CHAPTER III

Almost Successful

IT was not a bedroom she was in now. A room with dark panelled walls and ceiling, with rows upon rows of books stretching from floor to roof, a table in the centre of the room, with great carved corners and legs; and as Gypsy looked, she thought she saw hideous creeping creatures crawling over it, and making faces at her; some heavy chairs, and smaller tables in deep recesses. But this was not what entranced her eye. Opposite her, taking up the whole of one side of the room, was a stained glass window, and Gypsy felt at once this must be a kind of church.

She looked up in expectation, and then the thought came into her mind: "I'd better say my prayers, and then I can ask God to help me find Jesus."

She knelt down, a little figure with tumbled golden curls, and a wistful, dreamy little face; and as she knelt she prayed:

"O God—I thank Thee for taking care of me all night, and please take care of me to-day. Make me a good girl, and forgive me for being naughty, and bless Gubby, and Donald, and Claud, and take us all to heaven when we die—"

Thus far she got very easily, for it was her usual morning prayer, but she wanted something more to-day, and after a long pause she added, in an awed whisper:

"And please, God, help me to find Jesus now. I'd like to find Him here, because I've got up early, as He told me. For Jesus Christ's sake—Amen."

She knelt on in silence for a minute with tightly closed eyes, and then she opened them, and the morning sun having just found its way in at the window, streamed through the coloured glass in rays of red, blue, and yellow, upon the very spot of floor in front of her.

The child looked up in delighted wonder and content. Yes, the lovely light was coming down to her just like it did to Galahad, and God was answering her prayer already. She had found the "Holy Thing" at last. She gazed and gazed, hoping to see something more; she put out her little hands, and let the coloured sunbeams play over them, she moved on her knees a step forward, and shook out her white woollen dressing gown in the golden light, and with a smile of perfect content she looked up to the roof and said aloud:

"Thank you very much, God, it's lovely, it's just what I thought Galahad saw, but please let me see Jesus Himself just a minute. I know He must be here."

But she saw nothing more, and after a time she got up from her knees, for the sun had gone behind a cloud, and the beautiful rays had vanished; and with a little child's sublime faith she trotted away, saying to herself:

"God did hear me, and I'll come another day and find Jesus. Perhaps He has gone somewhere else to-day, but I know I'll find Him here, because of the beautiful light."

When outside in the dark passages, she felt quite bewildered, and after vainly trying to find her way back to the bedroom, she sat down and relieved her over-wrought little brain by a burst of tears.

"And now I'm lost, or perhaps, as I've seen the holy light, I'm not to go back to Gubby and the boys, and they'll never find me again—like Galahad! But, oh, I do want to get back to bed—and—and I'm very hungry!"

She was sobbing away, when a maid appeared, and stared at her as if she had been a small ghost.

"Sakes alive! How you scared me! However did you come a wanderin' over here? There, bless your little heart, don't cry! I'm Jane as brought you your bath-water last night. Don't you remember me? Let me carry you back to your guv'ness. What's she thinkin' of, to let you wander out o' your bed in this fashion? But there, I never did hold with guv'nesses; little mites like you ought to have a nurse, and not be havin' your brains stuffed to burstin' with jography and sums, and such outlandish things!"

Muttering which, Jane picked her up like a baby, and astonished poor sleepy Miss Gubbins by depositing her on her bed.

Gypsy was too excited and tired to explain where she had been, and Miss Gubbins could only conjecture that she had walked in her sleep, so she tucked her up in her own little bed again, and Gypsy went soundly to sleep, and never woke till Miss Gubbins was up and dressed, and waiting to begin her toilet. Gypsy was rather quiet over the nursery breakfast. The boys were in the highest spirits, and were longing to tear all over the house, but Miss Gubbins gave them a little lecture before they left her wing.

"I shall be very busy this morning unpacking, and I want you all to be very good. Remember the old servants here have never been accustomed to children, and I think they do not like the idea of our coming at all. Show them that you can be polite and gentle, and don't let them think I have brought you up like little savages."

"As long as old Peck doesn't come near us we shall do," said Donald.

And then, after promising they would not get into mischief, away they went.

"It's lovely to have such a large house to live in," said Claud; "what splendid fun we shall have when we play hide and seek!"

