CHAPTER XIII

A New Playmate

IT was a dull cold afternoon in November. Freda and Daffy were in the nursery, which looked the picture of cosy comfort. There was a blazing fire in the grate and a bright picture screen to keep out the draughts of the door. Bertie was playing with a box of tin soldiers on the hearth-rug; Nurse was mending a pair of his socks in her rocking-chair. Freda and Daffy had been tidying their dolls' house, and now were standing at the window watching the wind sweeping the dry leaves along the avenue, and wondering what they had better do next.

"There's quantities of things we could do," said Freda, "but Nurse will say 'No' to most of them. We could go into the bathroom and have a wash. All the dolls want washing, and so do their clothes. But Nurse says we aren't to leave the room."

"Let's get our scrap books. Miss Fletcher says her sister would like to have them when they're finished to give to her poor children."

For want of something better to do, they got their books out and commenced to paste pictures in them, talking all the time. Nurse presently put down her work and left the room. Soon Freda ran to the window.

"Come quick, Daffy! I thought I heard something. There's a motor coming up the avenue. Who can it be?"

Daffy darted to the window.

"I expect it's visitors who don't know Mummy is away."

They cautiously opened the window and hung their heads out.

"Why, it's Aunt Frances," cried Freda.

Aunt Frances was their mother's sister, and lived in the north of England. They did not often see her; only when she came up to town.

"She doesn't know Mummy is away! Oh, I do hope she'll stay the night!"

Daffy danced round the room in excitement; Bertie at once joined in. Then the dance turned into a chase round the table, in which Freda joined; and then, when they were all screaming at the top of their voices, the nursery door opened, and their aunt appeared, followed by a chubby-cheeked boy in knickerbockers, and Nurse brought up the rear.

"You seem very cheerful up here," their aunt said.

"They turn it into Bedlam when I'm not here," said Nurse crossly.

"It was only because we saw you on the steps, Aunt Frances," said Freda breathlessly.

"We're so glad to see anybody," said Daffy, with emphasis; "we were feeling very dull."

Their aunt laughed.

"Well, I have brought you Edmund as a companion. He has been sent home from school because of an outbreak of scarlatina, and I'm shutting up my house, and going to join your mother in town. She told me to bring him along here. The country air will do him good."

"It's to be hoped that he is safe from infection," said Nurse grimly; "we don't want scarlatina brought here."

"Now, Nurse, do you think I should have brought him if the doctors had not assured me it would be safe? You'll take care of him, won't you, like a good soul, and I'll be everlastingly grateful to you. I know we've sprung upon you very suddenly, but we only decided to do it early this morning. Here is a note for you from Mrs. Harrington."

She took a seat in Nurse's rocking-chair, and pulled Bertie towards her as she spoke.

"Now, Baby Bertie, give me a kiss. How you've grown! Freda and Daffy, you haven't seen Edmund for three years. He comes just between the two of you, so you will be companions together. You mustn't get into scrapes, or I shall hear about it from Nurse."

Freda looked shyly at Edmund. He stood, legs well apart and hands in his pockets, and returned her gaze rather defiantly.

"Are you going to do lessons with us?" asked Daffy.

"Not if I know it!"

There was no doubt or hesitation in Edmund's tone.

"He'll amuse himself; and he has been given a holiday task to do," said his mother. "It's a pity Bertie is not a little older. Poor little man! He will never know his father."

Here she gave a sigh.

"I hope my boy won't lose his father in this awful War!"

"It will be nice to have Edmund to play with," said Freda, looking at Edmund with great interest. Then she followed him, for he walked off to the toy cupboard to inspect their games and books. He did not approve of many of them.

"Do you play hockey?" he asked.

They shook their heads.

"Football or cricket?"

"No."

"Then you're two rotters!"

"Hush, Edmund; you can teach them! Now I shall have to go. No, children, I can't stay to tea. I must get back to town as soon as I can."

In a few minutes Aunt Frances had gone. Nurse went out of the nursery with her, and they had some talk together downstairs. When she came back to the nursery, Edmund had made himself thoroughly at home. He was talking in the most eager way, and Freda and Daffy were deeply interested in what he was saying.

"Fireworks and a bonfire! How lovely! Have you the fireworks in your box?"

He nodded.

"Mums gave them to me; and I have an air-gun. Are there any things to shoot in the park?"

"Now look here, Master Edmund," interrupted Nurse, "I'm quite willing to have the charge of you if you behave like a little gentleman, but I'm not going to have you play any antics here. And as to fireworks and guns and bonfires, they are all dangerous things, and we can do without them."

"Mums gave me the fireworks. She said the gardener would help me send them off!"

"Oh well," said Nurse more mildly, "that's a different thing. We'll see what Mr. Trimmer will say to that. Now you follow me, and I'll show you the bedroom you're going to have."

