Jim

JJBELL

Wee

Oh? Christina! Etc.

JIM

JIM

BY

J J BELL

AUTHOR OF
1 WEE MACGREGOR," " OHl CHRISTINA! ", &C., &C.

HODDER & STOUGHTON

NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, ign, BY
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

TO

JIM'S MOTHER

2125964

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I HE APPROACHES THE OLDEST INHABITANT . I

II MATTERS OF FACT AND FANCY l6

III A FIRST VENTURE IN FICTION .... 30

IV IN THE MAGIC WOOD 43

V A RAINY DAY 57

VI THE FIRST SITTING 69

VII MRS. SAMMY SAVES THE SITUATION ... 79

VIII JIM TELLS A TALE 93

IX " THE PORTRAIT IS FINISHED " . IO4

X THE DEPARTURE OF DAISY Il6

XI MR. GIRDWOOD WINS A PRIZE 127

XII UNTIL THE SPRING 14!

HE APPROACHES THE OLDEST INHABITANT

MR. GIRDWOOD, the reputed oldest inhabitant of
Clure Bay, sat on the narrow bench against the
front of his cottage. The cottage was, as the poet
said, a thatched one, but the outside, though a
hundred years old, would have struck none but the
most jaundiced eye as mean. In the August sun-
shine the lime-washed wall was well-nigh dazzling,
and was only saved from being monotonously
white by the crimson ramblers on either side of the
doorway. The door itself, like the frames of the
two little windows, had been recently painted a
rather vivid green; and altogether the place wore a
joyous aspect.

The same cannot be said of the owner, whose
facial expression and rigidity of body betokened
mental strain of some sort. Yet, but for the rigid-
ity, the pose would have been natural enough, Mr.
Girdwood's back in its Sabbath coat was, perhaps,
a trifle straighter than usual, but his legs, in
their Sabbath trousers, were quite in their every-
day resting attitude — that is to say, the calves

Jim

made right-angles with the thighs, and the feet, in
their Sabbath boots, were planted flat on the
ground, about twelve inches apart. A gnarled,
brown hand covered each knee. From his moleskin
waistcoat depended a heavy silver chain, and under
his grey and somewhat untidy beard one might have
gained a glimpse of white linen. The only article
of raiment not pertaining to the Sabbath was the
flat bonnet resting on the shaggy head ; and its pres-
ence instead of that of an ancient silk hat may be
explained by saying that Mr. Girdwood drew the
line at wearing the latter on a purely secular occa-
sion like the present.

Half-an-hour had passed since the old man had
taken his position on the bench. His collar was
irritating his neck, and he was assailed by a crav-
ing for a smoke. It was warm, too, and he was
inclined to drowsiness. Over the strip of garden
in front of him, gay with pansies and calceolarias,
sweet with mignonette, bees laboured and butter-
flies sported ; yet though he loved every inch of the
soil, he never once let his eyes fall to it. He could
not prevent them from blinking, and he had a de-
sire to rub them ; but he could — and did — keep
them fixed on a spot in the meadow, some fifty
yards away.

The green door was opened, and a woman stood
pn the snowy step. She looked very old, yet she

He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 3

was but little bent, and she impressed one as being
almost literally wiry.

" Samuel/' she said, " yer denner's ready."

Mr. Girdwood paid no attention.

" Samuel, yer denner's ready."

Mr. Girdwood's clasp on his knees tightened.
Otherwise he made no movement. But in an angry
whisper he said —

" Away, woman, away ! Ye'll spile the pictur ! "

Upon a hillock in the meadow James Nevis was
busy at his easel. On his right rose a wooded
hill; on his left, under sheer cliffs, lay the sea,
stretching away into the summer haze that con-
cealed the islands of the firth. In front of him,
and a furlong beyond the white cottage, rose the
ancient, ruined castle, perched on the verge of a
precipice overhanging the little harbour and fishing
village. He wrought assiduously on the large can-
vas, for there were certain impressions he desired
to secure ere the light changed.

On the grass, close by, sat his son, a fair-haired
little boy in white jersey and shorts and a big man-
o'-war hat. He, too, was painting, but evidently
tiring of his occupation.

" Your sea isn't nearly so blue as mine, Doody,"
he remarked.

" Not nearly, Jim Crow," Nevis replied absently.

Jim

" But you're not looking at mine. Look at it ! "

Nevis obeyed. " Yes ; yours is much bluer.
Aren't you going to put a boat on it? "

" I don't see any boat."

" Oh, beg pardon."

" This is a real picture — an artist picture," the
boy explained, tearing it from the sixpenny block.

" Rather ! Are you going to do another ? The
castle?"

A head-shake was the reply. " You don't get
such good paint when you don't put the brush in
your mouth. I wish I had oil paints, Doody."

"You'll get them some day. Are you hungry
now ? "

Jim glanced at the basket with the napkin of
sandwiches and the pair of Thermos flasks.

" No," he said. He was not going to be hungry
before his father. " I suspose," he went on, " you
are not quite nearly finished."

" Well, you see, Jim Crow, I want to catch yon
little bit of blue at the harbour before the sun goes
off it. You don't mind, do you? After I've got
that, we'll have a rest together "

" And you'll tell me another snake story? "

"Serpently!"

"Why do you say serpently for certainly,
Doody?"

" Don't you think it's rather funny? "

He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 5

Jim shook his head.

" Then I won't say it again. Now I must go
ahead. Do make a picture of the castle till I'm
ready."

" My water's done," said the boy. " 'Sides, I
don't think I'm in the vein to-day."

Nevis checked a laugh just in time.

" I think I'll go and look for puffballs till you're
ready," the boy went on, " and then "

" No, no ; we'll look for puffballs together later
on. They are too near the cliff."

" Well, I'll go and speak to the old doody," said
Jim, indicating Mr. Samuel Girdwood.

" Yes ; you may do that. His name is Sammy,
and he says he is the oldest person in this place.
So you must be polite. Ask him if he remembers
me. I don't suppose he does, for it's eight years
since I was here last. But I remember Sammy
(though I never heard his other name) quite
well."

" I don't remember him."

" You weren't here then."

" Why wasn't I here then? "

" You weren't born."

"Why wasn't I borned?"

" Well, you see, you were a treat in store, Jim
Crow."

"What's that?"

Jim

" Well, you and I have a treat in store just now.
When mother comes home from her long voy-
age "

" I wish she was home now, Doody."

" So do I, my son. But her home-coming is our
treat in store. You see?"

Jim nodded gravely. " I pifer " (prefer J " treats
out of the store, don't you ? " he said presently.

" Everybody does ; but sometimes we have got to
wait till the shop opens. But I say, old man, if
we go on talking like this, I'll miss that bit of
blue. Just give me five minutes, and then we'll
have grub."

" All right," said Jim agreeably, and strolled off
in the direction of the cottage. His mother had
been at some pains to bring him up with a sense
of respect for his elders in whatever walk of life,
and as he drew near the old man he gravely
touched the brim of his sailor hat.

Mr. Girdwood, however, paid no attention to the
salute.

It had been a kind world to Jim thus far, and
he was not easily abashed. Halting at the little
rickety gate in the low fence which bounded the
strip of garden, he said quite distinctly —

"How do you do, Mr. Sammy?" — and leaned
against the gate.

" Eh ? " said Mr. Girdwood, starting slightly.

He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 7

But he immediately recovered himself and his rigid
pose. Then he tried to speak without moving his
lips, but not being a ventriloquist the result was
not clear to the boy. " Stand aside, my lad. Ye'll
spile the pictur."

" What ? " Remembering his manners, the boy
added, " Beg pardon, Mr. Sammy."

" Stand aside, stand aside ! " Involuntarily the
old man made a gesture with his hand, which Jim
understood.

" I suspose your gate is too old and rotten," he
said pleasantly, and moved a step or two to the
right. " I could climb over the fence, if you like.
I came to see you, you know. Doody remembers
you, but I don't because I wasn't borned. So it
isn't my fault. But I'll remember you another
time, Mr. Sammy."

" H'm ! " muttered Mr. Girdwood.

"Couldn't you speak a little louder, please?"
Jim regarded the hairy, wrinkled, but by no means
forbidding, countenance with a friendly gaze, and
wondered if people lost their voices when they grew
very old. " I could climb over quite easily," he
said. " I wouldn't spoil your garden. It seems a
very nice garden, Mr. Sammy."

Mr. Girdwood noticed that the artist was light-
ing his pipe.

" Who was tellin' ye my name was Sammy ? " he

8 Jim

inquired, a little suspiciously but almost in his nat-
ural voice.

"Doody. Mine is Jim Crow."

"Eh?"

" Jim Crow. But when I go to school it will be
James Crowley Nevis."

" Folk should stick to the names they was bap-
tized wi'," said Mr. Gird wood, who objected to
" Sammy," though the " Mr." prefixed by the boy
had all but neutralised the annoyance on this occa-
sion. " I was baptized Samuel."

"Oh," remarked Jim, looking thoughtful.
" Haven't you got a middle name, Mr. Sammy Sam-
uel?"

"Tits, laddie! My name is Samuel Girdwood."

" But Doody said it was Sammy."

" Well, tell him 'tis Samuel."

Jim looked a trifle disappointed, but promised to
inform his father. " Doody," he went on, " said
you was the oldest doody in this place — but p'r'aps
you aren't."

"The oldest what?"

" Doody — I mean man. You see, when I was
little I used to call Daddy Doody ; and then I called
all men doodies, and I often still call Daddy Doody.
— He pifers it."

" Aw," said Mr. Girdwood doubtfully. Sud-

He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 9

denly he brightened. " But yer daddy's right about
me bein' the oldest man in Clure Bay — ay, he's
right! He's a wise man, yer daddy. An' I'm not
say in' I never was called Sammy."

Jim was gratified. " I could climb over quite
easily," he said.

Mr. Girdwood shook his head. " Ye would file
yer fine breeks. I'll let ye in at the gate another
time, but "

" Now ! " said Jim, eagerly.

There was no response. The old man was sitting
as stiffly as ever, his gaze on the artist who had
resumed work.

"Please!" said Jim.

" Away to yer daddy, my lad," Mr. Girdwood
muttered. " He would be vexed if ye spiled his
pictur."

Jim stared. " How could I spile Doody's pic-
ture?" he demanded at last.

" Tits, laddie ! Can ye not see I'm doin' my
best for to assist him? If ye speak to me, I canna
keep still; an' if I dinna keep still, he canna pent
my portrait. I — I'll be gled to see ye another
time." For an instant Mr. Girdwood's counte-
nance relaxed, but only to become more severe than
ever.

It took Jim a little while to realise the situation.

io Jim

When he did so he blurted out, " But my Doody
isn't painting your portrait, Mr. Sammy. He's
painting the castle and a bit of blue "

"What?"

" So you needn't sit still any more," said Jim
very kindly. Next moment he recoiled from the
fence as Mr. Girdwood, rumbling with wrath, rose
from the bench and tottered into the cottage.

A sort of fascination prevented the boy from at
once running back to his father, and ere it passed
he was being addressed by Miss Girdwood, who
came hurrying, with surprising agility, from the
cottage. At first, Jim took her to be an old witch,
and regarded her with interest, for he had not
been taught to be afraid any more than he had been
encouraged to be reckless. But as she had no
broomstick he decided regretfully that she was only
a " fun-lady." It should be mentioned, however,
that he forgot to touch his hat.

" Never heed him," she said gently, coming close
to the fence. " Did he frighten ye, dearie ? " As
the boy did not look alarmed, she continued, " I
seen ye an' heard ye from the window. Ye maun
try for to excuse Samuel for thinkin' yer fayther
was pentin* him. Ye see, Samuel's gettin'
old "

" Why did he make fun-noises and run away ? "
Jim asked.

He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant n

"Ah, well, ye see, dearie, he was disappinted-
like. He's been wantin' for many a year to get
hissel' pented in a fine pictur, an' when he heard
yer fayther was comin' to the Bay, nothin' would
please him but to get the house pented an' white-
washed, so as yer fayther would notice it. An'
when he seen you an' yer fayther comin' 'cross the
field this mornin', he got terrible excited, an' I had
an awfu' job to soothe him. An' when he seen yer
fayther settin' up his weasel "

" Easel," Jim mildly corrected. " A weasel's a
thing that goes pop, you know. Sometimes it's a
beast, too."

" So it is," she said agreeably. " I thought
penters called it a weasel. — But we're always learn-
in'. — So, when he seen yer fayther settin' it up,
he thought the time had come at long last, an'
nothin' would please him but to dress hissel' —
an' a terrible business it was to get on his Sabbath
things on a Wensday. It was worse'n a funeral.
But mind ye, dearie, I thought the time had come
mysel', for yer fayther was aye lookin' at the cot-
tage "

" It was the castle Doody was looking at, and the
little bit of "

" Well, well, it canna be helped. I'll jist ha' to
tell Samuel he would ha' been pented the day, if it
hadna been for the castel. An' ye'll excuse Sam-

12 Jim

uel, for he's gettin' old. Now I best gang an' get
him his denner. 'Twill maybe help him to get past
the disappintment." She stooped and plucked a
few carnations, which she handed shily to the
boy. " An' ye'll excuse him, dearie, for he's get-
tin' old."

" Yes, thank you," said Jim gravely, " I'll 'scuse
him," and remembered to touch his hat to her re-
treating figure.

He found his father ready for lunch and related
his experience at the cottage, though his report of
Miss Girdwood's remarks may not have been
altogether exact. " But I 'scused him," he said in
conclusion.

" Ah," said Nevis solemnly. " I'm sorry I can't
oblige old Sammy by painting his portrait," he
added.

"Why can't you?"

" Because, Jim Crow, we have come here to try
to make some pennies, and I can nearly always get
some pennies for my pictures of castles and things,
but not for pictures of old doodies."

" Why can't you get pennies for pictures of old
doodies? "

Nevis did his best to explain, without succeeding
in satisfying his son.

" I'll give you my savings," said the latter, at
last, " if you paint him."

He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 13

" Thanks, old man. But you must keep on sav-
ing up, and the next time mother goes on a voyage
we'll be able to afford to go with her."

" But mother won't be going another voyage."

" Not without us. And it would be fine to be
able to take her a voyage some day, wouldn't it ? "

There was a brief pause.

" I think I would like to hear the snake story
now/' said Jim, who could associate his mother with
nothing but home.

Later they spent an hour in hunting for the de-
sired puffballs, and about the same period in playing
at trains, Jim being an express engine and his
father anything from a passenger to a signal post.
Then they rested on the hillock whilst Nevis, pad
on knees, wrote a letter to his wife. He had not
finished when Jim suddenly announced his intention
of making another call on Mr. Samuel.

"Don't be long," said Nevis absently. "We
must be getting home for tea soon, you know."

"All right, Doody." And Jim marched off to
the cottage with a confident look on his young coun-
tenance. Under his arm he carried his sketching-
block, in his hand his little paint box.

He opened the rickety gate very carefully, and
without hesitation advanced to the green door and
knocked.

14

It was opened by Miss Girdwood, whose withered
face seemed to grow a trifle younger at the sight
of him.

" Ye've come back, dearie," she said kindly.
" But I doubt Samuel -- "

" I've come to paint his portrait," said Jim Crow,
adding, " 'cept the whiskers."

Whereupon Miss Girdwood put her hand to her
mouth and quaked.

" Oh, dearie, dearie ! " she gasped, controlling
herself. "Will ye come in an' see Samuel?" she
asked gently. " He's broodin' yet, but surely this'll
mak' him better."

Jim Crow expressed his entire readiness to enter,
and gave her his free hand.

In the kitchen, by the old-fashioned fire-place
which shone with much brass, sat Mr. Girdwood in
his shirt sleeves. He was indeed brooding, but his
expression softened at the sight of his visitor. The
laddie was not to blame anyway.

" Samuel," said the old woman, half humorously,
half appealingly, " the young gentleman's for pentin'
yer portrait."

" 'Cept the whiskers," put in Jim. " 'Cause, you
see, I don't know how to paint whiskers." Then
as if struck by a happy thought — " P'r'aps I'll get
Doody to paint them on afterwards."

The frown that had come at the boy's very per-

He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 15

sonal reference faded from the old man's face. He
emitted a series of deep chuckles. He rose and held
out his hand.

" Well, well ! " he said ; and again, " well, well !
Did ye ever hear the like, Elizabeth ? Where's yon
wee poke o' peppermints ? "

And, after all, Jim Crow included the whiskers in
the likeness, and Mr. Samuel made no objections
whatever to their being a sort of pink.

MATTERS OF FACT AND FANCY

IT took Jim Crow just three days to feel quite at
home with the oldest inhabitant of Clure Bay. That
Mr. Samuel Girdwood did not within the same
period become so completely at his ease in his inter-
course with the little boy was doubtless due to the
natural caution of old age and a lack of experience
in the ways of " genteel " childhood. For one
thing, Samuel was not accustomed to having hats
touched to him ; in fact, he could not remember such
an event happening prior to Jim's first approach ;
and while the compliment was peculiarly sweet to
his soul, he had frequent qualms of doubt as to its
sincerity. The village children, as he had long ago
realised, failed to perceive in him a person of any
special importance — even on the Sabbath; their
grins of greeting, when vouchsafed to him, were not
invariably respectful, and it was not a full year since
two youngsters, whom he had reprimanded for
fighting, had united to cast stale fish at him. It
was fortunate for the old man's comfort of mind
that the adult members of the small community had
always allowed him to believe that they regarded

16

Matters of Fact and Fancy 17

him as a sort of oracle. Indirectly this may have
helped him to combat his suspicions of the boy, who,
he argued secretly, was at least old-fashioned
enough to be accepted seriously. As a matter of
fact, Jim Crow at this time was far less old-fash-
ioned than imaginative. He had already taken Mr.
Girdwood beyond his intellectual depth on several
occasions, though Mr. Girdwood had been too puz-
zled to be resentful.

They were sitting on the bench against the front
of the cottage. Miss Girdwood had scrubbed the
bench that morning, lest the " young gentleman "
should take it into his head to pay a visit. Now
she lingered in the doorway, watching the twain.
There had been a longish silence, during which
Air. Girdwood had methodically rilled his pipe
with some tobacco presented to him by the boy's
father.

" 'Tis good tobacco," he remarked at last.

Jim Crow did not appear to have heard. " Mr.
Sammy," he said abruptly, forgetting, as he fre-
quently did, the more formal name, " where are all
your children ? "

"Eh?"

Jim suddenly remembered that it was not always
polite to ask questions, so he sought the informa-
tion desired in a slightly less direct fashion.

1 8 Jim

" I suspose you have a great many children, Mr.
Sammy," he said.

" Children ! " cried Mr. Girdwood ; " bless ycr
heart, lad, I've been a single man all my life."

" Oh," said the boy, not comprehending. " I sus-
pose you'll be having some later on. Children are
very nice to have — when they're not too young."

Mr. Girdwood gaped, whilst his aged sister,
stifling a cackle, fled indoors to listen, hand over
mouth, at the open kitchen window.

" I've got heaps of children," the boy continued
unconcernedly. " I've got two f roggies "

"What?"

" Two froggies and a big humpty and a rabbity-
pabbity and a teddy and a ephelant and three tew-
kens and two mices. One of the froggies has lost

his legs Uncle Ritchie said he was the great

chieftain of the puddock race — and the oldest tew-
ken is busted "

" What's all this, what's all this? " Mr. Girdwood
feebly demanded.

"Of course they're just pretend children," Jim
frankly admitted. " I 'spect you would pifer real
ones, Mr. Sammy."

" I never had any parteec'lar notion o' children,"
said Mr. Girdwood, recovering himself and feeling,
no doubt, that he ought to say something. " Chil-
dren is mostly a trouble an' a sorrow an' "

Matters of Fact and Fancy 19

" Whisht, Samuel ! " came a loud whisper from
the window. " Never heed him, dearie. He
doesna mean what he says."

Jim gave a friendly smile to the withered face,
which was immediately withdrawn, and turned
again to his host.

" Hasn't Mrs. Sammy got no children, too ? " he
inquired.

" Mercy on us, laddie ! She's jist as single as
I am!" '

"What is single?"

Samuel pushed back his bonnet and scratched his
head. "Well, ye see, my sister an* me never had
any parteec'lar notion o' gettin' married." He
paused.

