The Railway Children by E. Nesbit (most important books of all time txt) đ
- Author: E. Nesbit
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Daddy dear, Iâm only four And Iâd rather not be more. Fourâs the nicest age to be, Two and two and one and three. What I love is two and two, Mother, Peter, Phil, and you. What you love is one and three, Mother, Peter, Phil, and me. Give your little girl a kiss Because she learned and told you this.
The song the others were singing now went like this:â
Our darling Roberta, No sorrow shall hurt her If we can prevent it Her whole life long. Her birthdayâs our fete day, Weâll make it our great day, And give her our presents And sing her our song. May pleasures attend her And may the Fates send her The happiest journey Along her lifeâs way. With skies bright above her And dear ones to love her! Dear Bob! Many happy Returns of the day!
When they had finished singing they cried, âThree cheers for our Bobbie!â and gave them very loudly. Bobbie felt exactly as though she were going to cryâyou know that odd feeling in the bridge of your nose and the pricking in your eyelids? But before she had time to begin they were all kissing and hugging her.
âNow,â said Mother, âlook at your presents.â
They were very nice presents. There was a green and red needle-book that Phyllis had made herself in secret moments. There was a darling little silver brooch of Motherâs shaped like a buttercup, which Bobbie had known and loved for years, but which she had never, never thought would come to be her very own. There was also a pair of blue glass vases from Mrs. Viney. Roberta had seen and admired them in the village shop. And there were three birthday cards with pretty pictures and wishes.
Mother fitted the forget-me-not crown on Bobbieâs brown head.
âAnd now look at the table,â she said.
There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with âDear Bobbieâ on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but the nicest thing was that the big table was almost covered with flowers- -wallflowers were laid all round the tea-trayâthere was a ring of forget-me-nots round each plate. The cake had a wreath of white lilac round it, and in the middle was something that looked like a pattern all done with single blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum.
âItâs a mapâa map of the railway!â cried Peter. âLookâthose lilac lines are the metalsâand thereâs the station done in brown wallflowers. The laburnum is the train, and there are the signal-boxes, and the road up to hereâand those fat red daisies are us three waving to the old gentlemanâthatâs him, the pansy in the laburnum train.â
âAnd thereâs âThree Chimneysâ done in the purple primroses,â said Phyllis. âAnd that little tiny rose-bud is Mother looking out for us when weâre late for tea. Peter invented it all, and we got all the flowers from the station. We thought youâd like it better.â
âThatâs my present,â said Peter, suddenly dumping down his adored steam-engine on the table in front of her. Its tender had been lined with fresh white paper, and was full of sweets.
âOh, Peter!â cried Bobbie, quite overcome by this munificence, ânot your own dear little engine that youâre so fond of?â
âOh, no,â said Peter, very promptly, ânot the engine. Only the sweets.â
Bobbie couldnât help her face changing a littleânot so much because she was disappointed at not getting the engine, as because she had thought it so very noble of Peter, and now she felt she had been silly to think it. Also she felt she must have seemed greedy to expect the engine as well as the sweets. So her face changed. Peter saw it. He hesitated a minute; then his face changed, too, and he said: âI mean not ALL the engine. Iâll let you go halves if you like.â
âYouâre a brick,â cried Bobbie; âitâs a splendid present.â She said no more aloud, but to herself she said:â
âThat was awfully jolly decent of Peter because I know he didnât mean to. Well, the broken half shall be my half of the engine, and Iâll get it mended and give it back to Peter for his birthday.ââ âYes, Mother dear, I should like to cut the cake,â she added, and tea began.
It was a delightful birthday. After tea Mother played games with themâany game they likedâand of course their first choice was blindmanâs-buff, in the course of which Bobbieâs forget-me-not wreath twisted itself crookedly over one of her ears and stayed there. Then, when it was near bedtime and time to calm down, Mother had a lovely new story to read to them.
âYou wonât sit up late working, will you, Mother?â Bobbie asked as they said good night.
And Mother said no, she wouldnâtâshe would only just write to Father and then go to bed.
