Oswald Bastable and Others

  AN OBJECT OF VALUE AND VIRTUE

  This happened a very little time after we left our humble home inLewisham, and went to live at the Blackheath house of our Indian uncle,which was replete with every modern convenience, and had a big gardenand a great many greenhouses. We had had a lot of jolly Christmaspresents, and one of them was Dicky's from father, and it was aprinting-press. Not one of the eighteenpenny kind that never come off,but a real tip-topper, that you could have printed a whole newspaper outof if you could have been clever enough to make up all the stuff thereis in newspapers. I don't know how people can do it. It's all aboutdifferent things, but it is all just the same too. But the author issorry to find he is not telling things from the beginning, as he hasbeen taught. The printing-press really doesn't come into the story tillquite a long way on. So it is no use your wondering what it was that wedid print with the printing-press. It was not a newspaper, anyway, andit wasn't my young brother's poetry, though he and the girls did do anawful lot of that. It was something much more far-reaching, as you willsee if you wait.

  There wasn't any skating those holidays, because it was what they callnice open weather. That means it was simply muggy, and you could playout of doors without grown-ups fussing about your overcoat, or bringingyou to open shame in the streets with knitted comforters, except, ofcourse, the poet Noel, who is young, and equal to having bronchitis ifhe only looks at a pair of wet boots. But the girls were indoors a gooddeal, trying to make things for a bazaar which the people ourhousekeeper's elder sister lives with were having in the country for thebenefit of a poor iron church that was in difficulties. And Noel and H.O. were with them, putting sweets in bags for the bazaar's lucky-tub. SoDicky and I were out alone together. But we were not angry with theothers for their stuffy way of spending a day. Two is not a good number,though, for any game except fives; and the man who ordered the vineriesand pineries, and butlers' pantries and things, never had the sense totell the builders to make a fives court. Some people never think of thesimplest things. So we had been playing catch with a fives ball. It wasDicky's ball, and Oswald said:

  'I bet you can't hit it over the house.'

  'What do you bet?' said Dicky.

  And Oswald replied:

  'Anything you like. You couldn't do it, anyhow.'

  Dicky said:

  'Miss Blake says betting is wicked; but I don't believe it is, if youdon't bet money.'

  Oswald reminded him how in 'Miss Edgeworth' even that wretched littleRosamond, who is never allowed to do anything she wants to, even loseher own needles, makes a bet with her brother, and none of the grown-upsturn a hair.

  'But _I_ don't want to bet,' he said. 'I know you can't do it.'

  'I'll bet you my fives ball I do,' Dicky rejoindered.

  'Done! I'll bet you that threepenny ball of string and the cobbler's waxyou were bothering about yesterday.'

  So Dicky said 'Done!' and then he went and got a tennis racket--when Imeant with his hands--and the ball soared up to the top of the house andfaded away. But when we went round to look for it we couldn't find itanywhere. So he said it had gone over and he had won. And Oswald thoughtit had not gone over, but stayed on the roof, and he hadn't. And theycould not agree about it, though they talked of nothing else till teatime.

  It was a few days after that that the big greenhouse began to leak, andsomething was said at brekker about had any of us been throwing stones.But it happened that we had not. Only after brek Oswald said to Dicky:

  'What price fives balls for knocking holes in greenhouses?'

  'Then you own it went over the house, and I won my bet. Hand over!'Dicky remarked.

  But Oswald did not see this, because it wasn't proved it was the fivesball. It was only his idea.

  Then it rained for two or three days, and the greenhouse leaked muchmore than just a fives ball, and the grown-ups said the man who put itup had scamped the job, and they sent for him to put it right. And whenhe was ready he came, and men came with ladders and putty and glass,and a thing to cut it with a real diamond in it that he let us have tolook at. It was fine that day, and Dicky and H. O. and I were out mostof the time talking to the men. I think the men who come to do things tohouses are so interesting to talk to; they seem to know much more aboutthe things that really matter than gentlemen do. I shall try to be likethem when I grow up, and not always talk about politics and the way thearmy is going to the dogs.

