The Railway Children by E. Nesbit (most important books of all time txt) đ
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âGone right off in a faint,â he said, âpoor little woman. And no wonder. Iâll just âave a look at this âere mound of yours, and then weâll run you back to the station and get her seen to.â
It was horrible to see Bobbie lying so white and quiet, with her lips blue, and parted.
âI believe thatâs what people look like when theyâre dead,â whispered Phyllis.
âDONâT!â said Peter, sharply.
They sat by Bobbie on the blue cushions, and the train ran back. Before it reached their station Bobbie had sighed and opened her eyes, and rolled herself over and begun to cry. This cheered the others wonderfully. They had seen her cry before, but they had never seen her faint, nor anyone else, for the matter of that. They had not known what to do when she was fainting, but now she was only crying they could thump her on the back and tell her not to, just as they always did. And presently, when she stopped crying, they were able to laugh at her for being such a coward as to faint.
When the station was reached, the three were the heroes of an agitated meeting on the platform.
The praises they got for their âprompt action,â their âcommon sense,â their âingenuity,â were enough to have turned anybodyâs head. Phyllis enjoyed herself thoroughly. She had never been a real heroine before, and the feeling was delicious. Peterâs ears got very red. Yet he, too, enjoyed himself. Only Bobbie wished they all wouldnât. She wanted to get away.
âYouâll hear from the Company about this, I expect,â said the Station Master.
Bobbie wished she might never hear of it again. She pulled at Peterâs jacket.
âOh, come away, come away! I want to go home,â she said.
So they went. And as they went Station Master and Porter and guards and driver and fireman and passengers sent up a cheer.
âOh, listen,â cried Phyllis; âthatâs for US!â
âYes,â said Peter. âI say, I am glad I thought about something red, and waving it.â
âHow lucky we DID put on our red flannel petticoats!â said Phyllis.
Bobbie said nothing. She was thinking of the horrible mound, and the trustful train rushing towards it.
âAnd it was US that saved them,â said Peter.
âHow dreadful if they had all been killed!â said Phyllis; âwouldnât it, Bobbie?â
âWe never got any cherries, after all,â said Bobbie.
The others thought her rather heartless.
Chapter VII. For valour.
I hope you donât mind my telling you a good deal about Roberta. The fact is I am growing very fond of her. The more I observe her the more I love her. And I notice all sorts of things about her that I like.
For instance, she was quite oddly anxious to make other people happy. And she could keep a secret, a tolerably rare accomplishment. Also she had the power of silent sympathy. That sounds rather dull, I know, but itâs not so dull as it sounds. It just means that a person is able to know that you are unhappy, and to love you extra on that account, without bothering you by telling you all the time how sorry she is for you. That was what Bobbie was like. She knew that Mother was unhappyâand that Mother had not told her the reason. So she just loved Mother more and never said a single word that could let Mother know how earnestly her little girl wondered what Mother was unhappy about. This needs practice. It is not so easy as you might think.
Whatever happenedâand all sorts of nice, pleasant ordinary things happenedâsuch as picnics, games, and buns for tea, Bobbie always had these thoughts at the back of her mind. âMotherâs unhappy. Why? I donât know. She doesnât want me to know. I wonât try to find out. But she IS unhappy. Why? I donât know. She doesnâtââ and so on, repeating and repeating like a tune that you donât know the stopping part of.
The Russian gentleman still took up a good deal of everybodyâs thoughts. All the editors and secretaries of Societies and Members of Parliament had answered Motherâs letters as politely as they knew how; but none of them could tell where the wife and children of Mr. Szezcpansky would be likely to be. (Did I tell you that the Russianâs very Russian name was that?)
Bobbie had another quality which you will hear differently described by different people. Some of them call it interfering in other peopleâs businessâand some call it âhelping lame dogs over stiles,â and some call it âloving-kindness.â It just means trying to help people.
She racked her brains to think of some way of helping the Russian gentleman to find his wife and children. He had learned a few words of English now. He could say âGood morning,â and âGood night,â and âPlease,â and âThank you,â and âPretty,â when the children brought him flowers, and âVerâ good,â when they asked him how he had slept.
The way he smiled when he âsaid his English,â was, Bobbie felt, âjust too sweet for anything.â She used to think of his face because she fancied it would help her to some way of helping him. But it did not. Yet his being there cheered her because she saw that it made Mother happier.
âShe likes to have someone to be good to, even beside us,â said Bobbie. âAnd I know she hated to let him have Fatherâs clothes. But I suppose it âhurt nice,â or she wouldnât have.â
For many and many a night after the day when she and Peter and Phyllis had saved the train from wreck by waving their little red flannel flags, Bobbie used to wake screaming and shivering, seeing again that horrible mound, and the poor, dear trustful engine rushing on towards itâjust thinking that it was doing its swift duty, and that everything was clear and safe. And then a warm thrill of pleasure used to run through her at the remembrance of how she and Peter and Phyllis and the red flannel petticoats had really saved everybody.
