The Green Casket, and other stories

Linda's face clouded over still more. She hated being called 'a little girl,' especially before her brothers. Her father turned away, either not seeing, or not wishing to seem to see, her vexation.

'Get to bed early, then, and be up in good time,' he called out to the boys as he left the room.

CHAPTER IV. – MASTERING THE FEAR

The morning dawned bright and clear. The frost seemed settled, the sky gave no signs of storm. The party of gentlemen and boys started on their skating expedition in great spirits.

'Do you wish you were big enough to go too, Denis?' said Nettie, as they stood at the door after watching them start.

'Not without Prinnie,' said Denis, hugging his pet, as he spoke. 'I don't care to go anywhere without Prin, and it would hurt his dear little feet to put skates on them, wouldn't it.'

Nettie burst out laughing at the idea.

'Come in, children. Don't stay there in the cold,' their mother called out; and as they went into the library at her summons, Granny asked them what they were laughing at.

''Twas Nettie,' said Denis, gravely as usual; and when Nettie told her what had amused her, Granny looked rather anxiously at Denis.

'And do you never laugh, my boy?' she asked. 'If you say funny things that make other people laugh, how is it you don't laugh yourself?'

Denis lifted up his face for a kiss, but there was an expression in his eyes which Granny did not quite understand.

'That child looks – I don't know how exactly,' she said to his mother, when Denis and Nettie had gone up-stairs. 'He is such a dear little fellow, but there is a look of suffering or endurance in his face that I can't understand. Your nurses are really kind to the children, I suppose?'

'Perfectly – I'm sure of it,' replied Denis's mother. 'He is always quiet. Perhaps he is a little disappointed to-day at seeing Alex and Lambert go off.'

But Granny wasn't satisfied. She resolved to watch little Denis for herself.

He was looking graver than usual even, for the thought was heavy on his mind that with his brothers away the whole day, the dreaded gallery would be worse than ever. With Alex or Lambert at hand, he could often manage to make the journeys to and from the nursery in their company; but to-day he had no one to depend on but Nettie, and nurse did not like Nettie always roaming about with him. It would not do to get Nettie scolded for being so good to him. Poor Denis! He felt terribly deserted as he followed Nettie up-stairs, Prin at his feet.

'Dear Prin,' he whispered, 'I wish it was time for us to go back home where there's no picshur gallery to frighten us. Only then, dear Prin, you wouldn't be coming too, for your home is here, you know, dear Prin.'

Prin wagged his tail and looked up at Denis. It was all that he could do, poor little dog.

The day kept up fine and bright till towards two o'clock. The clouds began to gather in leaden masses, and the dull, gray-blue look one knows so well in winter, came over the sky.

'I'm afraid it's going to snow again,' said the children's mother, on their way home from the despised pond, where Linda and Nettie and some of the young ladies staying in the house had been amusing themselves by skating, and Denis had been allowed to slide, with Prince at his heels, of course.

'What a nuisance!' said one of the girls. 'All our skating will be over if it does, till the pond is cleared again. It is just nice now. And oh, by the bye, you will be uneasy about uncle and the boys if it snows' – for this young lady was a cousin of Linda's and the others – 'won't you, aunt? Hatchetts is an awkward place to get away from in a snowstorm.'

Denis listened with all his ears, while his mother looked up anxiously at the sky.

'If it really comes on as bad as that, I hope they won't attempt to come home to-night,' she said.

'They might be losted in the snow, and we have no big dogs!' exclaimed Denis in great distress, as already a few flakes began to fall.

'Don't be afraid, my boy,' said his mother. 'Father will not do anything rash, you may be sure.'

But her relief nevertheless was great when, about four o'clock, a servant who had started with the party in the morning, came back with the news that the gentlemen were going to stay away all night. He had started as soon as the weather gave signs of changing, so he had got back without difficulty. The snow had not begun yet where they were skating, he said, but it was plain to be seen that it was coming, though the gentlemen hoped to have two or three hours' good exercise, as they would dine and sleep with the friend on whose property they were.

