The Green Casket Part 9

They're only thin bits of paper or wood--or--or--whatever it is pictures are painted on.'

But Denis still shook his head.

'I know that,' he said. 'I've thought of that, but it's no good. When I'm not there I think that way, but as soon as I'm there it begins. Their eyes all look at me, and I'm sure they begin to get down to run after me as soon as I've pa.s.sed. It's worst at night, like now, when the lamps is lighted. It isn't so bad in the day. But, O Nettie, it must be worstest in the moonlight,' and he gave a little shiver; 'don't you 'amember what Linda said about it--all the colours on the faces, you know?'

'But anyway,' said practical Nettie, 'you don't need to see them in the moonlight. You never need to go along there after the lamps are put out at night.'

'No,' said Denis, but not as if he found much consolation in the thought.

'And if you'd let me tell mother,' continued Nettie, 'I'm sure she'd change it some way. You might sleep with Alex, and Lam have your room.'

'_That_ wouldn't do any good,' objected Denis. 'It's not the room I mind.'

'Oh no, of course. I forgot. But Den, I daresay it could be settled for you to sleep in the old nursery after all.'

'No,' said Denis. 'I'm going to try, Nettie. I want to be brave, and I don't want to vex Granny and mother. So you mustn't tell. You won't, I know, 'cos you've p'omised. I'm going to try running very fast along the gallery every time and look at the window side, not at the pictures.

Then _p'raps_ it won't come.'

'It. What?' asked Nettie, in an awe-struck tone. She was very much impressed by the whole, and felt no small admiration for Denis. 'Is there one more than the others that tries to catch you?'

'No,' said Denis. 'I mean the _feeling_ when I say "it." Oh, it's dreadful!' he repeated. 'But do you know, Nettie,' he went on, 'I fink Granny knows somefin about it. She said somefin to mother. But _she_ didn't seem frightened. P'raps they don't try to catch her. She said they smiled at her?' and Denis looked up at Nettie with great bewilderment.

'She couldn't have meant the pictures,' said Nettie decisively.

'She said, the old faces, and there isn't any other old faces,'

persisted Denis.

'Well, never mind about that,' said Nettie, resolving privately, nevertheless, to try to find out what it was Granny _had_ said. 'You didn't understand, perhaps, Denis. You're only a very little boy still, you know, and big people do say things sometimes that sound quite different from what they mean. We must go to the nursery to tea now, but I'll tell you one thing. Every time you have to run along the gallery I'll _try_ to go with you, and then p'raps you'll get not to mind. Of course if you were frightened in the night, you have Alex and Lambert close to.'

'I'm not frightened in the night. I'm not frightened _nowhere_ 'cept _there_. Thank you, dear Nettie. You'll hold my hand, won't you? and we'll run together, and p'raps I'll get not to mind. I don't fink I can leave off minding, but I want to be brave.'

And holding up his little face to be kissed, Denis went back to the nursery with Nettie, his heart somewhat lighter, I think, for having confided his secret to some one.

It did not occur to Nettie that it would have been right for her to tell it. For one thing she had 'promised,' and with these children that word was a solemn one. Then, too, she fully shared Denis's dislike to complain or give trouble, partly from the wish to please Granny who was 'so kind,' partly from the strange reserve one often finds in even very little children. Few but those who have watched them very constantly and closely have any idea how much children will endure rather than complain.

For some time nothing happened to cause Nettie to think more seriously of poor little Den's strange fancy. He seemed to wish not to speak of it, and she did not lead him to do so, hoping always that he might come to forget it. But she did not forget her other promise. Every time that Denis had to traverse the dreaded gallery, his faithful little sister, if she knew of it, was sure to start up to go with him. They used to run as fast as the slippery polished floor would allow them, holding each other's hands, and, Denis at least, steadily avoiding to look at the portraits. In the morning early he did not mind it so much, though even then Nettie often came to fetch him, if he had not already made his appearance when Linda and she were summoned to the nursery breakfast.

'It's queer how Miss Nettie and Master Denis cling to each other,' the under-nurse remarked one day. 'I never noticed it so much before. It's like as if he couldn't move without her.'

'Miss Nettie's a very kind little girl,' the head-nurse replied, 'but I do think she spoils Master Denis a little. He's getting a big boy.'