  The men were very jolly, and let us go up the ladder and look at the topof the greenhouse. Not H. O., of course, because he is very youngindeed, and wears socks. When they had gone to dinner, H. O. went in tosee if some pies were done that he had made out of a bit of putty theman gave him. He had put the pies in the oven when the cook wasn'tlooking. I think something must have been done to him, for he did notreturn.

  So Dicky and I were left. Dicky said:

  'If I could get the ladder round to the roof of the stovehouse I believeI should find my fives ball in the gutter. I _know_ it went over thehouse that day.'

  So Oswald, ever ready and obliging, helped his brother to move theladder round to the tiled roof of the stovehouse, and Dicky looked inthe gutter. But even he could not pretend the ball was there, because Iam certain it never went over at all.

  When he came down, Oswald said:

  'Sold again!'

  And Dicky said:

  'Sold yourself! You jolly well thought it was there, and you'd have topay for it.'

  This unjustness was Oswald's reward for his kind helpingness aboutmoving the ladder. So he turned away, just saying carelessly over hisretiring shoulder:

  'I should think you'd have the decency to put the ladder back where youfound it.' And he walked off.

  But he has a generous heart--a crossing-sweeper told him so once when hegave him a halfpenny--and when Dicky said, 'Come on, Oswald; don't be asneak,' he proved that he was not one, and went back and helped with theladder. But he was a little distant to Dicky, till all disagreeablenesswas suddenly buried in a rat Pincher found in the cucumber frame.

  Then the washing-hands-and-faces-for-dinner bell rang, and, of course,we should have gone in directly, only just then the workmen came backfrom their dinner, and we waited, because one of them had promisedOswald some hinges for a ferrets' hutch he thought of making, and whilehe was talking to this man the other one went up the ladder. And thenthe most exciting and awful thing I ever saw happened, all in a minute,before anyone could have said 'Jack Robinson,' even if they had thoughtof him. The bottom part of the ladder slipped out along the smooth tilesby the greenhouse, and there was a long, dream-like, dreadful time, whenOswald knew what was going to happen; but it could only have been asecond really, because before anyone could do anything the top end ofthe ladder slid softly, like cutting butter, off the top of thegreenhouse, and the man on the ladder fell too. I never saw anythingthat made me feel so wrong way up in my inside. He lay there all in aheap, without moving, and the men crowded round him. Dicky and I couldnot see properly because of the other men. But the foreman, the one whohad given Oswald the hinges, said:

  'Better get a doctor.'

  It always takes a long time for a workman to understand what you wanthim to do, and long before these had, Oswald had shouted 'I'll go!' andwas off like an arrow from a bow, and Dicky with him.

  They found the doctor at home, and he came that minute. Oswald and Dickywere told to go away, but they could not bear to, though they knew theirdinner-bell must have been already rung for them many times in vain, andit was now ringing with fury. They just lurked round the corner of thegreenhouse till the doctor said it was a broken arm, and nothing elsehurt; and when the poor man was sent home in a cab, Oswald and Dicky gotthe cabman, who is a friend of theirs, to let them come on the box withhim. And thus they saw where the man lived, and saw his poor wife greetthe sufferer. She only said:

  'Gracious, Gus, whatever have you been up to now? You always was anunlucky chap.'

  But we could see her loving heart was full to overflowing.

/>   When she had taken him in and shut the door we went away. The wretchedsufferer, whose name transpired to be Augustus Victor Plunkett, waslucky enough to live in a mews. Noel made a poem about it afterwards:

  'O Muse of Poetry, do not refuse To tell about a man who loves the Mews. It is his humble home so poor, And the cabman who drove him home lives next door But two: and when his arm was broke His loving wife with tears spoke.'

