Chapter II: Who Broke the Doll?

Had the inhabitants of Hazelbury seen the Rev. Claude Hodson on a certain winter's afternoon about a fortnight after the events recorded in the last chapter took place, crawling about the floor of his sitting room on all fours, minus a coat, but with a rug thrown across his back, and roaring in imitation of some wild beast, they would scarcely have recognised him as their quiet and grave young curate.

With children, he felt thoroughly at ease, and specially with his little friends the Fortescues. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to have all four of them to spend the afternoon with him and to stay to tea.

Mrs. Fortescue had always been very kind to him, and he had felt less shy with her than with most people.

Thinking that the young man must be lonely, she had allowed the boys to run in and out of his rooms on their half holidays, at his request, and thus a warm friendship was formed between them.

During Mrs. Fortescue's last illness, no one could have been more tender to and sympathizing with the children than he was, and it was to him that Geoffrey had gone at once when the end came. "Mr. Hodson," he had said, looking up at him with tearless eyes, but with a pale face, "Mother has gone."

For the minute Claude was quite silent, and then he did, what to him was the only possible thing he could do under the circumstances.

"Let us pray, Geoff," he had said in a low voice, and though no word was uttered aloud by either of them, they knelt silently together, Claude's hand resting tenderly on the boy's shoulder.

Geoff did not cry. His breath came quick and short for a few minutes, and then he grew calm. From that day their friendship was sealed.

On this particular afternoon of which I write, the Curate was in his element. He had invited his little friends to tea and had resolved to do what he could to cheer them up and to make them happy, and he certainly had succeeded.

Game after game they had played, turning everything in his room upside down.

The table was pushed to one side, its former contents cleared quite away, next Sunday's sermons among them, for the Vicar was away from home, and the preaching therefore devolved on the Curate.

Dodie was sweeping about the room, with the table cloth tied round her waist, forming a long train behind her, and an antimacassar thrown over her head for a veil, and the Curate himself amidst the shrieks of his little friends, was prowling about the floor, supposed to be a wild beast, trying to catch the children one by one.

Everything was in wild confusion, and Mrs. Green, the landlady, hearing the merriment from her dull little parlour at the back of the house, could not resist giving a peep into her lodger's room, to see a bit of the fun.

At the sight of her at the door, Claude sprang up from his humiliating position, and wiping the heat from his brow, said:

"I'm afraid Mrs. Green that we are making an unearthly noise, you've not a bad head to-day, I trust."

"Bless you, no Sir," said Mrs. Green, laughing, "It does one's heart good to see them enjoying themselves, poor little dears. I like a noise, it's cheery. 'Why Sally,' my husband has said many a time to me, when I've complained of the quiet of the country, 'I do believe,' says he, 'you'd like to live in an Inn, where people are always going and coming. One day, says he, when my ship comes in, I'll buy a Hotel at Yarmouth or Margate or some such place, and then you'll have as much noise as you like.'"

"You've had enough noise I expect for one day, any way," said Claude, suddenly becoming conscious that he was standing talking to his landlady in his shirt sleeves, and turning round to hunt for his coat among the confusion.

"Well as I tell you Sir, I like it, it's cheerful. Now that's what I like to think about Heaven," continued Mrs. Green, who at the slightest show of interest on the part of her listener, was inclined to become garrulous. "We shan't have no dull back parlours there I take it, not seeing a soul from one day to another, all shut up by ourselves like. We shall always be coming across new people there, and there'll be plenty to see and to hear. Think of old Rachel, Sir, her as lives at the bottom of the hill all by herself. She don't see a fresh face from one week's end to another. What a nice change it'll be for her now, that's to say if ever she gets there. I'm afraid she ain't fit for Heaven yet from all I hear."

The children interrupted in their game stood staring at the intruder, somewhat indignantly, while Dodie administered sundry impatient thumps on Claude's back.

"I must say," added Mrs. Green, "that that daughter of hers behaves shameful. Ever since she married the man Jones she has quite neglected her poor old mother, and if ever she gives her anything, you may be quite sure it ain't fit to eat, something they can't eat themselves because it's turned."

"What!" cried Geoffrey. "Does she do that to her own Mother?"

"You may well cry out, Master Geoff, it's a wicked shame, and I tell you Sir," she added, turning to Claude, "mark my word, if that woman don't manage somehow to get the Christmas Charities this year, even though her own old Mother has to go without."

"Come, come, Mrs. Green," expostulated Claude, "She's not quite so base as that, I hope. However I'll have an eye on her at Christmas; and now," he added, as Dodie's thumps became more violent, "do you think you could let us have tea? It's early I'm afraid, but we're all hungry. Is it too early?"