That very evening, as they were beginning tea--and tea-time at Christmas is always after dark--nurse told Denis to run to his brothers' room to tell them to come, for Alex and Lambert, having gone off to wash their hands, had not returned. Denis began slowly to clamber down from his chair, somewhat enc.u.mbered by Prince, who was, as usual, in his arms.

'Make haste, Master Denis,' said nurse, rather sharply, though not unkindly. 'You shouldn't have the dog always in your arms, my dear.

At meal times it isn't nice.'

Denis cast an appealing glance at Nettie. She had already left her place and was at his side.

'Put Prince down, Den,' she said, and the little boy did so, while Prince, shaking himself, ran to the hearth-rug, moving round and round till he had burrowed an imaginary hole, where he comfortably ensconced himself.

'Mayn't I go instead of Denis?' said Nettie. 'I'd run much quicker.'

Another time nurse would probably have said 'yes,' but her attention was aroused. She did not quite understand Denis and Nettie, and it seemed to her that they were not just the same as usual.

'No, my dear,' she said. 'It is better for Master Denis to go, as I told him first.'

But the children hesitated.

'Mayn't we both go?' persisted Nettie, taking Denis's hand. But nurse shook her head.

'Miss Nettie, Master Denis will never be a big, sensible boy if you treat him so. Why should he not run off himself at once when I tell him?'

The tears came to Nettie's eyes, but Denis gave her hand a little squeeze.

'Whatever you do, don't tell,' the squeeze seemed to say, and Nettie dared not do anything more.

'I'll go, Nettie dear,' said Denis, and his little sister, looking at him, saw that, though he was very pale, there was a look of determination on his face. He turned to the door, and Nettie, choking back a sob, turned back to her place at table, when suddenly the door burst open with a bang, and the two truants, Alex and Lambert, rushed in breathless and laughing. With a great sigh of relief Denis clambered up again on to his chair.

'We've had such a race,' Alex began; 'we wanted to see who'd get to the end of the gallery first. I expect those old grandfathers and grandmothers are rather shocked at the noise we make, sometimes.'

'There's one at this end who does look so cross,' said Lambert. 'The one with the yellow satin dress, and her mouth screwed up _so_.' He ill.u.s.trated his words with great effect--'just like Linda, when she's in a temper. Ah! yes, that's it, Linda,' for his sister had turned from him with dignified disgust. 'I'm sure I don't want such an ugly old thing for a great-grandmother, but I'm afraid she must be some relation, she's so like Linda.'

'Nurse,' began Linda, '_do_ make Lambert leave off, he is _so_'----

But a voice at the door interrupted her.

'Boys,' it said, and the children looking round caught sight of their father. Up jumped the boys, and would have rushed towards him, had he not stopped them. 'Don't be so excited,' he went on. 'I only want to tell you that if the weather continues as it is, your cousins and I are going to Hatchetts to skate to-morrow. There is to be a large party there, for it is a capital place. Alex and Lambert, you may come with us if you like. We shall be back before your bedtime, any way.'

There was a shout of satisfaction from the boys, but Linda looked considerably annoyed.

'I'm sure father wouldn't take you,' she whispered to Lambert, who was sitting beside her, 'if he knew how rude you are.'

'I wish Nettie and I might go,' she said aloud. '_Couldn't_ we, father?

The pond here is such a horrid little place for skating, and we can skate so well now.'

'Me go too. Mayn't me go too?' began Baby, at which everybody except Linda laughed.

'You, my pet!' said her father. 'Why, you'd be lost in the snow, and what would we do then without our Baby?'

Denis looked very grave.

'Prin would try to get her out,' he remarked. 'Like the dogs up in those snowy hills.'

'He means the St Bernard dogs,' said Nettie. 'Mother told us stories about them.'

'Ah, yes!' said her father. 'But they are ever so much bigger than Prince, my boy. Much more fear of Prince being lost himself in a snowstorm, than of his rescuing anyone else, poor little dog.'

'But there isn't going to be a snowstorm,' said Linda. 'Father, mightn't we go--I anyway?'

'No, my dear,' said her father. 'It's too uncertain. I hope the weather will keep up. If it doesn't, no one can go. But it is too uncertain for little girls: the boys must learn to rough it, but you and Nettie must be content to skate on the pond here for the present.'