The Railway Children by E. Nesbit (most important books of all time txt) đ
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And then it was time for the next train, and he got into it with many good-byes and kind last words.
âWell,â said Peter, when they were left on the platform, and the tail-lights of the train disappeared round the corner, âitâs my belief that weâve lighted a candle to-dayâlike Latimer, you know, when he was being burnedâand thereâll be fireworks for our Russian before long.â
And so there were.
It wasnât ten days after the interview in the waiting room that the three children were sitting on the top of the biggest rock in the field below their house watching the 5.15 steam away from the station along the bottom of the valley. They saw, too, the few people who had got out at the station straggling up the road towards the villageâand they saw one person leave the road and open the gate that led across the fields to Three Chimneys and to nowhere else.
âWho on earth!â said Peter, scrambling down.
âLetâs go and see,â said Phyllis.
So they did. And when they got near enough to see who the person was, they saw it was their old gentleman himself, his brass buttons winking in the afternoon sunshine, and his white waistcoat looking whiter than ever against the green of the field.
âHullo!â shouted the children, waving their hands.
âHullo!â shouted the old gentleman, waving his hat.
Then the three started to runâand when they got to him they hardly had breath left to say:â
âHow do you do?â
âGood news,â said he. âIâve found your Russian friendâs wife and childâand I couldnât resist the temptation of giving myself the pleasure of telling him.â
But as he looked at Bobbieâs face he felt that he COULD resist that temptation.
âHere,â he said to her, âyou run on and tell him. The other two will show me the way.â
Bobbie ran. But when she had breathlessly panted out the news to the Russian and Mother sitting in the quiet gardenâwhen Motherâs face had lighted up so beautifully, and she had said half a dozen quick French words to the ExileâBobbie wished that she had NOT carried the news. For the Russian sprang up with a cry that made Bobbieâs heart leap and then trembleâa cry of love and longing such as she had never heard. Then he took Motherâs hand and kissed it gently and reverentlyâand then he sank down in his chair and covered his face with his hands and sobbed. Bobbie crept away. She did not want to see the others just then.
But she was as gay as anybody when the endless French talking was over, when Peter had torn down to the village for buns and cakes, and the girls had got tea ready and taken it out into the garden.
The old gentleman was most merry and delightful. He seemed to be able to talk in French and English almost at the same moment, and Mother did nearly as well. It was a delightful time. Mother seemed as if she could not make enough fuss about the old gentleman, and she said yes at once when he asked if he might present some âgoodiesâ to his little friends.
The word was new to the childrenâbut they guessed that it meant sweets, for the three large pink and green boxes, tied with green ribbon, which he took out of his bag, held unheard-of layers of beautiful chocolates.
The Russianâs few belongings were packed, and they all saw him off at the station.
Then Mother turned to the old gentleman and said:â
âI donât know how to thank you for EVERYTHING. It has been a real pleasure to me to see you. But we live very quietly. I am so sorry that I canât ask you to come and see us again.â
The children thought this very hard. When they HAD made a friendâ and such a friendâthey would dearly have liked him to come and see them again.
What the old gentleman thought they couldnât tell. He only said:â
âI consider myself very fortunate, Madam, to have been received once at your house.â
âAh,â said Mother, âI know I must seem surly and ungratefulâbutââ
âYou could never seem anything but a most charming and gracious lady,â said the old gentleman, with another of his bows.
And as they turned to go up the hill, Bobbie saw her Motherâs face.
âHow tired you look, Mammy,â she said; âlean on me.â
âItâs my place to give Mother my arm,â said Peter. âIâm the head man of the family when Fatherâs away.â
Mother took an arm of each.
âHow awfully nice,â said Phyllis, skipping joyfully, âto think of the dear Russian embracing his long-lost wife. The baby must have grown a lot since he saw it.â
âYes,â said Mother.
âI wonder whether Father will think IâVE grown,â Phyllis went on, skipping still more gaily. âI have grown already, havenât I, Mother?â
âYes,â said Mother, âoh, yes,â and Bobbie and Peter felt her hands tighten on their arms.
âPoor old Mammy, you ARE tired,â said Peter.
Bobbie said, âCome on, Phil; Iâll race you to the gate.â
And she started the race, though she hated doing it. YOU know why Bobbie did that. Mother only thought that Bobbie was tired of walking slowly. Even Mothers, who love you better than anyone else ever will, donât always understand.
Chapter VIII. The amateur firemen.
âThatâs a likely little brooch youâve got on, Miss,â said Perks the Porter; âI donât know as ever I see a thing more like a buttercup without it WAS a buttercup.â
âYes,â said Bobbie, glad and flushed by this approval. âI always thought it was more like a buttercup almost than even a real oneâ and I NEVER thought it would come to be mine, my very ownâand then Mother gave it to me for my birthday.â
âOh, have you had a birthday?â said Perks; and he seemed quite surprised, as though a birthday were a thing only granted to a favoured few.
