Chapter 15

A terrible thing happened just as the clock struck twelve. All my clothes turned into rags, and I just RAN out of the room, I was so frightened. Then I remembered what my Fairy Godmother had said about leaving before twelve o'clock. I suppose she knew what would happen if I didn't. I'm afraid I left a glass slipper behind--I hope she won't mind about it.

Well, I've had a lovely time. Even if I never see the Prince again, I shall always have this to look back to. I don't mind WHAT happens now.

THURSDAY.--I AM GOING TO MARRY THE PRINCE! I can't believe it is true. Perhaps it is only a dream, and I shall wake up soon, but even if it's a dream it's just as good as if it were real. It was all because of the slipper I left behind. The Prince said that he would marry the person whom it fitted, because he had fallen in love with the lady who wore it at the ball (ME!), and so everybody tried it on. And they came to our house, and Sister Bert tried it on. She pulled her skirt up to her knees and made everybody laugh, but even then she couldn't get into it. And Sister Fred made a lot of faces, but SHE couldn't. So I said, "Let ME try," and they all laughed, but the Prince said I should, and of course it fitted at once. Then they all recognized me, and the Prince kissed me, and a whole lot of people came into the house who had never been invited, and we had the trapeze out again, and there was juggling and ventriloquism, and we all sang songs about somebody called Flanagan (whom I don't think I have ever met), and Sister Bert kept sitting down suddenly on the floor. (But the Prince didn't think this was at all funny, so I expect I must have been right all the time when I have only PRETENDED to laugh. I used to think that perhaps I hadn't a sense of humour.) And then the Prince kissed me again, and my Fairy Godmother came in and kissed us both. Of course we do owe it all to her really, and I shall tell Charming so.

I do think I am a wonderful person!

FATHER CHRISTMAS

Outside in the street the rain fell pitilessly, but inside the Children's Shop all was warmth and brightness. Happy young people of all ages pressed along, and I had no sooner opened the door than I was received into the eager stream of shoppers and hurried away to Fairyland. A slight block at one corner pitched me into an old, white-bearded gentleman who was standing next to me. Instantly my hat was in my hand.

"I beg your pardon," I said with a bow. "I was--Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were real." I straightened him up, looked at his price, and wondered whether I should buy him.

"What do you mean by real?" he said.

I started violently and took my hat off again.

"I am very stupid this morning," I began. "The fact is I mistook you for a toy. A foolish error."

"I AM a toy."

"In that case," I said in some annoyance, "I can't stay here arguing with you. Good-morning." And I took my hat off for the third time.

"Don't go. Stop and buy me. You'll never get what you want if you don't take me with you. I've been in this place for years, and I know exactly where everything is. Besides, as I shall have to give away all your presents for you, it's only fair that--"

An attendant came up and looked at me inquiringly.

"How much is this THING?" I said, and jerked a thumb at it.

"The Father Christmas?"

"Yes. I think I'll have it. I'll take it with me--you needn't wrap it up."

I handed over some money and we pushed on together.

"You heard what I called you?" I said to him. "A thing. So don't go putting yourself forward."

He gazed up innocently from under my arm.

"What shall we get first?" he asked.

"I want the engine-room. The locomotive in the home. The boy's own railroad track."

"That's downstairs. But did you really think of an engine? I mean, isn't it rather large and heavy? Why not get a--"

I smacked his head, and we went downstairs.

It was a delightful room. I was introduced to practically the whole of the Great Western Railway's rolling stock.

"Engine, three carriages and a guard's van. That's right. Then I shall want some rails, of course.... SHUT up, will you?" I said angrily, when the attendant was out of hearing.

"It's the extra weight," he sighed. "The reindeer don't like it. And these modern chimneys--you've no idea what a squeeze it is. However--"

"Those are very jolly," I said when I had examined the rails. "I shall want about a mile of them. Threepence ha'penny a foot? Then I shan't want nearly a mile."

I got about thirty feet, and then turned to switches and signals and lamps and things. I bought a lot of those. You never know what emergency might not arise on the nursery floor, and if anything happened for want of a switch or two I should never forgive myself.

Just as we were going away I caught sight of the jolliest little clockwork torpedo boat. I stopped irresolute.

"Don't be silly," said the voice under my arm. "You'll never be asked to the house again if you give that."

"Why not?"

"Wait till the children have fallen into the bath once or twice with all their clothes on, and then ask the mother why not."

