CHAPTER XII

The Prisoner

MICHAEL DUNN did get sent to prison for a month. It was by no means his first offence, and I cannot say that the little girls were really sorry for it. They all determined to go and see him. Freda was the one who planned how they should do it. She thought if she went to his mother she could coax her into taking them with her when she went. Jane, who knew everybody, told Freda and Daffy all about the lad's mother. She said her husband had been a bad lot, and the son was taking after him. Mrs. Dunn had been a widow for some years. One afternoon when out with Jane they met Mrs. Dunn, and Jane stopped to speak to her. It was Freda's opportunity; but she was bitterly disappointed when she heard that Michael would be allowed no visitors, and even his mother could not go and see him. When next they met Dreamikins they told her this. She was quite overcome by the bad news.

"But we must see him! It must be allowed. It is what God wishes. We must do somefing at once."

It was after lesson-time, just before Freda and Daffy went home, that they were discussing the question. Dreamikins dashed into her uncle's study, dragging her little friends after her.

"Oh, Fibo, Fibo! It's a shame! It seemed as if everyfing was coming true, and we were really going to do it! It's the only differcult thing we can't manage ourselves; and it was getting easy, and now it's all no good, and they won't let us see him. It's no good, we shall never be the sheep; we shall end by being goats, all because we couldn't get in."

"What is it all about?" asked Fibo mildly.

Dreamikins' eyes were full of tears; she was clenching her hands, as she did when she was much distressed. Freda and Daffy's faces were miserable as they stood each side of her.

"It's Michael," explained Freda. "We thought we could go to see him, and even his mother can't."

Dreamikins climbed upon her uncle's knees and clasped him firmly round his neck, then, resting her tear-stained cheek against his, she went on:

"You are the only hope we have, Fibo dear, the only hope! You're grown-up, and we feel you'll help us, won't you? We really must be helped. It will all be no good if we can't get into Michael's prison. And Er, Fibo,—" here she lifted her head and gazed into his eyes gravely,—"Er has been telling me it's nuffing to get into prison, and God likes people to be visited, and God will show you how to get us in."

"Oh, Fibo, do," pleaded Freda; and Daffy came up to his chair, and took hold of one of his hands and kissed it. "Do, do, do something to help us."

"Upon my word," said Fibo, shaking his head at them, "you take my breath away. I am not the governor of the prison, or the chaplain, or a prison visitor."

"Then there is a prison visitor?" said Freda eagerly. "Why can't we be prison visitors? The Bible says we are to be."

Fibo's kind heart was touched with the children's distress. He told them to be quite quiet while he put on his thinking cap, and they watched him eagerly, and anxiously, and silently, with big eyes and open mouths.

Then at last he said:

"Well, nothing venture, nothing have! The prison chaplain is a friend of mine, and I'll write to him and ask him if he could smuggle us in one day. I doubt if he can do it—but still there's a chance; only he will say there are too many of us."

"No, no," cried Dreamikins; "we'll squeeze in behind, very small. I couldn't possibly be dis'pointed, and Freda and Daffy couldn't. You see, we all are working so hard, and we can all go in the pony-carriage. Oh, Fibo dear, it will be lovally!"

"It will be heavenly!" exclaimed Freda; and Daffy began to dance up and down upon her toes.

"Now I do pray and beseech you," said Fibo imploringly, "not to be laying up another disappointment in store for yourselves. It's a very difficult undertaking, and if you young creatures had not such wheedling ways of creeping into my heart and upsetting everything there, I shouldn't attempt improbabilities. You must give me time, and you mustn't worry and wear me to fiddlestrings because I can't settle it all up in a minute! Run along, and when the door is tightly shut, and your voices out of ear reach, I may be able to take up my pen and write a letter."

The little girls obediently left the room. Freda and Daffy had to go home, but Dreamikins said hopefully:

"Fibo will do it. He's a wunnerful man."

