Part 3

“Listen to me,” he said, “and we are rich for ever. (I say ‘we’ because I feel you will not forget my poor services.) Do you see an iron bar that sticks out into space on the side of that flying buttress? It is placed there to hold a swinging lamp, and there are five steps by which the sexton approaches it to hang up the light. As you see, they also stand out into space. Tie this piece of string round my leg, and, when I have flown up and alighted on the iron bar, twist the other end round it, so that I may seem to be fastened to it as to a perch; but do not knot it, or make it really secure. To do this you must reach the bar by these steps.”

When the young man heard this, his flesh crept, for he was not accustomed to high places and, the steps being on the outer wall, the least giddiness might plunge him headlong into the churchyard, fifty feet below; but, being a manful fellow, he climbed up and twisted the string so neatly round the bar that no one could have supposed the magpie to be anything but a prisoner.

“Now,” said the bird, “take your hammer and the piece of iron and loosen the three top steps till they will not bear more than a child’s weight.”

When the youngest brother had done this, the magpie told him to hide himself in a ditch in the churchyard, and not to come out till he was called by name.

After midnight the robbers came to look at their treasures, and did not notice the magpie sitting on the bar. Indeed, had they done so, they would have paid little heed, supposing him to be some ignorant bird who had no interests beyond his own food. They sat down on the roof as they had done before, and, taking out the jewels, began to count them. They made a large heap and placed the crown on the top. All at once the magpie flew up in the air as far as the string would permit, and cried in a loud and dreadful voice, “_Help! help! The King of Growgland’s crown is stolen!_”

At this the thieves were so much horrified that they dropped their booty, and ran wildly to and fro on the roof searching for some hidden person, and, when they came close to the place where the iron bar was, the magpie flew up again, crying the same words more terribly than before.

“We’ll soon choke his noise,” exclaimed the robbers; and with one accord they began to climb the steps. But the youngest brother had done his work well: the stones were loose, and in another moment they had fallen headlong through the air, and were lying with their necks broken in the churchyard.

The magpie then called his friend, who brought the pickaxe and shovel, and when they had buried the two robbers they went up again to the roof, and put the King of Growgland’s crown into the red silk bag.

“We know who this belongs to, and we will certainly restore it,” said the magpie; “the rest we will keep as some slight remuneration for our trouble.”

There were enough jewels to make fifty people rich for life. It _was_ a haul! The youngest brother praised the magpie, and, taking off his shirt, knotted the tails together and filled it up to the neck with precious stones. It was almost light before he got back to his wife and showed her what the magpie’s good sense had accomplished.

In a few days the magpie set out for the kingdom of Growgland, scarcely more than a hundred miles away, and demanded to see the King. He found the whole city in a ferment and everyone distracted. The King had grown quite thin, and the head of the police had been sent to prison for being unable to find the thieves.

“If your Majesty will start the day after to-morrow,” said the magpie, “and go a day’s journey from the city, you will meet a young man and a girl on horseback carrying a red silk bag. Your Majesty may wring my neck if it does not contain the crown of Growgland.”

At this everyone was electrified, and the King, with a great retinue, started and encamped a day’s march off, that the crown of Growgland might be received with all due ceremony. As evening came on the magpie grew a little nervous, for the King had placed a guard over him to do him honour (at least, that was what he said); but the bird knew very well that it was done so that he should not escape if the crown failed to appear. But at last he saw his friends approaching. Being now rich, they rode fine horses and were dressed as befitted great personages. The King sat on the royal throne (which was a folding one, and so had been brought with him), and the youngest brother, having related his story, gave the red silk bag into his hands. Before parting with him His Majesty presented him with a sum of money that, even had he not been rolling in wealth already, would have made him independent for life.

After this, the magpie and his friends set out for the town in which they had left the two elder brothers and a few days later dismounted before the inn. The harrow was still in its place, prongs uppermost, and at the window, far above it, two forlorn-looking faces were to be seen.

The landlord came out, transported with surprise at the fine appearance of his daughter and the youngest brother.

“There,” he said, pointing to the upper window, “are the two knaves who have deceived me, and whom I have kept locked up ever since you left.”

At this the imprisoned pair perceived who it was that had arrived.

“Here,” they shouted, “here is the great lord come to pay our debts! Did we not assure you that he would come?”

And they rained abuse upon the landlord.

“Let them out and I will make it good to you,” said the youngest brother.

So the two miscreants were freed, and a sorry sight they were; for, as the price of each day of their detainment the landlord had demanded a garment, and their clothes were almost at an end. One had only a shirt left; and the other one garter and a piece of an old tablecloth in which he had wrapped himself for decency. The inn servants shouted with laughter as they came running out. The youngest brother and his wife laughed too; and as for the magpie, he was so delighted that he nearly choked, and had to be restored with strong waters.

