CHAPTER XVI

The Chinese Charm

"What are we going to do to-day?" asked Oswald after breakfast next morning. "We've an uncommonly short holiday, so we must spin it out as well as we can. Who votes for Llangelynin?"

"Too far and too hot," replied Artie, stretching himself comfortably in his father's armchair. "I feel more inclined to lie on the lawn and laze than go climbing hills again."

"It's too far for you all after your long walk yesterday," said Mrs. Marshall. "You boys may do what you like this morning, but Linda and Sylvia are to stay quietly in the garden until dinner-time. There's an invitation for you to have tea at Dr. Severn's, which of course I have accepted. I was sure you would all like to go."

"Rather!" said Oswald. "He's the jolliest chap I know, and that's saying a good deal. Artie, suppose we take ourselves off to the marsh and have a dip in the pool; it's about the coolest thing I can suggest for a day like this, and we shall both enjoy a swim."

"Who is Dr. Severn?" said Sylvia to Linda, when the boys had started for their bathe, and the two little girls were sitting in a cool, shady place under the trees, with their books on their knees.

"He's a gentleman who came last summer to live at a house not very far away," answered Linda. "We only got to know him lately; but he's so nice, and the boys simply adore him!"

"Hasn't he any children of his own?"

"No. We heard they were dead, and his wife too, but he's never spoken about them even to Father and Mother. He lives quite alone, with a housekeeper to look after him. He's been in all kinds of foreign places, and his rooms are so full of funny things, it's just like going to a museum. There's a stuffed crocodile, and a mummied cat, and a horrid lizard in a bottle, and some snake skins, and a locust, and a scorpion, and a whole case of lovely butterflies. He tells us about them sometimes, and where he found them."

"I hope he'll show them to us to-day," said Sylvia, who thought the collection sounded interesting.

"I'm sure he will if we ask him," said Linda. "I should like to see them again myself, especially the crocodile. He has a big cabinet full of little drawers, and he keeps curiosities in them from every place he's been to. There's one with nothing but shells, and another for corals, and a third for coins, and the rest are each for a separate country. He's very careful over them; he won't let us take anything out ourselves, or even handle some of them, he's so afraid they might get broken. Still, it's fun to look, even if we mayn't touch."

"I expect it's a thousand times nicer than my museum at home," said Sylvia, "though I have a cabinet in the schoolroom."

"I haven't seen your museum yet, so I can't say, but I'm sure you'll enjoy Dr. Severn's. We've been to tea twice before, and each time we've had raspberry sandwich and plumcake and little crisp cocoanut biscuits. I hope the housekeeper will make them to-day. There's always the most delicious apricot jam, too, and he hands round a big jug of cream, and tells us to help ourselves. Then there's a horizontal bar in the garden that the boys love; they do some of the things on it that they learn in the gymnasium at school; and there's a tank with pink water lilies growing in it, only I don't think they'll be out just yet. I'm so glad he's asked us to-day, because I want you to go and see it all."

"What a good thing Miss Coleman managed to put that clean dress in my bag!" said Sylvia. "What should I have done without it? I got this in quite a mess yesterday."

"I should have had to lend you one of my white muslins, and I'm sure they'll be too short for me this year, so they would be far too small for you; you're an inch taller than I am, though you're so much thinner. We're both to wear our sailor hats. Mother said I couldn't put on my last year's Sunday summer one if you hadn't your best with you, and of course it isn't a party."

The invitation was for four o'clock, and by half-past three Mrs. Marshall had succeeded in getting the prospective guests into what she considered a sufficient state of tidiness for the occasion.

It was about twenty minutes' walk to Dale Side, a pretty modern bungalow which had been built by an English gentleman with a leaning towards the picturesque, and who had therefore chosen the site to secure the most beautiful views, and had made the interior as artistic as his excellent taste could devise. After living there a few years, the owner, on account of his wife's health, had gone to reside in Italy, and the little property had been on sale until the preceding summer, when it had been purchased, together with a few acres of land, by Dr. Severn, who was a newcomer to the neighbourhood. Though he was therefore only a comparative stranger, the young Marshalls already regarded the kindly doctor as a friend, and it was with very smiling faces that they rang his bell that afternoon.

