Sylvie and Bruno - Complete Series (All 3 Books in One Illustrated Edition). Льюис Кэрролл

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      ‘No, I ca’n’t let you out again!’ he said, before the children could speak. ‘The Vice-Warden gave it me, he did, for letting you out last time! So be off with you!’ And, turning away from them, he began digging frantically in the middle of a gravel-walk, singing, over and over again,

      ‘“Poor thing,” he said, “poor silly thing!

      It’s waiting to be fed!”’

      but in a more musical tone than the shrill screech in which he had begun.

      The music grew fuller and richer at every moment: other manly voices joined in the refrain: and soon I heard the heavy thud that told me the boat had touched the beach, and the harsh grating of the shingle as the men dragged it up. I roused myself, and, after lending them a hand in hauling up their boat, I lingered yet awhile to watch them disembark a goodly assortment of the hard-won ‘treasures of the deep.’

      When at last I reached our lodgings I was tired and sleepy, and glad enough to settle down again into the easy-chair, while Arthur hospitably went to his cupboard, to get me out some cake and wine, without which, he declared, he could not, as a doctor, permit my going to bed.

      And how that cupboard-door did creak! It surely could not be Arthur, who was opening and shutting it so often, moving so restlessly about, and muttering like the soliloquy of a tragedy-queen!

      No, it was a female voice. Also the figure—half-hidden by the cupboard-door—was a female figure, massive, and in flowing robes, Could it be the landlady? The door opened, and a strange man entered the room.

      ‘What is that donkey doing?’ he said to himself, pausing, aghast, on the threshold.

      The lady, thus rudely referred to, was his wife. She had got one of the cupboards open, and stood with her back to him, smoothing down a sheet of brown paper on one of the shelves, and whispering to herself ‘So, so! Deftly done! Craftily contrived!’

      Her loving husband stole behind her on tiptoe, and tapped her on the head. ‘Boh!’ he playfully shouted at her ear. ‘Never tell me again I ca’n’t say “boh” to a goose!’

      My Lady wrung her hands. ‘Discovered!’ she groaned. ‘Yet no—he is one of us! Reveal it not, oh Man! Let it bide its time!’

      ‘Reveal what not?’ her husband testily replied, dragging out the sheet of brown paper. ‘What are you hiding here, my Lady? I insist upon knowing!’

      My Lady cast down her eyes, and spoke in the littlest of little voices. ‘Don’t make fun of it, Benjamin!’ she pleaded. ‘It’s—it’s—don’t you understand? It’s a dagger!’

      ‘And what’s that for?’ sneered His Excellency. ‘We’ve only got to make people think he’s dead! We haven’t got to kill him! And made of tin, too!’ he snarled, contemptuously bending the blade round his thumb. ‘Now, Madam, you’ll be good enough to explain. First, what do you call me Benjamin for?’

      ‘It’s part of the Conspiracy, Love! One must have an alias, you know—’

      ‘Oh, an alias, is it? Well! And next, what did you get this dagger for? Come, no evasions! You ca’n’t deceive me!’

      ‘I got it for—for—for—’ the detected Conspirator stammered, trying her best to put on the assassin-expression that she had been practising at the looking-glass. ‘For—’

      ‘For what, Madam!’

      ‘Well, for eighteenpence, if you must know, dearest! That’s what I got it for, on my—’

      ‘Now don’t say your Word and Honour!’ groaned the other Conspirator. ‘Why, they aren’t worth half the money, put together!’

      ‘On my birthday,’ my Lady concluded in a meek whisper. ‘One must have a dagger, you know. It’s part of the—’

      ‘Oh, don’t talk of Conspiracies!’ her husband savagely interrupted, as he tossed the dagger into the cupboard. ‘You know about as much how to manage a Conspiracy as if you were a chicken. Why, the first thing is to get a disguise. Now, just look at this!’

      And with pardonable pride he fitted on the cap and bells, and the rest of the Fool’s dress, and winked at her, and put his tongue in his cheek. ‘Is that the sort of thing, now?’ he demanded.

      My Lady’s eyes flashed with all a Conspirator’s enthusiasm. ‘The very thing!’ she exclaimed, clapping her hands. ‘You do look, oh, such a perfect Fool!’

      The Fool smiled a doubtful smile. He was not quite clear whether it was a compliment or not, to express it so plainly. ‘You mean a Jester? Yes, that’s what I intended. And what do you think your disguise is to be?’ And he proceeded to unfold the parcel, the lady watching him in rapture.

      ‘Oh, how lovely!’ she cried, when at last the dress was unfolded. ‘What a splendid disguise! An Esquimaux peasant-woman!’

      ‘An Esquimaux peasant, indeed!’ growled the other. ‘Here, put it on, and look at yourself in the glass. Why, it’s a Bear, ca’n’t you use your eyes?’ He checked himself suddenly, as a harsh voice yelled through the room

      ‘He looked again, and found it was

      A Bear without a Head!’

      But it was only the Gardener, singing under the open window. The Vice-Warden stole on tip-toe to the window, and closed it noiselessly, before he ventured to go on. ‘Yes, Lovey, a Bear: but not without a head, I hope! You’re the Bear, and me the Keeper. And if any one knows us, they’ll have sharp eyes, that’s all!’

      ‘I shall have to practise the steps a bit,’ my Lady said, looking out through the Bear’s mouth: ‘one ca’n’t help being rather human just at first, you know. And of course you’ll say “Come up, Bruin!,” wo’n’t you?’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ replied the Keeper, laying hold of the chain, that hung from the Bear’s collar, with one hand, while with the other he cracked a little whip. ‘Now go round the room in a sort of a dancing attitude. Very good, my dear, very good. Come up, Bruin! Come up, I say!’