CHAPTER II
GOLDEN GUINEAS
Anthea woke in the morning from a very real sort of dream, in which shewas walking in the Zoological Gardens on a pouring wet day without anumbrella. The animals seemed desperately unhappy because of the rain,and were all growling gloomily. When she awoke, both the growling andthe rain went on just the same. The growling was the heavy regularbreathing of her sister Jane, who had a slight cold and was stillasleep. The rain fell in slow drops on to Anthea's face from the wetcorner of a bath-towel out of which her brother Robert was gentlysqueezing the water, to wake her up, as he now explained.
"Oh, drop it!" she said rather crossly; so he did, for he was not abrutal brother, though very ingenious in apple-pie beds, booby-traps,original methods of awakening sleeping relatives, and the otherlittle accomplishments which make home happy.
The rain fell in slow drops on to Anthea's face]
"I had such a funny dream," Anthea began.
"So did I," said Jane, wakening suddenly and without warning. "I dreamedwe found a Sand-fairy in the gravel-pits, and it said it was a Sammyadd,and we might have a new wish every day, and"----
"But that's what _I_ dreamed," said Robert; "I was just going to tellyou,--and we had the first wish directly it said so. And I dreamed yougirls were donkeys enough to ask for us all to be beautiful as day, andwe jolly well were, and it was perfectly beastly."
"But _can_ different people all dream the same thing?" said Anthea,sitting up in bed, "because I dreamed all that as well as about the Zooand the rain; and Baby didn't know us in my dream, and the servants shutus out of the house because the radiantness of our beauty was such acomplete disguise, and"----
The voice of the eldest brother sounded from across the landing.
"Come on, Robert," it said, "you'll be late for breakfast again--unlessyou mean to shirk your bath as you did on Tuesday."
"I say, come here a second," Robert replied; "I didn't shirk it; I hadit after brekker in father's dressing-room because ours was emptiedaway."
Cyril appeared in the doorway, partially clothed.
"Look here," said Anthea, "we've all had such an odd dream. We've alldreamed we found a Sand-fairy."
Her voice died away before Cyril's contemptuous glance.
"Dream?" he said; "you little sillies, it's _true_. I tell you it allhappened. That's why I'm so keen on being down early. We'll go up theredirectly after brekker, and have another wish. Only we'll make up ourminds, solid, before we go, what it is we do want, and no one must askfor anything unless the others agree first. No more peerless beautiesfor this child, thank you. Not if I know it!"
The other three dressed, with their mouths open. If all that dream aboutthe Sand-fairy was real, this real dressing seemed very like a dream,the girls thought. Jane felt that Cyril was right, but Anthea was notsure, till after they had seen Martha and heard her full and plainreminders about their naughty conduct the day before. Then Anthea wassure.
"Because," said she, "servants never dream anything but the things inthe Dream-book, like snakes and oysters and going to a wedding--thatmeans a funeral, and snakes are a false female friend, and oysters arebabies."
"Talking of babies," said Cyril, "where's the Lamb?"
"Martha's going to take him to Rochester to see her cousins. Mother saidshe might. She's dressing him now," said Jane, "in his very best coatand hat. Bread-and-butter, please."
"She seems to like taking him too," said Robert in a tone of wonder.
"Servants _do_ like taking babies to see their relations," Cyril said;"I've noticed it before--especially in their best clothes."
"I expect they pretend they're their own babies, and that they're notservants at all, but married to noble dukes of high degree, and they saythe babies are the little dukes and duchesses," Jane suggested dreamily,taking more marmalade. "I expect that's what Martha'll say to hercousin. She'll enjoy herself most frightfully."
"She won't enjoy herself most frightfully carrying our infant duke toRochester," said Robert; "not if she's anything like me--she won't."
"Fancy walking to Rochester with the Lamb on your back!" said Cyril infull agreement.
"She's gone by the carrier's cart," said Jane. "Let's see them off, thenwe shall have done a polite and kindly act, and we shall be quite surewe've got rid of them for the day."
So they did.
