LITMIR.BIZ

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of words.

      “Nothing ain’t nothing. What ’appens either ’ere or elsewhere,” said Perks; “if you likes to ’ave your secrets, ’ave ’em and welcome. That’s what I say.”

      The secret-chamber of each heart was rapidly examined during the pause that followed. Three heads were shaken.

      “We haven’t got any secrets from you,” said Bobbie at last.

      “Maybe you ’ave, and maybe you ’aven’t,” said Perks; “it ain’t nothing to me. And I wish you all a very good afternoon.” He held up the paper between him and them and went on reading.

      “Oh, don’t!” said Phyllis, in despair; “this is truly dreadful! Whatever it is, do tell us.”

      “We didn’t mean to do it whatever it was.”

      No answer. The paper was refolded and Perks began on another column.

      “Look here,” said Peter, suddenly, “it’s not fair. Even people who do crimes aren’t punished without being told what it’s for—as once they were in Russia.”

      “I don’t know nothing about Russia.”

      “Oh, yes, you do, when Mother came down on purpose to tell you and Mr. Gills all about our Russian.”

      “Can’t you fancy it?” said Perks, indignantly; “don’t you see ’im a-asking of me to step into ’is room and take a chair and listen to what ’er Ladyship ’as to say?”

      “Do you mean to say you’ve not heard?”

      “Not so much as a breath. I did go so far as to put a question. And he shuts me up like a rat-trap. ‘Affairs of State, Perks,’ says he. But I did think one o’ you would ’a’ nipped down to tell me—you’re here sharp enough when you want to get anything out of old Perks”—Phyllis flushed purple as she thought of the strawberries—“information about locomotives or signals or the likes,” said Perks.

      “We didn’t know you didn’t know.”

      “We thought Mother had told you.”

      “We-wanted-to-tell-you-only-we-thought-it-would-be-stale-news.”

      The three spoke all at once.

      Perks said it was all very well, and still held up the paper. Then Phyllis suddenly snatched it away, and threw her arms round his neck.

      “Oh, let’s kiss and be friends,” she said; “we’ll say we’re sorry first, if you like, but we didn’t really know that you didn’t know.”

      “We are so sorry,” said the others.

      And Perks at last consented to accept their apologies.

      Then they got him to come out and sit in the sun on the green Railway Bank, where the grass was quite hot to touch, and there, sometimes speaking one at a time, and sometimes all together, they told the Porter the story of the Russian Prisoner.

      “Well, I must say,” said Perks; but he did not say it—whatever it was.

      “Yes, it is pretty awful, isn’t it?” said Peter, “and I don’t wonder you were curious about who the Russian was.”

      “I wasn’t curious, not so much as interested,” said the Porter.

      “Well, I do think Mr. Gills might have told you about it. It was horrid of him.”

      “I don’t keep no down on ’im for that, Missie,” said the Porter; “’cos why? I see ’is reasons. ‘E wouldn’t want to give away ’is own side with a tale like that ’ere. It ain’t human nature. A man’s got to stand up for his own side whatever they does. That’s what it means by Party Politics. I should ’a’ done the same myself if that long-’aired chap ’ad ’a’ been a Jap.”

      “But the Japs didn’t do cruel, wicked things like that,” said Bobbie.

      “P’r’aps not,” said Perks, cautiously; “still you can’t be sure with foreigners. My own belief is they’re all tarred with the same brush.”

      “Then why were you on the side of the Japs?” Peter asked.

      “Well, you see, you must take one side or the other. Same as with Liberals and Conservatives. The great thing is to take your side and then stick to it, whatever happens.”

      A signal sounded.

      “There’s the 3.14 up,” said Perks. “You lie low till she’s through, and then we’ll go up along to my place, and see if there’s any of them strawberries ripe what I told you about.”

      “If there are any ripe, and you do give them to me,” said Phyllis, “you won’t mind if I give them to the poor Russian, will you?”

      Perks narrowed his eyes and then raised his eyebrows.

      “So it was them strawberries you come down for this afternoon, eh?” said he.

      This was an awkward moment for Phyllis. To say “yes” would seem rude and greedy, and unkind to Perks. But she knew if she said “no,” she would not be pleased with herself afterwards. So—

      “Yes,” she said, “it was.”

      “Well done!” said the Porter; “speak the truth and shame the—”

      “But we’d have come down the very next day if we’d known you hadn’t heard the story,” Phyllis added hastily.

      “I believe you, Missie,” said Perks, and sprang across the line six feet in front of the advancing train.

      The girls hated to see him do this, but Peter liked it. It was so exciting.

      The Russian gentleman was so delighted with the strawberries that the three racked their brains to find some other surprise for him. But all the racking did not bring out any idea more novel than wild cherries. And this idea occurred to them next morning. They had seen the blossom on the trees in the spring, and they knew where to look for wild cherries now that cherry time was here. The trees grew all up and along the rocky face of the cliff out of which the mouth of the tunnel opened. There were all sorts of trees there, birches and beeches and baby oaks and hazels, and among them the cherry blossom had shone like snow and silver.

      The mouth of the tunnel was some way from Three Chimneys, so Mother let them take their lunch with them in a basket. And the basket would do to bring the cherries back in if they found any. She also lent them her silver watch so that they should not be late for tea. Peter’s Waterbury had taken it into its head not to go since the day when Peter dropped it into the water-butt. And they started. When they got to the top of the cutting, they leaned over the fence and looked down to where the railway lines lay at the bottom of what, as Phyllis said, was exactly like a mountain gorge.

      “If it wasn’t for the railway at the bottom, it would be as though the foot of man had never been there, wouldn’t it?”

      The sides of the cutting were of grey stone, very roughly hewn. Indeed, the top part of the cutting had been a little natural glen that had been cut deeper to bring it down to the level of the tunnel’s mouth. Among the rocks, grass and flowers grew, and seeds dropped by birds in the crannies of the stone had taken root and grown into bushes and trees that overhung the cutting. Near the tunnel was a flight of steps leading down to the line—just wooden bars roughly fixed into the earth—a very steep and narrow way, more like a ladder than a stair.

      “We’d better get down,” said Peter; “I’m sure the cherries would be quite easy to get at from the side of the steps. You remember it was there we picked the cherry blossoms that we put on the rabbit’s grave.”

      So they went along the fence towards the little swing gate that is at the top of these steps. And they were almost at the gate when Bobbie said:—

      “Hush. Stop! What’s that?”

      “That” was

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