The old gentleman.

After the adventure of Peter's Coal-mine, it seemed well to the childrenrnto keep away from the station--but they did not, they could not, keeprnaway from the railway. They had lived all their lives in a street whererncabs and omnibuses rumbled by at all hours, and the carts of butchersrnand bakers and candlestick makers (I never saw a candlestick-maker'srncart; did you?) might occur at any moment. Here in the deep silence ofrnthe sleeping country the only things that went by were the trains. Theyrnseemed to be all that was left to link the children to the old life thatrnhad once been theirs. Straight down the hill in front of Three Chimneysrnthe daily passage of their six feet began to mark a path across therncrisp, short turf. They began to know the hours when certain trainsrnpassed, and they gave names to them. The 9.15 up was called the GreenrnDragon. The 10.7 down was the Worm of Wantley. The midnight townrnexpress, whose shrieking rush they sometimes woke from their dreamsrnto hear, was the Fearsome Fly-by-night. Peter got up once, in chillrnstarshine, and, peeping at it through his curtains, named it on thernspot.rnrnIt was by the Green Dragon that the old gentleman travelled. He was arnvery nice-looking old gentleman, and he looked as if he were nice,rntoo, which is not at all the same thing. He had a fresh-coloured,rnclean-shaven face and white hair, and he wore rather odd-shaped collarsrnand a top-hat that wasn't exactly the same kind as other people's. Ofrncourse the children didn't see all this at first. In fact the firstrnthing they noticed about the old gentleman was his hand.rnrnIt was one morning as they sat on the fence waiting for the GreenrnDragon, which was three and a quarter minutes late by Peter's Waterburyrnwatch that he had had given him on his last birthday.rnrn“The Green Dragon's going where Father is,” said Phyllis; “if it wererna really real dragon, we could stop it and ask it to take our love tornFather.”rnrn“Dragons don't carry people's love,” said Peter; “they'd be above it.”rnrn“Yes, they do, if you tame them thoroughly first. They fetch and carryrnlike pet spaniels,” said Phyllis, “and feed out of your hand. I wonderrnwhy Father never writes to us.”rnrn“Mother says he's been too busy,” said Bobbie; “but he'll write soon,rnshe says.”rnrn“I say,” Phyllis suggested, “let's all wave to the Green Dragon as itrngoes by. If it's a magic dragon, it'll understand and take our loves tornFather. And if it isn't, three waves aren't much. We shall never missrnthem.”rnrnSo when the Green Dragon tore shrieking out of the mouth of its darkrnlair, which was the tunnel, all three children stood on the railing andrnwaved their pocket-handkerchiefs without stopping to think whether theyrnwere clean handkerchiefs or the reverse. They were, as a matter of fact,rnvery much the reverse.rnrnAnd out of a first-class carriage a hand waved back. A quite clean hand.rnIt held a newspaper. It was the old gentleman's hand.rnrnAfter this it became the custom for waves to be exchanged between thernchildren and the 9.15.rnrnAnd the children, especially the girls, liked to think that perhaps thernold gentleman knew Father, and would meet him 'in business,' whereverrnthat shady retreat might be, and tell him how his three children stoodrnon a rail far away in the green country and waved their love to himrnevery morning, wet or fine.rnrnFor they were now able to go out in all sorts of weather such as theyrnwould never have been allowed to go out in when they lived in theirrnvilla house. This was Aunt Emma's doing, and the children felt more andrnmore that they had not been quite fair to this unattractive aunt, whenrnthey found how useful were the long gaiters and waterproof coats thatrnthey had laughed at her for buying for them.rnrnMother, all this time, was very busy with her writing. She used to sendrnoff a good many long blue envelopes with stories in them--and largernenvelopes of different sizes and colours used to come to her. Sometimesrnshe would sigh when she opened them and say:--rnrn“Another story come home to roost. Oh, dear, Oh, dear!” and then thernchildren would be very sorry.rnrnBut sometimes she would wave the envelope in the