CHAPTER VIII
WHERE WONDER HIDES
The children had never been to London, but they knew the direction inwhich it lay--beyond the crumbling kitchen-garden wall, where thewall-flowers grew in a proud colony. The sky looked different there, athreatening quality in it. Both snow and thunderstorm came that way,and the dirty sign-post "London Road" outside the lodge-gates wastilted into the air significantly.
They regarded London as a terrible place, though a necessity: Daddy'soffice was there; Christmas and Birthday presents came from London, butalso it was where the Radical govunment lived--an enormous, evil,octopus kind of thing that made Daddy poor. Weeden, too, had been knownto say dark things with regard to selling vegetables, hay, and stuff."What can yer igspect when a Radical govunment's in?" And the fact thatneither he nor Daddy did anything to move it away proved what apowerful thing it was, and made them feel something hostile to theirhappiness dwelt London-way beyond that crumbling wall.
The composite picture grew steadily in their little minds. When ominousclouds piled up on that northern horizon, floating imperceptiblytowards them, it was a fragment of London that had broken off and comerolling along to hover above the old Mill House. A very black cloud wasthe Seat of Govunment.
London itself, however, remained as obstinately remote as Heaven, yetthe two visibly connected; for while the massed vapours were part ofLondon, the lanes and holes of blue were certainly the vestibule ofHeaven. "His seat is in the Heavens" must mean something, they argued.They were quite sweetly reverent about it. They merely obeyed thesymbolism of primitive age.
"I shall go to Heaven," Tim said once, when they discussed dying as ifit were a game. He wished to define his position, as it were.
"But you haven't been to London yet," came the higher criticism fromJudy. "London's a metropolis."
Metropolis! It was an awful thing to say, though no one quite knew why.Part of their dread was traceable to this word. Ever since some one hadcalled it "the metropolis" in their hearing, they had associated vagueawe with the place. The ending "opolis" sounded to them like somethingthat might come "ontopofus"--and that, again, brought "octopus" intothe mind. It seemed reckless to mention London and Heaven together--yetwas right and proper at the same time. Both must one day be seen andknown, one inevitably as the other. Thus heavenly rights were includedin their minds with a ticket to London, far, far away, when they weremuch, much older. And both trips were dreaded yet looked forward to.
Maria, however, held no great opinion of either locality. She dislikedthe idea of long journeys to begin with. Having no objection to movingher eyes, she was opposed to moving her body--unless towards anapproved certainty. Puddings, bonfires, and laps at story-time wereapproved certainties; Heaven and London apparently were not. She wascontented where she was. "London's a bother," was her opinion: it meanta rush in the hall when the dog-cart was waiting for the train andDaddy was too late to hear about bringing back a new blue eye for abroken doll. And as for the other place--her ultimatum was hardlycouched in diplomatic language, to say the least. An eternal Sunday wasnot her ideal of happiness. Aunt Emily, it was stated, would live inHeaven when she died, and the place had lost its attractiveness inconsequence. For Aunt Emily used long words and heard their "SundayColics," and the clothes she wore on that seventh workless day remindedthem of village funerals or unhappy women who came to see over thehouse when it was to be let, and asked mysterious questions aboutsomething called "the drains." Daddy's top-hat with a black band wasanother item in the Sunday and Metropolis picture. London and Heaven,as stated, were not looked forward to unreservedly.
There were compensations, though. They knew the joy of deciding whowould go there. Stumper, of course, for one: it was the only place hewould not come back from: he would be K.C.B. Uncle Felix, too, becauseit was his original source of origin. Mother repeatedly called him"angel," and even if she hadn't, it was clear he knew all about bothplaces by the way he talked. Stumper's India was not quite believed inowing to the way he described it, but Uncle Felix's London was real andliving, while the other marvellous things he told them could only havehappened in some kind of heavenly place. His position, therefore, wasunshakable, and Mother and Daddy also had immemorial rights. Others oftheir circle, however, found themselves somewhat equivocally situated.Thompson and Mrs. Horton were uncertain, for since there was "nomarriage" there, there could be no families to wait upon and cook for.Weeden, also, was doubtful. Having never been to London, thealternative happiness was not properly within his grasp, whereas thePostman might be transferred from the metropolis to the stars at anyminute of the day or night. Those London letters he brought settled hiscase beyond all argument whatever.