  And so on. It went on for two hundred and twenty-four lines, and hecould not print it, because it took far too much type for theprinting-press. It was as we went out of the mews that we first saw theGoat. I gave him a piece of cocoanut ice, and he liked it awfully. Hewas tied to a ring in the wall, and he was black and white, with hornsand a beard; and when the man he belonged to saw us looking at him, hesaid we could have that Goat a bargain. And when we asked, out ofpoliteness and not because we had any money, except twopence halfpennyof Dicky's, how much he wanted for the Goat, he said:

  'Seven and sixpence is the lowest, so I won't deceive you, young gents.And so help me if he ain't worth thribble the money.'

  Oswald did the sum in his head, which told him the Goat was worth onepound two shillings and sixpence, and he went away sadly, for he didwant that Goat.

  We were later for dinner than I ever remember our being, and Miss Blakehad not kept us any pudding; but Oswald bore up when he thought of theGoat. But Dicky seemed to have no beautiful inside thoughts to sustainhim, and he was so dull Dora said she only hoped he wasn't going to havemeasles.

  It was when we had gone up to bed that he fiddled about with the studsand old buttons and things in a velvety box he had till Oswald was inbed, and then he said:

  'Look here, Oswald, I feel as if I was a murderer, or next-door to. Itwas our moving that ladder: I'm certain it was. And now he's laid up,and his wife and children.'

  Oswald sat up in bed, and said kindly:

  'You're right, old chap. It _was_ your moving that ladder. Of course,you didn't put it back firm. But the man's not killed.'

  'We oughtn't to have touched it,' he said. 'Or we ought to have toldthem we had, or something. Suppose his arm gets blood-poisoning, orinflammation, or something awful? I couldn't go on living if I was adoer of a deed like that.'

  Oswald had never seen Dicky so upset. He takes things jolly easy as arule. Oswald said:

  'Well, it is no use fuming over it. You'd better get out of your clothesand go to bed. We'll cut down in the morning and leave our cards andkind inquiries.'

  Oswald only meant to be kind, and by making this amusing remark hewished to draw his erring brother's thoughts from the remorse that waspoisoning his young life, and would very likely keep him awake for anhour or more thinking of it, and fidgetting about so that Oswaldcouldn't sleep.

  But Dicky did not take it at all the way Oswald meant. He said:

  'Shut up, Oswald, you beast!' and lay down on his bed and began to blub.

  Oswald said, 'Beast yourself!' because it is the proper thing to say;but he was not angry, only sorry that Dicky was so duffing as not to seewhat he meant. And he got out of bed and went softly to the girls' room,which is next ours, and said:

  'I say, come in to our room a sec., will you? Dicky is howling fit tobring the house down. I think a council of us elder ones would do himmore good than anything.'

  'Whatever is up?' Dora asked, getting into her dressing-gown.

  'Oh, nothing, except that he's a murderer! Come on, and don't make arow. Mind the mats and our boots by the door.'

  They came in, and Oswald said:

  'Look here, Dicky, old boy, here are the girls, and we're going to havea council about it.'

  They wanted to kiss him, but he wouldn't, and shrugged his shouldersabout, and wouldn't speak; but when Alice had got hold of his hand hesaid in a muffled voice:

  'You tell them, Oswald.'

  When Oswald and Dicky were alone, you will have noticed the just elderbrother blamed the proper person, which was Dicky, because he would goup on the stovehouse roof after his beastly ball, which Oswald did notcare a rap about. And, besides, he knew it wasn't there. But now thatother people were there Oswald, of course, said:

  'You see, _we_ moved the men's ladder when they were at their dinner.And you know the man that fell off the ladder, and we went with him inthe cab to the place where that Goat was? Well, Dicky has only justthought of it; but, of course, it was really our fault his tumbling,because we couldn't have put the ladder back safely. And Dicky thinks ifhis arm blood-poisoned itself we should be as good as murderers.'

  Dicky is perfectly straight; he sat up and sniffed, and blew his nose,and said:

  'It was my idea moving the ladder: Oswald only helped.'

  'Can't we ask uncle to see that the dear sufferer wants for nothingwhile he's ill, and all that?' said Dora.

