The Story of the Amulet | Page 5

were hard chairs--far too many of them--with crochet
antimacassars slipping off their seats, all of which sloped the wrong
way. The table wore a cloth of a cruel green colour with a yellow
chain-stitch pattern round it. Over the fireplace was a looking-glass that
made you look much uglier than you really were, however plain you
might be to begin with. Then there was a mantelboard with maroon
plush and wool fringe that did not match the plush; a dreary clock like a
black marble tomb--it was silent as the grave too, for it had long since
forgotten how to tick. And there were painted glass vases that never
had any flowers in, and a painted tambourine that no one ever played,
and painted brackets with nothing on them.
'And maple-framed engravings of the Queen, the Houses of Parliament,
the Plains of Heaven, and of a blunt-nosed woodman's flat return.'
There were two books--last December's Bradshaw, and an odd volume
of Plumridge's Commentary on Thessalonians. There were--but I
cannot dwell longer on this painful picture. It was indeed, as Jane said,
very different.
'Let's have a palaver,' said Anthea again.
'What about?' said Cyril, yawning.
'There's nothing to have ANYTHING about,' said Robert kicking the
leg of the table miserably.
'I don't want to play,' said Jane, and her tone was grumpy.
Anthea tried very hard not to be cross. She succeeded.
'Look here,' she said, 'don't think I want to be preachy or a beast in any
way, but I want to what Father calls define the situation. Do you agree?'

'Fire ahead,' said Cyril without enthusiasm.
'Well then. We all know the reason we're staying here is because Nurse
couldn't leave her house on account of the poor learned gentleman on
the top-floor. And there was no one else Father could entrust to take
care of us--and you know it's taken a lot of money, Mother's going to
Madeira to be made well.'
Jane sniffed miserably.
'Yes, I know,' said Anthea in a hurry, 'but don't let's think about how
horrid it all is. I mean we can't go to things that cost a lot, but we must
do SOMETHING. And I know there are heaps of things you can see in
London without paying for them, and I thought we'd go and see them.
We are all quite old now, and we haven't got The Lamb--'
Jane sniffed harder than before.
'I mean no one can say "No" because of him, dear pet. And I thought
we MUST get Nurse to see how quite old we are, and let us go out by
ourselves, or else we shall never have any sort of a time at all. And I
vote we see everything there is, and let's begin by asking Nurse to give
us some bits of bread and we'll go to St James's Park. There are ducks
there, I know, we can feed them. Only we must make Nurse let us go
by ourselves.'
'Hurrah for liberty!' said Robert, 'but she won't.'
'Yes she will,' said Jane unexpectedly. 'I thought about that this
morning, and I asked Father, and he said yes; and what's more he told
old Nurse we might, only he said we must always say where we wanted
to go, and if it was right she would let us.'
'Three cheers for thoughtful Jane,' cried Cyril, now roused at last from
his yawning despair. 'I say, let's go now.'
So they went, old Nurse only begging them to be careful of crossings,
and to ask a policeman to assist in the more difficult cases. But they

were used to crossings, for they had lived in Camden Town and knew
the Kentish Town Road where the trams rush up and down like mad at
all hours of the day and night, and seem as though, if anything, they
would rather run over you than not.
They had promised to be home by dark, but it was July, so dark would
be very late indeed, and long past bedtime.
They started to walk to St James's Park, and all their pockets were
stuffed with bits of bread and the crusts of toast, to feed the ducks with.
They started, I repeat, but they never got there.
Between Fitzroy Street and St James's Park there are a great many
streets, and, if you go the right way you will pass a great many shops
that you cannot possibly help stopping to look at. The children stopped
to look at several with gold-lace and beads and pictures and jewellery
and dresses, and hats, and oysters and lobsters in their windows, and
their sorrow did not seem nearly so impossible to bear as it had done in
the best parlour at No. 300, Fitzroy Street.
Presently, by some wonderful chance