All of which needs mention because there was a place called the End ofthe World, and the title has of course to do with it. For the End ofthe World is the hiding-place of Wonder.
Beyond that crumbling kitchen-garden wall was a very delightful bit ofthe universe. A battered grey fence kept out the road, but there wereslits between the boards through which the Passers-by could be secretlyobserved. All Passers-by were criminals or heroes on their way tomysterious engagements; the majority were disguised; many of them couldbe heard talking darkly to themselves. They were a queer lot, thosePassers-by. Those who came _from_ London were escaping, but those goingnorth were intent upon awful business in the sinistermetropolis--explosions, murders, enormous jewel robberies, andconspiracies against the Radicalgovunment. The solitary policeman whopassed occasionally was in constant terror of his life. They longed towarn him. Yet he had his other side as well--his questionable side.
This neglected patch of kitchen-garden, however, possessed other claimsto charm as well as the tattered fence. It was uncultivated. Some rowsof tangled currant bushes offered excellent cover; there was a fallenelm tree whose trunk was "home"; a pile of rubbish that includedscrap-iron, old wheel-barrows, broken ladders, spades, andwire-netting, and, chief of all, there was the spot behind the currantbushes where Weeden, the Gardener, burnt dead leaves. It was sad, butmysterious and beautiful too, this burning of the leaves; though,according to Uncle Felix, who gave the Gardener's explanation, it wasright and necessary. They loved the smoke, too, hanging in the airabove the lawn, with its fragrant smell and shadowy distances:
"Oh, Gardener! How can you let them burn?"
"Because," he explained, "they've 'ad their turn, And nobody wantstheir shade.
These withered-up messes Is worn-out old dresses I tuck round the boots Of the shiverin' roots Till the Spring makes 'em over Like roses and clover-- But nobody wants dead leaves, dead leaves, Nor nobody wants their shade!"
A deserted corner, yet crowded gloriously with life. Adventure lurkedin every inch. There was danger, too, terror, wonder, and excitement.And since for them it was the beginning of all things, they called it,naturally, The End of the World. To escape to the End of the World,unaccompanied by grown-ups, and, if possible, their whereabouts unknownto anybody, was a daily duty second to no other. It was a duty, wet orfine, they seldom left, neglected.
Besides themselves, two others alone held passes to this sanctuary:Uncle Felix, because he loved to go there (he wrote his adventurestories there, saying anything might happen in such a lonely place),and the Gardener, because he was obliged to. Come-Back Stumper wasexcluded. They had taken him once, and he had said such an abominablething that he was never allowed to visit it again. "A messy hole," hecalled it. Mr. Jinks had never even seen it, but, after his death inthe railway accident, his remains, recovered without charge from theHospital, had been buried somewhere in the scrap-heap. From this pointof view alone he knew the End of the World; he was worthy of no other.His epitaph was appalling--too horrible to mention really. Tim composedit, but Uncle Felix distinctly said that it never, _never_ must bereferred to audibly again:
Here Matthew Jinks Just lies and st--
"It's _not_ nice," he said emphatically, "and you mustn't say it.Always speak well of the dead." And, as t
hey couldn't honestly do that,they obeyed him and left Mr. Jinks in his unhonoured grave, with abroken wheel-barrow for a headstone and a mass of wire-netting to makeresurrection difficult. In order to get the disagreeable epitaph out oftheir minds Uncle Felix substituted a kinder and gentler one, and madethem learn it by heart:
Old Jinks lies here Without a tear; He meant no wrong, But we didn't get along; So Jinks lies here, And we've nothing more to fear. He's all right: Jinks Sinks Out of sight!
It was the proud colony of wallflowers that first made Uncle Felix likethe place. Their loveliness fluttered in the winds, and their perfumestole down deliciously above the rubbish and neglect. They seemed tohim the soul of ruins triumphing over outward destruction. Hence thedelicate melancholy in their scent and hence their lofty chosen perch.Out of decay they grew, yet invariably above it. Both sun and starswere in their flaming colouring, and their boldness was true courage.They caught the wind, they held the sunset and the dawn; they turnedthe air into a shining garden. They stood somehow for a yearning beautyin his own heart that expressed itself in his stories.