"I see," I said stiffly, and we went upstairs.

"The next thing we want is bricks."

"Bricks," said Father Christmas uneasily. "Bricks. Yes, there's bricks. Have you ever thought of one of those nice little woolly rabbits--"

"Where do we get bricks?"

"Bricks. You know, I don't think mothers are as fond as all that of BRICKS."

"I got the mother's present yesterday, thanks very much. This is for one of the children."

They showed me bricks and they showed me pictures of what the bricks would build. Palaces, simply palaces. Gone was the Balbus-wall of our youth; gone was the fort with its arrow-holes for the archers. Nothing now but temples and Moorish palaces.

"Jove, I should love that," I said." I mean HE would love that. Do you want much land for a house of that size? I know of a site on the nursery floor, but--well, of course, we could always have an iron building outside in the passage for the billiard table."

We paid and moved off again.

"What are you mumbling about now?" I asked.

"I said you'll only make the boy discontented with his present home if you teach him to build nothing but castles and ruined abbeys and things. And you WILL run to bulk. Half of those bricks would have made a very nice present for anybody."

"Yes, and when royalty comes on a visit, where would you put them? They'd have to pig it in the box-room. If we're going to have a palace, let's have a good one."

"Very well. What do your children hang up? Stockings or pillow-cases?"

We went downstairs again.

"Having provided for the engineer and the architect," I said, "we now have to consider the gentleman in the dairy business. I want a milk-cart."

"You want a milk-cart! You want a milk-cart! You want a--Why not have a brewer's dray? Why not have something really heavy? The reindeer wouldn't mind. They've been out every day this week, but they'd love it. What about a nice skating-rink? What about--"

I put him head downwards in my pocket and approached an official.

"Do you keep milk-carts?" I said diffidently.

He screwed up his face and thought.

"I could get you one," he said.

"I don't want you to build one specially for me. If they aren't made, I expect it's because mothers don't like them. It was just an idea of mine."

"Oh yes, they're made. I can show a picture of one in our catalogue."

He showed it to me. It was about the size of a perambulator, and contained every kind of can. I simply had to let Father Christmas see.

"Look at that!" I exclaimed in delight.

"Good lord!" he said, and dived into the pocket again.

I held him there tightly and finished my business with the official.

Father Christmas has never spoken since. Sometimes I wonder if he ever spoke at all, for one imagines strange things in the Children's Shop. He stands now on my writing-table, and observes me with the friendly smile which has been so fixed a feature of his since I brought him home.

MISS MIDDLETON

I.--TAKING A CALL

"MAY I come in?" said Miss Middleton.

I looked up from my book and stared at her in amazement.

"Hullo," I said.

"Hullo," said Miss Middleton doubtfully.

"Are you going to have tea with me?"

"That's what I was wondering all the way up."

"It's all ready; in fact, I've nearly finished. There's a cake to-day, too."

Miss Middleton hesitated at the door and looked wistfully at me.

"I suppose--I suppose," she said timidly, "you think I ought to have brought somebody, with me?"

"In a way, I'm just as glad you didn't."

"I've heaps of chaperons outside on the stairs, you know."

"There's no place like outside for chaperons."

"And the liftman believes I'm your aunt. At least, perhaps he doesn't, but I mentioned it to him."

I looked at her, and then I smiled. And then I laughed.

"So that's all right," she said breathlessly. "And I want my tea." She came in, and began to arrange her hat in front of the glass.

"Tea," I said, going to the cupboard. "I suppose you'll want a cup to yourself. There you are--don't lose it. Milk. Sugar."

Miss Middleton took a large piece of cake. "What were you studying so earnestly when I came in?" she asked as she munched.

"A dictionary."

"But how lucky I came. Because I can spell simply everything. What is it you want to know?"

"I don't want to know how to spell anything, thank you; but I believe you can help me all the same."

Miss Middleton sat down and drank her tea. "I love helping," she said.

"Well, it's this. I've just been asked to be a godfather."

Miss Middleton stood up suddenly. "Do I salute," she asked.

"You sit down and go on eating. The difficulty is--what to call it?"

"Oh, do godfathers provide the names?"

"I think so. It is what they are there for, I fancy. That is about all there is in it, I believe."

"And can't you find anything in the dictionary?"