"Yes, but it's a shame all the rooms are locked up! Let us come downstairs into the garden."

They found their way out, and for the next couple of hours were enjoying themselves thoroughly, in running along an old flower garden, laid out in terraces; then down on the velvet lawns, and through the shrubberies; and finally finding their way to the walled kitchen garden, with glass houses of grapes, and melons, and fruit and vegetables in abundance.

"It's like a fairy palace," said Gypsy, as after coaxing and wheedling the old gardener in charge to give them some fruit, they threw themselves down under a shady beech on the lawn, and proceeded to enjoy some fallen apples, six ripe plums, and a rhubarb leaf full of raspberries.

"Yes," said Donald contentedly; "it isn't much like an ogre's castle, is it?"

"Does 'Agony' live here?" asked Gypsy.

Donald nodded his head and looked very wise.

"She was talking to me this morning; she's getting angry, and we shall have to do something to please her to-day, or to-night she'll be awful. You see that lot of bushes over there? We shall have to crawl through them on our hands and knees directly after dinner to-day!"

Gypsy's face lengthened, and Claud said, dismally, "One of those bushes is made of holly; we shall bleed to death!"

"Well, we must do it, and I'm always the first one to go through!"

To explain this conversation, I must tell you that "Agony" was a mysterious game that the children invented, and that was always being played. Gypsy more than half believed it was true. "Agony" was supposed to be a very hard and cruel spirit who lived with them always, and was constantly requiring them to do dreadful things to appease her wrath. Donald was chief inventor, and held the game in his own hands, for he was the priest, and dictated "Agony's" wishes to his younger brother and sister. "Agony" appeared in the shape of smoke or steam—if a steamer or train passed the children at the seaside, their one idea was to look at the smoke. If it came puffing out in great white wreaths, "Agony" was in a good temper, but if the smoke was black, she was angry, and some painful exploit must be attempted at once to soothe her anger. Sometimes Claud and Gypsy would wax rebellious, and refuse to do what Donald ordained, then at night they knew what to expect. A figure in a white sheet would creep out at them from behind some dark corner on the stairs, or crawl out from under their beds, and Gypsy would invariably succumb at once.

"Don't come near me, Agony, oh please don't! I will be good, I will, I promise you!"

And if Claud squared his shoulders and with clenched fists prepared for combat, he was quite certain to get the worst of it, so they both learnt that rebellion was useless.

Now Gypsy asked curiously:

"Where shall we see Agony, Don? There are no trains or steamers here. P'raps she won't be here at all, and we shall get rid of her for ever."

"Oh," said Donald, who was never at a loss, "you'll see her fast enough. She will come out of the chimneys here."

Gypsy looked disappointed.

"And," pursued Donald, with a sudden inspiration, "if she isn't pleased after we've crawled through those bushes this afternoon, we shall have to crawl down the staircase from top to bottom on our hands six times!"

"This is a lovely staircase for that," said Claud, adding with guile, "Don't you think Agony would like us to slide down on the banisters? We couldn't do it at the lodging, because they had so many corners, but we could here."

And then Gypsy said very slowly:

"I shan't do it if it's naughty, because I'm going to be very, very good always. I saw something this morning that you haven't seen."

"What?"

"I saw—" Gypsy paused, and shook her head from side to side with great solemnity—"saw the Holy Thing!"

"You're a wicked story-teller!"

"I'm not. I did see it. I got up very early to look for it, and I went along the passages, and opened some doors, and after a long, long time I saw a door a little bit open, and I went in, and there was a lovely church window, and it was a dark room with hundreds and thousands of books—the walls were made of books—and I knelt down on the carpet, and after I had said my prayers I opened my eyes, and—and there it was."

"What was it like?" asked Donald sceptically, whilst Claud gazed at his little sister with open mouth and eyes.

"It was a lovely glory light, red, and yellow, and blue, and it came right down upon me, and made me all red and blue and yellow too, and it stayed a few minutes, and then it went away."

"Show us the room, and we will believe you," said Donald, still unbelieving, but the sweet seriousness of Gypsy's face almost making him waver.

"Why didn't you tell us before?" asked Claud.

"Because I was waiting to tell it when you weren't too busy."

