"It was not a story, however,
But just of old days that had been."
CHILD NATURE.
IT was queer, but so it was. The children said very little to each other the next day of their new adventures. Only Hugh felt satisfied that this time little Jeanne had forgotten nothing; daylight Jeanne and moonlight Jeanne were the same. Yet he had a feeling that if he said much about it, if he persisted in trying to convince Jeanne that he had been right all through, he might spoil it all. It would be like seizing the fairy lady's cobweb threads roughly, and spoiling them, and finding you had nothing left. He felt now quite content to let it all be like a pretty dream which they both knew about, but which was not for everyday life.
Only one impression remained on his mind. He got the greatest wish to learn to throw balls like the princess of the Brown Bull story, and for some days every time they went out, he kept peering in at the toy-shop windows to see if such a thing as golden balls was to be had. And at last Jeanne asked him what he was always looking for, and then he told her.
She agreed with him that golden balls would be a very pretty play, but she was afraid such a thing could not be found.
"They were fairy balls, you know, Chéri," she said, gravely.
"Yes," Hugh replied, he knew they were; he did not expect such balls as they were, of course, but still he didn't see why they might not get some sort of gold-looking balls. There were red and blue, and green ones in plenty. He didn't see why there should be no gold ones.
"Gold is so very dear," said Jeanne.
"Yes, real gold is, of course," said Hugh; "but there are lots of things that look like gold that can't be real gold – picture frames, and the edges of books, and lots of other things."
"Yes," said Jeanne, "but still, I don't see that the stuff any of those are made of would do to make balls of."
However, she joined Hugh in the search, and many a day when they were out they peeped together not only into the toy-shops, but into the windows of the queer old curiosity shops, of which, in the ancient town which was Jeanne's home, there were many. And at last one day they told Marcelline what it was they were so anxious to find. She shook her head. There was no such toy in this country, she said, but she did not laugh at them, or seem to think them silly. And she advised them to be content with the prettiest balls they could get, which were of nice smooth buff-coloured leather, very well made, and neither too soft nor too hard. And in the sunlight, said Jeanne, they really had rather a shiny, goldy look.
For several days to come these balls were a great interest to the children. Early and late they were practising at them, and, with patience and perseverance, they before long arrived at a good deal of skill. Jeanne was the quicker in the first place, but Hugh was so patient that he soon equalled her, and then the interest grew still greater.
"I really think, Chéri," said Jeanne, one evening, when they had been playing for a good while, "I really think our balls are getting to be rather like fairy ones. Every day they go better and better."
"Perhaps it is our hands that are getting to be like fairy ones," said Hugh. "But it is growing too dark to see to play any more."
They were playing in the tapestry room, for Marcelline had told them they would have more space there, as it was large, and Hugh's little bed in the corner did not take up much room. It was getting dusk, for the days were not yet very long, though winter was almost over, and they had been playing a good while. As Hugh spoke he gave the last ball a final throw high up in the air, higher than usual, for though Jeanne sprang forward to catch it, she missed it somehow. It dropped to the ground behind her.
"O Chéri!" she cried, reproachfully, "that is the first time I have missed. Oh dear, where can the ball have gone to?"
She stooped down to look for it, and in a minute Hugh was down beside her. They felt all about, creeping on their hands and knees, but the missing ball was not to be so easily found.
"It must have got behind the tapestry," said Hugh, pulling back as he spoke a corner of the hangings close to where he and Jeanne were, which seemed loose. And at the same moment both children gave a little cry of astonishment. Instead of the bare wall which they expected to see, or to feel rather, behind the tapestry, a flight of steps met their view – a rather narrow flight of steps running straight upwards, without twisting or turning, and lighted from above by a curious hanging lamp, hanging by long chains from a roof high up, which they could not see.
"Why, is this a new part of the house?" cried Hugh. "Jeanne, did you know there were stairs behind the tapestry?"
"IS THIS A NEW PART OF THE HOUSE?"
"No, of course not," said Jeanne. "It must be a part of our house, I suppose, but I never saw it before. Shall we go up, Chéri, and see where it takes us to? Perhaps it's another way to the white lady's turret, and she'll tell us another story."
"No," said Hugh, "I don't believe it leads to her turret, and I don't think we could find our way there again. She seemed to mean we could never go again, I think. But we may as well go up this stair, and see what we do find, Jeanne."
And just at that moment a funny thing happened. They heard a little noise, and looking up, there – hopping down the stair before them, step by step, as if some one had started it from the top, came the lost ball, or what the children thought the lost ball, for with an exclamation Hugh darted forward to pick it up, and held it out to Jeanne. But Jeanne looked at it with astonishment.
"Why, Chéri," she cried, "it's turned into gold."
So it was, or at least into something which looked just like it.