"Bless you no Sir,—not if you want it. I'm always willing to do what I can to make you comfortable. 'Sally,' my husband used to say to me when I had troublesome lodgers, 'don't you mind being put about a bit, keep a cheerful countenance my girl,' and so I've always tried to do Sir, and though the kitchen fire is a bit low as I didn't know you'd be wanting tea quite so early, I'll make it up at once Sir, and tea will be ready in a few minutes."

And Mrs. Green hurried off with a good-natured smile on her face, thinking to herself, "Who wouldn't be obliging to such a nice young gentleman, I should like to know—such a quiet lodger too—so different from my last party. I sometimes wish he'd make a little more noise, that I do; it 'ud be more cheerful. But there now, it isn't his way. Bless me! Flow those dear children are enjoying themselves," as a fresh peal of laughter found its way down into the kitchen.

Nurse's hair would have stood up on end, if half an hour afterwards she had looked in, and seen the zest with which the three boys tucked in to the apricot jam and currant cake, which their host brought out of his cupboard.

Geoffrey perhaps fared the worst of the three, for a great deal of his time was spent in looking after Dodie, tying on her bib, cutting her bread and butter into tempting little shapes, so as to take off her attention from the currant cake, which he knew she must not eat, giving her tiny little portions of his own jam on her bread and butter to taste.

He would not let anyone do anything for her but himself, and no mother could have been more careful of her.

"Mr. Hodson," said Forbes, when after tea they put on their hats and jackets most unwillingly to go, "will you take us one day into Ipswich to get our Christmas presents? It's three weeks to Christmas now, and Nurse won't let us go alone, though of course Geoff could take care of us. Mother used always to let him go into the town alone."

"I want to get heaps of presents," said Jack, tugging away at his boots breathlessly, "there's Nurse, and James, and Ann, and Geoff of course, and the others, I don't think I can buy mine all in a day."

"Well, you'll have to, that's all," said Forbes, "and we mustn't forget Father's present, at least I suppose he'll be with us then. We've had a telegram to say he is coming soon, and he'll send another when it's quite decided. Do you think you could take us, Mr. Hodson?"

Claude promised he would do what he could, and then Dodie was put into her little mail cart, which of course Geoff drew himself, and their friend saw them safely home.

Nurse met them at the door.

"It's wonderful kind of you Sir to have them," she said, lifting Dodie out of the cart and giving her a hearty kiss, "I hope they've all been good," then, as Claude made his escape, after assuring her it had been quite as much pleasure to him to have them, as it was for them to come, Nurse made her way up into the nursery, seated herself in her large chair by the fire, and began to take off Dodie's gloves. But Dodie was tired, perhaps from over excitement, and was not inclined to sit still, and finally ended in crying, as the string of her little cape had got into a knot, and took nurse some time to undo.

"Where's her doll?" said Nurse, "run and fetch it, there's a good boy, it'll stop her crying."

Forbes went to the cupboard to look for it, but it was not there. He hunted all over the nursery, but it was no where to be found. After a long search, he went down into the schoolroom, and to his astonishment found it hidden away behind the curtain, with its face not only cracked, but looking as if it had been melted in the fire. Forbes ran upstairs two steps at a time, as he held out the doll for Nurse to see; Jack, who was on the floor reading a book by the light of the fire, looked up and turned very red, while Dodie, catching sight of her disfigured doll, set up a lusty scream, and was a long time before she would be comforted, in fact not till Forbes had carried the doll out of the room, having beckoned to Jack to follow him.

They met Geoffrey on the stairs.

"What's the matter with Dodie?" he asked.

Forbes explained the mysterious finding of the doll, and the three went back into the schoolroom to see the exact spot.

"Who could have done it?" murmured Jack.

"That's just it," answered Forbes, "we must find that out of course, it was hidden away on purpose."

"Could Dodie have broken it herself?" suggested Jack.

"Dodie! Of course not, why you saw yourself how scared she was at the sight of it. I suppose Jack—" Forbes hesitated and looked down at his little brother, who turned again very red.

"Jack," said Geoffrey gravely, "you know something about it, did you do it?"

"I? No! of course not, I don't know anything about it," stammered Jack.

"I wouldn't tell a lie if I were you," said Geoff, "it's very mean to tell a lie."

"It isn't a lie," said Jack angrily, "I tell you I don't know who did it."

