Brother Copas Part 6

"But that was a long time ago. I've grown since. . . . And I didn't kiss you at first because it makes me feel uncomfortable kissing folks out loud. But I'll kiss you in the cars when we get to them."

But by and by, when they found themselves seated alone in a third-cla.s.s compartment, she forgot her promise, being lost in wonder at this funny mode of travelling. She examined the parcels' rack overhead.

"'_For light articles only_,'" she read out. "But-but how do we manage when it's bedtime?"

"Bless the child, we don't sleep in the train! Why, in little over an hour we shall be at Merchester, and that's home."

"Home!" Corona caught at the word and repeated it with a s.h.i.+ver of excitement. "Home--in an hour?"

It was not that she distrusted; it was only that she could not focus her mind down to so small a distance.

"And now," said Nurse Branscome cheerfully, as they settled themselves down, "are you going to tell me about your pa.s.sage, or am I to tell you about your father and the sort of place St. Hospital is? Or would you," added this wise woman, "just like to sit still and look out of window and take it all in for a while?"

"Thank you," answered Corona, "that's what I want, ezactly."

She nestled into her corner as the train drew forth beyond the purlieus and dingy suburbs of the great seaport and out into the country--our south country, all green and glorious with summer.

Can this world show the like of it, for comfort of eye and heart?

Her eyes drank, devoured it.--Cattle knee-deep in green pasture, belly-deep in green water-flags by standing pools; cattle resting their long flanks while they chewed the cud; cattle whisking their tails amid the meadow-sweet, under hedges sprawled over with wild rose and honeysuckle.--White flocks in the lengthening shade of elms; wood and copse; silver river and ca.n.a.l glancing between alders, hawthorns, pollard willows; lichened bridges of flint and brick; ancient cottages, thatched or red-tiled, timber-fronted, bulging out in friendliest fas.h.i.+on on the high road; the high road looping its way from village to village, still between hedges. Corona had never before set eyes on a real hedge in the course of her young life; but all this country--right away to the rounded chalk hills over which the heat s.h.i.+mmered--was parcelled out by hedges--hedges by the hundred--and such hedges!

"It's--it's like a garden," she stammered, turning around and meeting a question in Nurse Branscome's eyes. "It's all so lovely and tiny and bandboxy. However do they find the time for it?"

"Eh, it takes time," said Nurse Branscome, amused. "You'll find that's the main secret with us over here. But--disappointed, are you?"

"Oh, no--no--no!" the child a.s.sured her. "It's ten times lovelier than ever I 'spected--only," she added, cuddling down for another long gaze, "it's different--different in size."

"England's a little place," said Nurse Branscome. "In the colonies-- I won't say anything about the States, for I've never seen them; but I've been to Australia in my time, and I expect with Canada it's much the same or more so--in the colonies everything's spread out; but home here, I heard Brother Copas say, if you want to feel how great anything is, you have to take it deep-ways, layer below layer."

Corona knit her small brow.

"But Windsor Castle is a mighty big place?" she said hopefully.

"Oh, yes!"

"Well, I'm glad of that anyway."

"But why, dear?"

"Because," said Corona, "that is where the King lives. I used to call him _my_ King over on the Other Side, because my name is Corona, and means I was born the year he was crowned. They make out they don't hold much stock in kings, back there; but that sort of talk didn't take me in, because when you _have_ a King of your own you know what it feels like. And, anyway, they had to allow that King Edward is a mighty big one, and that he is always making peace for all the world. . . . So now you know why I'm glad about Windsor Castle."

"I'm afraid it is not quite clear to me yet," said Nurse Branscome, leading her on.

"I can't 'splain very well."--The child could never quite compa.s.s the sound "ex" in words where a consonant followed.--"I'm no good at 'splaining. But I guess if the job was up to you to make peace for all-over-the-world, you'd want to sit in a big place, sort of empty an' quiet, an' feel like G.o.d." Corona gazed out of window again.

"You can tell he's been at it, too, hereabouts; but somehow I didn't 'spect it to be all lying about in little bits."

They alighted from the idling train at a small country station embowered in roses, the next on this side of Merchester and but a short three-quarters of a mile from St. Hospital, towards which they set out on foot by a meadow-path and over sundry stiles, a porter following (or rather making a _detour_ after them along the high road) and wheeling Corona's effects on a barrow. From the first stile Nurse Branscome pointed out the grey Norman buildings, the chapel tower, the cl.u.s.tering trees; and supported Corona with a hand under her elbow as, perched on an upper bar with her knees against the top rail, she drank in her first view of home.