"I saw you arriving," cried their host, hastening to the door himself to meet them. "I was just looking out for you, and hoping you would come soon to interrupt a tiresome letter I felt obliged to write. Now I'm justified in putting it off for an hour or two at any rate. Linda's quite shocked at me! But I didn't say I wouldn't finish it afterwards, did I? Shall we go straight through to the pine wood? I've had the table carried out there for tea. It's the coolest place we can find on a hot day."

By the time she had known him ten minutes, Sylvia had decided that she liked Dr. Severn immensely. He was a tall, rather gaunt man, with a thin, pale, clean-shaven face that bore traces of ill health or suffering in the hollow cheeks and the lines around the mouth; his hair was iron grey, rather long, and combed straight back from his broad forehead, and he had the brightest, keenest, pleasantest blue eyes that it was possible to imagine. His manner was so winning and jolly that he made everybody feel at home immediately. He seemed to know exactly the subjects about which boys and girls liked to talk, and to be able to enter into everything almost as if he were a boy himself. The four visitors soon found themselves chatting to him perfectly freely, telling him of school scrapes and adventures, of plans for the summer holidays, and asking his opinion on various disputed points, while he, in turn, was full of jokes and reminiscences of his own far-off schooldays.

"Never save the best till last!" he declared, handing round the cake long before the plates of bread and butter were finished. "I've kept to that motto ever since I was a small boy, and I had very good reason for adopting it. Once, when I was a little fellow of about seven years old, I was taken to pay a visit to an old lady who lived in the country. Children were brought up on the plainest fare in those days--porridge, and bread and milk, roast beef or mutton with potatoes, rice pudding or suet dumpling, with jam roly-poly, as a special treat on your birthday, was all that was considered good for us; so you can imagine I felt pleased when I saw a large pudding full of currants come on to the table at dinner-time. The old lady gave me a generous serving, and told me to help myself to as much sugar as I liked with it, assuring my mother that sweet things were necessary for children, a sentiment with which I cordially agreed then, whatever opinions my elders might hold. There were a great many currants in my slice of pudding, and it struck me how much nicer they would taste if I could eat them all together as a titbit at the last; so I picked them carefully out one by one, and put them to the side of my plate. I suppose it must have taken me rather a long time, or perhaps the others had smaller helpings; at any rate they had finished first, and all laid down their spoons and forks except myself. I gulped my last piece of pudding in a hurry, and was just going to enjoy my saved-up fruit, when the old lady, who had been watching me, said: "Poor boy! Isn't he fond of currants? Leave them, my dear; I would never force a child to eat what it doesn't like," adding a direction to the servant to take my plate away. I had had tremendous warnings before I came about behaving myself properly, and also I was much too shy to protest, so I was obliged to watch my cherished currants being whisked from the table before I had been able to taste a single one of them. If I had ever been inclined to be miserly, I think this incident would have cured me of hoarding up riches."

"What a shame! Didn't you get anything instead?" asked Artie.

"Not at dinner, but afterwards the old lady, who was a very kind soul, took me into her kitchen garden, and told me to eat as many ripe gooseberries as I liked. There were various sorts, big red ones, hairy yellow ones, and smooth green ones, and I'm sure I ate enough to make up amply for what I missed at pudding time. As far as I recollect I never stopped picking the whole afternoon. Small boys can accommodate a great deal."

"I don't think gooseberries do one any harm," said Artie. "We eat simply loads. We each sit down beside a bush, and try who can make the biggest pile of skins. Mother says the blackbirds would take them if we didn't."

"I'm glad she doesn't make a fuss about it, as some people do," said Linda. "I was so angry last summer. A lady came one afternoon to see us, and brought a horrid little girl with her called Mona. Mother told me to take this child into the kitchen garden and give her some fruit, so I marched her off, and, just as we were leaving the drawing-room, her mother called out: "You may have eight strawberries and twelve gooseberries, darling, but no more." She was very stupid, and wouldn't talk to me, so I kept picking the ripest and biggest strawberries and gooseberries I could find, and handing them to her. I never thought of counting them, but she suddenly went quite red, and said she wouldn't have any more. She'd hardly look at the chickens or the rabbits or anything I tried to show her, and I was very glad indeed when it was time for her to go home. Her mother came to fetch her from the garden, and said: 'Did you eat more than I told you, dear?' and Mona said: 'No I didn't. This little girl tried very hard to make me, but I wouldn't take even one strawberry more. Wasn't I good?'

