"Where have you been?" he asked.

"Why, where _haven't_ I been?" said Marian, and then she told them all about it. Cuthbert didn't believe her. But Cuthbert didn't believe anything. He was nine years old, and was beginning to learn French. But Mummy believed her, and Daddy believed her; and I'll tell you another thing that happened.

Late that night, when everybody was asleep, Mr Jugg flew to Marian's window. Marian's angel--everybody has a guardian angel--was smoking a quiet cigarette on the sill outside.

"Hullo!" he said; "fancy seeing you here!"

He had once been a b.u.mpy, you see, and Mr Jugg had taught him to fly.

"Good evening," said Mr Jugg; "what do you think of this?"

It was a little dream that he had brought for Marian.

"By George!" said the angel, "that's a beauty."

He slipped it very softly under Marian's pillow.

She must have dreamed it too, for next morning when Mummy made her bed it wasn't there. But, alas! the loveliest dreams of all are the ones that we never remember.

Like the jungle he lives in, Tiger wears a dappled skin.

Foxes on the plains of snow White as their surroundings go.

So do fishes lose their sight, Buried in the ocean's night, Little knowing lovely day Lies but half a mile away.

For the truth is plain to see, As our haunts are, so are we; And in cities you will find Busy blind men just as blind.

Long ago they lost their eyes Under bags of merchandise; And they know not there are still Angels on the window-sill.

GWENDOLEN

[Ill.u.s.tration: Monkey Island]

II

GWENDOLEN

Living in the same town as Marian there was a little girl called Gwendolen. Marian didn't know her very well, though they went to the same school and sometimes smiled at each other in church. Her father and mother were always climbing mountains and lecturing about them afterward, so Gwendolen had to live with her aunt, who was very rich and wore a lot of rings.

In many ways Gwendolen was a nice girl, but she had an exceptionally large tummy. Some people said that it was her own fault, because she was always sitting about eating marzipan. But some people said that she couldn't help her tummy, and had to eat a lot to keep it full. There were also people who said that her aunt spoiled her, being so greedy herself and always eating b.u.t.tered toast.

Gwendolen's aunt had a pale, proud face, deeply lined by indigestion, and she lived in a big house on the right-hand side of Bellington Square. The colour of this house was a yellowish cream, and it had two pillars in front of the front door. There were eleven steps leading up to it, and there was a boy to open it who wore twelve bra.s.s b.u.t.tons.

In the middle of this Square there was a sort of garden with tall iron railings all round it, and each of the people living in the Square had a key to open the gate of it. It was the tidiest garden in the whole world, and all the flowers in it stood in rows; and the people in the Square paid for a gardener to shave the gra.s.s every day. One of the reasons why the people in the Square were so rich was that they had so few children; and the children that they did have had to be very careful not to make foot-marks on the gra.s.s. Gwendolen's aunt sometimes went there when she had a headache and wanted to throw it off; and Gwendolen went there to eat marzipan and read about Princes and Princesses. She generally sat on a painted iron seat in front of a flower-bed shaped like a lozenge, and once she was sick behind a bush called _B.

stenophylla_ on a tin label.

One day she was sitting on this seat when she heard a curious sort of sound. At first it was rather faint, so that she didn't take much notice of it, but gradually it became louder and louder. Her aunt was sitting on the same seat wondering which of her medicines to take before dinner, and Gwendolen noticed that she began to look annoyed, because the noise was the sound of a harmonium. Some people like harmoniums, and have them in their houses, and play hymns on them on Sunday afternoons. But this was a harmonium that went on wheels, with a man to push it, and a woman walking beside him. After he had pushed it for a few yards he would sit down and play a tune on it, while the woman walked up and down, looking at people's windows and trying to catch their eye. If she saw anybody she would say "Kind lady," or "Kind gentleman," as the case might be, and perhaps the kind lady or the kind gentleman would throw her some money, and then she would say "G.o.d bless you." But people like that, with travelling harmoniums, weren't allowed to come into Bellington Square, and Gwendolen's aunt said, "Dear me, just when I wanted a little peace and quiet!"

If there had been anybody near, such as a policeman or a gardener, she would have told him to send the musicians away. But it was very hot, and there was n.o.body about, and so the people went on playing. Gwendolen watched them for a while through the railings, and the butler at Number Ten gave the woman a sixpence. Her aunt was very angry about it when Gwendolen told her, for what was the good of making rules, she said, if you encouraged people to break them?

The people with the harmonium came a little nearer, and then Gwendolen could see what they looked like. The woman was stout, with a hard brown face and rolling eyes like dark-coloured pebbles. When she smiled it was as if she had pinned it on, and as if the smile didn't really belong to her. The man had pale eyes, like those of ferrets in a hutch, and he watched the woman all the time he was playing. Gwendolen noticed that there was a long string fastened to one of the handles of the harmonium.

She heard a little voice close to her knees.

"Oh, Gwendolen," it said, "save me."

Gwendolen looked down and saw the unhappiest little face that she had ever seen in her life. It belonged to a small brown monkey wearing a red jacket and a blue sailor hat. He was staring up at her with timid dark eyes.

"I heard your aunt speak to you," he said. "So I know your name."

He looked over his shoulder at the man and the woman. But the woman was looking at the houses, and the man was watching her.

"What's the matter?" said Gwendolen.

He was holding on to the garden railings.

"Lift up my jacket," he said, "and you'll see."

Gwendolen stooped down and lifted up his jacket. There were three great wounds across his back.

"Oh dear!" she cried; "how did you get those?"

"They beat me," he said. "They're always beating me."

Gwendolen may have been lazy, and she may have been greedy, but she had a soft heart, and the monkey had seen this.

"Oh, how dreadful!" she said. "But when did you learn to talk?"

The monkey shivered a little.

"Hush, they don't know," he replied. "I've lived with them so long that I've learned their language."

"But why don't you run away?" asked Gwendolen.

"How can I? They keep me on this string and beat me every night."

Gwendolen thought for a moment.