"Chéri," Jeanne went on, her eyes dancing with excitement, "I do believe this is another way into Fairyland, or into some other queer place like what we've seen. Come on, quick."
The children seized hold of each other's hands, and hurried up the stair. The steps were easier to mount than those of the corkscrew staircase up to the white lady's turret, and very soon the children found themselves at the top of the first flight. There, looking upwards, they could see the roof. It was a sort of cupola; the chains from which the lamps hung were fastened to the centre, but the rest of the roof was of glass, and through it the children saw the sky, already quite dark, and with innumerable stars dotting its surface.
"Come on, Chéri," said Jeanne; "I believe this stair leads out on to the roof of the house."
So it did. A door at the top opened as they ran up the last steps, and a familiar figure stepped out.
"Dudu!" exclaimed Jeanne, in a tone of some disappointment.
"Did you not expect to see me?" said the raven. "Why, I thought it would amuse you to come up here and see the stars."
"So it will," said Hugh, anxious to make up for Jeanne's abruptness. "But, you see, we thought – at least we hoped – we should find some new adventures up here, especially when the ball hopped down the stairs, all gold."
"What did you expect?" said Dudu, cocking his head. "Fairies, I suppose, or enchanted princesses, or something of that kind. What creatures children are for wonders, to be sure."
"Now, Dudu," said Jeanne, "you needn't talk that way. Whether we're fond of wonders or not, anyhow it's you that's given us them to be fond of. It was you that sent us to the frogs' country, and all that, and it was you that took us to hear the white lady's story. So you're not to laugh at us, and you must find us some more adventures, now you've brought us up here."
"Adventures don't grow on every tree, Mademoiselle Jeanne," remarked Dudu.
"Well, Dudus don't either," replied Jeanne; "but as we've got you, you see, it all depends on you to get us the adventures. I know you can, if you like."
Dudu shook his head.
"No," he said, "there are many things I can't do. But come out on to the roof, we can talk there just as well."
He just turned towards the door by which he had entered, and it opened of itself. He hopped through, and the children followed him. They found themselves, as Dudu had said, on the roof of the house, of a part of the house, that is to say. It seemed more like the roof of a little tower or turret.
Hugh and Jeanne stood for a moment or two in silence, looking up at the brilliant show of stars overhead. It was not cold, the air seemed peculiarly fresh and sweet, as if it were purer and finer than that lower down.
"It's rather nice up here, eh?" said Dudu.
"Yes, very," replied Hugh. "We're very much obliged to you for bringing us up here. Aren't we, Jeanne?"
"Yes," said Jeanne, "not counting fairies and adventures that's to say, it's very nice up here."
"I often come up here at night," said Dudu. "I wonder how many thousand times I've been up here."
"Are you so very old, Dudu?" said Jeanne, "as old as the white lady?"
"I daresay," said Dudu, vaguely – he seemed to be thinking to himself. "Yes," he continued, cocking his head on one side, "I suppose I am what you would call very old, though the white lady would consider me quite a baby. Yes, I've seen queer things in my time."
"What? " said the children both together, eagerly, "oh, do tell us some of them. If you would tell us a story, Dudu, it would be as nice as an adventure."
"Stories," said Dudu, "are hardly in my line. I might tell you a little of some things I've seen, but I don't know that they would interest you."
"Oh yes! oh yes!" cried the children, "of course they would. And it's so nice and warm up here, Dudu – much warmer than in the house."
"Sit down, then," said Dudu, "here, in this corner. You can lean against the parapet," – for a low wall ran round the roof – "and look at the stars while you listen to me. Well – one day, a good long while ago you would consider it, no doubt – "
"Was it a hundred years ago?" interrupted Jeanne.
"About that, I daresay," said the raven carelessly. "I cannot be quite exact to twenty or thirty years, or so. Well, one day – it was a very hot day, I remember, and I had come up here for a little change of air – I was standing on the edge of the parapet watching our two young ladies who were walking up and down the terrace path down there, and thinking how nice they looked in their white dresses and blue sashes tied close up under their arms, like the picture of your great-grandmother as a young girl, in the great salon, Mademoiselle Jeanne."
"Oh yes, I know it," said Jeanne. "She has a nice face, but I don't think her dress is at all pretty, Dudu."
"And I don't suppose your great-grandmother would think yours at all pretty, either, Mademoiselle Jeanne," said Dudu, with the queer sort of croak which he used for a laugh. "It is one of the things that has amazed me very much in my observations – the strange fancies the human race has about clothes. Of course you are not so fortunate as we are in having them ready-made, but still I cannot understand why you don't do the best you can – adopt a pattern and keep to it always. It would be the next best thing to having feathers, I should say."
