Five Children and It E. Nesbit (uplifting books for women TXT) đ
- Author: E. Nesbit
Book online «Five Children and It E. Nesbit (uplifting books for women TXT) đ». Author E. Nesbit
She opened the carriage door and jumped out. She had the wonderfullest red high-heeled shoes with silver buckles. âLet me hold him a minute,â she said. And she took the Lamb and held him very awkwardly, as if she was not used to babies.
Then suddenly she jumped into the carriage with the Lamb in her arms and slammed the door, and said, âDrive on!â
The Lamb roared, the little white dog barked, and the coachman hesitated.
âDrive on, I tell you!â cried the lady; and the coachman did, for, as he said afterwards, it was as much as his place was worth not to.
The four children looked at each other, and then with one accord they rushed after the carriage and held on behind. Down the dusty road went the smart carriage, and after it, at double-quick time, ran the twinkling legs of the Lambâs brothers and sisters.
The Lamb howled louder and louder, but presently his howls changed by slow degrees to hiccupy gurgles, and then all was still, and they knew he had gone to sleep.
The carriage went on, and the eight feet that twinkled through the dust were growing quite stiff and tired before the carriage stopped at the lodge of a grand park. The children crouched down behind the carriage, and the lady got out. She looked at the Baby as it lay on the carriage seat, and hesitated.
âThe darlingâ âI wonât disturb it,â she said, and went into the lodge to talk to the woman there about a setting of Buff Orpington eggs that had not turned out well.
The coachman and footman sprang from the box and bent over the sleeping Lamb.
âFine boyâ âwish he was mine,â said the coachman.
âHe wouldnât favour you much,â said the groom sourly; âtoo âandsome.â
The coachman pretended not to hear. He saidâ â
âWonder at her nowâ âI do really! Hates kids. Got none of her own, and canât abide other folksesâ.â
The children, crouching in the white dust under the carriage, exchanged uncomfortable glances.
âTell you what,â the coachman went on firmly, âblowed if I donât hide the little nipper in the hedge and tell her his brothers took âim! Then Iâll come back for him afterwards.â
âNo, you donât,â said the footman. âIâve took to that kid so as never was. If anyoneâs to have him, itâs meâ âso there!â
âStow your gab!â the coachman rejoined. âYou donât want no kids, and, if you did, one kidâs the same as another to you. But Iâm a married man and a judge of breed. I knows a firstrate yearling when I sees him. Iâm a-goinâ to âave him, anâ least said soonest mended.â
âI should âaâ thought,â said the footman sneeringly, âyouâd aâmost enough. What with Alfred, anâ Albert, anâ Louise, anâ Victor Stanley, and Helena Beatrice, and anotherâ ââ
The coachman hit the footman in the chinâ âthe footman hit the coachman in the waistcoatâ âthe next minute the two were fighting here and there, in and out, up and down, and all over everywhere, and the little dog jumped on the box of the carriage and began barking like mad.
Cyril, still crouching in the dust, waddled on bent legs to the side of the carriage farthest from the battlefield. He unfastened the door of the carriageâ âthe two men were far too much occupied with their quarrel to notice anythingâ âtook the Lamb in his arms, and, still stooping, carried the sleeping baby a dozen yards along the road to where a stile led into a wood. The others followed, and there among the hazels and young oaks and sweet chestnuts, covered by high strong-scented bracken, they all lay hidden till the angry voices of the men were hushed at the angry voice of the red-and-white lady, and, after a long and anxious search, the carriage at last drove away.
âMy only hat!â said Cyril, drawing a deep breath as the sound of wheels at last died away. âEveryone does want him nowâ âand no mistake! That Sammyadd has done us again! Tricky brute! For any sake, letâs get the kid safe home.â
So they peeped out, and finding on the right hand only lonely white road, and nothing but lonely white road on the left, they took courage, and the road, Anthea carrying the sleeping Lamb.
Adventures dogged their footsteps. A boy with a bundle of faggots on his back dropped his bundle by the roadside and asked to look at the Baby, and then offered to carry him; but Anthea was not to be caught that way twice. They all walked on, but the boy followed, and Cyril and Robert couldnât make him go away till they had more than once invited him to smell their fists. Afterwards a little girl in a blue-and-white checked pinafore actually followed them for a quarter of a mile crying for âthe precious Baby,â and then she was only got rid of by threats of tying her to a tree in the wood with all their pocket handkerchiefs. âSo that the bears can come and eat you as soon as it gets dark,â said Cyril severely. Then she went off crying. It presently seemed wise, to the brothers and sisters of the Baby, who was wanted by everyone, to hide in the hedge whenever they saw anyone coming, and thus they managed to prevent the Lamb from arousing the inconvenient affection of a milkman, a stone-breaker, and a man who drove a cart with a paraffin barrel at the back of it. They were nearly home when the worst thing of all happened. Turning a corner suddenly they came upon two vans, a tent, and a company of gipsies encamped by the side of the road. The vans were hung all round with wicker chairs and cradles, and flower-stands and feather brushes. A lot of ragged children were industriously making dust-pies in the road, two men lay on the grass smoking, and three women were doing the family washing in an old red watering-can with
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