Us, An Old Fashioned Story

  CHAPTER IX.

  CROOKFORD FAIR.

  "And the booths of mountebanks, With the smell of tan and planks." LONGFELLOW.

  The jolting had ceased, and it was quite dark before Duke and Pamelaawoke. But through the little window of the van came twinkling lights,and as they sat up and looked about them they heard a good many unusualsounds--the voices of people outside calling to each other, the noise ofwheels along stony roadways--a sort of general clatter and movementwhich soon told that the encampment for the night was not, as hitherto,on the edge of some quiet village or on a lonely moor.

  "Bruvver," said Pamela, who had been the first to rouse up, "are youawake? What a long time us has been asleep! Is it the middle of thenight, and what a noise there is."

  Duke slowly collected his ideas. He did not speak, but he stood up onthe bench and peeped out of the window.

  "It must be that big place where there's a fair," he said. "Look,sister, there's lots and lots of carts and peoples. And over there doyou see there's rows of little shops--that must be the fair."

  He seemed rather excited, but Pamela, after one peep, would not look anymore.

  "No, no, bruvver," she said. "I am frightened. If it is the fair, thatman will be coming that Diana told us about, and perhaps he'll take usbefore Diana and Tim can help us to run away. I'm too frightened."

  But Duke had managed to get the window unhooked, and was now on tiptoe,stretching out his head as far as it would go.

  "Oh sister," he exclaimed, drawing it in again, "you _should_ see. It'ssuch a big place, and such lots and lots of peoples, and such a noise.Oh do climb up here, sister, and look out."

  But Pamela still cowered down in her corner. Suddenly they heard thewell-known sound of the key in the door,--for when the children werealone in the van they were always locked in,--and turning to look, theysaw Diana. She brought with her a bowl of milk and some bread, which thechildren were very glad of, as they had eaten so little at dinner, andshe said nothing till they had finished it.

  "Are you still sleepy?" she said then. "Would you like to go to bed orto come out a little with me?"

  "Oh, to go out a little," said Duke; but Pamela crept up close to Diana.

  "I don't want to go out," she said. "I'm frightened. But I don't want tostay here alone for fear that man should come. Can't you help us to runaway now, before he comes? Oh please do, dear Diana."

  Diana soothed her very kindly.

  "Don't be frightened, missy dear," she said. "He won't be coming justyet. I think you'd better come out a little with me. You'll sleep betterfor it."

  "And you won't take us to that man?" said Pamela half suspiciously.

  Diana looked at her reproachfully.

  "Missy, missy dear, would I do such a thing?"

  "Sister, you know she wouldn't," said Duke.

  "Then I'll come," said Pamela, and in another minute the two children,each with a hand of the gipsy girl, were threading their way through thelanes of vans and carts, half-completed booths, tethered horses anddonkeys, men, women, and children of all kinds, which were assembled onthe outskirts of Crookford in preparation for the great fair. Nobodynoticed them much, though one or two gipsies loitering about, not of herown party, nodded at Diana as she passed as an old acquaintance, withsome more or less rough joke or word of greeting. And those belonging toMick's caravan did not seem surprised at seeing the children at freedom.This was what Diana wished, and it had been partly with this object, aswell as to accustom Duke and Pamela a little to their present quarters,that she had managed to get leave to take them out a little, late as itwas. It had seemed quite dark outside--looking through the window of thevan--but in reality it was only dusk, though the lights moving about,the fires lit here and there in little stoves outside the booths, andthe general bustle and confusion, made it a very bewildering scene.Pamela tried not to be frightened, but she clutched Diana's hand close,till suddenly, on turning a corner, they ran against a boy coming atfull speed. It was Tim, and the little girl let go of Diana to spring tohim with a cry of pleasure.

  "Oh Tim, dear Tim," she cried, "us hasn't seen you for such a longtime!"

  "True enough, missy," he said cheerfully; and, looking at him moreclosely, both children noticed that he did look brighter and merrierthan ever, little as he was in the habit of seeming sad. "It's allright," he went on, turning to Diana; "such a piece o' luck!"

