Read Ebook: The British Campaign in France and Flanders—January to July 1918 by Doyle Arthur Conan

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Ebook has 95 lines and 5619 words, and 2 pages

Then he sat silent, his arm round the little child, who looked up at him and then back at Flossy, and then smiled in that wonderfully pathetic way she had.

'Look here, Flossy,' said Peter, 'if you are quite certain sure that mother said the workhouse, that she didn't say nothing about Dickory Dock being put to sleep in another room, or maybe down in the kitchen--if you are quite positive about the workhouse, Flossy, why, I know what I'll do.'

'She did say the workhouse,' answered Flossy; 'I heard her with my own ears, and Mr Martin said it was a stream measure. I don't know what he meant by that, but I do know that mother said the workhouse, and that she has got till to-morrow morning to take baby away.'

'No, she hasn't,' said Peter; 'we'll take her away first, you and me, Flossy--you and me and Snip-snap--we'll take our little baby away, and we'll hide her. Dickory shall never go to no workhouse!'

Here Dickory looked up again at Peter, who looked down at her and kissed her, and two tears splashed from his eyes on her little face.

'Oh, what a dear baby she is!' said Flossy. 'Yes, Peter, we'll run away, and we'll take Dickory. Where shall we take her to, Peter?'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Peter. 'We'll get her out of this, that's the first thing. How much money have you got, Flossy?'

'A crooked halfpenny,' said Flossy, in a decided voice.

Peter sighed. He was older than Flossy, and he knew that a crooked halfpenny did not represent a large capital.

'I have got sixpence,' he said; 'that'll buy milk for her. We'll manage quite well, Floss. When mother goes out with her market-basket, we'll slip downstairs with Dickory, and well take her away, and we'll hide her somewhere. She shan't go to no workhouse, the darling pet!'

'No, that she shan't, the dear!' said Flossy. 'It's a lovely plan, Peter, and I'll just go and watch on the top of the stairs for mother to go out with the old market-basket.'

'We'd better take a bag with us,' said Peter. 'The bag will come in very handy; it will hold baby's milk when we buy it, and some bread for you and me; for we may have to walk a long way before we find a nice hiding- place for Dickory.'

Children seldom take long in carrying out their resolutions, and Mrs Franklin, puzzled and anxious, and with no real intention of sending the poor baby to the workhouse, had not long turned the corner of the street before the hall door of the rambling old house was eagerly and nervously opened, and a funny little quartette issued forth. Dickory did not often get the air, and she enjoyed herself very much, sitting well up in Peter's arms, and wrapped up, head and all, in an old tartan shawl. Flossy, holding the bag, walked by her brother's side, and Snip-snap behaved in his usual erratic fashion, now running before, now lingering behind, now stopping to exchange a greeting with a fellow-dog, or to sniff with watering jaws and wistful eyes at a butcher's shop, but always returning faithfully to his charge, and always raising an inquiring face to see if Dickory was quite comfortable. She was thoroughly so, and when she crowed, and laughed, and chuckled, Flossy wondered they had never thought of taking her out before. The sun was shining and the day was bright and warm, with the promise of spring in it, and the two children were highly delighted with their scheme, and not a bit afraid of the result. The only thing which had at all alarmed them was the fear that Mrs Franklin or Martha might find out their little plan before they had time to carry it into effect.

Having succeeded in getting quite away with the baby, they considered their difficulties at an end. Peter was old enough to know that a crooked halfpenny did not mean much, considered as a provision for three human beings and a dog; but he was still sufficiently young to have perfect confidence in the capabilities of sixpence for meeting the demands of the hour. As they walked along, Flossy, Dickory, and Snip- snap were all very happy, and Peter too was happy, although his arms ached sadly. But, alas! the paths of the poor little adventurers were not to be without thorns.

The time was April, and an April shower first damped the ardour of the travellers--the poor baby's shawl was wet through, and she began to cry pitifully with hunger and want of sleep.