"The lady looked at me as if she thought I deserved smacking, but I couldn't explain, because she was just shaking hands with Mother and saying goodbye. I've felt cross about it ever since, and if she brings Mona again, I declare I'll run away and hide, and not take her into the garden at all. Don't you think it was too bad?"

"Much too bad!" said Dr. Severn. "I think Mona was what is called a prig. Please go on with the cocoanut biscuits. I assure you I'm not counting them!"

"I really couldn't eat another," said Linda, "though they're very delicious. Aren't you going to show us any of your curiosities in the house? You promised you would, and Sylvia does so want to see them."

"A promise is a promise," replied Dr. Severn, rising from his basket chair. "But in the meantime I think I see Mr. Richards coming through the garden in search of us. I wonder if he's had any tea."

Mr. Richards was the curate, and a great favourite with Oswald and Artie; he was an athletic young fellow, fresh from College, and always ready to go skating or boating, or to play a game of cricket with them, or carry them off with him to the golf links. He declared now that he had already had tea, but was longing for a little exercise on Dr. Severn's horizontal bar, where he thought he could show the boys a feat or two which perhaps they had not yet learnt at school. Oswald and Artie rushed away with him at once, and, flinging off their coats, were soon vying with each other in swinging, circling, hanging by their legs or feet, and various other acrobatic performances that looked exceedingly warm work for a hot day, but which seemed to afford them the most immense satisfaction. Dr. Severn stood by and encouraged them to do their best, then, after watching for a short time, left them with Mr. Richards, and took Linda and Sylvia into the house.

"You'll be getting tired of circus and would rather have museum for a change, I expect," he said. "I'll show you all my curios, and then you shall each choose something for me to tell you about."

The study was a delightful little room, with a French window opening into the garden. One side was quite filled by a large Japanese cabinet with many sliding cupboards and drawers. Linda certainly had not exaggerated the number of wonderful things which it contained. There were treasures from Egypt, from Palestine, from India, from China, and from Japan. Wherever the doctor had travelled he seemed to have picked up some object of interest, and to examine the various drawers was like taking a peep into far countries. He allowed Linda and Sylvia to dress themselves up in some of the gorgeous silk scarves and sashes, to slip on the Japanese kimonos, and put their feet into the Turkish slippers.

"I think I like the Indian things best; they smell the nicest," said Linda, snuffing at a sandalwood box, and trying the effect of some filagree ornaments on her own hair and Sylvia's. "How grand the women must look in these! No, I shouldn't like to wear the nose ring, thank you, nor the earrings, though I'd love the bangles. They must have tiny wrists. I can only just push these over my hands. Aren't they meant for a child?"

"No," replied Dr. Severn, "they are really for a grown-up woman, but the people of all Eastern nations have very small hands compared with us Westerns. If you like the scent of sandalwood, what do you think of this? It comes from the vale of Kashmir." He drew the stopper from a bottle of attar of roses as he spoke.

The odour was so deliciously sweet and overpowering that it filled the whole room.

"It's the true stuff," said the doctor, "not the wretched imitation which is often sold over here. Now if I put a drop on each of your pocket handkerchiefs it will scent all your clothes for a twelve-month. Where are they?"

"It's lucky they're clean ones," said Sylvia, rummaging in her pocket. "I shall keep mine in my drawer after this, and not send it to the wash, ever. It's lovelier even than lavender water or eau de Cologne."

"I believe it takes a thousand roses to make one drop of this," said Dr. Severn, "so you have a great deal of concentrated sweetness there. This round box comes from Damascus, and I don't think it's quite empty yet. If you have smelled true attar you ought also to taste genuine Turkish delight. Open your mouths and shut your eyes, and you'll find a surprise."

Dressed in the wonderful embroidered garments, with silver ornaments in their hair, scented with roses, and their mouths full of lumps of delight, the two little girls felt as if they had wandered into the land of the Arabian Nights, had been transformed into Eastern princesses, and had only to command a slave of the lamp to come forward and carry out their slightest desire.

"It's simply lovely," said Linda. "I never tasted anything so nice in my life before. I think you're a magician, and can carry us off to Persia, or India, or anywhere with a wave of your wand. But please, you promised to tell us each a story about something, and you haven't done so yet."

"Because you haven't chosen a 'something'," said Dr. Severn; "say what you'd like, and I'll try to wave my magic wand."