"Why hadn't you any parteec'lar?"

" 'Tis a hard question," said the old man
evasively.

" I'll ask Mrs. Sammy."

" But, my lad, Elizabeth's not a Missis; she's jist
a Miss."

" I see," said Jim slowly, and registered a query
for his father, who was so much wiser than this
old doody. Having done so, he somewhat incon-
sequently made the announcement that Mr. Froggie
(the one with no legs) had just got married to Miss
Tewken (not the busted one).

" Well, I never ! " exclaimed Mr. Girdwood,

2O Jim

rather at sea, but thankful to get away from the
more personal conversation. " What did ye say her
name was ? "

" Miss Tewken. She's a chicken, you know.
She used to say ' tewk ! ' when she was new."

" Ay, ay. Ye mean a tewky-hen."

" You can call her that, if you like," Jim assented
graciously. " I always call her Miss Tewken."

"So," said Mr. Girdwood brightly, "she'll be
Mrs. Frog now ! "

" No ; she's Miss Tewken always," was the firm
reply. " After Mr. Froggie is married to Miss
Tewken he's going to be married to Miss Mousie,
and then Miss Mousie's going to be married to Mr.
Ephelant, and he's going to be married to Mr.
Heigh-ho-Anthony Rowley "

" Aw 1 but that canna be, that canna be ! " Mr.
Girdwood protested.

"Oh, yes, it can; it's quite easy, Mr. Sammy.
Isn't it, Miss Sammy ? " he called to the old woman,
who had allowed her amazement to overcome her
modesty.

" Surely, dearie, surely ! " she replied, withdraw-
ing once more from the window in some confusion,
assuring herself that she had never " heard the like
in all her days."

" Was ye never at the Sabbath schule, ma

Matters of Fact and Fancy 21

lad ? " Mr. Girdwood inquired, the least thing se-
verely.

" No ; p'r'aps1 I'll be going next year. But Mr.
Froggie goes ; so does Miss Mousie ; all my children
go, 'cept the busted ones. They like it fearful.
Miss Mousie told me."

This was too much for Mr. Girdwood.

" James Crow," he said solemnly, " I could for-
give ye for tryin' to cod me — I could forgive ye
that — but when it comes to ye tellin' "

" Oh, Samuel," came the voice from the window,
" ye dinna need to be that serious. 'Tis jist a bit
story he's tellin' ye. ... An' do ye teach them
in the Sabbath schule, dearie?"

" No," said the boy, undisturbed. " Mr. Monkey
teaches them. There's something wrong with Mr.
Monkey's squeaker. Doody tramped on him one
day ; he didn't mean it."

" I canna let him mak' a mock " began Mr.

Girdwood to his quaking sister.

" Can you tell me," interrupted Jim, eager with
a fresh idea, " why small tewkens — real tewkens,
you know — never have doodies ? "

" But what in the world is doodies ? " cried Miss
Girdwood, who seemed incapable of remaining far
from the window.

Her brother turned upon her. " D'ye not ken,"

22 Jim

he said quite cockily, " that a doody's a daddy,
otherwise a fayther?"

" Mr. Sammy didn't know till I told him," said
Jim, without the slightest intention of abashing his
ancient friend. " There's a lot of small tewkens
where Doody and I are staying now, and they've
got a mother " — he really said " muzzer," but cor-
rected himself — "but no doody. And where we
stayed last year there was heaps of small tewkens
with mothers, but no doodies. Where are the
doodies, Mr. Sammy?"

Possibly Mr. Girdwood was cheered by having
the question put directly to himself, especially as
it was one he could answer. He replied almost
graciously —

" Oh, the doodies, as ye call them, is there sure
'nough. Ye'll see them walkin' about the yard an'
whiles cryin' cockaleerie. Eh ? "

Jim shook his head. " Those ones can't be the
doodies, 'cause they're never kind to the small tew-
kens. They never give them things to eat, nor play
with them, nor do anything kind. They can't be
the doodies, Mr. Sammy."

" They're not very nice faythers, anyway, dearie,"
put in the old woman gently.

"They're as the Lord made them," her brother
retorted, a trifle pettishly. " Hens is hens, an' cocks
is cocks."

Matters of Fact and Fancy 23

" 'Cept when they're tewkens," said Jim.

" Would you like some rasps, dearie ? " Miss Gird-
wood inquired hastily. " Well, sit ye still, an' I'll
bring ye some nice ones. I'm for makin' jam the
day."

Presently she came out with a saucer of picked
fruit. Jim held up his face, and after a little hesi-
tation she ventured to kiss his cheek.

" Ye're over-big for the kissin', James," remarked
Mr. Gird wood, who was cheerful one moment and
depressed the next.

" I 'spect I'll be too big next year," Jim replied,
beginning on the rasps.

" I hope ye'll be stoppin' at the Bay till the bram-
bles is ready," said the old woman. " 'Tis a fine
place for brambles, the wood up yonder."

" I'm going to the wood some day. I want to
see the gnomes and pixies and elfs and "

" The what ? " exclaimed Mr. Girdwood.

"Didn't you know it was a Magic Wood, Mr.
Sammy?"

" Never heard o* sicH • — ' — "

Miss Girdwood touched her brother's shoulder.
" Let him be, let him be," she whispered.

" It's just the same as a picture I've got at
home," continued Jim ; " 'sides Mr. Froggie told
me. And there's a kind Magic Doody in the wood.
He lives in a tree with Mr. Skirrel and Mr. Dicky-

24 Jim

Dick and Mr. Fun-Owl, and he sees that everything
is right in the wood, and doesn't let the brown
gnomes and pixies and elfs be too naughty; and,
perhaps, if you keep very quiet you can hear him,
and, if you've been very, very good, you can see
him. Mr. Sammy, shall you and I be very, very
good, and go to the Magic Wood some day? "

" I never heard o' sich "

" Whisht, man ! " muttered Miss Girdwood.
" 'Tis a pretty notion, dearie," she said to Jim.
" But, ye see, Samuel doesna find the hill easy for
his legs. He hasna been up to the wood for near
twinty year."

Jim regarded Mr. Girdwood's legs with interest
for several seconds. " Couldn't you try? " he said.
" You see, Doody says that it's only very young
people and very old people who can see fairy peo-
ple, and that's why I wanted you to come with me.
Doody would come, too, but he would just paint
while we was watching. Doody knows about the
gnomes and pixies and the others, but he can't see
them. He thinks he may be able to see them when

mother comes home but then we shan't be here.

Couldn't you try, Mr. Sammy? "

" But I never " Mr. Girdwood began and
halted.

" I suspose," said Jim regretfully, " I'll have to
get Mr. Peter, the doody we're staying with, to go

Matters of Fact and Fancy 25

with me. He said he would. He's not so old as
you, but he might do. I'm sorry about your legs."

There was a short silence, during which several
emotions might have been detected on the aged
countenance.

" 'Tis little good Peter Fraser would do ye, my
lad," said Mr. Girdwood at last. " The man's half
blin', an' he canna see nothin' at no distance wantin'
his glasses, which has been broke for two year an'
more. An' 'tis all nonsense 'bout my legs. If
'twasna for the rheumatis now an' then I'd be as
quick on my feet as any man in Clure Bay."

" Samuel was a great dancer in his time, to be
sure," put in his sister; " none better at the reels."

"An' 'tis reels I'd been dancin' yet, if 'twasna for
the rheumatis."

" I'd like awful to see you dancing, Mr. Samuel,"
said Jim.

" Ah, well, ye never know what's afore ye, James
Crow," Mr. Girdwood returned, with considerable
briskness; "but if ye're for the wood, 'tis not me
that would say ' no,' — so long as the rheumatis lets
me alone. Jist you name a day "

" Oh, Samuel ! " interposed Miss Girdwood, who
now began to have fears.

" Hold your tongue, woman! "

" I don't think that is a very nice way to speak
to Mrs. Sammy, Mr. Sammy," the boy observed.

26 Jim

" When Mr. Froggie speaks like that to Miss
Mousie, he gets beans. That was how he lost his
legs. But you didn't mean to be cross, did you ? "

" Na, na, dearie ; he didna mean it, an' besides,
I'm used to it. But if he gangs to the wood wi'
ye, ye'll not let him sit down on the wet places ? "

" I 'spect Mr. Magic Doody will look after that,"
said Jim reassuringly. " Shall we go to-morrow,
Mr. Sammy?" He laid a hand on the old man's
arm.

" Ay, ay," cried the old man recklessly ; " we'll
gang to-morrow."

" And have a picnic ! That'll be splendid ! I
'spect we shall see some gnomes, 'cause, you see,
you are razzer — ra-ther — like a gnome yourself,
Mr. Sammy."

" Am I ? " said Mr. Girdwood faintly.

" An' 'tis reels I'd be dancin' yet, if 'twasna one,
and I'll be Puck. I wish you could be a fairy queen
— but never mind. And I'll bring Mr. Froggie
and Miss Mousie and Miss Tewken. What fun
we'll have!"

Mr. Girdwood moved uneasily. ' 'Tis a queerish
sort o' play," he murmured. " Yer fayther'll be
comin' wi' us, I hope."

" Oh, yes, Doody will come."

" I meant for to say yer doody."

Matters of Fact and Fancy 27

The pause that followed was broken by the old
woman.

" I hope ye'll not be gettin' into any kind o' mis-
chief, Samuel," she said, half jocularly, half anx-
iously. " 'Twill be a great adventure for ye."

" We must be fearful good until to-morrow," the
boy supplemented. " Do you like tea or soup when
you're at a picnic ? "

" Never was at a picnic. . . . Ye'll not be
expectin' me for to climb trees an' the like, will
ye?"

" I 'spect Mr. Fun-Owl would love if you
climbed his tree, Mr. Sammy. He would say "

" I'm not for any fun-owls or fun-anything-elses,
thank ye," the old man declared. " I'll jist sit still,
if ye please, an' "

" Tell stories ! Oh, will you tell me stories, Mr.
Sammy? "

" I might do that, James Crow," Mr. Girdwood
returned, obviously relieved. " I've seen some
queer things in my time."

" Samuel was at sea in his young days," put in
Miss Girdwood.

" Tell me a story now — please ! — one about a
boat bursting its boiler ! " cried the boy.

" The boats I was on had nae bilers. But I could
tell ye about Aw, there's yer fayther — I

28 Jim

meant for to say yer doody — wavin' on ye. I'll
see what I can mind to tell ye the morn "

"In the Magic Wood!"

" But, laddie, there's nae " Mr. Girdwood

stopped short at a nudge from his sister. Then,
" Well, well," he said reluctantly, " in the Magic
Wood, as ye call it,"

" Oh, you're awful kind ! " exclaimed Jim, ready
to hug him. " I never thought you could tell
stories, Mr. Sammy. And we'll come for you to-
morrow morning, and you'll be all ready "

"If the rheumatis Well, well, I'll be

ready."

Jim got up radiant. " I think I'll give you Miss
Busted Tewken," he said generously. " I'll bring
her to the Magic Wood to-morrow. And oh! I
nearly forgot to tell you — Doody is going to paint
your portrait some day soon. He promised me last
night, 'cause I wanted him to do it. I 'spect you'll
be very proud of it."

Mr. Girdwood's gratification of countenance is
not to be described, but he seized the boy's hand
and said brokenly, "James, 'tis a good lad ye are,
to be sure."

" And I'll ask him to paint Mrs. Sammy, too."

" Na, na! She would spile the pictur! "

" Dinna fash yersel', Samuel," she said good-
humouredly. " Thank ye, dearie, for thinkin' o'

Matters of Fact and Fancy 29

me, but I've nae notion o' bein' pented — unless ye
was for pentin' me yerselV

Jim gave her a critical glance as she took the
empty saucer from him. " I think I could make a
good job of you," he said at last, " if I was putting
the brush in my mouth lots. I think I could paint
you for the rasps, too," he added, with that vague
movement that made women want to kiss him.
" They was simply scrumptious."

" The darlin' ! " she said under her breath. " Ah,
well, dearie, ye maun run to yer doddy- "

" Doody," said Jim.

" My ! but ye're the stupid woman ! " said Mr.
Girdwood, who was still smiling at the prospect of
having his portrait painted.

" Good-bye, and thank you so much for a very
pleasant time," said Jim, quoting from his mother.

He was half way to his father when a thought
seemed to strike him and caused him to retrace his
steps.

" Do you know/' he said, halting at the fence,
" do you know what I would do if I was a small
tewken without any doody? I would make a nice
nest, and I would lay a beautiful big blue egg with
brown spots, and I would hatch it, and then I'd have
a doody of my very own."

He touched his hat, turned, and walked sedately
away.

" BUT 'tisna right to let the lad believe sich stuff
an' nonsense," said Mr. Girdwood, looking out of
the window for the twentieth time. " If I was his
fayther "

" Put that in yer pouch, an' dinna forget ye've
got it," his sister interrupted, handing him a large
red handkerchief. " Ye believed plenty stuff an'
nonsense yersel', Samuel, when ye was his age."

"I didna!"

" Ye did ! Ye believed there was a bogle in the
Smugglers' Cave; ye believed the story about the
Three Bears; ye believed that babies growed in
cabbages; ye "

"I — I never believed it was a magic wood

" Ye would ha' believed that, too, if I had telled
ye. So dinna gang an' try for to spile the young
gentleman's pretty bit notions. There's plenty wise
folk in the world. An' if he says he sees a tome
or a pelf, or whatever he calls his fairies, ye've fist
got to say ye see it too! Mind that! "

Mr. Girdwood emitted an impatient exclamation,
30

A First Venture in Fiction 31

" Woman ! " he cried, " d'ye think I've nae con-
science ? "

" Aw, never heed yer conscience." Miss Gird-
wood took a peep from the window. " I see them
comin' now. Did ye brush yer bunnet ? "

" But 'tisna right, I tell ye. Tis agin the Scrip-
tures an' — an' everything. Truth's truth, an' lies
is lies."

" Sure," Miss Girdwood placidly assented. " An'
fairy tales is true, if ye believe them. I'm thinkin'
Moses an' Abraham an' the Twelve Apostles and all
the rest o' them had their pretty notions when they
was young "

" 'Tisna the way to speak o' the saints, Eliza-
beth!"

" They wasna saints ; they was children ; an' I
hope they was children as long as the Lord meant
them to be, an' not jist as long as some stupid old
wise man thought they ought to be. An' as for yer
conscience, Samuel, jist you keep yer thumb on it,
or ye'll be sorry after. An' if he asks ye to tell a
story, ye needna be parteec'lar about it bein' the
exac' truth, because the last true story I heard ye
tell wasna worth the hearin'. Ye could tell far bet-
ter stories o' yer adventures when ye was thirty year
younger, for then ye wasna feart to — to imagine
a bit. But dinna tell him anything fearsome,
mind!"

32 Jim

" When did I ever tell a story that wasna true? "
he demanded, with a glance at the field which Jim
and his father were crossing.

Miss Girdwood patted his arm. "If yer con-
science canna answer that, Samuel," she said,
smiling, " ye best give it a rest the day."

But Mr. Girdwood was not to be thus pacified.

" If ye think I'm goin' to encourage James Crow
wi' his stuff an' nonsense " he began.

Miss Girdwood held up her hand. " Samuel,"
she said solemnly, " he's a little one, an' ye're not
goin' to offend him. An' what's more, I'll not let
ye." She paused a moment and continued : " He
thinks ye're the oldest inhabitant o' Clure Bay.
I've never betrayed ye yet, but "

Mr. Girdwood's face fell. " Ye wouldna

His sister turned away hers. "If ye offend the
laddie," she said in a low, unsteady voice, " ye'll jist
be the second oldest." To herself she added, " God
forgimme," and went to the open door.

" Elizabeth ! " The cry was almost plaintive.

" I hear ye," she replied, restraining her old, un-
withered heart.

" Elizabeth, ye didna mean it."

" Ay, Samuel, I meant it. But " — her voice sof-
tened in spite of her — " but, Samuel, I ken ye would
never drive me that far. You wouldna offend the
laddie. For ye ken, Samuel, we're a long time old,

A First Venture in Fiction 33

but we're an awfu' wee short time young. There,
man! we'll not say another word. Tidy yer hair,
an' come an' meet James an' his doddy."

" His doody, ye mean." The correction came
quite naturally from Mr. Girdwood. Then he went
to the mirror over the sink, smoothed his shaggy
hair, groaned, sighed, and joined his sister. " Is
the rasps ready for him in the parlour ? " he in-
quired.

" Ay, ay," she assured him, and went down to
open the gate.

They had decided the previous evening that Jim
should have a dish of rasps before starting for the
wood, and Miss Girdwood had been busy cleaning
the already spotless parlour since somewhere about
six that morning. Her best cloth was on the table ;
her best dishes were on the cloth; her best flowers
decorated the apartment. No doubt Mr. Nevis no-
ticed and appreciated these things ; but his son, from
the moment of his entrance, was held by a very dif-
ferent object.

" Fun-owl ! " he exclaimed excitedly. And, sure
enough, on a corner of the mantelpiece sat a shabby
stuffed owl. It was some time ere he could be per-
suaded to look at the little feast prepared in his
honour; it was not until he had been permitted to
hold the owl in his arms and stroke its poor feathers
that he consented to take the seat waiting for him.

34

The host and hostess, however, were much gratified
by his admiration of their possession, which, to tell
the truth, they had come to cherish rather absurdly.

" 'Tis but an ornar' owl," said Miss Girdwood.

" He says 'tis a fun-owl," whispered her brother.

"An* so 'tis," she agreed willingly.

" Jini has his own names for things," remarked
Nevis, returning it to the mantelpiece, followed by
the longing glances of his son.

" An' very good names, to be sure, though my
sister can never be mindin' them," said Mr. Gird-
wood somewhat loftily.

"Where did you get the fun-owl?" the boy in-
quired, looking from one to the other.

Miss Girdwood was about to explain that she had
purchased it at a sale, for sixpence, many years
ago, but her brother was before her.

"I — I shot it in Africa," he said, and Miss Gird-
wood put her hand to her mouth just in time.

" Why did you shoot it? " asked Jim.

Mr. Girdwood glanced helplessly at his sister.
" 'Tis a longish story, James Crow," he murmured.
" See an' eat plenty rasps."

" He didna mean for to shoot it, dearie," said
Miss Girdwood, with the best intentions in the
world.

" I did ! In my youth I was a crack shot," re-
torted the old man. " I shot it — I shot it because

A First Venture in Fiction 35

we was shipwrecked mariners requirin' food. We
was starvin'. Ye see ? "

" I see," said Jim. " But how could you have
eaten the owl when it's there ? "

Mr. Girdwood wriggled, and was about to con-
fess feebly that he must have been thinking of an-
other owl, when a straw thrown by Nevis fell within
his grasp.

" Perhaps," said the artist, " a ship hove in sight
just as they were going to cook the owl."

" Ye' re right, sir, ye're right," the old man cried,
with a gasp of relief. " 'Tis what happened ex-
ac'ly. I mind it fine now. An' so we didna need
to eat the owl — and there it is to prove it ! "

Curiously enough, there was no applause from
Miss Girdwood.

" But you wouldn't have shot it if it had been
Mr. Fun-Owl in the Magic Wood ? " said Jim.
"Would you?"

" Certinly not, James Crow, certinly not ! I
would ha' give it something to eat, poor beast."

" How " began Jim.

But, fortunately for the Girdwoods, Nevis at that
moment started to ask the old man when he would
give a sitting for his portrait, and as Jim was
greatly interested in this matter the other was for-
gotten for the time being. Later, it is true, the
boy desired to learn how Mr. Sammy could have

36 Jim

given an owl something to eat when he had nothing
to eat himself; but by that time Mr. Sammy had
become more advanced in the art of fiction.

Miss Girdwood helped her young guest to more
raspberries, sugar and cream.

" An' how," she gently inquired, " is all the wee
tuckens gettin' on that had nae doddy ? — I should
ha' said doody."

" Tits, woman ! " cried her brother ; " 'tisna
tuckens, 'tis tewkens"

" So 'tis, so 'tis," she admitted good-humouredly.
She turned to Nevis. " Ye'll excuse me, sir, for
callin' ye his doddy ? I'm not extra quick at learn-
in' new words."

