly and breathlessly.

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“I wouldn’t be a selfish pig,” said Edred.

“No more would I,” said Elfrida. “Oh, Edred,is this being nice to each other for twenty-fourhours?”

“Oh,” said Edred. “Yes—well—all right.Never mind. We’ll begin again to-morrow.”

But it is much more difficult than you wouldthink to be really nice to your brother or sisterfor a whole day. Three days passed before thetwo Ardens could succeed in this seemingly sosimple thing. The days were not dull ones atall. There were beautiful things in them thatI wish I had time to tell you about—such asclimbings and discoveries and books with pictures,and a bureau with a secret drawer. Ithad nothing in it but a farthing and a bit of redtape—secret drawers never have—but it was avery nice secret drawer for all that.

And at last a day came when each held itstemper with a strong bit. They began by beingvery polite to each other, and presently it grewto seem like a game.

“Let’s call each other Lord and Lady Ardenall the time, and pretend that we’re no relation,”said Elfrida. And really that helped tremendously.It is wonderful how much more politeyou can be to outsiders than you can to yourrelations, who are, when all’s said and done, thepeople you really love.

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As the time went on they grew more andmore careful. It was like building a house ofcards. As hour after hour of blameless politenesswas added to the score, they grew almostbreathlessly anxious. If, after all this, somenatural annoyance should spoil everything!

“I do hope,” said Edred, towards tea-time,“that you won’t go and do anything tiresome.”

“Oh, dear, I do hope I shan’t,” said Elfrida.

And this was just like them both.

After tea they decided to read, so as to lessenthe chances of failure. They both wanted thesame book—“Treasure Island” it was—and fora moment the niceness of both hung in thebalance. Then, with one accord, each said,“No—you have it!” and the matter ended ineach taking a quite different book that it didn’tparticularly want to read.

At bedtime Edred lighted Elfrida’s candle forher, and she picked up the matches for himwhen he dropped them.

“Bless their hearts,” said Mrs. Honeysett, inthe passage.

They parted with the heartfelt remark, “We’vedone it this time.”

Now, of course, in the three days when theyhad not succeeded in being nice to each otherthey had “looked for the door,” but as the molehad not said where it was, nor what kind of adoor, their search had not been fruitful. Mostof the rooms had several doors, and as therewere a good many rooms the doors numberedfifty-seven, counting cupboards. And amongthese there was none that seemed worthy torank above all others as the door. Many of thedoors in the old part of the house looked asthough they might be the one, but since therewere many no one could be sure.

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“How shall we know?” Edred asked nextmorning, through his egg and toast.

“I suppose it’s like when people fall in love,”said Elfrida, through hers. “You see the doorand you know at once that it is the only princessin the world, for you—I mean door, of course,”she added.

And then, when breakfast was over, theystood up and looked at each other.

“Now,” they said together.

“We’ll look at every single door. Perhapsthere’ll be magic writing on the door come outin the night, like mushrooms,” said the girl.

“More likely that mole was kidding us,” saidthe boy.

“Oh, no,” said the girl; “and we must look atthem on both sides—every one. Oh, I do wonderwhat’s inside the door, don’t you?”

“Bluebeard’s wives, I shouldn’t wonder,” saidthe boy, “with their heads——”

“If you don’t stop,” said the girl, putting herfingers in her ears, “I won’t look for the door atall. No, I don’t mean to be aggravating; butplease don’t. You know I hate it.”

“Come on,” said Edred, “and don’t be a duffer,old chap.”

The proudest moments of Elfrida’s life werewhen her brother called her “old chap.”

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So they went and looked at all the fifty-sevendoors, one after the other, on the inside and onthe outside; some were painted and some weregrained, some were carved and some were plain,some had panels and others had none, but theywere all of them doors—just doors, and nothingmore. Each was just a door, and none of themhad any claim at all to be spoken of as THE door.And when they had looked at all the fifty-sevenon the inside and on the outside, there wasnothing for it but to look again. So they lookedagain, very carefully, to see if there were anymagic writing that they hadn’t happened tonotice. And there wasn’t. So then they beganto tap the walls to try and discover a doorwith a secret spring. And that was no goodeither.

“There isn’t any old door,” said Edred. “Itold you that mole was pulling our leg.”

“I’m sure there is,” said Elfrida, sniffing alittle from prolonged anxiety. “Look here—let’splay it like the willing game. I’ll be blindfolded,and you hold my hand and will me tofind the door.”

“I don’t believe in the willing game,” saidEdred disagreeably.

“No more do I,” said Elfrida; “but we mustdo something, you know. It’s no good sittingdown and saying there isn’t any door.”

“There isn’t, all the same,” said Edred. “Well,come on.”

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So Elfrida was blindfolded with her best silkscarf—the blue one with the hem-stitched ends—andEdred took her hands. And at once—thishappened in the library, where they had foundthe spell—Elfrida began to walk in a steady andpurposeful way. She crossed the hall and wentthrough the green baize door into the otherhouse; went along its corridor and up its dustystairs—up, and up, and up——

“We’ve looked everywhere here,” said Edred,but Elfrida did not stop for that.

“I know I’m going straight to it,” she said.“Oh! do try to believe a little, or we shall neverfind anything,” and went on along the corridor,where the spiders had draped the picture-frameswith their grey crape curtains. There weremany doors in this corridor, and Elfrida stoppedsuddenly at one of them—a door just like theothers.

“This,” she said, putting her hand out till itrested on the panel, all spread out like a pinkstarfish,—“this is the door.”

She felt for the handle, turned it, and went in,still pulling at Edred’s hand and with the bluescarf still on her eyes. Edred followed.

“I say!” he said, and then she pulled off thescarf.

The door closed itself very softly behind them.

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They were in a long attic room close underthe roof—a room that they had certainly, inall their explorings, never found before. Therewere no windows—the roof sloped down at thesides almost to the floor. There was no ceiling—oldworm-eaten roof-beams showed the tilesbetween—and old tie-beams crossed it so that asyou stared up it looked like a great ladder withthe rungs very far apart. Here and therethrough the chinks of the tiles a golden dustylight filtered in, and outside was the “tick,tick” of moving pigeon feet, the rustling ofpigeon feathers, the “cooroocoo” of pigeonvoices. The long room was almost bare; onlyalong each side, close under the roof, was a rowof chests, and no two chests were alike.

“Oh!” said Edred. “I’m kind and wise now.I feel it inside me. So now we’ve got thetreasure. We’ll rebuild the castle.”

He got to the nearest chest and pushed at thelid, but Elfrida had to push too before he couldget the heavy thing up. And when it was up,alas! there was no treasure in the chest—onlyfolded clothes.

So then they tried the next chest.

And in all the chests there was no treasureat all—only clothes. Clothes, and more clothesagain.

“Well, never mind,” said Elfrida, trying tospeak comfortably. “They’ll be splendid fordressing up in.”

“That’s all very well,” said Edred, “but Iwant the treasure.”

“Perhaps,” said Elfrida, with some want oftact,—“perhaps you’re not ‘good and wise’ yet.Not quite, I mean,” she hastened to add. “Let’stake the things out and look at them. Perhapsthe treasure’s in the pockets.”

But it wasn’t—not a bit of it; not even athreepenny-bit.

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The clothes in the first chest were full ridingcloaks and long boots, short-waisted dresses andembroidered scarves, tight breeches and coatswith bright buttons. There were very interestingwaistcoats and odd-shaped hats. One, alittle green one, looked as though it would fitEdred. He tried it on. And at the sameminute Elfrida lifted out a little straw bonnettrimmed with blue ribbons. “Here’s one forme,” she said, and put it on.

And then it seemed as though the cooing andrustling of the pigeons came right through theroof and crowded round them in a sort ofdazzlement and cloud of pigeon noises. Thepigeon noises came closer and closer, andgarments were drawn out of the chest and puton the children. They did not know how it wasdone, any more than you do—but it seemed,somehow, that the pigeon noises were likehands that helped, and presently there the twochildren stood in clothing such as they hadnever worn. Elfrida had a short-waisted dressof green-sprigged cotton, with a long andskimpy skirt. Her square-toed brown shoeswere gone, and her feet wore flimsy sandals.Her arms were bare, and a muslin handkerchiefwas folded across her chest. Edred wore verywhite trousers that came right up under hisarms, a blue coat with brass buttons, and a sortof frilly tucker round his neck.

“I say!” they both said, when the pigeonnoises had taken themselves away, and theywere face to face in the long, empty room.

“That was funny,” Edred added; “let’s godown and show Mrs. Honeysett.”

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But when they got out of the door they sawthat Mrs. Honeysett, or some one else, must havebeen very busy while they were on the otherside of it, for the floor of the gallery was neatlyswept and polished; a strip of carpet, worn,but clean, ran along it, and prints hung straightand square on the cleanly, whitewashed walls,and there was not a cobweb to be seen anywhere.The children opened the gallery doorsas they went along, and every room was neatand clean—no dust, no tattered curtains, onlyperfect neatness and a sort of rather barecomfort showed in all the rooms. Mrs. Honeysettwas in none of them. There were no workmenabout, yet the baize door was gone, andin its stead was a door of old wood, very shakyand crooked.

The children ran down the passage to theparlour and burst open the door, looking forMrs. Honeysett.

There sat a very upright old lady and a veryupright old gentleman, and their clothes werenot the clothes people wear nowadays. Theywere like the clothes the children themselveshad on. The old lady was hemming a finewhite frill; the old gentleman was readingwhat looked like a page from some newspaper.

“Hoity-toity,” said the old lady very severely;“we forget our manners, I think. Make yourcurtsey, miss.”

Elfrida made one as well as she could.

“To teach you respect for your elders,” saidthe old gentleman, “you had best get by heartone of Dr. Watts’s Divine and Moral Songs. Ileave you to see to it, my lady.”

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He laid down the sheet and went out, verystraight and dignified, and without quiteknowing how it happened the children foundthemselves sitting on two little stools in a roomthat was, and was not, the parlour in whichthey had had that hopeful eggy breakfast, eachholding a marbled side of Dr. Watts’s Hymns.

“You will commit to memory the whole ofthe one commencing—

And you will be deprived of pudding with yourdinners,” remarked the old lady.

“I say!” murmured Edred.

“Oh, hush!” said Elfrida, as the old ladycarried her cambric frills to the window-seat.

“But I won’t stand it,” whispered Edred.“I’ll tell Aunt Edith—and who’s she anyhow?”He glowered at the old lady across the specklesscarpet.

“Oh, don’t you understand?” Elfrida whisperedback. “We’ve got turned into somebodyelse, and she’s our grandmamma.”

I don’t know how it was that Elfrida saw thisand Edred didn’t. Perhaps because she was agirl, perhaps because she was two years olderthan he. They looked hopelessly at the brightsunlight outside, and then at the dull, smallprint of the marble-backed book.

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“Edred,” said the old lady, “hand me thepaper.” She pointed at the sheet on thebrightly polished table. He got up and carriedit across to her, and as he did so he glanced atit and saw:—

THE TIMES.
June 16, 1807.

And then he knew, as well as Elfrida did,exactly where he was, and when.

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CHAPTER III
IN BONEY’S TIMES

Edred crept back to his stool, and took hiscorner of the marble-backed book of Dr. Wattswith fingers that trembled. If you are inclinedto despise him, consider that it was hisfirst real adventure. Even in ordinary life, andin the time he naturally lived in, nothing particularlythrilling had ever happened to happento him until he became Lord Arden and exploredArden Castle. And now he and Elfridahad not only discovered a disused house and awonderful garret with chests in it, but had beenclothed by mysterious pigeon noises in clothesbelonging to another age. But, you will say,pigeon noises can’t clothe you in anything, whateverit belongs to. Well, that was just whatEdred told himself at the time. And yet it wascertain that they did. This sort of thing it wasthat made the whole business so mysterious.Further, he and his sister had managed somehowto go back a hundred years. He knew this quitewell, though he had no evidence but that onesheet of newspaper. He felt it, as they say, inhis bones. I don’t know how it was, perhapsthe air felt a hundred years younger. Shepherdsand country people can tell the hour of night bythe feel of the air. So perhaps very sensitivepeople can tell the century by much the samemeans. These, of course, would be the people towhom adventures in times past or present wouldbe likely to happen. We must always considerwhat is likely, especially when we are readingstories about unusual things.

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“I say,” Edred whispered presently, “we’vegot back to 1807. That paper says so.”

“I know,” Elfrida whispered. So she musthave had more of that like-shepherds-telling-the-time-of-nightfeeling than even her brother.

“I wish I could remember what was happeningin history in 1807,” said Elfrida, “but wenever get past Edward IV. We always have togo back to the Saxons because of the new girls.”

“But we’re not in history. We’re at Arden,”Edred said.

“We are in history. It’ll be awful not evenknowing who’s king,” said Elfrida; and then thestiff old lady looked up over very large spectacleswith thick silver rims, and said—

“Silence!”

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Presently she laid down the Times and got inkand paper—no envelopes—and began to write.She was finishing a letter, the large sheet wasalmost covered on one side. When she hadcovered it quite, she turned it round and beganto write across it. She used a white goose-quillpen. The inkstand was of china, with goldscrolls and cupids and wreaths of roses paintedon it. On one side was the ink-well, on theother a thing like a china pepper-pot, and infront a tray for the pens and sealing-wax to liein. Both children now knew their unpleasantpoem by heart; so they watched the old lady,who was grandmother to the children she supposedthem to be. When she had finishedwriting she sprinkled some dust out of thepepper-pot over the letter to dry the ink. Therewas no blotting-paper to be seen. Then shefolded the sheet, and sealed it with a silver sealfrom the pen-tray, and wrote the address on theoutside. Then—

“Have you got your task?” she asked.

“Here it is,” said Elfrida, holding up the book.

“No impudence, miss!” said the grandmothersternly. “You very well know that I mean,have you got it by rote yet? And you know,too, that you should say ‘ma’am’ whenever youaddress me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Elfrida; and this wastaken to mean that she knew her task.

“Then come and say it. No, no; you knowbetter than that. Feet in the first position,hands behind you, heads straight, and do notfidget with your feet.”

So then first Elfrida and then Edred recitedthe melancholy verses.

“Now,” said the old lady, “you may go andplay in the garden.”

“Mayn’t we take your letter to the post?”Elfrida asked.

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“Yes; but you are not to stay in the ‘George’bar, mind, not even if Mrs. Skinner should inviteyou. Just hand her the letter and come out.Shut the door softly, and do not shuffle withyour feet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Elfrida; and on that theygot out.

“They’ll find us out—bound to,” said Edred;“we don’t know a single thing about anything.I don’t know where the ‘George’ is, or where toget a stamp, or anything.”

“We must find some one we can trust, and tellthem the truth,” said Elfrida.

“There isn’t any one,” said Edred, “that I’dtrust. You can’t trust the sort of people whostick this sort of baby flummery round a chap’sneck.” He crumpled his starched frill with hot,angry fingers.

“Mine prickles all round, too,” Elfrida remindedhim, “and it’s lower, and you get biggeras you go down, so it prickles more of me thanyours does you.”

“Let’s go back to the attic and try and getback into our own time. I expect we justgot in to the wrong door, don’t you? Let’sgo now.”

“Oh, no,” said Elfrida. “How dreadfully dull!Why, we shall see all sorts of things, and be topin history for the rest of our lives. Let’s gothrough with it.”

“Do you remember which door it was—theattic, I mean?” Edred suddenly asked. “Wasit the third on the left?”

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“I don’t know. But we can easily find itwhen we want it.”

“I’d like to know now,” said Edred obstinately.“You never know when you are going to wantthings. Mrs. Honeysett says you ought alwaysto be able to lay your hand on anything youwant the moment you do want it. I should liketo be quite certain about being able to lay ourhands on our own clothes. Suppose some onegoes and tidies them up. You know whatpeople are.”

“All right,” said Elfrida, “we’ll go and tidythem up ourselves. It won’t take a minute.”

It would certainly not have taken five—ifthings had been as the children expected. Theyraced up the stairs to the corridor where theprints were.

“It’s not the first door, I’m certain,” saidEdred, so they opened the second. But it wasnot that either. So then they tried all the doorsin turn, even opening, at last, the first one of all.And it was not that, even. It was not any ofthem.

“We’ve come to the wrong corridor,” said theboy.

“It’s the only one,” said the girl. And it was.For though they hunted all over the house,upstairs and downstairs, and tried every door,the door of the attic they could not find again.And what is more, when they came to count up,there were fifty-seven doors without it.

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“Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven,” said Elfrida,and ended in a sob,—“the door’s gone! Weshall have to stay here for ever and ever. Oh, Iwant auntie—I do, I do!”

She sat down abruptly on a small green matin front of the last door, which happened to bethat of the kitchen.

Edred says he did not cry too. And if whathe says is true, Elfrida’s crying must have beenlouder than was usual with her; for the kitchendoor opened, and the two children were caughtup in two fat arms and hurried into a pleasantkitchen, where bright brass and copper potshung on the walls, and between a large fire anda large meat screen a leg of mutton turnedround and round with nobody to help it.

“Hold your noise,” said the owner of the fatarms, who now proved to be a very stout womanin a chocolate-coloured print gown spriggedwith blue roses. She had a large linen apronand a cap with flappy frills, and between thefrills just such another good, kind, jolly faceas Mrs. Honeysett’s own. “Here, stop yourmouths,” she said, “or your granny’ll be afteryou—to say nothing of Boney. Stop yourcrying, do, and see what cookie’s got foryou.”

She opened a tin canister and picked out twolumps of brown stuff that looked like sand—aboutthe size and shape of prunes they were.

“What’s that?” Edred asked.

“Drabbit me,” said the cook, “what a child itis! Not know sugar when he sees it! Well,well, Master Edred, what next, I should like toknow?”

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The children took the lumps and sucked them.They were of sugar, sure enough, but the sugarhad a strong, coarse taste behind its sweetness,and if the children had really not been quiteextra polite and kind they would have followedthe promptings of Nature and—— But, ofcourse, they knew that this would be bothdisgusting and ungrateful. So they got thesugar down somehow, while cook beamed atthem with a wide, kind smile between hercap-frills, and two hands, as big as little beefsteakpuddings, on her hips.

“Now, no more crybabying,” she said; “runalong and play.”

“We’ve got to take granny’s letter to post,”said Edred, “and we don’t——”

“Cook,” said Elfrida, on a sudden impulse,“can you keep a secret?”

“Can’t I?” said the cook. “Haven’t I keptthe secret of how furmety’s made, and Bakewellpies and all? There’s no furmety to hold acandle to mine in this country, as well youknow.”

“We don’t know anything,” said Elfrida;“that’s just it. And we daren’t let grannyknow how much we don’t know. Something’shappened to us, so that we can’t rememberanything that happened more than an hourago.”

“Bless me,” said the cook, “don’t youremember old cookie giving you the bakedapple-dumplings when you were sent to bedwithout your suppers a week come Thursday?”

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“No,” said Elfrida; “but I’m sure you did.Only what are we to do?”

“You’re not deceiving poor cookie, are younow, like you did about the French soldiersbeing hid in the windmill, upsetting all thevillage like you did?”

“No; it’s true—it’s dreadfully true. You’llhave to help us. We don’t remember anything,either of us.”

The cook sat down heavily in a polished arm-chairwith a patchwork cushion.

“She’s overlooked you. There’s not a doubtabout it. You’re bewitched. Oh, my prettylittle dears, that ever I should see the day——”

The cook’s fat, jolly face twisted and puckeredin a way with which each child was familiar inthe face of the other.

“Don’t cry,” they said both together; andElfrida added, “Who’s overlooked what?”

“Old Betty Lovell has—that I’ll be bound!She’s bewitched you both, sure as eggs is eggs.I knew there’d be some sort of a to-do when mylord had her put in the stocks for stealing sticksin the wood. We’ve got to get her to take itoff, my dears, that’s what we’ve got to do, forsure; without you could find a white Mouldiwarp,and that’s not likely.”

“A white Mouldiwarp?” said both the children,and again they spoke together like a chorus andlooked at each other like conspirators.

“You know the rhyme—oh! but if you’veforgotten everything you’ve forgotten that too.”

“Say it, won’t you?” said Edred.

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“Let’s see, how do it go?—

“Well, all’s not gone ill yet,” said Elfrida,wriggling her neck in its prickly muslin tucker.“Let’s go and see the witch.”

“You’d best take her something—a screw ofsugar she’d like, and a pinch of tea.”

“Why, she’d not say ‘Thank you’ for it,” saidEdred, looking at the tiny packets.

“I expect you’ve forgotten,” said cook gently,“that tea’s ten shillings a pound and sugar’sgone up to three-and-six since the war.”

“What war?”

“The French war. You haven’t forgottenwe’re at war with Boney and the French, andthe bonfire we had up at the church when thenews came of the drubbing we gave them atTrafalgar, and poor dear Lord Nelson and all?And your grandfather reading out about it tothem from the ‘George’ balcony, and all thepeople waiting to cheer, and him not able to getit out for choking pride and because of LordNelson—God bless him!—and the people couldn’tget their cheers out neither, for the same cause,and every one blowing their noses and shakingeach other’s hands like as if it was a madfuneral?”

“How splendid!” said Elfrida. “But we don’tremember it.”

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“Nor you don’t remember how you killed allthe white butterflies last year because you saidthey were Frenchies in their white coats? Andthe birching you got, for cruelty to dumbanimals, his lordship said. You howled for anhour together after it, so you did.”

“I’m glad we’ve forgotten that, anyhow,” saidEdred.

“Gracious!” said the cook. “Half aftereleven, and my eggs not so much as broke formy pudding. Off you go with your letter.Don’t you tell any one else about you forgetting.And then you come home along by Dering’sSpinney—and go see old Betty. Speak prettyto her and give her the tea and sugar, and keepyour feet crossed under your chair if she asksyou to sit down. And I’ll give you an old knife-bladeapiece to put in your pockets; she can’tdo nothing if you’ve got steel on you. And gether to take it off—the ill-wishing, I mean. Anddon’t let her know you’ve got steel; they don’tlike to think you’ve been beforehand withthem.”

So the children went down across the fieldsto the “George,” and the bean-flowers smelt assweet, and the skylarks sang as clearly, and thesun and the sky were just as golden and blueas they had been last week. And last week wasreally a hundred years on in the future. Andyet it was last week too—from where they were.Time is a very confusing thing, as the childrenremarked to each other more than once.

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They found the “George” half-way up Ardenvillage, a stately, great house shaped like an E,with many windows and a great porch with abalcony over it. They gave their letter to alady in a round cap who sat sewing in a pleasantroom where there were many bottles and kegs,and rows of bright pewter ale-pots, and little fatmugs to measure other things with, and pewterplates on a brown dresser. There were greyhounds,too, all sprawling, legs and shouldersand tails entangled together like a bunch of deadeels, before the widest hearth the children hadever seen. They hurried away the momentthey had given the letter. A coach, top-heavywith luggage, had drawn up in front of theporch, and as they went out they saw the ostlersleading away the six smoking horses. Edredfelt that he must see the stables, so theyfollowed, and the stables were as big as thehouse, and there were horses going in andhorses going out, and hay and straw, and ostlerswith buckets and ostlers with harness, and stallsand loose-boxes beyond counting, and bustleand hurry beyond words.

“How ever many horses have you got?” saidElfrida, addressing a man who had not joinedin the kindly chorus of “Hulloa, little ’uns!”that greeted the children. So she judged himto be a new-comer. As he was.

“Two-and-fifty,” said the man.

“What for?” Elfrida asked.

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“Why, for the coaches, and the post-shays,and the King’s messengers, for sure,” the mananswered. “How else’d us all get about thecountry, and get to hear the newses, if it wasn’tfor the stable the ‘George’ keeps?”

And then the children remembered that thiswas the time before railways and telegrams andtelephones.

It is always difficult to remember exactlywhere one is when one happens to get into acentury that is not one’s own.

Edred would have liked to stay all daywatching the busyness of every one and thebeautifulness of the horses, but Elfrida draggedhim away.

They had to find the witch, she reminded him;and in a dreadful tumble-down cottage, withbig holes in its roof of rotten thatch, they didfind her.

She was exactly like the pictures of witchesin story books, only she had not a broomstickor a high-pointed hat. She had instead a dirtycap that had once been white, and a rusty gownthat had once been black, and a streaky shawlthat might once, perhaps, have been scarlet.But nobody could be sure of that now. Therewas a black cat sitting on a very dirty woodensettle, and the old woman herself sat on a ricketythree-legged stool, her wrinkled face bent overa speckled hen which she was nursing in herlap and holding gently in her yellow, wrinkledhands.

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As soon as Edred caught sight of her throughthe crooked doorway, he stopped. “I’m notgoing in,” he said, “what’s the good? Weknow jolly well she hasn’t bewitched us. Andif we go cheeking her she may, and then weshall be in a nice hole.”

“There’s the tea and sugar,” said Elfrida.

“You just give it her and come away. I’llwait for you by the stile.”

So Elfrida went into the cottage alone, andsaid “Good morning” in rather a frightenedway.

“I’ve brought you some tea and sugar,” shesaid, and stood waiting for the “Thank you,”without which it would not be polite to say“Good morning” and to go away.

The “Thank you” never came. Instead, thewitch stopped stroking the hen, and said—

“What for? I’ve not done you no ’arm.”

“No,” said Elfrida. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

“Then what have you brought it for?”

“For—oh, just for you,” said Elfrida. “Ithought you’d like it. It’s just a—a love-gift,you know.”

This was Aunt Edith’s way of calling a presentthat didn’t come just because it was your birthdayor Christmas, or you had had a tooth out.

“A love-gift?” said the old woman slowly.“After all this long time?”

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Elfrida did not understand. How should she?It’s almost impossible for even the most grownup and clever of us to know how women usedto be treated—and not so very long ago either—ifthey were once suspected of being witches.It generally began by the old woman’s beingcleverer than her neighbours, having more witto find out what was the matter with sickpeople, and more still to cure them. Then herextra cleverness would help her to foretellstorms and gales and frosts, and to find waterby the divining rod—a very mysterious business.And when once you can find out where wateris by just carrying a forked hazel twig betweenyour hands and walking across a meadow, youcan most likely find out a good many otherthings that your stupid neighbours would neverdream of. And in those long-ago days—whichreally aren’t so very long ago—your being somuch cleverer than your neighbours would bequite enough. You would soon be known asthe “wise woman”—and from “wise woman”to witch was a very short step indeed.

So Elfrida, not understanding, said, “Yes; isyour fowl ill?”

“’Twill mend,” said the old woman,—“’twillmend. The healing of my hands has gone intoit.” She rose, set the hen on the hearth, whereit fluttered, squawked, and settled among greyashes, very much annoying the black cat, andlaid her hands suddenly on Elfrida’s shoulders.

“And now the healing of my hands is foryou,” she said. “You have brought me a love-gift.Never a gift have I had these fifty yearsbut was a gift of fear or a payment for help—tobuy me to take off a spell or put a spell on.But you have brought me a love-gift, and I tellyou you shall have your heart’s desire. Youshall have love around and about you all yourlife long. That which is lost shall be found.That which came not shall come again. In thisworld’s goods you shall be blessed, and blessedin the goods of the heart also. I know—I see—andfor you I see everything good and fair.Your future shall be clean and sweet as yourkind heart.”

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She took her hands away. Elfrida, very muchimpressed by these flattering remarks whichshe felt she did not deserve, stood still, notknowing what to say or do; she rather wantedto cry.

“I only brought it because cook told me,” shesaid.

“Cook didn’t give you the kind heart thatmakes you want to cry for me now,” said thewitch.

The old woman sank down in a crouchingheap, and her voice changed to one of sing-song.

“I know,” she said,—“I know many things.All alone the livelong day and the death-longnight, I have learned to see. As cats seethrough the dark, I see through the days thathave been and shall be. I know that you arenot here, that you are not now. You willreturn whence you came, and this time that isnot yours shall bear no trace of you. And myblessing shall be with you in your own timeand your own place, because you brought a love-giftto the poor old wise woman of Arden.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Elfridaasked, very sorry indeed, for the old woman’svoice was very pitiful.

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“Kiss me,” said the old woman,—“kiss mewith your little child’s mouth, that has comeback a hundred years to do it.”

Elfrida did not wish to kiss the wrinkled, greyface, but her heart wished her to be kind, andshe obeyed her heart.

“Ah!” said the wise woman, “now I see.Oh, never have I had such a vision. None ofthem all has ever been like this. I see greatglobes of light like the sun in the streets of thecity, where now are only little oil-lamps andguttering lanterns. I see iron roads, with fierydragons drawing the coaches, and rich and poorriding up and down on them. Men shall speakin England and their voice be heard in France—more,the voices of men dead shall be kept alivein boxes and speak at the will of those who stilllive. The handlooms shall cease in the cottages,and the weavers shall work in palaces with athousand windows lighted as bright as day.The sun shall stoop to make men’s portraitsmore like than any painter can make them.There shall be ships that shall run under theseas like conger-eels, and ships that shall rideover the clouds like great birds. And breadthat is now a shilling and ninepence shall befivepence, and the corn and the beef shall comefrom overseas to feed us. And every child shallbe taught who can learn, and——”

“Peace, prater,” cried a stern voice in the doorway.Elfrida turned. There stood the grandfather,Lord Arden, very straight and tall andgrey, leaning on his gold-headed cane, and besidehim Edred, looking very small and found-out.

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The old witch did not seem to see them; hereyes, that rolled and blinked, saw nothing. Butshe must have heard, for—

“Loss to Arden,” she said; “loss and woe toArden. The hangings of your house shall begiven to the spider, and the mice shall eat yourcarved furnishings. Your gold shall be less andless, and your house go down and down tillthere is not a field that is yours about yourhouse.”

Lord Arden shrugged his shoulders.

“Likely tales,” he said, “to frighten babeswith. Tell me rather, if you would have mebelieve, what shall hap to-morrow.”

“To-morrow,” said the wise woman, “theFrench shall land in Lymchurch Bay.”

Lord Arden laughed.

“And I give you a sign—three signs,” said thewoman faintly; for it is tiring work seeing intothe future, even when you are enlightened witha kiss from some one who has been there. “Youshall see the white Mouldiwarp, that is thebadge of Arden, on your threshold as youenter.”

“That shall be one sign,” said the old manmockingly.

“And the second,” she said, “shall be againthe badge of your house, in your own chair inyour own parlour.”

“That seems likely,” said Lord Arden,sneering.

“And the third,” said she, “shall be thebadge of your house in the arms of this child.”

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She turned her back, and picked the hen outof the ashes.

Lord Arden led Edred and Elfrida away, onein each hand, and as he went he was very severeon disobedient children who went straying afterwicked witches, and they could not defendthemselves without blaming the cook, which, ofcourse, they would not do.

“Bread and water for dinner,” he said, “toteach you better ways.”

“Oh, grandfather,” said Elfrida, catching athis hand, “don’t be so unkind! Just thinkabout when you were little. I’m sure you likedlooking at witches, didn’t you, now?”

Lord Arden stared angrily at her, and then hechuckled. “It’s a bold girl, so it is,” he said.“I own I remember well seeing a witch duckedno further off than Newchurch, and playingtruant from my tutor to see it, too.”

“There now, you see,” said Elfrida coaxingly,“we don’t mean to be naughty; we’re just likewhat you were. You won’t make it bread andwater, will you? Especially if bread’s so dear.”

Lord Arden chuckled again.

“Why, the little white mouse has found atongue, and never was I spoken to so bold sincethe days I wore petticoats myself,” he said.“Well, well; we’ll say no more about it thistime.”

And Edred, who had privately considered thatElfrida was behaving like an utter idiot, thoughtbetter of it.

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So they turned across the summer fields toArden Castle. There seemed to be more of thecastle than when the children had first seen it,and it was tidier, much. And on the doorstepsat a white mole.

“There now!” said Elfrida. The molevanished like a streak of white paint that isrubbed out.

“Pooh!” said Lord Arden. “There’s plentywhite moles in the world.”

But when he saw the white mole sitting upin his own carved arm-chair in the parlour,he owned that it was very unusual.

Elfrida stooped and held out her arms. Shewas extremely glad to see the mole. Becauseever since she and her brother had come intothis strange time she had felt that it would bethe greatest possible comfort to have the moleat hand—the mole, who understood everything,to keep and advise; and, above all, to get themsafely back into the century they belonged to.

And the Mouldiwarp made a little run and alittle jump, and Elfrida caught it and held itagainst her waist with both her hands.

“Stay with me,” whispered Elfrida to themole.

“By George!” said Lord Arden to theuniverse.

“So now you see,” said Edred to Lord Arden.

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CHAPTER IV
THE LANDING OF THE FRENCH

Then they had dinner. The children had to sitvery straight and eat very slowly, and theirglasses were filled with beer instead of water;and when they asked for water Lady Ardenasked how many more times they would haveto be told that water was unwholesome. LordArden was very quiet. At quite the beginningof dinner he had told his wife all about thewise woman, and the landing of the French,and the three signs, and she had said, “Law,save us, my lord; you don’t say so?” and goneon placidly cutting up her meat. But when thecloth had been drawn, and decanters of wineplaced among the dishes of dried plums andpreserved pears, Lord Arden brought down hisfist on the table and said—

“Not more than three glasses for me to-day,my lady. I am not superstitious, as well youknow; but facts are facts. What did you dowith that white Mouldiwarp?”

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Elfrida had put it in the bottom drawer ofthe tallboys in her room (cook had told herwhich room that was), and said so rathertimidly.

“It’s my belief,” said Lady Arden, who seemedto see what was her husband’s belief and tomake it her own—a very winning quality—“it’smy belief that it’s a direct warning; in return,perhaps, for the tea and sugar.”

“Ah!” said Lord Arden. “Well, whether orno, every man in this village shall be armed andparaded this day, or I’ll know the reason why.I’m not going to have the French steppingashore as cool as cucumbers, without ‘Withyour leave,’ or ‘By your leave,’ and any one tosay afterwards, ‘Well, Arden, you had fairwarning, only you would know best.’”

“No,” said Lady Arden, “that would beunpleasant.”

Lord Arden’s decision was made stronger bythe arrival of a man on a very hot horse.

“The French are coming,” he said, quite outof breath. But he could not say how he knew.“They all say so,” was all that could be got outof him, and “They told me to come tell you, mylord, and what’s us to do?”

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We live so safely now; we have nothingto be afraid of. When we have wars they arenot in our own country. The police look afterburglars, and even thunder is attended to bylightning-rods. It is not easy for us to understandthe frantic terror of those times, when,from day to day, every man, woman, and childtrembled in its shoes for fear lest “the Frenchshould come”—the French, led by Boney. Boney,to us, is Napoleon Buonaparte, a little person ina co*cked hat out of the history books. To thosewho lived in England when he was a man alive,he was “the Terror that walked by night,”making children afraid to go to bed, andcausing strong men to sleep in their boots, withsword and pistol by the bed-head, within easyreach of the newly awakened hand.

Edred and Elfrida began to understand alittle, when they saw how the foretelling of thewise woman, strengthened by the rumours thatbegan to run about like rats in every housein the village, stirred the people to the wildestactivity.

Lord Arden was so busy giving orders, andmy lady so busy talking his orders over withthe maidservants, that the children were leftfree to use their eyes and ears. And they wentdown into the village and saw many strangethings. They saw men at the grindstone sharpeningold swords, and others who had no swordsputting a fine edge on billhooks, hatchets,scythes, and kitchen choppers. They saw othermen boarding up their windows and diggingholes in their gardens and burying their moneyand their teaspoons in the holes. No one knewhow the rumour had begun, but every onebelieved it now.

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They went in and out of the cottages as theychose. Every one seemed to know them andto be pleased, in an absent sort of way, to seethem, but nobody had time to talk to them,so they soon lost the fear they had had at firstof being found out to be not the people theywere being taken for. They found the womenbusy brushing and mending old scarlet coatsand tight white trousers, and all along the dipof the cliff men were posted, with spy-glasses,looking out to sea. Other men toiled up theslope with great bundles of brown brush-woodand dried furze on their backs, and thosebundles were piled high, ready to be lighted themoment it should be certain that the Frenchwere coming.

