'Oh, half a dozen will do.'

The boy turned in and hurried after his sister. But he was so busy collecting all the pencils and paper he could find that he forgot to brush his hair, and consequently appeared at the supper table with a head like a tangled blackberry bush. His eyes were bright as stars.

CHAPTER XIV

O pure one, take thy seat in the barque of the Sun, And sail thou over the sky. Sail thou with the imperishable stars, Sail thou with the unwearied stars. _Pyramid Texts, Dynasty VI._

But Henry Rogers ran the whole two hundred yards to his lodgings in the carpenter's house. He ran as though the entire field of brilliant stars were at his heels. There was bewilderment, happiness, exhilaration in his blood. He had never felt so light-hearted in his life. He felt exactly fifteen years of age--and a half. The half was added to ensure a good, safe margin over the other two.

But he was late for supper too--later than the children, for first he jotted down some notes upon the back of an envelope. He wrote them at high speed, meaning to correct them later, but the corrections were never made. Later, when he came to bed, the envelope had been tidied away by the careful housewife into the dustbin. And he was ashamed to ask for them. The carpenter's wife read English.

'Pity,' he said to himself. 'I don't believe Minks could have done it better!'

The energy that went to the making of those 'notes' would have run down different channels a few years ago. It would have gone into some ingenious patent. The patent, however, might equally have gone into the dustbin. There is an enormous quantity of misdirected energy pouring loose about the world!

The notes had run something like this--

O children, open your arms to me, Let your hair fall over my eyes; Let me sleep a moment--and then awake In your Gardens of sweet Surprise! For the grown-up folk Are a wearisome folk, And they laugh my fancies to scorn, My fun and my fancies to scorn.

O children, open your hearts to me, And tell me your wonder-thoughts; Who lives in the palace inside your brain? Who plays in its outer courts? Who hides in the hours To-morrow holds? Who sleeps in your yesterdays? Who tiptoes along past the curtained folds Of the shadow that twilight lays?

O children, open your eyes to me, And tell me your visions too; Who squeezes the sponge when the salt tears flow To dim their magical blue? Who draws up their blinds when the sun peeps in? Who fastens them down at night? Who brushes the fringe of their lace-veined lids? Who trims their innocent light?

Then, children, I beg you, sing low to me, And cover my eyes with your hands; O kiss me again till I sleep and dream That I'm lost in your fairylands; For the grown-up folk Are a troublesome folk, And the book of their childhood is torn, Is blotted, and crumpled, and torn!

Supper at the Pension dissipated effectively the odd sense of enchantment to which he had fallen a victim, but it revived again with a sudden rush when Jimbo and his sister came up at half-past eight to say good-night. It began when the little fellow climbed up to plant a resounding kiss upon his lips, and it caught him fullest when Monkey's arms were round his neck, and he heard her whisper in his ear--

'Sleep as tightly as you can, remember, and don't resist. We'll come later to find you.' Her brown eyes were straight in front of his own. Goodness, how they shone! Old Sirius and Aldebaran had certainly left a ray in each.

'Hope you don't get any longer when you're asleep!' she added, giving him a sly dig in the ribs--then was gone before he could return it, or ask her what she meant by 'we'll find you later.'

'And don't say a word to Mother,' was the last thing he heard as she vanished down the stairs.

Slightly confused, he glanced down at the aged pumps he happened to have on, and noticed that one bow was all awry and loose. He stooped to fidget with it, and Mother caught him in the act.

'I'll stitch it on for you,' she said at once. 'It won't take a minute. One of the children can fetch it in the morning.'

But he was ashamed to add to her endless sewing. Like some female Sisyphus, she seemed always pushing an enormous needle through a mountain of clothes that grew higher each time she reached the top.

'I always wear it like that,' he assured her gravely, his thoughts still busy with two other phrases--' find you' and 'sleep tightly.' What in the world could they mean? Did the children really intend to visit him at night? They seemed so earnest about it. Of course it was all nonsense. And yet----!

'You mustn't let them bother you too much,' he heard their mother saying, her voice sounding a long way off. 'They're so wildly happy to have some one to play with.'

'That's how I like them,' he answered vaguely, referring half to the pumps and half to the children. 'They're no trouble at all, believe me.'

'I'm afraid we've spoilt them rather----'

'But--not at all,' he murmured, still confused. 'They're only a little loose--er--lively, I mean. That's how they should be.'

And outside all heard their laughing voices dying down the street as they raced along to the Citadelle for bed. It was Monkey's duty to see her brother safely in. Ten minutes later Mother would follow to tell them tuck-up stories and hear their prayers.

'Excuse me! Have you got a hot-water bottle?' asked a sudden jerky voice, and he turned with a start to see Jane Anne towering beside him.

'I'm sorry,' he answered, 'but I don't carry such things about with me.' He imagined she was joking, then saw that it was very serious.

She looked puzzled a moment. 'I meant--would you like one? Everybody uses them here.' She thought all grown-ups used hot-water bottles.

He hesitated a second. The child looked as though she would produce one from her blouse like any conjurer. As yet, however, the article in question had not entered his scheme of life. He declined it with many thanks.

'I can get you a big one,' she urged. But even that did not tempt him.

'Will you have a cold-water bandage then--for your head--or anything?'

She seemed so afflicted with a desire to do something for him that he almost said 'Yes'; only the fear that she might offer next a beehive or a gramophone restrained him.

'Thank you _so_ much, but really I can manage without it--to-night.'

Jane Anne made no attempt to conceal her disappointment. What a man he was, to be sure! And what a funny place the world was!

'It's Jinny's panacea,' said Mother, helping herself with reckless uncertainty to a long word. 'She's never happy unless she's doing for somebody,' she added ambiguously. 'It's her _metier_ in life.'

'Mother, what _are_ you saying?' said the child's expression. Then she made one last attempt. She remembered, perhaps, the admiring way he had watched her brother and sister's antics in the Den before. She was not clever on her feet, but at least she could try.

'Shall I turn head over heels for you, then?'

He caught her mother's grave expression just in time to keep his laughter back. The offer of gymnastics clearly involved sacrifice somewhere.

'To-morrow,' he answered quickly. 'Always put off till to-morrow what you're too old to do to-day.'

'Of course; I see--yes.' She was more perplexed than ever, as he meant that she should be. His words were meaningless, but they helped the poignant situation neatly. She could not understand why all her offers were refused like this. There must be something wrong with her selection, perhaps. She would think of better ones in future. But, oh, what a funny place the world was!

'Good-night, then, Mr.--Cousin Rogers,' she said jerkily with resignation. 'Perhaps to-morrow--when I'm older----'

'If it comes.' He gravely shook the hand she held out primly, keeping a certain distance from him lest he should attempt to kiss her.

'It always comes; it's a chronic monster,' she laughed, saying the first thing that came into her queer head. They all laughed. Jane Anne went out, feeling happier. At least, she had amused him. She marched off with the air of a grenadier going to some stern and difficult duty. From the door she flung back at him a look of speechless admiration, then broke into a run, afraid she might have been immodest or too forward. They heard her thumping overhead.