" I have the same difficulty," Nevis returned
pleasantly. " Your brother," he went on, " has
promised me a sitting next Monday, weather per-
mitting. I wonder if you would care to give
me "

" Na, na," put in the old man ; " she's not carin'
at all about her portrait. Twould be a waste o'
pent, Mr. Nevis."

" Samuel's right," she said readily. " Ye see, sir,
'tis different for him, bein' the oldest inhabitant o'
the place."

" Tis so," said Mr. Girdwood, much relieved.
" Excuse the liberty, sir, but will ye be likely to get

A First Venture in Fiction 37

a hunderd pound for the pictur ? There was a man
cam' here once, an' he got fifty for pentin' some
cattle in a gale o' win'."

Nevis laughed. " Certainly we ought to get more
for the oldest inhabitant than some cattle, but "

" Well, well," said Mr. Girdwood, " 'tis best not
to count yer chickens afore "

" Tewkens," cried his sister, and put her hand
to her mouth too late.

" Mr. Sammy was wrong," said Jim delightedly,
" and Mrs. Sammy was right."

But Mr. Girdwood only chuckled. The sure
knowledge that he was at last going to have his
portrait painted filled his soul with satisfaction;
there was no room for resentment just then.

Presently it was time to go to the wood, and a
start was made after Jim had been allowed to em-
brace the stuffed owl. In the garden he confided
(rather loudly, perhaps) to his father his admira-
tion for the owl and his longing to possess such a

joy.

" We'll have to wait till we can take a trip to
Africa, Jim Crow," said Nevis, and poor Mr. Gird-
wood nearly fell from the doorstep, for in addition
to his never having been in Africa, he was unaware
whether owls existed there.

His sister called him back. " Mind an' not loss

38 Jim

yer hanky, Samuel," she whispered. " Ye did fine,
man, but — but ye can put a wee tate truth in yer
stories, if ye like."

Nevis, out of regard for the old man, was about
to take the longer, but easier, road to the wood.
Mr. Girdwood, however, insisted on the short
cut and, assisted by his stout staff, did remarkably
well.

" 'Tis not so bad for four score an' five/' he ob-
served complacently when the hill had been sur-
mounted. " An' I could ha' gone quicker but for
James Crow here."

" You're a wonderful man," said Nevis, offering
his tobacco.

" Couldn't you dance now, Mr. Sammy ? " Jim
inquired. " Slow, like a dancing bear, you know."

"That'll do, Jim," said Nevis, with a hint of
warning in his voice.

The boy looked a little hurt. " Mrs. Sammy said
he could dance," he explained.

" 'Tis true," said the old man. " Why, I oncet
got a medal for the dancin'. But the rheuma-
tis " He proceeded to fill his pipe.

" I've brought Miss Busted Tewken to give to
you," said Jim softly. " She's in the bastek with
Mr. Froggie and Miss Mousie and the lunch."

" 'Tis a good lad ye are, for sure, James Crow,"
Mr. Girdwood returned, patting the young shoulder,

A First Venture in Fiction 39

"but " He broke off suddenly, remembering

his sister. Then — " An' I've had a cravirf^ for a
busted tewken all my life, my lad."

" I think you might have given Mr. Girdwood a
hale and hearty tewken," Nevis observed.

" But he pifers a busted one, Doody. Don't you,
Mr. Sammy?"

" Surely ! " replied Samuel, now fairly on the
downward path. He lit his pipe and, puffing smoke
and satisfaction, marched towards the wood, which
was now not a furlong distant.

" I hope we see the gnomes and pixies and elfs
and Mr. Fun-Owl," said Jim to his ancient friend.

Mr. Girdwood refrained from saying that owls
were very seldom visible in the daytime. " 'Tis
not unlikely," he said.

" And Mr. Magic Doody ! "

" I wouldna wonder, lad. An* I — 'I hope ye'll
p'int them all out to me."

"Of course, Mr. Sammy. I 'spect you'll like
them. Mr. Froggie and Miss Mousie are so ex-
cited. Humpty and Teddy wanted to come, too,
but there wasn't room in the bastek."

" I hope," said Nevis very solemnly, " I sincerely
hope, Jim Crow, that your friends in the bastek
haven't eaten up all the lunch."

" I hope not," returned the boy, as though he
were full of doubts.

4O Jim

This make-believe business was trying on Mr.
Girdwood, but he made an effort to do his share.
Nevis had fallen behind to light his pipe.

"Did ye ever see a hedgehog?" the old man
whispered.

Jim shook his head.

"Well, when I was in — in Africa, a hedgehog
oncet ett my denner."

" Was that why you had to shoot the poor fun-
owl?"

" The very reason, laddie, the very reason ! " Mr.
Girdwood cried eagerly.

" What was you having for dinner? "

", . . Sassiges an' — an' turmits. The hedge-
hog got them when my back was turned."

" Did it make a noise? "

"Na, na."

Jim looked disappointed.

"Well, maybe it made a kind o' a roarin'-
squeakin' noise," Mr. Girdwood said hurriedly.

" Was your dinner in a bastek, Mr. Sammy? "

". . . Not exac'ly, James Crow, not exac'ly."

" What was it in, Mr. Sammy ? "

"A — a bit o' newspaper, maybe."

After a pause — "What did you do to Mr.
Hedgehog? "

"I — I — I cuffed his cars, James. He — he
deserved it."

A First Venture in Fiction 41

Just then Nevis rejoined them.

" Doody, what's a hedgehog like ? "

"A hedgehog?"

Mr. Girdwood felt like making for home as fast
as his old legs would carry him. But at the mo-
ment, when disgraceful exposure seemed inevitable,
the whole subject was abruptly changed by the boy
himself.

'"Sh!" said Jim, coming to a sudden halt, and
pointing. " I do believe I see a fairy ! "

The men stopped short. At the edge of the
wood, half hidden by a furze bush, seated on the
stump of a tree, was a small figure in pink.

" No," said Jim, in deep disappointment, " it's
only a little girl."

They went on, and presently Jim took his
father's hand and whispered, " Doody, she's cry-
ing."

It was true. The little girl, at whose feet lay a
little bundle, was hugging a doll and sobbing bit-
terly.

" Mr. Sammy," said Jim, " would you mind very
much if I gave her Miss Busted Tewken? "

Mr. Girdwood declared that he didn't mind; yet
somehow he did mind.

" Please give me Miss Busted Tewken, Doody,"
said the boy.

With some difficulty Nevis extracted the lump

42 Jim

of yellow fluff from the basket. " Pity you haven't
one of your others, Jim," he remarked.

Jim turned to the old man. " I'll try to give you
another some day, Mr. Sammy," he said, with an
effort, for he loved his " children " dearly.

Then they went forward to the little girl.

IN THE MAGIC WOOD

THEIR voices silenced, their steps almost sound-
less on the turf, they were quite close to the little
girl ere she became aware of their presence. Then
she started and looked up in a scared fashion,
stared for a moment or two, and fell again to weep-
ing upon her doll.

Jim laid the fluffy thing on her lap, whilst Nevis
gently inquired whether she had lost her way.
Whereupon she sobbed more violently than ever.

" It's for you," said Jim, endeavouring to direct
her attention to his offering. "You can keep it."

But there was no response.

Jim turned to his father. " P'r'aps she's got a
pain, Doody."

" I'm afraid there's a pain of some kind some-
where," murmured Nevis. " Come, my dear," he
said to the child, " won't you tell us what is the
matter?"

Mr. Girdwood took a step nearer. " 'Tis the
lassie that came yesterday to Miss Mingay that has
Sea View for the summer. We was hearin' she
was a niece o' Miss Mingay's."

43

44

Whereupon the little girl's distress still further
increased, and for a moment it looked as if Jim
Crow were going to join in the lamentation. Pos-
sibly the presence of Mr. Gird wood sustained him,
and he managed to say in a somewhat emotional
voice, "If you like, I could lend you Miss Mousie."
'(Miss Mousie, by the way, had frequently proved
his own stay and comfort in time of trouble.)

But even this offer was without result, and so
Nevis, who was rather a shy man, knelt down on
one knee and took the little girl on the other. And
at last he got her story.

Her name was Daisy, and her age was about
seven. Her parents being unable to leave home,
had sent her for the good of her health to spend a
month with her Aunt Alice at Clure Bay. She
had never been from home until now. She had
cried on her arrival, and Aunt Alice had been cross.
Later Aunt Alice had been cross again, so she had
cried some more. She had hated going to bed
alone, also waking up alone. She had got up very
early and put on her special silk stockings and new
shoes and her best frock and Sunday hat, and she
had made a bundle of a few things in a towel, and
she had taken her dolly; and then she had crept
from the house by the back garden and set out to
find the railway station. But she had not found
the station, and had lost her way, and things had

In the Magic Wood 45

kept falling out of her bundle, and a cow had
frightened her, and her dolly had fallen in a muddy
ditch, and she had got hungrier and hungrier and
hungrier. . . .

" I guess we'd better have lunch at once," said
Nevis, who could be practical as well as artistic,
" and then I'll take Daisy home to her aunt."

At the mention of lunch Miss Daisy brightened;
at the mention of her aunt she wailed anew.

" Well, we'll have lunch, and then we'll see what
we'll do." Nevis gently set her back on the tree
stump.

" I 'spect she pifers to stay in the Magic Wood
with us," said Jim. " She could be the Fairy
Queen, you know."

At this the little girl pricked up her ears and
showed one eye and a bit of tear-stained cheek.

"If her face was washed, she would be rather
like a fairy."

The eye blinked, and a small muffled voice said,
"I — I've nothing to wash it with."

Nevis, however, was already dipping a handker-
chief in a streamlet that ran close by, and a minute
later the stains were removed. Then while he set
about unpacking the basket, the little boy looked at
the little girl, and the little girl looked at the little
boy, and Mr. Girdwood regarded both with a genial
smile.

46 Jim

" That's Mr. Sammy," said Jim presently.
" He's the oldest doody in this place, and after-
wards he's going to play at being King of the
Gnomes."

Mr. Girdwood's smile went out.

" Aren't you ? " said Jim.

"Will I need to climb trees an' so on?" Mr.
Girdwood faltered.

" Not unless you want to. You see, if you're
King, you can do anything you like — nearly any-
thing."

Mr. Girdwood gave a grunt of relief. "If

'twasna for the rheumatis " He proceeded to

relight his pipe, which he had allowed to go out.

Jim turned again to Daisy, and assisted her in
brushing the dry mud from her doll. " I suspose
she's an only child," he remarked.

" She's grown up — she's a lady," Daisy re-
turned, with decreasing diffidence. " Don't you
see, she has got a long dress and lovely petticoats,
and "

" Her legs are fearful fat. Has she got a
squeaker ? "

" Nice dolls don't have squeakers — only the
clown and injun-rubber kind. Mine is a superiorest
French doll. And her legs aren't fearful fat."

"They're nearly as fat as my Auntie Hilda's —
but then she's fearful fat all over. But

In the Magic Wood 47

she's a very nice doll. Wouldn't you like to cuddle
Miss Busted Tewken, too? Feel her." Jim ap-
plied his gift to the little girl's cheek.

" It's nice and pussy," she allowed.

" She's awful nice to sleep with; and if the stuff-
ing comes out, it's quite easy to put it in again.
You're to keep her, you know."

Daisy rubbed the fluff against her cheek again,
and smiled to Jim. " I think you are a very nice
little boy," she said demurely. " What's your
name ? "

" Jim Crow — but I'm nearly as big as you."

" That's a funny name."

He was about to explain, when his father called
them to lunch. Ere the simple repast was over,
however, a good many personal explanations were
exchanged, with the result that the little girl was
on friendly terms with every one, not excepting
Mr. Girdwood, who won her interest by relating
how little girls in Africa had dolls made only of
wood and stone, and without clothes.

Jim was proceeding to inquire which parts were
made of wood and which of stone, when Nevis
interposed.

" Now, Daisy," he said, " I'm sure your aunt
must be worrying terribly about you, so I'll walk
down now and tell her you're all right; and later
on we'll take you to her."

48 Jim

At "aunt" Daisy's lips drooped; at "later on"
they recovered. Youth can face anything — later
on.

" Doody'll give her beans," Jim whispered con-
fidentially and encouragingly.

"Will he?" said Daisy. "Haricot beans?
What for?"

"You'll look after the children, won't you?"
said Nevis to the old man.

" The Lord helpin' me," replied Mr. Girdwood
a trifle louder than he intended. " Surely, sir. I'll
keep my eye on them."

Nevis turned to his son. " Be a good boy, Jim,"
he said, not so much for convention's as the old
man's sake, for Nevis knew that the phrase had as
much effect upon a boy as " Good-morning " has
upon the weather.

" All right, Doody." Jim had not time to think
of being either good or bad, but he desired to
reassure his father who seemed to be anxious about
something. "No, Daisy; not haricot beans!
Wait! — I'll show you." He produced Mr.
Froggie, a xylonite affair in green and yellow.
" You see, Mr. Froggie once had legs, legs that
waggled. He could stand, too. But one day he
was bad to Miss Mousie, and I gave him beans.
Now he has got no legs! But I still love him.
The beans hurt me more than they, hurt him."

In the Magic Wood 49

After about fifteen seconds had elapsed Miss
Daisy slowly put the question : " But where are
the beans, Jim Crow ? "

" Now," said Jim to the guardian, " let's go into
the Magic Wood and look for gnomes and pixies
and elfs and Mr. Fun-Owl." And he led the way
along a path strewn with pine-needles.

"What sort of wood did you say it was?" the
little girl, overtaking him, inquired.

" Magic," he replied, rather shortly.

It must be confessed that Jim was disappointed
in Daisy. He had explained so many things, and
she had understood so few. The heart was willing,
no doubt, but the imagination was weak.

" Where's the magic ? " she asked, gazing about
her.

" I don't think," said Jim slowly, " I'll ever get
married to you."

"Oh!"

" I think I'd rather get married to Mrs. Sammy."

Daisy's mouth twitched ominously.

41 Well," he said, relenting, " I'll get married to
you, too, if you like."

Mr. Girdwood, who was toddling close behind,
found it hard to hold his peace.

" But," objected Daisy, drying one eye with her

50 Jim

doll and the other with Miss Busted Tewken, " you
couldn't get married to two ladies at once."

" Not at once," he admitted. " I'd have to have
a wedding for each. That would be two cakes."

" But I'd only get one," said Daisy, who was not
quite so dense regarding practical matters.

Mr. Girdwood interposed here. " I'm thinkin'
we best not go any furder, James," he said mildly,
" for fear we get wandered. Here's a nice place
for us to sit down on."

" I don't think it's dry enough for your legs.
'Sides, we haven't gone far enough to see the
gnomes. I think I see the tree where Mr. Magic
Doody and Mr. Fun-Owl live "

"Who?" asked Daisy.

" I've told you already. Come on ! " And the
boy hastened forward.

Daisy was left with the old man. " Please," she
said ; " is it true about those things in the wood ?
Is it truly a Magic Wood ? "

Mr. Girdwood removed his pipe from his lips
and coughed.

" 'Tis like as not," he said, at last, with diffi-
culty. " 'Tis many years since I was here before."

" Were you ever in a Magic Wood ? Did you
ever see gnomes and things ? "

Mr. Girdwood hesitated.

"Did you?"

In the Magic Wood 51

"I — I seen some queer things, when — when I
was in Africa "

He was happily saved from further fictions just
then by a hail from the boy.

" Here's the very place, Mr. Sammy. Come on,
Daisy." Jim was standing beside the trunk of a
fallen tree. " We can hide behind it," he explained,
" and watch for them. Let's kneel and keep fear-
ful quiet."

"Could I not get sittin', James?" said the old
man, after a painful failure to adopt the posture
suggested. Eventually he was permitted to occupy
a very knobby piece of root, which Jim named the
Throne of the King of the Gnomes. He was given
Mr. Froggie and Miss Mousie to take care of.

Then the children knelt by the trunk, their heads
just above it, their eyes on the lights and shadows,
the greens and browns and yellows of the wood,
the blues and whites of the patches of sky. A
very tall pine in the foreground was — so Jim
decided — the home of Mr. Magic Doody and Mr.
Fun-Owl ; but he did not speak about it.

A great stillness fell upon them. It lasted for
about half-a-minute.

" Do you see anything? " Daisy inquired.

"'Sh!"

Daisy held her tongue until the sudden cry of a
bird caused her to give a jump and a screech and

52 Jim

let Miss Busted Tewken roll over the trunk. It
was some time ere peace was restored.

Quite a long silence ensued, and it was Jim who
broke it.

" I think," he said softly, " I'll ask a blessing,
and see if that does any good. Oh, Lord, we
thank Thee for Thy mercies, and forgive our sins,
amen "

" That's not the one I say," said Daisy.

" It's the one Doody says when mother's with
us," he returned. " Sometimes when she isn't,
too."

" Would you like me to say mine, Jim Crow ? "

Jim shook his head. " Let's keep awful quiet."
He glanced at Air. Girdwood, who was evincing
signs of drowsiness. " I'm afraid some of us
haven't been very, very good lately, Mr. Sammy."

Mr. Girdwood looked uncomfortable, but that
may have been due in some measure to the Throne.
" I hope ye'll see something soon," he said, rousing
himself.

Once more silence.

Daisy feared that she had made a hole in the knee
of one of her fine stockings, but managed to keep
the trouble to herself.

" Please don't kiss your doll so loud," said Jim
in an undertone.

In the Magic Wood 53

Next moment he was pointing and whispering
excitedly —

" I believe I see a gnome ! Yes, yes ; away over
yonder, where it's very dark. See, it's moving!"

A cool breeze stole through the warm wood.

"It must be a gnome! — it's sort of brown! —
and gnomes are brown — 'cept when they're green.
Mr. Sammy, don't you see it? Oh, it's away! —
no, it's back again."

Said Daisy, her blue eyes very big, " I don't see
anything, Jim Crow."

Jim appealed again to Mr. Girdwood. " But you
can see it ! "

"Me?"

" Oh, you're looking the wrong way ! It's
yonder — look ! — quick ! "

"Well, I don't exac'ly. . . ." Mr. Gird-
wood pulled himself together. " Surely," he said,
bravely, " I can see it, James Crow."

Jim clapped his hands. " And it's brown, isn't
it, Mr. Sammy?"

"To be sure!"

" With a brown hood on its head ? "

"Why, cert'inly!"

" And it's got whiskers like yours, Mr. Sammy? "

" I — I won't deny it."

" Oh, we've seen a real gnome ! " cried Jim.

54

But Daisy wailed, " I haven't ! I haven't seen
anything at all ! "

Jim's pointing finger fell. " Oh, it's gone away,"
he said regretfully. " P'r'aps it'll come back
Daisy."

But it didn't, and Daisy was disconsolate.

" You should have let me ask a blessing, too,"
she complained.

" I 'spect you didn't see it 'cause you're a girl,"
said Jim, not unsympathetically. But he really felt
that she must have been very bad in some way
lately. Which was, perhaps, his best reason for
putting his arm round her neck and promising to
appeal to Mr. Magic Doody on her behalf on an-
other occasion. " And now," he went on, when
she had been comforted, " we'll play ! You'll be
Queen of the Fairies — you can blow your nose
with my hanky first — and Mr. Sammy'll be King
of - Oh, you mustn't get off your Throne, Mr.
Sammy."

" But, if ye please, James - "

Happily for the old man, Nevis appeared at this
junction, having pacified a distracted woman whose
worst sin had been a splitting headache on her
niece's arrival the previous afternoon. She would
have accompanied Nevis to the wood to embrace
the child, had not the artist managed to persuade
her to rest for an hour or two.

In the Magic Wood 55

" Your aunt," he informed Daisy, who had almost
forgotten her wanderings, " says you may stay a
little longer, if you want to, and then we'll all go
home together. She isn't cross, and she sent her
love to you."

Thereafter Daisy became Queen of the Fairies,
and proved almost as obedient as did Mr. Gird-
wood in his role of King of the Gnomes.

Of course Nevis had to be told of the real gnome.
" And Mr. Sammy saw it too, Doody ! "

Nevis looked at the old man, a trifle quizzingly
perhaps.