Martha wore her Sunday dress of two shades of purple, so tight in thechest that it made her stoop, and her blue hat with the pinkcornflowers and white ribbon. She had a yellow-lace collar with a greenbow. And the Lamb had indeed his very best cream-colored silk coat andhat. It was a smart party that the carrier's cart picked up at the CrossRoads. When its white tilt and red wheels had slowly vanished in a swirlof chalk-dust--
"And now for the Sammyadd!" said Cyril, and off they went.
As they went they decided on the wish they would ask for. Although theywere all in a great hurry they did not try to climb down the sides ofthe gravel-pit, but went round by the safe lower road, as if they hadbeen carts.
They had made a ring of stones round the place where the Sand-fairy haddisappeared, so they easily found the spot. The sun was burning andbright, and the sky was deep blue--without a cloud. The sand was veryhot to touch.
"Oh--suppose it was only a dream, after all," Robert said as the boysuncovered their spades from the sand-heap where they had buried themand began to dig.
"Suppose you were a sensible chap," said Cyril; "one's quite as likelyas the other!"
"Suppose you kept a civil tongue in your head," Robert snapped.
"Suppose we girls take a turn," said Jane, laughing. "You boys seem tobe getting very warm."
"Suppose you don't come putting your silly oar in," said Robert, who wasnow warm indeed.
"We won't," said Anthea quickly. "Robert dear, don't be so grumpy--wewon't say a word, you shall be the one to speak to the Fairy and tellhim what we've decided to wish for. You'll say it much better than weshall."
"Suppose you drop being a little humbug," said Robert, but not crossly."Look out--dig with your hands, now!"
So they did, and presently uncovered the spider-shaped brown hairy body,long arms and legs, bat's ears and snail's eyes of the Sand-fairyhimself. Everyone drew a deep breath of satisfaction, for now of courseit couldn't have been a dream.
The Psammead sat up and shook the sand out of its fur.
"How's your left whisker this morning?" said Anthea politely.
"Nothing to boast of," said it; "it had rather a restless night. Butthank you for asking."
"I say," said Robert, "do you feel up to giving wishes to-day, becausewe very much want an extra besides the regular one? The extra's a verylittle one," he added reassuringly.
"Humph!" said the Sand-fairy. (If you read this story aloud, pleasepronounce "humph" exactly as it is spelt, for that is how he said it.)"Humph! Do you know, until I heard you being disagreeable to each otherjust over my head, and so loud too, I really quite thought I had dreamedyou all. I do have very odd dreams sometimes."
"Do you?" Jane hurried to say, so as to get away from the subject ofdisagreeableness. "I wish," she added politely, "you'd tell us aboutyour dreams--they must be awfully interesting"--
"Is that the day's wish?" said the Sand-fairy, yawning.
Cyril muttered something about "just like a girl," and the rest stoodsilent. If they said "Yes," then good-bye to the other wishes they haddecided to ask for. If they said "No," it would be very rude, and theyhad all been taught manners, and had learned a little too, which is notat all the same thing. A sigh of relief broke from all lips when theSand-fairy said--
"If I do, I shan't have strength to give you a second wish; not evengood tempers, or common-sense, or manners, or little things like that."
"We don't want you to put yourself out at all about _these_ things, wecan manage them quite well ourselves," said Cyril eagerly; while theothers looked guiltily at each other, and wished the Fairy would notkeep all on about good tempers,
but give them one good scolding if itwanted to, and then have done with it.
"Well," said the Psammead, putting out his long snail's eyes so suddenlythat one of them nearly went into the round boy's eye of Robert, "let'shave the little wish first."
"We don't want the servants to notice the gifts you give us."
"Are kind enough to give us," said Anthea in a whisper.
"Are kind enough to give us, I mean," said Robert.
The Fairy swelled himself out a bit, let his breath go, and said--
"I've done _that_ for you--it was quite easy. People don't notice thingsmuch, anyway. What's the next wish?"
"We want," said Robert slowly, "to be rich beyond the dreams ofsomething or other."
"Avarice," said Jane.