  'Well,' said Oswald, 'we could, of course. But, then, it would all comeout. And about the fives ball too. And we can't be at all sure it _was_the ball made the greenhouse leak, because I know it never went over thehouse.'

  'Yes, it did,' said Dicky, giving his nose a last stern blow.

  Oswald was generous to a sorrowing foe, and took no notice, only wenton:

  'And about the ladder: we can't be quite sure it wouldn't have slippedon those tiles, even if we'd never moved it. But I think Dicky wouldfeel jollier if we could do something for the man, and I know it wouldme.'

  That looks mixed, but Oswald was rather agitated himself, and that waswhat he said.

  'We must think of something to do to get money,' Alice said, 'like weused to do when we were treasure-seekers.'

  Presently the girls went away, and we heard them jawing in their room.Just as Oswald was falling asleep the door opened, and a figure in whitecame in and bent above his almost sleeping form. It said:

  'We've thought of something! We'll have a bazaar, like the people MissBlake's elder sister lives with did for the poor iron church.'

  The form glided away. Miss Blake is our housekeeper. Oswald could hearthat Dicky was already sleeping, so he turned over and went to sleephimself. He dreamed of Goats, only they were as big as railway engines,and would keep ringing the church bells, till Oswald awoke, and it wasthe getting-up bell, and not a great Goat ringing it, but only Sarah asusual.

  The idea of the bazaar seemed to please all of us.

  'We can ask all the people we know to it,' said Alice.

  'And wear our best frocks, and sell the things at the stalls,' saidDora.

  Dicky said we could have it in the big greenhouse now the plants wereout of it.

  'I will write a poem for the man, and say it at the bazaar,' Noel said.'I know people say poetry at bazaars. The one Aunt Carrie took me to aman said a piece about a cowboy.'

  H. O. said there ought to be lots of sweets, and then everyone would buythem.

  Oswald said someone would have to ask my father, and he said he would doit if the others liked. He did this because of an inside feeling in hismind that he knew might come on at any moment. So he did. And 'Yes' wasthe answer. And then the uncle gave Oswald a whole quid to buy things tosell at the bazaar, and my father gave him ten bob for the same usefuland generous purpose, and said he was glad to see we were trying to dogood to others.

  When he said that the inside feeling in Oswald's mind began that he hadfelt afraid would, some time, and he told my father about him and Dickymoving the ladder, and about the hateful fives ball, and everything. Andmy father was awfully decent about it, so that Oswald was glad he hadtold.

  The girls wrote the invitations to all our friends that very day. Weboys went down to look in the shops and see what we could buy for thebazaar. And we went to ask how Mr. Augustus Victor Plunkett's arm wasgetting on, and to see the Goat.

  The others liked the Goat almost as much as Oswald, and even Dickyagreed that it was our clear duty to buy the Goat for the sake of poorMr. Plunkett.

  Because, as Oswald said, if it was worth one pound two and six, we couldeasily sell it again for that, and we shoul
d have gained fifteenshillings for the sufferer.

  So we bought the Goat, and changed the ten shillings to do it. The manuntied the other end of the Goat's rope, and Oswald took hold of it, andsaid he hoped we were not robbing the man by taking his Goat from himfor such a low price. And he said:

  'Not at all, young gents. Don't you mention it. Pleased to oblige afriend any day of the week.'

  So we started to take the Goat home. But after about half a street hewould not come any more. He stopped still, and a lot of boys and peoplecame round, just as if they had never seen a Goat before. We werebeginning to feel quite uncomfortable, when Oswald remembered the Goatliked cocoanut ice, so Noel went into a shop and got threepenn'orth, andthen the cheap animal consented to follow us home. So did the streetboys. The cocoanut ice was more for the money than usual, but not sonice.

  My father was not pleased when he saw the Goat. But when Alice told himit was for the bazaar, he laughed, and let us keep it in the stableyard.