" Sure," the latter murmured.

" And I 'spect," said Jim, with a happy thought,
" Daisy would have seen it, too, if it had been a
pixie or an elf."

Thereafter no marriage bell could have gone
merrier than their play.

That night, at the fireside, Mr. Girdwood had
an argument with his sister.

" 'Twas you that started me," he said.

" But I didna mean ye to gang so far wi' the
stories. I near drapped when ye began about
Africa — you that never sailed furder'n Dublin.
Ye should draw the line, Samuel, ye should draw
the line."

56 Jim

Mr. Girdwood grunted, then burst into a reckless
fit of chuckling.

" I seen a gnome in the Magic Wood, the day,"
he said at last.

"Yedidna!"

"I did!"

"Oh, Samuel!"

" An' if ye had been wi' James Crow, ye would
ha' seen it, too ! In for a penny, in for a pound ! "

A RAINY DAY

OFTENER than not we may tell a child's sex from
the time the child spends at the window on a rainy
day. Whatever the years make a woman, she is
born domesticated; the little girl looks out of the
window chiefly because something is happening
outside, not because she wishes something would
happen, and returns contentedly to her indoor
interests. But however the years thin a man's
blood, he is born an open air adventurer; the little
boy tires of carpet play, and remains gazing at
the rain and grey skies, wearying for the sun to
shine.

Jim knelt on a chair at the parlour window of the
cottage wherein his father had taken lodgings for
the stay at Clure Bay. Mr. Froggie, Miss Mousie
and the others sprawled neglected on the floor. On
the table lay an open paint-box, some scattered
brushes, and a number of " expression pictures,"
as the boy designated his more than usually gaudy
sketches; also a tumbler of paint-muddied water.
On the haircloth sofa rested several volumes of
juvenile appearance. A small fire burned sulkily

57

58 Jim

in the grate. There was a feeling of heaviness and
dulness in the atmosphere.

The hour was three. It had been a long morn-
ing; it threatened to be a longer afternoon. Since
dawn the rain had fallen straight and steadily, and
still the castle loomed dismally through the mist
and the boats in the harbour appeared ghostly on
the oily water. And it was the day on which Mr.
Girdwood was to have sat for his portrait.

Nevis, a novel on his knee, drowsed in a chair
which was " easy " — after one got the secret of its
springs. He had done his best towards entertain-
ing Jim and Daisy (who had invited herself) during
the morning, and possibly his exertions then (he
had been anything from a hippopotamus to a wind-
mill) coupled with an early dinner were accountable
for his present sluggishness.

The silence which had lasted for some twenty
minutes was broken by the boy.

" Doody," he said softly, without turning from
the window.

There was no answer.

"Doody!"

". . . Well?"

"If you was to sail from here as far as you could,
where would you come to ? "

" America."

A Rainy Day 59

" Oh ! . . . Why would you come to Amer-
ica? "

"What?"

Jim repeated the question.

" Because you would," said Nevis, the least thing
irritably.

After a short pause, " Doody! "

"Well, what is it?"

"If — if you didn't sail as far as you could,
where would you come to? "

" Nowhere." Nevis let the novel slip from his
knee and kicked it across the rug.

" But, Doody," said Jim, whose desire to carry
on any sort of conversation was just then very
acute, " but, Doody, if you came to nowhere you
wouldn't know you was anywhere."

Nevis did not respond.

" How big is America, Doody ? "

" I don't know. . . . Aren't you going to
paint some more pictures ? "

" The light's bad," quoted Jim. " Is America as
big as "

" Botheration ! " muttered Nevis ; " can't you
play with something or other?"

Jim gave a silent little gulp. " I've got no one
to play with me," he said.

" Daisy would have come back this afternoon if

60 Jim

you had asked her. And she wanted you to go to
her house. Would you like to go now?"

" No — no, thank you, Doody."

" Well, what do you want to do? "

" I d-don't know."

With something between a grunt and a groan
Nevis closed his eyes, and a long silence followed,
disturbed only by the occasional squeaking of a
small wet forefinger on the pane. But at last even
that sound ceased, and a little later Jim descended
from the chair. He regarded his paints on the
table, his toys on the floor, his books on the sofa;
but for once they one and all failed to appeal to
him.

He halted in front of his drowsy parent. His
lip trembled.

"I — I don't think I'm feeling very happy," he
said in a breaking voice. " Talk to me, Doody."

It was a gentle stab, but it went deep enough.
Nevis sat up yawning, and took his son on his
knee.

"What's the matter, old Crow?"

" I was feeling so lonely alone," said Jim, and
gave way.

" Poor old Crow, I guess we'll both be glad
when mother comes home. That was it, wasn't
it?"

"If you hadn't went to sleep "

A Rainy Day 61

" Well, well, I'm not going to sleep any more.
What would you like me to do ? Tell you a story ? "

" No ; just talk."

" All right. ... I wonder how our friend
Sammy is getting along to-day. I expect he'll be
rather wild at not getting his sitting."

" I 'spect so, too," said Jim, borrowing his
father's handkerchief. " I 'spect he'll be fearful
grumpy with Mrs. Sammy. I hope he doesn't bite
her nose off."

" Oh, I don't think he would go quite so far as
that, Jim Crow."

" I've heard her asking him not to bite it off,
when he was grumpy."

" Still, I don't think she was really afraid of
actually losing her nose."

" I suspose he would just give it a small bite,
and leave it on."

" I hardly think he would even do that."

" Wouldn't he ? " said Jim, not a little disap-
pointed.

Nevis proceeded to explain that people some-
times said things without exactly meaning them.
" For instance, you remember when old Sammy
was telling us the story about the three lions he
shot in Africa ; he said when they roared he nearly
jumped out of his skin. Now, you know, he
couldn't have jumped out of his skin if a hundred

62 Jim

thousand lions had roared and he had tried with all
his might. D'you see, Jim Crow ? "

" Yes, I see, Doody. Of course Mr. Sammy
couldn't jump out of his own skin "

"Well, then "

" But he could bite Mrs. Sammy's nose quite
easily, if he wanted to."

" Let's have a look at the weather," said Nevis.

At the window Jim, whose spirits were up again,
remarked that the froggies would enjoy this
weather, and expressed a desire to give his own
Mr. Froggie a mud-bath in the window-box.

" That's a delightful idea, Jim Crow," Nevis re-
plied ; " but what do you say to our putting on
our waterproofs, and going down to the harbour,
and getting a boat with lines, and seeing if we
can catch some fish ? "

The suggestion was hailed with rapture and a
request for immediate departure. Nevertheless, it
was first necessary to deposit Mr. Froggie in the
window-box ; " 'cause, you see, he'll be enjoying
himself, too."

" Hadn't you better pick up your other friends ? "
said Nevis mildly, indicating the sprawling toys.

" They pifer being on the floor," Jim replied,
making for the door.

" All the same, we can't leave the room in this
state," Nevis said, going to work.

A Rainy Day 63

" I don't think they mind you picking them up,
Doody," Jim observed; " but they hate me to do it
— they simply loase (loathe) it."

" You're a bit of a humbug, Jim Crow," the
father remarked good-humouredly. " I don't
know how you can make such a mess in a room."

" That's what mother says about the studio at
home," the son replied. " Couldn't you be a little
quicker, Doody ? "

Within the next half-hour the weather gave some
promise of improving.

Mr. Girdwood opened the cottage door for the
fiftieth time that day.

" Ye needna think they'll be comin' now," said
his sister from the kitchen.

" I never said I was thinkin' they would be
comin' now," he retorted.

" Well, can ye not sit still instead o' dancin'
about like a hen on a het girdle ? "

" Clay up ! " was the rude reply.

It had been a bad day for Mr. Girdwood, and
he had made it a worse one for his sister. Now
they had reached the acute stage of irritability.

"Whatever did it rain for the day?" he de-
manded, for somewhere about the hundredth
time.

" I wouldna wonder if it was a judgment on ye

64 Jim

for all the falsehoods ye've been tellin' lately,
Samuel."

"An' who started me at the falsehoods?"

There was a brief pause.

" If ye had left out the Africa falsehoods," said
Miss Girdwood. " What made ye tell about lions
and teegers an' polar bears an' buffoons an' "

" Baboons, ye eediot ! "

" — when ye've never seen a dangerous beast in
yer life? What made ye do it? "

" I've seen plenty dangerous beasts in a men-
agerie. 'Tis jist the same as seein' them in
Africa."

"You an' yer Africa! You an' yer bassoons!
I wonder what the meenister "

" Hold yer tongue, woman, if ye canna keep yer
temper. I said baboons! A bassoon's not a beast ;
'tis a musical instrument — a kind o' flute. A
baboon's a kind o' monkey."

" You an' yer mutes an' flunkeys "

" Tits, woman ! Ye're lossin' yer power o'
speech. Clay up, for any favour! Ye canna even
say flukes an' " Mr. Girdwood left the door-
step rather hastily.

The rain had almost ceased. He strolled round
to the back of the house, growling to himself.

Five minutes later his sister joined him. Left
to herself her ill-temper had evaporated; and she

A Rainy Day 65

had thought of Samuel's rheumatism. Prepared
for a rebuff, she laid a hand on his arm.

" Samuel, will ye no' get wet ? "

But no rebuff came.

" Elizabeth," he said, and pointed. From the
harbour mouth a boat was being rowed by one
Andrew, a fisherman; in the stern sat Jim and his
father.

" Elizabeth, I'm thinkin' ye was right," he said
slowly. " Tis a judgment surely." He turned
abruptly and proceeded indoors.

She followed, and set about making the tea. " I
didna mean it, Samuel," she said at last.

"What?"

" The judgment."

" But / meant it. . . . What's James Crow
an' his doody goin' out wi' Andrew for? Can /
no' pull a boat ? "

" Oh, Samuel, dearie, ye ha' never been in a
boat for twinty year ! "

" Ye said that about the Magic Wood — an' I
won there easy ! "

" But yer rheumatis "

"They should ha' come to me if they was for
the fishin'. I tell ye 'tis a judgment. If I ever
see James Crow again I'll confess that I never was
furder'n Dublin, an' never shot anything bigger'n
a rabbit."

66 Jim

" Oh, but, Samuel — »— " she paused, staring at
the brown teapot in her hand. " But, Samuel
" she paused again.

"An' I'll tell him the truth about the owl —
that ye bought it ready stuffed for a shillin' "

" It was jist a sixpence, dearie."

Mr. Girdwood waved away the soft correction.

" An' I'll tell him that I never really seen his
gnome in the wood "

"Oh, Samuel, Samuel!"

"An' I'll tell him — I'll tell him that ye're three
year older'n me ! " Mr. Girdwood writhed in his chair.

With a cry Miss Girdwood set the teapot on the
hob.

" Na, na, na — na — na! Ye mauna do that,
Samuel, ye mauna do that ! Ye mauna tell him
anything. For ye see " — she moved her hands as
if actually groping for solid arguments — "ye see,
Samuel, yer stories never did the lad any
harm "

" I ken. "Tis me that's gettin' the judgment.
An' I'll never get ma portrait pentit now — I can
see that."

" Toots, man ! Doesna the Lord send the rain
on the just an' the unjust?"

" Ay ; but 'tis maybe not so convenient for the
unjust, Elizabeth. I tell ye, I'll never see ma por-
trait "

A Rainy Day 67

Poor Miss Girdwood! She had a sore time of
it during the next three hours. Samuel's disap-
pointment, his injured feelings, his jealousy, were
not to be soothed by anything she could say. She
was at her wits' end when a knock came on the
door.

Jim entered followed by his father. The boy,
glowing from the sea air, was in a high state of
excitement. He dragged a big fish on a string
across the kitchen floor, heaved it up, and planted
it on the old man's knees.

" It's for you, Mr. Sammy. I caught it.
Doody hardly helped me at all. Didn't you not,
Doody?"

" Nothing to speak of."

" Mr. Sammy, isn't it a splendid fish ? "

" Ay ; 'tis a fine fish," said Mr. Girdwood gloom-
ily, and sighed.

" Now, Jim Crow, we must be going," said Nevis.
" I told you you could stay for just a minute."

" Oh, rest ye a whiley, sir," pleaded the old
woman. " I'll warm him some milk to keep him
from catchin' the cold." She lowered her voice.
" He " — with a nod in her brother's direction —
" had a sad disappointment the day. Bide a wee
whiley, if ye please, sir."

Jim had already made himself at home close to
Mr. Girdwood. " It was the only fish we caught,"

68 Jim

he said, " and it's to make up for you not getting
your portrait painted to-day. Andrew says it's go-
ing to be fine to-morrow "

" Andrew kens nothin' about the weather,"
grunted the old man.

" Oh, but I hope it'll be fine, 'cause Doody is
going to paint you the first fine day. Aren't you,
Doody?"

"Certainly!"

" There ye see, Samuel ! " cried Miss Girdwood,
and put her hand to her mouth.

Samuel bowed his head and appeared to be
deeply interested in the fish.

Miss Girdwood remarked that the warm milk
would soon be ready.

" I'll tell you what we'll do now," said Jim.
" Mr. Sammy, you tell the story you promised to
tell me about the big, huge whale you caught at
Africa!""

Mr. Girdwood wriggled, and the fish flopped on
the floor, whereat Jim laughed heartily.

" Tell about the whale," he urged presently.

" I canna, I canna," protested the old man.
" I'm awfu' obliged for the fish, James Crow, but I
canna tell about the whale. Oh, na, na; 'tis not a
story I can tell."

" Go on, Samuel, go on ! " said Miss Girdwood
in a hoarse whisper. " Tell about yer whale ! "

THE FIRST SITTING

" Now, Jim Crow," said Nevis, settling himself
on his stool, " if you're not going to paint Mr.
Girdwood's portrait along with me, I think you
should find something to do for an hour or so,
because, you see, Mr. Girdwood isn't used to sit-
ting for his portrait, and if you keep running about
and speaking to him, he'll be very uncomfortable."

This in response to a timid appeal from the old
man on the bench by the cottage wall.

" All right, Doody," said Jim agreeably ; " I
think I'll just do a small sketch of Mr. Froggie till
Daisy comes. I've done Mr. Sammy already, you
know."

" Very good," said Nevis.

His son looked gratified. " But it would have
been better if he hadn't had whiskers. Which part
of Mr. Sammy do you. begin with?"

" You may see that for yourself later on, old
chap. Now let's get to work." The artist turned
to the sitter, who immediately drew himself up,
assuming a pose of extreme dignity and rigidity.

" Light your pipe, Mr. Girdwood, and make
69

70 Jim

yourself as easy as you like. It's not as if you
were going to be photographed."

Mr. Girdwood fished out his pipe, looked at it,
and put it back. " I think I'll not smoke," he said
after some consideration ; " 'twill be seemlier want-
in' the pipe. But if ye've nae objections, sir, I'll
give my nose a bit blast."

" No objections whatever," said Nevis gravely.

Mr, Girdwood produced a large red handkerchief
and trumpeted loudly.

" Again, Mr. Sammy ! " cried Jim, highly de-
lighted. " Do Mr. Ephelant again."

"Quiet!" said his father. "Now, just sit at
your ease, as if I were miles away, Mr. Girdwood.
You are the oldest inhabitant, you know, and I
want to show you enjoying the beautiful summer
day in your garden. You understand ? "

" Ay. ... I maun try for to sit at my ease,
sir." And the old man adopted an attitude of
cramped misery.

"Of course it's not that I can't go on with the
portrait," said Nevis patiently. " That's all right
so far as I am concerned. But I don't like to see
you suffering."

" Tisna sufferin' exac'ly, sir. Tis liker a sort
o' — -o* agony."

"Agony?"

" Well, maybe no' that either. If ye would wait

The First Sitting 71

till I ease my collar. Ye see, Elizabeth forgot
where she put the wee stud, an' we had to use a
button on a hairpin, an' the hairpin's — ah ! that's
better ! Now, sir, I'll try my best to please ye."

" Perhaps," said Nevis, " you would like me to
postpone the portrait till another day "

" Na, na! I'll sit easy, sir; I'll sit easy, if it
chokes me."

Jim's request to be informed how " sitting easy "
could choke anybody was cut short by his father,
who pointed out that Mr. Froggie was evidently
feeling neglected. Whereupon the boy applied his
brush to his mouth, thence to the paint styled
" emerald green," and proceeded to execute a de-
sign of which any parent would have been proud
— after the parent had been told what it repre-
sented.

For the next five minutes or so all went calmly.
Mr. Girdwood's pose could scarcely have been
termed " natural," but he frequently smirked in a
way that suggested a certain satisfaction of spirit.

" Doody," said Jim suddenly, " shall you paint
Mr. Sammy's face first, and put the whiskers on
afterwards? "

Nevis ignored the question — which was unwise
of him, an experienced parent. Children don't ask
questions merely for the fun of the thing; no coun-
sel for the prosecution can equal their persistence.

72 Jim

Eventually Nevis was driven to replying that he
painted the whiskers first and the face afterwards.
Jim accepted the answer without comment, which
shows how much better it is to reply promptly to a
child. But he put another question.

"Do whiskers grow, Doody?"

" Yes, of course."

"Like grass?"

" Yes."

A brief silence.

"Doody, what is whisker seed like?"

At this there came from the open kitchen window
a prolonged cackle.

" Hullo, Mrs. Sammy ! " the boy called gaily to
the old woman, who immediately dodged from
sight.

Mr. Gird wood stopped in the midst of a chuckle.
" Away, woman, away ! " he cried sternly ; " would
ye spile the pictur after all? "

Having addressed a few warning words to his
son, Nevis returned to his canvas, while the sitter
gradually composed himself.

" Excuse my sister, if ye please, sir," said the
latter. "How's the pentin' gettin' on?"

" I think we'll manage to make a start soon," the
artist returned, laughing.

Mr. Girdwood gaped.

" The beginning is the worst," Nevis assured

The First Sitting 73

him. " Now make yourself comfortable, and we'll
go ahead."

Nearly fifteen minutes passed without interrup-
tion. Jim, having tired of painting Mr. Froggie's
portrait, was painting Mr. Froggie himself; Nevis
was working diligently; the old man was perspir-
ing and smirking.

Then, all at once, the last mentioned threw out
his right hand, and in a hoarse whisper said —

" Sir, I'm vexed to stop ye, but " His voice

rose to a roar. " Elizabeth, shift frae that window!
D'ye hear?"

For a marvel Miss Girdwood retorted quite
crossly —

" I wasna lookin' at you; I was lookin* at James
Crow."

" Well, I canna thole ye at the window when I'm
gettin' my portrait pentit."

" Ye couldna see me."

" I heard ye breathin'."

Miss Girdwood retired, and Mr. Girdwood after
several violent shrugs regained, with the utmost
precision, his former position.

Jim got up. " I think I'll go into the house and
talk to Mrs. Sammy," he announced, " and see the
fun-owl."

" Do you think he might ? " Nevis inquired of
the old man.

74

"Please! "said Jim.

Somehow Mr. Girdwood did not much care
about his sister having the boy all to herself.

" James Crow isna disturbin' me," he replied un-
truthfully. " He's fine where he is."

" But I want to go into the house, Mr. Sammy."

" I really think it wouldn't be a bad plan," the
artist remarked, with a smile.

" Ah, well," said Mr. Girdwood reluctantly, " ye
best gang in, my lad, an' see the owl; but — ye
needna pay any attention to her. . . . Eliza-
beth ! " he shouted, " open the door ! "

The old woman obeyed almost at once. " What
are ye wantin', Samuel ? "

"James Crow's comin' in to see the owl I shot
in Africa. Mind, 'tis the owl he's wantin' to see."

" An' ye're welcome to see the owl, dearie," said
Miss Girdwood, delighted, to Jim.

" And you'll tell me again how Mr. Sammy shot
it," he responded.

" Na, na ! " cried Mr. Girdwood, greatly per-
turbed. " She's not to do that ! "

" Aw, I'll tell ye about something else, dearie,"
she said kindly —

" Ye're not to tell him anything about me,
woman ! — mind that ! "

" Oh, Samuel," she said soothingly, " dinna fash
yersel'. Jist pay attention to yer portrait."

The First Sitting 75

" I suspose," said Jim, " you don't know about
all Mr. Sammy's adventures so well as he does."

