CHAPTER VII

The Queen's Jubilee

IT was the morning of the 21st of June. Bert had risen almost as soon as it was light, and, having made very special ablutions ere he donned the ragged garments, which had anything but a festive appearance, he was going to supply himself with a goodly number of the papers and programmes for which he hoped to find a ready sale that day. But ere he started, he stood for a moment at the area railings, and looked down into the sailor's room. Early as it was, Mr. Corney was astir. Bert saw him busy brushing his boots, with Cetywayo perched on his left shoulder, making the work more difficult, though it went on briskly notwithstanding, to the accompaniment of one of the sailor's favourite hymns.

Mr. Corney ceased singing when he caught sight of the boy.

"Hullo!" he cried. "So you're up betimes?"

"And so are you," returned the boy. "Are you going to see the Jubilee, Mr. Corney?"

"Ay, I'm going to see what I can see. Such a day will never come again in my life. I mean to have a look at Queen Victoria, anyway. It's years and years since I last sighted her. It was in London too—the first time that ever I came to London from Scotland."

"From Scotland!" exclaimed Bert, in surprise. "Are you Scotch, then, Mr. Corney?"

"Ay, I'm a Scotchman," he replied.

"How strange I never thought of that!" said Bert. "Now you say so, I notice that you speak very much like Mrs. Kay."

"And who is Mrs. Kay?" he asked.

"Why, she used to live in the first front room; but she shifted a fortnight ago. You could tell she was Scotch directly she opened her mouth."

"And you can't find me out so quickly? Ah, well, I suppose I have lost a bit of my Scotch tongue, knocking about the world. But a Scot I am, and a loyal one too, for I mean to see the Queen to-day. It's thirty years since I saw her, and her family has grown considerably since then. Such an array of Princes and Princesses there'll be in the procession to-day as never was seen before, they tell me."

Bert sighed. "I wish my Princess were here to see it all," he said to himself.

Then he consoled himself with the thought that, if only he made a nice sum of money this day, he would start on the morrow for Hampshire. "And won't the Princess be surprised and pleased to see me!" he thought.

"Well, good-bye, Mr. Corney; I'm off," he shouted. "I hope you'll get a good place and see 'everythink.'"

The dreary street in which Bert lived lay at no great distance from the stately squares and crescents of West London. Laden with papers, he soon found his way to the Marble Arch, and taking up his station there, did a brisk trade amid the ever-swelling stream of persons which swept by, intent on gaining a good position from which to view the show.

London wore an entirely new aspect on that brilliant morning. Its sombre streets, with their prosaic monotony of outline and hue, were transformed by vivid touches of colour and artistic decorative effects, till they glowed with a beauty few Oriental cities could surpass. Everywhere there was a lavish display of flags, bunting, floral decorations, and emblazoned mottoes proclaiming a nation's love and loyalty.

Early as was the hour, the streets were full of people, for many had risen with the lark, and not a few, busied with final preparations, had been astir all night. Already the church bells were making a merry din, and giving the keynote of the engagements of that festive day. Carriages, cabs, and omnibuses went by, carrying people to their chosen places along the route. Every minute the crowds increased. All seemed in good temper. The true spirit of jubilation was abroad.

Bert's spirits rose as he saw the signs of general festivity. He, too, grew excited, and his shrill little voice rose eagerly in the cry: "Now then, here you are! Special edition. Corr'ct account of the Jub'lee. Order of the processions. List of Roy'lties. All you want to know, for one penny."

Faster than he could have hoped, his papers disappeared. Some who bought them looked pityingly at the boy's odd little figure in the short, tight, ragged jacket which he had outgrown, small though he was for his years. They noted how thin and white was the little face, lit up by those eager eyes. But Bert had no pity for himself at that moment. As he dropped the pennies into the pocket of his ragged coat—there was no hole in the pocket; he had seen to that—he felt as proud and elate as a man who is making his fortune. He was getting quite rich, and his riches opened up to him such a joyous prospect. To-morrow he would be off to Hampshire to see the Princess.

There! The last paper had gone. Now he was free to go and see what he could, and take his share in the excitement of the day. He had already decided whither he would turn his steps. From the Marble Arch to Hyde Park Corner was not very far. Bert had been told that here the finest possible view of the procession might be had, and, undeterred by the crowds already pressing in that direction, he too made for this point of vantage.

Although it still wanted more than an hour to the time when the procession was to start, there were thousands of men and women, boys and girls, packed together on the broad pavements. The roadway, too, was blocked with vehicles. The squeezing was intense, the heat stiffing, yet Bert dauntlessly pushed forward into the crowd, and continued to work his way towards the front. He wanted to see what passed, and he would see nothing if he remained at the back of the pavement behind lines and lines of people.

In vain people pushed him back and told him to keep behind. Bert was small and thin and wiry, and he pushed his way through every slightest opening, and got the better of persons bigger than himself with a skill which excited the ire of some and the amusement of others. Yet Bert would have had a poor chance of seeing the procession had not a woman who blocked his way suddenly fallen forward, unconscious from the heat and pressure. Instantly there was a cry for the ambulance officers. Some of these came forward to remove the sufferer, and in the hustling that resulted from the disturbance Bert found himself carried to the very edge of the pavement, close to a mounted constable, who, seeing what a little chap he was, moved his horse a pace or two, so as not to intercept his view.

