Giant’s Bread

A carriage and pair was waiting for them when service was over. They got into it and drove away.

‘Well!’ said Miss Crabtree.

Little groups formed, talking busily.

‘I think it’s rotten,’ said Joe.

She and Vernon were in the garden together.

‘What’s rotten?’

‘Those people.’

‘Do you mean the Levinnes?’

‘Yes. Why should everyone be so horrid about them?’

‘Well,’ said Vernon, trying to be strictly impartial, ‘they did look queer, you know.’

‘Well, I think people are beasts.’

Vernon was silent. Joe, a rebel by force of circumstances, was always putting a new point of view before him.

‘That boy,’ continued Joe. ‘I daresay he’s awfully jolly, even though his ears do stick out.’

‘I wonder,’ said Vernon. ‘It would be jolly to have someone else. Kate says they’re making a swimming pool at Deerfields.’

‘They must be frightfully, frightfully rich,’ said Joe.

Riches meant little to Vernon. He had never thought about them.

The Levinnes were the great topic of conversation for some time. The improvements they were making at Deerfields! The workmen they had had down from London!

Mrs Vereker brought Nell to tea one day. As soon as she was in the garden with the children, she imparted news of fascinating importance.

‘They’ve got a motor car.’

‘A motor car?’

Motor cars were almost unheard of then. One had never been seen in the Forest. Storms of envy shook Vernon. A motor car!

‘A motor car and a swimming pool,’ he murmured.

It was too much.

‘It’s not a swimming pool,’ said Nell. ‘It’s a sunk garden.’

‘Kate says it’s a swimming pool.’

‘Our gardener says it’s a sunk garden.’

‘What is a sunk garden?’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed Nell. ‘But it is one.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Joe. ‘Who’d want a silly sort of thing like that when they could have a swimming pool?’

‘Well, that’s what our gardener says.’

‘I know,’ said Joe. A wicked look came into her eyes. ‘Let’s go and see.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s go and see for ourselves.’

‘Oh, but we couldn’t,’ said Nell.

‘Why not? We can creep up through the woods.’

‘Jolly good idea,’ said Vernon. ‘Let’s.’

‘I don’t want to,’ said Nell. ‘Mother wouldn’t like it, I know.’

‘Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Nell. Come on.’

‘Mother wouldn’t like it,’ repeated Nell.

‘All right. Wait here, then. We won’t be long.’

Tears gathered slowly in Nell’s eyes. She hated being left. She stood there sullenly, twisting her frock between her fingers.

‘We won’t be long,’ Vernon repeated.

He and Joe ran off. Nell felt she couldn’t bear it.

‘Vernon!’

‘Yes?’

‘Wait for me. I’m coming too.’

She felt heroic as she made the announcement. Joe and Vernon did not seem particularly impressed by it. They waited with obvious impatience for her to come up with them.

‘Now then,’ said Vernon, ‘I’m leader. Everyone to do as I say.’

They climbed over the Park palings and reached the shelter of the trees. Speaking in whispers under their breath they flitted through the undergrowth, drawing nearer and nearer towards the house. Now it rose before them, some way ahead to the right.

‘We’ll have to get farther still and keep a bit more uphill.’

They followed him obediently. And then suddenly a voice broke on their ears, speaking from a little behind them to the left.

‘You’re trethpassing,’ it said.

They turned—startled. The yellow-faced boy with the large ears stood there. He had his hands in his pockets, and was surveying them superciliously.

‘You’re trethpassing,’ he said again.

There was something in his manner that awoke immediate antagonism. Instead of saying, as he had meant to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ Vernon said, ‘Oh!’

He and the other boy looked at each other—the cool measuring glance of two adversaries in a duel.

‘We come from next door,’ said Joe.

‘Do you?’ said the boy. ‘Well, you’d better go back there. My father and mother don’t want you in here.’

He managed to be unbearably offensive as he said this. Vernon, unpleasantly conscious of being in the wrong, flushed angrily.

‘You might manage to speak politely,’ he said.

‘Why should I?’ said the boy.

He turned as a footstep sounded coming through the undergrowth.

‘Is that you, Sam?’ he said. ‘Just turn these trespassing kids off the place, will you?’

The keeper who had stepped out beside him grinned and touched his forehead. The boy strolled away, as though he had lost all interest. The keeper turned to the children and put on a ferocious scowl.

‘Out of it, you young varmints! I’ll turn the dogs loose on you unless you’re out of here in double quick time.’

‘We’re not afraid of dogs,’ said Vernon haughtily, as he turned to depart.

‘Ho, you’re not, h’aren’t you? Well, then, I’ve got a rhinoHoceras here and I’m-a going to loose that this minute.’

