Penelope and the Others Part 24

"It's all right," said Ambrose, "and Dr Budge is very much obliged to us."

He spoke importantly, which was always trying to Nancy.

"Do you suppose," she continued, "that the doctor's jackdaw really heard yours call, or would he have come back anyway?"

It struck Ambrose for the first time that his own jackdaw had not made a single sound before the other one had returned. If he had called, it would certainly have been heard through the open window of the study.

"Did you _hear_ him call?" persisted Nancy. "Because if you didn't, I don't believe he had anything to do with it, and you might just as well have left him at home."

Ambrose walked on very fast into the house, but there was no escape from Nancy, who kept pace with him, insisting on a reply. The only one he had to give was a very frequent one on such occasions:

"How silly you are, Nancy!" And he began to feel the gravest doubts as to whether his jackdaw had really been of use.

Be this as it might, there was no doubt at all that Dr Budge was really grateful, and as the days went on Ambrose began to like his master more and more, and to feel quite at home with him. He seemed, since the recovery of the jackdaw, to be much less absent-minded, and looked at Ambrose now as though he were a boy and not a volume. Ambrose felt the difference in the gaze which he often found kindly fixed on him, and it made him think that he would like to ask Dr Budge's help in other matters than lessons.

This was on his mind more strongly than usual one particular morning when he had been to Dr Budge for about three weeks. Instead of opening his books at once and setting to work as usual, he rested his elbow on the top of the pile, gazed earnestly at his master, and presently gave a deep sigh. Dr Budge was writing busily, and at first was quite ignorant of the gaze, but at the sigh he looked up.

"Anything the matter, Ambrose?" he asked. "N-no," answered Ambrose.

"There's nothing the matter exactly, only to-day's mother's birthday."

"Well, there's nothing to look mournful about in that, is there?" asked the doctor kindly. "Your mother will be home again soon, won't she?"

Ambrose looked down at his Latin grammar and got rather red.

"I was thinking," he said, "that we meant to open the museum to-day, and now it can't ever be opened."

"How's that?" asked the doctor.

This question was hard to answer all at once, but it led to others until the whole unlucky history of the crock and Miss Barnicroft's money, and the failure of the museum, was unfolded. It took a very long time, but as he went on Ambrose found it easier to talk about than he could have supposed. The doctor was an admirable listener. He said almost nothing, but you could see by his face, and the way in which he nodded at the right places, that he was taking it all in. He did not seem surprised either at anything in the affair, and treated it all with great gravity, though from time to time his eyes twinkled very kindly.

"And so," he said when Ambrose had finished, "the museum's never been opened?"

"Never really opened," said Ambrose, "and we wanted mother to do it on her birthday. The worst of it is," he added more shyly, "that father said he couldn't trust me any more. I mind that more than anything. It doesn't so much matter for David, because he's such a little boy, but I'm the eldest next to Pennie."

"But all this was some time ago," said the doctor. "Have you been careful to be quite obedient ever since it happened?"

Ambrose thought a moment.

"I think so," he said. "You see there hasn't been much to be obedient about, only just little everyday things which don't make any difference."

"You want something hard to do, eh?" asked the doctor.

Ambrose nodded.

"There's nothing much harder to learn than obedience, my boy," said the doctor, looking kindly at him. "It takes most of us all our lives to learn it. Latin's much easier."

"But," said Ambrose with an uneasy wriggle, "being obedient doesn't show. I want something to show father."

Dr Budge looked absently out of the window a moment, and Ambrose began to be afraid that he had forgotten all about the subject. But he suddenly looked round and said:

"_Better is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city_."

Seeing Ambrose's puzzled stare he continued:

"You see we must remember that the best and most useful things do not always make the most noise in the world. The man who rules his spirit to obedience does not do anything that 'shows' at all. Very often no one knows what he has done. The man who takes the city does it with noise and tumult, and gets fame and praise. Yet of those two the first perhaps does the harder thing, and may be more useful to his fellow-creatures. And it is just the little common things which come every day and don't show that we must be careful about, because they keep us ready to obey in a great thing if we are called to do it. So if I were you, Ambrose," said the doctor, smiling very kindly as he ended this speech, "I would be careful about the things that don't show. Your father will know then that he can trust you, though you may think they are too little and common to make any difference."

