"We may be here all night!" exclaimed Abbleway.
The woman nodded as though she thought it possible.
"Are there wolves in these parts?" asked Abbleway
hurriedly.
"Many," said the woman; "just outside this forest my
aunt was devoured three years ago, as she was coming home
from market. The horse and a young pig that was in the
cart were eaten too. The horse was a very old one, but
it was a beautiful young pig, oh, so fat. I cried when I
heard that it was taken. They spare nothing."
"They may attack us here," said Abbleway
tremulously; "they could easily break in, these
carriages
are like matchwood. We may both be devoured."
"You, perhaps," said the woman
calmly; "not me."
"Why not you?" demanded Abbleway.
"It is the day of Saint Maria Kleopha, my name-day.
She would not allow me to be eaten by wolves on her day.
Such a thing could not be thought of. You, yes, but not
me."
Abbleway changed the subject.
"It is only afternoon now; if we are to be left here
till morning we shall be starving."
"I have here some good eatables," said the woman
tranquilly; "on my
festival day it is natural that I
should have
provision with me. I have five good blood-
sausages; in the town shops they cost twenty-five heller
each. Things are dear in the town shops."
"I will give you fifty heller
apiece for a couple of
them," said Abbleway with some enthusiasm.
"In a railway accident things become very dear,"
said the woman; "these blood-sausages are four kronen
apiece."
"Four kronen!" exclaimed Abbleway; "four kronen for
a blood-sausage!"
"You cannot get them any cheaper on this train,"
said the woman, with
relentless logic, "because there
aren't any others to get. In Agram you can buy them
cheaper, and in Paradise no doubt they will be given to
us for nothing, but here they cost four kronen each. I
have a small piece of Emmenthaler
cheese and a honey-cake
and a piece of bread that I can let you have. That will
be another three kronen, eleven kronen in all. There is
a piece of ham, but that I cannot let you have on my
name-day."
Abbleway wondered to himself what price she would
have put on the ham, and
hurried to pay her the eleven
kronen before her
emergencytariff expanded into a famine
tariff. As he was
taking possession of his
modest store
of eatables he suddenly heard a noise which set his heart
thumping in a
miserable fever of fear. 'There was a
scraping and shuffling as of some animal or animals
trying to climb up to the footboard. In another moment,
through the snow-encrusted glass of the
carriage window,
he saw a gaunt prick-eared head, with gaping jaw and
lolling tongue and gleaming teeth; a second later another
head shot up.
"There are hundreds of them," whispered Abbleway;
"they have scented us. They will tear the
carriage to
pieces. We shall be devoured."
"Not me, on my name-day. The holy Maria Kleopha
would not permit it," said the woman with provoking calm.
The heads dropped down from the window and an
uncanny silence fell on the beleaguered
carriage.
Abbleway neither moved nor spoke. Perhaps the brutes had
not clearly seen or winded the human occupants of the
carriage, and had prowled away on some other
errand of
rapine.
The long torture-laden minutes passed slowly away.
"It grows cold," said the woman suddenly, crossing
over to the far end of the
carriage, where the heads had
appeared. "The heating
apparatus does not work any
longer. See, over there beyond the trees, there is a
chimney with smoke coming from it. It is not far, and
the snow has nearly stopped, I shall find a path through
the forest to that house with the chimney."
"But the wolves!" exclaimed Abbleway; "they may - "
"Not on my name-day," said the woman obstinately,
and before he could stop her she had opened the door and
climbed down into the snow. A moment later he hid his
face in his hands; two gaunt lean figures rushed upon her
from the forest. No doubt she had courted her fate, but
Abbleway had no wish to see a human being torn to pieces
and devoured before his eyes.
When he looked at last a new
sensation of
scandalised
astonishment took possession of him. He had
been straitly brought up in a small English town, and he
was not prepared to be the
witness of a
miracle. The
wolves were not doing anything worse to the woman than
drench her with snow as they gambolled round her.
A short,
joyous bark revealed the clue to the
situation.
"Are those - dogs?" he called weakly.
"My cousin Karl's dogs, yes," she answered; that is
his inn, over beyond the trees. I knew it was there, but
I did not want to take you there; he is always grasping
with strangers. However, it grows too cold to remain in
the train. Ah, ah, see what comes!"
A
whistle sounded, and a
relief engine made its
appearance, snorting its way sulkily through the snow.
Abbleway did not have the opportunity for
finding out
whether Karl was really avaricious.