"Well, I don't think the dictionary is helping as much as I expected. It only muddles me. Did you know that Algernon meant 'with whiskers'? I'm not thinking of calling it Algernon, but that's the sort of thing they spring on you."

"But I hate Algernon anyhow. Why not choose quite a simple name? Had you thought of 'John,' for instance?"

"No, I hadn't thought of 'John,' somehow."

"Or 'Gerald'?"

"'Gerald' I like very much."

"What about 'Dick'?" she went on eagerly.

"Yes, 'Dick' is quite jolly. By the way, did I tell you it was a girl?"

Miss Middleton rose with dignity.

"For your slice of plum cake and your small cup of tea I thank you," she said; "and I am now going straight home to mother."

"Not yet," I pleaded.

"I'll just ask you one question before I go. Where do you keep the biscuits?"

She found the biscuits and sat down again.

"A girl's name," I said encouragingly.

"Yes. Well, is she fair or dark?"

"She's very small at present. What there is of her is dark, I believe."

"Well, there are millions of names for dark girls."

"We only want one or two."

"'Barbara' is a nice dark name. Is she going to be pretty?"

"Her mother says she is. I didn't recognize the symptoms. Very pretty and very clever and very high-spirited, her mother says. Is there a name for that?"

"_I_ always call them whoppers," said Miss Middleton.

"How do you like 'Alison Mary'? That was my first idea."

"Oh, I thought it was always 'William and Mary.' Or else 'Victoria and Albert.'"

"I didn't say 'Alice AND Mary,' stoopid. I said 'Alison,' a Scotch name."

"But how perfectly sweet! Why weren't you MY godfather? Would you have given me a napkin ring?"

"Probably. I will now, if you like. Then you approve of 'Alison Mary'?"

"I love it. Thank you very much. And will you always call me 'Alison' in future?"

"I say," I began in alarm, "I'm not giving that name to you. It's for my godchild."

"Oh no! 'Alisons' are ALWAYS fair."

"You've just made that up," I said suspiciously. "How do you know?"

"Sort of instinct."

"The worst of it is, I believe you're right."

"Of course I am. That settles it. Now, what was your next idea?"

"'Angela.'"

"'Angelas,'" said Miss Middleton, "are ALWAYS fair."

"Why do you want all the names to yourself? You say everything's fair."

"Why can you only think of names beginning with 'A'? Try another letter."

"Suppose YOU try now."

Miss Middleton wrinkled her brow and nibbled a lump of sugar.

"'Dorothy,'" she said at last, "because you can call them 'Dolly.'"

"There IS only one."

"Or 'Dodo.'"

"And it isn't a bird."

"Then there's 'Violet.'"

"My good girl, you don't understand. Any of these common names the parents could have thought of for themselves. The fact that they have got me in at great expense--to myself--shows that they want something out of the ordinary. How can I go to them and say, 'After giving a vast amount of time to the question, I have decided to call your child 'Violet'? It can't be done."

Miss Middleton absently took another lump of sugar and, catching my eye, put it back again.

"I don't believe that you've ever been a godfather before," she said, "or that you know anything at all about what it is you're supposed to be going to do."

There was a knock at the door, and the liftman came in. Miss Middleton gave a little cough of recognition.

"A letter, sir," he said.

"Thanks.... And as I was saying, Aunt Alison," I went on in a loud voice, "you are talking rubbish."

. . . . . . .

"Bah!" I said angrily, and I threw the letter down.

"Would you like to be left alone?" suggested Miss Middleton kindly.

"It is from the child's so-called parents, and their wretched offspring is to be called 'Violet Daisy.'"

"'Violet Daisy,'" said Miss Middleton solemnly, trying not to smile.

"Why stop there?" I said bitterly. "Why not 'Geranium' and 'Artichoke,' and the whole blessed garden?"

"'Artichoke,'" said Miss Middleton gravely, "is a boy's name."

"Well, I wash my hands of the whole business now. No napkin ring from ME. Here have I been wasting hours and hours in thought, and then just when the worst of it is over, they calmly step in like this. I call it--"

"Yes?" said Miss Middleton eagerly.

"I call it simply--"

"Yes?"

"'Violet Daisy,'" I finished, with a great effort.

II.--OUT OF THE HURLY-BURLY

"OUR dance," I said; "and it's no good pretending it isn't."

"Come on," said Miss Middleton. "It's my favourite waltz. I expect I've said that to all my partners to-night."