  "Come and tell me as soon as we come back," said the girl. "I'll be inthe van putting them to bed. Mick's off--gone to look for the Signor.I'll try for them to be asleep when _they_ come," and with these rathermysterious words Diana drew on the children, and Tim ran off with a nod.

  They walked on till they got a little clear of the crowd, and on to aroad evidently leading out of the town. It had grown darker, but themoon had risen, and by her light at some little distance the childrensaw the same silvery thread that they had noticed winding along belowthem from the high moorland some days before.

  "That's the river where the boats are like houses--that Tim told usabout," said Pamela.

  "Yes," said Diana, "it's the canal. It comes right into the town overthat way," and she pointed the left. "The boats take stone fromhereabouts,--there's lots of quarries near Crookford. I wanted you tosee it, for we've been thinking, Tim and me--it's more his thought thanmine--that that'd be the best way for you to get away. Mick'll not belikely to think of the canal, and Tim's been down to see if there wasany one among the boat-people as would take you. He used to know some ofthem not far from here. And the canal goes straight on to a place calledMonkhaven, on the road to Sandle'ham. Did you ever hear of that place?"

  The children shook their heads.

  "Well, it can't be helped. That's as far as you can get by the canal.After that Tim must use his wits and look about him; and when you get toSandle'ham I'm afraid there's no help for it--you'll have to ask thepolice to take you home."

  "But Tim too?" said Pamela. "Tim's to go home with us."

  "I hope so," said Diana. "I hope the old gentleman and lady will be goodto him, poor boy! Tell them it was none of _his_ fault, your beingstolen away--he's but a poor homeless waif himself; and even if so be asthey could do nothing for him, he mustn't come back here. Mick'd be liketo kill him."

  "But Grandpapa and Grandmamma will be good to him. I _know_ they will,"said Duke and Pamela together. "They'd be good to you too, Diana," theyadded timidly.

  But Diana again shook her head.

  "That can't be," she said. "Still, when all this has blown over a bit,I'll try to hear of you some day. Tim'll maybe be able to let me knowthe name of the place where your home is."

  "And you must come to see us. Oh yes, yes--you must, Diana!" said thechildren, dancing about with glee. The girl looked at them in somesurprise; it was the first time she had seen them merry andlight-hearted as they were at home, and it made her better understandhow wretched their new life must have been for them to change them so.

  "I'll try," she said; "but it doesn't much matter for that. The thing isfor you to be safe at home yourselves."

  Then she said it was time to go back. It was quite dark by now, and thechildren kept very close to her as they found themselves again in therabble of the behind-the-scenes of the fair. People there too werebeginning to shut up for the night, for most of them, poor things, hadbeen working hard all day.

  As they came up to where Mick's party had encamped, Diana said somethingin the queer language the children did not understand to some of thegipsies who were hanging about. Their answer seemed to relieve her.

  "Come, children," she said; "you must be tired. I'll get you to bed asquick as I can; and try to get to sleep. It's the best thing you cando."--"They'll not be coming just yet, maybe," she added to herself, "ifthey've got to drinking over their bargain; so much the better perhaps.If only the children are asleep they'll perhaps be none the wiser, andI'll hear all there is to hear."

  The preparing for bed was a different thing indeed fr
om the carefulwashing, hair-brushing, and attiring in snow-white nightgowns that wascalled "undressing" "at home." All that Diana could manage in the way ofwashing apparatus was a rough wooden tub with cold water, a bit ofcoarse soap, and an old rag by way of a towel! And even this she haddone more to please the children than because she saw any need for it.This evening she made no pretence of anything after taking off thechildren's outer clothes--Duke's nankin suit, now sadly soiled anddilapidated, and the old red flannel skirt and little shawl which hadreplaced Pamela's white frock. The frock was still in existence; but byMick's orders Diana had trimmed it up gaudily for the child to make herappearance in to the Signor; so the little girl's attire was certainlyvery gipsy-like.

  "Shall I have to go home to Grandmamma with this nugly old petticoat andno frock?" she asked, when Diana had taken off all her clothes down toher little flannel vest, and wrapped her up for the night in a clean,though old, cotton bedgown of her own. "And why have you taken off mychemise, Diana? I've kept it on other nights."