But when Bobbie crept down later to bring up her presentsâfor she felt she really could not be separated from them all nightâMother was not writing, but leaning her head on her arms and her arms on the table. I think it was rather good of Bobbie to slip quietly away, saying over and over, âShe doesnât want me to know sheâs unhappy, and I wonât know; I wonât know.â But it made a sad end to the birthday.
The very next morning Bobbie began to watch her opportunity to get Peterâs engine mended secretly. And the opportunity came the very next afternoon.
Mother went by train to the nearest town to do shopping. When she went there, she always went to the Post-office. Perhaps to post her letters to Father, for she never gave them to the children or Mrs. Viney to post, and she never went to the village herself. Peter and Phyllis went with her. Bobbie wanted an excuse not to go, but try as she would she couldnât think of a good one. And just when she felt that all was lost, her frock caught on a big nail by the kitchen door and there was a great criss-cross tear all along the front of the skirt. I assure you this was really an accident. So the others pitied her and went without her, for there was no time for her to change, because they were rather late already and had to hurry to the station to catch the train.
When they had gone, Bobbie put on her everyday frock, and went down to the railway. She did not go into the station, but she went along the line to the end of the platform where the engine is when the down train is alongside the platformâthe place where there are a water tank and a long, limp, leather hose, like an elephantâs trunk. She hid behind a bush on the other side of the railway. She had the toy engine done up in brown paper, and she waited patiently with it under her arm.
Then when the next train came in and stopped, Bobbie went across the metals of the up-line and stood beside the engine. She had never been so close to an engine before. It looked much larger and harder than she had expected, and it made her feel very small indeed, and, somehow, very softâas if she could very, very easily be hurt rather badly.
âI know what silk-worms feel like now,â said Bobbie to herself.
The engine-driver and fireman did not see her. They were leaning out on the other side, telling the Porter a tale about a dog and a leg of mutton.
âIf you please,â said Robertaâbut the engine was blowing off steam and no one heard her.
âIf you please, Mr. Engineer,â she spoke a little louder, but the Engine happened to speak at the same moment, and of course Robertaâs soft little voice hadnât a chance.
It seemed to her that the only way would be to climb on to the engine and pull at their coats. The step was high, but she got her knee on it, and clambered into the cab; she stumbled and fell on hands and knees on the base of the great heap of coals that led up to the square opening in the tender. The engine was not above the weaknesses of its fellows; it was making a great deal more noise than there was the slightest need for. And just as Roberta fell on the coals, the engine-driver, who had turned without seeing her, started the engine, and when Bobbie had picked herself up, the train was movingânot fast, but much too fast for her to get off.
All sorts of dreadful thoughts came to her all together in one horrible flash. There were such things as express trains that went on, she supposed, for hundreds of miles without stopping. Suppose this should be one of them? How would she get home again? She had no money to pay for the return journey.
âAnd Iâve no business here. Iâm an engine-burglarâthatâs what I am,â she thought. âI shouldnât wonder if they could lock me up for this.â And the train was going faster and faster.
There was something in her throat that made it impossible for her to speak. She tried twice. The men had their backs to her. They were doing something to things that looked like taps.
Suddenly she put out her hand and caught hold of the nearest sleeve. The man turned with a start, and he and Roberta stood for a minute looking at each other in silence. Then the silence was broken by them both.
The man said, âHereâs a bloominâ go!â and Roberta burst into tears.
The other man said he was blooming well blestâor something like it- -but though naturally surprised they were not exactly unkind.
âYouâre a naughty little gell, thatâs what you are,â said the fireman, and the engine-driver said:â
âDaring little piece, I call her,â but they made her sit down on an iron seat in the cab and told her to stop crying and tell them what she meant by it.
She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing that helped her was the thought that Peter would give almost his ears to be in her placeâon a real engineâreally going. The children had often wondered whether any engine-driver could be found noble enough to take them for a ride on an engineâand now there she was. She dried her eyes and sniffed earnestly.
âNow, then,â said the fireman, âout with it. What do you mean by it, eh?â
âOh, please,â sniffed Bobbie.
âTry again,â said the engine-driver, encouragingly.
Bobbie tried again.
âPlease, Mr. Engineer,â she said, âI did call out to you from the line, but you didnât hear meâand I just climbed up to touch you on the armâquite gently I meant to
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