  It got out early in the morning, and came right into the house, andbutted the cook in her own back-kitchen, a thing even Oswald himselfwould have hesitated before doing. So that showed it was a brave Goat.

  The groom did not like the Goat, because it bit a hole in a sack ofcorn, and then walked up it like up a mountain, and all the oats ran outand got between the stones of the stableyard, and there was a row. Butwe explained it was not for long, as the bazaar was in three days. Andwe hurried to get things ready.

  We were each to have a stall. Dora took the refreshment stall. The unclemade Miss Blake get all that ready.

  Alice had a stall for pincushions and brush-and-comb bags, and otheruseless things that girls make with stuff and ribbons.

  Noel had a poetry stall, where you could pay twopence and get a piece ofpoetry and a sweet wrapped up in it. We chose sugar almonds, becausethey are not so sticky.

  H. O.'s stall was to be sweets, if he promised on his word of honour asa Bastable only to eat one of each kind.

  Dicky wished to have a stall for mechanical toys and parts of clocks. Hehas a great many parts of clocks, but the only mechanical toy was hisclockwork engine, that was broken ages ago, so he had to give it up, andhe couldn't think of anything else. So he settled to help Oswald, andkeep an eye on H. O.

  Oswald's stall was meant to be a stall for really useful things, but inthe end it was just a lumber stall for the things other people did notwant. But he did not mind, because the others agreed he should have theentire selling of the Goat, and he racked his young brains to think howto sell it in the most interesting and unusual way. And at last he sawhow, and he said:

  'He shall be a lottery, and we'll make people take tickets, and thendraw a secret number out of a hat, and whoever gets the right numbergets the Goat. I wish it was me.'

  'We ought to advertise it, though,' Dicky said. 'Have handbills printed,and send out sandwich-men.'

  Oswald inquired at the printers in Greenwich, and handbills were anawful price, and sandwich-men a luxury far beyond our means. So he wenthome sadly; and then Alice thought of the printing-press. We got it out,and cleaned it where the ink had been upset into it, and mended thebroken parts as well as we could, and got some more printers' ink, andwrote the circular and printed it. It was:

  SECRET LOTTERY. EXCEPTIONABLE AND RARE CHANCE. _An Object of Value--_

  'It ought to be object of _virtue_,' said Dicky. 'I saw it in the oldiron and china and picture shop. It was a carved ivory ship, and therewas a ticket on it: "Rare Object of Virtue."'

  'The Goat's an object, certainly,' Alice said, 'and it's valuable. Asfor virtue, I'm not so sure.'

  But Oswald thought the two V's looked well, and being virtuous isdifferent to being valuable; but, all the same, the Goat might be bothwhen you got to know him really well. So we put it in.

  SECRET LOTTERY. EXCEPTIONABLE AND RARE CHANCE. _An Object of Value and Virtue_

  will be lotteried for on Saturday next, at four o'clock. Tickets one or two shillings each, according to how many people want them. The object is not disclosed till after the Lottery, but it cost a lot of money, and is honestly worth three times as much. If you win it, it is the same as winning money. Apply at Morden House, Blackheath, at 3 o'clock next Saturday. Take tickets early to prevent disappointment.

  We printed these, and though they looked a bit rum, we had not time todo them again, so we went out about dusk and dropped them in people'sletter-boxes. Then next day Oswald, who is always very keen on doing thething well, got two baking-boards out of the kitchen and bored holes inthem with an auger I had, and pasted paper on them, and did on themwith a paint-brush and ink the following lines:

  SECRET LOTTERY.

  OBJECT OF VALUE AND VIRTUE.

  _Tickets 1/- and 2/-._

  If you win, it will be the same as winning money.

  Lottery at Morden House, Blackheath.

  Saturday at 4. Come at 3.

  And he slung the boards round his neck, and tied up his mouth in one ofthose knitted comforters he despises so much at other times, and,pulling a cap of father's over his bold ears, he got Dicky to let himout of the side-door. And then the brave boy went right across the heathand three times up and down the village, till those boys that followedhim and the Goat home went for him near the corner of Wemyss Road, andhe made a fight for it, taking off the boards and using them as shields.But at last, being far outnumbered, which is no disgrace, he had tochuck the boards and run for it.