  "I'm going to wash it," said Diana. "I'd like to send you back as decentas I _can_."

  Pamela seemed satisfied. Then she and Duke knelt together at the side ofthe shake-down Diana called their bed, and said their prayers togetherand aloud. The gipsy girl had heard them before--several times--but thisevening she listened with peculiar attention, and when at the end thelittle creatures, after praying for dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma, andthat God would please soon take them safe home again, went on to add aspecial petition for "dear Diana," who had been so kind to them, thatshe might be always good and happy, and that Mick and nobody should beunkind to her, the girl turned away her face to hide the tears whichslowly welled up into her eyes.

  "Good-night, dear Diana," said the two little voices, as she stooped tokiss them.

  "Good-night, master and missy. Sleep well, and don't be frightened ifyou're wakened up. I'll be here." Then, as she was turning away, shehesitated. "Do you really think now," she said, "that it's any goodpraying for a wild gipsy girl like me?"

  "Of course it is," said Pamela, starting up again. "Why shouldn't it beas much good for you as for any one? If you want to be good--and I thinkyou are good, Diana--you can't help praying to God. For all the goodcomes from Him. That's what Grandmamma told us. And He puts little bitsof His good into us."

  Diana looked puzzled.

  "Yes," persisted Pamela, nodding her head. "There's like a little voicethat speaks inside us--that tells us when we're" (Pamela could use theword "we," as correctly as possible when speaking in general, not merelyof Duke and herself) "naughty and when we're good."

  In her turn Diana nodded her head.

  "And the more we listen to it the plainer we hear it," added Pamela.

  "_Us_ didn't listen to it when us found that Toby had brokened thebowl," said Duke gravely. "At least I didn't, and it leaves off speakingwhen people doesn't listen."

  Diana had long ago heard the story of the beginning of the children'stroubles.

  "Listening to it is almost like praying, you see, Diana," said Pamela."And of course when we know all the good comes from God, it's only_sense_ to pray to Him, isn't it?"

  "I'll think about it," said the gipsy quietly. "Now go to sleep as fastas you can."

  Easier in their innocent minds about their own affairs by a great dealthan Diana was _for_ them, the twins quickly followed her advice. ButDiana dared not go to rest herself; in the first place she had a longtalk with Tim in a corner where they could not be overheard, and then,finding that Mick had not yet come back, she hung about, terrified ofhis returning with the Signor, and frightening the poor children,without her being at hand.

  "You'd best go to bed, I think," said Tim. "I 'spex he's got to drinkingsomewhere, and he won't be seen to-night."

  "I dursn't," said Diana. "He might come any minute, and that man mightwant to carry them off in their sleep, so as to have no noise about it."

  "But how could you stop him?" asked Tim, his merry face growing verysober.

  "I'd do my best, and you must be ready, you know," she said.

  "He'd be in a nice taking if he didn't find the Signor, or if _he_wanted to back out of it," said Tim.

  "Not much fear of that," said Diana. "The Signor's too sharp; he'll soonsee he couldn't get such a pretty pair once in twenty years. He's a manI shudder at; once he wanted me to join his show, but, bad and cruel asMick is, I'd rather have to do with him. But hush, Tim, there they are!I hear Mick's voice swearing--they're coming this way. Run you off andhide yourself, but try to creep up to the van where the children arewhen they're gone, and I'll tell you what has to be done."

  Tim disappeared with marvellous quickness. Diana rose to her feet andwent forward a little, with a light in her hand, to meet her brother. Hewas accompanied, as she expected, by the Signor, and she saw in a momentthat Mick was more than half drunk, and in a humour which might becomedangerous at any moment.

  "He's made him drunk," she said to herself, "thinking he'll drive abetter bargain. He'd better have let him alone."

  The Signor was a very small, dark, fat man--dressed, as he considered,"quite like a gentleman." He had bright, beady, twinkling eyes, and away of smiling and grinning as if he did not think nature had made himenough like a monkey already, in which I do not think any one would haveagreed with him!