"Yes," said Freda; "and we feel God is on our side, and we'll ask Him in our prayers to-night to help that chaplain to say 'Yes.'"

"Oh, I shan't wait till to-night! I'll ask God now," said Dreamikins. She astonished Freda and Daffy by suddenly falling down on the grass in the garden, and putting her hands over her face, and her face on the ground. Freda and Daffy watched her in silence. She jumped up in about two minutes.

"I've done it."

"We never say our prayers in the daytime," said Daffy.

"And never flat on the ground," said Freda.

"Oh, I do," said Dreamikins, nodding her curls at them. "I always ask God things d'reckly I think of them; and I saw pictures of people in India who pray like that, and so I do it too, and Er says it's a good thing to do, because the Bible always likes you to be low down; and sometimes I hit my chest like the Publican. That's a good thing to do too!"

They could only stare. Dreamikins' statements always interested them. But they both added a fervent petition to God at the end of their prayers that night:

"Oh, please, God, let us go and see Michael in prison."

Two days afterwards, Fibo was able to tell the children that the chaplain, a Mr. Horner, had asked them all to come to tea with him in the prison, and then he would manage that they should see Michael.

This caused great excitement. To have tea in a prison was an entertainment indeed! Everything seemed to work smoothly. Mrs. Harrington gave her permission for them to go, and one bright afternoon Freda and Daffy started off for the Dower House. They found the little pony-carriage waiting at the door, and it was three very happy little girls who drove off a few minutes later. Fibo drove. He would not allow Dreamikins to touch the reins this afternoon; but she was so full of joy at going to the prison that she could think and talk of nothing else. They were disappointed, when they got to the chaplain's rooms, to find them much the same as other people's rooms.

"We thoughted you would be in a stone room with high windows and bars," said Dreamikins to the young man.

He laughed.

"But why put me in prison? I don't quite deserve it, do I?"

"But you live in a prison," said Dreamikins.

Neither she nor her little friends could quite understand it. They sat at a big table and enjoyed their tea; and while they were eating cake and bread-and-butter, Mr. Horner heard why they were so anxious to see Michael.

"We're fond of poor Michael," said Dreamikins softly; "but we aren't coming just to see him because we love him, but because we want to be able to tell Jesus we've done it when He's counting out His sheep and goats."

And Mr. Horner nodded, and seemed to quite understand almost as well as Fibo did.

"I'm sorry for the boy," he said. "His sentence was a bit hard, I think; but he comes of a bad stock, and I think that told against him. I've told the warder to expect us after tea."

So, after tea, they followed Mr. Hornet through a baize door and down a long corridor; and then a warder came forward. He had keys in his hand, and took them on farther to a little room nearly at the end of the passage. He unlocked the door, and there was Michael. He had been having his tea, but the little girls heard that he had been working at some post office bags before. Now he stood up, with hanging head and sullen face.

Dreamikins looked at the cell with interested eyes, and then sidled up to Michael's side.

"Poor Michael!" she said, in a soft whisper, slipping her little hand into his. "I've got a angel with me, do you know!—very nice he is, and I did hope him and me togever could get you out of prison; but Fibo said 'No,' nobody could do it without breaking the law. Are you very mis'able here, dear Michael?"

The lad turned his face sharply away from her, and drew the cuff of his sleeve across his eyes.

Dreamikins kept tight hold of one of his hands, and bent her head forward coaxingly.

"Never mind, dear Michael. You won't never do it again, will you? And you can be quite happy in prison, you know. Some of the Bible people sang hymns, and made quite a noise. I forget their names. And God always comes to people in prisons. And I'm so very glad we've comed here, for do you know that Jesus says we're visiting Him if we visit you? Fancy that! You're instead of Him! I can't quite explain it. And Shylock misses you so much. He looks round every day to see when you're coming back. And he sent you his love and a kiss, and somefing very nice. It's here in this embelope. It's a lock of his hair. I cut it off myself. Won't you like to have it?"

