Nicky-Nan, Reservist Part 30

But don't you see that 'tisn' _like_ Mother to be so daggin' to quit the old house?"

"She wants to get the grievin' over, I tell you," 'Bert maintained.

As for 'Biades, he was rather more--certainly not less--of a nuisance than children of his age usually are when a family intends a move.

He asked a thousand questions, wandered among packing-cases as in a maze, and, if his presence were forgotten for a moment, sat down and howled. On being picked up and righted he would account for his emotion quite absurdly yet lucidly and in a way that wrung all hearts. On the second day of packing he looked out from a zareba of furniture under which he had contrived to crawl, and demanded-- "What's a Spy?"

"A Spy?" his mother echoed after he had repeated the question three or four times. "A Spy is a wicked man: worse nor a Prooshian."

"What's a Prooshian?"

"A Prooshian," said Mrs Penhaligon, inverting one bedroom chair on another, "is a kind o' German, and by all accounts the p'isonest.

A Spy is worse nor even a Prooshian, because he pretends he isn't till he've wormed hisself into your confidence, an' then he comes out in his true colours, an' the next thing you know you're stabbed in the back in the dark." Mrs Penhaligon might miss to be lucid in explanation, but never to be vivid.

"What's your 'confidence'?" asked 'Biades, after a digestive pause.

His sister 'Beida turned about while she b.u.mped herself up and down in a sitting posture on the lid of an old sea-chest overfilled with pillows, bed-curtains, and other "soft goods."

"It isn't your stummick, on which you're crawlin' at this moment like Satan in the garden. And only yesterday your askin' to be put into weskits on the ground of your age! A nice business 'twould be to keep your front in b.u.t.tons!" While admonishing 'Biades, 'Beida continued to b.u.mp herself on the sea-chest, her speech by consequence coming in short interrupted gushes like water from a pump. "A Spy,"

she continued, "is a man what creeps in a person's belongings same as you're doin' at this moment, an' then goes off an' gets paid for writin' to Germany about it: which if we didn' know from bitter experience as you couldn't spell a, b, 'ab,' we should be feelin'

nervous at this moment, the way you're behavin'."

"How can you tell a Spy?" persisted 'Biades after another pause, ignoring reproof. "Does he go about with a gamey leg, like Mr Nanjivell? Or what?"

"Don't you set up to laugh at gamey legs or any such infirmity," his mother warned him, "when there's an All-seein' Eye about; an', for all we know, around the corner at this moment gettin' ready to strike you comical."

"There's no way to tell a Spy at first," added 'Beida; "an' that's why they're so dangerous. The usual way is that first you have your suspicions, an' then, some day when he's not lookin', you search his premises an' the fat's in the fire."

"What's an infirmity?" asked 'Biades. Getting no answer, after half a minute he asked, "What's premises?"

Still there was no answer. With a sigh he wriggled backwards out of his shelter. Seizing the moment when his sister had at length pressed down the lid and his mother was kneeling to lock it, he slipped out of the room and betook himself to the water-side, where he fell into deep thought.

This happened on Tuesday. During Wednesday and the morning of Thursday the child was extraordinarily well-behaved. As Mrs Penhaligon observed to her daughter--

"You kept warnin' me he'd be a handful, messin' about an' unpackin'

things as soon as they was packed. Whereas if he'd been his own father, he couldn' ha' been more considerate in keepin' out o' the way. 'Tis wonderful how their tender intellec's turn steady when there's trouble in the family."

"But there isn't."

"Well, you know what I mean. For the last two days the blessed child might not ha' been in existence, he's such a comfort."

"Well," said 'Beida, "you _may_ be right. But I never yet knowed 'Biades quiet for half this time 'ithout there was somebody's bill to pay at the end o't."

That same afternoon as Miss Charity Oliver came down the hill on her first errand as Relief Visitor, at the corner by Mrs Pengelly's she happened on young 'Biades, posted solitary before the shop-window.