"Then I'll have this funny little tassel of blue beads."

"That's a charm against the evil eye," said the doctor. "I got it in Cairo. The Mohammedan mothers believe many people, especially strangers, to be possessed of most uncanny powers, and think that if they look very hard at their babies they can bewitch them, and cause them to catch various diseases, and even to die. To avert the evil they put charms on the children, and you may see a tiny boy with his head shaved, all except a long lock which hangs over his eyes with one of these bead talismans dangling at the end. The charms are always blue, because that is considered the magical colour. The people are very dark themselves, so they are terrified at the sight of an Englishman with eyes of the dreaded shade; they are quite sure he must be a desperately bad character, and it is safer to keep out of his path. When I have been in the East, I have often seen mothers turn their babies away lest my glance should fall on them. It is considered very unlucky also to praise a child, and its parents, even though they may be extremely rich, will sometimes let it look dirty and neglected for fear anyone might happen to admire it."

"You can't bewitch me!" cried Linda. "I've got the talisman safe in my hand!"

"I didn't say I was admiring you, did I?" laughed the doctor. "Though these gorgeous robes are certainly very becoming."

"You're a true magician. I shall be frightened of you now. Is that all you can tell me about my 'something'?"

"I'm afraid I know no more."

"Then, Sylvia, it's your turn."

"May I choose exactly what I want?" asked Sylvia.

"Certainly you may," replied Dr. Severn.

"Then I'd like to hear the story of that little carved ivory locket that's hanging on your watch-chain. It looks like a charm too."

A spasm of pain crossed the doctor's face at Sylvia's words, but he recovered himself in a moment.

"That would not interest you, dear child," he said gravely. "It is not a curiosity such as the other things I have shown you."

"It's a charm, though, isn't it?" asked Sylvia. "I've been noticing it all the afternoon. It's so exactly like another I've seen."

"That could hardly be," said Dr. Severn. "This carving has no duplicate."

"But I know one that's its own twin," persisted Sylvia. "It's the same size and shape, and has the same carving on it, these little three-cornered kind of leaves round the edge, and these marks like queer letters in the middle. I couldn't possibly forget it."

"Where did you see it?" enquired Linda.

"It's the Chinese charm that they found tied round Mercy's neck when she was brought to the hospital. She showed it me one Sunday evening, and I held it in my hand and looked at it so carefully."

"Where did your friend get her charm?" asked Dr. Severn quickly.

"It was fastened round her neck when she was a baby. A Chinese woman crawled with her to the hospital, because she was so wounded she was dying. Not Mercy, I mean, but the poor woman. Mercy wasn't hurt at all. They adopted her at the hospital, and then she was brought to England, and came to Miss Kaye's, but nobody's ever found out yet who she is. Isn't it just like a storybook?" said Sylvia, who loved to bring forward the romantic side of her friend's history.

"How long ago is it since this happened?" enquired Dr. Severn with a curious strained tone in his voice which neither of the children noticed.

"About sixteen years. Mercy is nearly seventeen."

"Is that her true name?"

"No. Nobody knew her real name, so they called her Mercy Ingledew. She had on Chinese clothes, and the nurse thought the locket must be a Chinese charm too. She hadn't a single English thing that anyone could tell her by. Wasn't it a pity?"

"A great pity, if her friends are alive to claim her."

"We don't know whether they are or not," said Sylvia. "I'm always trying to find them, but Miss Kaye says I'm not to talk to Mercy about it, because it's no use to keep raising false hopes, and we must all be very kind to her, to make up for her not having a father and mother of her own. It's funny her little charm should be just the same as yours, though, isn't it? Did this one come from China too? I should have liked a story about it."

"Some other day, perhaps," said Dr. Severn, rising hastily and walking to the window. "Let us go out and find the boys. The sky looks so threatening, I'm afraid there's a thunderstorm brewing, and I had better send you home before it begins."

"We must take off our wonderful clothes, then," said Linda, beginning to untwist the scarves and put away the Turkish slippers. "Goodbye, dear sandalwood box! How I love the smell of you!"

"Keep the box if you like," said Dr. Severn briefly, "and you, Sylvia, the bottle of attar. I don't want either. Come, children, I'm sorry to hurry you, but I don't want you to be caught in the rain. Get your hats, and Mr. Richards will see you home on his way to Craigwen."