One morning a letter came. It was addressed to Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis. They opened it with enthusiastic curiosity, for they did not often get letters.
The letter said:â
âDear Sir, and Ladies,âIt is proposed to make a small presentation to you, in commemoration of your prompt and courageous action in warning the train on the â inst., and thus averting what must, humanly speaking, have been a terrible accident. The presentation will take place at the â Station at three oâclock on the 30th inst., if this time and place will be convenient to you.
âYours faithfully,
âJabez Inglewood. âSecretary, Great Northern and Southern Railway Co.â
There never had been a prouder moment in the lives of the three children. They rushed to Mother with the letter, and she also felt proud and said so, and this made the children happier than ever.
âBut if the presentation is money, you must say, âThank you, but weâd rather not take it,ââ said Mother. âIâll wash your Indian muslins at once,â she added. âYou must look tidy on an occasion like this.â
âPhil and I can wash them,â said Bobbie, âif youâll iron them, Mother.â
Washing is rather fun. I wonder whether youâve ever done it? This particular washing took place in the back kitchen, which had a stone floor and a very big stone sink under its window.
âLetâs put the bath on the sink,â said Phyllis; âthen we can pretend weâre out-of-doors washerwomen like Mother saw in France.â
âBut they were washing in the cold river,â said Peter, his hands in his pockets, ânot in hot water.â
âThis is a HOT river, then,â said Phyllis; âlend a hand with the bath, thereâs a dear.â
âI should like to see a deer lending a hand,â said Peter, but he lent his.
âNow to rub and scrub and scrub and rub,â said Phyllis, hopping joyously about as Bobbie carefully carried the heavy kettle from the kitchen fire.
âOh, no!â said Bobbie, greatly shocked; âyou donât rub muslin. You put the boiled soap in the hot water and make it all frothy-lathery- -and then you shake the muslin and squeeze it, ever so gently, and all the dirt comes out. Itâs only clumsy things like tablecloths and sheets that have to be rubbed.â
The lilac and the Gloire de Dijon roses outside the window swayed in the soft breeze.
âItâs a nice drying dayâthatâs one thing,â said Bobbie, feeling very grown up. âOh, I do wonder what wonderful feelings we shall have when we WEAR the Indian muslin dresses!â
âYes, so do I,â said Phyllis, shaking and squeezing the muslin in quite a professional manner.
âNOW we squeeze out the soapy water. NOâwe mustnât twist themâand then rinse them. Iâll hold them while you and Peter empty the bath and get clean water.â
âA presentation! That means presents,â said Peter, as his sisters, having duly washed the pegs and wiped the line, hung up the dresses to dry. âWhatever will it be?â
âIt might be anything,â said Phyllis; âwhat Iâve always wanted is a Baby elephantâbut I suppose they wouldnât know that.â
âSuppose it was gold models of steam-engines?â said Bobbie.
âOr a big model of the scene of the prevented accident,â suggested Peter, âwith a little model train, and dolls dressed like us and the engine-driver and fireman and passengers.â
âDo you LIKE,â said Bobbie, doubtfully, drying her hands on the rough towel that hung on a roller at the back of the scullery door, âdo you LIKE us being rewarded for saving a train?â
âYes, I do,â said Peter, downrightly; âand donât you try to come it over us that you donât like it, too. Because I know you do.â
âYes,â said Bobbie, doubtfully, âI know I do. But oughtnât we to be satisfied with just having done it, and not ask for anything more?â
âWho did ask for anything more, silly?â said her brother; âVictoria Cross soldiers donât ASK for it; but theyâre glad enough to get it all the same. Perhaps itâll be medals. Then, when Iâm very old indeed, I shall show them to my grandchildren and say, âWe only did our duty,â and theyâll be awfully proud of me.â
âYou have to be married,â warned Phyllis, âor you donât have any grandchildren.â
âI suppose I shall HAVE to be married some day,â said Peter, âbut it will be an awful bother having her round all the time. Iâd like to marry a lady who had trances, and only woke up once or twice a year.â
âJust to say you were the light of her life and then go to sleep again. Yes. That wouldnât be bad,â said Bobbie.
âWhen I get married,â said Phyllis, âI shall want him to want me to be awake all the time, so that I can hear him say how nice I am.â
âI think it would be nice,â said Bobbie, âto marry someone very poor, and then youâd do all the work and heâd love you most frightfully, and see the blue wood smoke curling up among the trees from the domestic hearth as he came home from work every night. I sayâweâve got to answer that letter and say that the time and place WILL be convenient to us. Thereâs the soap, Peter. WEâRE both as clean as clean. That pink box of writing paper you had on your birthday, Phil.â
It took some time to arrange what should be said. Mother had gone back to her writing, and several sheets of pink paper with scalloped gilt edges and green four-leaved shamrocks in the corner were spoiled before the three had decided what to say. Then each made
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