It was well they had so decided. By five o'clock the snowstorm was at its height. It was too dark to distinguish anything from the windows, but news came in from outside that the snow lay deep already, and gave no signs of leaving off.

'We must make ourselves as comfortable as we can,' said Granny, as she told the servants to put more wood on the fire, 'and be thankful that our dear ones are not out in any danger. So you've come to say good-night, dears, have you?' she went on, as the little girls and Denis just then came into the drawing-room. 'Good-night, my darlings; you've had a happy day, I hope, in spite of the weather?'

'Oh yes, Granny,' they answered eagerly. 'We've had blind-man's buff with Cousin Edith and the others in the hall.'

'And now you're sleepy and ready for bed. Good-night and pleasant dreams,' and the children trotted off again. Granny had kissed Denis among the others, and had been pleased to see his little face rosier than usual, thanks to the romp they had been having. Afterwards she wondered to herself for not having remembered that with his brothers away the little fellow would be rather lonely in his part of the house, but somehow it did not come into her mind just then. Nor did it occur to his mother. So the children were put to bed as usual, and Denis made no complaint. Indeed, once in his little room he felt quite safe. Nurse had brought him herself through the gallery well wrapped up in her arms, having undressed him by the nursery fire, and he hid his face on her shoulder as she carried him, and avoided all sight of his silent enemies on the wall.

'You're quite comfortable, Master Denis?' she asked, as she left him.

'Quite,' he replied, 'and nurse, you'll let me have Prin up to-morrow morning?'

'Oh yes, dear,' she answered kindly; 'you were a good little boy about him this afternoon. You shall have him to-morrow.'

Denis gave a sigh as he composed himself to sleep. He was not quite easy in his mind about Prince, whom nurse had sent downstairs because Baby was in a cross humour, and cried when he jumped on her.

'Poor Prince,' thought Denis. 'I hope he's not very unhappy. Robert' (Robert was a young footman) 'p'omised to be kind to him, and not let him go out in the snow. I hope father, and Alex, and Lambert won't be lost in the snow, 'cos Prin is too little to get them out. I hope' – But what he hoped more was lost in a confusion of ideas – Prince, and his father and brothers, and the falling snow seemed all mixed together in his brain, for Denis fell fast asleep.

The snowstorm was over, though he did not know it; since six or seven o'clock no more had fallen. The clouds dispersed, though some of them were still to be seen hurry-scurrying over the face of the moon in a very provoking way, for she had come out in full, anxious to see what was going on down there on the earth, which she had not had a good sight of for some time past. She peeped in at the window of little Denis's room and saw him sleeping sweetly, his little face flushed as he lay, a contrast to those of the long rows of Granny's faded ancestors which she glanced at for a moment, through the windows of the gallery, as the clouds passed by.

Suddenly Denis woke, and half-started up in his bed. What had awakened him? For a minute or two he could not tell. It was not the moon, though she was there again, peeping in at the chinks left at the corners of the window-blind, and lighting up the white cover of his bed. No, it could not have been the moon, for, as he became more fully awake, he felt sure he had heard some sound. He sat up and listened. Yes, there it was again, a low wail or cry, once or twice repeated, and seeming not far off. Denis sat bolt upright; he did not feel afraid, he only wondered very much what it could be; again he heard it; it sounded like a cry for help. What could it be? Visions of Alex and Lambert in the snow came into his mind. How dreadful if it was one of them! and the cry sounded so near too, as if it were some one at the side door to the garden – a door which opened close by the stair leading to the nursery. What could he do? Oh, if he only had one of these great brave dogs that his mother had read about! The thought made him start – was not the cry like the whine of a dog. Could it be Prince, his own dear little Prince out there alone; poor tender Prince, that could not bear the cold, and would be frightened? Could Robert have forgotten him? Up jumped Denis, and without stopping for slippers or dressing-gown ran to the door.