Elfrida wished more than ever that she knewmore about the later chapters of the historybook. Did Boney land in England on the 17thof June, 1807? She could not remember. Therewas something, she knew, in the book about aFrench invasion, but she could not rememberwhat it was an invasion of, nor when it tookplace. So she and Edred knew as little as anyone else what really was going to happen. TheMouldiwarp, in the hurried interview she hadhad with it before dinner, had promised to comeif she called it, “With poetry, of course,” itadded, as it curled up in the corner of thedrawer, and this comforted her a good deal when,going up to get her bonnet, she found the bottomdrawer empty. So, though she was as interestedas Edred in all that was going on, it was onlywith half her mind. The other half was busytrying to make up a piece of poetry, so that anyemergency which might suddenly arise wouldnot find her powerless because poetry-less.

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So for once Edred was more observant thanshe, and when he noticed that the men built abonfire not at all on the spot which Lord Ardenhad pointed out as most convenient, he wonderedwhy.

And presently, seeing a man going by thatvery spot, he asked him why. To his surprise,the man at once poked him in the ribs with avery hard finger, and said—

“Ah, you’re a little wag, you are! But you’rea little gentleman, too, and so’s the little lady,bless her. You never gave us away to thePreventives—for all you found out.”

“Of course,” said Elfrida cautiously, “weshould never give any one away.”

“Want to come along down now?” the manasked. He was a brown-faced, sturdy, sailor-lookingman, with a short pigtail sticking outfrom the back of his head like the china handleof a Japanese teapot.

“Oh, yes,” said Elfrida, and Edred did notsay “Oh, no.”

“Then just you wait till I’m out of sight, andthen come down the way you see me go. Golong same as if you was after butterflies or thelike—a bit this way and a bit that—see?” saidthe man. And they obeyed.

Alas! too few children in those uninterestingtimes of ours have ever been in a smuggler’scave. To Edred and to Elfrida it was as greata novelty as it would be to you or to me.

When they came up with the brown man hewas crouching in the middle of a patch of furze.

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“Jump they outside bushes,” he said. Andthey jumped, and wound their way among thefurze-bushes by little narrow rabbit-paths tillthey stood by his side.

Then he lifted a great heap of furze andbramble that looked as if it had lived and diedexactly where it was. And there was a hole—withsteps going down.

It was dark below, but Elfrida did not hesitateto do as she was told and to go forward.And if Edred hesitated it was only for aminute.

The children went down some half a dozensteps. Then the brown man came into the holetoo, and drew the furze after him. And helighted a lantern; there was a tallow candle init, and it smelt very nasty indeed. But whatare smells, even those of hot tallow and hotiron, compared with the splendid exploring ofa smuggler’s cave? It was everything thechildren had ever dreamed of—and more.

There was the slow descent with the yellownessof the lantern flame casting golden lightsand inky shadows on the smooth whiteness ofthe passage’s chalk walls. There were steps,there was a rude heavy door, fastened by a greatlock and a key to open it—as big as a church key.And when the door had creaked open there wasthe great cave. It was so high that you couldnot see the roof—only darkness. Out of anopening in the chalk at the upper end a streamof water fell, slid along a smooth channel downthe middle of the cave and ran along down asteep incline, rather like a small railway cutting,and disappeared under a low arch.

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“So there’d always be water if you had tostand a siege,” said Edred.

On both sides of the great cave barrels andbales were heaped on a sanded floor. Therewere a table and benches cut out of solid chalk,and an irregular opening partly blocked by amass of fallen cliff, through which you saw themysterious twilit sea, with stars coming outover it.

You saw this, and you felt—quite suddenly,too—a wild wind that pressed itself against youlike a wrestler trying a fall, and whistled inyour ears and drove you back to the big cave,out of breath and panting.

“There’ll be half a gale to-night,” said thesmuggler; for such, no doubt, he was.

“Do you think the French will land to-morrowin Lymchurch Bay?” Edred asked.

By the light of the lantern the smugglersolemnly winked.

“You two can keep a secret, I know,” he said.“The French won’t land; it’s us what’ll land,and we’ll land here and not in bay; and whatwe’ll land is a good drop of the real thing, anda yard or two of silk or lace maybe. I don’tknow who ’twas put it about as the French wasa-coming, but you may lay to it they aren’t nofriends of the Revenue.”

“Oh, I see,” said Elfrida. “And did——”

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“The worst of it’ll be the look-out they’llkeep. Lucky for us it’s all our men as hasvolunteered for duty. And we know ourfriends.”

“But do you mean,” said Edred, “that youcan be friends with a Frenchman, when we’re atwar with them?”

“It’s like this, little man,” said the smuggler,sitting down on a keg that stood handily on itshead ready for a seat. “We ain’t no quarrelwith the free-trade men—neither here nor there.A man’s got his living to get, hasn’t he now?So you see a man’s trade comes first—what hegets his bread by. So you see these chaps asmeet us mid-channel and hand us the stuff—they’refree traders first and Frenchies after—thesame like we’re merchants before all. Weain’t no quarrel with them. It’s the Frenchsoldiers we’re at war with, not the honestFrench traders that’s in the same boat as usourselves.”

“Then somebody’s just made up about Boneycoming, so as to keep people busy in the baywhile you’re smuggling here?” said Edred.

“I wouldn’t go so far as that, sir,” said theman, “but if it did happen that way it ’ud bea sort of special dispensation for us free-trademen that get our living by honest work andhonest danger; that’s all I say, knowing bywhat’s gone before that you two are safe as anyold salt afloat.”

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The two children would have given a gooddeal to know what it was that had “gonebefore.” But they never did know. And sometimes,even now, they wonder what it wasthat the Edred and Elfrida of those days haddone to win the confidence of this swaggeringsmuggler. They both think, and I daresay theyare right, that it must have been somethingrather fine.

Having seen all the ins and outs of the cave,the children were not sorry to get back to ArdenCastle, for it was now dark, and long past theirproper bedtime, and it really had been rathera wearing day.

They were put to bed, rather severely, byLady Arden’s own maid, whom they had notmet before and did not want to meet again—soshrivelled and dry and harsh was she.And they slept like happy little tops, in thecoarse homespun linen sheets scented withlavender grown in the castle garden, thatwere spread over soft, fat, pincushion-beds,filled with the feathers of geese eaten at thecastle table.

Only Elfrida woke once and found the roomfilled with red light, and, looking out of thewindow, saw that one of the beacon bonfireswas alight and that the flames and smoke werestreaming across the dark summer sky—drivenby the wind that shouted and yelled and shookthe windows, and was by this time, she felt sure,at least three-quarters of a gale. The beaconwas lighted; therefore the French were coming.And Elfrida yawned and went back to bed.She was too sleepy to believe in Boney. Butat that time, a hundred years ago, hundreds oflittle children shivered and cried in their beds,being quite sure that now at last all the dreadfulprophecies of mothers and nurses would cometrue, and that Boney, in all his mysterious, unknownhorror, would really now, at last, “havethem.”

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It was grey morning when the wind, weariedof the silly resistance of the leaded window,suddenly put forth his strength, tore the windowfrom its hinges, drove it across the windowframe, and swept through the room, flappingthe bedclothes like wet sails, and wakening thechildren most thoroughly, far beyond any hopeof “one more snooze.” They got up and dressed.No one was about in the house, but the frontdoor was open. It was quite calm on thatside, but as soon as the children left theshelter of the castle wall the wind caught atthem, hit, slapped, drove, worried, beat them,till they had hard work to stand upright, andgetting along was very slow and difficult. Yetthey made their way somehow to the cliff, wherea thick, black crowd stood—a crowd that wasnot really black when you got quite close andcould look at it in the grey dawn-light, butrather brilliantly red, white, and blue, likethe Union Jack, because they were the armedmen in their make-shift uniforms whom oldLord Arden had drilled and paraded the eveningbefore. And they were all looking outto sea.

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The sea was like the inside of an oyster-shell,barred with ridges of cold silver, the sky abovewas grey as a gull’s wing, and between sea andsky a ship was driving straight on to the rocksa hundred feet below.

“’Tis a French ship, by her rig,” some onesaid.

“The first of the fleet—a scout,” said another,“and Heaven has sent a storm to destroy themlike it destroyed the accursed Armada in QueenBess’s time.”

And still the ship came nearer.

“’Tis the Bonne Esperance,” said the lowvoice of the smuggler friend close to Elfrida’sear, and she could only just hear him throughthe whistling of the gale. “’Tis true whatold Betty said; the French will land hereto-day—but they’ll land dead corpses. Andall our little cargo—they’ve missed our boatin the gale—it’ll all be smashed to bits aforeour eyes. It’s poor work being a honestmerchant.”

The men in their queer uniforms, carryingtheir queer weapons, huddled closer together,and all eyes were fixed on the ship as it cameon and on.

“Is it sure to be wrecked?” whispered Elfrida,catching at old Lord Arden’s hand.

“No hope, my child. Get you home to bed,”he said.

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It did not make any difference that all thishad happened a hundred years ago. Therewas the cold, furious sea lashing the rocks fardown below the cliff. Elfrida could not bearto stay and see that ship smash on the rocksas her carved work-box had smashed when shedropped it on the kitchen bricks. She couldnot even bear to think of seeing it. Poetrywas difficult, but to stay here and see a shipwrecked—a ship that had men aboard—wasmore difficult still.

was not, perhaps, fine poetry, but it expressedher feelings exactly, and, anyhow, it did whatit was meant to do. The white mole rubbedagainst her ankles even as she spoke. Shecaught it up.

“Oh, what are we to do?”

“Go home,” it said, “to the castle—you’ll findthe door now.”

And they turned to go. And as they turnedthey heard a grinding crunch, mixed with thenoise of the waves and winds, enormouslylouder, but yet just the sort of noise a dogmakes when he is eating the bones of the chickenyou had for dinner and gets the chicken’s ribsall at once into his mouth. Then there wasa sort of sighing moan from the crowd on thecliff, who had been there all night for theFrench to land, and then Lord Arden’s voice—

“The French have landed. She spoke thetruth. The French have landed—Heaven helpthem!”

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And as the children ran towards the housethey knew that every man in that crowdwould now be ready to risk his life to savefrom the sea those Frenchies whom they hadsat up all night to kill with swords and scythesand bills and meat-choppers. Men are queercreatures!

To get out of it—back to the safe quiet ofa life without shipwrecks and witches—thatwas all Elfrida wanted. Holding the mole inone hand and dragging Edred by the other,she got back to the castle and in at the openfront door, up the stairs, and straight to adoor—she knew it would be the right one, andit was.

There was the large attic with the beams,and the long, wonderful row of chests underthe sloping roof. And the moment the doorwas shut, the raging noise of the winds ceased,as the flaring noise of gas ceases when youturn it off. And now once more the goldenlight filtered through the chinks of the tiles,and outside was the “tick, tick” of movingpigeon feet, the rustling of pigeon feathers, andthe cooroocoo of pigeon voices.

On the ground lay their own clothes.“Change,” said the white mole, a little out ofbreath because it had been held very tight andcarried very fast.

And the moment they began to put on theirown clothes it seemed that the pigeon noisescame closer and closer, and somehow helpedthem out of the prickly clothes of 1807 andback into the comfortable sailor suits of 1907.

“Did ye find the treasure?” the mole asked,and the children answered—

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“Why no; we never thought of it.”

“It don’t make no odds,” said the mole.“’Twaren’t dere.”

“There?” said Elfrida. “Then we’re here?We’re now again, I mean? We’re not then?”

“Oh, you’re now, sure enough,” said themole, “and won’t you catch it! Dame Honeysett’sbeen raising the countryside arter ye.Next time ye go gallivantin’ into old ancientdays you’d best set the clock back. Youngfolks don’t know everything. Get along downand take your scolding.

Good-bye.”

It ran under one of the chests, and Edredand Elfrida were left looking at each other inthe attic between the rows of chests.

“Do you like adventures?” said Edred slowly.

“Yes,” said Elfrida firmly; “and so do you.Come along down.”

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CHAPTER V
THE HIGHWAYMAN AND THE ——

They both meant what they said. And yet, ofcourse, it is nonsense to promise that you willnever do anything again, because, of course, youmust do something, if it’s only simple subtractionor eating poached eggs and sausages. You will,of course, understand that what they meantwas that they would never again do anythingto cause Mrs. Honeysett a moment’s uneasiness,and in order to make this possible the first thingto do was, of course, to find out how to set theclock back. Slowly munching sausage, and feeling,as she always did when she ate slowly, thatshe was doing something very virtuous andought to have a prize or a medal for it, Elfridaasked her mind to be kind enough to get somepoetry ready by the time she had finishedbreakfast. And sure enough, her mind, in itsown secret backyard, as it were, did get somethingready. And while this was happeningElfrida, in what corresponded to her mind’sfront garden, was wishing that she had beenborn a poet.

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“Like the one who did the piece about thefavourite gold-fish drowned in a tub of cats,”she said pensively.

“Yes, or even Shakespeare,” said Edred;“only he’s so long always.”

“I wonder,” said the girl, “where the clock isthat we’ve got to set back?”

“Oh, Mouldiwarp’ll tell us,” said the boy.

But Mouldiwarp didn’t.

When breakfast was over they went out intothe grassy space round which the ruined wallsof the castle rose up so grey and stately, withthe wallflowers and toad-flax growing out ofthem, and sat down among the round-faced,white-frilled daisies and told each other whatthey had thought, or what they thought theyhad thought, while they were back in thosetimes when people were afraid of Boney.

And the castle’s sward was very green, andthe daisies were very white, and the sun shoneon everything very grand and golden.

And as they sat there it came over Elfridasuddenly how good a place it was and howlucky they were to be there at home at Arden,rather than in the house with the pale, smoothbrass door-knocker that stood in the street withthe red pavement, and the lodgers who kept allon ringing their bells—so that she said, quitewithout knowing she was going to say anything—

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“That’s more like poetry, that is,” said theMouldiwarp, sitting on the green grass betweenthe children; “more lik’n anything I’ve heardye say yet—so ’tis. An’ now den, what is it foryou dis fine day an’ all?”

It seemed in such a good temper that Elfridaasked a question that had long tried to get itselfasked.

“Why,” was the question, and it was spokento the white mole,—“why do you talk like thecountry people do?”

“Sussex barn an’ bred,” said the mole, “but Iknow other talk. Sussex talks what they call‘racy of the soil’—means ‘smells of the earth’where I live. I can talk all sorts, though. Iused to spit French once on a time, young Fitz-le-seigneur.”

“You must know lots and lots,” said Edred.

“I do,” said the mole.

“How old are you?” Edred asked, in spite ofElfrida’s warning “Hush! it’s rude.”

“’S old as my tongue an’ a little older’n meteeth,” said the mole, showing them.

“Ah, don’t be cross,” said Elfrida, “and sucha beautiful day, too, and just when we wantedyou to show us how to put back the clockand all.”

“That’s a deed, that is,” said the mole, “butyou’ve not quarrelled this three days, so you cango where you please and do what you will.Only you’re in the way here if you want to stopthe clock. Get up into the gate tower and lookout, and when you see the great clock face, comedown at once and sit on the second hand.That’ll stop it, if anything will.”

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Looking out through the breezy arch amongthe swinging ends of ivy and the rustle andwhir of pigeon wings, the children saw a verycurious sight.

The green and white of grass and daisiesbegan to swim, as it were, before their eyes.The lawn within the castle walls was all unevenbecause the grass had not been laid there bycareful gardeners, with spirit-levels and rollers,who wanted to make a lawn, but by Nature herself,who wanted just to cover up bits of brokencrockery and stone, and old birds’ nests, and allsorts of odd rubbish. And now it began tostretch itself, as though it were a live carpet,and to straighten and tighten itself till it layperfectly flat.

And the grass seemed to be getting greener inplaces. And in other places there were patchesof white thicker and purer than before.

“Look! look!” cried Edred; “look! the daisiesare walking about!”

They were. Stiffly and steadily, like well-drilledlittle soldiers, the daisies were forminginto twos, into fours, into companies. Lookingdown from the window of the gate tower it waslike watching thousands of little white beadssort themselves out from among green ones.

“What are they going to do?” Edred asked,but naturally Elfrida was not able to answer.

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The daisies marched very steadily, like littlepeople who knew their business very well.They massed themselves together in regiments,in armies. On certain parts of the smooth grasscertain companies of them stopped and stayed.

“They’re making a sort of pattern,” saidEdred. “Look! there’s a big ring all round—asort of pattern.”

“I should think they were!” cried Elfrida.“Look! look! It’s the clock.”

It was. On the pure green face of the lawnwas an enormous circle marked by a thick lineof closely packed white daisies. Within it werethe figures that are on the face of a clock—alltwelve of them. The hands were of whitedaisies, too, both the minute hand and the handthat marks the hours, and between the VI andthe centre was a smaller circle, also white andof daisies—round which they could see a secondhand move—a white second hand formed ofdaisies wheeling with a precision that wouldhave made the haughtiest general in the landshed tears of pure admiration.

With one accord the two children blundereddown the dark, dusty, cobwebby, twisty stairsof the gate tower and rushed across the lawn.In the very centre of the clock-face sat theMouldiwarp, looking conscious and a littleconceited.

“How did you do it?” Elfrida gasped.

“The daisies did it. Poor little things!They can’t invent at all. But they do carryout other people’s ideas quite nicely. All thewhite things have to obey me, of course,” itadded carelessly.

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“And this is The Clock?”

The Mouldiwarp giggled. “My child, whatpresumption! The clock is much too big foryou to see ever—all at once. The sun’s thecentre of it. This is just a pretending clock.It’ll do for what we want, of course, or Iwouldn’t have had it made for you. Sit downon the second hand—oh no, it won’t hurt thedaisies. Count a hundred—yes, that’s right.”

They sat down on the close, white line ofdaisies and began to count earnestly.

“And now,” the Mouldiwarp said, when thehundred was counted, “it’s just the same timeas it was when you began! So now youunderstand.”

They said they did, and I am sure I hopeyou do.

“But if we sit here,” said Elfrida, “how canwe ever be anywhere else?”

“You can’t,” said the Mouldiwarp. “So oneof you will have to stay and the other to go.”

“You go, Elfie,” said Edred. “I’ll stay tillyou come back.”

“That’s very dear of you,” said Elfrida, “butI’d rather we went together. Can’t youmanage it?” she asked the mole.

“I could, of course,” it said; “but . . . he’safraid to go without you,” it said suddenly.

“He isn’t, and he’s two years younger thanme, anyway,” Elfrida said hotly.

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“Well, go without him,” said the mole.“You understand perfectly, don’t you, thatwhen he has stopped the clock your going isthe same as your not going, and your beinghere is the same as not being, and—— WhatI mean,” it added, hastily returning to Sussextalk, “you needn’t be so turble put out. Hewon’t know you’ve gone nor yet ’e won’t believeyou’ve come back. Be off with ’e, my gell.”

Elfrida hesitated. Then, “Oh, Edred,” shesaid, “I have had such a time! Did it seemvery long? I know it was horrid of me, butit was so interesting I couldn’t come backbefore.”

“Nonsense,” said Edred. “Well, go if youlike; I don’t mind.”

“I’ve been, I tell you,” said Elfrida, dragginghim off the second hand of the daisy clock,whose soldiers instantly resumed their wheelingmarch.

“So now you see,” said the mole. “Tell youwhat—next time you wanter stop de clock we’lljust wheel de barrer on to it. Now you goalong and play. You’ve had enough Ardenmagic for this ’ere Fursday, so you ’ave, blessyer hearts an’ all.”

And they went.

That was how Edred perceived the adventureof “The Highwayman and the ——.” ButI will not anticipate. The way the adventureseemed to Elfrida was rather different.

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After the mole said “my gell” she hesitated,and then went slowly towards the castle wherethe red roof of the house showed between theold, ivy-grown grey buttresses. She lookedback, to see Edred and the Mouldiwarp closetogether on the face of the wonderful greenand white clock. They were very still. Shemade her mind up—ran indoors and up thestairs and straight to The Door—she found itat once—shut the door, and opened the secondchest to the right.

said the pigeons or the silence or Elfrida.

“I wonder,” she said, slipping on a quiltedgreen satin petticoat with pink rosebuds embroideredon it, “whether Shakespeare beganbeing a poet like that—just little odd linescoming into his head without him meaningthem to.” And her mind as she put on apink-and-white brocaded dress, was busy withsuch words as “Our great poet, Miss ElfridaArden,” or “Miss Arden, the female Milton ofnowadays.”

She tied a white, soft little cap with pinkribbons under her chin and ran to open thedoor. She was not a bit afraid. It was likegoing into a dream. Nothing would be realthere. Yet as she ran through the attic doorand the lace of her sleeve caught on a bigrusty nail and tore with a harsh hissing noise,she felt very sorry. In a thing that wasonly a dream that lace felt very real, and wasvery beautiful.

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But she had only half the first half of athought to give to the lace—for the dooropened, not on the quiet corridor with theold prints at Arden Castle, but on a quitestrange panelled room, full of a most extraordinarydisorder of stuffs—feathers, dresses,cloaks, bonnet-boxes, parcels, rolls, packets,lace, scarves, hats, gloves, and finery of allsorts. There were a good many people there:serving-maids—she knew they were serving-maids—agentleman in knee-breeches showingsome fine china on a lacquered tray, and inthe middle a very pretty, languishing-lookingyoung lady with whom Elfrida at once felldeeply in love. All the women wore enormouscrinolines—or hoops.

“What! Hid in the closet all the while,cousin?” said the young lady. “Oh, but it’sthe slyest chit! Come, see how the new scarfbecomes thy Bet. Is it not vastly modish?”

“Yes,” said Elfrida, not knowing in the leastwhat to say.

Everything gave a sort of tremble and twist,like the glass, bits in a kaleidoscope give justbefore they settle into a pattern. Then, aswith the bits of glass, everything was settled,and Elfrida, instead of feeling that she waslooking at a picture, felt that she was alive,with live people.

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Some extraordinary accident had fixed inElfrida’s mind the fact that Queen Annebegan to reign in 1702. I don’t know howit was. These accidents do sometimes occur.And she knew that in Queen Anne’s dayladies wore hoops. Also, since they had goneback a hundred years to Boney’s time, perhapsthis second venture had taken her back twohundred years. If so——

“Please,” she said, very quickly, “is this1707, and is Queen Anne dead?”

“Heaven forbid,” said every one in the room;and Bet added, “La, child, don’t delay us withyour prattle. The coach will be here at ten,and we must lie at Tonbridge to-night.”

So Elfrida, all eyes and ears, squeezed into acorner between a band-box and a roll of thick,pink-flowered silk and looked and listened.

Bet, she gathered, was her cousin—an Arden,too. She and Bet and the maids, and an escortof she couldn’t quite make out how many men,were to go down to Arden together. The manymen were because of the Arden jewels, that hadbeen reset in the newest mode, and the collarof pearls and other presents Uncle Arden hadgiven to Bet; and the highwaymen, who, shelearned, were growing so bold that they wouldattack a coach in St. Paul’s Churchyard in broaddaylight. Bet, it seemed, had undertaken commissionsfor all her girl friends near Arden, andhad put off most of them till the last moment.She had carefully spent her own pin-moneyduring her stay in town, and was now hastilyspending theirs. The room was crowded withtradesmen and women actually pushing eachother to get near the lady who had moneyto spend. One woman with a basket of chinawas offering it in exchange for old clothes orshoes, just as old women do now at back doors.And Cousin Bet’s maid had a very good bargain,she considered, in a china teapot and two dishes,in exchange for a worn, blue lutestring dressand a hooped petticoat of violet quilted satin.Then there was a hasty meal of cakes and hotchocolate, and, Elfrida being wrapped up inlong-skirted coat and scarves almost beyondbearing, it was announced that the coach wasat the door. It was a very tight fit when atlast they were all packed into the carriage, forthough the carriage was large there was a greatdeal to fill it up, what with Cousin Bet and hergreat hoops, and the maids, and the band-boxesand packages of different sizes and shapes, andthe horrid little pet dog that yapped and yahed,and tried to bite every one, from the footmento Elfrida. The streets were narrow and verydirty, and smelt very nasty in the hot Junesun.

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And it was very hot and stuffy inside thecarriage, and more bumpety than you wouldthink possible—more bumpety even than awagon going across a furrowed corn-field.Elfrida felt rather headachy, as you do whenyou go out in a small boat and every one saysit is not at all rough. By the time the carriagegot to Lewisham Elfrida’s bones were quite sore,and she felt as though she had been beaten.There were no springs to the carriage, and itreminded her of a bathing-machine more thananything else—you know the way it bumps onthe shingly part of the shore when they aredrawing you up at the beach, and you tumbleabout and can’t go on dressing, and all yourthings slide off the seats. The maids were crossand looked it. Cousin Bet had danced till nighmidnight, and been up with the lark, so she said.And, having said it, went to sleep in a cornerof the carriage looking crosser than the maids.Elfrida began to feel that empty, uninterestedsensation which makes you wish you hadn’tcome. The carriage plunged and rattled onthrough the green country, the wheels boundingin and out of the most dreadful ruts. Morethan once the wheel got into a rut so deepthat it took all the men to heave it outagain. Cousin Bet woke up to say that it wasvastly annoying, and instantly went to sleepagain.

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Elfrida, being the smallest person in thecarriage except Amour, the dog, was constantlybeing thrown into somebody’s lap—to theannoyance of both parties. It was very muchthe most uncomfortable ride she had ever had.She thought of the smooth, swift rush of thetrain—even the carrier’s cart was luxury comparedto this. “The roads aren’t like roads atall,” she told herself, “they’re like ploughedfields with celery trenches in them”—she hada friend a market gardener, so she knew.

Long before the carriage drew up in frontof the “Bull” at Tonbridge, Elfrida felt that ifshe only had a piece of poetry ready she wouldsay it, and ask the Mouldiwarp to take her backto her own times, where, at any rate, carriageshad springs and roads were roads. And whenthe carriage did stop she was so stiff she couldhardly stand.

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“Come along in,” said a stout, pleasant-facedlady in a frilled cap; “come in, my poppet.There’s a fine supper, though it’s me says it,and a bed that you won’t beat in Kent for softand clean, you may lay to that.”

There was a great bustle of shouting ostlersand stablemen; the horses were taken outbefore the travellers were free of the carriage.Supper was laid in a big, low, upper room, withshining furniture and windows at both ends,one set looking on the road where the sign ofthe “Bull” creaked and swung, and the otherlooking on a very neat green garden, withclipped box hedges and yew arbours. Gettingall the luggage into the house seemed likely tobe a long business. Elfrida saw that she wouldnot be missed, and she slipped down the twisty-corneryback-stairs and through the backkitchen into the green garden. It was pleasantto stretch one’s legs, and not to be crampedand buffeted and shaken. But she walked downthe grass-path rather demurely, for she wasvery stiff indeed.

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And it was there, in a yew arbour, that shecame suddenly on the grandest and handsomestgentleman that she had ever seen. He wore awhite wig, very full at the sides and coveredwith powder, and a full-skirted coat of dark-bluesilk, and under it a long waistcoat withthe loveliest roses and forget-me-nots tied inbunches with gold ribbons, embroidered on silk.He had lace ruffles and a jewelled brooch, andthe jolliest blue eyes in the world. He lookedat Elfrida very kindly with his jolly eyes.

“A lady of quality, I’ll be bound,” he said,“and travelling with her suite.”

“I’m Miss Arden of Arden,” said Elfrida.

“Your servant, madam,” said he, springingto his feet and waving his hat in a veryflourishing sort of bow.

Elfrida’s little curtsey was not at all the rightkind of curtsey, but it had to do.

“And what can I do to please Miss Arden ofArden?” he asked. “Would she like a ride onmy black mare?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” said Elfrida, so earnestlythat he laughed as he said—

“Sure I should not have thought fear livedwith those eyes.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Elfrida contemptuously;“only I’ve been riding in a horrible carriage allday, and I feel as though I never wanted to rideon anything any more.”

He laughed again.

“Well, well,” he said, “come and sit by meand tell me all the town news.”

Elfrida smiled to think what news she couldtell him, and then frowned in the effort to thinkof any news that wouldn’t seem nonsense.

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She told him all that she knew of CousinBet and the journey. He was quite politelyinterested. She told of Cousin Bet’s purchases—thecollar of pearls and the gold pomanderstudded with corals, the little gold watch, andthe family jewels that had been reset.

“And you have all to-night to rest in fromthat cruel coach?” he said.

“Yes,” said Elfrida, “we don’t go on againtill after breakfast to-morrow. It’s very dull—andoh, so slow! Don’t you think you’d liketo have a carriage drawn by a fiery iron horsethat went sixty miles an hour?”

“You have an ingenious wit,” said thebeautiful gentleman, “such as I should admirein my wife. Will you marry me when youshall be grown a great girl?”

“No,” said Elfrida; “you’d be too old—evenif you were to be able to stop alive till I wasgrown up, you’d be much too old.”

“How old do you suppose I shall be whenyou’re seventeen?”

“I should have to do sums,” said Elfrida,who was rather good at these exercises. Shebroke a twig from a currant bush and scratchedin the dust.

“I don’t know,” she said, raising a flushedface, and trampling out her “sum” with littleshoes that had red heels, “but I think you’llbe two hundred and thirty.”

On that he laughed more than ever and vowedshe was the lady for him. “Your cipheringwould double my income ten times over,” he said.

He was very kind indeed—would have her tastehis wine, which she didn’t like, and the littlecakes on the red and blue plate, which she did.

“And what’s your name?” she asked.

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“My name,” said he, “is a secret. Can youkeep a secret?”

“Yes,” said Elfrida.

“So can I,” said he.

And then a flouncing, angry maid camesuddenly sweeping down between the boxhedges and dragged Elfrida away before shecould curtsey properly and say, “Thank youfor being so kind.”

“Farewell,” said the beautiful gentleman,“doubt not but we shall meet again. And nexttime ’tis I shall carry thee off and shut theein a tower for two hundred years till thouart seventeen and hast learned to cipher.”

Elfrida was slapped by the maid, whichnearly choked her with fury, and set down tosupper in the big upstairs room. The maidindignantly told where she had found Elfrida“talking with a strange gentleman,” and whenCousin Betty had heard all about it Elfridatold her tale.

“And he was a great dear,” she said.

“A——?”

“A very beautiful gentleman. I wish you’dbeen there, Cousin Betty. You’d have likedhim too.”

Then Cousin Bet also slapped her. AndElfrida wished more than ever that she hadsome poetry ready for the Mouldiwarp.

The next day’s journey was as bumpety asthe first, and Elfrida got very tired of thewhole business. “Oh, I wish something wouldhappen!” she said.

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It was a very much longer day too, and thedusk had fallen while still they were on theroad. The sun had set red behind black trees,and brown twilight was thickening all about,when at a cross-roads, a man in a cloak andmask on a big black horse suddenly leapedfrom a hedge, stooped from his saddle, openedthe carriage door, caught Elfrida with one handby the gathers of her full travelling coat (hemust have been frightfully strong, and so mustthe gathers), set her very neatly and quite comfortablyon the saddle before him, and said—

“Hand up your valuables, please—or I shootthe horses. And keep your barkers low, forif you aim at me you shoot the child. And ifyou shoot my horse, the child and I fall together.”

But even as he spoke through his black mask,he wheeled the horse so that his body was ashield between her and the pistols of theserving-men.

“What do you want?” Cousin Bet’s voicewas quite squeaky. “We have no valuables;we are plain country people, travelling hometo our farm.”

“I want the collar of pearls,” said he, “andthe pomander, and the little gold watch, andthe jewels that have been reset.”

Then Elfrida knew who he was.

“Oh,” she cried, “you are mean!”

“Trade’s trade,” said he, but he held herquite gently and kindly. “Now, my fairmadam——”

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The men were hesitating, fingering theirpistols. The horses, frightened by the suddencheck, were dancing and prancing all acrossthe road: the maidservants were shouting thatit was true; he had the child, and better losea few jewels than all their lives, and CousinBet was sobbing and wailing inside the darkcoach.

Well, the jewels were handed out—that washow it ended—handed out slowly and grudgingly,and the hand that reached for themthrough the dusk was very white, Cousin Betsaid afterwards.

Elfrida, held by the highwayman’s arm, keptvery still. Suddenly he stooped and whisperedin her ear.

“Are you afraid that I shall do you anyharm?”

“No,” whispered Elfrida. And to this dayshe does not know why she was not afraid.

“Then——” said he. “Oh, the brave littlelady——”

And on that suddenly set spurs to his horse,leapt the low hedge, and reined up sharply.

“Go on home, my brave fellows,” he shouted,“and keep your mouths shut on this night’swork. I shall be at Arden before you——”

“The child!” shrieked the maids; “oh, thechild!” and even Cousin Bet interrupted herhysterics, now quite strong and overwhelming,to say, “The child——”

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“Shall I order supper for you at Arden?”he shouted back mockingly, and rode on acrosscountry, with Elfrida, breathlessly frightenedand consciously brave, leaning back againsthis shoulder. It is a very wonderful feeling,riding on a great strong, dark horse, througha deepening night in a strange country, heldfast by an arm you can trust, and with themuscles of a horse’s great shoulder ripplingagainst your legs as they hang helplessly down.Elfrida ceased to think of Mouldiwarps or tryto be a poet.

And quite soon they were at the top of ArdenHill, and the lights of the castle gleamed andblinked below them.

“Now, sweetheart,” said the highwayman,“I shall set you down in sight of the doorand wait till the door opens. You can tellthem all that has chanced, save this that Itell you now. You will see me again. Theywill not know me, but you will. Keep a stilltongue till to-morrow, and I swear Miss Ardenshall have all her jewels again, and youshall have a gold locket to put your truelove’s hair in when you’re seventeen and I’mtwo hundred and thirty. And leave theparlour window open. And when I tap,come to it. Is it a bargain?”

“Then you’re not really a highwayman?”

“What should you say,” he asked, “if I toldyou that I was the third James, the rightfulKing of England, come to claim my own?”

“Oh!” said Elfrida, and he set her down,and she walked to the door of the castle andthumped on it with her fists.

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Her tale had been told to the servants,and again to Cousin Bet and the maids, andthe chorus of lament and astonishment wassettling down to a desire to have somethingto eat; anyhow, the servants had gone tothe kitchen to hurry the supper. Cousin Betand Elfrida were alone in the parlour, whereElfrida had dutifully set the window ajar.

The laurel that was trained all up that sideof the house stirred in the breeze and tappedat the window. Elfrida crossed to thewindow-seat. No, it was only the laurel.But next moment a hand tapped—a handwith rings on it, and a white square showedin the window—a letter.

“For Miss Betty Arden,” said a whisperingvoice.

Elfrida carried the letter to where hercousin sat, and laid it on her flowered silklap.

“For me, child? Where did you get it?”

“Read it,” said Elfrida, “it’s from agentleman.”

“Lud!” said Cousin Bet. “What a day!—ahighwayman and the jewels lost, and nowa love-letter.”

She opened it, read it—read it again andlet her hand flutter out with it in a helplesssort of way towards Elfrida, who, very briskand businesslike, took it and read it. It wasclearly and beautifully written.

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“The Chevalier St. George,” it said, “visitinghis kingdom in secret on pressing affairsof State, asks housing and hiding beneath theroof of the loyal Ardens.”

“Now, don’t scream,” said Elfrida sharply;“who’s the Chevalier St. George?”

“Our King,” said Betty in a whisper—“ourKing over the water—King James theThird. Oh, why isn’t my uncle at home?They’ll kill the King if they find him. Whatshall I do? What shall I do?”

“Do?” said Elfrida. “Why don’t be sosilly. That’s what you’ve got to do. Why,it’s a glorious chance. Think how every onewill say how brave you were. Is he BonniePrince Charlie? Will he be King some day?”

“No, not Charles—James; uncle wants himto be King.”

“Then let’s help him,” said Elfrida, “andperhaps it’ll be your doing that he is King.”Her history had never got beyond Edwardthe Fourth on account of having to go backto 1066 on account of new girls, and shehad only heard of Prince Charlie in balladsand story books. “And when he’s Kinghe’ll make you dowager-duch*ess of somewhereand give you his portrait set indiamonds. Now don’t scream. He’s outside.I’ll call him in. Where can we hidehim?”

