The House of Arden | Page 4

through the baize door that
shut off the basement from the rest of the house. He put his tongue out
through the banisters at the children of the house and said, "Little
slaveys." The cub thought he could get up the stairs before the two got
round the end of the banisters, but he had not counted on the long arm
of Elfrida, whose hand shot through the banisters and caught the cub's
leg and held on to it till Edred had time to get round. The two boys
struggled up the stairs together and then rolled together from top to
bottom, where they were picked up and disentangled by their relations.
Except for this little incident, going to bed was uneventful.
Next morning Aunt Edith went off by the eight-thirty train. The
children's school satchels were filled, not with books, but with buns;
instead of exercise-books there were sandwiches; and in the place of
inky pencil-boxes were two magnificent boxes of peppermint creams
which had cost a whole shilling each, and had been recklessly bought
by Aunt Edith in the agitation of the parting hour when they saw her off
at the station.
They went slowly up the red-brick-paved sidewalk that always looks as
though it had just been washed, and when they got to the top of the hill
they stopped and looked at each other.
"It can't be wrong," said Edred.
"She never told us not to," said Elfrida.

"I've noticed," said Edred, "that when grownup people say 'they'll see
about' anything you want it never happens."
"I've noticed that, too," said Elfrida. "Auntie always 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 suggested that he would be mean and sneaky. "We'll tell auntie
directly she gets back."
"Of course," said Elfrida, rather relieved, for she had not felt at all sure
that Edred meant to do this.
"After all," said Edred, "it's our castle. We ought to go and see the
cradle of our race. That's what it calls it in 'Cliffgate and its Envions.' I
say, let's call it a pilgrimage. The satchels will do for packs, and we can
get halfpenny walking-sticks with that penny of yours. We can put peas
in our shoes, if you like," he added generously.
"We should have to go back for them, and I don't expect the split kind
count, anyhow. And perhaps they'd hurt," said Elfrida doubtfully. "And
I want my penny for--" She stopped, warned by her brother's frown.
"All right, then," she ended; "you can have it. Only give me half next
time you get a penny; that's only 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'll just walk."
So they just walked, rather dismally.
The town was getting thinner, like the tract of stocking that surrounds a
hole; the houses were farther apart and had large gardens. In one of
them a maid was singing to herself as she shook out the mats--a thing
which, somehow, maids don't do much in towns.

"Good luck!" says I to my sweetheart,
ÊÊ"For I will love you true;
And all the while we've got to part,
ÊÊMy luck shall go with you."
"That's lucky for us," said Elfrida amiably.
"THEY WENT SLOWLY UP THE RED-BRICK-PAVED
SIDEWALK."
"We're not her silly sweetheart," said Edred.
"No; but we heard her sing it, and he wasn't here, so he couldn't.
There's a sign-post. I wonder how far we've gone? I'm getting awfully
tired."
"You'd better have been pilgrims," said Edred. "They never get tired,
however many peas they have in their shoes."
"I will now," said Elfrida.
"You can't," said Edred; "it's too late. We're miles and miles from the
stick shop."
"Very well, I shan't go on," said Elfrida. "You got out of bed the wrong
side this morning. I've tried to soft-answer you as hard as ever I could
all the morning, and I'm not going to try any more, so there."
"Don't, then," said Edred bitterly. "Go along 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. "I won't be cross, I won't be cross,
I won't be cross! Pax. Drop it. Don't let's!
"Don't let's what?"
"Quarrel about nothing," said Elfrida, opening her eyes and walking on
very fast. "We're always doing it. Auntie says it's a habit. If boys are so
much splendider than girls, they ought to be able to stop when they
like."
"Suppose they don't like?" said he, kicking