"So it is," said the Fairy unexpectedly. "But it won't do you much good,that's one comfort," it muttered to itself. "Come--I can't go beyonddreams, you know! How much do you want, and will you have it in gold ornotes?"
"Gold, please--and millions of it"--
"This gravel-pit full be enough?" said the Fairy in an off-hand manner.
"Oh _yes_"--
"Then go out before I begin, or you'll be buried alive in it."
It made its skinny arms so long, and waved them so frighteningly, thatthe children ran as hard as they could towards the road by which cartsused to come to the gravel-pits. Only Anthea had presence of mind enoughto shout a timid "Good-morning, I hope your whisker will be betterto-morrow," as she ran.
On the road they turned and looked back, and they had to shut theireyes, and open them very slowly, a little bit at a time, because thesight was too dazzling for their eyes to be able to bear. It wassomething like trying to look at the sun at high noon on Midsummer Day.For the whole of the sand-pit was full, right up to the very top, withnew shining gold pieces, and all the little bank-martins' little frontdoors were covered out of sight. Where the road for carts wound into thegravel-pit the gold lay in heaps like stones lie by the roadside, and agreat bank of shining gold shelved down from where it lay flat andsmooth between the tall sides of the gravel-pit. And all the gleamingheaps was minted gold. And on the sides and edges of these countlesscoins the mid-day sun shone and sparkled, and glowed and gleamed tillthe quarry looked like the mouth of a smelting furnace, or one of thefairy halls that you see sometimes in the sky at sunset.
The children stood with their mouths open, and no one said a word.
At last Robert stooped and picked up one of the loose coins from theedge of the heap by the cart-road, and looked at it. He looked on bothsides. Then he said in a low voice, quite different to his own, "It'snot sovereigns."
"It's gold, anyway," said Cyril. And now they all began to talk at once.They all picked up the golden treasure by handfuls and let it runthrough their fingers like water, and the chink it made as it fell waswonderful music. At first they quite forgot to think of spending themoney, it was so nice to play with. Jane sat down between two heaps ofthe gold, and Robert began to bury her, as you bury your father in sandwhen you are at the seaside and he has gone to sleep on the beach withhis newspaper over his face. But Jane was not half buried before shecried out, "Oh stop, it's too heavy! It hurts!"
Robert said "Bosh!" and went on.
"Let me out, I tell you," cried Jane, and was taken out, very white, andtrembling a little.
"You've no idea what it's like," said she; "it's like stones on you--orlike chains."
"Look here," Cyril said, "if this is to do us any good, it's no good ourstaying gasping at it like this. Let's fill our pockets and go and buythings. Don't you forget, it won't last after sunset. I wish we'd askedthe Sammyadd why things don't turn to stone. Perhaps this will. I'lltell you what, there's a pony and cart in the village."
"Do you want to buy that?" asked Jane.
"No, silly,--we'll _hire_ it. And then we'll go to Rochester and buyheaps and heaps of things. Look here, let's each take as much as we cancarry. But it's not sovereigns. They've got a man's head on one side anda thing like the ace of spades on the other. Fill your pockets with it,I tell you, and come along. You can talk as we go--if you _must_ talk."
Cyril sat down and began to fill his pockets.
"You made fun of me for getting father to have nine pockets in my suit,"said he, "but now you see!"
They did. For when Cyril had filled his nine pockets and hishandkerchief and the space between himself and his shirt front with thegold coins, he had to stand up. But he staggered, and had to sit downagain in a hurry.
"Throw out some of the cargo," said Robert. "You'll sink the ship, oldchap. That comes of nine pockets."
And Cyril had to do so.
Then they set off to walk to the village. It was more than a mile, andthe road was very dusty indeed, and the sun seemed to get hotter andhotter, and the gold in their pockets got heavier and heavier.
It was Jane who said, "I don't see how we're to spend it all. There mustbe thousands of pounds among the lot of us. I'm going to leave some ofmine behind this stump in the hedge. And directly we get to the villagewe'll buy some biscuits; I know it's long past dinner-time." She tookout a handful or two of gold and hid it in the hollows of an oldhornbeam. "How round and yellow they are," she said. "Don't you wishthey were made of gingerbread and we were going to eat them?"