"I do," retorted Forbes, "so there's an end of it," and he was just about to leave the room when he felt a sharp kick on his ancle, and turned round to see Jack's face crimson with rage and his small hands clenched.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Forbes coolly, and being a much stronger boy than Jack, had him down on the ground in a moment of time, and held him there saying, "I shan't let you go till you've confessed that you're a wicked little liar."

Geoffrey here interfered.

"Come Forbes, that isn't fair," he said, "he's a little chap, and besides we have no right not to believe him. Let him go, there's a good fellow."

But it was not till Forbes had administered a certain amount of corporal punishment on the offender that he let him go, and saw him make his way upstairs sobbing.

Jack did not however, for a wonder, go straight to Nurse, but hid himself on the floor in a dark corner of the night nursery.

There huddled poor little Jack, with a great burden on his conscience. He had told a lie—a direct lie—and he had told it twice, and yet he felt he could never confess that he was the guilty one. They would never forgive him for spoiling Dodie's doll, and they would always look down upon him for telling a lie about it. Jack sat and cried all by himself in the dark, and did not move from his corner till nurse herself came up an hour afterwards with Dodie in her little nightdress in her arms. It was only on putting the candle on the chest of drawers that she discovered Jack.

"Why my beauty!" she cried, laying Dodie down and turning towards Jack, "What's the matter, eh? Has anyone been unkind to you?"

And taking him on her knee, she kissed him and smoothed his hair, and rocked him in her kind old arms, in great distress at finding him crying in the dark.

"He's thinking about his poor dear Mamma, I do believe, bless him," she thought to herself, as Jack still sobbed, giving no explanation of his tears; then aloud she said, "if you're a good boy, you shall have a bit of cake for supper. Leave off crying, there's a darling, while I tuck Dodie up, and then I'll tell you a story by the nursery fire."

So Jack went down into the nursery, with the lie still on his conscience, and looking very shamefaced. It was true he was able to enjoy the large slice of currant cake which an hour or two afterwards Nurse gave him, for Jack could enjoy cake under almost any circumstances, but he did not enjoy meeting Forbes' eyes fixed upon him, after taking an unusually large mouthful.

Forbes and Geoff were eating the usual supper of bread and butter by the table, and neither of them could quite make out what Jack had done to deserve an extra treat in the way of cake, and to be allowed to eat it by the fire, notwithstanding the crumbs which fell on the carpet, and against which Nurse as a rule waged war.

That look of Forbes, however, almost choked Jack. He was eating the last mouthful, but I do not think he could have eaten another, certainly not with Forbes' eyes upon him.

He was glad when it was time to go to bed. He went up to Geoffrey who kissed him as usual, but Forbes waved him away, and Jack stumbled out of the nursery with his eyes full of tears, and feeling himself to be the meanest little wretch alive.

Jack slept in a bed in the night nursery, in the opposite corner to Dodie's crib, which was close beside Nurse's big bed, and as a rule, he fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, but tonight he could not sleep. He lay awake, longing to hear Nurse's step on the stair outside, he longed for the comfort of her motherly presence. When, however, she came up at last, Jack, afraid lest she should ask him questions, feigned to be asleep at first, and then when she had smoothed his pillow and tucked him up for the night, he opened his eyes, and amused himself by watching her shadow on the ceiling as she moved about the room. But this amusement soon came to an end, before long he saw her blow out the candle, and heard her get into bed, and all was still.

Then Jack's burden, in the silence and dark, grew so heavy and large that he could bear it no longer, and sitting up in bed, he cried out "Nurse! Nurse!"

In a moment the candle was lit again, and Nurse by his side.

"What is it, dearie?" she asked, putting her arms round him. "Have you had a bad dream, dear heart?"

"I've told a lie," sobbed Jack. "It was me that spoilt Dodie's doll, I was pretending to ha-ha-hang her for fun, and she dropped and br-br-broke her face, and I tried to mend it, so that no nobody should know. I broke it, and I thought the fire would make the cr-cr-crack all right again, but it did-did-didn't, it made it worse. So I hid it away in the sch-sch-schoolroom, and I have told two lies to Geoff and Forbes, and I don't think God will ever forgive me, and Forbes will ha-ha hate me."

"You're a good boy to tell me," said nurse, "and don't you cry no more, there's a darling. You just tell God about it. You may get out if you like, and kneel down now and pray, and I'm certain sure that if you are really sorry, the good God will forgive you," and kind old Nurse wiped away a tear or two herself, and after tucking him up in bed again, and kissing him, she knelt down by her own bedside to pray for her boy.

Jack confessed to Forbes next morning, and the latter gave him a slap on the back, saying:

"That's right old boy, stick to the truth though another time, that's all."