"I don't think so," said Jeanne. "It would be very stupid every morning when you got up, and every time you were going out, or friends coming to see you, or anything like that – it would be very stupid never to have to think, 'What shall I put on?' or to plan what colours would look nice together. There would hardly be any use in having shops or dressmakers, or anything. And certainly, Monsieur Dudu, I wouldn't choose to be dressed like you, never anything but black – as if one were always going to a funeral."
"It is all a matter of taste, Mademoiselle," replied Dudu, so amiably that Hugh wondered more and more at his politeness to Jeanne, who was certainly not very civil to him. "For my part, I confess I have always had a great fancy for white – the force of contrast, I suppose – and this brings me back to telling you how very nice your great-grandmother and her sister looked that day walking up and down the terrace path in their white dresses."
"My great-grandmother!" exclaimed Jeanne. "Why, you said 'our young ladies.'"
"So they were our young ladies," replied Dudu. "Even though one was your great-grandmother, Mademoiselle, and not yours only but Monsieur Chéri's too, and the other, of course, your great-grandaunt. There have been many 'our young ladies' that I can remember in this house, which has so long been the home of one family, and my home always. In three or four hundred years one sees a good deal. Ah yes! Well, as I was saying, I was standing on the edge of the parapet looking over at the young ladies, and admiring them and the sunshine and the flowers in the garden all at once, when I suddenly heard a window open. It was not one of the windows of our house. I have very quick ears, and I knew that in an instant, so I looked about to see what window it was. In those days there were not quite so many houses behind our garden as there are now. Your great-great-grandfather sold some of the land about that time, and then houses were built, but just then there were only two or three that overlooked one side of the garden. One of them was a large high house, which was let in flats to various families, often visitors to the town, or strangers who had come for a short time for the education of their children, or some other reason. It was not long before I discovered that the window I had heard open was in this house. It was one on the second story, looking on to a little balcony which at one end was not very high above the terrace walk. I watched to see who had opened the window, and in a few moments I saw peeping out half timidly the pretty fair face of a little girl. Quite a little girl she was, not much older than you, Mademoiselle Jeanne, but not like you, for she had light hair and soft blue eyes, and a fair face like Monsieur Chéri. She was a little English girl. She peeped out, and then, seeing that no one was observing her, she came quietly on to the balcony, and, creeping down into a corner where she could scarcely be seen, she sat watching our two pretty young ladies with all her eyes. No wonder, I thought; they were very pretty young ladies, and it was nice to see them together, walking up and down with arms intertwined, and talking eagerly, their talk sometimes interrupted by merry bursts of soft girlish laughter. And all the time the lonely little creature on the balcony sat and watched them longingly, her little pale face pressed against the bars, her plain black dress almost hiding her from notice.
"'How happy they look, those pretty young ladies,' the lonely little girl said to herself. 'How happy I should be if I had a sister, for I have no one to talk to, no one to kiss me and play with me, and if ever I say I am sad my aunt is angry. O mother! why did you go away and leave me?'"
"Could you hear all that from up here on the roof?" said Jeanne. "Dear me, Dudu, you must have good ears."
"Of course I have; I told you so, Mademoiselle," said Dudu drily. "I had better ears than your great-grandmother and her sister, for they heard nothing, not even when the poor little girl took courage to push her face farther forward between the railings, and to say very softly and timidly,
"'Mesdemoiselles, Mesdemoiselles, might I come and walk with you? I am so tired of being here all alone.'
"They did not hear her. They were talking too busily about the fête of their mother, I think, which was to be in a few days, and of what they were to prepare for her. And the poor little girl sat up there for more than an hour watching them with longing eyes, but not daring to call out more loudly. It made me quite melancholy to see her, and when at last our young ladies went in, and she had to give up hopes of gaining their attention, it made me more melancholy still, she looked so disappointed, and her eyes were full of tears; and I felt quite upset about her, and kept turning over in my head what I could do to make her happier. I thought about it for some time, and at last I decided that the first thing to do was to find out more about the little stranger and the cause of her grief. For this purpose I stationed myself the next morning just below the window of the kitchen of her house, which, by hopping from the balcony, I was easily able to do, and by listening to the conversation of the servants I soon learned all I wanted to know. She was, as I had supposed, a little English girl. Her mother had died in Italy but a short time before, and she was now in the charge of her mother's aunt, an elderly and severe lady, who understood nothing about children, and took no pains to make poor little Charlotte happy. So it was a sad life for the child, whose father also was dead; and as from the talk of the servants I gathered that she was a good and gentle little girl, I felt more sorry for her than before; and as I hopped back on to the balcony I looked to see if she was again at the window. Yes, there she was, her face pressed against the glass, staring out in the direction of the terrace walk, watching, no doubt, to see if our young ladies were coming out again. I hopped in front of the window backwards and forwards two or three times to catch her attention, and a smile lit up her little pale face when she saw me.
