Poor Cecco

  They looked behind the sofa cushions, and under the sideboard, even inside the coal scuttle itself, but there was no Tubby to be seen. High and low they searched, calling her, but it was all no use. Now indeed they began to get alarmed.

  “She’s doing it on purpose,” said Virginia May, trying not to feel frightened. “It’s all because we made fun of her writing letters to Bulka.”

  “I wish Poor Cecco were here!” said Harlequin sadly. And Anna began to snivel. “Things always seem to go wrong when Poor Cecco’s away!”

  No use wishing for Poor Cecco! They must do their best without him. All the rest of that night, led by Harlequin and the Lion, they hunted and called. They even turned back the carpet and poked out the cracks in the kitchen floor with hairpins. There was no trace of Tubby anywhere, except a few torn scraps of paper behind the coal scuttle.

  It was a very dejected party that gathered in the toy-cupboard next morning. Never before had Tubby remained hidden so long. And though Gladys and Anna still maintained she had only gone to Tubbyland, the rest of them began to feel certain by now that something had happened. As for the Easter Chicken, he had sobbed himself to sleep long ago.

  The toys woke him up, for they felt that some one had to be blamed for the whole affair.

  “Why didn’t you stop Murrum?” they scolded. “You ought to have called us. You should have told some one!”

  “I told the Money-Pig!”

  “You didn’t!” the Money-Pig shouted, and immediately closed his eyes again and groaned.

  Certainly something had given him indigestion. But the other toys were too worried to pay any attention to his troubles.

  “You’ll catch it when Poor Cecco comes back!” said Harlequin darkly. And the Engine and Anna and the dolls all cried: “Yes, it’s all your fault!”

  That didn’t frighten the Easter Chicken. All he cared about was rescuing Tubby, but the only thing he could do was to hop up and down and flap his wings.

  “Didn’t you even see which way he went?” the Lion asked.

  “He went through the kitchen window. The Money-Pig saw him.”

  “If you say that again,” bellowed the Money-Pig, “I shall certainly beat you! Some one give me a penny; I am going to be ill!”

  “It’s all the Easter Chicken’s fault!” they shouted in chorus.

  In the very midst of this confusion, there was heard the shrill toot of a horn, and a loud ring at the door-bell. Some one must be arriving in style! And while they wondered, the toy-cupboard door was flung open, and in strode Poor Cecco himself, together with Bulka and a strange little person with painted boots and no frock on, whom they had never seen before. She looked very shy, and was carrying a bundle in her hand.

  “Hello!” cried Poor Cecco. “How is everybody? Hello, Harlequin! Hello, Lion! Hello, Anna! This is Jensina. We’ve been all over the world and now we’re back again!” And he began kissing them all round.

  “And I’ve brought some beads for Tubby!” Bulka cried, holding up his necklace for every one to see. “Nobody touch them! Where is Tubby?”

  All the toys were silent; no one wanted to speak first. Only the Money-Pig was heard to snore loudly.

  “Where is Tubby?” Bulka repeated. “I want to see Tubby! Why isn’t Tubby here?”

  And Poor Cecco, looking about him, asked with a sudden sternness: “Where is Tubby?”

  The toys looked uneasily one at another, shuffling their feet, and suddenly they all burst into tears.

  Chapter XV

  HOW BULKA GOT HIS LETTERS

  HERE was a dismal end to a fine home-coming!

  Well the toys might weep; that would not help matters. Poor Cecco’s return, however, after the first few moments—in which he said very plainly what he thought—put new courage into them all. Now there was some one to organise the search and take matters in hand, and at once they became brave. The Lion stiffened up and was ready to roar; Anna stopped snivelling, and Harlequin squared his shoulders and went about once more saying “Hey Presto!” They ceased to blame the Easter Chicken, and instead began to talk of what they would do to Murrum.

  The real question, however, was to rescue Tubby, and this could not be done until she was found. Poor Cecco at once decided that they must divide into two parties, one to search the garden and one the house. This, the Lion pointed out, had already been done, but Poor Cecco wanted to make quite sure. So with Poor Cecco at the head of one party, and Bulka leading the other, they set out.