He stalked off. Nell gave a terrified pull at Vernon’s arm.

‘He’s gone to get it,’ she cried. ‘Oh! hurry—hurry—’

Her alarm was contagious. So much had been retailed about the Levinnes that the keeper’s threat seemed a perfectly likely one to the children. With one accord they ran for home. They plunged in a bee-line, pushing their way through the undergrowth. Vernon and Joe led. A piteous cry arose from Nell.

‘Vernon—Vernon—Oh! do wait. I’ve got stuck—’

What a nuisance Nell was! She couldn’t run or do anything. He turned back—gave her frock a vigorous pull to free it from the brambles with which it was entangled (a good deal to the frock’s detriment) and hauled her to her feet.

‘Come on, do.’

‘I’m so out of breath. I can’t run any more. Oh! Vernon, I’m so frightened.’

‘Come on.’

Hand in hand he pulled her along. They reached the Park palings, scrambled over …

‘We-ell,’ said Joe, fanning herself with a very dirty linen hat. ‘That was an adventure.’

‘My frock’s all torn,’ said Nell. ‘What shall I do?’

‘I hate that boy,’ said Vernon. ‘He’s a beast.’

‘He’s a beastly beast,’ agreed Joe. ‘We’ll declare war on him. Shall we?’

‘Rather!’

‘What shall I do about my frock?’

‘It’s very awkward their having a rhinoceros,’ said Joe thoughtfully. ‘Do you think Tom Boy would go for it if we trained him to?’

‘I shouldn’t like Tom Boy to be hurt,’ said Vernon.

Tom Boy was the stable dog—a great favourite of his. His mother had always vetoed a dog in the house, so Tom Boy was the nearest Vernon had got to having a dog of his own.

‘I don’t know what Mother will say about my frock.’

‘Oh, bother your frock, Nell. It’s not the sort of frock for playing in the garden, anyway.’

‘I’ll tell your mother it’s my fault,’ said Vernon impatiently. ‘Don’t be so like a girl.’

‘I am a girl,’ said Nell.

‘Well, so is Joe a girl. But she doesn’t go on like you do. She’s as good as a boy any day.’

Nell looked ready to cry, but at that minute they were called from the house.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Vereker,’ said Vernon. ‘I’m afraid I’ve torn Nell’s frock.’

There were reproaches from Myra, civil disclaimers from Mrs Vereker. When Nell and her mother had gone, Myra said:

‘You must not be so rough, Vernon, darling. When a little girl friend comes to tea, you must take great care of her.’

‘Why have we got to have her to tea? We don’t like her. She spoils everything.’

‘Vernon! Nell is such a dear little girl.’

‘She isn’t, Mother. She’s awful.’

‘Vernon!’

‘Well, she is. I don’t like her mother either.’

‘I don’t like Mrs Vereker much,’ said Myra. ‘I always think she’s a very hard woman. But I can’t think why you children don’t like Nell. Mrs Vereker tells me she’s absolutely devoted to you, Vernon.’

‘Well, I don’t want her to be.’

He escaped with Joe.

‘War,’ he said. ‘That’s what it is—war! I daresay that Levinne boy is really a Boer in disguise. We must plan out our campaign. Why should he come and live next door to us, and spoil everything?’

The kind of guerilla warfare that followed occupied Vernon and Joe in a most pleasurable fashion. They invented all kinds of methods of harassing the enemy. Concealed in trees, they pelted him with chestnuts. They stalked him with pea-shooters. They outlined a hand in red paint and crept secretly up to the house one night after dark, and left it on the doorstep with the word ‘Revenge’ printed at the bottom of the sheet of paper.

Sometimes their enemy retaliated in kind. He, too, had a pea-shooter and it was he who laid in wait for them one day with a garden hose.

Hostilities had been going on for nearly ten days when Vernon came upon Joe sitting on a tree stump looking unusually despondent.

‘Hallo, what’s up? I thought you were going to stalk the enemy with those squashy tomatoes Cook gave us.’

‘I was. I mean I did.’

‘What’s the matter, Joe?’

‘I was up a tree and he came right by underneath. I could have got him beautifully.’

‘Do you mean to say you didn’t?’

‘No.’

‘Why ever not?’

Joe’s face became very red, and she began to speak very fast.

‘I couldn’t. You see, he didn’t know I was there, and he looked—oh, Vernon! he looked so awfully lonely—as though he were simply hating things. You know, it must be pretty beastly having no one to do things with.’

‘Yes, but—’

Vernon paused to adjust his ideas.

‘Don’t you remember how we said it was all rotten?’ went on Joe. ‘People being so beastly about the Levinnes, and now we’re being as beastly as anyone.’

‘Yes, but he was beastly to us!’

