Holiday Romance. Чарльз Диккенс
and by a practised eye, these might have been identified as the forms of the pirate-colonel with his bride, and of the day before yesterday’s gallant prisoner with his bride.
On the beauteous faces of the Nymphs dejection sat enthroned. All four reclined under the willow for some minutes without speaking, till at length the bride of the colonel poutingly observed, ‘It’s of no use pretending any more, and we had better give it up.’
‘Hah!’ exclaimed the pirate. ‘Pretending?’
‘Don’t go on like that; you worry me,’ returned his bride.
The lovely bride of Tinkling echoed the incredible declaration. The two warriors exchanged stony glances.
‘If,’ said the bride of the pirate-colonel, ‘grown-up people WON’T do what they ought to do, and WILL put us out, what comes of our pretending?’
‘We only get into scrapes,’ said the bride of Tinkling.
‘You know very well,’ pursued the colonel’s bride, ‘that Miss Drowvey wouldn’t fall. You complained of it yourself. And you know how disgracefully the court-martial ended. As to our marriage; would my people acknowledge it at home?’
‘Or would my people acknowledge ours?’ said the bride of Tinkling.
Again the two warriors exchanged stony glances.
‘If you knocked at the door and claimed me, after you were told to go away,’ said the colonel’s bride, ‘you would only have your hair pulled, or your ears, or your nose.’
‘If you persisted in ringing at the bell and claiming me,’ said the bride of Tinkling to that gentleman, ‘you would have things dropped on your head from the window over the handle, or you would be played upon by the garden-engine.’
‘And at your own homes,’ resumed the bride of the colonel, ‘it would be just as bad. You would be sent to bed, or something equally undignified. Again, how would you support us?’
The pirate-colonel replied in a courageous voice, ‘By rapine!’ But his bride retorted, ‘Suppose the grown-up people wouldn’t be rapined?’ ‘Then,’ said the colonel, ‘they should pay the penalty in blood.’ – ‘But suppose they should object,’ retorted his bride, ‘and wouldn’t pay the penalty in blood or anything else?’
A mournful silence ensued.
‘Then do you no longer love me, Alice?’ asked the colonel.
‘Redforth! I am ever thine,’ returned his bride.
‘Then do you no longer love me, Nettie?’ asked the present writer.
‘Tinkling! I am ever thine,’ returned my bride.
We all four embraced. Let me not be misunderstood by the giddy. The colonel embraced his own bride, and I embraced mine. But two times two make four.
‘Nettie and I,’ said Alice mournfully, ‘have been considering our position. The grown-up people are too strong for us. They make us ridiculous. Besides, they have changed the times. William Tinkling’s baby brother was christened yesterday. What took place? Was any king present? Answer, William.’
I said No, unless disguised as Great-uncle Chopper.
‘Any queen?’
There had been no queen that I knew of at our house. There might have been one in the kitchen: but I didn’t think so, or the servants would have mentioned it.
‘Any fairies?’
None that were visible.
‘We had an idea among us, I think,’ said Alice, with a melancholy smile, ‘we four, that Miss Grimmer would prove to be the wicked fairy, and would come in at the christening with her crutch-stick, and give the child a bad gift. Was there anything of that sort? Answer, William.’
I said that ma had said afterwards (and so she had), that Great-uncle Chopper’s gift was a shabby one; but she hadn’t said a bad one. She had called it shabby, electrotyped, second-hand, and below his income.
‘It must be the grown-up people who have changed all this,’ said Alice. ‘We couldn’t have changed it, if we had been so inclined, and we never should have been. Or perhaps Miss Grimmer is a wicked fairy after all, and won’t act up to it because the grown-up people have persuaded her not to. Either way, they would make us ridiculous if we told them what we expected.’
‘Tyrants!’ muttered the pirate-colonel.
‘Nay, my Redforth,’ said Alice, ‘say not so. Call not names, my Redforth, or they will apply to pa.’
‘Let ’em,’ said the colonel. ‘I do not care. Who’s he?’
Tinkling here undertook the perilous task of remonstrating with his lawless friend, who consented to withdraw the moody expressions above quoted.
‘What remains for us to do?’ Alice went on in her mild, wise way. ‘We must educate, we must pretend in a new manner, we must wait.’
The colonel clenched his teeth, – four out in front, and a piece of another, and he had been twice dragged to the door of a dentist-despot, but had escaped from his guards. ‘How educate? How pretend in a new manner? How wait?’
‘Educate the grown-up people,’ replied Alice. ‘We part to-night. Yes, Redforth,’ – for the colonel tucked up his cuffs, – ‘part to-night! Let us in these next holidays, now going to begin, throw our thoughts into something educational for the grown-up people, hinting to them how things ought to be. Let us veil our meaning under a mask of romance; you, I, and Nettie. William Tinkling being the plainest and quickest writer, shall copy out. Is it agreed?’
The colonel answered sulkily, ‘I don’t mind.’ He then asked, ‘How about pretending?’
‘We will pretend,’ said Alice, ‘that we are children; not that we are those grown-up people who won’t help us out as they ought, and who understand us so badly.’
The colonel, still much dissatisfied, growled, ‘How about waiting?’
‘We will wait,’ answered little Alice, taking Nettie’s hand in hers, and looking up to the sky, ‘we will wait – ever constant and true – till the times have got so changed as that everything helps us out, and nothing makes us ridiculous, and the fairies have come back. We will wait – ever constant and true – till we are eighty, ninety, or one hundred. And then the fairies will send us children, and we will help them out, poor pretty little creatures, if they pretend ever so much.’
‘So we will, dear,’ said Nettie Ashford, taking her round the waist with both arms and kissing her. ‘And now if my husband will go and buy some cherries for us, I have got some money.’
In the friendliest manner I invited the colonel to go with me; but he so far forgot himself as to acknowledge the invitation by kicking out behind, and then lying down on his stomach on the grass, pulling it up and chewing it. When I came back, however, Alice had nearly brought him out of his vexation, and was soothing him by telling him how soon we should all be ninety.
As we sat under the willow-tree and ate the cherries (fair, for Alice shared them out), we played at being ninety. Nettie complained that she had a bone in her old back, and it made her hobble; and Alice sang a song in an old woman’s way, but it was very pretty, and we were all merry. At least, I don’t know about merry exactly, but all comfortable.
There was a most tremendous lot of cherries; and Alice always had with her some neat little bag or box or case, to hold things. In it that night was a tiny wine-glass. So Alice and Nettie said they would make some cherry-wine to drink our love at parting.
Each of us had a glassful, and it was delicious; and each of us drank the toast, ‘Our love at parting.’ The colonel drank his wine last; and it got into my head directly that it got into his directly. Anyhow, his eyes rolled immediately after he had turned the glass upside down; and he took me on one side and proposed in a hoarse whisper, that we should ‘Cut ‘em out still.’
‘How did he mean?’ I asked my lawless friend.
‘Cut