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CHAPTER VI
THE SECRET PANEL

“Where shall we hide him?” Elfrida askedimpatiently.

Cousin Bet, fired by Elfrida’s enthusiasm,jumped up and began to finger the carvedflowers above the chimneypiece.

“The secret room,” she said; “but slip thebolt to and turn the key in the lock.”

Elfrida locked the room door, and turnedto see the carved mantelpiece open like acupboard.

Then Elfrida flew to the window and setback the casem*nt very wide, and in climbedthe beautiful gentleman and stood there, veryhandsome and tall, bowing to Miss Betty, whosank on her knees and kissed the white,jewelled hand he held out.

“Quick!” said Elfrida. “Get into the hole.”

“There are stairs,” said Betty, snatching acandle in its silver candlestick and holding ithigh.

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The Chevalier St. George sprang to a chair,got his knee on the mantelpiece, and wentinto the hole, just as Alice goes through thelooking-glass in Mr. Tenniel’s picture. Bettyhanded him the candle, which his white handreached down to take. Then Elfrida jumped onthe chair and shut the panel, leaped down, andopened the room door just as the maid reachedits other side with the supper-tray.

When the cousins were alone Bet threw herarms round Elfrida.

“Don’t be afraid, little cousin,” she whispered,“your Cousin Bet will see that noharm comes to you from this adventure.”

“Well, I do think!” said Elfrida getting outof the embrace most promptly, “when it wasme let him in, and you’d have screamed thehouse down, if I hadn’t stopped you——”

“Stop chattering, child,” said Bet, drawinga distracted hand over her pretty forehead,“and let me set my wits to work how I mayserve my King.”

“I,” said Elfrida scornfully, “should givehim something to eat and see that his bed’saired; but I suppose that would be too vulgarand common for you.”

The two looked at each other across theuntasted supper.

“Impertinent chit!” said Bet.

“Chit yourself,” said Elfrida.

Then she laughed.

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“Come, Cousin Bet,” she said, “your uncle’saway and you’re grown up. I’ll tell you whatto do. You just be wise and splendid, so thatyour portrait’ll be in the illustrated Christmasnumbers in white satin and an anxious expression.‘The saviour of her King’—that’swhat it’ll say.”

“Don’t wander in your speech, child,” saidCousin Bet, pressing her hand to her brow,“I’ve enough to distract me without that.And if you desire to ask my pardon, do so.”

“Oh, well, I beg your pardon—there!” saidElfrida, with extreme irritation. “Now perhapsyou’ll give your King something to eat.”

“Climb into that hole—with a tray? Andthe servants, perhaps, coming in any minute?What would you say to them if they did?”

“All right, then, I’ll go,” said Elfrida, onlytoo glad of the chance.

Bet touched the secret spring, and whenElfrida had climbed into the dark hole—whichshe did quite easily—handed her the supper-tray.

“Oh, bother,” said Elfrida, setting it down ather feet with great promptness. “It’s tooheavy. He’ll have to come down and fetch it.Give me a candle and shut the panel, and tellme which way to go.”

“To the right and up the steps. Be sureyou kneel and kiss his hand before you saya word.”

Elfrida reached down for the candle in itssilver candlestick, the panel clicked into place,and she stood there among the cobwebbyshadows of the secret passage, the light inher hand and the tray at her feet.

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“It’s only a Mouldiwarp magic adventure,”she said, to hearten herself, turned to theright, and went up the stairs. They weresteep and narrow. At the top she saw thelong, light-line of a slightly opened door. Toknock seemed unwise. Instead she spokesoftly, her lips against the line of light.

“It’s me,” she said, and instantly the dooropened, and the beautiful gentleman stoodbefore her.

The secret room had a little furniture—acouch, a table, chairs—all old-fashioned, andtheir shapes showed beautiful, even in thedim light of the two candles.

“Your supper,” said Elfrida, “is at thebottom of the stairs. The tray was too heavyfor me. Do you mind fetching it up?”

“If you’ll show me a light,” he said, andwent.

“You’ll stay and eat with me?” said he,when she had lighted him back to the secretroom, and he had set the tray on the table.

“I mustn’t,” said Elfrida. “Cousin Bet’ssuch a muff; she wouldn’t know where tosay I was if the servants came in. Oh, I say!I’m so sorry I forgot. She told me to kneeland kiss your hand before I said anythingabout supper. I’ll do it now.”

“Nay,” said he, “I’ll kiss thy cheek, littlelady, and drink a health to him who shall havethy lips when thou’rt seventeen and I am—whatwas it—five hundred?”

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“Two hundred and thirty,” said Elfrida,returning his kiss cordially. “You are nice,you know. I wish you were real. I’d bettergo back to Bet now.”

“Real?” he said.

“Oh, I’m talking nonsense, I know,” saidElfrida. “I’ll go now.”

“The absent tray will betray you,” said he,taking food and wine from it and settingthem on the table. “Now I will carry thisdown again. You have all the courage, butnot quite the cunning of a conspirator.”

“How long are you going to stay here?”Elfrida asked. “I suppose you’re escapingfrom some one or something, like in history?”

“I shall not stay long,” he said. “If anyone should ask you if you have seen the King,what would you say?”

“I should say ‘no,’” said Elfrida boldly.“You see, I can’t possibly know that you’rethe King. You just say so, that’s all. Perhapsreally you aren’t.”

“Exquisite!” said he. “So you don’t believeme?”

“Oh, yes, I do!” said Elfrida; “but I needn’t,you know.”

“S’life!” he said. “But I wish I were.There’d be a coronet for somebody.”

“You wish you were——”

“Safely away, my little lady. And as forcoronets, the jewels are safe. See, I have setthem in the cupboard in the corner.”

And he had.

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Then he carried down the tray, and Elfrida,who was very hungry, tried to persuade Betthat she must eat, if only to keep up herstrength for the deeds of daring that mightwant doing at any moment.

But Bet declared that she could not eat; theleast morsel would choke her. And as for goingto bed, she was assuring her cousin that sheknew her duty to her King better than that,and that she would defend her Sovereign withher life, if need were, when her loyal ecstasieswere suddenly interrupted.

For the quiet of the night was broken by agreat knocking at the castle door and the heavyvoice of a man crying—

“Open, in the Queen’s name!”

“They’ve come for him! All is lost! We arebetrayed! What shall we do?”

“Eat,” said Elfrida,—“eat for your life.”

She pushed Bet into a chair and thrust a platebefore her, put a chunk of meat-pie on her plateand another on her own.

“Get your mouth full,” she whispered, fillingher own as she spoke—“so full you can’t speak—it’llgive you time to think.”

And then the door opened, and in a momentthe room was full of gentlemen in riding dress,with very stern faces. And they all had swords.

Betty, with her mouth quite full, was tryingnot to look towards the panel.

Elfrida, whose mouth was equally full, lookedat the gentleman who seemed to be leading theothers, and remarked—

“This is a nice time of night to come knockingpeople up!”

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“All hours are alike to a loyal subject,” said around, fat, blue-eyed gentleman in a green suit.“Have you any strangers under your roofto-night?”

“Oh!” cried Bet, “all is lost!”

The gentlemen exchanged glances and crowdedround her. Elfrida shrugged the shoulders ofher mind—if a mind has shoulders—and toldherself that it didn’t matter. History knewbest, no doubt, and whatever seemed to behappening now was only history.

“You have a stranger here?” they asked; and,“Where is he? You cannot refuse to give himup.”

“My heart told me so,” cried Bet. “I knewit was he you were seeking,” and with that shefainted elegantly into the arms of the nearestgentleman, who was dressed in plum-colour, andseemed to be struggling with some emotionwhich made him look as if he were laughing.

“Ask the child—children and fools speak thetruth,” said the fat, blue-eyed gentleman.

Elfrida found herself suddenly lifted on to thetable, from which she could see over the headsof the gentlemen who stood all round her. Shecould see Bet reclining on the sofa, and the opendoor with servants crowding in it, all eyes andears.

“Now,” said a dozen voices, “the truth, littlemiss.”

“What do you want to know?” she asked;and, in a much lower tone, “I shan’t tell youanything unless you send the servants away.”

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The door was closed and the truth was askedfor again.

“If you’ll only tell me what you want toknow,” she said again.

“Does any stranger lie here to-night?”

“No,” said Elfrida. She knew that thebeautiful gentleman in the secret chamber wasnot lying down, but sitting to his supper.

“But Miss Arden said ‘All is lost,’ and sheknew ’twas he whom we sought.”

“Well,” Elfrida carefully explained, “it’s likethis. You see, we were robbed by a highwaymanto-day, and I think that upset my cousin. She’srather easily upset, I’m afraid.”

“Very easily,” several voices agreed, andsome one added that it was a hare-brainedbusiness.

“The shortest way’s the best,” said the plum-colouredgentleman. “Is Sir Edward Talbothere?”

“No, he isn’t,” said Elfrida downrightly, “andI don’t believe you’ve got any business cominginto people’s houses and frightening other peopleinto fits, and I shall tell Lord Arden when hecomes home. So now you know.”

“Zooks!” some one cried, “the child’s got aspirit; and she’s right, too, strike me if sheisn’t.”

“But, snails!” exclaimed another, “we dobut protect Lord Arden’s house in hisabsence.”

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“If,” said Elfrida, “you think your Talbot’splaying hide-and-seek here, and if he’s doneanything wrong, you can look for him if youlike. But I don’t believe Lord Arden will bepleased. That’s all. I should like to get downon to the floor, if you please!”

I don’t know whether Elfrida would havehad the courage to say all this if she had notremembered that this was history-times, andnot now-times. But the gentlemen seemeddelighted with her bravery.

They lifted her gently down, and with manyapologies for having discommoded the ladies,they went out of the room and out of the castle.Through the window Elfrida heard the laughingvoices and clatter and stamp of their horses’hoofs as they mounted and rode off. They allseemed to be laughing. And she felt that shemoved in the midst of mysteries.

She could not bear to go back into her owntime without seeing the end of the adventure.So she went to bed in a large four-poster, withCousin Bet for company. The fainting fit lastedexactly as long as the strange gentlemen werein the house and no longer, which was veryconvenient.

Elfrida got up extremely early in the morningand went down into the parlour. She hadmeant to go and see how the King was, andwhether he wanted his shaving-water firstthing, as her daddy used to do. But it was sovery, very early that she decided that it wouldbe better to wait a little. The King might besleepy, and sleepy people were not always grateful,she knew, for early shaving-water.

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So she went out into the fields where the dewwas grey on the grass, and up on to ArdenKnoll. And she stood there and heard theskylarks, and looked at the castle and thoughthow new the mortar looked in the parts aboutthe living house. And presently she saw twofigures coming across the fields from where thespire of Arden Church rose out of the tops oftrees as round and green as the best double-curledparsley. And one of the gentlemen worea green coat and the other a purple coat, andshe thought to herself how convenient it was torecognise people half a mile away by the colourof their clothes.

Quite plainly they were going to the castle—soshe went down, too, and met them at thegate with a civil “Good morning.”

“You are no lie-abed at least,” said the greengentleman. “And so no stranger lay at Ardenlast night, eh?”

Elfrida found this difficult to answer. Nodoubt the King had lain—was probably stilllying—in the secret chamber. But was he astranger? No, of course he wasn’t. So—

“No,” she said.

And then through the open window of theparlour came, very unexpectedly and suddenly,a leg in a riding-boot, then another leg, andthe whole of the beautiful gentleman stood infront of them.

“So-ho!” he said. “Speak softly, for theservants are not yet about.”

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“They are,” said Elfrida, “only they’re at theback. Creep along under the wall; you willget away without their seeing you then.”

“Always a wonderful counsellor,” said thebeautiful gentleman, bowing gracefully. “Comewith us, little maid. I have no secrets fromthee.”

So they all crept along close to the castlewall to that corner from which, between twoshoulders of down, you can see the sea. Therethey stopped.

“And the wager’s mine,” said the beautifulgentleman, “for all you tried to spoil it.That was not in the bond, Fitzgerald, enteringArden at night at nine of the clock, toferret me out like a pack of hounds afterReynard.”

“There was nothing barred,” said the greengentleman. “We tried waylaying you on theroad, but you were an hour early.”

“Ah,” said the beautiful gentleman, “puttingback clocks is easy work. And the ostler atthe ‘Bull’ loves a handsome wager nigh as wellas he loves a guinea.”

“I do wish you’d explain,” said Elfrida,almost stamping with curiosity and impatience.

“And so I will, my pretty,” said he, laughing.

“Aren’t you the King? You said youwere.”

“Nay, nay—not so fast. I asked thee whatthou wouldst say if I told you I was KingJames.”

“Then who are you?” she asked.

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“Plain Edward Talbot, Baronet, at yourladyship’s service,” he said, with another ofhis fine bows.

“But I don’t understand,” she said, “do tellme all about it from the beginning.” So hetold her, and the other gentlemen stood by,laughing.

“The other night I was dining with Mr.Fitzgerald here, and the talk turned on highwayrobbery, and on Arden Castle here, withother matters. And these gentlemen, withothers of the party, laid me a wager—fivehundred guineas it was—that I would not roba coach. I took the wager. And I wageredbeside that I would rob a coach of the Ardenjewels, and that I would lie a night at Ardenbeside, and no one should know my namethere. And I have done all three and wonmy wager. I am but newly come home fromforeign parts, so your cousin could not knowmy face. But zounds, child! had it not beenfor thee I had lost my wager. I counted onMiss Arden’s help—and a pale-faced, fainting,useless fine lady I should have found her.But thou—thou’rt a girl in a thousand. AndI’ll buy thee the finest fairing I can find nexttime I go to London. We are all friends.Tell pretty miss to hold that tongue of hers,and none shall hear the tale from us.”

“But all these gentlemen coming last night.All the servants know.”

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“The gentlemen came, no doubt, to protectMiss Arden, in case the villainous highwaymanshould have hidden behind the window curtain.Oh, but the wise child it is—has a care forevery weak point in our armour!”

Then he told his friends the whole of theadventure, and they laughed very merrily, forall they had lost their wager, and went hometo breakfast across the dewy fields.

“It’s nice of him to think me brave and allthat,” Elfrida told herself, “but I do wish he’dreally been the King.”

When she had told Betty what had happenedeverything seemed suddenly to be not worthwhile; she did not feel as though she caredto stay any longer in that part of the past—soshe ran upstairs, through the attic and thepigeon noises, back into her own times, andwent down and found Edred sitting on thesecond hand of the daisy-clock; and he didnot believe that she had been away at all.For all the time she had been away seemedno time to him, because he had been sittingon that second hand.

So when the Mouldiwarp told them to goalong in, they went; and the way they wentwas not in, but out, and round under thecastle wall to the corner from which you couldsee the sea. And there they lay on the warmgrass, and Elfrida told Edred the whole story,and at first he did not believe a word of it.

“But it’s true, I tell you,” said she. “Youdon’t suppose I should make up a whole talelike that, do you?”

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“No,” said Edred. “Of course, you’re notclever enough. But you might have read itin a book.”

“Well, I didn’t,” said Elfrida,—“so there!”

“If it was really true, you might have comeback for me. You know how I’ve alwayswanted to meet a highwayman—you knowyou do.”

“How could I come back? How was I toget off the horse and run home and get inamong the chests and the pigeon noises andcome out here and take you back? Thehighwayman—Talbot, I mean—would have beengone long before we got back.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” said Edred obstinately.“You forget I was sitting on the clock andstopping it. There wasn’t any time while youwere gone—if you were gone.”

“There was with me,” said Elfrida. “Don’tyou see——”

“There wouldn’t have been if you’d comeback where I was,” Edred interrupted.

“How can you be so aggravating?” Elfridafound suddenly that she was losing hertemper. “You can’t be as stupid as that,really.”

“Oh, can’t I?” said Edred. “I can though,if I like. And stupider—much stupider,” headded darkly. “You wait.”

“Edred,” said his sister slowly and fervently,“sometimes I feel as if I must shakeyou.”

“You daren’t!” said Edred.

“Do you dare me to?”

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“Yes,” said Edred fiercely.

Of course, you are aware that after that, byall family laws, Elfrida was obliged to shakehim. She did, and burst into tears. He lookedat her for a moment and—but no—tears areunmanly. I would not betray the weakness ofmy hero. Let us draw a veil, or take a turnround the castle and come back to them presently.

It is just as well that we went away when wedid, for we really turned our backs on a mostunpleasant scene. And now that we come backto them, though crying is still going on, Elfridais saying that she is very sorry, and is trying tofind her handkerchief to lend to Edred, whoseown is unexpectedly mislaid.

“Oh, all right,” he says, “I’m sorry too.There! But us saying we’re sorry won’t makeus unquarrel. That’s the worst of it. Weshan’t be able to find The Door for three daysnow. I do wish we hadn’t. It is sickening.”

“Never mind,” said Elfrida; “we didn’t havea real I’ll-never-speak-to-you-again-you-see-if-I-doquarrel, did we?”

“I don’t suppose it matters what sort ofquarrel you had,” said the boy in gloom. “Lookhere—I’ll tell you what—you tell me all about itover again and I’ll try to believe you. I reallywill, on the honour of an Arden.”

So she told him all over again.

“And where,” said Edred, when she had quitefinished,—“where did you put the jewels?”

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“I—they—he put them in the corner cupboardin the secret room,” said Elfrida.

“If you’d taken me and not been in such ahurry—no, I’m not quarrelling, I’m only reasoningwith you like Aunt Edith—if I’d been thereI should have buried those jewels somewhereand then come back for me, and we’d have dugthem up, and been rich beyond the dreams of—whatdo they call it?”

“But I never told Betty where they were.Perhaps they’re there now. Let’s go andlook.”

“If they are,” said he, “I’ll believe everythingyou’ve been telling me without tryingat all.”

“You’ll have to do that—if there’s a secretroom, won’t you?”

“P’r’aps,” said Edred; “let’s go and see. Iexpect I shall have got a headache presently.You didn’t ought to have shaken me. Mrs.Honeysett says it’s very bad for people to beshaken—it mixes up their brains inside theirheads so that they ache, and you’re stupid. Iexpect that’s what made you say I was stupid.”

“Oh, dear,” said Elfrida despairingly. “Youknow that was before I shook you, and I didsay I was sorry.”

“I know it was, but it comes to the samething. Come on—let’s have a squint at your oldsecret room.”

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But, unfortunately it was now dinner-time.If you do happen to know the secret of a carvedpanel with a staircase hidden away behind it,you don’t want to tell that secret lightly—asthough it were the day of the week, or the dateof the Battle of Waterloo, or what nine timesseven is—not even to a grown-up so justly likedas Mrs. Honeysett. And, besides, a hot beefsteakpudding and greens do not seem to gowell with the romances of old days. To havelooked for the spring of that panel while thatdinner smoked on the board would have been asunseemly as to try on a new gold crown overcurl-papers. Elfrida felt this. And Edred didnot more than half believe in the secret, anyway.And besides he was very hungry.

“Wait till afterwards,” was what they said toeach other in whispers, while Mrs. Honeysettwas changing the plates.

“You do do beautiful cooking,” Edred remarked,as the gooseberry-pie was cut open andrevealed its chrysoprase-coloured contents.

“You do the beautiful eating then,” said Mrs.Honeysett, “and you be quick about it. Youain’t got into no mischief this morning, haveyou? You look as though butter wouldn’t meltin either of your mouths, and that’s always asign of something being up with most children.”

“No, indeed we haven’t,” said Elfrida earnestly,“and we don’t mean to either. And ourlooking like that’s only because we brushed ourhairs with wet brushes, most likely. It doesmake you look good, somehow; I’ve oftennoticed it.”

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“I’ve been flying round this morning,” Mrs.Honeysett went on, “so as to get down to mysister’s for a bit this afternoon. She’s not sowell again, poor old dear, and I might be keptlate. But my niece Emily’s coming up to takecharge. She’s a nice lively young girl; she’llget you your teas, and look after you as nice asnice. Now don’t you go doing anything whatyou wouldn’t if I was behind of you, will you?That’s dears.”

Nothing could have happened better. Bothchildren felt that Emily, being a young girl,would be more easy to manage than Mrs.Honeysett. As soon as they were alone theytalked it over comfortably, and decided that thebest thing would be to ask Emily if she wouldgo down to the station and see if there was aparcel there for Master Arden or Miss Arden.

“And if there isn’t,” Elfrida giggled, “we’llsay she’d better wait till it comes. We’ll rundown and fetch her as soon as we’ve exploredthe secret chamber.”

“I say,” Edred remarked thoughtfully, “wehaven’t bothered much about finding thetreasure, have we? I thought that was whatwe were going into history for.”

“Now, Edred,” said his sister, “you knowVery well we didn’t go into history on purpose.”

“No; but,” said Edred, “we ought to have.Suppose the treasure is really those jewels.We’d sell them and rebuild Arden Castle like itused to be, wouldn’t we?”

“We’d give Auntie Edith a few jewels, Ithink, wouldn’t we? She is such a dear, youknow.”

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“Yes; she should have first choice. I dobelieve we’re on the brink, and I feel justexactly like as if something real was going tohappen—not in history, but here at Arden—Now-Arden.”

“I do hope we find the jewels,” said Elfrida.“Oh, I do! And I do hope we manage thelively young girl all right.”

Mrs. Honeysett’s best dress was a nice brightred—the kind of colour you can see a long wayoff. They watched it till it disappeared round ashoulder of the downs, and then set about thetask of managing Emily.

The lively young girl proved quite easy tomanage. The idea of “popping on her hat”and running down to the station was naturallymuch pleasanter to her than the idea of washingthe plates that had been used for beefsteakpudding and gooseberry-pie, and then givingthe kitchen a thorough scrub out—which wasthe way Mrs. Honeysett had meant her tospend the afternoon.

Her best dress—she had slipped the skirt overher print gown so as to look smart as shecame up through the village—was a vivid violet,another good distance colour. It also waswatched till it dipped into the lane.

“And now,” cried Elfrida, “we’re all alone,and we can explore the great secret!”

“But suppose somebody comes,” said Edred,“and interrupts, and finds it out, and grabsthe jewels, and all is lost. There’s tramps, youknow, and gipsy-women with baskets.”

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“Yes—or drink of water, or to ask the time.I’ll tell you what—we’ll lock up the doors, backand front.”

They did. But even this did not satisfy thesuddenly cautious Edred.

“The parlour door, too,” he said.

So they locked the parlour door, and Elfridaput the key in a safe place, “for fear of accidents,”she said. I do not at all know whatshe meant, and when she came to think itover she did not know either. But it seemedall right at the time.

They had provided themselves with a boxof matches and a candle—and now the decisivemoment had come, as they say about battles.

Elfrida fumbled for the secret spring.

“How does it open?” asked the boy.

“I’ll show you presently,” said the girl. Shecould not show him then, because, in pointof fact, she did not know. She only knewthere was a secret spring, and she was feelingfor it with both hands among the carvedwreaths of the panels, as she stood with onefoot on each of the arms of a very high chair—theonly chair in the room high enough forher to be able to reach all round the panel.Suddenly something clicked and the secret doorflew open—she just had time to jump to thefloor, or it would have knocked her down.

Then she climbed up again and got into thehole, and Edred handed her the candle.

“Where’s the matches?” she asked.

“In my pocket,” said he firmly. “I’m notgoing to have you starting off without me—again.”

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“Well, come on, then,” said Elfrida, ignoringthe injustice of this speech.

“All right,” said Edred, climbing on thechair. “How does it open?”

He had half closed the door, and was feelingamong the carved leaves, as he had seen herdo.

“Oh, come on,” said Elfrida, “oh, look out!”

Well might she request her careless brotherto look out. As he reached up to touch thecarving, the chair tilted, he was jerked forward,caught at the carving to save himself, missedit, and fell forward with all his weight againstthe half-open door. It shut with a loud bang.Then a resounding crash echoed through thequiet house as Edred and the big chair fellto the floor in, so to speak, each other’s arms.

There was a stricken pause. Then Elfridafrom the other side of the panel beat upon itwith her fists and shouted—

“Open the door! You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“Yes, I am—very much,” said Edred, fromthe outside of the secret door, and also fromthe hearthrug. “I’ve twisted my leg in theknickerbocker part, and I’ve got a great bumpon my head, and I think I’m going to be verypoorly.”

“Well, open the panel first,” said Elfridarather unfeelingly. But then she was alone inthe dark on the other side of the panel.

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“I don’t know how to,” said Edred, andElfrida heard the sound of some one pickinghimself up from among disordered furniture.

“Feel among the leaves, like I did,” she said.“It’s quite easy. You’ll soon find it.”

Silence.

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CHAPTER VII
THE KEY OF THE PARLOUR

Elfrida was behind the secret panel, and thepanel had shut with a spring. She had comethere hoping to find the jewels that had beenhidden two hundred years ago by Sir EdwardTalbot, when he was pretending to be theChevalier St. George. She had not had timeeven to look for the jewels before the panelclosed, and now that she was alone in the dustydark, with the door shut between her and thebright, light parlour where her brother was, thejewels hardly seemed to matter at all, and whatdid so dreadfully and very much matter wasthat closed panel. Edred had tried to open it,and he had fallen off the chair. Well, therehad been plenty of time for him to get upagain.

“Why don’t you open the door?” she calledimpatiently. And there was no answer. Behindthat panel silence seemed a thousand times moresilent than it ever had before. And it was sodark. And Edred had the matches in his pocket.

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“Edred! Edred!” she called suddenly andvery loud, “why don’t you open the door?”

And this time he answered.

“Because I can’t reach,” he said.

I feel that I ought to make that the endof the chapter, and leave you to wonder tillthe next how Elfrida got out, and how sheliked the not getting out, which certainly lookedas though it were going to last longer thanany one could possibly be expected to findpleasant.

But that would make the chapter too short—andthere are other reasons. So I will notdisguise from you that when Elfrida put herhand to her pocket and felt something there—somethinghard and heavy—and rememberedthat she had put the key of the parlour therebecause it was such a nice safe place, where itcouldn’t possibly be lost, she uttered what isknown as a hollow groan.

“Aha! you see now,” said Edred outside.“You see I’m not so stupid after all.”

Elfrida was thinking.

“I say,” she called through the panel, “it’s nouse my standing here. I shall try to feel myway up to the secret chamber. I wish I couldremember whether there’s a window there ornot. If I were you I should just take a bookand read till something happens. Mrs. Honeysett’ssure to come back some time.”

“I can’t hear half you say,” said Edred. “Youdo whiffle so.”

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“Take a book!” shouted his sister. “Read!Mrs.—Honeysett—will—come—back—some—time.”

So Edred got down a book called “Red CottonNightcap Country,” which he thought lookedinteresting; but I don’t advise you to try it.And Elfrida, her heart beating rather heavily,put out her hands and felt her way along thepassage to the stairs.

“It’s all very well,” she told herself, “thesecret panel is there all right, like it was when Iwent into the past, but suppose the stairs aregone, or weren’t really ever there at all? Orsuppose I walked straight into a wall or something?Or perhaps not a wall—a well,” shesuggested to herself with a sudden thrill ofterror; and after that she felt very carefullywith each foot in turn before she ventured toput it down in a fresh step.

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The boards were soft to tread on, as thoughthey had been carpeted with velvet, and so werethe stairs. For there were stairs, sure enough.She went up them very slowly and carefully,reaching her hands before her. And at last herhands came against something that seemed likea door. She stroked it gently, feeling for thelatch, which she presently found. The door hadnot been opened for such a very long time thatit was not at all inclined to open now. Elfridahad to shove with shoulder and knee, and withall the strength she had. The door gave way—outof politeness, I should think, for Elfrida’sknee and shoulder and strength were all quitesmall—and there was the room just as she hadseen it when the Chevalier St. George stood in itbowing and smiling by the light of one candle ina silver candlestick. Only now Elfrida wasalone, and the light was a sort of green twilightthat came from a little window over the mantelpiece,that was hung outside with a thick curtainof ivy. If Elfrida had come out of the sunlightshe would have called this a green darkness.But she had been so long in the dark that thisshadowy dusk seemed quite light to her. Allthe same she made haste, when she had shut thedoor, to drag a chair in front of the fireplaceand to get the window open. It opened inwards,and it did not want to open at all. But it, also,was polite enough to yield to her wishes, andwhen it had suddenly given way she reachedout and broke the ivy-leaves off one by one,making more and more daylight in the secretroom. She did not let the leaves fall outside,but on the hearthstone, “for,” said she, “wedon’t want outside people to get to know allabout the Ardens’ secret hiding-place. I’m gladI thought of that. I really am rather like adetective in a book.”

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When all the leaves were plucked from thewindow’s square, and only the brown ivy boughsleft, she turned back to the room. The furniturewas all powdered heavily with dust, andwhat had made the floor so soft to walk uponwas the thick carpet of dust that lay there.There was the table on which the Chevalier St.George—no, Sir Edward Talbot—had set thetray. There were the chairs, and there, sureenough, was the corner cupboard in which hehad put the jewels. Elfrida got its door openwith I don’t know what of mingled hopes andfears. It had three shelves, but the jewels wereon none of them. In fact there was nothing onany of them. But on the inside of the door herhand, as she held it open, felt something rough.And when she looked it was a name carved, andwhen she swung the door well back so that thelight fell full on it she saw that the name was“E. Talbot.” So then she knew that all she hadseen in that room before must have reallyhappened two hundred years before, and wasnot just a piece of magic Mouldiwarpiness.

She climbed up on the chair again and lookedout through the little window. She could seenothing of the Castle walls—only the distantshoulder of the downs and the path that cutacross it towards the station. She would haveliked to see a red figure or a violet one comingalong that path. But there was no figure on itat all.

What do you usually do when you are shutup in a secret room, with no chance of gettingout for hours? As for me, I always say poetryto myself. It is one of the uses of poetry—onesays it to oneself in distressing circ*mstancesof that kind, or when one has to wait at railwaystations, or when one cannot get to sleep atnight. You will find poetry most useful forthis purpose. So learn plenty of it, and be sureit is the best kind, because this is most usefulas well as most agreeable.

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Elfrida began with “Ruin seize thee, ruthlessKing!” but there were parts of that which sheliked best when there were other people about—soshe stopped it, and began “Horatius andthe Bridge.” This lasts a long time. Thencame the Favourite Cat drowned in a tub ofGold-fish—and in the middle of that, quitesuddenly, and I don’t know why, she thoughtof the Mouldiwarp.

“We didn’t quite quarrel,” she told herself.“At least not really, truly quarrelling. I mighttry anyhow.”

So she set to work to make a piece of poetryto call up the Mouldiwarp with.

This was how, after a long time, the first piececame out—

But when she said it aloud nothing happened.“I wonder,” said Elfrida, “whether it’s becausewe quarrelled, or because it just says he let meout and doesn’t ask him to, or because I had tosay Elfrida, to make it sound right, or becauseit’s such dreadful nonsense. I’ll try again.”

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She tried again. This time she got—

She said it aloud, and when she came to thelast words there was the white Mouldiwarpsitting on the floor at her feet and looking upat her with eyes that blinked.

“You are good to come,” Elfrida said.

“Well, what do you want now?” said theMole.

“I—I ought to tell you that I oughtn’t to askyou to do anything, but I didn’t think you’dcome if it really counted as a quarrel. It wasonly a little one, and we were both sorry quitedirectly.”

“You have a straightforward nature,” saidthe Mouldiwarp. “Well, well, I must say you’vegot yourself into a nice hole!”

“It would be a very nice hole,” said Elfridaeagerly, “if only the panel were open. Iwouldn’t mind how long I stayed here then.That’s funny, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said the Mole. “Well, if you hadn’tquarrelled I could get you into another time—sometime when the panel was open—and youcould just walk out. You shouldn’t quarrel.It makes everything different. It puts dustinto the works. It stops the wheels of theclock.”

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“The clock!” said Elfrida slowly. “Couldn’tthat work backwards?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the Mole.

“I don’t know that I quite know myself,”Elfrida explained; “but the daisy-clock. Yousit on the second hand and there isn’t any time—andyet there’s lots where you’re not sitting.If I could sit on the daisy-clock the timewouldn’t be anything before some one comesto let me out. But I can’t get to the daisy-clock,even if you’d make it for me. So that’sno good.”

“You are a very clever little girl,” said theMouldiwarp, “and all the clocks in the worldaren’t made of daisies. Move the tables andchairs back against the wall; we’ll see what wecan do for you.”

While Elfrida was carrying out this order—thewhite Mole stood on its hind feet and calledout softly in a language she did not understand.Others understood it though, it seemed, fora white pigeon fluttered in through the window,and then another and another, till the roomseemed full of circling wings and gentle cooings,and a shower of soft, white feathers fell likesnow.

Then the Mole was silent, and one by one thewhite pigeons sailed back through the windowinto the blue and gold world of out-of-doors.

“Get up on a chair and keep out of the way,”said the Mouldiwarp. And Elfrida did.

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And then a soft wind blew through the littleroom—a wind like the wind that breathessoftly in walled gardens and shakes down therose-leaves on sparkling summer mornings.And the white feathers on the floor were stirredby the sweet wind, and drifted into little heapsand lines and curves till they made on the dustyfloor the circle of a clock-face, with all its figuresand its long hand and its short hand and itssecond hand. And the white Mole stood in themiddle.

“All white things obey me,” it said. “Come,sit down on the minute hand, and you’ll be therein no time.”

“Where?” asked Elfrida, getting off the chair.

“Why, at the time when they open thepanel. Let me get out of the clock first. Andgive me the key of the parlour door. It’ll savetime in the end.”

So Elfrida sat down on the minute hand, andinstantly it began to move round—faster thanyou can possibly imagine. And it was very softto sit on—like a cloud would be if the laws ofnature ever permitted you to sit on clouds.And it spun round so that it seemed no timeat all before she found herself sitting on thefloor and heard voices, and knew that the secretpanel was open.

“I see,” she said wisely, “it does work backwards,doesn’t it?”

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But there was no one to answer her, for theMouldiwarp was gone. And the white pigeons’feathers were in heaps on the floor. She sawthem, as she stood up. And there wasn’t anyclock-face any more.

· · · · ·

Edred soon got tired of “Red Cotton NightcapCountry,” which really is not half such good funas it sounds, even for grown-ups, and he triedseveral other books. But reading did not seemamusing, somehow. And the house was so muchtoo quiet, and the clock outside ticked so muchtoo loud—and Elfrida was shut up, and therewere bars to the windows, and the door waslocked. He walked about, and sat in each of thechairs in turn, but no one of them was comfortable.And his thoughts were not comfortableeither. Suppose no one ever came to let themout! Supposing the years rolled on and foundhim still a prisoner, when he was a white-hairedold man, like people in the Bastille, or in IronMasks? His eyes filled with tears at thethought. Fortunately it did not occur to himthat unless some one came pretty soon he wouldbe unlikely to live to a great age, since peoplecannot live long without eating. If he hadthought of this he would have been even moreunhappy than he was—and he was quite unhappyenough. Then he began to wonder if“anything had happened” to Elfrida. Shewas dreadfully quiet inside there behind thepanel. He wished he had not quarrelled withher. Everything was very miserable. He wentto the window and looked out, as Elfrida haddone, to see if he could see a red dress or aviolet dress coming over the downs. But therewas nothing. And the time got longer andlonger, drawing itself out like a putty snake,when you rub it between your warm hands—andat last, what with misery, and having crieda good deal, and its being long past tea-time,he fell asleep on the window-seat.

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He was roused by a hand on his shoulder anda voice calling his name.

Next moment he was in the arms of AuntEdith, or as much in her arms as he could bewith the window-bars between them.

When he had told her where Elfrida was, andwhere the room-key was, which took sometime, he began to cry again—for he did notquite see, even now, how he was to be got out.

“Now don’t be a dear silly,” said Aunt Edith.“If we can’t get you out any other way I’ll runand fetch a locksmith. But look what I foundright in the middle of the path as I came upfrom the station.”

It was a key. And tied to it was an ivorylabel, and on the label were written the words,“Parlour door, Arden.”

“You might try it,” she said.

He did try it. And it fitted. And he unlockedthe parlour door and then the front door, sothat Aunt Edith could come in.