"It's my favourite too, but you're the first person I've told."

"The worst of having a dance in your own house," said Miss Middleton, after we had been once round the room in silence, "is that you have to dance with EVERYBODY."

"Have you said that to all your partners too?"

"I expect so. I must have said everything. Don't look so reproachfully at me. You ARE looking reproachful, aren't you?"

I let go with one hand and felt my face.

"Yes," I said. "That's how I do it."

"Well, you needn't bother, because none of them thought I meant THEM. Men never do."

"I shall have to think that over by myself," I said after a pause. "There's a lot in that which the untrained observer might miss. Anyhow, it's not at all the sort of thing that a young girl ought to say at a dance."

"I'm older than you think," said Miss Middleton. "Oh, bother, I forgot. You know how old I am."

"Perhaps you've been ageing lately. I have. This last election has added years to my life. I came here to get young again."

"I don't know anything about politics. Father does all the knowing in our family."

"He's on the right side, isn't he?"

"I think he is. He says he is."

"Oh, well, he ought to know.... Yes, the truth is I came here to be liked again. People and I have been saying awfully rude things to each other lately."

"Oh, why do you want to argue about politics?"

"But I DON'T want to. It's a funny thing, but nobody will believe me when I say that."

"I expect it's because you say it AFTER you've finished arguing, instead of BEFORE,"

"Perhaps that's it."

"I never argue with mother. I simply tell her to do something, and she tells me afterwards why she hasn't."

"Really, I think Mrs Middleton has done wonderfully well, considering. Some parents don't even tell you why they haven't."

"Oh, I'd recommend her anywhere," said Miss Middleton confidently.

We dropped into silence again. Anyhow, it was MY favourite waltz.

"You did say, didn't you, the first dance we had together," said Miss Middleton dreamily, "that you preferred not to talk when you danced?"

"Didn't I say that I should prefer to do whatever you preferred? That sounds more like me."

"I don't think it does, a bit."

"No, perhaps you're right. Besides, I remember now what I did say. I said that much as I enjoyed the pleasant give and take of friendly conversation, dearly as I loved even the irresponsible monologue or the biting repartee, yet still more was I attached to the silent worship of the valse's mazy rhythm. 'BUT,' I went on to say, 'but,' I added, with surprising originality, 'every rule has an exception. YOU are the exception. May I have two dances, and then we'll try one of each?'"

"What did I say?"

"You said, 'Sir, something tells me that we shall be great friends. I like your face, and I like the way your tie goes under your left ear. I cannot give you ALL the dances on the programme, because I have my mother with me to-night, and you know what mothers are. They NOTICE. But anything up to half a dozen, distributed at such intervals that one's guardians will think it's the same dance, you are heartily welcome to. And if you care to take me in to supper, there is--I have the information straight from the stable--a line in unbreakable meringues which would well be worth our attention.' That's what you said."

"But what a memory!"

"I can remember more than that. I can rememher the actual struggle. I got my meringue down on the mat, both shoulders touching, in one minute, forty-three seconds."

The band died slowly down until no sound could be heard above the rustle of frocks ... and suddenly everybody realized that it had stopped.

"Bother," said Miss Middleton.

"That's just like a band," I said bitterly.

"I'll tell it to go on again; it's MY band."

"It will be your devoted band if you ask it prettily enough."

Miss Middleton went away, and came back to the sound of music, looking rather pleased with herself.

"Did you give him the famous smile?" I asked. "Yes, that one."

"I said, 'WOULD you mind playing that one again, PLEASE?' And then--"

"And then you looked as if you were just going to cry, and at the last moment you smiled and said, 'Hooray.' And he said, 'Certainly, madam.' Isn't that right?"

"I believe you're cleverer than some of us think," said Miss Middleton, a trifle anxiously.

"I sometimes think so too. However, to get back to what we were saying--I came here to recover my usual calm, and I shan't be at all calm if I'm only going to get this one dance from you. As an old friend of the family, who has broken most of the windows, I beg for another."

"To get back to what I was saying--I've simply GOT to do a lot of duty dances. Can't you take me to the Zoo or the Post-Impressionists instead?"

"I'd rather do both. I mean all three. No, I mean both."

"Well, perhaps I would, too."

