Harding’s Luck by E. Nesbit (best thriller books to read .TXT) 📕

him, and passed by without a word! But he saw them talking eagerly to each other.

Dickie was left in the lane looking after them. It was a miserable moment. But quite quickly he roused himself. They were talking to each other eagerly, and once Elfrida half looked round. Perhaps it was his shabby clothes that made them not so sure whether he was the Dickie they had known. If they did not know him it should not be his fault. He balanced himself on one foot, beat with his crutch on the ground, and shouted, “Hi!” and “Hullo!” as loud as he could. The other children turned, hesitated, and came back.

“What is it?” the little girl called out; “have you hurt yourself?” And she came up to him and looked at him with kind eyes.

“No,” said Dickie; “but I wanted to ask you something.”

The other two looked at him and at each other, and the boy said, “Righto.”

“You’re from the Castle, aren’t you?” he said. “I was wondering whether you’d let me go down and have a look at it?”

“Of course,” said the girl. “Come on.”

“Wait a minute,” said Dickie, nerving himself to the test. If they didn’t remember him they’d think he was mad, and never show him the Castle. Never mind! Now for it!

“Did you ever have a tutor called Mr. Parados?” he asked. And again the others looked at him and at each other. “Parrot-nose for short,” Dickie hastened to add; “and did you ever shovel snow on to his head and then ride away in a carriage drawn by swans?”

“It is you!” cried Elfrida, and hugged him. “Edred, it is Dickie! We were saying, could it be you? Oh! Dickie darling, how did you hurt your foot?”

Dickie flushed. “My foot’s always been like that,” he said, “in Nowadays time. When we met in the magic times I was like everybody else, wasn’t I?”

Elfrida hugged him again, and said no more about the foot. Instead, she said, “Oh, how ripping it is to really and truly find you here! We thought you couldn’t be real because we wrote a letter to you at the address it said on that bill you gave us. And the letter came back with ‘not known’ outside.”

“What address was it?” Dickie asked.

“Laurie Grove, New Cross,” Edred told him.

“Oh, that was just an address Mr. Beale made up to look grand with,” said Dickie. “I remember his telling me about it. He’s the man I live with; I call him father because he’s been kind to me. But my own daddy’s dead.”

“Let’s go up on the downs,” said Elfrida, “and sit down, and you tell us all about everything from the very beginning.”

So they went up and sat among the furze bushes, and Dickie told them all his story⁠—just as much of it as I have told to you. And it took a long time. And then they reminded each other how they had met in the magic or dream world, and how Dickie had helped them to save their father⁠—which he did do, only I have not had time to tell you about it; but it is all written in The House of Arden.

“But our magic is all over now,” said Edred sadly. “We had to give up ever having any more magic, so as to get father back. And now we shall never find the treasure or be able to buy back the old lands and restore the Castle and bring the water back to the moat, and build nice, dry, warm, cozy cottages for the tenants. But we’ve got father.”

“Well, but look here,” said Dickie. “We got my magic all right, and old nurse said I could work it for you, and that’s really what I’ve come for, so that we can look for the treasure together.”

“That’s awfully jolly of you,” said Elfrida.

“What is your magic?” Edred asked; and Dickie pulled out Tinkler and the white seal and the moonseeds, and laid them on the turf and explained.

And in the middle of the explanation a shadow fell on the children and the Tinkler and the moonseeds and the seal, and there was a big, handsome gentleman looking down at them and saying⁠—

“Introduce your friend, Edred.”

“Oh, Dickie, this is my father,” cried Edred, scrambling up. And Dickie added very quickly, “My name’s Dick Harding.” It took longer for Dickie to get up because of the crutch, and Lord Arden reached his hand down to help him. He must have been a little surprised when the crippled child in the shabby clothes stood up, and instead of touching his forehead, as poor children are taught to do, held out his hand and said⁠—

“How do you do, Lord Arden?”

“I am very well, I thank you,” said Lord Arden. “And where did you spring from? You are not a native of these parts, I think?”

“No, but my adopted father is,” said Dickie, “and I came from London with him, to see his father, who is old Mr. Beale, and we are staying at his cottage.”

Lord Arden sat down beside them on the turf and asked Dickie a good many questions about where he was born, and who he had lived with, and what he had seen and done and been.

Dickie answered honestly and straightforwardly. Only of course he did not tell about the magic, or say that in that magic world he and Lord Arden’s children were friends and cousins. And all the time they were talking Lord Arden’s eyes were fixed on his face, except when they wandered to Tinkler and the white seal. Once he picked these up, and looked at the crest on them.

“Where did you get these?” he asked.

Dickie told. And then Lord Arden handed the seal and Tinkler to him and went on with his questions.

At last Elfrida put her arms round her father’s neck and whispered. “I know it’s not manners, but Dickie won’t mind,” she said before the whispering began.

“Yes, certainly,” said Lord Arden when the whispering was over;