The beginning of things.

They were not railway children to begin with. I don't suppose they hadrnever thought about railways except as a means of getting to Maskelynernand Cook's, the Pantomime, Zoological Gardens, and Madame Tussaud's.rnThey were just ordinary suburban children, and they lived with theirrnFather and Mother in an ordinary red-brick-fronted villa, with colouredrnglass in the front door, a tiled passage that was called a hall, arnbath-room with hot and cold water, electric bells, French windows, andrna good deal of white paint, and 'every modern convenience', as thernhouse-agents say.rnrnThere were three of them. Roberta was the eldest. Of course, Mothersrnnever have favourites, but if their Mother HAD had a favourite, it mightrnhave been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wished to be an Engineer when herngrew up; and the youngest was Phyllis, who meant extremely well.rnrnMother did not spend all her time in paying dull calls to dull ladies,rnand sitting dully at home waiting for dull ladies to pay calls to her.rnShe was almost always there, ready to play with the children, and readrnto them, and help them to do their home-lessons. Besides this she usedrnto write stories for them while they were at school, and read themrnaloud after tea, and she always made up funny pieces of poetry for theirrnbirthdays and for other great occasions, such as the christening of thernnew kittens, or the refurnishing of the doll's house, or the time whenrnthey were getting over the mumps.rnrnThese three lucky children always had everything they needed: prettyrnclothes, good fires, a lovely nursery with heaps of toys, and a MotherrnGoose wall-paper. They had a kind and merry nursemaid, and a dog who wasrncalled James, and who was their very own. They also had a Father who wasrnjust perfect--never cross, never unjust, and always ready for a game--atrnleast, if at any time he was NOT ready, he always had an excellentrnreason for it, and explained the reason to the children so interestinglyrnand funnily that they felt sure he couldn't help himself.rnrnYou will think that they ought to have been very happy. And so theyrnwere, but they did not know HOW happy till the pretty life in the RedrnVilla was over and done with, and they had to live a very different lifernindeed.rnrnThe dreadful change came quite suddenly.rnrnPeter had a birthday--his tenth. Among his other presents was a modelrnengine more perfect than you could ever have dreamed of. The otherrnpresents were full of charm, but the Engine was fuller of charm than anyrnof the others were.rnrnIts charm lasted in its full perfection for exactly three days. Then,rnowing either to Peter's inexperience or Phyllis's good intentions, whichrnhad been rather pressing, or to some other cause, the Engine suddenlyrnwent off with a bang. James was so frightened that he went out and didrnnot come back all day. All the Noah's Ark people who were in the tenderrnwere broken to bits, but nothing else was hurt except the poor littlernengine and the feelings of Peter. The others said he cried over it--butrnof course boys of ten do not cry, however terrible the tragedies may bernwhich darken their lot. He said that his eyes were red because he had arncold. This turned out to be true, though Peter did not know it was whenrnhe said it, the next day he had to go to bed and stay there. Motherrnbegan to be afraid that he might be sickening for measles, when suddenlyrnhe sat up in bed and said:rnrn“I hate gruel--I hate barley water--I hate bread and milk. I want to getrnup and have something REAL to eat.”rnrn“What would you like?” Mother asked.rnrn“A pigeon-pie,” said Peter, eagerly, “a large pigeon-pie. A very largernone.”rnrnSo Mother asked the Cook to make a large pigeon-pie. The pie was made.rnAnd when the pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was cooked, Peterrnate some of it. After that his cold was better. Mother made a piece ofrnpoetry to amuse him while the pie was being made. It began by sayingrnwhat an unfortunate but worthy boy Peter was, then it went on:rnrn He had an engine that he lovedrn With all his heart and soul, And if he had a wish on earthrn It was to keep it whole.rnrn One day--my friends, prepare your minds; I'm coming to the worst-- Quite suddenly a screw went mad, And then the boiler burst!rnrn With gloomy face he picked it uprn And took it to his Mother, Though even he could not supposern That she could make another;rnrn For those who perished on the linern He did not seem to care, His engine being more to himrn Than all the people there.rnrn And now you see