Edmund marched away with her. He was not at present at all in awe of Nurse. When he came back to the nursery, tea was ready. The children had plenty to talk about during the meal. Edmund's ideas were bold in the extreme. He hoped to ride one of the horses, and go out fishing, and shoot with the gamekeeper; he liked climbing trees, and intended to have "good sport."

Nurse laughed at him. He was so soft and chubby to look at, so very manly in his talk. Then he was told of Dreamikins.

"A pity she isn't a boy," he said; "but she can come and see my fireworks!"

After tea he got out a mechanical engine of his, and when he had set it going on the nursery floor, and tied Bertie's cart on to it with a load of bricks, the children were delighted. They played contentedly till bedtime, and Freda and Daffy began to think that it was very nice to have a boy to play with.

The next morning Edmund was down in the stables long before breakfast-time, and he persuaded the old coachman to put him on the back of one of the carriage horses, and trotted up and down the avenue on it, to the great admiration of his cousins, who watched him from the nursery windows. Then he liberated a small terrier who was generally tied up in the stables, and actually brought him up to the nursery. But Nurse quickly sent him down again.

"How I wish we needn't go to lessons to-day!" sighed Freda.

"I shall go out fishing," said Edmund. "Old Bates says he'll come with me."

Bates was the coachman, and Nurse was quite willing to trust him with the charge of Edmund.

"Nurse, Dreamikins hasn't been to tea for ages and ages. May she come this afternoon? Do say 'Yes,'" begged Daffy.

For some reason or other Nurse was in a very good temper to-day.

"If her uncle likes her to come, she can; but remember, I don't trust her, and if she gets up to any pranks, home I'll send her as soon as look at her!"

The little girls departed to their lessons, delighted with this permission. Dreamikins was enchanted to come, and very anxious and excited to see the fresh arrival.

"I like boys," she said. "I knew Harry and Frank at Brighton; they used to play with me, and I fished, oh, lots of times with them!"

She arrived at three o'clock that afternoon, and found all the children on the lawn. They were assisting Trimmer and the under-gardener to sweep up the leaves.

"We're going to have a bonfire just in the beginning of the park," said Freda excitedly.

Dreamikins' eyes gleamed with delight. Then she was introduced to Edmund. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, then Dreamikins said:

"I shall call you R.R."

"What's that?" he demanded.

"Fibo has a story of a R.R., and he drew him on paper just like you. He rode, and he roved, and he was a robber, and the lines about him were:

"'The round rogue rode a red reptile, And ruined rainbows, rats, and rooks.'"

Edmund chuckled, and retorted quickly:

"And round the rugged rock the ragged robber ran."

Then he dropped his brush, darted round a tree, and raced after Dreamikins, who fled away screaming.

She was soon caught.

"Now call me a rogue again!"

He had her by the wrists. Dreamikins looked up at him with one of her angelic smiles.

"Darling rogue, I do 'dore you!"

And Edmund was so taken aback that he let her go.

Half an hour after, a great bonfire of rubbish, sticks, and leaves was burning up. The children danced round it in great delight.

"I wish we could burn something nice. They used to burn witches, didn't they?" said Daffy.

"Let us make a witch—a kind of Guy!"

So they ran off to the house to see if they could find anything out of which to make it.

Jane good-naturedly gave them an old hat and veil of hers, and Nellie an old petticoat. Then they went to a barn in the yard and got a sack, and Edmund, who was the leader, ordered them to stuff it with straw. The little girls laughed with delight when this sack was dressed in the petticoat and hat and veil. They tied a rope round her middle, and dragged her along to the bonfire.

"We've got a witch," they shouted, "and we've brought her to be burnt!"

Trimmer stuck his pitchfork into her, and hoisted her upon the burning pile.

Dreamikins watched her with clasped hands and eager eyes. It really almost looked like a woman burning; the hat hung down and the petticoat waved about in the wind. Then the flames licked round it and blazed up, the sack burst, and with a loud cry Dreamikins flung herself down on the ground, covering her face with her hands.

"Take me away!" she cried. "I've sawed enough. It's a horrible sight. It's a real witch burning. I know it is!"

Freda pulled her up from the ground, but tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"Let's get away," she sobbed. "I hate the old bonfire!"

Edmund looked at her with a superior smile.

"Isn't she a baby?" he said.

But Dreamikins only flung him an angry glance as she hurried over the grass. She recovered herself in a few minutes, but would not go back to the bonfire.

"It's so cruel," she said.

"But it was only a sack of straw," argued Daffy.

"Oh, it was cruel to burn the hat," said Dreamikins. "I can't explain myself, but I felt it was cruel!"

Presently Edmund and Freda also had had enough of the bonfire. They joined Dreamikins and Daffy.

"I wish it was dark," said Edmund, "and then I could let off my fireworks."

"When it's dark, Nurse will call us in," said Freda.

"Now what shall we play at?" asked Daffy.

Dreamikins pointed her finger at Edmund.