  Saturday was fine. We had hung the greenhouse with evergreens andpaper roses that looked almost like real among the green, and MissBlake let us have some Chinesy-looking curtains to cover over theshelves and staging with. And the gardener let us have a lot of azaleasand things in pots, so that it was all very bowery and flowery.

  Alice's stall was the smartest looking, because Miss Blake had let herhave all the ribbons and things that were over from the other bazaar.

  H. O.'s stall was also nice--all on silver tea-trays, so as not to bestickier than needful.

  The poetry stall had more flowers on it than any of the others, to makeup for the poetry looking so dull outside. Of course, you could not seethe sweet inside the packets till you opened them. Red azaleas areprettier than poetry, I think. I think the tropic lands in 'WestwardHo!' had great trees with flowers like that.

  We got the Goat into the stovehouse. He was to be kept a secret till thevery last. And by half-past two we were all ready, and very clean anddressed. We had all looked out everything we thought anyone could wantto buy, and that we could spare, and some things we could not, and mostof these were on Oswald's table--among others, several boxes of gameswe had never cared about; some bags of marbles, which nobody plays now;a lot of old books; a pair of braces with wool-work on them, that anaunt once made for Oswald, and, of course, he couldn't wear them; somebags of odd buttons for people who like sewing these things on; a lot offoreign stamps, gardening tools, Dicky's engine, that won't go, and astuffed parrot, but he was moth-eaten.

  About three our friends began to come, Mrs. Leslie, and Lord Tottenham,and Albert's uncle, and a lot of others. It was a very grand party, andthey admired the bazaar very much, and all bought things. Mrs. Lesliebought the engine for ten shillings, though we told her honestly itwould never go again, and Albert's uncle bought the parrot, and wouldnot tell us what he wanted it for. The money was put on a blue dish, sothat everyone could see how it got on, and our hearts were full of joyas we saw how much silver there was among the pennies, and two or threegold pieces too. I know now how the man feels who holds the plate at thedoor in church.

  Noel's poetry stall was much more paying than I thought it would be. Ibelieve nobody really likes poetry, and yet everyone pretends they do,either so as not to hurt Noel's feelings, or because they thinkwell-brought-up people ought to like poetry, even Noel's. Of course,Macaulay and Kipling are different. I don't mind them so much myself.

  Noel wrote a lot of new poetry for
the bazaar. It took up all his time,and even then he had not enough new stuff to wrap up all the sugaralmonds in. So he made up with old poetry that he'd done before.Albert's uncle got one of the new ones, and said it made him a proudman. It was:

  'How noble and good and kind you are To come to Victor A. Plunkett's Bazaar. Please buy as much as you can bear, For the sufferer needs all you can possibly spare. I know you are sure to take his part, Because you have such a noble heart.'

  Mrs. Leslie got:

  'The rose is red, the violet's blue, The lily's pale, and so are you. Or would be if you had seen him fall Off the top of the ladder so tall. Do buy as much as you can stand, And lend the poor a helping hand.'

  Lord Tottenham, though, only got one of the old ones, and it happened tobe the 'Wreck of the _Malabar_.' He was an admiral once. But he likedit. He is a nice old gentleman, but people do say he is 'excentric.'

  Father got a poem that said:

  'Please turn your eyes round in their sockets, And put both your hands in your pockets; Your eyes will show you things so gay, And I hope you'll find enough in your pockets to pay For the things you buy. Good-bye!'

  And he laughed and seemed pleased; but when Mrs. Morrison, Albert'smother, got that poem about the black beetle that was poisoned she wasnot so pleased, and she said it was horrid, and made her flesh creep.You know the poem. It says:

  'Oh, beetle, how I weep to see Thee lying on thy poor back: It is so very sad to see You were so leggy and black. I wish you were crawling about alive again, But many people think this is nonsense and a shame.'