  "So here's your handsome sister, my friend Mick," he said, as he caughtsight of Diana--"handsomer than ever. And you were coming to meet us,were you--very amiable I'm sure."

  Mick, whose eyes were dazzled by the light, and who was too stupid totake in things quickly, frowned savagely when he saw the girl standingquietly before him.

  "What are you waiting there for?" he said, with some ugly words."There's no need of _you_. Get out of the way. I know where to find thechilder. The Signor and I can manage our own affairs."

  "Can you?" said Diana contemptuously. "Well, good-night, then. You'llwaken them up and frighten them so that they'll scream for the wholefair to hear them. And how the Signor means to get them away quietly ifthey do so _I_ can't say. There'd maybe be some awkward questions toanswer as to how they came among us at all, if some of the people aboutshould be honest, decent folk. And there are fools of that kind whereyou'd little look for them sometimes. However, it's no business of mine,as you say. Good-night," and she turned away.

  The Signor turned to Mick with a very evil look in his face.

  "Fool that _you_ are," he muttered, but Mick only stared at himstupidly. The Signor caught his arm and shook him. "Are you going to lether go off?" he said. "You told me yourself she had looked after thebrats and could do anything with them, and now you go and set her backup! She's fit to rouse the place out of spite, she is. And I can tellyou I'm not going to get myself into trouble about these children you'vemade such a fuss about. I've not seen them yet, and rather than riskanything I'll be off," and he, in turn, seemed as if he were going off.

  This roused Mick.

  "Stay, stay--wait a bit," he said eagerly, "Diana," he called,--and asDiana was in reality only waiting behind a shed she soon appearedagain,--"I were only joking. Of course it's for you to show the Signorthe pretty dears--such care as she's had of them, so bright and merry asshe's taught them to be, you wouldn't believe," he went on in a halfwhine. "It'll be a sore trouble to her to part with them--you'll have tothink o' that, Signor. I've promised Diana we'd act handsome by _her_."

  "Of course, of course," said the other, with a sneer. "Sure to behandsome doings where you and me's concerned, friend Mick. But where_are_ the creatures? You're not playing me a trick after all, are you?"he went on, looking round as if he expected to see the children start upfrom the earth or drop down from the sky.

  "This way," said Diana, more civilly than she had yet spoken, "follow meif you please--they're close by."

  In another minute she was standing on the steps of the van with the keyin the lock. Then suddenly she turned and faced the Signor.

  "They're asleep," she said. "I kept them up and awake a
long time, but Ihadn't thought you'd be so late. I can wake them up if you like, and ifthey saw me there they wouldn't cry. But they'd be half asleep--there'dbe no getting them to show off to-night. But of course it's as theSignor chooses."

  He looked at her curiously. He was surprised to find her seemingly aseager as Mick that he should think well of the merchandise they wereoffering him for sale! He had rather expected the gipsy girl to setherself against the transaction, for he knew she disliked him, and thatno money would have persuaded her herself to join his "troupe." But hewas too low himself to explain anything in others except by the lowestmotives. "She thinks she'll get something handsome out of me if she'scivil about it," he said to himself. Seeing, however, that civility wasto be the order of the day, he answered her with an extra quantity ofgrins.

  "Quite of your opinion, my young lady. Better not disturb the littledears. Should like a look at them, however, with your kind assistance."

  Diana said no more, but, unlocking and opening the door, steppedcarefully into the van, followed by her companions--Mick remainingsomewhat behind, probably because he could not have got quite into therecesses of the waggon without tumbling, and such sense as remained tohim telling him he had better not make a noise. The van inside wasdivided in two--something after the manner of a bathing-machine, such asI daresay most children have often seen. The door in the middle was notlocked, and Diana pushed it softly open; then, advancing with the lightheld high so as to show the children's faces without flaring painfullyupon them, stood at one side and signed to the Signor to come forward.And he was too much startled and impressed--ugly, cold-hearted littlewretch though he was--by the sight before him to notice the strange,half-triumphant, half-defiant expression on Diana's dark beautiful face.