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And together they got the kitchen steps andfound the secret spring and opened the panel,and got out the dusty Elfrida. And then AuntEdith lighted the kitchen fire and boiled thekettle; they had tea, which every one wantedvery badly indeed. And Aunt Edith had broughtlittle cakes for tea with pink icing on them,very soft inside with apricot jam. And she hadcome to stay over Sunday.

She was as much excited as the children overthe secret panel, and after tea (when Edred hadfetched Emily back from the wild-goose chasefor a parcel at the station, on which she wasstill engaged), the aunt and the niece and thenephew explored the secret stair and the secretchamber thoroughly.

“What a wonderful lot of pigeons’ feathers!”said Aunt Edith; “they must have been pilingup here for years and years.”

“It was lucky, you finding that key,” saidEdred. “I wonder who dropped it. Where’sthe other one, Elf?”

“I don’t know,” said Elfrida truthfully, “itisn’t in my pocket now.”

And though Edred and Aunt Edith searchedevery corner of the secret hiding-place theynever found that key.

Elfrida alone knows that she gave it to theMouldiwarp. And as Mrs. Honeysett declaredthat there had never been a parlour key with alabel on it in her time it certainly does seem asthough the Mole must have put the key he gotfrom Elfrida on the path for Aunt Edith to find,after carefully labelling it to prevent mistakes.How the Mole got the label is another question,but I really think that finding a label for a keyis quite a simple thing to do—I have done itmyself. Whereas making a clock-face of whitepigeon feathers is very difficult indeed—and athing that I have never been able to do. Andas for making that clock-face the means ofpersuading time to go fast or slow, just as onewishes—well, I don’t suppose even you could dothat.

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Elfrida found it rather a relief to go back tothe ordinary world, where magic moles did notupset the clock—a world made pleasant by niceaunts and the old delightful games that delightordinary people. Games such as “Hunt thethimble,” “What is my thought like,” and“Proverbs.” The three had a delightful weekend,and Aunt Edith told them all about thelodgers and the seaside house, which alreadyseemed very long ago and far away. OnSunday evening, as they walked home fromArden Church, where they had tried to attendto the service, and not to look too much at thetombs and monuments of dead-and-gone Ardensthat lined the chancel, the three sat down onArden Knoll, and Aunt Edith explained thingsa little to them. She told them much morethan they could understand about wills, andtrustees, and incomes, but they were honouredby her confidence, and pleased by the fact thatshe seemed to think they could understand suchgrown-up kind of things. And the thing thatremained on their minds after the talk, like aship cast up by a high tide, was this: thatArden Castle was theirs, and that there wasvery little money to “keep it up” with. So thatevery one must be very careful, and no onemust be at all extravagant. And Aunt Edithwas going back to the world of lawyers, andwills, and trustees, early on Monday morning,and they must be very good children, and notbother Mrs. Honeysett, and never, never lockthemselves in and hide the key in safe places.

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All this remained, as the lasting result ofthe pleasant talk on the downs in the softlylessening light.

And another thing remained, which Edredput into words as the two children walked backfrom the station, where they had seen AuntEdith into the train and waved their goodbyesto her.

“It is very important indeed,” he said, “forus to find the treasure. Then we could ‘keep up’the Castle without any bother. We must haveit built up again first, of course, and then we’llkeep it up. And we won’t have any old clocksand not keeping together, this time. We’ll bothof us go and find the attic the minute ourquarrel’s three days old, and we’ll ask theMouldiwarp to send us to a time when we canreally see the treasure with our own eyes. I dothink that’s a good idea, don’t you?” he asked,with modest pride.

“Very,” Elfrida said. “And I say, Edred, Idon’t mean to quarrel any more if I can help it.It is such waste of time,” she added in her bestgrown-up manner, “and it does delay everythingso. Delays are dangerous. It says so in the‘proverb’ game. Suppose there really was achance of getting the treasure and we had towait three days because of quarrelling. But I’lltell you one thing I found out: you can get theMole to come and help you, even if you havequarrelled a little. Because I did.” And shetold him how.

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“But, I expect,” she added. “It would onlycome if I were in the most awful trouble and allhuman aid despaired of.”

“Well, we’re not that now,” said Edred,knocking the head off a poppy with his stick,“and I’m jolly glad we’re not.”

“I wonder,” said Elfrida, “who lives in thatcottage where the witch was. I know exactlywhere it is. I expect it’s been pulled down,though. Let’s go round that way. It’ll besomething to do.”

So they went round that way, and the waywas quite easy to find. But when they got tothe place where the tumbledown cottage hadbeen in Boney’s time, there was only a littleslate-roofed house with a blue bill pasted up onits yellow-brick face saying that somebody’s A1ginger-beer and up-to-date minerals were soldthere. The house was dull to look at, and theydid not happen to have any spare money forginger-beer, so they turned round to go homeand suddenly found themselves face to face witha woman. She wore a red-and-black plaidblouse and a bought ready-made black skirt, andon her head was a man’s peaked cap such aswomen in the country wear now instead of thepretty sun bonnets that they used to wear whenI was a little girl.

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“So they’ve pulled the old cottage down,” shesaid. “This new house’ll be fine and dry inside,I lay. The rain comes in through the roof ofthe old one so’s you might a’most as well belaying in the open medder.”

The children listened politely, and both werewondering where they had seen this womanbefore, for her face was strangely familiar tothem, and yet they didn’t seem really to knowher either.

“Most of the cottages ’bout here is just as badas they always was,” she went on. “WhenArden has the handling of the treasure he’ll seeto it that poor folks lie warm and dry, won’t henow?”

And then all in a minute the children bothknew, and she knew that they knew.

“Why,” said Edred, “you’re the——”

“Yes,” she said, “I’m the witch come from oldancient times. If you can go back I can goforth, because then and now’s the same if Iknow how to make a clock.”

“Can you make clocks?” said Elfrida. “Ithought it was only——”

“So it be,” said the witch. “I can’t make ’em,but I know them as can. And I’ve come ’ere tofind you, ’cause you brought me the tea andsugar. I’ve got the wise eye, I have. I can seeback and forth. I looked forrard and I saw ye,and I looked back and I saw what you’re seeking,and I know where the treasure is and——”

“But where did you get those clothes?” Edredasked; and it was a question he was afterwardsto have reason to regret.

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“Oh, clothes is easy come by,” said the witch.“If it was only clothes I could be a crownedqueen this very minute.”

The children had a fleeting impression ofseeing against the criss-cross fence of the potatopatch a lady in crimson and ermine with a goldcrown. They blinked, startled, and saw thatthere was no crimson and gold, only the dullclothes of the witch against the background ofpotato patch.

“And how did you get here?” Edred asked.

“That speckled hen of mine’s a-settin’ onthe clock-face now,” she said. “I quieted herwith a chalk-line drawn from her beak’s endstraight out into the world of wonders. If sherouses up, then I’m back there, and I can’t nevercome back here, my dears, nor more than once,I can’t. So let’s make haste down to the Castle,and I’ll show you where my great granny seethem put the treasure when she was a littlegell.”

The three hurried down the steep-banked lane.

“Many’s the time,” the witch went on, “mygranny pointed it out to me. It’s just alongsidewhere——”

And then the witch was not there any more.Edred and Elfrida were alone in the lane. Thespeckled hen must have recovered from her“quieting,” and got off the clock.

“She’s gone right enough,” said Edred, “andnow we’ll never know. And just when she wasgoing to tell us where it was. I do think it’stoo jolly stupid for anything.”

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“It’s you that’s too jolly stupid for anything,”said Elfrida hotly. “What did you want to goasking her about her silly clothes for? It wasthat did it. She’d have told us where it wasbefore now if you hadn’t taken her time upwith clothes. As if clothes mattered! I do wishto goodness you’d sometimes try to behave asif you’d got some sense.”

“Go it!” said Edred bitterly. “As if everythingwasn’t tiresome enough. Now there’sanother three days to wait, because of yournagging. Oh, it’s just exactly like a girl, soit is!”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” said Elfrida, awestricken.“Let’s do something good to make up. I’ll giveyou that note-book of mine with the lead-pointedmother-of-pearl pencil, and we’ll goround to all the cottages and find out whichare leaky, so as to be ready to patch them upwhen we’ve got the treasure.”

“I don’t want to be good,” said Edred bitterly.“I haven’t quarrelled and put everything back,but I’m going to now,” he said, with determination.“I don’t see why everything shouldbe smashed up and me not said any of thethings I want to say.”

“Oh, don’t!” cried Elfrida; “it’s bad enoughto quarrel when you don’t want to, but to setout to quarrel! Don’t!”

Edred didn’t. He kicked the dust up with hisboots, and the two went back to the Castle ingloomy silence.

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At the gate Edred paused. “I’ll make it upnow if you like,” he said. “I’ve only justthought of it—but perhaps it’s three days fromthe end of the quarrel.”

“I see,” said Elfrida; “so the longer we keepit up——”

“Yes,” said Edred; “so let’s call it Pax andnot waste any more time.”

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CHAPTER VIII
GUY FAWKES

Three days, because there had been a quarrel.But days pass quickly when the sun shines,and it is holiday-time, and you have a bigruined castle to explore and examine—a castlethat is your own, or your brother’s.

“After all,” said Elfrida sensibly, “we mightquite likely find the treasure ourselves, withoutany magic Mouldiwarpiness at all. We’lllook thoroughly. We won’t leave a stoneunturned.”

“We shall have to leave a good many stonesunturned,” said Edred, looking at the greatgrey mass of the keep that towered tall andfrowning above them.

“Well, you know what I mean,” said Elfrida.“Come on!” and they went.

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They climbed the steep, worn stairs thatwound round and round in the darkness—stairslittered with dead leaves and mouldand dropped feathers, and the dry, desertednests of owls and jackdaws; stairs that endedsuddenly in daylight and a steep last step, andthe top of a broad ivy-grown wall from whichyou could look down, down, down; past theholes in the walls where the big beams usedto be, past the old fireplaces still black withthe smoke of fires long since burnt out, pastthe doors and windows of rooms whose floorsfell away long ago; down, down, to whereferns and grass and brambles grew green atthe very bottom of the tower.

Then there were arched doors that led tocolonnades with strong little pillars and narrowwindows, wonderful little unexpected chambersand corners—the best place in the whole wideworld for serious and energetic hide-and-seek.

“How glorious,” said Elfrida, as they rested,scarlet and panting, after a thrilling game of“I spy,”—“if all these broken bits weremended, so that you couldn’t see where thenew bits were stuck on! And if it couldall be exactly like it was when it was brand-new.”

“There wasn’t the house when it was brand-new—thehouse like it is now, I mean,” saidEdred. “I don’t suppose there was any atticwith chests in when the castle was new.”

“There couldn’t be, not with all the chests,”said Elfrida; “of course not, because some ofthe clothes in the chest weren’t made till longafter the castle was built. I believe grown-upscan tell what a broken thing was like whenit was new. I know they can with bones—mastodonsand things. And they made outwhat Hercules was like out of one foot ofhim that they found, I believe,” she addedhazily.

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“I’ve got an idea,” said Edred, “if we couldget back to where the castle was all perfectlike a model and draw pictures of every part.Then when we found the treasure we shouldknow exactly what to build it up like, shouldn’twe?”

“Yes,” said Elfrida very gently. “We certainlyshould. But then we should have toknow how to draw first, shouldn’t we?”

“Of course we should,” Edred agreed, “butthat wouldn’t take long if we really tried.I never do try at school. I don’t like it. Butit’s jolly easy. I know that. Burslem mi.always takes the drawing prize, and you knowwhat a duffer he is. We might begin to learnnow, don’t you think?”

Elfrida sat down on a fallen stone in themiddle of the castle yard, and looked at the intricatewonderful arches and pillars, thecrenulated battlements of the towers, thesplendid stoutness of the walls, and she sighed.

“Yes,” she said, “let’s begin now——”

“And you’ll have to lend me one of yourpencils,” said he, “because I broke mine allto bits trying to get the parlour door openthe day you’d got the key in your pocket.Quite a long one it was. You’ll have to lendme a long one, Elf. I can’t draw with thoselittle endy-bits that get inside your hand andprick you with the other end.”

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“I don’t mind,” said she, “so long as youdon’t put it in your mouth.”

So they got large sheets of writing-paper,and brown calf-bound books for the paper tolie flat on, and they started to draw ArdenCastle. And as Elfrida tried to draw everythingshe knew was there, as well as everythingshe could see, her drawing soon became almostentirely covered with black-lead.

They had no indiarubber, and if you drewanything wrong it had to stay drawn. Whenyou first begin to draw, you draw a good manythings wrong, don’t you? I assure you thatnobody would have known that the black andgrey muddle on Elfrida’s paper was meantto be a picture of a castle. Edred’s wasmuch more easily recognised, even before heprinted “Arden Castle” under it in large,uneven letters. He never once raised his eyesfrom his paper, and just drew what he thoughtthe front of the castle looked like from theoutside. Also he sucked his pencil earnestly—Elfrida’spencil, I mean—and this made thelines of his drawing very black.

“There!” he said at last, “it’s ever so muchliker than yours.”

“Yes,” said Elfrida, “but there’s more inmine.”

“It doesn’t matter how much there is in apicture if you can’t tell what it’s meant for,”said Edred, with some truth. “Now, in mineyou can see the towers, and the big gate, and thewindows, and the twiddly in-and-outness on top.”

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“Yes,” said Elfrida, “but . . . well, let’s dosomething else. I don’t believe we shouldeither of us learn to draw well enough torebuild Arden by; not before we’ve found thetreasure, I mean. Perhaps we might meet areal artist, like the one we saw drawing thecastle yesterday—in the past I mean—and gethim to draw it for us, and bring the pictureback with us, and——”

“Oh,” cried Edred, jumping up and droppinghis masterpiece, and the calf-bound volume andthe pencil. “I know. The Brownie!”

“The Brownie?”

“Yes—take it with us. Then we couldphotograph the castle all perfect.”

“But we can’t take it with us.”

“Can’t we?” said Edred; “that’s all youknow. Now I’ll tell you something. Thatfirst time—a bit of plaster was in my shoewhen we changed, and it was in my shoe whenwe got there, and I took it out when we werelearning about ‘dog’s delight.’ And I flippedit out of the window. And when we gotback, and I’d changed and everything, therewas that bit of plaster in my own shoe. Ifwe can take plaster we can take photographs—cameras,I mean.” This close and intelligentreasoning commanded Elfrida’s respect, andshe wished she had thought of it herself. Butthen she had not had any plaster in her shoe.So she said—

“You’re getting quite clever, aren’t you?”

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“Aha,” said Edred, “you’d like to havethought of that yourself, wouldn’t you? Ican be clever sometimes, same as you can.”

It is very annoying to have our thoughtsread. Elfrida said swiftly, “Not often youcan’t,” and then stopped short. For a momentthe children stood looking at each other witha very peculiar expression. Then a sigh ofrelief broke from each.

“Fielded!” said Edred.

“Just in time!” said Elfrida. “It wasn’t aquarrel; nobody could say it was a quarrel.Come on, let’s go and look at the cottages,like the witch told us to.”

They went. They made a tour of inspectionthat day and the next and the next. Andthey saw a great many things that a grown-upinspector would never have seen. Poor peopleare very friendly and kind to you when youare a child. They will let you come into theirhouses and talk to you and show you thingsin a way that they would never condescendto do with your grown-up relations. This is,of course, if you are a really nice child, andtreat them in a respectful and friendly way.Edred and Elfrida very soon knew more aboutthe insides of the cottages round Arden thanany grown-up could have learned in a year.They knew what wages the master of the housegot, what there was for dinner, and what,oftener, there wasn’t, how many children werestill living, and how many had failed to live.They knew exactly where the rain camethrough the rotten thatch in bad weather, andwhere the boards didn’t fit and so let thedraughts in, and how some of the doorswouldn’t shut, some wouldn’t open, and howthe bedroom windows were, as often as not,not made to open at all.

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And when they weren’t visiting the cottagesor exploring the castle they found a joyousway of passing the time in the reading aloudof the history of Arden. They took it in turnsto read aloud. Elfrida looked carefully forsome mention of Sir Edward Talbot and hispretending to be the Chevalier St. George.There was none, but a Sir Edward Talbot hadbeen accused, with the Lord Arden of the time,of plotting against His Most Christian MajestyKing James I.

“I wonder if he was like my EdwardTalbot?” said Elfrida. “I would like to seehim again. I wish I’d told him about ushaving been born so many years after he died.But it would have been difficult to explain,wouldn’t it? Let’s look in Green’s HistoryBook and see what they looked like when itwas His Most Christian Majesty King Jamesthe First.”

Perhaps it was this which decided thechildren, when the three days were over, toput on the clothes which most resembled theones in the pictures of James I.’s time inGreen’s History.

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Edred had full breeches, puffed out likeballoons, and a steeple-crowned hat, and a sortof tunic of crimson velvet, and a big starchedruff round his little neck more uncomfortableeven than your Eton collar is after you’ve beenwearing flannels for days and days. AndElfrida had long, tight stays with a large,flat-shaped piece of wood down the front,and very full, long skirts over a very abrupthoop.

When the three days were over the door ofthe attic, which, as usual after a quarrel, hadbeen quite invisible and impossible to find,had become as plain as the nose on the faceof the plainest person you know, and thechildren had walked in, and looked in thechests till they found what they wanted.

And now they put on ruffs and all the restof it to the accompaniment, or, as it alwaysseemed, with the help, of soft pigeon noises.

While they were dressing Elfrida held theBrownie camera tightly, in one hand or theother. This made dressing rather slow anddifficult, but the children had agreed that if itwere not done the Brownie would be, as Edredput it, “liable to vanish,” as everything elsebelonging to their own time always did—excepttheir clothes. I can’t explain to youjust now how it was that their clothes didn’tvanish. It would take too long. But it wasall part of the magic of white feathers whichare, as you know, the clothes of white pigeons.

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And now a very odd thing happened. AsEdred put on his second shoe—which was thelast touch to their united toilets—the wallsseemed to tremble and shake and go crooked,like a house of cards at the very instant beforeit topples down. The floor slanted to thatdegree that standing on it was so difficult asto be at last impossible. The rafters all seemedto get crooked and mixed, like a box of matcheswhen you spill them on the floor. The tiledroof that showed blue daylight through seemedto spin like a top, and you could not tell atall which way up you were. All this happenedwith dreadful suddenness, but almost as soonas it had begun it stopped with a jerk likethat of a clockwork engine that has gonewrong. And the attic was gone—and thechests, and the blue-chinked tiles of the roof, andthe walls and the rafters. And the room hadshrunk to less than half its old size. And it washigher, and it was not an attic any more, but around room with narrow windows, and just sucha fireplace, with a stone hood, as the ones thechildren had seen when they looked downfrom the tops of the towers. You must haveoften heard of events that take people’s breathaway. This sudden change did really takeaway the breaths of Edred and Elfrida, so thatfor a few moments they could only stare ateach other “like Guy Fawkes masks,” as Elfridalater said.

“I see,” said Edred, when breath enough forspeech had returned to him. “This is the placewhere the attic was after the tower fell topieces.”

“But there isn’t any attic really,” said Elfrida.“You know we can’t find it if we quarrelled,and Mrs. Honeysett doesn’t ever find it. It isn’tanywhere.”

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“Yes, it is,” said Edred. “We couldn’t find itif it wasn’t.”

“Well,” said Elfrida gloomily, “I only hopewe may find it, that’s all. I suppose we may aswell go out. It’s no use sticking in this horridlittle room.” Her hand was on the door, buteven as she fumbled with the latch, which wasof iron and of a shape to which she was whollyunaccustomed, something else happened, evenmore disconcerting than the turn-over-changein which the attic and the chests had disappeared.It is very difficult to describe. Perhapsyou happen to dislike travelling in trainswith your back to the engine? If you do dislikeit, you dislike it very much indeed. It makesyour head ache, and gives you a queer feeling atthe back of your neck, and makes you turn sopale that the grown-up people with whom youare travelling will ask you what is the matter,and sometimes heartlessly insist that the bunsyou had at the junction, or the chocolate creamspressed into your hand at the parting hour byUncle Fred or Aunt Imogen, are the cause ofyour sufferings. The worst feeling of all isthat terrible sensation, as though your heartand lungs and the front part of your waistcoatwere being drawn slowly but surely throughyour backbone, and taken a very long way off.

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The sensations which now held Edred andElfrida were exactly like those which—if youdon’t like travelling backwards—you knowonly too well—and the sensations were soacute that both children shut their eyes. Thewhirling feeling, and the withdrawing-waistcoatfeeling, and the headache, and theback-of-the-neck feeling stopped as suddenly asthey had begun, and the two children openedtheir eyes in a room which Edred at least hadnever seen before. To Elfrida it seemed strangeyet familiar. The shape of the room, theposition of doors and windows, the mantelpiecewith its curious carvings—these she knew.And some of the furniture, too. Yet the roomseemed bare—barer than it should have been.But why should it look bare—barer than itshould have been—unless she knew how muchless bare it once was? Unless, in fact, she hadseen it before?

“Oh, I know,” she cried, standing in her stiffskirts and heavy shoes in the middle of theroom. “I know. This is Lord Arden’s townhouse. This is where I was with Cousin Betty.Only there aren’t such nice chairs and things,and it was full of people then.”

Edred remained silent, his mouth half openand his eyes half shut in a sort of trance ofastonishment. This was very different fromthe last adventure in which he had taken part.For then he had only gone to the house inArden Castle as it was in Boney’s time, and hehad gone to it by the simple means of walkingdown a staircase with which he was alreadyfamiliar. But now he had been transported ina most violent and unpleasing manner, not onlyfrom his own times to times much earlier, butalso from Arden Castle, which he knew, toArden House, which he did not know. So hewas silent, and when he did speak it was withdiscontent verging on disgust.

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“I don’t like it,” he began. “Let’s go back.I don’t like it. And we didn’t take the photograph.And I don’t like it. And my clothes arehorrid. I feel something between a balloon anda Bluecoat boy. And you’ve no idea how sillyyou look—like Mrs. Noah out of the Ark, onlytubby. And I don’t know who we’re supposedto be. And I don’t suppose this is Arden House.And if it is, you don’t know when. Suppose it’sInquisition times, and they put us on the stake?Let’s go back; I don’t like it,” he ended.

“Now you just listen,” said Elfrida, knittingher brows under the queer cap she wore. “Iknow inside me what I mean, but you won’tunless you jolly well attend.”

“Fire ahead.”

“Well, then, even if it was Inquisition timesit would be all right—for us.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know how I know, but I know I doknow,” said Elfrida firmly. “You see, I’ve beenhere before. It’s not real, you see.”

“It is,” said Edred, kicking the leg of thetable.

“Yes, of course . . . but . . . look here! Youremember the water-shoot at Earl’s Court, andyou were so frightened.”

“I wasn’t.”

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“Yes, you were; and I didn’t half like itmyself. I wished we hadn’t, rather. And whenit started, and we knew we’d got to go on withit. Oh, horrible! And when it was over wewanted to go again, and we did, and it’s been sojolly to remember. This is like that. See?”

“I don’t,” said Edred, “understand a singleword you say. This isn’t a bit like the water-shootor anything. Now, is it?”

Elfrida frowned. Afterwards she was gladthat she had done no more than frown. It isdangerous, as you know, to quarrel in a boat,but far more dangerous to quarrel in a centurythat is not your own. She frowned and openedher mouth. And just as her mouth opened thedoor of the room followed its example, and ashort, dark, cross-looking woman in a brownskirt and strange cap came hurrying in.

“So it’s here you’ve hidden yourselves!” shecried. “And I looking high and low to changeyour dress.”

“What for?” said Edred, for it was his armwhich she had quite ungently caught.

“For what?” she said, as she dragged himout of the room. “Why, to attend my lordyour father and your lady mother at the masqueat Whitehall. Had you forgot already? Andthou so desirous to attend them in thy newwhite velvet broidered with the orange-tawny,and thy lady mother’s diamond buckles, andthe silken cloak, and the shoe-roses, and thecobweb-lawn starched ruff, and the little swordand all.”

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The woman had dragged Edred out of theroom and by the stairs by this time. Elfrida,following, decided that her speech was theharshest part of her.

“If she was really horrid,” thought the girl,“she wouldn’t try to cheer him up with velvetand swords and diamond buckles.

“Can’t I go?” she said aloud.

The woman turned and slapped her—not hard,but smartly. “I told thee how it would be ifthou wouldst not hold that dunning tongue.No; thou can’t go. Little ladies stay at homeand sew their samplers. Thou’ll go to Courtsoon enough, I warrant.”

So Elfrida sat and watched while Edred waspartially washed—the soap got in his eyes justas it gets in yours nowadays—and dressed inthe beautiful white page’s dress, white velvet,diamond buckles, little sword, and all.

“You are splendid,” she said. “Oh, I do wishI was a boy!” she added, for perhaps the twothousand and thirty-second time in her shortlife.

“It’s not that thou’ll be wishing when thytime comes to go to Court,” said the woman.“There, my little lord, give thy old nurse a kissand stand very cautious and perfect, not to soilthy fine feathers. And when thou hearest thymother’s robes on the stairs go out and makethy bow like thy tutor taught thee.”

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It was not Edred’s tutor who had taught himto bow. But when a rustling of silks soundedon the stairs he was able to go out and make avery creditable obeisance to the stately magnificencethat swept down towards him. Elfridathought it best to curtsey beside her brother.Aunt Edith had taught them to dance theminuet, and somehow the bow and curtsey whichbelong to that dance seemed the right thingnow. And the lady on the stairs smiled, wellpleased. She was a wonderfully dressed lady.Her bodice was of yellow satin, richly embroidered;her petticoat of gold tissue with stripes;her robe of red velvet, lined with yellow muslinwith stripes of pure gold. She had a point laceapron and a collar of white satin under adelicately worked ruff. And she was a blazeof beautiful jewels.

“Thou’rt a fine page, indeed, my dear son,”said the lady. “Stand aside and take my trainas I pass. And thou, dear daughter, so soon asthou’rt of an age for it, thou shalt have a trainand a page to carry it for thee.”

She swept on, and the children followed.Lord Arden was in the hall, hardly less splendidthan his wife, and they all went off in a coachthat was very grand, if rather clumsy. Itsshape reminded Elfrida of the coach which thefairy-godmother made for Cinderella out ofthe pumpkin, and she herself, as she peepedthrough the crowd of liveried servants to seeit start, felt as much like Cinderella as any oneneed wish to feel, and perhaps a little more.But she consoled herself by encouraging asecret feeling she had that something was boundto happen; and sure enough something did.And that is what I am going to tell youabout. I own that I should like to tell youalso what happened to Edred, but his part ofthe adventure was not really an adventureat all—though it was a thing that he willnever forget as long as he remembers anymagic happenings.

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“We went to the King’s house,” he toldElfrida later. “Whitehall is the name. Ishould like to call my house Whitehall—if itwasn’t called Arden Castle, you know. Andthere were thousands of servants, I shouldthink, all much finer than you could dreamof, and lords and ladies, and lots of things toeat, and bear-baiting and co*ck-fighting in thegarden.”

“Cruel!” said Elfrida. “I hope you didn’tlook.”

“A little I did,” said Edred. “Boys haveto be brave to bear sights of blood and horror,you know, in case of them growing up to besoldiers. But I liked the masque best. TheQueen acted in it. There wasn’t any talking,you know, only dressing up and dancing. Itwas something like the pantomime, but not sosparkly. And there was a sea with waves thatmoved all silvery, and panelled scenes, anddolphins and fishy things, and a great shell thatopened, and the Queen and the ladies came outand danced, and I had a lot to eat, such rummythings, and then I fell asleep, and when I wokeup the King himself was looking at me andsaying I had a bonny face. Bonny meanspretty. You’d think a King would knowbetter, wouldn’t you?”

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This was all that Edred could find to tell.I could have told more, but one can’t telleverything, and there is Elfrida’s adventureto be told about.

When the coach had disappeared in themist and the mud—for the weather was anythingbut summer weather—Elfrida went upstairsagain to the room where she had leftthe old nurse. She did not know where elseto go.

“Sit thee down,” said the nurse, “and sewon thy sampler.”

There was the sampler, very fine indeed,in a large polished wood frame.

“I wish I needn’t,” said Elfrida, lookinganxiously at the fine silks.

“Tut, tut,” said the nurse, “how’ll theegrow to be a lady if thou doesn’t mind thyneedle?”

“I’d much rather talk to you,” said Elfridacoaxingly.

“Thou canst chatter as well as sew,” thenurse said, “as well I know to my cost.Would that thy needle flew so fast as thytongue! Sit thee down, and if the little treebe done by dinner-time thou shalt have leaveto see thy Cousin Richard.”

“I suppose,” thought Elfrida, taking up theneedle, “that I am fond of my Cousin Richard.”

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The sewing was difficult, and hurt her eyes,but she persevered. Presently some onecalled the nurse, and Elfrida was left alone.Then she stopped persevering. “Whateveris the good,” she asked herself, “of workingat a sampler that you haven’t time to finish,and that would be worn out, anyhow, yearsand years before you were born? The Elfridawho’s doing that sampler is the same age asme, and born the same day,” she reflected.And then she wondered what the date was,and what was the year. She was still wondering,and sticking the needle idly in and out ofone hole, without letting it take the silk withit, when there was a sort of clatter on thestairs, the door burst open, and in came ajolly boy of about her own age.

“Thy task done?” he cried. “Mine too.Old Parrot-nose kept me hard at it, but Ithought of thee, and for once I did all hisbiddings. So now we are free. Come, playball in the garden.” This, Elfrida concluded,must be Cousin Dick, and she decided at oncethat she was fond of him.

There was a big and beautiful gardenbehind the house. The children played ballthere, and they ran in the box alleys, andplayed hide-and-seek among the cut treesand stone seats, and statues and fountains.

Old Parrot-nose, who was Cousin Richard’stutor, and was dressed in black, and lookedas though he had been eating lemons andvinegar, sat on a seat and watched them, orwalked up and down the flagged terrace withhis thumb in a dull-looking book.

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When they stopped their game to rest on astone step, leaning against a stone seat, oldParrot-nose walked very softly up behind theseat, and stood there where they could notsee him and listened. Listening is very dishonourable,as we all know, but in those daystutors did not always think it necessary tobehave honourably to their pupils.

I always have thought, and I always shallthink, that it was the eavesdropping of thattiresome old tutor, Mr. Parados—or Parrot-nose—whichcaused all the mischief. ButElfrida has always believed, and always willbelieve, that the disaster was caused by herknowing too much history. That is why sheis so careful to make sure that no misfortuneshall ever happen on that account, any way.That is one of the reasons why she nevertakes a history prize at school. “You neverknow,” she says. And, in fact, when it comesto a question in an historical examination,she never does know.

This was how it happened. Elfrida, nowthat she was no longer running about in thegarden, remembered the question that shehad been asking herself over the embroideryframe, and it now seemed sensible to ask thequestion of some one who could answer it.So she said—

“I say, Cousin Richard, what day is it?”

Elfrida understood him to say that it wasthe fifth of November.

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“Is it really?” she said. “Then it’s GuyFawkes day. Do you have fireworks?”And in pure lightness of heart began tohum—

“’Tis not a merry song, cousin,” said CousinRichard, “nor a safe one. ’Tis best not tosing of treason.”

“But it didn’t come off, you know, andhe’s always burnt in the end,” said Elfrida.

“Are there more verses?” Cousin Dickasked.

“No.”

“I wonder what treason the ballad dealswith?” said the boy.

“Don’t you know?” It was then thatElfrida made the mistake of showing offher historical knowledge. “I know. And Iknow some of the names of the conspirators,too, and who they wanted to kill, and everything.”

“Tell me,” said Cousin Richard idly.

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“The King hadn’t been fair to the Catholics,you know,” said Elfrida, full of importance,“so a lot of them decided to kill him andthe Houses of Parliament. They made a plot—therewere a whole lot of them in it. They saidLord Arden was, but he wasn’t, and some ofthem were to pretend to be hunting, and toseize the Princess Elizabeth and proclaim herQueen, and the rest were to blow the Housesof Parliament up when the King went to openthem.”

“I never heard this tale from my tutor,”said Cousin Richard laughing. “Proceed,cousin.”

“Well, Mr. Piercy took a house next theParliament House, and they dug a secretpassage to the vaults under the ParliamentHouses; and they put three dozen casks ofgunpowder there and covered them withfa*ggots. And they would have been allblown up, only Mr. Tresham wrote to hisrelation, Lord Monteagle, that they weregoing to blow up the King and——”

“What King?” said Cousin Richard.

“King James the First,” said Elfrida. “Why—what——”for Cousin Richard had sprungto his feet, and old Parrot-nose had Elfridaby the wrist.

He sat down on the seat and drew hergently till she stood in front of him—gently,but it was like the hand of iron in the velvetglove (of which, no doubt, you have oftenread).

“Now, Mistress Arden,” he said softly,“tell me over again this romance that youtell your cousin.”

Elfrida told it.

“And where did you hear this pretty story?”he asked.

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“Where are we now?” gasped Elfrida, whowas beginning to understand.

“Here in the garden—where else?” saidCousin Richard, who seemed to understandnothing of the matter.

“Here—in my custody,” said the tutor,who thought he understood everything.“Now tell me all—every name, every particular—orit will be the worse for thee andthy father.”

“Come, sir,” said Cousin Richard, “youfrighten my cousin. It is but a tale shetold. She is always merry, and full ofmany inventions.”

“It is a tale she shall tell again beforethose of higher power than I,” said the tutor,in a thoroughly disagreeable way, and hishand tightened on Elfrida’s wrist.

“But—but—it’s history,” cried Elfrida, indespair. “It’s in all the books.”

“Which books?” he asked keenly.

“I don’t know—all of them,” she sullenlyanswered; sullenly, because she now reallydid understand just the sort of adventure inwhich her unusual knowledge of history, and,to do her justice, her almost equally unusualdesire to show off, had landed her.

“Now,” said the hateful tutor, for suchElfrida felt him to be, “tell me the namesof the conspirators.”

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“It can’t do any harm,” Elfrida told herself.“This is James the First’s time, and I’m in it.But it’s three hundred years ago all the same,and it all has happened, and it can’t make anydifference what I say, so I’d better tell allthe names I know.”

The hateful tutor shook her.

“Yes, all right,” she said; and to herself sheadded, “It’s only a sort of dream; I may aswell tell.” Yet when she opened her mouth totell all the names she could remember of theconspirators of the poor old Gunpowder Plotthat didn’t come off, all those years ago, shefound herself not telling those names at all.Instead, she found herself saying—

“I’m not going to tell. I don’t care whatyou do to me. I’m sorry I said anythingabout it. It’s all nonsense—I mean, it’s onlyhistory, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself,listening behind doors—I mean, out ofdoors behind stone seats, when people aretalking nonsense to their own cousins.”

Elfrida does not remember very exactly whathappened after this. She was furiously angry,and when you are furiously angry things getmixed and tangled up in a sort of dreadfulred mist. She only remembers that the tutorwas very horrid, and twisted her wrists to makeher tell, and she screamed and tried to kickhim; that Cousin Richard, who did not scream,did, on the other hand, succeed in kicking thetutor; that she was dragged indoors and shutup in a room without a window, so that itwas quite dark.

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“If only I’d got Edred here,” she said toherself, with tears of rage and mortification,“I’d try to make some poetry and get theMouldiwarp to come and fetch us away. Butit’s no use till he comes home.”

When he did come home—after the bear-baitingand the co*ck-fighting and the banquetand the masque—Lord and Lady Arden camewith him, of course. And they found theirhouse occupied by an armed guard, and in thedark little room a pale child exhausted withweeping, who assured them again and againthat it was all nonsense, it was only history,and she hadn’t meant to tell—indeed shehadn’t. Lady Arden took her in her armsand held her close and tenderly, in spite ofthe grand red velvet and the jewels.