  Noel _would_ recite, no matter what we said, and he stood up on a chair,and everyone, in their blind generousness, paid sixpence to hear him.It was a long poem of his own about the Duke of Wellington, and itbegan:

  'Hail, faithful leader of the brave band Who went to make Napoleon understand He couldn't have everything his own way. We taught him this on Waterloo day.'

  I heard that much; but then he got so upset and frightened no one couldhear anything till the end, when it says:

  'So praise the heroes of Waterloo, And let us do our duty like they had to do.'

  Everyone clapped very much, but Noel was so upset he nearly cried, andMrs. Leslie said:

  'Noel, I'm feeling as pale as a lily again! Take me round the garden torecover myself.'

  She was as red as usual, but it saved Noel from making a young ass ofhimself. And we got seventeen shillings and sixpence by his reciting. Sothat was all right.

  We might as well not have sent out those circulars, because only thepeople we had written to ourselves came. Of course, I don't count thosefive street boys, the same Oswald had the sandwich-board fight with.They came, and they walked round and looked at the things; but they hadno money to spend, it turned out, and only came to be disagreeable andmake fun. So Albert's uncle asked them if they did not think theirfamilies would be lonely without them, and he and I saw them off at thegate. Then they stood outside and made rude noises. And another strangercame, and Oswald thought perhaps the circular was beginning to bearfruit. But the stranger asked for the master of the house, and he wasshown in. Oswald was just shaking up the numbers in his hat for thelottery of the Goat, and Alice and Dora were selling the tickets forhalf a crown each to our visitors, and explaining the dreadful misery ofthe poor man that all this trouble was being taken for, and we were allenjoying ourselves very much, when Sarah came to say Master Oswald wasto go in to master's study at once. So he went, wondering what on earthhe could have been up to now. But he could not think of anything inparticular. But when his father said, 'Oswald, this gentleman is adetective from Scotland Yard,' he was glad he had told about the fivesball and the ladder, because he knew his father would now stand by him.But he did wonder whether you could be sent to prison for leaving aladder in a slippery place, and how long they would keep you there forthat crime.

  Then my father held out one of the fatal circulars, and said:

  'I suppose this is some of your work? Mr. Biggs here is bound in honourto do his best to find out when people break the laws of the land. Now,lotteries are illegal, and can be punished by law.'

  Oswald gloomily wondered how much the law could do to you. He said:

  'We didn't know, father.'

  Then his father said:

  'The best thing you can do is to tell this gentleman all about it.'

  So Oswald said:

  'Augustus Victor Plunkett fell off a ladder and broke his arm, andperhaps it was our fault for meddling with the ladder at all. So wewanted to do something to help him, and father said we might have abazaar. It is happening now, and we had three pounds two and sevenpencelast time I counted the bazaar.'

  'But what about the lottery?' said Mr. Biggs, who did not look as if hewould take Oswald to prison just then, as our young hero had feared. Infact, he looked rather jolly. 'Is the prize money?'

  'No--oh no; only it's so valuable it's as good as winning money.'

  'Then it's only a raffle,' said Mr. Biggs; 'that's what it is, just aplain raffle. What _is_ the prize?'

  'Are we to be allowed to go on with it?' asked the wary Oswald.

  'Why, yes,' said Mr. Biggs; 'if it's not money, why not? What is thevaluable object?'

  'Come, Oswald,' said his father, when Oswald said nothing, 'what is theobject of _virtu_?'

  'I'd rather not say,' said Oswald, feeling very uncomfortable.

  Mr. Biggs said something about duty being duty, and my father said:

  'Come, Oswald, don't be a young duffer. I dare say it's nothing to beashamed of.'

  'I should think not indeed,' said Oswald, as his fond thoughts playedwith that beautiful Goat.

  'Well, then?'