THE LUMBER ROOM
THE children were to be
driven, as a special treat,
to the sands at Jagborough. Nicholas was not to be of
the party; he was in
disgrace. Only that morning he had
refused to eat his
wholesome bread-and-milk on the
seemingly
frivolous ground that there was a frog in it.
Older and wiser and better people had told him that there
could not possibly be a frog in his bread-and-milk and
that he was not to talk
nonsense; he continued,
nevertheless, to talk what seemed the veriest
nonsense,
and described with much detail the colouration and
markings of the alleged frog. The
dramatic part of the
incident was that there really was a frog in Nicholas'
basin of bread-and-milk; he had put it there himself, so
he felt entitled to know something about it. The sin of
taking a frog from the garden and putting it into a bowl
of
wholesome bread-and-milk was enlarged on at great
length, but the fact that stood out clearest in the whole
affair, as it presented itself to the mind of Nicholas,
was that the older, wiser, and better people had been
proved to be
profoundly in error in matters about which
they had expressed the
utmost assurance.
"You said there couldn't possibly be a frog in my
bread-and-milk; there WAS a frog in my bread-and-milk,"
he
repeated, with the
insistence of a
skilled tactician
who does not intend to shift from favourable ground.
So his boy-cousin and girl-cousin and his quite
uninteresting younger brother were to be taken to
Jagborough sands that afternoon and he was to stay at
home. His cousins' aunt, who insisted, by an unwarranted
stretch of
imagination, in styling herself his aunt also,
had
hastily invented the Jagborough
expedition in order
to
impress on Nicholas the delights that he had justly
forfeited by his
disgraceful conduct at the breakfast-
table. It was her habit,
whenever one of the children
fell from grace, to
improvise something of a
festivalnature from which the
offender would be rigorously
debarred; if all the children sinned collectively they
were suddenly informed of a
circus in a neighbouring
town, a
circus of unrivalled merit and uncounted
elephants, to which, but for their depravity, they would
have been taken that very day.
A few
decent tears were looked for on the part of
Nicholas when the moment for the
departure of the
expedition arrived. As a matter of fact, however, all
the crying was done by his girl-cousin, who scraped her
knee rather
painfully against the step of the
carriage as
she was scrambling in.
"How she did howl," said Nicholas
cheerfully, as the
party drove off without any of the elation of high
spirits that should have characterised it.
"She'll soon get over that," said the SOI-DISANT
aunt; "it will be a
glorious afternoon for racing about
over those beautiful sands. How they will enjoy
themselves!"
"Bobby won't enjoy himself much, and he won't race
much either," said Nicholas with a grim
chuckle; his
boots are hurting him. They're too tight."
"Why didn't he tell me they were hurting?" asked the
aunt with some asperity.
"He told you twice, but you weren't listening. You
often don't listen when we tell you important things."
"You are not to go into the gooseberry garden," said
the aunt, changing the subject.
"Why not?" demanded Nicholas.
"Because you are in
disgrace," said the aunt
loftily.
Nicholas did not admit the flawlessness of the
reasoning; he felt
perfectlycapable of being in
disgraceand in a gooseberry garden at the same moment. His face
took on an expression of
considerableobstinacy. It was
clear to his aunt that he was determined to get into the
gooseberry garden, "only," as she remarked to herself,
"because I have told him he is not to."
Now the gooseberry garden had two doors by which it
might be entered, and once a small person like Nicholas
could slip in there he could
effectually disappear from
view amid the masking growth of artichokes, raspberry
canes, and fruit bushes. The aunt had many other things
to do that afternoon, but she spent an hour or two in
trivial gardening operations among flower beds and
shrubberies,
whence she could keep a
watchful eye on the
two doors that led to the
forbiddenparadise. She was a
woman of few ideas, with
immense powers of concentration.
Nicholas made one or two sorties into the front
garden, wriggling his way with
obvious stealth of purpose
towards one or other of the doors, but never able for a
moment to evade the aunt's
watchful eye. As a matter of
fact, he had no
intention of
trying to get into the
gooseberry garden, but it was
extremelyconvenient for
him that his aunt should believe that he had; it was a
belief that would keep her on self-imposed sentry-duty
for the greater part of the afternoon. Having thoroughly
confirmed and fortified her suspicions Nicholas slipped
back into the house and rapidly put into
execution a plan
of action that had long germinated in his brain. By
standing on a chair in the library one could reach a
shelf on which reposed a fat, important-looking key. The
key was as important as it looked; it was the instrument
which kept the mysteries of the
lumber-room secure from