"If you pick them," he warned Tim, who climbed like a monkey, and wasas destructive as his age, "the place will lose its charm. They growfor the End of the World, and the End of the World belongs to them.This wonderful spot will have no beauty when they're gone." To wear ablossom in the hair or buttonhole was to be protected against decay andugliness.
Most wonderful of all, however, was the door in the old grey fence; forit was a Gateway, and a Gateway, according to Uncle Felix, was a solemnthing. None knew where it led to, it was a threshold into an unknownworld. Ordinary doors, doors in a house, for instance, were notGateways; they merely opened into rooms and other familiar places.Dentists, governesses, and bedrooms existed behind ordinary, indoordoors; but out-of-doors opened straight into the sky, and in virtue ofit were extraordinary. They were Gateways. At the End of the Worldstood a stupendous, towering door that was a Gateway. Another, evenmore majestic, rose at the end of life. This door in the grey fence wasa solemn, mysterious, and enticing Gateway--into everything worthseeing.
It was invariably kept locked; it led into the high-road that slitheredalong secretly and sedulously--to London. For the children it was outof bounds. Here the Policeman lived in constant terror of his life, andhere went to and fro the strange world of Passers-by. The white roadflowed past like a river. It moved. From the lower branches of thehorse-chestnut tree they could just see it slide; also when the swingwent extra high, and from the end of the prostrate elm. It went in bothdirections at once. It encircled the globe, going under the sea too.The door leading into it was a quay or port. But the brass knob neverturned; the Gardener said there was no key; and from the outer side thehandle had long since been removed, lest Passers-by might see it andcome in. Even the keyhole had been carefully stuffed up with thatstringy stuff the Gardener carried in his pockets.
Till, finally, something happened that made the End of the World seemsuddenly a new place. Tim noticed that the stringy stuff had beenremoved.
The day had been oppressively hot, and tempers had been sorely tried.Mother had gone to lie down with a headache; Aunt Emily was visitingthe poor with a basket; Daddy was inaccessible in his study; allAuthorities were doing the dull things Authorities have to do. It wasSeptember, and the world stood lost in this golden haze of unexpectedheat. Very still it stood, the yellow leaves quite motionless and thesmoke from the kitchen chimney hanging stiff and upright in the air.There was no breath of wind.
"There's simply _nothing_ to do," the children said--when suddenlyUncle Felix arrived, and their listlessness was turned to life andinterest. He had gone up in the morning to London, and the suddennessof his return was part of his prerogative. Stumper, Jinks, and otherfolk were announced days and days beforehand, but Uncle Felixjust--came.
"We'll go to the End of the World," he decided gravely, the moment hehad changed. "There's something going on there. Quick!" This meant, asall knew, that he had an idea. They stole out, and no one saw them go.Across the lawn and past the lime trees humming busily with tired bees,they crept beneath the shadow of the big horse-chestnut, where thestaring windows of the house could no longer see them. Theydisappeared. The Authorities might look and call for ever withoutfinding them.
"Slower, please, a little," said Maria breathlessly, and was at oncepicked up and carried. Moving cautiously through the laurel shrubbery,they left the garden proper with its lawns and flower-beds, and enteredthe forbidden region at the End of the World. They stood upright. UncleFelix dropped Maria like a bundle.
"Look!" he said below his breath. "I told you so!"
He pointed. The colony of wallflowers were fluttering in the windlessair. Nothing stirred but these. The stillness was unbroken. Sunshineblazed on the rubbish-heap. The currant bushes watched. Deep silencereigned everywhere. But the flowers on the crumbling wall wavedmysteriously their coloured banners of alarm.
"It looks different," said Judy in a hushed aside.
"Something's happened," whispered Tim, staring round him.
Maria watched them from the ground, prepared to follow in anydirection, but in no hurry until a plan was decided.
"The keyhole!" cried Tim loudly, and at the same moment a hugeblackbird flew out of the shrubberies behind them, and flashed acrossthe open space toward the orchard on the other side. It whistled along, shrill scream of warning. It was bigger by far than any ordinaryblackbird.
