Harding's Luck. Эдит Несбит

"'ELFRIDA!' SAID BOTH BOYS AT ONCE"… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

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"'I HAVE KILLED A MAN,' HE SAID"… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

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"'I'VE THOUGHT OF NOTHING ELSE FOR A MONTH,' SAID DICKIE"… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

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      CHAPTER I

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      CHAPTER I

      TINKLER AND THE MOONFLOWER

      Dickie lived at New Cross. At least the address was New Cross, but really the house where he lived was one of a row of horrid little houses built on the slope where once green fields ran down the hill to the river, and the old houses of the Deptford merchants stood stately in their pleasant gardens and fruitful orchards. All those good fields and happy gardens are built over now. It is as though some wicked giant had taken a big brush full of yellow ochre paint, and another full of mud-colour, and had painted out the green in streaks of dull yellow and filthy brown; and the brown is the roads and the yellow is the houses. Miles and miles and miles of them, and not a green thing to be seen except the cabbages in the greengrocers' shops, and here and there some poor trails of creeping-jenny drooping from a dirty window-sill. There is a little yard at the back of each house; this is called "the garden," and some of these show green—but they only show it to the houses' back windows. You cannot see it from the street. These gardens are green, because green is the ​colour that most pleases and soothes men's eyes; and however you may shut people up between bars of yellow and mud colour, and however hard you may make them work, and however little wage you may pay them for working, there will always be found among those people some men who are willing to work a little longer, and for no wages at all, so that they may have green things growing near them.

      But there were no green things growing in the garden at the back of the house where Dickie lived with his aunt. There were stones and bones, and bits of brick, and dirty old dish-cloths matted together with grease and mud, worn-out broom-heads and broken shovels, a bottomless pail, and the mouldy remains of a hutch where once rabbits had lived. But that was a very long time ago, and Dickie had never seen the rabbits. A boy had brought a brown rabbit to school once, buttoned up inside his jacket, and he had let Dickie hold it in his hands for several minutes before the teacher detected its presence and shut it up in a locker till school should be over. So Dickie knew what rabbits were like. And he was fond of the hutch for the sake of what had once lived there.

      And when his aunt sold the poor remains of the hutch to a man with a barrow who was ready to buy anything, and who took also the pails and the shovels, giving threepence for the lot, Dickie was almost as unhappy as though the hutch has really held a furry friend. And he hated the man who took the hutch away, all the ​more because there were empty rabbit-skins hanging sadly from the back of the barrow.

      It is really with the going of that rabbit-hutch that this story begins. Because it was then that Dickie, having called his aunt a Beast, and hit at her with his little dirty fist, was well slapped and put out into the bereaved yard to "come to himself," as his aunt said. He threw himself down on the ground and cried and wriggled with misery and pain, and wished—ah, many things.

      "Wot's the bloomin' row now?" the Man Next Door suddenly asked; "been hittin' of you?"

      "They've took away the 'utch," said Dickie.

      "Well, there warn't nothin' in it."

      "I diden want it took away," wailed Dickie.

      "Leaves more room," said the Man Next Door, leaning on his spade. It was Saturday afternoon and the next-door garden was one of the green ones. There were small grubby daffodils in it, and dirty-faced little primroses, and an arbour beside the water-butt, bare at this time of the year, but still a real arbour. And an elder-tree that in the hot weather had flat, white flowers on it big as tea-plates. And a lilac-tree with brown buds on it. Beautiful. "Say, matey, just you chuck it! Chuck it, I say! How in thunder can I get on with my digging with you 'owlin' yer 'ead off?" inquired the Man Next Door. "You get up and peg along in an' arst yer aunt if she'd be agreeable for me to do up her garden a bit. I could do it odd times. You'd like that."

      ​"Not 'arf!" said Dickie, got up, and went in.

      "Come to yourself, eh?" sneered the aunt. "You mind, and let it be the last time you come your games with me, my beauty. You and your tantrums!"

      Dickie said what it was necessary to say, and got back to the "garden."

      "She says she ain't got no time to waste, an' if you 'ave she don't care what you does with it."

      "There's a dirty mug you've got on you," said the Man Next Door, leaning over to give Dickie's face a rub with a handkerchief hardly cleaner. "Now I'll come over and make a start." He threw his leg over the fence. "You just peg about an' be busy pickin' up all them fancy articles, and nex' time yer aunt goes to Buckingham Palace for the day we'll have a bonfire."

      "Fifth o' November?" said Dickie, sitting down and beginning to draw to himself the rubbish that covered the ground.

      "Fifth of anything you like, so long as she ain't about," said he, driving in the spade. "'Ard as any old doorstep it is. Never mind, we'll turn it over, and we'll get some little seedses and some little plantses and we shan't know ourselves."

      "I got a 'apenny," said Dickie.

      "Well, I'll put one to it, and you leg 'long and buy seedses. That's wot you do."

      Dickie went. He went slowly, because he was lame. And he was lame because his "aunt" had dropped him when he was a baby. She was

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      "'GIMME,' SAID DICKIE—'GIMME A PENN'ORTH O' THAT THERE.'"

      Page 3.

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