Michael's great fingers closed on the packet, and the sullen boy choked down a sob. He suddenly realised how much he had lost and thrown away. Then Fibo called to Dreamikins. The others were standing in the passage; for Mr. Horner said each of the little girls might go in alone. Dreamikins stretched up on tiptoe, and put her arms round Michael's neck as she kissed him for a good-bye.

The Freda and Daffy stole forward softly, hand in hand.

"You don't mind us coming to see you, Michael, do you?" said Freda. "You see, Daffy and me and Dreamikins are all very sorry for you, and we wanted to bring you some chocs; but Fibo said it wouldn't be allowed. Are they very cruel to you in prison?"

He shook his head. Daffy patted him on the arm caressingly.

"We've been talking about you every day, and it's Fibo who's got us in to see you. Your mother wants to come, and they won't let her. Would you like to send a message to her, Michael? We'll take it."

"Tell her I'll be honest when I comes out," said Michael gruffly.

Daffy nodded, and Freda said:

"We would have come long ago if we could, for it's the one thing God likes people to do, only grown-up people don't seem to believe it. I suppose God is very fond of any one in prison. He tells us we must go and see prisoners, and so we've come. Good-bye, Michael. And, do you know, we've come in the pony-carriage."

"And Shylock is outside," said Daffy; "wouldn't you like to have seen him? Wouldn't it have been funny if he had come after us, and poked his head inside the door to see you?"

She laughed gleefully, and Michael smiled. Then they were called away, and Fibo stepped forward.

"Your chaplain has allowed this visit, Michael, otherwise we could not have come. It is very good of him to have managed it for us. This is a sad pull-up to you, my boy; but be a good lad, and make a fresh start when you come out, and I'll see what I can do for you."

A few minutes after they were all getting into the pony-carriage again, and thanking Mr. Horner for his kindness.

"You have helped these small people to realise one of their ideals, Horner," said Fibo, as he shook hands with him.

Mr. Horner nodded.

"I wish we were more like them," he said, and as his eyes met Fibo's, they both smiled, for they understood each other very well.

Dreamikins was very quiet when she got into the carriage. She had a rapt smile about her face. Presently she looked across at Freda and Daffy.

"We've done it nearly all now, and very soon we shall be quite, quite ready to die."

"Oh, I don't know," Freda said doubtfully. "I don't feel like that at all. I want to live and grow up and do wonderful things, much more wonderful than what we've done to-day."

"I was very disappointed in the prison," said Daffy. "I thought there would be chains, and stone pillars, and darkness all underground. It wasn't very awful after all, and Michael was in quite a nice room."

"You did not expect to find him in a Roman dungeon," said Fibo, "did you? And our prisons do have worse cells than the one we saw this afternoon. But Michael is not a desperate criminal, and I think the confinement quite enough punishment for him. I hope it will be the making of him."

"Well," said Freda, "Daffy and me have done everything the Bible tells us, and now we're free to be as naughty as we like!"

"Oh dear!" sighed Dreamikins. "I must go and see somebody sick to-morrow, and then I'll be free too. But we haven't really clothed the naked, have we?"

"We shall, when Miss Fletcher gives our frocks away to the ragged children; and we've nearly finished them."

"I should rather like to fasten the frocks on them myself," said Dreamikins. "I'll ask Miss Fletcher to-morrow morning."

Fibo let the children talk freely without interrupting them. He did not want them to feel that he was always correcting them. But when Freda and Daffy said good-bye that afternoon and thanked him prettily for having taken them, he said with a smile:

"Don't think that our visit to Michael has made us all quite perfect, will you? We have a lot to learn, and a good deal of fighting against our three enemies."

"Which are they?" asked Daffy.

"The world, the flesh, and the devil."

"Oh, that's the catechism," said Freda indifferently. "Nurse is very fond of that. Daffy and me don't like it. We really don't, Fibo. It has such long names."

But Dreamikins bent forward, eager interest in her eyes.