'I will call Alex and Lambert,' he thought; 'they'll come with me to let in poor Prin.'

But suddenly he remembered that Alex and Lambert were not there; they were staying away till to-morrow. Denis stopped short – he must go alone to rescue Prince, alone through the terrible gallery. Bad enough in the daytime and with Nettie's hand, or in the evening with all the cheerful lamps lighted, what would it be in the middle of the night, in the dark? – no, not in the dark, as just then his eyes fell on the strip of brightness across the floor; worse still, it would be moonlight in the gallery, and Denis shivered as he remembered what Linda had said of the look of the old portraits in the moonlight.

'No,' he said aloud, 'I can't go. I can't, poor little Prin. I can't pass along there and feel them running after me with their faces all red and blue and green, and dreadful. I can't.'

But just then a rather low piteous whine reached his ears. It half broke his heart to hear it, and at the same moment, as if by magic, some of his mother's words that Sunday afternoon returned to the little fellow's mind. 'Mastering the fear – that is the truest bravery of all; when something good or kind to do comes in the way, to do it even if one is frightened.' Denis stood up again. 'I'll try to be brave,' he thought. 'I fink God will take care of me if I go to let Prin in, so that he won't die of cold.'

CHAPTER V. – A FRIGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

He drew on his little dressing-gown, for he was shivering with cold and excitement. But his slippers he would not put on. 'I can run so much faster without them,' he said, speaking to himself in a low voice. Then he opened the door, crossed the little anteroom, and hesitating a moment, threw open the large door of the gallery. An instant he waited before he found courage to look up. Then he did so, with a half-acknowledged feeling that if anything too appalling met his eye, he could still rush back into the shelter of his own room.

But all was still, strangely still, and the curious effect of the moonlight, streaming in, in fitful patches through the coloured windows, for a moment made him forget his fears in a sort of awe-struck admiration. It was even stranger than Linda had described it, for the clouds quickly rushing across the moon, caused a mixture of light and shadow, coloured by the tints of the glass, like broken and confused rainbows. And had Denis not been too frightened to look at the faces on the wall, the effect of this jumble of light and colour and shadow would have been almost comical.

But a glance was enough. Then literally gathering up his garments – that is to say, taking the skirts of his dressing-gown in his hands – the poor little chap dashed into the enemy's country, looking neither to right nor to left, and ran – his little bare feet making a quick pitter-patter on the polished floor – ran as if for dear life! Fortunately he did not stumble: had he done so, I doubt if he would have been able to get up again – the terrible thought that something had caught him and made him fall would probably have altogether overcome him – but oh how long the gallery seemed, and oh how thankful he was to reach the other end and burst through the swing baize door that closed it!

Here, in the passage, leading to the nursery, all was dark, or seemed so at first, though as Denis felt his way to the staircase, his eyes got used to the darkness, and gradually began to discern some light in it. He knew his way so well that even without this he could have found the stair; and once on it, a little more light came up from the fanlight on the top of the garden-door below, and now Prin's voice was heard again, quite plainly, showing that he was just outside the door, seldom closed to him, poor little dog, as he was accustomed to come in and out by it with the children on their way to and from the garden.

'I'm coming, Prin, dear little Prin,' cried Denis, quite brightly and cheerfully now, as he reached the foot of the stair, and Prin in return gave a hopeful little bark; 'one moment, dear Prin, till Denis opens the door for you,' he went on, as he fumbled for the handle, which he knew he could reach. He reached it, and turned it, but oh, what a disappointment; the door would not open as it did in the daytime – it was bolted! At first Denis thought it might be locked, and he felt about for a key. But there was no key, and peering about in the uncertain light he saw high up something which looked like a bolt – far too high for him to reach, and probably too hard for his little hands to pull back. He had never thought of this, and he was terribly distressed – especially when another faint whine from Prince seemed to ask why he was so slow. But it roused him too.