“I still prefer my experience to your money,” remarked the youngest brother to his relations.

THE STORY OF MASTER BOGEY

“This time it will have to be a tale I remember hearing grandmother tell,” said the miller one evening, “for I’ve left my book in the town. The cover was so battered that it had to be mended.”

They were sitting on the steps of the mill. Every week now, and sometimes twice between Sunday and Sunday, they spent a delightful time with their friend. Little Peter thought he was the finest man in the world; and Janet, though she said little, was quite sure there was no one like him. And, indeed, they were not far wrong, for he was the most splendid miller that anybody ever saw; he was like a big boy at heart, though he was a grown-up man with a mill of his own and a horse and cart in the stable.

There was once a square house (he began) that stood in a garden. Outside the garden were great trees which had been there for more than a hundred years, and when the wind blew high and the gales raged in the autumn, they swayed about and creaked so that anyone might think they must fall and crush everything near them; but they never did. Up in the top story of the house was a row of windows belonging to the rooms where the children lived, and, as the blinds were often left up, you might see the lights inside and the shadows of the nurse and the little girls moving about.

Now, high up in the highest tree visible from the nursery lived a family of Bogeys. They were very nice people. There was Father Bogey and Madam Bogey and young Master Bogey, their son.

The children had no idea that they lived there, for they never showed themselves, but lurked hidden in the dark shadows of the boughs. When the wind blew they swayed hither and thither with the branches, and when the nursery blinds were up and the firelight shone behind them, Master Bogey, who was inquisitive, would sit staring and trying to make out what was going on in the room.

“How I should love to get in and see what it is like!” he would say to his parents.

And Madam Bogey would answer: “Nonsense! Your father and I have lived here for ages, and have never tried to get in. We know very well what is our business and what is not. You can see the little girls every morning as they come down the avenue with their nurse, and you know that their names are Josephine, Julia and Jane. What more can you want?”

And Master Bogey would say no more. But that did not prevent him from being as inquisitive as ever.

Every day as the little girls came out for their walk he would peer down on them, unseen. Each had her doll in her arms, and the two elder ones would talk to theirs and carry them as carefully as though they were babies. But Jane was always scolding hers; once, even, she threw the poor thing roughly on the ground. She did not suspect for a moment that Master Bogey was looking down at her, horrified.

At last, one night in winter, his curiosity grew more than he could bear; for he had not heard the front door bolted nor the key turned, and he knew that he might never have such a chance of getting into the house again. The snow lay deep, and his parents were snoring in the fork of the branches in which the family spent the winter months. Overhead, the stars were clear and trembling in the frost and the nursery firelight shone red through the curtains. He slid down, ran across the white ground and up the front-door steps. Yes, the handle went round in his grasp, and in another moment he was standing in the hall.

It was easy to see that the servants had been careless that night; not only was the door unlocked, but the lamps were left burning too. As Master Bogey paused at the foot of the wooden staircase, it was all he could do not to turn and run, for the wall beside it was hung with family portraits of fierce gentlemen and bedizened ladies who stared at him dreadfully. But he was a sensible fellow, and, as most of them were half-length pictures, he decided that people who had no legs couldn’t run after him. He ventured to touch one, and, finding it wasn’t a living thing at all, he grew as bold as brass and began to look about him. Christmas was not long over; the yew and the holly were still wreathed above the frames, making him wonder how these little pieces of trees could have got inside the house. There were swords and spears and old fire-arms too, whose use he could not understand. Up he went softly, nearly jumping out of his skin when a step creaked under his foot, and he found himself at last on the nursery threshold. The door was ajar and the firelight bright in the empty room, so in he went.

But suddenly he gave a most terrible start, for the room was not empty at all; three dolls were sitting on three chairs, watching him intently, and two of them were looking very severe.

“May I ask, sir, who you are?” demanded the one nearest to the hearth.

Master Bogey was speechless. He turned to run away.

“Stop, sir!” cried the doll again, “and be good enough to answer me, or I will alarm the house. Who are you? I insist upon knowing.”

“I am Master Bogey,” he stammered.

“La! what a name!” exclaimed the doll upon the next chair. And she held up her fine satin muff and giggled behind it.

“Yes, and what a shock of hair!” said the other. She held up her muff and giggled too.

Poor Master Bogey was ready to cry.

The two dolls who had spoken were almost exactly alike: they had round pink faces and round blue eyes; on either side of their cheeks hung beautiful golden curls—no wonder they laughed at the black mop on his dusky head. They really were the most elegant ladies. They wore frilled silk pelisses, with handsome ruffles at the neck; large silk hats, tied under their chins with bows, and enormous sashes. On their feet were openwork socks and bronze shoes with rosettes; their muffs we know all about. The only difference between them was that one was dressed in blue and the other in pink. Their mouths were like rosy buttons; to look at them, who could guess that such rude words had ever come out of them? (My grandmother always used to make that remark, for she had a good bringing-up and knew manners.)