‘Perhaps he didn’t mean to be.’

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘No, it isn’t. Look at the way dogs bite you if they’re afraid or suspicious. I expect he just expected us to be beastly to him, and wanted to start first. Let’s be friends.’

‘You can’t be in the middle of a war.’

‘Yes, you can. We’ll make a white flag, and then you march with it and demand a parley, and see if you can’t agree upon honourable terms of peace.’

‘Well,’ said Vernon, ‘I don’t mind if we do. It would be a change, anyway. What shall we use for a flag of truce—my handkerchief or your pinafore?’

Marching with the flag of truce was rather exciting. It was not long before they encountered the enemy. He stared in complete surprise.

‘What’s up?’ he said.

‘We want a parley,’ said Vernon.

‘Well, I’m agreeable,’ said the other boy, after a moment’s pause.

‘What we want to say is this,’ said Joe. ‘If you’ll agree, we’d like to be friends.’

They looked from one to the other.

‘Why do you want to be friends?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘It seems a bit silly,’ said Vernon. ‘Living next door and not being friends, doesn’t it?’

‘Which of you thought of that first?’

‘I did,’ said Joe.

She felt those small jet black eyes boring into her. What a queer boy he was. His ears seemed to stick out more than ever.

‘All right,’ said the boy. ‘I’d like to.’

There was a minute’s embarrassed pause.

‘What’s your name?’ said Joe.

‘Sebastian.’

There was just the faintest lisp, so little as hardly to be noticed.

‘What a funny name. Mine’s Joe and this is Vernon. He’s at school. Do you go to school?’

‘Yes. I’m going to Eton later.’

‘So am I,’ said Vernon.

Again a faint tide of hostility rose between them. Then it ebbed away—never to return.

‘Come and see our swimming pool,’ said Sebastian. ‘It’s rather jolly.’

CHAPTER 8

The friendship with Sebastian Levinne prospered and throve apace. Half the zest of it lay in the secrecy that had to be adopted. Vernon’s mother would have been horrified if she had guessed at anything of the kind. The Levinnes would certainly not have been horrified—but their gratification might have led to equally dire results.

School time passed on leaden wings for poor Joe, cooped up with a daily governess, who arrived every morning, and who subtly disapproved of her outspoken and rebellious pupil. Joe only lived for the holidays. As soon as they came, she and Vernon would set off to a secret meeting-place where there was a convenient gap in a hedge. They had invented a code of whistles and many unnecessary signals. Sometimes Sebastian would be there before time—lying on the bracken—his yellow face and jutting out ears looking strangely at variance with his knickerbocker suit.

They played games, but they also talked—how they talked! Sebastian told them stories of Russia—they learnt of the persecution of Jews—of Pogroms! Sebastian himself had never been in Russia, but he had lived for years amongst other Russian Jews and his own father had narrowly escaped with his life in a Pogrom. Sometimes he would say sentences in Russian to please Vernon and Joe. It was all entrancing.

‘Everybody hates us down here,’ said Sebastian. ‘But it doesn’t matter. They won’t be able to do without us because my father is so rich. You can buy everything with money.’

He had a certain queer arrogance about him.

‘You can’t buy everything,’ objected Vernon. ‘Old Nicoll’s son has come home from the war without a leg. Money couldn’t make his leg grow again.’

‘No,’ admitted Sebastian. ‘I didn’t mean things like that. But money would get you a very good wooden leg, and the best kind of crutches.’

‘I had crutches once,’ said Vernon. ‘It was rather fun. And I had an awfully nice nurse to look after me.’

‘You see, you couldn’t have had that if you hadn’t been rich.’

Was he rich? He supposed he was. He’d never thought about it.

‘I wish I was rich,’ said Joe.

‘You can marry me when you grow up,’ said Sebastian, ‘and then you will be.’

‘It wouldn’t be nice for Joe if nobody came to see her,’ objected Vernon.

‘I wouldn’t mind that a bit,’ said Joe. ‘I wouldn’t care what Aunt Myra or anybody said. I’d marry Sebastian if I wanted to.’

‘People will come and see her then,’ said Sebastian. ‘You don’t realize. Jews are frightfully powerful. My father says people can’t do without them. That’s why Sir Charles Alington had to sell us Deerfields.’

A sudden chill came over Vernon. He felt without putting the thought into words that he was talking to a member of an enemy race. But he felt no antagonism towards Sebastian. That was over long ago. He and Sebastian were friends—somehow he was sure they always would be.

‘Money,’ said Sebastian, ‘isn’t just buying things. It’s ever so much more than that. And it isn’t only having power over people. It’s—it’s being able to get together lots of beauty.’

He made a queer un-English gesture with his hands.

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