There was something queer in this: for the elder children had started a game of tig, down by the bridge--that is to say, within earshot-- and as a rule any such game attracted 'Biades fatally to its periphery, where he would stand with his eyes rounded and his heart sick for the time when he would be grown up and invited to join in.

To-day his back was turned to the fun.

Miss Oliver, however, knew no more of 'Biades ways than that on her approach as a rule he either fled precipitately or, if no retreat offered itself, stood stock-still, put a finger in his mouth, and seemed to be calling on some effort of the will to make him invisible. To-day he met her accost easily, familiarly, even with what in a grown male might have been taken for a drunken leer.

"Well, my little man!" said Miss Oliver. "And what might you be doing here, all by yourself?"

"Choosin'," answered 'Biades. Reluctantly he withdrew his eyes again from gloating on Mrs Pengelly's miscellaneous exhibits. "I 'spect it'll end in peppermint lumps, but I'd rather have trousers if a whole penny would run to 'em."

He held out his palm, exhibiting a coin over which his fingers quickly closed again.

"What's that money you have?" asked Miss Oliver sharply.

"A penny," answered the child. "A whole penny. I like peppermint lumps, but they smell so strong in your breath that 'Bert and 'Beida would find out an' want to share. Of course trousers are found out quite as easy, or easier. But you can't go shares in trousers: not,"

added 'Biades thoughtfully, "if you try ever so."

"May I see the pretty penny?" coaxed Miss Oliver: for in the glimpse allowed her it had seemed an extraordinarily bright and yellow one.

"You mustn' come no nearer than you are now," said 'Biades, backing a little. After an inward struggle he opened his fingers and disclosed the coin.

"Where did you get _that?_" Miss Oliver's eyes were notoriously sharp. Her voice rapped out the question in a way that made 'Biades blink and clasp the coin again as he cast a desperate look behind him in search of retreat.

"Mr Nanjivell gave it to me."

"Mr Nanjivell! . . . He couldn't!" Miss Oliver took a step forward.

'Biades lowered his head.

"If you come a step closer I'll b.u.t.t 'ee!" He threatened.

"Mr Nanjivell gave it to me," he repeated, and, seeing her taken aback, soared upon the wing of falsehood. "Mother's changing houses, an' Mr Nanjivell said I'd behaved so quiet I deserved a penny if ever a boy did in this world."

"A penny?" Miss Oliver echoed. "But where did he--how did he come across that kind of penny? Such a bright penny, I mean."

"He spat upon it, an' rubbed it on his trousers," answered 'Biades with a glibness that astonished himself, 'peeking' between his fingers to make sure that they really held the prize. Inspiration took the child, once started, and he lied as one lifted far above earth. "Mr Nanjivell said as it might help me to forget Father's bein' away at the War. Mr Nanjivell said as I couldn' learn too early to lay by against a rainy day, and I was to take it to Missis Pengelly's and if it took the form of trousers he didn' mind.

Mother wanted me to put it in the savings bank, but he wouldn' hear of it. He said they weren't to be trusted any longer--not savings banks. He said--"

"But where did _he_ get it?"

'Biades blinked, and set his face hardily. He had the haziest notions of how money was acquired. But from infancy he had perforce attended chapel.

"He took up a collection."

"_What?_"

"He took up a collection, Miss: the same as Mr Pamphlett does on Sunday. Back-along, when he was at sea--"

"Alcibiades," said Miss Oliver on a sudden impulse, feeling for her purse. "What would you say if I gave you two pennies for your bright new one? Two pennies will buy twice as much as one, you know."

"O' course I know _that_," said 'Biades cunningly. "But what for?"

"Because you have told me such a pretty story."

'Biades hesitated. He had been driven--in self-defence, to be sure-- into saying things at the bare thought of which he felt a premonitory tingling in the rearward part of his person. But somehow the feel of the coin in his hand seemed to enfranchise him. He had at once a sense of manly solidity, and of having been floated off into a giddy atmosphere in which nothing succeeded like success and the law of gravity had lost all spanking weight. He backed towards Mrs Pengelly's shop door, greedy, suspicious, irresolute.

Miss Oliver produced two copper coins, and laid them in his palm.