the reason whyrn Our Peter has been ill: He soothes his soul with pigeon-piern His gnawing grief to kill.rnrn He wraps himself in blankets warmrn And sleeps in bed till late, Determined thus to overcomern His miserable fate.rnrn And if his eyes are rather red, His cold must just excuse it: Offer him pie; you may be surern He never will refuse it.rnrnFather had been away in the country for three or four days. All Peter'srnhopes for the curing of his afflicted Engine were now fixed on hisrnFather, for Father was most wonderfully clever with his fingers. Herncould mend all sorts of things. He had often acted as veterinary surgeonrnto the wooden rocking-horse; once he had saved its life when all humanrnaid was despaired of, and the poor creature was given up for lost, andrneven the carpenter said he didn't see his way to do anything. And it wasrnFather who mended the doll's cradle when no one else could; and with arnlittle glue and some bits of wood and a pen-knife made all the Noah'srnArk beasts as strong on their pins as ever they were, if not stronger.rnrnPeter, with heroic unselfishness, did not say anything about his Enginerntill after Father had had his dinner and his after-dinner cigar. Thernunselfishness was Mother's idea--but it was Peter who carried it out.rnAnd needed a good deal of patience, too.rnrnAt last Mother said to Father, “Now, dear, if you're quite rested, andrnquite comfy, we want to tell you about the great railway accident, andrnask your advice.”rnrn“All right,” said Father, “fire away!”rnrnSo then Peter told the sad tale, and fetched what was left of thernEngine.rnrn“Hum,” said Father, when he had looked the Engine over very carefully.rnrnThe children held their breaths.rnrn“Is there NO hope?” said Peter, in a low, unsteady voice.rnrn“Hope? Rather! Tons of it,” said Father, cheerfully; “but it'll wantrnsomething besides hope--a bit of brazing say, or some solder, and a newrnvalve. I think we'd better keep it for a rainy day. In other words, I'llrngive up Saturday afternoon to it, and you shall all help me.”rnrn“CAN girls help to mend engines?” Peter asked doubtfully.rnrn“Of course they can. Girls are just as clever as boys, and don't yournforget it! How would you like to be an engine-driver, Phil?”rnrn“My face would be always dirty, wouldn't it?” said Phyllis, inrnunenthusiastic tones, “and I expect I should break something.”rnrn“I should just love it,” said Roberta--“do you think I could when I'mrngrown up, Daddy? Or even a stoker?”rnrn“You mean a fireman,” said Daddy, pulling and twisting at the engine.“Well, if you still wish it, when you're grown up, we'll see aboutrnmaking you a fire-woman. I remember when I was a boy--”rnrnJust then there was a knock at the front door.rnrn“Who on earth!” said Father. “An Englishman's house is his castle, ofrncourse, but I do wish they built semi-detached villas with moats andrndrawbridges.”rnrnRuth--she was the parlour-maid and had red hair--came in and said thatrntwo gentlemen wanted to see the master.rnrn“I've shown them into the Library, Sir,” said she.rnrn“I expect it's the subscription to the Vicar's testimonial,” saidrnMother, “or else it's the choir holiday fund. Get rid of them quickly,rndear. It does break up an evening so, and it's nearly the children'srnbedtime.”rnrnBut Father did not seem to be able to get rid of the gentlemen at allrnquickly.rnrn“I wish we HAD got a moat and drawbridge,” said Roberta; “then, when werndidn't want people, we could just pull up the drawbridge and no one elserncould get in. I expect Father will have forgotten about when he was arnboy if they stay much longer.”rnrnMother tried to make the time pass by telling them a new fairy storyrnabout a Princess with green eyes, but it was difficult because theyrncould hear the voices of Father and the gentlemen in the Library, andrnFather's voice sounded louder and different to the voice he generallyrnused to people who came about testimonials and holiday funds.rnrnThen the Library bell rang, and everyone heaved a breath of relief.rnrn“They're going now,” said Phyllis; “he's rung to have them shown out.”rnrnBut instead of showing anybody out, Ruth showed herself in, and shernlooked queer, the children thought.rnrn“Please'm,” she said, “the Master wants you to just step into the study.rnHe looks like the dead, mum; I think he's had bad news. You'd bestrnprepare yourself for the worst, 'm--p'raps it's a death in the family orrna bank busted or--”rnrn“That'll do, Ruth,” said Mother gently; “you can go.”rnrnThen Mother went into the Library. There was more talking. Then the bellrnrang again, and Ruth fetched