The Story of the Amulet E. Nesbit (the best books to read .TXT) 📖

“but if we don’t go on doing that, what are we to do?”

“That’s just it,” said Cyril in mysterious accents. “Oh, bother!”

Old Nurse had come in with the tray of knives, forks, and glasses, and was getting the tablecloth and table-napkins out of the chiffonier drawer.

“It’s always mealtimes just when you come to anything interesting.”

“And a nice interesting handful you’d be, Master Cyril,” said old Nurse, “if I wasn’t to bring your meals up to time. Don’t you begin grumbling now, fear you get something to grumble at.”

“I wasn’t grumbling,” said Cyril quite untruly; “but it does always happen like that.”

“You deserve to have something happen,” said old Nurse. “Slave, slave, slave for you day and night, and never a word of thanks.⁠ ⁠…”

“Why, you do everything beautifully,” said Anthea.

“It’s the first time any of you’s troubled to say so, anyhow,” said Nurse shortly.

“What’s the use of saying?” inquired Robert. “We eat our meals fast enough, and almost always two helps. That ought to show you!”

“Ah!” said old Nurse, going round the table and putting the knives and forks in their places; “you’re a man all over, Master Robert. There was my poor Green, all the years he lived with me I never could get more out of him than ‘It’s all right!’ when I asked him if he’d fancied his dinner. And yet, when he lay a-dying, his last words to me was, ‘Maria, you was always a good cook!’ ” She ended with a trembling voice.

“And so you are,” cried Anthea, and she and Jane instantly hugged her.

When she had gone out of the room Anthea said⁠—

“I know exactly how she feels. Now, look here! Let’s do a penance to show we’re sorry we didn’t think about telling her before what nice cooking she does, and what a dear she is.”

“Penances are silly,” said Robert.

“Not if the penance is something to please someone else. I didn’t mean old peas and hair shirts and sleeping on the stones. I mean we’ll make her a sorry-present,” explained Anthea. “Look here! I vote Cyril doesn’t tell us his idea until we’ve done something for old Nurse. It’s worse for us than him,” she added hastily, “because he knows what it is and we don’t. Do you all agree?”

The others would have been ashamed not to agree, so they did. It was not till quite near the end of dinner⁠—mutton fritters and blackberry and apple pie⁠—that out of the earnest talk of the four came an idea that pleased everybody and would, they hoped, please Nurse.

Cyril and Robert went out with the taste of apple still in their mouths and the purple of blackberries on their lips⁠—and, in the case of Robert, on the wristband as well⁠—and bought a big sheet of cardboard at the stationers. Then at the plumber’s shop, that has tubes and pipes and taps and gas-fittings in the window, they bought a pane of glass the same size as the cardboard. The man cut it with a very interesting tool that had a bit of diamond at the end, and he gave them, out of his own free generousness, a large piece of putty and a small piece of glue.

While they were out the girls had floated four photographs of the four children off their cards in hot water. These were now stuck in a row along the top of the cardboard. Cyril put the glue to melt in a jampot, and put the jampot in a saucepan and saucepan on the fire, while Robert painted a wreath of poppies round the photographs. He painted rather well and very quickly, and poppies are easy to do if you’ve once been shown how. Then Anthea drew some printed letters and Jane coloured them. The words were:

“With all our loves to shew
We like the thigs to eat.”

And when the painting was dry they all signed their names at the bottom and put the glass on, and glued brown paper round the edge and over the back, and put two loops of tape to hang it up by.

Of course everyone saw when too late that there were not enough letters in “things,” so the missing n was put in. It was impossible, of course, to do the whole thing over again for just one letter.

“There!” said Anthea, placing it carefully, face up, under the sofa. “It’ll be hours before the glue’s dry. Now, Squirrel, fire ahead!”

“Well, then,” said Cyril in a great hurry, rubbing at his gluey hands with his pocket handkerchief. “What I mean to say is this.”

There was a long pause.

“Well,” said Robert at last, “what is it that you mean to say?”

“It’s like this,” said Cyril, and again stopped short.

“Like what?” asked Jane.

“How can I tell you if you will all keep on interrupting?” said Cyril sharply.

So no one said any more, and with wrinkled frowns he arranged his ideas.

“Look here,” he said, “what I really mean is⁠—we can remember now what we did when we went to look for the Amulet. And if we’d found it we should remember that too.”

“Rather!” said Robert. “Only, you see we haven’t.”

“But in the future we shall have.”

“Shall we, though?” said Jane.

“Yes⁠—unless we’ve been made fools of by the Psammead. So then, where we want to go to is where we shall remember about where we did find it.”

“I see,” said Robert, but he didn’t.

“I don’t,” said Anthea, who did, very nearly. “Say it again, Squirrel, and very slowly.”

“If,” said Cyril, very slowly indeed, “we go into the future⁠—after we’ve found the Amulet⁠—”

“But we’ve got to find it first,” said Jane.

“Hush!” said Anthea.

“There will be a future,” said Cyril, driven to greater clearness by the blank faces of the other three, “there will be a time after we’ve found it. Let’s go into that time⁠—and then we shall remember how we found it. And then we can go back and do the finding really.”

“I see,” said Robert, and this time he did, and I hope you do.

“Yes,” said Anthea. “Oh, Squirrel, how