Just as Bert was congratulating himself on his good luck, there passed before him the stretcher on which the policemen had placed the woman who had swooned. To Bert's consternation, he recognised in the still, purple, apparently lifeless visage of the woman, the face of Mrs. Kay. He uttered a cry, and would have run after the ambulance, had not the mounted constable called to him sharply to come back. Bert watched as the policemen bore their burden across the broad road, now clear of all traffic, for the procession was momentarily expected, to the ambulance station below the arch at the top of Constitution Hill. Poor Mrs. Kay! Was she dead? Had the sun's heat killed her? For Bert had heard of people dying of sunstroke.

But now there rose from the direction of the Green Park the sound of swelling voices raised in joyous acclamation. Louder and louder rose the cries, and with a thrill of strange emotion, which brought tears to his eyes, Bert realized that the supreme moment had arrived. The Queen was coming!

In a few moments, the splendid cavalcade appeared. When the Queen came, attended by her magnificent body-guard of princes, the public enthusiasm knew no bounds. Foreign royalties were all very well; but here was the one whom her people loved, and whom they had gathered in such numbers to greet with every sign of loyalty and rejoicing. Next in interest to the Queen came the members of her family. Bert's shrill little voice had shouted lustily for the Queen; but as the carriages containing the princesses went slowly by he was too lost in admiration of their gentle looks and pretty dresses—the laces and satins and furbelows, which to his childish imagination suggested lives of unlimited luxury and enjoyment—to think of cheering.

"There's princesses for you!" he said to himself. "They're the real thing, they are; and yet if my Princess was rigged up like that, I guess she'd look just as well."

And there passed before his mind a picture of Prin, as she had appeared in her old, shabby frock and broken shoes. Then he remembered how different she had looked when she went away with the nurse.

"But she'll get shabby again when she comes back," he thought with a sigh. "We shall never get enough money to buy nice clothes."

But now the last carriage belonging to the procession had gone by. The police relaxed the restraint under which they had held the crowd. To the relief of every one, the great pressure was at an end. People were free to wander across the road and into the Green Park. Bert made use of his liberty to run to the ambulance station and inquire for Mrs. Kay.

"Oh, she's coming round," said the policeman of whom he made inquiry. "What do you know about her? Is she your mother?"

Bert shook his head, and explained that she was only an acquaintance, lately a neighbour, whereupon the policeman pushed him with little ceremony out of the way; but the boy had caught sight of Mrs. Kay, lying with her eyes closed, and that purplish tint still on her face, and it struck him that she looked very bad.

He turned towards the Green Park; but as he passed through the gateway, some one touched him on the shoulder. He looked round, and to his surprise found Mr. Corney beside him.

"What, you here, Mr. Corney!" he exclaimed. "It seems as if I was to see people I know. There's poor Mrs. Kay in there." And he pointed towards the little room in the base of the arch where the ambulance patients were sheltered.

"Mrs. Kay?" repeated Mr. Corney, in momentary bewilderment, till he remembered when he had heard mention of this individual before. "Was it she they carried in there just before the procession came? I saw her face as they went by, and, do you know, she reminded me of my sister! A very different sort of person, of course—not too respectable, I am afraid—older and stouter than Priscilla would be too, but still like her. It's strange how one sees likenesses sometimes."

Bert nodded; but he was not paying great heed to what the old sailor said. There was so much to divert him in all he saw.

In the relief of being able to move freely, the crowd was waxing merry. Vendors of fruit and sherbet had come to the fore, and little picnic parties were being formed here and there on the grass. Carriages too, most of them empty, were passing by, for the road was open again for traffic for a little while.

Bert became aware that he had eaten nothing since a very early hour, and that he was parched with thirst. He resolved to spend one of his halfpence on a glass of sherbet, and was turning to look for the seller of this cooling refreshment, when his attention was attracted by an open carriage which was driving towards the Park.

There were several prettily dressed children in the carriage, accompanied by a woman, who appeared to be their nurse. On the back seat was a girl older than the other children, and more quietly dressed than they were. Her complexion was very fair, and long golden locks fell over her shoulders. Bert's gaze was instantly arrested by this girl; she was so like Prin. He had no idea, however, that it was his sister, and could hardly believe his eyes when, as the carriage passed, the girl turned in his direction with a movement of the head familiar to him, and he saw that it was indeed Prin.

"Prin! Prin!" he cried aloud the next moment, and darted after the carriage, heedless of danger to himself.

Prin heard the cry and looked back. She recognized the ragged, dusty, deplorable little form pursuing the carriage. For a moment her eyes met those of her brother, and he knew that she saw him. But suddenly her face grew very red. She turned round quickly and looked in the opposite direction.

[Illustration]

Instantly Bert understood. The Princess did not wish to see him. She was ashamed to call him her brother. The thought smote him with a pang of sharpest pain. He fell back at once, heedless of the perils of the busy road. A mounted policeman, suspecting the boy of begging to the annoyance of those within the carriage, was following at his heels.

Bert's sudden halt took him by surprise. He tried to pull up his horse, but there was not time. The animal reared wildly, but struck Bert as it reared. The boy fell senseless on the road.

Again the ambulance stretcher was in requisition. Bert was placed in it, and carried at once to St. George's Hospital, for it was feared that his hurt was serious.