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'Something like it, I'm afraid,' I said. 'If I just explain that we got into the wrong train and pay up, they'll have no business to meddle with us.' |
'But what are we to do, then?' she asked again. |
'I don't know,' I replied. I'm afraid I was rather cross. I was so sick of it all, you see, and so fearfully bothered. |
Margaret at last began to cry. She tried to choke it down, but it was no use. |
I felt awfully sorry for her, but somehow the very feeling so bad made me crosser, and I did not try to comfort her up. |
Pete, on the contrary, tugged out his pocket-handkerchief, which was quite a decently clean one, and began wiping her eyes. This made her try again to stop crying. She pulled out her own handkerchief and said -- |
'Dear little Perkins, you are so kind.' |
I glanced at them, not very amiably, I daresay. And I was on the point of saying that, instead of crying and petting each other, they'd better try to think what we should do, for I knew we must be getting near London by this time, when I saw something white on the floor of the carriage. |
I stooped to pick it up. It had dropped out of Margaret's pocket when she pulled out her handkerchief. It was an envelope, or what had been one, and for a moment I thought it was the one I had given her with our address on, to use when she wrote to us from Hill Horton, but that one couldn't have got so dirty and torn-l... |
I turned it round and round without speaking for a moment or two. I couldn't make it out. Then I said -- |
'What's this, Margaret? It must have dropped out of your pocket.' |
She stopped crying -- well, really, I think she had stopped already, for whatever her faults were she wasn't a babyish child -- to look at it. She seemed puzzled, and felt in her pocket again. |
'No, of course it's not the envelope you gave me,' she said. 'I've got it safe, and -- oh, I believe I know how this old one got into my pocket. I remember a day or two ago when I was trying if it would do to tie my handkerchief on to Polly's cage, he was nibbling some paper. He's very fond of nibbling paper, and it do... |
'But how did he come to have an envelope with "Miss Wylie" on?' I said. 'He doesn't live in Mrs. Wylie's house, but in the one between yours and hers, and this must have come from her.' |
'I daresay she gave it him to play with, or her servant may have given it him,' said Margaret, 'You see he's sometimes at the end of the balcony nearest her, and sometimes at our end. I think his servants have put him more at our end since she's been away; perhaps they've heard me talking to him. Anyway, I'm sure this ... |
I did not speak for a moment. I was gazing at the address. |
'Margaret,' I exclaimed, 'look at it.' |
She did so, and then stared up at me, with a puzzled expression in her eyes, still red with crying. |
'I believe,' I went on, 'I believe this is going to help us.' |
Peterkin, who had been listening with all his ears, could contain himself no longer. |
'And the parrot must be a fairy after all,' he said, 'and he must have done it on purpose.' |
But Margaret did not seem to hear what he said, she was still gazing at me and wondering what I was going to say. |
'Don't you see,' I went on, touching the envelope, 'this must be the house of some of Mrs. Wylie's relations? Very likely she's staying with them there, and anyway they'd tell us where she is, as we know she's still in London. She told us she was going to be there for a fortnight. And she's very kind. We would ask her ... |
'Oh,' cried Margaret, 'how clever you are to have thought of it, Giles! But,' and the bright look went out of her face, 'you don't think she'd make me go back to the witch, do you? Are you sure she wouldn't?' |
'I really don't think she would,' I said. 'I know she has often been sorry for you, for she knew you weren't at all happy. And we'd tell her more about it. She is awfully kind.' |
I meant what I said. Perhaps I saw it rather too favourably; the idea of finding a friend in London was such a comfort just then, that I felt as if everything else might be left for the time. I never thought about catching trains at the Junction or about its getting late and dark for Margaret to be travelling alone fro... |
The train slackened, and very soon we pulled up. It wasn't the station yet, however, but the place where they stop to take tickets, just outside. I know it so well now, for we pass it ever so often on our way from and to school several times a year. But whenever we pass it, or stop at it, I think of that miserable day ... |
The man put his head in at the window. He was a stranger. |
'Tickets, please,' he said. |
I was ready for him -- tickets, Peterkin's half-sovereign, and all. I held out the tickets. |
'There's been a mistake,' I began. 'I shall have to pay up,' and when he heard that, he opened the door and came in. |
He looked at the tickets. |
'Returns -- half-returns to the Junction,' he said, 'and a half to Hill Horton. How's this?' |
'We got into the wrong train at the Junction,' I replied. 'In fact, we got back into the same one we had just got out of. I expect the guard thought I said "Victoria" when I said "Hill Horton," for he told us to go to the front.' |
'And didn't he tell you, you were wrong when he looked at the tickets before you started?' the man asked, still holding our tickets in his hand and examining us rather queerly. |
I began to feel angry, but I didn't want to have any fuss, so instead of telling him to mind his own business, as I was ready to pay the difference, I answered again quite coolly -- |
'No one looked at the tickets at the Junction. There were two or three empty carriages at the front: perhaps no one noticed us getting in.' |
I thought I heard the man murmur to himself something about 'rum go. Three kids by themselves, and first-class.' |
So, though I was getting angrier every moment, I just said -- |
'I don't see that it matters. Here we are, anyway, and I'll pay if you'll tell me how much.' |
He counted up. |
'Eight-and-six -- no, eight-and-tenpence.' |
I held out the half-sovereign. He felt in his pocket and gave me back the change -- a shilling and twopence, and walked off with the halves of Pete's and my return tickets and the half-sovereign. |
We all began to breathe more freely; but, as the train slowly moved again at last -- we had been standing quite a quarter-of-an-hour -- a new trouble started. |
'It's very dark,' said Margaret, 'and it can't be late yet.' |
I looked out of the window. Yes, it was very dark. I put my head out. It felt awfully chilly too -- a horrid sort of chilly feeling. But that wasn't the worst of it. |
'It's a fog,' I said. 'The horridest kind -- I can't see the lights almost close to us. It's getting worse every minute. I believe it'll be as dark as midnight when we get into the station. What luck, to be sure!' |
The other two seemed more excited than frightened. |
'I've never seen a really bad fog,' said Margaret, as if she was rather pleased to have the chance. |
Pete said nothing. I expect he'd have had a fairy-tale all ready about a prince lost in a mist, if I'd given him an opening. But I was again rather taken aback. How were we to find our way to Enderby Street? |
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