CHAPTER XII

The Rebellion

"HI! Gypsy! Claud! Where are you?"

Donald rushed into the schoolroom one afternoon with a hot, flushed face. He had been down in the stable-yard looking after the wants of some young puppies, and now found Claud and Gypsy lying flat on their backs on the floor with smiling, expressionless countenances.

"What are you making such asses of yourselves for?" exclaimed Donald impatiently. "Do get up and listen to me."

"We're living in Topsy-turvy Land," responded Gypsy dreamily; "and I'm planning my dining-room. I should always have whitewashed floors, and a nice little wall to climb over when you go out at the door. You lie down flat, Don, and see how nice it is to pretend you can run about on the ceiling. We're living on the ceiling, Claud and I, and it's much nicer to be that way up than the way we are."

This novel and interesting occupation was brought to an end by a few sturdy kicks, and Claud and Gypsy scrambled up at last, and stood awaiting the communication from their brother.

"Look here, I'm not going to stand it!"

"Stand what?"

"The Ogre and his tricks. He's had a lock—a new key and lock—put on that old loft door where the apples are kept!"

Claud pulled a very long face.

"Why, old Barton told us there were plenty of apples there whenever we wanted to get them. He didn't mind us going there."

"No; we aren't thieves, to be treated so! And look here, the Ogre has given orders for four of the puppies to be drowned, and only the black and white one left!"

"He's a murderer!" exclaimed Claud.

"And more than this, the Ogre has told the new groom that we're not to be allowed inside the stables! He actually had the cheek to tell me I wasn't to look at Viper; said he'd be sent away if he didn't mind master's orders. Now just tell me if we're to stand this kind of thing!"

"Gypsy looks like a stuck pig!" said Claud.

Gypsy took her little finger out of her mouth, and spoke:

"The Ogre isn't nasty always."

"He's a bloodthirsty tyrant, he's a slave-driver, he's a monster, a brute, a beast, and we've got to mutiny, that's what we have to do!"

Donald began his sentence in fierce shrieks; he finished it in a solemn whisper.

"What's a mutiny?" inquired Gypsy uneasily. "I thought it was something belonging to the sea?"

"So it is," struck in Claud boldly; "but it belongs to the soldiers too. It's a—a—scrimmage, when the soldiers and sailors get the best of the captain. And we're neither."

"Well, we'll call it a rebellion," said Donald undaunted. "We've got to rebel and rout him out of his castle. We shall have to get him into one of the wine cellars—Smythe says they used to be dungeons,—and we'll keep him there till he surrenders, and then we'll make proper terms with him!"

This sounded very grand. Claud's eyes sparkled, but Gypsy stood her ground.

"How many does it take to make a rebellion?" she asked.

The boys looked at her, and something in her sturdy demeanour puzzled them.

"It takes three in this house," said Donald sternly; "there are no traitors allowed!"

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to get Gubby," said Gypsy, walking to the door. "I like the Ogre, and I'm on his side."

This was too much for the boys; they made a rush at her, and helter-skelter down the stairs they tore. Gypsy was fleet of foot, and she fled as if for her life through the big hall, out into the avenue, and down to the lodge gates without a hat or wrap, though dusk was already setting in, and the evening was cold and damp. The gates were wide open; on she fled, but her breath was getting shorter, and her steps were faltering. When she paused at last, and looked round, no boys were to be seen.

"There now, and I've been running away from nobody!" she exclaimed, in tones of relief. "I did think I should be caught. And I expect if I don't become a rebel, the boys won't play with me. It's dreadful difficult to know what to do. I shall have to go back and be a rebel after all, I think."

She was leaning against a wall as she spoke, trying to get back her breath, but she suddenly became aware that Victor was walking towards her, talking earnestly with a lady, who proved on close approach to be Miss Helen.

Gypsy was conscious at once that she had no business to be upon the high road bare-headed. She slipped behind a tree as they passed, and she heard Victor say:

"Darling, don't look for difficulties; there are none. I appreciate Miss Gubbins' value too much to dispense with her services, but I know she would be delighted to hand over the housekeeping and go back to her schoolroom, where she could give more time and attention to Gypsy and the boys. As it is, even since the young imps have been packed off to a tutor's, they always seem all over the place, in every piece of mischief that their busy brains can concoct. I never did understand children, and I never shall; I have no patience with them."

Miss Helen said something that Gypsy could not catch. She watched them go towards the lodge gate, and then, giving them time to get back to the house, she followed slowly in their steps.

But when she crept up to the iron gate a little time afterwards, she found Victor shouting furiously, and Miss Helen, half puzzled, half amused, standing by his side offering some advice. The iron gates were shut and locked, and Victor could not gain an entrance. A page of an old copy-book was pinned to one of the iron bars, and in straggling, uneven letters the following words were written on it—

"No surrender to the enemy!"