"You know, I think you'd be doing good. I've had a horrible week--canvassing, and standing in the streets, and shouting, and reading leaders, and arguing, and saying, 'My point is perfectly simple,' and--and--swearing, and all sorts of things. It's awfully jolly to--to feel that there's always--well, all THIS," and I looked round the room, "to come back to."

"Isn't that beautiful Miss Ellison I introduced you to just now part of 'all this'?"

"Oh yes, it's all part; but--"

Miss Middleton sighed.

"Then that nice young man with the bald head will have to go without. But I only said I'd SEE if I could give him one. And I have seen, haven't I?"

The band really stopped this time, and we found a comfortable corner.

"That's very jolly of you," I said, as I leant back lazily and happily. "Now let's talk about Christmas."

III.--ANOTHER MILESTONE

"You're very thoughtful," said Miss Middleton. "What's the matter?"

"I am extremely unhappy," I confessed.

"Oh, but think of Foster and Hobbs and Woolley."

I thought of Foster; I let my mind dwell upon Hobbs. It was no good.

"I am still rather sad," I said.

"Why? Doesn't anybody love you?"

"Millions adore me fiercely. It isn't that at all. The fact is I've just had a birthday."

"Oh, I AM sorry. Many happy--"

"Thank you."

"I thought it was to-morrow," Miss Middleton went on eagerly. "And I'd bought a cricketing set for you, but I had to send it back to have the bails sawn in two. Or would you rather have had a bicycle?"

"I'd rather have had nothing. I want to forget about my birthday altogether."

"Oh, are you as old as that?"

"Yes," I said sadly, "I am as old as that. I have passed another landmark. I'm what they call getting on."

We gazed into the fire in silence for some minutes.

"If it's any comfort to you," said Miss Middleton timidly, "to know that you don't LOOK any older than you did last week--"

"I'm not sure that I feel any older."

"Then, except for birthdays, how do you know you ARE older?"

I looked at her and saw that I could trust her.

"May I confess to you?" I asked.

"But of course!" she cried eagerly. "I love confessions." She settled herself comfortably in her chair. "Make it as horrible as you can," she begged.

I picked a coal out of the fire with the tongs and lit my cigarette.

"I know that I'm getting old," I said; "I know that my innocent youth is leaving me, because of the strange and terrible things which I find myself doing."

"Oo-o-o-oh," said Miss Middleton happily to herself.

"Last Monday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, I--No, I can't tell you this. It's too awful."

"Is it very bad?" said Miss Middleton wistfully.

"Very. I don't think you--Oh, well, if you must have it, here it is. Last Monday I suddenly found myself reading carefully and with every sign of interest a little pamphlet on--LIFE INSURANCE!"

Miss Middleton looked at me quickly, smiled suddenly, and then became very grave.

"I appeared," I went on impressively, "to be thinking of insuring my life."

"Have you done it?"

"No, certainly not. I drew back in time. But it was a warning--it was the writing on the wall."

"Tell me some more," said Miss Middleton, after she had allowed this to sink in.

"Well, that was Monday afternoon. I told myself that in the afternoon one wasn't quite responsible, that sometimes one was only half awake. But on Tuesday morning I was horrified to discover myself--before breakfast--DOING DUMB-BELLS!"

"The smelling-salts--quick!" said Miss Middleton, as she closed her eyes.

"Doing dumb-bells. Ten lunges to the east, ten lunges to the west, ten lunges--"

"Were you reducing your figure?"

"I don't know what I was doing. But there I found myself on the cold oil-cloth, lunging away--lunging and lunging and--" I stopped and gazed into the fire again.

"Is that all you have to tell me?" said Miss Middleton.

"That's the worst. But there have been other little symptoms--little warning notes which all mean the same thing. Yesterday I went into the bank, to get some money. As I began to fill in the cheque Conscience whispered to me, 'That's the third five pounds you've had out this week.'"

"Well, of all the impertinence--What did you do?"

"Made it ten pounds, of course. But there you are; you see what's happening. This morning I answered a letter by return of post. And did you notice what occurred only just now at tea?"

"Of course I did," said Miss Middleton indignantly. "You ate all the muffins."

"No, I don't mean that at all. What I mean is that I only had three lumps of sugar in each cup. I actually stopped you when you were putting the fourth lump in. Oh yes," I said bitterly, "I am getting on."

Miss Middleton poked the fire vigorously.

"About the lunges," she said.

"Ten to the east, ten to the west, ten to the nor'-nor'-east, ten to-"