The third doll was not nearly so fine as her companions. To begin with, she had no muff, and her sash was tied round her waist, and not halfway down her skirt, which showed at once she was out of the fashions in the doll world. Her frock was plain and torn and she had lost one shoe; all the same, she had a dear little face. When she saw poor Master Bogey’s downcast looks, she got off her chair and went to him.

“Don’t mind what they say,” she said. “They have just got new dresses and it makes them proud. They mean no harm. Your hair is very nice, and it is a great blessing to have so much.”

You may fancy how grateful Master Bogey was!

She held out her hand, and he took it.

“Come,” she said, “let us go and sit at the other end of the room. You are a stranger, and I have heard nurse say that one should always be polite to strangers.”

So they went, and the ladies in blue and pink cried out “Pooh!” very loud and both at the same time.

“Take no notice,” whispered the doll.

It was not long before she persuaded Master Bogey to confess his curiosity about the house and the people in it, and he began to enjoy himself immensely. He heard all about the pictures that had astonished him so much, and how the holly and yew branches had managed to get on to the frames, and about the Christmas party which was just over. He saw the rocking-horse, and even had a ride on it; the cupboard where nurse kept the jams for tea, and the door which led to the attics overhead. But the most delightful part of all was when he led his companion to the window and showed her the tree in which he lived standing black in the whiteness and the starlight.

“You can’t see my parents, for they are asleep,” he remarked; “but I _think_ that round sort of bump where the branches fork is the back of my mother’s head. I wish you could see all of it.”

“Does she know where you are?” asked the doll.

“Well, no,” replied he, “she doesn’t; she had gone to bed when I left, and I really couldn’t wake her. But I’ll tell her everything in the morning, and all about you, and how charming you are.”

“I’m afraid she’ll punish you,” said the doll, sighing. “I only hope she won’t throw you out of the tree.”

“Gracious!” cried Master Bogey, “what an idea! Why, my mother is the best mother in the world! I know what put that into your head, all the same. I saw one of the little girls throw her doll on the ground once, when I was looking down from the branches. It wasn’t you, I trust?”

“Indeed it was,” said she; “that was Miss Jane, and I am her doll. I am very unhappy, for she is dreadfully cruel to me. Sometimes she bangs me on the floor and puts me in the corner for hours. And look at my clothes! The others are lucky—they belong to Josephine and Julia. They have each got a new dress, but this ragged one is all I have, and only one shoe.”

The tears ran down her face, poor little thing!

“Show me Miss Jane, and I will go and kill her!” cried Master Bogey, in a rage.

“Oh no, no!” begged the doll. “If you did that, I might be thrown away. No one would care to keep a shabby thing like me. I might be flung into the ashpit.”

“I would soon go and fetch you if you were,” said Master Bogey gallantly. “But show me Jane; if I could even shake my fist at her I should be happier.”

“Will you promise not to do any harm if I take you to the night-nursery?” said she.

He promised, and they went, hand in hand, down the long passage to the room where Josephine, Julia and Jane slept.

They went in on tiptoe. The sisters were sleeping in a row in their little white beds with frilled curtains; they really looked very pretty with their hair lying spread upon the pillows.

“That is Josephine,” said the doll, pointing to the eldest, “and the next is Julia, and the one nearest the door is Jane, my mistress.”

Josephine and Julia were smiling in their sleep, but as they looked, Jane turned over and tossed, grinding her teeth.

“I am afraid she is having a bad dream,” explained the doll.

“Serve her right! I wish she could have two at once!” said Master Bogey.

At last he thought it was time for him to be getting home, and the doll said she would go down with him to the hall. He was very sad, for he did not know when he should see her again; and she was sad, too.

“The very first time they leave the door open I will come back,” said he.

“Oh, I hope it will be soon!” she said. “Whenever Jane is bad to me I will think about you, and every night I will look out and try to see you.”

“And I will look for you,” replied Master Bogey, as he slipped out of the front door.

Next morning he told Madam Bogey all that he had done, and, though she read him a long lecture on curiosity, she could not help being interested.

“A good whipping is what Jane wants,” she remarked, “and if I were her nurse she should get it.”

Every night the doll and Master Bogey looked across the snowy space to try and get a glimpse of each other, but, though he could see her against the firelight through the windows, she could not see him where he sat in the dim tangle of branches. Madam Bogey watched too, but she was short-sighted and soon gave it up, though her good heart ached to think of the poor little creature and all she had to endure. She and Master Bogey talked about it a great deal.

One night, as he looked from his tree towards the nursery, he saw Miss Jane, with one of her sisters, standing by the window-sill. He knew it was Jane, because she was the only one of the little girls who had a pigtail; he could see its outline as it hung behind her head, with a bow sticking out, like a fat insect, at the end of it.