"'Good day, Mr. Raven,' she said politely. 'Have you come to see me? It is very kind of you if you have, for I have nobody to play with. But, oh! if you could tell those pretty young ladies how I should like to walk about their garden with them, how pleased I should be.'
"I bowed to her in token of understanding what she said, but I was not sure that she noticed it, for she just went on chattering in her soft little voice.
"'Poor old raven,' she said. 'What a pity you can't speak, for if you could I might send a message by you to those pretty young ladies;' and though I walked slowly backwards and forwards on the balcony, and bowed most politely each time I passed her, yet she did not seem to understand."
"Why didn't you speak?" interrupted Jeanne. "You can speak quite well to Chéri and me. Had you not learned to speak at that time, Dudu?"
The raven hemmed and hawed and cleared his throat.
"It is not to the point, Mademoiselle," he said, "to enter into all these explanations. If you would have the goodness to let me continue my reminiscences without interrupting me, I should really be obliged. I warned you I had not any amusing stories to tell, merely recollections of scenes in my past life. If you would prefer my leaving off, you have only to say so."
"Oh no, no. Please go on," exclaimed Jeanne, seeing that the raven was really ruffled. "I think it's very interesting, and I'll promise not to interrupt you any more."
"Well," continued Dudu, "I bowed, as I told you, very politely two or three times, and at last I hopped away, still revolving in my mind how I could serve the poor little girl. That afternoon our young ladies came again on to the terrace, but they did not stay long, and the little girl was not to be seen on the balcony, though I daresay she was peering out through the window to see as far as she could. And the next day and the day after were very rainy, so there was nothing I could do. But after that again there came a very fine day – a beautiful sunny day it was, I remember it well – and our young ladies came out like the flowers and the birds to enjoy it. Out, too, came the forlorn little black figure, hiding itself as before behind the railings of the balcony, but looking with longing eyes at the garden below, which to her must have seemed a kind of Paradise. I directed my steps to the terrace, and walked slowly in front of the young ladies, slowly and solemnly straight in front of them, for I wanted to attract their attention.
"'How particularly solemn Dudu looks to-day,' said one of them to the other.
"'Yes,' she replied, 'quite as if he had something on his mind. Have you been doing anything naughty, Dudu?"
"I turned and looked at her reproachfully. I was not offended, I knew she was only joking, my character stood far above any imputation; but still, there are subjects on which jokes are better avoided, and there was a cousin of mine whose honesty, I am sorry to say, had been more than once suspected; altogether, I hardly thought the remark in good taste, and Mademoiselle Eliane was not slow to perceive it.
"'Poor old Dudu,' she cried; 'have I hurt your feelings? But tell me what are you looking so solemn about?'
"I looked at her again, and then, sure that she and her sister were both watching me with attention, I sprang up the side of the wall next the little stranger's house, hopped over the balcony railings, and finding, as I expected, my little friend crouched down in the corner, I gave a loud, sharp croak, as if something were the matter. Charlotte started up in a fright, and the young ladies, watching me curiously, for the first time observed her little figure.
"'Why, Dudu has a friend up there!' exclaimed Mademoiselle Jeanne – your great-grandmother, my dears. 'Mademoiselle,' she called out to the little girl, whose small black figure did not look very much bigger than mine as we stood up there side by side; 'Mademoiselle, do not be frightened of our old raven. He will not hurt you.'
"'I am not frightened, thank you,' said the little girl's gentle voice. 'He has been to see me before. I was only startled when he made that funny noise. But O Mesdemoiselles,' she continued, clasping her hands in entreaty, 'you do not know how I should like to come down into your garden and play with you, or at least,' as she suddenly recollected that such tall young ladies were rather past the age for mere 'playing,' 'walk about and talk with you. I have watched you so many days, and I am so lonely. But I did not like to speak to you unless you spoke to me.'
"'We never saw you,' said Mademoiselle Eliane. 'We should not have seen you now but for the funny way Dudu has been going on, as if he wanted to introduce us to each other.'
"I felt quite proud when Mademoiselle Eliane said that. It has always been a gratification to me to find myself understood. And I felt still prouder when the little girl replied, looking at me gratefully,
"'How nice of him! He must have understood what I said to him in fun the other day. But O Mesdemoiselles,' she went on, 'may I come down to you?"
"'How can you get down?' said Mademoiselle Jeanne; 'and are you sure your mother would not mind?'
"'I have no mother,' said the little girl sadly, 'and my aunt would not mind, I know. She never minds what I do, if I don't make a noise.'
"'But how can you get down?' repeated Mademoiselle Jeanne, 'unless Dudu can take you on his back and fly down with you!'
"'Oh, I can easily get down,' said the little girl; 'I have often planned it. I can climb over the railings at this end – look, there is a jutting-out ledge that I can put my foot on. Then I can stand a minute outside and jump – if you will come close to, so that I shall not roll down the terrace bank.'
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