"I like enemies. Er will help me to fight them. He's made the devil run away from him lots of times. Tell us more, Fibo."

"Not now. Some other time."

The children separated. Freda and Daffy had a good deal to tell Nurse when they got back to their nursery.

She shook her head.

"Folks say that Captain Arnold is very soft-hearted. 'Tis encouraging that wicked young thief to go and see him; but I do believe you children can twist the Captain round your fingers."

"Dreamikins can," said Daffy. "Fibo adores her, and she adores him."

"And I adore them both," said Freda quickly. "They're simply perfect!"

When they met Miss Fletcher the next morning they told her of their visit, and she listened with more sympathy and interest than Nurse had done.

Then Dreamikins said:

"And now we must make haste and clothe the naked children, but I'm wanting to put the frocks on them myself, Miss Fletcher. I think God would like us to."

Miss Fletcher shook her head.

"I'm going to send these to my sister in London. She's a nurse, and works in the East End; but I'll ask her to write and tell us all about it when she has given the frocks away. The next thing we must make are some flannel petticoats, for winter is coming on. You will be busy for a long time."

"We needn't be," said Freda; "if we've done it once, it's enough."

Miss Fletcher knew the Bible story well that they were trying to act out. She shook her head.

"You haven't any of you understood that rightly," she said. "The people whom our Lord commended were those who made all those things a part of their lives. They were always thinking of others and doing things for others, not just when they felt inclined. And if you keep your eyes open to help when help is needed, that will be doing what God wishes. But none of us can ever sit down and say our work is done."

"How very tiring!" said Freda.

"Er says we shan't work in heaven," Dreamikins asserted.

"I don't know about that," said Miss Fletcher.

The little girls said no more.

Daffy said afterwards, when Miss Fletcher had gone away:

"She's rather like Nurse. Grown-up people always make everything so dull and stupid. But Freda and I mean to go on seeing Mrs. Bone. She loves us, and it's real fun going to visit her."

"And I'm going to see an old man," said Dreamikins—"our milkman's father. He's bedridden; that's what they call it; and our milkman says he's very lonely, and Fibo says I can, so I'll go this afternoon, and then we'll all be equal!"

Dreamikins was able to make her visit. Annette accompanied her to the door, and then was asked inside by the milkman's wife, a cheerful young woman whose name was Mrs. Ford. She took Dreamikins up a narrow little staircase into a very clean, bright bedroom, where an old man lay in bed close to the window.

"Here's a little lady to see you, feyther. I'll sit her on this chair, and then she can talk pretty to you. Jim, he goes to their house with milk. 'Tis the Captain's little niece."

Dreamikins sat upon the chair pulled forward for her with great dignity, and Mrs. Ford clattered downstairs. She wanted a little gossip with Annette.

"Do you like me coming to see you?" Dreamikins began.

Old John Ford nodded his head. "Ay, little missy; talk a bit to me. 'Tis cruel lonesome lyin' here."

If there was one thing that Dreamikins could do well, it was talking. She began at once. She told him about herself and her parents and her pets and Fibo and all her guardian angels; she told him about her broken leg and how she broke it, and about Freda and Daffy and Miss Fletcher; about her pony, Shylock, and about Michael in prison, and about everybody else that she had ever seen or heard of. And at last she stopped quite breathless, and then began to question him.

How many children had he? Did he like rice pudding? Did he wear curls when he was a boy? When did he come to bed? Could he tell a story? Had he ever seen a fairy? Did he think goats very wicked animals? Had he been a milkman? Had his son any little baby cows? Would he like to eat a bun?

And after this last question Dreamikins produced a bun in a crushed paper bag, which she had been holding tight in her hand, and which bag was very hot and sticky in consequence.

Old John declared he would like nothing better, and whilst he was eating it Dreamikins made a tour round the room, looking at and admiring everything. A picture of the battle of Waterloo attracted her attention.

"Did you fight in it?" she asked, and was disappointed when John said "No."