"He's the round rogue; I'm going to be the Princess walking through the wood, and he'll rob me, and then you, Freda, will come and ride away with me, and Daffy will be the old woman who takes us in."

The game started. Edmund proved a very dashing rogue and robber—so much so that Dreamikins spoilt the game by suddenly turning against her knight and defender, and fleeing after the robber.

"I likes you best; I'll turn into a rogue and robber, and we'll drag the others by their hair into our cave!"

The game prolonged itself till tea-time, and then they were called indoors. Dreamikins sat up at the tea-table as good as gold. Nurse looked approvingly at her.

"Your governess is improving you," she said.

Dreamikins shook her head.

"Oh dear no! It's Er. Er is making me so good that I forget how to be naughty."

"Who's Er?" demanded Edmund. "Do you mean her? Can't you sound your h's?"

"I mean Er," said Dreamikins; "and he isn't her, he couldn't be. He's a very nice angel with black curls and black eyes, and he's sitting on my chair with me now!"

"Angels don't sit on chairs. Why should they?"

"Because they chooses to, and Er likes to be close to me, so he does it."

"You're talking nonsense."

Dreamikins raised herself in her chair eagerly.

"It isn't nonsense. You're only a round rogue. Fibo's round rogue was rolled round and round till he got into a ball, and then an ogre came by and threwed him up into the moon, and he peeps out, showing one fat cheek when the moon is full. That's what will be done to you one day."

Edmund stared at her.

"What a rum kid she is!" he said.

Freda and Daffy were not sure whether Dreamikins was going to get on with Edmund; but after tea, when they played together again, they noticed that Edmund always did what Dreamikins wanted. There was no doubt she had a way with her; and suddenly, in the midst of a hot argument, she would smile her radiant smile and call him a nice boy, and then he would stop arguing and agree with her instantly.

But they had a last argument together when Annette called for her, and she stood in her hat and coat wishing them good-bye.

"Say good-night to Er," she demanded, turning to Edmund.

"There's no Er here. Show him to me."

"I shan't. You're to believe me."

"You might as well say an elephant is in the nursery."

"If I said it, he would be."

"You're just a pretence-maker, that's what you are, and a story-teller."

"Fibo is a lovely story-teller. I'd like to be like him. I shall ask Er to flap his wings in your face when you're asleep to-night, and then you'll be frightened."

"Oh, Dreamikins," objected Daffy, "angels would never frighten people."

"Er would do it for me. Boys who won't believe must be punished."

Dreamikins tried to look severe.

Edmund frowned at her.

"Er told me he once took care of a boy who wouldn't believe in him, and he tooked him to a high cliff above the sea and let him tumble over, and then he just caught him in time, and then he asked him if he felt him do it, and the boy said 'Yes,' and he cried and begged his angel's pardon."

"Boys don't cry."

"When nobody sees them they does."

Edmund considered.

"I take care of myself," he said. "It's only babies who believe in angels taking care of them."

"You don't read your Bible," said Dreamikins. "Peter had a angel to get him out of prison, and heaps of grown-up people had them. If you don't say good-night to Er, I shan't ask you to tea and to come and see Fibo and me."

Edmund squared his shoulders.

"All right; I don't care," he said.

"Come along, Miss Emmeline," called Annette.

Then Dreamikins sidled up to him.

"Dear Robber Rogue, just whisper it very low. Er is close to your shoulder now. He does want you and me to be frens."

And Edmund shrugged his shoulders.

"Good-night, Er; you're a proper humbug, and you know it!"

Dreamikins danced away.

"If you're rude to him, God will send you a horrid dream to-night, and you'll wake up and long for a angel to be close to you, and he won't be!"

When she was gone, Freda said:

"If you don't believe Dreamikins, and all she says, it will be no fun at all, Edmund. Even Miss Fletcher never contradicts her. She's different to anybody we've ever seen. And it seems all true to her, so perhaps it is."

"It's rubbish," said Edmund firmly.

"But grown-up people believe in guardian angels," said Daffy. "Let us ask Nurse."

"Nurse," said Freda, "do people have guardian angels?"

"Yes," said Nurse gravely, "so we're told; and I remember a story about a child that was run over and taken out unhurt from a horse's feet, and she said that a 'beautiful angel had covered her under his wings!'"

"There!" said Daffy, turning triumphantly to Edmund. "Now what do you say? It isn't only Dreamikins, you see!"

But Edmund shook his head scoffingly.

"She's a little humbug," he said. "She's so fond of letters, I shall call her the R.H."

"What's that?" asked Freda.

"Rotten Humbug!" said Edmund.

"That isn't a pretty enough name for her. Daffy and me love Dreamikins. She's always saying things you don't expect."

"You'd better call her Dreamikins," said Daffy; "that's the name that suits her."

"Well, I'll call her B.H.—Baby Humbug. She wears socks; I've never played with a girl in socks before."

And Freda and Daffy thought it wisest to say no more.