And then Gypsy trotted into the house, and the boys followed her. Such a search they had, up and down stairs and along every passage; but though they opened the doors of many rooms, the particular one could not be found.

"We knew you were telling stories," said Donald triumphantly.

And Gypsy with tears in her eyes protested again and again that she was speaking the truth.

"Well, if the room was here before breakfast it is here now," said Donald sternly, "and if you can't find it, it will be all a make up. I knew you weren't good enough to find the Holy Thing!"

"I lost my way coming back," sobbed Gypsy, "and Jane found me and carried me back to bed; you ask her if she didn't. I did see the Holy Thing. I don't care what you say. I did, I did!"

"Hulloo, let's come down this staircase," exclaimed Claud, opening a door that looked like a cupboard, "here are a lot more rooms here, and here's one with the door unlocked."

He bounced in, and then stopped in consternation; it was Mrs. Peck's private sitting-room, and she was having a slight lunch, consisting of a glass of wine and some cake which looked very tempting.

She stood up when she saw them, and bristled all over with anger and annoyance.

"Now, once for all, I'll have you children to understand that you'll keep to your own rooms, and not be prying and peeping into rooms that don't belong to you—such impertinence! Without a knock, or if you please—bursting into my private room, which the old master himself never would presume to enter!"

"You've got the comfortablest room in the house," said Donald, standing at the door and looking round with cool unconcern.

"I say, Mrs. Peck, tell us, is there a room like a church in this house? Gypsy says there is, and we know she's humbugging."

"I'm not, I'm speaking true; there is a beautiful window in it, isn't there, Mrs. Peck?"

Poor Gypsy eagerly waited for Mrs. Peck's answer. If she could only get some one to tell the boys that she was right!

But Mrs. Peck swept them all out of the room. "I don't know what your guv'ness is for, if she can't keep you from tearing all over the house in this fashion. A room like a church! Thank goodness we've none of that sort here. A popish chapel maybe you're expecting? There, go along, and never let me see you in my part of the house again!"

"There!" cried the boys in triumph to the discomfited Gypsy. "Of course we knew you were telling stories; come on, old Peck is a horrid old thing; we'll go and find Gubby and see what she is doing."

Away they tore, but Gypsy followed more slowly. Was it possible it had been all a dream, she wondered? Her little mind was sorely perplexed, and she wandered off again by herself down the passages to see if she could find the room. It was all in vain, and she came to her early dinner with a sad and downcast little face.

The boys had no mercy on her.

"Fancy, Gubby, Gypsy has been trying to make us believe she saw the Holy Thing. She vowed she went into a room and saw it before breakfast. And when we asked her to show us the room, she says she can't find it. The room has disappeared! Very wonderful, isn't it?"

"Ha, ha!" laughed Claud. "You aren't quite so good as you thought you were, Miss Gypsy,—you wanted to make out that you had seen it, though we hadn't."

"Hush, boys, I daresay she thought she had seen it." And turning to the little girl Miss Gubbins added, "You mustn't think too much about the things I read to you, or I shall have to stop. You were dreaming last night so much that I suppose you fancied it was real, and that was what made you leave your bed this morning, I expect."

Gypsy said no more, for her feelings were deeply wounded. She was a very truthful child, and to have her word doubted was a great trial. She had been so happy after her morning experience, so sure that the boys would believe her, and so delighted to be able to tell them of it, that it was a bitter disappointment to her to bear their scoffs and ridicule.

The disappearance of the room was a great puzzle to her, and for the next few days she spent many hours in fruitless efforts to find it. She never mentioned the subject again, though the boys often teased her about it.

But one afternoon Miss Gubbins came into the nursery, or schoolroom, as it was now called, and found the little maiden at the window talking in low, vehement tones to her doll. Gypsy's doll was never in her arms unless she was in trouble of some sort. When she quarrelled with the boys, or was punished for some naughtiness, "Helen Mary" was her comforter. And Miss Gubbins now wondered what had disturbed her mind. These were the words she heard.

"God will make them believe me on the judgment day. Gubby told us everything will be put right then. And He will tell them that I spoke the truth, the straight real truth, and that He sent me the Holy Thing Himself. Yes, He will, Helen Mary, and the boys will be all wrong, and I shall be quite, quite right!"