air and say:--“Hooray,rnhooray. Here's a sensible Editor. He's taken my story and this is thernproof of it.”rnrnAt first the children thought 'the Proof' meant the letter the sensiblernEditor had written, but they presently got to know that the proof wasrnlong slips of paper with the story printed on them.rnrnWhenever an Editor was sensible there were buns for tea.rnrnOne day Peter was going down to the village to get buns to celebraternthe sensibleness of the Editor of the Children's Globe, when he met thernStation Master.rnrnPeter felt very uncomfortable, for he had now had time to think over thernaffair of the coal-mine. He did not like to say “Good morning” to thernStation Master, as you usually do to anyone you meet on a lonely road,rnbecause he had a hot feeling, which spread even to his ears, that thernStation Master might not care to speak to a person who had stolen coals.'Stolen' is a nasty word, but Peter felt it was the right one. So hernlooked down, and said Nothing.rnrnIt was the Station Master who said “Good morning” as he passed by. AndrnPeter answered, “Good morning.” Then he thought:--rnrn“Perhaps he doesn't know who I am by daylight, or he wouldn't be sornpolite.”rnrnAnd he did not like the feeling which thinking this gave him. And thenrnbefore he knew what he was going to do he ran after the Station Master,rnwho stopped when he heard Peter's hasty boots crunching the road,rnand coming up with him very breathless and with his ears now quiternmagenta-coloured, he said:--rnrn“I don't want you to be polite to me if you don't know me when you seernme.”rnrn“Eh?” said the Station Master.rnrn“I thought perhaps you didn't know it was me that took the coals,” Peter went on, “when you said 'Good morning.' But it was, and I'm sorry.rnThere.”rnrn“Why,” said the Station Master, “I wasn't thinking anything at all aboutrnthe precious coals. Let bygones be bygones. And where were you off to inrnsuch a hurry?”rnrn“I'm going to buy buns for tea,” said Peter.rnrn“I thought you were all so poor,” said the Station Master.rnrn“So we are,” said Peter, confidentially, “but we always have threernpennyworth of halfpennies for tea whenever Mother sells a story or arnpoem or anything.”rnrn“Oh,” said the Station Master, “so your Mother writes stories, doesrnshe?”rnrn“The beautifulest you ever read,” said Peter.rnrn“You ought to be very proud to have such a clever Mother.”rnrn“Yes,” said Peter, “but she used to play with us more before she had tornbe so clever.”rnrn“Well,” said the Station Master, “I must be getting along. You give usrna look in at the Station whenever you feel so inclined. And as to coals,rnit's a word that--well--oh, no, we never mention it, eh?”rnrn“Thank you,” said Peter. “I'm very glad it's all straightened outrnbetween us.” And he went on across the canal bridge to the village tornget the buns, feeling more comfortable in his mind than he had feltrnsince the hand of the Station Master had fastened on his collar thatrnnight among the coals.rnrnNext day when they had sent the threefold wave of greeting to Father byrnthe Green Dragon, and the old gentleman had waved back as usual, Peterrnproudly led the way to the station.rnrn“But ought we?” said Bobbie.rnrn“After the coals, she means,” Phyllis explained.rnrn“I met the Station Master yesterday,” said Peter, in an offhand way,rnand he pretended not to hear what Phyllis had said; “he expresspeciallyrninvited us to go down any time we liked.”rnrn“After the coals?” repeated Phyllis. “Stop a minute--my bootlace isrnundone again.”rnrn“It always IS undone again,” said Peter, “and the Station Master wasrnmore of a gentleman than you'll ever be, Phil--throwing coal at a chap'srnhead like that.”rnrnPhyllis did up her bootlace and went on in silence, but her shouldersrnshook, and presently a fat tear fell off her nose and splashed on thernmetal of the railway line. Bobbie saw it.rnrn“Why, what's the matter, darling?” she said, stopping short and puttingrnher arm round the heaving shoulders.rnrn“He called me un-un-ungentlemanly,” sobbed Phyllis. “I didn't never callrnhim unladylike, not even when he tied my Clorinda to the firewood bundlernand burned her at the stake for a martyr.”rnrnPeter had indeed perpetrated