'She must want her milk,' said Peter; 'there, Dickory, there's a darling, now go to sleep like the dear baby you are.'

'You know, Peter, she won't go to sleep without her milk,' said Flossy. 'I'll run across to that milk-shop and buy some. How much milk shall I get, Peter?'

'A ha'p'orth,' said Peter; 'you get a ha'p'orth, Flossy, and we'll sit down on the step of this empty house and feed the baby, and eat up our crusts ourselves.'

A bottle to hold the milk was to be found in Flossy's bag, and accordingly in a short time Dickory had a meal; not quite what she was accustomed to, but sufficient to soothe her off into a slumber in which she forgot the discomfort of her damp clothes and all her other baby tribulations.

'Flossy,' said Peter, 'we have gone a long way from home now, and baby is asleep and resting nicely on my knee; my arm won't ache a bit when she wakes, and I'll be able to carry her a splendid long way. We'll have to think of making up our plans, Floss--we'll have to find some place where we can all sleep comfortably to-night.'

'Well, we've got sixpence,' said Flossy, 'that's lots and lots of money; but the night is a long way off, Peter, and I'm so hungry. I've eaten up all the crusts that you and Snip-snap left for me, but I'm still as hungry as possible. Mightn't I spend a halfpenny or so of our sixpence in getting a good dinner for you and me and Snip-snap?'

Peter put his hand to his brow, and began to reflect.

'I don't think so, Floss,' he said, 'for I'm afraid you don't understand marketing--it's best for me to go, for I'm quite old, and I know the way mother talks to the baker's man and the milkman when they come to the door. I must be sharp with them, Floss; that's what I must be, and I don't think you could be; so you had better hold the baby while I fetch our dinner. Oh dear, what a good thing it is I have got sixpence!'

The baby, being very sound asleep, was transferred to Flossy's arms without waking, Snip-snap was left in charge of the two, and Peter, who knew very little more of London and London life than his little sister, started off manfully to the eating-house round the corner. He had gone away with a bright face, but he returned in a very short time with one singularly depressed.

'Here's a bit of stale bread for each of us,' he said, 'and I had to give two halfpennies for that. I did see such a nice piece of beef and of pudding, and I ordered some for you and me and Snip-snap, but the woman said all that much would cost three sixpences, so then I had to say I wouldn't have it; and I took the stale bread, and she was very cross. O Floss, I hope I'm right about sixpence; I hope it will buy a bed for baby, and milk and food for us all, for I'm thinking we had much better none of us go back to-night.'

'Of course, we won't go back,' said Flossie. 'The stale bread's 'licious, and I'm so hungry. O Peter, do look! Dickory is stretching herself, and rubbing her little fat hands into her eyes; and I know she's going to wake, and I'm afraid she'll cry.'

'Give her to me,' said Peter, with the air of a practised nurse. 'I'll hold her, and you can feed me while I'm doing so, Flossy.'

But notwithstanding all Peter's efforts, notwithstanding his singing, and even shouting, for the baby's benefit, notwithstanding the admiring cheers of a little street mob that collected round him, the baby cried, not a loud cry, but a weak, broken-hearted wail. The fact was, the indifferent milk Flossy had fed her with had made her ill, and her little frame was already sadly chilled by the damp shawl which she wore about her. Poor Dickory scarcely ever got any air or exercise, and in consequence was very susceptible to cold.

'She is sneezing,' said Flossy. 'Oh the poor, poor darling! Peter, I think we'd better see about our night's lodging soon; it doesn't agree with Dickory to keep her out so long.'

'We'll go at once,' said Peter, rising to his feet. 'There's another black cloud coming up, and there'll be a shower again before long. We'll get a nice room for us four, and then we'll be as happy as possible.'

