The Golden Age | Page 9

Harold told his tale.
"I took the old fellow to the station," he said, "and as we went along I
told him all about the station-master's family, and how I had seen the
porter kissing our housemaid, and what a nice fellow he was, with no
airs, or affectation about him, and anything I thought would be of
interest.; but he didn't seem to pay much attention, but walked along

puffing his cigar, and once I thought--I'm not certain, but I
THOUGHT--I heard him say, `Well, thank God, that's over!' When we
got to the station he stopped suddenly, and said, `Hold on a minute!'
Then he shoved these into my hand in a frightened sort of way; and
said, `Look here, youngster! These are for you and the other kids. Buy
what you like--make little beasts of yourselves--only don't tell the old
people, mind! Now cut away home!' So I cut."
A solemn hush fell on the assembly, broken first by the small Charlotte.
"I didn't know," she observed dreamily, "that there were such good men
anywhere in the world. I hope he'll die to- night, for then he'll go
straight to heaven!" But the repentant Selina bewailed herself with tears
and sobs, refusing to be comforted; for that in her haste she had called
this white-souled relative a beast.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Edward, the master-mind, rising--as he
always did--to the situation: "We'll christen the piebald pig after
him--the one that hasn't got a name yet. And that'll show we're sorry for
our mistake!"
"I--I christened that pig this morning," Harold guiltily confessed; "I
christened it after the curate. I'm very sorry-- but he came and bow'ed
to me last night, after you others had all been sent to bed early--and
somehow I felt I HAD to do it!"
"Oh, but that doesn't count," said Edward hastily; "because we weren't
all there. We'll take that christening off, and call it Uncle William. And
you can save up the curate for the next litter!"
And the motion being agreed to without a division, the House went into
Committee of Supply.

ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS
"Let's pretend," suggested Harold, "that we're Cavaliers and
Roundheads; and YOU be a Roundhead!"
"O bother," I replied drowsily, "we pretended that yesterday; and it's
not my turn to be a Roundhead, anyhow." The fact is, I was lazy, and
the call to arms fell on indifferent ears. We three younger ones were
stretched at length in the orchard. The sun was hot, the season merry
June, and never (I thought) had there been such wealth and riot of
buttercups throughout the lush grass. Green-and-gold was the dominant
key that day. Instead of active "pretence" with its shouts and

perspiration, how much better--I held--to lie at ease and pretend to
one's self, in green and golden fancies, slipping the husk and passing, a
careless lounger, through a sleepy imaginary world all gold and green!
But the persistent Harold was not to be fobbed of.
"Well, then," he began afresh, "let's pretend we're Knights of the Round
Table; and (with a rush) _I'll_ be Lancelot!"
"I won't play unless I'm Lancelot," I said. I didn't mean it really, but the
game of Knights always began with this particular contest.
"O PLEASE," implored Harold. "You know when Edward's here I
never get a chance of being Lancelot. I haven't been Lancelot for
weeks!"
Then I yielded gracefully. "All right," I said. "I'll be Tristram."
"O, but you can't," cried Harold again.
"Charlotte has always been Tristram. She won't play unless she's
allowed to be Tristram! Be somebody else this time."
Charlotte said nothing, but breathed hard, looking straight before her.
The peerless hunter and harper was her special hero of romance, and
rather than see the part in less appreciative hands, she would even have
returned sadly to the stuffy schoolroom.
"I don't care," I said: "I'll be anything. I'll be Sir Kay. Come on!"
Then once more in this country's story the mail-clad knights paced
through the greenwood shaw, questing adventure, redressing wrong;
and bandits, five to one, broke and fled discomfited to their caves. Once
again were damsels rescued, dragons disembowelled, and giants, in
every corner of the orchard, deprived of their already superfluous
number of heads; while Palamides the Saracen waited for us by the
well, and Sir Breuse Saunce Pite vanished in craven flight before the
skilled spear that was his terror and his bane. Once more the lists were
dight in Camelot, and all was gay with shimmer of silk and gold; the
earth shook with thunder of horses, ash-staves flew in splinters; and the
firmament rang to the clash of sword on helm. The varying fortune of
the day swung doubtful--now on this side, now on that; till at last