this outrage a year or two before.rnrn“Well, you began, you know,” said Bobbie, honestly, “about coals and allrnthat. Don't you think you'd better both unsay everything since the wave,rnand let honour be satisfied?”rnrn“I will if Peter will,” said Phyllis, sniffling.rnrn“All right,” said Peter; “honour is satisfied. Here, use my hankie,rnPhil, for goodness' sake, if you've lost yours as usual. I wonder whatrnyou do with them.”rnrn“You had my last one,” said Phyllis, indignantly, “to tie up thernrabbit-hutch door with. But you're very ungrateful. It's quite rightrnwhat it says in the poetry book about sharper than a serpent it is tornhave a toothless child--but it means ungrateful when it says toothless.rnMiss Lowe told me so.”rnrn“All right,” said Peter, impatiently, “I'm sorry. THERE! Now will yourncome on?”rnrnThey reached the station and spent a joyous two hours with the Porter.rnHe was a worthy man and seemed never tired of answering the questionsrnthat begin with “Why--” which many people in higher ranks of life oftenrnseem weary of.rnrnHe told them many things that they had not known before--as, forrninstance, that the things that hook carriages together are calledrncouplings, and that the pipes like great serpents that hang over therncouplings are meant to stop the train with.rnrn“If you could get a holt of one o' them when the train is going and pullrn'em apart,” said he, “she'd stop dead off with a jerk.”rnrn“Who's she?” said Phyllis.rnrn“The train, of course,” said the Porter. After that the train was neverrnagain 'It' to the children.rnrn“And you know the thing in the carriages where it says on it, 'Fivernpounds' fine for improper use.' If you was to improperly use that, therntrain 'ud stop.”rnrn“And if you used it properly?” said Roberta.rnrn“It 'ud stop just the same, I suppose,” said he, “but it isn't properrnuse unless you're being murdered. There was an old lady once--someonernkidded her on it was a refreshment-room bell, and she used it improper,rnnot being in danger of her life, though hungry, and when the trainrnstopped and the guard came along expecting to find someone weltering inrntheir last moments, she says, 'Oh, please, Mister, I'll take a glass ofrnstout and a bath bun,' she says. And the train was seven minutes behindrnher time as it was.”rnrn“What did the guard say to the old lady?”rnrn“_I_ dunno,” replied the Porter, “but I lay she didn't forget it in arnhurry, whatever it was.”rnrnIn such delightful conversation the time went by all too quickly.rnrnThe Station Master came out once or twice from that sacred inner templernbehind the place where the hole is that they sell you tickets through,rnand was most jolly with them all.rnrn“Just as if coal had never been discovered,” Phyllis whispered to herrnsister.rnrnHe gave them each an orange, and promised to take them up into thernsignal-box one of these days, when he wasn't so busy.rnrnSeveral trains went through the station, and Peter noticed for the firstrntime that engines have numbers on them, like cabs.rnrn“Yes,” said the Porter, “I knowed a young gent as used to take down thernnumbers of every single one he seed; in a green note-book with silverrncorners it was, owing to his father being very well-to-do in thernwholesale stationery.”rnrnPeter felt that he could take down numbers, too, even if he was notrnthe son of a wholesale stationer. As he did not happen to have a greenrnleather note-book with silver corners, the Porter gave him a yellowrnenvelope and on it he noted:--rnrn 379rn 663rnrnand felt that this was the beginning of what would be a most interestingrncollection.rnrnThat night at tea he asked Mother if she had a green leather note-bookrnwith silver corners. She had not; but when she heard what he wanted itrnfor she gave him a little black one.rnrn“It has a few pages torn out,” said she; “but it will hold quite a lotrnof numbers, and when it's full I'll give you another. I'm so glad yournlike the railway. Only, please, you mustn't walk on the line.”rnrn“Not if we face the way the train's coming?” asked Peter, after a gloomyrnpause, in which glances of despair were exchanged.rnrn“No--really not,” said Mother.rnrnThen Phyllis said, “Mother, didn't YOU ever walk on