Victor was shouting to Mrs. Finch, the old woman at the lodge, but he did not seem able to make her hear; and Gypsy, in the excitement of the moment, presented herself at once before her brother.

"They've locked you out; and I'm on your side—I shall have to be now."

Victor turned upon her sharply.

"What are you doing on the high road by yourself? Where are your brothers?"

"They'll be shutting and locking all the doors in the house, I expect," said Gypsy cheerfully, feeling rather thankful that she was with the "enemy," now she heard his tone. "You see, it's a rebellion. They've only just begun it, but we shan't be able to get in, and where shall we sleep?"

Miss Helen began to laugh, but Victor evidently was seriously vexed. Again he called to Mrs. Finch, and this time she responded from her bedroom window, which she was opening with great difficulty.

"Ay, sir, I be mortal sorry and ashamed! I've been a-tryin' to open this 'ere window, but it do stick terrible. Those plaguey boys have a-locked of me in while I were a-tidyin' of myself up a bit, and there be nobody in but the cat, and they've run off with the gate keys, and I can't stir hand nor foot!"

Victor looked at Miss Helen with a comical look of dismay.

"It is a mile round to the other gate; can you walk it? These are the 'dear little manly fellows' you admire so!"

Miss Helen smiled.

"It is the originality I admire, and, well—perhaps the audacity. But I am afraid I must not stay; I really must not. I told you I could only just give you half an hour, for I am to meet my sister at the vicarage at five, and it is nearly that now. Look at this poor child shivering with cold. What are you going to do with her? Here, Gypsy, put my fur round your neck; that will warm you."

"I will walk back to the vicarage with you," said Victor quickly.

"No, indeed you must not. You would not leave this poor mite alone? She will have to trudge that mile all by herself."

"She ought not to be here at all," said Victor sternly.

Gypsy felt aggrieved, and in her open way said so.

"It's because I wouldn't be a rebel. I didn't want to have to starve you in a dungeon; that's where you're going to be put. And now—I'm a traitor for telling you; I know the boys will say so. I don't know which is worst, a rebel or a traitor."

Miss Helen stooped to kiss her.

"You carry your games too far, Gypsy. Tell the boys from me that they don't deserve such a brother as they have. Now, Victor, I will see you to-morrow."

There was a soft pink colour in Miss Helen's cheeks as she turned to the young man, who looked first at his little sister, and then at her, with perplexity and vexation.

For an instant he wavered, then he said with a sigh,—

"You have reminded me of my duty, and I will not neglect it. Of course you will see me to-morrow, and we will postpone the introduction to a more propitious time. I trust I shall not be over harsh with these scamps when I catch them. Come along, Gypsy, we will go round to the back avenue."

There were a few words aside between Victor and Miss Helen, and then he took his little sister by the hand, and set off with great swinging strides, and a frown upon his brow.

Gypsy trotted on, and presently tried to comfort him.

"I 'spect we shall get in at one door, shan't we? There are such a lot of doors and windows, but they may point a gun at us!"

"Pointing a gun" was Gypsy's secret terror. She had experienced it more than once from the boys, who would take down one of the old muskets in the hall when they got a chance. Miss Gubbins' awful stories of boys who shot a little sister dead by mistake when pretending to do so, did not impress the culprits half as much as it did their victim.

"And you know," continued the child, "you've only to give in to their terms, and they will let you in. Don said so. He shut me up in a cupboard the other day till I would do what 'Agony' wanted me to. And when I said 'Yes,' he let me out."

"Who is Agony?" asked Victor absently.

"She's a kind of secret person that can't be seen. Don said she came to tea with us last night. We had to sit very still, and talk in whispers. Gubby didn't know she was there, and talked just the same, but we didn't, for of course we knew her. Don says what grown-up people do and say doesn't matter to her, she only knows children."

Victor asked more about this "secret person." He always found his little sister extremely entertaining when he had her alone, and Gypsy was fast taking him into her confidence.

When they reached the other gate they found it open, but when they approached the house they discovered that every door was carefully barred. The boys had worked hard, and, from their point of view, successfully.

Miss Gubbins had been locked in her bedroom, and did not know it, for she was reading poetry. The servants were all gathered in the servants' hall at their tea, and the key had been noiselessly turned upon them, so noiselessly, that they were now gossiping away, in utter ignorance of their position. Smythe was locked in his pantry, and he alone was struggling to free himself, but being some distance from the servants' hall, his efforts were unheard.

Victor strode up to the front entrance door, and seized hold of the massive knocker with no gentle hand. Gypsy looked up at the house with awe.

"The rebellion is begun," she said, "and it's only you and me against them."