Each had put her doll to stand on the window-sill, inside the pane. He couldn’t tell whether it was the blue or the pink lady who was there, but he saw the shadow of a smart hat. He hoped very much that his friend was looking out for him, and he waved his hand. All at once she slipped on the sill and fell out of sight! He saw Jane stoop down, her pigtail sticking out farther than ever as she did so, and drag her up by the arm, shaking her—oh, so cruelly! She began to slap her, first on this side, then on that; he almost fancied he could hear her crying. Again and again she struck her, and Master Bogey shouted and threw up his arms in despair. Oh, how hard it was that he could not reach her!

“Mother!” he cried. “Oh, mother! Look! look!”

Up came Madam Bogey, hurrying to see what was the matter with her son. When she saw how dreadfully the poor doll was being treated, she was almost as angry as he was; and after Jane and her sister had disappeared from the window with their dolls, she still sat talking to him. It was quite late when he went to bed at last, and she stayed beside him and held his hand. He cried himself to sleep with rage and pity.

Now, Father Bogey had been away for some time on business, and when he returned next day his wife and he had such a long consultation that Master Bogey thought it would never be done. They sent him to a different tree while it was going on. He sat there rather crossly, looking at them as they nodded and shook their heads and nodded again. He knew it was all about something very interesting. When they called him back he was quite pettish.

“Sit down, boy,” his father began, very solemnly, “and try to look more intelligent. When I was your age I was setting up house. As you are an only child I have tried not to spoil you, and I may say that, on the whole, you have been a good son; but now it is time you were settled. I hear from your mother that you have made the acquaintance of a young lady in the house opposite. From what you have told your mother of her manners, she must be of a good disposition and naturally refined. If you have any mind to marry her she shall have a hearty and fatherly welcome, and your mother and I will give up the whole of the top branches to you. You had better think it over.”

Master Bogey did not take long to do that. He clapped his hands with joy when he thought that he might see his dear doll again, and never part from her any more, for he knew that she would be thankful to escape from cruel Jane and the rude ladies in blue and pink. The only difficulty was, how was he to get at her?

Evidently the servants had been blamed for their carelessness. Since his adventure the front door had been locked and the windows bolted as soon as it grew dark. He ran round the house every night, looking eagerly for some chink or crack large enough for him to squeeze himself in through; but there was nothing big enough, for he was a well-grown lad, and as tall as his father.

At last a bold plan came into his mind. He decided to get in in broad daylight, hiding in some empty room till everyone had gone to bed and then making his way to the nursery. As soon as he could persuade his love to elope with him, they would steal downstairs, unlock the front door, and let themselves out. When he told Madam Bogey of this plan she was in a dreadful state, and said it was much too dangerous; but he was determined. It is terrible to think what love will do!

So one afternoon he began to make his way to the house by short stages. From tree to tree he dodged, and just before dusk he had reached a small yew growing in a shrubbery near the front-door steps without being seen by anyone. He heard the great bell clang which called servants and stablemen to tea; and when he thought they were all safe in the servants’ hall, he flew up the steps like a lamplighter, and in at the door. Opposite to it was a large drawing-room, which the doll had told him was never used in winter, and in he went. There was a sofa there, with a long chintz cover touching the floor; and he crawled under this, and lay down as still as a mouse. How his heart beat when a maid came to draw the curtains! How he longed to catch her by the ankle and make her scream! But he did nothing so silly; he only lay and longed for the night, when he might get upstairs.

It was so still that his own footsteps made him jump. It was quite dark, too, as the lamps were out, and he could only feel his way; but he got safely to the top of the nursery stair, and began tiptoeing up the passage. A chink of light under the day-nursery door showed him the fire was still in.

One thing is certain, and that is that luck favours brave people. Master Bogey went in, and the first thing he saw was his dear doll at the window, looking out, no doubt, for a glimpse of himself in the tree. The pink lady and the blue lady were asleep in their chairs by the hearth, their eyes shut, their muffs in their laps and their hats tied firmly under their chins.

The poor doll ran to him and put her arms round his neck. She looked very woebegone and her clothes were more tattered than ever. She had no shoes at all now.

“I’ve come to take you away,” said Master Bogey. “You must come back to my tree and we will be married at once, and then I can see you every day for the rest of my life.”

“Do you _really_ mean it?” asked the doll.

“Yes, yes!” cried he. “Come at once, this very moment, before anyone catches us. My father and mother are waiting for you, and we are to have the top branches to live in.”

The poor little thing could hardly believe her ears. She liked Master Bogey better than anyone she had ever seen, and now she was going away from cruel Jane, and the blue and pink ladies, who sneered at everything. She held his hand tight and they went stealing out. She was so happy she did not know what to do.