  Jensina remained at home, with Ida, Anna and the dolls, in order to become acquainted.

  Now I would like nothing better than to tell how Gladys and Virginia May welcomed Jensina with the kindness due to a stranger and a guest, but unfortunately this would not be at all true. In fact, from the first minute they set eyes on Jensina they had made up their minds to snub her. This was partly due to jealousy, partly from the mere desire to show off and give themselves airs. As long as Bulka and Poor Cecco were present they were bound to be polite to her, but as soon as they found themselves alone they turned up their noses and set out to make her just as uncomfortable as they knew how. Anna merely simpered and looked affected. Ida alone was kind, but then Ida was always kind. No one took any notice of her.

  As for Jensina, the unaccustomed luxury of the toy-cupboard, and the new company among which she found herself, naturally made her feel a little shy. She consoled herself, however, and kept up her sense of dignity by sticking out her tongue whenever Gladys and Virginia May were not looking. She was quite aware of their attitude, and would have much preferred to join Poor Cecco and Bulka on their search, but instead she had to stay at home and make the best of it. So she sat on the toy-cupboard sofa, which had only two legs and was propped up at the other end by an empty cotton-spool, while Gladys and Virginia May reclined on the cigar-box opposite and stared at her.

  “Are there many parties where you come from?” Virginia May began in a languid voice.

  “There were two last night,” Jensina replied, “but I could only attend one of them.”

  “Indeed!” said Gladys, and the two dolls glanced at one another and sniffed.

  “I suppose you have all your clothes in that funny bundle,” Gladys remarked. “So quaint! I wish, Virginia,” she added, “that you would remind me to have the lock of my large trunk attended to, I may go visiting soon, and I couldn’t dream of travelling without it! I don’t quite know whether I shall wear my white satin or the pink velvet trimmed with lace. Harlequin says I look charming in the pink velvet!”

  The trunk, as every one knew, did not really belong to Gladys at all. It had lain in the bottom of the toy-cupboard for ages with the lid half off and was full of broken china, while the white satin petticoat had only been loaned her for the wedding last week, and it was Virginia May’s turn to have it next. Virginia, however, chose to forget that she had quarrelled bitterly with Gladys over this garment only two days ago, and clasping her hands she exclaimed:

  “Oh, darling, I should wear the white! White is always so becoming when one travels, especially with a veil.”

  “I daresay you are right,” sighed Gladys, and she glanced again at Jensina.

  “Wouldn’t you like to take your shoes off,” she asked sweetly, “and rest your feet a little?”

  Now Jensina couldn’t possibly take her shoes off, and both the dolls knew it. They were painted on, and while painted-on shoes are the cheapest and most comfortable that any one can have, they are also the sign of inferior social position. Both Gladys and Virginia had once possessed real shoes—bronze paper shoes with buckles—but they had been lost long ago, and one of Virginia’s feet being broken off near the instep, she couldn’t have kept a shoe on even if she still had it; Jensina knew they were only trying to humiliate her, but she didn’t care; her feet were both unchipped and they served her quite well for walking. So she merely stared hard at Virginia’s broken toes and replied:

  “I never take my shoes off in company. I don’t think it is q
uite nice!”

  Both dolls turned very red.

  “I daresay she sleeps in them,” Virginia whispered in a loud aside, and Gladys returned: “We might lend her something to wear. Poor thing! I think I’ve got an old petticoat somewhere about.”

  “I’ve got a perfectly good dress of my own,” Jensina replied aloud, “and it doesn’t need washing either!”

  “Really!” said Virginia. “How strange! What is it made of?”

  “It’s made of gingham,” said Jensina proudly.

  “Gingham!” murmured the dolls, and they both shuddered.

  “Don’t you mind them,” whispered Ida kindly. “They’re only jealous because you’ve travelled more than they have. They’re quite nice when you really know them.”

  “They’re stuck-up cats!” thought Jensina. “That’s what they are!”

  She sat stiff and erect on the sofa, determined to keep silence, while the two dolls plied her with questions. They were curious, above all, to know what kind of a shop she came from.