"I thought when there was fighting everybody who isn't old has to go."

"'Tis a terrible time to live when there be a war waging," said John. "I wish I'd been taken afore it come."

"Taken where to?" asked Dreamikins.

"To my Home above," said the old man with reverence.

"Do you want to go there soon? I don't, not just yet, unless, of course, I'm wanted. And Er will carry me up all right. He won't let me tumble, so I shan't be frightened. I'll lend him to you if you like when you have to go up. When do you think it will be? Would you like Er to carry you? He will if I ask him. He has carried such lots of people there. He sometimes tells me about them. You'd better let me know when you're going, and I'll send him."

"Ay, I shall be in no want of angels then! The Almighty didn't forget to send 'em for the beggar that sat at the rich man's gate, and He'll send 'em for me," said the old man.

There was pleased satisfaction in his tone. Then he looked at Dreamikins and smiled.

"Can you read the Book, missy? Parson, he sometimes do read to me, and there's that chapter—the comforting one about the place prepared for us. I'd like to hear it again."

Dreamikins eagerly seized the big Bible on the table near his bed.

"I can read anything," she said proudly.

But she was some time in finding the place. Old John told her it was the fourteenth chapter in the New Testament, and Dreamikins tried to find it in St. Matthew, St. Mark, and St. Luke before she came to St. John. She read the chapter nearly through in her soft childish voice, and then Annette called her.

She jumped up to go.

"I'll come and read to you again, and I'll read you the chapter we like best. It's the twenty-sixth chapter of St. Matthew—the last part of it. It tells about me coming to see you. Good-bye."

She stretched over the bed and kissed his withered cheek, then stumbled down the steep stairs, and trotted off home very pleased with her visit.

When she met Freda and Daffy the next morning she told them about it, but they did not seem very interested. Their mother was going away that afternoon, and they were full of her departure.

"Nurse doesn't like being here in the winter. She told Mums she thought it would be too cold for Bertie, and we're afraid Nurse will get us back to London. Mums always ends by doing what she wishes."

Dreamikins' face fell.

"You mustn't go, now you do lessons with me. Couldn't Nurse and Bertie go and leave you behind?"

"Nurse will never leave us," said Daffy hopelessly. "I believe she'll stay with us till we quite grow up."

She and Freda were very downhearted that morning, and when Mrs. Harrington came into the nursery to wish them good-bye, Freda put her arms round her neck and whispered in her ear, so that Nurse should not hear:

"Do let us stay the winter here, Mums. Don't listen to Nurse."

Mrs. Harrington shook her head at her.

"What should I do without Nurse?" she said. "She takes care of all of us. Of course this house is a great expense. Mr. Denton wants me to let it, and I am trying to do so; but till that time comes, I don't see why you should not stay on. Don't bother your heads about it, children. Why do you want to stay here so much? It's much livelier in town."

"But Dreamikins isn't there," said Daffy.

"Oh, that child! Nurse thinks she leads you into mischief. Perhaps you would be best apart."

But both Daffy and Freda cried out at this.

"She helps us to be good, Mums. She's much gooder than we are. She's always talking about angels and heaven! It was only one day that she was really naughty!"

Mrs. Harrington shook her head again.

"It isn't talking that I believe in, it is doing. Remember that. You can talk like an angel and yet be the most troublesome child in the world. And I fancy that Dreamikins is rather that sort."

Freda and Daffy looked horrified. After their mother had said good-bye to them all, and they had stood at the nursery windows and waved their handkerchiefs to her as she drove away from the house, Freda said:

"It is Nurse who doesn't like Dreamikins, and she tells Mums tales of her. She can't forget the rhyme Dreamikins sang in front of her face the day she was so naughty!"

"I think she's more good than wicked," said Daffy thoughtfully. "She means to be good, and she's made me think much more about God since I knew her."

"She's a darling, and Nurse is a—"

But Nurse came up then, and Freda's sentence was never finished.