“Thou’st done no harm,” said Lord Arden;“a pack of silly tales. To-morrow I’ll seemy Lord Salisbury and prick this silly bubble.Go thou to bed, sweetheart,” he said to hiswife, “and let the little maid lie with thee—sheis all a-tremble with tears and terrors.To-morrow, my Lord Secretary shall teachthese popinjays their place, and Arden Houseshall be empty of them, and we shall laughat this fine piece of work that a solemn marplothas made out of a name or two and ayoung child’s fancies. By to-morrow nightall will be well, and we shall lie down inpeace.”

But when to-morrow night came it had, asall nights have, the day’s work behind it. LordArden and his lady and the little childrenlay, not in Arden House in Soho, not in ArdenCastle on the downs by the sea, but in theTower of London, charged with high treasonand awaiting their trial.

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For my Lord Salisbury had gone to thosevaults under the Houses of Parliament, andhad found that bold soldier of fortune, GuyFawkes, with his dark eyes, his dark lantern,and his dark intent; and the names of thosein the conspiracy had been given up, and KingJames was saved, and the Parliaments—butthe Catholic gentlemen whom he had deceived,and who had turned against him and hisdeceits, were face to face with the rack andthe scaffold.

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And I can’t explain it at all—because, ofcourse, Elfrida knew as well as I do that itall happened three hundred years ago—or, ifyou prefer to put it that way, that it hadnever happened, and that anyway, it was Mr.Tresham’s letter to Lord Monteagle, and notElfrida’s singing of that silly rhyme, that hadbrought the Ardens and all these other gentlemento the Tower and to the shadow of death.And yet she felt that it was she who hadbetrayed them. She felt also that if she hadbetrayed a base plot, she ought to be glad,and she was not glad. She felt—and calledherself—a sneak. She had taken advantageof having been born so much later than allthese people, and of having been rather goodat history to give away the lives of all thesenobles and gentlemen. That they were traitorsto King and Parliament made no manner ofdifference. It was she, as she felt but toobitterly, who was the traitor. And in thethick-walled room in the Tower, where thename of Raleigh was still fresh in its carving,Elfrida lay awake, long after Lady Arden andEdred were sleeping peacefully, and hatedherself, calling herself a Traitor, a Coward, andan Utter Duffer.

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CHAPTER IX
THE PRISONERS IN THE TOWER

Imprisoned in the Tower of London, accused ofhigh treason, and having confessed to a toointimate knowledge of the Gunpowder Plot,Elfrida could not help feeling that it would benice to be back again in her own time, and atArden, where, if you left events alone, anddidn’t interfere with them by any sort of magicmouldiwarpiness, nothing dangerous, romanticor thrilling would ever happen. And yet, whenshe was there, as you know, she never couldlet events alone. She and Edred could not becontent with that castle and that house which,even as they stood, would have made you andme so perfectly happy. They wanted thetreasure, and they—Elfrida especially—wantedadventures. Well, now they had got an adventure,both of them. There was no knowinghow it would turn out either, and that, after all,is the essence of adventures. Edred was lodgedwith Lord Arden and several other gentlemenin the White Tower, and Elfrida and LadyArden were in quite a different part of thebuilding. And the children were not allowedto meet. This, of course, made it impossiblefor either of them to try to get back to theirown times. For though they sometimesquarrelled, as you know, they were really fondof each other, and most of us would hesitateto leave even a person we were not very fondof alone a prisoner in the Tower in the time ofJames I. and the Gunpowder Plot.

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Elfrida had to wait on her mother and to sewat the sampler, which had been thoughtfullybrought by the old nurse with her lady’s clothes,and the clothes Elfrida wore. But there wereno games, and the only out-of-doors Elfridacould get was on a very narrow terrace wheredead flower-stalks stuck up out of a stillnarrower border, beside a flagged pathwaywhere there was just room for one to walk, andnot for two. From this terrace you could seethe fat, queer-looking ships in the river, and thespire of St. Paul’s.

Edred was more fortunate. He was allowedto play in the garden of the Lieutenant of theTower. But he did not feel much like playing.He wanted to find Elfrida and get back toArden. Every one was very kind to him, buthe had to be very much quieter than he wasused to being, and to say Sir and Madam, andnot to speak till he was spoken to. You haveno idea how tiresome it is not to speak till youare spoken to, with the world full, as it is, of athousand interesting things that you want toask questions about.

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One day—for they were there quite a numberof days—Edred met some one who seemed tolike answering questions, and this made moredifference than perhaps you would think.

Edred was walking one bright winter morningin the private garden of the Lieutenant of theTower, and he saw coming towards him a veryhandsome old gentleman dressed in very handsomeclothes, and, what is more, the clothesblazed with jewels. Now, most of the gentlemenwho were prisoners in the Tower at that timethought that their very oldest clothes were goodenough to be in prison in, so this splendour thatwas coming across the garden was very unusualas well as very dazzling, and before Edred couldremember the rules about not speaking tillyou’re spoken to, he found that he had suddenlybowed and said—

“Your servant, sir;” adding, “you do lookripping!”

“I do not take your meaning,” said the gentleman,but he smiled kindly.

“I mean, how splendid you look!”

The old gentleman looked pleased.

“I am happy to command your admiration,”he said.

“I mean your clothes;” said Edred, and thenfeeling with a shock that this was not the wayto behave, he added, “Your face is splendid too—onlyI’ve been taught manners, and I knowyou mustn’t tell people they’re handsome intheir faces. ‘Praise to the face is open disgrace,’—Mrs.Honeysett says so.”

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“Praise to my face isn’t open disgrace,” saidthe gentleman, “it is a pleasant novelty in thesewalls.”

“Is it your birthday or anything?” Edredasked.

“It is not my birthday,” said the gentlemansmiling. “But why the question?”

“Because you’re so grand,” said Edred. “Isuppose you’re a prince then?”

“No, not a prince—a prisoner.”

“Oh, I see,” said Edred, as people so often dowhen they don’t; “and you’re going to be letout to-day, and you’ve put on your best thingsto go home in. I am so glad. At least, I’m sorryyou’re going, but I’m glad on your account.”

“Thou’rt a fine, bold boy,” said the gentleman.“But no. I am a prisoner, and like to remainso. And for these gauds,” he swelled out his chestso that his diamond buttons and ruby earringsand gem-set collar flashed in the winter sun,—“forthese gauds, never shall it be said thatWalter Raleigh let the shadow of his prisontarnish his pride in the proper arraying of abody that has been honoured to kneel beforethe Virgin Queen.” He took off his hat atthe last words and swept it, with a flourish,nearly to the ground.

“Oh!” cried Edred, “are you really SirWalter Raleigh? Oh, how splendid! Andnow you’ll tell me all about the golden SouthAmericas, and sea-fights, and the Armada andthe Spaniards, and what you used to play atwhen you were a little boy.”

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“Ay,” said Sir Walter, “I’ll tell thee talesenow. They’ll not let me from speaking withthee, I warrant. I would,” he said, lookinground impatiently, “that I could see the riveragain. From my late chamber I saw it, andthe goodly ships coming in and out—theships that go down into the great waters.”He sighed, was silent a moment, then spoke.“And so thou didst not know thine old friendRaleigh? He was all forgot, all forgot! Andyet thou hast rid astride my sword ere now,and I have played with thee in the courtyardat Arden. When England forgets so soon, whocan expect more from a child?”

“I’m sorry,” said Edred humbly.

“Nay,” said Sir Walter, pinching his eargently, “’tis two years agone, and short yearshave short memories. Thou shall come withme to my chamber and I will show thee achart and a map of Windargocoa, that HerDear Glorious Majesty permitted me to renameVirginia, after her great and graciousself.”

So Edred, very glad and proud, went hand inhand with Sir Walter Raleigh to his apartments,and saw many strange things fromoverseas—dresses of feathers from Mexico,and strange images in gold from strangeislands, and the tip of a narwhal’s horn fromGreenland, and many other things. And SirWalter told him of his voyages and his fights,and of how he and Humphrey Gilbert, andAdrian Gilbert, and little Jack Davis used tosail their toy boats in the Long Stream, andhow they used to row in and out among thebig ships down at the Port, and look at thegreat figure-heads, standing out high abovethe water, and wonder about them and aboutthe strange lands they came from.

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“And often,” said Sir Walter, “we found asea-captain that would tell us lads travellers’tales like these I have told thee. And we sailedour little ships, and then we sailed our big ships—andhere I lie in dock, and shall never sailagain. But it’s oh! to see the Devon moors,and the clear reaches of the Long Streamagain! And that I never shall.” And withthat he leaned his arm on the window-sill,and if he had not been the great Sir WalterRaleigh, who is in all the history books, Edredwould have thought he was crying.

“Oh, do cheer up—do!” said Edred awkwardly.“I don’t know whether they’ll let yougo to Devonshire—but I know they’ll let yougo back to America some day. With twelveships. I read about it only yesterday; andyour ship will be called the Destiny, and you’llsail from the Thames, and Lord Arden willsee you off and kiss you for farewell, and giveyou a medal for a keepsake. Your son willgo with you. I know it’s true. It’s all in thebook?”

“The book?” Sir Walter asked. “A prophecy,belike?”

“You can call it that if you want to,” saidEdred cautiously; “but, anyhow, it’s true.”

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He had read it all in the History of Arden.

“If it should be true,” said Sir Walter, andthe smile came back to his merry eyes, “andif I ever sail to the Golden West again, shrewme but I will sack a Spanish town, and bringthee a collar of gold and pieces of eight—abig bag-full.”

“Thank you, very much,” said Edred, “it isvery kind of you: but I shall not be there.”

And all Sir Walter’s questions did not makehim say how he knew this, or what he meantby it.

After this he met Sir Walter every day inthe lieutenant’s garden, and the two prisonerscomforted each other. At least Edred wascomforted, and Sir Walter seemed to be. Butno one could be sure if it was more than seeming.This was one of the questions that alwayspuzzled the children—and they used to talkit over together till their heads seemed to bespinning round. The question of course was:Did their being in past times make any differenceto the other people in past times? Inother words, when you were taking part inhistorical scenes, did it matter what you saidor did? Of course, it seemed to matter extremely—atthe time. But then if this goinginto the past was only a sort of dream, then,of course, the people in the past would knownothing about it, unless they had dreamed thesame sort of dream—which, as Elfrida oftenpointed out, was quite likely, especially if timedidn’t count, or could be cheated by whiteclocks. On the other hand, if they really wentinto the real past—well, then, of course, whatthey did must count for real too, as Edred sooften said. And yet how could it, since they tookwith them into the past all that they learnedhere? And with that knowledge they could haverevealed plots, shown the issue of wars andthe fate of kings, and, as Elfrida put it, “madehistory turn out quite different.” You see thedifficulties, don’t you? And Betty Lovell’s havingsaid that they could leave no trace on times pastdid not seem to make much difference somehow,one way or the other.

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However, just now Elfrida and Edred were inthe Tower, and not able to see each other, sothey could not discuss that or any other question.And they always hoped that they wouldmeet, but they never did.

But by and by the Queen thought of LadyArden, and decided that she and her son Edredought to be let out of the Tower, and she toldthe King so, and he told Lord Somebody orother, who told the Lieutenant of the Tower,and behold Lady Arden and Edred were abruptlysent home in their own coach, which had beensuddenly sent for from Arden House; but Elfridawas left in charge of the wife of the Lieutenantof the Tower, who was a very kind lady. Sonow Elfrida was in the Tower, and Edred wasat Arden House in Soho, and they had not beenable to speak to each other or arrange any planfor getting back to 1908 and Arden Castle bythe sea.

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Of course Elfrida was kept in the Towerbecause she had sung the rhyme about—

and this made people think—or seem to think—thatshe knew all about the Gunpowder Plot.And so of course she did, though it would havebeen very difficult for her to show any one atthat time how she knew it, without being atraitor.

She was now allowed to see Lord Arden everyday, and she grew very fond of him. He wascuriously like her own daddy, who had goneaway to South America with Uncle Jim, andhad never come back to his little girl. LordArden also seemed to grow fonder of her everyday. “Thou’rt a bold piece,” he’d tell her, “andthou growest bolder with each day. Hast thouno fear that thy daddy will have thee whippedfor answering him so pert?”

“No!” Elfrida would say, hugging him as wellas she could for his ruff. “I know you wouldn’tbeat your girl, don’t I, daddy?” And as shehugged him it felt almost like hugging herown daddy, who would never come home fromAmerica.

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So she was almost contented. She knew thatLord Arden was not one of those to suffer for theGunpowder Plot. She knew from the Historyof Arden that he would just be banished fromthe Court, and end his days happily at Arden,and she was almost tempted just to go on andlet what would happen, and stay with this newdaddy who had lived three hundred years before,and pet him and be petted by him. Only shefelt that she must do something because ofEdred. The worst of it was that she could notthink of anything to do. She did not know atall what was happening to Edred—whether hewas being happy or unhappy.

As it happened he was being, if not unhappy,at least uncomfortable. Mr. Parados, the tutor,who was as nasty a man as you will find in anyseaside academy for young gentlemen, still remainedat Arden House, and taught the boys—Edredand his cousin Richard. Mr. Paradoswas in high favour with the King, because hehad listened to what wasn’t meant for him,reported it where it would do most mischief—athing always very pleasing to King James theFirst—and Lady Arden dared not dismiss him.Besides, she was ill with trouble and anxiety,which Edred could not at all soothe by sayingagain and again, “Father won’t be found guiltyof treason—he won’t be executed. He’ll just besent to Arden, and live there quietly with you.I saw it all in a book.”

But Lady Arden only cried and cried.

Mr. Parados was very severe, and rappedEdred’s knuckles almost continuously duringlesson-time, and out of it; said Cousin Richard,“He is for ever bent on spying and browbeatingof us.”

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“He’s always messing about—nasty sneak,”said Edred. “I should like to be even with himbefore I go. And I will too.”

“Before you go? Go whither?” Cousin Richardasked.

“Elfrida and I are going away,” Edred began,and then felt how useless it was to go on, sinceeven when the 1908 Edred—who he was—hadgone, the 1605 Elfrida and Edred would of coursestill be there—that is if . . . He checked theold questions, which he had now no time toconsider, and said, in a firm tone which wasnew to him, and which Elfrida would have beenastonished and delighted to hear—

“Yes, I’ve got two things to do: to be evenwith old Parrot-nose—to be revenged on him, Imean—and to get Elfrida out of the Tower.And I’ll do that first, because she’ll like to helpwith the other.”

The boys were on the leads, their backs to achimney and their faces towards the trap-door,which was the only way of getting on to theroof. It was very cold, and the north wind wasblowing, but they had come there because itwas one of the few places where Mr. Parrot-nosecould not possibly come creeping up behind themto listen to what they were saying.

“Get her out of the Tower?” Dick laughedand then was sad. “I would we could!” he said.

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“We can,” said Edred earnestly. “I’ve beenthinking about it all the time, ever since wecame out of the Tower, and I know the way. Ishall want you to help me, Dick. You and onegrown-up.” He spoke in the same grim, self-relianttone that was so new to him.

“One grown-up?” Dick asked.

“Yes. I think Nurse would do it. And I’mgoing to find out if we can trust her.”

“Trust her?” said Dick. “Why, she’d die forany of us Ardens. Ay, and die on the rackbefore she would betray the lightest word ofany of us.”

“Then that’s all right,” said Edred.

“What is thy plot?” Dick asked; and he didnot laugh, though he might well have wantedto. You see, Edred looked so very small andweak and the Tower was so very big andstrong.

“I’m going to get Elfrida out,” said Edred,“and I’m going to do it like Lady Nithsdale gother husband out. It will be quite easy. It alldepends on knowing when the guard is changed,and I do know that.”

“But how did my Lady Nithsdale get myLord Nithsdale out—and from what?” Dickasked.

“Why, out of the Tower, you know,” Edredwas beginning, when he remembered that Dickdid not know and couldn’t know, because LordNithsdale hadn’t yet been taken out of theTower, hadn’t even been put in—perhaps, foranything Edred knew, wasn’t even born yet.So he said—

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“Never mind. I’ll tell you all about LadyNithsdale,” and proceeded to tell Dick, vaguelyyet inspiringly, the story of that wise and bravelady. I haven’t time to tell you the story, butany grown-up who knows history will be onlytoo pleased to tell it.

Dick listened with most flattering interest,though it was getting dusk and colder thanever. The lights were lighted in the house andthe trap-door had become a yellow square. Ashadow in this yellow square warned Dick, andhe pinched Edred’s arm.

“Come,” he said, “and let us apply ourselvesto our books. Virtuous youths always act intheir preceptors’ absence as they would if theirpreceptors were present. I feel as though minewere present. Therefore, I take it, I am avirtuous youth.”

On which the shadow disappeared very suddenly,and the two boys, laughing in a chokinginside sort of way, went down to learn theirlessons by the light of two guttering tallowcandles in solid silver candlesticks.

The next day Edred got the old nurse to takehim to the Court, and because the Queen wasvery fond of Lady Arden he actually managedto see her Majesty and, what is more, to getpermission to visit his father and sister in theTower. The permission was written by theQueen’s own hand and bade the Lieutenant ofthe Tower to admit Master Edred Arden andMaster Richard Arden and an attendant. Thenthe nurse became very busy with sewing, andtwo days went by, and Mr. Parados rapped theboys’ fingers and scolded them and scowled atthem and wondered why they bore it all sopatiently. Then came The Day, and it wasbitterly cold, and as the afternoon got oldersnow began to fall.

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“So much the better,” said the old nurse, “somuch the better.”

It was at dusk that the guard was changed atthe Tower Gate, and a quarter of an hour beforedusk Lord Arden’s carriage stopped at the TowerGate and an old nurse in ruff and cap and redcloak got out of it and lifted out two littlegentlemen, one in black with a cloak trimmedwith squirrel fur, which was Edred, and another,which was Richard, in grey velvet and marten’sfur. And the lieutenant was called, and heread the Queen’s order and nodded kindly toEdred, and they all went in. And as they wentacross the yard to the White Tower, where LordArden’s lodging was, the snow fell thick on theircloaks and furs and froze to the stuff, for it wasbitter cold.

And again, “So much the better,” the nursesaid, “so much the better.”

Elfrida was with Lord Arden, sitting on hisknee, when the visitors came in. She jumpedup and greeted Edred with a glad cry and a veryclose hug.

“Go with Nurse,” he whispered through thehug. “Do exactly what she tells you.”

“But I’ve made a piece of poetry,” Elfridawhispered, “and now you’re here.”

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“Do what you’re told,” whispered Edred in atone she had never heard from him before andso fiercely that she said no more about poetry.“We must get you out of this,” Edred went on.“Don’t be a duffer—think of Lady Nithsdale.”

Then Elfrida understood. Her arms fell fromround Edred’s neck and she ran back to LordArden and put her arms round his neck andkissed him over and over again.

“There, there, my maid, there, there!” he said,patting her shoulder softly, for she was crying.

“Come with me to thy chamber,” said thenurse. “I would take thy measure for a newgown and petticoat.”

But Elfrida clung closer. “She does not wantto leave her dad,” said Lord Arden—“dost thou,my maid?”

“No, no,” said Elfrida quite wildly, “I don’twant to leave my daddy!”

“Come,” said Lord Arden, “’tis but for ameasuring time. Thou’lt come back, sock lambas thou art. Go now to return the morequickly.”

“Goodbye, dear, dear, dear daddy!” saidElfrida, suddenly standing up. “Oh, my deardaddy, goodbye!”

“Why, what a piece of work about a newfrock!” said the nurse crossly. “I’ve no patiencewith the child,” and she caught Elfrida’s handand dragged her into the next room.

“Now,” she whispered, already on her kneesundoing Elfrida’s gown, “not a moment to lose.Hold thy handkerchief to thy face and seemto weep as we go out. Why, thou’rt weepingalready! So much the better!”

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From under her wide hoop and petticoat thenurse drew out the clothes that were hiddenthere, a little suit of black exactly like Edred’s—cap,cloak, stockings, shoes—all like Edred’s toa hair.

And Elfrida before she had finished cryingstood up the exact image of her brother—excepther face—and that would be hidden by thehandkerchief. Then very quickly the nursewent to the door of the apartment and spoketo the guard there.

“Good luck, good gentleman,” she said, “mylittle master is ill—he is too frail to bear thesesad meetings and sadder partings. Convey us, Ipray you, to the outer gate, that I may find ourcoach and take him home, and afterwards Iwill return for my other charge, his noblecousin.”

“Is it so?” said the guard kindly. “Poorchild! Well, such is life, mistress, and we allhave tears to weep.”

But he could not leave his post at LordArden’s door to conduct them to the gates.But he told them the way, and they crossedthe courtyard alone, and as they went the snowfell on their cloaks and froze there.

So that the guard at the gate, who had seenan old nurse and two little boys go in throughthe snow, now saw an old nurse and one littleboy go out, all snow-covered, and the littleboy appeared to be crying bitterly, and nowonder, the nurse explained, seeing his dearfather and sister thus.

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“I will convey him to our coach, goodmasters,” she said to the guard, “and returnfor my other charge, young Master RichardArden.”

And on that she got Elfrida in her boy’sclothes out at the gate and into the waitingcarriage. The coachman, by previous arrangementwith the old nurse, was asleep on thebox, and the footman, also by previous arrangement,was refreshing himself at a tavernnear by.

“Under the seat,” said the old nurse, andthrusting Elfrida in, shut the coach door andleft her. And there was Elfrida, dressed likea boy, huddled up among the straw at thebottom of the coach.

So far, so good. But the most dangerouspart of the adventure still remained. Thenurse got in again easily enough; she was letin by the guard who had seen her come out.And as she went slowly across the snowycourtyard she heard ring under the gatewaythe stamping feet of the men who had cometo relieve guard, and to be themselves the newguard. So far, again, so good. The dangerlay with the guard at the door of Lord Arden’srooms, and in the chance that some of the oldguard might be lingering about the gatewaywhen she came out, not with one little boyas they would expect, but with two. But thishad to be risked. The nurse waited as longas she dared so as to lessen the chance ofmeeting any of the old guard as she went outwith her charges. She waited quietly in acorner while Lord Arden talked with the boys.And when at last she said, “The time is done,my Lord,” she already knew that the guard atthe room door had been changed.

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“So now for it,” said Edred, as he andRichard followed the nurse down the narrowsteps and across the snowy courtyard.

The new guard saw the woman and two boys,and the captain of the guard read the Queen’spaper, which the old nurse had taken care toget back from the lieutenant. And as plainlyMaster Edred Arden and Master Richard Arden,with their attendant, had passed in, so nowthey were permitted to pass out, and twominutes later a great coach was lumberingalong the snowy streets, and inside it fourpeople were embracing in rapture at the successof their stratagem.

“But it was Edred thought of it,” saidRichard, as in honour bound, “and he arrangedeverything and carried it out.”

“How splendid of him!” said Elfrida warmly;and I think it was rather splendid of her notto spoil his pride and pleasure in this, the firstadventure he had ever planned and executedentirely on his own account. She could veryeasily have spoiled it, you know, by pointingout to him that the whole thing was quiteunnecessary, and that they could have got awaymuch more easily by going into a corner in theTower and saying poetry to the Mouldiwarp.

So they came to Arden House.

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The coachman was apparently asleep again,and the footman went round and did somethingto the harness after he had got the front dooropened, and it was quite easy for the nurseto send the footman who opened the door toorder a meal to be served at once for Mr. Ardenand Mr. Richard. So that no one saw thatinstead of the two little boys who had leftArden House in the afternoon three came backto it in the evening.

Then the nurse took them into the parlourand shut the door.

“Now,” she said, “Master Richard will gotake off his fine suit, and Miss Arden will gointo the little room and change her raiment.And for you, Master Edred, you wait herewith me.”

When the others had obediently gone, thenurse stood looking at Edred with eyes thatgrew larger and different, and he stood lookingat her with eyes that grew rounder and rounder.

“Why,” he said at last, “you’re the witch—thewitch we took the tea and things to.”

“And if I am?” said she. “Do you thinkyou’re the only people who can come back intoother times? You’re not all the world yet,Master Arden of Arden. But you’ve got themakings of a fine boy and a fine man, and Ithink you’ve learned something in these oldancient times.”

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He had, there is no doubt of it. Whether itwas being thought important enough to beimprisoned in the Tower, or whether it wasthe long talks he had with Sir Walter Raleigh,that fine genius and great gentleman, orwhether it was Mr. Parados’s knuckle-rappingsand scowlings, I do not know. But it iscertain that this adventure was the beginningof the change in Edred which ended in his being“brave and kind and wise” as the old rhymehad told him to be.

“And now,” said the nurse, as Elfrida appearedin her girl’s clothes, “there is not amoment to lose. Already at the Tower theyhave found out our trick. You must go backto your own times.”

“She’s the witch,” Edred briefly answeredthe open amazement in Elfrida’s eyes.

“There is no time to lose,” the nurse repeated.

“I must be even with old Parados first,” saidEdred; and so he was, and it took exactlytwenty minutes, and I will tell you all aboutit afterwards.

When he was even with old Parados the oldnurse sent Richard to bed; and then Elfridamade haste to say, “I did make some poetryto call the Mouldiwarp, but it’s all about theTower, and we’re not there now. It’s no usesaying—

when we’re not in the Tower, and I can’t thinkof anything else, and . . . .”

But the nurse interrupted her.

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“Never mind about poetry,” she said; “poetry’sall very well for children, but I know a trickworth two of that.”

She led them into the dining-room, where thesideboard stood covered with silver, set downthe candle, lifted down the great salver withthe arms of Arden engraved upon it, and putit on the table.

She breathed on the salver and traced trianglesand a circle on the drilled surface; andas the mistiness of her breath faded and thesilver shone out again undimmed, there,suddenly, in the middle of the salver, was thelive white Mouldiwarp of Arden, looking extremelycross!

“You’ve no manners,” it said to the nurse,“bringing me here in that offhand, rude way,without ‘With your leave,’ or ‘By your leave’!Elfrida could easily have made some poetry.You know well enough,” it added angrily, “thatit’s positively painful to me to be summonedby your triangles and things. Poetry’s so easyand simple.”

“Poetry’s too slow for this night’s work,” saidthe nurse shortly. “Come, take the childrenaway, I have done with it.”

“You make everything so difficult,” said theMouldiwarp, more crossly than ever. “That’sthe worst of people who think they know a lotand really only know a little, and pretend theyknow everything. If I’d come the easy poetryway, I could have taken them back as easily.But now—— Well, it can’t be helped. I’lltake them back, of course, but it’ll be a waythey won’t like. They’ll have to go on to thetop of the roof and jump off.”

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“I don’t believe that is necessary,” said thewitch nurse.

“All right,” said the Mouldiwarp, “get themaway yourself then,” and it actually began todisappear.

“No, no!” said Elfrida, “we’ll do anythingyou say.”

“There’s a foot of snow on the roof,” said thewitch nurse.

“So much the better,” said the Mouldiwarp,“so much the better. You ought to know that.”

“You think yourself very clever,” said thenurse.

“Not half so clever as I am,” said the Mouldiwarp,rather unreasonably Elfrida thought.“There!” it added sharply as a great hammeringat the front door shattered the quiet of thenight. “There, to the roof for your lives! AndI’m not at all sure that it’s not too late.”

The knocking was growing louder and louder.

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CHAPTER X
WHITE WINGS AND A BROWNIE

Perhaps I had better begin this chapter bytelling you exactly how Edred “got even withold Parrot-nose,” as he put it. You will rememberthat Master Parados was the Ardens’tutor in the time of King James I., and thatit was through his eavesdropping and tale-bearingthat Edred and Elfrida were imprisonedin the Tower of London. There was very littletime in which to get even with any one, and,of course, getting even with people is not reallyat all a proper thing to do. Yet Edred did it.

Edred had got Elfrida out of the Towerjust as Lady Nithsdale got her lord out, andnow he and she and Cousin Richard were atArden House, in Soho, and the old nurse, whowas also, astonishingly, the old witch, had saidthat there was no time to be lost.

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“But I must be even with old Parrot-nose,”said Edred. He was feeling awfully braveand splendid inside, because of the way hehad planned and carried out the Nithsdalerescue of Elfrida; and also he felt that hecould not bear to go back to his own timeswithout somehow marking his feelings aboutMr. Parados.

As to how it was to be done. Cousin Richardwas not to have anything to do with it,because while they would be whisked awayby some white road that the Mouldiwarpwould find for them when they called it totheir help by spoken poetry, he would be leftbehind to bear the blame of everything. ThisEdred and Elfrida decided in a quick-whisperedconference, but Cousin Dick wanted to knowwhat they were talking about, and why hewasn’t to help in what he had wanted to dothese four years.

“If we tell you,” said Elfrida, “you won’tbelieve us.”

“You might at least make the trial,” saidCousin Richard.

So they told him, and though they were asquick as possible, the story took some timeto tell. Richard Arden listened intently.When the tale was told he said nothing.

“You don’t believe it,” said Edred; “Iknew you wouldn’t. Well, it doesn’t matter.What can we do to pay out old Parrot-nose?”

“I don’t like it,” said Richard suddenly;“it’s never been like this before. It makesit seem not real. It’s only a dream really, Isuppose. And I always believed so that itwasn’t.”

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“I don’t understand a word you’re saying,”said Edred, “but what we’ve been saying’strue anyhow. Look here.” He darted tothe dark corner of the parlour, where he hadhidden the camera behind a curtain. “Lookhere, I bet you haven’t got anything like this.It comes from our times, ever so far on inhistory—out of the times where we comefrom—the times that haven’t happened yet—atleast now we’re here they haven’t happenedyet. You don’t know what it is. It’s amachine for the sun to make pictures with.”

“Oh, stow that,” said Richard wearily. “Iknow now it’s all a silly dream. But it’snot worth while trying to dream that I don’tknow a Kodak when I see it. That’s aBrownie!”

There was a pause, full of speechless amazement.

Then—“If you’ve dreamed about our times,”said Elfrida, “you might believe in us dreamingabout yours. Did you dream of anythingexcept Brownies? Did you ever dream offine carriages, fine boats, and——”

“Don’t talk as if I were a baby,” Richardinterrupted. “I know all about railways andsteamboats, and the Hippodrome and theCrystal Palace. I know Kent made 615against Derbyshire last Thursday. Now,then——”

“But I say. Do tell us——”

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“I sha’n’t tell you anything more. But I’llhelp you to get even with Parrot-nose. Idon’t care if I am left here after you go,”said Richard. “Let’s shovel all the snow offthe roof into his room, and take our chance.”

Edred and Elfrida would have liked somethingmore subtle, but there was no time tothink of anything.

“I know where there are shovels,” saidRichard, “if they’ve not got mixed up in thedream.”

“I say,” said Edred slowly, “I’d like to writethat down about Kent, and see if it’s rightafterwards.”

There was a quill sticking out of the pewterinkstand on the table where they were usedto do their lessons. But no paper.

“Here, hurry up,” said Cousin Richard, andpulled a paper out of the front of his doublet.“I’ll write it, shall I?”

He wrote, and gave the thing screwed upto Edred, who put it in the front of hisdoublet.

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Then the three went up on to the roof,groped among the snow till they found theedge of the skylight that was the tutor’swindow—for learning was lodged in the atticat Arden House. They broke the thick glasswith the edges of their spades, and shovelledin the thick, white snow—shovelled all theharder for the shouts and angry words thatpresently sounded below them. Then, whenMr. Parados came angrily up on to the roof,shivering and stumbling among the snow,they slipped behind the chimney-stack, andso got back to the trap-door before he did,and shut it and bolted it, and said “A-ha!”underneath it, and went away—locking hisroom door as they passed, and leaving him tostand there on the roof and shout for helpfrom the street below, or else to drop throughhis broken skylight into the heaped snow inhis room. He was quite free, and could dowhichever he chose.

They never knew which he did choose, andyou will never know either.

And then Richard was sent to bed by theold witch-nurse, and went.

And the Mouldiwarp was summoned, andinsisted that the only way back to their owntimes was by jumping off the roof. And, ofcourse, Mr. Parados was on the roof, whichmade all the difference. And the soldiers ofthe guard were knocking at the front doorwith the butts of their pistols.

“But we can’t go on to the roof,” said Edred,and explained about Mr. Parados.

“Humph,” said the Mouldiwarp, “that’sterr’ble unfortunate, that is. Well, the toplanding window will have to do, that’s all.Where’s the other child?”

“Gone to bed,” said the witch-nurse shortly.

“Te-he!” chuckled the Mouldiwarp. “Somepeople’s too clever by half. Think of you nothaving found that out, and you a witch too.Te-he!”

And all the time the soldiers were hammeringaway like mad at the front door.

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Elfrida caught the Mouldiwarp and thenurse caught Edred’s hand, and the fourraced up the stairs to the very top landing,where there was a little window at the veryend. The air was keen and cold. The windowopened difficultly, and when it was opened theair was much colder than before.

“Now, then, out with you—ladies first,” criedthe Mouldiwarp.

“You don’t really mean,” said Elfrida,—“youcan’t mean that we’re to jump out into—intonothing?”

“I mean you’re to jump out right enough,”said the Mouldiwarp. “What you’re to jumpinto’s any pair of shoes—and it’s my look-out,anyway.”

“It’s ours a little too, isn’t it?” said Elfridatimidly, and her teeth were chattering; shealways said afterwards that it was with cold.

“Then get along home your way,” said theMouldiwarp, beginning to vanish.

“Oh, don’t! Don’t go!” Elfrida cried, andthe pounding on the door downstairs got louderand louder.

“If I don’t then you must,” said the Mouldiwarptestily. But it stopped vanishing.

“Put me down,” it said. “Put me down andjump, for goodness’ sake!”

She put it down.

Suddenly the nurse caught Elfrida in herarms and kissed her many times.

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“Farewell, my honey love,” she said. “Allpartings are not for ever, else I could scarcelet thee go. Now, climb up; set thy foothere on the beam, now thy knee on the sill.So—jump!”

Elfrida crouched on the window-ledge, wherethe snow lay thick and crisp. It was very,very cold. Have you ever had to jump outof a top-floor window into the dark when itwas snowing heavily? If so, you will rememberhow much courage it needed. Elfridaset her teeth, looking down into black nothingdotted with snowflakes. Then she looked backinto a black passage, lighted only by the rush-lightthe nurse carried.

“Edred’ll be all right?” she asked. “You’resure he’ll jump all right?”

“Of course I shall,” said Edred, in his newvoice. “Here, let me go first, to show youI’m not a coward.”

Of course, Elfrida instantly jumped. Andnext moment Edred jumped too.

It was a horrible moment because, howevermuch you trusted the Mouldiwarp, you couldnot in an instant forget what you had beentaught all your life—that if you jumped outof top-floor windows you would certainly besmashed to pieces on the stones below. Toremember this and, remembering it, to jumpclear, is a very brave deed. And brave deeds,sooner or later, have their reward.

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The brave deed of Edred and Elfrida receivedits reward sooner. As Elfrida jumped shesaw the snowflakes gather and thicken intoa cloud beneath her. The cloud was not thesort that lets you through, either. It was solidand soft as piled eiderdown feathers; she knewthis as it rose up and caught her, or as she fellon it—she never knew which. Next momentEdred was beside her, and the white, downysoftness was shaping itself round and underthem into the form of a seat—a back, arms,and place for the feet to rest.

“It’s—what’s that in your hand?” Elfridaasked.

“Reins,” said Edred, with certainty. “Whitereins. It’s a carriage.”

It was—a carriage made of white snowflakes—thesnowflakes that were warm and soft asfeathers. There were white, soft carriage-rugsthat curled round and tucked themselves inentirely of their own accord. The reins wereof snowflakes, joined together by some magicweaving, and warm and soft as white velvet.And the horses!

“There aren’t any horses; they’re swans—whiteswans!” cried Elfrida, and the voice ofthe Mouldiwarp, behind and above, cried softly,“All white things obey me.”

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Edred knew how to drive. And now hecould not resist the temptation to drive thesix white swans round to the front of thehouse and to swoop down, passing just overthe heads of the soldiers of the guard whowere still earnestly pounding at the door ofArden House, and yelled to them, “Ha, ha!Sold again!” Which seemed to startle themvery much. Then he wheeled the swans roundand drove quickly through the air along theway which he knew quite well, without beingtold, to be the right way. And as the snow-carriagewheeled, both Edred and Elfrida had astrange, sudden vision of another smaller snow-carriage,drawn by two swans only, that circledabove theirs and vanished in the deep darkof the sky, giving them an odd, tantalisingglimpse of a face they knew and yet couldn’tremember distinctly enough to give a name tothe owner of it.

