The House of Arden by E. Nesbit (first ebook reader .txt) 📕

on till the treasure’s hidden, we shall see where they put it, and then we can go and find it.”

I think myself that the white Mouldiwarp was anxious to help a little. I believe it had arranged the whole of this exhibition so that the children might get an idea of the whereabouts of the treasure, and so cease to call on it at all hours of the day and night with the sort of poetry which even a mole must see not to be so very good. However this may be, it was a wonderful show. One seemed to see things better somehow like that, through the window that looked into the past, than one did who was really in the past taking an active part in what was going on.

There appeared, at any rate, to be no doubt that this really was the treasure, and still less that it was a treasure both plentiful and picturesque. Quickly and more quickly the beautiful rich things were being packed into the chests. More and more pale looked the lady; more and more anxious the gentleman.

The lady was taking from her waiting-woman little boxes and bundles with which the woman’s apron was filled, and the chest before which she was kneeling was nearly full when the door at the end of the gallery opened suddenly, and Elfrida and Edred, in the dark in the still-room, were confronted with the spectacle of themselves coming down the long picture-gallery towards that group of chests and treasure, and hurried human people. They saw themselves in blue silk and lace and black velvet, and they saw on their own faces fear and love, and the wonder what was to happen next. They saw themselves embraced by the grownups, who were quite plainly father and mother⁠—they saw themselves speak, and the grownups reply.

“I’d give all my pocket-money for a year to hear what they’re saying,” Edred told himself.

“That daddy’s just like my daddy,” Elfrida was telling herself; “and just like the daddy in the Tower that was so like my own daddy.”

Then the children in the picture kneeled down, and the daddy in the picture laid his hands on their heads, and the children out of the picture bent their own heads there in the dark still-room, for they knew what was happening in the picture. Elfrida even half held out her arms; but it was no good.

Again the scene changed. A chest was being carried by four men, who strained and staggered under its weight. They were carrying it along a vaulted passage by ropes that passed under the chest and over their shoulders. Every now and then they set it down and stretched, and wiped their faces. And the picture kept on changing so that the children seemed to be going with the men down a flight of stairs into a spacious hall full of men, all talking, and very busy with armour and big boots, and then across the courtyard, full of more men, very busy too, polishing axes and things that looked like spears, cleaning muskets and fitting new flints to pistols and sharpening swords on a big grindstone. Edred would have loved to stay and watch them do these things, but they and their work were gone quite quickly, and the chest and the men who carried it were going under an archway. Here one of the men wanted to rest again, but the others said it was not worth while⁠—they were almost there. It was quite plain that they said this, though no sound could be heard.

“Now we shall really know,” said Edred to himself. Elfrida squeezed his hand. That was just what she was thinking, too.

The men stopped at a door, knocked, knocked again, and yet once more. And, curiously enough, the children in the still-room could hear the sound of the knocking quite plainly, though they had heard nothing else.

The men looked at each other across the chest that they had set down. Then one man set his shoulder to the door. There was a scrunching sound and the picture disappeared⁠—went out; and there were the shutters with the film pinned across them, and behind them the door, open, and Mrs. Honeysett telling them that dinner⁠—which was roast rabbit and a boiled hand of pork⁠—would be cold if they didn’t make haste and come along.

“Oh, Mrs. Honeysett,” said Elfrida, with deep feeling, “you are too bad⁠—you really are!”

“I hope I’ve not spoiled the photos,” said Mrs. Honeysett; “but I did knock three times, and you was that quiet I was afraid something had happened to you⁠—poisoned yourselves without thinking, or something of that.”

“It’s too bad,” said Edred bitterly; “it’s much too bad. I don’t want any dinner; I don’t want anything. Everything’s spoiled.”

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Honeysett patiently, “I might ha’ gone on knocking longer, only I thought the door was bolted⁠—you did so keep on a-bolting of it at the beginning, didn’t you? So I just got hold of the handle to try, and it come open in my hand. Come along, lovey; don’t bear malice now. I didn’t go for to do it. An’ I’ll get you some more of whatever it is that’s spoiled, and you can take some more photos tomorrow.”

“You might have known we were all right,” said Edred, still furious; but both thought it only fair to say, “It wasn’t the photographs that were spoiled”⁠—and they said it at the same moment.

“Then what was it?” said Mrs. Honeysett. “And do come along, for goodness’ sake, and eat your dinner while it’s hot.”

“It was⁠—it was a different sort of picture,” said Elfrida, with a gulp, “and it was a pity.”

“Never mind, love,” said Mrs. Honeysett, who was as kind as a grandmother, and I can’t say more than that; “there’s a lovely surprise coming by and by for good little gells and boys, and the rabbit’ll be stone cold if you don’t make haste⁠—leastways, it would have been if I hadn’t thought to pop it in the oven when I