"Well, they're not, and we're not," said Cyril. "Come on!"
But they came on heavily and wearily. Before they reached the village,more than one stump in the hedge concealed its little hoard of hiddentreasure. Yet they reached the village with about twelve hundred guineasin their pockets. But in spite of this inside wealth they lookedquite ordinary outside, and no one would have thought they could havemore than a half-crown each at the outside. The haze of heat, the blueof the wood smoke, made a sort of dim misty cloud over the red roofs ofthe village. The four sat down heavily on the first bench to which theycame. It happened to be outside the Blue Boar Inn.
He staggered, and had to sit down again in a hurry]
It was decided that Cyril should go into the Blue Boar and ask forginger-beer, because, as Anthea said, "It was not wrong for men to gointo beer-saloons, only for children. And Cyril is nearer being a manthan us, because he is the eldest." So he went. The others sat in thesun and waited.
"Oh, how hot it is!" said Robert. "Dogs put their tongues out whenthey're hot; I wonder if it would cool us at all to put out ours?"
"We might try," Jane said; and they all put their tongues out as far asever they could go, so that it quite stretched their throats, but itonly seemed to make them thirstier than ever, besides annoying everyonewho went by. So they took their tongues in again, just as Cyril cameback with ginger-beer.
"I had to pay for it out of my own money, though, that I was going tobuy rabbits with," he said. "They wouldn't change the gold. And when Ipulled out a handful the man just laughed and said it was card-counters.And I got some sponge-cakes too, out of a glass jar on the bar-counter.And some biscuits with caraways in."
The sponge-cakes were both soft and dry and the biscuits were dry too,and yet soft, which biscuits ought not to be. But the ginger-beer madeup for everything.
"It's my turn now to try to buy something with the money," Anthea said;"I'm next eldest. Where is the pony-cart kept?"
It was at The Chequers, and Anthea went in the back way to the yard,because they all knew that little girls ought not to go into the bars ofbeer-saloons. She came out, as she herself said, "pleased but notproud."
"He'll be ready in a brace of shakes, he says," she remarked, "and he'sto have one sovereign--or whatever it is--to drive us into Rochester andback, besides waiting there till we've got everything we want. I think Imanaged very well."
"You think yourself jolly clever, I daresay," said Cyril moodily. "Howdid you do it?"
"I wasn't jolly clever enough to go taking handfuls of money out of mypocket, to make it seem cheap, anyway," she retorted. "I just found ayoung man doing something to a horse's legs with a sponge and a pail.And I held out one sove
reign, and I said--'Do you know what this is?' Hesaid 'No,' and he'd call his father. And the old man came, and he saidit was a spade guinea; and he said was it my own to do as I liked with,and I said 'Yes'; and I asked about the pony-cart, and I said he couldhave the guinea if he'd drive us into Rochester. And his name is S.Crispin. And he said, 'Right oh.'"
It was a new sensation to be driven in a smart pony-trap along prettycountry roads; it was very pleasant too (which is not always the casewith new sensations), quite apart from the beautiful plans of spendingthe money which each child made as they went along, silently of courseand quite to itself, for they felt it would never have done to let theold innkeeper hear them talk in the affluent sort of way in which theywere thinking. The old man put them down by the bridge at their request.
"If you were going to buy a carriage and horses, where would you go?"asked Cyril, as if he were only asking for the sake of something to say.
"Billy Peasemarsh, at the Saracen's Head," said the old man promptly."Though all forbid I should recommend any man where it's a question ofhorses, no more than I'd take anybody else's recommending if I wasa-buying one. But if your pa's thinking of a rig of any sort, thereain't a straighter man in Rochester, nor civiller spoken, than Billy,though I says it."
"Thank you," said Cyril. "The Saracen's Head."