a cab. The children heard boots go out andrndown the steps. The cab drove away, and the front door shut. Then Motherrncame in. Her dear face was as white as her lace collar, and her eyesrnlooked very big and shining. Her mouth looked like just a line of palernred--her lips were thin and not their proper shape at all.rnrn“It's bedtime,” she said. “Ruth will put you to bed.”rnrn“But you promised we should sit up late tonight because Father's comernhome,” said Phyllis.rnrn“Father's been called away--on business,” said Mother. “Come, darlings,rngo at once.”rnrnThey kissed her and went. Roberta lingered to give Mother an extra hugrnand to whisper:rnrn“It wasn't bad news, Mammy, was it? Is anyone dead--or--”rnrn“Nobody's dead--no,” said Mother, and she almost seemed to push Robertarnaway. “I can't tell you anything tonight, my pet. Go, dear, go NOW.”rnrnSo Roberta went.rnrnRuth brushed the girls' hair and helped them to undress. (Mother almostrnalways did this herself.) When she had turned down the gas and left themrnshe found Peter, still dressed, waiting on the stairs.rnrn“I say, Ruth, what's up?” he asked.rnrn“Don't ask me no questions and I won't tell you no lies,” the red-headedrnRuth replied. “You'll know soon enough.”rnrnLate that night Mother came up and kissed all three children as theyrnlay asleep. But Roberta was the only one whom the kiss woke, and she layrnmousey-still, and said nothing.rnrn“If Mother doesn't want us to know she's been crying,” she said tornherself as she heard through the dark the catching of her Mother'srnbreath, “we WON'T know it. That's all.”rnrnWhen they came down to breakfast the next morning, Mother had alreadyrngone out.rnrn“To London,” Ruth said, and left them to their breakfast.rnrn“There's something awful the matter,” said Peter, breaking his egg.“Ruth told me last night we should know soon enough.”rnrn“Did you ASK her?” said Roberta, with scorn.rnrn“Yes, I did!” said Peter, angrily. “If you could go to bed withoutrncaring whether Mother was worried or not, I couldn't. So there.”rnrn“I don't think we ought to ask the servants things Mother doesn't tellrnus,” said Roberta.rnrn“That's right, Miss Goody-goody,” said Peter, “preach away.”rnrn“I'M not goody,” said Phyllis, “but I think Bobbie's right this time.”rnrn“Of course. She always is. In her own opinion,” said Peter.rnrn“Oh, DON'T!” cried Roberta, putting down her egg-spoon; “don't let's bernhorrid to each other. I'm sure some dire calamity is happening. Don'trnlet's make it worse!”rnrn“Who began, I should like to know?” said Peter.rnrnRoberta made an effort, and answered:--rnrn“I did, I suppose, but--”rnrn“Well, then,” said Peter, triumphantly. But before he went to school hernthumped his sister between the shoulders and told her to cheer up.rnrnThe children came home to one o'clock dinner, but Mother was not there.rnAnd she was not there at tea-time.rnrnIt was nearly seven before she came in, looking so ill and tired thatrnthe children felt they could not ask her any questions. She sank into anrnarm-chair. Phyllis took the long pins out of her hat, while Roberta tookrnoff her gloves, and Peter unfastened her walking-shoes and fetched herrnsoft velvety slippers for her.rnrnWhen she had had a cup of tea, and Roberta had put eau-de-Cologne on herrnpoor head that ached, Mother said:--rnrn“Now, my darlings, I want to tell you something. Those men last nightrndid bring very bad news, and Father will be away for some time. I amrnvery worried about it, and I want you all to help me, and not to makernthings harder for me.”rnrn“As if we would!” said Roberta, holding Mother's hand against her face.rnrn“You can help me very much,” said Mother, “by being good and happyrnand not quarrelling when I'm away”--Roberta and Peter exchanged guiltyrnglances--“for I shall have to be away a good deal.”rnrn“We won't quarrel. Indeed we won't,” said everybody. And meant it, too.rnrn“Then,” Mother went on, “I want you not to ask me any questions aboutrnthis trouble; and not to ask anybody else any questions.”rnrnPeter cringed and shuffled his boots on the carpet.rnrn“You'll promise this, too, won't you?” said Mother.rnrn“I did ask Ruth,” said Peter, suddenly. “I'm very sorry, but I did.”rnrn“And what did she say?”rnrn“She said I should know soon enough.”rnrn“It isn't necessary for you to know anything about it,” said Mother;“it's about business, and you never do understand business, do you?”rnrn“No,” said Roberta; “is it something to do with Government?” For Fatherrnwas in a Government Office.rnrn“Yes,” said Mother. “Now it's bed-time, my darlings. And don't YOUrnworry. It'll all come right in the end.”rnrn“Then don't YOU worry either, Mother,” said Phyllis, “and we'll all bernas good as gold.”rnrnMother sighed and kissed them.rnrn“We'll begin being good the first thing tomorrow morning,” said Peter,rnas they went upstairs.rnrn“Why not NOW?” said Roberta.rnrn“There's nothing to be good ABOUT now, silly,” said Peter.rnrn“We might begin to try to FEEL good,” said Phyllis, “and not callrnnames.”rnrn“Who's calling names?” said Peter. “Bobbie knows right enough that whenrnI say 'silly', it's just the same as if I said Bobbie.”rnrn“WELL,” said Roberta.rnrn“No, I don't mean what you mean. I mean it's just a--what is it Fatherrncalls it?