  "UPON MY WORD THEY ARE SOMETHING QUITE OUT OF THECOMMON," HE SAID;

  "I WOULDN'T HAVE MISSED THEM FOR A GOOD DEAL. WHAT A KING AND QUEEN OFTHE PIGMIES, OR 'BABES IN THE WOOD,' THEY'D MAKE."--p. 173.]

  "There they are," it seemed to say, "and could anything be lovelier?_Wouldn't_ you like to have them?"

  They lay there--the delicate little faces flushed with "rosy sleep"--thefair fluffy hair like a golden shadow on the rough cushion which servedas a pillow, each with an arm thrown round the other; they looked solike each other that even Diana was not sure which was which. No pair offairies decoyed from their own country could have been prettier.

  The Signor was startled into speaking the truth for once.

  "Upon my word they are something quite out of the common," he said; "Iwouldn't have missed them for a good deal. What a king and queen of thepigmies, or 'babes in the wood,' they'd make! I'll have to get somethingset up on purpose for them. And they're sharp at learning and speakplain you say?--at least he did," he added, turning round to look forMick, who by this time had lurched up to the middle door of the van andwas leaning on the lintel, looking in stupidly.

  "Ay, they're sharp enough, and pretty spoken too," said Diana.

  "Sharp and pretty spoken," echoed Mick.

  "Then I'm your man," said the Signor; "I'll----"

  But the girl interrupted him.

  "There's one thing to be said," she began. "You must not think ofletting them be seen hereabouts. You might get yourself and us too intotrouble. It's too near where they come from."

  The Signor held up his hands warningly.

  "Hush," he said, "I don't want to know nothing of all that. They're twodesolate orphans, picked up by you out of charity, and I take them toteach them a way of gaining a livelihood. That's all about it."

  "Well, all the same, you can do nothing with them hereabouts," repeatedDiana, anxious to gain time to put into execution the plans of escape."You'd better leave them here quietly with us till after the fair. Noone shall see them except those who've seen them already."

  They were in the outer half of the van by now, for Diana, afraid ofdisturbing the children, had drawn back with the light, and the Signorhad followed her.

  At her last speech he turned upon her with sudden and angry suspicion.

  "No, no," he said. "I'll have no tricks served me. Have you been puttingyour handsome sister up to this, Mick, you fool? You promised me thebrats at once."

  "Yes, at once. You shall have them at once when you pay me," said Mick,beginning to get angry in turn, "but not before. I don't want to keepthem--not I; they're the pest of my life, they are, but I'll see mymoney or you shall never set eyes on them again."

  And he looked so stolidly obstinate that the other man glanced at Dianaas if for advice.

  "You'd better have left him alone," she said in a low voice,contemptuously. "If you make him angry now he's not sober, there's nosaying what he'll do."

  The Signor began to be really afraid that his prey might slip throughhis hands. He turned to Diana.

  "I'm one for quick work and no shilly-shallying," he said. "And I haveMick's word for it. He's signed a paper. I'll take care to get myselfand you into no trouble, but I must have the children at once. Nowlisten, Mick. I'll be here to-morrow morning at say eight--well, nineo'clock, with the money. And you must have the children ready--and helpme to take 'em off quietly, or--or--I don't want no bother," he addedmeaningly.

  "All right," said Mick; "they'll be ready," and he followed the Signordown the steps of the van, Diana still holding the light.

  "Nine o'clock," said the Signor once more, as if he depended more on thegirl than on the man.

  "At nine o'clock," she repeated, and she stood there till quite surethat the Signor had taken himself off, and that Mick had no intention ofreturning.

  Then she blew out the light and crept softly in and out among the vans,tethered horses, etc., forming the gipsy caravan, till she came to thewaggon where she knew Tim slept. He was wide awake, expecting her, andin answer to her whispered call said nothing till they had got someyards away.

  "I think the other boys is asleep," he said, "but best make sure. Well,Diana?"

  "You must go at once--no, not just at once, but as soon as the dawnbreaks. That man's coming for them at nine, and once in his hands----!"Diana shook her head, and though she said no more the boy understoodher, that then all hope of escape would be gone.

  "I'll be ready," said Tim.