Then the swans spread their white, mightywings to the air, and strained with their long,strong necks against their collars, and thesnow equipage streamed out of London likea slender white scarf driven along in thewind. And London was left behind, and thesnowstorm, and soon the dark blue of thesky was over them, jewelled with the quietsilver of watchful stars, and the deeper darkof the Kentish county lay below, jewelledwith the quiet gold from the windows offarms already half-asleep, and the air thatrushed past their faces as they went was nolonger cold, but soft as June air is, andElfrida always declared afterwards that shecould smell white lilies all the way.

So across the darkened counties they went,and the ride was more wonderful than anyride they had ever had before or would everhave again.

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All too soon the swans hung, poised onlong, level wings, outside the window of atower in Arden Castle—a tower they did notknow.

But though they did not know the tower, itwas quite plain that they were meant to getin at the window of it.

“Dear swans,” said Elfrida, who had beenthinking as she sat clutching her Brownie, “can’twe stay in your carriage till it’s light? We doso want to take a photograph of the castle.”

The swans shook their white, flat, snake-likeheads, just as though they understood. Andthere was the open window, evidently waitingto welcome the children.

So they got out—very much against theirwills. And there they were in the dark roomof the tower, and it was very cold.

But before they had time to begin to understandhow cold it was, and how uncomfortablethey were likely to be for the rest of the night,six swan’s heads appeared at the window andsaid something.

“Oh,” said Elfrida, “I do wish we’d learnedSwanish instead of French at school!”

But it did not matter. The next momentthe swans’ heads ducked and reappeared,holding in their beaks the soft, fluffy, whiterugs that had kept the children so warm inthe snow-carriage. The swans pushed the rugsthrough the window with their strong, whitewings, and made some more remarks in swanlanguage.

“Oh, thank you!” said the children. “Goodbye,goodbye.”

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Then there was the rush of wide-going wings,and the children, tired out, cuddled on the floor,wrapped in the soft rugs.

The happiest kind of dreams were tucked upin that coverlet, and it seemed hardly anytime at all before the children woke to findthe winter sunshine looking in at themthrough the narrow windows of the tower.

Elfrida jumped up and threw off the silver-white,downy-soft coverlet. It instantly toreitself into five pieces of different shapes andsizes, and these screwed themselves up, anddrew themselves in, and blew themselves out,and turned before her very eyes into a silverbasin of warm water, a piece of lily-scentedsoap, a towel, a silver comb, and an ivorytooth-brush.

“Well!” said Elfrida. When she had finishedher simple toilet, the basin, soap, towel, tooth-brush,and comb ran together like globules ofquicksilver, made a curious tousled lump ofthemselves, and straightened out into the fluffycoverlet again.

“Well!” said Elfrida, again. Then she wokeEdred, and his coverlet played the same cleverand pretty trick for him.

And when the children started to go downwith the Brownie and take the photographsof the castle, the shining coverlets jumpedup into two white furry coats, such as thevery affluent might wear when they wenta-motoring—if the very affluent ever thoughtof anything so pretty. And one of the coatscame politely to the side of each child, holdingout its arms as if it were saying—

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“Do, please, oblige me by putting me on.”

Which, of course, both the children did.

They crept down the corkscrew stairs, andthrough a heavy door that opened under thearch of the great gateway. The great gatewas open, and on the step of the door oppositeto the one by which they had come out a soldiersat. He held his helmet between his knees,and was scouring it with sand and whistlingas he scoured. He touched his forehead withhis sandy hand, but did not get up.

“You’re early afield,” he said, and went onrubbing the sand on the helmet.

“It’s such a pretty day,” said Elfrida. “Maywe go out?”

“And welcome,” said the man simply; “butgo not beyond the twelve acre, for fear of roughfolk and Egyptians. And go not far. But breakfastwill have a strong voice to call you back.”

They went out, and instead of steppingstraight on to the turf of the downs, theirstout shoes struck echoing notes from thewooden planks of a bridge.

“It’s a drawbridge,” said Edred, in tones ofawe; “and there’s a moat, look—and it’scovered with cat-ice at the edges.”

There was, and it was. And at the moat’sfar edge, their feet fast in the cat-ice, werereeds and sedge—brown and yellow and dried,that rustled and whispered as a wild duck flewout of them.

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“How lovely!” said Elfrida. “I do wishArden had a moat now.”

“If we found out where the water comesfrom,” said Edred practically, “we might getthe moat back when we’d found the treasure.”

So when they had crossed the moat, andfelt the frozen dew crackle under their feetas they trod the grass, they set out, beforephotographing the castle, to find out wherethe moat water came from.

The moat, they found, was fed by a streamthat came across the field from Arden Knolland entered the moat at the north-east corner,leaving it at the corner that was in the south-west.They followed the stream, and it wasnot till they had got quite into the middle ofthe field, and well away from the castle, thatthey saw how very beautiful the castle reallywas. It was quite perfect—no crumbled arches,no broken pillars, no shattered, battered walls.

“Oh,” said Edred, “how beautiful it is! Howglad I am that we’ve got a castle like this!”

“Our castle isn’t like this,” said Elfrida.

“No; but it shall be, when we’ve found thetreasure. You’ve got the two film rolls allright?”

“Yes,” said Elfrida, who had got them ina great unwieldy pocket that was hangingand banging against her legs under the fullskirt. “Oh, look! Where’s the river? Itstops short!”

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It certainly seemed to. They were walkingbeside it, and it ran swiftly—looking like asteel-grey ribbon on the green cloth of the field—andhalf-way across the field it did stop short;there wasn’t any more of it—as though theribbon had been snipped off by a giant pair ofscissors, and the rest of it rolled up and put bysafely somewhere out of the way.

“My hat!” said Edred; “it does stop short;and no mistake.” Curiosity pricked him, andhe started running. They both ran. They ranto the spot where the giant scissors seemed tohave snipped off the stream, and when theygot there they found that the stream seemedto have got tired of running aboveground, andwithout any warning at all, any sloping of itsbed, or any deepening of its banks, plungedstraight down into the earth through a holenot eight feet across.

They stood fascinated, watching the wateras it shot over the edge of the hole, like a steelband on a driving-wheel, smooth and shining,and moving so swiftly that it hardly seemedto move at all. It was Edred who rousedhimself to say, “I could watch it for ever.But we’ll have it back; we’ll have it back.Come along; let’s go and see where it comesfrom.”

“Let’s photograph this place first,” saidElfrida, “so as to know, you know.” Andthe Brownie clicked twice.

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Then they retraced their steps beside thestream and round two sides of the moatand across the field to Arden Knoll, andthere—oh, wonderful to see!—the streamcame straight out of the Knoll at the partwhere it joined on to the rest of the world—cameout under a rough, low arch of stonethat lay close against the very lip of thewater.

“So that’s where it came from and that’swhere it goes to,” said Elfrida. “I wonderwhat became of it, and why it isn’t at Ardennow?”

“We’ll bring it back,” said Edred firmly,—“whenwe find the treasure.”

And again the Brownie clicked.

“And we’ll make the castle like it is now,”said Elfrida. “Come on; let’s photograph it.”

So they went back, and they photographedthe castle. They photographed it from thenorth and the south and the east and the west,and the north-east and the south-east, andthe north-north-west—and all the rest of thepoints of the compass that I could easily tellyou if I liked; but why be wearisome andinstructive?

And they went back across the hollow-echoingdrawbridge, and past the soldier, who had nowpolished his helmet to his complete satisfactionand was wearing it.

There was a brief and ardent conferenceon the drawbridge; the subject of it, breakfast.Edred wanted to stay; he was curious to seewhat sort of breakfast people had in thecountry in James the First’s time, Elfridawanted to get back to 1908, and the certaintyof eggs and bacon.

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“If we stay here we shall only be draggedinto some new adventure,” she urged, “I knowwe shall. I never in my life knew such a placeas history for adventures to happen in. AndI’m tired, besides. Oh, Edred, do come along!”

“I believe it’s ducks,” said Edred, and hesniffed questioningly; “it smells like onionstuffing.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” said Elfrida; “that’sfor dinner, most likely. I expect breakfastfor us would be bread and water. You’d findwe’d done something wrong, as likely as not.Oh, come along, do, before we get punishedfor it. Besides, don’t you want to knowwhether what Cousin Richard said aboutthe cricket was right?”

“Well, yes,” said Edred, “and we can alwayscome back here, can’t we?”

“Of course we can,” Elfrida said eagerly.“Oh, come on.”

So they climbed up to the twisty-twiny, corkscrewstaircase, and found the door of theroom where they had slept under the wonderfulwhite coverlets that now were coats. Thenthey stood still and looked at each other,with a sudden shock.

“How are we to get back?” was the unspokenquestion that trembled on each lip.

The magic white coats cuddled close roundtheir necks. There was, somehow, comfort andconfidence in the soft, friendly touch of thatmagic fur. When you are wearing that sortof coat, it is quite impossible to feel that everythingwill not come perfectly right the momentyou really, earnestly, and thoroughly wishthat it should come right.

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“Our clothes,” said Elfrida.

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Edred, “I wasforgetting.”

“You may as well go on forgetting,” said hissister, “because the clothes aren’t here.They’re the other side of that twisty-twiny,inside-out, upside-down shakiness that turnedthe attic into the tower. I suppose the towerwould turn back into the attic if we couldonly start that shaky upside-downness going—wrongway before, you know.”

“I suppose it would,” said Edred, stopping-short,with his fingers between the buttons ofhis doublet. “Hallo! What’s this?”

He pulled out a folded paper.

“It’s the thing about cricket that CousinRichard gave you. Don’t bother about thatnow. I want to get back. I suppose we oughtto make some poetry.”

But Edred pulled out the paper and unfoldedit.

“It might vanish, you know,” he said, “orget stuck here, and when we got home weshould find it gone when we came to look forit. Let’s just see what he says Kent didmake.”

He straightened out the paper, looked at it,looked again, and held it out with a suddenarm’s-length gesture.

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“Look at that,” he said. “If that’s true,Richard has dreamed our times, and no mistake.And, what’s more, he’s brought things backhere out of our times.”

Elfrida took the paper and looked at it, andher mouth dropped open. “If it’s true?” saidshe. “But it must be true!” The paper almostfell from her hand, for it was a bill fromGamage’s for three ships’ guns, a compass, anda half-dozen flags—and the bill was made outto Mr. R. D. Arden, 117, Laurie Grove, NewCross, London, S.E. On the other side was thepencilled record of the runs made by Kent theprevious Thursday.

“I say,” said Elfrida, and was going on tosay I don’t know what clever and interestingthings, when she felt the fur coat creep andwriggle all through its soft length, and alongits soft width, and no wriggle that ever waswriggled expressed so completely “Danger!danger! danger! You’d better get off whileyou can—while you can.” A quite violentruffling of the fur round the neck of her coatsaid, as plain as it could speak, “Don’t stop tojaw. Go now—now—now!”

When you say a lady is a “true daughter ofEve” you mean that she is inquisitive. Elfridawas enough Eve’s daughter to scurry to thewindow and look out.

A thrill ran right down her backbone andended in an empty feeling at the ends of herfingers and feet.

“Soldiers!” she cried, “And they’re afterus—I know they are.”

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The fur coat knew it too, if knowledge canbe expressed by wriggling.

“Oh, and they’re pulling up the drawbridge!What for?” said Edred, who had come to thewindow too. “And, I say, doesn’t the portcullislook guillotinish when it comes down likethat?”

Through the window one looked straightdown on to the drawbridge, and as the towerstuck out beyond the gate, its side window gavean excellent view of the slowly descendingportcullis.

“I say,” said Elfrida, “my fluffy coat says‘Go!’ Doesn’t yours?”

“It would if I’d listen to it,” said Edredcarelessly.

The soldiers were quite near now—so nearthat Elfrida could see how fierce they looked.And she knew that they were the same soldierswho had hammered so loud and so hard atthe door of Arden House, in Soho. They musthave ridden all night. So she screwed her mindup to make poetry, just as you screw yourmuscles up to jump a gate or run a hundredyards. And almost before she knew that shewas screwing it up at all the screw had actedand she had screwed out a piece of Mouldiwarppoetry and was saying it aloud—

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And the moment she had said it, the whitemagic coats grew up and grew down andwrapped the children up as tight and as softas ever a silkworm wrapped itself when it wastired of being a silkworm and entered into itscocoon, as the first step towards being a personwith wings.

Can you imagine what it would be like tohave lovely liquid sleep emptied on you by thewarm tubful? That is what it felt like insidethe white, wonderful cocoons. The childrenknew that the tower was turning wrong wayup and inside out, but it didn’t matter a bit.Sleep was raining down on them in magicshowers—no; it was closing on them, closer andcloser, nearer and nearer, soft, delicious layersof warm delight. A soft, humming sound wasin their ears, like the sound of bees when youpush through a bed of Canterbury bells, and thenext thing that happened was that they cameout of the past into the present with a sortof snap of light and a twist of sound. It waslike coming out of a railway tunnel into daylight.

The magic coverlet-coat-cocoons had evensaved them the trouble of changing into theirown clothes, for they found that the stiff, heavyclothes had gone, and they were dressed inthe little ordinary things that they had alwaysbeen used to.

“And now,” said Elfrida, “let’s have anotherlook at that Gamage paper, if it hasn’t disappeared.I expect it has though.”

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But it hadn’t.

“I should like to meet Dick again,” saidEdred, as they went downstairs. “He wasmuch the jolliest boy I ever met.”

“Perhaps we shall,” Elfrida said hopefully.“You see he does come into our times. I expectthat New Cross time he stayed quite a longwhile, like we did when we went to GunpowderPlot times. Or we might go back there, a littlelater, when the Gunpowder Plot has all diedaway and been forgotten.”

“It isn’t forgotten yet,” said Edred, “and it’sthree hundred years ago. Now let’s develop ourfilms; I’m not at all sure about those films.You see, we took the films with us, and ofcourse we’ve brought them back, but the picturethat’s on the films—we didn’t take that with us.I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if the films areall blank.”

“It’s very, very clever of you to think of it,”said Elfrida respectfully; “but I do hope it’s aperfectly silly idea of yours. Let’s ask Mrs.Honeysett if we may use the old room she saidused to be the still-room to develop them in.It’ll be a ripping dark-room when the shuttersare up.”

“Course you may,” said Mrs. Honeysett.“Yes; an’ I’ll carry you in a couple of pailsof water. The floor’s stone; so it won’t matterif you do slop a bit. You pump, my lord, andI’ll hold the pails.”

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“Why was that part of the house let to go alldirty and cobwebby?” asked Elfrida, when thehoarse voice of the pump had ceased to beheard.

“It’s always been so,” said Mrs. Honeysett.“I couldn’t take upon me to clear up withoutMiss Edith’s orders. Not but what my fingersitch to be at it with a broom and a scrubbingbrush.”

“But why?” Elfrida persisted.

“Oh, it’s one of them old, ancient tales,” saidMrs. Honeysett. “Old Beale could tell you, ifany one could.”

“We’ll go down to old Beale’s,” said Edreddecidedly, “as soon as we’ve developed ourpictures of the castle—if there are any pictures,”he added.

“You never can tell with them photo-machines,can you?” said Mrs. Honeysettsympathetically. “My husband’s cousin’s wifewas took, with all her family, by her own backdoor, and when they come to wash out thepicture it turned out they’d took the nextdoor people’s water-butt by mistake, owing totheir billy-goat jogging the young man’s elbowthat had got the camera. And it wasn’t a bitlike any of them.”

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CHAPTER XI
DEVELOPMENTS

“Come on,” said Edred, “you measure out thehypo and put the four pie-dishes ready. I’ll getthe water.”

He got it, with Mrs. Honeysett’s help—twobrimming pails full.

“You mustn’t come in for anything, will you,Mrs. Honeysett?” he earnestly urged. “Yousee, if the door’s open ever so little, all thephotographs will be done for.”

“Law, love a duck!” said Mrs. Honeysett,holding her fat waist with her fat hands. “Ishan’t come in; I ain’t got nothing to come infor.”

“We’ll bolt the door, all the same,” said Edred,when she was gone, “in case she was to think ofsomething.”

He shot the great wooden bolt.

“Now it’ll be quite dark,” he said.

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And, of course, it wasn’t. You know theaggravating way rooms have of pretending tobe quite dark until you want them to be dark—andthen—by no means! This room didn’t evenpretend to be dark, to begin with. Its shuttershad two heart-shaped holes, high up, throughwhich the light showed quite dazzlingly. Edredhad to climb up on to the window-seat and stuffup the holes very tight with crushed newspaper,to get which he had to unbolt the door.

“There,” he said, as he pulled and patted thenewspaper till it really and darkly filled theheart-shaped holes, “now it will be quite dark.”

And again it wasn’t! Long, dusty rays oflight came through the cracks where the hingesof the shutters were. Newspapers were no goodfor them. The door had to be unbolted andMrs. Honeysett found. She was sitting in alittle low chair at the back door plucking awhite chicken. The sight of the little whitefeathers floating fluffing about brought wonderfulmemories to Edred. But he only said—

“I say, you haven’t any old curtains, haveyou? Thick ones—or thin, if they were red.”

Mrs. Honeysett laid the chicken down amonghis white feathers and went to a chest of drawersthat stood in the kitchen.

“Here you are,” she said, handing out two oldred velvet curtains, with which he disappeared.But he was back again quite quickly.

“You haven’t got a hammer, I suppose?”said he.

The dresser-drawer yielded a hammer, andEdred took it away, to return almost at oncewith—

“I suppose there aren’t any tacks——?”

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“I suppose,” said Mrs. Honeysett, laughing,“there ain’t much sense locking that still-roomdoor on the inside when it ain’t me that keepsall a-popping in, but you that keeps all a-poppingout.”

However, she gave him the tacks—rusty ones,in a damp screw of paper.

When he had hammered his fingers a gooddeal and the tacks a little the tacks consentedto hold up the curtain, or the curtain condescendedto be held up by the tacks.

“And now,” said Edred, shutting the door,“it really is——”

Dark, he meant. But of course it wasn’t.There was a gap under the door so wide, asElfrida said, that you could have almost crawledthrough it. That meant another appeal to Mrs.Honeysett for another curtain, and this timeMrs. Honeysett told him to go along with himfor a little worrit, and threw a handful of downysoft white feathers at him. But she laughed,too, and gave him the curtain.

At last it really was dark, and then they hadto unbolt the door again, because Elfrida hadforgotten where she had put the matches.

You will readily understand that, after allthis preparation, the children were at the lastpoint of impatience, and everything seemed togo slowly. The lamp with the red shade burnedup presently, and then the four pie-dishes werefilled with water that looked pink in thatstrange light.

“One good thing,” said Edred, “the hypo hashad time to melt.”

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And now there was careful snipping, and longribbons of black paper curled unheeded roundthe legs of the operators.

“I wish we were born photographers like theman who took Aunt Edith and you on the beachwith the donkey,” said Edred nervously, as hebegan to pass the film in and out of the waterin pie-dish Number One.

“Oh, be sure there are no air-bubbles!” saidElfrida; “you might let me do some of it.”

“You shall do the next one,” said Edred,almost holding his breath.

Dear reader, do you recall the agitatingmoment when you pass the film through thehypo—and hold it up to the light—and nothinghappens? Do you remember the painful wonderwhether you may have forgotten to set theshutter? Or whether you have got hold of anunexposed film by mistake? Your breath comeswith difficulty, your fingers feel awkward, andthe film is unnaturally slippery. You dip itinto the hypo-bath again, and draw it throughand through with the calmness of despair.

“I don’t believe it’s coming out at all,” yousay.

And then comes the glorious moment whenyou hold it up again to the red light andmurmur rapturously, “Ah! it is beginning toshow!”

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If you will kindly remember all the emotionsof those exciting moments—on an occasion, letus say, when you had not had your camera verylong—then multiply by seven million, add x—anunknown quantity of an emotion quite differentfrom anything you have ever felt—and you willhave some idea of what Edred and Elfrida feltwhen the first faint, grey, formless patchesbegan to appear on the film.

But you might multiply till you had used upthe multiplication table, and add x’s as long asyou could afford them, and yet never imaginethe rapture with which the two children sawthe perfect development of the six little perfectpictures. For they were perfect. They wereperfect pictures of Arden Castle at a time whenit, too, was perfect. No broken arches, nocrumbling wall, but every part neat and clear-cutas they had seen it when they went into thepast that was three hundred years ago.

They were equally fortunate with the secondfilm. It, too, had its six faultless pictures ofArden Castle three hundred years ago. Andthe last film developed just as finely. Only,just before the moment which was the rightmoment for taking the film out of the hypo-bathand beginning to wash it, a tiny whitefeather fell out of Edred’s hair into the dish.It was so tiny that in that dim light he did notnotice it. And it did not stick to the film ordo any of those things which you might havefeared if you had seen the little, white thingflutter down. It may have been the feather’sdoing; I don’t know. I just tell you the thingas it happened.

Of course, you know that films have to bepinned up to dry.

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Well, the first film was pinned on the right-handpanel of the door and the second film waspinned on the left-hand panel of the door. Andwhen it came to the third, the one that hadhad the little white feather dropped near it,there was nothing wooden left to pin it to—forthe walls were of stone—nothing woodenexcept the shutters. And it was pinned acrossthese.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Edred, “because weneedn’t open the shutters till it’s dry.”

And with that he stuck in four pins at its fourcorners, and turned to blow out the lamp andunbolt the door. He meant to do this, but thedoor, as a matter of fact, wasn’t bolted at all,because Edred had forgotten to do it when hecame back with the dusters, so he couldn’t haveunbolted it anyway.

But he could blow out the red-sided lamp;and he did.

And then the wonderful thing happened. Ofcourse the room ought to have been quite dark.I’m sure enough trouble had been taken to makeit so. But it wasn’t. The window, the windowwhere the shutters were—the shutters that thefilm was pinned on—the film on which thelittle white feather had fallen—the little whitefeather that had settled on Edred’s hair whenMrs. Honeysett was plucking that chicken atthe back door—that window now showed as abroad oblong of light. And in that broadoblong was a sort of shining, a faint sparklingmovement, like the movement of the light onthe sheet of a cinematograph before the picturesbegin to show.

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“Oh!” said Elfrida, catching at Edred’s hand.What she did catch was his hair. She felt herway down his arm, and so caught what shehad meant to catch, and held it fast.

“It’s more magic,” said Edred ungratefully.“I do wish——”

“Oh, hush!” said Elfrida; “look—oh, look!”

The light—broad, oblong—suddenly changedfrom mere light to figures, to movement. Itwas a living picture—rather like a cinematograph,but much more like something else.The something else that it was more like waslife.

It seemed as though the window had beenopened—as though they could see through itinto the world of light and sunshine and bluesky—the world where things happen.

There was the castle, and there were peoplegoing across the drawbridge—men with sackson their backs. And a man with a silver chainround his neck and a tall stick in his hand, wasstanding under the great gateway telling themwhere to take the sacks. And a cart drove up,with casks, and they were rolled across thedrawbridge and under the tall arch of the gate-tower.The men were dressed. Then somethingblinked, and the scene changed. It was indoorsnow—a long room with many pictures on oneside of it and many windows on the other; alady, in a large white collar and beautiful longcurls, very like Aunt Edith, was laying finedresses in a chest. A gentleman, also with longhair, and with a good deal of lace about his collarand cuffs, was putting jugs and plates of goldand silver into another chest; and servants keptbringing more golden grand things, and moreand more.

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Edred and Elfrida did not say a word. Theycouldn’t. What they were looking at was fartoo thrilling. But in each heart the same wordswere uttered—

“That’s the treasure!” And each mind heldthe same thought.

“If it only goes on till the treasure’s hidden,we shall see where they put it, and then we cango and find it.”

I think myself that the white Mouldiwarpwas anxious to help a little. I believe it hadarranged the whole of this exhibition so thatthe children might get an idea of the whereaboutsof the treasure, and so cease to call onit at all hours of the day and night with the sortof poetry which even a mole must see not tobe so very good. However this may be, it wasa wonderful show. One seemed to see thingsbetter somehow like that, through the windowthat looked into the past, than one did who wasreally in the past taking an active part in whatwas going on.

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There appeared, at any rate, to be no doubtthat this really was the treasure, and stillless that it was a treasure both plentiful andpicturesque. Quickly and more quickly thebeautiful rich things were being packed intothe chests. More and more pale looked thelady; more and more anxious the gentleman.

The lady was taking from her waiting-womanlittle boxes and bundles with which the woman’sapron was filled, and the chest before which shewas kneeling was nearly full when the doorat the end of the gallery opened suddenly, andElfrida and Edred, in the dark in the still-room,were confronted with the spectacle of themselvescoming down the long picture-gallerytowards that group of chests and treasure, andhurried human people. They saw themselvesin blue silk and lace and black velvet, and theysaw on their own faces fear and love, and thewonder what was to happen next. They sawthemselves embraced by the grown-ups, whowere quite plainly father and mother—they sawthemselves speak, and the grown-ups reply.

“I’d give all my pocket-money for a yearto hear what they’re saying,” Edred toldhimself.

“That daddy’s just like my daddy,” Elfridawas telling herself; “and just like the daddyin the Tower that was so like my own daddy.”

Then the children in the picture kneeled down,and the daddy in the picture laid his hands ontheir heads, and the children out of the picturebent their own heads there in the dark still-room,for they knew what was happening inthe picture. Elfrida even half held out herarms; but it was no good.

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Again the scene changed. A chest was beingcarried by four men, who strained and staggeredunder its weight. They were carrying it alonga vaulted passage by ropes that passed underthe chest and over their shoulders. Every nowand then they set it down and stretched, andwiped their faces. And the picture kept onchanging so that the children seemed to begoing with the men down a flight of stairs intoa spacious hall full of men, all talking, and verybusy with armour and big boots, and thenacross the courtyard, full of more men, verybusy too, polishing axes and things that lookedlike spears, cleaning muskets and fitting newflints to pistols and sharpening swords on a biggrindstone. Edred would have loved to stayand watch them do these things, but they andtheir work were gone quite quickly, and thechest and the men who carried it were goingunder an archway. Here one of the menwanted to rest again, but the others said it wasnot worth while—they were almost there. Itwas quite plain that they said this, though nosound could be heard.

“Now we shall really know,” said Edred tohimself. Elfrida squeezed his hand. That wasjust what she was thinking, too.

The men stopped at a door, knocked, knockedagain, and yet once more. And, curiouslyenough, the children in the still-room could hearthe sound of the knocking quite plainly, thoughthey had heard nothing else.

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The men looked at each other across thechest that they had set down. Then one manset his shoulder to the door. There was ascrunching sound and the picture disappeared—wentout; and there were the shutters withthe film pinned across them, and behind themthe door, open, and Mrs. Honeysett telling themthat dinner—which was roast rabbit and aboiled hand of pork—would be cold if theydidn’t make haste and come along.

“Oh, Mrs. Honeysett,” said Elfrida, with deepfeeling, “you are too bad—you really are!”

“I hope I’ve not spoiled the photos,” saidMrs. Honeysett; “but I did knock three times,and you was that quiet I was afraid somethinghad happened to you—poisoned yourselves withoutthinking, or something of that.”

“It’s too bad,” said Edred bitterly; “it’smuch too bad. I don’t want any dinner; Idon’t want anything. Everything’s spoiled.”

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Honeysett patiently, “Imight ha’ gone on knocking longer, only Ithought the door was bolted—you did so keepon a-bolting of it at the beginning, didn’t you?So I just got hold of the handle to try, and itcome open in my hand. Come along, lovey;don’t bear malice now. I didn’t go for to do it.An’ I’ll get you some more of whatever it isthat’s spoiled, and you can take some morephotos to-morrow.”

“You might have known we were all right,”said Edred, still furious; but both thought itonly fair to say, “It wasn’t the photographsthat were spoiled”—and they said it at thesame moment.

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“Then what was it?” said Mrs. Honeysett.“And do come along, for goodness’ sake, andeat your dinner while it’s hot.”

“It was—it was a different sort of picture,”said Elfrida, with a gulp, “and it was a pity.”

“Never mind, love,” said Mrs. Honeysett, whowas as kind as a grandmother, and I can’t saymore than that; “there’s a lovely surprisecoming by and by for good little gells andboys, and the rabbit’ll be stone cold if youdon’t make haste—leastways, it would havebeen if I hadn’t thought to pop it in the ovenwhen I came to call you, knowing full wellwhat your hands would be like after all thatmessing about with poison in dishes; and if Iwas your aunt I’d forbid it downright. Andnow come along and wash your hands, anddon’t let’s have any more nonsense about it.Do you hear?”

I daresay you notice that Mrs. Honeysett wasquite cross at the end of this speech and quitecoaxing and kind at the beginning. She hadjust talked herself into being cross. It’s quiteeasy. I daresay you have often done it.

It was a silent dinner—the first silent mealsince the children had come to Arden Castle.You can judge of Edred’s feelings when I tellyou that he felt as though the rabbit wouldchoke him, and refused a second helping ofgooseberry pie with heartfelt sincerity. Elfridadid not eat so much as usual either. It reallywas a bitter disappointment. To have been sonear seeing where the treasure was, and then—justbecause they hadn’t happened to boltthe door that last time—all was in vain. Mrs.Honeysett thought they were sulking about asilly trifle, and nearly said so when Edredrefused the pie.

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It was at the end of dinner that Elfrida, asshe got down from her chair, saw Mrs. Honeysett’sface, and saw how different it looked fromthe kind face that she usually wore. She wentover to her very slowly, and very quickly threwher arms round her and kissed her.

“I’m sorry we’ve been so piggy,” she said.“It’s not your fault that you’re not cleverenough to know about pictures and things, isit?”

If Mrs. Honeysett hadn’t been a perfect dear,this apology would have been worse than none.But she was a perfect dear, so she laughed andhugged Elfrida, and somehow Edred got caughtinto the hug and the laugh, and the three werefriends again. The sky was blue and the sunbegan to shine.

And then the two children went down to oldBeale’s.

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There were roses in his garden now, andwhite English flags and lupins and tall foxglovesbordering the little brick path. OldBeale was sitting “on a brown Windsor chair,”as Edred said, in the sun by his front door.Over his head was a jackdaw in a wicker cage,and Elfrida did not approve of this till she sawthe cage door was open, and that the jackdawwas sitting in the cage because he liked it, andnot because he must. She had been in prisonin the Tower, you remember, and people whohave been in prison never like to see live thingsin cages. There was a tabby and white cat ofsquarish shape sitting on the wooden threshold.(Why are cats who live in country cottagesalmost always tabby and white and squarish?)The feathery tail of a brown spaniel flogged theflags lazily in the patch of shade made by thewater-butt. It was a picture of rural peace,and old Beale was asleep in the middle of it. Iam glad to tell you that Lord Arden and hissister were polite enough to wait till he awokeof his own accord, instead of shouting “hi!”or rattling the smooth brown iron latch of thegate, as some children would have done.

They just sat down on the dry, grassy bank,opposite his gate, and looked at the blue andwhite butterflies and the flowers and the greenpotato-tops through the green-grey gardenpalings.

And while they sat there Elfrida had an idea—sosudden and so good that it made her jump.But she said nothing, and Edred said—

“Pinch the place hard, and if it’s still thereyou’ll kill it perhaps”—for he thought shehad jumped because she had been bitten byan ant.

When they had finished looking at the butterfliesand the red roses and the green-growingthings, they looked long and steadily at oldBeale, and, of course, he awoke, as peoplealways do if you look at them long enoughand hard enough. And he got up, rathershaking, and put his hand to his forehead,and said—

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“My lord——”

“How are you?” said Elfrida. “We haven’tfound the treasure yet.”

“But ye will, ye will,” said old Beale. “Comeinto the house now; or will ye come roundalong to the arbour and have a drink of milk?”

“We’d as soon stay here,” said Edred—theyhad come through the gate now, and Edred waspatting the brown spaniel, while Elfrida strokedthe squarish cat. “Mrs. Honeysett said youknew all the stories.”

“Ah,” said old Beale, “a fine girl, Mrs. Honeysett.Her father had Sellinge Farm, where thefairies churn the butter for the bride so long asthere’s no cross words. They don’t ever get toomuch to do, them fairies.” He chuckled, sighed,and said—

“I know a power of tales. And I know,always I do, which it is that people want.What you’re after’s the story of the East House.Isn’t it now? Is the old man a-failing of hiswits, or isn’t he?”

“We want to know,” said Edred, companionablysharing the flagstone with the feather-tailedspaniel, “the story about why that partof the house in the castle is shut up and allcobwebby and dusty and rusty and musty, andwhether there’s any reason why it shouldn’t beall cleaned up and made nice again, if we findthe treasure so that we’ve got enough money topay for new curtains and carpets and things?”

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“It’s a sad tale, that,” said old Beale, “a talefor old folks—or middle-aged folks, let’s say—notfor children. You’d never understand it ifI was to tell it you, likely as not.”

“We like grown-up stories,” said Elfrida, withdignity; and Edred added—

“We can understand anything that grown-upsunderstand if it’s told us properly. I understandall about the laws of gravitation, and why thesun doesn’t go round the earth but does theopposite; I understood that directly Aunt Edithexplained it, and about fixed stars, and thespectroscope, and microbes, and the Equator notbeing real, and—and heaps of things.”

“Ah,” said old Beale admiringly, “you’ll bea-busting with book-larnin’ afore you come toyour twenty-one, I lay. I only hope the half ofit’s true and they’re not deceiving of you, atrusting innocent. I never did hold myself withthat about the sun not moving. Why, you cansee it a-doin’ of it with your own naked eyesany day of the week.”

“You wouldn’t deceive any one,” said Elfridagently. “Do tell us the story.”

So old Beale began, and he began like this—

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“It was a long time ago—before my timeeven, it was, but not so long afore, ’cause I canrecomember my father talking about it. Hewas coachman at the castle when it all happened,so, of course, he knew everything there was toknow, my mother having been the housekeeperand gone through it all with the family. Therewas a Miss Elfrida then, same as there is now,only she was older’n what you are, missy. Andthe gentlemen lads from far and near they comea-courting her, for she was a fine girl—a realbeauty—with hair as black as a coal and eyeslike the sea when it’s beating up for a storm,before the white horses comes along. So I’veheard my father say—not that I ever see hermyself. And she kept her pretty head in theair and wouldn’t turn it this way or that for e’era one of them all. And the old lord he loved hertoo dear to press her against her wish and will,and her so young. So she stayed single andwatched the sea.”

“What did she do that for?” Edred asked.

“To see if her sweetheart’s ship wasn’ta-coming home. For she’d got a sweetheartright enough, she had, unbeknown to all. Itwas her cousin Dick—a ne’er-do-weel, if everthere was one—and it turned out afterwardsshe’d broken the sixpence with him and sworeto be ever true, and he’d gone overseas to finda fortune. And so she watched the sea everyday regular, and every day regular he didn’tcome. But every day another young chap usedto come a-riding—a fine young gentleman andwell-to-do, but he was the same kidney asMaster Dick, only he’d got a fine fortune, sohis wild oats never got a chance to grow stronglike Dick’s.”

“Poor Dick!” said Elfrida.

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“Not so fast, missy,” said the old man.“Well, her father and mother, they said, ‘Havehim that’s here and loves you, dear,’ as thesaying is—a Frewin he was, and his christenedname Arnold. And she says ‘No.’ But theykeeps on saying ‘Yes,’ and he keeps on saying‘Do!’ So they wears her down, telling herDick was drowned dead for sure, and I don’tknow what all. And at last she says, ‘Verywell, then, I’ll marry you—if you can stand tomarry a girl that’s got all her heart in the seaalong of a dead young chap as she was promisedto.’ And the wedding was set for Christmas.Miss Elfrida, she slep’ in the room in the EastHouse that looks out towards Arden Knoll, andthe servants in the attics, and the old peoplein the other part of the house.