"I — I never speak about them, dearie. Come
in now, for I doubt we're keepin' yer doddy back."

" Doody ! " yelled Mr. Girdwood as the door
closed. "Oh, me! the stupeedity o' women!" he
remarked to Nevis ; adding, " I hope she'll not be
tellin' him a heap o' nonsense about me." Once
more he settled himself in position, but he was ob-
viously nervous.

" I'm afraid that boy of mine has upset you for
to-day," said Nevis at last, fairly baffled by the
changing expressions of the ancient visage.

Mr. Girdwood did not seem to hear. He was
listening anxiously with his mouth; his eyes were
fixed in a sidelong stare on the window. He ap-
peared to be expecting something to happen.

And it happened sooner than he expected. He
all but fell from the bench when, with a merry
" peep-bo, Mr. Sammy ! " a small hand shot forth,
grasping the stuffed owl. A badly stifled cackle
followed the surprise.

The least Nevis could do was to be angry.

" That's enough, Jim," he called. " If you're not
going to "

" Doody," cried Jim unabashed, " do you remem-
ber the book at home, with the picture of the doody
standing beside the wild beasts he shot? "

76 Jim

"What about it?" demanded Nevis, hoping for
a change of subject.

" Well, I think you should paint Mr. Sammy be-
side the fun-owl, 'cause he shot it. ... Mr.
Sammy, will you have it at your feet or on your
knee? Do you hear Mrs. Sammy laughing? — raz-
zer like a tewken! You do laugh funny, Mrs.
Sammy; but I like it."

" Oh, dearie, ye'll be the death o' me ! " gasped
the old woman. Next moment she popped her head
out of the window. " Samuel, dinna be vexed,
man. 'Twas but a bit joke."

" I'm afraid," said Nevis to his son, " you have
quite ruined the sitting. You had better come home
with me at once."

"But, Doody "

" Give Miss Girdwood the bird, and < "

" It's an owl."

" Give it to her, and come to me at once. I'm
ashamed of you."

"You're not!"

" But I am. Come along, quickly ! "

Said Miss Girdwood gently, " Oh, sir, he didna
mean it. Him an' me'll bide in the parlour, an'
let ye win through wi' yer job. I dare say Sam-
uel's awfu' ill to pent. Let James Crow bide wi'
me, if ye please, sir."

But Mr. Girdwood, his mind still obsessed by the

The First Sitting 77

dread of being " given away " by his sister, said,
" Clay up, Elizabeth ! James Crow's better wi' his
doody."

" Come along, Jim," said Nevis sternly. " See
how you've spoilt everything. . . . I'm sorry,
Miss Girdwood, but I must ask you to open the
door for him."

" Can I not get givin' him a biscuit first, sir ? "
she pleaded.

Nevis shook his head. " Jim, I've already asked
you twice to come to me."

" Three times, Doody," said Jim, and broke
down, " But I'm coming," he sobbed.

" Oh, dearie ! " sighed Miss Girdwood, and led
him to the door. " I'm vexed there's not a single
peppermint in the house," she continued. " Dinna
cry, my wee laddie, dinna cry "

" I'm not," said Jim, drying his eyes on her
apron. "But — but Doody said he was 'shamed
of me."

He went to his father without taking any notice
of Mr. Girdwood. He threw himself on his father,
sending palette and brushes spinning.

"Why was you 'shamed of me, Doody?" he
wailed.

" Because — because " Nevis, for the life

of him, could not explain.

" I was never 'shamed of you, Doody."

78 Jim

There was a silence.

" All right, old man," whispered Nevis. " But
you must learn obedience, you know. It all came
of not doing what I asked. Well, well, I forgive
you. No, no ! — I'm not really ashamed of you.
But you must go to Mr. Sammy, and tell him you're
sorry for upsetting everything. Will you?"

" Y-yes, Doody. But — I've lost my hanky."

Presently he approached Mr. Girdwood slowly,
far from willingly.

" Aw, the wee man ! " muttered Miss Girdwood,
and turned into the doorway, tears on her withered
face.

But it was too much for the old man. Up he
got and toddled to meet the boy, crying —

" James Crow, James Crow, 'twas most my fault.
Oh, sure, 'twas all my fault. Will ye shake hands,
an' — an' let it pass? An' if ye say 'tis got to be,
— well, yer Doody can pent me an' the owl — the
fun-owl — in the same pictur — an' I'll chance it ! "

Jim clung to the old hand, but for a space said
nothing. Then —

" I think I'd really pifer the fun-owl in a picture
of its own," he said.

MRS. SAMMY SAVES THE SITUATION

" AND if Mr. Sammy hadn't fired guns and
shouted very loud and made fearful noises with his
feet, the whale would have gobbled him up! —
Wasn't he brave, Doody ? "

" I should say so," assented Nevis, who was ex-
amining a milky -hued pebble which he had just
sifted from a handful of fine gravel.

Mr. Girdwood writhed on the flat rock whereon,
with considerable diffidence, he had seated himself
half-an-hour earlier.

"Did you ever hear of such a brave doody?"
the boy persisted. " The whale had its mouth
wide open, and Mr. Sammy had nothing on but

" Never ! " said Nevis firmly. " I'm beginning
to feel that Mr. Girdwood's African adventures
would make rather an entertaining book."

It may be that one cannot blush after eighty —
in this world, at any rate. But if Mr. Girdwood's
colour failed to increase, he perspired freely
enough.

79

8o Jim

" James Crow," he said feebly, " ye' re not to
bother yer doody wi' my stupid stories."

" They're not stupid," Jim promptly replied.
" And Doody likes to hear them. I tell him all
your stories, Mr. Sammy — don't I, Doody?"

" I believe you do, Jim Crow," said Nevis, taking
up another handful of gravel.

Jim turned to the old man. " Doody liked the
one about when you cuffed the hedgehog's ears for
eating up your dinner in Africa," he said. " Doody
roared and laughed."

"Aw," murmured Mr. Girdwood, and gazed in
turn at sea, sky and cliffs. " 'Tis time I was step-
pin' home," he said at last, making to rise. " Eliza-
beth'll be gettin' the denner ready."

" But you're going to have lunch with us, Mr.
Sammy," said Jim. " You promised — and it's in
the bastek for you. 'Sides, you've got to tell the
story about the giraffes with the f ezzers — feathers
— on their noses. Doody wants to hear how you
stole their eggs when they weren't looking. Don't
you, Doody ? "

" Certainly," said Nevis. " But, still, if Mr. Gird-
wood " He fingered a fresh handful of

gravel. " The pebbles are pretty scarce, aren't
they?"

" That's what Mr. Sammy said about the
giraffe's eggs. Didn't you, Mr. Sammy ? "

Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 81

" Aw," murmured the old man again, looking
supremely uncomfortable. " 'Tis surely very kind
o' ye, James Crow," he continued, " but I — I best
be steppin' home. Ye see, Elizabeth "

" She won't give you beans, will she? "

" No ; 'tis pea-soup on Fridays. But, ye
see "

Nevis roused himself. He and his son had been
lying in the sunny cove since shortly after break-
fast, and the comfort of the shingle and the hush-
ing of the sea had made him drowsy. Mr. Gird-
wood had — apparently quite inadvertently —
joined them about noon.

" The pebbles are pretty, but they are few," said
Nevis, rolling over and sitting up.

" Very, very few, sir," the old man said, still
writhing ; " very, very few, indeed, to be sure."

" You said there was heaps," remarked Jim,
eyeing him.

Mr. Girdwood was getting used to prevaricating.
" I meant very few heaps, James Crow," he said
hastily. "Ye see?"

" I see," Jim replied. " I can find more pebbles
than Doody."

" Quite right," said Nevis, whose pockets bulged
with his son's tribute in the form of sand, broken
shells, pieces of flint and small stones. The milky
and scarlet pebbles for which Clure Bay was noted

82 Jim

were really difficult to find; but it's a sorry sort of
child that can't discover some treasures on the sea-
shore at the first attempt.

" Did you get pebbles in Africa, Mr. Sammy ? "
the boy inquired.

Mr. Gird wood, afraid to commit himself, shook
his head, nodded, then shook it again.

" Wasn't it a nice shore like this, Mr. Sammy ? "

" 'Twas a nice enough shore," was the slow, un-
willing reply; "a nice enough shore for them as
liked it."

" But what sort of shore was it? "

Nevis interposed. " I think you might give Mr.
Girdwood a rest," he mildly remonstrated, " and
then we'll have lunch."

" But he likes talking about Africa, don't you,
Mr. Sammy ? "

" In private, James Crow, in private," the old
man answered in a whisper, desperately.

"What's 'in private,' Doody?"

" Mr. Girdwood means," said Nevis gravely,
" that he prefers to tell his stories to one person at
a time."

" That's why he always stops when Mrs. Sammy
comes," said Jim, looking reflective. " I suspose,
Mr. Sammy, you tell her stories when I'm not
there."

Mr. Girdwood murmured something to the effect

Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 83

that his sister did not much care for his stories,
and added that he must be stepping home.

" Come along, Jim Crow, and help me to unpack
the basket," said Nevis, in order to create a diver-
sion. " Mr. Girdwood must have some soup before
he starts to climb the hill — if he insists on going."

" Mr. Sammy's legs are much stronger than they
used to be," observed Jim. " Aren't they, Mr.
Sammy ? "

Mr. Girdwood chuckled — doubtless with relief
at the longed-for change of subject. " "Tis so,
James Crow, 'tis so. They was only needin' exer-
cise, I'm thinkin'."

" But I'm sure Mrs. Sammy would like the story
about when you killed the four rhinoceroses with
your sword. I'll tell her about it, if you like."

" Na, na ! She — she doesna like to hear about
dangerous beasts "

" Come along, Jim. Take the sandwiches to Mr.
Girdwood," put in Nevis.

" All right, Doody. ... I suppose she pifers
to hear about kind beasts, like froggies and tewkens
and fun-owls, and "

" Jist that, jist that! " cried the old man eagerly,
the sandwich trembling in his hand. " Oh, she's
terrible fond o' hearin' about kind beasts ! I — I'll
be greatly obliged if ye'll never tell her about
nothin' but — but kind beasts."

84 Jim

" I suspose," said Jim thoughtfully, " a hedgehog
is a sort of kind beast — when it's good and doesn't
steal people's dinners. I'd like to tell Mrs. Sammy
about the hedgehog."

" Na, na ! Ye canna call a hedgehog a kind
beast. 'Tis a terrible cruel beast "

" But it's not very big "

" Not very big ! My ! I've seen a hedgehog as

big as — as — as " Mr. Girdwood paused,

looking rather helpless. After all, he did not want
to tell more falsehoods than he could help. "I —
I hope ye'll never tell her about the hedgehog," he
said at last feebly.

Jim appeared far from satisfied. " Would it
frighten her?" he demanded.

"Not exac'ly; but — but " And then Mr.

Girdwood received one of the inspirations of his
life. In a hoarse whisper — "James Crow, I'll
tell ye why ye're not to tell her about the hedge-
hog!"

"Why?"

" Because she canna bear hearin' about jaggy
beasts. It — it mak's her creep."

"On the floor?" said Jim, highly interested.

" Na, na ; it mak's her flesh creep, I should ha'
said — her flesh, ye ken."

" But where does it creep ? "

" Aw — it jist creeps."

Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 85

"Does it hurt?"

" Maybe it doesna exac'ly hurt, but — — "

" Does her nose creep, too ? "

" 'Tis like as not," replied Mr. Girdwood very
solemnly and impressively. " All her flesh creeps."

"If it doesn't hurt, I think I'd like to tell Mrs.
Sammy about the hedgehog," said Jim.

Just then Nevis came over with a mug of soup
in one hand and another of milk in the other.

" Thank ye, thank ye," the old man stammered,
" but I think I best be steppin' "

" Doody," said Jim, who already enjoyed a vision
of Miss Girdwood's nose making a slow circuit of
her head, " shall we go to see Mrs. Sammy after
lunch?"

" Oh, I don't think we'll trouble Miss Girdwood
to-day. We're going to examine the pools when the
tide goes out, you know; and then, you remember,
you are going to have tea with Daisy -"

" But I'd like to see her just for a minute,
Doody."

" Well, well, we shall see." Nevis turned with a
smile to Mr. Girdwood. " Your sister has quite
captured his heart, but she must not allow him to
intrude whenever the spirit moves him in her direc-
tion."

Mr. Girdwood mumbled something incoherent,
finished his sandwich and gulped his soup.

86 Jim

" I best be goin', sir," he said, slowly rising.
" Maybe I'll see ye another time."

" Oh, don't go away, Mr. Sammy," the boy
pleaded. " Stay and help us to look for things in
the pools when the tide goes out."

But Mr. Girdwood would not be persuaded.

" Thank ye, James Crow, but I best be goin',"
he said in a mournful voice. " I'm thinkin' 'tis bad
for my rheumatis hereabouts. I — I'll maybe see
ye an' yer doody another time."

Presently, with the aid of his staff, he was tod-
dling up the rough track of a cleft in the cliff.

" Jim Crow," said Nevis kindly, " you must try
to remember that very old people like Mr. Sammy
don't always want to talk; sometimes they want to
sit quiet. If you had left him alone for a little
while, he might have stayed longer. You see ? "

Jim nodded, and for a moment or two was silent.
Then, with a smile — " I 'spect you'll get a siprise,
Doody, when we go to see Mrs. Sammy after-
wards."

"What sort of surprise, old chap?"

Jim laughed and applied himself to his sandwich
and milk.

Mr. Girdwood approached his home even more
slowly than his aged limbs required. He was in a
sorry plight of mind. Not for a moment did he

Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 87

blame Jim Crow, but he did wish that the boy had
not repeated his stories to Mr. Nevis. It was not
that Mr. Nevis had laughed at his stories, though
that was bad enough; but Mr. Girdwood was un-
easy lest Mr. Nevis might sooner or later object
to his son's companionship with a person who had
lately become almost a stranger to the truth.
Moreover, for the last week Elizabeth, alarmed at
his suddenly developed powers of imagination, had
been urging him to drop his African adventures
altogether and to entertain " the laddie " with tales
having at least some foundation in fact. Unfor-
tunately such efforts had been but coldly received
by Jim, who continued to demand the aforesaid
adventures, which, truth to tell, the old man enjoyed
hugely in the hour of their recital, being carried
away, so to speak, on the wings of his own inven-
tions, though afterwards he became oppressed with
the dread of his sister learning how far he had gone
on the downward way. He knew that, so far, only
the merest fragments of his " adventures " had been
retailed to her. But even so she had taken fright.
What would happen were a single " complete story "
to reach her ears he dared not contemplate.

" 'Tis the big fool ye are, Samuel Girdwood," he
said to himself, "talkin' to James Crow about
makin' her flesh creep. Now he'll be tellin' her
about the hedgehog, for sure — an' 'tis natural

88 Jim

enough for him to want to see it creepin', poor lad.
But he'll not see nothin' — an' then he'll be
blamin' me for deceivin' him, an' Elizabeth'll be
blamin' me for the same as well as for the false-
hoods about the hedgehog. . . . Oh, 'tis a fine
mess ye've got yersel' into, Samuel Girdwood ! "

An astonished Miss Girdwood opened the cottage
door.

" I thought ye wasna comin' home," she began.
Then anxiously — " What's ado, Samuel ? Are ye
sick?"

He shook his head. " Let me in, an' hold yer
tongue ! " A minute later he was in his armchair.
" Na, na. Tak' yer own denner, woman. I've had
all I want. I'm not hungry."

But she set a basin of soup on the table at his
elbow. " Jist leave it, if ye dinna want it. Was ye
feelin' cold on the shore? I hope yer rheu-
matis "

" Eat yer denner, an' never mind me. . . .
James Crow'll maybe be here the day," he an-
nounced abruptly after a longish silence.

" Well, well," she said, pleasure shining through
her perplexity. " I was feart you an' him had cast
out," she went on with a faint laugh. " I won-
dered, when I seen ye comin' up the road "

"Jam.es Crow's maybe comin' to see yer flesh
creep," he said, .and groaned.

Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 89

"What?" The spoon fell from her fingers.

His explanation and confession, which included
the Adventure of the Hedgehog, occupied consid-
erable time. The soup was cold when Mr. Gird-
wood sank back in his chair with another groan.

To his amazement she did not upbraid him. But
there was a solemn silence during which she looked
puzzled and perhaps a little sad.

" 'Tis the worst of all my stories, Elizabeth," he
said at last, apologetically. " 'Tis the fullest wi'
falsehoods of them all. That's how I — I didna
want ye to hear about it."

Of a sudden she laughed. " Oh, Samuel," she
cried, " I wish I had seen ye cuffin' its ears ! "

Mr. Girdwood immediately looked offended.

" 'Twas you that started me at the stories, any-
way," he muttered.

She was grave again. " But surely I tried to
stop ye goin' over far, Samuel."

" 'Tis likely that Eve said something the same to
Adam — after he had ett his bit o' the apple."

She accepted the remark without showing resent-
ment. " I was thinkin' about yer stories all the
mornin', Samuel," she said gently, " an' I got the
notion that the tellin' o' them wasna maybe so bad
a sin after all. Think o' the folks that spends their
lifes writin' story-books! Ye're nothin' to them,
Samuel, are ye? An' I've seen plenty story-books

90 Jim

in the Manse. So I decided to say never a word
more to ye about tellin' James Crow stories, excep'
that I hope ye'll not get into the habit when James
Crow's not there. So, Samuel dearie "

Alas ! How speedily does our repentance evapo-
rate when we find we are to escape a scolding after
all. There was quite an arrogant snap in Samuel's
voice as he interrupted her with —

" That's not the p'int, woman, that's not the
p'int!"

" An' what's the p'int ? " she mildly inquired.

" The p'int's jist this, that ye canna mak' ye flesh
creep for James Crow. That's the p'int ! "

" Mercy on us ! Did ye tell the laddie he would
see it creepin' ? "

" He expec's to see it, anyway — ay, an' yer nose
movin' "

" My nose movin' ! Aw, Samuel "

"I — I tried to save ye, woman." (Oh, Mr.
Girdwood!)

" My nose movin' ! . . . An' he's goin' to
tell me about yer hedgehog to mak' my flesh
creep. Aw, the wee man ! — he'll be that disap-
p'inted!"

" Ay ; for ye canna move yer nose an inch," said
Mr. Girdwood, as if he could move his an ell. " An'
he'll be blamin' me for deceivin' him, for I doubt
he's set his heart on seein' it creep."

Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 91

" Look, Samuel," said Miss Girdwood suddenly.

"That's not movin' yer nose; that's jist makm'
a face. Like as not, James Crow'll wash his hands
o' me after this."

Miss Girdwood sighed helplessly. " 'Tis a terri-
ble thing to disapp'int a little one," she murmured.

" 'Tis all that," said Samuel, and groaned.

Next moment he started as, with a sharp cry, his
sister rose and crossed the kitchen floor.

" Are they comin' ? " he asked anxiously.

" Whisht, Samuel. Dinna speak."

The old woman was peering into the small mirror
over the sink.

A minute passed, and then she emitted a gay little
cackle.

" 'Tis better'n nothin'," she whispered ; " an'
maybe James Crow'll be satisfied "

" What d'ye mean, Elizabeth? "

" Oh, Samuel," she said, half laughing, half sob-
bing, " d'ye not mind when I was a lassie? . . .
I was f eart I had forgot the way — but I can do it
yet — an' I'm sure 'tis fifty year since I done it
last "

" Do what, woman? "

" Move my ears, Samuel, move my ears ! "

It turned out to be one of the most entertaining
half-hours of Jim's life.

92 Jim

He was simply and frankly delighted.
So was Miss Girdwood.

So also might have been Mr. Girdwood, had he
not become jealous of his sister's accomplishment.

JIM TELLS A TALE

" BUT I don't want to be a sausage," the little
girl protested ; " I want to be a princess."

" Well, Daisy, you shall be a princess after you've
been a sausage for ten years," said Jim patiently.
" Doody, tell her the story again."

They were in the Magic Wood once more, and
the boy was keenly desirous of acting the fairy tale
which his father had invented, more or less, a few
evenings ago. In extenuation of its absurdity may
be mentioned the fact that at its first recital the
teller had been harassed by certain worldly cares,
while the listener had previously been wearying for
his absent mother.