  “I was never in a shop,” Jensina retorted at last. “My people had nothing to do with trade. If you want to know, I am descended from a gypsy queen!”

  “Descended is the right word!” said Virginia, while Gladys added: “I never knew there were gypsy queens.”

  “Then you don’t know much,” said Jensina sharply, and turning her back on them as far as she could she began to unknot her bundle and arrange its contents on the sofa beside her, while Virginia and Gladys stared inquisitively, whispering together.

  “It must be very romantic being a queen!” simpered Anna coyly, thinking of the Lion. It was the first remark she had made and Jensina turned to stare at her.

  “Why do you wear that bell round your neck?” she asked.

  “In case I ever get lost,” Anna replied, “so that I can always tell where I am, even in the dark.”

  “I shouldn’t think you’d get lost easily!” said Jensina.

  Anna did not know whether this was a compliment or not, so she merely simpered again. Jensina went on arranging her treasures, which made the dolls very curious, and Gladys leaned so far over Virginia May’s shoulder that they both lost their balance and tumbled off the cigar-box. To hide their confusion Gladys said instantly:

  “Let us have a little music! Anna, will you find the musical box?”

  This took Anna some while, partly because her eyes were so near the top of her head, partly because the musical-box itself was hidden under a pile of broken furniture and building blocks in one corner of the toy-cupboard. While she was still looking for it Bulka came in, followed by the Lion and the Easter Chicken.

  “Have you found Tubby?” the others cried at once. “Have you any news?”

  “Not yet,” replied the Lion hopefully, “but Poor Cecco and Harlequin are in the garden making a trap, and if only Murrum will step on it we might catch him.”

  “Have you had a nice time, Jensina?” Bulka asked.

  “Wonderful!” replied Jensina, looking straight at the two dolls, who became more confused than ever. Anna had found the musical-box at last. It was round, with painted figures on it and a tiny china knob on the handle. Seizing this she began to turn, and immediately a little tune gushed forth.

  “Tum tum tum tumptity—ugh—ugh—ugh!” tinkled the musical-box, breaking off, as always, in something between a cough and a hiccup.

  At the sound of these familiar strains, to which he and Tubby had so often waltzed in bygone days, Poor Bulka nearly broke down. “Stop it!” he cried, stamping his foot. “Stop it!” while Anna gazed in stupid surprise and the musical-box, which was far harder to stop than to set going, continued obstinately in its refrain.

  “Stop it!” shouted the Money-Pig, aroused from his nap on the roof of the Noah’s Ark. “Must you make that horrible noise?”

  Jensina rushed to take hold of the handle, and as she did so the Money-Pig, leaning over to shout, caught sight of the penny—Poor Cecco’s remaining penny—lying with Jensina’s treasures on the toy-cupboard sofa.

  “There’s money!” he exclaimed. “I see it! Give it me at once!”

  “I shall not,” returned Jensina with spirit. “It belongs to Poor Cecco!”

  “He can’t take care of money! I need it! Give it me this instant!” the Money-Pig insisted. “No one can have money but me!”

  “Don’t you give it him!” advised the Lion. “You’ll never get it back. He’s awfully greedy!”

  Jensina, who had no intention of giving up the penny, took a step back, startled by the Money-Pig’s squealing, while the Easter Chicken suddenly piped up: “I’ll find you a penny if you’ll tell that you saw Murrum stealing Tubby!”

  “I won’t!” the Money-Pig bellowed. “I won’t tell you! Give me that penny at once!”

  It all happened in a moment! Jensina made a movement to protect Poor Cecco’s money, snatching it from the sofa; the Money-Pig gave a shriek, and in his rage he leaned so far forward that his hoof slipped, he lost his balance, and—crash!—he fell off the Noah’s Ark roof and was broken to pieces!

  There he lay in fragments on the toy-cupboard floor, and there, among the pennies, and the scraps of green china that a moment ago had been his ears and his snout and his fat bulging sides, lay dozens and dozens of folded notes of all shapes and sizes—a whole pile of them—each one addressed: “To Dear Bulka. In the Toy-Cupboard.”—all Tubby’s love letters that she had written so carefully and posted inside him! The wonder was that he had held them all up to now without bursting!