“And that night, when all was asleep, I thinkshe heard a tap, tap at her window, and at firstshe’d think it was the ivy—but no. So presentlyshe’d take heart to go to the window, and therewas a face outside that had climbed up by theivy, and it was her own true love that they’dtold her was drowned.”

“How splendid!” said Edred.

“How dreadful for Mr. Frewin,” said Elfrida.

“That’s what she thought, miss, and shecouldn’t face it. So she puts on her riding-coatand she gets out of window and down the ivywith him, and off to London. And in themorning, when the bells began to ring for herwedding, and the bridegroom came, there wasn’tno bride for him. She left a letter to say shewas very sorry, but it had to be. So then theyshut up the East House.”

“So that’s the story,” said Elfrida.

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“Half of it, miss,” said old Beale, and he tookout a black clay pipe and a screw of tobacco,and very slowly and carefully filled the pipe andlighted it, before he went on, “They shut up theEast House, where she’d been used to sleep; butit was kep’ swep’ and dusted, and the old folkswas broken-hearted, for never a word comefrom Miss Elfrida. An’ if I know anything ofthe feelings of a parent, they kept on sayingto each other, ‘She might ha’ trusted us. Shemight ’a’ known we’d never ’a’ denied hernothing.’ And then one night there was aknock at the door, and there was Miss Elfridathat was—Mrs. Dick now—with her baby inher arms. Mr. Dick was dead, sudden in aaccident, and she’d come home to her fatherand mother. They couldn’t make enough ofthe poor young thing and her baby. She hadher old rooms and there she lived, and shewas getting a bit happier and worshipping ofher baby and the old people worshipping itand her too. And then one night some onecomes up the ivy, same as Master Dick did,and takes away—not her—but the baby.”

“How dreadful!” breathed Elfrida. “Didthey get it back?”

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“Never. And never a word was ever foundout about who took it, or why, or where theytook it to. Only a week or two after Mr.Frewin was killed in the hunting-field, and asthey picked him up he said, ‘Elfrida; tellElfrida——’ and he was trying to say whatthey was to tell her, when he died. Some folkshold as ’twas him stole the baby, to be evenwith her for jilting of him, or else to pretendto find it and get her to marry him out ofgratitude. But no one’ll ever know. And thebaby’s mother, she wore away bit by bit, to ashadow, and then she died, and after that theEast House was shut up for good and all, tofall into rot and ruin like it is now. Don’tyou cry, missie. I know’d you wouldn’t likethe story, but you would have it; but don’tyou cry. It’s all long ago, and she and herbaby and her young husband’s all been happytogether in heaven this long time now, Ilay.”

“I do like the story,” said Elfrida, gulping,“but it is sad, isn’t it?”

“Thank you for telling it,” Edred said; “butI don’t think it’s any good, really, being unhappyabout things that are so long ago, and all overand done with.”

“I wish we could go back into the past andfind the baby for her,” Elfrida whispered—andEdred whispered back—

“It’s the treasure we’ve got to find. Excuseour whispering, Mr. Beale. Thank you for thestory—oh, and I wanted to ask you who ownsthe land now—all the land about here, I mean,that used to belong to us Ardens?”

“That Jackson chap,” said old Beale, “himthat made a fortune in the soap boiling. TheTallow King, they call him. But he’s got toorich for the house he’s got. He’s bought abigger place in Yorkshire, that used to belongto the Duke of Sanderstead, and the Ardenlands are to be sold next year, so I’m told.”

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“Oh,” said Edred, clasping his hands, “if wecould only find the treasure, and buy back theland! We haven’t forgotten what we said thefirst time: if we found the treasure we’d makeall the cottages comfortable, and new thatcheverywhere.”

“That’s a good lad,” said old Beale, “you makehaste and find the treasure. And if you don’tfind it, never fret; there’s ways of helping otherfolks without finding of treasure, so there is.You come and see old Beale again, my lord, andI shouldn’t wonder but what I’d have a whiterabbit for you next time you come along thisway.”

“He is an old dear,” said Elfrida, as they wenthome, “and I do think the films will be dry bythe time we get back; but perhaps we’d betternot print them till to-morrow morning.”

“There’s plenty of light to-day,” said Edred,and Elfrida said—

“I say?”

“Well?”

“Did you notice the kind of clothes we worein those pictures—where they were stowingaway the treasure?”

“Oh!” groaned Edred, recalled to a sense ofhis wrongs. “If only Mrs. Honeysett hadn’topened the door just when she did, we shouldknow exactly where the treasure was. It wasthe West Tower they took it to, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not sure,” said Elfrida, “but——”

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“And if it had gone on we should have beensure—we should have seen them come awayagain.”

“Yes,” said Elfrida, and again she remarked,“I say?”

Edred again said, “Well——?”

“Well—suppose we looked in the chests weshould be sure to find clothes like those, andthen we should be back there—living in thosetimes, and we could see the treasure put away,and then we really should know.”

“A1, first class, ripping!” was Edred’s enthusiasticrejoinder. “Come on—I’ll race youto the gate.”

He did race her, and won by about thirtywhite Mouldiwarp’s lengths.

There had been no quarrel now for quite along time—if you count as time the days spentin the Gunpowder Plot adventure—so the atticwas easily found, and once more the childrenstood among the chests, with the dusty roof,and the dusty sunbeams, and the cl*tteringpigeon feet, and the soft pigeon noises overhead.

“Come on,” cried Elfrida joyously. “I shallknow the dress directly I see it. Mine was bluesilk with sloping shoulders, and yours was blackvelvet and a Vandyke collar.”

Together they flung back the lid of a chestthey had not yet opened. It held clothes farricher than any they had seen yet. The doubletsand cloaks and bodices were stiff with gold embroideryand jewels. But there was no bluesilk dress with sloping shoulders and no blackvelvet suit and Vandyke collar.

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“Oh, never mind,” said Edred, bundling thesplendid clothes back by double armfuls. “Helpme to smooth these down so that the lid willshut properly, and we’ll try the next chest.”

But the lid would not shut at all till Elfridahad taken all the things out and folded themproperly, and then it shut quite easily.

Then they went on to the next chest.

“I have a magic inside feeling that they’rein this one,” said Elfrida gaily. And so theymay have been. The children never knew—forthe next chest was locked, and the utmost effortsof four small arms failed to move the lid a hair’sbreadth.

“Oh, bother!” said Edred; “we’ll try thenext.”

But the next was locked, too—and the next,and the one after that, and the one beyond,and——Well, the fact is, they were all locked.

The children looked at each other in somethingquite like despair.

“I feel,” said the boy, “like a baffled burglar.”

“I feel,” said the girl, “as if I was just goingto understand something. Oh, wait a minute;it’s coming. I think,” she added very slowly,—“Ithink it means if we go anywhere we’ve gotto go wherever it was they wore those gloriousstiff gold clothes. That’s what the chest’s openfor; that’s what the others are locked for.See?”

“Then let’s put them on and go,” said Edred.

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“I don’t think I want any more Tower ofLondons,” said Elfrida doubtfully.

“I don’t mind what it is,” said Edred. “I’vefound out one thing. We always come safe outof it, whatever it is. And besides,” he added,remembering many talks with his good friend,Sir Walter Raleigh, “an English gentlemanmust be afraid of nothing save God and hisconscience.”

“All right,” said Elfrida, laying hands on thechest-lid that hid the golden splendour. “Youmight help,” she said.

But Edred couldn’t. He laid hands on thechest, of course, and he pulled and Elfridapulled, but the chest-lid was as fast now asany of the others.

“Done in the eye!” said Edred. It was avery vulgar expression, and I can’t think wherehe picked it up.

said Elfrida—and I do know where she learnedthat. It was from an old song Mrs. Honeysettused to sing when she blackleaded the stoves.

“I suppose we must chuck it for to-day,” saidEdred, when he had quite hurt his fingers bytrying all the chests once more, and had foundthat every single one was shut tight as wax.“Come on—we’ll print the photographs.”

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But the films were not dry enough. Theynever are when you just expect them to be;so they locked the still-room door on the outside,and hung the key on a nail high up in thekitchen chimney. Mrs. Honeysett was not inthe kitchen at that moment, but she camehurrying in the next.

“Here you are, my lambs,” she said cheerily,“and just in time for the surprise.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten the surprise. That makestwo of it, doesn’t it?” said Elfrida. “Do tellus what it is. We need a nice surprise to makeup for everything, if you only knew.”

“Ah,” said Mrs. Honeysett, “you meanbecause of me opening that there door. Well,there is two surprises. One’s roast chicken.For supper,” she added impressively.

“Then I know the other,” said Edred. “AuntEdith’s coming.”

And she was—indeed, at that very moment,as they looked through the window, they sawher blue dress coming over the hill, and joyouslytore out to meet her.

It was after the roast chicken, when it wasnearly dark and almost bedtime, that AuntEdith said, suddenly—

“Children, there’s something I wanted to tellyou. I’ve hesitated about it a good deal, but Ithink we oughtn’t to have any secrets from eachother.”

Edred and Elfrida exchanged guilty glances.

“Not real secrets, of course,” said Edred,hastily; “but you don’t mind our having magicsecrets, do you?”

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“Of course not,” said Aunt Edith, smiling;“and what I’m going to tell you is rather likemagic—if it’s true. I don’t know yet whetherit’s true or not.”

Here Aunt Edith put an arm round each ofthe children as they sat on the broad window-seat,and swallowed something in her throat andsniffed.

“Oh, it’s not bad news, is it?” Elfrida cried.“Oh, darling auntie, don’t be miserable, anddon’t say that they’ve found out that Ardenisn’t ours, or that Edred isn’t really Lord Arden,or something.”

“Would you mind so very much,” said AuntEdith gently, “if you weren’t Lord Arden,Edred? Because——”

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CHAPTER XII
FILMS AND CLOUDS

The films were quite dry by bedtime, when,after a delightful evening with no magic in itat all but the magic of undisturbed jolliness,Edred slipped away, unpinned them and hidthem in Elfrida’s corner drawer, which herightly judged to be a cleaner resting-place forthem than his own was likely to be. So therethe precious films lay between Elfrida’s best lacecollar and the handkerchief-case with three fatbuttercups embroidered on it that Aunt Edithhad given her at Christmas. And Edred wentback to the parlour for one last game of Proverbsbefore bed. As he took up his cards hethought how strange it was that he, who hadbeen imprisoned in the Tower and had talkedwith Sir Walter Raleigh, should be sitting therequietly playing Proverbs with his aunt and hissister, just like any other little boy.

“Aha!” said Edred to himself, “I am living adouble life, that’s what I’m doing.”

He had seen the expression in a book and theidea charmed him.

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“How pleased Edred looks with himself!”said Aunt Edith; “I’m sure he’s got a wholeproverb, or nearly, in his hand already.”

“You’ll be looking pleased presently,” he said;“you always win.”

And win she did, for Edred’s thoughts werewandering off after the idea how pleased AuntEdith would look when he and Elfrida shouldcome to her, take her by the hand, and lead herto the hiding-place of the treasure, and thensay, “Behold the treasure of our house! Nowwe can rebuild the castle and mend the brokenthatch on the cottages, and I can go to Etonand Oxford, and you can have a diamond tiara,and Elfrida can have a pony to ride, and socan I.”

Elfrida’s thoughts were not unlike his—soAunt Edith won the game of Proverbs.

“You have been very good children, Mrs.Honeysett tells me,” said Aunt Edith, puttingthe cards together.

“Not so extra,” said Edred; “I mean it’s easyto be good when everything’s so jolly.”

“We have quarrelled once or twice, youknow,” said Elfrida virtuously.

“Yes, we have,” said Edred firmly.

They needn’t, they felt, have confessed this—andthat made them feel that they were goodnow, if never before.

“Well, don’t quarrel any more. I shall becoming over for good quite soon, then we’llhave glorious times. Perhaps we’ll find thetreasure. You’ve heard about the treasure?”

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“I should jolly well think we had,” Edredcouldn’t help saying. And Elfrida added—

“And looked for it, too—but we haven’t foundit. Did you ever look for it?”

“No,” said Aunt Edith, “but I always wantedto. My grandfather used to look for it when hewas a little boy.”

“Was your grandfather Lord Arden?” Edredasked.

“No; he was the grandson of the Lord Ardenwho fought for King James the Third, as theycalled him—the Pretender, you know—when hewas quite a boy. And they let him off becauseof his being so young. And then he mortgagedall the Arden lands to keep the Young Pretender—PrinceCharlie, you know, in the ballads. Hegot money to send to him, and of course PrinceCharlie was going to pay it back when he wasking. Only he never was king,” she sighed.

“And is that why the Tallow King got allthe Arden land?”

“Yes, dear—that’s why English peopleprefer Tallow kings to Stuart kings. Andold Lord Arden mortgaged everything. Thatmeans he borrowed money, and if he didn’t payback the money by a certain time he agreed tolet them take the land instead. And he couldn’tpay; so they took the land—all except a bit inthe village and Arden Knoll—that was fixed sothat he couldn’t part from it.”

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“When we get the treasure we’ll buy back theland again,” said Edred. “The Tallow King’sgoing to sell it. He’s got so tallowy that Ardenland isn’t good enough for him. Old Beale toldus. And, I say, Auntie, we’ll rebuild the castle,too, won’t we, and mend the holes in the thatch—wherethe rain comes in—in people’s cottages,I mean.”

“Have you been much into people’s cottages?”Aunt Edith asked anxiously—with the strangefear of infection which seems a part of agrown-up’s nature.

“Every one in the village, I think,” saidElfrida cheerfully. “Old Beale told us we oughtto—in case we found the treasure—so as toknow what to do. The people are such dears. Ibelieve they like us because we’re Ardens. Oris it because Edred’s a lord?”

“We must find the treasure,” said Edred,looking as he always did when he was verymuch in earnest, so like his lost father thatAunt Edith could hardly bear it—“so as to beable to look after our people properly.”

“And to kick out the Tallow King,” saidElfrida.

“But you won’t be discontented if you don’tfind it,” said Aunt Edith. “It’s only a sort ofgame really. No one I ever knew ever found atreasure. And think what we’ve found already!Arden Castle instead of Sea View Terrace—andthe lodgers. Good-night, chicks.”

She was gone before they were up in themorning, and the morning’s first business wasthe printing of the photographs.

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They printed them in the kitchen, becauseMrs. Honeysett was turning out the parlour, andbesides the kitchen window was wide and sunny,and the old table, scoured again and again tillthe grain of the wood stood up in ridges, was anice, big, clear place to stand toning dishes on.They printed on matt paper, because it seemedsomehow less common, and more like a picturethan the shiny kind. The printing took thewhole morning, and they had only one frame.And when they had done there were eighteenbrown prints of the castle from all sorts ofpoints of the compass—north and south and——butI explained all this to you before. Whenthe prints were dried—which, as you know, isbest done by sticking them up on the windows—itbecame necessary to find a place to putthem in. One could not gloat over them forever,though for quite a long time it seemedbetter to look at them again and again, and tosay, “That’s how it ought to be—that’s theway we’ll have it,” than to do anything else.

Elfrida and Edred took the prints into theparlour, which was now neat as a new pin, andsmelt almost too much of beeswax and turpentine,spread them on the polished oval dining-tableand gloated over them.

“You can see every little bit exactly right,”said Elfrida. “They’re a little tiny bit muzzy.I expect our distance wasn’t right or something,but that only makes them look more like realpictures, and us having printed them on paperthat’s too big makes it more pictury too. Andany one who knew about how buildings are builtwould know how to set it up. It would be likeputting the bricks back into the box from thepattern inside the lid.”

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Here Mrs. Honeysett called from the kitchen,“You done with all this litter?” and bothchildren shouted “Yes!” and went on lookingat the pictures. It was well that the shoutwas from both. If only one had done itthere might have been what Mrs. Honeysettcalled “words” about the matter later; for nextmoment both said, “The films!” and rushed tothe kitchen—just in time to see the kitchen fireenlivened by that peculiar crackling flare whichfire and films alone can produce. Mrs. Honeysetthad thrown the films on the fire with the other“litter,” and it was no one’s fault but the children’s,as Mrs. Honeysett pointed out.

“I ask you if you done with it all, an’ yousays ‘Yes’—only yourselves to thank,” sherepeated again and again amid their lamentations,and they had to own that she was right.

“We must take extra special care of theprints, that’s all,” said Edred, and the “Historyof the Ardens” was chosen as a hiding-placeboth safe and appropriate.

“It doesn’t matter so much about the films,”said Elfrida, “because we could never haveshown them to any one. If we find the treasurewe’ll arrange for Auntie to find these prints—leavethe History about or something—and she’llthink they’re photographs of painted pictures.So that’ll be all right.”

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As they arranged the prints between theleaves of the History Elfrida’s eye was caughtby the words “moat” and “water-supply,” andshe read on and turned the page.

“Don’t stop to read,” said Edred, but shewaved him away.

“I say, listen,” she said, turning back; andshe read—

“‘In ancient times Arden Castle was surroundedby a moat. The original architects ofthe venerable pile, with that ingenuity whosefruits the thinking world so much admires inthe lasting monuments of their labours, divertedfrom its subterraneous course a stream whichrose through the chalk in the hills of the vicinity,and is said to debouch into the sea about fiftyyards below high-water mark. The engineeringworks necessary for this triumph of mind overmatter endured till 1647, when the castle wasbesieged by the troops of that monster in humanform Oliver Cromwell. To facilitate his attackon the castle the officer in command gave ordersthat the stream should be diverted once moreinto its original channel. This order was accordinglyexecuted by his myrmidons, and the moatwas left dry, this assisting materially thetreacherous designs of the detestable regicides.It is rumoured that the stream, despite the lapseof centuries, still maintains its subterraneancourse; but the present author, on visiting,during the autumn of 1821, the residence of thepresent Earl of Arden, and by his permission,most courteously granted, exploring the sitethoroughly, was unable to find any trace of itsexistence. The rural denizens of the districtdenied any knowledge of such a stream, butthey are sunk in ignorance and superstition, andhave no admiration for the works of philosophyor the awe-inspiring beauties of Nature.’”

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“What a dull chap he is!” said Edred. “But,I say, when was it printed—1822? . . . I believeI know why the rural What’s-his-names wouldn’tlet on about the stream. Don’t you see, it’s thestream that runs through the smugglers’ cave?and they were smuggling then for all they wereworth.”

“That’s clever of you,” said Elfrida.

“Well, I bet we find traces of its existence,when we’ve found the treasure. Come on; let’stry the chests again. We’ll put on the firstthings we find, and chance it, this time. There’snothing to stop us. We haven’t quarrelled oranything.”

They had not quarrelled, but there was somethingto stop them, all the same. And thatsomething was the fact that they could not findThe Door. It simply was not there.

“And we haven’t quarrelled or anything,” saidElfrida, despairing when they had searched theEast House again and again, and found no doorthat would consent to lead them to the wonderfulattic where the chests stood in their two wonderfulrows. She sat down on the top step of theattic stairs, quite regardless of the dust that laythere thick.

“It’s all up—I can see that,” said Edred.“We’ve muffed it somehow. I wonder whetherwe oughtn’t to have taken those photographs.”

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“Do you think perhaps . . . could we havedreamed it all?”

“No,” said Edred, “there are the prints—atleast, I suppose they’re there. We’ll go downand see.”

Miserably doubting, they went down and sawthat the photographs were where they had putthem, in between the pages of the “History ofArden.”

“I don’t see what we can do. Do you?” saidEdred forlornly. It was a miserable ending tothe happenings that had succeeded each otherin such a lively procession ever since they hadbeen at Arden. It seemed as though a doorhad been shut in their faces, and “Not anymore,” written in very plain letters across thechapter of their adventures.

“I wish we could find the witch again,” saidElfrida; “but she said she couldn’t come intothese times more than once.”

“I wonder why,” said Edred, kicking hisboots miserably against the leg of the table onwhich he sat. “That Dicky chap must havebeen here pretty often, to have an address atNew Cross. I say, suppose we wrote to him.It would be something to do.”

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So they wrote. At least Elfrida did, and theyboth signed it. This was the letter:—

“Dear Cousin Richard,—You remembermeeting us at the Gunpowder Plot. If you areat these modern times again we should like toknow you and to know how you get into thefuture. Perhaps we could get into the past thesame way, because the way we used to get wecan’t any more.

“Perhaps you could come here next timeinstead of New Cross.

“Your affectionate friends at a distance,(Miss) Elfrida Arden,(Lord) Edred Arden.

“PS.—I don’t know how lords sign lettersbecause I have not been it long, but you’ll knowwho it is.

“PSS.—Remember old Parrot-nose.”

They walked down to the post with this, andas they went they remembered how they hadgone to the “George” with old Lady Arden’sletter in Boney’s time; and Edred remarked,listlessly, that it would be rather fun to find thesmugglers’ cave. So when they had bought astamp and licked it and put it on the letterthey went up on the cliff and looked among thefurze-bushes for the entrance to the smugglers’cave. But they did not find it. Nothing makesyou hotter than looking for things that youcan’t find—and there is no hotter place to lookfor things than a furze forest on the downs ona sunny summer afternoon. The children wereglad to sit down on a clean, smooth, grassy spaceand look out at the faint blue line of the sea.

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They had not really enjoyed looking for thesmugglers’ cave. Vain regrets were busy ineach breast. Edred gave voice to them whenhe said—

“Oh, if only we had put those gold clothes onwhen we had the chance!”

And Elfrida echoed the useless heartfelt wailwith, “Oh, if we only had!”

And then they sat in silence and looked atthe sea for quite a long time.

Now, if you sit perfectly silent for a long timeand look at the sea, or the sky, or the runningwater of a river, something happens to you—asort of magic. Not the violent magic thatmakes the kind of adventures that I have beentelling you about, but a kind of gentle but verystrong inside magic, that makes things clear,and shows you what things are important, andwhat are not. You try it next time you are ina very bad temper, or when you think some onehas been very unjust to you, or when you arevery disappointed and hurt about anything.

The magic worked in Edred and Elfrida tillEdred said—

“After all, we’ve got the castle;” and Elfridasaid—

“And we have had some ripping times.”

And then they looked at the sea in moresilence, during which Hope came and whisperedto Elfrida, who instantly said—

“The Mouldiwarp! Perhaps it’s not all over.It told us to find the door. And we did find thedoor. Perhaps it would tell us something newif we called it now—and if it came.”

“And if it came,” said Edred.

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“Don’t talk—make poetry,” said Elfrida. Butthat was one of the things that Edred nevercould do. Trying to make poetry was, to him,like trying to remember a name you have neverheard, or to multiply a number that you’veforgotten by another number that you don’trecollect.

But Elfrida, that youthful poet, frowned andbit her lips and twisted her hands, and reachedout in her mind to words that she just couldn’tquite think of, till the words grew tame andflew within reach, and she caught them andcaged them behind the bars of rhyme. Thiswas her poem—

“So you be always,” said the white Mouldiwarp,suddenly appearing between them on theyellowy dry grass. “Well, well! Youth’s theseason for silliness. What’s to do now? I beturble tired of all this. I wish I’d only got togive ye the treasure and go my ways. Youdon’t give a poor Mouldiwarp a minute’s rest.You do terrify me same’s flies, you do.”

“Is there any other way,” said Elfrida, “toget back into the past? We can’t find the doornow.”

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“Course you can’t,” said the mole. “That’s achance gone, and gone for ever.

Well, tell me where you want to go, and I’llmake you a backways-working white clock.”

“Anywhere you like,” said Edred incautiously.

“Tch, tch!” said the mole, rubbing its nosewith vexation. “There’s another chance gone,and gone for ever. You be terrible spendingwith your chances, you be. Now, answer sharpas weasel’s nose. Be there any one in the pastyou’d like to see?

And that’s poetry as good as yours any day ofthe week.”

“Cousin Richard,” said Elfrida and Edredtogether. This was the only name they couldthink of.

“Bide ye still, my dears,” said the Mouldiwarp,“and I’ll make you a white road right towhere he is.”

So they sat still, all but their tongues.

“Is he in the past?” said Elfrida; “becauseif he is, it wasn’t much good our writing tohim.”

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“You hold your little tongues,” said theMouldiwarp, “and keep your little mouths shut,and your little eyes open, and wish well to thewhite magic. There never was a magic yet,”the mole went on, “that was the worse forbeing well-wished.”

“May I say something,” said Elfrida, “withoutit* stopping the magic?”

“Put your white handkerchief over your faceand talk through it, and then you may.”

By a most fortunate and unusual chance,Elfrida’s handkerchief was white: it was, infact, still folded in the sixteen blameless squaresinto which the laundress had ironed it. Shethrew it over her face as she lay back on theturf and spoke through it.

“I’d like to see the nurse witch again,” shesaid.

“Instead of Cousin Richard?”

“No: as well as.”

“That’s right,” said the magic mole. “Youshouldn’t change your wishes; but there’s norule against enlarging them—on the contrary.Now look!”

Elfrida whisked away the handkerchief andlooked.

Have you ever noticed the way the bathwater runs away when you pull up the bathtap? Have you ever seen bottles filled througha funnel?

The white Mouldiwarp reached up its hands—itsfront feet I ought perhaps to say—towardsthe deep-blue sky, where white clouds herdedtogether like giant sheep.

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And it spoke. At least, it did not speak, butit sang. Yet I don’t know that you could callit singing either. It was more like the firstnotes that a violin yields to the bow wieldedby the hand of a master musician. And thewhite clouds stooped to answer it. Round andround in the blue sky they circled, drawingtogether and swirling down, as the bath waterdraws and swirls when you pull up the knoblabelled “Waste”—round and round till theyshowed like a vast white funnel whose neckhung, a great ring, above the group on thedry grass of the downs. It stooped andstooped. The ring fitted down over them, theywere in a white tower, narrow at its base wherethat base touched the grass, but widening tothe blue sky overhead.

“Take hands,” cried the Mouldiwarp. “Alwayshold hands when there is magic about.”

The children clasped hands.

“Both hands,” said the Mouldiwarp; and eachchild reached out a hand, that was caughtand held. Round and round, incredibly swifterand swifter, went the cloud funnel, and thevoice of the mole at their feet sounded faintand far away.

“Up!” it cried, “up! Shall the very cloudsdance for your delight, and you alone refrainand tread not a measure?”

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The children leaped up—and through thecloud came something that was certainly music,though it was so vague and far away that thesharpest music-master you ever had could nothave made out the tune. But the rhythm ofit was there, an insistent beat, beat, beat—anda beat that made your feet long to keep time toit. And through the rhythm presently the tunepierced, as the sound of the pipes pierces thesound of the drums when you see the ChurchBrigade boys go by when you are on yourholiday by the sea near their white-tented,happy camps. And that time the children’sfeet could not resist. They danced steps thatthey had not known they knew. And theyknew, for the first time, the delight of realdancing: none of your waltzes, or even minuets,but the dancing that means youth and gaiety,and being out for a holiday, and determinedto enjoy everything to the last breath.

And as they danced the white cloud funnelcame down and closed about them, so that theydanced, as it were, in a wrapping of whitecotton-wool too soft for them even to feel it.And there was a sweet scent in the air. Theydid not know in that cloudy, soft whiteness,what flower bore that scent, but they knewthat it smelt of the spring, and of fields andhedges far away from the ugliness of towns.The cloud thinned as the scent thickened, andgreen lights showed through it.

The green lights grew, the cloud funnel lifted.And Edred and Elfrida, still dancing, foundthemselves but two in a ring of some thirtychildren, dancing on a carpet of green turfbetween walls of green branches. And everychild wore a wreath of white May-blossoms onits head. And that was the magic scene thathad come to them through the white cloud ofthe white Mouldiwarp’s magic.

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“What is it? Why are we dancing?” Edredincautiously asked of the little girl whose hand—andnot Elfrida’s—he found that his left handwas holding. The child laughed—just laughed,she did not answer. It was Elfrida who hadhis right hand, and her own right hand wasclasped in that of a boy dressed in green.

“Oh!” she said, with a note of glad recognition.“It’s you! I’m so glad! What is it?Why are we dancing?”

“It’s May-day,” said Cousin Richard, “and theKing is coming to look on at the revels.”

“What king?” she asked.

“Who but King Harry?” he said. “KingHarry and his new Queen, that but of latewas the Lady Anna Boleyn.”

“I say, Dick,” said Edred across his sister,“I am jolly glad to see you again. We——”

“Not now,” said Dick earnestly; “not a wordnow. It is not safe. And besides—here comesthe King!”

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CHAPTER XIII
MAY-BLOSSOM AND PEARLS

The King came slowly on a great black horse,riding between the green trees. He himselfwore white and green like the May-bushes, andso did the gracious lady who rode beside him ona white horse, whose long tail almost swept theground and whose long mane fluttered in thebreeze like a tattered banner.

The lady had a fine face—proud and smiling—andas her brave eyes met the King’s even thechildren could see that, for the time at least, sheand the King were all the world to each other.They saw that in the brief moment when, in thewhirl of the ringed dance, their eyes were turnedthe way by which the King came with his Queen.

“I wish I didn’t know so much history,”gasped Elfrida through the quick music. “It’sdreadful to know that her head——” She brokeoff in obedience to an imperative twitch ofRichard’s hand on hers.

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“Don’t!” he said. “I have not to think.And I’ve heard that history’s all lies. Perhapsthey’ll always be happy like they are now.The only way to enjoy the past is not to thinkof the future—the past’s future, I mean—andI’ve got something else to say to you presently,”he added rather sternly.

The ring broke up into an elaborate figure.The children found themselves fingering thecoloured ribbons that hung from the Maypolethat was the centre of their dance, twining,intertwining, handing on the streamers to othersmall, competent fingers. In and out, in andout—a most complicated dance. It was pleasantto find that one’s feet knew it, though one’sbrain could not have foreseen, any more than itcould have remembered, how the figures went.There were two rings round the Maypole—theinner ring, where Edred and Elfrida were, ofnoble children in very fine clothes, and the outerring, of village children in clothes less fine butquite as pretty. Music from a band of musicianson a raised platform decked with May-boughsand swinging cowslip balls inspired the dancers.The King and Queen had reined up their horsesand watched the play, well pleased.

And suddenly the dance ended and thechildren, formed into line, were saluting theroyal onlookers.

“A fair dance and footed right featly,” saidthe King in a great, jolly voice. “Now get youwind, my merry men all, and give us a song forthe honour of the May Queen and of my dearlady here.”

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There was whispering and discussion. ThenRichard Arden stepped out in front of the groupof green-clad noble children.

“With a willing heart, my liege,” he said,“but first a song of the King’s good Majesty.”

And with that all the children began to sing—

It is a rousing tune, and it was only afterwardsthat Edred and Elfrida were surprised to findthat they knew it quite well.

But even while they were singing Elfrida wasturning over in her mind the old question,Could anything they did have any effect on thepast? It seemed impossible that it should notbe so. If one could get a word alone with thathappy, stately lady on the white horse, if onecould warn her, could help somehow! Thethought of the bare scaffold and the black blockcame to Elfrida so strongly that she almostthought she saw them darkling among theswayed, sun-dappled leaves of the greenwood.

Somebody was pulling at her green skirt.An old woman in a cap that fitted tightly andhid all her hair—an old woman who was saying,“Go to her! go!” and pushing her forward.Some one else put a big bunch of wild flowersinto her hand, and this person also pushed herforward. And forward she had to go, quitealone, the nosegay in her hand, across the openspace of greensward under the eyes of severalhundreds of people, all in their best clothes andall watching her.

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She went on till she came to the spot wherethe King and Queen were, and then she pausedand dropped two curtsies, one to each of them.Then, quite without meaning to do it, she foundherself saying—

And when she had said that she made twomore nice little curtsies and handed up theflowers to the Queen.

“If we had known your Majesties’ purpose,”said a tall, narrow-faced man in a long gown,“your Majesties had had another than thisrustic welcome.”

“Our purpose,” said the King, “was to surpriseyou. The Earl of Arden, you say, is hence?”

“His son and daughter are here to do homageto your Highness,” said the gowned man, andthen Elfrida saw that Edred was beside her.

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“Hither, lad,” said the King, and reachingdown a hand caught Edred’s. “Your foot onmine,” said his Majesty. “So!” and he swungEdred up on to the saddle in front of him.Elfrida drew nearer to the white horse as theQueen beckoned her, and the Queen stooped lowover her saddle to ask her name. Now was themoment that Elfrida had wished for, now wasthe chance, if ever, to warn the Queen.

“Elfrida Arden’s my name,” she said. “YourMajesty, may I say something?”

“Say on,” said the Queen, raising fine eyebrows,but smiling too.

“I should like to come quite close andwhisper,” said Elfrida stoutly.

“Thou’rt a bold lass,” said the Queen, but shestooped still lower.

“I want to warn you,” said Elfrida, quicklywhispering, “and don’t not pay attention becauseI’m only a little girl. I know. You maythink I don’t know, but I do. I want to warnyou——”

“Already once, this morning I have beenwarned,” said the Queen. “What croakingvoices for May-day!”

“Who warned you, your Majesty?”

“An old hag who came to my chamber inspite of my maids, said she had a May charm tokeep my looks and my lord’s love.”

“What was the charm?” Elfrida askedeagerly, forgetting to say “Majesty” again.

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“It was quite simple,” said the Queen. “Iwas to keep my looks and my love so long asI never dropped a kerchief. But if I dropped akerchief I should lose more than my looks andmy love; she said I should lose my head,”—theQueen laughed low,—“within certain daysfrom the dropping of that kerchief—this headyou see here;” she laughed again.

“Don’t, oh, don’t!” said Elfrida. “Nineteendays, that’s the warning—I do hope it’ll do somegood. I do like you, dear Queen. You areso strong and splendid. I would like to be likeyou when I grow up.”

The Queen’s fine face looked troubled.

“Please Heaven, thou’lt be better than I,”she said, stooping lower still from her horse;Elfrida standing on tip-toe, she kissed her.

“Oh, do be careful,” said Elfrida. “Yourdarling head!” and the Queen kissed heragain.

Then a noise rather like bagpipes rose shrilland sudden, and all drew back, making roomfor the rustic maids and swains to treadthe country dance. Other instruments joinedin, and suddenly the King cried, “A merrytune that calls to the feet. Come, my sweeting,shall we tread a measure with the rest?” Sodown they came from their horses, King andQueen, and led the country dance, laughing andgay as any country lad and lass.

Elfrida could have cried. It seemed such apity that everybody should not always be goodand happy, as everybody looked to-day.

The King had sprung from his horse withEdred in his arms, and now he and his sisterdrew back towards Cousin Richard.

“How pretty it all is!” said Edred. “I shouldlike to stay here for ever.”

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“If I were you,” said Richard, very disagreeablyindeed, “I would not stay here an hour.”

“Why? Is it dangerous? Will they cut ourheads off?”

“Not that I know of,” said Cousin Richard,still thoroughly disagreeable. “I wasn’t thinkingabout your heads. There are more importantthings than your heads in the world, I shouldthink.”

“Not so very much more,” said Elfridameekly,—“to us, I mean. And what are youso cross about?”

“I should have thought,” Richard was beginning,when the old woman who told Elfrida togo forward with the nosegay of ceremony sidledup to them.

“Into the woods, my children,” she whisperedquickly,—“into the woods. In a moment theQueen will burst into tears, and the King willhave scant kindness for those whose warningshave set his Queen to weeping.”

They backed into the bushes, and the greenleaves closed behind the four.

“Quick!” said the witch; “this way.” Theyfollowed her through the wood under oaks andyew-trees, pressing through hazels and chestnutsto a path.

“Now run!” she said, and herself led the waynimbly enough for one of her great age. Theirrun brought them to a thinning of the wood—thenout of it—on to the downs, whence theycould see Arden Castle and its moat, and thesea.

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“Now,” the old woman said, “mark well thespot where the moat stream rises. It is therethat the smugglers’ cave was, when Betty Lovellforetold the landing of the French.”

“Why,” said Edred and Elfrida, “you’rethe witch again! You’re Betty Lovell!”

“Who else?” said the old woman. “Now,call on the Mouldiwarp and hasten back to yourown time. For the King will raise the countryagainst the child who has made his sweetingto shed tears. And she will tell him, she keepsnothing from him, and . . . yet——”

“She won’t tell him about the kerchief?”