Her first comment--it shaped itself into a question, or rather into two questions--gave Nurse Branscome a shock: it was so infantile in comparison with her talk in the train.

"Does daddy live there? And is he so very old, then?"

Then Nurse Branscome bethought her that this mite had never yet seen her father, and that he was not only an aged man but a broken-down one, and in appearance (as they say) older than his years.

A great pity seized her for Corona, and in the rush of pity all her oddities and grown-up tricks of speech (Americanisms apart) explained themselves. She was an old father's child. Nurse Branscome was midwife enough to know what freakishness and frailty belong to children begotten by old age. Yet Corona, albeit gaunt with growing, was lithe and well-formed, and of a healthy complexion and a clear, though it inclined to pallor.

"Your father is not a young man," she said gently. "You must be prepared for that, dear. . . . And of course his dress--the dress of the Beauchamp Brethren--makes him look even older than he is."

"What is it?" asked Corona, turning about as well as she could on the stile and putting the direct question with direct eyes.

"It's a long gown, a gown of reddish-purple, with a silver rose at the breast."

"Save us!" exclaimed this unaccountable child. "'Seems I'd better start right in by asking what news of the Crusades."

In the spare room pertaining to Brother Bonaday he and Brother Copas were (as the latter put it) making very bad weather with their preparations. They supposed themselves, however, to have plenty of time, little guessing that the captain of the _Carnatic_ had been breaking records. In St. Hospital one soon learns to neglect mankind's infatuation for mere speed; and yet, strange to say, Brother Copas was discoursing on this very subject.

He had produced certain purchases from his wallet, and disposed them on the chest of drawers which was to serve Corona for dressing-table.

They included a cheap mirror, and here he felt himself on safe ground; but certain others--such as a gaudily-dressed doll, priced at 1s. 3d., a packet of hairpins, a book of coloured photographs, ent.i.tled _Souvenir of Royal Merchester_--he eyed more dubiously.

He had found it hard to bear in mind the child's exact age.

"But she was born in Coronation Year. I have told you that over and over," Brother Bonaday would protest. "My dear fellow, I know you have; but the devil is, that means something different every time."

--"The purpose of all right motion," Brother Copas was saying, "is to get back to the point from which you started. Take the sun itself, or any created ma.s.s; take the smallest molecule in that ma.s.s; take the world whichever way you will--"

'Behold the world, how it is whirled round!

And, for it so is whirl'd, is named so.'

"(There's pretty etymology for you!) All movement in a straight line is eccentric, lawless, or would be were it possible, which I doubt.

Why this haste, then, in pa.s.sing given points? If man did it in a n.o.ble pride, as a _tour de force_, to prove himself so much the cleverer than the brute creation, I could understand it; but if that's his game, a speck of radium beats him in a common canter.

I read in a scientific paper last week, in a signed article which bore every impress of truth, that there's a high explosive that will run a spark from here to Paris while you are p.r.o.nouncing its name.

Yet extend that run, and run it far and fast as you will, it can only come back to your hand. . . . Which," continued Brother Copas, raising his voice, for Brother Bonaday had toddled into the sitting-room to see if the kettle boiled, "reminds me of a story I picked up in the Liberal Club the other day, the truth of it guaranteed. Ten or eleven years ago the Mayor of Merchester died on the very eve of St. Giles's Fair. The Town Council met, and some were for stopping the shows and steam roundabouts as a mark of respect, while others doubted that the ma.s.ses (among whom the Mayor had not been popular) would resent this curtailing of their fun.

In the end a compromise was reached. The proprietor of the roundabouts was sent for, and the show-ground granted to him, on condition that he made his steam-organ play hymn tunes. He accepted, and that week the merrymakers revolved to the strains of 'Nearer, my G.o.d, to Thee.' It sounds absurd; but when you come to reflect--"

Brother Copas broke off, hearing a slight commotion in the next room.

Brother Bonaday, kneeling and puffing at the fire which refused to boil the water, had been startled by voices in the entry. Looking up, flushed of face, he beheld a child on the threshold, with Nurse Branscome standing behind her.

"Daddy!"

Brother Copas from one doorway, Nurse Branscome from the other, saw Brother Bonaday's face twitch as with a pang of terror. He arose slowly from his knees, and very slowly--as if his will struggled against some invisible, detaining force--held out both hands.

Corona ran to them; but, grasped by them, drew back for a moment, scanning him before she suffered herself to be kissed.

"My, what a dear old dress! . . . Daddy, you _are_ a dude!"

CHAPTER V.

BROTHER COPAS ON RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCE.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Simeon!"