" I think you might tell it yourself," said Nevis,
who was sitting a little way off, barely within ear-
shot, making a water-colour sketch.

" Ay, tell it yersel', James Crow," put in Mr.
Girdwood. He had arrived quite unexpectedly a
few minutes ago, and was now enjoying a pipe of
the artist's tobacco. " 'Tis a long time since I heard
ye tell a story."

" Yes," said Daisy, seating herself on the grass
93

94

with her doll. " Tell it yourself, Jim Crow. But
I want to be a princess."

The requests were so sincere that Jim did not be-
come self-conscious.

" I'll tell you," he said, and solemnly he held up
his right forefinger. " Listen ! Pay great inten-
tion. Mr. Sammy, don't laugh with your whis-
kers!"

Mr. Girdwood checked his grin and murmured an
apology.

" Now I'll begin. Daisy, don't speak that silly
way to your doll."

" I was putting her to sleep. . . . She's
sleeping now."

" Well — once upon a time there was a little girl,
and her doody was a king. He was a nice kind
doody, 'cept when he hadn't enough pennies. He
used to tell the little girl lovely stories about fairies.
I suspose he would have told her about gnomes and
pixies and elfs and Mr. Fun-Owl, if he had known
about them. But, you see, he didn't. So one day
the little girl came running to his throne and asked
him to tell her a fairy tale. But the king hadn't
enough pennies that day, and he was fearful cross.
He said : ' Snuff and tonsense ! ' — please don't
make fun-noises, Mr. Sammy — he said : ' Snuff
and tonsense ! I'm not going to tell you any more
fairy tales, 'cause you're too old, and, 'sides, there

Jim Tells a Tale 95

aren't any fairies ! ' And whenever he said that, a
fairy bounced into the room out of nowhere. And
it was a wicked fairy ! And the wicked fairy said :
* Mr. King, did I hear you say there wasn't any
fairies ? ' And the king got angrier than ever, and
he said: 'Of course! Fairies are just snuff and
tonsense ! ' "

" Maybe," Mr. Girdwood ventured gently, " ye'll
be meanin' ' stuff and nonsense,' James Crow."

" No, I don't. Doody says ' snuff and tonsense ! '
Please keep very quiet, Mr. Sammy."

Mr. Girdwood apologized once more, adding,
" 'Tis a fine story, to be sure."

"Yes, it is," agreed Jim heartily. "Wait till
you hear it. ... When the king said that, the
wicked fairy got very angry too, and waved her
wand, and cried, ' Look at your little girl, Mr.
King ! ' And the king looked, and lo ! and behold !
his little girl was turned into a sausage. And she
rolled on the floor, 'cause she couldn't stand."

" A sassige ! " murmured Mr. Girdwood.

" Why couldn't she stand ? " inquired Daisy.

" Sausages have no feet ; they've got always to
lie down or roll about. . . . And then the
wicked fairy went away. But before she went away
she said : * Mr. King, your little girl will be a sau-
sage till a handsome prince kisses her/ Then the
king was in a fearful state, and sent soldiers and

96 Jim

p'licemen to catch the wicked fairy. But they
couldn't find her anywhere. And then the doctor
came, but he couldn't do anything, 'cause a sausage
can't put out its tongue and you can't feel its pulse.
So the doctor shook his head and said — Doody,
what did the doctor say? "

" What doctor ? " Nevis had become absorbed in
his work.

" The doctor that came to the little sausage girl."

" Ah," said Nevis, " he just said : ' Avoid bow-
wows and pussy-cats — one guinea — good-morn-
ing ' — and went away."

" Yes," Jim resumed, " that's what he said. And
the king was m a fearful state, and so was the
queen. Everybody was in a fearful state, 'cept the
little sausage girl "

" Why wasn't she in a fearful state? " Daisy in-
quired.

" 'Cause she was a sausage. Sausages don't know
anything," Jim explained, a trifle impatiently.

" About what size would she be, James Crow ? "
Mr. Girdwood respectfully asked.

" Doody, what size was she? "

" About four inches and three quarters."

" She was about four inches and three quarters,
Mr. Sammy, and she had a little tweaky thing at
each end. For, you sec, she was really turned into
a sausage."

Jim Tells a Tale 97

" 'Tis a grand story, for sure," murmured the old
man, realizing that his African Adventures had not
been so extravagant after all.

" And what happened next? " said Daisy.

" You have a dreadful bad rememory, Daisy.
You couldn't have been listening the last time, when
Doody told it. Listen now ! " Jim held up a small
but impressive forefinger. " Are you listening ?
Are you paying great intention? "

" Yes, Jim," she said meekly.

" Well, I'll tell you what happened next. The
king sent for all the wise old doodies in the land,
and all the wise old doodies came. And some of
them had magic. Then the king said: 'If you
don't turn this sausage into my little girl in three
days, you'll get your heads cut off/ So the wise
old doodies tried very, very hard for three days,
but they couldn't turn the sausage into a little girl
— they couldn't even turn it into a baby. And they
went to the king and said they were awful sorry
they couldn't do anything, but it was the first time
they had ever found anything too difficult for them,
and they hoped the king wouldn't cut off their heads,
'cause their heads were so full of wiseness, and they
didn't really know what they would do without
them.

" So the king thought for a long time and said :
' Very well, I shan't cut off your heads ; I'll just cut

98 Jim

off your bodies. Good-morning.' And they said
— Doody, what did they say ? "

"Who?"

" The old doodies — when the king said he would
just cut off their bodies."

" Oh, they merely said : ' Thank you very much,
your good gracious majesty ; fare thee pump ' — and
passed out."

" Yes ; that's what they said, and ' fare thee
pump ' means * good-bye/ Mr. Sammy."

" And what happened next ? " Daisy inquired.

" I'm going to tell you. But before it happened
the king and queen were in a fearful state. The
king was so sorry he had been cross, and the queen
was so sorry she had made him cross with spending
too many pennies ; and she said it was all her fault,
but the king said it was all his. And then they
kissed each other and said it was all the dress-
maker's fault And they sent people to the dress-
maker to dress her in one of her own dresses; and
when she was dressed she couldn't walk, and she
couldn't sit down, and when she fell she couldn't
get up. And so she had to roll about like a sausage,
too. And the queen said she could whistle for her
'candalous old account. And ever since the dress-
maker has been trying to learn to whistle; but she
can't do it, and Doody thinks she never will, 'cause

Jim Tells a Tale

she hasn't the face. So she just rolls about and eats
pins."

" Preserve us ! " ejaculated Mr. Girdwood.

" Hush ! " said Jim, forefinger up again. " And
so the poor king and queen didn't know what to do
about their little sausage girl. You see, she
couldn't do anything. She couldn't eat, and she
couldn't go to school or have music lessons, and
she couldn't play any games. She couldn't do any-
thing at all."

"Had she any clothes?" This from Daisy.

" No ; 'cause, you see, the queen didn't know
which end to put them on at ; and, 'sides, the things
would slip off as soon as they was put on. So the
king and queen bought a beautiful little meat-safe
all painted green and a dozen — Doody, a dozen
what?"

" Muffin dishes," replied Nevis, who happened to
be listening at the moment.

"A dozen beautiful muffin-dishes — that was it.
And the little sausage-girl lived in the meat-safe
and got a clean plate to lie on every two hours, with
fresh parsley all round her "

" It must have been awful cold," said Daisy.

" She pifered it cold. Once, when it was winter,
the nurse gave her a hot dish, and she — she pre-
spired awful — didn't she, Doody? "

ioo Jim

" You might leave that bit out, Jim Crow," said
Nevis.

"Why, Doody?"

" To oblige me. It isn't so nice as I thought it
was."

" Very well," said Jim agreeably. " And so," he
resumed, " the nurse got beans, and very nearly got
her head cut off, too, and the king and queen hated
the sight of gravy ever after. And every day they
brought handsome princes to the meat-safe, and
opened the door, and let them look at the sausage.
But none of the handsome princes ever wanted to
kiss it, 'cause, you see, princes don't care for
sausages. They think sausages are — Doody, what
do they think sausages are ? "

"Vulgar. But just tell the story in your own
words, old Crow."

" So I do, but sometimes I forget. . . . And
so the king and queen were very mis'rable, for they
thought their little girl would have to be a sausage
always and always. And the handsome princes
just sniffed and went away. What comes next,
Doody?"

" And ten long years went slowly past," said
Nevis solemnly.

" Didn't she grow any bigger ? " inquired Daisy,
wide of eye.

" 'Course not ! Sausages don't grow ! And ten

Jim Tells a Tale 101

long years went slowly past," Jim quoted, and looked
to his father for guidance.

" Now," said Nevis, " you tell how on fine
days "

" Oh, yes, I remember now, Doody. . « .
Listen ! On fine days the king and queen took her
out to get some fresh air. She couldn't walk, you
know ; but she could roll splendidly. And there was
a lovely smooth, green hill near the palace, and they
carried her up to the top and she rolled down to the
bottom. But before they took her out of the palace,
they always fired guns and rockets and banged
gongs and blew whistles and trumpets, and all the
people round about had to keep their bow-wows and
pussy-cats locked up in their houses."

" Deed, ay ! " said Mr. Girdwood, with a chuckle ;
" the dogs an* cats would ha' made short work o*
a sassige ! "

" But it's nothing to laugh at, Mr. Sammy," Jim
returned reprovingly. " Please pay great intention,
'cause I'm coming to the exciting part. Well, one
day — one fine day — the king and queen carried the
little sausage girl to the top of the hill. And the
king cried : * One, two, three and away ! ' — and the
little sausage girl began to roll down. And she
rolled and she rolled and she rolled; and the queen
clapped her hands and cried : ' Faster, darling,
faster ! ' And the king and queen laughed, 'cause

IO2 Jim

their little sausage girl looked so happy when she was
rolling. But all at once they stopped laughing, for
what did they see coming up the hill " — Jim's finger
went up and his gaze grew very grave — " what did
they see, but a great, big, huge, brown bow-wow!
And then the queen cried, * Help ! fire ! robbers ! '
and the king cried : ' Bad dog ! Go home, sir ! '
But the bow-wow only said ' Bowf ! ' and ran to
meet the little sausage girl. And the little sausage
girl rolled to meet the bow-wow. And the king
and queen began to run, but the king tripped on
his watch-chain, and the queen's dress was too tight,
and they both fell and rolled and rolled and rolled.
And the king cried : ' Good dog ! Poor fellow !
Biscuits, biscuits ! ' and the queen cried * Rats and
mice ! ' — but the bow-wow said nothing but
'Bowf!' and ran to meet the little sausage girl.
And the little sausage girl rolled to meet the bow-
wow; and she rolled far faster than the king and
queen. What next, Doody?"

" Then the king and queen bumped "

" Oh, yes ! — The king and queen bumped to-
gether with their heads, and stopped rolling and
sat up and rubbed, their heads. And then they saw
their little sausage girl in the bow-wow's paws.
And they cried ' Caesar, Tiger, Pompom, Fido ! '
and all sorts of names, but the bow-wow said noth-
ing but * Bowf! ' and put down his nose to the little

Jim Tells a Tale 103

sausage girl. And lo ! and behold ! the little sausage
girl jumped out of her skin and became a beautiful
princess with golden hair, and the brown bow-wow
jumped out of his skin and became a handsome
prince, and they were married and lived happy ever
after. And that's all the story. Now let's play
at it."

THE PORTRAIT IS FINISHED

MR. GIRDWOOD'S portrait was finished at last,
and the old man had come to view it. He sat on
the chair placed for him by Nevis, who stood be-
hind him. He held Jim's hand. He smiled and
made clicking sounds with his tongue, but uttered
no word. It was a good portrait: better, perhaps,
than the artist realised then ; yet it was also a good
picture, if only for the retrospection in the old eyes
and the hint of wistfulness at the old mouth.

It was Jim who broke the silence, giving the an-
cient hand a little shake as if to rouse the owner to
speech.

" Mr. Sammy, doesn't Doody paint splendid
whiskers ? "

" To be sure, James Crow, to be sure," Mr. Gird-
wood slowly and gravely replied, and returned to
his gazing and clicking.

"And look at the smoke coming out of the
chimney," the boy continued. " Smoke's fearful
difficult to paint, Mr. Sammy. And see the pipe in
your hand ; Doody put it in afterwards — for a
siprise. And he put the newspaper on the seat for

104

"The Portrait is Finished" 105

a siprise, too. You like having it there, Mr. Sammy
— don't you?"

Nevis interposed. " I think, Jim Crow, Mr.
Girdwood would take a smoke now. He'll tell you
what he likes and doesn't like about the portrait
presently. You might fetch my tobacco pouch. I
must have left it in the garden."

"All right, Doody; I'll fetch it." Half-way to
the door Jim halted and returned. " Doody, I want
to whisper."

"What is it, old chap?" said Nevis, bending
down.

" Don't let Mr. Sammy say nothing till I come
back."

Nevis nodded reassuringly, and the boy ran off.
Mr. Girdwood continued to click contentedly.
Nevis watched him with a faint smile, then sud-
denly with keen interest. The pose of the old head
and shoulders. . . . Jim's sketching-block was
lying on the table. Picking it up Nevis hastily
pencilled a rough impression — a mere memoran-
dum, as it were. " I wonder," he said to himself,
" why I never tried this sort of thing before."

Then Jim reappeared with the pouch.

" Better have a smoke, Mr. Girdwood," said the
artist. " Hand him the tobacco, Jim."

" Smoke, Mr. Sammy," said Jim encouragingly.

" Thank ye, James Crow, thank ye." Mr. Gird-

106 Jim

wood took the pouch, but made no move to get out
his pipe.

Several minutes went past. From regarding his
aged friend with curiosity Jim fell to eyeing him
with perplexity. Presently he took a glance at his
father. Nevis was gazing at the old man with (it
seemed to his son) a worried look.

Jim went softly from Mr. Gird wood's side and
slipped his hand into his father's. It was as if he
had said : " Never mind, Doody. We know it's
good."

Nevis seated himself on the sofa and drew the
boy between his knees. " Mr. Girdwood is a critic
just now," he said in an undertone, smiling, " and
we must never disturb critics, you know."

" I see, Doody," said Jim, not quite comprehend-
ing the words, but reassured by the smile. " Do
crit — critics always tick like clocks ? " he whis-
pered.

" Not always, Jim Crow. But you never know
when they'll strike. Look here! Do you know
who that is ? " Nevis exhibited the rough sketch
he had done in the boy's absence.

" A fun-doody," was the prompt reply. " Did
you do it for me with your eyes shut ? "

Nevis laughed and pocketed the sketch.

" I think," remarked his son, " I could do a
funnier one."

"The Portrait is Finished" 107

" Try," said Nevis, handing him block and pencil,
and for a little while Jim forgot about critics.

At last Nevis, who was eager to get back to a
canvas he had been engaged on in the garden prior
to the old man's arrival, said in his mildest voice —

" Mr. Girdwood, I'm sending your portrait to
Glasgow to-morrow, as I'm anxious to have a
friend's opinion of it."

Mr. Girdwood appeared to waken up.

" Aw," he said, and scratched his head. " But,
sir, yer frien' has never seen me. Excuse me for
sayin' it, but how can ? "

" Of course my friend can't tell whether it's a
good likeness or not, but he knows good painting
from bad."

" Aw/' said Mr. Girdwood again. " Ye'll excuse
me, but — but d'ye think ye'll maybe get a hunderd
pound for the picture? "

Nevis laughed. " Well, I have my doubts," he
returned good-humouredly. " As I told you before,
portrait painting is hardly in my line."

" Aw," said Mr. Girdwood once more.

" I 'spect Doody will get a hundred pounds," Jim
put in.

" I was going to say," the artist continued, " that
you might like Miss Girdwood to see it before I
pack it up. If she cares to come up "

" Na," said Mr. Girdwood firmly.

io8 Jim

" You think she wouldn't like it ? " asked Nevis,
taken aback.

" Mrs. Sammy would love to see it," said Jim,
half puzzled, half indignant. " She's been weary-
ing to see it. She told me."

" I dare say she would like fine to see it, James
Crow," Mr. Girdwood replied, the least thing stiffly.
" But 'twill be better for her not to see it."

" I don't think that's very nice," said Jim.

At this little reproof Mr. Girdwood looked dis-
tressed, but said nothing.

"What do you think of the portrait yourself? "
Nevis inquired, endeavouring to conceal his annoy-
ance.

" If ye please, sir, I'm just in the midst o' lookin'
at it," the old man replied in a curiously pathetic
tone.

The artist's irritation departed.

" Come along, Jim," he said briskly. " We'll go
out to the garden, and leave Mr. Girdwood to ex-
amine his portrait in peace. Fill your pipe, Mr.
Girdwood, and take as long as you like. There's
no hurry. When you've had enough of the portrait
you'll find us outside."

" Thank ye, thank ye," the other murmured,
and Jim went with his father, but not quite willingly.

" Do you think Mr. Sammy has got a pain? " the
boy inquired the moment the door was shut.

"The Portrait is Finished" 109

" Possibly his rheumatism is bothering him to-
day. Come along, and let me see the new house
you've built for Miss Mousie in the garden."

" It's not finished yet, Doody. The drains aren't
made yet."

" But surely Miss Mousie won't like living in the
house before the drainage is right."

"Oh, yes; she pifers it So does Mr. Frog-
gie."

" I'm glad to hear it. By the way, what has come
over Daisy this morning ? "

Jim squeezed his father's hand in a confidential
fashion. " I told her not to come till the afternoon,
'cause, you see, I thought you would be wanting to
play with me this morning."

" Oh," said Nevis, glancing at the unfinished
work on his easel.

" Come and help me to make drains," urged Jim,
pointing to a wondrous erection of sticks, stones and
soil in a corner of the garden.

" Do you think I can afford the time to make
drains this morning, old chap? You see, I don't get
any pennies for making drains, and you know we
want to make as many pennies as we can before
mother comes home."

" I think mother would like you to make drains
too — just for a little while, Doody," the boy said
softly.

no Jim

" I shouldn't wonder," yielded Nevis. " All
right, I'm at your service for half-an-hour."

" Come on, then ! " cried Jim delightedly, and
added : " If you would like to be excited, we can
have an earthquake afterwards."

" But what would Miss Mousie say to that? "

" Oh, she simply loves earthquakes. So does Mr.
Froggie. Let's run, Doody ! "

Presently they were very busy indeed.

" You must show Mr. Sammy this wonderful
house," Nevis remarked when the drains, consisting
of disused lemonade bottles and jelly jars were —
in Jim's opinion — well and truly laid.

" I 'spect he'll like it. I'm going to build one in
his garden some day. Shall I call him to come
now?"

"No, no; leave him alone a little while longer."

"All right, Doody. But you're not going to
paint yet? "

" Not just yet. We'll take a walk round and see
the flowers growing."

" Yes ! . . . D'you know, Doody, I think I
know why Mr. Sammy was cross ! "

"Why, Jim Crow?"

" 'Cause he doesn't want the picture to go away."

" Perhaps you're right. But, you remember, he
didn't want Mrs. Sammy to see it."

" I suspose he didn't want her to be sorry too.

"The Portrait is Finished" in

But p'r'aps not; p'r'aps he was afraid she would
want a picture of herself."

Nevis smiled. " Then you think he likes his por-
trait?"

Jim's face was grave. " He'd better ! " he said
distinctly.

" Loyal Jim Crow ! . . . Well, if he really
does like it, don't you think we ought to tell him
about the water-colour copy of his portrait for him-
self?"

" But then it won't be a siprise," objected Jim,
who was a great believer in surprises.

" Still, though his picture isn't quite ready, he
would be surprised to be told he was going to get
it."

Jim nodded. " I'll go in and tell him now."

" No ; wait till we're quite sure that he does like
the portrait," said Nevis. " Would you mind if I
did a little work now ? "

" No. I'll come and stay beside you."

" Don't you want to do anything? "

" No. Just stay beside you. . . . Doody."

"Yes?"

"If you was to make a fearful heap of pennies,
would it make mother come home soon ? "

Nevis selected a brush. " I'm afraid all the pen-
nies in the world wouldn't do that, old Crow," he
said gently. " Because, you understand, it's the be-

H2 Jim

ing away with Aunt Margaret that is making mother
well and strong. Pennies have nothing to do with
that But we must have patience. She'll be home
in two months now."