âYes,â said Bobbie; âwhenâs your birthday, Mr. Perks?â The children were taking tea with Mr. Perks in the Portersâ room among the lamps and the railway almanacs. They had brought their own cups and some jam turnovers. Mr. Perks made tea in a beer can, as usual, and everyone felt very happy and confidential.
âMy birthday?â said Perks, tipping some more dark brown tea out of the can into Peterâs cup. âI give up keeping of my birthday afore you was born.â
âBut you must have been born SOMETIME, you know,â said Phyllis, thoughtfully, âeven if it was twenty years agoâor thirty or sixty or seventy.â
âNot so long as that, Missie,â Perks grinned as he answered. âIf you really want to know, it was thirty-two years ago, come the fifteenth of this month.â
âThen why donât you keep it?â asked Phyllis.
âIâve got something else to keep besides birthdays,â said Perks, briefly.
âOh! What?â asked Phyllis, eagerly. âNot secrets?â
âNo,â said Perks, âthe kids and the Missus.â
It was this talk that set the children thinking, and, presently, talking. Perks was, on the whole, the dearest friend they had made. Not so grand as the Station Master, but more approachableâless powerful than the old gentleman, but more confidential.
âIt seems horrid that nobody keeps his birthday,â said Bobbie. âCouldnât WE do something?â
âLetâs go up to the Canal bridge and talk it over,â said Peter. âI got a new gut line from the postman this morning. He gave it me for a bunch of roses that I gave him for his sweetheart. Sheâs ill.â
âThen I do think you might have given her the roses for nothing,â said Bobbie, indignantly.
âNyang, nyang!â said Peter, disagreeably, and put his hands in his pockets.
âHe did, of course,â said Phyllis, in haste; âdirectly we heard she was ill we got the roses ready and waited by the gate. It was when you were making the brekker-toast. And when heâd said âThank youâ for the roses so many timesâmuch more than he need haveâhe pulled out the line and gave it to Peter. It wasnât exchange. It was the grateful heart.â
âOh, I BEG your pardon, Peter,â said Bobbie, âI AM so sorry.â
âDonât mention it,â said Peter, grandly, âI knew you would be.â
So then they all went up to the Canal bridge. The idea was to fish from the bridge, but the line was not quite long enough.
âNever mind,â said Bobbie. âLetâs just stay here and look at things. Everythingâs so beautiful.â
It was. The sun was setting in red splendour over the grey and purple hills, and the canal lay smooth and shiny in the shadowâno ripple broke its surface. It was like a grey satin ribbon between the dusky green silk of the meadows that were on each side of its banks.
âItâs all right,â said Peter, âbut somehow I can always see how pretty things are much better when Iâve something to do. Letâs get down on to the towpath and fish from there.â
Phyllis and Bobbie remembered how the boys on the canal-boats had thrown coal at them, and they said so.
âOh, nonsense,â said Peter. âThere arenât any boys here now. If there were, Iâd fight them.â
Peterâs sisters were kind enough not to remind him how he had NOT fought the boys when coal had last been thrown. Instead they said, âAll right, then,â and cautiously climbed down the steep bank to the towing-path. The line was carefully baited, and for half an hour they fished patiently and in vain. Not a single nibble came to nourish hope in their hearts.
All eyes were intent on the sluggish waters that earnestly pretended they had never harboured a single minnow when a loud rough shout made them start.
âHi!â said the shout, in most disagreeable tones, âget out of that, canât you?â
An old white horse coming along the towing-path was within half a dozen yards of them. They sprang to their feet and hastily climbed up the bank.
âWeâll slip down again when theyâve gone by,â said Bobbie.
But, alas, the barge, after the manner of barges, stopped under the bridge.
âSheâs going to anchor,â said Peter; âjust our luck!â
The barge did not anchor, because an anchor is not part of a canal-boatâs furniture, but she was moored with ropes fore and aftâand the ropes were made fast to the palings and to crowbars driven into the ground.
âWhat you staring at?â growled the Bargee, crossly.
âWe werenât staring,â said Bobbie; âwe wouldnât be so rude.â
âRude be blessed,â said the man; âget along with you!â
âGet along yourself,â said Peter. He remembered what he had said about fighting boys, and, besides, he felt safe halfway up the bank. âWeâve as much right here as anyone else.â
âOh, âAVE you, indeed!â said the man. âWeâll soon see about that.â And he came across his deck and began to climb down the side of his barge.
âOh, come away, Peter, come away!â said Bobbie and Phyllis, in agonised unison.
âNot me,â said Peter, âbut YOUâD better.â
The girls climbed to the top of the bank and stood ready to bolt for home as soon as they saw their brother out of danger. The way home lay all down hill. They knew that they all ran well. The Bargee did not look as if HE did. He was red-faced, heavy, and beefy.
But as soon as his foot was on the towing-path the children saw that they had misjudged him.
He made one spring up the bank and caught Peter by the leg, dragged him downâset him on his feet with a shakeâtook him by the earâand said sternly:â
âNow, then, what do you mean by it? Donât you know these âere waters is preserved? You ainât no right catching fish âereânot to say
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