And now the children began to see one of the laws of nature turn upsidedown and stand on its head like an acrobat. Any grown-up person wouldtell you that money is hard to get and easy to spend. But the fairymoney had been easy to get, and spending it was not only hard, it wasalmost impossible. The trades-people of Rochester seemed to shrink, to atrades-person, from the glittering fairy gold ("furrin money" theycalled it, for the most part).
To begin with, Anthea, who had had the misfortune to sit on her hatearlier in the day, wished to buy another. She chose a very beautifulone, trimmed with pink roses and the blue breasts of peacocks. It wasmarked in the window, "Paris Model, three guineas."
"I'm glad," she said, "because it says guineas, and not sovereigns,which we haven't got."
But when she took three of the spade guineas in her hand, which was bythis time rather dirty owing to her not having put on gloves beforegoing to the gravel-pit, the black-silk young lady in the shop lookedvery hard at her, and went and whispered something to an older anduglier lady, also in black silk, and then they gave her back the moneyand said it was not current coin.
"It's good money," said Anthea, "and it's my own."
"I daresay," said the lady, "but it's not the kind of money that'sfashionable now, and we don't care about taking it."
"I believe they think we've stolen it," said Anthea, rejoining theothers in the street; "if we had gloves they wouldn't think we were sodishonest. It's my hands being so dirty fills their minds with doubts."
So they chose a humble shop, and the girls bought cotton gloves, thekind at a shilling, but when they offered a guinea the woman looked atit through her spectacles and said she had no change; so the gloves hadto be paid for out of Cyril's money with which he meant to buy rabbitsand so had the green imitation crocodile-skin purse at nine-pence whichhad been bought at the same time. They tried several more shops, thekinds where you buy toys and perfume and silk handkerchiefs and books,and fancy boxes of stationery, and photographs of objects of interest inthe vicinity. But nobody cared to change a guinea that day in Rochester,and as they went from shop to shop they got dirtier and dirtier, andtheir hair got more and more untidy, and Jane slipped and fell down on apart of the road where a water cart had just gone by. Also they got veryhungry, but they found no one would give them anything to eat for theirguineas.
After trying two baker shops in vain, they became so hungry, perhapsfrom the smell of the cake in the shops, as Cyril suggested, that theyformed a plan of campaign in whispers and carried it out in desperation.They marched into a third baker shop,--Beale was his name,--and beforethe people behind the counter could interfere each child had seizedthree new penny buns, clapped the three together between its dirtyhands, and taken a big bite out of the triple sandwich. Then they stoodat bay, with the twelve buns in their hands and their mouths very fullindeed. The shocked baker's man bounded round the corner.
"Here," said Cyril, speaking as distinctly as he could, and holding outthe guinea he got ready before entering the shops, "pay yourself out ofthat."
Mr. Beale snatched the coin, bit it, and put it in his pocket.
Mr. Beale snatched the coin, bit it, and put it in hispocket]
"Off you go," he said, brief and stern like the man in the song.
"But the change?" said Anthea, who had a saving mind.
"Change!" said the man, "I'll change you! Hout you goes; and you maythink yourselves lucky I don't send for the police to find out where yougot it!"
In the Gardens of the Castle the millionaires finished the buns, andthough the curranty softness of these were delicious, and acted like acharm in raising the spirits of the party, yet even the stoutest heartquailed at the thought of venturing to sound Mr. Billy Peasemarsh at theSaracen's Head on the subject of a horse and carriage. The boys wouldhave given up the idea, but Jane was always a hopeful child, and Antheagenerally an obstinate one, and their earnestness prevailed.
The whole party, by this time indescribably dirty, therefore betookitself to the Saracen's Head. The yard-method of attack having beensuccessful at The Chequers, was tried again here. Mr. Peasemarsh was inthe yard, and Robert opened the business in these terms--
"They tell me you have a lot of horses and carriages to sell." It hadbeen agreed that Robert should be spokesman, because in books it isalways gentlemen who buy horses, and not ladies, and Cyril had had hisgo at the Blue Boar.
"They tell you true, young man," said Mr. Peasemarsh. He was a long leanman, with very blue eyes and a tight mouth and narrow lips.
"We should like to buy some, please," said Robert politely.
