A Patriotic Schoolgirl (WWI Centenary Series). Angela Brazil
that fell in curls over his shoulders like a girl’s. He was peering out from amidst the host of packages and trying to look back along the road, and evidently arguing some point with the utmost persistence. The untidy servant girl who wheeled the carriage had stopped, and gave a heated reply.
“It’s no use, I tell you! Goodness knows where you may have dropped it, and if you think I’m going to traipse back you’re much mistaken. We’re late as it is, and a pretty to-do there’ll be when I get in. It’s your own fault for not taking better care of it.”
“Have you lost anything?” enquired Elaine, as the girls entered the road in the midst of the quarrel.
“It’s his book,” answered the servant. “He’s dropped it out of the pram somewhere on the way from Whitecliffe; but I can’t go back for it, it’s too far, and we’ve got to be getting home.”
“What kind of a book was it?” asked Marjorie.
“Fairy tales. Have you found it?” said the child eagerly. “All about Rumpelstiltzkin and ‘The Goose Girl’ and ‘The Seven Princesses’.”
“We haven’t found it, but we’ll look for it on our way back. Have you any idea where you dropped it?”
The little boy shook his head.
“I was reading it in the town while Lizzie went inside the shops. Then I forgot about it till just now. Oh, I must know what happened when the Prince went to see the old witch!”
His brown eyes were full of tears and the corners of the pretty mouth twitched.
“He’s such a child for reading! At it all day long!” explained the servant. “He thinks as much of an old book as some of us would of golden sovereigns. Well, we must be getting on, Eric. I can’t stop.”
“Look here!” said Dona. “We’ll hunt for the book on our way back to Whitecliffe. If we find it we’ll meet you here to-day fortnight at the same time and give it to you.”
“And suppose you don’t find it?” quavered the little boy anxiously.
“I think the fairies will bring it to us somehow. You come here to-day fortnight and see. Cheer oh! Don’t cry!”
“He wants his tea,” said the servant. “Hold on to those parcels, Eric, or we shall be dropping something else.”
The little boy put his arms round several lightly-balanced packages, and tried to wave a good-bye to the girls as his attendant wheeled him away.
“Poor wee chap! I wonder what’s the matter with him?” said Elaine, when the long perambulator had turned the corner. “And I wonder where he can possibly be going? There are no houses that way—only a wretched little village with a few cottages.”
“I can’t place him at all,” replied Marjorie. “He’s not a poor person’s child, and he’s not exactly a gentleman’s. The carriage was very shabby, with such an old rug; and the girl wasn’t tidy enough for a nurse, she looked like a general slavey. Dona, I don’t believe you’ll find that book.”
“I don’t suppose I shall,” returned Dona; “but I have Grimm’s Fairy Tales at home, and I thought I’d write to Mother and ask her to send it to Auntie’s for me, then I could take it to him next exeat.”
“Oh, good! What a splendid idea!”
Though the girls kept a careful look-out along the road they came across no fairy-tale volume. Either someone else had picked it up, or it had perhaps been dropped in the street at Whitecliffe. Dona wrote home accordingly, and received the reply that her mother would post the book to “The Tamarisks” in the course of a few days. The sisters watched the weather anxiously when their fortnightly exeat came round. They were fascinated with little Eric, and wanted to see him again. They could not forget his pale, wistful face among the parcels in the long perambulator. Luckily their holiday afternoon was fine, so they were allowed to go to their aunt’s under the escort of two prefects. They found Elaine ready to start, and much interested in the errand.
“The book came a week ago,” she informed Dona. “I expect your young man will be waiting at the tryst.”
“He’s not due till half-past four—if he keeps the appointment exactly,” laughed Dona; “but I’ve brought a basket to-day, so let’s go now to the cove and get specimens while we’re waiting.”
If the girls were early at the meeting-place the little boy was earlier still. The long perambulator was standing by the roadside when they reached the path to the cove. Lizzie, the servant girl, greeted them with enthusiasm.
“Why, here you are!” she cried. “I never expected you’d come, and I told Eric so. I said it wasn’t in reason you’d remember, and he’d only be disappointed. But he’s thought of nothing else all this fortnight. He’s been ill again, and he shouldn’t really be out to-day, because the pram jolts him; but I’ve got to go to Whitecliffe, and he worried so to come that his ma said: ‘Best put on his things and take him; he’ll cry himself sick if he’s left’.”
The little pale face was whiter even than before, there were large dark rings round the brown eyes, and the golden hair curled limply to-day. Eric did not speak, but he looked with a world of wistfulness at the parcel in Dona’s hand.
“I couldn’t find your book, but I’ve brought you mine instead, and I expect it’s just the same,” explained Dona, untying the string.
A flush of rose pink spread over Eric’s cheeks, the frail little hands trembled as he fingered his treasure.
“It’s nicer than mine! It’s got coloured pictures!” he gasped.
“If it jolts him to be wheeled about to-day,” said Elaine to the servant girl, “would you like to leave him here with us while you go into Whitecliffe? We’d take the greatest care of him.”
“Why, I’d be only too glad. I can tell you it’s no joke wheeling that pram up the hills. Will you stay here, Eric, with the young ladies till I come back?”
Eric nodded gravely. He was busy examining the illustrations in his new book. The girls wheeled him to a sheltered place out of the wind, and set to work to entertain him. He was perfectly willing to make friends.
“I’ve got names for you all,” he said shyly. “I made them up while I was in bed. You,” pointing to Elaine, “are Princess Goldilocks; and you,” with a finger at Marjorie and Dona, “are two fairies, Bluebell and Silverstar. No, I don’t want to know your real names; I like make-up ones better. We always play fairies when Titania comes to see me.”
“Who’s Titania?”
“She’s my auntie. She’s the very loveliest person in all the world. There’s no one like her. We have such fun, and I forget my leg hurts. Shall we play fairies now?”
“If you’ll show us how,” said the girls.
It was a very long time before Lizzie, well laden with parcels, returned from Whitecliffe, and the self-constituted nurses had plenty of time to make Eric’s acquaintance. They found him a charming little fellow, full of quaint fancies and a delicate humour. His chatter amused them immensely, yet there was an element of pathos through it all; he looked so frail and delicate, like a fairy changeling, or some being of another world. They wondered if he would ever be able to run about like other children.
“Good-bye!” he said, when Lizzie, full of apologies and thanks, resumed her charge. “Come again some time and play with me! I’m going home now in my Cinderella coach to my Enchanted Palace. Take care of giants on your way back. And don’t talk to witches. I won’t forget you.”
“He’s hugging his book,” said Marjorie, as the girls stood waving a farewell. “Isn’t he just too precious for words?”
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever seen!” agreed Dona.
“Poor little chap! I wonder if he’ll ever grow up,” said Elaine