Ambrose had never heard Dr Budge say so much before on any subject, and indeed he was generally rather sparing of his words. It was all the more flattering, therefore, that he should take all this trouble, and he had looked so very kind while he was talking that Ambrose said to himself, "I'm very glad we got his jackdaw back."

He went home full of the best resolutions possible, which he carried out so well for the next few days that Nancy asked in surprise: "Why are you so good?" feeling sure that something must have happened.

Dr Budge said nothing more about the museum or anything approaching it for some days, and Ambrose thought he had forgotten all about it. He was quite startled, therefore, when his master, suddenly leaning forward over his desk, said one morning:

"I suppose you and David still want to fill the museum?"

"Oh, yes," he replied, "of course we do!"

"Well, then," said Dr Budge, "I want to go to the chalk-pit beyond Rumborough to-morrow, and if you were both to go with me we might find something that would do for it."

Ambrose was speechless. He stared at the doctor's kind red face almost as though he was frightened at the proposal.

"I could give you some fossils of my own," said the doctor, glancing round at his dusty treasures, "but it would be better to find something for yourselves. You could learn a little by doing that."

"Would you really take us?" said Ambrose; "how awfully kind of you!" He spoke under his breath, for it seemed too good to be true.

"You see," said the doctor, "one good turn deserves another. You and David helped me to find Jack, so it is only fair that I should help you to fill the museum. If we get on well you can open it when your mother comes home, instead of on her birthday. Wouldn't that be a good plan?"

Ambrose hardly knew how he got over the road between the doctor's cottage and the Vicarage that day, he was in such haste to tell the wonderful news to David. They went up after dinner to the deserted museum, and looked at it with fresh interest. It was dim and dusty now, but how different it would be when it was filled with all the really valuable objects they would find with the doctor's help! Did it want any more shelves? they wondered. David had put up so many that there was hardly a bare s.p.a.ce left on the walls, and it was decided that for the present no more should be added.

"But I'll tell you what," said David, "we'll get a mop, and a pail, and a scrubbing-brush, and give it a regular good clean out. Then it'll be quite ready."

The afternoon was spent happily in this way, Nancy looking wistfully in at the door and longing to a.s.sist. As usual, however, she was not allowed any part in the affairs of the museum, and after a few jeering remarks she went slowly down-stairs.

"It _is_ dull," she said to herself, "now Pennie isn't at home."

Poor Nancy felt this more and more as the days went on. No Pennie, no one in the nursery, and the boys entirely engaged in their new pursuit.

It was very dull. She would willingly have taken an interest in the museum too, and when she heard that the boys were to go with the doctor to the chalk-pit, she felt her lot was hard indeed. It was so exactly what she would have liked, and yet because she was a girl she might have no part in it. When they came home, full of importance and triumph, with some ugly-looking stones and some very long names to write on the labels, she followed them into the school-room.

"I wish I could go next time," she said, for the doctor had promised another expedition soon. "I'm sure Dr Budge would like me to, and I could find things every bit as well as you could."

"Dr Budge wouldn't want to teach girls," said David. "He teaches us _jology_. Girls needn't know anything about _jology_."

"I don't want to," said Nancy frankly, "but I should love to go to the chalk-pit with that funny old Dr Budge."

"Well," said David decidedly, "you can't have anything to do with the museum. It's always been mine and Ambrose's. If we get a nice lot of things," he added in a satisfied voice, "we mean to open it on the day mother comes back."

"Oh dear me," exclaimed Nancy, "how I wish Sat.u.r.day would come! Pennie and I shall have lots to talk about then, which you don't know anything about."

For it had been settled that Pennie was to return from Nearminster on Sat.u.r.day, and Nancy, feeling herself left outside all that was going on, longed eagerly for the day. She would then have someone to talk to all to herself, and there would also be lots to hear about Kettles. Pennie certainly wrote long letters, but Nancy thought them not to be compared to conversations, and she had so many questions to ask that were too small to be written. Above all, there were the boots and stockings to be bought. She would not do this alone, though when she pa.s.sed the village shop and saw them hanging up it was very hard to help going in.