"I daresay you would."
"Will you show us a few, please? To choose from."
"Who are you a-kiddin of?" inquired Mr. Billy Peasemarsh. "Was you senthere of a message?"
"I tell you," said Robert, "we want to buy some horses and carriages,and a man told us you were straight and civil spoken, but I shouldn'twonder if he was mistaken"--
"Upon my sacred!" said Mr. Peasemarsh. "Shall I trot the whole stableout for your Honor's worship to see? Or shall I send round to theBishop's to see if he's a nag or two to dispose of?"
"Please do," said Robert, "if it's not too much trouble. It would bevery kind of you."
Mr. Peasemarsh put his hands in his pockets and laughed, and they didnot like the way he did it. Then he shouted "Willum!"
A stooping ostler appeared in a stable door.
"Here, Willum, come and look at this 'ere young dook! Wants to buy thewhole stud, lock, stock, and bar'l. And ain't got tuppence in hispocket to bless hisself with, I'll go bail!"
Willum's eyes followed his master's pointing thumb with contemptuousinterest.
"Do 'e, for sure?" he said.
But Robert spoke, though both the girls were now pulling at his jacketand begging him to "come along." He spoke, and he was very angry; hesaid--
"I'm not a young duke, and I never pretended to be. And as fortuppence--what do you call this?" And before the others could stop himhe had pulled out two fat handfuls of shining guineas, and held them outfor Mr. Peasemarsh to look at. He did look. He snatched one up in hisfinger and thumb. He bit it, and Jane expected him to say, "The besthorse in my stables is at your service." But the others knew better.Still it was a blow, even to the most desponding, when he said shortly--
"Willum, shut the yard doors;" and Willum grinned and went to shut them.
"Good-afternoon," said Robert hastily; "we shan't buy any horses now,whatever you say, and I hope it'll be a lesson to you." He had seen alittle side gate open, and was moving towards it as he spoke. But BillyPeasemarsh put himself in the way.
"Not so fast, you young off-scouring!" he said.
"Willum, fetch thepleece."
Willum went. The children stood huddled together like frightened sheep,and Mr. Peasemarsh spoke to them till the pleece arrived. He said manythings. Among other things he said--
"Nice lot you are, aren't you, coming tempting honest men with yourguineas!"
"They _are_ our guineas," said Cyril boldly.
"Oh, of course we don't know all about that, no more we don't--ohno--course not! And dragging little gells into it, too. 'Ere--I'll letthe gells go if you'll come along to the pleece quiet."
"We won't be let go," said Jane heroically; "not without the boys. It'sour money just as much as theirs, you wicked old man."
"Where'd you get it, then?" said the man, softening slightly, which wasnot at all what the boys expected when Jane began to call names.
Jane cast a silent glance of agony at the others.
"Lost your tongue, eh? Got it fast enough when it's for calling nameswith. Come, speak up! Where'd you get it?"
"Out of the gravel-pit," said truthful Jane.
"Next article," said the man.
"I tell you we did," Jane said. "There's a fairy there--all over brownfur--with ears like a bat's and eyes like a snail's, and he gives you awish a day, and they all come true."
"Touched in the head, eh?" said the man in a low voice; "all the moreshame to you boys dragging the poor afflicted child into your sinfulburglaries."
"She's not mad; it's true," said Anthea; "there _is_ a fairy. If I eversee him again I'll wish for something for you; at least I would ifvengeance wasn't wicked--so there!"
"Lor' lumme," said Billy Peasemarsh, "if there ain't another on 'em!"
And now Willum came back, with a spiteful grin on his face, and at hisback a policeman, with whom Mr. Peasemarsh spoke long in a hoarseearnest whisper.
"I daresay you're right," said the policeman at last. "Anyway, I'll take'em up on a charge of unlawful possession, pending inquiries. And themagistrate will deal with the case. Send the afflicted ones to a home,as likely as not, and the boys to a reformatory. Now then, come along,youngsters! No use making a fuss. You bring the gells along, Mr.Peasemarsh, sir, and I'll shepherd the boys."