--a germ of endearment! Good night.”rnrnThe girls folded up their clothes with more than usual neatness--whichrnwas the only way of being good that they could think of.rnrn“I say,” said Phyllis, smoothing out her pinafore, “you used to sayrnit was so dull--nothing happening, like in books. Now something HASrnhappened.”rnrn“I never wanted things to happen to make Mother unhappy,” said Roberta.“Everything's perfectly horrid.”rnrnEverything continued to be perfectly horrid for some weeks.rnrnMother was nearly always out. Meals were dull and dirty. Thernbetween-maid was sent away, and Aunt Emma came on a visit. Aunt Emma wasrnmuch older than Mother. She was going abroad to be a governess. Shernwas very busy getting her clothes ready, and they were very ugly, dingyrnclothes, and she had them always littering about, and the sewing-machinernseemed to whir--on and on all day and most of the night. Aunt Emmarnbelieved in keeping children in their proper places. And they more thanrnreturned the compliment. Their idea of Aunt Emma's proper place wasrnanywhere where they were not. So they saw very little of her. Theyrnpreferred the company of the servants, who were more amusing. Cook,rnif in a good temper, could sing comic songs, and the housemaid, if shernhappened not to be offended with you, could imitate a hen that has laidrnan egg, a bottle of champagne being opened, and could mew like two catsrnfighting. The servants never told the children what the bad news wasrnthat the gentlemen had brought to Father. But they kept hintingrnthat they could tell a great deal if they chose--and this was notrncomfortable.rnrnOne day when Peter had made a booby trap over the bath-room door, andrnit had acted beautifully as Ruth passed through, that red-hairedrnparlour-maid caught him and boxed his ears.rnrn“You'll come to a bad end,” she said furiously, “you nasty little limb,rnyou! If you don't mend your ways, you'll go where your precious Father'srngone, so I tell you straight!”rnrnRoberta repeated this to her Mother, and next day Ruth was sent away.rnrnThen came the time when Mother came home and went to bed and stayedrnthere two days and the Doctor came, and the children crept wretchedlyrnabout the house and wondered if the world was coming to an end.rnrnMother came down one morning to breakfast, very pale and with linesrnon her face that used not to be there. And she smiled, as well as sherncould, and said:--rnrn“Now, my pets, everything is settled. We're going to leave this house,rnand go and live in the country. Such a ducky dear little white house. Irnknow you'll love it.”rnrnA whirling week of packing followed--not just packing clothes, like whenrnyou go to the seaside, but packing chairs and tables, covering theirrntops with sacking and their legs with straw.rnrnAll sorts of things were packed that you don't pack when you go tornthe seaside. Crockery, blankets, candlesticks, carpets, bedsteads,rnsaucepans, and even fenders and fire-irons.rnrnThe house was like a furniture warehouse. I think the children enjoyedrnit very much. Mother was very busy, but not too busy now to talk tornthem, and read to them, and even to make a bit of poetry for Phyllis torncheer her up when she fell down with a screwdriver and ran it into herrnhand.rnrn“Aren't you going to pack this, Mother?” Roberta asked, pointing to thernbeautiful cabinet inlaid with red turtleshell and brass.rnrn“We can't take everything,” said Mother.rnrn“But we seem to be taking all the ugly things,” said Roberta.rnrn“We're taking the useful ones,” said Mother; “we've got to play at beingrnPoor for a bit, my chickabiddy.”rnrnWhen all the ugly useful things had been packed up and taken away in arnvan by men in green-baize aprons, the two girls and Mother and Aunt Emmarnslept in the two spare rooms where the furniture was all pretty. Allrntheir beds had gone. A bed was made up for Peter on the drawing-roomrnsofa.rnrn“I say, this is larks,” he said, wriggling