" How long is two months? "

" Sixty days."

" How many days is sixty days ? "

" You'll learn all that when you go to school,"
said Nevis, squeezing a tube of cobalt.

Jim sighed. " I don't think pennies are much
good after all, Doody."

" Not always. But supposing we got a fearful
heap of pennies, Jim Crow "

"What, Doody?"

" Why, you and I could get on board a big
steamer and sail away to meet mother and bring her
home."

" Oh ! . . . wouldn't my savings help ? "

Just then Mr. Girdwood came slowly from the
house. His gait and appearance suggested pro-
found dejection.

" Shall I tell him now ? " whispered Jim.

" Not yet." Nevis waved his brush. " Come
away and sit down, Mr. Girdwood. I don't want
you to talk about the picture unless you feel dis-
posed; but I do want you to tell me what I'm to
call it. Would you prefer ' Samuel Girdwood —

"The Portrait is Finished" 113

Oldest Inhabitant,' or simply ' The Oldest Inhabi-
tant'?"

Mr. Girdwood seated himself on the grassy bank
near by and bowed his head. " "Pis a fine picture,"
he murmured.

" But what about the title? "

" 'Tis a great honour — a great honour, to be
sure," said the old man sorrowfully.

" You would like your name in the title, then? "

Mr. Girdwood sighed. " 'Twould be a fine thing
to ha' my name away out in the world yonder — a
great honour, surely."

" Very well, thank you. The portrait is called
' Samuel Girdwood — Oldest Inhabitant/ '

" Thank ye, thank ye."

" And if I get a hundred pounds for it, I'll let
you know."

" Thank ye, thank ye. ... But I doubt none
o' the folk in Clure Bay'd believe me — • unless I was
to show them yer letter, sir."

" You would be welcome to show them my letter,"
said Nevis pleasantly. " I only hope I may have
reason to write it."

" I'll write you a Froggie letter, Mr. Sammy,"
said Jim kindly.

" Thank ye, James Crow. But I was meanin',
sir, that none o' the folk would believe my portrait

H4 Jim

was worth a hunderd pound, unless I could prove
it."

" I quite understand, Mr. Girdwood, though I
think you are too modest. Now, tell me, haven't
you changed your mind about letting your sister see
the portrait before it goes to Glasgow? "

Mr. Girdwood shook his head. " 'Twill be best
for her not to see it. But " — he went on rather hur-
riedly — " I'm terrible obliged to ye, sir, for pentin'
it. Tis a fine pictur', to be sure." He cleared his
throat. " I noticed ye had mended the bit pane that
was cracked in the kitchen window. 'Tis wonder-
ful, an' I'm terrible obliged — terrible obliged. I
knowed everything in the picture — 'cept the bit
pane." He groaned and relapsed into gloomy si-
lence.

Nevis nodded to his son and then at the bent fig-
ure.

Jim got up eagerly and laid a hand on Mr. Gird-
wood's arm.

" Do you know, Mr. Sammy, Doody has nearly
finished another picture with water-colours, and it's
the same as your portrait, and it's for your very
own self. Doody was going to give you it for a
siprise for being so kind to me, but p'r'aps it's a
siprise to hear about it. Is it ? "

It was.

At last — " 'Tis far too kind ye are — you, James

"The Portrait is Finished" 115

Crow, an' yer doody — far too kind — far too kind.
An' Elizabeth'll be that proud."

And a little later — " Maybe, after all, 'twouldna
hurt Elizabeth to see the one ye're sendin' away.
I'll fetch her to see it, sir, afore ye pack it up, if ye
please, sir. Maybe I'll fetch two or three o' the
neighbours likewise. Tis a great honour, to be
sure." He rose in haste. " I'll best away an' tell
Elizabeth to get hersel' dressed."

They watched him depart with astonishing light-
ness of step.

" I'm awfully hungry, Doody," said Jim.

" We must put that right at once," said Nevis,
getting up. " I hope Mr. Sammy doesn't bring
along the whole population this afternoon."

Mr. Girdwood did not go quite so far as that.
He allowed the babies, a few mothers, and a man
with a broken leg to stay at home.

THE DEPARTURE OF DAISY

" I'M going away to-morrow."

Daisy sitting on the grass, her doll Eva in one
arm and Miss Busted Tewken in the other, made
the announcement to the seat of Jim's little white
pants.

Jim was extremely busy. Miss Mousie and Mr.
Froggie were expecting some children shortly —
per Dr. Goose — and it had become necessary to
add a storey to the garden residence. During the
morning hours Daisy had been a willing assistant,
and Jim had been too polite to inform her that she
knocked down more than she built up; but he had
been relieved when she had departed to her aunt's
for dinner. She had no head for building, and,
moreover, she had hurt his feelings by declining
to see in an old broken bicycle lamp, which he greatly
prized, a handsome gas stove for Miss Mousie's
kitchen. Now that she had unexpectedly returned,
he hoped she would not want to help in any way;
and while his little grudge against her was as good
as forgotten, he continued to labour earnestly and

116

The Departure of Daisy 117

industriously as if to show her that he desired to be
independent in his task.

" I'm going away to-morrow, Jim Crow," she said
again.

" Oh, are you, Daisy ? " His attention was all
on a fragment of slate in his left hand.

" Yes ; I'm going home. Auntie had a letter at
dinner-time. I'm going with the first train to-mor-
row morning."

" Oh, are you ? " Jim began to scrape the slate
with a palette-knife recently borrowed from his
father, with the absent-minded permission of the
latter. " I'm afraid I shan't have Miss Mousie's
house ready for you to see."

" I've got a new little sister," said Daisy. " I'm
going home to see her."

"Are you? I haven't got the roof finished yet,
and then I've got to make the bath-room. It's go-
ing to be a splendid bath-room, with a water bath
for Miss Mousie and a mud one for Mr. Froggie.
Miss Mousie's is to be very long 'cause of her tail,
and Mr. Froggie's is to be very short 'cause he has
no legs."

There was a short pause while Jim fitted the slate
in position.

" My new little sister," said Daisy, " is very, very
beautiful, and she is so good; she hardly ever cries.

n8 Jim

She is going to have the loveliest fair hair — like
Eva's."

" Miss Mousie's children are going to have brown
hair. . . . Did Dr. Goose bring your new little
sister ? " The inquiry was made with a faint in-
crease of interest.

"Of course not!" Daisy returned indignantly.
" Dr. Tobin brought her."

" Miss Mousie pifers Dr. Goose. So does Mr.
Froggie. So do I," said Jim equably, and pro-
ceeded to select another fragment of slate.

" Dr. Tobin brought my new little sister from
away up in the skies."

" Has he wings like Dr. Goose? "

" I don't believe there's any Dr. Goose ! " cried
Daisy.

Jim was not disturbed. " You believe awful few
things," he said placidly; " I suspose you can't help
it"

" But you've never seen Dr. Goose."

" That's 'cause he's un — unvisible. You've
never seen Dr. Toby flying about in the skies —
have you ? "

" N — no," sighed Daisy reluctantly. " But his
name isn't Toby," she added, as though that made
a difference; "it's Tobin."

" Toby is much nicer."

"It isn't!"

The Departure of Daisy 119

Jim gave her a brief glance. " What makes you
so cross?" he mildly asked. "Have you got a
pain?"

"You're a rude thing!" murmured Daisy, and
blushed behind Miss Busted Tewken.

Possibly Jim missed the remark. He had re-
turned to his housebuilding, and for some minutes
there was silence.

Then — " My new little sister is very healthy,"
Daisy observed. " The nurse says she never saw a
finer, healthier child. I hope mummy will call her
Gladys."

"Why? 'Cause she's glad?"

" No, of course not. Gladys is a lovely name.
I wish I had been called Gladys."

" I like Daisy better," said Jim carelessly.

"Do you really, Jim Crow?"

" Yes ; but you're not very like a daisy."

There was another silence.

" Would you like me to help you? " she inquired.

Jim pretended not to hear.

Daisy sighed. " I wish my new little sister had
been a little boy," she said in a far away voice.

" Do you ? You should ask the doctor to change
her."

"He couldn't do that!"

" Dr. Goose could. He often changes babies for
Miss Mousie. But he nearly always brings what

I2O Jim

she orders. She's having three of each sort this
time."

" I don't believe " she began, and stopped

short. " But I don't think mummy would want to
change. Perhaps I shan't either, when I get
home."

" Perhaps you won't," he agreed. " Now the
roof is nearly finished. Afterwards I'll let you
make some mud for Mr. Froggie's bath. — You'll
like doing that — won't you, Daisy ? "

" Yes, thank you. But perhaps there won't be
time. I've got to go home soon."

" Oh, well, it doesn't matter."

After a pause — " I'm going away with the 'first
train to-morrow," she said.
-"Are you?"

" And I'm just awful glad ! I hate this place ! "

" I like it. Why do you hate it, Daisy? "

" I — I don't know, but I hate it."

" That's like me and pea-soup. I don't know
why, but I hate it — I simply loase it ! Do you like
pea-soup ? "

In a breaking voice she said : " I'm afraid I can
never marry you."

" Never mind, Daisy. It doesn't matter," he re-
turned kindly.

" But — but you once said you would marry me."

" But I said I would marry Mrs. Sammy first —

The Departure of Daisy 121

so it doesn't matter in the least — it really;
doesn't."

Daisy made one more effort.

" Don't you wish you had a little sister? "

" Yes," he replied, putting the last slate in its
place.

" Perhaps you would like me for a little sister."

Jim tapped the slate in a professional manner.
" I think I'd pifer a small brother," he said at last.

Whereupon Miss Daisy sobbed aloud.

Jim was regarding her with utter bewilderment
when his father came from the house bearing a treat
• — a dish of ripe pears — for the children.

Failing to get any explanation from his son,
Nevis applied soothing words to Daisy, who pres-
ently poured forth her griefs.

" He doesn't want to marry me — and he doesn't
want me for his little sister — and he doesn't want
me to help him — "

" Doody, I said she could make mud for Mr.
Froggie's bath."

" — and I'm going away to-morrow — and I came
to say good-bye — and I brought Miss B — Busted
Tewken for Jim to say good-bye to — and I didn't
want to make mud "

" But, Doody, she said "

" Hush, Jim 1 I'm afraid you've been unkind to
Daisy," said Nevis, a trifle sternly.

122 Jim

" Oh, but he didn't mean it, he didn't mean it,"
she cried at once.

" Did you not mean it? " Nevis demanded of his
son.

" 'Course not ! " replied Jim promptly. " And I
don't know what she's crying for. She's awful
stupid, Doody."

" Jim ! " his father said warningly.

" I'm not stupid ! " wailed Daisy, with a fresh
flow of tears. " I'm not stupid, Jim. Say I'm
not"

" Well, youTre not," he admitted, softening at her
distress.

" Then say you're sorry," said Nevis.

" But I'm not. . . . But I'll give her a kiss,
if she likes, and lend her my hanky."

" Do you wish him to give you a kiss, my dear? "
asked Nevis.

" Yes, please — • and his hanky, too," she whis-
pered.

The hanky was rather earthy, but Daisy made
no objections. Then Jim knelt down on the grass
and kissed her.

" I think I'm sorry, Doody," he remarked. " But
I don't know what for. . . . What a nice smell
you've got, Daisy. Have you been taking your
auntie's perfume again ? "

" It was for Eva," she said in an unsteady voice.

The Departure of Daisy 123

" And I put some on Miss Busted Tewken, too.
Smell her!"

After the contact with his old fluffy friend Jim
looked grave.

" Do you think Miss Busted Tewken wants to
go away from here? " he asked.

" I promise to be very kind to her, Jim Crow,"
she replied. "/ don't want to go away now —
except to see mummy and daddy and the little new
sister."

Jim made no response, but continued to gaze at
Miss Busted Tewken until Nevis interposed with
the question —

" Well, who says a pear ? "

Nevis found an opportunity of privately admon-
ishing his son to the effect that as it was Daisy's
last visit he ought to be specially kind to her and
do everything to please her.

" All right, Doody," said Jim.

And ere long he permitted her to build chimneys
on the Mousie-Froggie residence, and only kept
his mouth very tightly shut and his hands clenched
when, thanks to their deplorable construction, the
chimneys fell and wrecked most of his day's work.

Daisy was regretful enough, but blamed the mis-
hap on the silly stones and offered to build them up
again, but Jim pretended not to hear, and turned

124 Jim

away lest she should see his face. To some extent
she retrieved her worth in his opinion by discover-
ing, a little later, a delightful patch of bluish clay
— a substance the boy had been long and eagerly
seeking; but he would have esteemed her still more
had she taken part in the manipulation of the clay
into objects of use and ornament for the aforesaid
residence.

However, on the whole, the afternoon passed
happily enough. Daisy stayed to tea, and would
have stayed much longer had not her aunt appeared
to take her away.

" It seems cruel to part children when they are
so happy together," remarked Miss Mingay to
Nevis. " They are just like sweethearts," she
added, with a sentimental smile. " I hope the part-
ing won't break their little hearts."

Nevis, who had looked after the children together
five times for once that Miss Mingay had troubled
herself about them, echoed the hope the least thing
dryly.

" It is such a pity," the lady went on, " that your
little boy has no little playmate. Does he know
any little boys at home? "

" Oh, yes ; but when they are not available, it is
wonderful how he endures his parents."

" Ah," she murmured, " I have always been a
great believer in children mixing as much as pos-

The Departure of Daisy 125

sible with other children and not seeing too much
of their parents."

Nevis smiled without replying.

Presently Miss Mingay commanded Daisy to
make her farewells, and after ten minutes or so
Daisy, satisfied that she had inspected every one
of Jim's possessions, consented to go.

At the door Nevis kissed her and slipped a piece
of silver into her hand.

" Good-bye, little girl," he said tenderly.

"Aren't you going to kiss Jim?" inquired Miss
Mingay of her niece, observing that the boy was
gazing solemnly at the latter.

" Jim ! " said his father.

Daisy approached boldly, but her lip trembled.

" Kiss Eva first, Jim Crow," she said.

" No, thank you. But I'll kiss you "

He kissed her once.

"— and Miss Busted Tewken."

He kissed her twice.

Then he clutched his father's hand, while Daisy,
guided by her aunt, went weeping away.

While Jim, a little later, was being put to bed,
he suddenly threw his arms round his father's
neck.

" Oh, Doody, it's so nice to be alone. I don't
want nobody but you — and Muzzer."

126 Jim

Nevis held his son close. " Oh, Jim Crow," he
said to himself, " if there was only the slightest
possibility of your saying that — a few years
hence ! "

MR. GIRDWOOD WINS A PRIZE

" I BEST gang up an' tell him," said Mr. Gird-
wood suddenly, turning from the kitchen window.
" I'm sayin', I best gang up an' tell Mr. Nevis."

" Tell him what? " said Miss Girdwood, the least
thing impatiently.

" Tell him about that man that's been pentin' the
castel since nine o'clock." And Mr. Girdwood
took his bonnet from its nail.

" Mr. Nevis isna heedin' if a score o' men was
pentin' the castel. He couldna stop them, any-
way."

" A' the same, I best gang up an' tell him."

" Ye best bide where ye are, Samuel. Ye've
been like a hen on a het girdle since breakfast-
time. Mr. Nevis'll never be in the house on a
fine day like this. Ye dinna ken where to find
him."

" He'll be in the Magic Wood. An' if he's not
there, he'll be on the shore. I best gang up an'
tell him."

" Maybe he's not wantin' ye." She regretted the
words immediately. For on this occasion Mr. Gird-

127

128 Jim

wood did not rudely order his sister to " clay up."
Quite humbly he said —

" Maybe ye' re right, Elizabeth." He sighed and
replaced his bonnet on the nail, and went slowly to
his seat by the fireside. " "Tis most likely ye're
right."

Miss Gird wood paused in her task of scrubbing
the dresser, and regarded her brother with per-
plexity.

" Is there anything wrong wi' ye, Samuel? " she
asked at last. " Are ye sick ? "

For an instant an angry retort seemed inevitable.
Then, " Na, there's nothin' wrong wi' me," he said
quietly.

Her perplexity increased. " 'Tis a fine day," she
said. "Are ye not for the garden?"

He got up, saying, " Ay, I'll sit in the garden,"
and went out in a listless fashion.

Miss Girdwood resumed her scrubbing, but halted
at the end of a couple of minutes. " What's ado
wi' him? " she asked herself. Presently she stepped
over to the door.

" Samuel," she said softly, "I — I wasna
meanin' to be cross wi' ye."

" 'Twas no matter," he returned ; " 'twas no mat-
ter at all, Elizabeth. Never heed about me."

This humility was too much for the old woman.

Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 129

" But I doubt there's something wrong wi' ye,
Samuel."

He took out his pipe, looked at it, shook his
head, and replaced it in his pocket.

" An' I didna mean for to keep ye from goin' to
see Mr. Nevis, if yer heart was set on it," she
continued. " Maybe the walk would be good for
ye/'

Unseen by her Mr. Girdwood clenched his fists.
" I best bide where I am," he murmured, and
groaned.

She regarded him in a stupefied fashion.
" Samuel, dearie," she said at last, " I canna under-
stand ye."

Mr. Girdwood, looking as if he would burst,
held his peace.

" Samuel, dearie," she ventured again, " I'm
vexed I said Mr. Nevis wouldna maybe want ye,
for he's aye gled to see ye, an' so is James Crow.
Will ye not tak' a walk "

Mr. Girdwood hoisted a fist high in air.
" Woman," he began in a terrible voice. Then the
fist fell weakly, and once more he groaned and
gently sighed. " Never heed about me, Elizabeth,
never heed about me. Ye asked me to bide here,
an' I'm goin' to bide here. I — I — prefer bidin'
here. I'm sayin' I prefer bidin' here to — to please

130 Jim

ye. So ye can gang back to yer work in the
house."

"But — but "

Mr. Girdwood's hands opened, then gripped the
edge of the bench whereon he sat. " For any fa-
vour," he said in a strained and piteous voice,
"gang into the house an' let me be."

"But "

" Away, away ! Leave me to my • — my brood-
in's."

" Oh, Samuel, I doubt — I doubt there's some-
thing wrong wi' ye. Would ye try to swallow
a »

Mr. Girdwood held on to the seat as though
some tremendous force threatened to draw him
into space. " Elizabeth," he said hoarsely, " for
mercy's sake let me be ! "

Miss Girdwood looked altogether distracted. She
opened her mouth, closed it, took a step back from
the door, returned and whispered brokenly —
" Samuel, dearie, will ye cry if ye want me? "
"Ay," he replied shortly. "But gang!"
She went in reluctantly and closed the door.
Slowly Mr. Girdwood's grip on the bench re-
laxed. He lay back against the wall. He wiped
his brow. He drew several long breaths. He
folded his hands. And almost devoutly he mut-
tered trie words —

Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 131

"The Lord kens I deserve the prize, an' I wish
it was to-morrow."

It was late in September, but the still afternoon
was warm and balmy; the scents of the garden
were heavy and soothing. Presently the old
shaggy head drooped, the grey beard lay flat on the
shabby vest. Mr. Girdwood drowsed.

A few minutes later Miss Girdwood peeped
stealthily from the kitchen window. Her anxious
countenance cleared somewhat at the sight of the
placid slumberer. " Maybe he was jist a wee bit
wearit," she said to herself, " but I didna like him
bein' that soft-spoken an' ready to please. 'Twasna
nateral."

Nearly an hour passed. Several times the old
woman peeped out, but saw nothing to alarm her;
and on the last occasion she smiled, for she per-
ceived Jim coming across the meadow. " 'Twill
likely be all right now," she murmured, and with-
drew hopeful.

At the opening of the little gate Mr. Girdwood
started and rubbed his eyes.

" 'Tis James Crow ! " he exclaimed in pleased
surprise. " I didna expec' to see ye the day, James
Crow. — But where's yer Doody ? "

" He's coming too — with your portrait — but he
met another artist doody in the field, and they

132 Jim

talked, so I just came along myself. I suspose
you've been having a small nap, Mr. Sammy. You
look very sleepy."