the railway linesrnwhen you were little?”rnrnMother was an honest and honourable Mother, so she had to say, “Yes.”rnrn“Well, then,” said Phyllis.rnrn“But, darlings, you don't know how fond I am of you. What should I do ifrnyou got hurt?”rnrn“Are you fonder of us than Granny was of you when you were little?” Phyllis asked. Bobbie made signs to her to stop, but Phyllis never didrnsee signs, no matter how plain they might be.rnrnMother did not answer for a minute. She got up to put more water in thernteapot.rnrn“No one,” she said at last, “ever loved anyone more than my mother lovedrnme.”rnrnThen she was quiet again, and Bobbie kicked Phyllis hard under therntable, because Bobbie understood a little bit the thoughts that werernmaking Mother so quiet--the thoughts of the time when Mother was arnlittle girl and was all the world to HER mother. It seems so easy andrnnatural to run to Mother when one is in trouble. Bobbie understood arnlittle how people do not leave off running to their mothers when theyrnare in trouble even when they are grown up, and she thought she knew arnlittle what it must be to be sad, and have no mother to run to any more.rnrnSo she kicked Phyllis, who said:--rnrn“What are you kicking me like that for, Bob?”rnrnAnd then Mother laughed a little and sighed and said:--rnrn“Very well, then. Only let me be sure you do know which way the trainsrncome--and don't walk on the line near the tunnel or near corners.”rnrn“Trains keep to the left like carriages,” said Peter, “so if we keep tornthe right, we're bound to see them coming.”rnrn“Very well,” said Mother, and I dare say you think that she ought notrnto have said it. But she remembered about when she was a little girlrnherself, and she did say it--and neither her own children nor you norrnany other children in the world could ever understand exactly what itrncost her to do it. Only some few of you, like Bobbie, may understand arnvery little bit.rnrnIt was the very next day that Mother had to stay in bed because her headrnached so. Her hands were burning hot, and she would not eat anything,rnand her throat was very sore.rnrn“If I was you, Mum,” said Mrs. Viney, “I should take and send for therndoctor. There's a lot of catchy complaints a-going about just now. Myrnsister's eldest--she took a chill and it went to her inside, two yearsrnago come Christmas, and she's never been the same gell since.”rnrnMother wouldn't at first, but in the evening she felt so much worse thatrnPeter was sent to the house in the village that had three laburnum treesrnby the gate, and on the gate a brass plate with W. W. Forrest, M.D., onrnit.rnrnW. W. Forrest, M.D., came at once. He talked to Peter on the way back.rnHe seemed a most charming and sensible man, interested in railways, andrnrabbits, and really important things.rnrnWhen he had seen Mother, he said it was influenza.rnrn“Now, Lady Grave-airs,” he said in the hall to Bobbie, “I suppose you'llrnwant to be head-nurse.”rnrn“Of course,” said she.rnrn“Well, then, I'll send down some medicine. Keep up a good fire. Havernsome strong beef tea made ready to give her as soon as the fever goesrndown. She can have grapes now, and beef essence--and soda-water andrnmilk, and you'd better get in a bottle of brandy. The best brandy. Cheaprnbrandy is worse than poison.”rnrnShe asked him to write it all down, and he did.rnrnWhen Bobbie showed Mother the list he had written, Mother laughed. ItrnWAS a laugh, Bobbie decided, though it was rather odd and feeble.rnrn“Nonsense,” said Mother, laying in bed with eyes as bright as beads.“I can't afford all that rubbish. Tell Mrs. Viney to boil two pounds ofrnscrag-end of the neck for your dinners to-morrow, and I can have somernof the broth. Yes, I should like some more water now, love. And will yournget a basin and sponge my hands?”rnrnRoberta obeyed. When she had done everything she could to make Motherrnless uncomfortable, she went down to the others. Her cheeks were veryrnred, her lips set tight, and her eyes almost as bright as Mother's.rnrnShe told them what the Doctor had said, and what Mother had said.rnrn“And now,” said she, when she had told all, “there's no one but us to dornanything, and we've got to do it. I've got the