Accordingly the little party again moved forward, and whenever Peter or Flossy saw a card up in a window they stopped and rang the house-bell, and inquired for lodgings for themselves and their baby. Of course, they were repulsed in all kinds of ways--some people merely laughing, and shutting the door in their faces; some scolding them, and calling them tiresome, impertinent little brats; and some even threatening to tell the police about them; but no one ever hinted at the possibility of taking them in. Presently they left the more respectable streets, and wandered into very poor quarters. Here, doubtless, they could have found accommodation were they able to pay for it, but everybody laughed at Peter's pennies, and no one dreamt of offering them a shelter. Then the rain which had threatened came down, and baby was again wet through, and now she looked ill, as well as fretful, and refused some fresh milk which Flossy bought for her. She was not the least like the bright little Dickory who used to laugh and show her dimples in the old attic-nursery at home.

'Look here,' said Peter, 'what are we to do? 'T will be night soon, and we haven't found no hiding-place for Dickory, and no one will take us in.'

'Baby is not at all well, either,' said Flossy; 'her head is quite hot, like fire, when I touch it.'

'What are we to do?' asked Peter. 'We can't get home, but it seems to me, Floss, that this is worse for poor Dickory than the workhouse.'

'I'll tell you what,' said Flossy suddenly, raising her bright half-humorous face to Peter's, 'let's take baby to the lady what cried.'

'The lady who cried?' repeated Peter. 'I don't know nothing about her, Floss.'

'O Peter, you do know; it was that day our Uncle David took us a long walk, and we went to the cemetery with him, you know, the place with the flowers and the trees, and where they put the pretty little children when they die--there was a little baby being put there, and there was a lady crying very, very bitter. I never saw no one cry so dreadful bitter as that lady, and they said she was putting her baby in the ground. I'm sure she must want another baby, and I think perhaps it would be right for us to give her Dickory.'

Peter's face became very sad. 'I don't know,' he said; 'I don't want to give Dickory away. I'm quite dreadfully fond of her; it seems to me she makes a lot of difference in the house, and you know, Floss, it used to be very dull before she came.'

'Yes,' said Flossy, 'I love her more than anything; she's a dear baby, and I never find the days long when I'm playing with her and talking to her: but you see, Peter, she's not to be kept at home; she's to go to the workhouse to-morrow morning, unless we can find a nice hiding-place for her. We can't find a hiding-place, Peter, for though you are a rich boy and have got a lot of pennies, yet you haven't enough for us to get a room for ourselves and Dickory, and the night air don't agree with her--oh, there, she's sneezing again--bless her, the pet! Peter, I hope you always say "bless her!" when Dickory sneezes. Martha says it isn't lucky if you don't. O Peter, I do think if we must part with the baby it would be better to give her to the lady who cried than to send her to the workhouse.'

'But we don't know where the lady lives,' said Peter. 'We might do it if we knew where the lady lived; but we can't, however much we wish to, if we don't.'

'Bevington Square,' said Peter, in a gloomy voice.

'Yes, yes, that was it, and 10 was the number of the house. I don't forget the number 'cause I asked mother, and she said it was 10. O Peter, that's where our lady lives, and I do think it would be better to give her Dickory. There, Peter, bless her! she's sneezing again. I'm sure we had better take her to the lady.'

'All right,' answered Peter, 'I'll be a termagant again when she's gone; see if I won't. I'll get up an awful racking cough at night, and I'll worry that nasty Mr Martin much more than Dickory has worried him, see if I don't; and I'll sing on the stairs, and I'll whistle awful loud, and I'll buy a Jew's-harp with one of my pennies. I'll turn into a horrid boy! but I suppose you are right about Dickory, Flossy. Here, let's go back as fast as we can to that house you were so 'cute as to take the number of. I'm mis'rible, and I mean to be mis'rible, so don't you expect nothing cheerful from me, Flossy.'

'Very well, Peter,' said Flossy meekly.

And then the little party, slowly and painfully, for Flossy was very, very

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