" Aw, jist for about three minutes."

" Had you any fun-dreams ? "

Mr. Girdwood shook his head. He didn't feel
equal then to inventing any " fun-dreams " which,
by the way, had of late taken the place of African
Adventures.

" I did my best for to dream them," he said, " but
I couldna manage it. Maybe I wasna sleepin'
sound enough. But I was terrible tired."

Jim looked disappointed. " What made you tired,
Mr. Sammy?"

" Strivin' to please ye, James Crow. But we'll
not speak about it till the time's up." Mr. Gird-
wood sighed. " The time's not up till the morn,
ye mind." Then he brightened. " So yer Doody's
bringin' the portrait. 'Tis terrible kind o' him, an'
'tis a great honour — a great honour."

" I think it is," Jim assented frankly. " But I've
got the prize in my pocket, and I'm going to give
it to you now — if you deserve it. Do you deserve
it, Mr. Sammy? " The question was put with much
solemnity of voice and countenance.

" The Lord kens," sighed Mr. Girdwood, " I've
did my best. 'Twas terrible severe on me, but I've

Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 133

never spoke a cross word to her since I got out my
bed at nine this mornin'."

" That was rather late," said Jim.

" 'Twas all that, James Crow, but, ye see, it made
the day shorter."

" I see. . . . And you never spoke a cross
word since then?"

" Never oncet."

" Nor called her stupid? "

" Never oncet."

" Nor told her to clay up, Mr. Sammy ? "

" 'Twas a great wonder I didna, my lad." Mr.
Girdwood's tone was faintly touched with asperity.

" Nor roared at her till she thought you was
going to bite her nose off?" inquired Jim, with
more interest than ever.

" James Crow," the old man declared, not with-
out emotion, " 'tis the voice o' a mouse I've been
speakin' wi' the day — the voice o' a mouse ! " A
happy thought struck him, and he added, " Even
the voice o' yer frien', Miss Mousie — exceedin'
soft an' kind — not that I can say I ever heard her
speakin'."

" I have," said Jim, highly delighted by the refer-
ence to his favourite. " I've heard her speaking to
Mr. Froggie. Sometimes she speaks to me, too.
But you've got to listen fearful hard."

134

Mr. Girdwood nodded. " Same time, James
Crow," he remarked, " 'twas terrible severe on me."

" I think," said Jim, tugging at something in his
pocket, " I think, Mr. Sammy, you deserve the
prize."

Mr. Girdwood looked modestly gratified. " 'Tig
for you to say, James Crow, 'tis for you to say.
But the Lord kens - -"

" I'm going to give you one of my f roggies —
Mr. Froggie, Jenior. He has got one leg. Of
course I couldn't give you Mr. Froggie, Sunior,
'cause he's married to Miss Mousie, and, 'sides, I
have a great infection for him. You didn't 'spect
I would give you Mr. Froggie, Sunior — did you,
Mr. Sammy ? "

" 'Deed, I — I never expected a frog at all ! "
said Mr. Girdwood, truthfully enough. " But d'ye
not mean Junior an' Senior?"

" Doody says Jenior and Sunior. Here is Mr.
Froggie, Jenior. Please take great care of him,
'cause I 'spect he'll miss me very much. I'll miss
him. He gets a water bath every day and a mud
one on Saturdays."

It was not without reluctance that Jim laid the
xylonite object on the palm of his ancient friend.

" Aw, I'll tak' great care o' him, ye can count
on that," said the recipient of the prize gratefully.
" An' 'tis terrible kind o' ye, James Crow - ~"

Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prise 135

" And 'tis a great honour, Mr. Sammy."

" To be sure, to be sure ! I'm real proud o' f e-
ceivin' Mr. Frog, Junior — I mean Jenior, James
Crow — real proud ! But " — the speaker's voice
sank to a confidential whisper — " ye — ye'll not be
for tellin' Elizabeth what I got the prize for."

The boy did not appear to comprehend. He
asked several questions.

" 'Twill be best for her not to know," said Mr.
Girdwood, rather at a loss. " An' 'twill be a fine
secret for you an' me."

The latter argument appealed. a All right, Mr.
Sammy," said Jim. " I'll not tell her. But I 'spect
she'll wonder lots."

" 'Tis woman's business to wonder — • I mean for
to say, 'twill do her no harm to wonder. Same
time, would ye mind if I said 'twas a present 'stead
o' a prize, James Crow?"

Jim thought for a few moments. " It's a pres-
ent, too, Mr. Sammy, 'cause, you see, you wasn't
nice to Mrs. Sammy for a whole day."

" The Lord preserve us ! " murmured the old
man.

" So you can tell her it's a present. Here's
Doody coming with your portrait ! "

The hanging of the picture in the parlour was a
ceremony of the briefest, for Mr. Girdwood had

136 Jim

driven the nail for it more than three weeks ago,
to be precise on the day of its being promised to
him. On the contrary, the admiration which fol-
lowed the hanging was of such long duration that
the artist became extremely embarrassed and his
son not a little impatient. While remembering his
promise to the prize-winner, Jim was yet anxious
to have some conversation with the prize-winner's
sister, but it was not until she retired to the
kitchen to make tea — >she would have been sorely
hurt had her guests refused hospitality then, and the
table was already laid for them — that the boy
found his opportunity. He joined her in the
kitchen, and after a little while said —

" I suppose you've been very extra happy to-day,
Mrs. Sammy."

" "Pis a great day, to be sure," she replied, meas-
uring the tea from the caddy. " Samuel an' me
are terrible proud o' the picture. Sich kindness I
never heard o'."

" But you've been very extra happy without the
picture," said Jim after a pause.

She set the pot on the hob ready for the boiling
water. She sighed.

" Samuel wasna hissel' the day, dearie, but
maybe he'll soon be better."

Jim was too puzzled for speech. He stared at
her.

Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 137

" Ye see, dearie," she continued, with another
sigh, " Samuel's gettin' old, an' I was a wee bit
anxious about him the day, for he bided in his bed

till after nine, an' then he But we'll not

speak "

There was a heavy step at the door and the voice
of Mr. Girdwood exclaimed crossly —

" Aw, woman, for any favour clay up ! "

" Mr. Sammy ! " cried Jim.

" Oh, me ! I couldna help it, James Crow," said
the old man in dire confusion, and retired with all
the haste in his power.

Jim turned to Miss Girdwood, and was aston-
ished to encounter her smile.

" 'Tis all right, dearie, 'tis all right," she whis-
pered. " He's hissel' again, an' I'm terrible gled.
But ye'll not tell him I was sayin' he wasna hissel'
the day — will ye not? "

Poor Jim Crow was fairly lost in the mystery of
it all, and eyed the old woman in silence.

" Ye'll not tell him I was sayin' he wasna hissel'
— will ye not ? " she pleaded.

" Very well, I'll not, Mrs. Sammy," he promised
at last, much to her satisfaction, if not to his own.
But he determined to lay the whole matter before
his father whenever they should be alone.

On quitting the cottage, however, they encoun-
tered the artist to whom Nevis had spoken earlier

138 Jim

in the afternoon, and when he left them at the door
of their lodgings Jim was sleepy enough to have
forgotten his determination for the time being, at
any rate. A minute later he would have forgotten
it, however alert his little brain.

For on the table in the sitting-room lay a letter,
which Nevis snatched up and tore open. And pres-
ently Jim, having picked up the envelope from the
floor, heard his father saying in rather a queer
voice — •

" Old Crow, this is good news."

" But it's not from Muzzer, Doody," said the
boy, who sometimes forgot his grown-up pronuncia-
tions towards bed-time.

" No ; it's not from Mother, but it means "

He broke off, seated himself on the crazy easy-
chair and drew the boy to his knee. " Do you
know, Jim Crow, that you're a perfect little brick? "

"Why, Doody?"

" Because you made me paint old Sammy's por-
trait." He cleared his throat, put his arm round
his son, and continued : " This is a letter from the
man I sent the portrait to. He writes to say that
he thinks it very good, and that a lot of other peo-
ple think it very good, and that some of them have
been wanting to buy it, and that he has sold it to
one of them for — for two hundred and fifty
guineas, Jim Crow ! "

Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 139

" How much is that, Doody ? More than all my
savings? "

" It's a great deal of money — for us to get for
a picture. But the best of it is that the man says
I've found myself, and I must go on painting more
old doodies. . . . And I'd never have thought
of it but for you "

" And Mr. Sammy."

" No ; I'd never have done it for him, my boy.
And now, d'you know what you and I are going
to do?"

"Write to Muzzer."

" No ; we're going to cable to her — - send her a
wire, you know; and we're going to go to her.
We're going to get on board a big steamer and
sail away to a place called Capetown, and there we
shall meet her on her voyage home, and we shall
all come home together "

" Oh, Doody ! Now? Shall I pack Miss Mousie
and Mr. Froggie ? "

" I think we shall leave here the day after to-
morrow. We'll do our packing to-morrow. It
will be a busy day, so you must have a good
sleep."

But they sat for an hour or so longer, and at the
last Nevis carried his boy to bed. When he had
tucked him in finally, and was leaving the room
softly, a small drowsy voice said, " Doody, please."

140 Jim

"What is it, Jim Crow?" asked Nevis, return-
ing. "Aren't you very happy?"

" Yes, Doody. But — if you have any of the
pennies left, will you buy me a fun-owl — like Mr.
Sammy's ? "

UNTIL THE SPRING

THE following day was a busy one for Nevis,
but he found time to send a note to the old people
informing them of his sudden change of plans, and
bidding them to five o'clock tea. Jim insisted on
enclosing a " Froggie letter," explaining, in hiero-
glyphics, that he also was very busy indeed.

" I suspose they'll be sorry we're going
away," the boy remarked, and his father nodded
absently.

" But they'll be fearful glad to come to tea. I
hope Mr. Sammy has been having some more fun-
dreams. He'll be fearful excited to hear we're
going to Africa ! " Jim had been questioning his
father concerning the journey since 5 130 A. M.
" Do you think we shall have some adventures,
Doody?"

" I shouldn't wonder, Jim Crow."

" I shouldn't wonder, either, Doody. Miss
Mousie is so excited about it! She didn't sleep a
wink all night."

" That's most unfortunate. But we must get on
with our packing."

141

142 Jim

i

" Yes, we must, Doody," agreed Jim, who was
naturally in a high state of happy enthusiasm.

And down in the cottage, half-an-hour later, the
old people sat regarding each other in dismay.

" But he said they was goin' to bide in the Bay
till the end o' October," Mr. Girdwood was mur-
muring for the third time.

" Ay, Samuel," she returned, fingering the note
— Mr. Girdwood would not let the " Froggie let-
ter" out of his possession — "ay, Samuel. But ye
see he didna ken he would be goin' abroad to meet
his wife. Tisna as if he had tooken a scunner at
the place." With an effort at cheerfulness she
added, " 'Tis likely they'll come back again some
day, Samuel."

Mr. Girdwood groaned and shook his head.

" 'Tis a judgment on me for the falsehoods," he
said.

" Havers, man ! " she said gently.

" Can ye prove 'tis not a judgment ? " he de-
manded.

" Aw, Samuel, dearie, is James Crow not leavin'
me, too ? An' how can it be a judgment on me that
never told him a falsehood ? "

:< Ye egged me on — at the beginning anyway.
Ye canna deny that."

After a pause — " But James Crow'll be terrible

Until the Spring 143

gled to get quick to his mother," she ventured.
" Ye vvouldna grudge "

He wagged his head. " I tell ye 'tis a judgment,"
he said stubbornly. " An' I've been gettin' ready
a place in the garden for his Miss Mousie's new
house. He was comin' the day to start on the
buildin'. I've got some real cement for him, an'
Macfarlane was goin' to gi' me a score o' the best
bricks. An' I was to help him."

" 'Tis a great pity, surely, but, Samuel, dearie,
the cement an' the bricks'll keep till he comes
back "

" He'll never come back. I tell ye, James
Crow'll never come back. An' if he does come
back, he'll not be the same James Crow. He'll ha'
forgot his queer bit toys, an' he'll not be heedin'
about stories an' dreams, an' he'll be done wi' the
Magic Wood, an' "

" Oh, Samuel, dearie, 'twill be a lang while afore
he's as big as that. I'm thinkin' he'll aye be the
same James Crow to you an' me. An' if we canna
tell for sure what he'll be, we — we ken what he's
been."

Miss Girdwood arose, smiled encouragingly at
her brother and went over to the window. For
some minutes she gazed at the sunny meadow — the
meadow that had been the same to her for fifty

144

years — until two months ago. She would never
look upon it again, summer or winter, without a
vision of a small, sturdy, white-clad figure cross-
ing its acres. She wiped her eyes with her apron,
furtively, remained for a minute longer, and then
turned a brave countenance to the old man.

" I best be gettin' yer things ready for the tea-
party, Samuel," she said, as she left the kitchen.

Mr. Girdwood said nothing, nor did he raise his
eyes from the " Froggie letter."

But almost immediately she returned.

" Samuel, here a minute."

" What's ado ? " he asked moodily.

" Come ben to the parlour."

He followed her slowly, unwillingly.

She pointed to the stuffed owl.

" Would ye not be thinkin' o' givin' it to James
Crow?" she said softly.

His face brightened a shade — and gloomed
again.

" 'Tis your owl, Elizabeth."

" 'Tis yours now, Samuel."

Mr. Girdwood considered. " Ye'll not be tellin'
him 'twas a present from yersel' ? "

"'Twill be a present from you, Samuel — jist
you."

Mr. Girdwood nodded, stepped forward and pos-
sessed himself of the bird. " 'Tis a pity ye've not

Until the Spring 145

tooken better care o' it," he remarked critically.
" Tis shabby-like."

" Tak' it into the kitchen, an' I'll get ye some-
thing to dust it wi' an' put a bit gloss on its feath-
ers. James Crow'll be fine an' pleased, yell see."

Mr. Girdwood bore the bird to the kitchen.
" Haste ye wi' the things for cleanin' it," he called
quite briskly. And for the next two hours he ap-
peared almost cheerful.

The tea-party was a much less melancholy affair
than might have been expected. The old people's
depression was not proof against the happy atmos-
phere created by Jim and his father; along with
their shyness it vanished speedily. And then Nevis,
guessing what the news would mean to the old man,
told him of the sale of the picture.

" My ! But 'twas quick work ! " exclaimed Mr.
Girdwood. " Ye'll excuse me, sir, but I hope ye
didna let it gang over cheap. I — I was hopin' ye
would maybe get a hunderd pound, sir," he added
wistfully.

Nevis could not resist telling him the price.

It was almost too much for Mr. Girdwood. For
nearly a minute he sat speechless, stunned. Then
he sat up in his chair, and a smile dawned and
broadened, and his whole being seemed to swell
with gratification and importance.

146 Jim

And he banged his fist on the table, narrowly
nissing his cup and saucer.

" Elizabeth ! " he roared, " did ye hear that ? Mr.
Nevis has gotten twa hunderd an' fifty guineas for
a picture o' me! "

" Ay, ay, Samuel," she said softly. " Tis a
great honour to you, to be sure."

" 'Tis a great honour to you to be my sister ! "
he returned so fiercely that Jim was on the point of
reminding him of the prize of the previous day.

Nevis, however, changed the subject by saying
pleasantly that he hoped Mr. Girdwood would fa-
vour him with more sittings in the spring; he was
anxious to paint a fireside portrait.

At this the old man's cup of satisfaction brimmed
over. Countenance and voice alike softened as he
turned to his sister.

" Ye was right, Elizabeth," he murmured, " an'
the Lord is terrible good to us."

After tea they passed to the garden.

Mr. Girdwood, with many badly suppressed
chuckles, led Jim to a certain bush, parted the
leaves, and bade him peep in.

And behold, there was the stuffed owl!

It was some little time ere the boy's delight per-
mitted him to return coherent thanks.

" Is it from you, Mr. Sammy ? " he asked at last.

Until the Spring 147

Somehow the " ay " stuck in Mr. Girdwood's
throat. He coughed. " 'Tis from us both," he
said, not without difficulty, and added, with a su-
preme effort, " 'Twas her notion, James Crow."

Jim flew across the garden and embraced the old
woman.

" But 'twas Samuel's " she began.

" Aw, clay up, Elizabeth ! " cried Mr. Girdwood.

Later Mr. Girdwood enticed Jim, with the
promise of a " fun-dream," to the other end of
the garden.

" But I'm goin' to tell ye a true secret first," he
said rather nervously. " A story's jist a story, an'
maybe it doesna matter how much truth's in it, but
I've got to draw the line, James Crow, when it
comes to — to sheer deceit." He paused and made
a gesture in Miss Girdwood's direction. He cleared
his throat, hesitated, sighed, and solemnly whis-
pered —

" She's three year older'n me."

"Is she?" said Jim vaguely.

" I'm sayin' she's three years older'n me. She's
the oldest inhabitant."

" I see," said Jim, cuddling his owl and wonder-
ing what all the solemnity was about. " And
you're the oldest doody, Mr. Sammy. Now tell me
the true secret."

That Mr. Girdwood was more annoyed than re-

148 Jim

lieved by his indifferent reception of his tremen-
dous confession is highly probable, yet almost im-
mediately he plunged into the recital of a
" fun-dream " which easily surpassed all his previous
efforts in the direction of fiction — so far so that the
conclusion found his listener regarding him with
more doubt than admiration. Happily, however,
ere any cross-questioning could take place, a tele-
gram arrived for Nevis. It was from one of the
great shipping offices, and while informing Nevis
that the required passages had been booked, it
turned the boy's fancy to thoughts of ships and con-
versation thereon.

Later Miss Girdwood plucked at her brother's
sleeve. " 'Tis time we was goin', Samuel."

Jim looked up at her. " I'm not going to pack
Mr. Fun-Owl, Mrs. Sammy. I'm going to carry
him all the way to Africa. I 'spect he'll be glad
to get back to Africa. I'm glad Mr. Sammy hadn't
to eat him — aren't you? "

" Surely, dearie. I doubt an owl'd be poor
eatin'. I'm thinkin' Samuel couldna ha' ett it any-
way."

Jim turned to Mr. Girdwood. " Did you

never eat an owl, Mr. Sammy? You once told

)>
me

" Ay," said Mr. Girdwood firmly, " I've ett hun-
derds in my time."

Until the Spring 149

" You see, Mrs. Sammy, you don't know very
much about Mr. Sammy's adventures."

" Nor about his feastings," interposed Nevis.
" Come, Jim Crow, we'll just go to the gate with
our friends, and then you must get off to bed."

Mr. Girdwood rose from the seat with obvious
reluctance.

" I'll ha' some rare stories for ye when ye come
back, James Crow," he said.

" I 'spect you will, Mr. Sammy. I'm going to
have some adventures, too; and I'm going to ask
all the people in Africa about you, and tell them
how brave you were."

" Aw," Mr. Girdwood murmured doubtfully, " I
— I never done anything worth the speakin' about.
An' — an' Africa's a big place," he added, a trifle
more confidently ; " ye'll not likely see anybody that
kent me."

" That's truth, anyway," remarked Miss Gird-
wood the least thing dryly. But she patted her
brother's arm.

" I'm going to tell Mother all about you — about
you both," said Jim. " And you'll see her when
we come back in the Spring."

" In the Spring," murmured Mr. Girdwood.

" In the Spring," his sister echoed.

And now they were come to the gate-

150 Jim

About nine o'clock the following morning a
wagonette was being driven smartly along the high-
road. In it Nevis sat with his arm round his boy,
who embraced Mr. Fun-Owl. Jim looked radiantly
happy, and perhaps his father's gravity was only of
the moment.

" There they are ! " said Nevis, as the wagonette
turned a bend of the road. " Wave to them, Jim
Crow. We owe them a good deal, don't we?"

" We do, Doody," Jim agreed, with an affection-
ate glance at his owl which he was now holding
aloft.

At the foot of the green slope Mr. and Miss
Girdwood stood by the little rickety gate. They
waved a table-cloth between them; they waved it
earnestly, faithfully, until the wagonette passed
from their view. Then, somehow, they both let go,
and it fell at their feet unnoticed.

They stood gazing at the empty road until with
one accord came their whispers —

" In the Spring."

It's an old heart that cannot look forward.

THE END

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