"Home! Quick! Run for your lives!" cried some one, as they dashed forthe safety of the elm tree. Even Maria ran. They scrambled on to theslippery, fallen trunk and gasped for breath as they stood balancing inan uneasy row, all holding hands.
"It was bigger than a hen," exclaimed Judy inconsequently. "It couldn'thave come through any keyhole." She stared with inquiring, startledeyes at her brother. The bird and the keyhole were somehow lumpedtogether in her mind.
"They've stopped," observed Maria, and sat down in the comfortableniche between the lopped branch and the trunk. It was true. Thewallflowers were as motionless now as painted outlines on a nurserysaucer.
"Because we're safe," said Uncle Felix. "It was a warning."
And then all turned their attention to Tim's discovery of the keyhole.For the stuffing had been removed. The white, dusty road gleamedthrough the hole in a spot of shining white.
"Hush!" whispered their guide. "There's something moving."
"Perhaps it's Jinks in his cemetery," thought Judy after a pause tolisten.
"No," said Uncle Felix with decision. "It's outside. It's on the--road!"
His earnestness on these occasions always thrilled them; his gravityand the calm way he kept his head invariably won their confidence.
"The London Road!" they repeated. That meant the world.
"Something going past," he added, listening intently. They listenedintently with him. All four were still holding hands.
"The great High Road outside," he repeated softly, while they movedinstinctively to the highest part of the tree whence they could seeover the fence. They craned their necks. The dusty road was flowingvery swiftly, and like a river it had risen. Never before had it beenso easily visible. They saw the ruts the carts had made, the hedge uponthe opposite bank, the grassy ditch where the hemlock grew in featheryquantities. They even saw loose flints upon the edge. But the actualroad was higher than before. It certainly was rising.
"Metropolis!" cried Tim. "I see an eye!"
Some one was looking through the keyhole at them.
"An eye!" exclaimed several voices in a hushed, expectant tone.
There was a pause, during which every one looked at every one else.
"It's probably a tramp," said Uncle Felix gravely. "We'll let him in."
The proposal, however, alarmed them, for they had expected somethingvery different. To stuff the keyhole, run away and hide, or at least tobarricade the fence was what he ought
to have advised. Instead of thisthey heard the very opposite. The excitement became intense. For them atramp meant danger, robbery with violence, intoxication, awful dirt,and an under-the-bed-at-midnight kind of terror. It was so long sincethey had seen the tramp--their own tramp--that they had forgotten hisexistence.
"They'll kill us at once," said Maria, using the plural with thecomprehensive and anticipatory vision of the child.
"They're harmless as white mice," said her Uncle quickly, "once youknow how to treat them, and full of adventures too. I do," he addedwith decision, referring to the treatment. And he stepped down to unbarthe gate.
The children, breathless with interest, watched him go. On the trunk,of course, they felt comparatively safe, for it was "home"; but nonethe less the "girls" drew up their skirts a little, and Tim feltpremonitory thrills run up his spidery legs into his spine. Thewallflowers shook their tawny heads as a sudden breath of wind sweptpast them across the End of the World. It seemed an age before theaudacious thing was accomplished and the door swung wide into the roadoutside. Uncle Felix might so easily have been stabbed or poisoned orsuffocated--but instead they saw a shabby, tangled figure comeshuffling through that open gate upon a cloud of dust.
"Quick! he's a perjured man!" cried Judy, remembering a newspaperarticle. "Shut the gate!" She sprang down to help. "He'll be arrestedfor a highway violence and be incarc-"
There was confusion in her mind. She felt pity for this woebegoneshadow of a human being, and terror lest the Policeman, who lived onthe white, summery high road, would catch him and send him to thegallows before he was safe inside. Her love was ever with the under dog.
There was a rush and a scramble, the gate was shut, and the Tramp stoodgasping before them in the enchanted sanctuary of the End of the World.
"He's ours!" exclaimed Judy. "It's our old tramp!"
"Be very polite to him," Uncle Felix had time to whisper hurriedly,seeing that all three stood behind him. "He's a great Adventurer and aWanderer too."