“She will, and when she drops it on thatother May-day at Greenwich he will remember.Come, call your Mouldiwarp and haste away.”

“But we’ve only just come,” said Edred, “andwhat’s Elfrida been up to?”

“Oh, bother!” said Elfrida. “I want to knowwhat Richard meant about our heads not beingimportant.”

“Your heads will be most important if youwait here much longer!” said the witch sharply.“Come, shall I call the Mouldiwarp, or willyou?”

“You do,” said Elfrida. “I say, Dicky,what did you mean? Do tell us—there’s adear.”

Betty Lovell was tearing up the short turfin patches, and pulling the lumps of chalk fromunder it.

“Help me,” she cried, “or I shan’t be in time!”So they all helped.

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“Couldn’t Dick go with us—if we have to go?”said Elfrida suddenly.

“No,” said Richard, “I’m not going to—sothere!”

“Why?” Elfrida gasped, tugging at a greatpiece of chalk.

“Because I shan’t.”

“Then tell us what you meant before theMouldiwarp comes.”

“You can’t,” said a little voice, “because it’scome now.”

Every one sat back on its heels, and watchedwhere out of the earth the white Mouldiwarpwas squeezing itself between two blocks ofchalk, into the sunlight.

“Why, I hadn’t said any poetry,” said Elfrida.

“I hadn’t made the triangle and the arch,”said old Betty Lovell. “Well, if ever I did!”

“I’ve been here,” said the mole, looking roundwith something astonishingly like a smile oftriumph, “all the time. Why shouldn’t I gowhere I do please, nows and again? Whyshould I allus wait on your bidding—eh?” itasked a little pettishly.

“No reason at all,” said Elfrida kindly; “andnow, dear, dear Mouldiwarp, please take usaway.”

A confused sound of shouting mixed withthe barking of dogs hurried her words alittle.

“The hunt is up,” said the old witch-nurse.

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“I don’t hold with hunting,” said the Mouldiwarphastily, “nor yet with dogs. I nevercould abide dogs, drat the nasty, noisy, toothythings! Here, come inside.”

“Inside where?” said Edred.

“Inside my house,” said the mole.

And then, whether they all got smaller orwhether the crack in the chalk got bigger theynever quite knew, but they found themselveswalking that crack one by one. Only Elfridagot hold of Richard’s hand and held it fast,though he wriggled and twisted to get itfree.

“I’m not going back to your own times withyou,” he said. “I’ll go my own way.”

“Where to?” said Elfrida.

“To wherever I choose,” said Richard savagely,and regained possession of his own hand.It was too late—the chalk had closed over themall.

As the chalk had closed so thoroughly thatnot a gleam of daylight could be seen, youmight have expected the air they had to breatheto be close and stuffy. Not a bit of it! Cominginto the Mouldiwarp’s house out of the Maysunshine was like coming out of a human houseinto the freshness of a May night. But it wasdarker than any night that ever was. Elfridagot hold of Edred’s hand and then of Richard’s.She always tried to remember what she wastold, and the Mouldiwarp had said, “Alwayshold hands when there’s magic about.”

Richard let his hand be taken, but he said,quite sternly, “You understand I mean what Isay: I won’t go back to their times with them.”

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“You were much nicer in James the First’stime,” said Elfrida.

Then a sound like thunder shook the earthoverhead, an almost deafening noise that madethem thrill and hold each other very tight.

“It’s only the King’s horses and the King’smen hunting after you,” said the Mouldiwarpcheerfully. “Now I’ll go and make a whiteclock for you to go home on. You set whereyou be, and don’t touch nothing till I be comeback again.”

Left alone in the fresh, deep darkness, Elfridapersisted in her questions.

“Why don’t you want to come with us to ourtimes?”

“I hate your times. They’re ugly, they’recruel,” said Richard.

“They don’t cut your head off for nothinganyhow in our times,” said Edred, “and shutyou up in the Tower.”

“They do worse things,” Richard said. “Iknow. They make people work fourteen hoursa day for nine shillings a week, so that theynever have enough to eat or wear, and no timeto sleep or to be happy in. They won’t givepeople food or clothes, or let them work to getthem; and then they put the people in prisonif they take enough to keep them alive. Theylet people get horrid diseases, till their jawsdrop off, so as to have a particular kind of china.Women have to go out to work instead of lookingafter their babies, and the little girl that’sleft in charge drops the baby and it’s crippledfor life. Oh! I know. I won’t go back withyou. You might keep me there for ever.” Heshuddered.

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“I wouldn’t. And I can’t help about peopleworking, and not enough money and that,” saidEdred.

“If I were Lord Arden,” said Richard, throughthe darkness, “I’d make a vow, and I’d keep ittoo, never to have a day’s holiday or do a singlething I liked till all those things were stopped.But in your time nobody cares.”

“It’s not true,” said Elfrida; “we do care—whenwe know about it. Only we can’t do anything.”

“I am Lord Arden,” said Edred, “and whenI grow up I’ll do what you say. I shall be inthe House of Lords, I think, and of course theHouse of Lords would have to pay attention tome when I said things. I’ll remember everythingyou say, and tell them about it.”

“You’re not grown up yet,” said Richard,“and your father’s Lord Arden, not you.”

“Father’s dead, you know,” said Elfrida, in ahushed voice.

“How do you know?” asked Richard.

“There was a letter——”

“Do you think I’d trust a letter?” Richardasked indignantly. “If I hadn’t seen my daddylying dead, do you think I’d believe it? Nottill I’d gone back and seen how he died, andwhere, and had vengeance on the man who’dkilled him.”

“But he wasn’t killed.”

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“How do you know? You’ve been huntingfor the beastly treasure, and never even tried togo back to the time when he was alive—sucha little time ago—and find out what really didhappen to him.”

“I didn’t know we could,” said Elfrida, choking.“And even if we could, it wouldn’t beright, would it? Aunt Edith said he was inheaven. We couldn’t go there, you know. Itisn’t like history—it’s all different.”

“Well, then,” said Richard, “I shall have totell you. You know, I rather took a fancy toyou two kids that Gunpowder Plot time; andafter you’d gone back to your own timesasked Betty Lovell who you were, and she saidyou were Lord Arden. So the next time Iwanted to get away from—from where I was—Igave orders to be taken to Lord Arden. Andit——”

“Come along, do, dear,” said the suddenvoice of the Mouldiwarp. “The clock’s allready.”

A soft light was pressing against their eyes—growing,growing. They saw now that theywere in a great chalk cave—the smugglers’ cave,Edred had hardly a doubt. And in the middleof its floor of smooth sand was a great clock-face—figuresand hands and all—made of softlygleaming pearls set in ivory. Light seemed toflow from this, and to be reflected back on it bythe white chalk walls. It was the most beautifulpiece of jeweller’s work that the children—or,I imagine, any one else—had ever seen.

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“Sit on the minute hand,” said the Mouldiwarp,“and home you go.”

“But I can’t go,” said Edred grimly, “till I’veheard what Richard was saying.”

“You’ll be caught, then, by the King and hissoldiers,” said the witch.

“I must risk that,” said Edred quite quietly.“I will not go near the white clock till Richardhas told me what he means.”

“I’ll give him one minute,” said the Mouldiwarpcrossly, “not no more than that. I’m sickto death of it, so I am.”

“Oh, don’t be cross,” said Elfrida.

“I bain’t,” said the Mouldiwarp, “not undermy fur. It’s this Chop-and-change, and I-will-and-I-won’tas makes me so worritable.”

“Tell me, what did you mean—about myfather?” Edred said again.

“I tried to find you—I asked for LordArden. What I found wasn’t you—it was yourfather. And the time was your time, July,1908.”

“WHAT!” cried Edred and Elfrida together.

“Your father—he’s alive—don’t you understand?And you’ve been bothering about findingtreasure instead of about finding him.”

“Daddy—alive!” Elfrida clung to her brother.“Oh, it’s not right, mixing him up with magicand things. Oh, you’re cruel—I hate you! Iknow well enough I shall never see my daddyagain.”

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“You will if you aren’t little cowards as wellas little duffers,” said Richard scornfully. “Yougo and find him, that’s what you’ve got to do.So long!”

And with that, before the Mouldiwarp or thenurse could interfere, he had leapt on to thelong pearl and ivory minute hand of the clockand said, “Home!” just as duch*esses (and otherpeople) do to their coachmen (or footmen).

And before anything could be done the handsof the clock began to go round, slowly at first,then faster and faster, till at last they went sofast that they became quite invisible. Theivory and pearl figures of the clock could stillbe seen on the sand of the cave.

Edred and Elfrida, still clinging together,turned appealing eyes to the Mouldiwarp. Theyexpected it to be very angry indeed, instead ofwhich it seemed to be smiling. (Did you eversee a white mole smile? No? But then, perhapsyou have never seen a white mole, and youcannot see a smile without seeing the smiler,except of course in the case of Cheshire cats.)

“He’s a bold boy, a brave boy,” said the witch.

“Ah!” said the Mouldiwarp, “he be summatlike an Arden, he be.”

Edred detached himself from Elfrida and stiffenedwith a resolve to show the Mouldiwarpthat he too was not so unlike an Arden as it hadtoo hastily supposed.

“Can’t we get home?” Elfrida asked timidly.“Can’t you make us another white clock, orsomething?”

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“Waste not, want not,” said the mole. “Alwayswear out your old clocks afore you buysnew ’uns. Soon’s he gets off the hand theclock’ll stop; then you can get on it and gosafe home.”

“But suppose the King finds us?” said Elfrida.

“He shan’t,” said Betty Lovell. “You open thechalky door, Mouldy, my love, and I’ll keep theKing quiet till the young people’s gone home.”

“They’ll duck you for a witch,” said theMouldiwarp, and it did not seem to mind thefamiliar way in which Betty spoke to it.

“Well, it’s a warm day,” said Betty; “by thetime they get me to the pond you’ll be safeaway. And the water’ll be nice and cool.”

“Oh, no,” said Edred and Elfrida together.“You’ll be drowned.” And Edred added, “Icouldn’t allow that.”

“Bless your silly little hearts,” said the Mouldiwarp,“she won’t drown. She’ll just get homeby the back door, that’s all. There’s a door atthe bottom of every pond, if you can onlyfind it.”

So Betty Lovell went out through the chalkto meet the anger of the King, with two kisseson her cheeks.

And suddenly there was the pearl and ivoryclock again, all complete, minute hand and hourhand and second hand.

Edred and Elfrida sat down on the minutehand, and before the Mouldiwarp could open itslong, narrow mouth to say a word Edred calledout in a firm voice, “Take us to where Daddyis;” for he had learned from Richard that whiteclocks can be ordered about.

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And the minute hand of pearl and ivory beganto move, faster and faster and faster, till, ifthere had been any one to look at it, it wouldhave been invisible.

But there wasn’t any one to look at it, for theMouldiwarp had leaped on to the hour hand atthe last moment, and was hanging on there byall its claws.

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CHAPTER XIV
THE FINDING OF THE TREASURE

“To Richard Arden!” shouted the Mouldiwarpof Arden as it leaped on the hour hand of thepearl and ivory clock. And then the handswent round far too fast for speech to bepossible. When the clock stopped, which itdid quite suddenly, Edred caught his breathand shouted, “To my daddy!” at the top ofhis voice. And the hands began to move againso quickly that neither of the children had timeto see where they had stopped. They just sawthat they were in a room, and that the Mouldiwarp,who seemed suddenly to have grown tothe size of an enormous Polar bear, leaned overthe edge of the clock and caught at somethingwith a paw a foot long. And then some onecalled out something that they couldn’t hear,and almost at once the clock stopped, and theysaw something climb off the clock. And theclock was in the cave again. And there wasCousin Richard in quite different clothes fromthose he had worn at King Henry the Eighth’smaying. They were the kind of clothes Edredhad worn in Boney’s time, and the cave wasjust as it had been then, with kegs and bales,and the stream running through it.

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“You must come with us,” said the Mouldiwarp,slowly resuming its ordinary size. “Don’tyou see? If these children let their father seethem, they’ll have to explain the whole magic,and when once magic’s explained all the magic’sgone, like the scent out of scent when you leavethe cork out of the bottle. But you can seehim and help—if he wants help—without havingto explain anything.”

“All right,” said Richard, and muttered somethingabout “the Head of the House.” “Only,”he added, “I dropped my magic here.” Hestooped to the sand and picked up a little stickwith silver bells hung round it, like the onethat Folly carries at a carnival. “It’s got theArden arms and crest on it,” he said, pointing,and by the light of the pearl and ivory clockthe children could see the shield and thechequers and the Mouldiwarp above. “NowI’m ready. Cousins, I take back everythingI said. You see, my father’s dead . . . and ifI’d only had half your chance. . . . That waswhat I thought. See? So give us your hand.”

The hands were given.

“But oh,” said Elfrida, “this is different fromall the rest; that was a game, and this is—thisis——”

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“This is real, my sock-lamb,” said the Mouldiwarp,with unusual kindness. “Now yourCousin Richard will help you, and when youget your father back, as I make no doubtsbut what you will, then your Cousin Dick he’llgo back to his own time and generation, andbe seen no more, and your father won’t neverguess that you was there so close to him as youwill be.”

“I don’t believe we shall,” said Elfrida, noddingstubbornly, and for the first time in thisstory she did not believe.

“Oh, well,” said the Mouldiwarp bitterly,“of course if you don’t believe you’ll find him,you’ll not find him. That’s plain as a currantloaf.”

“But I believe we shall find him,” said Edred,“and Elfrida’s only a girl. It might be onlya dream, of course,” he added thoughtfully.“Don’t you think I don’t know that. But ifit’s a dream, I’m going to stay in it. I’m notgoing back to Arden without my father.”

“Do you understand,” said the Mouldiwarp,“that if I take you into any other time orplace in your own century, it’s the full stop?There isn’t any more.”

“It means there’s no chance of our gettinginto the past again, to look for treasure oranything?”

“Oh, chance!” said the Mouldiwarp. “Imean no magic clock’ll not never be made foryou no more, that’s what I mean. And if youfind your father you’ll not be Lord Arden anymore, either!”

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I hope it will not shock you very much whenI tell you that at that thought a distinct pangshot through Edred’s breast. He really felt it,in his flesh-and-blood breast, like a sharp knife.It was dreadful of him to think of such a thing,when there was a chance of his getting hisdaddy in exchange for just a title. It wasdreadful; but I am a truthful writer, and Imust own the truth. In one moment he feltthe most dreadful things—that it was allnonsense, and perhaps daddy wasn’t there, andit was no good looking for him any way, andhe wanted to go on being Lord Arden, andhadn’t they better go home.

The thoughts came quite without his meaningthem to, and Edred pushed them from himwith both hands, so to speak, hating himselfbecause they had come to him. And he willhate himself for those thoughts, though he didnot mean or wish to have them, as long as helives, every time he remembers them. Thatis the worst of thoughts, they live for ever.

“I don’t want to be Lord Arden,” was whathe instantly said—“I want my father.” Andwhat he said was true, in spite of thosethoughts that he didn’t mean to have and cannever forget.

“Shall I come along of you?” said the Mouldiwarp,and every one said “Yes,” very earnestly.A friendly Mouldiwarp is a very useful thingto have at hand when you are going you don’tknow where.

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“Now, you won’t make any mistake,” themole went on. “This is the wind-up and theend-all. So it is. No more chestses in atticses.No more fine clotheses out of ’em neither. An’no more white clocks.”

“All right,” said Edred impatiently, “weunderstand. Now let’s go.”

“You wait a bit,” said the Mouldiwarpaggravatingly. “You’ve got to settle whatyou’ll be, and what way your father’d bettercome out. I think through the chink of thechalk.”

“Any way you like,” said Elfrida. “AndMouldiwarp, dear, shan’t we ever see youagain?”

“Oh, I don’t say that,” it said. “You’ll seeme at dinner every day.”

“At dinner?”

“I’m on all the spoons and forks, anyhow,” itsaid, and snigg*red more aggravatingly thanever.

“Mouldie!” cried Edred suddenly, “I’ve gotit. You disguise us so that father won’t knowus, and then we shan’t be out of it all, whateverit is.”

“I think that’s a first-rate idea,” said Richard;“and me too.”

“Not you,” said the Mouldiwarp. But itwaved a white paw at Edred and Elfrida, andat once they found themselves dressed in tight-fittingwhite fur dresses. Their hands even worefat, white fur gloves with tiger claws at theends of the fingers. At the same moment theMouldiwarp grew big again—to the size ofa very small Polar bear, while Cousin Richardsuddenly assumed the proportions of a giant.

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“Now!” said the Mouldiwarp, and they allleaped on the white clock, which started at once.

When it stopped, and they stepped off it, itwas on to a carpet of thick moss. Overhead,through the branches of enormous trees, thereshone stars of a wonderful golden brightness.The air was warm-scented as if with flowers,and warm to breathe, yet they did not feel thattheir fur coats were a bit too warm for theweather. The moss was so soft to their feetthat Edred and Elfrida wanted to feel it withtheir hands as well, so down they went on allfours. Then they longed to lie down and rollon it; they longed so much that they had to doit. It was a delicious sensation, rolling in thesoft moss.

Cousin Richard, still very much too big, stoodlooking down on them and laughing. Theywere too busy rolling to look at each other.

“This,” he said, “is a first-class lark. Nowfor the cleft in the chalk. Shall I carry you?”he added politely, addressing the Mouldiwarp,who, rather surprisingly, consented.

“Come on,” he said to the children, and as hewent they followed him.

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There was something about the moss, or aboutthe fur coats or the fur gloves, that somehowmade it seem easier and more natural to followon all fours—and really their hands were quiteas useful to walk on as their feet. Never hadthey felt so light, so gay, never had walkingbeen such easy work. They followed Richardthrough the forest till quite abruptly, like thewall at the end of a shrubbery, a great cliff rosein front of them, ending the forest. There wasa cleft in it, they saw the darkness of it risingabove them as the moon came out from a cloudand shone full on the cliff’s white face—and theface of the cliff and the shape of the cleft werevery like that little cleft in the chalk that theMouldiwarp had made when it had pulled upturf on the Sussex downs at home. And allthis time Edred and Elfrida had never lookedat each other. There had been so many otherthings to look at.

“That’s the way,” said Cousin Richard, pointingup the dark cleft. Though it was so darkEdred and Elfrida could see quite plainly thatthere were no steps—only ledges that a verypolite goat might have said were a foothold.

“You couldn’t climb up there,” Edred saidto the great Richard; yet somehow he neverdoubted that he and Elfrida could.

“No,” said the Mouldiwarp, leaping fromRichard’s arms to the ground, “I must carryhim”—and it grew to Polar bear size quitecalmly before their very eyes.

“They don’t see it—even yet,” said Richardto the mole.

“See what?” Elfrida asked.

“Why, what your disguise is. You’re cats,my dear cousins, white cats!”

Then Edred and Elfrida did look at eachother, and it was quite true, they were.

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“I’ll tell you what my plan is,” Richard wenton. “The people of this country have neverseen tame cats. They think a person who cantame animals is a magician. I found that outwhen I was here before. So now I’ve got threetame animals, all white too, that is, if you’llplay,” he added to the Mouldiwarp. “You willplay, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll play!” it said, snarling a little.

“And you cats must only mew and purr, anddo whatever I tell you. You’ll see how I workit. Don’t do anything for any one but me andyour father.”

“Is father really here?” asked Elfrida,trembling a little.

“He’s on the other side of the great cliff,”said Richard,—“the cliff no man can climb.But you can come.”

He got on the Mouldiwarp’s back and put hisarms round its Polar-bear-like neck, and itbegan to climb. That was a climb. Even thecats, which Edred and Elfrida now could nothelp seeing that they were, found it as muchas they could do to keep their footing on thoselittle, smooth, shelving ledges. If it had notbeen that they had cat’s eyes, and so could seein the dark, they never could have done it.And it was such a long, long climb too; itseemed as though it would last for ever.

“I’ve heard of foreign climbs,” said Elfrida,“but I never thought they would be like this.I suppose it is foreign?”

“South American,” said Richard. “You canlook for it on the map when you get home—butyou won’t find it. Come on!”

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And then when they had climbed to the topof the cliff they had to go down on the otherside. For the cliff rose like a wall between theforest and a wide plain, and by the time theyreached that plain the sun was looking downat them over the cliff.

The plain was very large and very wonderful,and a towering wall of cliff ran all round it.The plain was all laid out in roads and avenuesand fields and parks. Towns and palaces weredotted about it—a tall aqueduct on hundredsof pillars brought water from an arch in theface of the cliff to the middle of the plain, andfrom these canals ran out to the cliff wall thatbounded the plain all round, even and straight,like the spokes of a wheel, and disappearedunder low arches of stone, back under the cliff.There were lakes, there were gardens, therewere great stone buildings whose roofs shonelike gold where the rising sun struck them.

In the fields were long-horned cattle andstrange, high-shouldered sheep, which Richardsaid were llamas.

“I know,” he explained, “from seeing them onthe postage stamps.”

They advanced into the plain and sat downunder a spreading tree.

“We must just wait till we’re found,” saidRichard. He had assumed entire command ofthe expedition, and Edred and Elfrida, beingcats, had to submit, but they did not like it.

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Presently shepherds coming early to attendto their flocks found a boy in strange clothes,attended by a great white bear and two whitecats, sitting under a tree.

The shepherds did not seem afraid of the bear—onlycurious and interested; but when theMouldiwarp had stood up on its hind legs andbowed gravely and the cats had stood up andlain down and shaken paws and turned somersaultsat the word of command one of theshepherds wrapped his red woollen cloak roundhim with an air of determination and, makingsigns that Richard was to follow, set off with allhis might for the nearest town.

Quite soon they found themselves in thecentral square of one of the most beautifultowns in the world. I wish I had time to tellyou exactly what it was like, but I have not.I can only say that it was at once clean andgrand, splendid and comfortable. There wasnot a dirty corner nor a sad face from one endof the town to the other. The houses weremade of great blocks of stone inlaid wonderfullywith gold and silver; clear streams—or babycanals—ran by the side of every street, andeach street had a double row of trees runningall along its wide length. There were open,grassy spaces and flower-beds set with flowers,some glowing with their natural and lovelycolours and some cunningly fashioned of goldand silver and jewels. There were fountainsand miniature waterfalls. The faces of thepeople were dark, but kind and unwrinkled.There was a market with stalls of pleasant fruitsand cakes and bright-coloured, soft clothes.There was a great Hall in the middle of thetown with a garden on its flat roof, and to thisHall the shepherd led the party.

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The big doors of inlaid wood were set wideand a crowd, all dressed in soft stuffs of beautifulcolours, filled the long room inside. The roomwas open to the sky; a wrinkled awning drawnclose at one side showed that the people couldhave a roof when it suited them.

There was a raised stone platform at one end,and on this three chairs. The crowd made wayfor the shepherd and his following, and as theydrew near to the raised platform the two whitecats, who were Edred and Elfrida, looked upand saw in the middle and biggest chair asplendid, dark-faced man in a kind of fringedturban with two long feathers in it, and in thetwo chairs to right and left of him, clothed inbeautiful embroidered stuffs, with shining collarsof jewels about their necks, Father and UncleJim!

“Not a word!” said Cousin Dick, just in timeto restrain the voices of the children who werecats. Their actions he could not restrain.Every one in that Hall saw two white catsspring forward and rub themselves against thelegs of the man who sat in the right-hand chair.Compelled to silence as they were by the dangerof their position, Edred and Elfrida rubbed theirwhite-cat bodies against their father’s legs in arapture which I cannot describe and purredenthusiastically. It was a wonderful relief tobe able to purr, since they must not speak.

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The King—he who sat on the high seat—stoodup, looking down on them with wise, kindeyes, and spoke, seeming to ask a question.

Quite as wonderfully as any trained bear,and far more gracefully, the white Mouldiwarpdanced before the King of that mysterioushidden kingdom.

Then Dick whistled, and Edred and Elfridawithdrew themselves from their passionatecaresses of the only parts of their father thatthey could get at, and stood upon their white-hind-cat-feet.

“The minuet,” said Edred, in a rapid whisper.Dick whistled a tune that they had never heard,but the tune was right; and now was seen thespectacle of two white cats slowly and solemnlygoing through the figures of that complicateddance, to the music of Dick’s clear whistling,turning, bowing, pacing with all the graces thatAunt Edith had taught them when they wereEdred and Elfrida and not white cats.

When the last bow and curtsey ended thedance, the King himself shouted some word thatthey were sure meant, “Well done!” All thepeople shouted the same word, and only fatherand Uncle Jim shouted “Bravo!”

Then the King questioned Dick.

No answer. He laid his finger on his lips.

Then the King spoke to father, and he inturn tried questions, in English and Frenchand then in other languages. And still Dickkept on laying his finger on his lips, and thewhite bear shook its head quite sadly, and thewhite cats purred aloud with their eyes ontheir father.

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Richard stooped. “When your father goesout, follow him,” he whispered.

And so, when the King rose from his throneand went out, and every one else did the same,the white cats, deserting Dick, followed close ontheir father’s footsteps. When the King sawthis, he spoke to the men about him, who wereleading Richard in another direction, andpresently the cats and the bear that was theMouldiwarp, and Richard found themselvesalone with Uncle Jim and the father of Elfridaon a beautiful terrace shaded by trees, and setall along its edge with wonderful trailingflowers of red and white and purple that grewout of vases of solid silver.

And now, there being none of the brownpeople near, Richard looked full in the eyesof the father of Edred and Elfrida, and said ina very low voice—

“I am English. I’ve come to rescue you.”

“You’re a bold boy,” said Edred and Elfrida’sfather, “but rescue’s impossible.”

“There’s not much time,” said Richard again;“they’ve only let us come here just to see if youknow us. I expect they’re listening. You areLord Arden now—the old lord is dead. I canget you out if you do exactly as I say.”

“It’s worth trying,” said Uncle Jim,—“it’sworth trying anyhow, whatever it is.”

“Are you free to go where you like?”

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“Yes,” said Lord Arden—not Edred, butEdred’s father, for Edred was now no longerLord Arden. “You see there’s no way out butthe one, and that’s guarded by a hundred menwith poisoned arrows.”

“There is another way,” said Richard; “theway we came. The white bear can carry you,one at a time.”

“Shall we risk it?” said Lord Arden, a littledoubtfully.

“Rather!” said Uncle Jim; “think of Edithand the kids.”

“That’s what I am thinking of,” said LordArden; “while we’re alive there’s a chance. Ifwe try this and fail, they’ll kill us.”

“You won’t fail,” said Richard. “I’ll helpyou to get home; but I would like to know howyou got into this fix. It’s only curiosity. ButI wish you’d tell me. Perhaps I shan’t see youagain after to-day.”

“We stumbled on the entrance, the onlyentrance to the golden plain,” said Lord Arden,“prospecting for gold among these mountains.They have kept us prisoners ever since, becausethey are determined not to let the world knowof the existence of the plain. There are alwaysrumours of it, but so far no ‘civilised’ peoplehave found it. Every King when he comes tothe throne takes an oath that he will die soonerthan allow the plain to be infected by thewicked cruelties of modern civilisation.”

“I think so too,” said Dick.

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“This is an older civilisation than that of theIncas,” said Lord Arden, “and it is the mostbeautiful life I have ever dreamed of. If theyhad trusted me, I would never have betrayedthem. If I escape, I will never betray them.If I let in our horrible system of trusts andsyndicates, and commercialism and crime, onthis golden life, I should know myself to be asgreat a criminal as though I had thrown a littlechild to wild beasts.”

The white cats noticed with wonder andrespect that their father addressed Richardexactly as though he had been a grown-up.

“We managed to send one line to a newspaper,to say that we were taken by bandits,”Lord Arden went on; “it was all that theywould allow us to do. But except that we havenot been free, we have had everything—food,clothes, kindness, justice, affection. We mustescape, if we can, because of my sister and thechildren, but it is like going out of Eden intothe Black Country.”

“That’s so,” said Uncle Jim.

“And if we’re not to see you again,” LordArden went on, “tell me why you have come—atgreat risk it must be—to help us.”

“I owe a debt,” said Richard, in a low voice,“to all who bear the name of Arden.” His voicesank so low that the two cats could only hearthe words “head of the house.”

“And now,” Richard went on, “you see thatblack chink over there?” he pointed to thecrevice in the cliff. “Be there, both of you, atmoonrise, and you shall get away safely toArden Castle.”

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“You must come with us, of course,” saidLord Arden. “I might be of service to you.We have quite a respectable little fortune in abank at Lima—not in our own names—but wecan get it out, if you can get us out. You’vebrought us luck, I’m certain of it. Won’t yougo with us, and share it?”

“I can’t,” said Richard. “I must go back tomy own time, my own place, I mean. NowI’ll go. Come on, cats.”

The cats looked imploringly at their father,but they went and stood by Richard.

“I suppose we may go?” he asked.

“Every one is perfectly free here,” said LordArden. “The only thing you may not do is toleave the golden plain. It is very strange.There are hardly any laws. We are all freeto do as we like, and no one seems to like todo anything that hurts any one else. Only if,any one is caught trying to get into the outerworld, or to let the outer world in, he is killed—withoutpain, and not as vengeance but asnecessity.”

The white cats looked at each other ratherruefully. This was not at all the way in whichthey remembered their daddy’s talking to them.

“But,” said Lord Arden, “for the children andmy sister we must risk it. I trust you completely,and we will be at the crevice when themoon rises.”

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So Richard and his three white animals wentout down steps cut in the solid rock, and thetownspeople crowded round them with fruitsand maize-cakes for Richard, and milk in goldenplatters for the cats.

And later Richard made signs of being sleepy,and they let him go away among the fields,followed by the three white creatures. Andat the appointed hour they all met under thevast cliff that was the natural wall and guardianof the golden plain.

And the Mouldiwarp carried Uncle Jim up tothe top, and then came back for Lord Ardenand Richard. But before there was time to domore a shout went up, and a thousand torchessprang to life in the city they had left, and theyknew that their flight had been discovered.

“There’s no time,” the white Bear-Mouldiwarp,to the utter astonishment of LordArden, opened its long mouth and spoke. Andthe white cats also opened their mouths andcried, “Oh, daddy, how awful! what shallwe do?”

“Hold your silly tongues,” said the Mouldiwarpcrossly. “You was told not to go gossiping.Here! scratch a way out with them whitepaws of yours.”

It set the example, scratching at the enormouscliff with those strong, blunt, curved front feetof it. And the cats scratched too, with theirwhite, padded gloves that had tiger claws tothem. And the rock yielded—there was a whitecrack—wider, wider. And the swaying, swirlingtorches came nearer and nearer across the plain.

“In with you!” cried the Mouldiwarp; “inwith you!”

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“Jim!” said Lord Arden. “I’ll not go withoutJim!”

“He’s half-way there already,” said the Mouldiwarp,pushing Lord Arden with its greatwhite shoulder. “Come, I say, come!” Itpushed them all into the crack of the rock,and the cliff closed firm and fast behind them,an unanswerable “No” set up in the face oftheir pursuers.

“This way out,” said the Mouldiwarp, pointingits dusty claw to where ahead light showed.

“Why,” said Edred, “it’s the smugglers’ cave—andthere’s the clock!”

Next moment there it wasn’t, for Richard hadleapt on it, and he and it had vanished together,the Mouldiwarp clinging to the hour hand atthe last moment.

The white cats, which were Edred and Elfrida,drew back from the whirl of the hands that wasthe first step towards vanishment. They sawtheir father and Uncle Jim go up the steps thatled to the rude wooden door whose key was likea church key—the door that led to the openingamong the furze that they had never been ableto find again.

When the vanishing of the clock allowed themto follow, and they regained the sunny outerair where the skylarks were singing as usual,they were just in time to see two figures goingtowards the castle and very near it.

They turned to look at each other.

“Why,” said Edred, “you’re not a cat anymore!”

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“No more are you, if it comes to that,” saidElfrida. “Oh, Edred, they’re going in at thebig gate! Do you think it’s really real—or havewe just dreamed it—this time? It was muchmore dreamish than any of the other things.”

“I feel,” said Edred, sitting down abruptly,“as if I’d been a cat all my life, and been swunground by my tail every day of my life. I thinkI’ll sit here till I’m quite sure whether I’m awhite cat or Edred Arden.”

“I know which I am,” said Elfrida; but she,too, was not sorry to sit down.

“That’s easy. You aren’t either of them,”said Edred.

· · · · ·

When, half an hour later, they slowly wentdown to the castle, still doubtful whetheranything magic had ever really happened, orwhether all the magic things that had seemedto happen had really been only a sort of double,or twin, dream. They were met at the door byAunt Edith, pale as the pearl and ivory of thewhite clock, and with eyes that shone like thedewdrops on the wild flowers that Elfrida hadgiven to the Queen.

“Oh, kiddies!” she cried. “Oh, dear, darlingkiddies!”

And she went down on her knees so that sheshould be nearer their own height and couldembrace them on more equal terms.

“Something lovely’s happened,” she said;“something so beautiful that you won’t beable to believe it.”

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They kissed her heartily, partly out of affection,and partly to conceal their want ofsurprise.

“Darlings, it’s the loveliest thing that couldpossibly happen. What do you think?”

“Daddy’s come home,” said Elfrida, feelingdreadfully deceitful.

“Yes,” said Aunt Edith. “How clever of you,my pet! And Uncle Jim. They’ve been keptprisoners in South America, and an English boywith a performing bear helped them to escape.”

No mention of cats. The children felt hurt.

“And they had the most dreadful time—monthsand months and months—coming acrossthe interior—no water, and Indians and all sortsof adventures; and daddy had fever, and wouldinsist that the bear was the Mouldiwarp—ourcrest, you know—come to life, and talking justlike you or me, and that there were white catsthat had your voices, and called him daddy.But he’s all right now, only very weak. That’swhy I’m telling you all this. You must be veryquiet and gentle. Oh, my dears, it’s too good tobe true, too good to be true!”

· · · · ·

Now, was it the father of Edred and Elfridawho had brain fever and fancied things? Ordid they, blameless of fever, and not too guiltyof brains, imagine it all? Uncle Jim can tellyou exactly how it all happened. There is nomagic in his story. Father—I mean LordArden—does not talk of what he dreamed whenhe had brain fever. And Edred and Elfrida donot talk of what happened when they hadn’t.At least they do, but only to me.

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It is all very wonderful and mysterious, asall life is apt to be if you go a little below thecrust, and are not content just to read newspapersand go by the Tube Railway, and buyyour clothes ready-made, and think nothing canbe true unless it is uninteresting.

· · · · ·

“I’ve found the most wonderful photographsof pictures of Arden Castle,” said Aunt Edith,later on. “We can restore the castle perfectlyfrom them. I do wish I knew where theoriginal pictures were.”

“I’m afraid we can’t restore the castle,” saidLord Arden laughing; “our little fortune’senough to keep us going quite comfortably—butit won’t rebuild Norman masonry.”

“I do wish we could have found the buriedtreasure,” said Edred.

“We’ve got treasure enough,” said Aunt Edith,looking at Uncle Jim.

As for what Elfrida thinks—well, I wish youcould have seen her face when she went into theparlour that evening after Aunt Edith had kneltdown to meet them on equal terms, and tellthem of the treasure of love and joy that hadcome home to Arden.

349

There was Lord Arden, looking exactly likethe Lord Arden she had known in the GunpowderPlot days, and also exactly like thedaddy she had known all her life, sitting at easein the big chair just underneath the secret panelbehind which Sir Edward Talbot had hiddenwhen he was pretending to be the ChevalierSt. George. His dear face was just the sameand the smile on it was her own smile—themerry, tender, twinkling smile that was for herand for no one else in the world. It was just amoment that she stood at the door. But it wasone of these moments that are as short as awatch-tick, and as long as a year. She stoodthere and asked herself, “Have I dreamed itall? Isn’t there really any Mouldiwarp or anytreasure?”

And then a great wave of love and longingcaught at her, and she knew that, Mouldiwarpor no Mouldiwarp, the treasure was hers, andin one flash she was across the room and in herfather’s arms, sobbing and laughing and sayingagain and again—

“Oh, my daddy! Oh, my daddy, my daddy!”

THE END

Transcriber’s Notes

• Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
• Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.
• In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)