shilling for the mutton.”rnrn“We can do without the beastly mutton,” said Peter; “bread and butterrnwill support life. People have lived on less on desert islands many arntime.”rnrn“Of course,” said his sister. And Mrs. Viney was sent to the village tornget as much brandy and soda-water and beef tea as she could buy for arnshilling.rnrn“But even if we never have anything to eat at all,” said Phyllis, “yourncan't get all those other things with our dinner money.”rnrn“No,” said Bobbie, frowning, “we must find out some other way. NowrnTHINK, everybody, just as hard as ever you can.”rnrnThey did think. And presently they talked. And later, when Bobbie hadrngone up to sit with Mother in case she wanted anything, the other twornwere very busy with scissors and a white sheet, and a paint brush, andrnthe pot of Brunswick black that Mrs. Viney used for grates and fenders.rnThey did not manage to do what they wished, exactly, with the firstrnsheet, so they took another out of the linen cupboard. It did not occurrnto them that they were spoiling good sheets which cost good money. Theyrnonly knew that they were making a good--but what they were making comesrnlater.rnrnBobbie's bed had been moved into Mother's room, and several times inrnthe night she got up to mend the fire, and to give her mother milk andrnsoda-water. Mother talked to herself a good deal, but it did not seemrnto mean anything. And once she woke up suddenly and called out: “Mamma,rnmamma!” and Bobbie knew she was calling for Granny, and that she hadrnforgotten that it was no use calling, because Granny was dead.rnrnIn the early morning Bobbie heard her name and jumped out of bed and ranrnto Mother's bedside.rnrn“Oh--ah, yes--I think I was asleep,” said Mother. “My poor little duck,rnhow tired you'll be--I do hate to give you all this trouble.”rnrn“Trouble!” said Bobbie.rnrn“Ah, don't cry, sweet,” Mother said; “I shall be all right in a day orrntwo.”rnrnAnd Bobbie said, “Yes,” and tried to smile.rnrnWhen you are used to ten hours of solid sleep, to get up three or fourrntimes in your sleep-time makes you feel as though you had been up allrnnight. Bobbie felt quite stupid and her eyes were sore and stiff, butrnshe tidied the room, and arranged everything neatly before the Doctorrncame.rnrnThis was at half-past eight.rnrn“Everything going on all right, little Nurse?” he said at the frontrndoor. “Did you get the brandy?”rnrn“I've got the brandy,” said Bobbie, “in a little flat bottle.”rnrn“I didn't see the grapes or the beef tea, though,” said he.rnrn“No,” said Bobbie, firmly, “but you will to-morrow. And there's somernbeef stewing in the oven for beef tea.”rnrn“Who told you to do that?” he asked.rnrn“I noticed what Mother did when Phil had mumps.”rnrn“Right,” said the Doctor. “Now you get your old woman to sit with yourrnmother, and then you eat a good breakfast, and go straight to bed andrnsleep till dinner-time. We can't afford to have the head-nurse ill.”rnrnHe was really quite a nice doctor.rnrnWhen the 9.15 came out of the tunnel that morning the old gentleman inrnthe first-class carriage put down his newspaper, and got ready to wavernhis hand to the three children on the fence. But this morning there werernnot three. There was only one. And that was Peter.rnrnPeter was not on the railings either, as usual. He was standing in frontrnof them in an attitude like that of a show-man showing off the animalsrnin a menagerie, or of the kind clergyman when he points with a wand atrnthe 'Scenes from Palestine,' when there is a magic-lantern and he isrnexplaining it.rnrnPeter was pointing, too. And what he was pointing at was a large whiternsheet nailed against the fence. On the sheet there were thick blackrnletters more than a foot long.rnrnSome of them had run a little, because of Phyllis having put thernBrunswick black on too eagerly, but the words were quite easy to read.rnrnAnd this what the old gentleman and several other people in the trainrnread in the large black letters on the white sheet:--rnrn LOOK OUT AT THE STATION.rnrnA good many people did look out at the station and were disappointed,rnfor they saw nothing unusual. The old gentleman looked out, too, and atrnfirst he too saw nothing more unusual