For a few minutes there was dead silence, then tumult from the servants' hall, and then a window was opened from above, and a white handkerchief tied to a walking-stick was flourished wildly in the air.

"This is a truce," piped Claud's small treble voice. "Are you willing to make terms?"

"You can't get in anywhere,"' shouted Donald excitedly. "We have taken captive all your servants, even old Barton, and the new groom and Ned are locked up in the harness-room, and we've taken the castle from you, and we're masters, and we've got the keys. You'll be starved to death and frozen with cold, but it will be no good. We shall never let you in! Three cheers for the rebels! Hip! hip! hooray!"

"Hip! hip! hooray!" echoed Claud, but his voice was shaky, and he looked a little scared.

The Ogre had got the best of it once with him and he could not forget it.

Then Victor spoke, and he appeared perfectly indifferent to these audacious speeches, for his voice was quiet and even.

"Now look here, boys. I dare say you're enjoying your game, but it must come to an end. I give you five minutes to think it over. If you choose to come down and unlock this door at the end of that time, and apologise for your behaviour, I will say no more about it. If you still refuse, you have only severe punishment in store for you. Take your choice. I shall say no more."

Victor then sat down very coolly on the low stone balustrade, and taking Gypsy on his knee drew out his watch. This high-handed proceeding rather disconcerted the "rebels." They drew in their heads and consulted together in low whispers.

"What do you think he'll do?"

"Do? Why, nothing much. Lock us in, I s'pose. That isn't wrong, of course; it's only wrong when we lock him out." And Donald gave a sniff of contempt. Then, leaning out of the window, after a little further talk, he shouted defiantly,—

"It isn't the proper thing for you to make terms. It's us who do that, and we're not going to let you in till you promise us three things. Would you like to hear them? Call them out, Claud!"

Claud thrust his fair head out immediately.

"You must promise us first that we shall not be locked out of the stables, or kept away from any place where we want to go. That's number one. You must promise us that no puppies or kittens shall ever be killed in this house again. That's number two. And you must promise us that you'll leave Sir Perceval and Gubby to look after us, and not meddle with us in the future. That's number three."

Victor made no response, only looked down at his watch, and gazed at the minute hand flying round, as if he had not heard.

Gypsy began to feel nervous.

"You won't be very angry with the boys, will you?" she whispered. "It's only a kind of game!"

There was no reply, and then putting her down, Victor stood up.

"The five minutes are up, boys!"

Another five minutes went by, and then, hearing no sound of the culprits, Victor made a quick spring on to one of the dining-room window-ledges, and in a moment had pushed the window open and was inside. The boys had not remembered to make all the window-fastenings secure.

Poor little Gypsy began to cry. She was cold and frightened, and did not like being left out alone in the dark; but in a very few minutes the door was opened, and Miss Gubbins drew her in amidst a group of very irate servants.

"Come upstairs at once, dear, to the fire."

And it was not till Gypsy was seated comfortably before the schoolroom fire that she ventured to ask:

"Where are the boys, and—and the Ogre?"

"In the library together," said Miss Gubbins, a little nervously. Then she added, "I'm afraid you are all much naughtier than you used to be. I never had any real trouble with you. They have never had a hand laid upon them, and I—I fear for the consequences!"

"What is a hand laid on them?—a whipping?"

"Yes."

Gypsy's eyes grew big as she gazed into the fire.

It was very quiet in the house now, but presently steps were heard along the passage, and the boys' bedroom door opened and shut.

"Gubby, may I go and see?"

"No, dear; stay with me."

And then the door opened, and Victor entered.

He came up and stood with his back to the fire, warming his coat-tails, and looked across at Miss Gubbins with a little shrug of his shoulders.

"It's over," he said, a queer smile coming to his lips. "Your pet lambs have been in the hands of the tyrant, Miss Gubbins, but I think it will be for the first and last time. I assuredly hope so. Boys require a man to deal with them occasionally, and they have found their master!"

"What did you do to them?" gasped Gypsy, looking at him in horror.

"I gave them a sharp caning, and I think they deserved it. But," he added, again smiling, "we shook hands after it, and forgave each other. And I don't think my stick will be required again."

Gypsy drew close to Miss Gubbins, and said no more. Her little heart was sorely troubled on account of her brothers. She was not allowed to see them again that evening, and when they came to breakfast the next morning, they so loftily ignored all the events of the preceding day, that she was afraid to show any pity.

Strangely enough, from that time a better understanding existed between Victor and his little brothers. The boys had learnt to respect him at last, and the manner in which he had dealt such summary punishment to them, without losing his temper, could not but impress them favourably.

The Ogre was never locked out of his house again. And when they heard that Miss Helen was one day coming to live with them, they shouted out with real fervour:

"Three cheers for the Ogre and his wife!"