'Poor Prin,' he said, 'Denis can't get the door open. Den will have to go and get nurse to help. He'll be as quick as he can. Stay there, dear Prin,' and then he turned to climb the stair again, his feet this time perfectly numb with cold. He must get up two flights – past the day-nursery, to where nurse and baby slept, in what was called 'the old nursery,' a story higher than the other. But so long as there was no gallery to face, Denis did not seem to mind. He got on all right till he was crossing the landing or passage on to which the swing-door opened; then just as he was putting his foot on the first step of the second flight he was startled by a noise – a sound of footsteps approaching him, and, oh terror! from the direction of the gallery. In his fear he stood still, as if not knowing what to do. The steps came nearer and nearer with a rather slow, dragging sound. Denis still stood as if turned to stone. The baize door swung open, a light warmer and brighter than the moon rays gleamed through, and a figure stood full in the boy's sight. A tall figure, it seemed to him, clothed in yellow, with pale face and powdered hair, all distinctly seen by the flame of the taper held in its hand.

'The lady in the yellow satin!' screamed poor Denis; 'oh, it's come true! She's got out of the frame to catch me. O mother, mother, it's so dreadful, and I did so try to be brave!'

His eyes closed, his legs gave way, and he half fell forward. What would have happened I don't know, if a sweet, well-known voice had not reached his ears.

'Denis, my boy, don't be frightened. Don't you know me? It's your own old Granny.'

And half-laughing, half-crying, Granny went on talking till the boy took courage again and opened his eyes.

'Granny!' he said, and then shivering again, seemed as if he could hardly believe it.

'Yes, dear, Granny, in her old white cashmere dressing-gown. Look, dear, and see.'

'And white hair, like the picshur,' he said, recovering himself. 'And what a funny thing on the top of your head, Granny – all frilly – like' —

'That's my nightcap,' said Granny, now fairly laughing, and then she went on to explain that from her room, which had an unused door opening on to the same landing as the boys' room, she had heard him moving about, and fearing that something was wrong, and knowing the little fellow to be alone, she had come round by the other way to see.

'For that other door is never opened, and there is a chest of drawers against it,' she said. 'And when I found there was not a little boy in bed in your room, I came back to look for him, you see, Denis, and I thought I heard voices down below. For my ears are sharp still, though I'm such an old woman.'

'It was me talking to poor Prin,' said Denis. And then in his turn he had to explain all, and Granny, taking him back with her to her nice cheerful room where a fire was still burning, rang the bell for her maid, and in a few minutes poor Prince, the cause of all the upset, was happily warming himself and forgetting all his troubles on Granny's hearth-rug.

'I'll go back to bed now, please,' said Denis; 'I'm not a bit frightened now. I don't fink I'll ever be frightened again,' he added in a half-whisper, as he bade Granny a second good-night. And you may fancy how proud he was, when Granny answered, 'Frightened or not, you've shown yourself my own brave little Denis.'

Mother was told all about it next morning, and of the good fruit her words had borne. But as she kissed her little boy, she explained to him and to Nettie, too, that in such a case there would have been no cowardice in telling her of Denis's fears.

'I would not wish any of you to be tried needlessly, dears, you know,' she said. 'It would have been easy to put Denis into another room. Still I am thankful to see that, when there was need, my boy could battle with his fears and master them.'

But somehow, from that time, the picture gallery ceased to be a place of terror to Denis. For one thing, Granny pleased herself by showing him all the old portraits in the bright daytime, and telling him many interesting and curious stories about their originals, till he got to have quite a friendly feeling to the bewigged and bepowdered long-ago ladies and gentlemen. Especially to the lady in the yellow satin dress, with the mouth like Linda's!

Granny often smiled to herself when she put on her old-fashioned lace-frilled nightcap, and thought of how she had frightened poor little Denis. To 'make up,' she said, she gave him a present of Prince to be his very own; and you may be quite sure he was never again left out in the cold and snow, and that no dog ever led a happier life than he, in faithfully serving the brave little master who had overcome his terror, to do a good and kind action.

THE END