  There they were, plain for all the world to see, with “Dear Bulka” written in a big round hand on each one of them. “Tubby’s been writing to me! Tubby’s written me a letter!” Bulka cried. He began to gather the letters up in armfuls, dropping half of them in his haste.

  “Hurry up and open them!” said Jensina. “Perhaps they’re to tell us where she is.”

  “What’s this?” asked Poor Cecco, coming in from the garden, with Harlequin at his heels. “What’s happened?”

  Bulka had torn open one of the letters, and there he read:

  “DEAR BULKA:

  I love you more than everything and I will make you a big cake with ammons and Icing and Silver balls,

  Your loving

  TUBBY.

  P.S. There will be candels on the Cake.

  “Tubby loves me!” Bulka shouted, waving the letter over his head. “Tubby really loves me! She wrote it down!”

  “Show us!” cried the dolls instantly.

  “Indeed I won’t!” said Bulka. “It’s only written for me, so Hinksman!” And gathering all his letters together,—an enormous armful—he hastened off to read them all alone by himself in the garden.

  Jensina looked down at the green fragments that had lately been the Money-Pig.

  “Do you suppose he’s dead?” she asked Poor Cecco in an awed voice.

  “Very likely,” returned Poor Cecco. “If he is we’ll have a funeral, but there’s no time to see about that now. Come out, Jensina, and I’ll show you my trap!”

  Ida was the only one who felt sorry for the Money-Pig. Not that she liked him—no one had done that—but she had a naturally soft heart, even for disagreeable people. So she set about sweeping him up, as well as she could, and put all the best pieces in the doll’s trunk to wait till there was time for a funeral.

  She had just brushed up the last chip when Gladys, who had wandered off and climbed up to the front window to look out, returned in great excitement.

  “Anna—Ida!” Gladys exclaimed. “What do you think? I just looked out of the window, and there are two enormous grey rats sitting behind the flower-pot on the front porch!”

  Chapter XVI

  IN THE WILLOW TREE

  IT’S really time, now, that we heard something about Tubby herself.

  Luckily Tubby was very soft, so when Murrum dropped her down the hole in the willow tree she only bounced a little, and didn’t hurt herself at all.

  When her fi
rst fright was over, and she was able to look about her, she found that she was in a large round room with very high walls. There was a pale greenish light in the place, which came from the decayed wood with which the inside of the willow tree was lined, and which shone in the dark; everything looked very clean and nice, and there was a soft thick carpet of earth and wood-dust underfoot. High up, through the hole in the top, she could see a big bright star.

  In fact, if Tubby had found this place for herself, instead of being thrown into it so rudely by Murrum, she would have asked for nothing better. All her life she had wanted a house of her own, and had she been free to choose, this was just such a house as she would have chosen. Certainly there was the fear that Murrum might come back, but there seemed no danger of that for the present. For the rest, it was as roomy as the toy-cupboard and far more tidy. If Bulka were only here to play with her, Tubby thought, they could have a wonderful time; and thinking of Bulka she remembered the unfinished letter and the pencil which she had thrust hastily into her pocket when Murrum seized her.

  Taking it out, she sat down with her back against the wall, licked the point of her pencil well, and began to write:

  DEAR BULKA:

  I am in a funny place it is a house in a tree. Murrum brought me it is lited with green lites so no more at present. Hoping you are well

  your loving

  TUBBY.

  P.S. I will make you a cake with ammons and Icing and Silver balls.

  When she had finished writing Tubby walked round and round the room looking for a place to post her letter, but she could see no crack or cranny large enough, and the walls looked exactly the same all round. So at last she gave it up, and feeling somewhat dizzy from walking in a circle so long she cuddled down in a hollow in the floor and shut her eyes.

  When she awoke it was daylight, and the sun was shining in through the hole in the top of the tree. Tubby could see blue sky, with silver-green willow leaves waving before it, high above her. Little ants were running up and down the willow tree walls. She sat up and began to feel very hungry.