  'Well, sir'--Oswald spoke desperately, for he wondered his father hadbeen so patient so long, and saw that he wasn't going to go onbeing--'you see, the great thing is, nobody is to know it's a G---- Imean, it's a secret. No one's to know what the prize is. Only whenyou've won it, it will be revealed.'

  'Well,' said my father, 'if Mr. Biggs will take a glass of wine with me,we'll follow you down to the greenhouse, and he can see for himself.'

  Mr. Biggs said something about thanking father kindly, and about hisduty. And presently they came down to the greenhouse. Father did notintroduce Mr. Biggs to anyone--I suppose he forgot--but Oswald did whilefather was talking to Mrs. Leslie. And Mr. Biggs made himself veryagreeable to all the ladies.

  Then we had the lottery. Everyone had tickets, and Alice asked Mr. Biggsto buy one. She let him have it for a shilling, because it was the last,and we all hoped he would win the Goat. He seemed quite sure now thatOswald was not kidding, and that the prize was not money. Indeed, Oswaldwent so far as to tell him privately that the prize was too big to putin your pocket, and that if it was divided up it would be spoiled, whichis true of Goats, but not of money.

  '"Here is your prize," said Oswald.'--Page 31.]

  Everyone was laughing and talking, and wondering anxiously whatever theprize could possibly be. Oswald carried round the hat, and everyonedrew a number. The winning number was six hundred and sixty-six, andAlbert's uncle said afterwards it was a curious coincidence. I don'tknow what it meant, but it made Mrs. Leslie laugh. When everyone haddrawn a number, Oswald rang the dinner-bell to command silence, andthere was a hush full of anxious expectation. Then Oswald said:

  'The prize number is six hundred and sixty-six. Who has it?'

  And Mr. Biggs took a step forward and held out his paper.

  'The prize is yours! I congratulate you,' said Oswald warmly.

  Then he went into the stovehouse, and hastily placing a wreath of paperroses on the Goat's head, that Alice had got ready for the purpose, hegot out the Goat by secretly showing it a bit of cocoanut ice, and ledit by the same means to the feet of the happy winner.

  'Here is your prize,' said Oswald, with feelings of generous pride. 'Iam very glad you've got him. He'll be a comfort to you, and make up forall the trouble you've had o
ver our lottery--raffle, I mean.'

  And he placed the ungoated end of the rope in the unresisting hand ofthe fortunate detective.

  Neither Oswald nor any of the rest of us has ever been able to make outwhy everyone should have laughed so. But they did. They said the lotterywas the success of the afternoon. And the ladies kept on congratulatingMr. Biggs.

  At last people began to go, and the detective, so unexpectedly made richbeyond his wildest dreams, said he, too, must be going. He had tied theGoat to the greenhouse door, and now he moved away. But we all criedout:

  'You've forgotten your Goat!'

  'No, I haven't,' he said very earnestly; 'I shall never forget that Goatto my dying hour. But I want to call on my aunt just close by, and Icouldn't very well take the Goat to see her.'

  'I don't see why not,' H. O. said; 'it's a very nice Goat.'

  'She's frightened of them,' said he. 'One ran at her when she was alittle girl. But if you will allow me, sir'--and he winked at my father,which is not manners--'if you'll allow me, I'll call in for the Goat onmy way to the station.'

  We got five pounds thirteen and fivepence by the bazaar and the raffle.We should have had another ten shillings from father, but he had togive it to Mr. Biggs, because we had put him to the trouble of comingall the way from Scotland Yard, because he thought our circular was fromsome hardened criminal wishing to cheat his trustful fellow-creatures.We took the money to Augustus Victor Plunkett next morning, and I tellyou he _was_ pleased.

  We waited till long after dark for the detective to return for his richprize. But he never came. I hope he was not set upon and stabbed in somedark alley. If he is alive, and not imprisoned, I can't see why hedidn't come back. I often think anxiously of him. Because, of course,detectives have many enemies among felons, who think nothing of stabbingpeople in the back, so that being murdered in a dark alley is a thingall detectives are constantly liable to.