than the gravelled platform andrnthe sunshine and the wallflowers and forget-me-nots in the stationrnborders. It was only just as the train was beginning to puff and pullrnitself together to start again that he saw Phyllis. She was quite out ofrnbreath with running.rnrn“Oh,” she said, “I thought I'd missed you. My bootlaces would keeprncoming down and I fell over them twice. Here, take it.”rnrnShe thrust a warm, dampish letter into his hand as the train moved.rnrnHe leaned back in his corner and opened the letter. This is what hernread:--rnrn“Dear Mr. We do not know your name.rnrnMother is ill and the doctor says to give her the things at the end ofrnthe letter, but she says she can't aford it, and to get mutton forrnus and she will have the broth. We do not know anybody here but you,rnbecause Father is away and we do not know the address. Father will payrnyou, or if he has lost all his money, or anything, Peter will pay yournwhen he is a man. We promise it on our honer. I.O.U. for all the thingsrnMother wants.rnrn “sined Peter.rnrn“Will you give the parsel to the Station Master, because of us notrnknowing what train you come down by? Say it is for Peter that was sorryrnabout the coals and he will know all right.rnrn “Roberta. “Phyllis. “Peter.”rnrnThen came the list of things the Doctor had ordered.rnrnThe old gentleman read it through once, and his eyebrows went up. Hernread it twice and smiled a little. When he had read it thrice, he put itrnin his pocket and went on reading The Times.rnrnAt about six that evening there was a knock at the back door. The threernchildren rushed to open it, and there stood the friendly Porter, who hadrntold them so many interesting things about railways. He dumped down arnbig hamper on the kitchen flags.rnrn“Old gent,” he said; “he asked me to fetch it up straight away.”rnrn“Thank you very much,” said Peter, and then, as the Porter lingered, hernadded:--rnrn“I'm most awfully sorry I haven't got twopence to give you like Fatherrndoes, but--”rnrn“You drop it if you please,” said the Porter, indignantly. “I wasn'trnthinking about no tuppences. I only wanted to say I was sorry your Mammarnwasn't so well, and to ask how she finds herself this evening--andrnI've fetched her along a bit of sweetbrier, very sweet to smell it is.rnTwopence indeed,” said he, and produced a bunch of sweetbrier from hisrnhat, “just like a conjurer,” as Phyllis remarked afterwards.rnrn“Thank you very much,” said Peter, “and I beg your pardon about therntwopence.”rnrn“No offence,” said the Porter, untruly but politely, and went.rnrnThen the children undid the hamper. First there was straw, and thenrnthere were fine shavings, and then came all the things they had askedrnfor, and plenty of them, and then a good many things they had not askedrnfor; among others peaches and port wine and two chickens, a cardboardrnbox of big red roses with long stalks, and a tall thin green bottlernof lavender water, and three smaller fatter bottles of eau-de-Cologne.rnThere was a letter, too.rnrn“Dear Roberta and Phyllis and Peter,” it said; “here are the things yournwant. Your mother will want to know where they came from. Tell her theyrnwere sent by a friend who heard she was ill. When she is well again yournmust tell her all about it, of course. And if she says you ought not tornhave asked for the things, tell her that I say you were quite right,rnand that I hope she will forgive me for taking the liberty of allowingrnmyself a very great pleasure.”rnrnThe letter was signed G. P. something that the children couldn't read.rnrn“I think we WERE right,” said Phyllis.rnrn“Right? Of course we were right,” said Bobbie.rnrn“All the same,” said Peter, with his hands in his pockets, “I don'trnexactly look forward to telling Mother the whole truth about it.”rnrn“We're not to do it till she's well,” said Bobbie, “and when she's wellrnwe shall be so happy we shan't mind a little fuss like that. Oh, justrnlook at the roses! I must take them up to her.”rnrn“And the sweetbrier,” said Phyllis, sniffing it loudly; “don't forgetrnthe sweetbrier.”rnrn“As if I should!” said Roberta. “Mother told me the other day there wasrna thick hedge of it at her mother's house when she was a little girl.”