joyously, as Mother tuckedrnhim up. “I do like moving! I wish we moved once a month.”rnrnMother laughed.rnrn“I don't!” she said. “Good night, Peterkin.”rnrnAs she turned away Roberta saw her face. She never forgot it.rnrn“Oh, Mother,” she whispered all to herself as she got into bed, “howrnbrave you are! How I love you! Fancy being brave enough to laugh whenrnyou're feeling like THAT!”rnrnNext day boxes were filled, and boxes and more boxes; and then late inrnthe afternoon a cab came to take them to the station.rnrnAunt Emma saw them off. They felt that THEY were seeing HER off, andrnthey were glad of it.rnrn“But, oh, those poor little foreign children that she's going torngoverness!” whispered Phyllis. “I wouldn't be them for anything!”rnrnAt first they enjoyed looking out of the window, but when it grew duskrnthey grew sleepier and sleepier, and no one knew how long they had beenrnin the train when they were roused by Mother's shaking them gently andrnsaying:--rnrn“Wake up, dears. We're there.”rnrnThey woke up, cold and melancholy, and stood shivering on the draughtyrnplatform while the baggage was taken out of the train. Then the engine,rnpuffing and blowing, set to work again, and dragged the train away. Thernchildren watched the tail-lights of the guard's van disappear into therndarkness.rnrnThis was the first train the children saw on that railway which was inrntime to become so very dear to them. They did not guess then how theyrnwould grow to love the railway, and how soon it would become the centrernof their new life, nor what wonders and changes it would bring to them.rnThey only shivered and sneezed and hoped the walk to the new house wouldrnnot be long. Peter's nose was colder than he ever remembered it to havernbeen before. Roberta's hat was crooked, and the elastic seemed tighterrnthan usual. Phyllis's shoe-laces had come undone.rnrn“Come,” said Mother, “we've got to walk. There aren't any cabs here.”rnrnThe walk was dark and muddy. The children stumbled a little on the roughrnroad, and once Phyllis absently fell into a puddle, and was picked uprndamp and unhappy. There were no gas-lamps on the road, and the road wasrnuphill. The cart went at a foot's pace, and they followed the grittyrncrunch of its wheels. As their eyes got used to the darkness, they couldrnsee the mound of boxes swaying dimly in front of them.rnrnA long gate had to be opened for the cart to pass through, and afterrnthat the road seemed to go across fields--and now it went down hill.rnPresently a great dark lumpish thing showed over to the right.rnrn“There's the house,” said Mother. “I wonder why she's shut thernshutters.”rnrn“Who's SHE?” asked Roberta.rnrn“The woman I engaged to clean the place, and put the furniture straightrnand get supper.”rnrnThere was a low wall, and trees inside.rnrn“That's the garden,” said Mother.rnrn“It looks more like a dripping-pan full of black cabbages,” said Peter.rnrnThe cart went on along by the garden wall, and round to the back of thernhouse, and here it clattered into a cobble-stoned yard and stopped atrnthe back door.rnrnThere was no light in any of the windows.rnrnEveryone hammered at the door, but no one came.rnrnThe man who drove the cart said he expected Mrs. Viney had gone home.rnrn“You see your train was that late,” said he.rnrn“But she's got the key,” said Mother. “What are we to do?”rnrn“Oh, she'll have left that under the doorstep,” said the cart man;“folks do hereabouts.” He took the lantern off his cart and stooped.rnrn“Ay, here it is, right enough,” he said.rnrnHe unlocked the door and went in and set his lantern on the table.rnrn“Got e'er a candle?” said he.rnrn“I don't know where anything is.” Mother spoke rather less cheerfullyrnthan usual.rnrnHe struck a match. There was a candle on the table, and he lighted it.rnBy its thin little glimmer the children saw a large bare kitchen withrna stone floor. There were no curtains, no hearth-rug. The kitchenrntable from home stood in the middle of the room. The chairs were in onerncorner, and the pots, pans, brooms, and crockery in another. There wasrnno fire, and the black grate showed cold, dead ashes.rnrnAs the cart man turned to go out after he had brought in the boxes,rnthere was a rustling, scampering sound that seemed to come from insidernthe walls of the house.rnrn“Oh, what's that?” cried the girls.rnrn“It's only the rats,” said the cart man. And he went away and shut therndoor, and the sudden draught of it blew out the candle.rnrn“Oh, dear,” said Phyllis, “I wish we hadn't come!” and she knocked arnchair over.rnrn“ONLY the rats!” said Peter, in the dark.