Speechless with rage and horror, the four children were driven along thestreets of Rochester. Tears of anger and shame blinded them, so thatwhen Robert ran right into a passer-by he did not recognise her till awell-known voice said, "Well, if ever I did! Oh, Master Robert, whateverhave you been a-doing of now?" And another voice, quite as well known,said, "Panty; want go own Panty!"
They had run into Martha and the Baby!
They had run into Martha and the baby]
Martha behaved admirably. She refused to believe a word of thepoliceman's story, or of Mr. Peasemarsh's either, even when they madeRobert turn out his pockets in an archway and show the guineas.
"I don't see nothing," she said. "You've gone out of your senses, youtwo! There ain't any gold there--only the poor child's hands, all overdirt, and like the very chimbley. Oh that I should ever see the day!"
And the children thought this very noble of Martha, even if ratherwicked, till they remembered how the Fairy had promised that theservants should never notice any of the fairy gifts. So of course Marthacouldn't see the gold, and so was only speaking the truth, and that wasquite right, of course, but not extra noble.
It was getting dusk when they reached the police-station. The policemantold his tale to an inspector, who sat in a large bare room with a thinglike a clumsy nursery-fender at one end to put prisoners in. Robertwondered whether it was a cell or a dock.
"Produce the coins, officer," said the inspector.
"Turn out your pockets," said the constable.
Cyril desperately plunged his hands in his pockets, stood still amoment, and then began to laugh--an odd sort of laugh that hurt, andthat felt much more like crying. His pockets were empty. So were thepockets of the others. For of course at sunset all the fairy gold hadvanished away.
"Turn out your pockets, and stop that noise," said the inspector.
Cyril turned out his pockets, every one of the nine which enriched hissuit. And every pocket was empty.
"Well!" said the inspector.
"I don't know how they done it--artful little beggars! They walked infront of me the 'ole way, so as for me to keep my eye on them and not toattract a crowd and obstruct the traffic."
"It's very remarkable," said the inspector, frowning.
"If you've done a-browbeating of the innocent children," said Martha,"I'll hire a private carriage and we'll drive home to their papa'smansion. You'll hear about this again, young man!--I told you theyhadn't got any gold, when you were pretending to see it in their poorhelpless hands. It's early in the day for a constable on duty not to beable to trust his own eyes. As to the other one, the less said thebetter; he keeps the Saracen's Head, and he knows best what his liquor'slike."
He said, "Now then!" to the policeman and Mr. Peasemarsh]
"Take them away, for goodness' sake," said the inspector crossly. But asthey left the police-station he said, "Now then!" to the policeman andMr. Peasemarsh, and he said it twenty times as crossly as he had spokento Martha.
* * * * *
Martha was as good as her word. She took them home in a very grandcarriage, because the carrier's cart was gone, and, though she had stoodby them so nobly with the police, she was so angry with them as soon asthey were alone for "trapesing into Rochester by themselves," that noneof them dared to mention the old man with the pony-cart from thevillage who was waiting for them in Rochester. And so, after one day ofboundless wealth, the children found themselves sent to bed in deepdisgrace, and only enriched by two pairs of cotton gloves, dirty insidebecause of the state of the hands they had been put on to cover, animitation crocodile-skin purse, and twelve penny buns, long sincedigested.
The thing that troubled them most was the fear that the old gentleman'sguinea might have disappeared at sunset with all the rest, so they wentdown to the village next day to apologise for not meeting him inRochester, and to _see_. They found him very friendly. The guinea hadnot disappeared, and he had bored a hole in it and hung it on hiswatch-chain. As for the guinea the baker took, the children felt they_could_ not care whether it had vanished or not, which was not perhapsvery honest, but on the other hand was not wholly unnatural. Butafterwards this preyed on Anthea's mind, and at last she secretly senttwelve postage stamps by post to "Mr. Beale, Baker, Rochester." Insideshe wrote, "To pay for the buns." I hope the guinea did disappear, forthat baker was really not at all a nice man, and, besides, penny bunsare seven for sixpence in all really respectable shops.